Though the summer time is here, the streets are almost grey as we move down at dark alley way at the heart of Chicago, approaching and entering a hidden-away door up a flight of stairs, following muffled, jazzy music. We enter a big, lavish, burlesque-looking room with a bar and round tables all around. A small figure with red hair has her feet up on a table, with a large, white-strapped prize next to it. As the song ends, the girl claps.
"Awesome! Like, oh my God, that was...that was cracking. I wish I knew how to play any instrument than the triangle. Hey, do you lot know any Kate Bush? It's her 60th today by the way..."
The jazz band, stood up on the stage, shrug and then begin a jazzy version of "Running Up That Hill". As we approach the Union Battleground Champion Emery Layton, her thick red hair is tied back, her eyes are lit up and her grin is noticable as she watches on. She is also wearing a natty three-piece suit- black with white pinstripes- and mucky spats on her feet. She is the only person in there apart from the in-house band.
EMERY LAYTON:
"Aw man. That's talent right there. Not a big jazz person but when it's good, it's good, know what I mean? Wish I knew how to do that. Know a lot about a whole lot, me. And there's a whole lot I don't know too, but if there's anything I do know a whole lot about...it's Chicago! Oh, Chicago. People complain it's cold, but they get it wrong- it ain't cold, it's just too cool for 'em. Find myself here a lot these days, but if you happen to see me while you're here, you mustn't ever tell nobody where you saw me, know what I mean? Keep to the old traditions."
Sitting forward, she reaches for a glass full of double dark rum. In her other hand, she holds a jam tart. She's living her best life.
"Got a funny history, Chicago. Lemme talk about it. In fact, nah, first lemme tell ya where you are- but, ssshhhh! Between us, yeah? We're in an old speak-easy. Place has a dress-code- why I gotta dress like this. But back then in the 20s, you had the prohibition, people who thought they were untouchable and the secret, hidden away corners of Chicago. You had Italians, Polish and Irish gangs all wanting to get in on this bootlegging thing and they did, all getting their own turfs, but only one could have everything. Only one could hold the top spot. Didn't matter to them who they were going after or what they'd been through...they had their eyes on the same prize, and they'd do whatever they could to get their hands on it."
Taking a huge bite of the jam tart, Em sits forward as she puts her glass back on the table.
"Dick Devereaux, you and me, we been doing this a long time. Hell, man, we been doing this since the beginning. Union Battleground opened, we were two of the first and we been here ever since. We ain't really crossed paths but just like I told Nemesis last week, don't think I didn't see what you were doing this whole time. And I know you were watching me, too. Smart move- you let everyone else try first. Some did well. Others? Not so lucky.
I remember it perfect. That first night. Nervous as all hell. I'm pacing back and forth. I take a look at other people in that tournament. There's this guy I ain't never seen before. And maaaan, did he have passion. He waxes lyrical about how he's gonna take on all challengers, how he's real as they come, beats the baddest and he's still stood to tell the tale. I never forgot it. Everyone else saw someone called this 'Butcher of the Battleground' who didn't care about nobody. With the click of his fingers, he could turn ice into fire and he'd use it to burn anyone who got in his way. But I didn't see no Butcher. I'll tell ya who I saw."
Emery grabs her championship and rests it over her knees, circling the center plate with her finger.
"I saw someone who'd been knocked about a lot in life, man. I saw someone who people probably said 'hey, you ain't welcome' and what did you do? Well, you didn't lie down and take it. You said 'No', and you kicked down the door and here you are, blazing through the world in spite of everyone who ever told you to stop. You ain't care if they don't like what you do, you're going outta your way to be the best. Anyone who says otherwise ain't worth two squirts of piss. I saw more than someone in the same rings and same cities as me.
I didn't see Dick Devereaux. I saw Emery Layton."
Another jam tart as Emery lifts the championship up onto her shoulder- proudly.
"And that's why I did what I did at Guerrilla Warfare. Cos I knew outta all the people in the world, you'd be the one who could take it. I dare you to lie and tell me if the shoes were swapped, you wouldn't have done the same thing to me. I saw my chance, I took it."
The jazz band have stopped playing. Emery hastidly notices this and claps profusely as the band politely wander off stage, leaving Emery alone. She looks around and there's no one there. She is alone.
"Listen man, you ain't a dude to joke about, I know that. I know about Amanda, too. You're upset. But you gotta realise something it's taken me a bit to work out- we spent all of Season One being the best, but Season Two proved it's that whatever we were stood on was clearly made of Jenga and someone removed a bit from the bottom of both our towers. But even though the world keeps turning and we ain't Untouchables, we still gotta live. We still gotta survive. We ain't bulletproof and ain't neither of us the law around here, buddy- we fighting for turf like they used to in the old days, and ever since I lost the Trench War Championship, I been spoiling for the top spot. I been tryna get here since Day One and so have you, but this is my territory now, fella. You think Guerrilla Warfare ended when I won this? Nah, man. That's where it started, and it ain't gonna get no easier for either of us. So embrace it."
Another swig of her rum and now Emery is a little louder, speaking with more force.
"You wanna be mad I 'stole your title'? Be mad. I didn't steal nothing. I won it. But if you want it back, attacking me from behind ain't gonna get you nowhere, man. You fight me in Amanda's name and you do her proud, dude, cos I don't want no mopey fella not giving it his all. This is your shot- give me the Butcher of the Battleground and I will give you the Worst of the Pavees. Gimme the dangerous man who dominated the Union Battleground title scene for a year and I'll give you the Trench War Traveller who walked the world for 404 days. Devereaux vs Layton, Pipebomb vs Prikasa, as it should be, as it's always needed to be, as the fans have always wanted to see, cos I tell ya now, we may be in Chicago but we ain't doing our dealings in the quiet corners of speak-easy's, we gonna be doing it in the ring, in front of all of those people, and I'll take you through the street of this Windy City if that's what I gotta do to keep this."
She holds her title up, the newly-designed Union Battleground title shining bright. For a few moments, Emery is quiet. Reflective.
"We're both damaged goods. We both wanna be on the top of our game again...but only one of us can do it, and I'm already the Union Battleground Champion."
Downing her rum and leaving the empty glass on the table, Emery stands, collecting her things- which seem to include a cream overcoat and her black beanie.
"One year in the making. Dick Devereaux...this is Emery Layton territory now. Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough."
Shoving her hat on, Emery stands, hooking her title over her shoulder and shoving her hands into her pockets as she leaves, going out into the grey night. The players are set to take their final places, making ready the events that are to come.
Post by Dick Devereaux on Jul 30, 2018 22:39:31 GMT -5
[The scene cuts open to a parking lot. Cars are scattered across the lot as we see the street lights shining down, illuminating some of the vehicles. We then notice a very familiar vehicle. A large black pick-up truck rests at the far end of the parking lot, away from the other vehicles. The camera pans to the back of it where we can see the bed of the truck. The tailgate is opened up and a highly intoxicated body hangs from the back. The body struggles to sit up as we notice a brown paper bag with the neck of a bottle sticking out. The street light shines down on the face of the man, revealing Union Battlegrounds Dick Devereaux.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: It has been a long dark road since Amanda took her own life. A road filled with blackout drunk days and nights, debilitating migraines, and terrorizing nightmares. Amanda was my everything, and I don't know if I can go on living without her.
[Devereauxs eyes show dark circles and bags around them, most likely due to insomnia. He is covered in sweat as we see he is dressed in cut-off jean shorts and a grey wife beater. Devereaux wipes the sweat from his forehead as he continues.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: The bottle can only drown my sorrows for so long though. It can push back my dark thoughts that try to take over my brain, but in the end it only makes them worse. Amanda was an Angel, but now she's dead and gone. The Devil has begun to whisper in my ear again. And this time, I don't think I can keep him away.
[He grabs the brown bagged bottle and tips the contents down his throat. Devereaux coughs as he looks at the bottle and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He takes another hit from the bottle before looking down at the ground and continuing.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: I got my redemption when I defeated Nemesis by the hook. But then you did what you did Emery... You stuck your nose in business it should never have been in. You disrespected Amanda. Defeating Nemesis wasn't just about winning back my Union Battleground Championship. Defeating Nemesis was redemption. Redemption for Amanda. Redemption for a years worth of pain and suffering ending in the greatest loss I have ever felt. Amanda was avenged when I hung Nemesis onto that hook. But then you came in to steal everything from me. Just like Nemesis.
[The anger can be heard in Devereauxs voice now as his face turns from sorrow to agitated. He eyes the camera as he chuckles and hits the bottle again.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: Story of my Union Battleground career at this point. Robbed. Every single time I get my hands on that belt I get robbed. First it was Nemesis and Salvation, now it's Emery FUCKIN' Layton. You see, there is a lifetimes worth of sorrow living inside of me. But there's also anger. An angry vessel with nothing left to lose. Emery, I don't have anything left in this world. I don't have family, I don't have friends, I don't have a wife or child. All I have is my life and at this point I don't care if I live or die.
[Devereaux reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a razor blade. He glides it across his face as he inspects each side of the double sided blade. He pricks the end of his finger, releasing a bit of blood as he lets it run down his finger. Devereaux smiles as he presses the blade to his right wrist, carving sideways as he begins to bleed. Devereaux sighs as he watches the blood begin to run down his arm.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: Amanda was the only good thing I had left. The only one to keep me grounded. The only thing in this world that brought out the right to the wrong. My Guardian Angel. Nemesis stripped her of her innocence and impregnated her with sin. Nemesis caused her to do what she did. And she is no longer here, telling me right from wrong, holding me back from making the wrong decisions. The evil was tamed and locked away for the good of the world. And now that Amanda is gone, the lock is broken and the cage door is open. The real monster is coming out to play...
[Devereaux lays down the razor blade as he pulls himself out of the truck bed and to his feet. He steps closer to the camera as we see the blood from his wrist begin to drip on the ground. Devereaux ignores it however, only focusing on the camera in front of him.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: Emery, you're about to become a sacrifice. A sacrifice in the name of Amanda. You disrespected her memory by cashing in at Guerilla Warfare. Nemesis is gone, dealt with the only way he should have been. That only leaves you. The last piece of my puzzle. The final curtain to the story of Amanda Devereaux. And at Lights Out, in front of the entire world, I will take back my Union Battleground Championship and sacrifice you Emery. When that bell rings and you look across the ring at me, you look into my eyes Emery. I want you to see what you've brought out of me. I want you to see what you had a hand in causing. I want you to feel what you caused. I can't hold back the beast any longer. That cage has been opened, and the Devil is coming out to play once again. It's been a while, and he's been starved. Just remember this Emery. When I rip your flesh from the bones and wear it as my own, the only person you can blame is yourself.
[Devereaux grabs the bottle and takes another hit before looking back towards the camera.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: We've managed to escape each other thus far Emery. We've both been here since the beginning, yet we've never faced. This is a match everybody's been asking for for a long time. And now they're gonna' get it. Unfortunately it's under the wrong circumstances. This isn't Dick Devereaux, the hard hitting, shit talking Butcher. This is the angry, violent, merciless Dick Devereaux with a fuckin' vengeance! You might've stood a chance before Emery, but this is a whole new game. I'm not out to beat you now.
[Devereaux grabs the camera and pulls it close. All we see now is the face of the broken Devereaux, almost looking like a rabid animal foaming at the mouth.]
DICK DEVEREAUX: I'm out to fuckin' END YOU!
[Devereaux shoves the camera away as it almost falls to the ground. It refocuses as we see Devereaux stumble back and falls right back into the bed of the truck. His arm now bleeding profusely Devereaux simply grabs the brown bagged bottle again and tips it back, not caring if he wakes up in the morning. Devereaux reaches out and covers the camera with his bloody hand, sending the scene to a crimson mask before cutting to static and then fading to black.]
