Sadie Ko's Cemetary

[Sadie Ko]

In this thread, I will post every rp I've written on here for this character, in chronological order. That is my initial plan, anyway.

[Sadie Ko]

First RP: "DIE FOR NOTHING"
originally written Apr 6, 2022 at 9:29am

(EDITOR'S NOTE: These first few paragraphs are untelevised. They are merely a treat for you, the reader.)

In flight she was a majestic bird, a steel behemoth with wings that stretched across lanes of traffic, with enough space within its interior to act as shelter for dozens. Instead it was screaming across the night sky, a trail of fire making the bird resemble a man-made meteor, an omen of death that rained cheap liquor and pills into the ocean even as its captain faced his own mortality and froze.

The fact that it didn't slam nose first into the ocean and kill everyone instantly, might be considered a miracle by some. The fact that the plane landed mostly intact, its living cargo not one big puddle of pulp and muscle and gristle, of eyes still functioning and staring into the sun while the brains slowly die and the pool starts to congeal, certainly fans and employees and pet goldfish would be happy that such a thing never happened. But then, on the other hand.

That screeching steel condor, before it sat dead on the beach of this island, skidded its wheels along ocean and sand, launching miniature tidal waves and mudslides into the island proper, and launching bits of driftwood to smash and collide into the earth. Normally not a problem, but this island was not uninhabited. Besides rumors of monsters, besides beasts, besides natives curious of these arrivals, there sat a structure. Empty, dark even in the daytime, where the locals knew never to go. Warded off with totems and given offerings every ten years, the building of depressing gray stone sat motionless for countless years that felt like aeons. Until a flinging piece of driftwood hurtled through the air like a javelin, smashing through a rinkydink window, and a hurtling ball of seawater smashed against a wooden gargoyle harder than concrete, hard enough to crack the figure and cause it to fall on its side, now useless.

Perhaps these two events wouldn't have been important, just collateral damage and an act of god. The gods? An act of something. Sadly, for the world of OCW, this was not all. Because at the very same moment, a corpse came hurtling head over feet like Alanis Morisette, skipping along the sand before it landed on its back, face up, unblinking eyes even as blood poured from its mouth, its nose, its ears and eyes. Pooling into the sand, bones cracked to reveal sweet marrow to anything eager enough to survive, and desperate enough for a meal. Perhaps this body was a death on Plethora's tally from when he was first taken from the plane. But now, after death? This body was an offering, something greater than the fruits and dolls and effigies left before. The blood pooled, and a shadow rose. The glassy grey eyes of the corpse, were they reacting? Or was it a trick of the light before they were covered in darkness?

An hour later, the body was gone. Perhaps pulled away by a crocodile, or a kangaroo. Or perhaps swarmed and picked clean by ants and carrion. But even the puddles were gone...and so was the figure's OCW access badge, and other identification. And something was making its way toward the commotion, toward the lights in the distance. Toward the sacred structure erected. The structure that unlocked a thought. A memory. The last remaining vestige of something good, something good surrounded by something bad.

---------------------------

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Everything below this message IS televised. I would say your characters can see this...but can they? Do we have a lot of access to technology? Oh well.)

We've seen this footage before of Easton Alexander, in fact we saw it last week, and it is inter-cut with earlier footage of him looking more well kept and less like an island survivorman. Except, the footage we're seeing is more grainy, corrupted. There are lines of imperfections caused by VHS, and occasionally the footage skips, with a black line going up the screen.

Easton: Oh no way no way Oh no wayy...losing. I guess i CANFILM now fucked up so bAd.

Intercut with this is footage of Easton last week, in that triple tag war. The torches, the rain, the misery every man brought to each other. But throughout the footage, the sight of Easton eating the Steel Toed Boot from Kelson are repeated, out of sequence, out of order, over and over. In the background, we can hear his theme, 'Maniac', playing but also out of order. Going higher and higher and higher in pitch until 'it can cut you like a knife, if the gift becomes the fire' is being played indefinitely. Forever building in tension and momentum, never getting the release of the chorus.

eastoN(super low pitch): How DARE you disrespect me...a beautiful night for a curse.

'Curse' and 'A Curse' is repeated as the the building tension of 'Maniac' is joined by 'Fortune Days' by Glitch Mob...the two themes don't fit, especially the way they've been joined together at odd ends, mismatching tempos while twitch footage of Cypher goes through the screen. Although, the footage isn't correct, the face of the man gaming is blurred, distorted just like the music, and just like the footage of Easton this is inter-cut with. The screen becomes almost a highlight reel of both men before the figures of both men are frozen images, while the world around them continues playing like normal. Until something...starts to happen.

Have you seen cigarette burns in old film? Have you seen film boil and melt in front of a projector reel? This is similar. Except instead of white light, the eyes of both men, and both of their mouths, are covered in blackness that gets bigger and bigger, their heads growing in size to accommodate their new dimensions. When the grey starts ripping through those black eyes and mouths, it's hard at first to realize what we're even looking at, but soon enough, it's easy to see. These are fingers, ghostly gray white pale fingers, tearing through film before the hands slowly clench into fists, and clench so tightly that blood starts to ooze from the palms. It's only now we realize that no music has been playing for several moments, only silence, and the sound of this figure breathing heavily, the shallow breaths of someone holding on to a deep rage, the breaths of someone refusing to let go. Perhaps, unable to let go. We hold on this sight and this sound for a while. And when words next come, they are only a whisper and they fill the audio until the voice is in our ears and in our brains and refusing to leave. After this promo is played, many viewers will go to their doctors complaining of 'anti-tinnitus', unable to hear anything as deeply. Except instead of a ringing, the sound has just been replaced with...an absence.

The Voice:

you have

one week

With that, the camera pans up, to a mess of tangled black hair, so much so that we're lost within a black forest with no compass and no hope. Until some parts itself, and we're treated to a singular eye, glaring down at us in hateful rage. Abruptly the screen cuts red, immediately cuts to black, and then and only then does the video end entirely.

This was Sadie's big debut, and my first venture into OCW at all during their 'Trapped On An Island' saga. This was written against Easton Alexander and CYPHER, and each of them came out swinging in response. I rather enjoyed writing this one.

[Sadie Ko]

Second RP: "THE INS AND OUTS"
originally written Apr 13, 2022 at 12:40pm

(This section is untelevised.)

The second the match finished, Sadie vanished into the night, slipping into the brush and the trees. With little light pollution save for makeshift torches and the glow of phones and other screens around the OCW "arena", there was almost no way to see for any normal human, but the grey-skinned woman was unbothered. She crawled and walked and stalked until the world blurred and unfocused, and by the time it went back to normal, she was standing again, in front of the building that had been her home her resting place her tomb her prison _{they killed her} her home her hell had been her home^{she wanted to scream}_{she clawed and no one came}^{she wanted to scream}had been her home_{nobody cared}

The world focused, and air filled her lungs. She breathed in. She breathed out. She used to do this. Did she?

She breathed, and remembered wrestling. Fighting. She remembered feeling strong again, and breathing. She remembered. She was good at this. She remembered

what did she remember? As she stood there under moon and stars, the island lived around her. Between trees, a gossamer web hung silver and brilliant in wait for prey, as insects and carrion burrowed through the earth beneath her booted feet. As she breathed, her head hung with that black mane hanging in front of her face, and miles away, native men lay camouflaged against tall grass and stone and did not blink. The younger man with knife in hand, looked at the elder with concern. But he did not give the signal, and so no action was taken. They simply watched the creature stand, and prayed she would follow the fools on the plane instead of terrorizing their people.

Beneath Sadie's feet, the mud started to vibrate dully. And it would do so until the phone's battery died, forgotten just like the dead man it once belonged to.

--------------------

(This section is televised...somehow, on this island.)

In front of us is ace OCW reporter, Who're. She's looking a little frazzled out on this island, her dress a little ragged, her hair not quite as lively as she might want it to be, but she still has a smile on her more tanned face, glossy from sweat.

WHO'RE: Hello out there all you OCW addicts out there, it's another beautiful day in sunny Australia and we're seeing all the animals playing out in the wild, and all the fishies in the water, and sometimes some of us are a little dizzy but that's ok, everything is ok so we're staying positive. See?

The woman gives a brave smile as we follow her through the dense foliage, with occasional streaks of bright sunlight cutting through. These are like beams of pure white, blinding before we return to the shade, and every time, it's like pitch black before the digital eye starts to adjust

^{She's looking at us she's right there we're in hell}

but soon our vision is back to normal, and Who're smiles as she smiles as she turns back to us, walking into the daylight once more as behind her, is a ruined black, bombed out building.

WHO'RE: In just moments we're going to have an exclusive interview with OCW star Alice Knight in a new fun segment I'm going to call, 'The Ins And Outs'! Workout routines, diet tips, makeup secrets and more, we're going to find out what it takes to keep an owl flying high, and this first episode is sure to be a...'hoot'!

Her own pun makes her snicker and laugh as she approaches the building. The cameraman is a bit hesitant, panning around to take in this foreboding structure. As he pans to the right, off in the distance is a boulder next to a patch of tall, dead yellow grass. When the camera pans back, Who're is looking at us with an expression of disappointment.

WHO'RE: Enrique, please. Do not be scared to walk into a building. This is a big opportunity for me, and a chance for both of us to be inside a building for once in multiple days. I promise, I will not let Alice attack you.

ENRIQUE: ...

There is nothing he can say, and so, we enter the building, the door creaks open from not being used in decades, and the dust that flies into the air is nearly black, clearly something foul has rotted here. The walls are stained and cracked and crumbling, mold and mildew up in the tiled roof, black stains all across the walls, including an odd shape off in the distance, a familiar shape we cannot figure out, but instinctively recognize.

But Who're is undeterred, walking through a dark dingy hallway with open black doorways that lead to nowhere, as the building creaks and bellows and moans in complaint, existence itself is painful for a structure like this.

WHO'RE: I didn't know the guys on this island could build stuff like this...doesn't this seem familiar to you, Enrique? Doesn't it seem like, y'know...

ENRIQUE: Yeh it feels like a, uhh uhh, like a gym, right? Like a boxing place.

WHO'RE: Yeah! It's like-

Suddenly, Who're stops walking and stops talking, suddenly shifting upright, and shifting her neck around. As if she's trying to get comfortable. We see that they were right, out in the main room is an old, dilapidated 'ring', or the remains of one. It's not in working condition, the rings are all stretched and busted, and is stained with...something. But we can't focus on that, because when Who're turns around, her eyes are rolled back before returning and trying to focus, and her jaw shifts with a sickening sound. Throughout the rest of this we're going to hear her voice. Or at least, what might be her voice. There is something else behind it. Something we cannot quite make out.

ENRIQUE: Uhh uhh holy shit, hey are you o-

VOICE: Massacre Massacre Massacre Massacre. Six versus one. Alice Knight Man Of Steel Bob Grenier Mike Zybala. BRIM.

The footage twists the way old film used to, before we all went digital. Who're still stands in the building but the footage is distorted like a funhouse mirror. Her eyes turn pitch black, and soon the footage of her bleeds into footage we've already seen last Massacre. Footage of Easton, CYPHER and Sadie Ko in a ring, trading blows with one another. We get the highlights, every forearm, every slam, every time Sadie wrenched on another human being and tried to twist off their body parts. Every time she leapt through the air with absolutely no regard for her, or her opponent's safety. And while this footage is cycling through for our benefit, and while Who're stands there looking down shifting her own neck and jaw, still another image bleeds into view, everything layered on top of each other in a discordant looking mess.

A likeness of Kelson Hewitt.

VOICE: The boy. Desperate fear. You're caged by yourself and your eyes are afraid. You want to fight it. You want to escape. you. want. to. fly.

You will fall.

A likeness of BRIM.

VOICE: You're strong. You're good. So you don't try. Your belt says 'savage'. They think it's your name. They always thought it was your name.

A 'likeness' of Easton, though this one is a still image, of the powerhouse being tangled up in the abdominal stretch, the image frozen on his face as he locks eyes with something he doesn't understand. The referee behind him with an expression of horror about to wave his arm to try and call the match off.

THE VOICE: You fought everybody. It wasn't enough. You broke. You'll break again.

Who're almost smiles as the likeness of Easton bleeds into a pair of impossibly wide eyes in the darkness. The picture fills in just enough to recognize an interpretation of one Alice Knight.

VOICE: The hunted owl. Running from the twins. You pretend you're soft. Owls are killers. They fly but make no sound and you will open your mouth to scream and there will be nothing and you will open your mouth to scream and there will be nothing and you will open your mouth to scream and there will be nothing and you

Who're ^writhes_{falls down}^{stands up}

A likeness of Zybala comes across the screen, being woven into the tapestry along with everything else we've seen before this.

VOICE: The half-king. It will not save you. It will not help you. You will try to fight me. Hit me as hard as you can. It won't work.

The voice that comes out of Who're drops a few octaves on "won't work", and her neck starts to turn until its dangerous, before abruptly turning back into place, and glaring right at us.

And now, that is layered over the likeness of Bob Grenier. All of these likenesses, they don't seem to be official photographs, nor are they the result of drawings, or 3D poser art, instead it feels like the film itself is morphing to create shapes that we might recognize as people. People minus their fine details, and for the most part without their eyes or their mouths, except in Alice's case whose blue eyes are still glaring as digital glitching that's bled into the picture. And underneath all of that, Who're stilll stands there like some kind of wraith. Until her mouth opens, and as she speaks, something starts to pour from the corners of her mouth, and her nose. Long black strands of...something. Something that looked similar to that marking on the wall.

VOICE: The iron horse, rusted with cracking hooves. Your heart hangs low. I feel your guilt. And now you want to hide it and teach. You can't hide. I will find you.

The camera abruptly cuts and as it shifts, every image we've ever seen vanishes in an instant in such a violent manner that our eyes feel like they'll be damaged from the sudden loss. The mess is still seared and imprinted in our vision long after they're faded, and will probably persist late at night when we're trying to sleep.

Unfortunately for us, we don't have time to consider or unpack all of that, because Who're is standing there wide-eyed and wide-mouthed. That's perhaps a normal state of affairs for her, but what isn't normal is the grey skinned woman standing next to her, black hair in her face, glaring out at us the world. Who're is unable to close her mouth, because of the ghost woman's arm still embedded in that mouth almost up to the mid forearm even while Who'res throat is distended in a horrific fashion. Slowly, Sadie pulls her arm free, pulling her glistening, saliva covered hand from the mouth of OCW's number one reporter. As soon as Sadie pulls her hand free, Who're doubles over and starts to wretch, heaving up black ichor even as color returns to her eyes and face, tears starting to stream freely.

For our part, the cameraman starts to back up to try and run, we hear his whimpers and his fat man breathing, but there is a shuffle and sudden blurring movement so that we miss what happens next. But before we know it, the screen is completely black, and we only hear the breathing of the ghost. When she next speaks, for the first time, an aspect of that voice sounds familiar. As if we've already been listening to it.

Sadie:

_{you have}

one week

This one was written for a huge giant Battle Royale, so I tried to take the shotgun blast approach to the 'promo' section. This is why it took so much screen time, and didn't leave much room for anything else. Ah well.

[Sadie Ko]

Third RP: "BLACK BIRDS FALL", public rp. Mainly fluff.
originally written Apr 21, 2022 at 9:31am

After Sadie fell into the water and seemingly vanished, some of the men brought a lifesized wooden carving into the area where the rest of the prisoners are being kept.



This statue is laid on its 'back' besides everyone else and it doesn't seem to move, certainly not when it's being watched by anyone. But nobody is watching it, it seems to leave small grooves in the dirt, indicating that it is moving thanks to some kind of force. Sometimes, when everyone is asleep, a loud wooden



is heard, but when any guard or any OCW superstar looks over to investigate, the carving hasn't moved, and hasn't been damaged.

A strange detail, is that flies and carrion seem to be extremely interested in the carving, even though it's not any kind of food source. Flies frequently buzz around it, maggots sometimes fall from the mouth and eyes, which of course make for tempting targets for ants to approach and kill. Very occasionally other insects might show up, like millipedes or centipedes. But mostly flies and ants.

Every night, birds gather to the island, and flock whereas before they weren't as common. Sometimes eagles and other raptors, sometimes seagulls. But largely, corvids. Crows, ravens, magpies. Black birds fall from the sky, flying over the island in noteworthy numbers. And every so often they fly directly over the heavy wooden statue, flying around and around in a perfect circle. The OCW universe probably don't see it, as I assume most are being held in a cave indoors somewhere. But the islanders absolutely notice.

In the grand scheme of things not the most important one, but it sets up why she seems so erratic next week.

[Sadie Ko]

Fourth RP: "SCREAMS AND WHISPERS"
originally written Apr 21, 2022 at 12:29pm

(Not televised)

What was it that spurred Aariz to keep living, and keep surviving? It wasn't wrestling anymore. It had been decades since he'd laced up a pair of boots, decades since he woke up at 4 in the morning to run across the entirety of the city he was in. No, these days he was in bed longer and longer, awake for brief periods of time before his will left him and he retreated once more to sleep. That's where he was when it happened, in fact, in bed, staring at the far window while sheets and blankets were tangled in a knotted mess around him. He'd woken up ten minutes ago, and his mind lit up with examples of things he could do. Feed the birds outside, take a walk, maybe go and lift some of his old weights like he used to. Every single example involved getting up, leaving safety. Every scenario involved him drawing air into his lungs. Every plan hinged on him existing.

Rolling over was an effort in his old age, but he managed it. He had to if he wanted to stare at the wall instead of the window, and drift off back to sleep. And he was about to when an impact at the window startled him out of his reverie and caused him to suddenly lurch up to a sitting position almost out of pure blind animal panic. He was sitting up as straight as his crooked back would allow, broad shoulders heaving as he drew in rapid, shallow breaths while he looked up at the window and blinds with wide eyes. On the other side of the glass was a circular red stain, and he knew instantly that if he looked down he'd see a dead bird, or at least one near death. The thought of it struggling and suffering twisted his stomach and that was enough to motivate him. With a shuddering of great effort, the man fought and struggled to his feet as he shuffled across the room to find his slippers when another impact against that glass caused him to look up in panic. Another bird, but this one was stuck to the glass, wings still flapping, head twitching as it looked at him with an eye that was quickly fading. Looking down, its chest was smashed open, ribcage peeking out, white bones floating in a sea of pink and red, and stained green feathers. Muscles flexing, and beyond that ribcage, Aariz could see lungs and heart still functioning until they slowed and stopped, the machine shutting down entirely.

Aariz was afraid more would follow, but after a moment, things were calm and clear, and the older man found himself outside today. In pajama pants and wifebeater, he was unused to the air outside and the brightness of the sky up above him, so bright it was almost painful to keep his eyes open. But he managed anyway, staring at the mess across his window, and also noting the original bird corpse, now intertwined with the bush and hedge. Behind him a murder of crows sat inspecting the damage as well, squawking amongst themselves like a couple of old gossips like Aariz imagined them to be. Turning and craning his neck to look up at them, he gave them a smile as he spoke.

"This must be exciting in bird world, no? I hope these two weren't any friends of yours!"

When he turned back around, he couldn't help but give a heavy sigh as he looked down at his gnarled, calloused hands. As he mentally prepared himself for the job he was going to have to do, one of the birds crowed behind him.

"Your fault. sheEEE!"

Blood ran cold in his veins, and the old man's breath nearly caught in his throat. He thought of her again, and instantly he wished he was back in bed to hide from the world. He barely felt the pain in his chest, didn't notice when he was on his knees while the world kept spinning. As the black birds flew away, from the ground he saw them spinning along with the sky, his house and everything else until it was a perfect circle. And in the center of that circle, he saw her face.

He saw Sadie again.

He saw her playing in the back yard, hair in her face while she ran around. While her mother tried to talk to him, tried to sit him down and make him pay attention while she spoke. Erica(Eun-Jeong but nobody in America called her that) always got angry when she felt he wasn't respecting her. And to tell the truth, maybe he didn't, not as much as he could have. She was trying to tell him how aggressive Sadie was at school, how she got into fights. She could be friends with a group of kids one minute, then the next she'd be at their throats.

And whenever any of them talked to Sadie about it, she'd tell stories about lies other kids at school told about her, about sticks in her hair, how kids would invite her to be their friends, then they'd say something mean or untrue and they'd always laugh until Sadie put her hands around their throats and push them into the dirt or the mud.

Perhaps Aariz should have tried harder to be a father. Perhaps he should have stayed after she died. He saw lights headed toward him now, faces emerging from the swirl in front of him, voices asking him questions that he couldn't understand right now. As hands reached down to cradle his neck and reach down along his chest, he reached out to take Her hand, still seeing her face.

Pain along his wrist, cold grey skin and fingers that gripped tighter and tighter until he thought his bones would break and his blood would boil and freeze. He felt her. He felt her like he always felt her over his shoulder, staring from the shadows, and he knew she was there.

"Sadie!", he yelled out, screaming as loud as his voice would carry. As the EMTs carried him to the ambulance, rushing to save his life, they heard him weakly whisper with slurred speech. "...sadie."

--------------------

(Not televised)

Across the island, strange things were happening. The rumbling off in the distance, the volcano waking up and letting everyone on this isle know its wrath.

Along the shore of abandoned beach, wildlife was already growing over the remains of a discarded and burnt wrestling ring, monkeys screeching at one another as they balance and bounce along the ropes and rapidly climb up and down aprons and turnbuckles, even as they duck and hide from raptors flying overhead.

A group of men and women are held hostage, trapped by hardened men with spears who are angered and offended by the rape of their homeland. Surely, the awakening of their volcano, after being dormant for many years, is a sign that these outsiders have gone too far.

Where the hostages are held, a wooden statue lays in the dirt. Swarms of flies gather on top of it, and above it birds fly in erratic patterns. At night it rains more than usual and bolts of lightning fatter than Plethora come down followed by the violent rumbling of thunder joining the shaking of a volcano that is ready to explode. Amidst all this chaos and all these signs, nobody notices the right hand of that wooden statue, starting to crack ever so faintly. And in the darkness, certainly nobody notices ants starting to crawl into that faint opening, seeking shelter from the storm that is brewing even despite the rain and thunder.

---------------------

(Televised)

(The footage we see is of Easton Alexander, emerging from the water like baby Jason, pulling the ghostly form of Sadie Ko into the turbulent white water. It quickly turns pitch black and Easton's face starts to warp and 'melt', frozen in time even as he keeps emerging from the water, a bit of perpetual motion that shouldn't be possible. Underneath we hear the constant audio of running water, a rushing roar that's so loud it fills our ears.

While the droning noise continues we see faces and forms, many we've seen before. BRIM, Alice Knight, Kelson and Bob. We see Crash Rodriguez and Roach. We see El Knuckle and Easton, as athletes in their prime as the footage continues to run. Picture after picture of each of them running through the projector until their eyes lose color, until the shape their heads start to warp and bend inward while the roar becomes a scream.

All across the OCW website, errors are showing up. Artifacts are showing up that shouldn't exist, text is bleeding and changing fonts, and starting to run off-kilter in a way that isn't possible in a digital medium.

LEO posts a vlog and footage is eaten in the middle of it, replaced by a pair of white lights that look like eyes before they vanish and the human mind barely even comprehends what they saw.

Classic matches are available to watch, but sometimes just for some viewers, the crowd noise is screaming that just gets louder and louder before the video fails and they have to restart. When they do, the match plays as normal. Still others never get to see the match. Instead of Mariah Carey singing the National Anthem in the MGM Grand Hotel in 1999, viewers see close-up grainy footage of a mouth, with maggots spilling out of it while the maggots are shown to be screaming naked people crawling and bleeding while ants follow behind them and stab them in the dirt with bayonet rifles.

Instead of D Double D taking on Special K in Apocalypse Now, 2001, both men are just standing with their faces down in a dark room while a woman screams and scrapes her nails bloody against wood, that's the only sound we hear, rage and hatred contained in a scream. Viewers across the world report phone screens and laptops cracking and breaking, sometimes sparking and catching fire. Sometimes entire power grids go dark. Impossibly, some viewers who experience this report that they still hear the screaming in these videos, but there's no evidence of that. People are accused of lying, or perhaps it's suggested that they're having a psychosomatic response, like the people who claim to see Bloody Mary in the mirror even when the world tells them how impossible, and how stupid that is.

On the OCW website, there is a video of a chain. There are five links total, and the chain spins around in a circle, a perfect circle as we're drawn into the vortex at the center.

At one corner of the chain, rust starts to form, as if this were time elapsed photography. The rust spreads, turning grey steel into red and brown, and the rust spreads while the chain turns black.

The chain withers, and one by one, the links snap and crumble. The chain turns into dust on the ground. It is only then we realize, that there was a link missing. One was never a part of any, one always stood alone, stood against them.

There is no voice to explain this to us, no words. Instead, there is only one voice and it screams.

And she screams.

And it screams.

And she screams.

It doesn't stop.

And it screams.

And she screams and we see a corpse of a girl

and it's gone. And it screams.

-----------------------------

(Not televised)

Late at night, Sandra got a call that woke her out of a deep sleep, a dream of goblins and birds quickly forgotten as background fog and nonsense. She was bringing the phone to her ear before she even had the strength to open her eyes. While she felt the weight of her cat against her hip, she heard a professional voice describe technical terms in a boring monotone. That was nothing new in Sandra's world, one of quiet reflection and academic pur-

"I'm so sorry, could you repeat that? did you say you're a nurse?"

"Yes ma'am, your father's had a heart attack but he's stable, he's being cared for at a"

Instantly sleep was forgotten and the woman quickly sat up even as her eyes focused and widened in the darkness. She kept her composure through the entire conversation. Then as owls perched in the trees outside and shadows formed in the corners of the room, Sandra wanted to scream. Instead, she could only whisper to herself, with her head cradled in her hands.

"Oh, fuck."

So here I was, having to write my big PPV debut for Technical Difficulties, in a big giant clusterfuck war against multiple great RPers, with a title shot on the line that I was very interested in despite being so new. But at the same time, I knew that I couldn't just whip out a promo like I wanted, I had to establish a greater narrative world for Sadie. Especially for Sadie(I don't know if you've noticed, but the trade-off to being a creature of nightmares is, you sacrifice a bit of range and growth potential.).

So I bit the bullet and introduced readers to a little bit of backstory, and a little bit of mystery. A father? A mother? A possible sister? What's going on here?

It was only by the grace of multiple no-shows that I won this match. That's what I think, anyway.

[Sadie Ko]

Fifth RP: "LOCKED DOORS, MIRRORS AND FATHERS"
originally written Apr 30, 2022 at 10:20pm

It was well after OCW had landed down and made base in Djibouti, when a local janitor froze in his tracks, transfixed by what he was seeing.

The men who hired him and who would be signing his checks made it very clear that as the custodian of this building he would not be going near the lockers, either the private rooms or the communal lockers afforded to all rookies, jobbers and young lions trying to prove themselves. And at the time he'd agreed readily. After all, what would he need to touch a wrestler's belongings for? Hassan, named after his country's first president, was here only to clean the floors and the window. He could let these athletes take care of themselves.

And so here he was late at night, absent mindedly walking along narrow corridors mopping narrow hallways, when he saw it. One of the locker doors hanging open, swinging on squeaking hinges even as what little he could see sat black, engulfed in shadow. The second he saw it he felt something that he could not describe. The feeling you got when you realized you weren’t as alone as you thought you were. The hair on Hassan’s arms, and on the back of his neck shot straight up as instinctively he stood up a little straighter and looked around expecting to see a pair of eyes studying him at any moment. Moments later, when the grim reaper did not appear, when the machete didn’t plunge into the back of his neck, he felt a bit of feeling in his limbs and actually had the fortitude to take a shaky step closer to the ominous swinging door. He could see that, unlike all the other doors which had various names(Easton, CYPHER, M. Mason etc), this one’s had a nameplate that was barely legible beneath the deep scratches and the black dark stain across the metal. ‘S’...something. He couldn’t quite make it out.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he found his hand reaching out, grasping the edge of that metal door, and starting to pull it back. And the more he pulled back, the more he saw only…darkness. Was it shadow? He couldn’t tell, and it was that ambiguity, that uncertainty, that caused him to take a step backward and as he did so, the back of his shoe stepped on something that he could instantly tell was a foot. A hand grasped his shoulder, a pale and monstrous hand squeezing his shoulder so hard that pain lanced through his body like fractures along a pane of glass and Hassan opened his mouth in shock although no sound could exit his throat. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the dark blue jumpsuit, and the dull white mask with shadows for sockets.

“Hey kid, don’t touch that”, said the man and relief washed through Hassan’s body as he recognized the frame and voice of his employer, the so-called ‘Knife Man’. The janitor started to turn toward the larger man, to try and apologize, but TKM merely shook his head in understanding. “Hey I think you’ve cleaned this area well enough, let’s find another area.”

The Knife Man put a hand around the shoulder of the smaller man, quickly and quietly ushering him out of the dark hallway and trying to keep his one as safe as he could. The OCW had lost far too many personnel during their island excursion, and there was no reason to risk more. Not that he thought the all the wrestlers were potential murderers, but why take that chance by having them provoked? He was leading the man toward one of the side offices when a metallic bang echoed through the concrete hallways, causing the old mechanic to quickly look over his shoulder out of pure instinct. He couldn't see anything, but that locker door was now swinging more violently, as if it had been slammed 'shut' and was now moving purely through the sudden momentum and inertia. And TKM couldn't be sure, but it looked like there was a dent in the door where there wasn't before. And just inside the locker, the darkness...was it moving? Was that just his eyes playing tricks on him? The Knife Man turned back around, feeling his ass clench involuntarily as adrenaline flooded his body and his brain chose 'flight' instead of 'fight'.

"Yeah, we're definitely getting you home", the older masked man muttered. He hurried his pace, and guiding Hassan to do the same. Sometimes he really hated this place.

---

This special on Mike Mason has been playing over the weekend, and it's easy to see why. The subject matter is riveting, the subject of this documentary infuriating yet charismatic, the kind of ego that makes everyone grateful this man chose sports instead of politics or business.

But at 4 in the morning, when the rest of the civilized world is in bed or just scrolling through their phone sitting on the toilet, you are watching this Mike Mason special. And there's something wrong with this one. Footage jumps every so often, images and figures vanish and reappear wrong. Audio plays and it sounds distant or strained, even as lines appear at the bottom of the screen and slowly travel upward.

"Don't you want this? Don't you want this? you want aGuts or determinationWho Is Mike Mason?"

Footage skips and warps in on itself, and play in the wrong sequence of events. When the narrator stands with Marvelous Mike Mason, there is a dark stain across the screen...except it's behind them, the footage of Mason himself kept pristine and focused even when everything around him becomes static or distorted, or the color drains or bleeds.

"Andrew Mason was a hardZeroBowl rings because he playedAndrew's only son, and to who all of his regretsDon't you want this?"

Footage is intercut with football footage, helmets crashing into pads and men flipping and crashing into the grass and the mud. Mike Mason standing with his interviewer flickers back into focus but immediately that's replaced with grainy, black and white footage of a hand on a cutting board, a knife coming down to softly press against the back of the thumb. The left hand pushes and squeezes tightly until something gives. White screen-tearing spills from the flesh, bleeding into the bottom of the screen and flooding everything as the picture gets unstable, and a high pitched noise deafens you watching at home until the sound won't leave it won't leave it has to stop it won't leave YOU LET ME DIE AND I SCREAMED

Silence. Black screen. Comfort and a brief reprieve. But still voices play in the background. They get louder.

"You lostDoesn't CountYouLostWRONG AGAIN!YouLostI've never lostMy lifeNothing to do."

There are the sounds of bones creaking as there is a presence standing behind the blackness of the screen, the sounds of breathing getting louder even as the black of the screen sways like a curtain ever slightly.

"Your spooky-spooky, creepy-creepy shtick might work onMy lifeYouLostAndrew's only son...You are quite terrifying, and I'm afraid ofAll of his regretsAndrew's only sonDon't youNever lostMy life"

Mike Mason appears on the screen once more, though he looks different. Through the grainy film footage it's hard to see his eyes and his mouth, even with his head and face growing larger and getting closer to the screen all at the same time. The right eye socket expands in exploding darkness, the black of the screen causing the image of The Mecca to rip apart until again, there was only darkness. Though there are less strands of it now, allowing us to see the barest hints of what might be a face, or the crude parody of one. There is movement behind the darkness in a way that shouldn't be possible. It's hard for our minds to reconcile what it is being shown to us.

The Voice: You cannot burn us. You cannot make us in your image. You will fight. You will scream. You will fail.

You're scared of your father. Scared of his corpse, scared you are a corpse in his eyes. He never wanted you to join the freakshow, wrestling us, breaking your neck and ruining your chances for His glory. Scared every time you open your mouth, every time your plan doesn't work. You're scared of being replaceable, that nobody can tell the difference between you and your stunt doubles. You're afraid every time you look in the mirror, and cannot tell the difference, so you scream and you pout and you throw tantrums.

But this is not our problem. On Massacre, we will step into the ring with the Aging Adonis. The Colossus of Rhodes is lost to time, the cities we've forgotten are lost and never spoken of. You, Mike Mason, are no different to the perfect pillars of the Roman Colosseum, crumbled into dust and nothing.

^You

_have

one

_WEEK

---

Half a world away, Aariz was sat in the passenger seat of a car, watching droplets of water roll down the windows, listening to the sound of rain bouncing off the roof. He was breathing as best he could, eyes closing from the effort before he found the power within himself to open them again. He didn't want to look at Sandra next to him, already feeling the anger emanating from her. He couldn't stop thinking about his first daughter, who used to be so happy doing pullups and burpees alongside her old man. His daughter who forced herself to learn how to stand and walk purely so she could start running with him every day.

The next time he opened his eyes, the car was already pulled into a garage, and the older man was being walked and shuffled toward a couch. He didn't remember when the remote was in his hand, but he barely noticed the glow of the tv screen in front of him. The football footage, the old man yelling at his son was something Aariz would normally find repugnant, if he were focused enough to pay attention to what was in front of him.

That was before he saw the blackness of the screen, before he saw a face he'd seen every day in his dreams, until he saw an eye of pure unfiltered hatred glaring at him, feeling its scathing judgement and feeling that awful feeling in his chest. By the time Sandra was running over, the only thing he could do was scream while crying, trying to scramble over that couch and only managing to fall back while the image showed in his mind over and over, over and over.

While he screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed and

hand wrapped around his throat choking

I wrote this rp against "Marvelous Mike Mason", the alt character of "Outcast", former OCW Heavyweight Champion of the goddamn fucking world, which meant my head was directly in the path of the sliding glass door all week as I wracked my brain thinking of what to do. Not helping matters was that, early on, Mason basically blasted me with both barrels, and wrote one of the greatest RPs I've read in a long time. So in the zeroeth hour I just threw everything I could think of into Notepad and then brought the mess over here so that I could cross my fingers and hope.

Somehow, impossibly, I eked out the win. I wasn't entirely sure how, but fuck I'll take it.

[Sadie Ko]

Sixth RP: "WHEN DRAGONS DREAM"
originally written March 7 2022, at 4:47 PM

The sun over Djibouti gave off heat, but no warmth. As the celestial body of fire provided its illumination, and then sank down into the western sky, it was already pitch black in Ontario. And in a modest little home a man and a woman were enjoying their evening together. The woman, Paige Snow, was sat in the bath with her head resting against the ceramic, a fatigue washing over her that she didn't entirely understand. In that same room, Easton Alexander stood with his hands pressed against the counter, staring at himself in the mirror.

Haunted by a string of losses that coincided with the arrival of a ghost, or at least a woman who acted like she was something more than a human, and something less than a person. And now here he was, calling out what he saw as the source of his horrible luck, as the cause of this so-called curse hanging over him. Every so often he would speak out loud, unblinking as he focused only on the reflection in front of him, and the coming war. "I'm owed this, after busting my ass. I'm a wrestler. This is what I do. I belong here."

He inhaled deeply as he visualized the challenge in front of him, and the stakes he was placing on this match. Sadie had beaten him once. It wasn't conclusive, he didn't tap or fall unconscious, but it was a loss on his record all the same. He got some measure of revenge the following week during a battle royale, but it came at the cost of losing that match himself. He deserved this win he was going to take from that crazy ghost bitch, he was going to do what an overgrown muscle jock couldn't, and he was going to take what he was owed. He was going to

wait what was that? Out the corner of his eye he saw movement in the mirror, something moving around his girlfriend. His eyes widened as he saw grey shapes wrap gently around Paige's neck and collarbones, and in the corner of the room, something was peeking out: An eye unblinking, staring right at Easton, glaring deeply into his very fucking soul.

Then the fingers pulled, and Easton spun around as adrenaline surged through his entire body. He saw the woman he loved submerged in the water, her arms thrashing as the room became one big splash zone. He ran over and grabbed her wrists, pulling with strength that he couldn't control in this time of emergency and crisis. He pulled and nothing happened, as if he were trying to rip a tree stump out of the very earth itself. Veins popped in his neck as he felt his mouth open, and felt his screams vibrating through the walls and floor even though he heard nothing except for surge of blood between his ears. He reached down, wrapping his arms around her body, and with Herculean effort he pulled his wife free as she suddenly lunged upward. As if she were finally let go.

After discovering she was alright, Easton almost cried from relief, holding her tightly. He didn't sleep that night, instead he lay in bed all night, thinking about what he saw, considering again what he voluntarily put himself up against.

It was a lot to think about.

---

(This segment is televised)

From the darkness of an empty hallway, The Voice speaks in a monotone. Off in the distance, way at the end, a wooden door sits on weak hinges, creaking as it drifts every so often.

The Voice: It isn't about winning, or losing. It has nothing to do with what you deserve, or what you think you want. It doesn't matter how hard you've worked. Or how much your family has sacrificed.

Mason sacrificed himself for his father's pride, BRIM sacrificed a champion's pride to fight the Reaperling thing with the rotting brain. And you've sacrificed your courage and your sanity for a dream inside a locked room.

At Massacre, you want to sacrifice even more for that dream. But it isn't going to work. Whether you win in the sanctity of the ring, it's already defiled by your desperation. Your fear that you'll never find the key and stay where you are in the dark.

Walls break, hinges rust. In darkness all alone, even dragons die. If your ribs break one by one, you will not tap. If your shoulders are pulled from their sockets while the meat inside you tears, you won't let yourself tap. If you lie useless on the floor, a mass of gristle and marrow sealed inside a man suit, you will never tap and never break.

That is not a strength. You have one week to find something better.

The camera fades to black, and that's it.

I wasn't so much a fan of this one. A little too much talking, a little too much regular promo work. When it comes to Sadie, there should always be a bit of obfuscation at play, should never be a simple straight line pointing to what she thinks or how she feels.

Easton Alexander won this match, and he deserved to.

[Sadie Ko]

Seventh rp: "BEASTS DIE"
originally written May 14, 2022 at 5:07pm

In the OCW backstage area, we see the chaos of production as employees are constantly running around making sure this show goes on smoothly as possible. And even though we're nowhere close to Monday, there's still hustle and bussle as everyone is trying to get their ducks in a row. In front of us Who're is standing with a smile on her face, microphone in front of her face, and to the side of her is OCW's newest acquisition, 'The Dirtbag Kid' himself. He's sniffing and constantly fiddling with his nose, and his eyes are mostly hidden behind a pair of thick black sunglasses, even as his greasy black hair hangs beneath his 'Guns 'N Roses bandanna. Down below he's wearing a Western fringed jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans, and his shirt, when we can see it, is repping 'Alabama Thunderpussy'...this promo might be censored depending on where it airs. Definitely when it gets circulated illegally on to youtube in a few years. Who're for her part is wearing a tasteful and stylish blue dress, and clears her throat as she speaks.

WHO'RE: Hey what's going on, OCW fans at home! I'm here with our latest superstar, a man with a gentle heart and a kind soul, please give it up for The Dirtbag Kid!

There's no audience, so there's no applause and just the silence of an interview. In that silence, dBk coughs and pulls out a pack of Peter Stuyvesants, smacking the pack of smokes against the palm of his left hand in a way that almost simulates the sound of 'applause'...but doesn't quite manage. In a low tone of voice, dBk speaks slowly. Is he choosing his words tactically? Or is he just trying to think of words?

dBk: ...Yeah, yeh. *snort, inhale* Yeah what's up pussies, dBk coming at ya like uhh...yeah like nuts on ya face, ha ha ha!

Who're nods without fully listening, her eyes dilated slightly. Instead she laughs when he does, in order to be a good interviewer and empathize with who she's talking to. In the background, Machete Phil stalks across the OCW backstage area, and Sadie is staring right at us.

WHO'RE: Very good, very good. So, CYPHER had some interesting words for you this week. How would you respond, and are you a gamer?

dBk: Yeh, yeh! I saw that interview, that kid's fucking great. Got them bigass gamer thumbs though, you see them thangs? Yeah I play Madden with the boys from time to time, I miss when controllers had them wires though, you could whip em at a bitch who was beating you, they get all mad and shit.

As Who're half listens, the backstage area behind them seems to get less and less populated. A bulb overhead flickers, and Who're instantly stares up at it, on high alert as whatever high she's on ironically starts to evaporate. Dbk, meanwhile, is oblivious.

Dbk: But lemme tell ya somethin' Al Gore mighta invented the internet for you to run them little games but he didn't invent this asswhipping yer about to get, boy! Think you're a man wearing them hoodies and talking trash and playing games backstage? Meanwhile real men are snorting Sudafed and showing each other our guns and hunting knives in the locker room and showers! You're gobbling up them little dots and eating Ms. Pac-Man's pussy, and we grown folk are taking mescaline anally and crying watching Steel Magnolia's...unless you was too much of a puzzy-ass biiitch to do that! RHAAAAAAGH, _sss^SS_sss^SSSSSUCKIT! AHHHH!

The Dirtbag Kid is leaping up from his chair to jump in a circle, telling the entire world to 'suck' it courtesy of his crotch chops as he sticks his tongue out with his cigarette hanging from his lips. He doesn't notice that the lights have all died and that he is in pitch darkness, and standing next to him is another figure. A ghostly pale figure standing with her arms at her sides, dressed all in white, with her hair down in front of her face. Aside from dBk's screaming, the entire backstage area is quiet aside from the sound of Sadie's deep breathing every once and a while.

dbK: ...whoah...Who're? You look...different.

The Kid has lifted up his sunglasses, and we can see his eyes are completely red and bloodshot, it's a surprise he can even see the shape standing next to him. He starts laughing, even as he tries to open his eyes more to get a better look at the woman next to him. He is not concerned when she raises her hand, moving it closer to his face, moving it closer and closer

^{The footage warps}corrupts_{its different}the world changesSHE'S STARING AT YOU a woman screams

After a moment the footage stabilizes, and now Sadie is completely alone, in the center of the room, facing the camera directly. In front of her footage starts playing. We see Easton Alexander and CYPH3R, we see Sadie being ripped off of the side of a ring and plunging into a pool. We see a montage of men and women who have punched and kicked and slammed Sadie, as hard as they could, and the footage starts to run together and speed up until the sounds are like the high pitched screams of pigs being slaughtered, until the footage is a mess of soup and through it all, Sadie staring at us from behind her hair, and the sound of her breathing centering it all.

The montage suddenly cuts with a still image of Easton captured, locked in that vicious trademark maneuver of Sadie's, "The Grudge". The next shot is Crash in the same maneuver, with a high pitched sound that sounded like the scraping of metal. Then a shot of Mike Mason on the ground, his eyes wide while Sadie kneels over him with her hand digging into his mouth. The images start to melt and bleed away, until Sadie is left there with her fists balled in rage. It seems that something happened recently, which has left her in a bad mood. An action performed, perhaps by another wrestler, has perhaps not sat well with her. It's anyone's guess as to what it was.

The screen suddenly goes black, and a voice bellows and croaks out at a crawl, so low that it's just barely audible even as if invades our ear drums...it doesn't sound right, instead it sounds like someone talking backwards, even though there's no mistaking what is being said.

THE VOICE:

"O my brave brown companions, when your souls
Flock silently away, and the eyeless dead I saw everything
Shame the wild beast of battle on the ridge,
Death will stand grieving in that field of war nobody cared
Since your unvanquished hardihood is spent.
And through some mooned Valhalla there will pass
Battalions and battalions, scarred from hell; I clawed in mud
The unreturning army that was youth;
The legions who have suffered and are dust."

Men live. Beasts die. There is no difference.

As the voice says this, the black screen seems to fill with grainy, black and white footage of Easton and Sadie's last match together. Though we know who eventually got the win, the slowed down footage being played, is mainly footage of Easton struggling, of Easton in pain. Perhaps this is who 'The Voice' directs its next message to.

THE VOICE:

"I knew a simple soldier boy
Who grinned at life in empty joy,
Slept soundly through the lonesome dark,
And whistled early with the lark.

In winter trenches, cowed and glum,
With crumps and lice and lack of rum,
He put a bullet through his brain.
No one spoke of him again."

As the voice stops speaking, the footage ends and again, we are left in darkness. We stay here in the silence and the black for a long time. So much so that the next time there is any sound, it's almost startling.

dBk: Whoah! Hey, did we do it?

The screen cuts immediately to Dirtbag Kid and Who're both lying on the ground, in what looks to be the OCW parking lot in the bright sun. There are feet walking by them here and there, and dBk is looking around bewilered, but not complaining. Who're glares at him, before looking down at her dress, now in need of a wash after spending time on the Djibouti ground. dBk, for his part, just shrugs.

dBk: Hey, you ain't gotta look at me like that!

And sometimes you just need a break, and need to freewrite a promo against Batbear.