Post by adm on Apr 5, 2008 21:08:26 GMT -6
“Insanity’s requiem for a dream of incoming horror. You can never save her, you know. She’ll die, and it will be all your fault, Dark Prophet. Nothing, will save her, from you.”
Prophet can’t sleep; pacing about his hotel room fully dressed. It is the middle of the night, and he can’t get to sleep. He’s tried everything. He’s gone through every last option except this one. The one that cannot be spoken of. The one, Fate has offered to him many times up to today. Prophet hasn’t been doing anything other than the same drugs he was prescribed, and Fate just happened to have prescriptions to tide him over for the time being. But Fate, he’s something else entirely. His kit includes more than just prescription drugs. His kit relies upon everything legal and illegal to dull the internal pain he feels every day. And yet again, Prophet wonders why he even asked him to help.
“I don’t know why I even bother anymore. He’s out, getting his fix so that the cameras won’t see. And when he comes back, I’ll have to hide his revolver lest he attempt to end himself yet again. The only man who can give me the things I need to keep from plunging into eternal darkness, is a ****ing suicidal junkie.”
Prophet knows what he has gotten into. Fate is more ****ed up that a three-legged dog chasing a dead cat. Fate is unbound by the laws Prophet must abide by. Not because he is immune to the law, but because he doesn’t care. Of all the times he’s been arrested for possession, use of drugs, they’ve let him off. Mostly, because he doesn’t sell. And mostly, because he wouldn’t think twice to rat out the guy who dealt the **** to him. And now, he paces in his room, awaiting Fate’s return through that door. When he comes in, Prophet knows what will happen. The same thing that happens every night.
“I can’t stop the world from burning his eyes out of his skull. His brain is melting behind the veil of addiction. And he’s just as helpless to stop his insanity as I am. Together, we are strong enough to survive, that is all. Without me, he probably would have finally offed himself. Without him, I’d have plunged so deep into that nightmare known as Dwayberry I’d never return. How I would love to be rid of this symbiotic relationship. How I would love to be able to say “It is over, it was just a dream” like I used to. But there isn’t any way to stop the rain. And the rain, is what is slowly washing me away. And were I not here, he’d be even worse off than I would alone. He’s so far down the path, he cannot escape. The spiral he is on, it calls to me as well. And though I fight, I often wonder how much longer until it wins and I begin to go down like him.”
Prophet stops, as he hears the sluggish heavy walk of his “manager”. He shakes his head before he opens the dresser, pulling out the revolver from Fate’s things. He doesn’t see the bullet so he opens the cylinder, and it is there, calling to him or Fate this night.
“Knock, Knock!” Fate mumbles in a stupor as he opens the door. Prophet hides the gun.
“Hello, Fate. I trust you are in a better mood now.” Prophet attempts to force a smile.
“Yes, I feel so much better. He stopped yelling at me, Prophet. He stopped screaming at me.” Fate’s words are as sad as the situation Prophet is in.
“Angelo…Della…Muerte…” Prophet is very slow as he whispers that name. He does so to make sure Fate can’t hear him, for fear he’d turn on his mentor and charge.
“What did you say? I couldn’t make that out.” Fate replies.
“Um…So how long do you figure before the big come down?”
Fate glares at Prophet, sobering up for a moment, before going back into his relaxed state of being. Prophet moves gingerly as Fate approaches him, making sure the gun is hidden behind his back.
“So, you think I’m going to flip out on you again, Darky? You think I’m gonna use my gun on you? You should know better, man. That bullet has a name on it, and it’s mine. But Angelo…he won’t ****ing let me die.”
Prophet tucks the gun down his pants, freeing up his hands to grab a hold of Fate, who falls to the ground in tears.
“Seven long years, and the pain has only grown. Why did he take her from me, Prophet? Why did he take my one true love from my arms?” Fate’s eyes pour the tears of anguish he harbors inside. No matter how dark and depressing Prophet can be, there is always one man who is darker.
“I don’t know, Fate. But I’m here to help you. I just wish I could have done something to protect Susan from Skorp.”
Fate gets up and pushes Prophet against the dresser; “DON’T YOU F**KING SAY HIS NAME!” Fate’s eyes are ablaze, “DON’T YOU DO IT TO ME! DON’T YOU MAKE ME REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Prophet, afraid of a man smaller than him, only because he has seen what power Fate can have if he is in a dark enough place within himself. Were Angelo Della Muerte to become the dominant personality of Fate, Prophet would have to worry about more than just himself, or NCW. If Angelo were to become dominant again, the whole world would become exactly like the nightmares and Hallucinations both Prophet and Fate have seen.
“I swear, I should have done it. I should have ****ing done it. I should have burned that ****er on that cross I nailed him to. I should have killed him.”
Prophet goes silent. He knows exactly what is coming. And this is why he tries to keep Fate locked within his locker room while he’s at a show. Fate is about to break, and become psychotic and suicidal once again. Every day he does it, and something tells Prophet that his student actually enjoys it.
“Maybe you should go take a cold shower, Fate. Cool off and get your head straight a little.” Prophet motions to the bathroom.
Fate’s head shakes away the webs of despair mixed with rage, “You’re right. I should go take a cold shower. You probably have to get to talking about your match.”
Prophet smirks, as he watches Fate walk toward the bathroom. As soon as Fate is inside, he picks up the dresser and moves it in front of the door.
“And that should be enough insurance for the time being.” Prophet says to himself. “And now…to A Night to Remember. Falcon is surprised it took me so long to acknowledge his existence. He should actually be relieved, because it means he’s not the man I want to turn into a corpse. He may be the third wheel between the three of us in this match, but he isn’t to be underestimated. I know this; I’ve always known this. But Falcon, you have gotten in over your head. You are lucky I’ve not been trying to sleep yet tonight. Were I fresh off of another batch of nightmares I’d probably be more along the lines of what Fate is about to do. This match will be hell on all involved. This match will destroy lesser men before the match even happens. But we, are real men. Sexy Jason, Falcon, and I; we are not as weak as you’d assume. Just because a man resorts to weapons means nothing about his strength. Weapons do more damage than a man’s body alone. My fists and wrestling moves could never do the same damage as a steel chair to the skull. My nails could never do the damage of a spool of barbed wire. And tomorrow night, will truly be a Night to Remember.”
Prophet looks at the door, before pulling the revolver from his pants. He opens the cylinder and pulls out the single bullet. He is tempted to throw it out the window, or even swallow it. Prophet’s mind isn’t clear, but it is clear enough to know the danger this gun poses to Fate. And should Angelo take over Fate’s body, Prophet as well.
“This gun, and this bullet; they are more than just cold steel to my friend. They are symbols of the life he’s been wishing to live for so long. The life he’s been denied with his dead fiancée. When he OD’d before the Goldrush match last year in MECCA, he called me from the hospital crying. He wasn’t this bad before that. When he died, for those minutes he was dead, he was given a second chance with her. He hates God for being revived. He hates his therapist and doctor for having them revive him. He hates anyone involved in that night. The pain was beginning to finally subside from that devastating blow he took so many years ago. On that night in September, she was taken from him a second time. I couldn’t imagine what he goes through because of that. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself were anything to happen to Julietta and the children.”
Prophet’s cold eyes begin to well up with tears as he throws the empty gun to the floor. He puts the bullet in his front pocket. Too afraid to throw it, and too afraid to swallow it; Prophet has put himself and Fate at risk with one small action.
“He’s not that bad a guy, really. He’s got problems. My problems are the nightmares and hallucinations. Jason’s problems are STD’s and baby mama’s crying for Child Support. Falcon’s problems are being ignored, and underestimated. And Fate…He’s a junky with good reason. Much like Layne Staley after the love of his life died, there is no turning back for him. He isn’t even alive anymore, no matter how many titles he wins or how many years more he lives. He’s dead, long before his body is placed in a grave. He was only eighteen when the last person left to keep him here died. It was because of this, that I took him under my wing. I saw more of myself in him than you could ever know. I’ve had many scares before where Julietta could have died, should have died. And to me, he is like the younger brother I never had.” Prophet sighs, relieved to have finally gotten that out. “It is not often that I go beyond my typical self like this. But it has been happening more and more lately. Perhaps I figure this is my last chance to tell my story before something terrible happens. A chronicle of the last days of Dark Prophet. Unfiltered as much as I am allowed. Six years I’ve been in this business. And five years I’ve known Fate. I fear his dark side…my dark side. I fear the things they’ve called me all these years, a Psychopath, a nutcase, a serial killer waiting to happen. I feel like a madman locked in a padded room without escape. Only in that ring, am I allowed out to see the sun. I have visitors, but for most of the time, they just let me rot inside that cell. And as tomorrow approaches, I know exactly what I must do.”
The door to the bathroom begins to shake as Fate realizes he’s been locked inside. He screams, kicking at the door. Prophet moves the dresser to let him out before he decimates the door. Fate is wet from his shower, and it appears he didn’t take off his clothes when he took it.
“Why did you lock me in there?” Fate is upset, but not as crazy he could be.
“I needed to make sure I had enough time to say what I needed to say. I didn’t know if you’d take a long shower or a short one.”
“Oh,” Fate’s face begins to turn red, “I’m sorry I overreacted man. But…I can hear him scratching at my eyeballs. I feel him, digging into me. He’s trying to escape.”
“He won’t escape, Fate.”
Fate looks and sees the revolver on the floor. He picks it up, and puts it to his head.
“Of course, he won’t.” Fate begins to laugh as he pulls back the hammer and fires the gun. It clicks, because the only bullet is still in Prophet’s pocket.
“You ok?” Prophet asks.
Fate falls to his knees, pulling back the hammer again, “No, I’ll be fine in a second though. Just…give it some time.”
Prophet stands back as he watches Fate continue to pull back the hammer and pull the trigger. He becomes more and more frustrated with every failed attempt. His eyes well up with tears as his face contorts into the picture of frustrated despair. He pulls the trigger for the fifth time, and it clicks again. He smiles, he knows in his head there’s only one option left. Before Prophet can even say anything, he’s fired the gun a sixth time. Prophet backs up a little, as he knows Fate is about to explode. Fate frantically begins firing the gun over and over and over again. He begins to realize; he’s been duped.
“WHAT THE F**K MAN! WHERE IS THE BULLET I LEFT IN THIS GUN!”
“I don’t know where it went, Fate. I swear.” Prophet cleverly put the bullet in the same pocket as his wallet, so Fate can’t tell it’s there.
“F**k…” Fate falls to the floor in a heap. “Did I leave the bullets in the last hotel? I mean, we take a bus…but…I thought I packed everything.”
“Well, better luck next time?” Prophet coldly says. He knows he’s halted his “manager” for a little while. Fate doesn’t have the kind of record that would let him buy bullets anywhere in the United States. And Prophet’s record isn’t that clean either.
“So…I’m ****ed, aint I? He’s gonna win.”
“No, Fate, he’s not going to win. You can still beat Angelo. You’ve done it before, you’ll do it again.”
“I will never beat him. And even if the gun were loaded, it wouldn’t have fired anyway. You know. You’ve seen it!”
Prophet stands there, unable to speak. Yes, he’s seen it before. He’s seen it many times. Fate firing a gun with as many as six bullets in it and by some act of God it doesn’t go off. He is cursed by his alternate personality that takes entertainment and joy from his despair and pain. And Prophet knows, no matter if he took the bullet or not, that Fate would have survived. He’s seen Angelo do things most wouldn’t believe unless they witnessed with their own eyes. He’s made whole groups of people see hallucinations like he has seen in recent months. And that is why Prophet can’t throw him out, no matter how insane Fate is. He’s afraid, that if he were on his own, Angelo would escape.
“He won’t escape, Fate. He won’t do anything to hurt anyone in the real world again. His nightmare world will stay just that, a nightmare. He won’t get out.”
“But…I don’t have anyone to help anymore. There isn’t a ****ing doctor in this world who’d help me after what happened to Dr. Blair.”
“Fate, man; I’m here. And I’ve always been here. We’ll find you help again, someone will have not heard about that and offer to take your case. No matter how much insanity you have, they’ve got someone with experience. Some of these guys talk to serial killers, so they know enough.”
“And if Angelo does come back…” Fate trails off. He’s tired, expended his energy from days of not sleeping. He falls asleep where he lies, on the floor.
“Thank god…he’ll be out for a couple days now.” Prophet says as he brings a spare blanket to Fate. “Sleep, Fate. And dream only of the good times with Cecilia.”
Prophet looks at the camera. He pulls the bullet out of his pocket and just stares at it.
“I could end this all right now. I could take my own life. But I would never do that to Julietta and the kids. That is what separates me from Fate. He has nothing to hold him back but me and Angelo’s wicked hand. And because of what I have, what I know I have…I will be the animal I always am when I get into that ring. I will become the Windigo again. I will prove to you all why I am the TRUE GOD OF XTREME!”
Prophet shrugs, before he swallows the bullet. He smirks at the camera as we fade to black.
Prophet can’t sleep; pacing about his hotel room fully dressed. It is the middle of the night, and he can’t get to sleep. He’s tried everything. He’s gone through every last option except this one. The one that cannot be spoken of. The one, Fate has offered to him many times up to today. Prophet hasn’t been doing anything other than the same drugs he was prescribed, and Fate just happened to have prescriptions to tide him over for the time being. But Fate, he’s something else entirely. His kit includes more than just prescription drugs. His kit relies upon everything legal and illegal to dull the internal pain he feels every day. And yet again, Prophet wonders why he even asked him to help.
“I don’t know why I even bother anymore. He’s out, getting his fix so that the cameras won’t see. And when he comes back, I’ll have to hide his revolver lest he attempt to end himself yet again. The only man who can give me the things I need to keep from plunging into eternal darkness, is a ****ing suicidal junkie.”
Prophet knows what he has gotten into. Fate is more ****ed up that a three-legged dog chasing a dead cat. Fate is unbound by the laws Prophet must abide by. Not because he is immune to the law, but because he doesn’t care. Of all the times he’s been arrested for possession, use of drugs, they’ve let him off. Mostly, because he doesn’t sell. And mostly, because he wouldn’t think twice to rat out the guy who dealt the **** to him. And now, he paces in his room, awaiting Fate’s return through that door. When he comes in, Prophet knows what will happen. The same thing that happens every night.
“I can’t stop the world from burning his eyes out of his skull. His brain is melting behind the veil of addiction. And he’s just as helpless to stop his insanity as I am. Together, we are strong enough to survive, that is all. Without me, he probably would have finally offed himself. Without him, I’d have plunged so deep into that nightmare known as Dwayberry I’d never return. How I would love to be rid of this symbiotic relationship. How I would love to be able to say “It is over, it was just a dream” like I used to. But there isn’t any way to stop the rain. And the rain, is what is slowly washing me away. And were I not here, he’d be even worse off than I would alone. He’s so far down the path, he cannot escape. The spiral he is on, it calls to me as well. And though I fight, I often wonder how much longer until it wins and I begin to go down like him.”
Prophet stops, as he hears the sluggish heavy walk of his “manager”. He shakes his head before he opens the dresser, pulling out the revolver from Fate’s things. He doesn’t see the bullet so he opens the cylinder, and it is there, calling to him or Fate this night.
“Knock, Knock!” Fate mumbles in a stupor as he opens the door. Prophet hides the gun.
“Hello, Fate. I trust you are in a better mood now.” Prophet attempts to force a smile.
“Yes, I feel so much better. He stopped yelling at me, Prophet. He stopped screaming at me.” Fate’s words are as sad as the situation Prophet is in.
“Angelo…Della…Muerte…” Prophet is very slow as he whispers that name. He does so to make sure Fate can’t hear him, for fear he’d turn on his mentor and charge.
“What did you say? I couldn’t make that out.” Fate replies.
“Um…So how long do you figure before the big come down?”
Fate glares at Prophet, sobering up for a moment, before going back into his relaxed state of being. Prophet moves gingerly as Fate approaches him, making sure the gun is hidden behind his back.
“So, you think I’m going to flip out on you again, Darky? You think I’m gonna use my gun on you? You should know better, man. That bullet has a name on it, and it’s mine. But Angelo…he won’t ****ing let me die.”
Prophet tucks the gun down his pants, freeing up his hands to grab a hold of Fate, who falls to the ground in tears.
“Seven long years, and the pain has only grown. Why did he take her from me, Prophet? Why did he take my one true love from my arms?” Fate’s eyes pour the tears of anguish he harbors inside. No matter how dark and depressing Prophet can be, there is always one man who is darker.
“I don’t know, Fate. But I’m here to help you. I just wish I could have done something to protect Susan from Skorp.”
Fate gets up and pushes Prophet against the dresser; “DON’T YOU F**KING SAY HIS NAME!” Fate’s eyes are ablaze, “DON’T YOU DO IT TO ME! DON’T YOU MAKE ME REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED!”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Prophet, afraid of a man smaller than him, only because he has seen what power Fate can have if he is in a dark enough place within himself. Were Angelo Della Muerte to become the dominant personality of Fate, Prophet would have to worry about more than just himself, or NCW. If Angelo were to become dominant again, the whole world would become exactly like the nightmares and Hallucinations both Prophet and Fate have seen.
“I swear, I should have done it. I should have ****ing done it. I should have burned that ****er on that cross I nailed him to. I should have killed him.”
Prophet goes silent. He knows exactly what is coming. And this is why he tries to keep Fate locked within his locker room while he’s at a show. Fate is about to break, and become psychotic and suicidal once again. Every day he does it, and something tells Prophet that his student actually enjoys it.
“Maybe you should go take a cold shower, Fate. Cool off and get your head straight a little.” Prophet motions to the bathroom.
Fate’s head shakes away the webs of despair mixed with rage, “You’re right. I should go take a cold shower. You probably have to get to talking about your match.”
Prophet smirks, as he watches Fate walk toward the bathroom. As soon as Fate is inside, he picks up the dresser and moves it in front of the door.
“And that should be enough insurance for the time being.” Prophet says to himself. “And now…to A Night to Remember. Falcon is surprised it took me so long to acknowledge his existence. He should actually be relieved, because it means he’s not the man I want to turn into a corpse. He may be the third wheel between the three of us in this match, but he isn’t to be underestimated. I know this; I’ve always known this. But Falcon, you have gotten in over your head. You are lucky I’ve not been trying to sleep yet tonight. Were I fresh off of another batch of nightmares I’d probably be more along the lines of what Fate is about to do. This match will be hell on all involved. This match will destroy lesser men before the match even happens. But we, are real men. Sexy Jason, Falcon, and I; we are not as weak as you’d assume. Just because a man resorts to weapons means nothing about his strength. Weapons do more damage than a man’s body alone. My fists and wrestling moves could never do the same damage as a steel chair to the skull. My nails could never do the damage of a spool of barbed wire. And tomorrow night, will truly be a Night to Remember.”
Prophet looks at the door, before pulling the revolver from his pants. He opens the cylinder and pulls out the single bullet. He is tempted to throw it out the window, or even swallow it. Prophet’s mind isn’t clear, but it is clear enough to know the danger this gun poses to Fate. And should Angelo take over Fate’s body, Prophet as well.
“This gun, and this bullet; they are more than just cold steel to my friend. They are symbols of the life he’s been wishing to live for so long. The life he’s been denied with his dead fiancée. When he OD’d before the Goldrush match last year in MECCA, he called me from the hospital crying. He wasn’t this bad before that. When he died, for those minutes he was dead, he was given a second chance with her. He hates God for being revived. He hates his therapist and doctor for having them revive him. He hates anyone involved in that night. The pain was beginning to finally subside from that devastating blow he took so many years ago. On that night in September, she was taken from him a second time. I couldn’t imagine what he goes through because of that. I don’t think I’d be able to live with myself were anything to happen to Julietta and the children.”
Prophet’s cold eyes begin to well up with tears as he throws the empty gun to the floor. He puts the bullet in his front pocket. Too afraid to throw it, and too afraid to swallow it; Prophet has put himself and Fate at risk with one small action.
“He’s not that bad a guy, really. He’s got problems. My problems are the nightmares and hallucinations. Jason’s problems are STD’s and baby mama’s crying for Child Support. Falcon’s problems are being ignored, and underestimated. And Fate…He’s a junky with good reason. Much like Layne Staley after the love of his life died, there is no turning back for him. He isn’t even alive anymore, no matter how many titles he wins or how many years more he lives. He’s dead, long before his body is placed in a grave. He was only eighteen when the last person left to keep him here died. It was because of this, that I took him under my wing. I saw more of myself in him than you could ever know. I’ve had many scares before where Julietta could have died, should have died. And to me, he is like the younger brother I never had.” Prophet sighs, relieved to have finally gotten that out. “It is not often that I go beyond my typical self like this. But it has been happening more and more lately. Perhaps I figure this is my last chance to tell my story before something terrible happens. A chronicle of the last days of Dark Prophet. Unfiltered as much as I am allowed. Six years I’ve been in this business. And five years I’ve known Fate. I fear his dark side…my dark side. I fear the things they’ve called me all these years, a Psychopath, a nutcase, a serial killer waiting to happen. I feel like a madman locked in a padded room without escape. Only in that ring, am I allowed out to see the sun. I have visitors, but for most of the time, they just let me rot inside that cell. And as tomorrow approaches, I know exactly what I must do.”
The door to the bathroom begins to shake as Fate realizes he’s been locked inside. He screams, kicking at the door. Prophet moves the dresser to let him out before he decimates the door. Fate is wet from his shower, and it appears he didn’t take off his clothes when he took it.
“Why did you lock me in there?” Fate is upset, but not as crazy he could be.
“I needed to make sure I had enough time to say what I needed to say. I didn’t know if you’d take a long shower or a short one.”
“Oh,” Fate’s face begins to turn red, “I’m sorry I overreacted man. But…I can hear him scratching at my eyeballs. I feel him, digging into me. He’s trying to escape.”
“He won’t escape, Fate.”
Fate looks and sees the revolver on the floor. He picks it up, and puts it to his head.
“Of course, he won’t.” Fate begins to laugh as he pulls back the hammer and fires the gun. It clicks, because the only bullet is still in Prophet’s pocket.
“You ok?” Prophet asks.
Fate falls to his knees, pulling back the hammer again, “No, I’ll be fine in a second though. Just…give it some time.”
Prophet stands back as he watches Fate continue to pull back the hammer and pull the trigger. He becomes more and more frustrated with every failed attempt. His eyes well up with tears as his face contorts into the picture of frustrated despair. He pulls the trigger for the fifth time, and it clicks again. He smiles, he knows in his head there’s only one option left. Before Prophet can even say anything, he’s fired the gun a sixth time. Prophet backs up a little, as he knows Fate is about to explode. Fate frantically begins firing the gun over and over and over again. He begins to realize; he’s been duped.
“WHAT THE F**K MAN! WHERE IS THE BULLET I LEFT IN THIS GUN!”
“I don’t know where it went, Fate. I swear.” Prophet cleverly put the bullet in the same pocket as his wallet, so Fate can’t tell it’s there.
“F**k…” Fate falls to the floor in a heap. “Did I leave the bullets in the last hotel? I mean, we take a bus…but…I thought I packed everything.”
“Well, better luck next time?” Prophet coldly says. He knows he’s halted his “manager” for a little while. Fate doesn’t have the kind of record that would let him buy bullets anywhere in the United States. And Prophet’s record isn’t that clean either.
“So…I’m ****ed, aint I? He’s gonna win.”
“No, Fate, he’s not going to win. You can still beat Angelo. You’ve done it before, you’ll do it again.”
“I will never beat him. And even if the gun were loaded, it wouldn’t have fired anyway. You know. You’ve seen it!”
Prophet stands there, unable to speak. Yes, he’s seen it before. He’s seen it many times. Fate firing a gun with as many as six bullets in it and by some act of God it doesn’t go off. He is cursed by his alternate personality that takes entertainment and joy from his despair and pain. And Prophet knows, no matter if he took the bullet or not, that Fate would have survived. He’s seen Angelo do things most wouldn’t believe unless they witnessed with their own eyes. He’s made whole groups of people see hallucinations like he has seen in recent months. And that is why Prophet can’t throw him out, no matter how insane Fate is. He’s afraid, that if he were on his own, Angelo would escape.
“He won’t escape, Fate. He won’t do anything to hurt anyone in the real world again. His nightmare world will stay just that, a nightmare. He won’t get out.”
“But…I don’t have anyone to help anymore. There isn’t a ****ing doctor in this world who’d help me after what happened to Dr. Blair.”
“Fate, man; I’m here. And I’ve always been here. We’ll find you help again, someone will have not heard about that and offer to take your case. No matter how much insanity you have, they’ve got someone with experience. Some of these guys talk to serial killers, so they know enough.”
“And if Angelo does come back…” Fate trails off. He’s tired, expended his energy from days of not sleeping. He falls asleep where he lies, on the floor.
“Thank god…he’ll be out for a couple days now.” Prophet says as he brings a spare blanket to Fate. “Sleep, Fate. And dream only of the good times with Cecilia.”
Prophet looks at the camera. He pulls the bullet out of his pocket and just stares at it.
“I could end this all right now. I could take my own life. But I would never do that to Julietta and the kids. That is what separates me from Fate. He has nothing to hold him back but me and Angelo’s wicked hand. And because of what I have, what I know I have…I will be the animal I always am when I get into that ring. I will become the Windigo again. I will prove to you all why I am the TRUE GOD OF XTREME!”
Prophet shrugs, before he swallows the bullet. He smirks at the camera as we fade to black.