Post by Logan on Sept 21, 2010 0:27:30 GMT -5
Audience is brought in through the eyes of a shaky camera. Details in the scenery suggest whomever occupying this room to be mad, delusional. Floors are stained in filth with shreds of paper dried to it's sticky surface, a mistreated light swings across the ceiling often highlighting the rooms wreckage in un-timed flickers. The wall covered in enhanced photographs of various people; Bob Dole, Jesus Christ, Sid Vicious to name a few, and, then, some of who the particular viewers may easily recognize; Jay Price, Bobby Cairo, Slickie T, Gravedigger to also name a few. Placing of the pictures suggests total randomness, some, however, are X'd with thick globs of red paint. The one recklessly operating the handheld does not yet reveal, but, a cigarette being lit and pushed to the side of the cameras view manages to sneak into shot. Old stale half eaten pizza and empty bottles of water scattered aimlessly about provide a thought that this room has had a long term use. Smoke, it's source probably being the cigarette barely witnessed earlier, piles in and floats over the lens. The largest graffiti photo of the room is studied on, focus blares in and out, but the marked out picture becomes apparent when the operator marches inches into the pinned image and pushes a dirty red finger into Torture's 2D face. His finger tips curl at the edges ripping a portion of the photo from the wall, and as a result, the last remaining pictures containing Torture among the hundreds of others pasted up becomes nonexistent. The myth, the self-dubbed legend, no longer or nowhere to be found in the eyes of the handheld camera. That corrupted hideous face of Torture, gone forever. The one in charge of the camera shrieks confusion, searching intensively through torn shreds of paper on the floor, half ripped posters on the wall, searching for his own personal Holy Grail, and, then suddenly, he finds it - a focused image of his beloved, Jay Price. Not just Jay Price, however, it'd be wrong to think, or even speculate one individuals fascination for one person. More to it lurked than that, lurked deep down in the bones, where the truth lied. Certain beliefs had been made and published for the ranks to gather. To rather they agreed to this information or not was their own decision, but, he didn't care nor wish for them to follow his ideals. Nothing needed to be proved, he knew that this world allowed terrible things, horrible things, things such as a wicked tyrant of a man meeting death only to transcend his mind and spirit into another. Every kink had been worked out, nothing was left for the infected man. The only option Jay Price had left was death. Melodramatic as it may sound, to successfully rid Torture from this world, Price's death was the only choice, the only way for Torture to finally die.. again. From this point, the surroundings of this horrid room alone along with the obsession of the Torture photo should easily suggest to those of the individual behind this camera; Logan. What came next, however, graciously confirmed so when his voice pierced the cameras speaker and rang bells of familiarity.
Logan: I think I may have a little explaining to do, or maybe not. Can it be true that everyone recognizes the same fact that I also recognize, dearly, that the dead soul of a corruptive man found it's way underneath the flesh of a bastard? Yes, of course, easily! Some refuse it to be even possible, but, they're weak minded. This is real, very real. A-a-nd take it from me, just look at this room, would you? I set up shop in here around mid-July once the terrible idea of Torture's soul became thought. Ya' know, at first, with an idea like that.. there is certainly no shame in questioning your sanity, and, so, being only human, I did. There was undoubtedly a suspicion on my own behalf of being mentally ill. I mean, what other reason would someone have for thinking the soul of a dead man angel-like flew into one of your rivals. But, after further evaluation and study of this idea, not only did I come to an conclusion that it's possible.. but, also true! You couldn't really expect me, or really, anyone with this knowledge not to sit back and accept this as a daily part of life! No, knowing this has forced a responsibility onto me. It also bears the burden of everyone else claiming you're a complete nutter for such a ridiculous theory. But, I'm not. I am not crazy. If you didn't know what I know, seen what I'd seen, then yes, you would immediately dismiss me as such. And, honestly, I can not blame any of you. I only know what I know, and if you knew it too.. and with my efforts lately, you should, then you would also be taking any steps necessary to abominate that sick man once and for all. You see, people think your only crazy if you have a crazy idea. What they do not understand, however, is that if they actually took a respectable amount of time to sit down, study this predicament, then maybe it would not sound so frightening to them. Maybe if they had not forgotten those unexplainable moments and times that have taken place in their life that left them completely fuckin' confused, then, maybe they also could shed light on a theory that reeks ridiculous. But no! Most of us live our life denying God's existence, or anything that comes fourth as supernatural. They refuse to believe it if they can not hear it, touch it, or feel it. Tell me.. what do you think when you have felt it? Or seen something that you could not explain but was yet so vivid that you can't help but to deny it as an hallucination or dream? I have! So, what do you do then? Rendered yourself crazy because you have no other logically explanation for what happened? That, for me, was not the best answer. I refused to accept societies quick answer for a paranormal experience. So, for me, a person aware of his mentality, who believes he is not insane, does the right thing, only to look like a total mind fuck in the eyes of you - I ask one question and one question only, am I the chosen one? The laughable Ghost Whisperer that lurks WCF's locker rooms to protect and serve you all? Ha! I may not acquire her lovely chest, but, I tell this.. it is not far from reality. So, while many of you may laugh at my efforts and claims towards Price's possession, do know, that I do not simply care. For me, it is surreal. To you, it's bonkers. If it's one mans destiny to rule WCF, even in death, then I believe that's something the world should probably open their eyes to. People can not simply sit by and let that happen. I mean, what's next? Hitler in Obama? So, today, extra measures will be taken to avoid a Jay Price death. If that's a last resort, then, yes, perhaps... but for legal issues, it's probably best if we try a few more things before murdering another human-being. Also, just talking about, even if he was to die of natural causes makes this sound very incriminating.
The small room Logan has been held up in for these last months of scheming, thunders with the echoing thud of knuckles on wood, a knock at the door. The camera, which he has been functioning this entire time is kept on, and neatly positioned on a table to survey the entire room. Logan, already expecting someone, calmly opens the door and eagerly welcomes his team of six men into the workplace. They come in, very organized, each of them carrying a black clothed satchel and forming a perfect circle to stand in the small room. Logan closes the door, and turns to his men to indicate a silence be maintained by crossing a finger over his mouth and sealing his lips. The men nod in unison. Logan then holds up a sign that reads, "Nobody Fart", further powering his message by pointing to the surroundings of the tiny room which contains no windows or any gasping life of air flow. Again, the men nod in unison, and a peaceful silence is kept, despite the static flickering of the swinging light bulb above. The first of the men, Logan's right hand, commonly referred to as the head guard of a fictional city they've dubbed, Connector City, steps forward and kneels to the ground unzipping his duffle bag. He thoroughly removes the bags contents; a plastic zip-lock baggy filled with chunks of white hard substance, a glass bowl pipe, and a blow torch gun fed by hose to a small propane bottle. Logan awards his men's successful gathering of crystal meth with a grin. They, in turn, feel internally proud to have done their leader good. With further instructions, Logan's most trusted, Mr. B, throws the duffle bag to the side and begins loading the glass bowl with a tiny piece of meth. The others stand in accordance and exit the room in a gentlemen way. Mr. B, however, stands his ground in the corner of the room, thumping the loaded pipe against his palm, looking back to Logan with a sick smile of his own. The door opens, again, and his men follow back in suit, only this time carrying a cuffed female in with ductape stretched across her lips. They pin the frightened girl to the wall, Logan closes the door and locks it before proceeding to the obvious-looking hostage and ripping the tape from her lips.
Restrained Girl: Ahhhhhh!!
Covering his ears, Logan looks on with confusion.
Restrained Girl: Ahhhh! Let me go!
Logan: What's wrong..?
To reassure his guards instructions, Mr. B steps forwards, and speakers into Logan's ear.
Mr. B: She is the right one.
Logan: Then what's wrong with her?
Not understanding Logan's confusion, Mr. B momentarily stares at his leader, but manages a response.
Mr. B: She was just kidnapped, so, shock... I assume.
Logan: Shock?!
Reassured, Logan happily smiles with understanding, reaching his hand out and stroking the side of the terrified girls face.
Logan: No reason to be frightened, Dear, any fan of Jay Price is a fan of mine. You're in good company. Such good company.
Mr. B: Ah.. that's what I told her, myself.
Again, Logan grins, continuing to pet her like a scared kitty.
Logan: Sh, sh, sh. It's okay. I understand.
The screaming stops, surprisingly, and the terrified girl calms down.
Logan: What is your name? No, no, no.. I'll just call you, Catherine. Our beautiful little Catherine. She was beautiful too, much like you. Never was much of a Jay Price fan, however, but she never did have the chance to meet him, so, we may never know. But, you, no, you, oh.. you..
Logan pauses, a puppy love look glowing his face, a deep sigh releasing from his lungs. The girl, questioning her fate more dearly now, retreats in scream.
Catherine: Ahhhhguahh!
Logan: Tough it up! What do you think Price would think of you if he seen you like this?
Catherine: For God's sake, what do you want?!
A forceful hand cups her chin and fingers stretch over her face and dig into her jaw. Logan presses his lips into hers and steals a kiss.
Logan: I want you to love me! Like the way that I loved you! You couldn't love me, though, could you? You loved him more. The awful man who took away my paradise, my life, my sweet-sweet Catherine!!
Catherine: My name isn't Ca--
Logan covers her mouth with his hand.
Logan: Yes, yes it is.
Turning, Logan instructs Mr. B to hand him the glass bowl.
Logan: This drug, in concept, is Jay Price. Or.. the man you know of, and you him well, he kept you from me. History will repeat itself, Catherine, he's going to have you again. I'm so sorry. I deeply regress, it's very hard for me, too, ya' know--
Catherine: Ahhh!
Logan: SHUT UP!
Still holding the pipe in hand, Logan covers both his ears and continues to thrust the rumbling growls of anger from his throat.
Logan: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UPPP!
Logan lets go of his ears, cocking his head back, staring at the ceiling, laughing manically.
Logan: Hahahaha! Did you see that? Oh-hehehe-haha! I managed to incorporate 'shut up' in a lovely fashion that'll hold dear to the heart of any old follower of mine. Haha! And they say it's overused.. hehe.
Grabbing her by the jaw again, Logan, and his men get over their laughter and focus back to the matter at hand. Logan instructs one his men holding her down to also pin her nostrils shut. He does so, and Logan moves in with the pipe, in for the kill.. so to speak. Eventually, 'Catherine', can no longer keep her mouth closed and hold her breath. She releases her lips for air, and Logan pushes the tip of the pipe between her lips. Mr. B moves in methodically and torches the glass bowl of crystal meth. She reluctantly has no choice but to inhale the dangerous contents, and so she does, choking out a thin white fog of smoke and staring back at Logan in pure terror. She licks at her lips, her eyes nearly bulge from her skull. Logan takes a moment to step back, observing her behavior and smiling.
Logan: You're so hungry for him.
Nodding to his men restraining her, they again follow Logan's instructions, clamping her nostrils closed, preparing her for another hit. Mr. B drops another piece of meth into the bowl, and Logan feeds it back to Catherine's lips when she goes for air. Her body goes gently limp, smoke parading from her lips in white waves. Drug endorsed, she lazily smiles, while her eyes tell another story; frantically scanning the room.
Logan: Something grab your attention? Heh.
Mr. B makes an observation.
Mr. B: Her eyes.. watch them.
Logan: Oh?
Doing so, Logan takes a time out from the forced meth smoking to study her eye movement. He seems to be satisfied by the outcome.
Logan: I have hundreds of photographs in here of various people, some.. of whom I didn't even really know. But, of those hundreds, I have only one of the one you're looking at, Catherine, and that image belongs to none other than Torture. You know him don't you?
Completely strung out by this point, she answers quickly.
Catherine: Torture? Yes, of course! WCF guy! Really cool! Can you let me go now? Won't tell no one? I swear, I swear, I swear. You can do that can't you? Sure. You're the guy with the pipe - speaking of which - yes, may I.. speaking of which, can I have another! Oh, no! That stuff might kill me. Haha! Do it, go on! Mommy, no, please, take me home. I want to go home, Mother. Stop this! No! You have the power to stop it! I need a doctor! Doctor!
She goes in tears, then smiles, then back in tears, the drug throwing her emotions on a rotating circus wheel. The men ignore her cries for help, seemingly more interested in her false fascination of the Torture picture that they so obsessively dwell on.
Mr. B: She does know him!
The others nod in agreement.
Logan: Like hitting the lottery, isn't it? Lovely job, fellows. Not only do we have our beloved, Catherine, in custody. We also finally know that this little witch helped guide Torture's spirit into Jay Price. It's not a question, Dear Catherine, it's an acknowledgment. We are not like the others, we can not be fooled. You have no idea what you've done. Torture could have rested in peace, finally been down for the three count. But, no, you had to make sure he couldn't sleep. And, if you hadn't realized it or not, I'm a little fuckin' tired of Torture! Did you take that into any consideration at all you selfish bitch. You should've put me in your thoughts, Catherine, but why am I surprised? You never did then and you never will now. That will be over, soon, you'll have nothing to think about! Not even me. You can't them. I deny you of your own thoughts. You don't deserve them anymore, they're mine. Anything less of punishment would be blasphemy for what you've committed. I can't deal with this anymore, boys, take care of her. And - ya' know, I thought I may have felt better about defeating Torture at Slam, but, I do not. If little things like this can fire me up, then what should we do? H'm? It's Jay Price. Plain and simple. The source of all my problems. That's the only way we can get to Torture, through Price, so, gentlemen, feed her Jay Price! Take her away from me, again. Argh!
In a fit of rage, Logan storms from the room, his men take control from here on out. Catherine is once again fed another hit of death, this time, however, by Mr. B. He watches her whimper out another hit before falling into his own monologue.
Mr. B: You may not totally understand why this is happening. That's fine. I don't fully understand it myself, but, what I do understand.. is that Logan thinks drastic steps need to be taken, and as a man of my word, I shall assure that whatever he sees best be carried out in the most absolute best way ever. You see, I'm not that type of guy that just blindly follows people around and worship their own personal ideals. No, this is very different. Me, along with others of my kind, have reinforced the home that is WCF ever since this company decided to call itself WCF. We're faithful to this place we've called home. And, over these very long years, we have had the opportunity to be the eyes and ears in the backstage department. All the gossip and drama that's developed, every complaint, every shining celebration, we we're all apart of in one way or another... for every.. single.. one. It's not a bragging right, no, we're merely security guards, a single man wrestling week in and out could not endure such psychical long term treatment. But, us being open to this exposure over the years, we've learned that one individual stood out amongst the others. One, who despite his acts of treachery, stood true to himself and refused to let himself become enriched by the horrible politics that dreaded over WCF those few long years. He, simply, felt real to us. Yes, he could've easily sat with the rest of them and accepted fate that no one could be possibly better than the true talentless wrestling hack that was Torture, but, he did not. And for that, for not helping WCF mold it's form into a future of corruption and lies, he was fired. Not once, not twice, maybe not even three times, but many times. It's still a wonder that Lerch honored and accepted Logan's numerous offers to return, but, you see.. Seth, unwillingly to admit it, saw what we saw in Logan; the raw truth. A man who is not afraid to speak his mind despite bad circumstances or consequences that will inevitably follow suit. Someone who has crucified himself time and time again for the future of WCF. He never wants to ever see his beloved homeland strangled with corrupt hands ever again, and neither do we. It was his fall from grace in 2006 that left this company a much darker place, a place that did not continue to bred it's stars from talent, but instead backstage wager. It's not like he didn't completely lay on his side and watch everything burn in ruins, no, he tried, and tried, and tried again, and even after every failure, every rejection from the higher-ups that held him down from truly becoming the greatest successor of this place, he kept trying, kept going. We were there for the whole ride, and now, when he came to us a month ago and put a steel pipe in our hands, and told us the time was right to take up arms, we suddenly realized... what took us so long? I still feel confused to why I never did reacted quicker and just sat on the sidelines, waiting everything out. If you want a change, you have to do it, and that's why we are fully determined to make sure Torture doesn't take Jay Price and send us all back to political hell. Logan has earned our respect, earned it! And whatever he thinks best is what we think best. So, more importantly, that's why I don't honestly mind kidnapping a young girl and forcing her to smoke crystal meth... it's all for the best, after all, right?
The others nod in acceptance of Mr. B. Catherine, again, is made to take another fatal dose of meth. It's become so routine now, and she's so stoned out of her mind, that they do not even bother pinching her nose. After what appears to be her last sign of life from a thick line of drool hanging lazily from her chin, they release Catherine, and she collapses to her bottom before she can take another hit. Mr. B turns his back to the dead girl and the others, finding the handheld camera in his hands and cutting the feed. The screen is filled with nothing, momentarily, soon, however, new life breathes into image. Logan gawks at the camera man who’s back peddling in Logan's onward path down seventeenth avenue. For this occasion, Logan is clad in red pants, a black shirt featuring his bands logo, "The Connectors", black shoes, and his hair is a shaggy mess as usual. The street isn't too busy, actually, it's eerily slow for this time of day, nothing but a handful of vehicles at most has passed them since filming first began. Logan begins to rant on, furthering speculating his latest conspiracy of how Torture's spirit exist in Price. The camera man keeps a calm face and continues to carefully walk backwards and film Logan. The idea of a soul invading into that of another being sounded absolutely nuts to the cameraman at first, but, he's certainly heard enough about it recently from Logan for it to begin to pass through one ear and out the other. It's not that he, the cameraman, actually believed it or anything, the difficulty in doing was too unstable. But, the way he had continually listened to Logan go on about it, he couldn't help but silent question the possibility. It was definitely something to ponder - whack! The cameraman watched Logan's face light up in surprise, the cameraman suddenly feeling a shooting pain crammed by something hard and wooden to the back of his legs. The cameraman collapses, the camera falls from his shoulder and hits the sidewalk, filming the rest of what can be seen in a sideways view. Two figures in black ski-masks, assumably men, rush from the downed cameraman's ground and leap at Logan, roughly cracking the side of his head with a baseball bat. Logan stumbles forward to the ground, but the attackers don't want to make a scene of this, catching Logan, and quickly pushing him into the side of a van that speeds by and hits the brakes. The doors shut, and the van speeds off leaving the camera's sight. Sounds of a disgruntled cameraman stew close by, and his hand reaches into focus, cutting the camera off and giving viewers a black screen of silence. The perfect time to grab a soda, indeed, only if that's what the audience had expected. After a few haunting minutes of black screen, footage comes into action, and eyes are given something to do again. The scene reopens, Logan cuffed and bound at the hands and feet, a black bag tied to his neck with a small air hole penetrated at the mouth. The skills of the person shooting the footage look too amateur to be a professional, or a related crew member of WCF. Logan shows signs of life, wiggling his feet and arms about, but stops once realizing he's been restrained. A voice protrudes from the heavily inflating and deflating black bag.
Logan: Just when I was getting lonely. Oh, Price, you're making it very hard to hate you.
Anonymous: You sick bastard. This is not your little boyfriend, Jay Price, or his doing. He has nothing to do with this!
The rapidly inflating and deflating of the bag instantly decreases to a more calm manor.
Logan: D'awww. Well, then, may I ask whom is taking me for this wonderful afternoon stro--
One of the mask men send a stiff boot into Logan's ribs, cutting his words short.
Anonymous: Oh, you will find out who we are, don't you worry about that. And, you might not be able to tell, but, we've brought a little camera along.. too.
After coughing up into the bag a bit after that horrendous hit to the ribs, Logan manages to maintain optimistic.
Logan: A camera? Fantastic! You'll be able to help me film the rest of the promo I had planned... before, well, ya' know, being interrupted.
To remind Logan the seriousness of his current predicament, another boot is drove into his ribcage.
Anonymous: SHUT UP!
Logan (coughing): NO, YOU!
The bat is cracked over Logan's head once more and he slips back into unconsciousness. The man operating the camera let's out a grateful sign, finally having enough of Logan's mouth. Soon, the fan comes to an abrupt stop, jerking Logan's limp body over on his back. Once the men acknowledge that they've reached their proper destination, the driver hops out and jogs over the back of the fan, thrusting the doors open. One of the men raise Logan up from his back, while the other one grabs his feet. They lift him from the vans dirty surface, and the cameraman sits the camera down to help them with their carrying of Logan. Seated on the van floor, the abandoned camera continues rolling. The thud of a heavy door closing is caught in the background. After a few passing moments, the amateur shooter returns, grabbing the camera and making his way to the source of the thud. He pushes his door open with a hand, walking into a barn house where Logan is found suspended slightly off the ground, his bound wrists hung from the handcuff on a steel hook. The black bag is ripped from off his head to reveal closed eyes and a bit of blood dried to the side of his face. Mister stand-up of the anonymous trio approaches him, patting at his face. Eventually, Logan wakes, slowly blinking his eyes, tilting his head down to observe his feet hanging from the ground, and then looking up to glaze at the chain of the cuff latched on to a hook.
Anonymous: Good morning, sleepy beauty.
A yawn sarcastically falls from Logan's lips.
Anonymous: You aren't goin' find this very hilarious.
The masked man rips off his ski-mask, revealing his angered expression to Logan, he then retrieves a photograph of a young girl from his back pocket and pushes it close to Logan's face.
Anonymous: That was my little girl!
Logan stares at the photo a few seconds, then looks back to the enraged 'Father'.
Logan: Really?
The man fights back tears, but replies.
Anonymous: Y--ess.
Logan: I don't see much of a resemblance.
Fists are stabbed repeatedly into Logan's stomach. Logan manages to push back off the fists and swing his weight backwards to avoid any further jabbing. However, gravity will inevitably force him to fall back into the mans wild punches. Logan anticipates this, of course, he knows he has no other choice in the matter but to take it. So, to kill the pain, disgruntled laughs spill out from his mouth in between blows. The man ceases hitting, shockingly watching Logan take pleasure in his mistreatment.
Anonymous: What's wrong with you?!
Logan (breathing heavily): What's wrong with you? You're the one tying people up for your own personal punching bags.
The man clinches his fists to his sides and shouts at the top of his lungs.
Anonymous: YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER!
Logan: Oh... that.
Anonymous: And, now, I'm going to ki--
Logan: Wait - I don't believe I remember killing anyone. It's not like that's something you'd forget.. right? Oh my. Murder? M'm. Man, I was really looking forward to War. Well, you've already got me cuffed, might as well call the boys in blue... sigh.
Anonymous: No. There isn't going to be any police. You're going to die, and we're going to fuckin' film it. Just like you filmed my daughters death.
A big grin comes over Logan's face.
Logan: Is that what you're on about? Haha!
Anonymous: What's so damn funny about that?
Logan: She was a hired hand. Not the type of hand I usually hire, wink-wink, but.. nonetheless, yes, she's very much alive, despite the extreme amount of baking soda smoked.
Anonymous: ...huh?
Logan: You didn't stay on long enough for the credits? I strictly remember praising her acting abilities, along with throwing in an old catchphrase. Heh.
Anonymous: Is this true?
Logan: For my sake, I hope so. The beating I don't mind so much. But, death? That's a toughie.
And, on que, the man's cell phone sounds off within his pocket. He retrieves it, immediately, keeping a hopeful faith in Logan's words that his daughter may be alive. The cell phone lifts to his ear and a calming smile soon forms over his face.
Anonymous: Baby? I was worried sick. Yeah, I seen the tape. I thought those men were terrorists.
A confused looking Logan mouths the words, "terrorists?".
Anonymous: Yeah, I know now.. well, why didn't you tell me you had your number changed? Oh, okay. Yes, I love you too, sweetheart.
The man hangs up. His guilty conscious begins to take toll. He stares over Logan, realizing he's kidnapped and beaten an innocent man.
Anonymous: I'm so sorry. I.. wow, sorry man. I'll take you to the hospital if you want, or.. anything? How can I ever repay you?
Pondering that for a second, Logan nervously bites his lips, looking around, before looking back to the man and answering.
Logan: Um - you could, uh-
Anonymous: Anything, you name it.
Logan motions the man to come close, he does, and Logan whispers into his ear. The man's face instantly becomes disgusted.
Anonymous: I'm not doing that.
Disappointment flusters Logan, he narrows his eyes, and looks away from the man.
Logan: Fine. Just let me down then.
The camera one of the masked men had been operating is shut off. Once again, the screen is forced with a couple minutes of nothing but black screen. Finally, coming back, things have changed.. drastically. The tables appear to be turned for the three individuals who abducted Logan. The hook that once had Logan restrained and suspended him now holds all three of the men, who now look badly beaten. The three of them dangle in the air, their backs perfectly pushed into each other forming a perfect triangle. Logan, who is now assumably operating the handheld, takes great time into observing the helpless trio. He holds his hand out in front of the camera, greeting the viewing audience with a wave whom have tuned back into the returning promo. Logan sits the camera down on a bale of hay, pacing back and fourth in front of the helpless fellows.
Logan: This is really getting out of hand. How many people have to be kidnapped or tied up this week? Not enough, I guess. You know who really needs to be tied up? Jay Price. Yeah. I don't think an exorcism would hurt either. M'm. So, what have we learned today. You do not take the Face of Treachery off the streets, shove him in a van, and beat him to sleep with a bat. You do not tie and hang him from a hook, box him like a kangaroo, and then expect all to be forgiven once you've realized how much of a boudle you are. These things, boys, you simply do not do. I'll admit, really, I applaud the aggression. There is nothing more justifying than taking action into your own hands, but, unfortunately, you picked the wrong toy to play with.
Before continuing, Logan checks his watch.
Logan: Luckily for you, I have an interview scheduled today, which means I'm not going to waste much more of your time.
Anonymous: You'll let us go then?
Logan: H'm?
Anonymous: Well, if you're leaving soon.. you'll have to let us go before you do. This is a pretty remote area, not many people know of it.
Logan: Oh, right, let you go. Yes - I only intended to tie you all up there long enough for a lecture.
Anonymous: ...Oh?
Logan: No. But, I do have to go.
The handheld camera sits in place, continuing to film the damned trio. Logan exits the barn, leaving the men on their own.
Please note that the character, "Catherine", is an actress. Respecting her wishes, we have refused to credit her real name or give out any personal information regarding such. The actual drug, Crystal Meth, is a very dangerous substance and was by any means NOT used in the making of this promo. We sincerely hope that this promo does not encourage drug use to fans of Logan's entertainment, or to ANYONE for that matter. Furthermore - we hope you enjoyed it![/center][/color][/i]
"And I will do... whatcccchhhaa gotttta do... to get.. to.. the top!"[/center]
Logan: I think I may have a little explaining to do, or maybe not. Can it be true that everyone recognizes the same fact that I also recognize, dearly, that the dead soul of a corruptive man found it's way underneath the flesh of a bastard? Yes, of course, easily! Some refuse it to be even possible, but, they're weak minded. This is real, very real. A-a-nd take it from me, just look at this room, would you? I set up shop in here around mid-July once the terrible idea of Torture's soul became thought. Ya' know, at first, with an idea like that.. there is certainly no shame in questioning your sanity, and, so, being only human, I did. There was undoubtedly a suspicion on my own behalf of being mentally ill. I mean, what other reason would someone have for thinking the soul of a dead man angel-like flew into one of your rivals. But, after further evaluation and study of this idea, not only did I come to an conclusion that it's possible.. but, also true! You couldn't really expect me, or really, anyone with this knowledge not to sit back and accept this as a daily part of life! No, knowing this has forced a responsibility onto me. It also bears the burden of everyone else claiming you're a complete nutter for such a ridiculous theory. But, I'm not. I am not crazy. If you didn't know what I know, seen what I'd seen, then yes, you would immediately dismiss me as such. And, honestly, I can not blame any of you. I only know what I know, and if you knew it too.. and with my efforts lately, you should, then you would also be taking any steps necessary to abominate that sick man once and for all. You see, people think your only crazy if you have a crazy idea. What they do not understand, however, is that if they actually took a respectable amount of time to sit down, study this predicament, then maybe it would not sound so frightening to them. Maybe if they had not forgotten those unexplainable moments and times that have taken place in their life that left them completely fuckin' confused, then, maybe they also could shed light on a theory that reeks ridiculous. But no! Most of us live our life denying God's existence, or anything that comes fourth as supernatural. They refuse to believe it if they can not hear it, touch it, or feel it. Tell me.. what do you think when you have felt it? Or seen something that you could not explain but was yet so vivid that you can't help but to deny it as an hallucination or dream? I have! So, what do you do then? Rendered yourself crazy because you have no other logically explanation for what happened? That, for me, was not the best answer. I refused to accept societies quick answer for a paranormal experience. So, for me, a person aware of his mentality, who believes he is not insane, does the right thing, only to look like a total mind fuck in the eyes of you - I ask one question and one question only, am I the chosen one? The laughable Ghost Whisperer that lurks WCF's locker rooms to protect and serve you all? Ha! I may not acquire her lovely chest, but, I tell this.. it is not far from reality. So, while many of you may laugh at my efforts and claims towards Price's possession, do know, that I do not simply care. For me, it is surreal. To you, it's bonkers. If it's one mans destiny to rule WCF, even in death, then I believe that's something the world should probably open their eyes to. People can not simply sit by and let that happen. I mean, what's next? Hitler in Obama? So, today, extra measures will be taken to avoid a Jay Price death. If that's a last resort, then, yes, perhaps... but for legal issues, it's probably best if we try a few more things before murdering another human-being. Also, just talking about, even if he was to die of natural causes makes this sound very incriminating.
The small room Logan has been held up in for these last months of scheming, thunders with the echoing thud of knuckles on wood, a knock at the door. The camera, which he has been functioning this entire time is kept on, and neatly positioned on a table to survey the entire room. Logan, already expecting someone, calmly opens the door and eagerly welcomes his team of six men into the workplace. They come in, very organized, each of them carrying a black clothed satchel and forming a perfect circle to stand in the small room. Logan closes the door, and turns to his men to indicate a silence be maintained by crossing a finger over his mouth and sealing his lips. The men nod in unison. Logan then holds up a sign that reads, "Nobody Fart", further powering his message by pointing to the surroundings of the tiny room which contains no windows or any gasping life of air flow. Again, the men nod in unison, and a peaceful silence is kept, despite the static flickering of the swinging light bulb above. The first of the men, Logan's right hand, commonly referred to as the head guard of a fictional city they've dubbed, Connector City, steps forward and kneels to the ground unzipping his duffle bag. He thoroughly removes the bags contents; a plastic zip-lock baggy filled with chunks of white hard substance, a glass bowl pipe, and a blow torch gun fed by hose to a small propane bottle. Logan awards his men's successful gathering of crystal meth with a grin. They, in turn, feel internally proud to have done their leader good. With further instructions, Logan's most trusted, Mr. B, throws the duffle bag to the side and begins loading the glass bowl with a tiny piece of meth. The others stand in accordance and exit the room in a gentlemen way. Mr. B, however, stands his ground in the corner of the room, thumping the loaded pipe against his palm, looking back to Logan with a sick smile of his own. The door opens, again, and his men follow back in suit, only this time carrying a cuffed female in with ductape stretched across her lips. They pin the frightened girl to the wall, Logan closes the door and locks it before proceeding to the obvious-looking hostage and ripping the tape from her lips.
Restrained Girl: Ahhhhhh!!
Covering his ears, Logan looks on with confusion.
Restrained Girl: Ahhhh! Let me go!
Logan: What's wrong..?
To reassure his guards instructions, Mr. B steps forwards, and speakers into Logan's ear.
Mr. B: She is the right one.
Logan: Then what's wrong with her?
Not understanding Logan's confusion, Mr. B momentarily stares at his leader, but manages a response.
Mr. B: She was just kidnapped, so, shock... I assume.
Logan: Shock?!
Reassured, Logan happily smiles with understanding, reaching his hand out and stroking the side of the terrified girls face.
Logan: No reason to be frightened, Dear, any fan of Jay Price is a fan of mine. You're in good company. Such good company.
Mr. B: Ah.. that's what I told her, myself.
Again, Logan grins, continuing to pet her like a scared kitty.
Logan: Sh, sh, sh. It's okay. I understand.
The screaming stops, surprisingly, and the terrified girl calms down.
Logan: What is your name? No, no, no.. I'll just call you, Catherine. Our beautiful little Catherine. She was beautiful too, much like you. Never was much of a Jay Price fan, however, but she never did have the chance to meet him, so, we may never know. But, you, no, you, oh.. you..
Logan pauses, a puppy love look glowing his face, a deep sigh releasing from his lungs. The girl, questioning her fate more dearly now, retreats in scream.
Catherine: Ahhhhguahh!
Logan: Tough it up! What do you think Price would think of you if he seen you like this?
Catherine: For God's sake, what do you want?!
A forceful hand cups her chin and fingers stretch over her face and dig into her jaw. Logan presses his lips into hers and steals a kiss.
Logan: I want you to love me! Like the way that I loved you! You couldn't love me, though, could you? You loved him more. The awful man who took away my paradise, my life, my sweet-sweet Catherine!!
Catherine: My name isn't Ca--
Logan covers her mouth with his hand.
Logan: Yes, yes it is.
Turning, Logan instructs Mr. B to hand him the glass bowl.
Logan: This drug, in concept, is Jay Price. Or.. the man you know of, and you him well, he kept you from me. History will repeat itself, Catherine, he's going to have you again. I'm so sorry. I deeply regress, it's very hard for me, too, ya' know--
Catherine: Ahhh!
Logan: SHUT UP!
Still holding the pipe in hand, Logan covers both his ears and continues to thrust the rumbling growls of anger from his throat.
Logan: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UPPP!
Logan lets go of his ears, cocking his head back, staring at the ceiling, laughing manically.
Logan: Hahahaha! Did you see that? Oh-hehehe-haha! I managed to incorporate 'shut up' in a lovely fashion that'll hold dear to the heart of any old follower of mine. Haha! And they say it's overused.. hehe.
Grabbing her by the jaw again, Logan, and his men get over their laughter and focus back to the matter at hand. Logan instructs one his men holding her down to also pin her nostrils shut. He does so, and Logan moves in with the pipe, in for the kill.. so to speak. Eventually, 'Catherine', can no longer keep her mouth closed and hold her breath. She releases her lips for air, and Logan pushes the tip of the pipe between her lips. Mr. B moves in methodically and torches the glass bowl of crystal meth. She reluctantly has no choice but to inhale the dangerous contents, and so she does, choking out a thin white fog of smoke and staring back at Logan in pure terror. She licks at her lips, her eyes nearly bulge from her skull. Logan takes a moment to step back, observing her behavior and smiling.
Logan: You're so hungry for him.
Nodding to his men restraining her, they again follow Logan's instructions, clamping her nostrils closed, preparing her for another hit. Mr. B drops another piece of meth into the bowl, and Logan feeds it back to Catherine's lips when she goes for air. Her body goes gently limp, smoke parading from her lips in white waves. Drug endorsed, she lazily smiles, while her eyes tell another story; frantically scanning the room.
Logan: Something grab your attention? Heh.
Mr. B makes an observation.
Mr. B: Her eyes.. watch them.
Logan: Oh?
Doing so, Logan takes a time out from the forced meth smoking to study her eye movement. He seems to be satisfied by the outcome.
Logan: I have hundreds of photographs in here of various people, some.. of whom I didn't even really know. But, of those hundreds, I have only one of the one you're looking at, Catherine, and that image belongs to none other than Torture. You know him don't you?
Completely strung out by this point, she answers quickly.
Catherine: Torture? Yes, of course! WCF guy! Really cool! Can you let me go now? Won't tell no one? I swear, I swear, I swear. You can do that can't you? Sure. You're the guy with the pipe - speaking of which - yes, may I.. speaking of which, can I have another! Oh, no! That stuff might kill me. Haha! Do it, go on! Mommy, no, please, take me home. I want to go home, Mother. Stop this! No! You have the power to stop it! I need a doctor! Doctor!
She goes in tears, then smiles, then back in tears, the drug throwing her emotions on a rotating circus wheel. The men ignore her cries for help, seemingly more interested in her false fascination of the Torture picture that they so obsessively dwell on.
Mr. B: She does know him!
The others nod in agreement.
Logan: Like hitting the lottery, isn't it? Lovely job, fellows. Not only do we have our beloved, Catherine, in custody. We also finally know that this little witch helped guide Torture's spirit into Jay Price. It's not a question, Dear Catherine, it's an acknowledgment. We are not like the others, we can not be fooled. You have no idea what you've done. Torture could have rested in peace, finally been down for the three count. But, no, you had to make sure he couldn't sleep. And, if you hadn't realized it or not, I'm a little fuckin' tired of Torture! Did you take that into any consideration at all you selfish bitch. You should've put me in your thoughts, Catherine, but why am I surprised? You never did then and you never will now. That will be over, soon, you'll have nothing to think about! Not even me. You can't them. I deny you of your own thoughts. You don't deserve them anymore, they're mine. Anything less of punishment would be blasphemy for what you've committed. I can't deal with this anymore, boys, take care of her. And - ya' know, I thought I may have felt better about defeating Torture at Slam, but, I do not. If little things like this can fire me up, then what should we do? H'm? It's Jay Price. Plain and simple. The source of all my problems. That's the only way we can get to Torture, through Price, so, gentlemen, feed her Jay Price! Take her away from me, again. Argh!
In a fit of rage, Logan storms from the room, his men take control from here on out. Catherine is once again fed another hit of death, this time, however, by Mr. B. He watches her whimper out another hit before falling into his own monologue.
Mr. B: You may not totally understand why this is happening. That's fine. I don't fully understand it myself, but, what I do understand.. is that Logan thinks drastic steps need to be taken, and as a man of my word, I shall assure that whatever he sees best be carried out in the most absolute best way ever. You see, I'm not that type of guy that just blindly follows people around and worship their own personal ideals. No, this is very different. Me, along with others of my kind, have reinforced the home that is WCF ever since this company decided to call itself WCF. We're faithful to this place we've called home. And, over these very long years, we have had the opportunity to be the eyes and ears in the backstage department. All the gossip and drama that's developed, every complaint, every shining celebration, we we're all apart of in one way or another... for every.. single.. one. It's not a bragging right, no, we're merely security guards, a single man wrestling week in and out could not endure such psychical long term treatment. But, us being open to this exposure over the years, we've learned that one individual stood out amongst the others. One, who despite his acts of treachery, stood true to himself and refused to let himself become enriched by the horrible politics that dreaded over WCF those few long years. He, simply, felt real to us. Yes, he could've easily sat with the rest of them and accepted fate that no one could be possibly better than the true talentless wrestling hack that was Torture, but, he did not. And for that, for not helping WCF mold it's form into a future of corruption and lies, he was fired. Not once, not twice, maybe not even three times, but many times. It's still a wonder that Lerch honored and accepted Logan's numerous offers to return, but, you see.. Seth, unwillingly to admit it, saw what we saw in Logan; the raw truth. A man who is not afraid to speak his mind despite bad circumstances or consequences that will inevitably follow suit. Someone who has crucified himself time and time again for the future of WCF. He never wants to ever see his beloved homeland strangled with corrupt hands ever again, and neither do we. It was his fall from grace in 2006 that left this company a much darker place, a place that did not continue to bred it's stars from talent, but instead backstage wager. It's not like he didn't completely lay on his side and watch everything burn in ruins, no, he tried, and tried, and tried again, and even after every failure, every rejection from the higher-ups that held him down from truly becoming the greatest successor of this place, he kept trying, kept going. We were there for the whole ride, and now, when he came to us a month ago and put a steel pipe in our hands, and told us the time was right to take up arms, we suddenly realized... what took us so long? I still feel confused to why I never did reacted quicker and just sat on the sidelines, waiting everything out. If you want a change, you have to do it, and that's why we are fully determined to make sure Torture doesn't take Jay Price and send us all back to political hell. Logan has earned our respect, earned it! And whatever he thinks best is what we think best. So, more importantly, that's why I don't honestly mind kidnapping a young girl and forcing her to smoke crystal meth... it's all for the best, after all, right?
The others nod in acceptance of Mr. B. Catherine, again, is made to take another fatal dose of meth. It's become so routine now, and she's so stoned out of her mind, that they do not even bother pinching her nose. After what appears to be her last sign of life from a thick line of drool hanging lazily from her chin, they release Catherine, and she collapses to her bottom before she can take another hit. Mr. B turns his back to the dead girl and the others, finding the handheld camera in his hands and cutting the feed. The screen is filled with nothing, momentarily, soon, however, new life breathes into image. Logan gawks at the camera man who’s back peddling in Logan's onward path down seventeenth avenue. For this occasion, Logan is clad in red pants, a black shirt featuring his bands logo, "The Connectors", black shoes, and his hair is a shaggy mess as usual. The street isn't too busy, actually, it's eerily slow for this time of day, nothing but a handful of vehicles at most has passed them since filming first began. Logan begins to rant on, furthering speculating his latest conspiracy of how Torture's spirit exist in Price. The camera man keeps a calm face and continues to carefully walk backwards and film Logan. The idea of a soul invading into that of another being sounded absolutely nuts to the cameraman at first, but, he's certainly heard enough about it recently from Logan for it to begin to pass through one ear and out the other. It's not that he, the cameraman, actually believed it or anything, the difficulty in doing was too unstable. But, the way he had continually listened to Logan go on about it, he couldn't help but silent question the possibility. It was definitely something to ponder - whack! The cameraman watched Logan's face light up in surprise, the cameraman suddenly feeling a shooting pain crammed by something hard and wooden to the back of his legs. The cameraman collapses, the camera falls from his shoulder and hits the sidewalk, filming the rest of what can be seen in a sideways view. Two figures in black ski-masks, assumably men, rush from the downed cameraman's ground and leap at Logan, roughly cracking the side of his head with a baseball bat. Logan stumbles forward to the ground, but the attackers don't want to make a scene of this, catching Logan, and quickly pushing him into the side of a van that speeds by and hits the brakes. The doors shut, and the van speeds off leaving the camera's sight. Sounds of a disgruntled cameraman stew close by, and his hand reaches into focus, cutting the camera off and giving viewers a black screen of silence. The perfect time to grab a soda, indeed, only if that's what the audience had expected. After a few haunting minutes of black screen, footage comes into action, and eyes are given something to do again. The scene reopens, Logan cuffed and bound at the hands and feet, a black bag tied to his neck with a small air hole penetrated at the mouth. The skills of the person shooting the footage look too amateur to be a professional, or a related crew member of WCF. Logan shows signs of life, wiggling his feet and arms about, but stops once realizing he's been restrained. A voice protrudes from the heavily inflating and deflating black bag.
Logan: Just when I was getting lonely. Oh, Price, you're making it very hard to hate you.
Anonymous: You sick bastard. This is not your little boyfriend, Jay Price, or his doing. He has nothing to do with this!
The rapidly inflating and deflating of the bag instantly decreases to a more calm manor.
Logan: D'awww. Well, then, may I ask whom is taking me for this wonderful afternoon stro--
One of the mask men send a stiff boot into Logan's ribs, cutting his words short.
Anonymous: Oh, you will find out who we are, don't you worry about that. And, you might not be able to tell, but, we've brought a little camera along.. too.
After coughing up into the bag a bit after that horrendous hit to the ribs, Logan manages to maintain optimistic.
Logan: A camera? Fantastic! You'll be able to help me film the rest of the promo I had planned... before, well, ya' know, being interrupted.
To remind Logan the seriousness of his current predicament, another boot is drove into his ribcage.
Anonymous: SHUT UP!
Logan (coughing): NO, YOU!
The bat is cracked over Logan's head once more and he slips back into unconsciousness. The man operating the camera let's out a grateful sign, finally having enough of Logan's mouth. Soon, the fan comes to an abrupt stop, jerking Logan's limp body over on his back. Once the men acknowledge that they've reached their proper destination, the driver hops out and jogs over the back of the fan, thrusting the doors open. One of the men raise Logan up from his back, while the other one grabs his feet. They lift him from the vans dirty surface, and the cameraman sits the camera down to help them with their carrying of Logan. Seated on the van floor, the abandoned camera continues rolling. The thud of a heavy door closing is caught in the background. After a few passing moments, the amateur shooter returns, grabbing the camera and making his way to the source of the thud. He pushes his door open with a hand, walking into a barn house where Logan is found suspended slightly off the ground, his bound wrists hung from the handcuff on a steel hook. The black bag is ripped from off his head to reveal closed eyes and a bit of blood dried to the side of his face. Mister stand-up of the anonymous trio approaches him, patting at his face. Eventually, Logan wakes, slowly blinking his eyes, tilting his head down to observe his feet hanging from the ground, and then looking up to glaze at the chain of the cuff latched on to a hook.
Anonymous: Good morning, sleepy beauty.
A yawn sarcastically falls from Logan's lips.
Anonymous: You aren't goin' find this very hilarious.
The masked man rips off his ski-mask, revealing his angered expression to Logan, he then retrieves a photograph of a young girl from his back pocket and pushes it close to Logan's face.
Anonymous: That was my little girl!
Logan stares at the photo a few seconds, then looks back to the enraged 'Father'.
Logan: Really?
The man fights back tears, but replies.
Anonymous: Y--ess.
Logan: I don't see much of a resemblance.
Fists are stabbed repeatedly into Logan's stomach. Logan manages to push back off the fists and swing his weight backwards to avoid any further jabbing. However, gravity will inevitably force him to fall back into the mans wild punches. Logan anticipates this, of course, he knows he has no other choice in the matter but to take it. So, to kill the pain, disgruntled laughs spill out from his mouth in between blows. The man ceases hitting, shockingly watching Logan take pleasure in his mistreatment.
Anonymous: What's wrong with you?!
Logan (breathing heavily): What's wrong with you? You're the one tying people up for your own personal punching bags.
The man clinches his fists to his sides and shouts at the top of his lungs.
Anonymous: YOU KILLED MY DAUGHTER!
Logan: Oh... that.
Anonymous: And, now, I'm going to ki--
Logan: Wait - I don't believe I remember killing anyone. It's not like that's something you'd forget.. right? Oh my. Murder? M'm. Man, I was really looking forward to War. Well, you've already got me cuffed, might as well call the boys in blue... sigh.
Anonymous: No. There isn't going to be any police. You're going to die, and we're going to fuckin' film it. Just like you filmed my daughters death.
A big grin comes over Logan's face.
Logan: Is that what you're on about? Haha!
Anonymous: What's so damn funny about that?
Logan: She was a hired hand. Not the type of hand I usually hire, wink-wink, but.. nonetheless, yes, she's very much alive, despite the extreme amount of baking soda smoked.
Anonymous: ...huh?
Logan: You didn't stay on long enough for the credits? I strictly remember praising her acting abilities, along with throwing in an old catchphrase. Heh.
Anonymous: Is this true?
Logan: For my sake, I hope so. The beating I don't mind so much. But, death? That's a toughie.
And, on que, the man's cell phone sounds off within his pocket. He retrieves it, immediately, keeping a hopeful faith in Logan's words that his daughter may be alive. The cell phone lifts to his ear and a calming smile soon forms over his face.
Anonymous: Baby? I was worried sick. Yeah, I seen the tape. I thought those men were terrorists.
A confused looking Logan mouths the words, "terrorists?".
Anonymous: Yeah, I know now.. well, why didn't you tell me you had your number changed? Oh, okay. Yes, I love you too, sweetheart.
The man hangs up. His guilty conscious begins to take toll. He stares over Logan, realizing he's kidnapped and beaten an innocent man.
Anonymous: I'm so sorry. I.. wow, sorry man. I'll take you to the hospital if you want, or.. anything? How can I ever repay you?
Pondering that for a second, Logan nervously bites his lips, looking around, before looking back to the man and answering.
Logan: Um - you could, uh-
Anonymous: Anything, you name it.
Logan motions the man to come close, he does, and Logan whispers into his ear. The man's face instantly becomes disgusted.
Anonymous: I'm not doing that.
Disappointment flusters Logan, he narrows his eyes, and looks away from the man.
Logan: Fine. Just let me down then.
The camera one of the masked men had been operating is shut off. Once again, the screen is forced with a couple minutes of nothing but black screen. Finally, coming back, things have changed.. drastically. The tables appear to be turned for the three individuals who abducted Logan. The hook that once had Logan restrained and suspended him now holds all three of the men, who now look badly beaten. The three of them dangle in the air, their backs perfectly pushed into each other forming a perfect triangle. Logan, who is now assumably operating the handheld, takes great time into observing the helpless trio. He holds his hand out in front of the camera, greeting the viewing audience with a wave whom have tuned back into the returning promo. Logan sits the camera down on a bale of hay, pacing back and fourth in front of the helpless fellows.
Logan: This is really getting out of hand. How many people have to be kidnapped or tied up this week? Not enough, I guess. You know who really needs to be tied up? Jay Price. Yeah. I don't think an exorcism would hurt either. M'm. So, what have we learned today. You do not take the Face of Treachery off the streets, shove him in a van, and beat him to sleep with a bat. You do not tie and hang him from a hook, box him like a kangaroo, and then expect all to be forgiven once you've realized how much of a boudle you are. These things, boys, you simply do not do. I'll admit, really, I applaud the aggression. There is nothing more justifying than taking action into your own hands, but, unfortunately, you picked the wrong toy to play with.
Before continuing, Logan checks his watch.
Logan: Luckily for you, I have an interview scheduled today, which means I'm not going to waste much more of your time.
Anonymous: You'll let us go then?
Logan: H'm?
Anonymous: Well, if you're leaving soon.. you'll have to let us go before you do. This is a pretty remote area, not many people know of it.
Logan: Oh, right, let you go. Yes - I only intended to tie you all up there long enough for a lecture.
Anonymous: ...Oh?
Logan: No. But, I do have to go.
The handheld camera sits in place, continuing to film the damned trio. Logan exits the barn, leaving the men on their own.
A FAREWELL MESSAGE:
Please note that the character, "Catherine", is an actress. Respecting her wishes, we have refused to credit her real name or give out any personal information regarding such. The actual drug, Crystal Meth, is a very dangerous substance and was by any means NOT used in the making of this promo. We sincerely hope that this promo does not encourage drug use to fans of Logan's entertainment, or to ANYONE for that matter. Furthermore - we hope you enjoyed it![/center][/color][/i]
ANOTHER FAREWELL MESSAGE:
"And I will do... whatcccchhhaa gotttta do... to get.. to.. the top!"[/center]
