Post by Deleted on Apr 12, 2017 17:56:31 GMT -5
(This takes place just before the events of "Disposable Heroes)
Thursday, April 6, (CURRENT YEAR)
Break of Dawn
Seneca Lake, OH
Occultic Compound Perimeter
Dagvald looks to his unlikely compatriots, Andre Holmes and the man who calls himself John Rabid. His previous issues with them are well accounted for, but so far, he’s been pleasantly surprised at how easily they’ve worked together to achieve a common goal. Rabid tells him this mission they’re on, finding Corey Black, is more important, far more important in fact, than any petty squabbles they’ve previously had in the ring. Finding Corey Black is apparently tantamount to the world’s very survival, but Dag isn’t taking that very seriously.
Something something, Creeping Death, something something, Dethfort, something something, Scarecrow. It is all mumbo jumbo nonsense to Dag, who just wants to see if his team will get along well enough to emerge victorious in the tag team match against those morons in Zero Tolerance on Slam. After his failed revolution in Scandinavia, Dag’s been laying fairly low and hasn’t involved himself in anything of this nature. To say the amount of time since his last covert operation is the factor impacting his performance the most, however, would be fairly inaccurate, as really it comes down more so to a lack of motivation.
Find Corey Black? What has Corey ever done for Dag? Corey’s hardly even acknowledged his existence in the company in the year he’s been there, and now Dag is to be expected to risk his life rescuing him from a hostage situation? Sure, it’s an opportunity to prove his loyalty to the faction which so unexpectedly welcomed him into the top echelon of WCF, but still, Rabid simply couldn’t get through a reason for him to care all that much. Corey may have once worn the guise of a Danish Viking warrior, and he may call an old fashioned fortress home in the holiday months, but he’s still not a native born like Dagvald. He can appreciate Corey’s respect for the culture, but if he were on the other side of the fence, he’d probably accuse him of cultural appropriation and report him to WCF human resources.
No, the association with Nordic culture still isn’t enough to get him to worry too much about the fate of the man who occasionally ridicules him on twitter then never mentions him again. Dag is more than happy to shove his joining of Pantheon in Corey’s face in a passive aggressive manner as a way of saying, “You know that guy you never gave a shit about and never thought would amount to anything more than a gimmick champion? Yeah, he’s in the stable you created now which hardly even belongs to you anymore.” If you can’t rub it in the faces of those who doubted you, are you even successful?
So, perhaps he should consider rescuing Corey for the sole intent of forcing him to give him the respect he deserves. In any case, it’s not like he’s going to intentionally screw up the mission. Impressing Rabid is a priority for the warrior wrestler, and he won’t get on the good side of the evil mastermind by blowing his first assignment. Speaking of which, Rabid throws up a signal to stop. Andre and Dag oblige.
“The GPS is acting up. We’re about three miles out. But, it could be anywhere in that radius. We’ll have to split up until we get through this thick brush and can get a better signal. Then we’ll just use it to locate each other and link back up. Dag, take the right flank as I go center and Andre goes left. I want crescent shapes so we meet back up every mile if we don’t get a signal by then. Clear?” Rabid smoothly crows out orders he quickly manifested in his strategic mind.
“Clear,” Dag and Andre acknowledge.
Dag takes the path he was given, which is as uneventful as he would expect it to be, until about a half mile out. He stays low and cautious through the bushes, keeping his eyes and ears open. Despite his composure, he jumps when a massive buck darts past, hops almost right over him, and sprints away, trampling the plant life and making lots of noise.Dag regains himself and tries to follow the animal, turning slowly in an attempt to avoid revealing himself to anyone else who was alerted by the deer. He makes direct eye contact with perhaps the last person he was expecting to see.
However unlikely it is, there’s no mistaking the awe-inspiringly immense figure of the Mountain of WCF, Thomas Uriel Bates. An intimidating figure in the ring, he is even more threatening sporting a hunting rifle resting easily on his giant shoulder. Dag squints and tries to focus his vision as though he must be imagining it. Before he realizes it, Bates smiles bemusedly and begins to casually adjust his rifle sight. Now Dag finally realises the only thing that gun could be aimed at is him. He instinctively goes to raise his own, but Bates shakes his head and tightens his grip on the trigger of his own.
Dag scowls. Is this it? He wouldn’t. Would he? It’s against his code… surely. Killing a man who, for all he knows, could just be out hunting deer? What is Bates doing here? The Mountain makes a statement by simply mouthing the number, ten. Then, nine. Next, eight. He nods his head in the direction Dag was going. Seven. Dag takes the hint. He steps forward, and again, never taking his eyes off Bates.
Six.
Five.
Four.
An ancient tree, several feet wide, with thick vines wrapped around it, is just a few steps ahead.
Three.
Two.
Maybe a quick hop.
One.
Dag manages to put the tree between him and the chivalrous destroyer.
A shot rings out.
Dinner for a week and one less buck in the world.
Or rather, for a guy that big, Dag figures, just dinner.
He continues on his mission, a bit wearier of his surroundings now. It’s best not to mention this.
Thursday, April 6, (CURRENT YEAR)
Break of Dawn
Seneca Lake, OH
Occultic Compound Perimeter
Dagvald looks to his unlikely compatriots, Andre Holmes and the man who calls himself John Rabid. His previous issues with them are well accounted for, but so far, he’s been pleasantly surprised at how easily they’ve worked together to achieve a common goal. Rabid tells him this mission they’re on, finding Corey Black, is more important, far more important in fact, than any petty squabbles they’ve previously had in the ring. Finding Corey Black is apparently tantamount to the world’s very survival, but Dag isn’t taking that very seriously.
Something something, Creeping Death, something something, Dethfort, something something, Scarecrow. It is all mumbo jumbo nonsense to Dag, who just wants to see if his team will get along well enough to emerge victorious in the tag team match against those morons in Zero Tolerance on Slam. After his failed revolution in Scandinavia, Dag’s been laying fairly low and hasn’t involved himself in anything of this nature. To say the amount of time since his last covert operation is the factor impacting his performance the most, however, would be fairly inaccurate, as really it comes down more so to a lack of motivation.
Find Corey Black? What has Corey ever done for Dag? Corey’s hardly even acknowledged his existence in the company in the year he’s been there, and now Dag is to be expected to risk his life rescuing him from a hostage situation? Sure, it’s an opportunity to prove his loyalty to the faction which so unexpectedly welcomed him into the top echelon of WCF, but still, Rabid simply couldn’t get through a reason for him to care all that much. Corey may have once worn the guise of a Danish Viking warrior, and he may call an old fashioned fortress home in the holiday months, but he’s still not a native born like Dagvald. He can appreciate Corey’s respect for the culture, but if he were on the other side of the fence, he’d probably accuse him of cultural appropriation and report him to WCF human resources.
No, the association with Nordic culture still isn’t enough to get him to worry too much about the fate of the man who occasionally ridicules him on twitter then never mentions him again. Dag is more than happy to shove his joining of Pantheon in Corey’s face in a passive aggressive manner as a way of saying, “You know that guy you never gave a shit about and never thought would amount to anything more than a gimmick champion? Yeah, he’s in the stable you created now which hardly even belongs to you anymore.” If you can’t rub it in the faces of those who doubted you, are you even successful?
So, perhaps he should consider rescuing Corey for the sole intent of forcing him to give him the respect he deserves. In any case, it’s not like he’s going to intentionally screw up the mission. Impressing Rabid is a priority for the warrior wrestler, and he won’t get on the good side of the evil mastermind by blowing his first assignment. Speaking of which, Rabid throws up a signal to stop. Andre and Dag oblige.
“The GPS is acting up. We’re about three miles out. But, it could be anywhere in that radius. We’ll have to split up until we get through this thick brush and can get a better signal. Then we’ll just use it to locate each other and link back up. Dag, take the right flank as I go center and Andre goes left. I want crescent shapes so we meet back up every mile if we don’t get a signal by then. Clear?” Rabid smoothly crows out orders he quickly manifested in his strategic mind.
“Clear,” Dag and Andre acknowledge.
Dag takes the path he was given, which is as uneventful as he would expect it to be, until about a half mile out. He stays low and cautious through the bushes, keeping his eyes and ears open. Despite his composure, he jumps when a massive buck darts past, hops almost right over him, and sprints away, trampling the plant life and making lots of noise.Dag regains himself and tries to follow the animal, turning slowly in an attempt to avoid revealing himself to anyone else who was alerted by the deer. He makes direct eye contact with perhaps the last person he was expecting to see.
However unlikely it is, there’s no mistaking the awe-inspiringly immense figure of the Mountain of WCF, Thomas Uriel Bates. An intimidating figure in the ring, he is even more threatening sporting a hunting rifle resting easily on his giant shoulder. Dag squints and tries to focus his vision as though he must be imagining it. Before he realizes it, Bates smiles bemusedly and begins to casually adjust his rifle sight. Now Dag finally realises the only thing that gun could be aimed at is him. He instinctively goes to raise his own, but Bates shakes his head and tightens his grip on the trigger of his own.
Dag scowls. Is this it? He wouldn’t. Would he? It’s against his code… surely. Killing a man who, for all he knows, could just be out hunting deer? What is Bates doing here? The Mountain makes a statement by simply mouthing the number, ten. Then, nine. Next, eight. He nods his head in the direction Dag was going. Seven. Dag takes the hint. He steps forward, and again, never taking his eyes off Bates.
Six.
Five.
Four.
An ancient tree, several feet wide, with thick vines wrapped around it, is just a few steps ahead.
Three.
Two.
Maybe a quick hop.
One.
Dag manages to put the tree between him and the chivalrous destroyer.
A shot rings out.
Dinner for a week and one less buck in the world.
Or rather, for a guy that big, Dag figures, just dinner.
He continues on his mission, a bit wearier of his surroundings now. It’s best not to mention this.
