Post by adm on Jul 15, 2008 19:56:22 GMT -6
“Laugh at those who have mocked you. Swear at those who have praised you. Destroy those who have loved you. And always save the things that break you. Words are but tools we are given to express feelings, thoughts, and opinions. Emotion is nothing more than a brain firing off the proper neural signals to make your heart race when excited, upset, or turned on…among other things. Lie to those who you wish to be honest, and be honest to a liar. And for me…I am honest to you, the liar, Kole Kaos.”
Prophet is not sitting inside his hotel room; he is sitting in a bar with a glass of water with a piece of lemon sticking out of it in his hand. Prophet is not alone, on one side of him is Fate, and on the other side is Bitchcakes McPhee. The two are rather quiet compared to their usual, knowing why Prophet has called them here.
“It seems that unless I am to leave NCW, Bitchcakes cannot join our stable. It isn’t my rules, it’s the rules Brent Sampson has put on the roster. That only leaves us with Phoenix, Fate, Hammer, and myself. That is still four men, but it is no longer the army it once was. And here I sit, being barraged by the words of a man who’s part John Bradshaw Layfield with a good dosage of Ted Dibiase Jr. I am on enough sedatives to kill that ****er, so that I don’t kill mother****ers, and I am unable to enjoy the beer that you two are partaking in.”
Fate looks at Prophet, “It’s not my fault my doctor cleared me to stop taking my drugs. ADM is gone,” Fate knocks on the bar as he speaks, “knock on wood.”
Bitchcakes shakes his head, and laughs, knocking on his crotch. “This is how you do it, you two dumbasses. You knock on WOOD! Get it, it’s a”
“Yeah, it’s a cock joke, really funny Mr. Super Balls. Did you forget your purple spandex at your mom’s again?”
“I told you two, I only am living there until I find a new apartment. My old one burned down.”
Prophet slaps both Fate and Bitchcakes upside the head, and they quiet down. Prophet stands up, leaving his water behind. He goes over to a nearby pool table, and uses one of the cues to stretch out after his long seat. He speaks as he begins to set up a game of pool, just as Fate and Bitchcakes begin playing Rock, Paper, Scissors over who will play their mentor.
“You said a mouthful, Kole. That you are always in control. That you weren’t expecting my explosion on you. That you weren’t gonna think I will kill you in the Asylum. There is a lot you have said, but I don’t think you’ll be able to actually do anything more than repeat yourself for the rest of the week, unlike me…where I have fuel in ways you could only imagine.”
Fate walks over and picks up a pool cue as Prophet hits the break. It’s a clean, good break and Fate nods his head in approval. Unlucky for Prophet, he didn’t get anything in off the break.
“Nice break, Proph, problem is you are playing against a master.”
“Cut the crap and just shoot, Fate.”
Fate shakes his head as he lines up his shot, and sinks the 9 ball into the side pocket.
“Looks like you are Stripes, Fate.”
Bitchcakes chimes in, “Yeah, like the pinstripes your dad wore cuz he was a mob boss!”
Fate swings his cue around, looking like he’s about to crack Bitchcakes in the skull, but keeps spinning before hitting an impressive trick shot, sinking the twelve.
“You aren’t gonna beat me, Fate.”
“Yeah, you seem so sure as I go for three in a row.”
As Fate makes his third stripe in a row, the fifteen, as Prophet responds. “Go ahead, you keep sinking them and I’ll show you what I can do when you make a mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.” Fate assures Prophet, as he aims his next shot. He sinks another ball, the ten, and he smirks.
“Sorry, Fate, but you just made your mistake.” Prophet points to the cue ball that, at that moment, rolls into the corner pocket.
“F**k…”
Prophet pulls out the cue from the pocket, and sets it lined up with the hardest shot he could possibly take, to the three ball.
“You’ll never make that, Prophet. I’ve NEVER seen you pull that before.”
“Never say never, isn’t that right, Kole?”
Prophet aims and shoots, the cue ball bounces off one side, into another, and hits the three ball into one of the corner pockets, without touching a single striped ball.
“Sh*t…that…”
“Shut you up, that’s what that did, Fate.” Bitchcakes chimes in.
“Shh, I’ve got more shots to make.” Prophet begins, lining up his next shot. “Now, Kole, wasn’t it you that said those words? “Never Say Never”; and I believe you said it about me not being able to kill you in the Asylum. The problem is, I’ve seen people bleed out to near death inside that thing. I’ve seen my live flash before my eyes as my lights got knocked out by a 100lb concrete bible to the skull. I’ve seen a lot in that sadistic thing I made, and killing is the LEAST of your worries.”
Prophet hits in two balls at once, the five and seven balls. Fate scoffs, shaking his head. Bitchcakes, however, is reveling in the fact that he lost the rock, paper, scissors match with Fate for the rights to face Prophet. He’s on fire.
“The structure is something that came to me in my darkest nightmare from within a padded room. I scribbled the original blueprints with a crayon, because they were afraid if I had a pencil or pen, I’d kill someone. And two and a half months later, the first Asylum match was held in IPW. I went to a no-contest with my rival and the bigger of the two of us, Seth Drakin. That monster of a man dwarfs anyone you’ve ever seen. And of course, I only improved upon that version, adding the side with electrified bars. Unfortunately for you, there is no door this time.”
Prophet keeps hitting his balls in, narrowing it down to only the six ball. Fate is beside himself, unsure if he should have been so cocky to start out. Bitchcakes is now on the floor, spilling his beer as he rolls around laughing, snorting like a pig. Prophet is lining up his final shot, making sure everything is right.
“The door was taken off by someone I didn’t train, but did mentor to at one point, Matthew Draven. He ripped off the door, upset that he was eliminated from the match. Upset that he couldn’t beat me, or Hammer. And now, you stand just days from being inside the third use of this structure in almost four years. Look forward, win or lose, to days in a hospital bed nursing your cracked ribs, bruises, and blood loss. Look forward, Kole, to the weeks of pain following the match. Look forward to the inability to walk without every muscle in your body aching, and your stitches threatening to rip out. Look forward to all that and more, Kole.” Prophet sinks the ball, and laughs, “And just like this game of Pool, Kole, your cockiness and “control” will fail you. Not one of us has any advantage in that Asylum, Kole. Despite being in all incarnations, I have no more advantage than you, as long as you aren’t afraid to push me into electric bars or hit me with sledgehammers. There’s nothing you can do to prepare. There is no mental place that helps you. You can be as sane as possible, or locked in a straight jacket every hour before the match…I’ve been in the latter and seen sane people walk away losers.”
“Deep words from a man who’s about to make an impossible shot into a side pocket. There’s NO WAY you are going to make that, Prophet.”
Fate laughs, “Yeah, I agree with Bitchcakes, you’d have to have the luck of the Irish or something to sink it in without also sinking the cue ball.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see.”
Prophet shoots, and as the eight ball sinks into the pocket he called. They stand back amazed as the cue ball rolls toward the corner pocket, but slows and teeters on the edge. It teeters for three seconds, before settling outside of the pocket. Bitchcakes and Fate are amazed and confused at this result.
“He’s a ****ing machine!”
“How did you do that?” Fate asks, “There’s almost no way you could have done that? You have to have cheated, or something.”
“Fate, I didn’t cheat; you, Bitchcakes, and the camera saw I pulled no rabbits out of a hat to win. I just took all the shots I needed to. I had impossible shots that looked like I’d never make, but they were all what I had to do to win. The balls were never in a good position, Fate. There was no skill, only faith the shot would make it.”
“And you won, by faith? I have more faith than you, Prophet.”
“You mistake Faith for Arrogance, Fate. Just like Kole Kaos does, thinking my life is ****. Thinking that he has millions and I’m in the poor house. Need I remind you I was once a rockstar? I once climbed the charts, and were it not for that plane crash, I’d still be there. True, I once left it to pursue wrestling, due to squabbles with my band mates over women, drugs, and booze. True I intended to never return to wrestling before the crash. And true that without the crash, Fate, Bitchcakes, and the Asylum…all wouldn’t have been possible. You think you have millions, I have millions. You think my family sucks; I have a wonderful family at home, waiting for me to get a week off, or NCW to swing through Minneapolis. You say I’m a one-trick pony, a never-was…apparently you weren’t there when I beat JFK. Apparently you weren’t there when I beat, Joe Everyman, one of the men going for the World Title. Your arrogance has blinded you. And that arrogance will be the death of you.”
Fate and Bitchcakes nod as Prophet mentions their inability to be here without his training and guidance. And after the speech, Bitchcakes gives a small, tearful, round of applause.
“Bravo, Prophet, Bravo. I’d buy you a round of beers but you can’t drink…so I’ll just have to buy you virgin drinks.”
“Right…” Prophet says, as he sits back down where he was. Fate doesn’t move, however, still standing there, pool cue in hand. His face is a vacant stare, and his eyes are glazed over. He suddenly drops the cue and falls to the floor, screaming out in what appears to be two voices.
“What the hell?” Bitchcakes watches as Prophet goes to help Fate up, and gets shoved into the bar.
“What the F**KING HELL?”
Fate slowly begins to stand up. His face is a twisted grin and his eyes are cold and appear to have turned crimson, though it could just be the light.
“Prophet, your days in NCW are over. At Last Stand the end will come. I will come…and NCW will bow before Angelo Della Muerte…”
As Prophet and Bitchcakes stand there, Fate’s face turns from the darkness that it was to one of joy and laughter. Prophet and Bitchcakes don’t get it.
“What is so ****ing funny? You just threatened me, Fate.”
“You should have seen your faces. That was all a joke, a show, a farce. You should have seen the look. You, and all these chumps at the bar, you were scared ****less.”
“That was NOT funny, Fate. ADM is in no way, shape, or form, funny.”
Bitchcakes chimes in, “Well, I did find it funny when ADM made a couple sick sex jokes. Other than that, no he’s never funny.”
“You guys are a spoil sport; I’m gonna go hit some other bars, you coming?”
The group leaves the bar, Fate at the rear. As he hits the door, he turns back to the camera, and again it looks like his eyes are crimson. He smiles and walks out the door, we fade to black.
Prophet is not sitting inside his hotel room; he is sitting in a bar with a glass of water with a piece of lemon sticking out of it in his hand. Prophet is not alone, on one side of him is Fate, and on the other side is Bitchcakes McPhee. The two are rather quiet compared to their usual, knowing why Prophet has called them here.
“It seems that unless I am to leave NCW, Bitchcakes cannot join our stable. It isn’t my rules, it’s the rules Brent Sampson has put on the roster. That only leaves us with Phoenix, Fate, Hammer, and myself. That is still four men, but it is no longer the army it once was. And here I sit, being barraged by the words of a man who’s part John Bradshaw Layfield with a good dosage of Ted Dibiase Jr. I am on enough sedatives to kill that ****er, so that I don’t kill mother****ers, and I am unable to enjoy the beer that you two are partaking in.”
Fate looks at Prophet, “It’s not my fault my doctor cleared me to stop taking my drugs. ADM is gone,” Fate knocks on the bar as he speaks, “knock on wood.”
Bitchcakes shakes his head, and laughs, knocking on his crotch. “This is how you do it, you two dumbasses. You knock on WOOD! Get it, it’s a”
“Yeah, it’s a cock joke, really funny Mr. Super Balls. Did you forget your purple spandex at your mom’s again?”
“I told you two, I only am living there until I find a new apartment. My old one burned down.”
Prophet slaps both Fate and Bitchcakes upside the head, and they quiet down. Prophet stands up, leaving his water behind. He goes over to a nearby pool table, and uses one of the cues to stretch out after his long seat. He speaks as he begins to set up a game of pool, just as Fate and Bitchcakes begin playing Rock, Paper, Scissors over who will play their mentor.
“You said a mouthful, Kole. That you are always in control. That you weren’t expecting my explosion on you. That you weren’t gonna think I will kill you in the Asylum. There is a lot you have said, but I don’t think you’ll be able to actually do anything more than repeat yourself for the rest of the week, unlike me…where I have fuel in ways you could only imagine.”
Fate walks over and picks up a pool cue as Prophet hits the break. It’s a clean, good break and Fate nods his head in approval. Unlucky for Prophet, he didn’t get anything in off the break.
“Nice break, Proph, problem is you are playing against a master.”
“Cut the crap and just shoot, Fate.”
Fate shakes his head as he lines up his shot, and sinks the 9 ball into the side pocket.
“Looks like you are Stripes, Fate.”
Bitchcakes chimes in, “Yeah, like the pinstripes your dad wore cuz he was a mob boss!”
Fate swings his cue around, looking like he’s about to crack Bitchcakes in the skull, but keeps spinning before hitting an impressive trick shot, sinking the twelve.
“You aren’t gonna beat me, Fate.”
“Yeah, you seem so sure as I go for three in a row.”
As Fate makes his third stripe in a row, the fifteen, as Prophet responds. “Go ahead, you keep sinking them and I’ll show you what I can do when you make a mistake.”
“I don’t make mistakes.” Fate assures Prophet, as he aims his next shot. He sinks another ball, the ten, and he smirks.
“Sorry, Fate, but you just made your mistake.” Prophet points to the cue ball that, at that moment, rolls into the corner pocket.
“F**k…”
Prophet pulls out the cue from the pocket, and sets it lined up with the hardest shot he could possibly take, to the three ball.
“You’ll never make that, Prophet. I’ve NEVER seen you pull that before.”
“Never say never, isn’t that right, Kole?”
Prophet aims and shoots, the cue ball bounces off one side, into another, and hits the three ball into one of the corner pockets, without touching a single striped ball.
“Sh*t…that…”
“Shut you up, that’s what that did, Fate.” Bitchcakes chimes in.
“Shh, I’ve got more shots to make.” Prophet begins, lining up his next shot. “Now, Kole, wasn’t it you that said those words? “Never Say Never”; and I believe you said it about me not being able to kill you in the Asylum. The problem is, I’ve seen people bleed out to near death inside that thing. I’ve seen my live flash before my eyes as my lights got knocked out by a 100lb concrete bible to the skull. I’ve seen a lot in that sadistic thing I made, and killing is the LEAST of your worries.”
Prophet hits in two balls at once, the five and seven balls. Fate scoffs, shaking his head. Bitchcakes, however, is reveling in the fact that he lost the rock, paper, scissors match with Fate for the rights to face Prophet. He’s on fire.
“The structure is something that came to me in my darkest nightmare from within a padded room. I scribbled the original blueprints with a crayon, because they were afraid if I had a pencil or pen, I’d kill someone. And two and a half months later, the first Asylum match was held in IPW. I went to a no-contest with my rival and the bigger of the two of us, Seth Drakin. That monster of a man dwarfs anyone you’ve ever seen. And of course, I only improved upon that version, adding the side with electrified bars. Unfortunately for you, there is no door this time.”
Prophet keeps hitting his balls in, narrowing it down to only the six ball. Fate is beside himself, unsure if he should have been so cocky to start out. Bitchcakes is now on the floor, spilling his beer as he rolls around laughing, snorting like a pig. Prophet is lining up his final shot, making sure everything is right.
“The door was taken off by someone I didn’t train, but did mentor to at one point, Matthew Draven. He ripped off the door, upset that he was eliminated from the match. Upset that he couldn’t beat me, or Hammer. And now, you stand just days from being inside the third use of this structure in almost four years. Look forward, win or lose, to days in a hospital bed nursing your cracked ribs, bruises, and blood loss. Look forward, Kole, to the weeks of pain following the match. Look forward to the inability to walk without every muscle in your body aching, and your stitches threatening to rip out. Look forward to all that and more, Kole.” Prophet sinks the ball, and laughs, “And just like this game of Pool, Kole, your cockiness and “control” will fail you. Not one of us has any advantage in that Asylum, Kole. Despite being in all incarnations, I have no more advantage than you, as long as you aren’t afraid to push me into electric bars or hit me with sledgehammers. There’s nothing you can do to prepare. There is no mental place that helps you. You can be as sane as possible, or locked in a straight jacket every hour before the match…I’ve been in the latter and seen sane people walk away losers.”
“Deep words from a man who’s about to make an impossible shot into a side pocket. There’s NO WAY you are going to make that, Prophet.”
Fate laughs, “Yeah, I agree with Bitchcakes, you’d have to have the luck of the Irish or something to sink it in without also sinking the cue ball.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see.”
Prophet shoots, and as the eight ball sinks into the pocket he called. They stand back amazed as the cue ball rolls toward the corner pocket, but slows and teeters on the edge. It teeters for three seconds, before settling outside of the pocket. Bitchcakes and Fate are amazed and confused at this result.
“He’s a ****ing machine!”
“How did you do that?” Fate asks, “There’s almost no way you could have done that? You have to have cheated, or something.”
“Fate, I didn’t cheat; you, Bitchcakes, and the camera saw I pulled no rabbits out of a hat to win. I just took all the shots I needed to. I had impossible shots that looked like I’d never make, but they were all what I had to do to win. The balls were never in a good position, Fate. There was no skill, only faith the shot would make it.”
“And you won, by faith? I have more faith than you, Prophet.”
“You mistake Faith for Arrogance, Fate. Just like Kole Kaos does, thinking my life is ****. Thinking that he has millions and I’m in the poor house. Need I remind you I was once a rockstar? I once climbed the charts, and were it not for that plane crash, I’d still be there. True, I once left it to pursue wrestling, due to squabbles with my band mates over women, drugs, and booze. True I intended to never return to wrestling before the crash. And true that without the crash, Fate, Bitchcakes, and the Asylum…all wouldn’t have been possible. You think you have millions, I have millions. You think my family sucks; I have a wonderful family at home, waiting for me to get a week off, or NCW to swing through Minneapolis. You say I’m a one-trick pony, a never-was…apparently you weren’t there when I beat JFK. Apparently you weren’t there when I beat, Joe Everyman, one of the men going for the World Title. Your arrogance has blinded you. And that arrogance will be the death of you.”
Fate and Bitchcakes nod as Prophet mentions their inability to be here without his training and guidance. And after the speech, Bitchcakes gives a small, tearful, round of applause.
“Bravo, Prophet, Bravo. I’d buy you a round of beers but you can’t drink…so I’ll just have to buy you virgin drinks.”
“Right…” Prophet says, as he sits back down where he was. Fate doesn’t move, however, still standing there, pool cue in hand. His face is a vacant stare, and his eyes are glazed over. He suddenly drops the cue and falls to the floor, screaming out in what appears to be two voices.
“What the hell?” Bitchcakes watches as Prophet goes to help Fate up, and gets shoved into the bar.
“What the F**KING HELL?”
Fate slowly begins to stand up. His face is a twisted grin and his eyes are cold and appear to have turned crimson, though it could just be the light.
“Prophet, your days in NCW are over. At Last Stand the end will come. I will come…and NCW will bow before Angelo Della Muerte…”
As Prophet and Bitchcakes stand there, Fate’s face turns from the darkness that it was to one of joy and laughter. Prophet and Bitchcakes don’t get it.
“What is so ****ing funny? You just threatened me, Fate.”
“You should have seen your faces. That was all a joke, a show, a farce. You should have seen the look. You, and all these chumps at the bar, you were scared ****less.”
“That was NOT funny, Fate. ADM is in no way, shape, or form, funny.”
Bitchcakes chimes in, “Well, I did find it funny when ADM made a couple sick sex jokes. Other than that, no he’s never funny.”
“You guys are a spoil sport; I’m gonna go hit some other bars, you coming?”
The group leaves the bar, Fate at the rear. As he hits the door, he turns back to the camera, and again it looks like his eyes are crimson. He smiles and walks out the door, we fade to black.