Post by Chief Tom-O-Hawk on May 8, 2016 12:26:57 GMT -5
'Der Mord wird Beihilfe zum Selbstmord.'
His rage intense. His focus is a laser. Yet his words no more come out in english. This sometimes happens when in deep training.
Pushups... one after another. Up and down, again and again, the sweat rolling from my brow. The floor creaks under my palms to go with my repetitions, the aged floorboards reminicent of the condition of the shack I train in. A worn down toolshed off in the middle of Death Valley. This is not Freezer Burn's private training facility. This is something much smaller and a lot hotter. The temperature gauge on the wall reads 108 degrees.
One powerline leads into the shed, powering one light dangling from the rafters, much the same type as what you would expect to see in a movie from police interogations. One outlet plugged in, powering a DVD and TV, displaying our opponents most previous televised appearance.
The voice of Micky Saint: ..."the minute that mans name was written down on a piece of paper with the words VS Micky Saint written next to it that man was marked for humiliation, pain and career death."
Feigling.
The word rung through my mind as I stare upon the face of my opposition. Watching the flesh slowly melt away from his muscles and skeleton. Watching the eyes swell from heat, watching the flesh and muscle erupt in fire. The visage brings a smile to my face as the blood flows like molten lava. Hair all burnt and churned as the vision within the television set continues to blaze, and soon the television itself is ablaze, the screen exploding from the heat and fire within. The burning body of opposition crawling toward me as the eyeballs explode. The wholeness of the crawling figure reaching up to me as if begging for help, but I give none.
The voice of Micky Saint: ... " I will make him scream, I will make him cry and then I will make him bleed, suffer and quit begging for mercy and to simply be allowed to leave with all his limbs "
The video loops back through, but Freeze no longer hears. The silent scream from the open mouth of the burning body befor me screaming out with a non existant voice. Normally this would be where the visions turn to ice, or implode back to normal. But not this time. The burning body stands befor me as everything around me is red, blood, and fire. Then a slight shimmer. As if something from out of this world were interfering. The flaming body grows a new skin, a gray skin, one made of the ashes of a volcano as the features return to an ashen form of the former body.
The new hatred within me could care less about the change in this visage. I was not entertained, was not laughing, was not excited, and just as much as there were no good feelings.. there was simply no feelings whatsoever. This rage I had let slowly build over time was now suddenly an inferno. The ashen form before me just puffs into dust and ash. Beathing in the ash as it seems drawn to me. Breathing in the dust deeply without a care. All the red discoloration turns into shades of black, silver, and gray. The fire inserting itself into my being, the ash invading my soul, the dust consuming my spirit.
The voice of Micky Saint: ... " ... "
I took it all in. I wanted it all in. And in the next instant, the TV returns to being a working tv. Again, the visage of opposition staring out from the screen. Only now.. everything had a black tint about it. Everything remained in grays, silvers, and blacks. Looking down to continue with my workout, I realise my hand has taken an ashen color. The camera pans around to show my face finally. The whites of my eyes turn to red, then the veins themselves stain in black as I push myself up again. One pushup after another. Up and down, again and again in preparation.
'Der Mord wird Beihilfe zum Selbstmord.' These words again escape my lips.
In translation, 'Your murder will look like assisted suicide.'
His rage intense. His focus is a laser. Yet his words no more come out in english. This sometimes happens when in deep training.
Pushups... one after another. Up and down, again and again, the sweat rolling from my brow. The floor creaks under my palms to go with my repetitions, the aged floorboards reminicent of the condition of the shack I train in. A worn down toolshed off in the middle of Death Valley. This is not Freezer Burn's private training facility. This is something much smaller and a lot hotter. The temperature gauge on the wall reads 108 degrees.
One powerline leads into the shed, powering one light dangling from the rafters, much the same type as what you would expect to see in a movie from police interogations. One outlet plugged in, powering a DVD and TV, displaying our opponents most previous televised appearance.
The voice of Micky Saint: ..."the minute that mans name was written down on a piece of paper with the words VS Micky Saint written next to it that man was marked for humiliation, pain and career death."
Feigling.
The word rung through my mind as I stare upon the face of my opposition. Watching the flesh slowly melt away from his muscles and skeleton. Watching the eyes swell from heat, watching the flesh and muscle erupt in fire. The visage brings a smile to my face as the blood flows like molten lava. Hair all burnt and churned as the vision within the television set continues to blaze, and soon the television itself is ablaze, the screen exploding from the heat and fire within. The burning body of opposition crawling toward me as the eyeballs explode. The wholeness of the crawling figure reaching up to me as if begging for help, but I give none.
The voice of Micky Saint: ... " I will make him scream, I will make him cry and then I will make him bleed, suffer and quit begging for mercy and to simply be allowed to leave with all his limbs "
The video loops back through, but Freeze no longer hears. The silent scream from the open mouth of the burning body befor me screaming out with a non existant voice. Normally this would be where the visions turn to ice, or implode back to normal. But not this time. The burning body stands befor me as everything around me is red, blood, and fire. Then a slight shimmer. As if something from out of this world were interfering. The flaming body grows a new skin, a gray skin, one made of the ashes of a volcano as the features return to an ashen form of the former body.
The new hatred within me could care less about the change in this visage. I was not entertained, was not laughing, was not excited, and just as much as there were no good feelings.. there was simply no feelings whatsoever. This rage I had let slowly build over time was now suddenly an inferno. The ashen form before me just puffs into dust and ash. Beathing in the ash as it seems drawn to me. Breathing in the dust deeply without a care. All the red discoloration turns into shades of black, silver, and gray. The fire inserting itself into my being, the ash invading my soul, the dust consuming my spirit.
The voice of Micky Saint: ... " ... "
I took it all in. I wanted it all in. And in the next instant, the TV returns to being a working tv. Again, the visage of opposition staring out from the screen. Only now.. everything had a black tint about it. Everything remained in grays, silvers, and blacks. Looking down to continue with my workout, I realise my hand has taken an ashen color. The camera pans around to show my face finally. The whites of my eyes turn to red, then the veins themselves stain in black as I push myself up again. One pushup after another. Up and down, again and again in preparation.
'Der Mord wird Beihilfe zum Selbstmord.' These words again escape my lips.
In translation, 'Your murder will look like assisted suicide.'
