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#1
Event Submissions / She Hungers
Last post by KiraIzumi - July 23, 2017, 11:49:01 PM"[She hungers...]"
Says an eerie voice. We see nothing but black. Nothing at all. An uncomfortable amount.
"[I face a women in the art of war. I face a women in what will be her final match. 'Cause this bitch is gonna either die or succumb. You know i'm fairly new to this... Sport. As some of you may call it. She talked to me.
She whispered in my ear, Come... Come... Come. To Unleashed, And so i did. Come i will. Come to this place i shal and what an impact we will make. The darkness flows in me and the darkness flows throughout.]"
We see a face now as a dimly lit room begins to show us the wild haired fellow. Full of tattooed man with scars all on his body.
"[You know what makes me better than Alvarez-chan? Well for starters i've never let a pill dictate my life. I've never needed what so many have. I don't need pills nor do i need the poison liquid in a glass bottle.
Your weak. Yer fuckin nothin! You hear me!? an by the end of our fight that's what you'll end up being. NOTHIN.
Ya pathetic piece of shit! git ready 'cause the prince of darkness will murder yer soul.]"
"[Cryin' like a bitch is a perfect title for yer music. It really is, 'cause that's what will happen after i break yer fucking arm and stomp yer fuckin face in. She permits me ta fight a pretender of the female kind. Because you are no women. No women should have to fight in such a sport. No man should have to fight a women in this sort of sport either. But i must, I must because it's up to me to show the higher ups of this place, That I should never, no That any man should never fight a women like this. After i beat you, after we beat you Alvarez-chan,
you will succumb.]"
"[Succumb to yer fears, succumb to yer inner demons. You will ultimately be cryin like a bitch. You know i'm a pro wrestler by trade, But if you think that makes me have a disadvantage then yer most mistaken. 'Cause I've taken more damage in my ring than any of you pussies will ever take here. None of ya could ever last in MY ring. An when i beat ALvarez i'll prove Ya can't last with me in yer ring either.]"
"[She hungers... She hungers for the blood in yer body! She hungers for the skin upon yer body... For yer very soul! And she will git it. Yer about to face yer worst nightmare bitch, yer going ta feel pain bitch and by the end of the night yer gonna ENTER THE MOTHER FUCKING MADNESS!]"
"[My name is Kira Izumi and it's going to be a pleasure torturing you July twenty eighth.]"
Says an eerie voice. We see nothing but black. Nothing at all. An uncomfortable amount.
"[I face a women in the art of war. I face a women in what will be her final match. 'Cause this bitch is gonna either die or succumb. You know i'm fairly new to this... Sport. As some of you may call it. She talked to me.
She whispered in my ear, Come... Come... Come. To Unleashed, And so i did. Come i will. Come to this place i shal and what an impact we will make. The darkness flows in me and the darkness flows throughout.]"
We see a face now as a dimly lit room begins to show us the wild haired fellow. Full of tattooed man with scars all on his body.
"[You know what makes me better than Alvarez-chan? Well for starters i've never let a pill dictate my life. I've never needed what so many have. I don't need pills nor do i need the poison liquid in a glass bottle.
Your weak. Yer fuckin nothin! You hear me!? an by the end of our fight that's what you'll end up being. NOTHIN.
Ya pathetic piece of shit! git ready 'cause the prince of darkness will murder yer soul.]"
"[Cryin' like a bitch is a perfect title for yer music. It really is, 'cause that's what will happen after i break yer fucking arm and stomp yer fuckin face in. She permits me ta fight a pretender of the female kind. Because you are no women. No women should have to fight in such a sport. No man should have to fight a women in this sort of sport either. But i must, I must because it's up to me to show the higher ups of this place, That I should never, no That any man should never fight a women like this. After i beat you, after we beat you Alvarez-chan,
you will succumb.]"
"[Succumb to yer fears, succumb to yer inner demons. You will ultimately be cryin like a bitch. You know i'm a pro wrestler by trade, But if you think that makes me have a disadvantage then yer most mistaken. 'Cause I've taken more damage in my ring than any of you pussies will ever take here. None of ya could ever last in MY ring. An when i beat ALvarez i'll prove Ya can't last with me in yer ring either.]"
"[She hungers... She hungers for the blood in yer body! She hungers for the skin upon yer body... For yer very soul! And she will git it. Yer about to face yer worst nightmare bitch, yer going ta feel pain bitch and by the end of the night yer gonna ENTER THE MOTHER FUCKING MADNESS!]"
"[My name is Kira Izumi and it's going to be a pleasure torturing you July twenty eighth.]"
#2
Event Submissions / Riding The Storm Out
Last post by Max Ironside - July 21, 2017, 12:59:22 AM[div style="text-align:right;"]Our Generation has had no Great war, no Great Depression.
Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives.
— Chuck Palahniuk[/div]
[div style="text-align:center;"][span style="color:rgb(230, 110, 25);font-size:10pt;"](the present: New York City)
July 19, 2017[/span][/div]
Max Ironside was supposed to be on a flight to Tennessee for a match on Friday for Defiant Wrestling. The original booking had given him a layover in New York. That's where he'd gotten the idea. He could just drive here. He could fly from LaGuardia and save a few dollars. From there he was off to Las Vegas to take part in a hardcore tournament sponsored by a company named Fucking Awesome Wrestling. Right now, neither held much appeal. The fact that the fight overseas had been pushed back a week should have given him a small sense of relief. At least he had time to recuperate. Time was something he had far too much of these days. Too much time on his hands was what had been pulling him down into the dark.
Trixie's words kept echoing in his ears, the irony of how effortlessly she'd pegged his current state of mind making him want to laugh hysterically until he couldn't make a sound ever again. Somehow that worthless, glorified whore had managed to hit the nail on the head and even though she'd been bragging about her own in-ring prowess, the words resonated. Rankled, too, if he was being honest.
Everyone can only take so many kicks before they fall down and stay down.
He knew a few who'd had STAY DOWN tattooed on their knuckles – in Cleveland, Chicago, it had been a sort of mantra in reverse. Say it to your opponent. Get in their head. Give them the best sort of ultimatum: stay down or the punishment gets more severe. He'd always seen it as another thing to overcome. Now it was another straw added to the pile. The camel's back had never been meant to take the weight and he was so damned sick of getting back up.
Facing Trixie held no appeal – another match against a worthless waste of skin that felt like a retread of every garbage opponent he'd ever had in his less-than-stellar career. Instead he was sitting behind the wheel of the Kia Forte he'd bought last month. The blue glow of the radio's display kept winking off the oiled steel as he kept absently spinning the cylinder of the old Colt pistol. A single bullet sat on the dash in that little divot where tollbooth change was meant to be. This wasn't new. The depression was the same. The numbness was the same. The pain, ever a constant. The anger, however, was new. Utterly self-directed. He sat there, staring down at the cold steel, thinking about all that had come and gone in his life recently.
"Fuck her." He ground out the words, taking off his glasses because they were fogging up from the heat of his skin – he was dripping sweat despite the air conditioning, even though the temperature showed it was at 19 degrees Celsius. The damned car was stuck on metric and he couldn't get it to change back. He dropped them on the passenger seat.
This brilliant idea hadn't panned out. None of them had. He'd tried, though. He'd tried so hard to get Kasey to talk to him, to undo the damage he'd done with his idiotic declaration of love. He'd gone to Toronto, watched her compete for Empire even though he should have known better. Curt had taught him years ago that the only loyalty, the only love you could really count on in the wrestling business was family – because they have no choice. His right hand ached, index finger rigid and pointing while he forced the rest to give the cylinder another spin like he was a wild west gunslinger. He'd bought the thing at a pawn shop in North Dakota. It was considered an antique – no paperwork then. He'd completely forgotten about it until his old car had broken down and he'd found it buried under a pile of trash in the glove box. Finding it now felt right – serendipitous, really. Eventually, he'd put the bullet in the chamber. He'd push it up into that hollow under his chin. He'd pull the trigger. Maybe tonight, on this deserted street outside of the tattoo parlour that was very obviously closed, he wouldn't be punished with that taunting and wholly insincere CLICK – please play again.
The windows were dark. There was a gate across the door that looked like it had been there for a century or more, rust flaking off on his hand when he touched it. Florence Fallon was nowhere to be found. Another missed connection. He didn't know where she'd gone. She'd all but vanished from social media. The texts he sent never seemed to be viewed, let alone replied to. It had been stormy for weeks and his thunder buddy was nowhere to be found.
He could smell himself, that stale gymnasium reek of sweat and day-old clothes. His face glistened in the wash of oncoming headlights, covered in a greasy sheen of sweat as he met his eyes in the rear-view. His shirt was damp, clinging to his chest but he set the pistol next to his glasses, lifting it to wipe his face.
Should've stayed in Ohio, that voice in the back of his head whispered. Put in more work. There's that title that they said anybody can challenge for. Any. Body. You could have gold. You could be the next best thing to Aidan Carlisle. They'd respect you then. Anybody can challenge for it.
"Not me," he grunted, shifting position as he raked his good hand through his thinning hair. His blue eyes flashed as he looked up, pain reflected in their bloodshot depths as he peered into the gloom – did you hear that? He held his breath. He waited. A car drove by in the other lane again, not even slowing down. He pulled off the shirt, mopping his face and hair with it before tossing it into the backseat. A sardonic smirk curved his lips as he picked up the gun again, turning it over in his hands. He reached for the bullet, his eyes closing for a moment as he dragged in a deep breath, holding it. Without looking, he was about to push it home when there was a sharp rap on the window. His eyes flew open, startled, the bullet falling to the floor and rolling under the seat.
He'd expected a cop, some authority figure – someone accusing him of loitering even though he was legally parked behind the wheel of his car. Instead he found himself looking into a familiar pair of eyes – this time of night they were devoid of the flawless cat's eye makeup she usually wore. They were softer somehow, holding a measure of kindness that was usually absent. "Fl-"
She tapped on the glass again, a little more impatiently this time, reminding him of that barrier. She had stayed away, not because she wanted to but because she'd needed to fix herself. A gut feeling had brought her out for this walk tonight – an urge she couldn't really explain. She'd never really believed in fate or things like that but now she wasn't so sure. "Why are you here?" Although the scene was cruel, her voice was soft, holding no judgement. "What are you doing to yourself, Max?"
So many excuses were there on the tip of his tongue, that guilty kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In his household, that was where his junkie mother had stashed her drug money - he would have been killed for even daring to touch that. "I was..." how much had she seen?
He swallowed hard again, looking up at Florence, blinking, not even realizing at first that he was still holding the gun. "I was looking for you. I thought maybe I'd catch you before...." the words came spilling out, "but then you weren't here. The lights were all off and I thought maybe you'd gone back to India...."
She reached in through the window, taking the gun without any comment. Her heart was racing madly, but she didn't show it. She dropped it, kicking it under the car before stepping closer. Opening the door, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "You should have called me. You know I would have come without thinking, without asking." Florence kissed the side of his head, still holding him as tightly as she could. "A gun," now she made a sound of disappointment, "what made you go so far?"
He didn't tell her that it wasn't new. He couldn't bring himself to admit that.
"Max," her voice was softer, "I'm listening. I'm here. Tell me what you came all this way to say?"
"Are you kidding?" He laughed, the sound bitter, "I've got no delusions about who I am... what I am. What's the point in all this? What am I doing here?" He sounded exhausted as he leaned against her, smelling her perfume. "It's easier. She called me pathetic. Said she hated me... wasted time on me. I can't..." he lifted his good hand, rubbing at his face, trying to hide the tears that were filling his eyes.
"Sweetie, you of all people should know I'm no stranger to this pain. He chose his career over me. He was my first... for everything." She swallowed hard, "yes, it hurts. It tears you apart but the truth is, they aren't worth our time. We can do better than that and the end of the world is far, far away." She covered his bad hand with her own, causing him to look up. Flo rubbed it softly, easing the tension from his fingers.
Was she clinging to him or was he to her? He wasn't sure anymore.
"I'm sick of climbing the mountain over and over and over only to get kicked back down to the bottom. I'm sick of human garbage cans like Trixie and Coral Rose picking me apart, as if they understand the first thing about me. I'm..." he bit his lip, realizing that Florence had never seen this side of him before. Usually he was intense – sarcastic, of course – never this strangely introspective. He always had that wry smile, that self-deprecating humor to put others at ease. "Don't get me wrong. I love wrestling. I love the travel. I love working myself to the point of exhaustion. I just..." he looked down her hand on his. "God, I'm so fucking lonely."
He didn't even have to say it. She could see it, feel it in the way he devoted every moment to training as if his life held no other meaning. She knew that intimately since her life had become the same sort of automated routine, day in and day out. She looked at him a little longer. "I know. God, I knew it when we first met. But you didn't seem to wanna talk about it. Max," his eyes skittered away from hers. Once more she forced him to look at her. "Let's move together."
"What..." he stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "Together?" Max blinked, knowing he must have misheard her, focusing in on what she said before that. "You don't talk about your problems." He exhaled sharply, looking past her at the empty street and the closed shop behind her. "Well I don't. I don't want pity. I don't want anyone to look at me like that, Flossy..." he rarely called her that, the pet name never really having gained any sort of traction because it felt forced. Now it just came rolling off the tip of his tongue. "This won't last forever. Glory fades," his voice came out soft, "and when it all goes to shit, I want to have someone there to build a life with. I want..." he sighed, "no. I need someone so when the success, when the glory's nothing more than a fading echo, I'll have something to fill my days with."
"Do you think I offer this lightly? I don't wanna be alone anymore. I don't know where all of this might go, but I am set on having a chance at life." She poked his ribs softly. "I mean what speaks against it? We are tight, we are there for each other. So why not move our shit together? Then it gets easier. We can be lonely together." She gave him a soft smile.
"I think..." Max hesitated for a fraction of a second, wondering if he'd actually pulled the trigger and if this was all some random firing of neurons in some bizarre death rattle. "You need to pinch me. Is this really happening?" He blinked through tears, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He'd come here looking for answers, hoping that she would pull him back from the edge.
She poked his stomach again. Playfully. "Good enough? This is no joke, Max. I've got a huge apartment above my studio," she cocked her head at the building across the street, the one he'd been so convinced was completely deserted. "I have the space. I want you to move in." Once more she kissed his head, rubbing his cheek. "Unless you've got a better offer."
"I..." his voice caught, close to the verge of breaking down completely. He'd been so close to ending it all, to letting his head slip under the water without a fight. He'd obviously been drawn here for the same reason she'd been tonight. "I don't. I will. I mean, I'd like to." He let her pull him from the car, waiting while she took the keys from the cup holder and picked up his glasses from the seat, handing them to him. He settled them over his eyes, a watery smile on his face as he met Florence's gaze, pulling her into a hug in the middle of the road. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't."
"But I was," she said softly, "thunder buddies for life, remember? Look," she tilted her head back, pointing up at the break in the clouds where stars shone through. "Now that we have found each other again, the storm is moving on now to trouble someone else."
He wanted so badly to believe that any port in a storm would do.
Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives.
— Chuck Palahniuk[/div]
[div style="text-align:center;"][span style="color:rgb(230, 110, 25);font-size:10pt;"](the present: New York City)
July 19, 2017[/span][/div]
Max Ironside was supposed to be on a flight to Tennessee for a match on Friday for Defiant Wrestling. The original booking had given him a layover in New York. That's where he'd gotten the idea. He could just drive here. He could fly from LaGuardia and save a few dollars. From there he was off to Las Vegas to take part in a hardcore tournament sponsored by a company named Fucking Awesome Wrestling. Right now, neither held much appeal. The fact that the fight overseas had been pushed back a week should have given him a small sense of relief. At least he had time to recuperate. Time was something he had far too much of these days. Too much time on his hands was what had been pulling him down into the dark.
Trixie's words kept echoing in his ears, the irony of how effortlessly she'd pegged his current state of mind making him want to laugh hysterically until he couldn't make a sound ever again. Somehow that worthless, glorified whore had managed to hit the nail on the head and even though she'd been bragging about her own in-ring prowess, the words resonated. Rankled, too, if he was being honest.
Everyone can only take so many kicks before they fall down and stay down.
He knew a few who'd had STAY DOWN tattooed on their knuckles – in Cleveland, Chicago, it had been a sort of mantra in reverse. Say it to your opponent. Get in their head. Give them the best sort of ultimatum: stay down or the punishment gets more severe. He'd always seen it as another thing to overcome. Now it was another straw added to the pile. The camel's back had never been meant to take the weight and he was so damned sick of getting back up.
Facing Trixie held no appeal – another match against a worthless waste of skin that felt like a retread of every garbage opponent he'd ever had in his less-than-stellar career. Instead he was sitting behind the wheel of the Kia Forte he'd bought last month. The blue glow of the radio's display kept winking off the oiled steel as he kept absently spinning the cylinder of the old Colt pistol. A single bullet sat on the dash in that little divot where tollbooth change was meant to be. This wasn't new. The depression was the same. The numbness was the same. The pain, ever a constant. The anger, however, was new. Utterly self-directed. He sat there, staring down at the cold steel, thinking about all that had come and gone in his life recently.
"Fuck her." He ground out the words, taking off his glasses because they were fogging up from the heat of his skin – he was dripping sweat despite the air conditioning, even though the temperature showed it was at 19 degrees Celsius. The damned car was stuck on metric and he couldn't get it to change back. He dropped them on the passenger seat.
This brilliant idea hadn't panned out. None of them had. He'd tried, though. He'd tried so hard to get Kasey to talk to him, to undo the damage he'd done with his idiotic declaration of love. He'd gone to Toronto, watched her compete for Empire even though he should have known better. Curt had taught him years ago that the only loyalty, the only love you could really count on in the wrestling business was family – because they have no choice. His right hand ached, index finger rigid and pointing while he forced the rest to give the cylinder another spin like he was a wild west gunslinger. He'd bought the thing at a pawn shop in North Dakota. It was considered an antique – no paperwork then. He'd completely forgotten about it until his old car had broken down and he'd found it buried under a pile of trash in the glove box. Finding it now felt right – serendipitous, really. Eventually, he'd put the bullet in the chamber. He'd push it up into that hollow under his chin. He'd pull the trigger. Maybe tonight, on this deserted street outside of the tattoo parlour that was very obviously closed, he wouldn't be punished with that taunting and wholly insincere CLICK – please play again.
The windows were dark. There was a gate across the door that looked like it had been there for a century or more, rust flaking off on his hand when he touched it. Florence Fallon was nowhere to be found. Another missed connection. He didn't know where she'd gone. She'd all but vanished from social media. The texts he sent never seemed to be viewed, let alone replied to. It had been stormy for weeks and his thunder buddy was nowhere to be found.
He could smell himself, that stale gymnasium reek of sweat and day-old clothes. His face glistened in the wash of oncoming headlights, covered in a greasy sheen of sweat as he met his eyes in the rear-view. His shirt was damp, clinging to his chest but he set the pistol next to his glasses, lifting it to wipe his face.
Should've stayed in Ohio, that voice in the back of his head whispered. Put in more work. There's that title that they said anybody can challenge for. Any. Body. You could have gold. You could be the next best thing to Aidan Carlisle. They'd respect you then. Anybody can challenge for it.
"Not me," he grunted, shifting position as he raked his good hand through his thinning hair. His blue eyes flashed as he looked up, pain reflected in their bloodshot depths as he peered into the gloom – did you hear that? He held his breath. He waited. A car drove by in the other lane again, not even slowing down. He pulled off the shirt, mopping his face and hair with it before tossing it into the backseat. A sardonic smirk curved his lips as he picked up the gun again, turning it over in his hands. He reached for the bullet, his eyes closing for a moment as he dragged in a deep breath, holding it. Without looking, he was about to push it home when there was a sharp rap on the window. His eyes flew open, startled, the bullet falling to the floor and rolling under the seat.
He'd expected a cop, some authority figure – someone accusing him of loitering even though he was legally parked behind the wheel of his car. Instead he found himself looking into a familiar pair of eyes – this time of night they were devoid of the flawless cat's eye makeup she usually wore. They were softer somehow, holding a measure of kindness that was usually absent. "Fl-"
She tapped on the glass again, a little more impatiently this time, reminding him of that barrier. She had stayed away, not because she wanted to but because she'd needed to fix herself. A gut feeling had brought her out for this walk tonight – an urge she couldn't really explain. She'd never really believed in fate or things like that but now she wasn't so sure. "Why are you here?" Although the scene was cruel, her voice was soft, holding no judgement. "What are you doing to yourself, Max?"
So many excuses were there on the tip of his tongue, that guilty kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. In his household, that was where his junkie mother had stashed her drug money - he would have been killed for even daring to touch that. "I was..." how much had she seen?
He swallowed hard again, looking up at Florence, blinking, not even realizing at first that he was still holding the gun. "I was looking for you. I thought maybe I'd catch you before...." the words came spilling out, "but then you weren't here. The lights were all off and I thought maybe you'd gone back to India...."
She reached in through the window, taking the gun without any comment. Her heart was racing madly, but she didn't show it. She dropped it, kicking it under the car before stepping closer. Opening the door, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him tightly. "You should have called me. You know I would have come without thinking, without asking." Florence kissed the side of his head, still holding him as tightly as she could. "A gun," now she made a sound of disappointment, "what made you go so far?"
He didn't tell her that it wasn't new. He couldn't bring himself to admit that.
"Max," her voice was softer, "I'm listening. I'm here. Tell me what you came all this way to say?"
"Are you kidding?" He laughed, the sound bitter, "I've got no delusions about who I am... what I am. What's the point in all this? What am I doing here?" He sounded exhausted as he leaned against her, smelling her perfume. "It's easier. She called me pathetic. Said she hated me... wasted time on me. I can't..." he lifted his good hand, rubbing at his face, trying to hide the tears that were filling his eyes.
"Sweetie, you of all people should know I'm no stranger to this pain. He chose his career over me. He was my first... for everything." She swallowed hard, "yes, it hurts. It tears you apart but the truth is, they aren't worth our time. We can do better than that and the end of the world is far, far away." She covered his bad hand with her own, causing him to look up. Flo rubbed it softly, easing the tension from his fingers.
Was she clinging to him or was he to her? He wasn't sure anymore.
"I'm sick of climbing the mountain over and over and over only to get kicked back down to the bottom. I'm sick of human garbage cans like Trixie and Coral Rose picking me apart, as if they understand the first thing about me. I'm..." he bit his lip, realizing that Florence had never seen this side of him before. Usually he was intense – sarcastic, of course – never this strangely introspective. He always had that wry smile, that self-deprecating humor to put others at ease. "Don't get me wrong. I love wrestling. I love the travel. I love working myself to the point of exhaustion. I just..." he looked down her hand on his. "God, I'm so fucking lonely."
He didn't even have to say it. She could see it, feel it in the way he devoted every moment to training as if his life held no other meaning. She knew that intimately since her life had become the same sort of automated routine, day in and day out. She looked at him a little longer. "I know. God, I knew it when we first met. But you didn't seem to wanna talk about it. Max," his eyes skittered away from hers. Once more she forced him to look at her. "Let's move together."
"What..." he stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "Together?" Max blinked, knowing he must have misheard her, focusing in on what she said before that. "You don't talk about your problems." He exhaled sharply, looking past her at the empty street and the closed shop behind her. "Well I don't. I don't want pity. I don't want anyone to look at me like that, Flossy..." he rarely called her that, the pet name never really having gained any sort of traction because it felt forced. Now it just came rolling off the tip of his tongue. "This won't last forever. Glory fades," his voice came out soft, "and when it all goes to shit, I want to have someone there to build a life with. I want..." he sighed, "no. I need someone so when the success, when the glory's nothing more than a fading echo, I'll have something to fill my days with."
"Do you think I offer this lightly? I don't wanna be alone anymore. I don't know where all of this might go, but I am set on having a chance at life." She poked his ribs softly. "I mean what speaks against it? We are tight, we are there for each other. So why not move our shit together? Then it gets easier. We can be lonely together." She gave him a soft smile.
"I think..." Max hesitated for a fraction of a second, wondering if he'd actually pulled the trigger and if this was all some random firing of neurons in some bizarre death rattle. "You need to pinch me. Is this really happening?" He blinked through tears, resting his forehead against her shoulder. He'd come here looking for answers, hoping that she would pull him back from the edge.
She poked his stomach again. Playfully. "Good enough? This is no joke, Max. I've got a huge apartment above my studio," she cocked her head at the building across the street, the one he'd been so convinced was completely deserted. "I have the space. I want you to move in." Once more she kissed his head, rubbing his cheek. "Unless you've got a better offer."
"I..." his voice caught, close to the verge of breaking down completely. He'd been so close to ending it all, to letting his head slip under the water without a fight. He'd obviously been drawn here for the same reason she'd been tonight. "I don't. I will. I mean, I'd like to." He let her pull him from the car, waiting while she took the keys from the cup holder and picked up his glasses from the seat, handing them to him. He settled them over his eyes, a watery smile on his face as he met Florence's gaze, pulling her into a hug in the middle of the road. "Thank you. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't."
"But I was," she said softly, "thunder buddies for life, remember? Look," she tilted her head back, pointing up at the break in the clouds where stars shone through. "Now that we have found each other again, the storm is moving on now to trouble someone else."
He wanted so badly to believe that any port in a storm would do.
#3
Event Submissions / On the Matter of Convergences ...
Last post by EdTerryn - July 20, 2017, 03:05:10 PMThere's a light at the end of the tunnel. It wakes me up. All is discomfort in this place, not just on a train cramped on a seat headed from one imagined territory that only exists in minds and on maps to another, but in every single place I mark with my temporary presence.
Mine is a cabin in a train car seating three strangers who all look alike in spite of their differences. Through bleary eyes I blink at them in a passing moment of curiosity. Human eyes have a tendency towards two options in the infinite dance of interaction; look away or look back. I'm sure these have names, wants and needs, likes and dislikes, but how invested am I in getting to the point of knowing these things?
I wonder what Ed Terryn liked or disliked. Did he want to live?
I wonder what he would think of me using his body as I am, for a purpose other than what I can only assume he was using it for before he died.
In my inner conversation my eyes inadvertently meet the eyes of one of my fellow passengers, I quickly look away and pretend to fall back asleep.
I wish this sleep was actual and permanent.
Life is suffering no matter where and how you live it and I wish to be rid of it.
The parked car contained four men, two in the front and two in the back. One of those men, Arkady, massaged his finger along the worn gunmetal of the Russian PSS in his lap.
"This seems a little excessive to me," Andrei, a larger man, spoke into his takeout cup of coffee before taking a sip, watching the crowds of people file in and out of the train station.
"I'm telling you the man is no good." Piotr Orlov felt besieged with the questioning stare of Viktor craning his body from the driver's seat to eye him over the back of the car seats expectantly. Arkady turned his attention from the tiny handgun in his lap to Piotr with a heavy, expectant gaze.
"I hardly think shooting the man you suspect of having sex with your woman is worth the effort, Piotr. This is one favor you'd best reconsider wasting."
Piotr shifted defensively, like a full body dry-heave to illustrate how serious this was to him.
"He has money. He's a fighter. I saw him win in Serbia. He made a mess of my apartment. He paid cash."
Andrei took another sip, his eyes watching the train station arrivals and departures.
"Big purse, little purse?"
"Big enough. I heard something upwards of 30k." Andrei took another sip of his coffee. Viktor eyed Andrei for some silent notice as Arkady went back to eyeing the weapon in his lap. Piotr looked to the three of them and wondered if they were right, this was excessive.
"Could you pick this man out of a crowd?" Andrei asked after another sip of coffee.
Three cars down from where Ed Terryn pretended to sleep, Greg Shears pretended to read a newspaper printed in Russian. Across from him sat his wife cradling their sleeping son close as she watched the scenery zoom by and felt a pang of regret she let Greg talk her into this vacation.
Why Serbia, she thought, and clutched her son tight to her chest, glanced at him peeking at her oddly from behind the upraised newspaper. His eyes upon meeting hers momentarily flew back to skimming the text.
"What are you reading about?" She asked, trying to make conversation.
Greg had no idea. He cursed as much under his breath before responding,
"Sports," he surmised uncertainly. He hadn't been able to pull away long enough to watch the fight in Serbia. He hadn't told her about that underlying rationale behind taking a family trip to places his wife, Madeline, had never desired to go. It was a tough sell, but he'd convinced her of the romance inherent in a train ride across Europe in time to land in Serbia for UFC 3. And now Greg scoured the newspaper for some hint of coverage of Terryn's fight.
"What is it you're hoping is gonna happen on this trip, Gregory." Noticeably, the words hissed through her teeth, her stare lay dead upon him. The kid slept soundly, and Greg momentarily frowned as he hid behind the foreign language newspaper. However many miles they'd already traveled, and pictures they'd pretended to smile for in front of sights they didn't find beautiful the elephant in their proverbial room had followed them here, and was gorging itself to an unbearable size.
"I think I need some air," Greg pretended not to hear her as he shook the paper closed and stood up with an aloof smile and edged past her like her side of their train cabin was a wall of spikes. She watched him exit with a scowl.
Once out, he leaned his back against the door and loosened his collar to get some air to his lungs and contemplated how one person could make him feel so trapped now, where previously she had not.
"Gregory?" He looked down the train corridor towards the voice of exclaim and saw a familiar, and unwelcome face of Doctor Karen White rushing to greet him.
"I can't believe it!" Neither could Greg. His eyes widened, and he realized the air flow through his throat was still constricted, choking on the sight of her. Radiant, glorious, and soothing all at once, just as she'd been in the medical clinic when he'd first met her and asked what she'd known about the patient she'd had an appointment with, whom he had informed her at that time was Ed Terryn, and had died thirteen years earlier, single-handedly kick-starting a raveling process that bonded them together.
"W-what are you doing here?" He stammered.
"I saw him, Gregory! Ed! I was at the fight in Serbia! He's alive!"
Greg blinked. Was she here for the exact same reason he was?
"Huh," he managed, wide-eyed like a high school boy crushing on the prettiest girl in school as she looked pleased to find him here. His wife sat in the car, likely boring holes through the 4 inch thick door he leaned against.
"So, do you wanna—"
"I g-gotta, I gotta go." He stammered pointing, first, to his neck, then the door, silently implying his wife but not wanting to bring it up. Karen White watched him with a slowly growing confusion as he slipped back through the door he'd just come, careful to not allow her to see inside before locking the door behind him.
"Back so soon?" His wife sat looking at him crossly upon Greg's reentry, turning to greet her with all the dismay he'd just gathered from meeting Karen White in the same train car, on the same train bound for Saint Petersburg he was currently on, avoiding the rapidly advancing conversation of unhappiness shared with he and his wife, Madeline.
There was a dainty rap on the door, undoubtedly Karen. Greg scratched his head in the face of an unimpressed wife.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" she asked after moments of Greg's silent confusion.
Another rap on the door, this time with a bit more urgency.
"Gregory?" Karen's voice asked through the thin material of the door. His son stirred at the mini commotion Greg didn't know how to avoid, and his wife grew increasingly less impressed.
"Someone knows you here?"
"Uhhh..."
A voice, thankfully granting Greg respite, crackled over the train's intercom system and spoke in stentorian Russian the obvious signal that they approached their stop.
"Oh, thank god," Greg murmured, further disconcerting his wife without alleviating her ever growing suspicions about her husband. He could feel the lingering presence of Karen White moving back to her own cabin, and for a moment he felt like a doomed man granted a reprieve, if only for a moment.
As he and his wife collected their luggage in quiet agreement to discuss the matter in the solitude of a hotel, the familiar voice of Karen White rose over the din of the railway station.
"Gregory!" Greg felt his shoulders slump, his wife looked at him first, then turned to see this younger woman approaching them, approaching Greg, with frivolous recognition.
"You remember Patrick?" She said as she neared them, ignoring Madeline Shears entirely and turned to present the man Greg had met in Dempsey's pub almost a month prior.
"We found your ghost, Greg," Patrick said extending an offer of a handshake. Greg eyed the hand of the gothicly eccentric man he hadn't liked the moment he met him with some nebulous connection to Karen, then to Karen White's smiling visage staring back at him.
"We saw him fight!"
"Saw who fight? Gregory, who are these people?"
She wasn't pleased. This trip hadn't sat well with Madeline Shears. An impromptu vacation that would eat into savings she had intended to use to go someplace tropical, a deadline for the travel that seemed so odd and specific all at once, and now these two. Madeline's eyes narrowed further on her husband.
"Is t-this your wife?" Karen White's eyes settled on Madeline with a dawning revelation she had only teased at in her mind as to the way Greg looked at her. Greg stood there, hands full of luggage he'd refused to let go of in order to avoid a handshake with Patrick and didn't know what to say. His eyes trailed above the unwanted meeting to some vague point on the horizon he wished he could hide in, his vision fixing unwittingly on the man that had drawn them here, whether his wife liked it or not.
"Ed." Greg dropped the luggage as if in slow motion and drifted in between Karen and Madeline, drawn towards the sight of Ed Terryn sifting his way through the railway crowd like a wisp of smoke.
"Ed!"
"Oh no," Madeline cringed loudly, the dots connecting in her mind. "That's what we're here for?" The logic of it didn't matter, it suddenly made sense. Her husband's obsession, a white whale that had silently come between them since they'd met, it seemed.
Greg had already cleared half the railway tarmac when Karen and Patrick had clued in to who he saw and began to follow, leaving Madeline and the child to watch in frustrated annoyance.
In the parking lot, four car doors slammed upon sighting him.
All roads, this day, led to Ed Terryn.
"Ed!" Greg called with enough force to raise Ed's eyes from the ground to see him. Greg smiled with a glimmer of completion, and hope. It shrunk slightly as Ed kept walking, looking away without further notice right into a slowly closing semi-circle of men deadest on stopping Ed in his tracks.
Greg watched Ed stop in his tracks at a distance and began to pick up his feet into a jog noticing the four men taking on a more threatening posture.
"Ed?"
And then the gunshot brought those left in the train station to the ground, hands to ears, eyes panicking for the exits, and Ed collapsed to the tarmac in the midst of the four men scattering in four separate directions, one, Andrei as we know him, clutching Ed's carry-on bag away from Ed before he fell.
By the time Greg had made it to Ed's prone form, the four had vanished, and Greg stooped over a fading man recollecting the last time he'd seen Ed looked something just like this.
"Déjà vu," was all Greg could stammer in the midst of shock.
"No hospitals," Ed whispered as his eyes fluttered. "Let me die."
It's like looking through a veil, or thinly wrapped gauze. You can see the universe whizzing past as you travel to some destination, anywhere but here.
It was all an accident.
I never asked to be born here, in this place, to these circumstances, to walk among you.
I meant only to study the human condition at a distance, to learn what it meant, not experience it firsthand.
"He's waking up!" Karen White exclaimed, watching Ed Terryn's blinking eyes try to focus on her face as she looked down at him.
"Hi," She whispered, lovingly, soothingly, like a mother nesting with her chick. This is the bedside manner she'd never give to just any patient, but to this man who's story enticed her from half a world way to travel here to find him. Slowly, other faces came into view. Faces attached to names Ed didn't know, nor truly, if you asked him, cared to.
"Ed. I'm here buddy," Greg said, his back turned to the consistently scowling wife clutching once more her sleeping son to her breast.
"We're getting a divorce," she barked.
"Do we have to do this now?" Greg glared back at her, smiling once apologetically down at Ed. Karen eyed Greg with newfound sympathy before returning her attention to Ed.
"Can you hear us?" Ed blinked, feeling the pulse of blood and pain in his abdomen.
"I'm not dead." He stated with a flat disappointment.
"No. I'm a doctor. You've been out for a day or two, though. You're safe now."
"Who were those guys, Ed? That shot you. I think they took something." Greg asked, wincing at the silent barbs his wife was staring into his back.
"Not enough. Stop calling me Ed," he sat up grimacing at the pain in his side. Karen leaned back and watched him rise without fanfare.
"Careful, the stitches—"
Ed expertly dug his hands under the bandage of his neatly dressed wound and felt where the bullet had entered his side.
"I've had worse." He lifted onto his feet and stared blankly at the faces in the room who wondered at him.
"You shouldn't be moving. You need to heal up."
"This body will do the rest. Always does. Thank you."
It's an odd thing to watch the man rise from the makeshift table upon which you just witnessed a doctor remove a piece of spent ammunition from the man's flesh then seal him back up and nurse the wound with love. Even odder still, for them all, even Madeline who stewed over the revealed auspices that had truly brought she and her husband Greg to Serbia and now Saint Petersburg, to watch Ed collect a shirt and exit the room without glance, only a final request,
"Stop following me."
And then he closed the door.
Mine is a cabin in a train car seating three strangers who all look alike in spite of their differences. Through bleary eyes I blink at them in a passing moment of curiosity. Human eyes have a tendency towards two options in the infinite dance of interaction; look away or look back. I'm sure these have names, wants and needs, likes and dislikes, but how invested am I in getting to the point of knowing these things?
I wonder what Ed Terryn liked or disliked. Did he want to live?
I wonder what he would think of me using his body as I am, for a purpose other than what I can only assume he was using it for before he died.
In my inner conversation my eyes inadvertently meet the eyes of one of my fellow passengers, I quickly look away and pretend to fall back asleep.
I wish this sleep was actual and permanent.
Life is suffering no matter where and how you live it and I wish to be rid of it.
Vitebsky Railway Station, 8:36 PM
St. Petersburg, Russia
St. Petersburg, Russia
The parked car contained four men, two in the front and two in the back. One of those men, Arkady, massaged his finger along the worn gunmetal of the Russian PSS in his lap.
"This seems a little excessive to me," Andrei, a larger man, spoke into his takeout cup of coffee before taking a sip, watching the crowds of people file in and out of the train station.
"I'm telling you the man is no good." Piotr Orlov felt besieged with the questioning stare of Viktor craning his body from the driver's seat to eye him over the back of the car seats expectantly. Arkady turned his attention from the tiny handgun in his lap to Piotr with a heavy, expectant gaze.
"I hardly think shooting the man you suspect of having sex with your woman is worth the effort, Piotr. This is one favor you'd best reconsider wasting."
Piotr shifted defensively, like a full body dry-heave to illustrate how serious this was to him.
"He has money. He's a fighter. I saw him win in Serbia. He made a mess of my apartment. He paid cash."
Andrei took another sip, his eyes watching the train station arrivals and departures.
"Big purse, little purse?"
"Big enough. I heard something upwards of 30k." Andrei took another sip of his coffee. Viktor eyed Andrei for some silent notice as Arkady went back to eyeing the weapon in his lap. Piotr looked to the three of them and wondered if they were right, this was excessive.
"Could you pick this man out of a crowd?" Andrei asked after another sip of coffee.
#09 Train, 9:15 PM
Somewhere between Smolensk and St. Petersburg, Russia
Somewhere between Smolensk and St. Petersburg, Russia
Three cars down from where Ed Terryn pretended to sleep, Greg Shears pretended to read a newspaper printed in Russian. Across from him sat his wife cradling their sleeping son close as she watched the scenery zoom by and felt a pang of regret she let Greg talk her into this vacation.
Why Serbia, she thought, and clutched her son tight to her chest, glanced at him peeking at her oddly from behind the upraised newspaper. His eyes upon meeting hers momentarily flew back to skimming the text.
"What are you reading about?" She asked, trying to make conversation.
Greg had no idea. He cursed as much under his breath before responding,
"Sports," he surmised uncertainly. He hadn't been able to pull away long enough to watch the fight in Serbia. He hadn't told her about that underlying rationale behind taking a family trip to places his wife, Madeline, had never desired to go. It was a tough sell, but he'd convinced her of the romance inherent in a train ride across Europe in time to land in Serbia for UFC 3. And now Greg scoured the newspaper for some hint of coverage of Terryn's fight.
"What is it you're hoping is gonna happen on this trip, Gregory." Noticeably, the words hissed through her teeth, her stare lay dead upon him. The kid slept soundly, and Greg momentarily frowned as he hid behind the foreign language newspaper. However many miles they'd already traveled, and pictures they'd pretended to smile for in front of sights they didn't find beautiful the elephant in their proverbial room had followed them here, and was gorging itself to an unbearable size.
"I think I need some air," Greg pretended not to hear her as he shook the paper closed and stood up with an aloof smile and edged past her like her side of their train cabin was a wall of spikes. She watched him exit with a scowl.
Once out, he leaned his back against the door and loosened his collar to get some air to his lungs and contemplated how one person could make him feel so trapped now, where previously she had not.
"Gregory?" He looked down the train corridor towards the voice of exclaim and saw a familiar, and unwelcome face of Doctor Karen White rushing to greet him.
"I can't believe it!" Neither could Greg. His eyes widened, and he realized the air flow through his throat was still constricted, choking on the sight of her. Radiant, glorious, and soothing all at once, just as she'd been in the medical clinic when he'd first met her and asked what she'd known about the patient she'd had an appointment with, whom he had informed her at that time was Ed Terryn, and had died thirteen years earlier, single-handedly kick-starting a raveling process that bonded them together.
"W-what are you doing here?" He stammered.
"I saw him, Gregory! Ed! I was at the fight in Serbia! He's alive!"
Greg blinked. Was she here for the exact same reason he was?
"Huh," he managed, wide-eyed like a high school boy crushing on the prettiest girl in school as she looked pleased to find him here. His wife sat in the car, likely boring holes through the 4 inch thick door he leaned against.
"So, do you wanna—"
"I g-gotta, I gotta go." He stammered pointing, first, to his neck, then the door, silently implying his wife but not wanting to bring it up. Karen White watched him with a slowly growing confusion as he slipped back through the door he'd just come, careful to not allow her to see inside before locking the door behind him.
"Back so soon?" His wife sat looking at him crossly upon Greg's reentry, turning to greet her with all the dismay he'd just gathered from meeting Karen White in the same train car, on the same train bound for Saint Petersburg he was currently on, avoiding the rapidly advancing conversation of unhappiness shared with he and his wife, Madeline.
There was a dainty rap on the door, undoubtedly Karen. Greg scratched his head in the face of an unimpressed wife.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" she asked after moments of Greg's silent confusion.
Another rap on the door, this time with a bit more urgency.
"Gregory?" Karen's voice asked through the thin material of the door. His son stirred at the mini commotion Greg didn't know how to avoid, and his wife grew increasingly less impressed.
"Someone knows you here?"
"Uhhh..."
A voice, thankfully granting Greg respite, crackled over the train's intercom system and spoke in stentorian Russian the obvious signal that they approached their stop.
"Oh, thank god," Greg murmured, further disconcerting his wife without alleviating her ever growing suspicions about her husband. He could feel the lingering presence of Karen White moving back to her own cabin, and for a moment he felt like a doomed man granted a reprieve, if only for a moment.
As he and his wife collected their luggage in quiet agreement to discuss the matter in the solitude of a hotel, the familiar voice of Karen White rose over the din of the railway station.
"Gregory!" Greg felt his shoulders slump, his wife looked at him first, then turned to see this younger woman approaching them, approaching Greg, with frivolous recognition.
"You remember Patrick?" She said as she neared them, ignoring Madeline Shears entirely and turned to present the man Greg had met in Dempsey's pub almost a month prior.
"We found your ghost, Greg," Patrick said extending an offer of a handshake. Greg eyed the hand of the gothicly eccentric man he hadn't liked the moment he met him with some nebulous connection to Karen, then to Karen White's smiling visage staring back at him.
"We saw him fight!"
"Saw who fight? Gregory, who are these people?"
She wasn't pleased. This trip hadn't sat well with Madeline Shears. An impromptu vacation that would eat into savings she had intended to use to go someplace tropical, a deadline for the travel that seemed so odd and specific all at once, and now these two. Madeline's eyes narrowed further on her husband.
"Is t-this your wife?" Karen White's eyes settled on Madeline with a dawning revelation she had only teased at in her mind as to the way Greg looked at her. Greg stood there, hands full of luggage he'd refused to let go of in order to avoid a handshake with Patrick and didn't know what to say. His eyes trailed above the unwanted meeting to some vague point on the horizon he wished he could hide in, his vision fixing unwittingly on the man that had drawn them here, whether his wife liked it or not.
"Ed." Greg dropped the luggage as if in slow motion and drifted in between Karen and Madeline, drawn towards the sight of Ed Terryn sifting his way through the railway crowd like a wisp of smoke.
"Ed!"
"Oh no," Madeline cringed loudly, the dots connecting in her mind. "That's what we're here for?" The logic of it didn't matter, it suddenly made sense. Her husband's obsession, a white whale that had silently come between them since they'd met, it seemed.
Greg had already cleared half the railway tarmac when Karen and Patrick had clued in to who he saw and began to follow, leaving Madeline and the child to watch in frustrated annoyance.
In the parking lot, four car doors slammed upon sighting him.
All roads, this day, led to Ed Terryn.
"Ed!" Greg called with enough force to raise Ed's eyes from the ground to see him. Greg smiled with a glimmer of completion, and hope. It shrunk slightly as Ed kept walking, looking away without further notice right into a slowly closing semi-circle of men deadest on stopping Ed in his tracks.
Greg watched Ed stop in his tracks at a distance and began to pick up his feet into a jog noticing the four men taking on a more threatening posture.
"Ed?"
And then the gunshot brought those left in the train station to the ground, hands to ears, eyes panicking for the exits, and Ed collapsed to the tarmac in the midst of the four men scattering in four separate directions, one, Andrei as we know him, clutching Ed's carry-on bag away from Ed before he fell.
By the time Greg had made it to Ed's prone form, the four had vanished, and Greg stooped over a fading man recollecting the last time he'd seen Ed looked something just like this.
"Déjà vu," was all Greg could stammer in the midst of shock.
"No hospitals," Ed whispered as his eyes fluttered. "Let me die."
It's like looking through a veil, or thinly wrapped gauze. You can see the universe whizzing past as you travel to some destination, anywhere but here.
It was all an accident.
I never asked to be born here, in this place, to these circumstances, to walk among you.
I meant only to study the human condition at a distance, to learn what it meant, not experience it firsthand.
"He's waking up!" Karen White exclaimed, watching Ed Terryn's blinking eyes try to focus on her face as she looked down at him.
"Hi," She whispered, lovingly, soothingly, like a mother nesting with her chick. This is the bedside manner she'd never give to just any patient, but to this man who's story enticed her from half a world way to travel here to find him. Slowly, other faces came into view. Faces attached to names Ed didn't know, nor truly, if you asked him, cared to.
"Ed. I'm here buddy," Greg said, his back turned to the consistently scowling wife clutching once more her sleeping son to her breast.
"We're getting a divorce," she barked.
"Do we have to do this now?" Greg glared back at her, smiling once apologetically down at Ed. Karen eyed Greg with newfound sympathy before returning her attention to Ed.
"Can you hear us?" Ed blinked, feeling the pulse of blood and pain in his abdomen.
"I'm not dead." He stated with a flat disappointment.
"No. I'm a doctor. You've been out for a day or two, though. You're safe now."
"Who were those guys, Ed? That shot you. I think they took something." Greg asked, wincing at the silent barbs his wife was staring into his back.
"Not enough. Stop calling me Ed," he sat up grimacing at the pain in his side. Karen leaned back and watched him rise without fanfare.
"Careful, the stitches—"
Ed expertly dug his hands under the bandage of his neatly dressed wound and felt where the bullet had entered his side.
"I've had worse." He lifted onto his feet and stared blankly at the faces in the room who wondered at him.
"You shouldn't be moving. You need to heal up."
"This body will do the rest. Always does. Thank you."
It's an odd thing to watch the man rise from the makeshift table upon which you just witnessed a doctor remove a piece of spent ammunition from the man's flesh then seal him back up and nurse the wound with love. Even odder still, for them all, even Madeline who stewed over the revealed auspices that had truly brought she and her husband Greg to Serbia and now Saint Petersburg, to watch Ed collect a shirt and exit the room without glance, only a final request,
"Stop following me."
And then he closed the door.
#4
Event Submissions / Chapter Three
Last post by Jove Belane - July 20, 2017, 01:24:48 PMCHAPTER THREE
Harvey is Real
POV: Harvey
Alas, like so many things, it would all fall apart in the end. Like our precious democracy, it would crumble and deteriorate into 'who cares'. What is 'it', but a litany of poor decisions made by my client, Jove Belane. His decision to follow the harlot, his decision to assault the ISIS member, and every other decision fueled by the contents of his many discarded glass bottles.
Jove's reward was a bastard child and a headache. He didn't sleep anymore and I pitied him. I lied when I told him I would stick around to help with the child. Hour two of our little nuclear family ended with a faked headache and a brisk walk to my limousine. I don't tolerate children. Children the size and age of Jove and children the size and age of the bastard child. The poor doomed child. Zero tolerance.
Children.
It would be up to me, Harvey Lohman, to put everything back together again.
I went to visit Jove and Mariska's assailant under the guise of his 'lawyer'.
You would be surprised to know what weight my career choice carries. They see me and see my credentials and almost always assume I'm that sleazy defense lawyer with the billboards ads beside the freeway and the television commercials wedged into the breaks between Judge Judy re-runs. No matter how they judge me, they see who they want to see, or, who they expect to see.
I can get anywhere.
I sat down across from my new 'client' and for a moment he looked at me as if he knew me, but once I smiled, he realized who he was looking at.
"You aren't my lawyer."
I chuckled, "Of course I'm not your lawyer. Who would represent someone a step away from Gitmo? If that were still a thing. Is it a thing? It might be. I think Obama claimed he would shut down Gitmo, but it never happened."
"What do you want?"
I couldn't understand or didn't care to understand his words--they were mired in a thick middle eastern accent which I'm sure would raise the hair on the back of 'simple white folk' necks like needles if they heard it. Imagine if a Trump voter had to sit next to a man like that on a plane?
Chaos, ladies and gentlemen.
"I just want to talk. You're in here on quite a charge. Aggravated assault, attempted murder, and of course, suspicion of terrorist activity." I grinned, "Like I said. Gitmo. You're an orange jump suit and a beating away. I'd love to save you from that."
"I am not a terrorist," he scoffed.
"Oh, but you have the looks and the skin to match. You may as well be a terrorist."
I knew much more about him than I led on. He was, in fact, a member of a sleeper cell, as they're called in the movies and lackadaisical thriller television shows starring Kiefer Sutherland. I'm not entirely sure what the plan was, but it had been completely botched by the fact that both the terrorist and Jove Belane wished to penetrate the same monster of a woman, by the name of Mariska.
"You should have aimed higher," I told him as I pulled a bag of hard candies out of my pocket.
"What?" he asked.
"Mariska. You should have killed her. You would have saved me some trouble," I let my eyes roll as I popped a cherry hard candy into my mouth, "If only you had better aim. Am I right?"
"You're crazy. This meeting is over."
He tried to get up, but I wouldn't let him.
"No no. You're staying just for a moment longer. Please. Have a hard candy," I insisted, "What's your favorite flavor? I have every flavor you could imagine, while you're not imagining the death of the infidels, anyways. Plus, they're halal, just for you."
He thought about it for a moment and I could sense that he had already decided that he hated me. I smiled, enjoying the attention and opened the bag and held it up to him. He mulled it over for a moment and our eyes met.
"Blueberry."
"Yes?"
"Blueberry is my favorite flavor."
He looked into the bag and they were all blue.
Blueberry, just for him.
I shook the bag, enticing him to grab one. Our eyes met again and I wondered if he was thinking about how soon his life was going to end. He had such precious time left and I hoped he knew it. There was no way he was going to live to carry out whatever plan it was he had floating around in his Quran-warped little brain.
He would die and the world wouldn't care. His heart would quit beating and the world would be more concerned about what Justin Bieber would do in his 'Calvins'.
I would forget him the moment I left.
Quran, Bible, Book of Mormon. Terrible reads.
Religion, right?
He pulled a Blueberry hard candy out of the bag and carefully placed it into his mouth. For a moment I almost felt sad for him. I knew, deep inside, he had wants and love and hope. He wanted more out of life than his Quran was willing to give him. He wanted freedom and love, but he wouldn't get it. All he was going to get for his troubles, was a flatlined heart monitor blasting out a high pitched declaration of his death.
What a way to go.
He pushed the hard candy from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue and flashed a small smile.
"It's good," he said, with a slurp.
"Right? They're delicious," I grinned, "Mine is cherry. It will turn my tongue and lips red. Yours? Yours will turn your lips blue."
There are dark things in this world. Dark things that hide so respectable 'folks' don't have to see them. They want to go along their day and consider what they're buying next. They don't want to be bogged down with reality. They would rather step past the bum than consider how the bum got there. They wouldn't even fathom the idea that they could be in the same position. One simple turn of fate can change everything.
Fate.
His eyes grew wide suddenly as he gasped. His hands gripped the table suddenly, like he was on a roller coaster during its initial plummet downward. I leaned back in my chair as his eyes started to water and he let out another gasp. I grinned as he pulled a hand away from the desk and reached for his throat. Veins bulged out of his neck and forehead as he struggled.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
He didn't respond. He tried, in vain, to thrust his chest into the table, but had no luck. He slumped back into his chair and our eyes met and he saw something he wasn't prepared for.
He wheezed, "شیطان"
I saw, in his eyes, a mix of fear and awareness of impending death. He wasn't going to see those virgins he was promised. All he was going to see was my face and he knew it.
There wasn't a heaven for people like him. Only dirt. Dirt and vile filth. Insects using flesh to gain life. I laughed, knowing that he was going to grant insects so much sustenance. In a way, he was helping better the world.
Over a long enough timeline, his remains would, one day, become the new fossil fuels. Far off generations would go to war over his crude.
I laughed at humanity.
He fell face first onto the table and I heard the last bit of life leave his lungs.
I laughed harder.
"That blueberry. So good, but it looks like I'm saving the rest for me."
I stood up and returned the bag of hard candies to my pocket. I walked to the door and exited. The guard, who was watching, wasn't even there anymore. I laughed as I walked down the hallway.
The guard's favorite hard candy flavor was pineapple.
I told you, I have all of the flavors.
Had justice been served? You tell me. This man, this terrorist man. This pashto spewing monster hadn't done me any justice. Mariska was still breathing and Jove was still pining after her.
Jove should have been laying flowers doomed to die on her grave and moving on. Jove Belane was proving to be softer than I could ever have imagined.
My next step was to steer Louis Winston with his stupid nickname, in the right direction.
We'll see.
End.
#5
Event Submissions / The Chambers Chronicles IV
Last post by Lara Chambers - July 07, 2017, 05:12:47 AMThe Chambers Chronicles
By Lara Chambers
T H E W R O N G D I R E C T I O N
Vyatskoe, Yaroslavl, Russia
The bus was only half-full when she entered, not looking back to where she was coming from. Forgotten was the little fire she had created to burn even the smallest evidence. Finding a spot at the window away from the other people, she dropped into a metal chair. Her body felt exhausted. The times of getting a high after taking a life were long gone -- now, it felt like a burden she wasn't able to carry without giving up pieces of herself.
Every time a little more.
Her eyes scanned over the width of this enormous country. It was breathtaking as much as it was scary. If you vanished here, chances were huge that you would never be seen again, for many different reasons. Her hand was searching for her phone inside her pocket, the display still black. When she entered her code, there was a mixture of release and disappointment growing inside of her. No new messages. Which was a good sign as far as Danilo was concerned, but it also meant that Devon hadn't tried to reach her.
You had to lie. Once again.
It was one thing to pretend for the rest of the world, but with him, it was getting harder every single time. Mostly because he wasn't stupid and self-absorbed, but also because she loved him more than she had expected she ever would a year ago. With a small sigh, she put the phone out of sight, concentrating on the landscape again. This bus seemed to wait longer at every stop, which she didn't mind. Lara wasn't particularly in a hurry to get home. Her body wasn't ready either.
"Are you okay, Miss?" A lady had taken the seat next to her, speaking in Russian.
Lara turned her head, observing the female, who was probably around her age. But life hadn't been too kind with her, she thought, seeing the deep wrinkles all over her face, here and there a scar. She was definitely attractive, but a little plain. Following the eyes of the woman, she noticed a closed cut with dry blood. It was going from her elbow all the way down to her wrist. Immediately she hid her arm, trying a smile.
"Oh, that's nothing. I just passed one of those nasty trees without care." Lara spoke softly, not even trying to hide her accent.
The girl smiled back at her, then turned her attention elsewhere, leaving the British Bombshell alone with her thoughts. Without warning, they jumped back to that what had happened barely an hour ago. The last look on Maxim Gorodetsky's face covered all her thoughts. A man that certainly had done a lot worse, and maybe deserved a death way worse than she delivered, but that was not for her to decide. This was not her battle; but then again, it never was. Lara Chambers was a tool for people with might. And for over a decade she had done a perfectly fine job, until her emotions got in the way. One mistake and the game had changed.
Think of all the times you got away.
But despite the deep shit she was currently in, she was no quitter. Fake tits and a nice rack didn't automatically mean that you were an idiot. Sure, nine out of ten times that was the case, but that never bothered her. She was used to moving in the shadows, passing time until she got a chance to strike. And this time, it was nothing else. Danilo Myovic thought of himself as a big fish. The Master of Her Fate, so to speak. But was he really? He had what Lara loved to call the 'Small Man' problem. Napoleon Complex, and all.
Mind out of the gutter.
He was hungry for power, and to a degree, he got it. Or at least, that was what he told himself as he pushed her in a certain direction, testing her. Lara had been through this dozens of times with other people. Even Shawna was no exception to that. But in the end, Lara walked away with her head held up high, showing her worth towards Bella Mafia and eventually became her friend. Of course, she didn't expect anything like that from the Russians; they had their own beliefs and even morals.
A small smile spread on her face. She held no value to them, not yet. But there would come a time they would understand who Lara Marie Chambers truly was. The one tool that became a weapon. The small, British girl that learned tricks from many cultures. It was the day at the park where she decided her own fate. Not Danilo. It was good he believed different, but in reality he was one thing: a stepping stone.
"Lady... your phone... ." Once again, the female next to her brought her back to reality.
Checking the number, her stomach turned. Shawna Martinez.
"Are there any problems?" Her voice wasn't as secure as she hoped.
"You could say that. We lost Devon." She sounded apologetic. "Well, not really lost him, but you won't like what I'm going to tell you next."
A thousand thoughts rushed through her head, creating horror scenarios. None of them ended well. The last bit of color left her face, the phone tightly pressed against her ear. So tight that her knuckles turned white. Her voice came out barely above a whisper when she picked up the conversation again.
"Is... he alright?"
"That's actually what I'm trying to tell you... he took the same flight as you did Lara. And unless I am personally invited, I am not stepping onto Russian ground." A small pause, mumbling in the background. "My assumption, though, is you will have a lot to explain to your husband. Sorry Lars..."
The connection broke. Either because she was in the middle of nowhere, or Shawna hung up. For a long moment she looked at the display, having Devon's face look back at her. Cursing underneath her breath, she looked at the other passengers. Did he follow her? Had he seen what kind of person his wife really was?
"You idiot... you stubborn... lovable man."
The bus wasn't going any faster just because her heartbeat had increased. For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, leaning back, shutting out every little noise inside that metallic death machine. Her mind once more trailed off to a time long gone, to a place that now seemed so unreal.
B L O O D T I E S B E T W E E N W O M E N
Las Vegas; Nevada [Martinez Mansion]
November 2014
Back in the office of Shawna Martinez, Lara found herself having a drink after her duty was done. On the expensive table were all kind of drugs, several of them had entered her system moments ago. Her long dark hair was still tightly tied-up in a knot, her leather boots resting over the chair.
"I heard you're seeing someone." Shawna always cut to the core without fancy word games.
"Well there's this guy... he's pretty amazing... and... ."
"No. I told you one thing on the first day, Lara, and I thought you had understood it back then. We fuck. We don't love. Not because love is something disgusting or for the weak, but simply because we don't endanger ourselves or those we find affection for."
She sipped from her drink, feeling the burn running down her throat. When setting the glass down, her focus once more returned to her employe.
"There are two exceptions to the rules. Number one, the other person is part of our lifestyle. Number two, you are willing to give up everything for that person. As in, come clean and share your darkest moments. Is this boy either of this, Lara?"
This strangely felt like a talk between mother and daughter. Yet Lara wouldn't know very much about such things, having more or less raised herself from a very early age. It was strange when someone showed concern. Even though her mind assured her that this was more about Shawna than herself.
Keeping her safe.
Making sure her secrets remained well hidden.
Nonetheless it felt good to be a part of a family. Yeah. Family. It was the Italian Mob, but even then, still the only family she ever knew.
Obviously, she had been quiet for a little too long, watching Shawna tap her perfectly manicured fingernails on the desk. A little habit that came through whenever her patience was wearing thin.
"I don't know. We only just met... and... he has been very thoughtful and loving... ." She stuttered her way through that sentence, feeling the burning eyes of the blonde.
"That is a no, then. Because if he was that important to you, you would have told me to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Don't get me wrong, Lara, I ain't trying to keep you from anything." Shawna's voice sounded sincere. "But you're all my business, and I will not let either of you run into disaster. The moment you meet that special someone, I will be the first one to congratulate you. Hell, I will even pay for your damn wedding shall there ever be one. But all for the right person."
Maybe it was her age or the fact that she had been abused for so long, but a part of her wanted to start a fight. Just for the hell of it. But she knew better than that. Not only was Shawna a lot heavier and already a skilled fighter, but the security surrounding the desk would have caused more problems than necessary. So instead of jumping up, Lara once more grabbed her glass, toasting to her boss.
"To a boss that acts like a hen and a wedding that will be paid in many years. Cheers."
They smiled at each other for a long moment before returning to their celebration. Many more were going to follow this one, but none of them ever as big as the day she said her goodbye.
I came as a puppet. I left as the puppeteer.
T H E L O N G R O A D
New York City; New York
No one said married life was easy, right? If anyone would have seen Devon and Lara Rivera together they would have over thought that comment. They were somewhat a perfect couple. Supporting and loving. He had the power to calm her down or to lift her up. And even though she didn't say it often, without him she would have been lost. Everything was good in their little kingdom.
Till you fucked up.
It rested heavy on her mood that they hardly were talking. Only the needed phrases to keep the picture intact. At the bar. When being surrounded by people. At home they would spend hours in the same room without exchanging a word. And while Lara was fully aware why he was so angry, she didn't find the guts to say it out loud. Yeah. The same female that would battle guys twice her size and weight... was scared of a simple talk. Or better said of the result.
Deep in her heart she knew that Devon was the one and that maybe he would forgive her everything. But not that. Before signing with Unleashed she had promised him two things. Don't get killed. And don't keep things from me. Despite her good intentions, she had failed.
"Dinner will be ready in around ten minutes." She called from the kitchen, her thick accent breaking through.
Of course she was not expecting a real answer. So the mumbled 'K' was perfectly fine. He sat on the sofa with a fresh bottle of beer, watching some nonsense about fishing. She had made his favourite food, preparing the table nicely. It was her way to make amends, even though Lara was fully aware that this wasn't how it worked. A few moments later she heard him turn off the television, his steps heavy when making it to their dining area.
"I made steak...and there is pie in the fridge."
His eyes only briefly looked over her, nodding. In all their time together she had never seen him like that. Frustrated. Angry. But on top of it all, upset. Dev took his usual spot and began to cut into the meat. Lara on the other hand sat in front of potatoes and vegetables. She didn't even bother to grill the second steak. Her appetite was barely existing the past weeks. What happened in Russia. The accident of Nadja Ivanov combined with Ethan vanishing. Combined with a husband that didn't go as far as looking at her anymore.
"Are we gonna talk about it?" She was surprised when the words had come out, looking at him.
"The food's good."
Devon's tone provoked her more than she had expected, underneath the wooden table her hands had been clenched into fists. Her face on the other hand was a perfect facade. She wasn't even blinking. Kicking the table so his drink almost toppled over, only to get his attention. When he looked at her from those hazel eyes, she was two things -- relieved and scared.
"You know exactly I wasn't talking about the food Devon. I talk about Russia... and what happened there." She paused a moment, seeing the surprised expression on his face. "I know you followed me."
"Yeah? Awesome. Saves half the useless chatter beating around the bush." He chewed another bite of meat, shrugging. "If you think I'm gonna apologize for stooping that low? No. I'm not."
She let out a sigh. This was a side of him she didn't know, neither was she very fond of it. But at least he talked to her.
"I don't expect a sorry, because you owe me none. I on the other hand owe you a lot more than that." She looked at him. "But let me ask you one thing, do you think I liked doing that? The actual deed or hiding shit from you?"
"I don't know, Lara. I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around what was going through your brain. Does it matter what you liked? I don't give a fuck what you do for a living. Thought I made that clear when I asked you to marry me. I didn't sign on to be some cuckolded patsy..." the anger was overwhelming, his eyes cool green as they bored into her.
"Become the champion again. Be whatever in the hell you wanna be. But don't lie to my face. Tell me you're going on ahead to Russia for some bullshit business like I can't see right through you." Devon's voice was cold. Strained on the verge of shouting.
"Are you really thinking that of me? That any of this matters shit to me? I was done with this fucking business. I was happy. With you. With our simple life." She was angry, but her voice didn't show it. "I married you because for the first time in forever I felt safe. So think of me as whatever, but I know myself I fucked up."
Lara got up slowly and without looking at him. Moving towards the sink.
"Ask yourself this, haven't I always told you everything? Why you think I haven't this time?"
"I saw you," Devon stared at his plate, at the blood around the piece of uneaten steak. "Skulking around...trying to look like someone else. How do you think that makes me feel?"
"Of course. Avoid my question. I can not apologise if you don't see the essential problem Devon." This time her voice was way softer. "I say again, why you think I haven't told you?"
"You're ashamed?" He was still staring at the congealing blood, feeling sick. "I don't know, Lara. I'm not you. Tell me." With one motion, he swept his plate to the floor and moved to his feet. A satisfied smile was on his face at the sound of breaking glass while he stalked towards her. "Just tell me."
"They threatened you. And I don't give a fuck if you tell me that you can handle it. Because the truth is, I can't even think about it without getting scared." She walked past him, kneeling down. Starting to pick up the broken glass.
"Makes two of us." Devon said after a long silence. "Scares the shit out of me to think about what might've happened. And I wasn't there - wasn't supposed to be there."
She didn't answer straight away, still working on the broke plate. The wasted food. It was hard to not just collapse there on the floor, rolling into a ball.
"I am sorry I didn't say anything. I just can't imagine anything happening to you." She whispered.
"Baby," Devon's hand rested on her shoulder. "Stop. Just look at me." He was crouched down next to her, holding out the little trash bin from under the sink for her to throw the glass into.
Lara looked at him with those big, blue eyes. The splinters still in her hands, as if she was unable to go. Not even noticing that that glass began to cut her open.
She opened her mouth again, but her voice sounded strange.
"I don't know what to do without you... hurting you was never my intention."
"What have you done?" His voice was a rough whisper and at first she wanted to explain how deep it went before she realised he was looking at the cuts on her hand, welling with blood.
"I didn't even... notice." She finally let the glass fall into the bin, looking at her hands. "They will never stop. And I don't know how to get out of this without forsaking the rest of my life."
"Our lives." He corrected, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm here."
It was hard to tell how long they sat in the middle of this mess, but Lara didn't care. The truth was that those were the most important words she had heard in the past weeks: being reassured that she wasn't in this alone. With Ethan gone and Nadja in a coma, she wasn't quite sure how long she was going to hold it together. The pressure was overwhelming and came from too many directions.
"I love you." She whispered while looking at her bloody hands.
"You should. I'm pretty damn lovable, my killer queen." He laughed, kissing her forehead. "Now that I think about it, couldn't you just do the same to Spiral? I mean that'd be the easiest solution to a lot of problems."
A small laughter escaped her while she soaked in his scent. And for the first time in weeks she allowed herself to let go of the tension, content with just being his girl.
Lady of Chambers
By Lara Chambers
T H E W R O N G D I R E C T I O N
Vyatskoe, Yaroslavl, Russia
The bus was only half-full when she entered, not looking back to where she was coming from. Forgotten was the little fire she had created to burn even the smallest evidence. Finding a spot at the window away from the other people, she dropped into a metal chair. Her body felt exhausted. The times of getting a high after taking a life were long gone -- now, it felt like a burden she wasn't able to carry without giving up pieces of herself.
Every time a little more.
Her eyes scanned over the width of this enormous country. It was breathtaking as much as it was scary. If you vanished here, chances were huge that you would never be seen again, for many different reasons. Her hand was searching for her phone inside her pocket, the display still black. When she entered her code, there was a mixture of release and disappointment growing inside of her. No new messages. Which was a good sign as far as Danilo was concerned, but it also meant that Devon hadn't tried to reach her.
You had to lie. Once again.
It was one thing to pretend for the rest of the world, but with him, it was getting harder every single time. Mostly because he wasn't stupid and self-absorbed, but also because she loved him more than she had expected she ever would a year ago. With a small sigh, she put the phone out of sight, concentrating on the landscape again. This bus seemed to wait longer at every stop, which she didn't mind. Lara wasn't particularly in a hurry to get home. Her body wasn't ready either.
"Are you okay, Miss?" A lady had taken the seat next to her, speaking in Russian.
Lara turned her head, observing the female, who was probably around her age. But life hadn't been too kind with her, she thought, seeing the deep wrinkles all over her face, here and there a scar. She was definitely attractive, but a little plain. Following the eyes of the woman, she noticed a closed cut with dry blood. It was going from her elbow all the way down to her wrist. Immediately she hid her arm, trying a smile.
"Oh, that's nothing. I just passed one of those nasty trees without care." Lara spoke softly, not even trying to hide her accent.
The girl smiled back at her, then turned her attention elsewhere, leaving the British Bombshell alone with her thoughts. Without warning, they jumped back to that what had happened barely an hour ago. The last look on Maxim Gorodetsky's face covered all her thoughts. A man that certainly had done a lot worse, and maybe deserved a death way worse than she delivered, but that was not for her to decide. This was not her battle; but then again, it never was. Lara Chambers was a tool for people with might. And for over a decade she had done a perfectly fine job, until her emotions got in the way. One mistake and the game had changed.
Think of all the times you got away.
But despite the deep shit she was currently in, she was no quitter. Fake tits and a nice rack didn't automatically mean that you were an idiot. Sure, nine out of ten times that was the case, but that never bothered her. She was used to moving in the shadows, passing time until she got a chance to strike. And this time, it was nothing else. Danilo Myovic thought of himself as a big fish. The Master of Her Fate, so to speak. But was he really? He had what Lara loved to call the 'Small Man' problem. Napoleon Complex, and all.
Mind out of the gutter.
He was hungry for power, and to a degree, he got it. Or at least, that was what he told himself as he pushed her in a certain direction, testing her. Lara had been through this dozens of times with other people. Even Shawna was no exception to that. But in the end, Lara walked away with her head held up high, showing her worth towards Bella Mafia and eventually became her friend. Of course, she didn't expect anything like that from the Russians; they had their own beliefs and even morals.
A small smile spread on her face. She held no value to them, not yet. But there would come a time they would understand who Lara Marie Chambers truly was. The one tool that became a weapon. The small, British girl that learned tricks from many cultures. It was the day at the park where she decided her own fate. Not Danilo. It was good he believed different, but in reality he was one thing: a stepping stone.
"Lady... your phone... ." Once again, the female next to her brought her back to reality.
Checking the number, her stomach turned. Shawna Martinez.
"Are there any problems?" Her voice wasn't as secure as she hoped.
"You could say that. We lost Devon." She sounded apologetic. "Well, not really lost him, but you won't like what I'm going to tell you next."
A thousand thoughts rushed through her head, creating horror scenarios. None of them ended well. The last bit of color left her face, the phone tightly pressed against her ear. So tight that her knuckles turned white. Her voice came out barely above a whisper when she picked up the conversation again.
"Is... he alright?"
"That's actually what I'm trying to tell you... he took the same flight as you did Lara. And unless I am personally invited, I am not stepping onto Russian ground." A small pause, mumbling in the background. "My assumption, though, is you will have a lot to explain to your husband. Sorry Lars..."
The connection broke. Either because she was in the middle of nowhere, or Shawna hung up. For a long moment she looked at the display, having Devon's face look back at her. Cursing underneath her breath, she looked at the other passengers. Did he follow her? Had he seen what kind of person his wife really was?
"You idiot... you stubborn... lovable man."
The bus wasn't going any faster just because her heartbeat had increased. For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, leaning back, shutting out every little noise inside that metallic death machine. Her mind once more trailed off to a time long gone, to a place that now seemed so unreal.
B L O O D T I E S B E T W E E N W O M E N
Las Vegas; Nevada [Martinez Mansion]
November 2014
Back in the office of Shawna Martinez, Lara found herself having a drink after her duty was done. On the expensive table were all kind of drugs, several of them had entered her system moments ago. Her long dark hair was still tightly tied-up in a knot, her leather boots resting over the chair.
"I heard you're seeing someone." Shawna always cut to the core without fancy word games.
"Well there's this guy... he's pretty amazing... and... ."
"No. I told you one thing on the first day, Lara, and I thought you had understood it back then. We fuck. We don't love. Not because love is something disgusting or for the weak, but simply because we don't endanger ourselves or those we find affection for."
She sipped from her drink, feeling the burn running down her throat. When setting the glass down, her focus once more returned to her employe.
"There are two exceptions to the rules. Number one, the other person is part of our lifestyle. Number two, you are willing to give up everything for that person. As in, come clean and share your darkest moments. Is this boy either of this, Lara?"
This strangely felt like a talk between mother and daughter. Yet Lara wouldn't know very much about such things, having more or less raised herself from a very early age. It was strange when someone showed concern. Even though her mind assured her that this was more about Shawna than herself.
Keeping her safe.
Making sure her secrets remained well hidden.
Nonetheless it felt good to be a part of a family. Yeah. Family. It was the Italian Mob, but even then, still the only family she ever knew.
Obviously, she had been quiet for a little too long, watching Shawna tap her perfectly manicured fingernails on the desk. A little habit that came through whenever her patience was wearing thin.
"I don't know. We only just met... and... he has been very thoughtful and loving... ." She stuttered her way through that sentence, feeling the burning eyes of the blonde.
"That is a no, then. Because if he was that important to you, you would have told me to shove it where the sun doesn't shine. Don't get me wrong, Lara, I ain't trying to keep you from anything." Shawna's voice sounded sincere. "But you're all my business, and I will not let either of you run into disaster. The moment you meet that special someone, I will be the first one to congratulate you. Hell, I will even pay for your damn wedding shall there ever be one. But all for the right person."
Maybe it was her age or the fact that she had been abused for so long, but a part of her wanted to start a fight. Just for the hell of it. But she knew better than that. Not only was Shawna a lot heavier and already a skilled fighter, but the security surrounding the desk would have caused more problems than necessary. So instead of jumping up, Lara once more grabbed her glass, toasting to her boss.
"To a boss that acts like a hen and a wedding that will be paid in many years. Cheers."
They smiled at each other for a long moment before returning to their celebration. Many more were going to follow this one, but none of them ever as big as the day she said her goodbye.
I came as a puppet. I left as the puppeteer.
T H E L O N G R O A D
New York City; New York
No one said married life was easy, right? If anyone would have seen Devon and Lara Rivera together they would have over thought that comment. They were somewhat a perfect couple. Supporting and loving. He had the power to calm her down or to lift her up. And even though she didn't say it often, without him she would have been lost. Everything was good in their little kingdom.
Till you fucked up.
It rested heavy on her mood that they hardly were talking. Only the needed phrases to keep the picture intact. At the bar. When being surrounded by people. At home they would spend hours in the same room without exchanging a word. And while Lara was fully aware why he was so angry, she didn't find the guts to say it out loud. Yeah. The same female that would battle guys twice her size and weight... was scared of a simple talk. Or better said of the result.
Deep in her heart she knew that Devon was the one and that maybe he would forgive her everything. But not that. Before signing with Unleashed she had promised him two things. Don't get killed. And don't keep things from me. Despite her good intentions, she had failed.
"Dinner will be ready in around ten minutes." She called from the kitchen, her thick accent breaking through.
Of course she was not expecting a real answer. So the mumbled 'K' was perfectly fine. He sat on the sofa with a fresh bottle of beer, watching some nonsense about fishing. She had made his favourite food, preparing the table nicely. It was her way to make amends, even though Lara was fully aware that this wasn't how it worked. A few moments later she heard him turn off the television, his steps heavy when making it to their dining area.
"I made steak...and there is pie in the fridge."
His eyes only briefly looked over her, nodding. In all their time together she had never seen him like that. Frustrated. Angry. But on top of it all, upset. Dev took his usual spot and began to cut into the meat. Lara on the other hand sat in front of potatoes and vegetables. She didn't even bother to grill the second steak. Her appetite was barely existing the past weeks. What happened in Russia. The accident of Nadja Ivanov combined with Ethan vanishing. Combined with a husband that didn't go as far as looking at her anymore.
"Are we gonna talk about it?" She was surprised when the words had come out, looking at him.
"The food's good."
Devon's tone provoked her more than she had expected, underneath the wooden table her hands had been clenched into fists. Her face on the other hand was a perfect facade. She wasn't even blinking. Kicking the table so his drink almost toppled over, only to get his attention. When he looked at her from those hazel eyes, she was two things -- relieved and scared.
"You know exactly I wasn't talking about the food Devon. I talk about Russia... and what happened there." She paused a moment, seeing the surprised expression on his face. "I know you followed me."
"Yeah? Awesome. Saves half the useless chatter beating around the bush." He chewed another bite of meat, shrugging. "If you think I'm gonna apologize for stooping that low? No. I'm not."
She let out a sigh. This was a side of him she didn't know, neither was she very fond of it. But at least he talked to her.
"I don't expect a sorry, because you owe me none. I on the other hand owe you a lot more than that." She looked at him. "But let me ask you one thing, do you think I liked doing that? The actual deed or hiding shit from you?"
"I don't know, Lara. I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around what was going through your brain. Does it matter what you liked? I don't give a fuck what you do for a living. Thought I made that clear when I asked you to marry me. I didn't sign on to be some cuckolded patsy..." the anger was overwhelming, his eyes cool green as they bored into her.
"Become the champion again. Be whatever in the hell you wanna be. But don't lie to my face. Tell me you're going on ahead to Russia for some bullshit business like I can't see right through you." Devon's voice was cold. Strained on the verge of shouting.
"Are you really thinking that of me? That any of this matters shit to me? I was done with this fucking business. I was happy. With you. With our simple life." She was angry, but her voice didn't show it. "I married you because for the first time in forever I felt safe. So think of me as whatever, but I know myself I fucked up."
Lara got up slowly and without looking at him. Moving towards the sink.
"Ask yourself this, haven't I always told you everything? Why you think I haven't this time?"
"I saw you," Devon stared at his plate, at the blood around the piece of uneaten steak. "Skulking around...trying to look like someone else. How do you think that makes me feel?"
"Of course. Avoid my question. I can not apologise if you don't see the essential problem Devon." This time her voice was way softer. "I say again, why you think I haven't told you?"
"You're ashamed?" He was still staring at the congealing blood, feeling sick. "I don't know, Lara. I'm not you. Tell me." With one motion, he swept his plate to the floor and moved to his feet. A satisfied smile was on his face at the sound of breaking glass while he stalked towards her. "Just tell me."
"They threatened you. And I don't give a fuck if you tell me that you can handle it. Because the truth is, I can't even think about it without getting scared." She walked past him, kneeling down. Starting to pick up the broken glass.
"Makes two of us." Devon said after a long silence. "Scares the shit out of me to think about what might've happened. And I wasn't there - wasn't supposed to be there."
She didn't answer straight away, still working on the broke plate. The wasted food. It was hard to not just collapse there on the floor, rolling into a ball.
"I am sorry I didn't say anything. I just can't imagine anything happening to you." She whispered.
"Baby," Devon's hand rested on her shoulder. "Stop. Just look at me." He was crouched down next to her, holding out the little trash bin from under the sink for her to throw the glass into.
Lara looked at him with those big, blue eyes. The splinters still in her hands, as if she was unable to go. Not even noticing that that glass began to cut her open.
She opened her mouth again, but her voice sounded strange.
"I don't know what to do without you... hurting you was never my intention."
"What have you done?" His voice was a rough whisper and at first she wanted to explain how deep it went before she realised he was looking at the cuts on her hand, welling with blood.
"I didn't even... notice." She finally let the glass fall into the bin, looking at her hands. "They will never stop. And I don't know how to get out of this without forsaking the rest of my life."
"Our lives." He corrected, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm here."
It was hard to tell how long they sat in the middle of this mess, but Lara didn't care. The truth was that those were the most important words she had heard in the past weeks: being reassured that she wasn't in this alone. With Ethan gone and Nadja in a coma, she wasn't quite sure how long she was going to hold it together. The pressure was overwhelming and came from too many directions.
"I love you." She whispered while looking at her bloody hands.
"You should. I'm pretty damn lovable, my killer queen." He laughed, kissing her forehead. "Now that I think about it, couldn't you just do the same to Spiral? I mean that'd be the easiest solution to a lot of problems."
A small laughter escaped her while she soaked in his scent. And for the first time in weeks she allowed herself to let go of the tension, content with just being his girl.
Lady of Chambers
#6
Application Archive / "The Outlaw" Reno Nevada
Last post by RenoNevada - July 01, 2017, 01:56:10 AMSKILL BREAKDOWN
Striking 65%, Takedown 25%, Submission %10
YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME
RENO NEVADA
NICKNAMES
THE OUTLAW
TWITTER
@RENONEVADAMMA
PICTURE BASE
JOE GILGUN
HEIGHT
6'0"
WEIGHT
155 lbs
REACH
76"
DATE OF BIRTH
9 JUNE 1984
PLACE OF BIRTH
BOSTON, MA, USA
FIGHTING OUT OF
BOSTON, MA, USA
FIGHT TEAM
REDLINE FIGHT TEAM
SPONSORS
NONE
ENTRANCE THEME
BORN TO RAISE HELL BY MOTÖRHEAD
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BsAgV9wfPbY
PORTRAYED BY
MIKE
STYLE SUMMERY
BARE KNUCKLE BOXER
STRIKING BASE
BARE KNUCKLE BOXING
GRAPPLING BASE
GRECO-ROMAN WRESTLING
FAVORITE STRIKE
BOLO PUNCH
FAVORITE SUBMISSION
AIN'T PICKY
STRENGTHS
EXCELLENT HEAD MOVEMENT AND FOOTWORK MAKE HIM HARD TO HIT.
SYMMETRY AND BALANCE. DIFFICULT TO TAKE DOWN OR TRIP.
MAINTAINS DISTANCE WITH LONG, FAST PUNCHES. HARD TO GET INSIDE.
WEAKNESSES
HEADHUNTER. RARELY GOES FOR THE BODY.
DOESN'T UTILIZE MANY KICKS.
DOESN'T KNOW WHEN TO QUIT.
AWARDS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS
MIDDLEWEIGHT BARE KNUCKLE BOXING CHAMPION.
UNDEFEATED IN BARE KNUCKLE BOXING FIGHTS.
PRIMARY STYLE
Nevada is a champion bare knuckle boxer. His style is comparative to all-time greats like Mohammad Ali, Billy Conn, and Floyd Mayweather Jr. He utilizes footwork, speed, and long, slapping punches to maintain distance from his opponent. Then, when the opponent becomes frustrated and tries to move inside, Nevada switches to heavy punches, looking for the knockout. Unlike Ali, Conn, and Mayweather, Nevada will do everything he can to end the fight.
Nevada is also an accomplished wrestler. He prefers stand up, but he will take opponents down when the opportunity presents itself. On the mat, he works to control his opponent, transition to a dominant position, and drop bombs.
He has also trained in BJJ for ground defenses, but he prefers to avoid being taken down as much as possible.
TENDENCIES
Nevada is a showman, but he doesn't really do it for the crowd. He does it to piss off the other fighter. He'll drop his hands, talk shit, and mock opponents with the best of them. He wants the other fighter mad, because anger leads to mistakes, and when fighters make mistakes, he knocks their fucking head off.
APPEARANCE
Nevada is tall, long, and lean. He looks like an asshole, always smiling this way and that. He has several tattoos on both arms, and elsewhere on his body.
CAGE GEAR
He comes to the ring wearing a newsboy hat, sunglasses, a white wife beater tank top, and jeans with black suspenders. In the ring, he competes in black board shorts with OUTLAW written down each leg.
ENTRANCE DESCRIPTION
Please describe your character's entrance. Do not worry about announcers. Our entrance process is identical to that of the real life UFC. The character's come out from a tunnel and are lead to the cage with their trainers. A referee checks them at cage side before allowing them to enter.
BIOGRAPHY
Nevada was born to Patty and Madeline O'Shay in 1984, a couple of pavees that came to Ireland a few years prior. The couple were travelers, never putting roots down. They decided to get married in 1983 "just to see what the fuss was about." They chose a chapel in Reno, Nevada to tie the knot. That night, the two conceived their one and only child. They christened him after the city and state of his creation.
Nevada's early years were spent on the road with his parents, but eventually they settled in Boston, living with some distant relatives. Nevada was a bit of a trouble maker early on, always getting into trouble at school.
He started wrestling at age seven and that quickly became his life. His grades improved and he stopped getting into fights. At age 11, he also began taking boxing lessons. He was the 2001 and 2002 Massachusetts State Wrestling Champion in his final two years of high school. His performance earned him several scholarship offers. He chose Harvard because he didn't want to leave Boston.
Unfortunately, Nevada didn't care about being a "Harvard Man." It was also around this time that he discovered booze and drugs. His desire to get drunk and high soon outweighed his desire to go to class. Failing grades would have been enough to get him kicked out of school, but he had to put a nail in that coffin by getting arrested at a bar for fighting and possession of drugs.
Bounced out of college, he decided to become a boxer. He floated from job to job, anything that could fund his training and keep him filled with booze and drugs. Some of his brief careers included janitor, mechanic, gift shop associate at a zoo, convenience store clerk, and a movie theater projectionist.
After a few amateur fights, he drew interest from the pro boxing circuits. He was more interested in the money, so he went with the one that offered the most: underground bare knuckle boxing. He debuted at age 25 as a middleweight. Four years later, he won the vacant middleweight bare knuckle crown, which he held until 2017 when he signed with UNLEASHED. Overall, he competed in over 60 bare knuckle fights and never sustained a single loss.
Striking 65%, Takedown 25%, Submission %10
YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME
RENO NEVADA
NICKNAMES
THE OUTLAW
@RENONEVADAMMA
PICTURE BASE
JOE GILGUN
HEIGHT
6'0"
WEIGHT
155 lbs
REACH
76"
DATE OF BIRTH
9 JUNE 1984
PLACE OF BIRTH
BOSTON, MA, USA
FIGHTING OUT OF
BOSTON, MA, USA
FIGHT TEAM
REDLINE FIGHT TEAM
SPONSORS
NONE
ENTRANCE THEME
BORN TO RAISE HELL BY MOTÖRHEAD
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BsAgV9wfPbY
PORTRAYED BY
MIKE
STYLE SUMMERY
BARE KNUCKLE BOXER
STRIKING BASE
BARE KNUCKLE BOXING
GRAPPLING BASE
GRECO-ROMAN WRESTLING
FAVORITE STRIKE
BOLO PUNCH
FAVORITE SUBMISSION
AIN'T PICKY
STRENGTHS
EXCELLENT HEAD MOVEMENT AND FOOTWORK MAKE HIM HARD TO HIT.
SYMMETRY AND BALANCE. DIFFICULT TO TAKE DOWN OR TRIP.
MAINTAINS DISTANCE WITH LONG, FAST PUNCHES. HARD TO GET INSIDE.
WEAKNESSES
HEADHUNTER. RARELY GOES FOR THE BODY.
DOESN'T UTILIZE MANY KICKS.
DOESN'T KNOW WHEN TO QUIT.
AWARDS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS
MIDDLEWEIGHT BARE KNUCKLE BOXING CHAMPION.
UNDEFEATED IN BARE KNUCKLE BOXING FIGHTS.
PRIMARY STYLE
Nevada is a champion bare knuckle boxer. His style is comparative to all-time greats like Mohammad Ali, Billy Conn, and Floyd Mayweather Jr. He utilizes footwork, speed, and long, slapping punches to maintain distance from his opponent. Then, when the opponent becomes frustrated and tries to move inside, Nevada switches to heavy punches, looking for the knockout. Unlike Ali, Conn, and Mayweather, Nevada will do everything he can to end the fight.
Nevada is also an accomplished wrestler. He prefers stand up, but he will take opponents down when the opportunity presents itself. On the mat, he works to control his opponent, transition to a dominant position, and drop bombs.
He has also trained in BJJ for ground defenses, but he prefers to avoid being taken down as much as possible.
TENDENCIES
Nevada is a showman, but he doesn't really do it for the crowd. He does it to piss off the other fighter. He'll drop his hands, talk shit, and mock opponents with the best of them. He wants the other fighter mad, because anger leads to mistakes, and when fighters make mistakes, he knocks their fucking head off.
APPEARANCE
Nevada is tall, long, and lean. He looks like an asshole, always smiling this way and that. He has several tattoos on both arms, and elsewhere on his body.
CAGE GEAR
He comes to the ring wearing a newsboy hat, sunglasses, a white wife beater tank top, and jeans with black suspenders. In the ring, he competes in black board shorts with OUTLAW written down each leg.
ENTRANCE DESCRIPTION
Please describe your character's entrance. Do not worry about announcers. Our entrance process is identical to that of the real life UFC. The character's come out from a tunnel and are lead to the cage with their trainers. A referee checks them at cage side before allowing them to enter.
BIOGRAPHY
Nevada was born to Patty and Madeline O'Shay in 1984, a couple of pavees that came to Ireland a few years prior. The couple were travelers, never putting roots down. They decided to get married in 1983 "just to see what the fuss was about." They chose a chapel in Reno, Nevada to tie the knot. That night, the two conceived their one and only child. They christened him after the city and state of his creation.
Nevada's early years were spent on the road with his parents, but eventually they settled in Boston, living with some distant relatives. Nevada was a bit of a trouble maker early on, always getting into trouble at school.
He started wrestling at age seven and that quickly became his life. His grades improved and he stopped getting into fights. At age 11, he also began taking boxing lessons. He was the 2001 and 2002 Massachusetts State Wrestling Champion in his final two years of high school. His performance earned him several scholarship offers. He chose Harvard because he didn't want to leave Boston.
Unfortunately, Nevada didn't care about being a "Harvard Man." It was also around this time that he discovered booze and drugs. His desire to get drunk and high soon outweighed his desire to go to class. Failing grades would have been enough to get him kicked out of school, but he had to put a nail in that coffin by getting arrested at a bar for fighting and possession of drugs.
Bounced out of college, he decided to become a boxer. He floated from job to job, anything that could fund his training and keep him filled with booze and drugs. Some of his brief careers included janitor, mechanic, gift shop associate at a zoo, convenience store clerk, and a movie theater projectionist.
After a few amateur fights, he drew interest from the pro boxing circuits. He was more interested in the money, so he went with the one that offered the most: underground bare knuckle boxing. He debuted at age 25 as a middleweight. Four years later, he won the vacant middleweight bare knuckle crown, which he held until 2017 when he signed with UNLEASHED. Overall, he competed in over 60 bare knuckle fights and never sustained a single loss.
#7
Character Development / Revenge (co-written with Lara ...
Last post by EMT - June 24, 2017, 03:27:49 PMNew York City
June 24th, 6:40 pm
June 24th, 6:40 pm
That phone call struck him like a thunderbolt. Out of the blue, hitting him where it hurts the most. He had been trying to call Nadja Ivanov for the past thirty minutes, since she was supposed to come back home after work. Those minutes seemed like hours, all those unanswered calls growing a bad feeling deep inside his guts.
Then she finally called back. Or so he thought. The voice on the other hand wasn't hers. A deep almost guttural voice. Clearly a male, a heavy smoker, most likely in his fifties. His tone was very detached, despite he was trying to show some sympathy. Clearly this was usual routine for him, just another day at the job.
"Nadja Ivanov was involved in a car accident. I can't tell you much on the phone, but you should come to the Presbyterian as soon as possible. They are in critical conditions, but stable."
"They?"
"Yes, Nadja and the baby..."
The doctor kept talking for a while, but Ethan wasn't listening anymore. Three words kept echoing in his mind, in a endless loop.
Critical.
Nadja.
Baby.
"Sir? Sir?"
He could have kept calling Ethan for hours. The phone was laying on the floor, and Ethan was already driving to the hospital.
Four hours earlier...
It was impossible to tell when she had felt that bad the last time, if ever. Ever since they had been in Serbia that sickness didn't leave her. It was a constant guest in the morning and was present during the day. Every now and then she was able to have light food. And tea. Alcohol was making her sick, from the smell alone. A lot of things didn't fit together for Nadja Ivanov.
First things first, she didn't get sick. Ever. Second, she was used to drinking. And third, she was a complete fool. That was what she thought to herself when standing in front of the pharmacy. Waiting for the small line in front of her to move further. It wasn't till a few hours ago that a certain idea manifested inside of her mind. And that only because Lara had made a joke about it.
Maybe you are pregnant.
She would laugh. Both of them actually, because the idea alone was rather absurd. Both, Ethan and Nadja, played it safe. Her being on birth control was good enough. But little by little everything made sense. The unsteady lifestyle, the pills she had been taking for so long. They obviously had messed with her injections.
"Miss?"
The small cashier girl called for her, but seeing the look on her face she had done so for a while. Nadja was so caught in her own thoughts that she had shut the world out. She didn't even look up when telling her what she wanted, waited for the small package before hiding it in her bag. Putting more money on the table than necessary before getting out. Almost feeling like a thief in the night.
There was one question though, where to take it? Certainly not at home. She didn't wanna alarm him for nothing. At Lara's? Maybe but that would have been too far. So Nadja decided to get back at work, locking herself in the ladies room.
Now
She had gotten a call from an unknown number. Despite her usual nature she picked up, hearing the rough voice of Ethan Thompson. He was short worded and out of breath. All he said was, Nadja and hospital. Leaving in a hurry she was going way over the speed limit, almost driving an old lady down. Shrugging her shoulders before parking her car. It was one of those calls you hoped to never get. Both, Nadja and Ethan were close to her. Family and friends. When stepping out of the car she grabbed her bag, rushing towards the entrance.
"Ma'am you can't park your car here... it's for doctors only... ."
She whirled around. Those huge blue eyes giving the young man a deadly glare.
"And what you gonna do about it? Call the cops? Try me boy."
Lara was not in the mood to play around, so without giving him another look she had made it inside. Pushing some people aside to reach the information counter. They would give her the information she needed, even if they reacted a little hesitant. Her way did lead her to the second stage, which was reserved for emergency clients. A lot of busy staff running around, here and there beeping noises from monitors. From afar she spotted Ethan on one of the chairs, his eyes focusing on the floor.
He looks like dead, she whispered to herself when walking closer. In a gentle manner she put her hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to recognise her.
He was staring at his right hand, shaking uncontrollably. He was slowing moving his fingers, the busted knuckle and the red mark on the hospital wall clearing every doubt on what happened. But it wasn't the pain keeping him from raising his eyes.
FEAR.
A subconscious, irrational, paralyzing sensation. And new. Not once in his life he felt something quite like this. And he had been in Afghanistan, twice.
He ventured himself in dangerous situations with and against shady people, the type of guys who usually shoot before asking questions.
He never hesitated putting his life in danger for those he cared about, Nadja in first place.
But today, for the first time, he was scared. Scared to raise his eyes and see that the hand on his shoulder belonged to one of the doctor who was treating Nadja. Scared to hear those words coming from his mouth: "Sir, Nadja Ivanov came here in critical conditions. We did all we could, but it wasn't enough.The injuries were too extensive and we couldn't save her."
Scared of how he would react.
It took him some time, way more than usual, to recognize Lara's unmistakable perfume. That soft floral fragrance that somewhat clashed with her aggressive look.
Slowly, he tilted his head, looking up at her. His green eyes looked so empty, that sparkle seemingly lost, as if that dark spot in his right eyes swallowed it, absorbing all his vitality.
Three hours earlier
It was like running a marathon, or away from an hungry animal. She couldn't enter the Four Seasons without being greeted. Stopped. Or drawn into a pointless conversation. Nadja smiled. Played her part while the test weighed heavy in her bag.
After several encounters she had finally made it towards the changing room. Opening the door quietly, she knew that no one was there. A few moments later she found herself on the toilet, reading the description. It was easy.
"You can do that... ."
Her voice nothing more than a whisper while running through all the steps, only to find herself leaning against the cold wall shortly after. Sweat was forming on her forehead, while those big eyes were glued onto the small piece of plastic. Minutes seemed like hours. Running through every kind of emotion. Seeing the little timer on her phone, it was counting down. Zero.
With shaking hands and a dry mouth Nadja took it. Looking at it for a very long moment. As if she was either blind, slow or unable to read. 1 - 2 weeks.
Congratulations. You are pregnant.
Now
It was hard to see him like that. Almost like somebody had ripped a piece of her out. She knew Ethan Thompson. He was strong. Wild. And unable to let his guard down. Walls that were not existing anymore. Broken down by something he couldn't control.
Lara made no quick moves. Carefully putting her bag down, kneeling down on the hospital floor. Her tiny hands wrapping around his. Covering his new bruises and kept him steady. For a long while nothing was said. People passed them by, but no one really paid attention. Too absorbed in their own stuff. It was Lara's voice that broke the silence.
"What happened to... Nadja... ."
He shook his head. "She took a Taxi to come back home. There was an accident..."
His voice sounded so distant, just like the look in his eyes. Ethan Thompson wasn't here. There was this empty shell in his place, something that really looked like the man Lara used to call her friend. But she could tell that his mind, his soul, was already gone. Lost, in God only knows what kind of heavy thoughts.
"Lara..." He whispered. "She was... is. She is pregnant."
Lara took a moment to proceed. Hearing him say those words and making sense to it was almost impossible. Nadja was none of these girls that forced things like that. So if she was indeed pregnant, it had just happened. Fate doing whatever it pleased.
"Have you seen her yet?" She asked, feeling like a fool.
He shook his head and kept looking at her. A moment later she got up, letting go off his hands. Grabbing one of the walking by doctors. She seemed furious, but the truth was -- Lara was scared as fuck.
"Nadja Ivanov... which room."
Two hours earlier
Nadja had been sitting in that small cabin for at least thirty minutes. The test in her hand. It felt like she had forgotten how to move. Speak. Or anything else. The only thing left functioning was breathing.
Almost in trance she took the phone out, pressing the one. It didn't take long for the other person to pick up.
"I will be home on time. What you want for dinner."
Small break. Obviously the other person was answering. A little smile on her face.
"Okay, pizza once again. See you later."
She hung up, using the wall to get up. For whatever reason putting the test in her back. When stepping out her eyes met the image in the mirror. Messy hair. Pale skin. And an expression that was impossible to read. She was by no means prepared for this.
But I have to be.
Now
The door finally opened. They have been waiting for that moment for hours, or at least that's what looked like. The wall clock wasn't lying though, only thirty minutes passed since Lara reached him at NYC Presbyterian Hospital. Half an hour of an heavy silence and avoided glances.
They both sprang on their feet and headed towards the door.
"She's sedated now." The doctor said with his professional and aloof tone. "We can only let one person enter at a time."
Once again, words were unnecessary. Lara squeezed his shoulder lightly, nodding her head. Almost pushing the doctor aside, he rushed into the room. Nadja was there, laying on bed in the aseptic white room, wires connecting her motionless body to the machineries. She looks like she's sleeping. She looks like she's dead. The constant beep of the heart rate monitor became the soundtrack of his thoughts.
Accident my ass. He overheard the cops classifying it as an hit and run. Someone stole an SUV a couple of blocks away and crashed against the cab she was travelling on at the intersection. But they didn't know who Nadja Ivanov is. They didn't know who was after her.
A deadman.
Dimitri Ivanov. Her father.
After faking his death seventeen years ago, he recently reappeared. And that's when Nadja's life turned into a nightmare. Dimitri wanted something from her, something she kept hidden for all this time. And nothing, not even his daughter's life, could stand on his way to get what he wanted.
"She suffered a subdural hematoma, consequence of the massive head trauma. We proceeded with emergency surgery to reduce pressure within the brain. She is still in critical conditions, but we were able to stabilize her."
Nadja's head was wrapped in a heavy bandage, but that white turban wasn't undermining her beauty. Unconsciously, almost in trance, he ran his hand from her cheek down her side, resting it on her belly.
You aren't born yet and already neck deep into shit.
"On a bright side, the baby wasn't harmed at all" The doctor gave a hint of a smile, no matter how good his intentions were, no matter how encouraging those good news were meant to sound, those words fell unnoticed by Ethan. The next though, they surely caught his attention. "I can't promise you Nadja will ever recover. This situation may be permanent, but..."
"What the fuck are you trying to say?"
This wasn't the usual staid Ethan Thompson. Emotions seemed to be overwhelming, those green eyes burning with such anger that, for a moment, the doctor feared for his own safety, to the point that he took a few steps back. "I... I am saying that we can't be sure she ever wakes up. Or if she's going to have some sort of brain injury. But we can keep her in an induced coma and..."
"I can't legally make that decision. I am not her husband, just..." The one who knocked her up? A lover? The boyfriend? "The baby's father."
"I see? Does she have any family? The woman who's standing there in the waiting room..."
Sure. A piece of shit dad who just tried to murder her and a twenty years old girl who lives on the other side if the world. "No.. She has no family." He mumbled. "Do what you have to do to save them both doc. And you better not fail.. Now, if you would excuse us, you can get the fuck out of here."
Cold. Harsh. Somewhat scary. And pretty damn convincing. The doctor took his cue and left the room, giving one last look at Ethan, sitting on a chair next to her bed, taking her hand in his.
Two hours earlier
"Cool. I can call and get some pizza delivered at home."
Nadja tried to hide it, but he could tell she wasn't thrilled by the idea of eating pizza. Again.
No harm done, since Ethan had something else planned for the night. Pizza was just a white lie to hide his true intentions.
"And when all this shit is over, you still owe me a date. A real one. Even if it eeks you." She said a couple of weeks earlier, during their holiday in Hawaii. Right after she dropped those three words that they always avoided until that moment.
Shit was far from over. Truth being told, they were still neck deep into it. And after what he learned from Leila's boyfriend during their trip to London, the tide was just about to rise. But a lot changed in those two weeks, both in his personal life and between him and Nadja. So this was as good of a moment as any other to take her out on a date. This sounds a lot like commitment.
Those were the words he said the first time she asked for it. And he almost lost her there.
But nonetheless, that girl stuck around, becoming day after day, Ethan's safe place.Someone, the one, who could actually understand him.
If life was a fairytale, this would be my happy ending. That sudden thought crossed his mind while petting Luther, the puppy they found a couple of weeks ago. A gorgeous woman at his side, a nice apartment in New York and four dogs. A normal life.
But he learned on his skin that things never go as planned, that his life was not a fairy tale, and it was far from normal. Paradoxically, every step he made in the right direction in his attempt to save Nadja, the farthest the light at the end of the tunnel seemed to be. Careful when you dig in someone's past. You may as well get buried by it. That's what a guy he met once, a ghost from his past, told him once. And this seemed to be that case.
Finding and stopping a man who had been able to stay off the grid for seventeen years, running his business under the nose of police and criminals, always staying two steps ahead of them, was quite the challenge. But there was no turning back at this point.
Nadja Ivanov, her smile every time she could be with her sister, were all he needed to keep going, despite the odds were seemingly stacking against him, despite the happy ending started looking more and more like a mirage.
She was giving him hope.
She became his hope for a better tomorrow.
Now.
"Why the fuck are you doing this to me Nadja?" He muttered those words while holding her lifeless hand, squeezing it in hope to get some sort of reaction from her. "Why did you do this to yourself?"
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes. If Ethan Thompson could actually remember how to cry, this would be the perfect moment to start. But the only emotions he ever allowed himself were anger and grief. His fuel. All the empathy he kept showing, that constant need to carry everyone else's problem on his back was just his way to escape that sense of guilt for what happened to Heidi that was devouring him from inside. Push it deep down under a pile of sorrow, hoping it would never re-emerge.
"I warned you. I told you I was cursed. I fucking told you how everyone I love, how everyone who ever loved him ended up hurt. But no, you didn't listen, you stubborn..." He swallowed whatever word he was thinking to add. Realizing he wasn't really talking to her. He wasn't putting the blame on that strong woman who was lying on a hospital bed, fighting for her life and their baby's.
"I am sorry Nadja. I failed you. I let my guard down, and now you are here, in a coma. Without knowing that it was your father who wanted to get you killed. Without knowing that I..." Time seemed to freeze. Even now that she couldn't hear him, he hesitated.
"That I love you."
No miracles happened. Nadja didn't wake up smiling. Truth being told, there was not even the slightest reaction in her heartbeat.Not that he was really expecting it. Life isn't a fairy tale.
He carefully rested his head on her stomach, moving his lips as if he was whispering something to the baby. Before standing up from the chair, he kissed her belly.
"You two keep fighting here. Don't give up on me."
Keeping his head down, he left the room.
One hour earlier
How to tell him? Him out of all people. The person that had lost so much in his life. The one that always felt obliged to safe everyone. Everyone but himself. The same man that not only couldn't give into commitment, but feared nothing more. There was a time where she wanted to push him there. Telling him that everything was gonna be alright.
But she wasn't that girl anymore. The naivety was gone, because deep inside she wasn't sure if things ever would be alright or at least somewhat bearable. But despite every odd in their way she knew one thing for sure, she loved Ethan Thompson. Which was scary enough itself. Nadja didn't just love people. She didn't even trust anyone. But for whatever reason he walked into her life, without knowing it, turning it upside down.
A little smile crossed her face while she sat in the cab. The driver was a nice fellah that tried a little small talk, but gave up when she took out her phone. She started to write a text to Ethan.
"No pizza tonight. I will cook."
A small smile spread on her face when she leaned back relaxed. For a moment she would close her eyes and shut the world out. And then she heard the awful noise. Metal scratchin against metal. But more important she felt it. The last thing she saw when looking to the right was the smile of a man. Then the cab was turned upside down. The last thing Nadja Ivanov did was resting both her hands over her tummy. Protective.
My baby. No. Our baby.
Then the world turned black. And all that was left was silence.
Now
She sat outside on the hospital hallway for quite a while, alone with her thoughts and fears. Lara Chambers never let people close, at least not emotionally. It was moments like this that reminded her of the why. She loved Nadja to a degree that made her family. Same with Ethan. For the longest time she had been watching those two together. Picking on each other. Denying what was going on between them, when a blind man was able to see it. But she wouldn't comment on it. Everyone moved in their own speed.
Every now and then a nurse passed her by, giving here one of those warm smiles. The ones you receive when someone you cared about was not doing well. They had those antics perfected. Yet nothing could make her feel better. She felt guilty. A bitter taste in her mouth that was impossible to kill. Caught in her own thoughts she hardly noticed when the door opened and Ethan stepped out. He didn't look good. Pale and somehow thin.
"You can go in now Lara." He said quietly, sitting down on one of the chairs.
Her eyes remained on him a little longer before she nodded, sliding inside the hospital room. That smell alone was making her shudder. When putting her focus on the female locked to the bed, her heart dropped. She looked peaceful, but not like Nadja. They had arranged her body so that it looked like she was sleeping. For a moment her mind was playing tricks on her, it looked like Nadja Ivanov was smiling.
"That is one way to get time off of work."
Her tone was light when she ran her small fingers over the girl's cheek. It was horrible to not see that big, blue eyes looking back at her. It was unnatural and hurt her.
If it feels like that for you, imagine how it feels for him.
"I always thought trouble is my second name, but I guess I have to hand over the name. You stubborn... lovable woman. By now I think you are unbreakable, despite seeing you laying here."
A small pause. A little smile. Her hand rubbing over Nadja's stomach.
"Even in times like these you manage to kick us all in the butt with a surprise like this. A little you and him. A mini troublemaker. You gotta wake up Nadja and you gotta do it quick. He doesn't know it, or maybe it is dawning on him slowly. But our Mister Thompson needs you more than he ever imagined to need anyone. Plus, I don't wanna annoy him on my own."
Lara slowly rose from the chair, again slowly stroking her friend's cheek. Leaning down giving her two kisses, one on each cheek.
"I will come back here daily and annoy you to the point you wake up. But for now rest, I will take care of your machoman."
Little did she know when saying those words.
When Lara came out of the room, Ethan was nowhere to be seen. And Lady Chambers didn't seem too surprised. "Ma'am?" Lara quickly turned, finding the source of that shrill voice. A young nurse, a cute smiling brunette. "Your friend left this."
She was holding a folded piece of paper, handing it towards her. Lara took it, reading the note.
I am going over the fucking rainbow.
It didn't take long for her to figure out the meaning of those apparently cryptic words. Nadja once told her how Ethan kept telling her, through her darkest days, that she should never forget that the pot of gold was always buried at the end of the rainbow.
She knew what Ethan was going to do.
She understood why he was doing so, and there was no way to stop him.
She learned from experience that trying to find him would have been a waste of time and resources.
She could be sure he will come back one day.
By that time, Ethan was already on his bike, driving North. The fresh air hitting his face waking him up from the entrancement he seemed to be earlier. He was starting to think straight once again.
He failed to protect Nadja Ivanov. Just like he failed Josie Barnes. Just like he failed his own sister, Heidi. No one else was to blame but him.
He said he was going to take care and protect them, but he couldn't. He had never been good at avoiding disaster. But he knew how to fix shit.
If there's anything Ethan Thompson was good at, that would be revenge.
#8
Submit a Fight Reel / Kira Izumi (App)
Last post by KiraIzumi - June 22, 2017, 07:42:44 PMSKILL BREAKDOWN
40% Submissions 50% Striking 10%Takedowns.
YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME
Kira Izumi
NICKNAMES
The Prince of Darkness
TWITTER
@AWA_KiraIzumi
PICTURE BASE
Kyo From Dir En Grey
HEIGHT
6'0
WEIGHT
200 Lbs.
REACH
60 Inches
DATE OF BIRTH
October 31, 1991
PLACE OF BIRTH
Shinhidaka,Hokkaido,Japan
FIGHTING OUT OF
Sapporo,Hokkaido,Japan
FIGHT TEAM
Union Battleground/Full Intensity Wrestling
SPONSORS
Sakura Pepsi, Young Jump Comics , B.P records, Ki/oon Records, Mount Fuji Horror Show,Full Intensity Wrestling, Union Battleground
ENTRANCE THEME
Lucid Dream By Dadaroma
PORTRAYED BY
Kira Izumi
STYLE SUMMERY
Mixed Martial Artist
STRIKING BASE
Kurai Ken(Drunken Fist;Zui Quan)
GRAPPLING BASE
Akido
FAVORITE STRIKE
Multiple Kick Variations
FAVORITE SUBMISSION
Innovated Armbar
STRENGTHS
Numb to majority of pain(Unless like a broken limb, but if cut he won't really mind or care)
Great Stamina
Tough as Nails
WEAKNESSES
Inexperienced
Can be too reliant on the "Darkness"
Can be cocky
AWARDS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS
Black Belt in Aikido, Black Belt in Drunken Fist
PRIMARY STYLE
Kira likes to use strikes when standing and submissions when on the ground. He tends to try and fake out opponents and use references and what not too.
TENDENCIES
Before the fight he'll tend to try and get into the opponents head(Things like spit out blood mist and bang his head against the cage). He's fairly focused but will taunt and try to get into the opponents head allot as well.
APPEARANCE
He has wild hair and lots of tattoos. He wears mainly black and red as well.
CAGE GEAR
He wears black shorts with his sponsors on them. He has a black mouth guard with a tooth like design on it.
ADDITIONAL CHARACTERISTICS
He portrays himself as a crazy and eccentric fellow. He's traumatized still from his past and is unhinged.
ENTRANCE DESCRIPTION
BIOGRAPHY
Kira came from a troubled child hood that hit its climax after an argument between his mother and drunken father. He witnessed the death of both after that night when his father killed his mother by a katana and than blew his brains out riight infront of the young 8 year old. after that day he spent many years in a mental ward in tokyo. he sense got out after years of theropy and forgetting. he found refuge in the great sport of wrestling after watching jushin thunder liger and antonio inoki during his stay in the ward.
He than came in contact with samhain and adamo from High Society Wrestling and joined with them to form the Omega Squad(now defunct) he eventually turned on samhain after his ego got too big. he had an infamous breakdown on hsw after being asked about his mother where he snapped and became undone.He eventually single handedly took hsw hostage and killed a wrestler sandor cleagn. he left hsw and joined up with his now tag partner in another fed jordan rayburn where those two have torn japan upside down in the way tag team wrestling in there fed ajdr and vkpr. they are now in lexington kentucky based Redneck Wrestling Federation(RWF) he also joind AWA and has had many great matches there meeting up with his now manager Kirito Kamashita as well.After the recent closing of the AWA Kira Izumi now has his main focus on his career in the FIW.
40% Submissions 50% Striking 10%Takedowns.
YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME
Kira Izumi
NICKNAMES
The Prince of Darkness
@AWA_KiraIzumi
PICTURE BASE
Kyo From Dir En Grey
HEIGHT
6'0
WEIGHT
200 Lbs.
REACH
60 Inches
DATE OF BIRTH
October 31, 1991
PLACE OF BIRTH
Shinhidaka,Hokkaido,Japan
FIGHTING OUT OF
Sapporo,Hokkaido,Japan
FIGHT TEAM
Union Battleground/Full Intensity Wrestling
SPONSORS
Sakura Pepsi, Young Jump Comics , B.P records, Ki/oon Records, Mount Fuji Horror Show,Full Intensity Wrestling, Union Battleground
ENTRANCE THEME
Lucid Dream By Dadaroma
PORTRAYED BY
Kira Izumi
STYLE SUMMERY
Mixed Martial Artist
STRIKING BASE
Kurai Ken(Drunken Fist;Zui Quan)
GRAPPLING BASE
Akido
FAVORITE STRIKE
Multiple Kick Variations
FAVORITE SUBMISSION
Innovated Armbar
STRENGTHS
Numb to majority of pain(Unless like a broken limb, but if cut he won't really mind or care)
Great Stamina
Tough as Nails
WEAKNESSES
Inexperienced
Can be too reliant on the "Darkness"
Can be cocky
AWARDS AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS
Black Belt in Aikido, Black Belt in Drunken Fist
PRIMARY STYLE
Kira likes to use strikes when standing and submissions when on the ground. He tends to try and fake out opponents and use references and what not too.
TENDENCIES
Before the fight he'll tend to try and get into the opponents head(Things like spit out blood mist and bang his head against the cage). He's fairly focused but will taunt and try to get into the opponents head allot as well.
APPEARANCE
He has wild hair and lots of tattoos. He wears mainly black and red as well.
CAGE GEAR
He wears black shorts with his sponsors on them. He has a black mouth guard with a tooth like design on it.
ADDITIONAL CHARACTERISTICS
He portrays himself as a crazy and eccentric fellow. He's traumatized still from his past and is unhinged.
ENTRANCE DESCRIPTION
Code Select
[size=4][color=red]bitai to odoru byakuya[/size][/color]
The music begins as the lights are out. A red spotlight focuses on Kira as he comes out through the tunnel, creeping. He looks around at the crowd before continuing down the tunnel towards the judges.
[size=8][color=red]shizuka ni shizuka ni shizuka ni koroshite boku o owarasete[/size][/color]
He stands up and bangs his chest, acting like he's being stabbed a bit. Each time getting closer to the floor before he's laying there. He starts crawling again and makes his way to the referee where he stands up. They check him and he starts to crawl up the steps. He walks around the cage, it gradually turns to a jog and a run before he beams towards the middle...
[size=8][color=red]The childish dream to which can not return.
The childish dream to which can not return.
LUCID DREAM[/size][/color]
He starts shaking violently almost like he's possessed before he rolls his eyes in the back of his head and is covered in his blood mist which he spat out moments before.BIOGRAPHY
Kira came from a troubled child hood that hit its climax after an argument between his mother and drunken father. He witnessed the death of both after that night when his father killed his mother by a katana and than blew his brains out riight infront of the young 8 year old. after that day he spent many years in a mental ward in tokyo. he sense got out after years of theropy and forgetting. he found refuge in the great sport of wrestling after watching jushin thunder liger and antonio inoki during his stay in the ward.
He than came in contact with samhain and adamo from High Society Wrestling and joined with them to form the Omega Squad(now defunct) he eventually turned on samhain after his ego got too big. he had an infamous breakdown on hsw after being asked about his mother where he snapped and became undone.He eventually single handedly took hsw hostage and killed a wrestler sandor cleagn. he left hsw and joined up with his now tag partner in another fed jordan rayburn where those two have torn japan upside down in the way tag team wrestling in there fed ajdr and vkpr. they are now in lexington kentucky based Redneck Wrestling Federation(RWF) he also joind AWA and has had many great matches there meeting up with his now manager Kirito Kamashita as well.After the recent closing of the AWA Kira Izumi now has his main focus on his career in the FIW.
#9
Event Submissions / UNLEASHED 4: War Is Coming
Last post by Mike - June 22, 2017, 05:13:48 AM
DEADLINE
SUNDAY JULY 23 11:59 PM EST
EVENT DATE
FRIDAY JULY 28, 2017
LOCATION
SAINT PETERSBURG, RUSSIA
ARENA
SKK ARENA
MAIN EVENT
(1) CHAMBERS vs (C) SPIRAL
CO-MAIN EVENT
(4) TERRYN vs (2) BELANE
UNDERCARD
IRONSIDE vs (6) WINSTON
IZUMI vs (9) ALVAREZ
SUNDAY JULY 23 11:59 PM EST
EVENT DATE
FRIDAY JULY 28, 2017
LOCATION
SAINT PETERSBURG, RUSSIA
ARENA
SKK ARENA
MAIN EVENT
(1) CHAMBERS vs (C) SPIRAL
CO-MAIN EVENT
(4) TERRYN vs (2) BELANE
UNDERCARD
IRONSIDE vs (6) WINSTON
IZUMI vs (9) ALVAREZ
#10
Events On Demand / JACKSON vs BELANE
Last post by Mike - June 20, 2017, 05:05:34 AM[div class="ppv"]
The lights dim. The sound of rushing wind comes over the speakers. On the screens around the arena, a storm is brewing above a windswept desert wasteland. A dark point appears far off in the distance, growing nearer.
A voice screams, "He's coming! The dark horse is coming!" over the sound of pounding hoof beats.
The dark horse charges across the desert, his nostrils flaring, foam dripping from his lips, a look of fierce determination in brown eyes that gleam reddish as the lightning courses across the sky. Suddenly the horse rears, letting out an enraged shriek that's drowned out by mocking laughter and Jackson's voice hurling insults before the music skips, and then the sounds of "Lies" by Evanescence filters through the speakers. Spotlights converge at the mouth of the tunnel and the unmistakable Jackson has emerged.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]One of the more imposing fighters of this or any era. The number one ranked contender for the UNLEASHED title has the strength to end any fight, no matter the opponent, with one punch. The Dark Horse. The Legend. Brad Jackson.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]What is interesting about this matchup is that he is fighting a guy in Jove Belane that has great standup, who might be willing to trade punches despite that one-punch knockout power you mentioned.[/div]
The screen crackles to life again, showing heavy static that gradually fades to grainy and over-saturated footage of Jackson utterly demolishing various opponents interspersed with him either lifting weights or screaming obscenities into a microphone. Jackson walks out slowly, methodically, his eyes locked on the cage.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]From a pure power perspective, he may be the most dangerous fighter in the game.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]The consequences of making a mistake when you're in the cage with Jackson are far more significant than they are with any other fighter. Any UNLEASHED fighter can knock you out, but Jackson can knock you out with things that graze you. Completely different situation.[/div]
He stops at cageside and removes his shoes, jeans, and shirt. He waits for the cutman to apply vaseline to his brow, cheeks, and nose. A referee then steps forward to inspect his gloves and trunks before clearing him to enter the cage. Jackson climbs the steps and walks through the door. He circles the cage as his music comes to a grinding halt, cut off with a squeal of feedback and then an eerie silence.
'Turbo Killer' by Carpenter Brut hits the PA system and drowns out the sound of the crowd. Just as quickly as it entered, it quiets down for a section of organ music before Jove Belane steps out of the tunnel. He's wearing a hooded sweatshirt and has his trainer right behind him. To his left is his representative, Harvey Lohman.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Making his way to the cage for his second professional fight. Jove Belane will look to build off his impressive knockout performance over Bugs Kennedy. A knockout that propelled him to the top of the UNLEASHED ranks.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And Belane will be able to walk into the cage with the confidence knowing he has that ability to finish a fight. Can he do that again tonight—that's the question everyone has been asking for the last five weeks. But make no mistake, Belane has other weapons in his disposal that the viewers have yet to witness.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]No doubt he will need every weapon in his arsenal to take out Jackson.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It is a hard challenge for only his second fight, but Belane has the confidence and the desire to see this through.[/div]
The group heads down the long corridor towards the cage. Jove ignores the attention of the fans who reach out for him. Harvey grants them a wicked and somewhat insincere smile as he goes. Finally, they make their way cageside. Belane begins to remove his street clothes.
After being cleared by the officials, Belane rushes up the stairs and into the cage, then quickly jogs around the inner circle before stopping in his corner.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And here now with the introductions for this championship main event, the legendary Fred Hayes.[/div]
The house lights dim as the camera pans down to Showtime Hayes standing center cage under a spotlight. To the right, Jove Belane lightly bounces on feet, shaking his hands. To the left, Jackson paces back and forth, his sight locked on his opponent.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Ladies and gentlemen, THIS is the MAIN EVENT. This contest is sanctioned by the Athletics Federation of Serbia. Our three judges scoring this contest at cageside are Desimir Lazic, Zivko Siljan, and Miljan Mandic, and when the action begins, our referee in charge, Adam Kovalyov.
...AND NOW...to the thousands here in attendance, and UNLEASHED fans around the world. LIVE from Belgrade, Serbia...
IT'S...
SHOWTIME![/div]
The entire arena lights up. Thousands of people are on their feet, going crazy, waving their arms and screaming. Colored lights spin and flash across their excited faces.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Five rounds! Twenty minutes! For Eternal Glory! Introducing first...[/div]
Hayes whips to his left toward Jackson.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]FIGHTING out of the Blue Corner!
This man is a wrestler, with a professional record of 25 wins, 11 losses, and 2 draws. Standing six feet three inches tall and weighing in at 217 lbs. Fighting out of Miami, Florida, USA...Presenting the number one ranked fighter in the world...
THE LEGEND...JACKSON![/div]
The crowd pops. Jackson stops pacing and raises a single arm into the air. His eyes never leave the other fighter.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And now introducing his opponent...
FIGHTING out of the Red Corner![/div]
Hayes walks right over to Jove Belane. Calm and collected, Belane continues to bounce on his feet, keeping the blood moving, unphased by the introduction or the crowd.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]He is a mixed martial artist, with a professional record of 1 win and no losses. Standing six feet two inches tall and weighing in at 205 lbs. Fighting out of San Pedro, California, USA...
Presenting the number three ranked fighter in the world...
Jove...BELANE![/div]
Belane gets a big reaction. Referee Kovalyov signals both fighters to meet in the center. The fighters stare at one another, eye to eye. The referee instructs them to obey his commands at all times and fight clean. Jackson and Belane touch gloves and then immediately back away.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It's electric in this arena, John.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Belane. Jackson. HERE...WE...GO![/div]
The excitement from the crowd is deafening as the two men meet in the center of the cage. Jackson feints a right then dives down for a sweeping single. Belane is ready. He sidesteps the takedown and catches Jackson with a straight right. The Legend eats the punch and stands. Belane locks Jackson in the clinch.
Both fighters use some dirty boxing, getting in quick, darting uppercuts and hooks. Belane is starting to get the better of the exchange. Jackson uses his strength advantage to push Belane back and break the clinch. But Belane is faster than the Legend—he immediately launches a flurry of hooks and body shots!
Jackson weathers the storm and locks Belane in the clinch. He pushes the American fighter backward into the cage. Jackson sends a knee up into Belane's ribs that connects. Belane winces from the pain. Jackson tries another knee, but it's blocked. He goes upstairs, throwing an elbow, but Belane ducks it, and uses the momentum to roll Jackson, trading places with him against the cage.
Belane throws two quick knees, both blocked, but then ducks down for a double leg takedown...He gets it! Jackson falls to his back with Belane in his guard. Belane is taking his time, measuring his attacks, but Jackson catches him with a few punches to the cheek. Belane puts his head down, and the next two punches glance off his forehead.
Belane twists suddenly, sending a hard elbow through Jackson's defenses, catching the Legend square on the jaw. Jackson immediately covers his face and the next elbow hits his forearms. Belane starts to transition into half-guard. Jackson uses the chance to push off the cage. He rolls out from under Belane and the two men scramble to their feet.
The crowd is on their feet as the two fighters exchange wildly. Both men are swinging. Belane slips a punch and counters with a straight right. Jackson ducks under it and throws a hard uppercut. Belane eats the punch on his way to delivering a left hook to Jackson's mouth. Both men are affected by the hits, and the space between them momentarily grows.
They eye each other. Jackson moves forward, but Belane circles right, away from the power punch. Jackson loses his patience and launches himself after his opponent. Belane throws a HARD kick to Jackson's left thigh. The crowd reacts to the snap with a collective OHHH! He throws another, this one landing outside the knee. Jackson's weight shifts and his body turns when the knee wobbles from the impact.
Belane pushes forward with a jab and a hook that knocks Jackson back on his heels. Blood begins to drip down his cheek from a small cut below his eye. Belane comes at Jackson again, but this time it's the Legend who wheels out of harm's way. Belane gives chase. Suddenly, Jackson plants his feet and throws a bomb—a sweeping right haymaker. It nearly catches Belane, as he moves just out of its path at the last millisecond.
The clapper signals ten seconds. Belane throws two quick jabs that Jackson avoids, then ducks under for a single-leg takedown. Jackson back peddles on one foot, trying to outlast the clock, but Belane jerks him off his feet. He lifts the Legend up and plows him on the cage floor in an impressive show of force.
The bell rings and the referee is quick to separate the two men. Belane is up first, walking back to his corner as Jackson gets to his feet.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]A strong round by Belane.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jackson was in trouble at several points but kept his head in the game.[/div]
The second round begins and both men have converged. Jackson is swinging for the fences, forcing Belane to backpedal and create space. Jackson taunts Belane, motioning at him to bring it. Belane closes the distance, but he is slipping and ducking Jackson's combinations.
Belane looks for the angles as he throws a few jabs, but Jackson lands a perfectly-timed counter that makes Belane stumble. Jackson sees blood and moves in, but Belane pushes right back. Both fighters take wild shots that hit mostly air, but the energy gets the crowd going! Jackson takes a step back, then lurches forward, grabbing Belane's right leg.
Belane shows great balance. Hopping on his left leg, he drives elbows into the side of Jackson's head. The second is enough to make Jackson give up on the takedown attempt.
Belane doesn't waste time.
He throws a hard hook to the ribs that makes Jackson wince, then jumps forward with a Superman punch! BAM! It smashes the Legend's face, opening that cut on his cheek up more.
Belane throws a hook and it hits!
Jackson seems wobbled. He stumbles backward with his arms over his face. Belane gives chase, throwing targeted strikes at the Legend's guard, but they aren't getting through. Jackson moves along the cage wall, blocking the fists coming at his face, but takes a few hard blows to his ribs again. He seems to be recovering from that hook...Belane looks to finish...
Jackson pushes his opponent away, getting space to throw two quick jabs. He tries again for a takedown, but Belane jumps back to free his leg, but loses his balance. He twists around, keeping himself from dropping to the canvas, but Jackson is waiting for him. The Legend perfectly times a right bomb that cracks Belane on the nose. Belane stumbles away, avoiding the follow up hook that might have ended the night.
Belane squares up. Blood is running from a cut on the bridge of his nose, and from his nostrils. Jackson moves forward after taking a big breath. Belane cuts forward, grabbing Jackson's left ankle and tripping him to the mat.
Jackson pulls him into his closed guard and doesn't hesitate in grabbing for an arm for a Kamura. Belane is careful though, keeping his elbows in to avoid being caught. Jackson throws a few weak punches to Belane doesn't fall for it. He takes the low-power hits and tries to transition.
Half guard! Belane moves into half guard, and then immediately switches to side mount! The crowd is behind him as he drives a HARD knee right into Jackson's left rib cage, the same one he hurt earlier. Jackson jerks to try and protect the area from another knee.
Jackson puts himself in a bad position. Belane drives a sharp elbow through the Legend's guard, right across the man's brow. Large drops of blood begin spattering on the mat! It's streaming out of a big gash on the Jackson's left eyebrow. Another elbow slams against Jackson's forehead! Kovalyov is watching close!
Belane drops another elbow, but this one misses, hitting the mat. Jackson is rocking his body, and uses the movement to hip-escape, pulling Belane back into his closed guard. Blood has covered much of his face, but it doesn't stop him from throwing punches from the bottom.
Belane drops his head to Jackson's chest and covers Jackson's mouth to compromise his breathing, forcing the Legend to stay busy pulling the hands away. Several second pass and both men are using the moment to catch their breath. The crowd begins to get restless. Finally, Referee Kovalyov halts the fight and stands both fighters up.
TEN SECONDS!
Jackson looks for angles as he throws a few jabs that miss. Belane comes at him fast, throw a great combination that ends the round. Jackson throws a punch after the bell that misses. The referee has to separate them. Both walk away with their hand on their hips.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Round two was much closer than the first round.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Belane might have a broken nose.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]He controlled most of the round and that elbow that cut Jackson open was vicious.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Yeah, but did you see the look in Jax's eyes when he walked away after the bell? The sleeping giant might have been awoken in those last ten seconds.[/div]
Jackson stands from his corner with vaseline packed in his two cuts. Belane has some redness on his face and the cut on his nose is packed. A small bit of blood is still running from his nostrils. Both men take heavy breaths.
The referee gives the signal and the round is underway.
Jackson runs across the cage aggressively. Belane tries to catch him moving in with a knee but the Legend slips by it and powers through a single leg takedown. Belane lands hard on his back. The crowd is behind Jackson as he rises up and begins pounding hammer fists. Belane is defending the onslaught and trying to find an opening.
Belane grabs one of Jackson's wrists and throws his legs up, looking for a triangle choke. Jackson pulls his arm free and slips out of the leg lock. He pushes Belane's legs aside and is now in side control. Belane gets two hard knees in his ribcage on his right side.
Jackson switches it up with two short elbows into his opponent's forehead that sound like dull thuds. Belane shifts around, trying to get out of harm's way. He rolls under Jackson into the sprawl position. Jackson reacts by spinning over him and ends in rear mount. He tries to get the hooks in, but Belane doesn't wait for him.
The two men scramble. Belane escapes out the back and both men stand at once. The crowd cheers them on. Both fighters are showing signs of fatigue. They're taking heavy breaths, and their movements are slower than the previous rounds. The cut on Belane's nose has opened back up and the swelling is forcing him to breath out his mouth.
The fighters move in and test each other with jabs. Belane throws a few kicks, but Jax checks them. A minute ticks away as both men remain cautious. The crowd is starting to get restless. Jackson takes a chance, throwing a quick 2-1 combo that catches Belane off guard. The American fighter circles away after the contact. Jackson follows after him.
Belane sets his feet and engages the other fighter. Both men takes swings, but it's Jax that connects! Belane stumbles back into the cage! Jackson moves in and lays it all on the line with big punch after big punch! Belane defends, blocking the worst of it.
Jackson measures his distance and throws a STIFF right hand...
Belane ducks under! He circles out of the corner, once again putting distance between the two fighters. Jackson is showing his aggravation. He again calls out his opponent, waving at him to bring it. Belane wipes at a growing mouse under his right eye and cracks a bloody smile.
Belane walks toward Jax with his hands down. The fighters exchange words until Jackson throws a lumbering overhand right that barely misses the target when Belane weaves out of its path. Belane throws a short jab that catches Jackson, but it doesn't phase the Legend.
TEN SECONDS CLAPPER.
Both men react to the clapper by throwing hard punches, each one slower than the previous, and none of them directly connecting, until Jackson goes low with a left hook against Belane's ribs. The American fighter covers his ribs and pulls away just as the bell rings and the referee moves between them.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Wow. HUGE round by the Legend. It was like a different fighter out there.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]He was much more aggressive, but it took a toll on both men.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Yeah, both guys burned a lot of gas in that round and there's still two more to go.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jackson doesn't have the biggest tank.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And we haven't seen Belane pushed like this.[/div]
The swelling under Belane's right eye is a dark purple and his nose is bleeding heavily. Jackson has his fists up, ready to attack.
The round behinds. Jackson tries to repeat his strategy from the last round when he shoots in for a takedown. Belane goes down! Jackson is in open guard over Belane, but the American fighter quickly closes the guard and readies to defend.
Jackson seems intent on moving to stronger position. He tries to force his escape from closed guard...Belane waits for the moment and then tries to roll! Jackson is too late to counter! He is reversed and now Belane is on top in half-guard!
Belane pushes on the Legend's leg and tries for full mount. Jax wraps his legs and pulls Belane's head down. Tight guard! Jackson measures the resilience of Belane's ribs with a couple punches from the ground. Belane fights through the hits as he works for position. He pushes Jackson's leg down and whips over top of the other fighter.
Full mount!
Belane is on top and wailing away on Jackson with lefts and rights. What an incredible flurry! The referee moves in, ready to stop it if Jax doesn't defend...
Jackson has no other choice but to roll over and give up his back. Blood is pouring out of his face on the mat as Belane, on top of them, hooks his heels in around Jax's hips. Belane throws a few shots to the side of his foe's head to soften him up. Jackson is forced to defend, giving Belane the chance to sink in a rear naked choke.
He has it! Thousands of people are on their feet, screaming, as Jackson is rolled over on his back with Belane under him. Jackson looks in trouble. His face is turning red. But the choke is around his chin, not his throat. Jackson isn't going out, but Belane is wrenching hard, expending a ton of energy to get the submission victory.
Jackson takes his time, twisting around...he slips free! Jackson is now on top of Belane in his open guard. Both men are dog tired and trying to regain their energy. Jackson keeps his head low on his opponent's chest, taking weak shots as the other man's ribs. Belane is looking around, finding his corner with his eyes.
Jackson lifts up after the referee warns them to stay active. He has left a pool of blood on Belane's chest. The Legend grabs the other fighter's neck and measures a right hand over his shoulder. Belane locks the wrist and tries for another triangle choke.
Jax scrambles out of the lock, giving Belane a chance to roll away and stand to his feet. Jackson is a bit slower to get to his. Both men lift their heavy arms.
Belane throws a hard kick at Jackson's left thigh and then circles away as Jax lurches forward with a haymaker. Belane snaps another kick at Jax's leg. This time the Legend moves away, getting out of range of those kicks. Both men circle one another.
TEN SECONDS CLAPPER.
Belane throws two sharp jabs, but Jackson perries both, then counters with a right cross that SLAMS Belane on the side of his head, sending him stumbling to the left!
He's hurt! He pushes into the wall of the cage to help him stand!
Jackson moves after him with his right hand cocked and ready! He gets within three feet of the Belane...
The bell rings! The referee jumps in, separating them. Jackson lets his frustration show as he walks away, cursing through his mouthguard. Belane is wobbly while walking to his corner.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jove Belane's corner must be thanking the timekeeper gods right about now.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I don't see how Belane could have survived another ten seconds. Belane was legit hurt at the end of that round.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]His trainers are talking to him in the corner. Does he have time to recover from that right cross?[/div]
Both men are battered, bloody, and tired. Jackson raises his hand. Belane, recovered from the near-KO, nods. The round begins with both fighters meeting in the middle to touch gloves.
After being dominated the first two rounds, Jackson has gained confidence after achieving great success in rounds three and four despite Belane's efficient work. Leg kick from Belane makes Jax circle right, away from his opponent's power. Belane presses forward and looks to scrap.
Belane lands two punches and slips a counter. Jackson moves back, but Belane pursues. Belane with a right and a flurry in the pocket. Jackson is slower, but he's holding his own precise bomb that cracks against Belane's jaw. Blood-covered, he is still throwing. He avoid a big knee by Jax and they clinch. The fighters move around the middle of the cage for several seconds, trading soft punches until Jackson pushes Belane away. Jax pushes forward and throws a big left hook that lands. Belane tries to answer, but Jax displays some great head movement.
The Legend tries a rare kick, straight at Belane's chest. He catches it! Belane has Jackson's ankle. The Legend is hopping on his left foot. Belane forgoes the takedown and rushes in! He scores a big right hand! Jax hits the deck! Belane is on top of him! The crowd is going crazy as Belane drops hammer fists!
Jackson rolls! They scramble...Jackson is on his feet! Belane follows and both men engage in a flurry of fists! Belane gets his second wind! Jackson is losing ground and is starting to take shots. The Legend defends and moves away from the power punches. Belane runs left to cut off the other fighter. He throws two quick punches, steps back and...
High kick to Jackson's skull! The Legend hits the ground hard! The crushing blow has left him unconscious! The referee steps in before Belane can land another shot! The bell sounds and Belane walks away with a bloody, swollen face and his hands overhead.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]IT'S ALL OVER![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]What a fight![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jove Belane has knocked out Brad Jackson in the fifth round of a war![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I am blown away the performance of both these guys tonight.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jove Belane once again showed his knockout ability, this time with a high kick.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And we learned that he has the gas tank to last all five rounds.[/div]
Highlights play on the screen and the commentators break them down. In the cage, Jackson is on his feet and both men are getting cleaned up and their lacerations packed with vaseline. The referee calls both men to the center of the cage and the PPV feed cuts to them. Belane is looking up and around the arena. Jackson stares forward in disappointment. Their faces reflect the violence of their fight.
Fred Hayes stands ready with the microphone.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Ladies and gentlemen, the referee Adam Kovalyov has called a stop to this contest at two minutes forty five seconds of the fifth round, declaring the winner by knockout...
JOVE...BEEEELANE![/div]
The noise is deafening in the arena when the referee raises the right hand of the victor. Harvey Lowman is seen behind him, clapping his hands and cheering for his client. Belane tips his head to the cheering crowd as Freddie Larsson approaches him with the microphone.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]This was a tough fight against a tough guy. Was there anything surprising about this fight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]BELANE[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Honestly? That I survived the fourth round. Have to send my regards to the time keeper. What didn't surprise me was the fight Jackson brought. He's the man.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You just beat the number one ranked fighter in the world. Earlier tonight, Lara Chambers arguably cemented her claim to fight the champion Spiral at UNLEASHED 4. Do you think this win over Jackson should put you in the front of the line?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]BELANE[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Where I stand in line is up to the guys behind the scenes. Not me. Let this fight speak for itself. I mean, look at my face. Let's see if Harvey can sell this mug to sponsors. Really though, thanks to the fans, the staff, and most of all to Brad Jackson.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You have clearly established yourself as one of the top contenders for the championship. This is a huge victory. Enjoy it for now and thank you for an awesome fight.[/div]
Belane walks out of the cage with his manager and trainer. The camera follows Larsson on his way to Jackson. The Legend has his hands on his hips and still breathing heavy.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I'm here with the Legend himself. Jax, you struggled in the first two rounds. What was going on in your mind at the start of the third round that got you back into the fight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]JACKSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Wanted to break that pretty face. Wanted to win.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Let's go back to the end of the fourth round. You hit Belane with a massive right that sent him reeling. Let's say there are ten more seconds on the clock after that hit. Do you knock Belane out?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]JACKSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Yeah, maybe. Can't really predict that, chief. Ten more seconds for him to breathe, regroup. This isn't some scripted show. It's unpredictable. Yeah, I'd have pushed for the knockout. Of course. Anyone would've.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I thank you, sir, for the amazing fight. Though you came up short at the end, I guarantee you everyone knows that you left everything you have in this cage tonight. I can't wait to see you back in it—THE LEGEND, Ladies and gentlemen![/div]
The crowd cheers the big man as he exits the cage. The PPV feed cuts to a shot of the fans, on their feet and showing their love for the night of great fights.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]We will be back when UNLEASHED 4 returns home to Sankt-Peterburg, Rossiya. Till then, for my partner Freddie Larsson, I am John Cardona. Goodnight![/div]
The UNLEASHED logo flashes on the screen, and then fades to black.
[/div]
The lights dim. The sound of rushing wind comes over the speakers. On the screens around the arena, a storm is brewing above a windswept desert wasteland. A dark point appears far off in the distance, growing nearer.
A voice screams, "He's coming! The dark horse is coming!" over the sound of pounding hoof beats.
The dark horse charges across the desert, his nostrils flaring, foam dripping from his lips, a look of fierce determination in brown eyes that gleam reddish as the lightning courses across the sky. Suddenly the horse rears, letting out an enraged shriek that's drowned out by mocking laughter and Jackson's voice hurling insults before the music skips, and then the sounds of "Lies" by Evanescence filters through the speakers. Spotlights converge at the mouth of the tunnel and the unmistakable Jackson has emerged.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]One of the more imposing fighters of this or any era. The number one ranked contender for the UNLEASHED title has the strength to end any fight, no matter the opponent, with one punch. The Dark Horse. The Legend. Brad Jackson.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]What is interesting about this matchup is that he is fighting a guy in Jove Belane that has great standup, who might be willing to trade punches despite that one-punch knockout power you mentioned.[/div]
The screen crackles to life again, showing heavy static that gradually fades to grainy and over-saturated footage of Jackson utterly demolishing various opponents interspersed with him either lifting weights or screaming obscenities into a microphone. Jackson walks out slowly, methodically, his eyes locked on the cage.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]From a pure power perspective, he may be the most dangerous fighter in the game.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]The consequences of making a mistake when you're in the cage with Jackson are far more significant than they are with any other fighter. Any UNLEASHED fighter can knock you out, but Jackson can knock you out with things that graze you. Completely different situation.[/div]
He stops at cageside and removes his shoes, jeans, and shirt. He waits for the cutman to apply vaseline to his brow, cheeks, and nose. A referee then steps forward to inspect his gloves and trunks before clearing him to enter the cage. Jackson climbs the steps and walks through the door. He circles the cage as his music comes to a grinding halt, cut off with a squeal of feedback and then an eerie silence.
'Turbo Killer' by Carpenter Brut hits the PA system and drowns out the sound of the crowd. Just as quickly as it entered, it quiets down for a section of organ music before Jove Belane steps out of the tunnel. He's wearing a hooded sweatshirt and has his trainer right behind him. To his left is his representative, Harvey Lohman.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Making his way to the cage for his second professional fight. Jove Belane will look to build off his impressive knockout performance over Bugs Kennedy. A knockout that propelled him to the top of the UNLEASHED ranks.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And Belane will be able to walk into the cage with the confidence knowing he has that ability to finish a fight. Can he do that again tonight—that's the question everyone has been asking for the last five weeks. But make no mistake, Belane has other weapons in his disposal that the viewers have yet to witness.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]No doubt he will need every weapon in his arsenal to take out Jackson.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It is a hard challenge for only his second fight, but Belane has the confidence and the desire to see this through.[/div]
The group heads down the long corridor towards the cage. Jove ignores the attention of the fans who reach out for him. Harvey grants them a wicked and somewhat insincere smile as he goes. Finally, they make their way cageside. Belane begins to remove his street clothes.
After being cleared by the officials, Belane rushes up the stairs and into the cage, then quickly jogs around the inner circle before stopping in his corner.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And here now with the introductions for this championship main event, the legendary Fred Hayes.[/div]
The house lights dim as the camera pans down to Showtime Hayes standing center cage under a spotlight. To the right, Jove Belane lightly bounces on feet, shaking his hands. To the left, Jackson paces back and forth, his sight locked on his opponent.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Ladies and gentlemen, THIS is the MAIN EVENT. This contest is sanctioned by the Athletics Federation of Serbia. Our three judges scoring this contest at cageside are Desimir Lazic, Zivko Siljan, and Miljan Mandic, and when the action begins, our referee in charge, Adam Kovalyov.
...AND NOW...to the thousands here in attendance, and UNLEASHED fans around the world. LIVE from Belgrade, Serbia...
IT'S...
SHOWTIME![/div]
The entire arena lights up. Thousands of people are on their feet, going crazy, waving their arms and screaming. Colored lights spin and flash across their excited faces.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Five rounds! Twenty minutes! For Eternal Glory! Introducing first...[/div]
Hayes whips to his left toward Jackson.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]FIGHTING out of the Blue Corner!
This man is a wrestler, with a professional record of 25 wins, 11 losses, and 2 draws. Standing six feet three inches tall and weighing in at 217 lbs. Fighting out of Miami, Florida, USA...Presenting the number one ranked fighter in the world...
THE LEGEND...JACKSON![/div]
The crowd pops. Jackson stops pacing and raises a single arm into the air. His eyes never leave the other fighter.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And now introducing his opponent...
FIGHTING out of the Red Corner![/div]
Hayes walks right over to Jove Belane. Calm and collected, Belane continues to bounce on his feet, keeping the blood moving, unphased by the introduction or the crowd.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]He is a mixed martial artist, with a professional record of 1 win and no losses. Standing six feet two inches tall and weighing in at 205 lbs. Fighting out of San Pedro, California, USA...
Presenting the number three ranked fighter in the world...
Jove...BELANE![/div]
Belane gets a big reaction. Referee Kovalyov signals both fighters to meet in the center. The fighters stare at one another, eye to eye. The referee instructs them to obey his commands at all times and fight clean. Jackson and Belane touch gloves and then immediately back away.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It's electric in this arena, John.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Belane. Jackson. HERE...WE...GO![/div]
The excitement from the crowd is deafening as the two men meet in the center of the cage. Jackson feints a right then dives down for a sweeping single. Belane is ready. He sidesteps the takedown and catches Jackson with a straight right. The Legend eats the punch and stands. Belane locks Jackson in the clinch.
Both fighters use some dirty boxing, getting in quick, darting uppercuts and hooks. Belane is starting to get the better of the exchange. Jackson uses his strength advantage to push Belane back and break the clinch. But Belane is faster than the Legend—he immediately launches a flurry of hooks and body shots!
Jackson weathers the storm and locks Belane in the clinch. He pushes the American fighter backward into the cage. Jackson sends a knee up into Belane's ribs that connects. Belane winces from the pain. Jackson tries another knee, but it's blocked. He goes upstairs, throwing an elbow, but Belane ducks it, and uses the momentum to roll Jackson, trading places with him against the cage.
Belane throws two quick knees, both blocked, but then ducks down for a double leg takedown...He gets it! Jackson falls to his back with Belane in his guard. Belane is taking his time, measuring his attacks, but Jackson catches him with a few punches to the cheek. Belane puts his head down, and the next two punches glance off his forehead.
Belane twists suddenly, sending a hard elbow through Jackson's defenses, catching the Legend square on the jaw. Jackson immediately covers his face and the next elbow hits his forearms. Belane starts to transition into half-guard. Jackson uses the chance to push off the cage. He rolls out from under Belane and the two men scramble to their feet.
The crowd is on their feet as the two fighters exchange wildly. Both men are swinging. Belane slips a punch and counters with a straight right. Jackson ducks under it and throws a hard uppercut. Belane eats the punch on his way to delivering a left hook to Jackson's mouth. Both men are affected by the hits, and the space between them momentarily grows.
They eye each other. Jackson moves forward, but Belane circles right, away from the power punch. Jackson loses his patience and launches himself after his opponent. Belane throws a HARD kick to Jackson's left thigh. The crowd reacts to the snap with a collective OHHH! He throws another, this one landing outside the knee. Jackson's weight shifts and his body turns when the knee wobbles from the impact.
Belane pushes forward with a jab and a hook that knocks Jackson back on his heels. Blood begins to drip down his cheek from a small cut below his eye. Belane comes at Jackson again, but this time it's the Legend who wheels out of harm's way. Belane gives chase. Suddenly, Jackson plants his feet and throws a bomb—a sweeping right haymaker. It nearly catches Belane, as he moves just out of its path at the last millisecond.
The clapper signals ten seconds. Belane throws two quick jabs that Jackson avoids, then ducks under for a single-leg takedown. Jackson back peddles on one foot, trying to outlast the clock, but Belane jerks him off his feet. He lifts the Legend up and plows him on the cage floor in an impressive show of force.
The bell rings and the referee is quick to separate the two men. Belane is up first, walking back to his corner as Jackson gets to his feet.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]A strong round by Belane.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jackson was in trouble at several points but kept his head in the game.[/div]
The second round begins and both men have converged. Jackson is swinging for the fences, forcing Belane to backpedal and create space. Jackson taunts Belane, motioning at him to bring it. Belane closes the distance, but he is slipping and ducking Jackson's combinations.
Belane looks for the angles as he throws a few jabs, but Jackson lands a perfectly-timed counter that makes Belane stumble. Jackson sees blood and moves in, but Belane pushes right back. Both fighters take wild shots that hit mostly air, but the energy gets the crowd going! Jackson takes a step back, then lurches forward, grabbing Belane's right leg.
Belane shows great balance. Hopping on his left leg, he drives elbows into the side of Jackson's head. The second is enough to make Jackson give up on the takedown attempt.
Belane doesn't waste time.
He throws a hard hook to the ribs that makes Jackson wince, then jumps forward with a Superman punch! BAM! It smashes the Legend's face, opening that cut on his cheek up more.
Belane throws a hook and it hits!
Jackson seems wobbled. He stumbles backward with his arms over his face. Belane gives chase, throwing targeted strikes at the Legend's guard, but they aren't getting through. Jackson moves along the cage wall, blocking the fists coming at his face, but takes a few hard blows to his ribs again. He seems to be recovering from that hook...Belane looks to finish...
Jackson pushes his opponent away, getting space to throw two quick jabs. He tries again for a takedown, but Belane jumps back to free his leg, but loses his balance. He twists around, keeping himself from dropping to the canvas, but Jackson is waiting for him. The Legend perfectly times a right bomb that cracks Belane on the nose. Belane stumbles away, avoiding the follow up hook that might have ended the night.
Belane squares up. Blood is running from a cut on the bridge of his nose, and from his nostrils. Jackson moves forward after taking a big breath. Belane cuts forward, grabbing Jackson's left ankle and tripping him to the mat.
Jackson pulls him into his closed guard and doesn't hesitate in grabbing for an arm for a Kamura. Belane is careful though, keeping his elbows in to avoid being caught. Jackson throws a few weak punches to Belane doesn't fall for it. He takes the low-power hits and tries to transition.
Half guard! Belane moves into half guard, and then immediately switches to side mount! The crowd is behind him as he drives a HARD knee right into Jackson's left rib cage, the same one he hurt earlier. Jackson jerks to try and protect the area from another knee.
Jackson puts himself in a bad position. Belane drives a sharp elbow through the Legend's guard, right across the man's brow. Large drops of blood begin spattering on the mat! It's streaming out of a big gash on the Jackson's left eyebrow. Another elbow slams against Jackson's forehead! Kovalyov is watching close!
Belane drops another elbow, but this one misses, hitting the mat. Jackson is rocking his body, and uses the movement to hip-escape, pulling Belane back into his closed guard. Blood has covered much of his face, but it doesn't stop him from throwing punches from the bottom.
Belane drops his head to Jackson's chest and covers Jackson's mouth to compromise his breathing, forcing the Legend to stay busy pulling the hands away. Several second pass and both men are using the moment to catch their breath. The crowd begins to get restless. Finally, Referee Kovalyov halts the fight and stands both fighters up.
TEN SECONDS!
Jackson looks for angles as he throws a few jabs that miss. Belane comes at him fast, throw a great combination that ends the round. Jackson throws a punch after the bell that misses. The referee has to separate them. Both walk away with their hand on their hips.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Round two was much closer than the first round.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Belane might have a broken nose.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]He controlled most of the round and that elbow that cut Jackson open was vicious.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Yeah, but did you see the look in Jax's eyes when he walked away after the bell? The sleeping giant might have been awoken in those last ten seconds.[/div]
Jackson stands from his corner with vaseline packed in his two cuts. Belane has some redness on his face and the cut on his nose is packed. A small bit of blood is still running from his nostrils. Both men take heavy breaths.
The referee gives the signal and the round is underway.
Jackson runs across the cage aggressively. Belane tries to catch him moving in with a knee but the Legend slips by it and powers through a single leg takedown. Belane lands hard on his back. The crowd is behind Jackson as he rises up and begins pounding hammer fists. Belane is defending the onslaught and trying to find an opening.
Belane grabs one of Jackson's wrists and throws his legs up, looking for a triangle choke. Jackson pulls his arm free and slips out of the leg lock. He pushes Belane's legs aside and is now in side control. Belane gets two hard knees in his ribcage on his right side.
Jackson switches it up with two short elbows into his opponent's forehead that sound like dull thuds. Belane shifts around, trying to get out of harm's way. He rolls under Jackson into the sprawl position. Jackson reacts by spinning over him and ends in rear mount. He tries to get the hooks in, but Belane doesn't wait for him.
The two men scramble. Belane escapes out the back and both men stand at once. The crowd cheers them on. Both fighters are showing signs of fatigue. They're taking heavy breaths, and their movements are slower than the previous rounds. The cut on Belane's nose has opened back up and the swelling is forcing him to breath out his mouth.
The fighters move in and test each other with jabs. Belane throws a few kicks, but Jax checks them. A minute ticks away as both men remain cautious. The crowd is starting to get restless. Jackson takes a chance, throwing a quick 2-1 combo that catches Belane off guard. The American fighter circles away after the contact. Jackson follows after him.
Belane sets his feet and engages the other fighter. Both men takes swings, but it's Jax that connects! Belane stumbles back into the cage! Jackson moves in and lays it all on the line with big punch after big punch! Belane defends, blocking the worst of it.
Jackson measures his distance and throws a STIFF right hand...
Belane ducks under! He circles out of the corner, once again putting distance between the two fighters. Jackson is showing his aggravation. He again calls out his opponent, waving at him to bring it. Belane wipes at a growing mouse under his right eye and cracks a bloody smile.
Belane walks toward Jax with his hands down. The fighters exchange words until Jackson throws a lumbering overhand right that barely misses the target when Belane weaves out of its path. Belane throws a short jab that catches Jackson, but it doesn't phase the Legend.
TEN SECONDS CLAPPER.
Both men react to the clapper by throwing hard punches, each one slower than the previous, and none of them directly connecting, until Jackson goes low with a left hook against Belane's ribs. The American fighter covers his ribs and pulls away just as the bell rings and the referee moves between them.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Wow. HUGE round by the Legend. It was like a different fighter out there.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]He was much more aggressive, but it took a toll on both men.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Yeah, both guys burned a lot of gas in that round and there's still two more to go.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jackson doesn't have the biggest tank.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And we haven't seen Belane pushed like this.[/div]
The swelling under Belane's right eye is a dark purple and his nose is bleeding heavily. Jackson has his fists up, ready to attack.
The round behinds. Jackson tries to repeat his strategy from the last round when he shoots in for a takedown. Belane goes down! Jackson is in open guard over Belane, but the American fighter quickly closes the guard and readies to defend.
Jackson seems intent on moving to stronger position. He tries to force his escape from closed guard...Belane waits for the moment and then tries to roll! Jackson is too late to counter! He is reversed and now Belane is on top in half-guard!
Belane pushes on the Legend's leg and tries for full mount. Jax wraps his legs and pulls Belane's head down. Tight guard! Jackson measures the resilience of Belane's ribs with a couple punches from the ground. Belane fights through the hits as he works for position. He pushes Jackson's leg down and whips over top of the other fighter.
Full mount!
Belane is on top and wailing away on Jackson with lefts and rights. What an incredible flurry! The referee moves in, ready to stop it if Jax doesn't defend...
Jackson has no other choice but to roll over and give up his back. Blood is pouring out of his face on the mat as Belane, on top of them, hooks his heels in around Jax's hips. Belane throws a few shots to the side of his foe's head to soften him up. Jackson is forced to defend, giving Belane the chance to sink in a rear naked choke.
He has it! Thousands of people are on their feet, screaming, as Jackson is rolled over on his back with Belane under him. Jackson looks in trouble. His face is turning red. But the choke is around his chin, not his throat. Jackson isn't going out, but Belane is wrenching hard, expending a ton of energy to get the submission victory.
Jackson takes his time, twisting around...he slips free! Jackson is now on top of Belane in his open guard. Both men are dog tired and trying to regain their energy. Jackson keeps his head low on his opponent's chest, taking weak shots as the other man's ribs. Belane is looking around, finding his corner with his eyes.
Jackson lifts up after the referee warns them to stay active. He has left a pool of blood on Belane's chest. The Legend grabs the other fighter's neck and measures a right hand over his shoulder. Belane locks the wrist and tries for another triangle choke.
Jax scrambles out of the lock, giving Belane a chance to roll away and stand to his feet. Jackson is a bit slower to get to his. Both men lift their heavy arms.
Belane throws a hard kick at Jackson's left thigh and then circles away as Jax lurches forward with a haymaker. Belane snaps another kick at Jax's leg. This time the Legend moves away, getting out of range of those kicks. Both men circle one another.
TEN SECONDS CLAPPER.
Belane throws two sharp jabs, but Jackson perries both, then counters with a right cross that SLAMS Belane on the side of his head, sending him stumbling to the left!
He's hurt! He pushes into the wall of the cage to help him stand!
Jackson moves after him with his right hand cocked and ready! He gets within three feet of the Belane...
The bell rings! The referee jumps in, separating them. Jackson lets his frustration show as he walks away, cursing through his mouthguard. Belane is wobbly while walking to his corner.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jove Belane's corner must be thanking the timekeeper gods right about now.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I don't see how Belane could have survived another ten seconds. Belane was legit hurt at the end of that round.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]His trainers are talking to him in the corner. Does he have time to recover from that right cross?[/div]
Both men are battered, bloody, and tired. Jackson raises his hand. Belane, recovered from the near-KO, nods. The round begins with both fighters meeting in the middle to touch gloves.
After being dominated the first two rounds, Jackson has gained confidence after achieving great success in rounds three and four despite Belane's efficient work. Leg kick from Belane makes Jax circle right, away from his opponent's power. Belane presses forward and looks to scrap.
Belane lands two punches and slips a counter. Jackson moves back, but Belane pursues. Belane with a right and a flurry in the pocket. Jackson is slower, but he's holding his own precise bomb that cracks against Belane's jaw. Blood-covered, he is still throwing. He avoid a big knee by Jax and they clinch. The fighters move around the middle of the cage for several seconds, trading soft punches until Jackson pushes Belane away. Jax pushes forward and throws a big left hook that lands. Belane tries to answer, but Jax displays some great head movement.
The Legend tries a rare kick, straight at Belane's chest. He catches it! Belane has Jackson's ankle. The Legend is hopping on his left foot. Belane forgoes the takedown and rushes in! He scores a big right hand! Jax hits the deck! Belane is on top of him! The crowd is going crazy as Belane drops hammer fists!
Jackson rolls! They scramble...Jackson is on his feet! Belane follows and both men engage in a flurry of fists! Belane gets his second wind! Jackson is losing ground and is starting to take shots. The Legend defends and moves away from the power punches. Belane runs left to cut off the other fighter. He throws two quick punches, steps back and...
High kick to Jackson's skull! The Legend hits the ground hard! The crushing blow has left him unconscious! The referee steps in before Belane can land another shot! The bell sounds and Belane walks away with a bloody, swollen face and his hands overhead.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]IT'S ALL OVER![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]What a fight![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jove Belane has knocked out Brad Jackson in the fifth round of a war![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I am blown away the performance of both these guys tonight.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Jove Belane once again showed his knockout ability, this time with a high kick.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And we learned that he has the gas tank to last all five rounds.[/div]
Highlights play on the screen and the commentators break them down. In the cage, Jackson is on his feet and both men are getting cleaned up and their lacerations packed with vaseline. The referee calls both men to the center of the cage and the PPV feed cuts to them. Belane is looking up and around the arena. Jackson stares forward in disappointment. Their faces reflect the violence of their fight.
Fred Hayes stands ready with the microphone.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Ladies and gentlemen, the referee Adam Kovalyov has called a stop to this contest at two minutes forty five seconds of the fifth round, declaring the winner by knockout...
JOVE...BEEEELANE![/div]
The noise is deafening in the arena when the referee raises the right hand of the victor. Harvey Lowman is seen behind him, clapping his hands and cheering for his client. Belane tips his head to the cheering crowd as Freddie Larsson approaches him with the microphone.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]This was a tough fight against a tough guy. Was there anything surprising about this fight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]BELANE[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Honestly? That I survived the fourth round. Have to send my regards to the time keeper. What didn't surprise me was the fight Jackson brought. He's the man.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You just beat the number one ranked fighter in the world. Earlier tonight, Lara Chambers arguably cemented her claim to fight the champion Spiral at UNLEASHED 4. Do you think this win over Jackson should put you in the front of the line?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]BELANE[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Where I stand in line is up to the guys behind the scenes. Not me. Let this fight speak for itself. I mean, look at my face. Let's see if Harvey can sell this mug to sponsors. Really though, thanks to the fans, the staff, and most of all to Brad Jackson.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You have clearly established yourself as one of the top contenders for the championship. This is a huge victory. Enjoy it for now and thank you for an awesome fight.[/div]
Belane walks out of the cage with his manager and trainer. The camera follows Larsson on his way to Jackson. The Legend has his hands on his hips and still breathing heavy.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I'm here with the Legend himself. Jax, you struggled in the first two rounds. What was going on in your mind at the start of the third round that got you back into the fight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]JACKSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Wanted to break that pretty face. Wanted to win.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Let's go back to the end of the fourth round. You hit Belane with a massive right that sent him reeling. Let's say there are ten more seconds on the clock after that hit. Do you knock Belane out?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]JACKSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Yeah, maybe. Can't really predict that, chief. Ten more seconds for him to breathe, regroup. This isn't some scripted show. It's unpredictable. Yeah, I'd have pushed for the knockout. Of course. Anyone would've.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I thank you, sir, for the amazing fight. Though you came up short at the end, I guarantee you everyone knows that you left everything you have in this cage tonight. I can't wait to see you back in it—THE LEGEND, Ladies and gentlemen![/div]
The crowd cheers the big man as he exits the cage. The PPV feed cuts to a shot of the fans, on their feet and showing their love for the night of great fights.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]We will be back when UNLEASHED 4 returns home to Sankt-Peterburg, Rossiya. Till then, for my partner Freddie Larsson, I am John Cardona. Goodnight![/div]
The UNLEASHED logo flashes on the screen, and then fades to black.
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