| New Era Showcase Match: Bombtrack vs. Tombstone | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 18 2012, 11:14 PM (93 Views) | |
| Bobbie Hearst | Nov 18 2012, 11:14 PM Post #1 |
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Bombtrack vs. Tombstone 1 rp limit Deadline: Thursday December 13th at 11:59 EST |
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| Bombtrack | Dec 12 2012, 02:22 PM Post #2 |
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THE GREAT VICTORY “Victory always starts in the head. It's a state of mind. It then spreads with such radiance and such affirmations that destiny can do nothing but obey.” - Douchan Gersi [The scene opens to Bombtrack sprawled out naked on the bathroom floor in his hotel room in New York City. The shower is running and he's wrapped in the shower curtain which hides his private area. Steam has filled the room and we can see some blood has spilt from Bombtrack’s head that seeped through the grout of the bathroom floor.] "If you flip a coin ninety-nine times and it lands on heads every single time what are the odds the one hundredth flip with produce a tail? Would you bet your life savings on it? It has to be a sure thing doesn’t it? The fact of the matter is the odds of that coin landing on tails on the one hundredth flip are 50%. It doesn’t matter how many times in a row that coin landed on heads, the odds are always fifty/fifty. Vegas has the odds against me, but what do odds really mean?” [Bombtrack’s eyes open and he surveys his surroundings for a moment as he gathers himself. The look on his face says, “How in the fuck did I end up on the floor?” The pain from smashing his skull suddenly sinks in and he lets out a painful groan. Bombtrack peels himself off the floor using the toilet for leverage. He grabs the bathrobe off the hook on the door and puts it on. He looks around the room and doesn’t recognize a single thing. The layout looks completely different from the time he began his shower to the time he regained consciousness.] “Sometimes people black out from heat exhaustion or from anxiety. Over indulgence of alcohol or certain drugs can cause the same result. For me it happens when my inner demon begins to take over. From within me it devours my soul and all I can see is black. I want to just give in to it, but I know that I can’t. The only way we can live in harmony is if I allow my demon out to play every once in a while. You saw him at Fear Itself and then again at NEW Main Event 3. I may not have been successful on either of those nights, but success isn’t what my demon craves.” [BT walks over to the facet in the shower and turns it off. He puts his hand on his head where the pain is most intense and sees blood stained on his palm. He goes over to the sink, turns on the faucet and washes his hand clean. After he dries his hands on a towel he rubs the fog off the mirror emitting that annoying squeaking sound. Bombtrack looks into the mirror to see exactly where on his head the blood is coming from and uses the towel to wipe it off. The towel, now tainted with blood is dropped onto the floor.] “My demon craves pain... suffering... despair; all of the ingredients to an unfulfilling life. I have lived that life and it left me empty inside. I have learned the hard way that I cannot rid my demon for good. The longer I try to keep it contained the fiercer it becomes when released. I’ve needed to allow him out more often than I like to, but I’m afraid that it’s necessary. I like Tombstone a lot, but my demon needs to be released again. I’m sorry Stone, but the process has already begun and it’s too late to turn back now.” [An overwhelming headache suddenly strikes Bombtrack and he closes his eyes and bows his head. When he opens his eyes he isn’t in the bathroom anymore, but is now strapped to a bed in an asylum. He struggles in an effort to free himself, but he’s too tightly bound. He lifts his head up and sees his mother sitting on the foot of the bed talking to a doctor. Bombtrack listens to their conversation.] Doctor There’s a chance we can save him Mrs. Weber. The main problem is that Chris escapes to this Bombtrack persona and has created a world within his mind where he is a wrestler. He acts out scenes and does voices for an entire roster’s worth of wrestlers. Right now he believes that he is in a place called New Era Wrestling or simply NEW. He has friends there and also enemies. He cannot depict what is real and what is fantasy anymore. Mrs. Weber What can be done to make him better? Doctor He has to let this New Era Wrestling go. His friends, his enemies… everything. Bombtrack What’s going on? [No one pays any attention to Bombtrack.] Bombtrack HELLO! [Still nothing.] Mrs. Weber Who is this Tombstone character he’s been talking non-stop about for the last two months? Doctor Tombstone has become a barrier for Chris that he can’t get passed. He has built Tombstone up to be some kind of unstoppable force that he must conquer in order to gain credibility with his friends and enemies in this fantasy world. He’s very sick Mrs. Weber and we need to see some improvement soon before we lose him to NEW forever. [A light flashes in Bombtrack’s face and the awful headache returns. When it passes Bombtrack is back in the bathroom face to face with his demon in the mirror.] Bombtrack What was that? Demon What was that? Or what IS that? Bombtrack What are you talking about? Demon You never recovered from that day when you saw your father’s dead body and how could you? You were only an innocent child that did no harm yet you were hated by the man. That would fuck with anyone’s mind so you’re not to blame. Don’t you remember where you were taken that day in 1986? Think. [Bombtrack closes his eyes in deep thought.] Bombtrack They sent me to that place. Demon That place is where you decided to become Bombtrack and forget all about me… your true self. [Another flash of light and another pounding headache hits Bombtrack. When he opens his eyes again he’s back in the asylum, but this time cowering in the corner of his room hugging his knees in paralysing fear. The doctor is bent down with an arm draped over Bombtrack in a supportive manor. His mother is watching on in the background crying.] Doctor You need to stop going back to this world Chris. There is no NEW, there is no Tombstone and there is no Showcase Zero! These are all tricks that your mind is playing on you to keep you from getting healthy. Bombtrack You’re wrong... it’s real... it’s real... it’s real... [The doctor cuts him off as Bombtrack stares into space.] Doctor Snap out of it Chris! Chris, are you listening? [Bombtrack flashes back to the bathroom.] Demon After you saw your father’s dead body they put us in that asylum. Bombtrack I don’t remember my time there. Demon Maybe that’s because you’re still there. Maybe you never convinced the doctors that you weren’t crazy or maybe I just showed you a glimpse of what your life would be like without me. You would still be there if it wasn’t for me. I knew that if I didn’t take control of our body that doctor would’ve never let us go. Bombtrack That’s not true! “They say that I'm too old to keep up with the rising talent in NEWera Wrestling. Evidently I'm past my expiration date and my best years are behind me. I don't feel any differently now than I did when I was thirty years old, but when you keep hearing the same things over and over again it takes a real toll on the old ego. And when you hear those things from legends that you admire it makes you think everything that everyone is saying... must be true. How can it though? A veteran knows when his career is over and I certainly don't feel that it’s over yet. Admittedly I'm not as agile as I once was and this old body aches twenty four hours a day, but my career is by no means over. I probably only have one year, two tops left and I'm going all-in. I will absolutely not become a stepping stone for some young gun that'll take his ball and go home when things get tough. I still am a legitimate player in this game and all of the rumors that I'm washed up need to be put to rest. I respect the hell out of you Tombstone and what you've accomplished in your short time in NEW is extremely impressive, but the world has given me no choice but to make an example out of you. I don't want to be remembered as the guy that fizzled towards the end. I have worked too hard for fifteen years to leave a legacy like that behind. The name Bombtrack used to instill immediate fear and now the name means nothing. I need to reclaim that fear and the universe has given me a gift in Tombstone's streak. For those unfamiliar, Tombstone has yet to taste defeat in his half a year with NEWera Wrestling. And for those living under a rock, NEW is a mainstream highly competitive organization and his streak is a major deal. In NEW Stone and I are on very separate paths, but Visionary Wrestling has given me this opportunity and I'm thankful for it.” [Bombtrack walks away from the mirror, sits down on the toilet and submerges his head into his hands. He slowly rubs his bald head back and forth while breathing heavily.] Bombtrack You’ve got to keep it together bud. This is just a dream and you’ll be waking up any moment now. [Bombtrack slaps himself in the face as hard as he can and the sound of flesh on flesh echoes off the tiled walls of the bathroom.] Bombtrack WAKE UP! [Laughter is heard from inside the room, but no one other than Bombtrack is there. The laugh isn’t a playful or joyous one; it’s a dark, mocking cackling laugh. The demon’s voice can be heard in a menacing whisper.] Demon There’s nothing to wake up from. This isn’t a dream… this is your reality. [Bombtrack screams out in pain as another piercing headache hits him. He slumps down from the toilet and is on all fours with his head buried into his hands. When he lifts his head he’s back in the asylum strapped to the bed again. Except, it isn’t his bed, it’s a gurney and Bombtrack is being rushed somewhere. His mother is beside herself with emotions as she scurries down the hallway standing as close to Bombtrack as he can.] Mrs. Weber What’s happening to him? Doctor He’s gone into shock. [Bombtrack’s body begins to convulse making it very difficult for the orderlies to push the gurney down the hall.] Orderly We need to stabilize him now! Doctor Hold him down! [The orderlies hold Bombtrack down as the doctor gets out a needle and surgical rubber tubing. He ties the tubing very tightly around Bombtrack’s arm and preps the needle for insertion.] Mrs. Weber What are you doing to him?! [The doctor ignores her question and drives the needle into Bombtrack’s arm. After a few moments pass, Bombtrack’s struggles diminish and his body relaxes.] “I’m coming for you Tombstone and I will not stop until my hand is raised in victory. If you think that you’ve been taken to your limit I must inform you that you’re sadly mistaken. I commend the efforts that The Wildebeest and Eric Donavan made, but I’m going to take you to a level that you didn’t even know existed. I truly am one of a kind and this Saturday night in Madison Square Garden you’ll find out exactly how rare of a breed I am. I will not let up until you’ve not only been defeated, but completely dominated. I know what you’re capable of Stone and I’ve seen you snatch victory from the jaws of defeat time and time again. I’ve studied you since your appearance in The London Brawl because I knew this encounter was inevitable. I’ve never been more prepared for a match than I am right now. The biggest issue that I have is am I going to be labelled as the bad guy if Tombstone gets injured during the match? The very next day after Showcase Zero, Tombstone is involved in an elimination six-pack hell in a cell for NEWera’s World Heavyweight Championship. Is it my fault that Showcase Zero fell on the day before the biggest match of Tombstone’s career? Even though I know it won’t be my fault I will be the scapegoat for the media. Not many can handle the pressure of being a scapegoat, but I can. People don’t really know where the term “scapegoat” comes from. You see, back in “the day” it was believed that man could transfer their sins onto a goat and then by sacrificing that goat everyone’s sins would be dissolved. I gladly accept the role of the sacrificial goat.” [We see Bombtrack sitting up in his bed in the asylum with his back leaning up against the wall. His mother is sitting on the bed pleading with him to snap back to reality.] Mrs. Weber Chris, fight it! You can beat this thing. You're too good to give up. [Mrs. Weber grabs Bombtrack's hands in hers, and BT reacts to her touch. Sweating, gasping, but still able to focus on her.] Mrs. Weber Be strong, honey. I know you're afraid. I know the world feels like a hard place sometimes, but you've got people that love you. [Bombtrack calms a bit as his mother’s words seem to be reaching him.] Mrs. Weber I have all the faith in the world in you. [Tears stream down Bombtrack's face as he struggles to find his place in this world. Things seem to slow down. Mrs. Weber I'll always be with you. There's a world of strength in your heart, honey. I know there is. You just have to find it again. [A moment passes. Then Bombtrack's panic and fear wash away.] Mrs. Weber Believe in yourself. [Bombtrack's lost in thought. Then finally, he nods. A pained, almost sad expression comes over him. Bombtrack’s eyes suddenly determined as if making a decision. Suddenly there’s a blank expression on his face and he’s gazing off into space. The doctor walks up to him with a flashlight in his hand and moves the light across Bombtrack’s face to see if his eyes will follow it. BT’s facial expression doesn’t change and he continues staring at the wall as if no one else is inside the room. Finally, the doctor stops and turns to face Mrs. Weber, shaking his head.] Doctor I'm so sorry. There's no reaction at all… I'm afraid we've lost him. [The camera pulls back slowly down the hall leaving the doctor and Mrs. Weber helpless and Bombtrack lost in a distant delusion.] “You’re welcome Tombstone. For what you ask? For humbling you. You may not portray a cocky attitude, but I can see right through you. This winning streak has you feeling like you’re on top of the world and cannot be stopped. When you look into the mirror I know that you already see NEWera’s World Heavyweight Championship over your shoulder. That’s the kind of attitude that’ll end your streak in a hurry. You can say all day that you’re not cocky, but you’re not fooling anyone. You’re transparent Stone and I’m going to bring you down to your knees for your own good. After Showcase Zero is over you won’t have to worry about your precious streak anymore and you can solely focus on your Challenger Series opponents. Great victory requires great risk and I’m going to risk everything that I have in order to seize that victory. I do however wish you the best of luck at both Showcase Zero and The Challenger Series. I will pray before the match that neither of us gets hurt, but I cannot speak for my demon. If you’re able to sly him Stone I will forever be in your debt. In fifteen years countless men have tried and all failed. Maybe… just maybe… you’re the one to do it. The goofy fun-loving man that thought you were an alien becomes replaced once the bell rings. Do yourself a favor Stone and be on high alert on Saturday night. Defeating you is what I need right now and my demon will do whatever it takes to make it a reality. I will prove to the world that Bombtrack is still a name to be feared and I will prove that the mighty Tombstone is just flesh and bone like everybody else.” [The scene opens to Bombtrack sprawled out naked on the bathroom floor in his hotel room in New York City. The shower is running and he's wrapped in the shower curtain which hides his private area. Steam has filled the room and we can see some blood has spilt from Bombtrack’s head that seeped through the grout of the bathroom floor. Bombtrack’s eyes open and he survey’s his surroundings for a moment as he gathers himself.] Bombtrack What was that? [The scene fades.] “There is one quality that one must possess to win, and that is definiteness of purpose, the knowledge of what one wants, and a burning desire to possess it.” - Napoleon Hill |
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| Tombstone | Dec 13 2012, 03:31 AM Post #3 |
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Tuesday, December 11th, 2012 10:28 pm New York, New York "HEY! YOU GUYS BETTER CALM THE FUCK DOWN! I WON'T HESITATE TO CALL THE COPS!" The bartender leans on the counter, a scowl on her face as she brushes a bit of blonde hair out of her eyes. One of the men she was talking to, a big man with a ponytail all the way down his back, looks over at her, giving her a cocky smile. The other man, a younger, smaller black man, takes the opportunity to give him a shove, knocking him into a table. The older man stays on his feet, shaking his head as he turns around. The young man hits him with a hard right, nearly knocking the older man down. The young man shakes his hand, wincing in pain as the older man gets up and takes off his leather jacket. Older Man: "You just made the biggest mistake of your life, boy!" The young man spits at him, quickly pulling off his sweatshirt and throwing it on a table. Other patrons watch with wide eyes, none of them moving. This was a common occurrence in this particular bar. It was a small place, located in a hole in a wall in a dark alley somewhere near the edge of The Big Apple. The bartender walks around the counter, holding a baseball bat up, ready to swing. Bartender: "Hey! I said knock it off! Both of you get your asses out of here NOW!" The young man looks over at her, lowering his fists as he considers her words. The older man takes the chance and kicks the young man in the groin, following it up with two vicious punches to his head. The young man falls to the floor, trying to scoot away as fast as he can. But he's not fast enough as the older man kicks him square in the chest, following it up with a closed fist right to the nose. The bartender slowly approaches as patrons start to leave in a hurry. Bartender: "Get off him, you racist pig!" She swings the bat, hitting the man in the back. The man lets out a surprised yell, standing up quickly, hunched over. The bartender goes to swing the bat again, but the man turns around, catching the bat and holding onto it tightly. Older Man: "You just made the biggest mistake of your life, sister. Should have minded your own business." Bartender: "This is my bar, you fuck!" Older Man: "Yeah? Well, it seems like you got a pest problem, letting this fucking roach in. I'm just trying to help clean up the place!" The man laughs as the bartender tries to pull the bat of his grip. He pulls it toward him, hitting her with a quick backhand that sends her to the floor. The young man gets up, making a run for the door. The older man swings for his head, but misses by inches. The young man bursts through the doors and out into the night, not once looking back. The older man begins to laugh, looking around the bar and seeing it was empty. He looks down at the bartender, who has a huge red mark on her face. Older Man: "Well, honey, looks like it's just you and me. Should've known you was a nigger lover just by lookin' at ya. That's all right though. I'll set you straight." Bartender: "Why don't you go back to Texas, you piece of shit?!?" Older Man: "Actually, I'm from Tennessee, darlin'. But the south is the south, right?" He throws the bat down and grabs her by the arms, pulling her up violently and holding her close. Older Man: "Now give me some sugar. I can make it all better." She slaps him hard, the older man's head whipping around. He slowly looks back at her, a sadistic smile slowly creeping across his face. Older Man: "Oh yeah, I like 'em feisty. Ain't nothin' better than that!" He backhands her again, holding onto her to keep her on her feet. She lets out a terrified scream as he begins to grope her, his breath reeking of vodka. She hits him in the chest and face, but is unable to do much damage due to how close he is to her. He presses her up against the bar, ripping her shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. She lets out another scream, her mascara running as tears begin streaming down her terrified face. He backhands her again, smiling as blood begins to seep out of her busted lip. Older Man: "That's it, shut the fuck up, whore. You're in for a wild ride tonight!" He presses her against the bar even more, breathing heavily into her ear as she tries to push him off. He grabs her by the hair, slamming her head into the bar, her body growing limp. He begins to nod, starting to unbuckle his belt when the bar door slowly opens. He looks over, seeing nothing but darkness and hearing nothing but the sound of pouring rain. He squints his eyes, trying to make out anybody in the shadows. Older Man: "If ya know what's good for ya, you'll leave right now! This place is closed for the night!" There was no answer from the shadows as the man turns to the door, taking a few steps forward. The door remains open, rain water beginning to make a puddle on the hardwood floor. The man chuckles, shaking his head. Older Man: "Closed means closed! This ain't no peep show, so get to steppin'!" Again, no answer. The man looks back at the bartender, who was slowly making her way down the bar, hand covering her mouth. He moves toward her, grabbing her by the hair again. He looks back at the door, still seeing it open. He removes his belt with one hand, then pushes the bartender against the counter, leaning on her. He wraps the belt around his fist, making it so the buckle was right on his knuckles. Older Man: "You got two options, friend. Either you turn around and forget what you've seen here or you step inside and get your ass beat. What's it gonna be?" More silence. The man scoffs, shaking his head, turning back to the bartender. A heavy boot steps inside the bar, making a thud on the hardwood floor. The man looks back to the door, seeing a huge shadowy figure wearing a trench coat and a top hat stepping in. The man shoves the bartender away, his eyes shooting open. Older Man: "What the fuck..." He steps towards the man in the top hat, his belt wrapped fist held up, ready to fight. The man in the top hat slowly looks up, his face still shrouded by shadows. The older man stops in his tracks, licking his lips as the man in the top hat takes another step toward him, his face finally coming into full view. The older man begins to laugh, a hint of nervousness being heard. Older Man: "Well, aren't you scary? I've seen and beaten scarier. Should have turned around when you had the chance." ----- Moments later... The door to the bar swings open, banging against the outside wall as the older man flies out, landing in a pothole full of water. He frantically gets to his feet, his eyes wide as blood pours out of a nasty cut on his nose. The man in the top hat steps outside, staring him down silently, tattoos on his face made to look like a skull. The older man backs up in a hurry, nearly falling over as he backs up into a dumpster. He tastes his own blood as it mixes with the rain and streaks down his face. The tattooed man stares at him, unblinking. It felt like looking into the face of Death. The man backs away some more, shaking his head as he stares at the man in the top hat with terrified eyes. He turns and runs down the alley, not looking back even once. The man in the top hat watches him, rain dripping from the rim of his hat. He turns around, the door swinging shut behind him as he steps back inside. The bar was a mess. Tables and chairs were overturned near the entrance, a few glasses shattered on the floor. The man leans down, beginning to pick up the tables and setting them back up, doing the same with the chairs. He walks to the bar, glass crunching beneath his boots as the bartender watches him with wide eyes. She pulls her shirt closed, wiping her bloody lip. The man sits down next to her, not uttering a word. She shakes her head, pointing at the door. Bartender: "Please... Just leave..." The man looks over at her, his face expressionless as he stares at her with cold blue eyes. Man: "Just one drink. Zen I vill leave." Bartender: "I'm sorry. I need you to leave. I just... Please just go." She tries to hold back a couple of sobs, fresh tears pouring down her face. The man sits up on the stool, removing his top hat, revealing that his entire head was tattooed. He sets the hat on the bar counter, speaking softly. Man: "I mean no trouble. I just vant a drink." Bartender: "I know you mean no trouble. You just got rid of the trouble. But... I... Please leave. I just can't be around anybody right now and I have to call the police... It'd be better if you just went." Man: "Zhere ist no need for zee police. Zat man ist long gone. I do not sink he vill be komink back. So please... just one drink und I vill leave as promised." The bartender lets out a sigh, her lip trembling as she nods her head and walks around the counter. The man watches as she grips her shirt tightly to hold it together, her body visibly shaking as she reaches for a glass. He looks to his right, seeing the sweatshirt the young man had thrown down earlier on a table a few feet away. Bartender: "So... what will it be?" Man: "Vhiskey." Bartender: "On the rocks?" Man: "Two kubes please." She nods as she opens the freezer door, trying her best to maintain her composure. Her hand shakes as she drops two ice cubes into the glass. She holds back a sob, drawing in a quick breath as she covers her mouth. She takes a deep breath, turning around and walking to the counter, grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels. She pours it into the glass, the metal nozzle rattling against the edge as she shakes. Man: "Hier." She looks up, seeing the man hold out the sweatshirt. She sets the bottle down, reaching out and taking it. The man nods at her, turning his stool around so his back is to her. She slips the sweatshirt on, finally exhaling as she turns back to the bottle. She finishes pouring the drink, picking the glass up and setting it in front of the man. He slowly turns back around on the stool, nodding again as he picks up the glass. Man: "Sank you." She nods as her face scrunches up, a few remaining tears tumbling out of her eyes as she looks to the floor. The man takes a sip, setting the glass down. The air was filled with an eerily calm silence, save from a few sniffs from the bartender. The man takes another sip as she wipes her eyes, finally looking up at him. Bartender: "No... Thank you. If you didn't come along... I... Thank you." The man holds up a hand, shaking his head. Man: "You don't need to sank me." Bartender: "No, I do. I do... I just don't understand what would drive somebody to be like that." Man: "Zee vorld ist a kruel place. Everyone has a rough road, but zee decisions ve make kan lead us on very different paths. Sometimes, zee road vill be smoother. Others let zee vorld change zem und sey lose zheir identity." She lets out a sigh, beginning to feel a little more comfortable. She wipes her face with both hands, shaking her head. The man takes another sip of his whiskey, his eyes drifting down to the counter, getting lost in his own thoughts. She looks up at him, studying the tattoos on his face. They were perfectly detailed, covering every inch of his face, even his eyelids. On top of his head was an outline of a brain, a couple of spots made to look as if it was dead. Curiosity began to get the best of her as the man silently takes another sip. The tattoos go all the way down his neck, going beneath his shirt and coat. She looks at his hands, seeing every bone tattooed on his skin. She clears her throat, crossing her arms. Bartender: "What's with the tattoos?" The man's cold blue eyes look up as he sets the glass down. Man: "Vhy do you ask?" Bartender: "I don't know... Maybe because you're covered in them." The man smirks, the tattooed teeth on his face curving up. He picks up the glass, holding it to his lips. Man: "Sey... are everysing." He takes another sip, setting the glass back down. The woman frowns, shaking her head. Bartender: "What's that supposed to mean?" Man: "Sey are me." Bartender: "What? Like your identity?" The man nods, tapping on his temple and pointing at her. She leans against the counter, shaking her head. Bartender: "And how are those your identity? How does that remind you of who you are?" Man: "Zat ist a long story. You vill just have to take my vord for it." He smirks, taking another sip. She stares at him, slowly nodding her head. He was an odd man, one that was hard to get anything out of. She looks at his glass, seeing it was half full. For as odd as the man was, she felt safe. She didn't want that feeling to go away just yet. She reaches for the bottle of Jack, topping off his glass. He looks down, then back up at her, nodding his head. He raises the glass to her, then takes a sip. Bartender: "What's your name?" Man: "Vhat ist yours?" Bartender: "...Denise..." Man: "Vhy do you vant to know my name, Denise?" Denise: "Do you always beat around the bush like this?" The man chuckles, slowly spinning the glass on the counter. Man: "Do you alvays ask so many questions?" Denise: "Do you always answer a question with a question?" Man: "Maybe... But as far as my name goes, I have many names." Denise: "And that means...?" Man: "A name ist not important. All that matters ist zee person it ist attached to." He raises his glass, taking a big gulp of the whiskey, nearly finishing it off. Denise reaches for the bottle as he sets his glass down, going to top it off again. He puts his hand over the top of the glass, shaking his head. She nods, letting out a sigh. The feeling of security she had was soon to be gone. She racks her mind for something to talk about as the man raising the glass again. She watches as he finishes it off, setting the glass on the counter and sliding it to her. He stands up, picking up his top hat and putting it on top of his head. Denise: "Off so soon?" Man: "I have other matters to attend to." He pulls out his wallet from his coat pocket, pulling out two twenties. She holds a hand up, shaking her head. Denise: "Drink's on me." The man stares at her for a moment, nodding his head. He puts the money on the counter, sliding it to her, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Man: "Sank you. But take it anyvays. You should lock up for tonight. Use zis to kall a kab if you need to and go home." Denise: "No, really, I don't need your money." Man: "Please... take it. It ist zee least I kan do." She nods her head, taking the money off the counter. He tips his hat at her, turning silently and making his way to the door. Her heart began to pound at the thought of being alone, the fresh memory of what just happened earlier starting to come back. She shakes it from her head, holding up a hand. Denise: "Mind if I ask what your accent is?" The man stops, looking over his shoulder. Man: "German. Do you mind if I ask you somethink?" Denise: "Yeah, sure, go ahead." Man: "I find it hard to believe a pretty voman such as yourself vorkink in a place like zis. Vhy are you here?" She looks down, not sure of what to say. She could feel his eyes on her, his curiosity radiating from him. She brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, looking back up at him. Denise: "The decisions we make, right?" The man slowly nods his head, his eyes unblinking. Man: "Right. You should lock zee door behind me." Denise: "I will. And thank you again." He tips his hat again to her, turning around and walking toward the door. He swings it open, stepping out into the dark alley. Rain pours all around him as the door swings shut behind him. A few seconds later, he hears the lock turn. He pulls his trench coat closed, icy breath pouring out of his mouth as he begins walking down the alley to the street. He shoves his hands in his pockets, lowering his head as the sounds of the street get louder. He stops on the sidewalk, closing his eyes for a moment. The image of his father, a middle aged man with brown/grey speckled hair, greets him with a smile. The man lets out a deep sigh, opening his eyes. He had found out not too long ago that his father had passed away earlier in the year. It had been fourteen years since he last spoke with him in person. And every day, their last meeting was the one thing in life he wished he could take back. Keine Bedauern, Keine Reue No Regret, No Remorse. It was his father's motto, one he has done his best to live by since leaving home when he was only 17. He believed in it, knowing that in this life, it was the only thing that would remain true. But the last time he saw his father in person was one thing he could never stop regretting. Time was a funny thing. One moment, you could believe in something one hundred percent. But as time went on, your view could change, even going as far as the opposite end of the spectrum when it came to that one thing you believed in. That last moment was like that for him. Always has and now... it always will. The least he could do was make sure that he made his father proud, someway, somehow. But no matter what he did, he knew he couldn't take it back. For years, he wanted to apologize to him. But he didn't want to go home until he had something his father could be proud of. By the time he won the NEWEra Television Championship, he knew he had something he would be proud of. But when he went home to Germany, he found it was too late. His father had been dead and buried in the ground next to his mother. The only thing he could do was talk to his tombstone, hoping that somewhere, his father could hear him. He turns down the sidewalk, getting lost in his thoughts. His mind kept going back to the last night they were together. It was a night he never liked remembering, but like all bad memories, it sprouted up randomly as a reminder. A reminder of who he was, who he really was. The night that proved his father was right about everything when he was first born... ----- December 17th, 1998 Berlin, Germany 9:45 pm A cloud of smoke surrounds Aksel Dietrich's head as he sits in his arm chair. He exhales another cloud, flicking the ash into the ashtray on the table next to him. He turns the page of his book, the entire house silent. The silence was typical. It seemed that was all the house was ever filled with these days. His son was always holed up in his room, barely even coming out to get something to eat. No matter how much he tried, Aksel could barely get his son to speak. They would have their moments, but for the most part, it was like living with a complete stranger. And he felt he had no one to blame but himself. Aksel turns another page of his book, taking another drag off his cigarette. He hears a door open upstairs and his head turns immediately. No lights were on, but he knew who it was. Elias had come out of his cave. Aksel shuts his book, standing up out of his chair, wearing a warm smile. He looks upstairs, seeing his son slowly walk down the steps, the hood of his jacket pulled up tightly. Elias doesn't even look his way, instead turning to the front door when he reaches the bottom. Aksel sighs and lowers his head, taking another drag as he listens to the front door rattle as Elias tries to open it. Elias turns around, staring at his father, the light shining in his sunken eyes. Elias Dietrich: "<Open the door.>" Aksel shakes his head, smashing the cigarette into the ashtray. This was a common demand, usually the only thing said when Elias decided to speak to him. Aksel steps forward, leaning against the wall as he speaks. Aksel Dietrich: "<We've been over this plenty of times, Elias. You know I can't let you out there.>" Elias Dietrich: "<Open... the door.>" Aksel Dietrich: "Nein. <People have started noticing you. There are rumors of a skeleton man roaming the streets late at night. We can't have that, Elias. I've worked too hard to get us to this point to just let you throw it all away. People are not going to treat you normally. You already know this. Why must you continue to press the issue?>" Elias' hands slowly ball up into fists, his face hidden by his hood. Aksel looks on him with worried eyes. He felt as if he was losing the little boy that loved him so much years ago. He felt as if he was already lost. The worst part was it had been the other way around back then. The boy loved him unconditionally, but he couldn't look at him without thinking of the night he was born. And now, the tables were turned. He was the one that loved his son no matter what and Elias had nothing but contempt for him. Aksel Dietrich: "<I'm just trying to protect you.>" Elias Dietrich: "<I don't need it. I can take care of myself. Now... open the door and let me out.>" Aksel Dietrich: "<You know I can't do that. It's too risky.>" Elias steps forward, looking down at his father with fiery eyes. Aksel doesn't move an inch, looking up at his son as he crosses his arms. Elias points at the door, not breaking his gaze from his father's eyes. Elias Dietrich: "<Open it.>" Aksel Dietrich: "<No, Elias. And that's the last time I want to hear about it. You live by my rules. I know what's best for you.>" Elias scoffs, shaking his head as he turns his back. Elias Dietrich: "<You know nothing. You don't even know how to tell me the truth.>" Aksel Dietrich: "Was?" Confusion sets in as Aksel scratches the back of his head. He walks around to the front of Elias, who turns his head away. Aksel Dietrich: "<What are you talking about?>" Elias Dietrich: "<I'm not stupid... You think I don't remember things you say?>" Aksel Dietrich: "<Care to explain or would you rather talk in circles? Because I'm not up for that right now.>" Elias shakes his head, looking back down at his father, uttering one single word. Elias Dietrich: "Mutter." Aksel's breath catches in his throat. It was rare for the boy to speak of his mother. Very rare. Aksel Dietrich: "<What about her?>" Elias Dietrich: "<What you told me when I was little... about what killed her... I've been thinking about that a lot recently.>" Aksel nods, his heart growing heavy. He could already see where this was going. It was a place he had hoped they would never go. But it was too late now. He puts a hand on Elias' shoulder, who quickly slaps it away. Aksel's eyes shoot open, looking shocked. He quickly nods, keeping calm. Aksel Dietrich: "<Do you want to talk about it?>" Elias Dietrich: "<You said a demon killed her... the night I was born. Is that true?>" Aksel scratches his head nervously, not knowing what to say. He was such a different person when he had said that. Back then, he was consumed by alcoholism. It clouded his judgment, distorted his vision, even poisoned his mind. There were things he had said and done that he knew he couldn't take back. And this was one of them. Aksel Dietrich: "<I thought that once, yes...>" Elias Dietrich: "<Once? Did you change your mind? Or are you trying to 'protect' me?>" Aksel shakes his head, trying to pick what he said very carefully. Aksel Dietrich: "<I... I didn't know what I was talking about then, son. People can change, ideas can change...>" Elias Dietrich: "<So when were you going to tell me what you really thought?>" Aksel Dietrich: "<Never. Because I don't think that anymore. I haven't thought like that since the night by The Wall. Like I said, people change.>" Elias was visibly shaking, his hands clenched tight. Aksel reaches up, putting his hand back on his shoulder. Elias suddenly pushes his father away, keeping his arm at his throat and pressing him up against the wall. Aksel's feet dangle in the air as Elias stares into his eyes angrily. He reaches up, slowly pulling the hood of his jacket back, revealing his skull like face. The sunken eyes, the prominent cheek bones, the outlines of his teeth through his thin lips, the nose that was barely there. The face of Death. Elias Dietrich: "<Is this the face of the demon that killed her?>" Aksel struggles to breathe, but puts up no fight. He lowers his eyes, only for Elias to punch the wall next to his head. Elias Dietrich: "<IS THIS THE FACE OF THE DEMON THAT KILLED HER?!?>" Aksel looks up, his eyes watering up as he slowly nods. He raises his chin, trying his best to get his words out. Aksel Dietrich: "<That... T-that is w-what I thought... y-yes...>" Elias' blue eyes widen in their sockets, his thin lips curling into a sneer. Elias Dietrich: "<What you thought? Are you saying you changed your mind?>" Aksel Dietrich: "<Y-yes...>" Elias grabs Aksel by the collar of his shirt, yelling as he easily throws him against the opposite wall. Pictures fall as Aksel crashes to the floor, glass shattering all around him. Elias bends down, grabbing him by the throat, holding his head up so he can look him in the eye. Elias Dietrich: "<And why should I believe you when you couldn't even tell me the truth then?>" Aksel Dietrich: "<You were j-just a boy!>" Elias Dietrich: "<It didn't stop you from thinking that, now did it?>" Aksel Dietrich: "<I wasn't well, Elias! P-please forgive me!>" Elias lets out another yell, slamming Aksel's head into the wall. Aksel's vision blurs and he sees double of everything as Elias holds his head up again. Elias Dietrich: "<Forgive you? For what? You have done nothing to earn my forgiveness.>" Aksel's eyes slowly widen. He felt anger rising inside of him. He couldn't believe what he had just heard. He fights to stand up, but Elias continues holding him down, his hand gripped tightly around his neck. Aksel shakes his head, letting out a yell of his own as he musters up all his strength and pushes Elias away. Elias looks almost surprised at the sudden outburst, but starts moving in. Aksel stands up, holding a hand up as he face contorts in anger. Aksel Dietrich: "<Nothing?!? NOTHING?!? I have given up my life for you! You think you would have survived if I had just left you at the hospital? Almost everyone that saw you was repulsed by you, including myself when I first laid eyes upon you! When your mother died during your birth, I had to blame something. And that something was you! When you came into my life, you ruined everything! EVERYTHING! From that moment on, every minute of every day, whether I liked it or not, was devoted to you! I know I have not been the perfect father! But I have tried to make up for my mistakes! But you! You have done nothing but push me away. Ever since The Wall... you have drifted further and further away. The little boy I knew is no longer here... And I know that is my fault. But please... please understand that I have tried to do my best.>" Elias shakes his head, his hands balling into fists again. He steps toward Aksel, grabbing him by the throat and pushing him against the wall. Elias Dietrich: "<Everything changed that night... You threw me out there... You knew what would happen...>" Aksel Dietrich: "<You're damn right I did! Why do you think I'm trying so hard to protect you now?!? Because of that night! That was the biggest mistake I have ever made in my life. When I realized just what I had done, I hated myself... And I had to find you. And when I found you, I thought I was going to lose you... lose all that I had left of Liesa, your mother... The world... It does not tolerate what is not deemed 'normal'. And as much as I hate to say it, you aren't normal, Elias. Maybe I was right all those years ago... maybe you are a demon, sent here to make my life Hell.>" Elias releases his grip, taking a step back. Tears start tumbling down Aksel's cheeks, his eyes wild as he slides down the wall. Aksel Dietrich: "<I don't know who you are anymore... Where is my Eli? Where is my little boy? I want him back... I want him back...>" Aksel begins sobbing, Elias staring down at him in confusion. He takes another step back, not knowing what to do. Aksel struggles to reach into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys and tossing them on the floor. They slide into the front door, Elias looking down at them. Aksel crawls away on the floor, broken glass all around him. Aksel Dietrich: "<Maybe... Maybe I've just been foolish. You were brought into this world, surrounded by pain and suffering. Maybe that's what you're meant for. You didn't deserve the life you were given... I tried to make it better after all of my mistakes... But instead, I kept making more... If you want to go so bad, there's your way out. But if you leave... I don't want you to ever come back. If you step outside of that door... my little boy... is dead.> Aksel pulls himself onto the carpet, bruises already forming around his neck. Elias looks at him, then over at the keys. Aksel doesn't look at him, keeping his eyes locked on the carpet. He closes his eyes as Elias takes a step toward the door, picking up the keys. He hears the lock turn and the door slowly open. Without turning his head, Aksel holds back a sob, getting in a few last words. Aksel Dietrich: "<I'm sorry it had to be this way, Elias. I'm sorry for everything. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for... Now please... leave...>" A moment of silence, then... the door shuts. Two heavy footsteps are heard on the porch, walking down the steps. Aksel turns his head, seeing his keys hanging in the lock of the door, Elias gone. He sits up, burying his face in his arms. Flashes of Elias when he was a child roll through his mind. Him in the window. Him playing in the snow in the backyard at their home in Schwerin. The image of the bloodied and beaten boy by the Berlin Wall. Aksel couldn't control his sobs anymore and lets them burst out of him. He had failed his only flesh and blood left in this world. He tried to protect him, to shield him, from the cruelness of the world. But the world had its ways of sneaking in. He now knew his loving little boy did indeed die by the Berlin Wall that night nine years ago. What replaced him is the thing he had always feared him to be. Ein Dämon. A demon. ----- The scene fades in at Times Square, lights shining brightly everywhere as images dance across giant screens. People walk down the sidewalks in droves, the streets filled with cars. And in the center of the crowd stands Tombstone, standing tall above most of the people. The camera slowly zooms in as he walks toward it, his breath fogging in the cold night air. He begins to speak in his native German, a translation running across the bottom of the screen. Tombstone: "<Bombtrack... You are not the simpleton I mistook you to be, are you?There is something brewing beneath that friendly smile of yours. Something dark. Something hungry. You call it a demon. But is it really?>" He stops in front of the camera, looking up at the cloudy sky. Tombstone: "<Pain... Suffering... Despair. All very familiar things to me. And they are familiar to you, no? These are things your demon craves. But you yourself have said that you have tried to keep that demon contained. Why is it so hard? Why must you feel that it has be brought out again? And against me of all people? I have done nothing to wrong you, Bombtrack. I know you know that. But your demon is craving this destruction you speak of and in turn, you have to feed it to keep it at bay. Am I right? You want to know what I think? I think... you've let the world get to you in a way that very few people can say it has. You let it sink its hooks into you and change you, awakening this monster inside of you. And now, I stand in your path. But I'm afraid to tell you that I am not intimidated by this. You see... what you plan to bring to me are things I have been through before, whether it be in NEW or in other places of life. You may think you know me, but I'll be the first to tell you that the surface has barely been scratched. Looks, as with you, can be deceiving...>" He smirks, holding his arms up and looking around, a few people looking at him curiously as they pass by. Tombstone: "<Look around us, Bombtrack. The world moves, it breathes, it lives. Just like you. Just like me. All of us have our dark secrets, secrets we never want anyone to know. But you... you are brave. You have been open about your inner turmoils. And yet, you still have that good nature about you. Whatever this demon inside of you is, it must not have that strong of a hold on you. You say it doesn't crave success, yet you want to do what no man has done before? Do you know how many times I have heard that? This is not ego speaking. I speak from the heart. Whether or not you believe that is up to you. I know how close I've came to being beaten in NEW. To be honest, it should have happened three times by now. But do you know why I haven't been defeated? It isn't because my opponents didn't do enough. I have taken beatings that would probably retire most people. I haven't been beaten because I simply refuse to be beaten. If you have been watching me ever since I arrived here, you would know that. There are times when I have been dead to rights inside that ring, yet somehow, someway, I find the strength to hit that one last move... and that's all it takes.>" He lowers his arms, looking into the camera. He removes his top hat, gently placing it underneath his arm as the camera zooms in on his tattooed head. Tombstone: "<You say you're going to take me to a level that I never knew existed. Tell me... How do you know that I don't know it exists? After all of the close, heartfelt battles I've had, after the life I have lived, I can assure you... I've been there. After seeing my matches against Eric Donovan, Wildebeest, The Good Doctor, how can you say I've never been at this level you speak of? And what happens when you take me to this level... and I still keep getting up? What will this demon of yours do then? Will it keep going, trying to do everything in its power to ensure your victory? Or will it consume you, blind you, have you make mistakes? You need to control it when you find yourself across the ring from me, Bombtrack. Because no matter what you may think, I simply do not stop. And you are catching me at a very bad time. You are standing between me and the Hell in a Cell at The Challenger Series. Somebody has already tried to take me out by attacking me from behind like a coward. The path in front of me is full of pain and suffering, but it won't be by your hands. It will be by mine. You are a legend, Bombtrack. One of the best this company, no, this world has ever seen. And nothing will ever change that. Not even if you fall to me. You say your name used to instill fear in others, but now, it doesn't have the same effect. Maybe it's because you have been around for so long. Maybe it's because... there is another name that provokes fear. I'm not the type to lay a claim to that. But... I am not deaf. I hear what our peers say. Eric Donovan himself said I was the personification of fear. And I told him why I was. Because I, myself, fear things. But like I told him, I embrace that fear, I use it as a weapon. And I have told opponent after opponent that is what they need to do to beat me. So what are you scared of, Bombtrack? Can you be completely honest with yourself?>" Tombstone shakes his head, his cold eyes unblinking as he stares into the camera. He taps on his temple, his eyes squinting. Tombstone: "<I know what it is you fear. You fear fading into obscurity. Your actions lately have shown that to the entire world. You are afraid people will remember you as you are now instead of the way you were years ago. These fears consume you, feed into your demon, making it crave more pain, more suffering... more despair. And I think that you actually want those things. If you keep giving into these things, you will not be the one to end The Streak. And if you can't end it, it doesn't bode well for the people that are locked inside the Cell with me the very next night. The Streak... it is bigger than you, bigger than me even. It has been blown into this huge accomplishment, becoming its own living being. People want to see it keep going, people want to see it end. And as I've said before... it will end. It is inevitable. Where and when is the big question. And because I know the end is inevitable, I do not need humbling. So why are you saying I need it when it is you that is borderline obsessing over being the one ending it? You say you can see through me, but is it me that you're looking at? Or are you looking in the mirror, looking through yourself, looking right down to your core, where a scared little boy stands. Lost, confused, angry... Sounds familiar I must admit. But do you listen to that scared little boy anymore? If you did, you might not have a problem with this demon of yours.>" He puts his top hat back on, giving the camera a nod. Tombstone: "<I look forward to this match, Bombtrack. It will be a good thing for whoever wins it. While I would like to keep The Streak going for just a while longer, I will accept the end when it comes for me. And I will shake your hand when it's all said and done. But if The Streak remains intact, you could be free from this demon of yours... if you want to be. I have seen madness consume people, Bombtrack. It is not a pretty sight. It is also a path that you cannot turn around on. Don't become that, Bombtrack. You are better than that. Always have, always will. You just have to remember that. The decisions we make can take us on very different paths. You just have to make sure that you pick the right one.>" He nods to the camera, slowly turning back around and walking with the crowd of people. The camera slowly starts to pan up, the many sounds of the heart of New York City filling the air as the clouded sky comes into view. The picture is filled with a swirling grey as the scene slowly fades out. |
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3:40 AM Jul 11