| We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| "The Look in Their Eye"; The End is Here (WHC RP) | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Dec 20 2012, 10:43 PM (220 Views) | |
| xShanex | Dec 20 2012, 10:43 PM Post #1 |
|
Stay Down
|
The Keishicho, the central hub and headquarters of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. The building is a stronghold for a force solely dedicated to the protection and service of a city that more than thirteen million people call home. The Keishicho is the brain among a body that succumbs to the diseases of drugs, trafficking of all forms, and the always shadowy Yakuza, and for this they leave the cells at HQ clean. That is, unless a special exception must be made. A crime that is far from any categorization one would be able to make. We find that very exception in the innards of the law enforcing monster, surrounded on all sides by iron bars, and beyond that, unmoving cement walls. It had been just a day since they had moved Ryan into this solitary cell, but a day was long enough for him to grow comfortable with his new friends the shadows. He sat on the bench in his cell as he had done for the majority of his stay, eyes fixed to the ground as his lips moved in the form of words without releasing audible noise. Even in just a few hours, Ryan’s mannerisms had earned him the nickname “Kureiji” or crazy. That, and the fact that he had forearmed an officer and attempted to bite another on his way to a meeting on his diplomatic immunity. While that immunity had saved him from most charges, no amount of fancy paperwork or celebrity status could unlock the handcuffs linking his wrists together behind his back. They had told him it was to ensure them that he would be no danger to the officers, but they failed to realize that by locking him in this room by himself, they allowed him to find his most dangerous position....... They allowed him to think. His eyes were opened, but he ceased seeing this world through physical eyes hours before. His eyes were only filled with their faces. Thousands upon thousands of wide-eyed, unsettled, worried faces watching helplessly behind a screen of glass like the small child when daddy hit mommy. He could almost feel their hearts pumping faster and faster in his own, their blood racing with his in his veins with every favorite torn asunder. He could taste the fear in the air radiating off of the CZW Nation. It was marvelous. There was no corner left to hide, no haven left to safeguard the cretins from the upcoming cataclysm. What better way to find the game in the woods than to burn down the trees from all sides? The smoke would drag the breath from their lungs, and in the end, he would sift through the ashes and use them to build a new world, fit for a deity such as himself. What did they have left? Where else would they go? What would they do? They would run. They would run far, far away, and those dumb enough left to charge at the flames, or anyone ignorant enough to fall to their knees and pray for mercy would be picked off one by one by the hounds of war, hungry for another meal. In fact, he could hear the meat shuffling closer at that very moment, delivered in a three-piece suit. Light flooded the room from the outside as the door was opened, a single Metro Officer taking point to protect the precious cargo behind him from the animal in the cage. Derek Damage stepped out from behind the officer, checking the awareness of the prisoner to ensure his own readiness. The officer had asked Derek if he would be alright in a fit of amusingly broken English, and received only a miniscule wave from the CZW CEO. A bow, another flooding of light, and a closing door later, and he was left to face the challenge alone in the dark and gray, Ryan’s domain. Derek paced along the bars before Ryan, back and forth, passing a few glances at the statuesque curse, looking for any movement. Movement he wouldn’t see. Damage flared his nostrils in disgust. It was one thing to insult him, but another to ignore him, especially after what he had done. "Three men hospitalized for doing nothing but their job, a personal bodyguard with a concussion and receiving multiple stitches, a roster member who I've still heard nothing back about, though I'm sure he's hospitalized as well, not to mention Rowan and Pierce and eight members of our security team." While he had searched for a nerve to hit, he found none. Ryan did not budge. He remained fixed on the ground. To the untrained eye, it would seem that Ryan didn’t know he was there, but in the way his lips had closed, and his mumbling stopped, he had heard it all. Damage did not take the silence kindly, stopping his walk to turn to the caged animal. He frowned, leaning in slightly. "Got nothin' to say?" Ryan remained silent, unmoved by the suffering of so many, what would they call them? Innocent people. Such trivial things like health and a means of supplying for their families meant nothing to him, but that void of empathy flared up the umbrage of Damage! He smacked the bars of the cell, sending a vibration through the cage, a loud humming filling the room and rattling the ear drum. "Fucking answer me, damn it! Simelia's still in the ICU! He hasn't woken up yet, Ryan!" His body trembled with the weight of the world on his shoulders, his eyelids closing just slightly, sandbags of flesh and blood holding back a few spare tears. He was the one who told Sid and Ronnie to get out there and find Ryan. He was the one who sent him right into the line of danger. If only he hadn't....hadn't..... "Did you see the look in her eyes, Derek?" Disbelief surged on Derek’s face. His lips parted, jaw losing strength to the horror that had dug into his ears. As if by an outside force of some act of nature Derek could not move his head. Something wanted him to look upon the man in the box. "The.....the what?" "The look, in Ms. Washington's eyes.....as she struggled......as she slipped away...." Ryan finally dragged up from the ground, the dull gray of his eyes meeting Derek’s directly, boring into his skull and forcing Damage to do nothing but look right into that place where Ryan once held a soul. What he saw was not anything that had been there before, no thoughts of a man. He did not see pride, or anger, nor wrath as Ryan had let control him in the past. What he saw was hunger. Hunger as an animal that has had its first taste of blood would have. His brain tried to claw its way out of his head, fearing the inevitable occupation of Ryan Shane. Derek felt terror in that moment unlike any he had felt before, but it was not the hunger that he saw. It was the fact that he wasn't satisfied. "I've seen the look before. On Alan’s face, actually....and Stryker’s......Kirkland’s....." Ryan gave a single chuckle, but offered not a grin. Only blank eyes looked on, never once blinking. "Pablo’s.....do you know what it is, Derek? It's truth. It's the catastrophic collapse of the mental shell they put up. Their persona, if you will. It's every word of praise, every illustrious promotional video, every pyrotechnic and every scrap of confetti that has told them that they are no longer human, but something much more losing their worth. It's helplessness, Derek.......it's beautiful." Ryan’s head tilted to the side. He formed his eyes into a questioning look. "Would it help to know Sid Simelia did not have that look in his eye? I don't think he was able to. His life.....had no meaning. I think the bottle was his only friend, at least now that Buzzsaw has moved on the CEW. He was only defined by his job. No pride, no self-respect, no family.....no meaning......I gave him meaning." His body told him to scream. It told him to ball up his fists and strike against the cage like a mad man until his hands bled, but Derek couldn't move. Ryan could, however. He stood, the handcuffs on his wrists jingling like sleigh bells as he did so. "Oh, Derek......Derek I do believe you have that look right now. You do, don't you? Ohohohohohoho....." Ryan started his stride from the bench to the bars, a pompous flair to each step. He leaned to the left and to the right, skipping just once before leaning his face against the bars, the skin slightly pulled back from the cold steel. Derek finally broke from the stationary form, stepping away from the sickly smiling Ryan Shane. To show a moment of weakness to Ryan was to slit your wrist and dive into shark infested waters, and his feast had begun. "You've lost your faith. Every last trace of it. Never truly thought I'd see the day, but here it is. You've seen the truth. You've given up." The calm demeanor had shattered. No more would awe and fear keep one of the most powerful men in the history of professional wrestling at bay. Derek's face burned deep red, the fury of kings forced to watch their kingdoms fall released in a single roar! "The only thing I see is an animal that needs to be put down! I see a sad son of a bitch who should rot in that cell for the rest of his god damn life, but if that was the case, then El Pablo and T.J. Hix couldn't get their turns tearing out your intestines and jumping rope with them! Oh, but I know that's not enough. I know the real pain will come after you see Pablo raise that title over his head, and put you back into the bush leagues where you belong!" His loathing rant fell on the room like the fallout of an atom bomb, laying waste to all. All except the target, as no amount of negative energy could hope to survive the ferocity that was Ryan Shane's Malevolence. A cackle broke free from the belly of the beast. He shook his head. "Your lies are clear as glass, Derek. You can put on that tough guy act all you want, but you know the numbers as well as I do." He stepped away from the bars, moving in a semi-circle before returning to his bench, and facing Derek. "You can see your stronghold breached from all sides, and the only thing left between your throat and my teeth is a flimsy, multi-colored shield that I've pierced through seven times already. What makes you think it'll take the finishing strike? No, no.....the death blow is waiting, Derek. I don't need to strike now......but I will, and when I do………………….I will enjoy it." Ryan returned to his seat, eyes locked back to the ground. Derek felt his words course into his mind, pushing him from his location. No amount of distance would be enough, but out of the room would be an excellent start. He turned and made for the door, but no amount of resolve would stop him from taking in one last look over his shoulder at the void that was Ryan. With that and a shudder he left the room, casting Ryan back into his realm of thought. What thoughts he did have. He thought of pain. He thought of loss. He thought of victory. And he thought of gold. ========================================================= Journal Entry: “Villains” 12 / 18 / 2012 I was released from my cell at 3:27 am this morning, but I was freed many a day ago. Hello again, my brothers and sisters. Allow me to introduce myself again, but for the very first time. My name is Ryan, and I am a monster. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. They say that every single person you've ever encountered will change your life, whether you want them to or not. This "They" tends to speak on subjects that "they" know nothing of. "They" are full of the lies force fed to the world by the hands of the wicked. I've walked through the streets of Tokyo, one of the most populated civilizations in the modern world, and I've encountered hundreds if not thousands of people. I remember no faces, I've learned no names, and I recall no stories. Every man, woman, and child I've passed today mesh together in a wave of bodies, and in them I only see two eyes looking back at me. Those eyes are my own. I've traced these streets so many times that I'm no longer able to be lost. I sail the seas that I call thought so often now that I could develop a thousand schemes, reflect on a million philosophies, and yet none of them would be new, or even humor me as I walk closer to the certainty of death. I see no reason to fear death, anyway, as I've died a thousand times, and each time I've been reborn even stronger than the last. I looked to what my elders called "God", and when I spoke to him, he did not answer. That was the day I ceased believing. This was the first time my life ended. When my childhood ended so suddenly, and I placed my feet into the real world that first time, I died again. When I realized my friends would betray me if the price was large enough, that was a death. When I saw that those "silver linings" were just aluminum scraps left for us, another one. Most recently, it's the realization that this whole revolution, our fight, Derek's lies, the hate, the love, the little, meaningless trinkets we place so much faith in, such as titles.....none of it mattered in the end. All of these men and women, our brothers and sisters, our enemies, they'll all crumble in the midst of time.....but they can't join me in the rebirth. I've meditated over the termination of their lives, each and every one of them. Brian, Matt, Crypt......Cassidy, and while they believe that we fight the good fight for an eternal cause, I know that only one of us will be able to walk on after we're able to tell the tale. I am the embodiment of the undying need for justice, and for that, I am immortal, so that leaves me in the scenario most fear. I am the Father to the new world, and in time I will have to watch my beautiful child die and return to the dust. It's a heavy burden to bear. But while some men say that realization is a form of suicide, I say it's my way out. See, this knowledge is tangible. It saves me. Most of mankind has spent their mortal lives questioning their purpose, never actually knowing the answer until the final few minutes tick away. I know my fate, and I've embraced it. Now I can live without fear, and I can act in ways that even you, you who have heard my call to battle and answered that from the deepest portion of your heart, could never understand. The stories tell of a man who was given a similar gift. That man's name was Jesus Christ. Jesus knew how his life would end, and he knew why it would do so, but he did not stop. He moved on to mold a world, and while some may argue for better or worse, he showed the world that we can all be a messiah. We can all save ourselves. In fact, we're the only ones who can save ourselves! I've been trying, but if you could only reach down and save yourself.....we can save the world, now, can't we? So this Christmas Eve, on the night of birth for your mythological savior, I will save myself, and the memory of my child. I take that crown of unrelenting golden thorns and proudly dig them into my scalp, and as I walk past civilizations to come, they will look upon the blood which flows from the wounds and they will hear the names of my beloved brothers and sisters, and the name of my creation sung into their ears. But you've all heard the song, and no matter how wonderful it may be, the same tune on repetition will drive even the most avid fan insane. I've looked out onto the land, and everywhere I saw the flag of The Anti-Christ waving in the wind, and I felt great sorrow. Where else am I to spread the legend of my Uprising? Well, you know the answer to that question as well as I do. That place that so many had told me I would one day reach. That place that I was told was in store in my future. Fuck the future. Anticipating the future, but the future never comes. Kept being told that my time will come, and one day I'll be there with all of the legends of the industry as long as I waited my turn. Well how long is enough? How many of these 'legends' do I need to bury before it's my turn? I tell you now, Brothers, Sisters, friends, foes, and the CZW Nation that I am no longer waiting. I am no longer a soul standing by, living by my promises to wait for the answers. I am the walking plague of professional wrestling, and plague does not sleep, nor does it wait in line. It just spreads, eating away at everything around it. It takes, and so will I. If nobody sees it fit to give me the prize that I've earned, I'm going to take it, but this plague also gives back. When I take this company by the throat, all of those walk-behinders, and financial zombies, and all of those fucks who prey on minimum wage will have no choice but see what they can become, and they will watch. This company dies, while its revenue increases. Looks like the kids will be getting a big share in the will. This is what we do, now. We tear this bitch down with our bare hands, just so we can build it back up again. So find your excuses and your loopholes in everything I do and everything I say. Look to tear my message away and force me to abandon the fight, but we won't be held down for another god damn moment! This is the dream held on the mountain top that's just out of my reach, and the only thing between us is a beaten up hero, begging for one more. I come to take what I want in the Tokyo Dome. WE come to take what's ours, and you'll all look up and beg us to please, please stop hurting our heroes, and we'll whisper right back, "No." Every Hero needs a villain, afterall. This is the End of the road, CZW. We are the Uprising. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Expect Us. ====================================================== We come into the sight of a lesser known landmark of the city of Tokyo, The Rainbow Bridge. Pristine white towers rose up from the northern Tokyo Bay, linked together by lengths of cable formed a harmonizing piece of structural artwork which blended in ideally with the city skyline. In the haze of the setting sun, we can see the origin of the bridge’s nickname come to life. Lights of red, white, and green lined along the cables and the towers fought against the still remaining sun, lights of blue giving color to the legs of the bridge. It was truly a sight for the visiting eye to see in person, and two eager eyes couldn’t get enough of it. Cassidy Fontaine had to try her hardest not to skip along the lower walkway of the bridge. She was entirely new to the land of the rising sun, and unlike Niagara Falls, she was ecstatic to be there. Ever since she was a little girl she had imagined Japan and their customs, dreaming of the time she would be able to go there herself. While she had been staying in Tokyo for weeks now, the demanding schedule of the CZW and the demand of The Uprising had kept her close to her hotel. It was without hesitation she had invited herself on a sight-seeing tour of the city the moment Ryan had mentioned he was going for a walk. Ryan trailed just behind, eyes hidden from the world behind his favorite aviator sunglasses. He had hoped to clear his head before he went to war for the greatest prize in the world. When Cassidy had asked him to show her the city, he only thought of it as a waste of time, but after viewing some of his favorite locations in his third home town, he had found that ease. It wouldn’t last very long, as most peace did, but at this one moment it was enough. He could feel it leaving this very moment, as he looked up at those towers that made his passing possible. The name of the bridge had been chosen by the people. It went by another, but the name the public had given it was always stronger. It was the symbol of revolution, a monument to the rising of the middle class, and yet it was overwhelmed by the rainbow every night, constantly locked in the battle of change vs color. A battle that would soon be won. The duo had made it half-way across the bridge, stopping just shy of the center and turning to face the sunset. Ryan leaned in on the rail, resting on his forearms while Cassidy lightly placed her hands as well. Ryan looked about the bay. He noted the boats of all makes and causes, and the small shops set up for hard working people to have a place in this world. He hated to admit it, but he always did feel like this was one place he could belong. "This is a good city." Cassidy responded with a smile. He was so right. It was just as she had dreamed, maybe even better, and she was so jealous of Ryan for his experiences here. "It's so beautiful, so much more so than I thought. I can't even...." She faced him, smile still at full strength. That face could move nations and launch a thousand ships if not for the modesty that held her powers at bay. "Thank you." Ryan nodded but didn’t look back. It wasn’t in him to accept thanks, not like he invited her anyway. "It was a good way to remind me why I'm here." It was such an off-handed response, and it shouldn’t have opened that part of her heart that wanted to confront Ryan, but it did. The smile on her face began to wash out, though she did try to fight to keep it. It wouldn’t matter in the end, anyway. “Speaking of that……” She could already feel the temperature lower. Ryan didn’t show signs of knowing what she was going to bring up, but she knew he did. He just always knew. “I actually want to talk to you about........about last week.” How did he know this shit was going to happen? Ryan had been counting the seconds down until his traditional meeting on morality with Ms. Fontaine. Every time he even looked at someone backstage with cruel intent, Cass would be there to confront him, so this came as no surprise. Ryan looked to her out of the corner of his eye, annoyance licking his words as he spoke. “What about it?” The bull had caught sight of her red flag, and she didn’t think he reflexes were fast enough to avoid the horns. Still, she had learned in her time with Ryan not to back down to anyone if you have a goal to reach, and this time, it meant standing up to the man himself. “Ry, I’m concerned for you. I went along with everything else you’ve done so far, and I know how much you think these attacks are justified, but what you just did wasn’t you. That wasn’t the Ryan I know.” Ryan rolled his eyes. He had had enough of this. “What we did was necessary. How many times do I have to tell you this? There’s a greater good than just worrying about physical pain. What’s a couple bodies compared to millions of people freed? If anything, what we did was courageous.” “It’s not courageous, Ryan, It’s evil!” Cassidy couldn’t keep quiet. Her morals were questioned before, but somebody had to stop this pro-wrestling genocide! Someone had to try! “What you did on Overdrive was just.....vicious, and you liked it!” Ryan let his hands slide from the rail, whipping them out to his sides and glaring to Cass. “Evil? Why was that evil, Cassidy?! Because they tell you that?! Because Damage tells you that?! We come all this way, and the moment we strike a critical blow, you're going to get squeamish?! We're fighting for our lives, Cass! Sometimes good men do bad things for good reasons! It had to be done!” There were those damn words again! Cassidy couldn’t take it anymore! She stomped a step forward, yelling right back to the Anti-Christ. "You put four men in the hospital, and you were going to do the same to Kandi! Is that where we have to go, now?! You'll send women to the hospital?! What if that was me, Ryan?!" Ryan slammed a fist onto the rail! "I'd send her to the fucking morgue if it meant our mission was successful! Cass, those people you worry about want you dead, and what I did, I did for you! Yes, I was going to hurt a woman, quite severally actually, and I enjoyed every second, and if you were in her place I wouldn't even hesitate to bring the chair down! This is bigger than us all, Cassidy, and I'll give what it takes and I’ll do what it takes to make sure we win, for all of our sakes." The two stared each other down for a handful of heartbeats, but the weaker psyche of Cassidy began to break down. Tears began to fall from her eyes, her lips quivering before uncontrollable sobs heaved from her chest. She wept the same way one would before a bout of insanity, and it was something Ryan couldn’t handle. With a sigh he took her in with one arm, holding her. She fought him, even hitting his chest once but gave in, putting her head down where she had struck him. "I can't do this anymore, Ryan! I just can't!" Ryan whispered to her. He felt her pain. "I know, I know......which is why I'm ending it here." She couldn’t stop completely, but his words had lessened Cass’ sobbing. Ryan lowered himself, looking right into the eyes of the emotionally overwhelmed girl. "What did I tell you this was? The Uprising?" Cass sniffed a few times, gasping for spare breaths. When she had found her footing, she answered through a whimper. "Ou-our ch-ch-child?" "Right. Now do you want your child to see you like this? Do you want it to look at its Mother in a time of need, and see her unable to cope? Unable to protect it?" Ryan wiped a tear from her eye. Cassidy shook her head, wiping away a few tears of her own as she did so. "Cassidy, if we are going to win this fight, and give this child of ours a chance, then every single one of us have to hit the wall with everything we have. The guys are ready to fight. They're going to attack without inhibition, but I'm not sure about you." Cassidy reacted to his questioning like the proverbial baby after their candy had been taken. “But I…..” "You watch, yes. You've traveled with us, yes, but have you fought? Have you done anything in this fight to change the tide aside from consoling us when we've suffered?" Ryan placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning in right to her ear before whispering to her directly. "If you have any love for this child, any at all, you'll stop letting your nerves get to you. You'll fight." He looked into her eyes once more. "You'll fight with me." Ryan then turned to her cheek, and placed on it a light kiss. Cass froze up, never expecting any form of admiration or emotion to come from Shane, especially to her. She didn’t have time to ask, as Ryan had continued to walk down the bridge, relaxed as always. She placed a hand on her cheek, and suddenly she had arrived at the fork in the road. On one side, she had the rules by which she lived her life. Morals she had never questioned, and on the other, she had the family she wanted so dearly. She had the ability to make their dreams come true. With the choice in her head and her heart beating a thousand times a minute, Cassidy slipped forward as well, following Ryan into the future. |
![]() |
|
| xShanex | Dec 20 2012, 10:50 PM Post #2 |
|
Stay Down
|
The roll of a thumb on a small metal wheel sparked to life a small flame. It flickered in the light breeze that passed in the night, swaying it left, and swaying it right. A careful hand carried the lighter, cradling into a small form of paper, and to the wick of a candle. One became two as the candle ignited with a flame of its own, bringing the glow of life to a now fully illuminated paper lantern. One hand held the lantern as the other snuffed out the lighter, and then cradled the lantern in a small boat. The camera followed these faceless hands as they placed this boat in the welcoming waters of the Pacific Ocean. With a small push the craft moved out into the night, joining with the dozens of other flames gliding out into the dark beyond. They would not be able to stop, as their journey was of the utmost importance. So many dreams sailed with them…….. A zoom out shows us the sheer magnitude of the fleet, countless small lights passing in the dark water like shooting stars. The silence that follows them, save for the churning of the ocean, is rare animal to find in the city of Tokyo, and a pan to the right adds more to the shock. Hundreds. Hundreds of men, women, children, old and young, rich and poor, all standing in remembrance. Standing as one. In their hands they held more candles, the light of the flame licking their faces, clearly displaying a somber, melancholic expression the length of the group. In the moment of reflection and dedication, the camera zooms out even further, passing down the coast until the lights of the candles, in hand and in water, were just specks down the way. Ryan Shane had been waiting for our arrival. He sat on the edge of the bay, a single knee bent and foot set on the ledge, the other hanging over the side, taunting the water to rise up and bite his shoe. He watched with sentinel-like purpose as the lanterns bobbed back and forth, moving always closer to the open water. He closed his eyes, bowing his head down until his stubble-covered jaw nearly touched the black cloth of his t-shirt, blue lettering crossing over his chest in the three letters that had changed the world: DXM. After a brief moment passed, Ryan opens his eyes and turns back to the fleet. It was then that the silence was shattered by his voice, though not the same voice we expect. Where harshness and the cold nature of society once were, a warm….almost sorrowful resonance now sung. "They call this Toro nagashi. The Japanese believe that these small lanterns serve as a beacon in the night, guiding the spirits of the departed back to the other world. For the traditionalist, each of these lanterns represents the body of one person who we've lost in the last year, returning to the water which all of life once sprung. What you’re witnessing right now is rare exception to the rules of the ceremony. Usually this event takes places after the Bon festival but.........." Ryan passed a hand over his mouth, wiping away the spray of the salt water mist on his lips. In his silence it seemed that, for once in the life of Ryan Shane, something weighed heavily on his mind that did not involve him. "There is an exception when a truly tragic loss of life, from any part of the world, or in this case both sides of it, occurs. It's……………haunting, isn't it? You can almost......almost see the lost souls following behind, not really sure of where they're going. Afraid, unable to look past the dark, but they still move forward. They trust in that light to deliver them through the dark and into the light of a paradise where there is no pain. Where there is no loss, or hate, or inequality. These past few months I’ve walked the halls of the Combat Zone, I’ve tried to do my best to ignore it. I’ve tried to turn from the disembodied voices, and the rattling chains, but I can’t ignore the chill in the air any longer. This house is haunted, friends. CZW is no longer with us, but at the same time, it is. CZW is a soul lost on this mortal plane that cannot move on. It’s been so long, but it just hasn’t accepted that release of death. So with its ignorance, this spirit is doomed to wonder the lander of the living, never moving into whatever afterlife there may be. We should’ve tried more………." Ryan shakes his head, disappointed in the efforts put forward. He was disappointed in the fans, in the owner, and in a way, himself. “We should’ve tried so much more, but letting go is the hardest part. We kept it here, don’t you see? People were so contempt, so comforted by the dead still being among us that it continued on. We actually enjoyed the company of the lost one, and who wouldn’t? But we’ve lost sight of the truth. I loved CZW as much as anyone, perhaps even more. The Combat Zone is where I realized my potential. It’s where I was raised. The company is my home, my life, but this world…………this is no place for the dead, so while you all danced and sang and coached the lost soul on in these last eight months, my brothers and I…….we tried to bring peace to its restless spirit.” Ryan tapped his heel against the ledge he sat on, passing glances from the lanterns to the city, and back again. “We tried everything in our power, everything we could, but after every attempt the results were the same. The wandering soul stayed. It seemed nothing would work. The praise of the living is a very powerful energy source, and it was far too strong for the CZW to ignore. This is what it had wanted all along, after all, so leaving would not be a choice. I had begun to believe our mission was hopeless. He had just run out of options.” That blade in the words of Ryan then resurfaced, preparing itself to slice deep into the underbelly of the CZW. “But I now see that the company needed all along. This soul needs a light to guide them, hold its ethereal hand and walk them off of the mortal coil. I will be that light. I will be that guide, and for once since I've started this experiment.......people believe me. A Mayan prophecy was not the only event foretold that would change the face of the world, but wouldn't you know that one of those prophecies would come true? Derek Damage himself stood high on his pedestal and he declared to the world that Ryan Shane would be the chosen one of the Combat Zone, and would bring this company into the greatest era it has ever seen as its World Champion, and is that time not now? Look at the signs. We stand just before the Tokyo Dome, the place where the CZW laid its head down and died just a few years ago, on a week where they say this world will end, on a show rightfully named Event Horizon. Quick science lesson, do you know what an Event Horizon is? It's the depth of which you can travel close to a black hole before there is literally no escape. True, catastrophic events, that only one person with the power to do so could save us. As we creep closer to the edge, I've once again reached my hand out, but this time.....the people are reaching back.” A tattooed arm lifted from a hanging position, extending just barely into the open air. He could feel the fingertips of millions just out of grasp, begging him for freedom. Begging for redemption. Begging for a tomorrow. "They don't have any more options, and these people who buy tickets are no longer going to cheer blindly at your ghost stories. They come to pay their respects, and help me bring this company to peace. They looked to me to lay it all to rest. So, for the world, and in front of the world, I will exorcise CZW." Ryan stopped, his words sinking down like a ship into the depths below as he watched the small guides draw the spirits on into the pulsating darkness that awaited them. “But before I can save the CZW, I have some personal business to attend to, because for the past few months I've had these two, pulsating, aggravating tumors, festering in my body and eating away at everything I say and do, and no matter how many times I treat these tumors, they don’t.....go....away.....so I have no other choice but to cut them out. Of course this means that I will have to sacrifice my blood, and my flesh, and whatever mangled form of existence I have in the place of a soul, but for some reason that excites me. I know that I'll be spilling pints of blood, but for every pint I bleed, my victims will bleed a gallon, and we will paint the canvas red until they can't stand anymore, and it's all because you couldn't keep your fucking noses out of my business.” He played that one moment, over and over as he had done for weeks. The arch of the title, his reflection in the face plate, and the feeling of his face crushing in. “But I should thank you, T.J. Before you hit me with that championship, I only had ideas of what the oppression in this company was like. I had educated guesses based on what I’ve seen outside of the sport. It’s far worse, though. A different animal entirely. I was pacified by the hope that maybe, if we showed just how serious we were about the problem, it would go away........but T.J. you made it clear that there's only one way my Uprising will be successful. That is through sheer, brutal....” A large smirk cracked into the stone of his face, reflecting on the last events of Overdrive, and just how……good it had felt. He wanted to do so again, maybe with others? Would they have the same reactions, he thought? "Violence. You sat up there in your penthouse with all your pretty people and you thought you got in my head, but the problem T.J. is that you did. You tapped on the glass with that world title and in the same move broke free something I didn't know how much I missed! We walked into the combat zone and I starting eating your beautiful people, and you learned that nobody is safe. This is WAR, and nobody is safe in war. Your friends, your employees, your two dollar girlfriend. Do you know what you've done, now, T.J.? It's probably settling in right now. You see guys like you walk around here with your chest pushed out, bragging about your pay role and your accolades. You guys entered this business because of the money, and the fame. You all want to be rock stars.........but then you meet a guy like me. A guy who wasn't born concerned about materials and depending on the care of my servants. T.J., I was raised by fucking wolves and born with liquid steel and molten concrete in my veins. I don't do this for money; I do this because it's all I know how to do. I had the full intention of hurting you in this match..........and that was before you cost me my NJAW World championship. That was before you tried to make an example out of me." He shrugged it off. The fate of a man who had seen so much in this life, built an empire and took success as his own in his hand, and he could only shrug to the power. "So now I have to dig out your brains with that silver spoon you got there in your mouth. T.J. I have to break every bone in your body, not only to show the rest of the yard who the baddest man in the asylum is, but to make the change that CZW needs. Hix, you are the fucking pinnacle of what this company shouldn't be. A self-entitled nobody who gets rewarded for a couple lucky shots, and nobody even remembers who they are. They talk about how Ryan Shane holding the CZW World Title would disgrace the company, but they don't discuss how T.J. Hix being anywhere close to any championship in this company is fucking sacrilege! The fact that Derek Damage would rather see a man who won a tournament of desperation over a guy like me is the biggest slap in the face he could've given, so this Monday T.J., you have to pay for his sins. I'm going to bleed you, beat you, demolish you, and I'm going to show you to the people as the false prophet you are.....and then I'm going to cleave your head from your shoulders with the Sublimation." Ryan rolled his neck, giving a light grunt as he did so, loosening the muscles in his neck. He had been so tense since he was hit from behind, but he knew that after Event Horizon, he’d be able to rest again. The title would be the perfect medicine. "But you're the least of my issues, Tommy boy. Let's not forget CZW's resident dead horse, El Pablo, is also joining us on the battlefield…….for some reason. I couldn’t quite tell you why. What the fuck has El Pablo done to be in this match? Since when does losing whenever it matters get you rewarded in the CZW? Do I need to show you any more to make my point? Do I need to drag Derek Damage out tap dancing with a confession to show why I’m fighting? I earned my shot. I earned it two years ago, and I had to literally hold this company hostage to get what I deserve, but fuck me, El Pablo loses again and if he doesn't get another chance, the people riot and Derek can't pocket that Skittles bribe money. Nothing I can say will change anything, though. The people want El Pablo. They want him to take that brass ring one more time, but numbers are hard to look away from. We’ve repeated this story so many times now it’s become my second nature. I’ve beaten Pablo into the ground to the point it’s stained with rainbow markings. Over and over, time and time again but he keeps coming back, and they still raise him so much higher, and they still place me as the underdog. Refusal to acknowledge history leads to its repetition." Ryan leaned back, hanging both his legs over the edge. The subtle ebb and flow of the bay gave its energy to him, beckoning the conductor of this catastrophic ensemble to begin the closing song. Waves would crash like pounding drums, winds whistling the cries of battle. Such a lovely melody. "’El Pablo's Amazing!’ And then I knock him out. ‘El Pablo's one of the world's finest!’ And then I knock him out. ‘El Pablo's a Grand Slam champion!’ And then…….I knock him out. Seven times in a row they've hyped up The Paul as the man who would put a stop to Ryan Shane, and seven times now I've hit him in the face, and dropped him on his head until he stopped moving...........but you want to know something, Paul? I still love doing it. I really, really do. Unlike Alan Fiscus, I don't think I could ever get bored from watching you crumble to the ground. Want to know why that is?" Ryan’s attention was caught by orbs of light, lifting up into the air just a ways away. Paper balloons, inflated by more candles lit in prayer, floating off into the night sky. Ascending. Ryan watched them as they went, and in that same moment, pictured himself flying with them. He looked down on the world beneath from his rightful place on top of it all. It was all his. Everything he saw, and everything he didn’t see yet would be his. All he had to do was grab the world in the palm of his hand, and take it. "It's because everything they say about you is true. I know from experience how damn good you are, man. El Pablo, and you can quote me on this, is one of the very best professional wrestlers this world has to offer, and I can see this look in his eyes like he can't quite figure out what went wrong before they roll into the back of his head and he passes out. That look is hope. Hope of every single El Pablo fan, CZW, CEW, and beyond, cheering for their icon to make the bad man go away, crumbling down like the walls of fucking Jericho. That look is the realization that you've let everyone you've ever known and loved, including yourself down yet again. That look is you giving me another piece of your legacy and admitting who the better man really is. At this point, honestly, I can't think of anything else I can take from you. What’s left to take, Paul? What else can I even take from you?" The hunger had begun to eat away at him from the inside. He looked for the scraps. “Whatever’s left. I want it all. I'm going to break you, Paul. I'm going.....to break....you. Whatever part of you name, your soul, your body, whatever's left is what I'm going to take. I will continue to eat away at this entity that we call El Pablo until your name is impossible to remember. I want you to fade from photographs! I want the only traces of the once great rainbow warrior to be specks of blood on my knuckles. Point blank, I'm here to finish the job. Derek Damage has already put you on the altar, and all I have to do is tear your heart out of your chest, and kick your head down the stairs after I get one last look into your eyes, and see that intoxicating disappointment as you realize that I've finally taken my place at the top.” A laugh passed through his lips, offering some kind of humor in this darkest of days. The lanterns, they had left, and for good purpose. There was no need for so many innocent, tortured souls to witness the fiery, burning fury that was set to reduce Professional Wrestling to ash. Ryan belonged here, though. The suffering screams of men and women as their world seared around them was just like a perfect comedy. Justice was always hilarious to him. He hated clowns anyway. “But you aren’t going to let me win, eh? Heh, as if you had any choice in the matter. No, you have a plan. You have a secret in waiting, and have invoked that most perfect of battle plans. You look to destroy that monster deep in the dungeon by becoming a monster yourself. It’s the go to war plan when these epic clashes of good and evil happen. There is no saint in this world who knows what it is to take a life. All the sensations, the stimulations, the feeling of your blood pulsing that much faster as the knife goes in. In order to take that life, in order to understand what it is to take from someone else, we must first understand what it is to be taken from. And oh, the hells you’ve set up for yourself to prepare for this match. The isolation, the hunger, the dark………you’re becoming quite the killer, aren’t you, Paul? You’ve strapped yourself down to that operating table, and like Dr. Frankenstein in a fit of mad home self-surgery, just started slicing away at everything you could find. You’ve done everything in your power to make that metamorphosis happen. You’ve become a rabid beast.” For the first time since the birth of this video, the face of the curse maneuvers toward the camera, the rest of his body following soon after. He hunched over like a gargoyle on the highest tower, stone expression serving as the setting of those eyes. Those hellacious, unforgiving eyes that only brought madness and pain to whoever looked upon them. The same madness and pain Ryan had now allowed to let free. “But there’s this one thing you all forget. You’re so quick to place yourself on a level higher than Mike King, but from where I’m sitting right now, you sure sound a lot the same to me. Nonsensical babbling on this idiotic, elementary school concept that trying harder can change anything. Tales of hidden potential that we’ve all never seen before, but you promise to us is still truly, honestly there. Mouths like fire nozzles, spewing in torrents reminders of accolades and achievements that were what made you who you are, and this concept that if dealt the right hand, and if the stars aligned just right, you could become that monster. To do this, Paul, you’ve taken to the dark. You’ve lurked there with nothing but your memories and thoughts to accompany you, and by George, you’ve turned yourself into that monster. Too bad it won’t get you anywhere, because that bullshit evolution doesn’t shake the reality that while you’ve become a monster, I was fucking born one! Did you think your little tirade would get you anywhere other than in a bed next to your good friend Yoshi? You adopt the dark, rub elbows with the sorrow, but I’ve called that same darkness my home since I had first opened my eyes. It’s a nice charade, I’ll give you that. I can see you pay attention to detail pretty well, but it’s not enough. You don’t know loneliness. You don’t know hunger, or pain, or hate. Hunger is listening to your Mother try and shine a bright side on why there isn’t any food on the table again tonight, but to be hopeful. Pain is knowing that no matter what you do, no matter where you are or how well you behave, the hand is coming for you. The bones will break, the skin sheer, the muscle bruise, and it will all be dealt from a man whose name your share…..but you stay hopeful. Hate….hehe…..” There was this laughter. He didn’t know where it came from, or why it had come in the first place. Perhaps it was that final straw that had fallen and broken that camel’s back that had wandering aimlessly in the sands of Ryan’s musing? Perhaps it was the acid in his stomach finally finishing with the lining and moving on to the brain? Or perhaps it was the very hate he was about to address, welling up inside before exploding outward like the stalker in the mist, dagger in hand? Whatever it was, the malcontent in Ryan’s face was unmistakable. “Hate is knowing that after all of that hope, all of that looking to the brighter side of things, it all goes away anyway. Hate is all I know, because it’s all I’ve been able to know. I see guys like you have one bad day, and you talk about how angry you are, but you still have motivation. A night’s sleep makes it all go away. Hate is why I keep moving, because only in hate am I able to find a reason to wake up at all. I hate what CZW has become, so I aim to kill it. I hate that the world we live in takes so much from us, and when we ask for something in return, it responds with war, pestilence, and death…………..so I seek to inspire a force against it. Hate is being unable to believe in these illusions society tells us will make it ok. Things like hard work and love and religion, and because of this I see right through you and your façade, Paul. I see that your preparations and mindset changes are just acts you use to try and fool yourself into thinking you can win. You hype this up as the second coming of that gold standard El Pablo, the “most successful superstar in the history of Combat Zone Wrestling”, and you pitch these numbers and statistics that give you that glint in your eye like that day, and I want that! I want you to know that you’ve done everything, tried everything, brought everything you had to the table, because it’s only then that I show you just how fucking weak you really are! You can huddle with your girlfriend and summon the power of the XTC, and climb up that mountain! You can bust your ass and work yourself into a frenzy, and meet the pinnacle of your ability, but once you reach the summit I’ll crush you under the weight of brutal fact! Hard work and determination are just words you use to threatening me into thinking you didn’t already give me everything you had! Accolades are just armor we place around our fragile sense of being to convince ourselves that we still matter in this world, and Pablo, right now, you have no meaning! Do you hear me!? You haven’t had meaning in years!” Ryan stood, the orchestra tuning their instruments as the intensity of the water began to increase in minute intervals, a mild crash hitting the shore. The world itself had bent to the will of a force stronger than it could ever be, and when he spoke, it obeyed. “But you will after Event Horizon. Every being sacrificed up until now will mean nothing compared to what your demise will gain. You’re the final stepping stone. You, Pablo, will be the key that unlocks Pandora’s box and lets free a hell that even I can only dream of! They will sing songs of what will happen this day, and on your tombstone I’ll carve ‘The source of all you see before you. The man to blame for the scorched Earth and skies of fire!’” As he exclaimed the eradicating epitaph, he looked to those exact skies. “2012 will be the end of the world that is CZW, and I am that apocalypse turned flesh! What you will witness at Event Horizon will not only ban this company from the country of Japan, but may as well guarantee that it will never see light on television again, and Derek Damage signed that deal when he put the two men I hate the most in this world in front of me for the one thing I live for! I'm going to turn the Tokyo Dome into a mother fucking Serbian Film, because this whore of a company doesn't deserve a peaceful death! For every person Damage has overlooked, for every fan who has paid hard earned money for mediocre performance, and for every person who pleaded with me not to, I'm not just going to kill CZW! I'm going to take this precious company so many of your careers call “Mother” and I’m going to rape it in front of millions of people, slit it’s throat, and throw it in a fucking ditch, just to remind you who I AM! I am every robbery at knife point in the back alley, just so some guy who never got any chances in this rotten world can put food on his table for his little girl! I am the hate that swells in the mind of every kid who gets picked on at school, and passes the thought of suicide around like you decide what's for lunch! I am the black eye on every housewife who stares down at the overcooked roast her husband hit her for, and then lets the rat poison fall! I am Columbine! I am The Bay of Pigs! I am Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki! I am the rage of this world from years and years of immoral sadists given form and sent to drown you in your pride and debauchery, and laugh and watch as you choke! In the Tokyo Dome I flood the CZW with the blood of two sacrificial lambs, and wash away these monuments Derek Damage has erected to his own failures!” As his word traveled out and away into the blistering ocean, Ryan felt drawn to his right hand. He explored the detailed artwork that had called this hand home, the pitch black X that framed his life for so long. The power he felt in that hand was of legend. This was the hand of an artist. Violence. Violence was an art form, and in the ring, Ryan Shane was Rembrandt. "And those people who survive......those people who truly believe, they will watch as I reach down into that marshy grave, peel back the cold fingers of a waterlogged King, and raise the crown high before placing it on my head where it belongs." Ryan returned his sight to the camera, a purpose that we as the CZW Nation had never once seen before possessing him. The lanterns on the salty brine and in the chilling air molded together in a single wall of spiritual flame floating in the ease before the oncoming catastrophe. One could only picture more joining them. Hundreds more, even thousands. The entire unclean CZW Nation swept away………… "So the choice now falls on you. The end is not waiting for any man, woman, or child. You can watch with slacked jaws and let the sorrow deliver you, or you can reach up and take our hand, and we'll stand on the top of Mt. Olympus.........and rebuild this lost empire into the most beautiful testament to our craft the world has ever seen." He took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of the world. He wondered if it would all be different after this battle. If everything would be just as dull, just as bleak……..or would that strap of leather and gold be as sweet as they said it would be? While he thought this, he also reached down to his feet, producing from off-screen two small, hand-folded paper lanterns set within small wooden ships. Setting them on the ledge he once sat on, Ryan removed a lighter from his jeans pocket. "Only what I offer can make you whole, and in destruction...........in violence...........I will set you free. Fight me if you wish, fight back the end…….but it’s already here. This company will flourish with me as the head, and we will rise to heights none of you could have ever hoped to find. Take one last look at how it is. On Monday, my self-forged destiny will be fulfilled, and the empire that is CZW that we all thought the sun would never set on………….it comes crumbling down….." With a flick of the wrist and a flurry of embers, Ryan gave the flame to each candle within. He solemnly returned the lighter to its place, and then took up each vessel, placing the lanterns into the water, and pushing them out to sea. He stood and watched as they floated away, envisioning the two ghosts that would follow them after this weekend, arguing over who had fought the hardest. He then turned his head slightly toward the camera. “And it will Stay Down.” Ryan turned back to the lantern, now just specks of light against the backdrop of the midnight hour. He bowed his head once more, offering a final thought to those that had been lost, before placing his hands in his pockets and walking away. With nothing left to say, the footage began to distort, breaking into a rage of malicious static. As the static began to fade to black, we were left with so many questions. Would this be the last time Ryan Shane spoke as a challenger? Would this be the end of the War for control? Would this be the end? Was there really an end at all? |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
![]() Our users say it best: "Zetaboards is the best forum service I have ever used." Learn More · Sign-up Now |
|
| « Previous Topic · PPV RP Archives · Next Topic » |
| Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
1:01 AM Jul 11
|
powered by podcast garden
Hosted for free by ZetaBoards · Privacy Policy





1:01 AM Jul 11