Post by God King Dune on Jan 3, 2016 13:13:49 GMT -5
The Letter “J”
We begin in the darkness. It’s all there is until a faint light reveals flaws in the shadows and movement on the peripheries of the screen. It’s as if everything is being drawn toward the black center of the frame. Without warning, the darkness is broken by two vertically-stretching grey bars on opposite sides of the screen. They grow in width, and as we continue to zoom out, it becomes clear what we’re seeing.
The letter “J” fills the screen, printed in bold atop grey newspaper. More and more letters reveal themselves, until finally the front page headline is revealed: Dune Conquers Joey Flash, WCF.
The paper is flapped open in someone’s hands, and we cut away.
Freeman sits at a small table, his greying beard hanging down beneath a set of spectacles he squints through to read the front page. He doesn’t get very far before the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin, and his eyes turn away from the page before he speaks.
Freeman: You did it.
Silence greets him, and he sits up straight and furrows his brow.
Freeman: You hear me, Dune? You did -
Dune: Did what?
We cut to a shot of the maskless Dune as the echo of his deep, booming voice begins to fade. The jagged crests and valleys of his butchered mouth, nose, and jawline are clear as day deep within the spacious confines of the subterranean complex. It’s a place whose original purpose was the production of Dune-replicants...though now it serves a different one.
Dune sits and stares straight ahead as Freeman’s reply comes from across the room and behind him.
Freeman: Did what? Well for one you took home four awards on a night when most would have been happy with one. Rookie of the Year; World Champion of the Year; Co-Wrestler of the Year; Feud of the Year...these things mean something, Dune.
Dune continues to stare ahead, lost in thought. Months ago the awards may have meant something to him, but now they’re cast aside in favor of those he can’t seem to shake.
Dune: They’re words on a page. They don’t matter. I’d be the same without them.
Freeman: Ok...well if the awards don’t give you cause to celebrate, do I need to remind you of what happened at One? About the beating you put on Joey Flash - the man who tried to ruin you time and again last year; the man who took the Title off you at WAR, for Christ’s sake?! It’s over now between the two of you, Dune - you ended it once and for all.
Dune shakes his head at the idea every so slightly.
Dune: It’s not over, Freeman. It’s not as easy as me pinning him. He lives.
Freeman: You almost killed Flash at One, Dune. I hate to say it, but you’re lucky Occulo and Howard Black came to his rescue when they -
A rage comes over Dune’s face in hearing the names of his former Sentinel-brothers. Freeman cuts off as Dune shoots to his feet and spins toward him. He glares at Freeman, who returns the hard stare with a listening ear as Dune spits back in reply.
Dune: Not him, Freeman. It’s not Joey’s existence that keeps me up at night. It’s that other J word...you know the one.
Freeman: The Jackal. But why would -
Dune: I know Joey Flash. And before I pinned him at One, a part of me truly believed our war would end that night. But I was foolish. My show of dominance against him only served as fuel for the fire. I should have known it would. I should have known Flash will never stop until the killer of his son is put to rest...be it the puppet or the puppet master.
Freeman: But his killer IS put to rest! He’s...you know...down there…
Freeman nods toward the ground, and the camera zooms in on it before we fade into a shot of one of the lower floors.
We move slowly down a wide, dimly-lit hallway carved into the deep desert crust. An open doorway appears, and through it we see an eerie sight: a rottweiler bathed in the light of something as yet off screen. The massive beast lies on the metallic floor within, staring up attentitively at whatever stands before him.
As we pass through the opening, Freeman’s voice cuts through the silence.
Freeman: We trapped him...right, Dune?
A glowing, cylindrical tube comes into frame - an anti-gravity chamber whose sole purpose is to preserve the life of Pinky, Dune’s one true love. Her comatose body is suspended in the airless void of the chamber, and the camera comes to a stop with the rottweiler staring up at her face. The beast growls to see it twitch once more, as it does like clockwork now.
Freeman: We killed him…
Pinky’s eyelids shoot open, and her neck muscles crook and crane inhumanly as the rottweilers jumps into action. Snarling, snapping, and baying relentlessly, the voice of Dune rings out once more.
Dune: No...
Pinky’s eyes dart toward Dune’s rottweiler, locking on with the savage beast’s. Through her eyes, though, the dog knows who he sees...or rather, what he sees: the Jackal, staring back with incomprehensible wrath.
Dune: He lives.
The dog’s baying persists, even after the we’ve cut to black. Finally, it begins to fade out, leaving us in silent darkness once more.
Dreams in Blue
Light fades in, but not much of it. The night sky blankets the Mojave, and the moon and the stars illuminate the sands.
Before long the shot fades on another. We find ourselves gazing down a seemingly endless corridor carved into the earth deep beneath the surface we’ve just left.
And as the shot fades out once more, we’re greeted with the sight of a two story, balcony-lined room that would be pitch black were it not bathed in a brilliant blue light that emits from a giant led screen on the far wall. Rows of desks with scattered papers and abandoned computers line the bottom floor, and both it and second story balcony appear abandoned as well...but only at first.
Movement appears on the bottom edge of the screen. It’s a man, and his hulking frame, bald head, and black mask that wraps around it give him away instantly.
We cut to Dune as he strides down the aisle toward the giant blue screen that glows amidst the darkness. He wears its light as he glares straight ahead at it. He comes to a stop at the end of the aisle and about ten yards from the screen. After a brief moment, his voice cuts through the silence.
Dune: For over a week I’ve found myself wakeful through the night. This one isn’t shaping up to be any different. You might think I’d be restful after laying waste to the man who stole the World Title from me at WAR. You might think that, after that, I wouldn’t have a care in the world. But now, as we start the new year, I find myself in a precarious position. Something terrible looms on the horizon, though right now I’m still not sure what…
His head shoots toward the camera, and his icy blue eyes gleam atop the blue light that shrouds him.
Dune: It’s not you, Bonnie - I can tell you that. You strike no fear in me. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I have no doubt you shrunk in fear when you heard the news that you’d be staring across the ring at me this Sunday. Don’t be afraid to admit it; the entire roster would have done the same. Most of them did over the course of last year. Falling to Dune seems to have become a rite of passage in the WCF. Some of the very best this Federation has ever seen haven’t survived the plunge...but you might. After all, you’re young, dumb, and just naive enough to think it’s wise to get back up and try again someday.
Well someday never comes, Bonnie - not for those who await the impossible.
Bonnie Blue, two months into her WCF career and already being pitted against the greatest fighter in the Federation, and therefore the world. That’s just your luck. Blame Seth Lerch, if that helps your bitter, hopeless feelings to subside. But nothing’s going to wash them away aside from a swift defeat by my hand this Sunday. You can do this the easy way, or you can go out kicking and screaming. Either way, I’m putting you down...and for me, there is no hard way.
You were awfully busy fighting off IT and Andre Jenson at One. They left you in a heap despite you picking up the pin, so I don’t blame you if you didn’t catch the matches that followed. Check the tapes though, Bonnie...that is, if you’re looking to fight through more discouragement. I wrecked the only man in this Federation who’s proven he’s near my level. What I did to Joey Flash was what two grown ass men couldn’t do to a fucking girl. You didn’t win at One, Bonnie. That ruthless beating you took only further-guaranteed a devastating loss in seven days. And guess what, Time Witch? Yours is almost up.
Dune turns and walks over to a black-leather rolling chair. He sits down in it, fingering one of the armrests before his eyes flick up at the screen.
Dune: My understanding of the concept of time is limited to my experience. I’m not sure if it’s an ever-forward-moving arrow, or if it can in fact be tampered with. Your mere presence on this plane would seem to suggest that it can be...though of course I can’t be sure . I know nothing of Rippers. I know nothing of Timekeepers. Nor do I claim to...nor do I wish to…
Likewise, you know nothing of my world. And I’m not talking about the Jackal, Bonnie...even though the word means absolutely nothing to you. I’m talking about my life inside the ring. I’m talking about running rampant through the WCF and staking your claim atop WCF Mountain for all to see. I’m talking about being a single entity responsible for an almost incomprehensible amount of change. I’m talking about being able to put any motherfucker down whenever called upon to do so. And as much as you and every other pipe-dreaming motherfucker on the roster likes to think that person’s them, they must first blind themselves to the truth. Because just like the rest, Bonnie, you know you can’t defeat me. There are few who can, and you’re not one of them.
Coincidentally, I know someone who could have said the same about others once...
I fought with Johnny Reb, of whom you’re some sort of replicant. I know a bit about those myself, Bonnie. Reb and I fought and won together with none other than your arch-nemesis, Oblivion, when I was still a rising star in this industry. He and I fought and lost together when the Archduke was gobbling up souls in the Interweb style. And then...poof!....he was gone. What we got in his stead was something more akin to a child-Johnny than a fighting champion like he was. He achieved great heights in a WCF where Dune didn’t exist, and now, only time will tell if you can surpass his mark in one where I do…
...on second thought, anyone in their right mind could tell you that can’t and never will. The shadow I cast over the WCF is very real, and it’s one you’ll never escape should you chose to keep me in your sights. And make no mistake: if you’re wanting to get to the mountaintop, you’ve got to get through me first.
You’ve been doing some climbing though. You’ve been winning matches; cleaning house with lesser talent. But this isn’t yet another TV Title shot against some Beach Krew clown I’d mop the floor with, nor is it another battle against the self-proclaimed Monster of Beach Krew who I actually DID mop the floor with after a six week absence. You may have been relieved after beating Oblivion and Andre fucking Jenson at One in what you surely assume was the biggest fight of your life, but there’s no way you could have known what awaited you the following week.
THIS, Bonnie, is the fight of your life. I’m going to unleash on you unlike anyone ever has. I’m going to break your mind...and if not that, I’ll break your neck. Or perhaps your dainty little back. Whichever I chose - whichever caves in and shatters first - take it as a solemn promise that you won’t leave Slam in one piece.
The chair rolls back as Dune rises to his feet. The giant led screen continues to bathe both he and the room in its blue glow, and his eyes find the camera before he continues.
Dune: Time’s not on your side, Bonnie. Whether or not you’re truly it’s daughter doesn’t change that cold, hard truth. With each second that passes - with each grain of sand that falls through the hourglass - you close on the fiercest beating you’ve ever received. And don’t expect me to give you a hand up after I crucify you and pin you for three. I’d just assume stomp in that pretty little face of yours and put you on my level of ugly. Maybe if you put up a decent enough fight, I’ll pin you and allow you to walk away on your own accord.
Maybe so…
Maybe not.
The takeaway is this: don’t allow hope to grow inside you, lest I’m forced to dash it out. Don’t dream this up as some feminist-twist on a modern day David vs. Goliath. This is a far worse nightmare than you can comprehend. Tonight, Bonnie, you dream in blue. But after Slam this Sunday...
He turns away from the giant led screen, and he stands bathed in shadow while the blue backdrop frames his haunting silhouette.
Dune: ...I’ll have turned them all to black.
His shadowy form strides toward the screen, swallowing up any remaining blue until finally we’re left in an all-encompassing darkness.
One Man’s Trash
The echo of a chirping bird greets our ears before the flapping of its wings ushers away the darkness. We find ourselves in a sunlit tunnel that leads into the earth, and we follow the bird as it flies past the screen. Within seconds, it breaches the bright opening, soaring skyward as the desert opens up around us.
We don’t follow the bird though. Instead, the camera rotates slowly to reveal a black column of smoke that rises from a sizeable fire some 20 yards away. Two men walk away from it and toward the camera. Their familiar faces come into view, and their voices come to within earshot as they approach.
Freeman: So the hound just lies there in front of the chamber all day, watching her - watching it - float inside?
Dune: He would if I let him.
Freeman: And how bizarre...the Jackal regains limited control of her once every half hour now.
Dune: It started at once every six.
We cut to a frontal shot as they make their way into the tunnel. The opening behind them shrinks, and the light and shadows shift on their faces as they approach and pass each of the well-spaced, golden bulbs that line the walls.
Freeman: But he’s neutralized - you said it yourself.
Dune: For now.
Freeman: How long’s “for now”?
Dune: I can’t say, Freeman. For as long as Pinky can hold him there, I suppose.
Freeman: And if he breaks free...what happens then?
Dune: I don’t know. But I’ll be there to handle it.
Freeman: How can you -
Dune turns on Freeman, and they stop in their tracks.
Dune: I don’t know, Freeman. The Jackal...he’s beyond me or you. He’s not of this world; the rules don’t apply to him. I have no frame of reference for any of this. I don’t have the answers. All we have right now is the upper-hand, and we’ll keep it for as long as he remains trapped inside Pinky.
Dune begins walking again, and Freeman follows suit.
Freeman: When he does...God help us.
Dune: Something like that.
They turn and pass into what once served as a lounge for those hard at work making Dune-replicants. Freeman heads over to a brown, leather recliner and plops down, groaning and slipping out of his shoes as he does. Meanwhile, Dune remains standing, lost in thought before Freeman’s voice snaps him out of it.
Freeman: I know what’s troubling you.
Dune: The Jackal - sure.
Freeman: No, Dune. I’m talking about One. I’m talking about -
Dune glares at nothing in particular even before he says their names.
Freeman: - Occulo and Howard Black.
Dune: You’re mistaken. The Sentinels Who Fled don’t trouble me. If they want to pretend they’re standing for the fallen in siding with Joey Flash, that’s their problem. The same can be said if they think they’re standing for the rising in attacking me in the ring that night. Flash is the one who drove them out of the WCF, and just when I was FINALLY preparing to end his career once and for all, the men I once considered my brothers stabbed me in the back. They betrayed me, Freeman - Howard and Occulo both.
Realizing he’s on thin ice, Freeman chooses his next words carefully.
Freeman: That’s bullshit. You weren’t just going to end Flash’s career - you were going to kill him! It’s like Howard said, Dune - the Sentinels didn’t save Joey Flash; they saved you...and they can save you yet!
Dune seethes beneath a calm exterior.
Dune: Save me from what?
Freeman: Yourself...or worse. You know what I mean, Dune. Should the Jackal escape…
Dune: And how would Occulo and Howard Black be able to save me then? If he escapes, it’s all over for me. The only thing they could do in my aid would be to kill me off before the Jackal can use my vessel as a means to spill more innocent blood.
If they were smart, they’d leave this to me. If they were smart, they’d know to stay far, far away from me. Especially Howard Black. The Jackal would love nothing more than to leave his life - his family - in ruins. It’s what he did to Joey Flash when he interweaved himself in my affairs, and it’ll happen all over again should Howard not wisen up and steer clear of the darkness he so desperately wishes to shed light upon.
Freeman nods, then shakes his head back and forth.
Freeman: I don’t know what to say, Dune. This whole thing, it’s...goddamn, you’re right - it’s beyond me. So I’m gonna stick with what I know...and for an entire year, I’ve known who you were set to square off against in the ring. And on your one-year anniversary, it’s Miss Bonnie Blue - thoughts?
Dune: She’s the second bitch I’ll have the pleasure of putting down. First it was Chelsea Armstrong in round 1 of the Trilogy Cup.
Freeman: I remember it well - the first time we trained back at the fortress.
Dune: Right. And I’m going to put Bonnie down with similar ease.
Freeman: Just remember, Dune - she’s a woman. If you go all out, you’re likely to end her career, or worse. It’s not sexism, it’s physics.
Dune: I’m not lowering the bar because my opponent has the strength of a child and a cunt in place of a cock. By now it’s a given that Bonnie can’t hang with me, so I imagine I’ll put an end to whatever fight she musters within a few minutes at most.
Freeman: And what happens after you pin her, Dune - are you going to pull any of that same shit you pulled on Flash?
Dune’s face is cold and expressionless, and his icy blue eyes pierce those of Freeman as he replies after a long moment.
Dune: If I have cause to.
Freeman: And what kind of cause would you have to attack a woman who you’ll have rendered defenseless by the final bell? She’s just a kid, Dune. This doesn’t have to be the nightmare she thinks it’s -
Dune turns on Freeman, a menacing glare on his face as he stares at him.
Dune: What the fu -
But he stops short when the deep echoes of his barking rottweiler seep up from the level below. Dune’s glare fades, and Freeman’s eyes go wide as he hears the ferocious baying.
Freeman: That’s the sign; the Jackal’s back! I’m going down. You coming?
Dune: In a minute.
Freeman wastes no time in hurrying out of the room. Dune’s eyes follow him, and they turn away from the automatic door as it seals softly. He turns, and he locks onto the screen before he speaks.
Dune: The old timer’s gone soft on you, Bonnie. Well I’m not that kind of man. If I had to let up each time I faced a physically inferior opponent, I’d be working at 50% effort for 100% of the time. No one can do what I can in the ring - or out of it, for that matter - and if some fearless, naive cunt truly thinks she can outlast me, so be it. You’ll suffer accordingly, Bonnie - just like all the rest before you.
He makes his way over to a kitchen area, where a pile of black trash bags lie filled to bursting in the corner. He snatches one and tears it open. Paper spills out, and Dune holds up the bag for the camera to see as his icy blue eyes stare through it.
Dune: You see this, Bonnie - you see these?
He points to the paper-filled bags behind him.
Dune: Your adoring fans have seen fit to send me these. They’re letters, Bonnie - who knew that was still a valid means of communication this day in age? You seem to have amassed quite a following. Granted, nearly every single one of these was written by 10-14 year old girls...which makes their serious tone all the more laughable. Here, I’ll read one for you.
He snatches a bright blue sheet of paper before dropping the bag. He chuckles to himself and shakes his head as he reads aloud:
Dear Dune,
I’m Bonnie Blue’s biggest fan and I just want to say please don’t hurt her on Slam! Bonnie Blue is a really good person and I think that you should shake hands and both pin each other at the same time. That way all of your fans will be happy and so will me and the rest of Bonnie’s. You can still -
His face goes sour as he crumples the letter into a ball and slings it aside. His eyes flick up at the screen as he continues.
Dune: I got through about three of these before I made up my mind that I was going to end your career this Sunday. I decided right then and there that all those who sent me their trash this week must be punished. And as the week wore on, and more letters poured in each day, my disdain for you and yours grew and grew. I could track each of the senders down and Sandstorm them through the nearest recess table, but shortening the career of their hero hits all the birds with one stone.
The gall of those who tell me to go light on you...it’s maddening. It’s pathetic. It’s not me who needs to stoop to your level this week, Bonnie - it’s you who needs to rise to mine. And you can’t do that just like I can’t lower the bar for you. This isn’t a fucking charity. This isn’t some “everyone’s a winner” bullshit. This is the WCF, and if you can’t stand the heat, get the fuck out of the ring.
Dune turns and snatches up all the bags, and he strides past the camera with them in hand as we cut away.
Back outside the fire we saw earlier still rages. Dune appears from out of the corridor cut into the steep cliff face, the trash bags full of Bonnie Blue’s heartfelt letters in tow. He closes on the flames, and when he reaches them, he heaves the bags on top of it. For a moment, the fire seems to have been smothered...but suddenly the flames break through, engulfing the pile in its deathly heat.
Dune stands unyielding in the heat of the flames. We cut to a shot of his half-masked face, and the fire reflects in his eyes as he speaks.
Dune: It’s over, Bonnie. It’s too little too late for you. You’ve snuck past the majority of your opponents before, but you’ll soon learn that when you step in the ring with me, there’s no escape. All the exits are sealed...and so too is your fate.
This isn’t the fight that puts you on the map, Bonnie - it’s the one that takes you off it. It’s the one that finally gives you a bit of perspective as to how shit works around here. I don’t often get a crack at the fresh meat of the WCF, but now that it’s being served up to me on a platter, I’m going to indulge to my heart’s content. And that won’t happen until I’ve broken you in the ring; until I’ve pinned you for three...until I’ve sounded the death knell thereafter.
Just then, a voice calls out from the distance.
Freeman: Dune!
He turns, and in seeing the old man’s wild, troubled expression, he knows something’s wrong.
Dune: Pinky…
But it’s the Jackal who haunts his thoughts as he takes off in a sprint.
We cut to a shot of Dune from the waist up. His face is intensely resolute as he pumps his massive arms beneath legs that work as hard as ever. Suddenly the camera stops, and his half-masked face closes on the screen, filling it entirely before we cut to black.
Matters of Control
In the darkness, the savage baying of Dune’s rottweiler greets our ears once more. Light pours into the frame and reveals the beast, who snaps and lunges at something off screen...but not for long. We pan over, revealing the glowing anti-gravity chamber and the one - or, rather, two - within.
We cut to a shot of Pinky within the chamber. Something’s wrong though. Something’s not like it was before...
Her eyes are wide open, and she crooks and cranes her neck to get a better look at the baying beast between her and the glass. She settles back before a wry grin touches the corner of her lips.
Then her hand moves...then her arm….her chest, waist, and legs…
She touches both hands to her face, feeling the features before gazing down at her now mobile hands as if they’re the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. And still the beast bays from without.
Suddenly, she flicks her eyes up to see two figures enter the subterranean room.
We cut out of the chamber just as Dune and Freeman enter the room. Pinky stares past the old man and straight into Dune’s eyes. They lock on, and a look of terrible realization comes over Dune’s face to see her hand raise up in a slow wave.
He knows the truth, of course. This isn’t Pinky. It’s the Jackal, and just as the name flashes across his mind, the Jackal grins with her mouth and speaks vicariously through her
Jackal: Here I come.
A rage comes over her face, and just as she draws back and opens her mouth to scream, we cut to black.
