Post by Sadie Ko on May 7, 2022 16:47:29 GMT -5
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.
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.