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Simple Survival; Elementary, my dear Spencer!
Topic Started: Sep 3 2010, 04:38 AM (104 Views)
Eddie_Rowan
Member Avatar
BOOSH

“Imagine if you will, your worst nightmare. Think about the absolute horror that it causes as it ravages your mind. Take note of how tiny and weak you feel, and how utterly defenseless you become under its shadow. Think of the sheer helplessness in which it drowns you. And now, imagine the next to worst nightmare. And then, the one after that. And the next. Melodramatic, yes, I know, but bear with me on this. When you look at things on a strictly professional level, this is exactly how Hatewave was for me. The big-time show where champions are made and where dreams are fulfilled in this organization, and yet, when it was all said and done, it left me crumpled in a heap on the side of the road after beating the fuck out of me, stealing my wallet, insulting my mom, sleeping with my girlfriend and kicking my puppy. And not just a love tap, either, like…it really punted that dog! Again, melodramatic, but I think that I’m entitled to a little poetic license at this point. First, there was the disappointment of losing the Money in the Bank match. Second, Beautiful Agony is dissolved. Thirdly, I’m forced to face Alan Fiscus in what is likely his LEAST stable mental state EVER since he just lost the World Title…and finally, the knowledge that said match will actually determine the future of our entire CZW career. Or rather, it will ensure that one of us HAS a future CZW career. No pressure. Like I was afraid of, Derek Damage shows back up, takes command, and unleashes hell upon the federation like only he can; in a power-mad fury. This is so not going to be fun. Not to mention, things didn’t quite go the way I thought they would after Hatewave…”
_________________________________________________________________________________

“Simple Survival”

-Part I: Missing Persons-


“Why does it always have to rain?”

Grumbling to himself, Ryan Lewis exits his car, one hand carrying his bag and the other holding a newspaper over his head as a crude umbrella. He moves down the sidewalk to the crosswalk, impatiently waiting for the traffic lights to change and halt the heavy flow of traffic zooming past. He mutters to himself, lamenting the fact that he parked on the opposite side of the street from where his destination lie, and quickly plodded to the other side once the crosswalk indicator switched to green. Lewis’ overcoat is quite drenched by the time he makes it beneath the slight shelter of the large apartment building’s awning, and more than a little irritated as he receives no immediate response from the admission buzzer. He presses the number, apartment thirteen, one more time, holding it down a bit longer than before. Nobody answers, but the clicking sound of the lock releasing signals to him that his admittance has been allowed. Wasting no time, Lewis moves through the doorway into the large, simple hall of the ground floor. Wiping his feet on the mat, he moves to the elevator, taking no notice of the rustic aesthetic of the place. Artificial greenery stands displayed from what look to be antique pottery, and several wood-framed paintings, many from local Seattle artists, decorate the plain white walls. Yet, despite the pleasing atmosphere, Lewis simply presses the call button for the elevator, wallowing in his own perpetual misery.

“I’ve never gotten paid enough for this job. Seriously. I can’t count how many miles I travel all over the states on a bi-weekly basis just to get the ‘inside scoop’ on half the roster. And it’s not like anyone even says anything different. Blah blah blah, I’m going to win, I’m going to kick his ass, I rule and you suck, yadda yadda yadda. Ugh…maybe it’s time for a career change…”


The elevator doors open with a soft chime, admitting Lewis. He pushes the button for the third floor, resting heavily against the far wall of the elevator. He glances down, ignoring the attractive burgundy carpeting and focusing instead on the fact that his shoes are soaked through.

“Really? Like three minutes outside and I’m drenched. Who the hell wants to live here besides ‘artists’ and ‘musicians?’ Ugh. Pretentious turds. That’s like moving to Harlem because you want to be a gangster or moving to France because you like giving up. Ha!”

Lewis’ mood improves due to his alleged cleverness, and it takes mere seconds before the door opens on the third floor. He heads to the apartment labeled ‘13’ on the door in a calligraphy-type style, but his curiosity is evident as he sees the door propped open. The curiosity then turns to more of a concern as he notices the debris strewn about the inner hall. Slowly, Lewis creeps into the apartment, fishing in his bag for a moment and producing a small taser. Adopting a serious look, Lewis backs against the wall, strafing slowly, carefully watching his footing as he tries to move as stealthily as possible. He starts, his whole body freezing as he hears a noise, something being shifted around or searched through, perhaps. Satisfied that the sound is coming from one of the farther rooms, he resumes his slow creep through the apartment.

As most of us know, our worst fears can be realized thanks to one foolish mistake, and this is a very similar sentiment to what goes through Ryan Lewis’ mind as he accidentally steps on a small, plush toy of the black cat from the Trigun series, wincing at the loud ‘Meow’ noise that the toy emits. Actually, his exact thought is more ‘Why am I such a fuck-up?’ but the overall meaning is still the same.

Lewis freezes once more, not even daring to breathe as he presses even closer to the wall. Unlike before, the sudden fear isn’t triggered by any sound, but more the absence of it entirely. Lewis knows that whoever is rummaging around in this ransacked apartment now knows that they aren’t alone. Ryan strains, listening intently for any signs of the trespasser, and his pulse quickens as he imagines that he hears the culprit edging along the adjacent wall. Silently exhaling a deep breath, Lewis tenses up, ready to spring in to action. Steeling his resolve, he leaps around the corner, the taser buzzing to life in his hands, even as he flails the weapon around clumsily, his eyes clamped shut as he emits a vicious (if a bit girly) war-cry. A surprised howl of fright answers his cry, and a low, buzzing drone answers Lewis’ own taser as the person attacks back, slapping him around the head and shoulders (quite weakly, I might add) with some sort of baton-like weapon. Following several seconds of shrieking and flailing, Ryan finally opens his eyes, looking into the frightened visage of Eddie Rowan’s friend Spencer Pierce who is apparently wielding a movie-replica Star Wars lightsaber.

Several long moments pass as both men attempt to catch their breath and gather their wits, as both have been plainly scared to hell and back. Finally, Spencer drops the toy and wordlessly points in a scolding manner at Lewis, his hand still visibly shaking. Spencer then points to the kitchen and, failing to find the words to communicate, waves Lewis off and heads towards the refrigerator and grabs a root beer. Trying to still himself from likewise shaking, Lewis manages to stow his taser back into his bag, following suit into the kitchen where Spencer hands him a soda as well. After a long moment, Lewis finally breaks the incredibly awkward silence.

“So…what…what is going on?”


Spencer shakes his head, still taking another long moment to find the strength to speak.

“Well, you scared the bloody HELL out of me for one…but as for this mess, I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to call Eddie for a couple days now and he hasn’t answered me. Then I come out here to check on him and…well…look at the state of it.”

Lewis glances around to take in the full scope of the damage done to the apartment. Nearly everything is trashed. Drawers are emptied out, the couches overturned, the cupboards emptied out with broken glass and debris literally everywhere.

“It…looks like someone was looking for something?”

“That or they just wanted to make a mess of everything.”

“And…you haven’t heard from him in a couple days? That’s strange. Out of anyone, I figure he’d keep in touch with you. Have you called the police?”

“Not yet. I just got here about 20 minutes before you did. I wanted to look around and make sure he wasn’t…you know…dead or something. But he’s not home.”

“Do…you think we should?”

Spencer thinks to himself for a long moment, gazing across the large mess. Finally, he shrugs helplessly to himself.

“I don’t know, man. This is really confusing. It could just be nothing. Maybe he just did this himself and went on one of those little ‘vision-quests’ or something. I mean, after the last show, he HAS been acting a little strange.”

Lewis folds his hands, leaning on the kitchen counter, nodding in understanding.

“I guess I could see that. Loses the Money in the Bank, loses Beautiful Agony, gets told by Damage that he’s facing Alan on Overdrive with both of their careers on the line. Maybe he snapped under the pressure…”

The scene dissolves and we see Eddie pacing around frantically in his apartment. His hair is a mess, his face unshaven, he is still wearing his ring gear from Hatewave and a grungy t-shirt, giving the appearance that he has neither changed nor showered since that night. The tidy state of things in the apartment we know is about to change and we can tell by his mannerisms that his mental state is quickly deteriorating. Finally, he lets out a silent scream and begins to royally trash everything in sight, dumping the drawers onto the floor, kicking the recliners onto their sides, punching holes in the wall, slamming a dining room chair through the coffee table, etc. The vision fades and Spencer is standing next to Lewis in the kitchen now, gazing down at the mess in the middle of the floor, shaking his head.

“Nah, I don’t think so. I mean, it IS possible, but while he was getting pretty tense there for a while, he really got his mind balanced out prior to Hatewave. I guess it is possible that the events drove him over the edge, but even at his worst I’ve never seen him do anything like this.”


Lewis shrugs, waving a hand at the disaster around them.

“Someone had to do it, that’s for sure. It’s not like there was an earthquake here. I mean, this was the last thing I expected to see when I got here. I was just hoping to get a few words before he took on Fiscus.”

Spencer nods in agreement and then freezes, his eyes widening in absolute horror.

“FISCUS.”

“Eh?”

“Maybe Fiscus did it! You saw how nuts he went after losing the title at Hatewave! And now that Eddie is the guy standing between him and his shot at the belt, not to mention his CAREER, maybe Alan showed up and took him out!!”

Lewis stares blankly at Spencer, a look of fear crossing his features before he begins to shake his head in denial.

“No, come on, man. Alan’s not that-“

“SADISTIC!? Of course he is! You remember when him and Finch attacked Matt Covey’s brother at his own home don’t you? It could’ve been the same thing!”

Again the apartment appears to be completely undamaged. Eddie crosses his hallway dressed in a bathrobe and bunny slippers, a cup of tea in his hands. He has a content, serene look on his face as he goes about his business, but he turns his head in shock and horror as his front door is kicked in by a MASSIVE boot! Dressed completely in black, Alan Fiscus, Sam Attic and Garrett William bum rush the unsuspecting Eddie and begin royally beating the hell out of him, first tackling him to the ground and pummeling him before all three stand over him, stomping him mercilessly. William lifts Eddie by the hair and holds him as Sam and Alan alternate slapping and punching him in the face, leaving him a bloody mess before William hurls him into the living room, knocking over a chair, lamp, and small table with the sickening impact. The Fiscus clan begins to trash the surrounding environment as well, one man continuing to beat on the helpless Eddie while the other two destroy his home. Finally, a broken, bloody Eddie is lifted up by Sam and Garrett and Alan gives him one more insulting slap to the face before grabbing him, tossing Eddie over him with the Overthrow, driving him through the coffee table in a spectacular display of shattered glass and splintered wood. Alan stands up, cracks his neck and wipes his hair out of his face, nodding to Garrett who slings a large duffel bag off of his shoulder. They shove Eddie’s broken body into the bag and zip it up, the trio hastily leaving the scene. We transition back to the present and Spencer is pacing around even more nervously than before. Lewis, however, leans into the hall and peers towards the front door.

“Well, the front door has NOT been kicked in, I can tell that much.”

“How’s that?”

“The door-frame hasn’t been damaged, genius. Have you never seen CSI? So that means that, whatever happened, they didn’t force the lock.”



“They could’ve picked it. Or maybe gotten a key from the landlord.”


Lewis ponders, scratching his chin in thought. He begins to look around the apartment, intently studying the mess, apparently looking for some sort of clue.

“Perhaps. Lock-picking is sort of a rare skill, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be THAT tough to get a key to the place. The landlord could be paid off, or strong-armed even. Or perhaps they just waited for him to open the door before entering. And look…”

Fishing into the pile of junk in the living room floor, Ryan gingerly picks up a piece of fabric from the floor. It looks like a handkerchief, though the edges are somewhat frayed. More interestingly, stitched into the cloth are the initials ‘DD.’ Lewis turns to Spencer with a wry grin.

“D.D. Sound familiar?”

Spencer regards Lewis incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief.

“…Damage? You think Derek Damage is responsible?”

“This is a pretty significant clue. I mean, why else would this be here?”

Spencer shrugs helplessly, and Lewis begins to examine the scene more closely. He points to several indentations in the walls and furniture.

“Look here. These grooves and indents were made by some sort of club or cudgel. Whoever came in here apparently had a weapon of some sort. Judging by the amount of damage caused here, I would guess it was no less than four men…”

Again we transition to the neat and clean apartment and Eddie is sitting in one of his recliners, his attention focused solely on the TV screen in front of him as he frantically works his fingers on the controller to his X-Box. Apparently, he isn’t doing so well, and he threatens to throw the controller in frustration. A noise seems to steal his attention and he heads towards the door. He looks through the peep hole and seems a bit surprised by what he sees, unlocking the door and opening it to see CZW’s owner Derek Damage standing before him. They seem to exchange pleasantries before Damage says something that seems to confuse Eddie.

“We all know that Damage dislikes Eddie, and perhaps even more than Alan. And so he’s taken an active hand in rigging the first match of the Damage Control initiative.”

Damage steps back and four members of Damage’s security team, all dressed in black outfits and brandishing billy-clubs enter, shoving Eddie back and clubbing him to the floor. They kick the helpless man while he’s down and drag him into the living room. One member of the team holds Eddie down, his club pressed down over Eddie’s throat while the other three set about smashing the place into oblivion. Damage paces around the helpless Eddie while talking trash to him, presumably about how he’s ruined his entire company and how he’ll be the first to leave in Damage’s quest to build the perfect organization. Damage snaps his fingers and another security member heads over and helps to lift Eddie from the ground. With two guards holding him, Eddie is helpless as Damage pummels him mercilessly, his fist going red with Eddie’s blood, just like Damage’s altercation with Knox Harper on Overdrive prior to his firing. Damage snaps his fingers and one of the other guards covers Eddie’s head with a black hood before they drag him out. Derek reaches into his pocket, producing a red handkerchief. He cleans the blood from his fist and slips the cloth back into his pocket, but the article falls from his pocket and onto the floor where Lewis found it. Damage leaves the apartment, gently closing the door behind him as we transition back to the present.

“But why would they take him with them? You don’t think Damage would…”

Lewis thinks to himself, offering the slightest of shrugs.

“Perhaps he is being detained until after Overdrive. Maybe he’s been beaten into a coma…maybe he’s dead.”

“Jeez, I sure hope not.”

Spencer and Lewis are both completely shocked as they turn and see Eddie standing in the doorway, completely unharmed and very much alive.

“What were you doing, Lewis, playing Sherlock Holmes?”

“…no, I was just…”

“You were talking in a British accent.”

Lewis just stands there, mouth agape and totally speechless. Spencer moves past him, taking the attention away and leaving him to his own awkwardness.

“Dammit, Eddie, what happened here? I haven’t heard from you in days, and then when we get here we find this place is a total catastrophe!”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t have your number memorized and my phone was kinda…destroyed. Along with pretty much everything else.”

“So what happened!?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Well, after our last training session, Ed wanted to see more of Seattle, so I let him stay with me for a couple days.”

Lewis, finally snapping out of his stupor, moves to join the others in what is left of the living room.

“Ed Covey?”

“The one and the same. Everything was fine for the first few days, but then I left him alone one morning for a few hours while I went to take care of some business. I get back and…well…”

“Ed did this?”

“Yeah. Turns out he found where I was stashing my Monsters. I get back, and he’s running around in a Daredevil costume…”

Lewis looks down at the tattered ‘handkerchief’ in his hands.

“…smashing the crap out of everything with a pair of nunchucks…”

Lewis looks at the grooves bashed into the walls and furniture.

“…and essentially destroying everything I own. Thank goodness I have renters insurance. I’m not sure how much coverage they provide for ‘slightly unbalanced person hopped up on sugar causing mass destruction’ but I figure it’s gotta be in there somewhere.”

“So…where have you been?”

Eddie grins and pulls out a DVD with the words “OVERDRIVE PROMO” written on the front in black marker. He tosses the disc to Lewis who studies it for a moment before stowing it in his bag.

“Do me a favor and make sure that gets played. Now, you’re welcome to stay, but I’ve got some work to do as you can plainly see. You could help…”


“I…uh…should get back to my hotel and upload this…but you guys have fun!”


Eddie and Spencer exchange smirks as Lewis says goodbye, heading back into the hall and to the elevator.

____________________________________________________________________________________

“What kind of statement can I possibly make at this point? Alan and I have had our fights, we’ve essentially broken even in our encounters, and though we’re chief rivals, we’ve done the lion’s share of the work backstage to keep this company going. And now everything is about to change based on one old man’s whim. We’ve got to figure out a way to stop this, but for now, all I can do is focus on the current problem and fight for my very career…”
____________________________________________________________________________________

“Simple Survival”

-Part 2: Last Chance Ride-


Slowly the scene opens up into green-tinged darkness, like a camera with a night-vision setting. Eddie’s face is then shown as the camera is rotated, and it would seem that he holds the camera himself. He has a hood up and his face has been unshaven for so long that it has grown into a full beard. He has a hoodie pulled up over his head, and his eyes reflect the light with an eerie glow. He appears to be slowly walking, his gaze continually glancing down at his feet.

“Damage Control.”

He lets the words hang in the air for several long moments, continuing his slow walk, the camera shaking slightly with each step.

“Derek Damage makes his triumphant return to the limelight, reclaiming ‘his’ organization. And how does he go about doing this? By single-handedly destroying everything we’ve built since he left. DD has made it his personal ‘quest’ to make the perfect institution and he thinks that making everyone kill eachother over a spot is the way to go about doing that. Well, I’m going to have to disrespectfully disagree. All Damage is doing is killing it from within. If he thinks everyone wants to go into a match knowing that their career is on the line feeling inspired to just ‘fight harder for their spot’ then he’s got another thing coming. Essentially, he’s telling everyone that they’re expendable. And those that lose? Jobless. People who have bled for this company and contributed so much to the history could find themselves ‘summarily dismissed’ as he called it. I call it disrespected and humiliated. Nobody in CZW deserves that. Not even my opponent.”

He pauses, peering downward once more. In the distance, a car is heard driving past.

“Don’t get me wrong, Alan Fiscus is a cancer. He’s a cancer to the federation, and he’s a cancer to humanity in general. The thing about Fiscus is that he excuses his actions with the justification that people are scum. He likes to compare them to the lowest forms of life for the things that they do, yet he is the worst of all. Excessive violence, betrayal, selfishness…these are all traits used to describe our FORMER world champion, Alan Fiscus. Humanities most garish flaws are the building blocks for Fiscus’ entire being, and yet these are the same reasons he ‘hates’ humanity in general. I call it justification for being a dick, but he’ll tell you he’s rebelling against ‘the system’ by treating everyone like the scum they are. He represents everything that IS wrong with humanity, first and foremost the blatant hypocrisy that runs rampant, but despite ALL of that, even HE doesn’t deserve to be treated this way by Damage.

Alan Fiscus has given much to this company. He has spent a long time terrorizing the locker room with his reign at the top, but at the same time he’s been with me at the very bottom of things helping keep the entire operation afloat. It’s not much of a secret that he and I have been two of the major factors in keeping things together between the locker room and the ‘suits.’ Damage knows this and he sees this as a threat, which is why our match is the first in his grand scheme of building his ‘perfect’ CZW, or as I like to think of it, totally shafting each and every one of us for his own personal ends. So after Overdrive, either Alan or myself will be gone. It’s bullshit, but that’s the way it is and there’s technically nothing any one of us can do about it. All I can do is try to work on fixing things in the future, and to do that…Alan Fiscus has to leave, and leave for good.”


Eddie turns the camera, pointing it towards his feet. Ten stories below, we see the street, the occasional car driving by. Eddie stands on the narrow ledge along the roof, the toes of his shoes hanging off the edge. He turns the camera back to himself, his eyes glinting in the pseudo light.

“I go into this contest fearless. Not afraid to lose my job, not afraid to end that of my ‘partner.’ Not afraid that one of us will be heading out to that ring for the final time. History has shown time and time again that heroes and tyrants rise and fall, and I believe in my heart that CZW will live through this, just as it has survived through even darker times in the past. It will endure. It was here before either Alan or myself, and it will exist after we’re long gone, I know. All I can do is go out and do what I do, which is give everything I am to the moment. Should I lose, well…it’s been a hell of a ride. I’ll miss the place, but it won’t destroy my life. I will survive on my own, just like the CZW. Should I succeed, then I’ll continue trying to stop the madness that is Derek Damage’s return to power…a crusade if you will. And, I will have eliminated the single biggest cancer in CZW history. That’s right, more than even Jesse Montana, Alan Fiscus has been the bane of our existence. You deserve a better send-off than this, Alan, but we both know that this business isn’t about what’s deserved, it’s about making the most of the opportunities given to you. This is my opportunity to do what even our new champion was unable to do, and that is not only defeat you personally, but eliminate you from the equation altogether. The score is even, old buddy. Two falls to two. Time for the tie breaker with something even MORE important than gold on the line…our very LIVELIHOODS! I may conquer evil and take you out, or I may die trying, but either way, this is the catalyst for change. How appropriate that it would be us.”

Eddie reaches a hand back, removing his hood, a calm expression on his face. He regards the camera for a long moment, his glowing eyes unblinking.

“There’s really nothing much else to say. Just know that I would prefer it didn’t come down to this. I don’t expect you to understand compassion at this point. I regret that this contest has to happen like this because I know we both have so much more to give to the company, but I won’t yield and I know that neither will you. We’re going in like gladiators in Rome facing off to the death. May the best man win…”

A faint smile creeps across his face now.

“…and may the best man be me.”

The night-sight is cut and we can barely make out Eddie’s silhouette in the blackness of night.

“Bouche.”

The feed then ends. From his laptop in his computer where Ryan Lewis has just watched this recording, Lewis sits back, the gravity of the entire situation weighing on him. He fears for his job, as everyone in the company is starting to do at this point. Lewis knows that someone needs to stop Damage, but no one has the power to oppose him. Still, there has to be some hope somewhere…someone to champion the cause and stop the evil tyrant from ruling the ‘world’ with an iron fist. As Lewis begins to upload the video to CZW.com, he can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there is someone who could do just that.


“Bouche, indeed…”

-END-



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