Post by Deleted on Jul 1, 2016 3:50:52 GMT -5
The scene opens inside of a dark basement, water dripping into a puddle, the stench of blood fills the air, and a familiar alter still sits in the middle of the room. The Heavy Metal Machine Logan stands with his back to a man who is tied up and has a tourniquet around his left shoulder. He is missing an arm, and appears to be feverish.
A familiar hooded figure walks into the room holding the other part of the man's arm and a grin on his face. "An arm for an arm, and an eye for an eye, lad." The Irish man speaks to the feverish man. "You spent your life beating on those who are weaker then you, making them feel like they don't deserve to live. Leaving them with bruises, black eyes, and even broken bones. You have spent your life doing all these things, and have been able to get away with it, that no god or no law enforcement would do a thing about it."
He takes the man's severed arm and slaps him upside the head with it. "You guessed wrong, lad. You see," he slaps the man again with the severed arm before tossing it down like it was nothing more then junk. "You have been made into the very victim that you have made others." He takes one step closer to the man and leans into his ear. "And now you will pay for your sins."
The Irish man turns towards Logan and raises his voice. "AND JUST HOW COULD YOU LOSE YOUR MATCH?"
Logan lowers his head for a moment before speaking. "I didn't lose the match."
The Irish man shakes his head, almost furious at the reply. "YOU DIDN'T WIN THE MATCH NOW DID YOU?"
Logan shakes his head. "No."
"THEN ITS STILL COUNTED AS A LOSS! I didn't summon you back into wrestling just so you could LOSE!"
Logan spins around, anger has fallen across his face and in his voice. "YOU GAVE THEM A PR PACKAGE ON ME THAT BOASTED OF ALL MY PAST TRANSGRESSIONS! YOU MADE ME OUT TO BE MORE THEN ANYONE THERE, AND NOW I'M A LAUGHING STOCK!"
The Irish man steps towards Logan and slaps him in the face. "THEN MAYBE YOU BEST DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! NOW GET YOUR ARSE OUT THERE AND DO JUST THAT!"
Logan appears to be holding himself back. He waits a few moments, having just been slapped in the face, before he finally walks out of the room and up the stairs. Having to hold back from lashing out at the man was very hard for him to do, but he knows that doing so would not help his situation. They are so close to unleashing the storm, so close, and then, only then, can he do something about it.
=======
The scene opens up inside of a graveyard late at night. A thick fog fills the air and the quarter moon shines in the sky. Logan comes walking into camera's view wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans and white T-shirt. He walks past a few gravestones before coming to a stop. He looks down, and the camera zooms in and down to see that the grave is empty with no dirt, and an unwritten tombstone.
"When I first came into wrestling, this was all I needed. A stereotypical graveyard." Logan clenches his fist and raises it up towards the camera, which has now focused on him instead of the grave. "It's become clear to me that even you," he extends one finger out, "yes, you, think that this is just a joke now." Logan lowers his hand and turns to face the camera, his pure white contacts reflect the moons glow.
"But the real question one has to ask themselves is 'is this really a joke?'" Logan grins. "First match, Severan King. I get pinned one two three. Severan King gets the victory. OK, not everyone wins the debut match, not The Rock, not Stone Cold Steve Austin, hell, even The Undertaker was eliminated in his debut match." Logan turns his head to the empty grave.
"Then I get put into a match with Greg St. Matthews. I trash talk Greg, and look what happens, I win. By trash talking, I win." Logan shakes his head and looks back at the camera. "Then its a three way match, and I get told before I go out there,"
As Logan continues to speak, censors hit the button and his speech, which goes on for a good five minutes, gets bleeped out. After he finishes speaking the truth and his mind, the censors come off.
"So, I get put through a table and the match ends with Severan King pinning St. Matthews." Logan walks to the gravestone of the empty grave. "Which leads me to this match coming up against 'The Baron'."
Logan reaches down behind the gravestone. He pulls out a can of gasoline and takes one step towards the camera. He takes one hand and quickly pops the can open. "Its one thing to say your outright pissed for losing two straight, but lets face the facts, Baron, your facing me, and they don't even consider me top brass. My past, my accolades, mean jack shit to these fuckers, so what ever you try to say about who you are, means jack shit."
Logan begins to pour the contents of the gas can into the empty grave, and taking a severe joy in doing so. "THIS IS JUST A SIGN OF A STEREOTYPICAL PYRO MANIAC RIGHT HERE!" As the contents of the gas can finish pouring and are nothing more then a drip, Logan tosses said gas can into the grave with aggression.
"YOU SEE BARON, YOUR MAKING YOUR FIRST MISTAKE IN SAYING YOUR GOING TO TAKE YOUR FRUSTRATIONS OUT ON ME WHEN YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHERE IVE BEEN, OR WHO I'VE DEALT WITH, OR EVEN WHAT I'VE DEALT WITH."
Logan looks at the camera, his expression has completely changed into extreme anger, frustration, and deranged. "YOU WANT TO TRY AND FUCK WITH ME, BARON? TELLING ME WHAT YOUR FUCKING NAME MEANS? DO YOU REALLY THINK I GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHAT YOUR NAME MEANS? WHO YOU ARE? WHERE YOU COME FROM? OR THE FACT THAT YOUR MOTHER LIKES TO BE MOUNTED BY FUCKING DONKEYS?" Logan points at the camera. "YOU WANT TO TAKE YOUR AGGRESSION AND ANGER OUT ON" he points to himself, "ME?"
Logan looks down, takes in a deep breath, lets it out thus calming himself. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a box of stick matches and opens it up. He takes one match out and looks back at the camera. "How many times have you sinned, Baron? How many more cult leaders have graced the WCF? How many more priests, pastors, how many born again's, how many crazy, demented arrogant pricks, how many Logan's, are there in the WCF?"
Logan strikes the match and holds it above the grave. "Baron, its no longer about who wins or loses. Its about who we... don't... kill." He grins and drops the match into the grave. "Beware the oncoming storm."
The camera zooms in on the flames as they leap out of the grave. The scene eventually fades to black.
A familiar hooded figure walks into the room holding the other part of the man's arm and a grin on his face. "An arm for an arm, and an eye for an eye, lad." The Irish man speaks to the feverish man. "You spent your life beating on those who are weaker then you, making them feel like they don't deserve to live. Leaving them with bruises, black eyes, and even broken bones. You have spent your life doing all these things, and have been able to get away with it, that no god or no law enforcement would do a thing about it."
He takes the man's severed arm and slaps him upside the head with it. "You guessed wrong, lad. You see," he slaps the man again with the severed arm before tossing it down like it was nothing more then junk. "You have been made into the very victim that you have made others." He takes one step closer to the man and leans into his ear. "And now you will pay for your sins."
The Irish man turns towards Logan and raises his voice. "AND JUST HOW COULD YOU LOSE YOUR MATCH?"
Logan lowers his head for a moment before speaking. "I didn't lose the match."
The Irish man shakes his head, almost furious at the reply. "YOU DIDN'T WIN THE MATCH NOW DID YOU?"
Logan shakes his head. "No."
"THEN ITS STILL COUNTED AS A LOSS! I didn't summon you back into wrestling just so you could LOSE!"
Logan spins around, anger has fallen across his face and in his voice. "YOU GAVE THEM A PR PACKAGE ON ME THAT BOASTED OF ALL MY PAST TRANSGRESSIONS! YOU MADE ME OUT TO BE MORE THEN ANYONE THERE, AND NOW I'M A LAUGHING STOCK!"
The Irish man steps towards Logan and slaps him in the face. "THEN MAYBE YOU BEST DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! NOW GET YOUR ARSE OUT THERE AND DO JUST THAT!"
Logan appears to be holding himself back. He waits a few moments, having just been slapped in the face, before he finally walks out of the room and up the stairs. Having to hold back from lashing out at the man was very hard for him to do, but he knows that doing so would not help his situation. They are so close to unleashing the storm, so close, and then, only then, can he do something about it.
=======
The scene opens up inside of a graveyard late at night. A thick fog fills the air and the quarter moon shines in the sky. Logan comes walking into camera's view wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans and white T-shirt. He walks past a few gravestones before coming to a stop. He looks down, and the camera zooms in and down to see that the grave is empty with no dirt, and an unwritten tombstone.
"When I first came into wrestling, this was all I needed. A stereotypical graveyard." Logan clenches his fist and raises it up towards the camera, which has now focused on him instead of the grave. "It's become clear to me that even you," he extends one finger out, "yes, you, think that this is just a joke now." Logan lowers his hand and turns to face the camera, his pure white contacts reflect the moons glow.
"But the real question one has to ask themselves is 'is this really a joke?'" Logan grins. "First match, Severan King. I get pinned one two three. Severan King gets the victory. OK, not everyone wins the debut match, not The Rock, not Stone Cold Steve Austin, hell, even The Undertaker was eliminated in his debut match." Logan turns his head to the empty grave.
"Then I get put into a match with Greg St. Matthews. I trash talk Greg, and look what happens, I win. By trash talking, I win." Logan shakes his head and looks back at the camera. "Then its a three way match, and I get told before I go out there,"
As Logan continues to speak, censors hit the button and his speech, which goes on for a good five minutes, gets bleeped out. After he finishes speaking the truth and his mind, the censors come off.
"So, I get put through a table and the match ends with Severan King pinning St. Matthews." Logan walks to the gravestone of the empty grave. "Which leads me to this match coming up against 'The Baron'."
Logan reaches down behind the gravestone. He pulls out a can of gasoline and takes one step towards the camera. He takes one hand and quickly pops the can open. "Its one thing to say your outright pissed for losing two straight, but lets face the facts, Baron, your facing me, and they don't even consider me top brass. My past, my accolades, mean jack shit to these fuckers, so what ever you try to say about who you are, means jack shit."
Logan begins to pour the contents of the gas can into the empty grave, and taking a severe joy in doing so. "THIS IS JUST A SIGN OF A STEREOTYPICAL PYRO MANIAC RIGHT HERE!" As the contents of the gas can finish pouring and are nothing more then a drip, Logan tosses said gas can into the grave with aggression.
"YOU SEE BARON, YOUR MAKING YOUR FIRST MISTAKE IN SAYING YOUR GOING TO TAKE YOUR FRUSTRATIONS OUT ON ME WHEN YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHERE IVE BEEN, OR WHO I'VE DEALT WITH, OR EVEN WHAT I'VE DEALT WITH."
Logan looks at the camera, his expression has completely changed into extreme anger, frustration, and deranged. "YOU WANT TO TRY AND FUCK WITH ME, BARON? TELLING ME WHAT YOUR FUCKING NAME MEANS? DO YOU REALLY THINK I GIVE A FLYING FUCK WHAT YOUR NAME MEANS? WHO YOU ARE? WHERE YOU COME FROM? OR THE FACT THAT YOUR MOTHER LIKES TO BE MOUNTED BY FUCKING DONKEYS?" Logan points at the camera. "YOU WANT TO TAKE YOUR AGGRESSION AND ANGER OUT ON" he points to himself, "ME?"
Logan looks down, takes in a deep breath, lets it out thus calming himself. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a box of stick matches and opens it up. He takes one match out and looks back at the camera. "How many times have you sinned, Baron? How many more cult leaders have graced the WCF? How many more priests, pastors, how many born again's, how many crazy, demented arrogant pricks, how many Logan's, are there in the WCF?"
Logan strikes the match and holds it above the grave. "Baron, its no longer about who wins or loses. Its about who we... don't... kill." He grins and drops the match into the grave. "Beware the oncoming storm."
The camera zooms in on the flames as they leap out of the grave. The scene eventually fades to black.
