Post by occulo on Oct 25, 2015 11:38:57 GMT -5
All of this, all of this ends. It’s what Occulo had prophesised. This new brand of autonomy that he had chosen to wear on his flesh had begun its burning sting, the sting in the tail was that Occulo wanted to even relinquish The Cold.
The Cold: All of this ends Occulo? Do you really think it is as easy as that? What reason do you have for wanting to stop this?
Occulo looks up at the sky
Occulo: Because I don’t need you. Not anymore. I think…I know what the purpose of this is now.
The Cold: Please, please do not say you have come to a decision whilst staring into the darkness Occulo. Morte has been known for centuries to taint the mind of even the most innocent. If you think that offering your Father to him will satisfy his appetite you’re wrong.
Occulo: Don’t be ridiculous. Morte has no influence over me. I’m ridding him from my back. I’m ridding him from anyone’s back.
The Cold scoffs in derision
The Cold: You don’t honestly think you can stop him do you?
Occulo turns around and walks over to The Cold
Occulo: You’ve transported me to places that don’t exist and made me feel for people who aren’t even flesh and blood. How can you possibly lecture to me what is and isn’t possible?
The Cold: Occulo, he never sleeps. He thrives on taking lives and he has done it for centuries. Right now he is down there salivating at the prospect of loss and mourning. He lives off it. It is what sustains him. If nobody gives him a life, he will come out and take one, and it will be the most innocent life possible.
Occulo: Loss and mourning?
He smiles
Has he ever met my Father? There won’t be any loss or mourning. There will be partying in the fucking streets. My Father wouldn’t even mourn my loss. Every tear that has ever fallen from his eyes has had as much substance as a wisp of smoke. He is a soulless coward of a man. A being that stopped evolving as soon as it could walk and talk. I want to send him to hell and make sure he can never, EVER show his face ever again, and then I will put an end to Morte.
The Cold looks at the ground with a rare despondency and a deep breath.
Tell me. Has anyone ever tried to stop Morte’s chain of death?
The Cold: No. No they haven’t. None have dared. They mourned the loss of their loved one and lived their lives.
Occulo: Interesting. So…
Occulo walks over to the well
If Morte can come into our world and take our lives
He peers down to the well and lifts one foot up on to its rim
Then I will ensure he has one he can torment for the rest of eternity
The Cold steps forward with a panic
The Cold: Occulo…
Occulo is now stood on the rim
Occulo: I want to see the hell my Father will be condemned to
The Cold: Occulo….you won’t ever come back! Step back down
Occulo: No. I want Morte to meet the man that is his equal in my world. I want him to know what is coming for him.
The Cold: But…
Occulo: I’m going to let him taste my blood. I’m going to empower him with the sorrow that my Father has caused. He will then hunger for him like a starving dog. I want to live MY life from now on, I want to live the live I have always wanted to.
Occulo lifts one foot over the abyss
The Cold: Occulo!!
Occulo: To do that, I have to bleed…
The Cold rushes forward, but it is too late. Occulo falls down into the darkness. The cold reaches the edge of the well and screams down into it.
The darkness rushes past Occulo, the air getting thicker and thicker until it becomes near impossible to breathe.
But then.
He stops falling and lands softly on his feet. The atmosphere around him is now much more terrible than the thick heat. There is an emptiness. A white infinity. Occulo though does not appear scared. He looks around the area as if surveying a new house.
Each of his footsteps do not emit a sound. In fact he cannot hear a thing. He shouts into the vortex, and a few seconds he hears it like a distant echo. He smiles widely and laughs to himself.
Occulo: This will do. This will do nicely.
CUT
The sound of the bell ringing to the chorus of Occulo’s loyal followers was an orgasmic nectar to his ears. Though he wouldn’t like to admit it, so did Wolf’s screams of pain as The Epitome sealed his fate. Take the biggest babyface in the world and he’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy causing so much pain it brings a man to his breaking point. Wolf was just like so many he has faced in the past. He was weak. He was on the kids table, no, he was the guy who cleaned the kids table compared to the real echelons of the company.
Occulo now had a real challenge, perhaps one he didn’t expect so soon. The man…the…enigma he would face at Helloween was Zombie McMorris. From Wolf to Honey Badger. Well, it was more like timid puppy to Honey Badger. Occulo knew this was going to be a mother of a different kettle of fish. A hardcore match vs an absolute animal. HELLoween indeed. He felt a thin layer of moisture accumulate on his bottom lip as he salivated at the prospect of this challenge.
The company, the world so far had seen the technical, cool and calm collected Occulo. The Occulo that reaches the ring then its head down and time to get the job done. But this required an animalistic, barbaric phase of Occulo’s moon. The cool and calm had to become a searing chaos. If you show for one second that you cannot match the ferocity of a man who calls himself the honey badger then that’s it. Game over. Game over before it has even begun.
The camera clicked on and we see Occulo holding his own camera. He is stood outside an old derelict house, standing decades behind in architecture, but in between two near identical houses. It’s windows are boarded up…well, were boarded up a long time ago. Now thin boards run across each window in varying quantities depending on what storey they are on.
Occulo: The classic center of the horror story. The obvious and obligatory haunted house. We see either those baked as fuck mystery machine dwelling potheads hallucinating their way through life or James Brolin and Margot Kidder reacting so professionally to elementary school sound effects. You’re running from a ghost or a psycho egged on by ghosts long dead. The house is infested with fear and the residents call the exorcist to fumigate it. Its fear in caricature form. It’s a fairground ride. It’s easy and requires no imagination.
The camera shows the house for a few seconds and then fades out. Occulo is now stood in an old graveyard that looks in a state of abandonment. The tips of the grass lick the very top of the gravestones in places, and the stones themselves wear a thin layer of green moss. The stone work of the walls around the yard reflect decades of weathering and the odd vandalism, and sadly so do the gravestones themselves. A great tree stands in the middle, ironically looking full of life as its evergreen leaves defy the decay below it. The names of the deceased on the stones are as legible and clear as the memories of their respective descendants.
Occulo: The graveyard. The fear resides in the prospect of what is beneath my feet surfacing and walking amongst us with its soul trapped elsewhere. The ghost or the zombie. It’s sense of fear comes from something a lot deeper…pardon the pun. Even the most grounded and cynical could be seen loathing themselves as the hairs on the neck stand up on a cold, moonlight night here. But like the haunted house, it’s a contrived setting for the horror film. It’s over done. So where does true horror lie?
The camera fades out and opens up to a busy street of people from a balcony. Occulo narrates as he films.
Occulo: Real horror lies not in the darkness of an old graveyard or upon the creaky floorboards of the haunted house. True, unimaginable terror resides in the sheer unknown of our own vulnerability. Hearing day after day about people killing people in ghastly and barbaric fashion and then stepping out into the street knowing we could be surrounded by these people. Knowing that we could speak to these people every day and have no idea what they are truly capable. The fear that there is now an almost “on paper” routine we have to follow to survive. The fear that all the things that have surgically attached themselves to us into a limb of unshakeable addiction may suddenly fail on us. The definition of hell has softened in context. There is a hell now of people losing face in front of their neighbours, a hell of our technology being stripped from us and the addiction appendage becoming a restless phantom limb. The greatest fear is losing everything we take for granted. You’d happily spend a night in the haunted house or graveyard with the comfort of your smartphone and the common sense that the fear just isn’t real.
All of these people find solace under the glow of the sun and under the stitch of their suit and tie. They feel a sense of worth and a professional reason to be alive. They are distracted. They have a routine they attack in all their own different ways and time goes quicker for some than others. They hustle and they bustle, and there is no such thing as a human that can move fast enough. They are challenged both mentally and physical every day, and they fall in love with it, even though they would call it monotonous, it is of a comfort that on a form they have something to write next to job or profession.
But
The footage slows down
Each and every single night, their head hits the pillow and the lights are off. Some of them are alone. Some of them are lucky enough to lay with their significant other. But no matter how much someone feel s complete with the person they love, for that hideous time of every day for the rest of their lives, they are alone with the haunting presence of their thoughts. From those who clean trays of half eaten fast food to those who look down on the city from their office in the clouds, everyone is equal at this moment. Fear of what might happen tomorrow, next week or years down the line forms beads of sweat on their foreheads and their eyes open through the night. Why are we so repelled by our own thought processes? Is it the lack of control we have over some aspects of our lives? Are we living in such an age where EVERYTHING must be attached to strings wrapped around our fingers? The absolute fear for me, is that of loneliness whether it be from another person, or from the many branches of society itself. That is pure fear. It is what we all fear. I do seek autonomy, but I cannot do this without the familiar faces of the people in this company that I recognise every day, and those that are new to me. They inspire me and put me on the right path.
So Zombie, what does a monster do when its head hits the pillow on a night? What runs through your mind? Does the ruthless honey badger feel all so human? You’re a rampant slaughterer of men. A relentless animal that would run itself into danger, perhaps mortal danger if it meant that you satisfied your appetite. The problem with fighters like you Zombie, is that you are so spear like, direct and aimed straight for the kill, that you only look forward. You leave yourself open. You only have one strategy and when that fails, you lack the composure and thought to come up with anything that could be regarded as a Plan B.
Your reign as the Internet Champion does speak of your ability to keep your wits about you before you step into the ring. You can defend yourself when static in front of a microphone or smartphone, but as I said, in the ring your guard is well and truly down. I have been a hunter since I returned. First I put down a wolf and now I must gun down a honey badger.
You’re the type of person Zombie that I do not fear. You’re predictable. You’re unremarkable. You’re a good fighter, buy you have an assumed strategy. I can beat you purely by keeping out of your way and outsmarting you. I’ve beaten you once before remember, and I can see no reason why I cannot pin you down again.
I am inexperienced in the hardcore domain. That much I can admit. It is more of a home fixture for you. But you know what Zombie, that won’t stop me from making you scream like a banshee and paint the canvas red. I can be extremely brutal when I need to be, and this is certainly one of those occasions. In these kind of matches there are no rules except for one, beat the living fuck out of your opponent before it is beaten out of you. You’ll tell me that I have absolutely no idea what I’m dealing with. You’ll tell me you’re a remorseless bastard and how much I am underestimating you. Well oh contrare, I know exactly what you are capable of and it is the very thing that is spurring me on. I know how much I’m going to get hurt. I know my career could reach its end before it really ever got going again, but oh so easily so could yours.
CUT
Occulo looks around the white space around him, trying to detect any signs of Morte. There is nothing though, just a thin and silent atmosphere.
Occulo: Morte, I’m here. I’m here and I have blood for you. If you want it, come get it.
Out of nowhere, Morte appears behind Occulo. He is wearing all black, rags wrapped around his legs and in an X across his torso. He looks just human, but one would mostly say he was a demon at first glance. His eyes were that of a snake, and so were his intentions.
Morte: So, my boy, you have finally decided to surrender yourself to me.
Occulo turns around and gives him a stern look
Occulo: Not quite. Glad to disappoint, but I am here offering you that of my Fathers.
Morte: Hmm yes, you have mentioned him before. Why have I been kept waiting for so long?
Occulo: I was a fool Morte. I believed he could change, I was so very wrong. He nearly put an end to my wrestling career…and
intended to end my life. So now, my decision is made. I want to condemn him to hell. He’s yours.
Morte: He sounds like a hated man Occulo, what sustenance can I gain when the man would not be mourned?
Occulo: Trust me. He is exactly the person you would enjoy tormenting. Because what I propose to you is very different to what you have experienced in the past.
Morte: How so? I leave my realm, find my target and kill. It is what I have done for centuries Occulo. Some methods need not change.
Occulo: Perhaps so. But I want you to bring him back here…alive. I want him to be an instrument of your torture. I want him to live alone in this void for the rest of eternity, and I want you to be forever sustained and satisfied with his everlasting sorrow.
Morte: Intriguing…yes…intriguing. He does share your blood.
Occulo: Instead of taking the innocent, why not bring the criminals and monsters of this world here for you to entertain yourself with?
Morte: Yes…the fun I could have…the screams and degradation I could put those who thought themselves as Gods. It would be beautiful. I could watch masterminds decay into the mindless. Yes, yes Occulo. I want your Father as the experimental one.
Occulo smiles widely
Occulo: It would be my pleasure Morte.
Morte: Seek him out. You must deceive him. Lead him into a false sense of security. Bring him to The Hill and I will do the rest.
Occulo: Yes. Yes I will.
The scene fades out and we re-open to Occulo stood outside an isolation flotation chamber at a local health centre. He is stood with headphones in, his eyes closed and silently muttering to himself. His eyes open and he removes the earphones after half a minute.
Occulo: That, was difficult to listen to Zombie. When did you become such a mumbling, almost childlike infant? Your enunciation is comparable to a nervous and troubled man. There is fabrication in your choice of words. Your over sensationalising of my return a prime example, you try to big it up to enhance your small chance of victory. I do not recall stating my return was triumphant Zombie, and your fictitious justification of me apparently calling it triumphant included saying me facing you in a hardcore match was quite the opposite in definition. I disagree Zombie, give yourself more credit. I think facing you in only my second singles match since I returned is certainly triumphant. You have great credibility here. You are a solid competitor. Beating you would absolutely cement my return as triumphant, Mr Internet Champion.
I feel no surprise or anxiety when you state that you are going to go hard on me. Of course you are. Please do not state that you like me and respect me, but then provoke naivety from me. It’s contradictory and makes you look like a fool. I want you to throw at me the absolute violent worst that a honey badger can inflict. Hurt me, try and end my career. Some would say it is excessive, I would say it is important. Experiencing this kind of match with this kind of opponent is absolutely vital if you ever want to say you’ve been through it all when you lift the world title. I would rather have my career ended in the most brutal battle possible than win the most prestigious prize possible here feeling a hollow sense of experience on the way. This will be the blood soaked page in my story Zombie, and when I reach the top, I’ll thank you in my victory speech. WZF Champion.
If cutting a long promo is the thing that will spark your violent side then hell, fuck it. I’ll go on.
The fact that you are wanting to treat this is as a hardcore championship match is greatly complimentary. It is, or is it complacent on your part? You speak a lot about our relationship and your opinion of me Zombie, asking if we are friends. Now I know I’m a good natured man but I’ll throw down the gauntlet of what I really think of you.
You have a past of associating with the absolute scum of this company. Hell, I don’t know if we have ever been friends, frankly I don’t really care. We are absolute opposites and two sides of this coin. Friend or foe, it’s irrelevant. In the ring surrounded by weapons I treat you like I would treat anyone in that situation. My worst fucking enemy. A man of good nature still has instincts, to destroy and survive. I’m going to chisel away at you with everything I have. I’ll erode you. I’ll wind you, break you, leave you wondering how that boy Occulo you were wondering if you were friends with has such a remorseless and cruel side of him. It’s pretty fucking simple. If someone wants to hurt me then I will hurt them and leave them twitching on the canvas like a fucking popcorn kernel in a frying pan. I can be as disturbingly heartless as the biggest villains this company has ever seen. I don’t care. So I’m really not your friend Zombie, I don’t give a fuck about you. Passing in the corridor we’d give each other nothing more than a nod. In the ring, I’d give you nothing less than a nauseating pasting.
I can see why HR wanted you to work on your character development Zombie, because it is fucking terrible. You’re going to bake me like a Jew in an oven. Wow. Holocaust. Yeah that was really terrible and lots of people died in a horrific ways and you’re an animal that wants to do the same to me. Is this it? Is that the best I’m going to get from the great Zombie McMorris? Yeah you go ahead and try and bake me like a Holocaust Jew. You do that. If using the holocaust as a weapon against me is your definition of abrasive and brash, then shit, the WZF is well and truly in the bowels of the PG era. You’re a boring, unimaginative cunt who thinks his Honey Badger persona and playful, pseudo-comedic, and poetic mentioning of disturbing history is enough to cut it and show yourself as a menacing force. It doesn’t cut it with me. I don’t think it cuts it with anyone.
Like I said earlier Zombie, you’re as human as the rest of us with the same fears and worries. I think they trouble you more than the average person. I think you are a terrified little man hiding behind a persona that is crumbling every day. What a shame.
The Honey Badger might want to make me bleed, but fuck, I beg you to, because I bleed what I live for, and that is to put obnoxious scum like you down on the way to the top.
However immortal you are Zombie, by the time the bell rings and my arm is raised, you are gonna be feeling pretty fucking mortal.
He smiles at the camera and climbs into the tank with an oxygen mask fitted as the camera fades out.
CUT
The Cold: All of this ends Occulo? Do you really think it is as easy as that? What reason do you have for wanting to stop this?
Occulo looks up at the sky
Occulo: Because I don’t need you. Not anymore. I think…I know what the purpose of this is now.
The Cold: Please, please do not say you have come to a decision whilst staring into the darkness Occulo. Morte has been known for centuries to taint the mind of even the most innocent. If you think that offering your Father to him will satisfy his appetite you’re wrong.
Occulo: Don’t be ridiculous. Morte has no influence over me. I’m ridding him from my back. I’m ridding him from anyone’s back.
The Cold scoffs in derision
The Cold: You don’t honestly think you can stop him do you?
Occulo turns around and walks over to The Cold
Occulo: You’ve transported me to places that don’t exist and made me feel for people who aren’t even flesh and blood. How can you possibly lecture to me what is and isn’t possible?
The Cold: Occulo, he never sleeps. He thrives on taking lives and he has done it for centuries. Right now he is down there salivating at the prospect of loss and mourning. He lives off it. It is what sustains him. If nobody gives him a life, he will come out and take one, and it will be the most innocent life possible.
Occulo: Loss and mourning?
He smiles
Has he ever met my Father? There won’t be any loss or mourning. There will be partying in the fucking streets. My Father wouldn’t even mourn my loss. Every tear that has ever fallen from his eyes has had as much substance as a wisp of smoke. He is a soulless coward of a man. A being that stopped evolving as soon as it could walk and talk. I want to send him to hell and make sure he can never, EVER show his face ever again, and then I will put an end to Morte.
The Cold looks at the ground with a rare despondency and a deep breath.
Tell me. Has anyone ever tried to stop Morte’s chain of death?
The Cold: No. No they haven’t. None have dared. They mourned the loss of their loved one and lived their lives.
Occulo: Interesting. So…
Occulo walks over to the well
If Morte can come into our world and take our lives
He peers down to the well and lifts one foot up on to its rim
Then I will ensure he has one he can torment for the rest of eternity
The Cold steps forward with a panic
The Cold: Occulo…
Occulo is now stood on the rim
Occulo: I want to see the hell my Father will be condemned to
The Cold: Occulo….you won’t ever come back! Step back down
Occulo: No. I want Morte to meet the man that is his equal in my world. I want him to know what is coming for him.
The Cold: But…
Occulo: I’m going to let him taste my blood. I’m going to empower him with the sorrow that my Father has caused. He will then hunger for him like a starving dog. I want to live MY life from now on, I want to live the live I have always wanted to.
Occulo lifts one foot over the abyss
The Cold: Occulo!!
Occulo: To do that, I have to bleed…
The Cold rushes forward, but it is too late. Occulo falls down into the darkness. The cold reaches the edge of the well and screams down into it.
The darkness rushes past Occulo, the air getting thicker and thicker until it becomes near impossible to breathe.
But then.
He stops falling and lands softly on his feet. The atmosphere around him is now much more terrible than the thick heat. There is an emptiness. A white infinity. Occulo though does not appear scared. He looks around the area as if surveying a new house.
Each of his footsteps do not emit a sound. In fact he cannot hear a thing. He shouts into the vortex, and a few seconds he hears it like a distant echo. He smiles widely and laughs to himself.
Occulo: This will do. This will do nicely.
CUT
The sound of the bell ringing to the chorus of Occulo’s loyal followers was an orgasmic nectar to his ears. Though he wouldn’t like to admit it, so did Wolf’s screams of pain as The Epitome sealed his fate. Take the biggest babyface in the world and he’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy causing so much pain it brings a man to his breaking point. Wolf was just like so many he has faced in the past. He was weak. He was on the kids table, no, he was the guy who cleaned the kids table compared to the real echelons of the company.
Occulo now had a real challenge, perhaps one he didn’t expect so soon. The man…the…enigma he would face at Helloween was Zombie McMorris. From Wolf to Honey Badger. Well, it was more like timid puppy to Honey Badger. Occulo knew this was going to be a mother of a different kettle of fish. A hardcore match vs an absolute animal. HELLoween indeed. He felt a thin layer of moisture accumulate on his bottom lip as he salivated at the prospect of this challenge.
The company, the world so far had seen the technical, cool and calm collected Occulo. The Occulo that reaches the ring then its head down and time to get the job done. But this required an animalistic, barbaric phase of Occulo’s moon. The cool and calm had to become a searing chaos. If you show for one second that you cannot match the ferocity of a man who calls himself the honey badger then that’s it. Game over. Game over before it has even begun.
The camera clicked on and we see Occulo holding his own camera. He is stood outside an old derelict house, standing decades behind in architecture, but in between two near identical houses. It’s windows are boarded up…well, were boarded up a long time ago. Now thin boards run across each window in varying quantities depending on what storey they are on.
Occulo: The classic center of the horror story. The obvious and obligatory haunted house. We see either those baked as fuck mystery machine dwelling potheads hallucinating their way through life or James Brolin and Margot Kidder reacting so professionally to elementary school sound effects. You’re running from a ghost or a psycho egged on by ghosts long dead. The house is infested with fear and the residents call the exorcist to fumigate it. Its fear in caricature form. It’s a fairground ride. It’s easy and requires no imagination.
The camera shows the house for a few seconds and then fades out. Occulo is now stood in an old graveyard that looks in a state of abandonment. The tips of the grass lick the very top of the gravestones in places, and the stones themselves wear a thin layer of green moss. The stone work of the walls around the yard reflect decades of weathering and the odd vandalism, and sadly so do the gravestones themselves. A great tree stands in the middle, ironically looking full of life as its evergreen leaves defy the decay below it. The names of the deceased on the stones are as legible and clear as the memories of their respective descendants.
Occulo: The graveyard. The fear resides in the prospect of what is beneath my feet surfacing and walking amongst us with its soul trapped elsewhere. The ghost or the zombie. It’s sense of fear comes from something a lot deeper…pardon the pun. Even the most grounded and cynical could be seen loathing themselves as the hairs on the neck stand up on a cold, moonlight night here. But like the haunted house, it’s a contrived setting for the horror film. It’s over done. So where does true horror lie?
The camera fades out and opens up to a busy street of people from a balcony. Occulo narrates as he films.
Occulo: Real horror lies not in the darkness of an old graveyard or upon the creaky floorboards of the haunted house. True, unimaginable terror resides in the sheer unknown of our own vulnerability. Hearing day after day about people killing people in ghastly and barbaric fashion and then stepping out into the street knowing we could be surrounded by these people. Knowing that we could speak to these people every day and have no idea what they are truly capable. The fear that there is now an almost “on paper” routine we have to follow to survive. The fear that all the things that have surgically attached themselves to us into a limb of unshakeable addiction may suddenly fail on us. The definition of hell has softened in context. There is a hell now of people losing face in front of their neighbours, a hell of our technology being stripped from us and the addiction appendage becoming a restless phantom limb. The greatest fear is losing everything we take for granted. You’d happily spend a night in the haunted house or graveyard with the comfort of your smartphone and the common sense that the fear just isn’t real.
All of these people find solace under the glow of the sun and under the stitch of their suit and tie. They feel a sense of worth and a professional reason to be alive. They are distracted. They have a routine they attack in all their own different ways and time goes quicker for some than others. They hustle and they bustle, and there is no such thing as a human that can move fast enough. They are challenged both mentally and physical every day, and they fall in love with it, even though they would call it monotonous, it is of a comfort that on a form they have something to write next to job or profession.
But
The footage slows down
Each and every single night, their head hits the pillow and the lights are off. Some of them are alone. Some of them are lucky enough to lay with their significant other. But no matter how much someone feel s complete with the person they love, for that hideous time of every day for the rest of their lives, they are alone with the haunting presence of their thoughts. From those who clean trays of half eaten fast food to those who look down on the city from their office in the clouds, everyone is equal at this moment. Fear of what might happen tomorrow, next week or years down the line forms beads of sweat on their foreheads and their eyes open through the night. Why are we so repelled by our own thought processes? Is it the lack of control we have over some aspects of our lives? Are we living in such an age where EVERYTHING must be attached to strings wrapped around our fingers? The absolute fear for me, is that of loneliness whether it be from another person, or from the many branches of society itself. That is pure fear. It is what we all fear. I do seek autonomy, but I cannot do this without the familiar faces of the people in this company that I recognise every day, and those that are new to me. They inspire me and put me on the right path.
So Zombie, what does a monster do when its head hits the pillow on a night? What runs through your mind? Does the ruthless honey badger feel all so human? You’re a rampant slaughterer of men. A relentless animal that would run itself into danger, perhaps mortal danger if it meant that you satisfied your appetite. The problem with fighters like you Zombie, is that you are so spear like, direct and aimed straight for the kill, that you only look forward. You leave yourself open. You only have one strategy and when that fails, you lack the composure and thought to come up with anything that could be regarded as a Plan B.
Your reign as the Internet Champion does speak of your ability to keep your wits about you before you step into the ring. You can defend yourself when static in front of a microphone or smartphone, but as I said, in the ring your guard is well and truly down. I have been a hunter since I returned. First I put down a wolf and now I must gun down a honey badger.
You’re the type of person Zombie that I do not fear. You’re predictable. You’re unremarkable. You’re a good fighter, buy you have an assumed strategy. I can beat you purely by keeping out of your way and outsmarting you. I’ve beaten you once before remember, and I can see no reason why I cannot pin you down again.
I am inexperienced in the hardcore domain. That much I can admit. It is more of a home fixture for you. But you know what Zombie, that won’t stop me from making you scream like a banshee and paint the canvas red. I can be extremely brutal when I need to be, and this is certainly one of those occasions. In these kind of matches there are no rules except for one, beat the living fuck out of your opponent before it is beaten out of you. You’ll tell me that I have absolutely no idea what I’m dealing with. You’ll tell me you’re a remorseless bastard and how much I am underestimating you. Well oh contrare, I know exactly what you are capable of and it is the very thing that is spurring me on. I know how much I’m going to get hurt. I know my career could reach its end before it really ever got going again, but oh so easily so could yours.
CUT
Occulo looks around the white space around him, trying to detect any signs of Morte. There is nothing though, just a thin and silent atmosphere.
Occulo: Morte, I’m here. I’m here and I have blood for you. If you want it, come get it.
Out of nowhere, Morte appears behind Occulo. He is wearing all black, rags wrapped around his legs and in an X across his torso. He looks just human, but one would mostly say he was a demon at first glance. His eyes were that of a snake, and so were his intentions.
Morte: So, my boy, you have finally decided to surrender yourself to me.
Occulo turns around and gives him a stern look
Occulo: Not quite. Glad to disappoint, but I am here offering you that of my Fathers.
Morte: Hmm yes, you have mentioned him before. Why have I been kept waiting for so long?
Occulo: I was a fool Morte. I believed he could change, I was so very wrong. He nearly put an end to my wrestling career…and
intended to end my life. So now, my decision is made. I want to condemn him to hell. He’s yours.
Morte: He sounds like a hated man Occulo, what sustenance can I gain when the man would not be mourned?
Occulo: Trust me. He is exactly the person you would enjoy tormenting. Because what I propose to you is very different to what you have experienced in the past.
Morte: How so? I leave my realm, find my target and kill. It is what I have done for centuries Occulo. Some methods need not change.
Occulo: Perhaps so. But I want you to bring him back here…alive. I want him to be an instrument of your torture. I want him to live alone in this void for the rest of eternity, and I want you to be forever sustained and satisfied with his everlasting sorrow.
Morte: Intriguing…yes…intriguing. He does share your blood.
Occulo: Instead of taking the innocent, why not bring the criminals and monsters of this world here for you to entertain yourself with?
Morte: Yes…the fun I could have…the screams and degradation I could put those who thought themselves as Gods. It would be beautiful. I could watch masterminds decay into the mindless. Yes, yes Occulo. I want your Father as the experimental one.
Occulo smiles widely
Occulo: It would be my pleasure Morte.
Morte: Seek him out. You must deceive him. Lead him into a false sense of security. Bring him to The Hill and I will do the rest.
Occulo: Yes. Yes I will.
The scene fades out and we re-open to Occulo stood outside an isolation flotation chamber at a local health centre. He is stood with headphones in, his eyes closed and silently muttering to himself. His eyes open and he removes the earphones after half a minute.
Occulo: That, was difficult to listen to Zombie. When did you become such a mumbling, almost childlike infant? Your enunciation is comparable to a nervous and troubled man. There is fabrication in your choice of words. Your over sensationalising of my return a prime example, you try to big it up to enhance your small chance of victory. I do not recall stating my return was triumphant Zombie, and your fictitious justification of me apparently calling it triumphant included saying me facing you in a hardcore match was quite the opposite in definition. I disagree Zombie, give yourself more credit. I think facing you in only my second singles match since I returned is certainly triumphant. You have great credibility here. You are a solid competitor. Beating you would absolutely cement my return as triumphant, Mr Internet Champion.
I feel no surprise or anxiety when you state that you are going to go hard on me. Of course you are. Please do not state that you like me and respect me, but then provoke naivety from me. It’s contradictory and makes you look like a fool. I want you to throw at me the absolute violent worst that a honey badger can inflict. Hurt me, try and end my career. Some would say it is excessive, I would say it is important. Experiencing this kind of match with this kind of opponent is absolutely vital if you ever want to say you’ve been through it all when you lift the world title. I would rather have my career ended in the most brutal battle possible than win the most prestigious prize possible here feeling a hollow sense of experience on the way. This will be the blood soaked page in my story Zombie, and when I reach the top, I’ll thank you in my victory speech. WZF Champion.
If cutting a long promo is the thing that will spark your violent side then hell, fuck it. I’ll go on.
The fact that you are wanting to treat this is as a hardcore championship match is greatly complimentary. It is, or is it complacent on your part? You speak a lot about our relationship and your opinion of me Zombie, asking if we are friends. Now I know I’m a good natured man but I’ll throw down the gauntlet of what I really think of you.
You have a past of associating with the absolute scum of this company. Hell, I don’t know if we have ever been friends, frankly I don’t really care. We are absolute opposites and two sides of this coin. Friend or foe, it’s irrelevant. In the ring surrounded by weapons I treat you like I would treat anyone in that situation. My worst fucking enemy. A man of good nature still has instincts, to destroy and survive. I’m going to chisel away at you with everything I have. I’ll erode you. I’ll wind you, break you, leave you wondering how that boy Occulo you were wondering if you were friends with has such a remorseless and cruel side of him. It’s pretty fucking simple. If someone wants to hurt me then I will hurt them and leave them twitching on the canvas like a fucking popcorn kernel in a frying pan. I can be as disturbingly heartless as the biggest villains this company has ever seen. I don’t care. So I’m really not your friend Zombie, I don’t give a fuck about you. Passing in the corridor we’d give each other nothing more than a nod. In the ring, I’d give you nothing less than a nauseating pasting.
I can see why HR wanted you to work on your character development Zombie, because it is fucking terrible. You’re going to bake me like a Jew in an oven. Wow. Holocaust. Yeah that was really terrible and lots of people died in a horrific ways and you’re an animal that wants to do the same to me. Is this it? Is that the best I’m going to get from the great Zombie McMorris? Yeah you go ahead and try and bake me like a Holocaust Jew. You do that. If using the holocaust as a weapon against me is your definition of abrasive and brash, then shit, the WZF is well and truly in the bowels of the PG era. You’re a boring, unimaginative cunt who thinks his Honey Badger persona and playful, pseudo-comedic, and poetic mentioning of disturbing history is enough to cut it and show yourself as a menacing force. It doesn’t cut it with me. I don’t think it cuts it with anyone.
Like I said earlier Zombie, you’re as human as the rest of us with the same fears and worries. I think they trouble you more than the average person. I think you are a terrified little man hiding behind a persona that is crumbling every day. What a shame.
The Honey Badger might want to make me bleed, but fuck, I beg you to, because I bleed what I live for, and that is to put obnoxious scum like you down on the way to the top.
However immortal you are Zombie, by the time the bell rings and my arm is raised, you are gonna be feeling pretty fucking mortal.
He smiles at the camera and climbs into the tank with an oxygen mask fitted as the camera fades out.
CUT