Post by Dakota Smith on Feb 16, 2020 21:37:14 GMT -5
Sometimes you get things that you want, in ways you weren’t expecting them. The death of company, the death of a home that wasn't wrought by Dakota’s own hand, wounded him. The burning of his prime hunting ground and the future of his crimson path being heavily distorted by ripples of the past few days, we find our Butcher looking more than a little bit agitated. His eyes flickered with ravenounous embers of disgust as he glared up at the full moon, with teeth showing and thick saliva dripping from his lips he let out a primordial scream, one that sounded more like the cry of an animal then a man. With his chest breathing heavy, Dakota grips the Union Battleground Championship in his hand, crushing the leather strap as his head drops. He looks into the camera, but only for a split second before his eyes go beyond it - to his surroundings.
The air was thick and dry on this especially cool night in Mexico. Dakota stood in front of white brick building, some miles away from the city. The building, which looked to be a windowless warehouse marked with a large black “14”, only had one way in - a large metal door which pulled up. From inside the building you could hear the faint sounds of what seemed to be clucking.
“ This place makes my fucking skin itch Bryan…It makes me me want to tear away at myself until there is nothing left, it makes me want to be a violent man, the violent man that we both know that I am. Can you smell it Bryan? Can you smell the coming massacre, are you breathing in the same stench of misery that I am? It’s like a thousand needles stabbing into my flesh all at once, a craving to jump out of my skin and just stick myself inside the first thing that moves… But I’m saving myself for you… Because you see a lot has transpired the past few weeks… The war that I was bringing to Union under the banner of 4CW has ended, but my slaughter of professional wrestling has just begun. My cavalcade of destruction is just starting to gain speed, and I will barrel through everything that you think that you are Chicken Man, dissect you in ways that you’ve only seen on television… I will butcher you, just like I will butcher every other livestock that wanders my way. You are the first of many, and this is my story Bryan…
Not yours. “
Loosening his grip on his championship, Dakota shoves one of the straps down the front of his heavily stained blue jeans, so that it hung down in front of his crotch. He runs his hands up his white wife beater, scratching at the flesh underneath, as his eyes shot back over to the camera.
“ As much as you like to pretend you are some protagonist, the hero of the story…The sad truth of it Bryan is you’re nothing more than the cattle that get lead one by one into the processing plant. The hog, that gets overfed, fattened up to be devoured by hungry families… Hungry maggots... ”
Taking a step forward towards the door, Dakota couldn’t help but let an unsettling sounding chuckle bounce out from his chest. He then reaches down, grabbing the knife from his boot - the same knife he held against William's throat not too long ago. He glances back at the camera as the corner of his lips stretch back, presenting an unnerving grin.
“You are the meat that feeds… And I will enjoy every second of consumption. “
Finishing up his sentence, Dakota presses the knife blade against the palm of his hand and slices back. The blood almost instantly flooding from his calloused skin, dripping down onto the dirt below. The Butcher presses his hand against the side of the facility, smearing the crimson substance against it as he looks back over his shoulder into the darkened landscape - as if he was marking it for something.
Looking back towards the door, he reaches down and lifts hard, flinging it up with a loud crash . As soon as the door is opened Dakota is hit with a wave of death, the smell of decay quickly filling his nostrils as his eyes go wide - like a shark smelling blood. The sound coming from inside of the facility was horrible, hundreds maybe thousands of chickens all clucking in one frantic horde. As Dakota steps inside, the lights click on with a loud metallic boom - revealing the true horrors that lay before him. Countless numbers of chickens all stuffed inside tiny, black, metal cages - all stacked atop one another.
With his mouth wide open, in a slack jawed position, Dakota turns back to the camera and lets out a few more chuckles - his eyes brimming with disturbed amusement.
“ The mask that you wear Bryan, it’s very fitting… Because just like all of these creatures, you are trapped in a cage… You sit there and talk to your therapist, and you try and come up with some rational explanation for it… But the truth is, you wear that mask to hide… To hide the part of you that you don’t want anyone to see - the part of you that lives in fantasy… Like Don Quixote fighting windmills because he thought they were giants, you have made me into this image in your mind. An Image that you need to move forward, that you need to put the puzzles of your psyche together. You’ve painted me into this beautiful picture of misery, because it’s that misery you feel inside of yourself that pulls you forward. You’re using me Bryan, and I’m not even sure if you see it.
Like these birds in these cages, you are trapped… Trapped inside your own head, and you use that mask to set yourself free. You say that’s it when you feel the most like yourself, because you are afraid of the eyes looking back at you when you stare in the mirror. But it doesn’t matter what mask you try and hide under, what story you create for yourself… Make yourself the hero, spin your fairytale… But at the end of day? It’s still just Bryan Williams underneath the facade...The man who is perpetually striking upwards… But fails to ever really put his boot on the ground.”
Walking forward, deeper into the chicken farm - you could see that many of the birds were dead in their cages - packed so tightly together that others had started to cannibalize their fallen brethren. As Dakota walked by the cages he opened them, giving the birds freedom, some took the chance to hop out - while others just stood motionless, too traumatized to take what was right in front of them.
“I went to Japan, because I wanted to remind you just who the fuck you are dealing with... You can’t have any distractions… I went to Japan, spoiled your debut inside a Yamashi ring because I wanted to make words actions! Instead of posting on twitter like two prepubescent girls, I wanted you to get the chance to put your words to use…I gave you an opportunity, one that ended with my knife across your throat. How many chances do you need Bryan? How many opportunities to reinvent yourself will it take for you to finally realize…”
As his eyes gazed over the suffering before him, he let his bloodied hand rise up into the air, before pressing it against his lips and whispering into it.
“ It’s just not enough. “
Closing his eyes, The Butcher lets his hand slowly crawl down his face and onto his chest, where he starts to draw a circle in his own blood.
“ When you wear this Union Championship, or any championship for that matter you get a target painted on your back… Everyone wants a piece of you, everyone wants to test what you have… Because everyone thinks they have more… Many people fail to live with the world on their shoulders… ”
Having now painted a target on his chest, Dakota lets his hand slide down the rest of his body until he is once again gripping the Union Championship. He pulls the belt out of his pants and places it on his shoulder, holding it in such a way where the main plate covers the carved in target.
“ That’s why a man claiming himself to be The Butcher has lost this championship the past two Coupe De Graces. It’s why I know that history won’t repeat itself, why I’ll break the curse that never really affected me at all. I’ve been to the top of the mountain, I’ve built ladders out of corpses... I’ve been torn apart, bled out, thrown from high places… I’ve felt my body crash down to the concrete below as every muscle in this shattered corpse went numb!
So I’ll paint the target on my chest, knowing full well that I can take every ounce of violence you can dish out… Knowing that it doesn’t matter who stands in front of me, the outcome will always be the same. I didn’t come here to Union to be castrated by a man who fears me… And you do fear me Bryan, the way you pleaded to those other two maggots… You turned your actions into a form of mercy, you twisted the story so that you looked like a savior! Instead of what you actually are… A sad little man who has to hide his face, because he can’t live with the outcome of his own actions. A pathetic little fucking worm who dresses up, grabs a prop and thinks himself something dangerous! “
Spinning his head around his shoulders, Dakota holds his championship tightly against his chest - looking past the camera and to the open door. From the darkness you could hear what sounded to be growls, dogs barking off in the distance that drew nearer and nearer by the second. The butcher’s smile was so wide by this point that it was almost tearing at his flesh, his scum stained teeth shinning off the fluorescent lights and through his blood smeared face.
“ But I know the real you Bryan… I know the man behind the mask, the man who runs with his tail between his legs anytime things don’t go his way… We have a history, I watched you try time and time again to break the glass ceiling that you made for yourself...And time and time again I’ve seen you fail, you can tell yourself a thousand times that this feels like your moment, that this feels like your year! But if you don’t have the means to put those words forward, to make a dream reality? Then all you are left with is words… Empty… Empty words. “
The sound of claws clicking against the metal flooring breaks through the overbearing amount of clucks as all of the chickens go silent. The camera pans around, showing that a group of feral dogs had entered the facility - more than likely attracted to the scent of blood Dakota had left on the outside of the building. The pack had their heads down, seemingly unaware of Dakota’s presence as they licked their chops. The butcher takes a few steps backwards, pushing his back up against the wall and letting himself slide down it as he continues speaking.
“ When I returned to professional wrestling, I promised only one thing… Violence… That’s what I’m bringing you at Coup De Grace Bryan… Violence… These aren’t just words, I’m not telling you a story… I’m promising you that by the end of the night every fucking maggot in Baja California will be weeping from the horrors they just witnessed. They’ll be candles in the streets by the end of the night, ones with your face on em’... The world will mourn for you, but I will not… Because I understand that strength will always overcome weakness, I understand that behind all of your words, behind the mask, that you are weak… “
The dogs stalk closer, as the chickens don’t even try to run, hobbling around on the ground like broken wind-up toys that have a few gears missing. Dakota’s eyes leave the animals however, and stab directly through the lens of the camera - his grin slowly twisting into a snarl.
“ I’ve tasted you before, I’ve witnessed the limits that you are willing to put yourself through. This is a mercy killing, and assisted suicide... I can’t watch you flop around this industry like a fish out of water any longer. So i’ll take your baseball and bash your brains in. I’ll have our good friend Perry hold you down as I whack the last bits of consciousness out of that brain damaged skull of yours. I didn’t spread my wings of plague, to be stopped by a man who lives his entire life in fantasy. Turning windmills into giants, only makes you look the fool… So when the last gasp of breath leaves your lungs, when you’re left a bloody mass of bodily fluid and bruised scar tissue... I just want you to remember… That monsters do exist. “
Slowly, Dakota raises the championship up and off of his chest, holding it up into the air.
“ That every fear you had about me, that your motives for wanting to slay me are righteous! It’s not the cause… It’s the man! You Bryan… You are not strong enough! You do not have what it takes to dethrone The Butcher from his rightful place! I will travel the world with this championship stapled to my waist, because it’s mine! I claimed it by blood and gore! And I will defend it with so much more! But it goes beyond that Bryan, and you and I both know it. I didn’t come back to stop, I came back because I wanted more! I came back because I couldn’t stay away! This championship is just a byproduct of my crimson path! I wanted to set the world on fire, but instead of watching it burn… I’d rather just keep adding gasoline. You will be the first body on the pyre of many, the world will scream my name and you’ll burn away knowing that you failed at stopping it! I only have one thing left to tell you Bryan, one more promise that I am going to make to you... I promise you Bryan…At Coupe De Grace?
I...
Will..”
With spit flinging from his cracked and stained teeth, Dakota barks out his final command.
“KILL!”
As the word is said the dogs lunge forward, the sound of mutilation and agony echoing out through the building as the camera slowly zooms in on Dakota’s face… Which ever so gradually begins to grin once again, as he watches the mercy in which he had created with gleeful amusement. The animalistic screams of flesh being torn and growling overtaking the scene, to the point where it becomes deafening. As blood from the mauling sprays across The Butcher’s entire person, the camera instantly cuts to black.
The air was thick and dry on this especially cool night in Mexico. Dakota stood in front of white brick building, some miles away from the city. The building, which looked to be a windowless warehouse marked with a large black “14”, only had one way in - a large metal door which pulled up. From inside the building you could hear the faint sounds of what seemed to be clucking.
“ This place makes my fucking skin itch Bryan…It makes me me want to tear away at myself until there is nothing left, it makes me want to be a violent man, the violent man that we both know that I am. Can you smell it Bryan? Can you smell the coming massacre, are you breathing in the same stench of misery that I am? It’s like a thousand needles stabbing into my flesh all at once, a craving to jump out of my skin and just stick myself inside the first thing that moves… But I’m saving myself for you… Because you see a lot has transpired the past few weeks… The war that I was bringing to Union under the banner of 4CW has ended, but my slaughter of professional wrestling has just begun. My cavalcade of destruction is just starting to gain speed, and I will barrel through everything that you think that you are Chicken Man, dissect you in ways that you’ve only seen on television… I will butcher you, just like I will butcher every other livestock that wanders my way. You are the first of many, and this is my story Bryan…
Not yours. “
Loosening his grip on his championship, Dakota shoves one of the straps down the front of his heavily stained blue jeans, so that it hung down in front of his crotch. He runs his hands up his white wife beater, scratching at the flesh underneath, as his eyes shot back over to the camera.
“ As much as you like to pretend you are some protagonist, the hero of the story…The sad truth of it Bryan is you’re nothing more than the cattle that get lead one by one into the processing plant. The hog, that gets overfed, fattened up to be devoured by hungry families… Hungry maggots... ”
Taking a step forward towards the door, Dakota couldn’t help but let an unsettling sounding chuckle bounce out from his chest. He then reaches down, grabbing the knife from his boot - the same knife he held against William's throat not too long ago. He glances back at the camera as the corner of his lips stretch back, presenting an unnerving grin.
“You are the meat that feeds… And I will enjoy every second of consumption. “
Finishing up his sentence, Dakota presses the knife blade against the palm of his hand and slices back. The blood almost instantly flooding from his calloused skin, dripping down onto the dirt below. The Butcher presses his hand against the side of the facility, smearing the crimson substance against it as he looks back over his shoulder into the darkened landscape - as if he was marking it for something.
Looking back towards the door, he reaches down and lifts hard, flinging it up with a loud crash . As soon as the door is opened Dakota is hit with a wave of death, the smell of decay quickly filling his nostrils as his eyes go wide - like a shark smelling blood. The sound coming from inside of the facility was horrible, hundreds maybe thousands of chickens all clucking in one frantic horde. As Dakota steps inside, the lights click on with a loud metallic boom - revealing the true horrors that lay before him. Countless numbers of chickens all stuffed inside tiny, black, metal cages - all stacked atop one another.
With his mouth wide open, in a slack jawed position, Dakota turns back to the camera and lets out a few more chuckles - his eyes brimming with disturbed amusement.
“ The mask that you wear Bryan, it’s very fitting… Because just like all of these creatures, you are trapped in a cage… You sit there and talk to your therapist, and you try and come up with some rational explanation for it… But the truth is, you wear that mask to hide… To hide the part of you that you don’t want anyone to see - the part of you that lives in fantasy… Like Don Quixote fighting windmills because he thought they were giants, you have made me into this image in your mind. An Image that you need to move forward, that you need to put the puzzles of your psyche together. You’ve painted me into this beautiful picture of misery, because it’s that misery you feel inside of yourself that pulls you forward. You’re using me Bryan, and I’m not even sure if you see it.
Like these birds in these cages, you are trapped… Trapped inside your own head, and you use that mask to set yourself free. You say that’s it when you feel the most like yourself, because you are afraid of the eyes looking back at you when you stare in the mirror. But it doesn’t matter what mask you try and hide under, what story you create for yourself… Make yourself the hero, spin your fairytale… But at the end of day? It’s still just Bryan Williams underneath the facade...The man who is perpetually striking upwards… But fails to ever really put his boot on the ground.”
Walking forward, deeper into the chicken farm - you could see that many of the birds were dead in their cages - packed so tightly together that others had started to cannibalize their fallen brethren. As Dakota walked by the cages he opened them, giving the birds freedom, some took the chance to hop out - while others just stood motionless, too traumatized to take what was right in front of them.
“I went to Japan, because I wanted to remind you just who the fuck you are dealing with... You can’t have any distractions… I went to Japan, spoiled your debut inside a Yamashi ring because I wanted to make words actions! Instead of posting on twitter like two prepubescent girls, I wanted you to get the chance to put your words to use…I gave you an opportunity, one that ended with my knife across your throat. How many chances do you need Bryan? How many opportunities to reinvent yourself will it take for you to finally realize…”
As his eyes gazed over the suffering before him, he let his bloodied hand rise up into the air, before pressing it against his lips and whispering into it.
“ It’s just not enough. “
Closing his eyes, The Butcher lets his hand slowly crawl down his face and onto his chest, where he starts to draw a circle in his own blood.
“ When you wear this Union Championship, or any championship for that matter you get a target painted on your back… Everyone wants a piece of you, everyone wants to test what you have… Because everyone thinks they have more… Many people fail to live with the world on their shoulders… ”
Having now painted a target on his chest, Dakota lets his hand slide down the rest of his body until he is once again gripping the Union Championship. He pulls the belt out of his pants and places it on his shoulder, holding it in such a way where the main plate covers the carved in target.
“ That’s why a man claiming himself to be The Butcher has lost this championship the past two Coupe De Graces. It’s why I know that history won’t repeat itself, why I’ll break the curse that never really affected me at all. I’ve been to the top of the mountain, I’ve built ladders out of corpses... I’ve been torn apart, bled out, thrown from high places… I’ve felt my body crash down to the concrete below as every muscle in this shattered corpse went numb!
So I’ll paint the target on my chest, knowing full well that I can take every ounce of violence you can dish out… Knowing that it doesn’t matter who stands in front of me, the outcome will always be the same. I didn’t come here to Union to be castrated by a man who fears me… And you do fear me Bryan, the way you pleaded to those other two maggots… You turned your actions into a form of mercy, you twisted the story so that you looked like a savior! Instead of what you actually are… A sad little man who has to hide his face, because he can’t live with the outcome of his own actions. A pathetic little fucking worm who dresses up, grabs a prop and thinks himself something dangerous! “
Spinning his head around his shoulders, Dakota holds his championship tightly against his chest - looking past the camera and to the open door. From the darkness you could hear what sounded to be growls, dogs barking off in the distance that drew nearer and nearer by the second. The butcher’s smile was so wide by this point that it was almost tearing at his flesh, his scum stained teeth shinning off the fluorescent lights and through his blood smeared face.
“ But I know the real you Bryan… I know the man behind the mask, the man who runs with his tail between his legs anytime things don’t go his way… We have a history, I watched you try time and time again to break the glass ceiling that you made for yourself...And time and time again I’ve seen you fail, you can tell yourself a thousand times that this feels like your moment, that this feels like your year! But if you don’t have the means to put those words forward, to make a dream reality? Then all you are left with is words… Empty… Empty words. “
The sound of claws clicking against the metal flooring breaks through the overbearing amount of clucks as all of the chickens go silent. The camera pans around, showing that a group of feral dogs had entered the facility - more than likely attracted to the scent of blood Dakota had left on the outside of the building. The pack had their heads down, seemingly unaware of Dakota’s presence as they licked their chops. The butcher takes a few steps backwards, pushing his back up against the wall and letting himself slide down it as he continues speaking.
“ When I returned to professional wrestling, I promised only one thing… Violence… That’s what I’m bringing you at Coup De Grace Bryan… Violence… These aren’t just words, I’m not telling you a story… I’m promising you that by the end of the night every fucking maggot in Baja California will be weeping from the horrors they just witnessed. They’ll be candles in the streets by the end of the night, ones with your face on em’... The world will mourn for you, but I will not… Because I understand that strength will always overcome weakness, I understand that behind all of your words, behind the mask, that you are weak… “
The dogs stalk closer, as the chickens don’t even try to run, hobbling around on the ground like broken wind-up toys that have a few gears missing. Dakota’s eyes leave the animals however, and stab directly through the lens of the camera - his grin slowly twisting into a snarl.
“ I’ve tasted you before, I’ve witnessed the limits that you are willing to put yourself through. This is a mercy killing, and assisted suicide... I can’t watch you flop around this industry like a fish out of water any longer. So i’ll take your baseball and bash your brains in. I’ll have our good friend Perry hold you down as I whack the last bits of consciousness out of that brain damaged skull of yours. I didn’t spread my wings of plague, to be stopped by a man who lives his entire life in fantasy. Turning windmills into giants, only makes you look the fool… So when the last gasp of breath leaves your lungs, when you’re left a bloody mass of bodily fluid and bruised scar tissue... I just want you to remember… That monsters do exist. “
Slowly, Dakota raises the championship up and off of his chest, holding it up into the air.
“ That every fear you had about me, that your motives for wanting to slay me are righteous! It’s not the cause… It’s the man! You Bryan… You are not strong enough! You do not have what it takes to dethrone The Butcher from his rightful place! I will travel the world with this championship stapled to my waist, because it’s mine! I claimed it by blood and gore! And I will defend it with so much more! But it goes beyond that Bryan, and you and I both know it. I didn’t come back to stop, I came back because I wanted more! I came back because I couldn’t stay away! This championship is just a byproduct of my crimson path! I wanted to set the world on fire, but instead of watching it burn… I’d rather just keep adding gasoline. You will be the first body on the pyre of many, the world will scream my name and you’ll burn away knowing that you failed at stopping it! I only have one thing left to tell you Bryan, one more promise that I am going to make to you... I promise you Bryan…At Coupe De Grace?
I...
Will..”
With spit flinging from his cracked and stained teeth, Dakota barks out his final command.
“KILL!”
As the word is said the dogs lunge forward, the sound of mutilation and agony echoing out through the building as the camera slowly zooms in on Dakota’s face… Which ever so gradually begins to grin once again, as he watches the mercy in which he had created with gleeful amusement. The animalistic screams of flesh being torn and growling overtaking the scene, to the point where it becomes deafening. As blood from the mauling sprays across The Butcher’s entire person, the camera instantly cuts to black.