Post by David Sanchez on Oct 30, 2016 15:04:43 GMT -5
III: Thirty Days of Night
“That which can be broken, must be broken.”
Outside
I'm on the outside,
I'm looking in.
I can see through you,
see your true colour.
'Cause inside you're ugly,
you're ugly like me.
I can see through you.
See to the real you.
“Can you hear me now world?
Can you feel me?
Good.”
It was an office fit for a king, a perfect space of his own creation tailored to meet his every need. From the polished mahogany furnishings to the phantom smell of scotch and cigarette smoke that lingered in the atmosphere. Everything about this room screamed out David Sanchez. The fireplace roared against the far wall; the orange glow from the embers resembling the roots of a tree whilst the flickering, yellow flame acted as a wild tree of sorts. Something had caught his attention out of the window: a lurking presence had been patrolling the water feature outside of City Hollow for almost an hour now, occasionally flicking a coin into the water feature that made the rest of the rundown neighbourhood seem out of place in the presence of the Mayor’s stronghold.
“I thought you might. They never want to notice you, not until you make them drop what they were doing and stare. I’ve been overlooked before though, so it’s not like I’m unfamiliar with the feeling; as a matter of fact it’s beginning to feel like a comfortable fit. When people talk of Pantheon it’s not me that they worry about, nor Rabid. It’s the Corey Blacks and Jayson Prices of this world that inspire fear in our opposition. It’s Joey Flash with his face on the billboards and Jared Holmes with the internet on it’s virtual knees begging for a clean breath of air. Nobody ever stops to smell the rose when the petals are black as night, but a rose by any other name, would still smell as sweet if only it was given the chance.”
The man outside glanced up at the shape of David in the window, his silhouette causing him to appear much larger than the reality of his six-foot and three inch frame. This didn’t seem to bother the pedestrian, instead of cowering away fearfully he simply turned his attention back to the fountain and continued to stare vacantly at the splashing water which cascaded from concrete angels and cherubs alike. The Mayor scoffed at this show of disrespect, but took no further action other than to continue speaking.
“I’m not mad at any of you for being slow to embrace me. After-all I did leave you when it turned out that you needed me most, and for that; I am truly sorry. I understand there are going to be some trust issues between us at first but you have to understand that everything I’ve done since September last year has been for all of you. When I left, I was a husk, a mere shell of what I am now. I had a hole in my soul that I thought you could fill; but all your attention did was starve me further. I thought it would taste so satisfying, to be the apple of your eye but all that brushed my pallet was a bittersweet nothingness. So I said my goodbyes and left in search of something I didn’t even know existed. Somewhere between Samantha’s death and my becoming the Mayor of this slum I realised what it was I was in search of:
… Everything.”
The thoughts had plagued his mind for a while.
How would they react to him if he was to come back to the Wrestling Championship Federation?
Would they welcome him back with open arms or send him away like a lamb to the slaughter?
At any rate they would have to acknowledge him and that was all he ever needed. They had to now, Pantheon was an insurance policy to support this claim, and the benefits he was reaping from this alliance were undisputed. Gemini had said it best last week though and struck a nerve whilst bringing something greater into focus. He was considered to be one of the weaker links in the chain with which he had chosen to place himself. Everything he did was under the microscope now. Every sneeze, every hammerlock and every video package had to be carried out in a manner that showed him in the highest regard.
“I wanted the world and Chicago wasn’t going to be enough. Nothing was ever going to be enough. I had to have more; and then more, and even more still. Then the invitation came to join Pantheon and step back through that veil into the widened public eye. It’s not like I hadn’t been keeping my skills sharp; I’ve torched through the independent, neglected offspring of the Mexico Incident like a forest fire and made myself look like solid gold in doing so. Still, this offer of allegiance came as a surprise. Sure, I kept in touch with Jared and Thursday; but Flash? Price? Black? These men had never made time for me. Add into that I’d never so much as exchanged pleasantries with Wade, Zombie or Johnny. I had no common ground with these men, at least not on the surface. Not until I looked more closely at the picture in front of me and the moving parts became visible. It wasn’t even a picture at all, it was a slideshow and each slide was less appealing than the last. It was the way things had gone without us and it was a saddening, sorry sight to behold. The cancer had spread further than we thought, it was terminal. The company was counting down the months, weeks, even the hours. Every second mattered and we had to act if it was to be saved from the debilitating disease that had ensnared the very fibres of it’s existence.”
With a sense of self-worth David turns to the camera for the first time, his expression masking a deep seeded misery that gradually corrupts him from within. On the surface though he is calm, collected and confident. His beard is neatly groomed into a stubble of sorts while his hair remains shaven at the sides with a shallow spike on top. His suit was Prada; as was standard. A three-piece in gunmetal grey, complemented only by the purple tie which hangs neatly in the center of his chest and brandishes a pin in support of the Oblivion Fund. His breath has caused the window to fog a little, a lesser mind might have been tempted to smear a picture in the clouded glass with his fingertip but this was a Pantheon promotional video and this was not the case
“You can almost hear the death-rattle if you listen closely. It sounds like a Thomas Bates title reign, it sounds like a Gemini Battle title reign, it sounds like Zero Tolerance and it sounds like the end of days for our patron saint of professional wrestling. Can you hear her begging? Those cries that echo even now as we look at our competition: Two juggalos, a redneck, a divorced bastard, a relic, an effeminate waste of space and a non-entity. Who decided this match was even safe to be sanctioned? Thanks I guess, Seth, I know times are tough but surely you could’ve pointed these defilers in a better direction than Eric-fucking-Price and Sarah Twilight. Was Logan busy? Did Jeff Purse screen your calls? At this point I’d welcome back Deuce Murdoch and Jay Omega with a warm embrace. If it wasn’t for the carte blanche on offer I’d not even be wasting my time with this one. Three or four of us could render this entire team an afterthought without so much as breaking a sweat.
“Pantheon had recruited me at a time when I was ready to become dormant; to lock myself in this ivory tower and burn my constituency like ants beneath a magnifying glass. It started with a few emails, then the calls started. Before I knew what was happening I was in an office with Buddy Roman as he talked me through the finer details. I’d always been drawn to him as a personality but the way he carried himself and the way he spoke made me see things in a different light. This wasn’t some righteous crusade to save an organization that had consciously chosen to dig its own grave, hop into it and lie down. No, this was so much more. This was the world being served up on a silver platter. It wasn’t the money that came with the multi-million dollar contract, shit; since Chicago opened its treasury doors to me I’ve got more money than I could spend in six lifetimes even if I started buying my heroin fused with the dust from cubic zircons.”
It wasn’t the fame either. It’s no secret that I went a little bit Neutral Milk Hotel this last year. I’m more famous than I ever needed, or wanted to be. Don’t misunderstand me though, I want people to know me; I just don’t want to be walking down North Avenue only to have some dickhead in a trilby come up to me, expecting my signature on his fucking notebook. Fuck being that guy, I’ll never be him. That guy can play in traffic. So when I thought of the previous incarnation of Pantheon and the feel-good vibe they carried everywhere; the doubt started to set in.”
David knew he didn’t have it in him to be the next Scarecrow or Alex Richards. Smiling for the parents while the kids grabbed and poked at him from ringside. It just wasn’t in his nature and he doubted it ever would be. Those days of physical intimacy ended the day his family was reduced to his solitary branch on that well-pruned tree of clan Sanchez. Adoration wasn’t something he wanted, and such things were known to come hand in hand with joining a faction so renowned for being the very best of the best. He scuffed his feet on the red carpet, the costly material barely making a noise against his Italian leather wingtips as he shuffled with unease.
“The doubt, like a lone cloud on a Summer’s day was swift to lift the more I thought about it. The world was my experiment and Pantheon could be the catalyst. So I re-signed with Wrestling Championship Federation; after Buddy negotiated me a contract that outshone my previous paperwork almost three times over, and then the mould was set. We arrived at War, our ranks screaming greatness from floorboard to rafter, our accomplishments dwarfing those of any man on the roster. Our very presence; an insulin shot to the stomach of the diabetic, withering and underwhelming entertainers Seth had chosen to hire in our place.
So we dominate, without most of us even lifting a finger and the next three weeks go as expected for me.
Win. There goes Team Yung Adam.
Win. There goes Zero Tolerance.
Win. There goes Bates, Battle and The Brotherhood.
… and so the locomotive hurdles onwards to Helloween without so much as a speedbump to slow us down. The Magnificent Seven to do battle with the scraps of so-called talent making up this thrift store manifestation of WCF. It’s going to be a murder ladies and gentlemen, Michael Myers would be proud. John Wayne Gacy would applaud and even Ted Bundy would put the tyre-iron down to shake our hands. You have to see it coming though, surely? I hope you do anyway but I’m not too sure. It’s not really even a matter for discussion. On Sunday, you all get a free ticket to Dahmerland, the theme park of Walt Disney’s lesser known cousin; Jeffrey.”
He couldn’t look at this figure outside any longer. The man had taken to now just sitting on the edge of the fountain, rolling what David assumed to be the last piece of loose change he had on his person between his fingers, knowing that if he were to toss this coin into the wishing-well, it would be the last hope he had for his wish to be granted, whatever that wish may be. The Mayor thought he could recognize him but it was dark and he was two floors above this figure. It couldn’t be him, could it?
Just in case it is him, he thought.
David’s feet carried him down the hall at quite an impressive speed, curiosity spurring his every step. If it was him, then he knew what he wanted to do, he knew what he had to say. For every step his desired greeting changed but the underlying tone remained the same. He would welcome this unknown entity with open arms if it was who he suspected it to be, if not he would summon the hounds; simple.
The hall was decorated with several paintings from artists ranging from Salvador Dali to Frank Stella, giving the path leading to the elevator at the heart of City Hollow a very eccentric vibe. The solid oak floor creaked beneath his feet a little as his finger pressed the button to call for the elevator and the doors parted for him immediately as though he were Moses and they the Red Sea. Stepping inside, his lips parted once more as the doors closed behind him and the elevator gradually lowered him to the ground floor.
“I do feel bad in a way you know for leaving, especially when I did... Hotly tipped to win last year’s War, set to work a program with one of the greatest this company has ever seen in Gravedigger, but it was just poor timing. Three losses on my record: One in a clusterfuck during my first match, one by count-out to Teo Del Fuckstick and the other by count-out to Jay Omega. Things were going better for me than I even thought possible, but of course back then I was much more humble than the man you see today. Now I know what I’m capable of, now I know exactly what David Sanchez brings to the table and so do all of you. Three matches back, three victories with another pretty much guaranteed on Sunday. Of course you can see me now; how could you not? I’m right over here. Yes, here. It’s me, the victor with his hand being raised in the air. Take a picture so you fickle motherfuckers don’t forget again.
So where does that leave us, now that we’re once again sharing our Sunday nights? Well to that question I can only offer you one answer. Everywhere. Pantheon is about to transcend the sport of professional wrestling, to escape the shackles of social media and to become the very air you breathe. You might like to think of me as a black sheep of sorts in this group, but just know that this very notion is exactly the persona I want you to feed. Come right ahead; call me a coward for accepting the olive branch, say I sold out and swapped my soul for fool’s gold. Say it again, say it six thousand more times if it makes you feel safer in your own skin. Just know that sooner or later…
It all…
falls…
down.”
The doors open once more and David steps into the lobby of what was once city hall but became home to his hollow claim as Mayor of Chicago; hence, City Hollow was born. Snatching a blanket from a clothing drive in the lobby that had long since concluded its business for the day he paced towards the clouded glass doorway at the front of the building; noticing that at the same time, the blurry figure on the outside was doing the same. The handle is cold to the touch, and immediately made to seem warming by the wind outside as he swings the door towards him on it’s hinges. Immediately his face contorts into a serpent’s smile, that old familiar tongue toying with his front teeth. The face that greets him is shivering, freezing almost. Seth Lerch stands before him in all of his alleged glory, that final coin having been wished upon and tossed into the fountain. With no words, David drapes the blanket over his shoulders and welcomes him inside.
“Don’t worry…
It’s okay.
We’re back.
You can come on inside out of the cold now,
It’s already over…”
III: Thirty Days of Night
Baby save it, we're wasted.
I know we gotta slow it down.
But when the waves come, you face them.
And you know we can't stop it now.
Heads up, we're in a dead club.
Put your hands up and do your dipsy and dropsy.
And line up, we're hanging up.
We're double sixing it, night after night.
Doing it to death.
Cast & Crew
Deputy Archer - Adrian Archer Deraj - Jared Holmes
Officer Jai - Crazy J Dibar - Johnny Rabid
Officer Cash - Jason Cash Zed - Zombie McMorris
Vampire Hunter - Sarah Twilight Straps - Jayson Price
Old Man - Eric Price Lash - Joey Flash
Sheriff Shepard - Salem Shepard Seidon - Wade Moor
Man at computer desk - Damian Kaine Nechaz - David Sanchez
and Corey Black as the Master.
Monday, October 24th - 17:35.
City Limits, Barrow, Alaska.
It had been three-hundred and fifty-eight days in coming, but the Alaskan population was thinning out, the residents leaving Barrow to stay with family or friends in other parts of the world that weren't about to experience the inconvenience of a thirty days without a sunrise. The small village had all but shut down, and it was Deputy Archer's duty to adjust the population count on the sign which welcomed those entering the town. The final flurry of buses loaded with citizens passed him by as he stepped out of his cruiser, parking it on a particularly less snowy patch of ground in front of the sign, allowing the traffic to pass him on the single-lane road. Clad in a parka jacket of blue, and embroidered with the town's emblem; a polar bear and a thistle, Deputy Archer radios the station in order to find out the official statistics before altering the figures on the sign.
Deputy Archer: “Station Alpha, this is Deputy Archer - badge number: three seven nine six. Requesting official final Winter population count for Barrow, Alaska.”
Officer Jai: “Copy that Deputy Archer, this is Ranger station Alpha; Officer Jai Responding. Transmitting data now.”
Deputy Archer: “Message received, loud and clear. Terminating call.”
Officer Jai: “God speed, Augustus.”
Deputy Archer: “...”
Opening the text message on his phone, he mulls over the number in front of him in his mind. He wasn't a clever man by any means, just another divorced guy in his prime struggling to adjust to mediocrity.
Deputy Archer: “Sixty-three.”
His fingers turned the numbered dials on the sign so that instead of three-hundred and six, the population count now read sixty-three: the number of people who would be remaining in the town during the annual thirty-day blackout the town experienced to mark the start of Winter. Most of the women and children had already made their way to Anchorage where they would board a plane and head to respective mother's or sister's dwellings in a warmer state. With the exception of a few nurses, a few patients and the odd tourist it was just men that remained; mostly cops, miners and those survivalist nut-jobs with their canned goods and automatic weapons.
Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he turned towards his cruiser and watched the final sunset of the year sink into the horizon with a pink and orange glow. It had been one of those years; his ex-wife had ground him down to a nub, and then pissed on said nub before extorting eighty percent of said nub's earnings by legal means for the foreseeable future. Life's a bitch when you let a chick treat you like one, let that be a life lesson. A rustling noise came from a patch of trees that stood around fifty yards away, followed by some chatter.
Deraj: "I don't care what you say; that was not a five-star mausoleum. The gargoyles were crooked, the coffins were lined with the roughest velvet I've ever felt and the caretaker kept opening the lid and looking up Thursday's skirt."
Dibar: "I acccept that. Where is Thursday, anyway?"
Deraj: "The fuck if I know. What am I, her keeper?"
These two bodies seem to be gliding through the trees as they bicker back and forth about this, that and the next thing. They were hungry, and you would be too if you'd just woke up from a year of sleep. Until Archer, they hadn't seen a single living thing since leaving the casket. Now that they had, however they were frozen in suspended animation; anticipating the hunt, the kill and the taste.
Deputy Archer felt the cold metal of the car's door handle in his hand and would even swear he could have heard the lock mechanism click if only he could, but sadly for the former Mrs Archer's bank balance; that wasn't the case. He didn't even have time to void his bowels and it was over. From one side: Deraj swooped in, slicing his jugular with the tip of a sharpened fingernail. From the other, the vampire named Dibar seemed to appear in a veil of mist and plunge his canines and incisors into and around the open wound and draining the victim. Archer's body hit the cold snow underfoot and remained there, as the two vampires feasted.
And so ends the story of Adrian Archer
Dead before the movie starts.
At least he got to satisfy that thirst.
Lights
Camera
Roll On Two.
Tuesday, October 25th, 00:50
The Master's Lair, Barrow, Alaska.
It was cold in here, cold enough to cause one's teeth to chatter. The darkness was universal, but for the small circle of lit torches in the center of the cave. The smell of rotting flesh was unmistakable and it plagued the nostrils, invading them and taking over control as though they were a small Eastern-European country.
Lash: "We need to strike now, they're practically killing themselves. If we don't act soon there won't be any left for us."
Zed: "We need to wait for the signal."
The vampire named Lash was dressed in a suit of Hugo Boss thread, though his pale complexion and bloodshot eyes made his long-flowing dirty blonde locks appear to frame his face, which though dead and void of life still suggested that he was an attractive man in his mortality. The other held quite the contrast: Zed was seated cross-legged in torn denim jean-shorts, a band tee and a leather vest, the belt he'd put there the night he was bit all those years ago still wrapped tightly around his forearm. In addition to these two, a third and fourth vampire were present: Seidon, a heavier set specimen in a Hawaiian shirt who was hanging from the roof of the cave in a slumber of sorts and the Master who was pacing back and forth.
Master: "Soon Lash. Nechaz is in place, we're just waiting to receive word from Straps and then we can begin the feast."
The camera pans away from the four vampires, down a network of caverns and tunnels which wind and intertwine until finally they come to a sudden stop and two shadowy figures are seen walking towards the lens. The first, a petite redhead in a leather bodysuit that should be worn by somebody half her age and the second; a withered old man in a bedazzled priest's outfit and collar with diamontes carelessly strewn across it. The man's face was horribly judgemental, his expression suggesting entitlement and legacy whilst his bodily movements suggest the need for a mobility scooter.
Old Man: "This way Sarah. I'm telling you, they're right ahead. I can feel it. Are you equipped?"
Sarah: "That was strictly speculation. I do not have a dick."
Old Man: "I, uh.. I meant do you have a gun."
Sarah: "Oh... Yes, yes I do."
The old man motions as though intending to face-palm himself. Unfortunately his wrists aren't what they used to be and he just kind of flops his hand halfheartedly around like a fish a little. Taking the lead, the woman who was dressed in figure-hugging black leather and smelled somewhere between Lilith's cunt and Logan's balls walked with a sense of caution as they approached the nest of vampires. Their job was simple - make sure the nightstalkers don't kill all the locals, well what was left of the locals. These long periods of darkness were ideal for the bloodline, it allowed them to feed on the leftovers of a quiet mining town.
Communications with the rest of the world were far and few between during these times, it made for opportune dining. Minimal resistance and maximum reward. The locals never spoke of it because by the time they got back from their sister in San Juan’s house, the mess had been snowed over and the bodies had been consumed. No proof left of their very existence. That was until last time, when a vagrant fledgling by the name of Nechaz was caught red-handed, literally; after murdering a sous chef with his bare hands in an act of rage, twelve hours after the sun had risen.
Since then, Nechaz had been kept in the town’s only holding cell to await transportation and trial in Anchorage, but every single time they tried to have him moved to a state prison, he revealed a little bit more of the puzzle pieces to the town’s superstitious sheriff and deputy, well; late deputy. This had been the latest carrot dangled under the noses of the town’s lawmen. The location of those responsible for the killings. Conveniently revealed the night before the sun went down for a month and his flock would be able to see them coming. Rather than do their own dirty work though, the town turned to a couple they found on Ashley Madison; before the collapse, claiming to be the answer to their problems.
Old Man: "If my calculations are correct. The hive should be just around the next turn. Are you sure you want to do this?"
Sarah: "I have to, they killed my friends."
Old Man: "Nobody likes you."
Sarah: "Shut up, Eric. Nobody even knows you."
With that comment, the old man, now revealed to be named Eric urinates himself on the spot. Sarah sighs and they continue on as though nothing has happened. It’s shit when that happens, huh? Around the next corner, the Master was already seated atop his throne with a smile on his face, as Lash and Zed had taken position in the shadows, out of sight.
Tuesday, October 25th, 01:00.
Barrow Police Station, Barrow, Alaska.
Nechaz: “I’m going to kill you first, cowboy. Make you suck these wetback nuts then bleed you like a stuck pig.”
Officer Cash was used to the verbal back and forth between himself and the resident of the station’s holding cell by now, hell the he’d been made to watch the spic for almost a year now, day and night. He was sick to his stomach of the constant rants, chants and threats. At first it had been funny, they’d placed bets on how long it would take for him to kill himself, but after six months passed and he laughed, things weren’t so funny. After nine he’d told them all he was a vampire and they laughed. After twelve he told them he was not alone, and where to find the others. Bullshit was the general vibe around the station, so rather than check it out themselves they hired a couple of retired mercenaries to do their bidding, it was cheaper that way, and the Deputy wasn’t picking up his phone.
Little did they know that he was already dead, and that they were all just pawns in a much bigger game of human chess. Cash wasn’t alone in the office. Behind him was a man at a desk who didn’t really seem to matter much. There was a vague something about him, but nothing worth mentioning. He’ll die soon anyway, spoilers. Anyway, moving on.
Officer Cash: “Quiet down border-hopper, I’ve had about enough of your shit.”
He slammed his nightstick against the bars as he shouted at Nechaz who was making these rambling comments from his cot where he lay staring at ceiling as he spoke. This entity was browner than the other vampires, and yet still pale, somehow. He still reeked of rum, despite the fact that he had been arrested more than a year ago and made to shower daily. In his eyes was a look of weathered rage. As inconvenient as it had been to the town of Barrow, his presence here that is, it had been even less comfortable for Nechaz who had a thirst for blood, among other things that had been deprived since his capture.
Nechaz: “It’s been nice knowing you, whitey…. Showtime.”
Before Cash can even lift his nightstick to smash against the bars once more and silence the prisoner’s words, the doors to the station burst open and Officer Jai appeared. Leading a pale man with a bandaged head through the door, before Sheriff Shepard himself enters the building, having helped in the arrest for the first time in weeks. He was a lazy guy, our Sheriff, but he was the most competent thing we had. The man they had apprehended smiled, as Nechaz sat up in his cot and gripped the bars of the cell. The man they had detained seemed to be drunk, his speech was slurred and it was a mystery to everybody what he was saying, everybody except Nechaz.
Straps: “I’m telling you Sheriff, she said I wear panties so I had to slap her in the face with my dick, it was the only logical thing to do. I didn’t know she was your sister, I just thought it was another hooker. It was late.”
Nechaz laughed as Cash rushed over to where the Sheriff and Officer Jai were having trouble with this man’s handcuffs. It had worked, they had come for him. Straps felt the cuffs click shut around his wrists and just like that it was over. The doors flew open again and two clouds of black mist entered the room, Deraj cutting the Achilles tendon of Officer Cash, causing him to drop to the floor, crying in a pool of blood while Dibar sinks his teeth into the throat of the sheriff, killing him on the spot with one piercing tear through his victim’s larynx.
Only Officer Jai remained now, well technically that guy at the computer desk was still there too but, we all know how that ends. Deraj leaves Officer Cash to crawl around the floor, screaming as he leaves a trail of blood from the huge laceration on the back of his left calf. He smiles as he takes a ring of keys from the Sheriff’s pocket, barely acknowledging Dibar who was still drinking the blood from wounds he had fashioned with his own jaw. First, he uses a small key to free the hands of the vampire known as Straps from their iron shackles. Second he uses a larger key to open the cell door and let Nechaz free. With a smile and a fake bow he thanks Deraj before walking a few steps forwards, tearing the holstered pistol from the fallen Sheriff’s belt and firing two bullets into the back of Officer Cash’s skull which reduce his brain to a puddle of red goop and grey matter.
Officer Jai: “You killed my friends, you ba..”
Before the officer can finish speaking Straps grabs him by the face and squeezes a sharpened fingertip into each of the various openings in the man’s face with a squelch. As the talons pierce his brain, the soul departs his body and he sinks to join the corpses on the floor. Nechaz drops the gun by his side with a thud and a mild splash as it lands in a puddle of leg-blood that was about to merge with head-blood and just become; well, blood. The four vampires smile as they share a meal and the man at the computer who nobody really cares about slowly dies of an untreated prostate tumor. Dibar and Nechaz start to feast on the fallen officer whilst Deraj and Straps who had more of an acquired taste begin to loot through drawers and lockers.
… and so ends the ballad of these so-called heroes.
Tuesday, October 25th, 01:10.
The Master's Lair, Barrow, Alaska.
It was as dark as it had been the first time around, and Eric was still covered in piss. As was the standard he had come to be known for. Sarah led the way through the cave now as he struggled to keep his footing and she struggled to keep herself in the center of the camera. They turned the final corner and the Master chuckled at their presence.
Master: "What, no muffin basket?"
Stunned, by the throne of skulls in front of her and sudden reveal of an entire antichamber, she draws a silver stake and runs at the overlord. Lash and Zed both seem to mistwalk across her path though, each of them ripping an arm off apiece as Seidon drapes down, his feet on the ceiling and sinks his teeth into her throat. So ends Sarah’s career as a vampire hunter extraordinaire. She kneels there for a moment, bleeding. Until eventually Seidon spits the blood out and vomits down her corpse. Scurrying off into another part of the cave clutching his stomach.
What follows is the Old Man crawling over to her corpse and crying out her name hysterically before a crazy thought crosses his mind:They were just too strong, maybe in order to beat the vampires, he had to be a vampire. He was sure whatever made these men so powerful was transmitted through blood and so he began to drink from the crimson stream stemming from his fallen friend.
The scene fades out with Lash and Zed laughing at the old man drinking from Sarah’s corpse.
---------
Six months later Eric died of the AIDS virus.
The town of Burrow succumbed to the will of the vampires, because they had no other choice.
This is a short movie based on forthcoming events brought to you in part by your overlords at Pantheon.
***
Fin.
---------
Self-Help for the Helpless.
“Hello there, my name is David Sanchez and I’m a dirty, taco-eating, six-hundred cousin having Mexican with a god complex and no backbone.”
The straight-to-Dvd release opens with a poorly recorded image of David Sanchez sitting on a rickety old stool in front of a white screen. The camera rocks a little, held by an amateur photographer most likely.
“You may also know me as a spic, a wetback or seven million other ways of saying the exact same thing, if however you happen to be a seasoned follower you may know me as Costa Rican, Dominican, Brazilian… It changes with the wind. That’s an inside joke though so don’t quite reach for the razor blade just yet if you’re not following. Anyway, I’m a busy man so I couldn’t quite find time to address you all individually, instead here is my offering to the members of Team WCF who will step into the ring with us on Sunday, I have decided to give them the much needed self-help guide they all so desperately need.
First we have this fucking throwback to a time when talent was, limited; being drowned in glory that he never even deserved to begin with being hailed as some kind of returning hero that’s going to save the day when in reality, he’s what we’re trying to save you all from. He’s fighting to save a ship that’s not even worth saving. Fuck it, let her go down, let Seth go down with that motherfucker Eric, you and Sarah can hop on aboard and ride that bitch into the dirty like the nameless, faceless whore she is. We’ll be over here, salvaging the ruins of her sister, the real WCF. The alpha race, where you’d be sucking Dune’s dick to stay midcard. Eric, you were acceptable in the past but I’m afraid that shit won’t stick anymore. All the research in the world I could do on you wouldn’t outshine the fact that you straight up pissed yourself on live television once already. Online polls already say you’re shaping up to do the same on Sunday when you get introduced to the crippling fact that you are a non-entity in this new world. A guy only discussed by Jayson when he’s on a drunken rant because somebody in the bar ask if you two were related. You’re Daniel Baldwin in this conversation by the way, and in this reality as a matter of fact. We don’t mind though, to be honest. Step right ahead and have your so-called legacy brought to ashes in one night for no reason other than self-validation. The people cheer for you now out of memory, not out of choice, and on Sunday they’ll cheer when one of us summarise your whole career in three seconds.
Sarah Twilight comes free with that one apparently. I dunno who the fuck brokered this deal for you guys but you got fucking screwed royally. You were only aiming to find people who were good last year, not three years ago. She was shit last year, and this year. Well done. I don’t even have to seem like a vaguely intelligent individual to tell you guys that this was a bad choice. Sarah too lives in the nothingness of yesteryear though so I can see how you’d want to have the matching set. I do have to stress though that if you were shopping the buy one get one free options for partners you could have done a lot better. Jeff Purse and Jay Omega are somewhere crying. Bates wouldn’t approve of your hijinx Twilight, so if you don’t fuck yourself in this match, I’d expect you to get hatefucked by a gaggle of angry supremacists soon after, thanks for playing though; your head will look hauntingly meaningless on our wall.
Then we have the other ingredient in the heinous bowl of anonymous tripe they have packaged together out of spare parts to call a team; Damien Kaine, who I’d never even heard of until I seen him across the ring from me, what the fuck is up with that? Who is this guy? Does he work here? That was my reaction, then we skated over his team like wheels over freshly resurfaced tarmac on syndicated television and this whole fucking sham of a match became irrelevant. Carte Blanche aside, why the fuck would we even entertain fighting a bunch of guys we’ve flattened since our return and a nostalgic throwback to when talent was rarer than gold. Damien, you are here because you were the very best that they had to offer at the time, at quite frankly that is a sad fact. You are on this team because Kevin Bishop is busy and Teddy Blaze told Bates to fuck his hat. You could use this as a platform to launch yourself into greatness though, become a household name. Sadly, the only way that’s going to happen is if you whip it out in the middle of the match and go viral for a few weeks. Thanks for coming, take a seat.
Next, the fearless face of Zero Tolerance; who was abducted by juggalos earlier this year then stabbed by, I’m assuming; not juggalos? Earlier this week, Adrian Archer.
RIP Augustus
Clowns did it, that’s all I’m saying.
That just leaves the rest of Zero Tolerance; a butcher, a baker and a candlestick maker.
Jason Cash who just seems to be a talented Adam Young fan. Crazy J who is basically Isaiah Chavis, and I already ended his career and Salem Shepard who I guess is like, his brother or something? Fucked if I know. Thus concludes the part where I actually talk. I’m applying as much effort in this video package as I’ll need to apply in this match. So here’s a quick guide on how to avoid being humiliated on live television this Sunday. May you all die a horrible death,
Adieu.
He pulls a bottle of bleach out from behind his back.
Step one. Open the bleach.
David shows the viewer how to navigate a child-lock, those things can be tricky for the retarded.
Step two. Drink the bleach.
David imitates drinking the bleach, being careful not to actually; you guessed it! Drink the bleach.
Step three. Regret the bleach.
David clutches at his stomach and falls to the floor.
Step four. Die.
David rolls his tongue out, his jaw hangs open and his eyes remain void of life.
The video ends.
