The Search - Chapter 3 May 30, 2020 23:56:26 GMT -5
Post by Andrew Logan on May 30, 2020 23:56:26 GMT -5
~The camera comes up on a dark and lonely road. It leads around a short turn and up towards a castle that should be well-known to fans from the Omega Era. Sitting in front of us is Chillingham Castle, said to be one of the most haunted locations on the planet. The camera pans down, showing Andrew Logan's back as he stares at the place where he once spent the better part of a year trapped. It was his own personal hell. And now, he's going back.~
Andrew Logan - I'm coming for you, brother. You're mine now.
~Andrew starts forward, swallowing any bits of fear he might have rolling around inside of him. This isn't about his past. It's about getting his hands on Anthony Logan and making him pay.~
~We flash back to an earlier time, an earlier place. A place of bloodshed. Andrew Logan is on his knees, cradling the body in front of him. The woman is lifeless, having left this mortal coil within the past few minutes. Andrew's tears drop onto her, merging with the blood that trails down her face. He pushes her blonde hair back, studying her, feeling the ultimate pain of loss. That's when he hears the voice.~
Anthony Logan - You caused all of this, Andrew. Not me. Your brought it all... on... yourself...
Andrew Logan - Anthony!! ANNTTTHHHOOONNNYYY!!!
~Andrew lowers the woman to the ground and jumps up, storming towards the door. He leaves a bloody handprint as he passes, using the edge of the door for leverage as he pushes his way through towards the front. He hears the sound of a car peeling out as he smashes through the door, shattering the glass pane in front of it. He looks around, spotting the departing vehicle, and turns, rushing to his garage. He leaps into his black pick-up truck, thankfully knowing that the keys will be hanging there as always. The engine revs up and Andrew starts out of the driveway, determined to catch the murderer who's ruined his life. But he's forced to slam on the brakes when the police cars screech to a halt in front of him. The officers jump out, pointing their guns towards the vehicle.~
Police - Keep your hands where we can see them! Stay right where you are!
~Andrew, furious, starts to reach for the gear, thinking about smashing through them and continuing on his way. That's when an officer suddenly appears next to him, swinging the butt of his rifle through the open window.~
~And everything goes black.~
When I decided to return to wrestling for the first time in years, I was promised that it would be a huge deal. The Manifest Destiny 2 Tournament. A tournament with real money on the line, with only the greatest stars from Online Championship Wrestling's past competing for the glory of being the best of the best. It was intriguing. It was manipulative. It was utter bullshit.
I was told I would get to face the cream of the crop, men and women who had made their names in the business and would be something I could point back to as a milestone in my life. The Big Bifford. Chad Vargas. The Incredible One. Lilith and her wife, Sarah Twilight. Names that did it all in wrestling.
It's like I ordered a prime rib and got delivered a piece of beef jerky... that had been fished out of the trash after some other loser had taken a bite and decided that it was too fucking lousy even for him to finish.
I crushed a lowlife Roach. I easily smashed Cheyenne Tabernacke. Vargas and TIO proved too damn scared to face me and ran off to go fuck in their hotel room or something. Not that there's anything wrong with that, let them have their little homosexual orgy. It's a different time and place, more power to them. But their cowardice led me to enter the finals of the tournament to face... Chelsea LeClair.
Let's talk about LeClair's run in the tournament. She wants everyone to believe that her victories haven't been a fluke. Well, congratulations, cupcake, I'll give you credit. It's not a fluke. It's simply bad booking. You, like me, haven't proven anything, because all of your opponents have absolutely sucked. You beat an old woman who shouldn't have tried wrestling again, claiming a title that had been sitting on a shelf gathering dust bunnies as groupies. You won over a crazy bitch who didn't give a shit after her precious wifey got ass-whooped by a racist, cowardly, gay-sex-loving redneck. You beat Jason Chase, and the worst thing I can say about him is that he's Jason Fucking Chase.
Neither of us got what we should have gotten out of this tournament, Chelsea. The difference is, I know that the people I beat were worthless and the victories meant nothing. You seem to be taking some great pride in being in the finals, like anything you've done to this point even matters. You're not a winner, Chelsea. You're just the last piece of shit they could get to the end to face me. A sad, pathetic woman who still thinks that she gets to be in the spotlight this Monday for anything other than as a punching bag.
~We return to present day, as Andrew Logan has entered Chillingham Castle. He walks through the front area, taking a moment to feel the railing of the curved stairway that heads upwards towards the second floor of the castle. He looks around, taking in the relative cleanliness of the area. Someone's definitely living here. He reaches out and presses on the wireless earpiece he's currenly wearing.~
Andrew Logan - You reading me, Malcolm?
Malcolm - So far so good, pally. Seen any ghosts yet?
Andrew Logan - Don't joke about things you don't understand.
Malcolm - I'm just wondering if any sheets are floating around, or maybe there's a piano playing or something...
Andrew Logan - From what I've heard, this place has been cleansed. The demons that I fought here long ago should be exorcised. But let's not talk about them and give them anything to hang onto.
Malcolm - Whatever you say... you loony...
Andrew Logan - You broke up there for a second, Malcolm. Want to repeat yourself, so I can set your comments deeper into my memory?
Malcolm - Er, no, no. Just keep your eyes out, okay?
Andrew Logan - Will do. I'm headed upstairs now. You might lose me.
~Andrew turns and walks up the staircase, keeping his guard up. That's when he hears an announcer's voice from way back when.~
Sam - CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?! An un-announced match has gone down, and it's Andrew Logan and El Linchador going at it!!!
Smith: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, EL LINCHADOR!!!!!
~Andrew starts for a second, then begins jogging quicker up the stairs. He runs down one of the hallways, listening closely and hearing more phrases lobbed out at him.~
Hood - WHO YA GONNA CALL? GHOST BUSTERS!!! DU-DU-DU-DU-DUNA ... DUNADUNADUNA!
Voice - Jason Stone has done it! He's beaten Andrew Logan on Monday Night Oblivion!
Voice 2 - What an absolutely EMBARRASSING defeat!
Voice 3 - He should never show his face in OCW again!
~Furious now, Andrew finally tracks down the sounds he's hearing. He rushes forward, smashing through one of the doors in front of him... but there's nothing there, other than a speaker seen up on the wall. Andrew, grabbing at his hair, turns and heads for the next door.~
Voice 4 - Can Andrew Logan win the big one without his brother, Anthony, at his side?
Voice 5 - Is it true that Andrew Logan's on the ballot for the Hall of Fame? For what? Something he did during Omega? Get real!
~After checking multiple doors without success, Andrew heads towards a two-sided door, aiming right for the center between them. He rams his shoulder into it, slamming both open... and he gives a yell as he begins to topple forward into an apparent pit on the other side, where the floor has been opened up to the floor below. He disappears from sight, as we hear one more voice.~
Dean: That sucka is nothing but a failure.
~We find ourselves in a police station, where Andrew Logan has been dragged in with his hands cuffed in front of him. His shirt is still covered in blood, as they bring the former wrestler down the hallway to where they keep the prisoners. Since he hasn't been charged yet, Andrew is sent into a private jail cell, with the door slamming shut behind him.~
Policeman - We'll be back for fingerprints and photographs soon, you murdering son of a bitch. Just sit there nicely and think about your crimes. If you want to use the blanket on your bed to end your life and make things easier for us, have at it.
~The officer moves off, disgusted with the man he's leaving behind. Andrew sits on the bed, looking downwards, tears flooding from his eyes as he begins to deal with the realism of what's happened.~
Andrew Logan - Grace... oh Grace...
~Angrily, Andrew grabs the edge of the bed as he stands up, yanking it off the floor. He throws it against the cage again and again, releasing all of his pent-up fury. Fury that was meant for his brother, Anthony.~
You could say I've been through some hell in my life.
The world has nearly broken me on multiple occasions. I honestly don't know how I have kept coming back again and again. Guess I'm a stubborn bastard, just as many have called me in the past. Why else would I come back to the wrestling world, to the organization that very nearly destroyed me?
You know, Dean and the others, they never really had much faith in me as a wrestler. Guys like Andy Murray would stack the deck against me, to make sure that I wouldn't succeed. Was it because of a personal hatred for me? No, I don't think so. It's because I was part of Omega, and Dean and the others REALLY hated Omega.
So maybe my memories of OCW aren't the best. Maybe Chelsea is hitting the nail on the damn head when she talked about how my name is not synonymous with OCW. But is that truly a bad thing? Look at the guys who were supposed to be the face of the company. Look how shitty they all turned out to be. Who wants to be in their shoes? I'd rather walk my own path in life.
And it's going to be a glorious path, Chelsea. Once I destroy you and make my way forward as the Manifest Destiny 2 victor, I'm going to take OCW and toss it behind me, as something I never have to worry about again. I'm going to be the hottest free agent in the wrestling world, and I'll make my career worth speaking about again. While you, Chelsea, can keep parading around with that defunct women's title as your life-defining moment.
Everyone's gotta have a hobby, I suppose.
~The camera settles on the edge of the pit, in an extreme close-up. It takes a second to realize what's being focused on, but once you see the large hands hanging onto the side, you can't look away from them. Slowly, the hands tense, and Andrew Logan's head rises upwards. He somehow managed to grab desperately for salvation and came up successfully. With one final effort, Andrew gets himself up on the edge, pulling himself to safety. He looks down, checking out the ruin below him where he would have landed.~
Andrew Logan - Nasty surprise there, little brother...
Malcolm - Are... okay? Andrew? Hel...
Andrew Logan - Malcolm? You're breaking up. I'm okay, just took a wrong turn. This place always had it in for me.
Malcolm - You... careful... we need you... don't...
Andrew Logan - Yeah, yeah, yeah...
~Andrew reaches up and hits the button, turning off his access to the outside world. He wasn't getting very good reception, anyway. He turns and moves off down the hall, when he suddenly hears... laughter.~
Anthony Logan - He he he he....
Andrew Logan - Are you going to come out and face me like man, Anthony?
Anthony Logan - Ha ha ha ha...
Andrew Logan - Anthony??
~Andrew kicks at another door, this time making sure to give himself plenty of space. Inside, there's a poster of Electricity, the brother's old tag-team, hanging on the wall. For a second, Andrew starts to step towards it, then rethinks it. He looks up, realizing that there's a cage hanging above him, ready to fall.~
Andrew Logan - That's just fucking lazy, brother.
~Andrew slams the door shut, and you hear a large bang on the other side of it. The cage was sprung, but nobody was caught. Andrew laughs himself, almost matching the laughter we heard earlier, before continuing down the hall of the castle.~
~We are back at the jail cell, where Andrew Logan is now sitting in the corner. He destroyed his only bed, so it's his own damn fault that he had to sleep on the floor. Strangely, no one came back for him like they said they were going to. Andrew stays there, not moving, until he finally hears the noise he's been waiting for: the sound of a door nearby opening. He looks up... to see Uncle Arthur coming into the cell block. Andrew gets to his feet.~
Andrew Logan - Uncle Arthur? What are you doing here?
Arthur Logan - I see you're feeling better.
~Arthur takes a long look at the bent-up jail cot laying to the side. Andrew looks abashed for a few seconds before staring back at his family member.~
Andrew Logan - Who called you?
Arthur Logan - You know I have connections, Andrew.
Andrew Logan - Yes, but...
Arthur Logan - I'm here to get you released. They're not pressing charges. I convinced them that there were better things for them to be doing than to be harrasing you.
Andrew Logan - Not charging me? But... why?
Arthur Logan - You want them to charge you?
Andrew Logan - Of course not. But... my Grace...
Arthur Logan - What about Grace?
Andrew Logan - You don't know? You don't know... he killed her, Uncle... Anthony killed her...
~Arthur looks at Andrew with stunned disbelief. He takes in Andrew's condition, still shocked.~
Arthur Logan - I'm... so sorry, Andrew. Anthony did that?
Andrew Logan - I have to find him... I have to find him and make him pay...
Arthur Logan - Hold on, Andrew. We'll track him down, and if he did what you're saying he did, he'll pay alright. But first, you've got a debt to me to repay. You understand?
~Andrew nodded. He knew what rackets his uncle was into, and what it probably cost to get him freed this morning. He stepped forward, looking Arthur in the eyes.~
Andrew Logan - I always pay my debts.
Arthur Logan - Good. Let's get going. We have a lot to talk about.
~Arthur turns and leaves. Andrew takes one last look back at the cell before following behind, wondering if he's traded one prison for another.~
If I'm being honest, I didn't mind the work that I had to do for Uncle Arthur. A few legs broken, a few bodies mangled, a few deaths here and there... it didn't really bother me. It's not that I'm callous when it comes to the taking of life. I just know that some people deserve to be still breathing, and others don't.
My brother Anthony is one who needs to be buried six feet under. His choice whether or not he's still conscious when it happens.
But that's personal business. Family business. You, Chelsea? You're just work-related. I wonder, in this day and age, will it be considered sexual harassment or assault if I beat you up too severely? I don't think that will happen. I didn't get into any trouble with the roach lady, after all. But you have to worry about PC items in this day and age.
If I break a limb or two, is that going too far? If I split your forehead open and leave you with a crimson mask covering up all of the make-up you so gingerly applied earlier in the day, will the police once again be knocking on my door. Or will the owners of OCW, just like Dean and the others in the past, cover everything up? Hell, people have died here right on television, and nobody ever got arrested or anything as far as I know. What's a little man-on-woman brutality amongst friends?
It's not that I dislike you, Chelsea, don't get me wrong. Of all the opponents I've had in this tournament, you actually seem the most credible. That's not a compliment; it's just a fact. Nobody else bothered to give me any kind of fight. You might actually last for a few minutes before I destroy you.
I hope you're ready for the hell that's coming your way, Chelsea. I know you want to think of this as capping your future, earning some money, and being labelled one of the best. But you never factored in your own pain threshold as a measurement, did you? You never thought about the pain and suffering you're going to go through on Monday night. In the end, will it all be worth it in your mind? Or will you be cursing the day you picked up the phone and said "Yes, I'll come back to OCW. What's the worst that can happen?"
It's me, Chelsea. The worst. That can happen. Is coming.
~Having avoided another trap, this one an electric wire that was set up across the floor, Andrew Logan moves further into Chillingham Castle. At least at this point, he hasn't been attacked by a bunch of spooks in chains. You laugh, but they were here at one time. But the spirits have moved on. Andrew has not. He comes to the room he's most dreaded. It's the drawing room, the room that had the portal to the other side. It's the place that Andrew fought to escape for 356 days. Taking a deep breath, he throws the door open... to reveal no portal. Andrew sighs in relief, looking around and seeing that two things have been added to the room: a video camera and a television. On the TV screen is Andrew's brother, Anthony Logan. He's looking solemnly at Andrew, as Andrew immediately grimaces at the sight of the man who used to be considered his best friend.~
Andrew Logan - I shouldn't be surprised that you wouldn't have the courage to face me, Anthony. Not in person.
Anthony Logan - If I was there in person, would you have stopped to listen to me? Or would you have just attacked?
Andrew Logan - It's all I can do right now not to smash your face with my fists...
Anthony Logan - You mean smash the monitor. Try to control yourself, brother, I don't think that would do you much good. You don't want to sever any nerves before your big Finals match, do you?
Andrew Logan - You're still following my wrestling career? I'm touched.
Anthony Logan - Touched is one word for it.
~Andrew steps forwards towards the screen, getting a closer look at his brother. Anthony looks more haggard than he remembers, as well as showing a few more lines on his face. Age catches up to everyone, apparently.~
Andrew Logan - You want to end this, Anthony? Come out and face me.
Anthony Logan - I'd rather talk to you, man to man.
Andrew Logan - There's nothing to talk about. You killed her. You deserve to be punished.
~Anthony shakes his head, looking frustrated.~
Anthony Logan - That's where you're wrong, brother. I didn't do it.
Andrew Logan - I was there! I saw you!
~Andrew is seething now, spit flying from his mouth as he feels the rage coming on, the rage that worked so well for him in the ring but so poorly for him in real life.~
Anthony Logan - You've gotten everything mixed up, Andrew! That's why we need to talk! That's why you need to listen to me!
Andrew Logan - Listen? To you?
Anthony Logan - You've got to! You've got to hear the truth, Andrew, if you want to get away from Arthur and his boys! I'm only looking out for you!
Andrew Logan - Looking out for me? You bastard!!
Anthony Logan - Listen, Andrew! I've got someone...
~But Andrew doesn't want to hear anything more from his brother. He grabs the camera, bringing it close to his face.~
Andrew Logan - You messed up. You didn't take me down. And I'm still coming for you.
~The camera then spins around, showing a quick image of a startled Anthony Logan before smashing into the TV screen. Everything goes black... on that end. Now, we're in a different perspective. The camera is behind Anthony Logan as he sighs, dropping back in his chair.~
Anthony Logan - He wouldn't listen to me. No matter what I said. If only...
~An arm comes around Anthony's shoulders, patting him on the arm. Into view comes a blonde woman... known to the world only from what we've seen in flash backs.~
Grace Logan - You tried, Anthony. But he was beyond hearing. I just wish he could have seen me...
Anthony Logan - We won't give up, Grace. We'll find a way... hopefully without my brother killing me...
~Grace wipes a tear away from her eyes as she nods, staring at the blank screen in front of them.~
~A few clips from the past quickly run. One showing police footage of what appears to be a destroyed suburban house. While there is plenty of damage, there are no injuries reported except to the man who caused all of the damage. The video cuts over to a prison cell shot from the ceiling. We see Andrew Logan, clearly out of his mind, smashing his bed against the wall again and again. But this time, there is no sign of blood on his clothes. He's disheveled but completely clean. We slowly fade out.~