Post by adm on May 10, 2008 20:12:35 GMT -6
“Frozen in the place I hide. Not afraid to paint my sky with some who say I've lost my mind.”
We hear the sound of water dripping from the ceiling as we take in our surroundings. We are back in the apartment complex in Dwayberry, and Prophet is lying on the floor, unconscious. We are in the same room where Prophet and his wife dreamt him as the Windigo beast killing her. The room is different, however, in that there is water dripping everywhere. Putrid, the water flows down the walls, and onto the floor. Prophet awakes only to find himself soaked to the bone, and in a place that’s taking on water. He wonders how he got here, trying to recall where he was only moments before. He comes from a padded room, back to the Hell that is Dwayberry. It’s been two weeks, but the memories flow back into the twisted skull of Prophet and he begins to break down even further. There is no sign of the murder that happened last time he was here. There is no sign of anyone being in this room for some time. However, Prophet knows the way out isn’t going to be as easy as it seems. He walks toward the door and opens it, looking carefully out into the hallway. In all directions Prophet sees faceless monsters that resemble tenants to the apartment.
“How the hell…” Prophet whispers to himself, “And what the hell are these things?”
The faceless beasts don’t seem to have eyes, ears or mouths. They do, however, have noses, and given that is one of their two senses it’s got to be really good. They can smell him, and Prophet knows it. He can feel the air around him growing heavy as the things begin hobbling down the hall toward him. He dives back into the apartment and shuts the door behind him. There’s nothing to barricade himself in with, so he decides he has to hide or find some kind of weapon. He moves to the bedroom, to find that there’s a hole in the far wall, leading to the next apartment. We hear the hands of the faceless men and women scraping the walls, searching for the door’s handle. Prophet doesn’t think, he just takes the path he’s been given and runs through the hole in the wall into the next apartment. This apartment, however, begins to close in upon him.
The walls become padded and laced liberally with barbed wire. The floor beneath him becomes cluttered with broken glass. And he watches as his regular clothes are replaced with the straight jacket he is wearing in the real world. The hole in the wall closes, and Prophet is left in here, alone, with no door or window. There is but a single bare light bulb swinging over his head. We hear the sound of a single fan roaring, recirculating the air Prophet is breathing. The air is heavy and putrid with the scent of sweat and coagulated blood. Prophet realizes that Dwayberry, the nightmare he has had off and on for months, has taken on a more “real” appearance to his surroundings. He’s trapped, within a padded room that has no means of escape or contact with people on the outside. His insanity has driven him here, and within this padded room it continues to spiral out of control. The monsters that were chasing him begin to melt out of the barbed-wire pads and into the small room, surrounding Prophet. He’s helpless, and surrounded by things with sharp nails to claw away at his flesh.
“This can’t possibly be happening.” Prophet mutters, knowing there’s no one to hear him even if he screamed. “And if it is…I’m ****ed.”
Surrounded, Prophet gets backed into the corner of the room. There are six of them, all closing in with hands outstretched. But instead of killing him, they wrap their arms around him, and thrust him through the wall much as they came in. And outside, they carry him down an unfamiliar hospital hallway as he struggles to get free. He struggles as the monsters turn into sinister looking doctors with syringes for eyes and a scalpel for a tongue. He screams, knowing that they intend to lock him further within his own mind. Locking him away so deep he will never return to the waking world again. And it is here, that Prophet returns to the real world, struggling against doctors and nurses as they cart him to an examination room.
“Let me the **** go you *** damned freaks!” Prophet screams, still seeing them as the monsters from before. But he can’t escape, no matter how big he is, there are more of them and he has no use of his arms. Even more, they have fitted him with a muzzle reminiscent of Hannibal Lechter. “Let me go!”
Prophet is thrown inside of the examination room with a single doctor. The room is padded, but there are two couches facing one another. The doctor has a pen and pad of paper, two things Prophet could use to kill him were he able to get out of his straight jacket. The doctor motions for Prophet to sit down. Hesitantly, he does.
“I hear you are quite the handful, Mr. Prophet,” the doctor begins. “You’ve tried to escape every time they tried to bring you to me before. But this time, they had more than enough men and more than enough sedatives remaining in your system for you to…”calmly”…come to visit.”
“What the **** do you want with me?” Prophet screams at the doctor.
“I want to help you, Mr. Prophet. I’ve seen the videos you’ve had recorded for that wrestling federation, NCW. And I’ve also seen the ones from NLCW and any other stray federation that could give me insight into your current condition. And to be honest, I’ve never seen something this severe before.”
“Well, I’m ****ed in the head. So what…when am I getting out?”
The doctor laughs, “You aren’t getting out until it’s time to drag you to the arena and the Pay Per View, Reborn.”
“F**k…”
“Yes, ****. You aren’t going anywhere, and you aren’t going to be cleared to leave until you have my approval. If you misbehave, if you attempt to escape or harm any of the doctors or nurses, you will be detained and you will be forfeiting your match.”
“And my title…” Prophet begrudgingly mutters.
“Yes, and your title. Quite a pretty thing, this title.” The doctor pulls Prophet’s Xtreme Championship out from behind him and lays it at Prophet’s feet. “I’ve seen what you did to earn it, it is impressive to see a man your size accomplish such feats of high-flying daredevilry. But you must understand, Mr. Prophet, there are many who fear even speak your name right now. You have caused quite the stir in NCW, and the management has called on me to bring your little problem under control.”
“So you plan to brainwash me not to maim and decimate people?”
“No, Mr. Prophet. We only seek to subdue those troublesome hallucinations and nightmares you have been having. It’s of much interest of me to know more about them, after seeing and dissecting the videotapes of the ones you’ve “logged”. There appears to be no editing that was done to the videotape, it was a straight recording, nothing toyed with. The statements some of the cameramen gave were interesting, as they followed you around the hotel room screaming and thrashing about. But I’ve been one to study phenomena like this outside the realm of psychiatric medicine. The power of a mind, especially one as troubled as yours, can be a very powerful thing. And I feel it is for the better of the whole world that we get to the bottom of your problem and stop it before the circle of influence of your hallucinations spread beyond just videotape.”
Prophet looks puzzled, trying to think of where he could have heard explanations about this matter before. But the only thing he can think of is stuff like hauntings and ghost sightings. What could this have to do with him and his nightmares?
“So you are saying…these things in my head…aren’t just in my head?”
“Well, kind of. At this point in time, the energy of emotion behind these nightmares and hallucinations is such that it is beginning to effect things outside of your mind, where they dwell. Things like videotape and photographs. I think you may have an idea about another recent incidence of this that was put to a stop by a Doctor Blair…however unfortunate that stop may have been.”
“Fate?” Prophet is curious to know what the hell this is all about. He wants to get rid of the nightmares and hallucinations, so he can finally get to taking out the men in NCW he’s got his sights on.
“Yes, your friend Fate. He’s been trying to keep it low key about his involvement in helping you right now, though. You could only imagine what some of his doctors would say if they knew what he was REALLY taking. But the success he’s had…it’s given me an idea. Now I can’t legally prescribe you the things he’s taking, but I can give you the next best thing. The same thing they’ve been giving you here, just a bit less distilled dosages.”
“So you’re talking about prescribing me…morphine for hallucinations?”
“Technically, yes. Seeing the effects of Fate’s drug use on his hallucinations is astounding. I’m all for legalizing of marijuana for cancer, but this could get a bit stickier to try and ask for legalized heroin. But doctors already have an opiate with much the same effects, just a bit more control. We could control and monitor your dose, as well as giving you interval checkups to make sure no major harmful side-effects begin to happen.”
“So…I’ll be free from Dwayberry? I’ll be free from all of the nightmares?”
“Yes, you will. But there is one catch. You must agree to cease your alcohol consumption. This isn’t us trying to impose anti-alcohol stimulus onto you, but you do realize that mixing of alcohol with medicines as potent as these could lead to serious health issues or death. We will not allow you to do any of what you did on your previous prescriptions. You will be monitored, and made sure you take every dose. No skipping doses to get drunk. No skipping doses to party.”
“So you are giving me an ultimatum? Booze for no hallucinations? You think I’d pass on this?”
“No, we didn’t think you would pass on anything we offered. We know you and your family are suffering greatly because of these nightmares and hallucinations, and you would go to any lengths to stamp them out.”
“Almost any lengths…” Prophet begins, “I’d never turn into Fate…I’d never put my family through that again.”
“Yes, word spread far and wide of what your drug use was when you were still in that band of yours. You quit a year before you began wrestling professionally, and have stayed clean of those illegal substances since.”
“Don’t make me out to be a saint, Doctor. Just get me ready to get the **** outta here. Get rid of my nightmares, and get me on my way to decimate JackHammer.”
The doctor’s face lights up with a twisted smile, and we fade to black. We return to Prophet back in the padded room. He is calmer, and more alert than he was the last time we saw him in this room. He is ready to get out of here, and ready to get to Reborn.
“I’ve been in this ****ing room for three damn days. And tomorrow, I get out.”
Prophet smiles and looks to his right. On the floor is the Xtreme title, the first time he’s actually had it near him since he got here. Prophet’s sick smile turns to a serious snarl as he speaks of the match, and everything leading to this point.
“You have no idea, JackHammer, what it meant for me to ditch you there. You have no idea what it took for me to abandon you. I THOUGHT you were going to follow suit just as quickly, but my assumptions were misplaced. I’m sorry I left you hanging, but you know as well as I do how much a ****in’ Hellhole that NLCW was. And now, you seek your “revenge”. Well, you won’t get that revenge, Hammer. You won’t take my title…my THRONE, from me. I’m going to get better. I’m going to get out of here and get to that ring with intent to harm. For the majority of my time here, I was between Dwayberry and killing a million clones of you. Three days, Hammer, alone, without anyone speaking to me. Hours alone, white padded walls closing in. And then there was the time they turned out the lights. Do you know what it’s like to sleep in a padded room? Do you know what it’s like to watch the faint outlines of walls turning into monsters ready to kill you? Do you know what it’s like to see that? I’ve had these nightmares and hallucinations for far too long. I’ve been driven mad by them, honestly. More mad and insane than I’ve ever been, and that says a lot. You are lucky, Hammer, that I respected you enough not to go too far. You are lucky, Hammer, that I didn’t do to you what I did to Scott Rix, or Jon Michaels, or JJ Biggs or any of the other hundred pricks I played games with. You are lucky I have been preoccupied with my own problems. You are lucky enough to have even gotten some wins over me, good for you. But a win isn’t a win until you do it when we are both at our best. You are home; you have an “advantage”. But I’m ****ing insane, so I have just as much a chance as you. We are on even playing field, finally, and it’s been such a long time since we last had this. Last time we were equals was the Asylum. Last time you lost, can you fix that mistake or will you fall again before “The Dark One”?”
Prophet’s cold eyes glimmer with malice and intent to harm. He bares his white teeth, letting out an animalistic growl. He stands up, and begins to thrash around in his straight jacket.
“I can’t get out of this jacket, Hammer. But when I do, you will have Hell to pay. I’m locked here, for another day until I am let loose on you and NCW once again. I’ve had time to think, Hammer. I’ve had time to watch from afar the things you’ve done, and time to contemplate what I’ll do. I’m done with the games, I’m done with the bull****, I just want to get my hands on you. I want to break you, Hammer. Not because I hate you, or you are my “enemy”. Call it bad luck, that you won the #1 contendership for MY title. You cannot expect and easy time trying to take me off my throne of bloodied bodies and broken bones. You can’t take me from my throne of barbed wire, tables, ladders, chairs, and thumbtacks. You can’t take me from this throne, not unless you have the power to put me out. Can you do it, Hammer? Can you beat me and prove you are more Xtreme than the TRUE GOD of Xtreme? Can you prove that you are the rightful man to assume the throne? Or will you fall, like those before you? The choice is yours, Hammer. And at Reborn…I am coming to take you out. And unfortunately for you, Hammer, there is only room for ONE atop this throne!”
Prophet cackles as we fade to black.
We hear the sound of water dripping from the ceiling as we take in our surroundings. We are back in the apartment complex in Dwayberry, and Prophet is lying on the floor, unconscious. We are in the same room where Prophet and his wife dreamt him as the Windigo beast killing her. The room is different, however, in that there is water dripping everywhere. Putrid, the water flows down the walls, and onto the floor. Prophet awakes only to find himself soaked to the bone, and in a place that’s taking on water. He wonders how he got here, trying to recall where he was only moments before. He comes from a padded room, back to the Hell that is Dwayberry. It’s been two weeks, but the memories flow back into the twisted skull of Prophet and he begins to break down even further. There is no sign of the murder that happened last time he was here. There is no sign of anyone being in this room for some time. However, Prophet knows the way out isn’t going to be as easy as it seems. He walks toward the door and opens it, looking carefully out into the hallway. In all directions Prophet sees faceless monsters that resemble tenants to the apartment.
“How the hell…” Prophet whispers to himself, “And what the hell are these things?”
The faceless beasts don’t seem to have eyes, ears or mouths. They do, however, have noses, and given that is one of their two senses it’s got to be really good. They can smell him, and Prophet knows it. He can feel the air around him growing heavy as the things begin hobbling down the hall toward him. He dives back into the apartment and shuts the door behind him. There’s nothing to barricade himself in with, so he decides he has to hide or find some kind of weapon. He moves to the bedroom, to find that there’s a hole in the far wall, leading to the next apartment. We hear the hands of the faceless men and women scraping the walls, searching for the door’s handle. Prophet doesn’t think, he just takes the path he’s been given and runs through the hole in the wall into the next apartment. This apartment, however, begins to close in upon him.
The walls become padded and laced liberally with barbed wire. The floor beneath him becomes cluttered with broken glass. And he watches as his regular clothes are replaced with the straight jacket he is wearing in the real world. The hole in the wall closes, and Prophet is left in here, alone, with no door or window. There is but a single bare light bulb swinging over his head. We hear the sound of a single fan roaring, recirculating the air Prophet is breathing. The air is heavy and putrid with the scent of sweat and coagulated blood. Prophet realizes that Dwayberry, the nightmare he has had off and on for months, has taken on a more “real” appearance to his surroundings. He’s trapped, within a padded room that has no means of escape or contact with people on the outside. His insanity has driven him here, and within this padded room it continues to spiral out of control. The monsters that were chasing him begin to melt out of the barbed-wire pads and into the small room, surrounding Prophet. He’s helpless, and surrounded by things with sharp nails to claw away at his flesh.
“This can’t possibly be happening.” Prophet mutters, knowing there’s no one to hear him even if he screamed. “And if it is…I’m ****ed.”
Surrounded, Prophet gets backed into the corner of the room. There are six of them, all closing in with hands outstretched. But instead of killing him, they wrap their arms around him, and thrust him through the wall much as they came in. And outside, they carry him down an unfamiliar hospital hallway as he struggles to get free. He struggles as the monsters turn into sinister looking doctors with syringes for eyes and a scalpel for a tongue. He screams, knowing that they intend to lock him further within his own mind. Locking him away so deep he will never return to the waking world again. And it is here, that Prophet returns to the real world, struggling against doctors and nurses as they cart him to an examination room.
“Let me the **** go you *** damned freaks!” Prophet screams, still seeing them as the monsters from before. But he can’t escape, no matter how big he is, there are more of them and he has no use of his arms. Even more, they have fitted him with a muzzle reminiscent of Hannibal Lechter. “Let me go!”
Prophet is thrown inside of the examination room with a single doctor. The room is padded, but there are two couches facing one another. The doctor has a pen and pad of paper, two things Prophet could use to kill him were he able to get out of his straight jacket. The doctor motions for Prophet to sit down. Hesitantly, he does.
“I hear you are quite the handful, Mr. Prophet,” the doctor begins. “You’ve tried to escape every time they tried to bring you to me before. But this time, they had more than enough men and more than enough sedatives remaining in your system for you to…”calmly”…come to visit.”
“What the **** do you want with me?” Prophet screams at the doctor.
“I want to help you, Mr. Prophet. I’ve seen the videos you’ve had recorded for that wrestling federation, NCW. And I’ve also seen the ones from NLCW and any other stray federation that could give me insight into your current condition. And to be honest, I’ve never seen something this severe before.”
“Well, I’m ****ed in the head. So what…when am I getting out?”
The doctor laughs, “You aren’t getting out until it’s time to drag you to the arena and the Pay Per View, Reborn.”
“F**k…”
“Yes, ****. You aren’t going anywhere, and you aren’t going to be cleared to leave until you have my approval. If you misbehave, if you attempt to escape or harm any of the doctors or nurses, you will be detained and you will be forfeiting your match.”
“And my title…” Prophet begrudgingly mutters.
“Yes, and your title. Quite a pretty thing, this title.” The doctor pulls Prophet’s Xtreme Championship out from behind him and lays it at Prophet’s feet. “I’ve seen what you did to earn it, it is impressive to see a man your size accomplish such feats of high-flying daredevilry. But you must understand, Mr. Prophet, there are many who fear even speak your name right now. You have caused quite the stir in NCW, and the management has called on me to bring your little problem under control.”
“So you plan to brainwash me not to maim and decimate people?”
“No, Mr. Prophet. We only seek to subdue those troublesome hallucinations and nightmares you have been having. It’s of much interest of me to know more about them, after seeing and dissecting the videotapes of the ones you’ve “logged”. There appears to be no editing that was done to the videotape, it was a straight recording, nothing toyed with. The statements some of the cameramen gave were interesting, as they followed you around the hotel room screaming and thrashing about. But I’ve been one to study phenomena like this outside the realm of psychiatric medicine. The power of a mind, especially one as troubled as yours, can be a very powerful thing. And I feel it is for the better of the whole world that we get to the bottom of your problem and stop it before the circle of influence of your hallucinations spread beyond just videotape.”
Prophet looks puzzled, trying to think of where he could have heard explanations about this matter before. But the only thing he can think of is stuff like hauntings and ghost sightings. What could this have to do with him and his nightmares?
“So you are saying…these things in my head…aren’t just in my head?”
“Well, kind of. At this point in time, the energy of emotion behind these nightmares and hallucinations is such that it is beginning to effect things outside of your mind, where they dwell. Things like videotape and photographs. I think you may have an idea about another recent incidence of this that was put to a stop by a Doctor Blair…however unfortunate that stop may have been.”
“Fate?” Prophet is curious to know what the hell this is all about. He wants to get rid of the nightmares and hallucinations, so he can finally get to taking out the men in NCW he’s got his sights on.
“Yes, your friend Fate. He’s been trying to keep it low key about his involvement in helping you right now, though. You could only imagine what some of his doctors would say if they knew what he was REALLY taking. But the success he’s had…it’s given me an idea. Now I can’t legally prescribe you the things he’s taking, but I can give you the next best thing. The same thing they’ve been giving you here, just a bit less distilled dosages.”
“So you’re talking about prescribing me…morphine for hallucinations?”
“Technically, yes. Seeing the effects of Fate’s drug use on his hallucinations is astounding. I’m all for legalizing of marijuana for cancer, but this could get a bit stickier to try and ask for legalized heroin. But doctors already have an opiate with much the same effects, just a bit more control. We could control and monitor your dose, as well as giving you interval checkups to make sure no major harmful side-effects begin to happen.”
“So…I’ll be free from Dwayberry? I’ll be free from all of the nightmares?”
“Yes, you will. But there is one catch. You must agree to cease your alcohol consumption. This isn’t us trying to impose anti-alcohol stimulus onto you, but you do realize that mixing of alcohol with medicines as potent as these could lead to serious health issues or death. We will not allow you to do any of what you did on your previous prescriptions. You will be monitored, and made sure you take every dose. No skipping doses to get drunk. No skipping doses to party.”
“So you are giving me an ultimatum? Booze for no hallucinations? You think I’d pass on this?”
“No, we didn’t think you would pass on anything we offered. We know you and your family are suffering greatly because of these nightmares and hallucinations, and you would go to any lengths to stamp them out.”
“Almost any lengths…” Prophet begins, “I’d never turn into Fate…I’d never put my family through that again.”
“Yes, word spread far and wide of what your drug use was when you were still in that band of yours. You quit a year before you began wrestling professionally, and have stayed clean of those illegal substances since.”
“Don’t make me out to be a saint, Doctor. Just get me ready to get the **** outta here. Get rid of my nightmares, and get me on my way to decimate JackHammer.”
The doctor’s face lights up with a twisted smile, and we fade to black. We return to Prophet back in the padded room. He is calmer, and more alert than he was the last time we saw him in this room. He is ready to get out of here, and ready to get to Reborn.
“I’ve been in this ****ing room for three damn days. And tomorrow, I get out.”
Prophet smiles and looks to his right. On the floor is the Xtreme title, the first time he’s actually had it near him since he got here. Prophet’s sick smile turns to a serious snarl as he speaks of the match, and everything leading to this point.
“You have no idea, JackHammer, what it meant for me to ditch you there. You have no idea what it took for me to abandon you. I THOUGHT you were going to follow suit just as quickly, but my assumptions were misplaced. I’m sorry I left you hanging, but you know as well as I do how much a ****in’ Hellhole that NLCW was. And now, you seek your “revenge”. Well, you won’t get that revenge, Hammer. You won’t take my title…my THRONE, from me. I’m going to get better. I’m going to get out of here and get to that ring with intent to harm. For the majority of my time here, I was between Dwayberry and killing a million clones of you. Three days, Hammer, alone, without anyone speaking to me. Hours alone, white padded walls closing in. And then there was the time they turned out the lights. Do you know what it’s like to sleep in a padded room? Do you know what it’s like to watch the faint outlines of walls turning into monsters ready to kill you? Do you know what it’s like to see that? I’ve had these nightmares and hallucinations for far too long. I’ve been driven mad by them, honestly. More mad and insane than I’ve ever been, and that says a lot. You are lucky, Hammer, that I respected you enough not to go too far. You are lucky, Hammer, that I didn’t do to you what I did to Scott Rix, or Jon Michaels, or JJ Biggs or any of the other hundred pricks I played games with. You are lucky I have been preoccupied with my own problems. You are lucky enough to have even gotten some wins over me, good for you. But a win isn’t a win until you do it when we are both at our best. You are home; you have an “advantage”. But I’m ****ing insane, so I have just as much a chance as you. We are on even playing field, finally, and it’s been such a long time since we last had this. Last time we were equals was the Asylum. Last time you lost, can you fix that mistake or will you fall again before “The Dark One”?”
Prophet’s cold eyes glimmer with malice and intent to harm. He bares his white teeth, letting out an animalistic growl. He stands up, and begins to thrash around in his straight jacket.
“I can’t get out of this jacket, Hammer. But when I do, you will have Hell to pay. I’m locked here, for another day until I am let loose on you and NCW once again. I’ve had time to think, Hammer. I’ve had time to watch from afar the things you’ve done, and time to contemplate what I’ll do. I’m done with the games, I’m done with the bull****, I just want to get my hands on you. I want to break you, Hammer. Not because I hate you, or you are my “enemy”. Call it bad luck, that you won the #1 contendership for MY title. You cannot expect and easy time trying to take me off my throne of bloodied bodies and broken bones. You can’t take me from my throne of barbed wire, tables, ladders, chairs, and thumbtacks. You can’t take me from this throne, not unless you have the power to put me out. Can you do it, Hammer? Can you beat me and prove you are more Xtreme than the TRUE GOD of Xtreme? Can you prove that you are the rightful man to assume the throne? Or will you fall, like those before you? The choice is yours, Hammer. And at Reborn…I am coming to take you out. And unfortunately for you, Hammer, there is only room for ONE atop this throne!”
Prophet cackles as we fade to black.