Post by vimac on Nov 24, 2011 21:48:14 GMT -6
Underneath the streets of Chicago is another world, it seems. It is an underworld full of dankness and terribly foul odor. Rats scurry at the feet of the wary cameraman who is guided by the dim light attached to a hardhat. The directions he takes from pipe to pipe, each round and measuring out to be about ten to twelve feet wide and fifteen feet high with dank and lumpy looking sludge coursing between two walkways. After taking a left, the camera jumps as we bump right into the towering figure of Disdonn, staring from behind his mask at the viewer. His head tilts, and we can almost see the smile he is making from beneath the mask.
Everything floats down here,
From the good to the bad.
From the rats to the dead.
Here is where I would like to speak to the five forsaken souls.
Would you like to listen to me?
Or are you too much of an expert?
Or still a half-bad cop.
Suwee, here pig pig pig.
Gut you, cook you, make some bacon.
He makes a motion like he’s frying bacon in an imaginary skillet. A sick laugh comes out of his mouth and he beats the air with the imaginary skillet before continuing.
Clocks tick down, like the numbers.
Six to five to four to three.
Three to two to one.
I will be the last man standing.
I will be the winner in the end.
No Expert, Hammer, Freak, Jim Novak or Sexy Jason will get in my way.
Your too sexy for the match,
Too expert for your life.
Get a real job, buy a house.
Live behind picket fence with a lovely wife.
Give up, you don’t want pain.
I relish it.
I thrive on it.
I bleed it.
A rat scurries across the ground, and swims into the filthy water. Disdonn looks at it, and it turns to face him. He holds up the half-skeletal remains of a fellow rat, and the original one scurries faster through the water. He laughs, throwing the dead rat at the living rat, tormenting the tiny brain of the feeble animal in the decrepit and dank sewer.
Life feeds on life feeds on life,
Feeds on life.
What do you do, Bob Grenier?
Do you train mentally and physically?
Do you have a great body?
A sexy Jason body?
Blowing like a Wale,
Hard out the blowhole.
Thar she blows,
They call me Ishmael.
Moby Dick was a white whale.
Just like you, white and ready to be harpooned.
Do you like the idea?
Of an Atropine Overdose?
Or should I rather,
Tighten the Ties that Bind?
He turns, and begins to walk away. The camera fades out.
“November 24th, 2011: Disdonn has gone underground. I cannot follow his movements down there. I hear noises, screams of a woman but not quite. What is he doing, I don’t know. I truly wish I could help him release the demons which plague his disturbed mind. I still have not found a single trace of his past, though the investigators that were hired by nCw along with me. My charge is to keep him out of trouble the best I can, and they are to give me the information on him so that I can best treat him. Riley Griffiths isn’t trained for this kind of menace. I dealt with psychos before; I know what I’m doing. I didn’t write my dissertation on my analysis of Dahmer for nothing. It still worries me, the female screams. I wonder what he could be doing in the sewers, and to whom…or whom is doing to him.”
The camera re-opens to a dry spot in the sewer. A manhole shines light in tiny circles down into the area. It is like a large round room, with a ladder ascending to the streets above. The sound of cars overhead along with honking interrupts occasionally. A figure walks backwards into frame, the same woman as before. We can tell this woman is very largely built. The hair on her head is in a gray beehive that wobbles to the left and right with each step. She doesn’t turn to face the camera.
My son has been chosen to be in this Showcase because he is the one who can take the most pain. He is bred from hard working farm folk, who care about their God and pray to him. You’d call us pagans, or heathens, but OUR God is better. OUR God never failed to bring us good yields, and protect us from demons in the forests surrounding our home. OUR God never allowed beasts to come attack our livestock. We were protected by sacrifice and prayer. And Disdonn is a servant of him. He is a messenger, brought to this place to bring pain and punishment to the unrighteous lot of you. You all are shameful human beings. Neglecting your family on holidays. Not giving proper thanks for anything but your own vanity and self-centered idealism. You care not for tradition, or for your own good. You are not like Disdonn, a good boy with a strong back, though few for words.
She almost turns around, but then stops and continues to face away, raising her arms high. The frame of the woman is large, almost like a two-legged ox.
The showcase features the “best” of the “Honor” division, yet I see no honor among you thieves of righteousness. You lie, you cheat, you steal. You are philanderers and vagrants. You drink fine wine, dark beer, and eat store-bought expensive meats. Disdonn has learned to fend for himself from an early age. He is a hunter, a scavenger, and knows when animals are wounded and ready to kill. We taught him to fight, to endure pain and hardship. He can live anywhere. From forest to sewer to the frost-barren wastes, he knows no bounds. Disdonn has strength like two men, and speed of one half his size. He is a brute and a vicious brawler. He cannot be stopped when his mind is set on something. God pointed him to nCw to teach the lesson of pain to you all. And pain he shall bring. You shall endure Suffering of divine proportions. You will weep as your blood and sweat mix together in stinging embrace, and will bow before his might before you can no longer handle the pain and collapse into unconsciousness. Bring your disdain for my son. Bring your taunts that he is mentally ill, that he is unfit to wrestle. He will show you all, like he showed the last two men. There is no stopping the might of our God, and his righteous anger. Disdonn is coming, and the showcase will be his. Pain is his honor, and he will be dishing it out in Thanksgiving sized helpings on Sunday. Break Away, young darlings, your time is drawing to a close.
She laughs and it echoes off the walls. The camera cuts to static, and when it returns, Disdonn is in her place, staring at the camera with grim intensity.
Pain is my pleasure.
Show me the case.
And I shall close it.
Honor is not yours.
Only Pain.
Only DIShonor of defeat.
He walks past the camera, into the light and beyond. As the camera looks at him from behind, it is hard to dismiss how similar his build is to his mothers. Fade to black.
Everything floats down here,
From the good to the bad.
From the rats to the dead.
Here is where I would like to speak to the five forsaken souls.
Would you like to listen to me?
Or are you too much of an expert?
Or still a half-bad cop.
Suwee, here pig pig pig.
Gut you, cook you, make some bacon.
He makes a motion like he’s frying bacon in an imaginary skillet. A sick laugh comes out of his mouth and he beats the air with the imaginary skillet before continuing.
Clocks tick down, like the numbers.
Six to five to four to three.
Three to two to one.
I will be the last man standing.
I will be the winner in the end.
No Expert, Hammer, Freak, Jim Novak or Sexy Jason will get in my way.
Your too sexy for the match,
Too expert for your life.
Get a real job, buy a house.
Live behind picket fence with a lovely wife.
Give up, you don’t want pain.
I relish it.
I thrive on it.
I bleed it.
A rat scurries across the ground, and swims into the filthy water. Disdonn looks at it, and it turns to face him. He holds up the half-skeletal remains of a fellow rat, and the original one scurries faster through the water. He laughs, throwing the dead rat at the living rat, tormenting the tiny brain of the feeble animal in the decrepit and dank sewer.
Life feeds on life feeds on life,
Feeds on life.
What do you do, Bob Grenier?
Do you train mentally and physically?
Do you have a great body?
A sexy Jason body?
Blowing like a Wale,
Hard out the blowhole.
Thar she blows,
They call me Ishmael.
Moby Dick was a white whale.
Just like you, white and ready to be harpooned.
Do you like the idea?
Of an Atropine Overdose?
Or should I rather,
Tighten the Ties that Bind?
He turns, and begins to walk away. The camera fades out.
“November 24th, 2011: Disdonn has gone underground. I cannot follow his movements down there. I hear noises, screams of a woman but not quite. What is he doing, I don’t know. I truly wish I could help him release the demons which plague his disturbed mind. I still have not found a single trace of his past, though the investigators that were hired by nCw along with me. My charge is to keep him out of trouble the best I can, and they are to give me the information on him so that I can best treat him. Riley Griffiths isn’t trained for this kind of menace. I dealt with psychos before; I know what I’m doing. I didn’t write my dissertation on my analysis of Dahmer for nothing. It still worries me, the female screams. I wonder what he could be doing in the sewers, and to whom…or whom is doing to him.”
The camera re-opens to a dry spot in the sewer. A manhole shines light in tiny circles down into the area. It is like a large round room, with a ladder ascending to the streets above. The sound of cars overhead along with honking interrupts occasionally. A figure walks backwards into frame, the same woman as before. We can tell this woman is very largely built. The hair on her head is in a gray beehive that wobbles to the left and right with each step. She doesn’t turn to face the camera.
My son has been chosen to be in this Showcase because he is the one who can take the most pain. He is bred from hard working farm folk, who care about their God and pray to him. You’d call us pagans, or heathens, but OUR God is better. OUR God never failed to bring us good yields, and protect us from demons in the forests surrounding our home. OUR God never allowed beasts to come attack our livestock. We were protected by sacrifice and prayer. And Disdonn is a servant of him. He is a messenger, brought to this place to bring pain and punishment to the unrighteous lot of you. You all are shameful human beings. Neglecting your family on holidays. Not giving proper thanks for anything but your own vanity and self-centered idealism. You care not for tradition, or for your own good. You are not like Disdonn, a good boy with a strong back, though few for words.
She almost turns around, but then stops and continues to face away, raising her arms high. The frame of the woman is large, almost like a two-legged ox.
The showcase features the “best” of the “Honor” division, yet I see no honor among you thieves of righteousness. You lie, you cheat, you steal. You are philanderers and vagrants. You drink fine wine, dark beer, and eat store-bought expensive meats. Disdonn has learned to fend for himself from an early age. He is a hunter, a scavenger, and knows when animals are wounded and ready to kill. We taught him to fight, to endure pain and hardship. He can live anywhere. From forest to sewer to the frost-barren wastes, he knows no bounds. Disdonn has strength like two men, and speed of one half his size. He is a brute and a vicious brawler. He cannot be stopped when his mind is set on something. God pointed him to nCw to teach the lesson of pain to you all. And pain he shall bring. You shall endure Suffering of divine proportions. You will weep as your blood and sweat mix together in stinging embrace, and will bow before his might before you can no longer handle the pain and collapse into unconsciousness. Bring your disdain for my son. Bring your taunts that he is mentally ill, that he is unfit to wrestle. He will show you all, like he showed the last two men. There is no stopping the might of our God, and his righteous anger. Disdonn is coming, and the showcase will be his. Pain is his honor, and he will be dishing it out in Thanksgiving sized helpings on Sunday. Break Away, young darlings, your time is drawing to a close.
She laughs and it echoes off the walls. The camera cuts to static, and when it returns, Disdonn is in her place, staring at the camera with grim intensity.
Pain is my pleasure.
Show me the case.
And I shall close it.
Honor is not yours.
Only Pain.
Only DIShonor of defeat.
He walks past the camera, into the light and beyond. As the camera looks at him from behind, it is hard to dismiss how similar his build is to his mothers. Fade to black.
