The Immortal Series: Episode Two!

[Logan]

The Immortal Series Presents…
Oh, So This Isn’t Actually A ‘Death’ Match. Is It Okay If I Kill You Anyway?

Knock. Knock. The simple crack of knuckles against wood awoke the reborn Logan out of his imaginary-Jarrod Baker-e-wrestling-writer of a shell self, and from out of the bathroom bathtub. He stretched upwards from the cold hard ceramic, stiff neck and all, and by all that certainly very much includes the deranged mindset that brought him to take sleep in a bathtub to begin with just the night before. Knock. Knock.

Four knocks in ten seconds? That’s two knocks.. pause.. wait for it..

The sublimely white narration that mysteriously took hold last night began once again without skipping a beat. His eyes refocused to the terrifying look of before and horror settled back into his veins.

Nice to see you playing along this early and I always had you cut for an early grump. ANYWAY, and that’s two more. So, you see, Logan, that stresses urgency. You should probably get out of the tub and answer the door.

LOGAN: Logan…

Yes, that’d be you. Moreso because if you could sense auras and detect the lovely red that flew from your mouth whenever words were spoken by yourself then anyone, even yourself would have no problem at all identifying you. Well, unless you uh.. went old school. And you’re probably wondering what that is – that’d be you - speaking in gold.[/i]

Not quite one of the things brewing up within his troubled mind this morning but that did seem somewhat… helpful. No, that’s too soon. ‘Helpful’ shouldn’t even be used in the same paraphrase for this madness. He almost felt a sick pleasure for even beginning to cozy up. Knock. Knock.

Sigh…

He thought about saying, ‘geez okay-okay’, but just simply responding to it would definitely seal the deal for a mental asylum. Unless, of course, others could hear it. It was an interesting thought, not quite as interesting as the ones that have been throwing around his identity but it was a lonesome one of the only sane ones he had in a damn while. He rushed from the tub, cracking a few morning toes and knees on the way up, rushing like a running back, and keeping sure to steer his body towards the door where a possible answer to all of this may await. The door flung open and a petite Chinese hotel maid stood in reveal carrying an armload of…

HOTEL MAID: Towel, sir?

He blinked, suspiciously arching eyebrows and waiting for the white presence.

HOTEL MAID: Towel?

LOGAN: Shhh…

Creasing his lips with a finger, wide eyes wandering to every corner of the mad room that engulfed him.

LOGAN: Say something..

HOTEL MAID: Would you like one?

She presented the bundle of towels again, spreading her smile to the deepest of stretches, hoping to destroy this awkward scene with kindness. He wanted to hear that damn voice; that god awful narration that strangled him to sleep. Nothing.

LOGAN: You dirty whore.

HOTEL MAID: Okay, sorry-

She dropped the towels right on the rude bastards doorstep and flared her nostrils.

LOGAN: No, not you! The – uh.. thing.

And down the hall she went without ever taking a look back. He felt pretty helpless at this point, reaching down to grab the packing of towels. Maybe he’d use them to hang himself.

TOWELS?! She knocked one, two… three.. four.. five-six times for TOWELS?! You woke up for TOWELS? The nerve of that bitch. You did right by telling her off.[/i]

The tuxedo frog had popped out of the box and begun singing again just as no one was looking. He closed the door back and propped himself into it. He needed answers. Asking the voice seemed like a ridiculous idea but he was deep in the center of ridiculous and besides… what other choice was there at the moment?

LOGAN: What’s going on? Am I Jarrod Baker?

No. But wouldn’t you agree that was a rather convincing story?

LOGAN: But I am him, right. I mean.. I am me. That life was mine… wasn’t it…?

The life tragically produced by narration the last night felt like a familiar trip down memory lane; HIS memory lane. It felt that way.

You’ve lost your memory, Logan. And ironic as the phrasing of words may sound to even the most amateur reader of an X-Men comic – it’s the truth.

LOGAN: That doesn’t make sense.

It’s an inside joke to anyone who can associate the two separate worlds of men in tights to this particular situation.

LOGAN: Not that. I mean ME.

ME? As in you or the stable ‘Main Eventers’ originally formed by Rick Mad in 2001 during his PCW campaign and then years later by yourself for a short lived resurrection.

LOGAN: Huh?

Logan would know that. Argo you have lost your memory.

LOGAN: Would Jarrod Baker know that too?

If you mean that alternate realm of fantasy e-wrestling that I made you to think actually existed, then yes.

LOGAN: SO even if I was me.. err.. or Jarrod Baker.. I still wouldn’t have my memory.

But you’re not Jarrod Baker. You are Logan. I think.[/i]

LOGAN: YOU think?

Hehe.. I kid.[/i]

He wasn’t sure what to think, believe, or even commit to actually what was reality anymore. He did slightly recognize his face last night in the mirror and it did have the similarities of Logan. Hell, he might actually be Logan. But whether he was or not didn’t even matter because he was missing more than just a memory; he was missing an identity.

LOGAN: Maybe I should, uh, well, I don’t know.. go see a doctor?!

Why? So they can tell you you’re Logan. You can find that answer just by walking down the street.[/i]

LOGAN: They might be able to help me.

There is no medical cure for that I’m afraid. I believe they’d more than likely tell you some of the things that I’m about to tell you myself, and that’s that you should engage in some of the activities that Logan did and be around people he was with to jog the ole memo-box.

LOGAN: Not with my memory, with you.

WOW! I’ve got feelings ya know? Sure. You take that route. They’d either pump you up with enough zombie pills to send you on a brain hungry frenzy or they would just escort you to the nearest asylum. And either of the two will not do you very well for your match against Bobby Cairo.[/i]

LOGAN: Oh, so that match is actually happening?

Yes. Talk about bad timing huh?[/i]

LOGAN: ..haha..

Heh..

It was a special and fond moment, really, the two of them sharing a laugh under oh-so-not-humorous circumstances.

I recommend that you prepare. Maybe you should hire a cameraman and go somewhere to do the promo.

LOGAN: H’m.. a promo. But people would be expecting Logan, and really.. I’m having a bit of a identity crisis right now. Hell, it’s not even that anymore. I’m finding it hard to remember who me.. err.. Logan really was to begin with. What was some of the things that he might say for a promo?

… SHUT UP!

LOGAN: Wha-

SHUT UP!

LOGAN: ….

…

LOGAN: … seriously, what w-

SHUT UP![/i]

Here he was fighting just to function, clawing and scratching to even begin and attempt to cope with this terrible predicament and when he really needed some help all this bastard voice could do was tell him to ‘shut up’. He crossed his arms.

What’s wrong? That’s what you’re supposed to do for the promo.

LOGAN: THAT?

Yes.

LOGAN: Wow.. that’s actually kind of annoying.

I think that’s the point. Oh, and don’t forget to say ‘boudle’ too. Do that and you’ll be golden OR if we revert back to my earlier theory – you’ll be redden. Either way, you’ll pass for Logan, or more specifically.. yourself.

LOGAN: H’m.. alright. Let’s give this a shot.

THE PROMO

HANK BROWN: Just days away we will be witnessing one of the biggest Ones ever hosted by WCF in the very building that I stand in now. And finally we’ve got the one night only returning superstar of WCF for an interview. You all know his name. He will be competing in one of the biggest matches in the shows event.. he is.. THE FACE OF TREACHERY!

The camera pulls back from Hank Brown resultantly catching the glimpse of a confused Logan mouthing the words ‘Face of Treachery?’.

HANK BROWN: Logan. Some way this match has technically been six years in the making. You and Bobby Cairo have never even been seen in the ring together, ever! And now finally, a one on one cage of death match!

LOGAN: … YEAH!

Brown holds his pause awaiting Logan’s response.

.. Logan.

The narration softly whispers, which is funny it whispered at all in the first place when you consider the fact that it’s A TALKING VOICE INSIDE HIS HEAD. He now recognizes the nervous ‘yeah’ shout as a botched attempt and therefor tries a different approach.

LOGAN: Bobby.. uh..

Cairo.

LOGAN: Cararo.

No, ‘Cairo’.

LOGAN: .. Cararieo..?

NO! ‘Cairo’!

LOGAN: Well how the fuck does it go?

Hank Brown watches on…

It’s like.. ‘Ki-Row’.

LOGAN: Cairo!

Good job. And for future reference try not to share any words with me while you’re on camera. People might start to get the wrong idea.[/i]

LOGAN: SHUT UP! I got this.

Perfect!

LOGAN: I don’t think that Bobby.. CAIRO.. and I have ever seen eye to eye.

HANK BROWN: You’ve never EVER technically seen eye to eye! That’s what makes this dream match so great.

LOGAN: That’s just what I, uh, mean’t.. so.. you see.. big match.. uh..

He innocently stares into the camera like a confused child.

LOGAN: .. the match.. ya know.. SHUT UP!

He pushes past Hank Brown, quickly, almost.. fleeing.

BACK AT THE HOTEL

You choked, you gawd damn amateur![/color]

LOGAN: I-I’ve never been on camera before!

Well, actually… eh.. nevermind.[/i]

LOGAN: Riight. But not me.. ME. Not the current me-me, not the holy shit I just woke up in a bathtub and I don’t know who the fuck I am.. me-…me.

Looking at it from that perspective, I guess I can see why you might have been a little camera shy.

Pacing back and forth on the hotel room carpet, he couldn’t help but to raise an alarming question.

LOGAN: Did I not say shut up enough?

Okay, golden rule; you can NEVER NOT say shut up enough.[/i]

LOGAN: Yeah, I really thought I had that down.

This is really all my fault. I should have prepared you more thoroughly.

LOGAN: Nahh, man. You’re just dealing with the cards, man.

No-no-no, I could’ve spilled the beans about Connector City. You could’ve went in armed with that.[/i]

LOGAN: Connector City?

Oh yes.. babygurl.. oh yes..

He stopped pacing and listened carefully too keen in on the goods whispered to him by his inner conscious.

THE PROMO

HANK BROWN: Standing to my left and joining us for a second time tonight –

LOGAN: No introduction needed, Skinmark Brown. I think everyone in the WCF, including myself – especially including myself – knows damn well who this is. And for the record I want everyone to know that. Five time United States champion, Fifty Tim-

FIVE TIME![/i]

LOGAN: … uh, five time world champion. Yeah, I thought you said five at first, but then I was like no.. I’m sure he said ‘fifty’, and I was thinking really? That’s kind of extreme.

After a quick pause, Logan realizes where and what he’s doing, and he promptly looks back into the camera.

LOGAN: Whoa.. whoa.. someone get Jay Price a new fake title to carry around, that boudle is getting crrrazy. You know what I mean? I certainly do. Because you see, we had a big storied rivalry and.. I’m sure you people, er, you boudles know that. Back to the point, you see, I have heard some things. People, or more specifically, someone, has told me things about this little Bobby-shit that I have to face at Two. I heard that last week he came out to the ring and spent half of the ENTIRE show rambling on about me. Well, you see, I’m not going to do that. I’ve got better things to do than stand here and talk until my legs fall asleep.

Logan simply shakes his head.

LOGAN: No. I’m going to take an actual real route that’s going to lead the both of us straight to the truth. You might not like where it goes and you might not want to even go there, but you’re going there regardless, and you’re going to get a magic-boudle-dust covered ticket straight to Connector City when the time comes, Bobby Cararo!

Cairo.

LOGAN: Shit!

The camera pulls away from Logan and gently fades.