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Shawn Stevens vs Roxas vs Hells Guardian; Dark Match
Topic Started: Mar 3 2008, 07:56 PM (99 Views)
Glen Greeney
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Natural Selection Member - 'The Original HcW Boss' Glen
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1 Roleplay Limit

Abit of a shame that neither of you roleplayed for the PPV, but you do get a chance to show you still want to be in HcW with a dark match. Thats the rules, its now upto you to show you are still with us.. We shall see...

And Hells Guardian makes his return to HcW.
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http://www.hcwe.shorturl.com/

Total Hardcore Action

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Hells Guardian
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Curtain Jerker
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OOC: I am incredibly rusty with my ol' Chara. Lets see how it goes lol forgive my two pics. needed em for chara development...

~* The thoughts of the Reaper.... *~

The Phoenix. Such a creature of honour, the symbol that so many associate with purity. The good. The healing tears, to destroy a phoenix is to condemn oneself to the very lower levels of hell. Its amazing how HcW can be compared to such a creature that resembles the greater good. Like the Phoenix, it is constantly reborn, just instead of traditional ash, HcW is instead reborn from the ashes of liquidation. Despite this the fans come screaming back, such loyalty. Some superstars join in a hope that HcW can relive its glorious past and help them ignite their way to the top of the mountain. Others believe HcW will always be the peak of the mountain. One thing that is always the same, regardless of owners, is the same undying belief that they are number one. That alone separates HcW from the rest. It has been such a long time since I laced up my boots. Will they remember me? Will they cheer me? Will they boo me? It matters not. The only thing that matters is the target of opportunity. The opportunity for myself to be reborn, much in the same way as HcW and the Phoenix, but this time I will not just disappear into the depths of the shadows. I will return on my terms and select the most opportunistic moment to strike. Let the battle commence.....


~* The Moment presents itself.... *~

The arena stands out in this city. Illuminated with many an advertising board, advertising that HcW will be igniting the fans, who choose to purchase a ticket. The image of Lance Mikes and Mr Greeny are featured on many of the posters. Cars screech past. It is just another busy night in this city. Clouds engulf the sky, extinguishing the moon and its rays from view. Pedestrians wander by, cold and gloomy as the weather takes hold on their well being, as the occasional sneeze gives away the flu virus they are carrying. Mixing in with the crowd of commuters is a large figure, clad in a long hooded leather jacket. Hands concealed in the sleeves of the jacket, he wanders by. A child stops and looks up at the figure, letting go of his chocolate bar, as the mother tries to encourage him not to stare, thus picking up the boy and ushering him away, with the classic mother-lecture of ‘You don’t do that to strangers...’

The rumble of distance thunder does not offer anyone any hope of avoiding a soaking, and to demoralise them some more, drops of rain start to ping against the hard surfaces around them. The flash of lightening illuminates the sky through the thinner areas of cloud cover, cementing the exceptionally gloomy atmosphere. The figure stops and stares at the arena building. Minutes pass. Very little movement until eventually he ventures down the embankment towards the entrance. He watches from the sides of the building as a Toyota Celica turns up with blacked out windows. After careful parking the Co-Owner Lance Mikes gets out, looking like ‘slick rick’. A Couple of fans jump and start asking for his autograph. The shades on his face hide his black eye as he smiles for the public and obliges. A flash of lightening illuminates the figure for which we have followed. Sporting a pale complexion, with a crooked smirk etched on his face, it is none other than the ‘Reaper of Souls’ Hell’s Guardian. Observing the calm and smooth strut of Lance, he watches where the talent enter, aqnd slowly follows, However Lance Mikes gets sidetracked with one of the production crew, and Hell’s Guardian takes this opportunity to enter the building.

The corridors are brightly lit, various equipment litters the side walls as Hell’s Guardian wanders down. He does notice a female, kicking the vending machine, and managing to get a free beverage. She spots him. Not that he acknowledges it, he wanders by and he turns around at the calling of his name.
It is Lance Mikes. Hell’s Guardian slowly turns and walks away, switching himself off from his boss. Hell’s Guardian embraces his past and remembers the feuds they had.

Good times.

After much exploring Hell’s Guardian manages to find an unmarked room. Entering it, he does find a cupboard and a basic folding chair. Removing his leather jacket, the dimly lit room reveals his true size and physic, emphasised by the fact the camera man pans up. For the first time Hell’s Guardian pays attention to the crew that has followed him.

“The stage is set. The time is upon us. The clashing of bones and sinew will soon commence! For those of you who don’t know my name, it is Hell’s Guardian. And those who do remember me, I’m BAAAAAAAAAACK!!!”

“Time. Such a magnificent thing! An invention that some of us underestimate. Tick Tock!! The sweet sound of decay. A constant reminder that for every single one us, the sands of time are slowly running out. Funny how Time does the hard work and death mops up. At this moment however, time is my ally. I have waited for this moment, for the rebirth of my true arena of pleasure. HcW. I made my name here and thus I am back once again to turn up the volume on pain. Pain. Another pleasure or disfigurement of the mind. Demon’s to some, Angels to others. Pain is my weapon and just another ally. I could preach to the high heavens as many a man and woman has done in the past, about how they will do this and that. However I will warn you now. My actions speak louder than any words!”


Hell’s Guardian turns and spots a rat wandering around. He reaches down and picks it up in his hands. It looks rather tame as he strokes its head.

“It is time we all woke up. Look at this right here. Despised by mankind. Considered to be the plague of our civilisation. Yet before our eyes lies an answer to many a prayer of a dying human being. How is it that something so small can survive in the worst of habitats, but remain unaffected by many diseases we suffer from? There is something in this rat’s body that is far more advanced than our supposedly superior bodies. Rats are scavengers. We as a race destroy and move on, therefore are we not the true plague? The true virus of this planet?”

“There is a point to my statements. I am a rat. I am going to sneak into your lives, using cunning and imagination, infiltrate the way you live, and spread my germs until you can no longer stand. Careers will end and victories will follow my every footstep. Once more my name will echo through every alleyway, whispered by man, woman and child everywhere. HcW once recognised my brutality, and people paid to watch. That time is upon us again. Battles will commence, bitter rivalries will ensure, and old foes will rekindle the romance of war. Whisper my name, and tremble!”


Hell’s Guardian holds out his hands and allows the rat to run over them, as a chilling reminder embeds itself into the heads of the viewers. What fool would hire such a beast? If history is going to repeat itself then why offer him a feeding ground, full of delicious opportunity to hunt? Only time will truly tell just how big a mistake this could prove to be.........

*~ Scene 2: The Reality of Humanity.... *~

“Welcome to enlightenment!”

Hell’s Guardian is standing with a smile on his face. The face or torment. The face that bares the true scars of war. He stands with his hands out stretched, drawing out attentions to this crooked back alley. Big Dumpsters little the sides of the alley, and the gentle groans of the local drunk tramp fill the air, on occasion, echoing around each nook and cranny and into the ears of those willing to listen. The wind accompanies these slurs as it whistles by. Looks like the bad weather has not surpassed yet.

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“Please accompany me.”


Hell’s Guardian begins to wander down this alley. The filth is greatly apparent, very much an ‘in your face look’. Stray Cats are exploring the smaller bins, eager to sample some of the finer delights of living in a city, and with streets of restaurants mere inches away they cannot be blamed for trying to find a decent gram, a crust of the high life. Hell’s Guardian continues the walk. The walk of which he promises to open our eyes.

“You may of noticed that I have failed to acknowledge the fact that I am booked to compete this week, live! Monday Night Hell. Perhaps you feel I have over looked my fellow combatants? Fear not, they will soon suffer the wrath of my tongue, and then some! In the meantime allow me to focus your attention to the surroundings. Not the most pleasant of environments I am sure you would agree? These mere sights offer only a glimpse into the lives of the unfortunate. Ever wondered what Hell is like? Is this what your mind creates when you wonder what hell truly is? Or does your mind bring forth the imagery of a big red devil figure, sitting on a throne of bones surrounded by the souls of evil, suffering in their eternal flames of torment? Would I be right in saying that the vast majority of you take for granted that the image of the devil involves red horns and a big pitch fork? Haha! Interesting!”

Hell’s Guardian begins to scratch and rub his chin in a mixture of thoughts.

“Then humanity is surrounded by a shroud, a very big shroud that I intend to uncover, I shall teach you all the error of your ways, and open your eyes to what I like to call.....reality!”


After a few minutes of walking, the alleyway becomes thinner, there are no more bins with cats searching them, in fact the wall are clean and no graffiti can be found on them. Rather odd in this alley. What can definitely be classed as unusual would be the fact there is a set of Elevator doors at the end of the alley. After a brief moment of taking in the site the elevator doors open. Without invitation Hell’s Guardian enters it and greets us with a smile.

“It is time for mankind to open its eyes as I will take you on down into the depths of your imagination, and reveal the true Hell that we should truly fear. It is time to get rid of all the fantasy around ‘Hell’ and reveal its true guise, and reveal the true intensity it brings.”

Hell’s Guardian presses the down button, conveniently highlighted as ‘Hell’.

“I am looking forward to Monday night, where once again I can truly exercise my limbs and mind, by inventing ways to inflict the torture that will scar the weak minded forever. I understand that I have been embraced with two potential victims. Shawn Stevens and the interesting Roxas. Such a pity that the two of you have been handpicked for mutilation. Fear not! You will not only be the first and second to fall by my hand, but you will be the first of many! Oh so many have had the privilege of falling foul of my hand. An interesting prospect none the less, as I must exercise caution in this encounter. I am definitely out of practice, and one simple mistake......”


Hell’s Guardian has lost his smile. Cursing himself for allowing doubt to enter his mind, he turns and stares at the cracked mirror at the back of the lift.

“Do I still have it? Can I still ignite the passion that was once in my heart? The thrill of battle. It echoes through my every pore. The way of the warrior! I watched from the shadows as HcW risen up from the depths of liquidation and back into the spotlight. I watched as it grew in popularity. My battle arena. My Home. New alliances formed. Friendships broken. The opportunity to test my might against the new breed of superstars. A New Champion. Old Foes. Yes the time is right now for my return. And the first battle is set to begin.”

“A Triple Threat Match it is then! What a better way to get rid of my ring rust fast and effectively, for which my thanks must go out to the owners. Roxas! Shawn Stevens! Let battle commence. Monday. Tonight we extract our cravings for success out of each other. Stevens! Prepare to meet the reaper of souls, the true enigma, the archangel of pain. Hell’s Guardian spares no one, and there are no exceptions, not even for you Roxas! There is a secret song at the centre of the earth and its sound is like the tearing of flesh, and I am here to turn up the volume! It will be unbearable! The pain of relatives, the agony of friends, this is my world this is my house, and a fate worse than awaits those who come around for supper!”


Hell’s Guardian looks truly demented as he punches the mirror, shattering it into many pieces. His hand is bust open, as the blood trickles onto the floor. He shows us the the cut, quite deep it appears. Without even a flinch, he forces his hand into a fist, forcing the fragments deeper, not that you would think he had noticed, as his now vague expression shows.

He then turns around his hand and looks at the wound. Hell’s Guardian seems to go into a trance at its sight...

“Roxas....dark horse....Stevens.....obstacle.....Natural Selection......interesting......Lance Mikes.....Pain.....Gladiator....odd.”


He seems to go into rants about the current roster for a minute or two. Snapping back into focus at the sound of a ‘ping’. The lift has reached its destination and the doors slowly open. Hell’s Guardian smirks and offers us to exit first. We exit and stare in disbelief!!!

Hell......


.....


.....


.....


We have not moved anywhere??!!

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Hell’s Guardian steps into focus and crossing his arms, his face of a serious expression.

“How do you like Hell? Interesting is it not? Have your eyes truly been opened yet? YOUR LIVING IN HELL!!! FOOLS!!!”

“The true Hell. Feast your eyes on it! A world filled with torment that happiness is nothing short of the true virus. Death is not the end but a sanctuary. You live in a world plagued by war, death, famine, disease. We even create diseases so that we can destroy more life than ever. Then if that was not enough the true suffering begins. War. Assault. Theft. Rape. Paedophilia. The true hell that plagues this world it runs rampant. The exploitation of an innocent child. Incest! Families cannot live without the fear of both rape and kidnap, or both. This world is the true Hell, and I Hell’s Guardian, I am your savvier, I will end your suffering by speeding up time. Speeding up the sands of time, and bring forth your end, the end of your misery.”

“Roxas. Stevens. You are the first of many that will fall by my hand. The first of many to sample the suffering they inflict on others. The pain you cause? That will be nothing. Your suffering will be legendary, even in Hell, where we currently stand! Come win, lose or draw, you certainly will remember me, mainly by the physical scars, and most importantly, your mental ones. Come Monday, bring me your best, allow me the prestige of defeating you both, at your best, whisper my name and tremble, for Roxas, Stevens, your end is neigh!!!”


Hell’s Guardian turns and wanders back down the alley from which we came, the air is silent, no cats can be heard. Silence. Deadly silence. Can Hell’s Guardian find his old form and deliver on his promise? Can he truly reach out to new heights? Has the owners of this federation, our beloved HcW, unleashed something that they will soon live to forget, or are they counting on him to inject that lethal dose of poison that will bring the mighty back down to their knees? Can they manipulate him enough? Or is Hells Guardian his own man with his own goals? Only time will truly tell if this is the true end....the end of us all.


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S. Stevens
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[align=center]The Tale of Two Boys, A Bear, and A Field-trip[/align]

He wasn't always like this, y'know?

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Girl: Excuse me?

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It's true. In fact, at one point, he was quite normal: he couldn't hear me, either. For argument's sake, let's call the closing days of that timeframe February through April of 2001. Back before the Twin Towers fell, back before the country, in it's current state, knew what "national tragedy" really meant. Back before the world knew what American Idol was, and before anyone had any idea the last two Matrix's would be a waste of four hours of their life.

Back then...he was normal. Back then, Shawn Stevens was just a wrestler.


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Girl: Sir, I'm afraid I don't know who that is.

Rewind a little bit. Let’s see, where to start. How about the HcW main headquarters? No doubt you've been to, or at least seen, this place before. A huge building of magnificent design and wondrous architecture. It get hundreds of visitors a day, but the one we're following is a bit more "special" than the others. He loves to travel, but he'll soon come to find that HcW headquarters may be his favorite place to venture to.

Girl: Good afternoon, thank you for calling the Hardcore Championship Wrestling; how may I direct your call?

Here we see young Susan McCarthy, she’s been a receptionist here at the HcW for all of three weeks, and so far the job is like any other receptionists job. Answer phones, direct people to the proper area of the building, set up and manage appointments for visitors into the HcW. At this moment her next visitor is walking through the door, in his left hand a large selection of purple and orange balloons, in his right, a stuffed teddy bear that has seen better days, taped to the bear’s left hand is also an assortment of balloons.

Susan: Good afternoon sir, and welcome to the Hardcore Championship Wrestling. How can I help you?

By now if you don’t know who she’s talking to, you should probably move out of the box you’re living in and join the rest of the world. Then again, it has been awhile since he made an appearance so we’ll let it slide just this once.

Shawn Stevens: Well good afternoon to you young lady, I’m here to see Mike Lance.

Susan: Yes sir, just let me just look in the employee book here, Lance, Lance, I’m sorry, there is no Mike Lance or even a Michael Lance.

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He worked weekly shows for Brand X, he came home, he had sex with his fiancé, Shelli, and he went back out on the road. Life was as mundane as a professional wrestler's could be. And then...he walked in.

He was five when Shawn found him. His hair dirty-blonde, and his eyes a deep green, Stevens saw himself when he looked into the boy's eyes. Standing there, soaked from the downpour, they both needed each other.

The city was Baltimore, and it represented a crossroads for Shawn Stevens. He had spent the first thirteen years of his life on the streets, and had seen what it could to a young, corruptable mind. Only through years of work had Shawn become the man that stood there that day.


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Susan: Do you have a delivery for him?

Susan motions towards the colored balloons as she speaks, still unaware of the headache she’s getting herself into.

Shawn: Delivery? Hmm, you could say that. More of a welcoming celebration that I’ll know he’ll want to take part in. We’re tight, Mike and I, almost like brothers - he bailed me out of a situation that I'm quite sure I didn't get myself into, and I’m sure he’d be very displeased to find out that one of his employees was keeping him from that celebration by not allowing the guest of honor to pass.

Susan: I’m sorry sir, I didn’t realize there was a party here today. Let me to check my computer, perhaps the book is wrong.

As she’s done on more than one occasion, Suzan turns to her computer and punches up the name, after several seconds she returns her view to the man in front of her and pouts with a small smile.

Susan: My apologies; I don’t seem to see a Mike Lance here either, are you sure he works here?

Shawn: The man is the President and owner of the HcW, only the most important individual on the whole flaming planet! No I don’t think he “Works” here, that’s what he pays everyone else to do, but I’m sure he’s here.

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But, his type was few and far between; most in his situation had gone the other way, directly downhill as they grew older and more capable of the acts that sent them down the wrong paths. He wanted to give the boy standing in front of him that night that opportunity; the opportunity he had to fight to get. Maybe this boy wouldn't be so lucky, and he couldn't stand the thought of that.

He took a step towards the boy, and like a cat raised in alleys, the boy drew back, clutching the stuffed teddy bear in his arms that much harder.


Shawn: It's okay...I'm not going to hurt you.

Still the boy said nothing, just staring up at the large man with those huge, green eyes. Shawn recognized the situation, and bowed to one knee, holding his right hand out towards the boy.

Shawn: I'm Shawn Stevens...do you like wrestling?

The boy glanced down at the ground, then back up at Shawn, and nodded slowly.

Shawn: I'm a professional wrestler. Would you like to come see me wrestle sometime at one of the big arenas?

He pointed to the large dome behind them, and the boy slowly nodded again.

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She followed up his arm, to his extended fingertip, with her eyes. It was pointed to a large portrait on the wall.

Susan: Oh you mean Mr. Mikes?

Shawn: Who? Who is this Mikes fellow you speak of?”

Susan: Lance Mikes? He’s the owner and president of the HcW, all though I’ve never met him.

Shawn stares at the woman for a moment, quietly thinking to himself. Mike Lance would never just up and leave the HcW. He would have to die for someone else to be able to take control. Then again, maybe everything wasn’t as it first appeared.

Shawn: Owner and president?

Susan: Yes sir.

Shawn: You mean? MIKE LANCE CHANGED HIS NAME?!?

Susan: Uh, what…

Shawn: But why would he change his name? Unless, UNLESS HE GOT TOO CLOSE TO THE TRUTH!

Susan: Uh sir, what truth?

Shawn: Whatever truth people get too close to before their told their getting to close. I hear about it all the time right before someone disappears.

Susan: Is this some kind of joke?

Shawn: I get that a lot.

Susan: Sir, I really don’t have time for games.

Shawn: Maybe he was going to be rubbed out by the mob, AND JOINED THE WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM!!!

Susan: Sir?

Shawn: Think about it. Ol’ Mikey gets a visit from the mob, they want a piece of the “pie”, but Mike tells them “I don’t got any pie, check the lunch room.” Only, there is no lunch room, but while they are in the basement looking for it, Mike gets smart and calls the FBI.

Susan: FBI sir?

Shawn: The FBI shows up, arrests the mob, BUT, they put a hit out on poor Mike from jail and the FBI says “You got to change your name and move to Nantucket.”, but Mikey says, “No they’ll be expecting that, I’ll change my name and stay right here, that way they THINK I moved to Nantucket and send the hit man there".

Susan: Sir, as entertaining as this is becoming, I really need to get back to work. If you’d like, I can call my supervisor and you can talk to her, perhaps she knows this Mike Lance.

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Shawn: I would like that, too. Do you know where your parents are?

Still no words, only a shaking of his head.

Shawn: That's okay...would you like to come with me, and maybe we can find them one day?

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Shawn: Don’t you see? It’s too late for that. What if we’re being watched? The mob is probably here right now trying to find out anything they can and YOU JUST TOLD EVERYONE IN THE LOBBY WHO HE REALLY WAS!!!

Susan: What?!? Me? But I didn’t say anything.

Shawn: They’re probably fitting Mike with a snug tight pair of cement shoes as we speak.

Susan: I’m calling security.

Shawn: Good idea, maybe we can stop them before they make it to the Hudson River.

It’s not so much a phone call now a days as it is a small shiny red candy like button seated underneath the receptionists desk, one press, and boom, instant Calvary.

Shawn: I wonder if we’ll get a medal for this, or maybe the key to the city. I wonder what it unlocks?

From a less noticeable door in the corner of the lobby steps three rather large individuals. Susan makes her way over to them and begins a conversation that Stevens, strain as he might, can’t seem to overhear, all thought she points to him rather frequently as she talks.

Shawn: Something tells me they may have paid off the fuzz over there Winkie, maybe we should split before they want to take us for a ride. Winkie?

Shawn turns back towards the counter and to his horror finds his most prized possession missing. Instinctively he reaches for where Winkie was sitting; patting the counter as if it contained some hidden spot that may be holding his bear.

Shawn: I knew we were getting too close. I’ll probably wake up one morning with a severed teddy bear head in my bed. Hey that rhymes.

It’s at that point that Shawn felt a small tugging sensation at his leg. Upon looking down he was greeted by the smiling face of a small child, no more than four or five years old.

Shawn: Hey there small fry, you didn’t happen to see a small teddy bear with some purple balloons anywhere did you, maybe running away from some suspicious looking people, screaming at the top of his lungs?

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He said nothing, hanging his head and staring at the drenched teddy bear in his arms. After a moment, there was a slight nod.

Shawn: Then take my head, and we'll get out of this rain.

He wiggeld the fingers at the end of his extended hand, and the boy slowly took his hand. Pulling the small boy to him, Shawn lifted him up into his arms.

Shawn: What's your name?

The boy was hesitant for a moment, then looked up at Shawn as he answered.

Boy: ...Stewart.

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Giggling the small boy nods an affirmative.

Shawn: Good idea, just laugh, pretend I’m doing something funny. Now, don’t say anything, just point in the direction they took my bear.

Again, the small child giggles with fascination as he holds his finger above his head, pointing at the sky. Shawn’s eye’s narrow slightly, as he slowly lifts his head to look in the same direction. Hanging there, some 30 feet in the air from the balloons tied to his paw, is the answer to Shawn’s question, of “Where’s Winkie?”

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Shawn responded with a nod, then motioned towards the stuffed bear.

Shawn: ...and what's his name?

This, however, finally brought a smile to the small boy's face.

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Shawn: WINKIE! Don’t worry buddy, I’ll get you down. I just need to find something to throw.

Shawn looks down at the small child, then back up to Winkie and again back down at the youngster at his knees.

Shawn: How much do you weigh? Eh, I probably wouldn’t get the angle right anyway. Think, think.”

Let’s skip for the moment back to Susan McCarthy who has busily been telling her problem to the security guards she had recently summoned. She has just finished telling them about the strange colored visitor that currently is standing at her front counter and her worry that he may be a bit unstable and why she believes that. Unsure of her safety and unsure of what to do she panicked and hit the emergency button to which the fine security guards in charge of the building state that she “did the right thing” and that “They’ll take care of things from here.” At which point they begin to head that way.

Security Guard: Excuse me sir?

Shawn smiles from ear to ear as he waves a hearty hello and motions towards his bear in his left hand.

Shawn: Greetings flat foot, how can my plush friend and I be of assistance to you?

Security Guard: Sir, Ms. McCarthy here says you may be experiencing a problem? Is there something we can help you with?

Shawn: No sir, I was just on my way to track down Mike Lance, I’m under the impression something bad may have happened to him.

Security Guard: Well, in a manner of speaking it has sir. Lance Mikes is actually the current president and owner.

Shawn: Yes, I’m aware of the Witness protection program thing. Actually I was just heading up to talk with Mike, er I mean Lance to get everything straightened out.

Security Guard: I’m sorry sir but you’re not allow…

Woman: OH MY GOD, MY SON!!!

The three security guards, Susan, and the rest of the patrons in the large lobby turn in surprise towards the screaming woman pointing towards the ceiling in a panicked motion. The camera pans up slowly to find a small boy, one we’ve seen just recently, still giggling, and having a good old time. A large assortment of purple and orange balloons tied to his belt loop in the back of his pants. Next to him, a smaller group of balloons hang, their strings twirled together, ending in a piece of tape.

Shawn: WON’T SOMEONE SAVE HER SON!!!

Security Guard: JOHNSON!! Find one of the maintenance guys, see if they can bring one of the cherry pickers up here they use for changing the lights. Jeff better go call for an ambulance just in case, I’ll go keep the crowd calm, Susan see what you can do for that mother to keep her comfortable. LET’S MOVE PEOPLE!

Quickly, everyone in the group ran in a different direction, almost knocking Shawn down in the process. They had a job to do, and they wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of getting it done. Good for them. Unfortunately, that left Shawn all by himself, free to make his way slowly but surely to the elevator in the back of the lobby.

Shawn: So uh, I’ll just head on up to talk to Mike, I mean uh, Lance Mikes, or whatever. Keep up the good work, and uh, don’t worry ma’am, I’m sure your son will be fine.

After a small ding the elevator door opened wide and with a last look, Shawn skipped inside to play with all the shiny buttons, determined to find the man he was looking for. God help which ever floor he lands on and doubly so for the people on that floor.

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Back in present, we join a black screen, and our hero's voice the only thing accompanying it.

Shawn Voiceover: There's much more to both of those stories, but there are other things to focus on for the time being. Namely what's going on currently in HcW. Two weeks ago, I was nearly killed in the parking lot of an HcW event, and not a word was said. Despite that, I was booked into a match that I had no business in one week later. Against the likes of a silly girl or not, Winkie and I should have been nowhere near a wrestling ring at HcW's first ever pay-per-view. I realize the management sees our mere presence as a huge crowd draw, but at the expense of never having me in the ring again? That's horribly short-sighted, if you ask me. Let it be known that just because HcW's management team - and I use the term loosely - had neglected to look further into my attack, doesn't mean it's been forgotten. Someone will pay dearly for it - in due time.

But for now...

Shawn V/O: For now, I have to deal with the here and now. The current here and now: Hell's Guardian - wait, can I get a confirmation on that name?

Yup, you've got it right.

Shawn V/O: I was afraid you were going to say that. Hell's Guardian, really?!? So then, what, he's the bitch of the devil? A bouncer at the doors of Hades? I wonder if he's ever seen Roadhouse. I love that movie.

Shawn....?

Shawn V/O: Oh, sorry. I'm not sure what this guy's angle is, but if the name alone is supposed to instill some kind of fear into me, he's fighting an uphill battle.

You see the words he had for you? The guy's a little freaky, to say the least.

Shawn V/O: Add him to the list. This place seems to be full of full-blown freaks. It's places like this where everyday Joes like myself at the minority. Like I said, I don't know what Mr. Guardian is trying to accomplish, but if he's trying to scare anyone, he's failing miserably.

And the girl?

Shawn V/O: Well, she's cute enough...but you know how I feel about those of her persuasion being involved with matches with me. It's nearly impossible to take seriously - as is she. The last girl I climbed into a ring with got lucky - that won't happen again.

So then?

Shawn V/O: Undoubtedly, each of them thinks themselves better than the rest, each confident that they’ll come out on top, regardless of who or what stands in their way. If you were to ask them what they think of me waiting until right now to start preparing, they'd say it would be like trying to take down a charging rhino with my left hand tied behind my back. So, it’s good for me then that I happen to know something that they don’t.

What would that be?

Shawn V/O: I'm not left handed…

You can't see it, but he's smiling. He always smiles when he knows something others don't. What he knows now is not only that he's right-handed, but also that his losing streak ends at Hell.
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