Post by God King Dune on Apr 7, 2018 9:08:38 GMT -5
A door slams shut, bringing light and sound to the void that existed before. It's the rear door of an ambulance, and the siren begins to wail as the red and blue lights on the roof come to life and dance back and forth...red, blue...red, blue...on and on...on and on...
“On and on,” thinks the man who bathes in their glow, his back to the screen.
“Always,” he thinks, remembering the words he and the unconscious man in the back of the ambulance had shared mere hours before.
The ambulance carries Wade Moor - one half of the now defunct tag team, WMD - and it speeds away from the arena. Dune - the other half; the only that remains - turns away from the ambulance carrying his friend and tag team partner, and his icy blue eyes are on fire as he closes in. When he can go no further without stepping through the screen, darkness takes hold.
But only for a moment.
Chaos reigns backstage at the Amway Center in Orlando, FL as Dune rampages through the halls. He slams his fists through a table and grabs hold of a storage case marked “Property of WCF” and dashes it against a wall. Those in his path duck & cover or outright flee as his deep voice booms through his mask.
Dune: MICHAEL X!
He kicks open a door, scans the interior, then continues down the hall.
Dune: SAINT HAYES!
He rams another door with his shoulder, nearly taking it off its hinges. Another quick scan proves unfruitful and he continues.
Dune: WHERE ARE YOU!
He puts the boot to a third door, and as the crash hits our ears, we cut away.
Silence and a calm, still room juxtapose the crazed scene backstage at the April, 1, 2018 edition of SLAM. We find ourselves in Dune’s canyonside abode several days later. He’s seated on a wooden stool across from the couch where Freeman sits, and his massive rottweiler lies between them, gnawing on a rawhide bone that’s seen better days. Dune stares at the ground, his mind elsewhere when Freeman’s voice cuts through the silence.
Freeman: He’s gone, Dune.
Dune’s thousand yard stare persists, and Freeman continues.
Freeman: Wade’s gone, at least for now, and it’s time to move past it. Nothing you could have done then, nothing you can do now. You’ve got to -
Dune shoots to his feet.
Dune: I’ve got to what, Freeman? Forget about what X and Hayes did to Wade on Sunday? Pretend it never happened?
Freeman: I never said that…
Dune: And there was plenty I could have done! Plenty I should have done! I should’ve known X and Hayes were coming from behind as soon as I saw the Sisters part the curtain. I should’ve trusted my gut when it told me something was gonna happen to Wade. I should’ve -
Freeman: You should’ve listened to me just then when I said you’ve got to move past it! You know as well as anyone that you can’t dwell on what was! It’s what’s to come that matters...and what is to come, Dune? Huh? The Church of Singh screwed you over, destroyed WMD in one fell swoop! It’s done, over with! So tell me...what are you gonna do about it?!
Dune takes a deep breath and sits back down. After a moment, his eyes flick up at Freeman.
Dune: I’m going to ruin them. X...Hayes...Singh too, if he even so much as knew about it beforehand. They’re mine, Freeman. I’m going to burn the Church of Singh to the fucking ground.
The old man nods slowly in approval.
Freeman: Good.
He stands up and gives the rottweiler a few pats before turning to Dune.
Freeman: It’s what they deserve.
Dune: It’s what Wade deserves.
Freeman: Maybe so. But don’t do it for Wade, Dune. Do it for yourself.
He turns and makes for the long hallway toward the door.
Freeman: I’m heading home for the night. Get some rest. You’ve got a lot on your mind. Try to sleep some of it off and I’ll see you in the morning.
Dune nods and moves over to the couch, and his eyes find a blank spot on the wall as his mind travels elsewhere.
He sees Wade hooked up to a machine.
He sees Michael X and Saint Hayes broken and bloodied on the mat.
He sees Kyle Kemp across from him in the ring this coming Sunday, a grin on his face that screams, “I’m better than you!”
…
And then he sees Morgana, the immortal seamstress whose only wish is to die.
He sees her standing in front of the Wasteland Tower, the one she tried to lead him to.
He sees nothing - nothing but the wastes - just as he saw when Morgana and the Tower were standing right before him.
…
He sees his eyelids collapsing under the weight of exhaustion, and just before darkness overtakes the screen, we cut.
“On and on,” thinks the man who bathes in their glow, his back to the screen.
“Always,” he thinks, remembering the words he and the unconscious man in the back of the ambulance had shared mere hours before.
The ambulance carries Wade Moor - one half of the now defunct tag team, WMD - and it speeds away from the arena. Dune - the other half; the only that remains - turns away from the ambulance carrying his friend and tag team partner, and his icy blue eyes are on fire as he closes in. When he can go no further without stepping through the screen, darkness takes hold.
But only for a moment.
Chaos reigns backstage at the Amway Center in Orlando, FL as Dune rampages through the halls. He slams his fists through a table and grabs hold of a storage case marked “Property of WCF” and dashes it against a wall. Those in his path duck & cover or outright flee as his deep voice booms through his mask.
Dune: MICHAEL X!
He kicks open a door, scans the interior, then continues down the hall.
Dune: SAINT HAYES!
He rams another door with his shoulder, nearly taking it off its hinges. Another quick scan proves unfruitful and he continues.
Dune: WHERE ARE YOU!
He puts the boot to a third door, and as the crash hits our ears, we cut away.
Silence and a calm, still room juxtapose the crazed scene backstage at the April, 1, 2018 edition of SLAM. We find ourselves in Dune’s canyonside abode several days later. He’s seated on a wooden stool across from the couch where Freeman sits, and his massive rottweiler lies between them, gnawing on a rawhide bone that’s seen better days. Dune stares at the ground, his mind elsewhere when Freeman’s voice cuts through the silence.
Freeman: He’s gone, Dune.
Dune’s thousand yard stare persists, and Freeman continues.
Freeman: Wade’s gone, at least for now, and it’s time to move past it. Nothing you could have done then, nothing you can do now. You’ve got to -
Dune shoots to his feet.
Dune: I’ve got to what, Freeman? Forget about what X and Hayes did to Wade on Sunday? Pretend it never happened?
Freeman: I never said that…
Dune: And there was plenty I could have done! Plenty I should have done! I should’ve known X and Hayes were coming from behind as soon as I saw the Sisters part the curtain. I should’ve trusted my gut when it told me something was gonna happen to Wade. I should’ve -
Freeman: You should’ve listened to me just then when I said you’ve got to move past it! You know as well as anyone that you can’t dwell on what was! It’s what’s to come that matters...and what is to come, Dune? Huh? The Church of Singh screwed you over, destroyed WMD in one fell swoop! It’s done, over with! So tell me...what are you gonna do about it?!
Dune takes a deep breath and sits back down. After a moment, his eyes flick up at Freeman.
Dune: I’m going to ruin them. X...Hayes...Singh too, if he even so much as knew about it beforehand. They’re mine, Freeman. I’m going to burn the Church of Singh to the fucking ground.
The old man nods slowly in approval.
Freeman: Good.
He stands up and gives the rottweiler a few pats before turning to Dune.
Freeman: It’s what they deserve.
Dune: It’s what Wade deserves.
Freeman: Maybe so. But don’t do it for Wade, Dune. Do it for yourself.
He turns and makes for the long hallway toward the door.
Freeman: I’m heading home for the night. Get some rest. You’ve got a lot on your mind. Try to sleep some of it off and I’ll see you in the morning.
Dune nods and moves over to the couch, and his eyes find a blank spot on the wall as his mind travels elsewhere.
He sees Wade hooked up to a machine.
He sees Michael X and Saint Hayes broken and bloodied on the mat.
He sees Kyle Kemp across from him in the ring this coming Sunday, a grin on his face that screams, “I’m better than you!”
…
And then he sees Morgana, the immortal seamstress whose only wish is to die.
He sees her standing in front of the Wasteland Tower, the one she tried to lead him to.
He sees nothing - nothing but the wastes - just as he saw when Morgana and the Tower were standing right before him.
…
He sees his eyelids collapsing under the weight of exhaustion, and just before darkness overtakes the screen, we cut.
