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#21
Archive / Why We Fight
Last post by 13 - May 28, 2017, 01:46:14 PMWhat if there are no stories, only a series of events happening in loosely connected sequence one after another until it ends for each of us? It's we the people that attribute narratives and plot lines and purpose to help make sense of the potentially chaotic nonsense that surrounds us.
My mother died giving birth to me weeks before my due date. I was a preemie baby. I wasn't expected to survive. My father almost didn't claim me after the miracles that sustained me stopped happening. He named me Thirteen as testament to all I was in his life, the unluckiest thing that had ever happened to him. I represented the loss of his wife, a daughter worth less with each passing day.
I don't remember much of my childhood other than the concept of struggle as a reason and that's just not very interesting when it comes time to tell you or anyone else how I came to be here. I can't put one event after another like we do feet when we walk. I do remember being shipped to the U.S. and working for a family as, what I understand now, a servant. My value finally fetched by my father, I suppose, if we want to ascribe meaning to it.
I learned a lot of turns of phrase from the older woman there who'd been me till she grew up to become her, the woman I'd replace when her old, cracked andf weathered hands ceased to be useful.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she'd say. It felt more like out of the frying pan and into another frying pan, then into another frying pan and into another, ad infinitum. She told me, "everything happens for a reason," and I still dwell on that every day. Who determines what that reason is? And what do they do once they decide?
Me I'm still looking for the reason.
AWE (Alpha Wrestling Empire) HEADQUARTERS
New York City, New York
April 27, 2017
The elevator doors dinged open to reveal Rodney Prentice. Cue awesome freeze frame close-up graphical image!
That's him. In black and white. Okay, back to motion and colour. He stepped out of the elevator and smoothed his shirt over his midsection. This was his first day back at work after a needed vacation to Bermuda and he wasn't happy about it. Sure, he'd come a long way from Leeds, England, he had nothing to complain about, except he actually did.
You'll meet that reason shortly.
Down the hallway he moved with purpose, heading for the office with the double glass doors. He opened them and entered to the sound of fingers furiously clacking at keys on a computer keyboard. Rodney's eyes closed in tempered annoyance as the keys click clacked away at what was approximately 200 words per minute. Impossible it was anything legible. Slowly, Rodney opened his eyes and exhaled,
"That computer's not plugged in."
The fingers stopped typing. Cue another awesome freeze frame graphical closeup of the man at the desk currently looking oblivious as usual.
"....I knew that."
Back to colour and motion. Francis Ford Cuppola was in no way the most difficult boss to work for, but he was likely the most exacerbating. Imagine Inspector Clouseau as your supervisor and you're halfway there to picturing Rodney's predicament. Rodney had answered an ad in a local newspaper years ago to help a "big-time movie producer" and wound up with this guy. They'd been together ever since, all the way to Francis becoming a one-third majority stakeholder in the Alpha Wrestling Empire, right up till he took over the COO position after a series of gaffes and poor decisions from the last two people who'd failed to hold the post, all the way to now.
"Francis, what are you doing?"
Rodney was surprised by nothing anymore save, maybe, the answers to his questions. Baited breath was the best way to describe how he waited for Francis to respond time and again. Francis frowned after a moment of silent explication focused on Rodney before guffawing softly as if getting a joke.
"What do you mean, what am I doing? I work here, ya silly goof."
Back to typing. Rodney's blinks were slow, methodically timed efforts at staving off mind-numbing insanity. It was like that with Francis.
"Francis, the Alpha Wresting Empire has been closed for a month."
Francis again guffawed. It hadn't been a huge splash in the water, or even the most popular of the federations you might find by searching the internet, but for a time it had made a blip on the wrestling radar, and for some that was enough.
"What are you talking about, kid Rod? Under my expert leadership the AWE is still going strong. We just sold out Wembley. I just watched Cosmo Cooper's big-time rematch with Dom DiBoner for the Paramount Championship. The fans loved it. Shyah."
He dismissed Rodney with a playful swipe of his hand.
"No you didn't. That never happened. Those people work elsewhere now."
Francis leaned back in his chair and surveyed Rodney with a growing look of confusion. Rodney could only return the look stolidly, with the ever-increasing patience of a saint.
"But I just—"
"No. You didn't." Rodney shook his head. Francis sat with his brow furrowing further.
"Well, how come—"
"Never happened." Francis' otherwise whimsical expression darkened a smidge.
"Huh... so... it's really gone, then?"
"'fraid so, Francis." It was a moment of starkness to get the memo for all involved, from the wrestlers to those involved behind the scenes. The owner had decided not to devote funding to another season of the company, and closed the doors outright. No consultations, and no take-backs. Francis, apparently, was just now getting that memo.
Rodney eyed him at his desk from halfway across the spacious office, a gulf of silence between them while Francis processed. Then,
"Rodney?"
"Yes, Francis?"
"My arm hurts." Rodney blinked and watched Francis, red-faced, inexplicably keel over in the chair. And the rest was a blur of red and blue ambulance lights; a rush down a hospital corridor to the emergency room, and then waiting.
"I'm not ready to lose him," Rodney said to himself despite the ever-silent mainstay of Francis' entourage sitting next to him on the uncomfortable hospital chairs. Sure, why not, another cool freeze frame close-up.
Mister Mississagi nodded though Rodney didn't notice, leaning forward staring at the floor. Then the news came. Francis had made it through the bypass okay after suffering a major heart event and every bit of Rodney's exacerbation at his boss softened thereafter as Francis was given a recovery bed.
Days later, Rodney walked beside Francis as Mississagi pushed the wheelchair Francis was seated in into the hospital courtyard with a sense of muted concern at how close it had all come to changing.
"Nice outside, hey guys?"
Rodney looked skyward into the overcast clouds and glanced at Mississagi.
"Sure, Francis." He smirked. "It's perfect."
"What will I do now?" Francis murmured to himself in a rare moment of self-awareness while Mississagi carefully wheeled him along the curving scenic sidewalk through a copse of evergreen trees.
"Take it easy?" Rodney let his hand pat Francis' shoulder. It was of little comfort to the aged director who, in spite of himself, had made a career of staying busy, working hard, and doing double what he needed to.
"I can't retire, Rod." His tone somber, very unlike him, Rodney thought. "I need something. I need to do something. I can't just sit here." He shifted to try to stand up, but Rodney stopped him.
"Just relax for now, Francis." You never recognize how old a person is until their frailty makes itself apparent. Perhaps, Rodney thought, we just assume we're all immortal until reality tells you otherwise. Rodney eyed his employer now set into his wheelchair noticing suddenly more gaunt to his features than previously, that certain gleam in his eye missing ever after the heart attack. His speech was less assured and certain of itself. It put Rodney off guard.
"Where's Thirteen?" Francis asked. Rodney thought about it.
"Probably where she always is." Somewhere a woman about 5'5, toned and fit, worked up a sweat in a darkened training gym. Probably working her arms between the jutting wood of a Muk Yan Jong as the sound of flesh careening expertly against wood sounded off the walls in between breaths of the woman bobbing and weaving against a shadowy opponent she could visualize as anyone. Thirteen had made herself scarce since the memo that closed the AWE.
"You know," Francis said staring blankly into the copse of trees, "she's the only one who really wanted that job at the AWE, Rodney. The COO job."
"I know." Rodney responded, not enjoying the sudden introspective version of his employer more commonly represented by humorous bouts of obliviousness than someone reflecting on others in any sort of profound way.
In that gym, her hair separated into French braids, Thirteen worked against that training dummy and blew off the steam that kept building. In between sparring with that, she'd kick the heavy bag ever harder and work out her strikes on the speed bag, her mind running a silent race toward what move to take next.
"She was actually born to do this fighting thing, Rod." Francis said, his fingers reaching out to brush against some pine needles and pick some off the branch to look at while he was wheeled through the courtyard. "She was good at the wrestling thing, she probably would hev done right by that company had I not... had it not closed."
"I know."
"Maybe, maybe I should help her out, hey? Maybe that's what I can do?"
"How would you help her out, Francis?"
"I don't know. Get her back doing the thing she loves, you know? Maybe I can give back rather than taking all the time."
"You mean live through her?"
Francis was silent, sliding the pine needles against the top of his other hand in contemplation before he glanced up at Mississagi with a silent gesture to stop the wheelchair before he looked to Rod.
"That's what I want to do, Rod. Can you help me do it, Rod?" The entreaty of a man Rodney had only recently begun to see as old stopped him in his considerations. They exchanged the look before Rodney said,
"Okay. I'll help. I'll get her on the phone, and—"
"No, no." Francis gripped Rodney's arm forcefully, pleading up at him. "I want it to be a surprise, Rod."
Rodney blinked, that characteristic blink returning as Francis stared up at him with the gleam also returning to his eyes.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Francis. I mean—"
"She'll love it, Rod." He smiled up to Rodney before gesturing to Mississagi to continue pushing the wheelchair through the courtyard, and reinvigorated sense of purpose filling Francis as Rodney watched and mulled.
Another day of railing against nothing. Working against myself. Training is a habit, a reflex. I do it because I have to. I never stopped after I stepped away from the competitive side of the business. I always found time to watch how others prepared, how fighters moved in the ring and compared my own technique with theirs.
Devotion and dedication are the same. I never cared about winning, or telling people how authentic my efforts were compared to everyone else, and I didn't care about trying to shoot people down, I cared about trying in general, being grateful that I could; I care about being better than I was because I guess I never saw a peer if I'm honest. It was a competition with myself, and there were many who could never understand that, or would attempt to attack and deflate it.
And now there's not much fighting left to do, and I wonder if I got it wrong. If maybe the shit-talking dummies might be right. There'd be no harm in that, and if there was I wouldn't care. Toweling off after another workout, the best reason I've come up with for why I fight, or why I train to fight the fight I'll likely never fight again, why I do what I do is because.
That's it.
The second I find comfort I recognize it's time to quickly become uncomfortable again, start moving, keep struggling. That is purpose.
Just exiting the gym I find myself swarmed with a small sea of reporters and a microphones stuffed in my face.
"Are you looking forward to your first fight?"
What?
"How does it feel to make the shift to the Unleashed circuit?"
"I did what now?" My face must be worn with confusion and dismay. Cue unnecessary freeze frame close-up.
Then back to colour and motion. Yup, that's me. Stunned, and the rest is struggle until I discover that my name is on the roster over at Unleashed, and I've got a fight booked in... Serbia? I heard that first from a reporter.
Guess I found another reason to fight.
My mother died giving birth to me weeks before my due date. I was a preemie baby. I wasn't expected to survive. My father almost didn't claim me after the miracles that sustained me stopped happening. He named me Thirteen as testament to all I was in his life, the unluckiest thing that had ever happened to him. I represented the loss of his wife, a daughter worth less with each passing day.
I don't remember much of my childhood other than the concept of struggle as a reason and that's just not very interesting when it comes time to tell you or anyone else how I came to be here. I can't put one event after another like we do feet when we walk. I do remember being shipped to the U.S. and working for a family as, what I understand now, a servant. My value finally fetched by my father, I suppose, if we want to ascribe meaning to it.
I learned a lot of turns of phrase from the older woman there who'd been me till she grew up to become her, the woman I'd replace when her old, cracked andf weathered hands ceased to be useful.
Out of the frying pan and into the fire, she'd say. It felt more like out of the frying pan and into another frying pan, then into another frying pan and into another, ad infinitum. She told me, "everything happens for a reason," and I still dwell on that every day. Who determines what that reason is? And what do they do once they decide?
Me I'm still looking for the reason.
AWE (Alpha Wrestling Empire) HEADQUARTERS
New York City, New York
April 27, 2017
The elevator doors dinged open to reveal Rodney Prentice. Cue awesome freeze frame close-up graphical image!
That's him. In black and white. Okay, back to motion and colour. He stepped out of the elevator and smoothed his shirt over his midsection. This was his first day back at work after a needed vacation to Bermuda and he wasn't happy about it. Sure, he'd come a long way from Leeds, England, he had nothing to complain about, except he actually did.
You'll meet that reason shortly.
Down the hallway he moved with purpose, heading for the office with the double glass doors. He opened them and entered to the sound of fingers furiously clacking at keys on a computer keyboard. Rodney's eyes closed in tempered annoyance as the keys click clacked away at what was approximately 200 words per minute. Impossible it was anything legible. Slowly, Rodney opened his eyes and exhaled,
"That computer's not plugged in."
The fingers stopped typing. Cue another awesome freeze frame graphical closeup of the man at the desk currently looking oblivious as usual.
"....I knew that."
Back to colour and motion. Francis Ford Cuppola was in no way the most difficult boss to work for, but he was likely the most exacerbating. Imagine Inspector Clouseau as your supervisor and you're halfway there to picturing Rodney's predicament. Rodney had answered an ad in a local newspaper years ago to help a "big-time movie producer" and wound up with this guy. They'd been together ever since, all the way to Francis becoming a one-third majority stakeholder in the Alpha Wrestling Empire, right up till he took over the COO position after a series of gaffes and poor decisions from the last two people who'd failed to hold the post, all the way to now.
"Francis, what are you doing?"
Rodney was surprised by nothing anymore save, maybe, the answers to his questions. Baited breath was the best way to describe how he waited for Francis to respond time and again. Francis frowned after a moment of silent explication focused on Rodney before guffawing softly as if getting a joke.
"What do you mean, what am I doing? I work here, ya silly goof."
Back to typing. Rodney's blinks were slow, methodically timed efforts at staving off mind-numbing insanity. It was like that with Francis.
"Francis, the Alpha Wresting Empire has been closed for a month."
Francis again guffawed. It hadn't been a huge splash in the water, or even the most popular of the federations you might find by searching the internet, but for a time it had made a blip on the wrestling radar, and for some that was enough.
"What are you talking about, kid Rod? Under my expert leadership the AWE is still going strong. We just sold out Wembley. I just watched Cosmo Cooper's big-time rematch with Dom DiBoner for the Paramount Championship. The fans loved it. Shyah."
He dismissed Rodney with a playful swipe of his hand.
"No you didn't. That never happened. Those people work elsewhere now."
Francis leaned back in his chair and surveyed Rodney with a growing look of confusion. Rodney could only return the look stolidly, with the ever-increasing patience of a saint.
"But I just—"
"No. You didn't." Rodney shook his head. Francis sat with his brow furrowing further.
"Well, how come—"
"Never happened." Francis' otherwise whimsical expression darkened a smidge.
"Huh... so... it's really gone, then?"
"'fraid so, Francis." It was a moment of starkness to get the memo for all involved, from the wrestlers to those involved behind the scenes. The owner had decided not to devote funding to another season of the company, and closed the doors outright. No consultations, and no take-backs. Francis, apparently, was just now getting that memo.
Rodney eyed him at his desk from halfway across the spacious office, a gulf of silence between them while Francis processed. Then,
"Rodney?"
"Yes, Francis?"
"My arm hurts." Rodney blinked and watched Francis, red-faced, inexplicably keel over in the chair. And the rest was a blur of red and blue ambulance lights; a rush down a hospital corridor to the emergency room, and then waiting.
"I'm not ready to lose him," Rodney said to himself despite the ever-silent mainstay of Francis' entourage sitting next to him on the uncomfortable hospital chairs. Sure, why not, another cool freeze frame close-up.
Mister Mississagi nodded though Rodney didn't notice, leaning forward staring at the floor. Then the news came. Francis had made it through the bypass okay after suffering a major heart event and every bit of Rodney's exacerbation at his boss softened thereafter as Francis was given a recovery bed.
Days later, Rodney walked beside Francis as Mississagi pushed the wheelchair Francis was seated in into the hospital courtyard with a sense of muted concern at how close it had all come to changing.
"Nice outside, hey guys?"
Rodney looked skyward into the overcast clouds and glanced at Mississagi.
"Sure, Francis." He smirked. "It's perfect."
"What will I do now?" Francis murmured to himself in a rare moment of self-awareness while Mississagi carefully wheeled him along the curving scenic sidewalk through a copse of evergreen trees.
"Take it easy?" Rodney let his hand pat Francis' shoulder. It was of little comfort to the aged director who, in spite of himself, had made a career of staying busy, working hard, and doing double what he needed to.
"I can't retire, Rod." His tone somber, very unlike him, Rodney thought. "I need something. I need to do something. I can't just sit here." He shifted to try to stand up, but Rodney stopped him.
"Just relax for now, Francis." You never recognize how old a person is until their frailty makes itself apparent. Perhaps, Rodney thought, we just assume we're all immortal until reality tells you otherwise. Rodney eyed his employer now set into his wheelchair noticing suddenly more gaunt to his features than previously, that certain gleam in his eye missing ever after the heart attack. His speech was less assured and certain of itself. It put Rodney off guard.
"Where's Thirteen?" Francis asked. Rodney thought about it.
"Probably where she always is." Somewhere a woman about 5'5, toned and fit, worked up a sweat in a darkened training gym. Probably working her arms between the jutting wood of a Muk Yan Jong as the sound of flesh careening expertly against wood sounded off the walls in between breaths of the woman bobbing and weaving against a shadowy opponent she could visualize as anyone. Thirteen had made herself scarce since the memo that closed the AWE.
"You know," Francis said staring blankly into the copse of trees, "she's the only one who really wanted that job at the AWE, Rodney. The COO job."
"I know." Rodney responded, not enjoying the sudden introspective version of his employer more commonly represented by humorous bouts of obliviousness than someone reflecting on others in any sort of profound way.
In that gym, her hair separated into French braids, Thirteen worked against that training dummy and blew off the steam that kept building. In between sparring with that, she'd kick the heavy bag ever harder and work out her strikes on the speed bag, her mind running a silent race toward what move to take next.
"She was actually born to do this fighting thing, Rod." Francis said, his fingers reaching out to brush against some pine needles and pick some off the branch to look at while he was wheeled through the courtyard. "She was good at the wrestling thing, she probably would hev done right by that company had I not... had it not closed."
"I know."
"Maybe, maybe I should help her out, hey? Maybe that's what I can do?"
"How would you help her out, Francis?"
"I don't know. Get her back doing the thing she loves, you know? Maybe I can give back rather than taking all the time."
"You mean live through her?"
Francis was silent, sliding the pine needles against the top of his other hand in contemplation before he glanced up at Mississagi with a silent gesture to stop the wheelchair before he looked to Rod.
"That's what I want to do, Rod. Can you help me do it, Rod?" The entreaty of a man Rodney had only recently begun to see as old stopped him in his considerations. They exchanged the look before Rodney said,
"Okay. I'll help. I'll get her on the phone, and—"
"No, no." Francis gripped Rodney's arm forcefully, pleading up at him. "I want it to be a surprise, Rod."
Rodney blinked, that characteristic blink returning as Francis stared up at him with the gleam also returning to his eyes.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Francis. I mean—"
"She'll love it, Rod." He smiled up to Rodney before gesturing to Mississagi to continue pushing the wheelchair through the courtyard, and reinvigorated sense of purpose filling Francis as Rodney watched and mulled.
Another day of railing against nothing. Working against myself. Training is a habit, a reflex. I do it because I have to. I never stopped after I stepped away from the competitive side of the business. I always found time to watch how others prepared, how fighters moved in the ring and compared my own technique with theirs.
Devotion and dedication are the same. I never cared about winning, or telling people how authentic my efforts were compared to everyone else, and I didn't care about trying to shoot people down, I cared about trying in general, being grateful that I could; I care about being better than I was because I guess I never saw a peer if I'm honest. It was a competition with myself, and there were many who could never understand that, or would attempt to attack and deflate it.
And now there's not much fighting left to do, and I wonder if I got it wrong. If maybe the shit-talking dummies might be right. There'd be no harm in that, and if there was I wouldn't care. Toweling off after another workout, the best reason I've come up with for why I fight, or why I train to fight the fight I'll likely never fight again, why I do what I do is because.
That's it.
The second I find comfort I recognize it's time to quickly become uncomfortable again, start moving, keep struggling. That is purpose.
Just exiting the gym I find myself swarmed with a small sea of reporters and a microphones stuffed in my face.
"Are you looking forward to your first fight?"
What?
"How does it feel to make the shift to the Unleashed circuit?"
"I did what now?" My face must be worn with confusion and dismay. Cue unnecessary freeze frame close-up.
Then back to colour and motion. Yup, that's me. Stunned, and the rest is struggle until I discover that my name is on the roster over at Unleashed, and I've got a fight booked in... Serbia? I heard that first from a reporter.
Guess I found another reason to fight.
#22
Character Development / IV.I — Joining a Gym
Last post by spiral - May 26, 2017, 05:38:43 PM[div class="playbill"]PLAYBILL[/div]
[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]SYNOPSIS[/div]
[div class="credits-synopsis"]While visiting sunny Miami, Spiral decides to join a gym that is owned by Jackson.[/div][/div]
[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]CAST OF CHARACTERS[/div]
MADS MIKKELSEN...as SPIRAL (THE NARRATOR)
ANYA TAYLOR-JOY..as MADDI (THE ENTITY)
SAGI KALEV.......as SERGE
TOM HOLLAND......as DALE THE BARISTA
[/div]
[div class="spiral-wrapper"]
[div class="spiral-topper"][/div]
[div class="spiral-content"]
[div class="spiral-content-inner"]
[div class="spiral-headline"]IV.I[/div]
[div class="spiral-subheadline"]JOINING A GYM[/div]
[div class="spiral-quote"]You are captured,
caught in my chains;
as you fancied the world,
with all that in it lives and moves,
lay in your power,
you lie in fetters before me.
[/div]
[span class="spiral-quote-author"]— Richard Wagner[/span], [span class="spiral-quote-source"]Das Rheingold[/span]
[div class="spiral-indent"]THE PLANE LANDS AT MIAMI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT just after midnight on Wednesday, May 10th. I have no luggage or carry-on bag. My only possessions are a passport and ID, enough cash to cover expenses, and the clothes on my back. My return flight to Moscow departs in thirty six hours.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I purchase a new outfit at the Tommy Hilfiger store. I decide on an all-white look comprised of a long sleeve polo shirt made from Italian cotton, twill cargo shorts, and leather sneakers. I also grab socks, golf gloves, a Panama hat, and a pair of Garrett Leight sunglasses. In the concourse, I pick up a prepaid phone at the Boost Mobile kiosk.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Outside the terminal, the moon is smiling down on me as I get in a taxi. I tell the driver, "El Motel Estrellas. Downtown." He makes the thirty minute drive in fifteen. I am powering up my new flip phone when the car slows to a stop. He warns me to be careful around here this time of night. I give him a big tip and thank him for his advice.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The cab leaves me on the sidewalk holding my shopping bag. The taillights disappear into the night and I start walking—not to the motel's front office, but west down the street. Three black men pass me by, offering drugs. These jackals are in search of prey, but I have no fear of these lowly creatures for I am something far beyond their conception. They must sense it, the wrath in me. It is a big, black hole that will eat them up. Only one of them gets curious about me, and the other two are quick to pull him away.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]A homeless man is sleeping on the front step of an abandoned record store. He's covered in a blanket, with a stack of yellowed newspapers serving as a pillow. Parked near his feet is a rusted-out shopping cart full of aluminum cans and glass bottles. The stench of alcohol, sweat, and urine surrounds him. I choke on it as I get close enough to nudge him with the toe of my shoe. When he doesn't stir, I kick him hard in the gut.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The pain scares him out of sleep. He sits up quickly and recoils, moving away from me until his back presses into the boarded-up door. He's a white man, but his skin is ruddy from a sunburn that is starting to peal on his forehead and cheeks. There is a sickly look about him, with his empty eyes sunk in their sockets, the patchwork of wiry facial hair, and the way his face sags from the bone structure of his skull. He is wearing a military field jacket with a US Army patch on the shoulder.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I stand over him, eclipsing the street lamp, engulfing him in my shadow. He speaks to me with a dry, cracked voice. "Who are you?" To him I must appear as a towering figure encased in black, ringed by a halo of pale yellow light. I offer my outstretched hand to him and answer, "Your salvation."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He takes my hand and rises to his feet with my help. I ask him his name.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Charlie," he says.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"When is the last time you had something to eat?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"A day or so."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"How would you like to earn one thousand dollars, Charlie?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]His eyes widen and his legs start to wobble. He lets out a long breath that smells like his yellow, rotten teeth. "What do I got to do for it?" he asks me.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"A simple thing," I assure him. "I will give you five hundred dollars now. You will go to the motel down the street and rent a room for one week under the name Alexander Bradley. You give me the key and I give you one thousand dollars."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I can see the wheels in his brain turning, imagining all the ways to spend the money. He mutters out, "What's the catch, man? There's gotta be one."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Just one," I say with a smile. "After I give you that money, you buy a bus ticket and get out of town."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He seems confused. "Where should I go?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"I don't care. Is it a yes or no, Charlie? I am sure I can find someone else if you aren't interested—"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"No, no," he says quickly. "I'm in."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He does as instructed. I watch him enter the front office of the motel. Five minutes later, he comes out with a smile and the key. "Any problems?" I ask. Charlie shrugs and says, "Nah. He didn't want to rent the room to me at first, but after I shown him the money, he didn't care none. I gave him the name Alexander Bradley like you asked."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I count out ten $100 bills and hand them over. I remind him about the bus and he promises to do as told. I don't really care if he gets on a bus. If he doesn't, this city will eat him alive. Either way, the loose end is tied up.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]As he hurries off into the night, my attention turns elsewhere. I put the key to room 56 in my pocket and start walking the other direction. I pull out my phone and call for a cab. It meets me two miles away in Little Havana. "Take me to the InterContinental Hotel."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]When I arrive, I check in under my name and pay for one night.[/div]
[div class="spiral-divider"][/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]THE SUN. BURNING AND BOILING. HANGING like a ball of gold overhead, radiating across the cloudless blue sky and down onto the city of Miami, turning every surface it touches into a sizzling hot plate. The light, blinding almost, invades every color and cranks the saturation to eleven, creating a dream world of vibrant hues that pop, from the deepest red to the wildest green. This is Miami by Technicolor.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]
The walk from the motel takes me up Biscayne Boulevard, past a never ending line of puttering cars. I can feel the heat through the bottoms of my shoes, and see the steam rising off the pavement ahead of me. The Panama hat keeps the sweat and sun out of my face, but the bright inferno is everywhere, and just looking out makes my eyes squint behind my sunglasses.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I follow Biscayne for half a mile then cut over to 2nd Street for two more blocks, bringing me to the window front of a fitness center called Dark Horse Gym. I hear Maddi say, "Nice joint," before she side-steps out from behind me. She pushes back the brim of her Panama hat that matches my own and looks up at the sign. "Are you sure you want to do it this way, kiddo? We could just burn the thing to the ground. T'would be a real shame."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"We could"—I reach for the door—"but that would not be as much fun."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The man behind the front counter is tall, built, and tan. His dark hair is styled with product and cut short on the sides to accentuate his square face and chiselled jawline, and his Dark Horse t-shirt is much too small for his muscular frame.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Hello, my friend," he says with an accent I can't quite place. "How may I help you?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I cross my arms on the chest-high counter and lean forward. I catch his name on the badge hanging from his lanyard. "Well, Serge," I say, meeting his eyes. "I'm looking to join a gym. It's time I get into shape."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He looks at me at an angle. "You don't already work out? Could have fooled me, brother."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"I do a bit," I explain. "But I want to get cut up like you. You're like Captain America over here. What's your secret?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He laughs off the compliment. "You know, diet and a good program. I mix cardio and training so that..." He continues to rattle off his routine, but my attention has shifted focus to the surroundings. My eyes dart around the desk area, searching for anything that might prove useful. Stacks of applications waiting to be filed, an iPad set up for use as a register and to check in clients, shelves of official Dark Horse merchandise on the back wall—all of it useless to me. I am considering the possibility that I might have to break in after hours when Maddi jumps up on the counter and kicks her legs.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]She whistles at me, and ticks her head over her shoulder. "Check the garbage can, chief."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I bend my head to the left just enough to see past the Serge's Hulkish arm. There, tucked close to the end of the counter, is a waste basket. It's full with discarded Starbucks cups, almost spilling to the floor with them. My curious lips spread into a thin smile.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Geeze," I blurt out at him, interrupting something about pineapples. "You guys must really love coffee. Is caffeine a big part of your workout?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He cranes his neck around to see the dire condition of the trash, then turns back to me with a chuckle. "Not really for me. I mean, I like an iced latte macchiato as much as the next man, but most of those are from my bosses. Both of them hit the Starbucks down the block on the daily, at least."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I give a nod and say, "Your boss—isn't he some kind of wrestler?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"You mean Jackson? Yeah, he was a wrestler for a long time, but now he does MMA."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"I bet it's a pain in the ass," I say while standing up straight. "If he's some famous guy, people probably join here just to meet him."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Actually, no. Our clients are more concerned with getting a good workout at a reasonable rate than worry about who the owners are. Now, I can't say the same for the kid working at Starbucks. He's kind of obsessed with Jackson, but he's harmless."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Maddi is giving me a very Spiral-like smile and saying, "This guy is the perfect combination of nice and stupid. I kind of love him."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"He is precious," I say to her out the corner of my mouth and then smile at Serge. I say to him, "Well, sir, I thank you for your time. I would love to join your gym. Unfortunately, I realized on my walk here that I left my wallet at home." A stack of business cards sits the counter. I take one, flipping it through my gloved fingers, and sliding it in my pocket. "But I will definitely be back tomorrow to sign up for one of those memberships."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Great! We look forward to having you. Have a Dark Horse Day, brother."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]What he said is so absurd that I cannot maintain. At once a great, loud, hacking laugh bursts out of my mouth, right in his face. He pulls his hand back and makes a motion to quiet down. People are starting to look at us, at me. I stare at him, mouth agape, and point a finger right at his chest. "You have a Dark Horse Day, too!"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I laugh all the way to the door and through it. When I get outside, Maddi is already there, and she is laughing along with me. Hers is more of a cackling giggle than the horse laugh vomiting out of me. We stumble to the end of the block before the fit subsides.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Starbucks is only another block down. We're still catching our breath when we get to the door. Before I walk in, I am overcome with worry that we will have to wait in a long line, surrounded by mouthbreathers and disgusting specimens of humanity. How will I control myself, I wonder. Will the temptation of violence be too great? My concern is growing as I step through the door, but it subsides when I see that the lunch crowd has thinned out, and I am filled with cool relief.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The barista at the register is a woman, mid-twenties. She smiles brightly at me and says, "What can I get you?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Good question." I lean down a bit and smile back. "I heard that a famous wrestler gets his coffee here. He owns the gym right around the block. His name is Jackson."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Another barista—a young man who looks to be barely out of highschool—comes hurrying down the counter from the back. The woman rolls her eyes and tells me, "Talk to him," before walking away. The kid is skinny, with messy blond hair and excited eyes. The name on his badge is Dale.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He says, "This is Mr. Jackson's favorite place to get coffee when he's in town. He comes here all the time. Not today though. He must not be in town. His wife did though, this morning. She's so pretty. She doesn't talk to me as much as Mr. Jackson. I think she finds me annoying."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]His odd behavior interests me. Note the awkward speech patterns. Note the stiff body language. Note the hyperfocused attention to detail. I say, "Pardon me for asking, but are you on the spectrum, Dale?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Yes," he says immediately. "I was diagnosed with autism at age 2. My mom believes it was the MMR vaccine the doctor gave me but I tried telling her there are no peer-reviewed scientific studies that prove any link between vaccines and autism. She doesn't believe me though. I think she wants someone to blame, but I actually don't mind being autistic—Can I get you something?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Actually, now that you mention it..." My eyes lift to the menu and scan for a moment, before looking back down. "What does Jackson usually get?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He rattles it off. "Venti black coffee with a shot of espresso."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I drum my knuckles on the counter and say, "Give me one of those."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He rings me up and takes my cash. When he offers change, I direct it to the tip jar. He thanks me, then gets a large cup and a marker. "What's your name, sir?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Alexander Bradley," I say smoothly. Most baristas would have simply put Alex, but Dale's attention to detail leads him to write the entire name on the side of the cup. He ends it with an exclamation mark and announces, "Just one moment, Mr. Bradley."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]As he hurries off to make my coffee, I saunter down the glass case full of bakery items and pretend to be looking them over. Maddi waiting for me with her back leaned against the cool glass. She says, "Are you sure he's the one?" then looks over her shoulder at Dale.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Oh, I am absolutely certain," I tell her. "He's perfect."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Dale calls out, "Alexander Bradley!" and holds out the cup for me. I take it from him and say, "Thank you very much, young man. I appreciate your effort."
He gives me a nod and enthusiastically says, "Have a good day, sir! We hope to see you again."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Oh, you will," I assure him. "I have no doubt."[/div]
[div class="spiral-divider"][/div]
[/div]
[/div]
[/div]
[div class="herald-wrapper"][div class="herald-banner"][div class="herald-logo"]
[/div][/div]
[div class="herald-header"]BODY FOUND IN PARK IS MISSING MAN[/div]
[div class="herald-byline"]May 18, 2017 | By Alex Harris[/div]
[div class="herald-body"]A body discovered late Wednesday evening in a room at the El Motel Estrellas has been identified as missing Miami man Dale Vance, age 19. Vance was reported missing a week ago by his parents when he did not return home after his shift at the Starbucks at First Street and Third Avenue.
Miami Police said a maid found Vance when she entered to clean the room. Sources close to the investigation have reported that Vance's body was mutilated in a ritualistic manner and "put on display". According to motel manager and owner Freddie Renaldo the room was rented on Wednesday, May 10th by a man named Alexander Bradley. He paid cash for seven nights and placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Renaldo described Bradley as appearing homeless, but he was able to pay the $500 needed to cover the room rental. Miami PD stated that Bradley is a person of interest and is being sought for questioning.
Kim Vance, mother of the victim, described her son as "kind, trusting, and innocent" to reporters. She also revealed that her son was Autistic and that he always saw the best in people, a trait that could have been taken advantage of by his killer.[/div]
[/div]
[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]SYNOPSIS[/div]
[div class="credits-synopsis"]While visiting sunny Miami, Spiral decides to join a gym that is owned by Jackson.[/div][/div]
[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]CAST OF CHARACTERS[/div]
MADS MIKKELSEN...as SPIRAL (THE NARRATOR)
ANYA TAYLOR-JOY..as MADDI (THE ENTITY)
SAGI KALEV.......as SERGE
TOM HOLLAND......as DALE THE BARISTA
[/div]
[div class="spiral-wrapper"]
[div class="spiral-topper"][/div]
[div class="spiral-content"]
[div class="spiral-content-inner"]
[div class="spiral-headline"]IV.I[/div]
[div class="spiral-subheadline"]JOINING A GYM[/div]
[div class="spiral-quote"]You are captured,
caught in my chains;
as you fancied the world,
with all that in it lives and moves,
lay in your power,
you lie in fetters before me.
[/div]
[span class="spiral-quote-author"]— Richard Wagner[/span], [span class="spiral-quote-source"]Das Rheingold[/span]
[div class="spiral-indent"]THE PLANE LANDS AT MIAMI INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT just after midnight on Wednesday, May 10th. I have no luggage or carry-on bag. My only possessions are a passport and ID, enough cash to cover expenses, and the clothes on my back. My return flight to Moscow departs in thirty six hours.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I purchase a new outfit at the Tommy Hilfiger store. I decide on an all-white look comprised of a long sleeve polo shirt made from Italian cotton, twill cargo shorts, and leather sneakers. I also grab socks, golf gloves, a Panama hat, and a pair of Garrett Leight sunglasses. In the concourse, I pick up a prepaid phone at the Boost Mobile kiosk.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Outside the terminal, the moon is smiling down on me as I get in a taxi. I tell the driver, "El Motel Estrellas. Downtown." He makes the thirty minute drive in fifteen. I am powering up my new flip phone when the car slows to a stop. He warns me to be careful around here this time of night. I give him a big tip and thank him for his advice.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The cab leaves me on the sidewalk holding my shopping bag. The taillights disappear into the night and I start walking—not to the motel's front office, but west down the street. Three black men pass me by, offering drugs. These jackals are in search of prey, but I have no fear of these lowly creatures for I am something far beyond their conception. They must sense it, the wrath in me. It is a big, black hole that will eat them up. Only one of them gets curious about me, and the other two are quick to pull him away.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]A homeless man is sleeping on the front step of an abandoned record store. He's covered in a blanket, with a stack of yellowed newspapers serving as a pillow. Parked near his feet is a rusted-out shopping cart full of aluminum cans and glass bottles. The stench of alcohol, sweat, and urine surrounds him. I choke on it as I get close enough to nudge him with the toe of my shoe. When he doesn't stir, I kick him hard in the gut.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The pain scares him out of sleep. He sits up quickly and recoils, moving away from me until his back presses into the boarded-up door. He's a white man, but his skin is ruddy from a sunburn that is starting to peal on his forehead and cheeks. There is a sickly look about him, with his empty eyes sunk in their sockets, the patchwork of wiry facial hair, and the way his face sags from the bone structure of his skull. He is wearing a military field jacket with a US Army patch on the shoulder.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I stand over him, eclipsing the street lamp, engulfing him in my shadow. He speaks to me with a dry, cracked voice. "Who are you?" To him I must appear as a towering figure encased in black, ringed by a halo of pale yellow light. I offer my outstretched hand to him and answer, "Your salvation."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He takes my hand and rises to his feet with my help. I ask him his name.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Charlie," he says.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"When is the last time you had something to eat?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"A day or so."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"How would you like to earn one thousand dollars, Charlie?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]His eyes widen and his legs start to wobble. He lets out a long breath that smells like his yellow, rotten teeth. "What do I got to do for it?" he asks me.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"A simple thing," I assure him. "I will give you five hundred dollars now. You will go to the motel down the street and rent a room for one week under the name Alexander Bradley. You give me the key and I give you one thousand dollars."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I can see the wheels in his brain turning, imagining all the ways to spend the money. He mutters out, "What's the catch, man? There's gotta be one."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Just one," I say with a smile. "After I give you that money, you buy a bus ticket and get out of town."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He seems confused. "Where should I go?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"I don't care. Is it a yes or no, Charlie? I am sure I can find someone else if you aren't interested—"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"No, no," he says quickly. "I'm in."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He does as instructed. I watch him enter the front office of the motel. Five minutes later, he comes out with a smile and the key. "Any problems?" I ask. Charlie shrugs and says, "Nah. He didn't want to rent the room to me at first, but after I shown him the money, he didn't care none. I gave him the name Alexander Bradley like you asked."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I count out ten $100 bills and hand them over. I remind him about the bus and he promises to do as told. I don't really care if he gets on a bus. If he doesn't, this city will eat him alive. Either way, the loose end is tied up.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]As he hurries off into the night, my attention turns elsewhere. I put the key to room 56 in my pocket and start walking the other direction. I pull out my phone and call for a cab. It meets me two miles away in Little Havana. "Take me to the InterContinental Hotel."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]When I arrive, I check in under my name and pay for one night.[/div]
[div class="spiral-divider"][/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]THE SUN. BURNING AND BOILING. HANGING like a ball of gold overhead, radiating across the cloudless blue sky and down onto the city of Miami, turning every surface it touches into a sizzling hot plate. The light, blinding almost, invades every color and cranks the saturation to eleven, creating a dream world of vibrant hues that pop, from the deepest red to the wildest green. This is Miami by Technicolor.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]
The walk from the motel takes me up Biscayne Boulevard, past a never ending line of puttering cars. I can feel the heat through the bottoms of my shoes, and see the steam rising off the pavement ahead of me. The Panama hat keeps the sweat and sun out of my face, but the bright inferno is everywhere, and just looking out makes my eyes squint behind my sunglasses.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I follow Biscayne for half a mile then cut over to 2nd Street for two more blocks, bringing me to the window front of a fitness center called Dark Horse Gym. I hear Maddi say, "Nice joint," before she side-steps out from behind me. She pushes back the brim of her Panama hat that matches my own and looks up at the sign. "Are you sure you want to do it this way, kiddo? We could just burn the thing to the ground. T'would be a real shame."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"We could"—I reach for the door—"but that would not be as much fun."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The man behind the front counter is tall, built, and tan. His dark hair is styled with product and cut short on the sides to accentuate his square face and chiselled jawline, and his Dark Horse t-shirt is much too small for his muscular frame.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Hello, my friend," he says with an accent I can't quite place. "How may I help you?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I cross my arms on the chest-high counter and lean forward. I catch his name on the badge hanging from his lanyard. "Well, Serge," I say, meeting his eyes. "I'm looking to join a gym. It's time I get into shape."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He looks at me at an angle. "You don't already work out? Could have fooled me, brother."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"I do a bit," I explain. "But I want to get cut up like you. You're like Captain America over here. What's your secret?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He laughs off the compliment. "You know, diet and a good program. I mix cardio and training so that..." He continues to rattle off his routine, but my attention has shifted focus to the surroundings. My eyes dart around the desk area, searching for anything that might prove useful. Stacks of applications waiting to be filed, an iPad set up for use as a register and to check in clients, shelves of official Dark Horse merchandise on the back wall—all of it useless to me. I am considering the possibility that I might have to break in after hours when Maddi jumps up on the counter and kicks her legs.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]She whistles at me, and ticks her head over her shoulder. "Check the garbage can, chief."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I bend my head to the left just enough to see past the Serge's Hulkish arm. There, tucked close to the end of the counter, is a waste basket. It's full with discarded Starbucks cups, almost spilling to the floor with them. My curious lips spread into a thin smile.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Geeze," I blurt out at him, interrupting something about pineapples. "You guys must really love coffee. Is caffeine a big part of your workout?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He cranes his neck around to see the dire condition of the trash, then turns back to me with a chuckle. "Not really for me. I mean, I like an iced latte macchiato as much as the next man, but most of those are from my bosses. Both of them hit the Starbucks down the block on the daily, at least."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I give a nod and say, "Your boss—isn't he some kind of wrestler?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"You mean Jackson? Yeah, he was a wrestler for a long time, but now he does MMA."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"I bet it's a pain in the ass," I say while standing up straight. "If he's some famous guy, people probably join here just to meet him."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Actually, no. Our clients are more concerned with getting a good workout at a reasonable rate than worry about who the owners are. Now, I can't say the same for the kid working at Starbucks. He's kind of obsessed with Jackson, but he's harmless."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Maddi is giving me a very Spiral-like smile and saying, "This guy is the perfect combination of nice and stupid. I kind of love him."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"He is precious," I say to her out the corner of my mouth and then smile at Serge. I say to him, "Well, sir, I thank you for your time. I would love to join your gym. Unfortunately, I realized on my walk here that I left my wallet at home." A stack of business cards sits the counter. I take one, flipping it through my gloved fingers, and sliding it in my pocket. "But I will definitely be back tomorrow to sign up for one of those memberships."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Great! We look forward to having you. Have a Dark Horse Day, brother."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]What he said is so absurd that I cannot maintain. At once a great, loud, hacking laugh bursts out of my mouth, right in his face. He pulls his hand back and makes a motion to quiet down. People are starting to look at us, at me. I stare at him, mouth agape, and point a finger right at his chest. "You have a Dark Horse Day, too!"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I laugh all the way to the door and through it. When I get outside, Maddi is already there, and she is laughing along with me. Hers is more of a cackling giggle than the horse laugh vomiting out of me. We stumble to the end of the block before the fit subsides.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Starbucks is only another block down. We're still catching our breath when we get to the door. Before I walk in, I am overcome with worry that we will have to wait in a long line, surrounded by mouthbreathers and disgusting specimens of humanity. How will I control myself, I wonder. Will the temptation of violence be too great? My concern is growing as I step through the door, but it subsides when I see that the lunch crowd has thinned out, and I am filled with cool relief.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]The barista at the register is a woman, mid-twenties. She smiles brightly at me and says, "What can I get you?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Good question." I lean down a bit and smile back. "I heard that a famous wrestler gets his coffee here. He owns the gym right around the block. His name is Jackson."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Another barista—a young man who looks to be barely out of highschool—comes hurrying down the counter from the back. The woman rolls her eyes and tells me, "Talk to him," before walking away. The kid is skinny, with messy blond hair and excited eyes. The name on his badge is Dale.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He says, "This is Mr. Jackson's favorite place to get coffee when he's in town. He comes here all the time. Not today though. He must not be in town. His wife did though, this morning. She's so pretty. She doesn't talk to me as much as Mr. Jackson. I think she finds me annoying."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]His odd behavior interests me. Note the awkward speech patterns. Note the stiff body language. Note the hyperfocused attention to detail. I say, "Pardon me for asking, but are you on the spectrum, Dale?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Yes," he says immediately. "I was diagnosed with autism at age 2. My mom believes it was the MMR vaccine the doctor gave me but I tried telling her there are no peer-reviewed scientific studies that prove any link between vaccines and autism. She doesn't believe me though. I think she wants someone to blame, but I actually don't mind being autistic—Can I get you something?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Actually, now that you mention it..." My eyes lift to the menu and scan for a moment, before looking back down. "What does Jackson usually get?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He rattles it off. "Venti black coffee with a shot of espresso."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]I drum my knuckles on the counter and say, "Give me one of those."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]He rings me up and takes my cash. When he offers change, I direct it to the tip jar. He thanks me, then gets a large cup and a marker. "What's your name, sir?"[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Alexander Bradley," I say smoothly. Most baristas would have simply put Alex, but Dale's attention to detail leads him to write the entire name on the side of the cup. He ends it with an exclamation mark and announces, "Just one moment, Mr. Bradley."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]As he hurries off to make my coffee, I saunter down the glass case full of bakery items and pretend to be looking them over. Maddi waiting for me with her back leaned against the cool glass. She says, "Are you sure he's the one?" then looks over her shoulder at Dale.[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Oh, I am absolutely certain," I tell her. "He's perfect."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]Dale calls out, "Alexander Bradley!" and holds out the cup for me. I take it from him and say, "Thank you very much, young man. I appreciate your effort."
He gives me a nod and enthusiastically says, "Have a good day, sir! We hope to see you again."[/div]
[div class="spiral-indent"]"Oh, you will," I assure him. "I have no doubt."[/div]
[div class="spiral-divider"][/div]
[/div]
[/div]
[/div]
[div class="herald-wrapper"][div class="herald-banner"][div class="herald-logo"]
[/div][/div][div class="herald-header"]BODY FOUND IN PARK IS MISSING MAN[/div]
[div class="herald-byline"]May 18, 2017 | By Alex Harris[/div]
[div class="herald-body"]A body discovered late Wednesday evening in a room at the El Motel Estrellas has been identified as missing Miami man Dale Vance, age 19. Vance was reported missing a week ago by his parents when he did not return home after his shift at the Starbucks at First Street and Third Avenue.
Miami Police said a maid found Vance when she entered to clean the room. Sources close to the investigation have reported that Vance's body was mutilated in a ritualistic manner and "put on display". According to motel manager and owner Freddie Renaldo the room was rented on Wednesday, May 10th by a man named Alexander Bradley. He paid cash for seven nights and placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. Renaldo described Bradley as appearing homeless, but he was able to pay the $500 needed to cover the room rental. Miami PD stated that Bradley is a person of interest and is being sought for questioning.
Kim Vance, mother of the victim, described her son as "kind, trusting, and innocent" to reporters. She also revealed that her son was Autistic and that he always saw the best in people, a trait that could have been taken advantage of by his killer.[/div]
[/div]
#23
Archive / Locked Doors
Last post by Zag Winston - May 25, 2017, 06:58:53 PMChain Smoker
Allenwood, man. Feels like I been born and raised here. Right? Lived here for most my life. I got into some shit in my teens and ended up getting locked up. That's ok. I got me some friends now and three squares a day. What more could a dude ask for? Out there, I was low as fuck. Know what I mean? I was a nobody doing nobody things. Now I'm top dog. One of them anyway. Got that white pride shit in here, but I pay it no nevermind. I fuck them up if they step toward me or even give me a look I don't like.
That's what you call me: Top Dog.
Only reason I'm relevant right now is cuz I got this pen pal. Dude calls himself Louis or some shit. I call him Lois when I'm talkin to the boys so they think it's a bitch who wants to marry me. Ha. All these bitches gone crazy over convicts and give 'em that conjugal we all love so much. So what if it's a lie. I mean, I think it's somewhat true. Think this dude is some faggot who wants to slob my knob. Feel me? Fuckin' people. I'm not into that shit. You hear all the time about jail being some excuse for dudes to turn gay and get it on with their roommate and shit. I'm not into that. No way. Fuck that.
That boy would have to be pretty as fuck and I'd have to be horny as hell. Feel me?
Louis has been writing me about this new convict by the name of Palmer. Palmer sees a life sentence stretching out before him and he's not happy about it. Guy keeps to himself, but he's a rapist through and through. A Richard Ramirez type. Home invader. Faggot though, through and through. He be one of those dudes who stick a finger up a man-ass and still act like he loves women. Yeah. I know the type. Talkin about dominance and shit. Can see it in his eyes. Dude vile as fuck. Don't think he expected to get caught. Don't think he expected the walls to come crashing down on him.
Meal time comes and this dude likes to cut his meat to look like bodies and use ketchup for blood. That fake kind of try-hard kind of bad guy. Stay with me.
Honestly though, I don't give a fuck.
Louis has some beef with the guy. Wrote in the letter that he'd make sure I get a carton of Marlboros every week for the rest of my stay so long as this Palmer dude walks funny for the rest of his. I'm like, sure as shit, man, but you better come up with two cartons right off the bat.
Guy wrote back that he wanted to meet me in person. I told him to dispense with any ideas about some faggot shit. I wasn't into that. Orange ain't the new black 'round these parts. Fuckin drama. Give me a break.
Though, I'd settle for some of those bitches. Even that fat bitch who runs the kitchen. Remember her? She was in some Star Trek shit and I'mma 'bout to boldly go, know what I mean?
Ha.
Anyway, on the day Louis arrived, I made sure nobody would see me meet up with him. I didn't want to break my streak of successful lies and I was going to convince the boys that I dipped my wick. Prowess, real or not, is respected, but once you caught in a lie, they see nothing but a bitch.
Honestly, I'm bored as fuck. Let's get this over with.
We were allowed a room with some privacy and when I walked in on the dude, I saw someone I didn't expect. He seemed like such a geek in the letters, but he was big and ripped. Like chiselled. Stallone in Rambo: First Blood Part Two kinda shit. He had dark circles under his eyes and no word of a lie, bruh, he kind of scared me. There was just something about him.
Something other worldly. That's a thing, right?
He slapped two delicious cartons of Marlboro reds down on the table and gave me those eyes that told me not to fuck with him. I felt the hair on my neck stand up.
Where the fuck this dude come from?
He sat down and told me, "Thank you for meeting with me. I'm really hoping you're willing to play ball with me."
I sat down and put my hand on the cartons and started pulling them towards me, but he slapped a hand down on them and pulled 'em right back.
"What the fuck, man?"
He let out something like a growl. Shit disturbing.
Dude asked, "Are we playing ball? Are you going to deliver on Hernandez or am I going to be stuck with Tom Brady?"
"You come through with the smokes and you get your Hernandez. Fuck a Tom Brady"
This mother fucker talkin about the Patriots when we should be on about the Steelers. Fuck it though. This is all code. Code we worked out. Football references. Made it all sound legit. I'm cool with that. The guy is smart. Louis. Lois. Whatever the case may be.
He let the carton of smokes go.
"You mind if I ask why?" I thought better of it, "Nah, nevermind, none of my fuckin business. You just make sure these cartons keep coming. Don't go thinkin' I can't just reach out and touch you, man."
He leaned back in his seat, still straight faced. He told me, "One carton, every week. For the rest of my life, or yours. Score me a touchdown."
"You'll get Hernandez, Seau, Myers, and I'll even toss in a side of Jovan Belcher. Full meal deal."
He nodded.
That's the last time we ever talked.
I chain smoke now. Ha.
Locked doors
By the time this is read, if everything has gone according to plan, I will be dead. I want it to be clear that I have not done this to hurt anyone, but myself. I am sorry for those who will mourn my passing, but I trust that they will understand why I have made this decision. I have chosen to make my exit because I believe, firmly, that I am awaited on the 'other side' if it exists.
I hope it exists. I imagine it feels like love--encapsulating.
To love is to love completely. I've heard people say 'i love with all of my heart' and that's not enough. To love is to love with your heart, mind, and soul. The entirety of your being. From your fingertips to the hair on the back of your neck. You should be lit up with sensation every time you're in the presence of the ones you love. The entirety of your being should long for him or her whenever they're gone.
Long for them when they're gone.
Sarah and I met in high school and it was almost cliche how it all worked out. She and I graduated and moved in together. I went to University and she worked to support the both of us. Soon we were getting married. Eleven months after that, we had a child. It was ridiculous how easily it all unfolded. From there we were that happy family. The one you see in Norman Rockwell paintings. That's what I liked. Not the segregation and gender norms of the fifties, but the security that you expected. The innocence.
Security, but with unlocked doors.
Sarah and I took dance lessons. We knew the swing. Grandma would take care of the kid while we did this. We'd dine after that. We called it 'date night' and it was good. The smell of her perfume and even closer, her skin, intoxicated me.
I really felt like I could be directionless in everything else I did in my life, so long as I had Sarah and Jonathan in my life. They gave me reason. Like this guy told me once--they brought out my 'inner awesome' and even though I laughed, I knew he was right.
We were so much more than lust, but I lusted after her. Our nights together, honestly, I don't know how they didn't lead to more children. I really don't. We were like bunnies. We fit each other in every way. We laughed at the same things, we were terrible in the same ways, we both loved our son in the same way. We were gross how well we worked together.
I had so many friends that had to work so hard to keep their relationships together, but Sarah and I, we grew up together. We figured all that stuff out before we even moved out of our parent's places. We were just ready to go. I said we were Ozzie and Harriet, but she said we were Bonnie and Clyde.
I ribbed her, claiming she just liked that Bonnie's name came first.
I'm running out of time.
We bought a home and we fixed it up as best we could. I was a terrible handy-man, but she was a good painter so she covered up all of my botch jobs. She was a bad cook, but I was slightly better, and she didn't mind doing dishes. We took care of Jon and we had dreams of getting a better place in Fairmount-Spring Garden. That neighborhood was closer to work and closer to the schools we wanted to send Jon to. Plus, it was safer than South Philly.
This is the part that pains me.
One night, with Jonathan sound asleep in his crib and Sarah in bed reading a book, I went outside. I had been hiding the fact that I had started smoking again from Sarah, so I strolled down the street to have a cig and I walked right up on a patrol car. I was confronted by two police officers.
They told me they were locking the block down and told me to return to my home and lock the door. They told me everything was going to be fine, but I needed to get indoors.
I finished my cig on the way back to the house and when I walked up the steps, I realized I hadn't locked the door before I left--something I had always done. I opened the door and locked it behind me. I took my shoes off and went straight for the stairs. I heard a thud followed by a scream. I ran around the corner and when I pushed the door open to the baby's room, I found Sarah cowering on the floor with Jonathan in her arms. Standing over her was a man in a black jacket and dark denim jeans. He had a knife in his hand. He arched his neck to look at me and his eyes were unforgettable.
I took a step towards him and he confronted me with a gun in his other hand. He told me to drop to my knees. I didn't. I stepped towards him and he pistol whipped me. I cracked my head on the crib on my way down. I tried not to pass out. Everything was fuzzy.
I caught only glimpses of what happened next.
Glimpses of him making Sarah watch while he slashed our son.
Glimpses of him raping Sarah.
Glimpses of him stabbing her to death.
I was next, but Sarah saved me--she saved me with her screams.
Before he could finish the job, the police burst into the room and stopped him.
I would find out that his name was known as 'The Prowler'. He was motivated by the enjoyment of power. They labeled him 'Sociopath' and 'Family Killer' and I felt completely numb.
His was the last face both my wife and child would see and still that wasn't the origin of all of my grief. It was the fact that if I had locked the door, he would have likely moved on to another house. I kept telling myself that. I kept drilling into my head that it was my fault.
Lock the door.
Lock the door.
Lock the door.
If I had gone to the bedroom and grabbed my handgun. If I had locked that door. If I hadn't started smoking. If I had thought about it, I would have that life still.
Now I'm in an empty house with no motivation. I can't see her eyes anymore--the life in them at least. If not for the handful of pictures we took together, I wouldn't even be able to see her face anymore--or my son's for that matter.
I can't even remember the sound of her voice.
After it all happened, I just got food. People brought me food and they didn't know what to say. They didn't need to say anything. All of that food is sitting in the kitchen rotting. That kitchen now full of dishes Sarah will never clean, even though she didn't mind.
Some of that food is sitting on the floor in the entryway, right beside the dance shoes we'll never wear again.
I've decided to attach a hose to the exhaust pipe of my car and put the other end through the window. I'm going to close the garage and I'm going to go to sleep.
Sarah and Jonathan didn't get to think about me before they died, but I'll be thinking about both of them when I do.
I promise.
Goodbye.
Spree Killer Found Dead
Mackenzie Schole, Reporting
ALLENWOOD -- In the early hours of Tuesday morning, spree killer, Henry Amos Palmer was found dead in a work-out yard at United States Penitentiary, Allenwood.
Henry Amos Palmer was a known serial killer, rapist, and burglar. He was known to Philadelphia Police as "The Prowler" during his three month home invasion crime spree in South Philadelphia which claimed the lives of six people, including two children. His nickname "The Prowler" was self applied as Palmer was a self professed 'student' of Richard Ramirez, the 'Night Stalker' of San Francisco from 1984-1985.
Palmer was quoted saying, "I was jealous of how good he (Ramirez) was at it."
Jerome "Top Dog" Carroll, a prisoner already serving a life sentence for armed robbery and murder, has taken credit for Palmer's murder.
Sources say Palmer was lead to a secluded area by Carroll and two other unidentified inmates where he was severely beaten and apparently tortured. Details are unclear of the extent of the torture, but the cause of death has been confirmed as blunt force trauma to the head.
Carroll has been removed from the Penitentiary's general population pending further investigation.
May 25, 2016
Allenwood, man. Feels like I been born and raised here. Right? Lived here for most my life. I got into some shit in my teens and ended up getting locked up. That's ok. I got me some friends now and three squares a day. What more could a dude ask for? Out there, I was low as fuck. Know what I mean? I was a nobody doing nobody things. Now I'm top dog. One of them anyway. Got that white pride shit in here, but I pay it no nevermind. I fuck them up if they step toward me or even give me a look I don't like.
That's what you call me: Top Dog.
Only reason I'm relevant right now is cuz I got this pen pal. Dude calls himself Louis or some shit. I call him Lois when I'm talkin to the boys so they think it's a bitch who wants to marry me. Ha. All these bitches gone crazy over convicts and give 'em that conjugal we all love so much. So what if it's a lie. I mean, I think it's somewhat true. Think this dude is some faggot who wants to slob my knob. Feel me? Fuckin' people. I'm not into that shit. You hear all the time about jail being some excuse for dudes to turn gay and get it on with their roommate and shit. I'm not into that. No way. Fuck that.
That boy would have to be pretty as fuck and I'd have to be horny as hell. Feel me?
Louis has been writing me about this new convict by the name of Palmer. Palmer sees a life sentence stretching out before him and he's not happy about it. Guy keeps to himself, but he's a rapist through and through. A Richard Ramirez type. Home invader. Faggot though, through and through. He be one of those dudes who stick a finger up a man-ass and still act like he loves women. Yeah. I know the type. Talkin about dominance and shit. Can see it in his eyes. Dude vile as fuck. Don't think he expected to get caught. Don't think he expected the walls to come crashing down on him.
Meal time comes and this dude likes to cut his meat to look like bodies and use ketchup for blood. That fake kind of try-hard kind of bad guy. Stay with me.
Honestly though, I don't give a fuck.
Louis has some beef with the guy. Wrote in the letter that he'd make sure I get a carton of Marlboros every week for the rest of my stay so long as this Palmer dude walks funny for the rest of his. I'm like, sure as shit, man, but you better come up with two cartons right off the bat.
Guy wrote back that he wanted to meet me in person. I told him to dispense with any ideas about some faggot shit. I wasn't into that. Orange ain't the new black 'round these parts. Fuckin drama. Give me a break.
Though, I'd settle for some of those bitches. Even that fat bitch who runs the kitchen. Remember her? She was in some Star Trek shit and I'mma 'bout to boldly go, know what I mean?
Ha.
Anyway, on the day Louis arrived, I made sure nobody would see me meet up with him. I didn't want to break my streak of successful lies and I was going to convince the boys that I dipped my wick. Prowess, real or not, is respected, but once you caught in a lie, they see nothing but a bitch.
Honestly, I'm bored as fuck. Let's get this over with.
We were allowed a room with some privacy and when I walked in on the dude, I saw someone I didn't expect. He seemed like such a geek in the letters, but he was big and ripped. Like chiselled. Stallone in Rambo: First Blood Part Two kinda shit. He had dark circles under his eyes and no word of a lie, bruh, he kind of scared me. There was just something about him.
Something other worldly. That's a thing, right?
He slapped two delicious cartons of Marlboro reds down on the table and gave me those eyes that told me not to fuck with him. I felt the hair on my neck stand up.
Where the fuck this dude come from?
He sat down and told me, "Thank you for meeting with me. I'm really hoping you're willing to play ball with me."
I sat down and put my hand on the cartons and started pulling them towards me, but he slapped a hand down on them and pulled 'em right back.
"What the fuck, man?"
He let out something like a growl. Shit disturbing.
Dude asked, "Are we playing ball? Are you going to deliver on Hernandez or am I going to be stuck with Tom Brady?"
"You come through with the smokes and you get your Hernandez. Fuck a Tom Brady"
This mother fucker talkin about the Patriots when we should be on about the Steelers. Fuck it though. This is all code. Code we worked out. Football references. Made it all sound legit. I'm cool with that. The guy is smart. Louis. Lois. Whatever the case may be.
He let the carton of smokes go.
"You mind if I ask why?" I thought better of it, "Nah, nevermind, none of my fuckin business. You just make sure these cartons keep coming. Don't go thinkin' I can't just reach out and touch you, man."
He leaned back in his seat, still straight faced. He told me, "One carton, every week. For the rest of my life, or yours. Score me a touchdown."
"You'll get Hernandez, Seau, Myers, and I'll even toss in a side of Jovan Belcher. Full meal deal."
He nodded.
That's the last time we ever talked.
I chain smoke now. Ha.
Locked doors
By the time this is read, if everything has gone according to plan, I will be dead. I want it to be clear that I have not done this to hurt anyone, but myself. I am sorry for those who will mourn my passing, but I trust that they will understand why I have made this decision. I have chosen to make my exit because I believe, firmly, that I am awaited on the 'other side' if it exists.
I hope it exists. I imagine it feels like love--encapsulating.
To love is to love completely. I've heard people say 'i love with all of my heart' and that's not enough. To love is to love with your heart, mind, and soul. The entirety of your being. From your fingertips to the hair on the back of your neck. You should be lit up with sensation every time you're in the presence of the ones you love. The entirety of your being should long for him or her whenever they're gone.
Long for them when they're gone.
Sarah and I met in high school and it was almost cliche how it all worked out. She and I graduated and moved in together. I went to University and she worked to support the both of us. Soon we were getting married. Eleven months after that, we had a child. It was ridiculous how easily it all unfolded. From there we were that happy family. The one you see in Norman Rockwell paintings. That's what I liked. Not the segregation and gender norms of the fifties, but the security that you expected. The innocence.
Security, but with unlocked doors.
Sarah and I took dance lessons. We knew the swing. Grandma would take care of the kid while we did this. We'd dine after that. We called it 'date night' and it was good. The smell of her perfume and even closer, her skin, intoxicated me.
I really felt like I could be directionless in everything else I did in my life, so long as I had Sarah and Jonathan in my life. They gave me reason. Like this guy told me once--they brought out my 'inner awesome' and even though I laughed, I knew he was right.
We were so much more than lust, but I lusted after her. Our nights together, honestly, I don't know how they didn't lead to more children. I really don't. We were like bunnies. We fit each other in every way. We laughed at the same things, we were terrible in the same ways, we both loved our son in the same way. We were gross how well we worked together.
I had so many friends that had to work so hard to keep their relationships together, but Sarah and I, we grew up together. We figured all that stuff out before we even moved out of our parent's places. We were just ready to go. I said we were Ozzie and Harriet, but she said we were Bonnie and Clyde.
I ribbed her, claiming she just liked that Bonnie's name came first.
I'm running out of time.
We bought a home and we fixed it up as best we could. I was a terrible handy-man, but she was a good painter so she covered up all of my botch jobs. She was a bad cook, but I was slightly better, and she didn't mind doing dishes. We took care of Jon and we had dreams of getting a better place in Fairmount-Spring Garden. That neighborhood was closer to work and closer to the schools we wanted to send Jon to. Plus, it was safer than South Philly.
This is the part that pains me.
One night, with Jonathan sound asleep in his crib and Sarah in bed reading a book, I went outside. I had been hiding the fact that I had started smoking again from Sarah, so I strolled down the street to have a cig and I walked right up on a patrol car. I was confronted by two police officers.
They told me they were locking the block down and told me to return to my home and lock the door. They told me everything was going to be fine, but I needed to get indoors.
I finished my cig on the way back to the house and when I walked up the steps, I realized I hadn't locked the door before I left--something I had always done. I opened the door and locked it behind me. I took my shoes off and went straight for the stairs. I heard a thud followed by a scream. I ran around the corner and when I pushed the door open to the baby's room, I found Sarah cowering on the floor with Jonathan in her arms. Standing over her was a man in a black jacket and dark denim jeans. He had a knife in his hand. He arched his neck to look at me and his eyes were unforgettable.
I took a step towards him and he confronted me with a gun in his other hand. He told me to drop to my knees. I didn't. I stepped towards him and he pistol whipped me. I cracked my head on the crib on my way down. I tried not to pass out. Everything was fuzzy.
I caught only glimpses of what happened next.
Glimpses of him making Sarah watch while he slashed our son.
Glimpses of him raping Sarah.
Glimpses of him stabbing her to death.
I was next, but Sarah saved me--she saved me with her screams.
Before he could finish the job, the police burst into the room and stopped him.
I would find out that his name was known as 'The Prowler'. He was motivated by the enjoyment of power. They labeled him 'Sociopath' and 'Family Killer' and I felt completely numb.
His was the last face both my wife and child would see and still that wasn't the origin of all of my grief. It was the fact that if I had locked the door, he would have likely moved on to another house. I kept telling myself that. I kept drilling into my head that it was my fault.
Lock the door.
Lock the door.
Lock the door.
If I had gone to the bedroom and grabbed my handgun. If I had locked that door. If I hadn't started smoking. If I had thought about it, I would have that life still.
Now I'm in an empty house with no motivation. I can't see her eyes anymore--the life in them at least. If not for the handful of pictures we took together, I wouldn't even be able to see her face anymore--or my son's for that matter.
I can't even remember the sound of her voice.
After it all happened, I just got food. People brought me food and they didn't know what to say. They didn't need to say anything. All of that food is sitting in the kitchen rotting. That kitchen now full of dishes Sarah will never clean, even though she didn't mind.
Some of that food is sitting on the floor in the entryway, right beside the dance shoes we'll never wear again.
I've decided to attach a hose to the exhaust pipe of my car and put the other end through the window. I'm going to close the garage and I'm going to go to sleep.
Sarah and Jonathan didn't get to think about me before they died, but I'll be thinking about both of them when I do.
I promise.
Goodbye.
Spree Killer Found Dead
Mackenzie Schole, Reporting
ALLENWOOD -- In the early hours of Tuesday morning, spree killer, Henry Amos Palmer was found dead in a work-out yard at United States Penitentiary, Allenwood.
Henry Amos Palmer was a known serial killer, rapist, and burglar. He was known to Philadelphia Police as "The Prowler" during his three month home invasion crime spree in South Philadelphia which claimed the lives of six people, including two children. His nickname "The Prowler" was self applied as Palmer was a self professed 'student' of Richard Ramirez, the 'Night Stalker' of San Francisco from 1984-1985.
Palmer was quoted saying, "I was jealous of how good he (Ramirez) was at it."
Jerome "Top Dog" Carroll, a prisoner already serving a life sentence for armed robbery and murder, has taken credit for Palmer's murder.
Sources say Palmer was lead to a secluded area by Carroll and two other unidentified inmates where he was severely beaten and apparently tortured. Details are unclear of the extent of the torture, but the cause of death has been confirmed as blunt force trauma to the head.
Carroll has been removed from the Penitentiary's general population pending further investigation.
May 25, 2016
#24
Archive / The Blackbird: 3
Last post by theblackbird - May 19, 2017, 05:23:20 PM[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]SYNOPSIS[/div]
[div class="credits-synopsis"]The Blackbird meets with Danilo Myovic to discuss Tibor Petrov's current location.[/div][/div]
[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]CAST OF CHARACTERS[/div]
JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN as THE BLACKBIRD
JERE BURNS as DANILO MYOVIC[/div]
[div class="blackbird"][div class="blackbird-headline"]2[/div]
[div class="blackbird-body"]
[div class="blackbird-setting"]5 MAY 2017
SAINT PETERSBURG, RUSSIA[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Five long months pass and I am no closer to finding Tibor Petrov. Instead, I am standing in a cage, getting my head taken off by Ed Terryn. This isn't my kind of fighting. These rules, they do not suit me. Referees. Judges. TV cameras. All of it makes me uneasy, but every time he knocks me back, I persist. I keep moving forward. I get my shots in. He feels the knuckles of my fists even through these stupid gloves they made me wear.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I could just take a hit and fall. Let this fight come to a grinding halt, but the Russians expect a show, and I have to keep them happy for now. So I keep fighting because I have something to fight for. Each time I swing at Terryn, I am picturing Tibor Petrov. Each time my fist slams into his mouth, I see Tibor Petrov choking on blood and teeth.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]In the end, the guy clocks me good with an elbow and the lights go out. Some doctor hovering over me says time expired before I hit the mat. After I'm up and on my feet, the announcer calls it a majority draw, whatever that means. The referee raises both our hands. I don't care. I walk out of the cage knowing I gave Kirill Reznikov a good show.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]My body is already starting to ache when I step out of the shower. I wipe the steam clear from the mirror. My face is red and swollen in places. I look old, but I was already old. If this is the price for finding Petrov, for finding Mila, then it's a price I will gladly pay.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]After getting dressed, when I am walking out the back door, a black limousine is idling in the rain. A tall, fat man with a goatee stands near the rear of the car under an umbrella. He says, "Mr. Myovic wants to have a word." He opens the door and waits.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I walk through the rain to the car. I hand my duffel bag to the fat man and slide into the rear of the limousine. Danilo is sitting across from me with his back to the tinted divider. He is the same odd-looking man I remember, with his forehead full of thick wrinkles, high-angled eyebrows, and a nest of dyed blond hair crowning his head. When he speaks, it's coming out of his bent nose just as much as his mouth.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"That was great, Blackbird," he says to me with a big, ugly grin on his ugly face. "I didn't know if you still had it in you, all these years later. Granted, the old you might have gotten the win, but still, let's not sour your achievement. Drink?" He motions to the liquor cabinet to my left.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]My mouth goes dry. I know I shouldn't, but my hand is already reaching for the vodka bottle chilling in the ice bucket before I can say no. "You better be here with some information for me," I tell him while pouring two fingers of vodka in a rocks glass.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Better I?" he says with a half-smile, then watches me with his black beady eyes as I return the bottle to the ice. He says, "I am supposed to provide you with an update on your so-called hunt for Tibor Petrov. However, I have decided against it. Do you want to know why?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say nothing as the anger starts pushing its way into my throat. I take a drink and try to swallow it back before it makes me do something regrettable. My temper wants to get the best of me, but I'm not shocked by Danilo Myovic's game. The little prick craves power and information is his throttle. He'll hold Tibor Petrov over me for as long as he can.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He laughs a bit under his breath. "Do you remember that time you threatened to shoot me in the liver? We were sitting at the bar in the Queen of Montenegro casino. You were set to face Alex Collins that weekend. You won by dislocating his fingers, one by one. Do you remember him? He's famous now. A respected professional wrestler."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I take another drink. The vodka burns my cracked lips. "I don't remember the fights. Too many years ago. Too much vodka since. It's all just one bruised memory, like bad fruit."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Bad fruit." A snort pushes out of his nose. "I like that. It's the same for me, for the most part, but this particular event is forever etched in my brain. You wanted me to lead you to Maxim Gorodetsky. When I resisted, you jammed a gun against my liver and threatened to shoot me dead."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Must have worked," I say, then swallow the rest of the vodka.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It did. I agreed to take you to Maxim, and you repaid me by breaking my nose."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It's an improvement, I think. Gives you character."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He lurches forward and yells at me, "You smashed my fucking face on the dashboard! All because I made a fucking joke about that brat you had in the backseat. Mila, right? The same girl you're looking for, all these years later, and you expect me to help you find her? Fuck you, Anton."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I am staring down at the empty rocks glass in my hand, rotating it with my fingers. "I remember when you first came to work for Viktor Ivanski all those years ago. You were the same insufferable prick back then as you are now. Everyone hated you. More than a few wanted to kill you. The only reason you have thrived all these years in the Izmaylovskaya Gang is because you are the best at one thing: information."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His jaw is clenching. "I am warning you, Anton."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You are not like me, Danilo." I slowly lean forward. "You act like a man of violence because you want to be one, but it's not in you. I know this because I'm as violent as they come and we recognize our own. Looking at you, all I see is a sad little man who wants to be notorious. Sad is fine by me. Pathetic in a man, but fine."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You don't scare me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I look down at that rocks glass again, turning it in my hand. It slips from my fingers to the floor and I crush it under the heel of my boot. "What the fuck," Danilo says at me, jumping back into his seat. I reach down and pick out a long piece of broken glass and hold it up to him. His eyes fixate on the three-sided shard.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say, "You may not think I can force this down your throat, but I can. The question is, can you stop me before it slices all the way to your stomach? Can the fat man waiting outside?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You can't touch me," he says while jerking his tie loose with a cocky smirk. He unbuttons the front of his shirt and tugs it to the side, showing a star tattooed on his left clavicle. "I am a Vor, Anton. While you were driving old rich men around Moscow, I was earning my place. You don't have stars and you never will. They don't give them to sons of whores." He spits at me and adds, "Fuck you and your idle threats. Get out of my car."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"As you say." I reach for the door, but instead of opening it, I hit the lock button. He opens his mouth to scream out, but the words get cut off when I yank his loosened tie, dragging him towards me, to his knees at my feet. I twist the tie around my right hand until it cinches around his throat and squeezes his larynx. He struggles until I put the tip of the glass to the side of his neck. A thin line of blood runs down and stains the open collar of his shirt.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"This is the vagus nerve," I tell him, quiet-like. "I cut that you go limp. You won't be able to move, but you'll still feel it when I carve those stars out of you. Then, after I slice the bleeder under your arm and watch the light leave your eyes, I'll mail your stars to Moscow with a note telling them it was me that did you in...Now tell me you believe me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I believe you..." His words are choked whispers. "I fucking believe you..."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His bloodshot eyes look over through the tinted glass, to his driver standing outside the limousine in the rain. Danilo strains to speak, but he can't get the words out loud enough to matter, and his hands can't free his neck tie from my white-knuckled grip.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Danilo, look at me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His eyes pull back to mine, bulging from the sockets of his face fat, swollen, red face.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say to him real low, "I fought in Kirill's circus, now the bill comes due. I want what was promised—information. I want everything you have on Petrov. Everything, you understand? And I don't want to have this conversation again, because next time I won't be so nice."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Okay, okay," he hisses, like air being slowly released from a balloon. I let go of his tie and he nearly falls over. The blood drains from his face and he is sucking in long, deep breaths while wiping sweat from his forehead and eyes with his jacket sleeve.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"He fled America," he says, coughing the words out. "For a bit, he bounced around from continent to continent. We were always a step behind. He's used a dozen passports, making it difficult to track him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"The girl?" I ask, looking down at him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"She's with him. Always a different name, same as him." He tries to sit up. I let him. He says, "Then they disappeared off the map. This was early March. Not a sign of them in any country I can see into, until three weeks ago when he was caught in a photo taken by a cell phone."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Where," I press him, tired of the story.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Cairo," he says. "It makes sense really. He knows the Egyptian President from some dealings we had with him years ago. He has given Petrov military protection. There's is no better place for Petrov to hide. I've had resources on the ground for the last two weeks and so far all we know is he is staying in the Heliopolis Palace. And yes, before you ask, Mila is with him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I lean back, crossing a leg over the other, and fish my cigarettes out of my jacket. "I want you to send me everything you have."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]After pushing himself back into his seat, he grabs a towel from the liquor cabinet and presses it to the nick on his neck. "Ditch the flip phone. Get a new one with a touch screen. iPhone, android—either is fine. Do that and I'll send you all of it. If you want to get yourself killed—"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Give me yours," I tell him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He looks at me. "Give you what, my phone?" He laughs. "Fuck no, I'm not doing that." He shakes his head, still laughing, and buttons his shirt up.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I nod to the window. "What about him?" Before Danilo answers, I knock on the window and use the button to lower it. The fat man bends down until his face sticks through the opening. When he sees Danilo roughed up, he panics.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Are you okay, boss?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Danilo croaks. "Do I look fucking alright? Give the Blackbird your phone."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The driver stutters. "But boss, that has all my pictures on it."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Give him the fucking phone, you fat fuck."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The driver hands the phone to me through the window and then stands there, hunched over, until Danilo waves his hand at him and says, "Fuck off." As the driver's head disappeared above the door frame, Danilo says to me, "Can you believe that? You could have been killing me in here and he's probably thinking about his momma's syrnikis." [/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I look across at him and say, "Send me what you have and hook me up with whoever you have down there on surveillance. I want updates until I land."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You can't just rush down there with your Russian passport," he says to me with a smart-ass sneer. "Petrov has all Russian IDs flagged in the system. He will know you are there the moment you try to pass through Customs. If you're going to Cairo, you will need fresh papers from another country. I can provide you with these for a price, but they will not come cheap."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"My payout for tonight's fight is fifty thousand dollars. Take it all. Get me what I need." I crush the cigarette butt on the seat. Danilo sucks in a chestful of air and whines, "not on the leather..." as I exit the limousine.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I retrieve my duffel bag from the fat man and tell him, "Your boss. World class asshole." He cracks a knowing smile. I walk off into the rainy night and don't look back.[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class="credits-synopsis"]The Blackbird meets with Danilo Myovic to discuss Tibor Petrov's current location.[/div][/div]
[div class="credits"][div class="credits-subheadline"]CAST OF CHARACTERS[/div]
JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN as THE BLACKBIRD
JERE BURNS as DANILO MYOVIC[/div]
[div class="blackbird"][div class="blackbird-headline"]2[/div]
[div class="blackbird-body"]
[div class="blackbird-setting"]5 MAY 2017
SAINT PETERSBURG, RUSSIA[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Five long months pass and I am no closer to finding Tibor Petrov. Instead, I am standing in a cage, getting my head taken off by Ed Terryn. This isn't my kind of fighting. These rules, they do not suit me. Referees. Judges. TV cameras. All of it makes me uneasy, but every time he knocks me back, I persist. I keep moving forward. I get my shots in. He feels the knuckles of my fists even through these stupid gloves they made me wear.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I could just take a hit and fall. Let this fight come to a grinding halt, but the Russians expect a show, and I have to keep them happy for now. So I keep fighting because I have something to fight for. Each time I swing at Terryn, I am picturing Tibor Petrov. Each time my fist slams into his mouth, I see Tibor Petrov choking on blood and teeth.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]In the end, the guy clocks me good with an elbow and the lights go out. Some doctor hovering over me says time expired before I hit the mat. After I'm up and on my feet, the announcer calls it a majority draw, whatever that means. The referee raises both our hands. I don't care. I walk out of the cage knowing I gave Kirill Reznikov a good show.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]My body is already starting to ache when I step out of the shower. I wipe the steam clear from the mirror. My face is red and swollen in places. I look old, but I was already old. If this is the price for finding Petrov, for finding Mila, then it's a price I will gladly pay.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]After getting dressed, when I am walking out the back door, a black limousine is idling in the rain. A tall, fat man with a goatee stands near the rear of the car under an umbrella. He says, "Mr. Myovic wants to have a word." He opens the door and waits.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I walk through the rain to the car. I hand my duffel bag to the fat man and slide into the rear of the limousine. Danilo is sitting across from me with his back to the tinted divider. He is the same odd-looking man I remember, with his forehead full of thick wrinkles, high-angled eyebrows, and a nest of dyed blond hair crowning his head. When he speaks, it's coming out of his bent nose just as much as his mouth.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"That was great, Blackbird," he says to me with a big, ugly grin on his ugly face. "I didn't know if you still had it in you, all these years later. Granted, the old you might have gotten the win, but still, let's not sour your achievement. Drink?" He motions to the liquor cabinet to my left.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]My mouth goes dry. I know I shouldn't, but my hand is already reaching for the vodka bottle chilling in the ice bucket before I can say no. "You better be here with some information for me," I tell him while pouring two fingers of vodka in a rocks glass.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Better I?" he says with a half-smile, then watches me with his black beady eyes as I return the bottle to the ice. He says, "I am supposed to provide you with an update on your so-called hunt for Tibor Petrov. However, I have decided against it. Do you want to know why?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say nothing as the anger starts pushing its way into my throat. I take a drink and try to swallow it back before it makes me do something regrettable. My temper wants to get the best of me, but I'm not shocked by Danilo Myovic's game. The little prick craves power and information is his throttle. He'll hold Tibor Petrov over me for as long as he can.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He laughs a bit under his breath. "Do you remember that time you threatened to shoot me in the liver? We were sitting at the bar in the Queen of Montenegro casino. You were set to face Alex Collins that weekend. You won by dislocating his fingers, one by one. Do you remember him? He's famous now. A respected professional wrestler."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I take another drink. The vodka burns my cracked lips. "I don't remember the fights. Too many years ago. Too much vodka since. It's all just one bruised memory, like bad fruit."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Bad fruit." A snort pushes out of his nose. "I like that. It's the same for me, for the most part, but this particular event is forever etched in my brain. You wanted me to lead you to Maxim Gorodetsky. When I resisted, you jammed a gun against my liver and threatened to shoot me dead."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Must have worked," I say, then swallow the rest of the vodka.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It did. I agreed to take you to Maxim, and you repaid me by breaking my nose."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"It's an improvement, I think. Gives you character."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He lurches forward and yells at me, "You smashed my fucking face on the dashboard! All because I made a fucking joke about that brat you had in the backseat. Mila, right? The same girl you're looking for, all these years later, and you expect me to help you find her? Fuck you, Anton."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I am staring down at the empty rocks glass in my hand, rotating it with my fingers. "I remember when you first came to work for Viktor Ivanski all those years ago. You were the same insufferable prick back then as you are now. Everyone hated you. More than a few wanted to kill you. The only reason you have thrived all these years in the Izmaylovskaya Gang is because you are the best at one thing: information."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His jaw is clenching. "I am warning you, Anton."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You are not like me, Danilo." I slowly lean forward. "You act like a man of violence because you want to be one, but it's not in you. I know this because I'm as violent as they come and we recognize our own. Looking at you, all I see is a sad little man who wants to be notorious. Sad is fine by me. Pathetic in a man, but fine."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You don't scare me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I look down at that rocks glass again, turning it in my hand. It slips from my fingers to the floor and I crush it under the heel of my boot. "What the fuck," Danilo says at me, jumping back into his seat. I reach down and pick out a long piece of broken glass and hold it up to him. His eyes fixate on the three-sided shard.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say, "You may not think I can force this down your throat, but I can. The question is, can you stop me before it slices all the way to your stomach? Can the fat man waiting outside?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You can't touch me," he says while jerking his tie loose with a cocky smirk. He unbuttons the front of his shirt and tugs it to the side, showing a star tattooed on his left clavicle. "I am a Vor, Anton. While you were driving old rich men around Moscow, I was earning my place. You don't have stars and you never will. They don't give them to sons of whores." He spits at me and adds, "Fuck you and your idle threats. Get out of my car."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"As you say." I reach for the door, but instead of opening it, I hit the lock button. He opens his mouth to scream out, but the words get cut off when I yank his loosened tie, dragging him towards me, to his knees at my feet. I twist the tie around my right hand until it cinches around his throat and squeezes his larynx. He struggles until I put the tip of the glass to the side of his neck. A thin line of blood runs down and stains the open collar of his shirt.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"This is the vagus nerve," I tell him, quiet-like. "I cut that you go limp. You won't be able to move, but you'll still feel it when I carve those stars out of you. Then, after I slice the bleeder under your arm and watch the light leave your eyes, I'll mail your stars to Moscow with a note telling them it was me that did you in...Now tell me you believe me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"I believe you..." His words are choked whispers. "I fucking believe you..."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His bloodshot eyes look over through the tinted glass, to his driver standing outside the limousine in the rain. Danilo strains to speak, but he can't get the words out loud enough to matter, and his hands can't free his neck tie from my white-knuckled grip.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Danilo, look at me."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]His eyes pull back to mine, bulging from the sockets of his face fat, swollen, red face.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I say to him real low, "I fought in Kirill's circus, now the bill comes due. I want what was promised—information. I want everything you have on Petrov. Everything, you understand? And I don't want to have this conversation again, because next time I won't be so nice."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Okay, okay," he hisses, like air being slowly released from a balloon. I let go of his tie and he nearly falls over. The blood drains from his face and he is sucking in long, deep breaths while wiping sweat from his forehead and eyes with his jacket sleeve.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"He fled America," he says, coughing the words out. "For a bit, he bounced around from continent to continent. We were always a step behind. He's used a dozen passports, making it difficult to track him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"The girl?" I ask, looking down at him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"She's with him. Always a different name, same as him." He tries to sit up. I let him. He says, "Then they disappeared off the map. This was early March. Not a sign of them in any country I can see into, until three weeks ago when he was caught in a photo taken by a cell phone."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Where," I press him, tired of the story.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Cairo," he says. "It makes sense really. He knows the Egyptian President from some dealings we had with him years ago. He has given Petrov military protection. There's is no better place for Petrov to hide. I've had resources on the ground for the last two weeks and so far all we know is he is staying in the Heliopolis Palace. And yes, before you ask, Mila is with him."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I lean back, crossing a leg over the other, and fish my cigarettes out of my jacket. "I want you to send me everything you have."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]After pushing himself back into his seat, he grabs a towel from the liquor cabinet and presses it to the nick on his neck. "Ditch the flip phone. Get a new one with a touch screen. iPhone, android—either is fine. Do that and I'll send you all of it. If you want to get yourself killed—"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Give me yours," I tell him.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]He looks at me. "Give you what, my phone?" He laughs. "Fuck no, I'm not doing that." He shakes his head, still laughing, and buttons his shirt up.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I nod to the window. "What about him?" Before Danilo answers, I knock on the window and use the button to lower it. The fat man bends down until his face sticks through the opening. When he sees Danilo roughed up, he panics.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Are you okay, boss?"[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]Danilo croaks. "Do I look fucking alright? Give the Blackbird your phone."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The driver stutters. "But boss, that has all my pictures on it."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"Give him the fucking phone, you fat fuck."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]The driver hands the phone to me through the window and then stands there, hunched over, until Danilo waves his hand at him and says, "Fuck off." As the driver's head disappeared above the door frame, Danilo says to me, "Can you believe that? You could have been killing me in here and he's probably thinking about his momma's syrnikis." [/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I look across at him and say, "Send me what you have and hook me up with whoever you have down there on surveillance. I want updates until I land."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"You can't just rush down there with your Russian passport," he says to me with a smart-ass sneer. "Petrov has all Russian IDs flagged in the system. He will know you are there the moment you try to pass through Customs. If you're going to Cairo, you will need fresh papers from another country. I can provide you with these for a price, but they will not come cheap."[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]"My payout for tonight's fight is fifty thousand dollars. Take it all. Get me what I need." I crush the cigarette butt on the seat. Danilo sucks in a chestful of air and whines, "not on the leather..." as I exit the limousine.[/div]
[div class="blackbird-indent"]I retrieve my duffel bag from the fat man and tell him, "Your boss. World class asshole." He cracks a knowing smile. I walk off into the rainy night and don't look back.[/div]
[/div][/div]
#25
Archive / Strangers In Strange Lands
Last post by EdTerryn - May 14, 2017, 04:02:29 PMMay 5, 2017
11:00 PM.
The Ice Palace, Saint Petersburg
11:00 PM.
The Ice Palace, Saint Petersburg
I cannot tell you what happens when you die.
Some who have made the journey and back again claim to have traveled a tunnel of light; or walked a stairway; approached a gate; felt comforted by an omnipotent disembodiment; heard a voice; or met a bearded saint. For all of its keen direction for holistic living and right action during your stay on this imperfect celestial body, the bible has instead managed to fill heads with ideas of what to do and expect once you're done living.
For my part, these things the faithful see after death is what stood across from me in that cage amidst colliding sinew, bone and muscle. A man, much bigger than I holding my fate in his grasp, a sense of judgment, a cacophonous multitude of voices a roar all around me, and a flash of light as I nearly dislocated the shoulder.
I cannot tell you what happens when you die, though, because Anton Voron did not kill me.
Now as it has been for the past thirteen years my eyes will forever open to disappointment.
While I cannot tell you what happens when you die I can tell you that it is no longer Edward Terryn that lives in this body, but I that live through him.
Lucky me.
The face in the mirror was a stranger staring back. Ed Terryn, an ugly creature by its assessment. Eyes behind eyes watched the head tilt to one side, shirtless, the left arm raised forcing a wince onto the face where one eye drooped, inspecting the rib cage for injury through the skin.
There was none, only tenderness. The hands itched after the application of fresh gauze of the slowly healing previously dead flesh. The mind worked to determine the best course of necessary remedy and upkeep for these more recent injuries. This much was routine.
Decay is a tough act to manage. Oh, how the inner prayer waging behind Ed Terryn's eyes begged it to just be over already.
The inspection turned to the face, close in the mirror to inspect where a bruise and a few reddened welts marred Ed's features.
"Good fight," came the voice of the janitor who emptied the nearby waste bin.
"It's not over yet," the voice spoke, Ed Terryn's voice. Thirteen years had still not softened the blow of hearing it. Whatever it used to sound like had been forgotten. "Soon, hopefully."
The janitor whose nametag was hidden in the glint of the overhead lights looked respectful lifted his hat and rubbed his head with a frown at Ed before pushing his trash collection cart out of the room and on to the next.
Ed's eyes went back to the mirror to flash the teeth. All still intact, the tired eyes surmised with disaffection, simultaneously and contrarily glad and disappointed he hadn't lost any.
Earlier that night.
Adjusted for Standardized Time
Dempsey's Pub
Redcar & Cleveland Borough, United Kingdom
Adjusted for Standardized Time
Dempsey's Pub
Redcar & Cleveland Borough, United Kingdom
Greg Shears had not met with Doctor White the night he was supposed to rush out and pick up the birthday present for his son which he had forgotten earlier in the day. After a meanderingly thoughtful few moments parked in his driveway he dutifully made it to a toy shoppe he didn't bother catching the name of and made the keeper stand and wait an extra fifteen minutes after closing as he wracked his brain with what to gift his son.
[i[He likes these animal toys[/i], he remembered but he couldn't remember the name. Three minutes after awkwardly asking the annoyed storekeeper for help he was cashing out and carrying a PAW Patrol Rubble vehicle, and a Chase too purchased out of guilt for making the shopkeeper wait. Out of the store he went on his way to his car feeling proud of himself.
The pride didn't last long.
"He doesn't like PAW Patrol anymore," she glared, practically boring nails into an imaginary coffin.
"Right then," his shoulders slumped in defeat, my work here is clearly done, he thought and watched his proudly acquired gifts move to the side as his 5 year-old son instead manipulated his new Minecraft Lego bought courtesy of that one uncle he doesn't see very often and avoided the rueful gaze of his wife.
It's the little things that kill, after all.
Sunday, tonight, Greg made it to Dempsey's Pub to meet Karen, Doctor White she'd been previously. Now they were on first name basis even though she still called him Gregory, which he hated but was finding it easier to stomach when it came from her lips. They'd flirted quietly over the phone in his office during his escapist free moments of avoiding conversations about the growing elephant in the room while his son's party raged in chaotic full effect, the perfect mirror for his embroiled marriage.
"Gregory!" Karen White was genuinely happy to see him as he approached her. She stood outside Dempsey's Pub, her bare knees shifting back and forth for warmth in the cool night air. She was wearing a short skirt, he could tell, underneath a black skirted pea coat, stiletto heels amping up her calves. Her hair was curled and down framing her already attractive face which was done up with hints of bronze, blush and glitter, lipstick and eyeliner, all brought together immaculately to draw his eye to her every feature at once. She made him eager for a drink. He couldn't stop smiling as he offered a hug.
She smelled amazing, but kept an arm free in the hug and he pulled back to notice the slim cigarette smoking between her fingers.
"You smoke?" He frowned. She lifted it between her lips and he watched the cherry burn bright red. She eyed him coyly.
"Do you mind?" She carefully blew smoke into the air away from him.
"I—no. I just wasn't expecting it." He fidgeted. "You're a doctor." She sure could suck though, he thought with an inward grin.
"Yeah, well," she smirked with a gleam in her eye, "I'm a lot of things," This was and wasn't the same woman he'd met in a doctor's office a week ago. Less inhibited, a doorway to adventure, thoughts that helped him overlook the habit he detested. She butted the cigarette under the sole of her shoe after another drag.
"Come on," she motioned, taking hold of his arm and tugging him into the busy pub where he'd proposed to his wife thirteen years earlier.
She brought him through the crowd towards a table where a man sat. Long hair kept under a pompous looking top hat ribboned with charred and blackened flowers and crowned with a miniature raven figurine adorning the front of the brim like some gargoyle testament to Poe. He was dressed in black with what looked like a cloak draped over the back of his chair. Greg assumed he was handsome, but found himself disapproving of the darkened eyeliner framing this person's piercing blue eyes.
Karen quickly let go of Greg's sleeve and embraced this new man with a big hug then a lengthy kiss. Greg blinked his misunderstanding as the two gradually pulled apart. This new man whispered something into her ear that made her giggle throatily before she remembered he was there.
"Gregory, this is Patrick." She smiled, this new man, Patrick, looked to Greg with a sense of recognition as he offered a handshake.
"Heard a lot about you, mate." Greg reluctantly took the hand and noticed the black nail polish on Patrick's fingers, a frown pooling onto his brow before Patrick and Karen took a seat. He did so as well not to look as uncomfortable as he suddenly felt. The awkward silence tipped Karen off.
"Patrick's a friend," she grinned, Patrick snickering annoyingly and shifting as if to nudge Karen with his elbow. Greg noticed Patrick's hand had moved off the tabletop to rest beneath the table, on her bare knee. Greg leaned forward and put his head down a moment hissing to himself, instant dick softener sitting right across from me.
"Right." He said with a feigned smile, his hands clasping together on the table. Karen's perception continued to detect the sudden chilliness. For a moment their eyes met but Greg shifted his view. Patrick broke the silence.
"So, Kare-Bear's been telling me about this friend of yours. Ed."
"I hope you don't mind," Karen smiled, "Patrick and I go way back. He loves this sort of stuff." Greg frowned.
"What sort of stuff?"
Greg was about to add that he did mind before Patrick started in again, leaning in close and conspiratorially.
"Now, I've been thinking, Greg. I mean, aside from all the usual suspects like zombiism, and theories of the undead, what do you think the possibilities are that this Ed thing is some sort of spectrally occurring phantasm? They can take solid form, but they can't stray too far from some sort of sigil." Greg blinked once more and looked to Karen.
"Patrick's studied the occult extensively," she looked to Patrick proudly. Greg watched her with new eyes. "He's been eager to talk about this all week."
"But I guess that won't work if our boy's gone to Russia, I think Kare-Bear said, so I have other theories."
"That right?" Greg said with increasing disinterest, leaning back unsure of how strong he wanted to react. Karen could feel his spirits deflating. Greg's feigned smile toughened on his face.
"I'll be right back," he said primarily to Karen, "going to get a drink." The fake smile remained as he quickly stood off the large bar stool chair and waded through the crowd toward the bar.
He could imagine them wondering after him curiously, even if they were ensconced with one another, as Greg cursed into his hand as he wiped the back of it across his mouth to rid himself of the destaste. What the hell am I doing here, he thought. Karen White, Doctor Karen White was already shaping up to be a little different than he'd anticipated. The grass is always greener.
He glanced back catching a glimpse of them giggling together closely through the crowd. He leaned against the bar and slid his hand back through his hair. The young bartender in a low top and a high mini skirt was rushing to fill orders giving him a brusque, 'be right with ya' before rushing to the other end of the bar to serve another customer.
It felt like a boatload of hopes had came crashing ashore inside the pit of his stomach. His wife and kid at home, and him here under the initial pretense of starting something with the pretty young thing he'd met at the doctor's office who apparently had more going on than he'd assumed.
"Huge front kick from Ed Terryn," came the voice of commentary over the obnoxious television speaker. He glanced up with a frown to the screen mounted above the bar, many screens in fact playing different sports, this screen however was showcasing an MMA fight. He felt his jaw slacken, watching the two men's bodies colliding within the cage.
One a dark haired man he didn't recognize, but the other he did.
"Voron looking for a takedown, but Terryn's not having it." Greg's head tilted to one side as he watched the man he'd declared dead himself and had been lately searching for snap his opponent's head sideways with a precise and impressive elbow strike.
"What can I get ya?" Came the bartender's voice, startling him away from the screen. His eyes drifted down to greet her youthful and impatient stare with bewilderment.
"W-what is this?" He asked pointing up to the screen.
"Uhhhhh," she had to lean back to read something off the back of the monitor, "Amazon Instant Video. Some fight club thing. 'Unleashed' or some'thin'. You want something to drink, or what?"
Other customers' voices were drowning out the commentary as Greg's frown grew on his face as he looked up once more to view the screen. The fight was in the midst of getting a decision. It was Ed Terryn if his eyes and ears did not deceive him who stood there ambivalent as the scores for a majority draw appeared on the bottom half of the screen. The bartender rolled her eyes at Greg's indecision and rushed off to help another customer.
"Gregory." Her voice was beside him. She leaned along the wood of the bar to grab his attention. Greg looked struck towards her before blinking.
"Is everything okay?" She knew what he was thinking. He looked like he'd seen a ghost. It would take some explaining, an open relationship, bisexuality and an urge to explore wasn't an easy sell for any new friendship. It'd take some time to soften him up, but she could bring him back to the table and get some drinks into him and he'd be back on her page.
"I think I should go," Greg said finally after staring at her wide-eyed for a moment of gathering his bearings off what he'd seen on the television to this dwindling dilemma he was swiftly deciding might not be worth the time or effort.
Karen's expression melted away at first to mild confusion, shifting into indignant at the sense of being so suddenly and inexplicably rebuffed. The knock to her ego was about to weaponize before interrupted by Greg giving her a warm hug. He stepped back.
"Thank you for everything you've done." He smiled, staring at an afterthought coming to grips with that fact. He smoothed his fingers along her elbows and left her alone at the bar.
May 6, 2017
1:16 AM
Nevsky Prospect, St Petersburg Russia
1:16 AM
Nevsky Prospect, St Petersburg Russia
Ed Terryn climbed the stairs to his rental apartment, thoughtful before stopping halfway to his open door. From where he was standing on the stairwell landing, he could see inside where his overbearing landlord, Piotr Orlov sat on his bed looking angrily down at the now toppled tower of books Ed had previously stacked immaculately.
He came to stand at the doorway andf looked inside to confirm his suspicions. Piotr had not approved of Ed's activities within his rental. There was liquid spilled on the floor , the bowls that had contained it tipped over, a set of sterilized maggots writhed confusedly nearby. Ed knocked on the door, rousing Piotr from an angry tirade in his mind, his thumbs sliding along the smooth cover of the book he was holding before glancing at his tenant and rising off the bed.
"Why do you keep dead dogs?" He was furious, pointing to the carcass that had once been a German Shepard, but now a mass rotting near the window. Each slow and plodding step toward him with clenching and unclenching fists a testament to the unbridled anger Piotr was readying to let loose.
"For the maggots." Piotr had crossed the distance between them quicker than Ed expected. Piotr expected a blink or a flinch, but Ed seemed his typical disinterested self.
"What's this?" Piotr held up the book written English which he obviously couldn't read. Ed didn't need to look at it to answer.
"Modern Quantum Mechanics, Second Edition." Piotr breathed heavily, a good foot taller than Ed yet never quite feeling that tall.
"Why would some cage fighting, maggot raising little man like you need to read books like this? No funny answers."
Piotr was bearing down hard. It was a budding bone of contention for him alone to solve the riddle of this seemingly implacable tenant he saw as some sort of opponent. Ed blinked.
"A matter of life and death." The answer angered Piotr, but he knew full well after watching Ed's fight himself that these were empty threats unless he got a lucky shot in. Something about this little man made him seethe with rage.
"I'll be moving on," Ed said, matter of fact, already handing forth a stack of bills earned from his earlier fight with Anton Voron. Piotr glared down at Ed before noticing the bills. His fingers clenched the book tightly in his hand, imagining it were Ed's throat.
"There's something different about you."
"I've heard that."
"I don't like you."
"I've heard that, too."
"I'll figure it out. I know people."
Ed's eyes blinked and glared upwards into Piotr's eyes. The taller man smirked, attention finally gained. He took the bills quickly from Ed's hand and dropped the book between them.
"Be out by morning. I want this entire place clean. You'll see me again." He brushed past Ed, their shoulders knocking against one another roughly enough to remind Ed of his fight with Voron earlier, and strode downstairs. Ed could feel Piotr's eyes on him as the stairs squeaked under his descent.
"I'm excited," Ed said loud enough for Piotr to hear to complete lack of emotion in his voice.
#26
May 7th, 2017
Trabiju, São Paulo, Brazil
5:03 A.M.
The loud, piercing alarm awoke Erica Alvarez from her slumber. She groaned in her half-awake state as her long, silky, black hair draped over the side of the bed. It had been a whirlwind of a week. She had just been recently signed to Unleashed, and her first opponent was all lined up. It didn't matter who was across the cage from her when it all was said and done because this was so much more than a debut. It was a chance to prove her worth. Ironically enough, that was something she'd spent her entire adult life trying to do, but never felt like she had. Even receiving her black belts in Muai Thai and Brazilian Jiu-Jistu seemed to come with a grain of salt, at least in her mind.
As she rolled from her twin bed and stood, she revealed little more than a white tank top and matching underwear. As she looked around, scratching at her head, she finds her bedroom in a state of disarray. Clothes strewn about and empty and half empty water bottles lying just about everywhere. Her dehydration tugged at the inside of her mouth as she searched for a bottle that wasn't yet empty. Upon finding one on the top of a clothes hamper she quickly emptied it. A small smile formed on her lips.
These were the messy conditions she had come quite accustomed to living in. Due to many issues earlier in her life, she didn't exactly trust easily. Combine that with her career of choice and you have the recipe for a cocktail of loneliness.
Except she didn't feel that. Not anymore. She was only focused on fighting, and anything that may get in the way of that, like a man for example, seemed trivial, at best.
She scrounges around for a pair of jeans and a proper top. Surprisingly enough, she finds a pair of black skinny jeans and a red top. As she slips on her top and begins brushing her hair, she noticed something on the end table near her bed. Her cellphone was lit up. A familiar number.
"Richard." She mouthed to herself. It was almost as if she was afraid to so much as utter his name. That the mere thought of his existence, and her past would create nightmares on the spot. She seemed visibly disturbed by the simple text message that read "Hello, Erica.". Her mind raced, as did her heart. She began to wonder if he knew her whereabouts. She hadn't had the misfortune of being in his company since she moved from Ohio several years ago. Despite that fact, the memories remained vivid in her mind. As clear as the bay window to the left of her.
The pills. The needles. The pipes. All of it. It all came flooding back into her mind. As far as she had separated her herself from that world; as far as she distanced herself from him, her past still had a stranglehold on her. It still felt like it was a part of her. A major part.
Her mind continued to race. The memories were all flowing back to her. It was overwhelming.
November 16th, 2005
Columbus, Ohio, USA
11:04 P.M.
Erica laid on the bed, in a daze, as she so often was when she was with Richard. Make no mistake, that is no metaphor for her love for the "man", and feel free to use that term as loosely as possible.
Richard stood in front of the bed, his chest bare. He had just finished zipping his pants back up. He had finished with her. Tomorrow, she probably wouldn't even remember the events of the night. He smirked as he looked down on his girlfriend, so doped up on Heroin she was barely even conscious to the real world around her. Just as Richard made sure of time and again. It's really what brought her back to him. He had little to truly offer her without her addiction. She had the silly notion that he was her addiction. How sorely mistaken that thought was.
A few hours later
As Erica woke from her slumber, something was a miss. Richard was nowhere to be found. While he certainly wasn't the clingy type by any stretch of the imagination, he usually passed out, right behind Erica. It wasn't the case this time. As she exited the bedroom she saw a sight she couldn't recall seeing before, although she was sure it had always been there. A long hallway with several doors, all of which were closed. Seemingly in between each and every door was a poor soul that had also lost their way. Strung out with a needle hanging from their arm, and their mouth agape. They all looked exactly the same. Even in her (now) slightly drugged state, Erica knew his was disturbing. She knew it was wrong. While she may not be on the level of these people yet, she knew she was headed that way. The thought in of itself caused her head to throb.
As she continued down the hallway, she stumbled a few times, nearly tripping over those that laid before her. Finally, after more trouble that it should have been, she reached the end of the hallway. She walked through a decrepit old doorway and into a larger room, but more of the same was inside. More strung out addicts. I'm the middle of it all, was Richard. He was surrounded by two blonde women, and he was all smiles.
"Richard?"
The name barely escaped her mouth. She was weak. Her body ached. Richard seemed amused by the sight.
"Erica, sweetheart. What are you doing out of bed?"
His tone was sarcastic. But it's not really clear why. Erica walked closer to him, surveying the disturbing surroundings of the room.
"Richard...is this what I've missed all this time? Is this what you've brought me to all along?" Again, her voice is laboured; coarse, even. Richard simply nods.
"Yes, Erica. You wanted to be my queen. Well, this is our kingdom."
Erica wanted to vomit. Although, she knew his words were correct. She knew this was the caliber of a man that Richard was. A skeevy drug dealer and user, happily aiding people in destroying their lives, and the lives of their loved ones by proxy.
Richard noticed Erica's disgust. She didn't have the energy to try and conceal it, after all. Sadly, she was about to see who Richard truly was.
As he approached her, he pulled a needle from his sweater pocket. A dirty, many times used over, needle. He proceeded to hand her the needle, but to his surprise and dismay, she recoiled.
"No." She simply said. Richard just...stood there. It was the first time she had truly uttered that word to him. Unfortunately, it didn't sit well. He was used to having everyone in the palm of his hand, Erica included. After a long, tense pause, he retracted the needle, handing it to one of his blonde girls, whom gleefully accepted the gift like a young child receiving a chocolate bar.
"What is happening to you, Erica? Are you suddenly realizing you have a higher moral fibre? You didn't seem to mind earlier, or any other if the dozens of times. It's what we always do before we fuck, remember?"
For the first time in her life, Erica stood strong; defiant.
"Not anymore."
She expected Richard to grow angry again, but to her surprise, he did not. Instead, with a much calmer demeanour he said "I have something to show you." As he smirked like a madman.
Reluctantly, Erica followed him across the room and towards the far left corner. A woman was collapsed in a heap, with vomit all over her face and the floor around her. She wasn't passed out, though. She was gone. Erica's heart raced as she realized who it was.
"Oh my god! RACHEL!!!"
This seemed to amuse Richard. The sick bastard that he was. Erica was in her knees, her face in her hands and crying her heart out.
"It seems that your best friend doesn't share the same tolerance as you do."
His message was delivered with such chilling venom. He wanted her to suffer. As Erica looked up into his cold blue eyes, she looked like she was going to explode. Then a bottle smashed the back of her head. Everything went black.
May 7th, 2017
Trabiju, São Paulo, Brazil
6:00 A.M.
Erica continued to stare down at her IPhone. She was in shock that he found a way to contact her at all. It was chilling. Even after all these years. Even after becoming as proficient as she had in Muai Thai and BJJ, and a plethora of other Martial Arts. On some level, she still feared him. She was still haunted by many things he had done to her in her teenage years. As she tried to snap out of this trance, she shook her head and shut off the phone.
"Fuck it."
She sounded defiant. Yet, with nobody else in the room, maybe she was merely trying to convince herself that she could rise above it. Prove to herself that she wasn't afraid anymore.
But she was.
May 7th, 2017
São José do Rio Preto, São Paulo, Brazil
8:04 A.M.
Despite old nightmares still haunting her, Erica continued on with her morning routine. Nothing could slow her down. She was finally in a reputable fighting organization. She wouldn't allow Richard to ruin her life all over again like he had her teen years.
She arrived at the Black River Fighting Company ready to be tested. She met her trainer and they discussed what was going to happen. As she stepped into the cage with today's sparring partner something took over her. As she miscalculated a front kick and he sidestepped her, he caught her with a right hook which rocked her and she stumbled back.
She no longer saw her partner, José. She saw the nightmare she had run from for her entire adult life. She saw Richard. She wasn't scared this time. The cage wasn't a crack house. It was a war ground. It was Erica's world.
She charged forward, ducking a left hook. She smashed José with two strong body shots. As his head lowered slightly from the impact, she clasped his head in the clinch, delivering a hellacious knee, smashing his nose, and fracturing it upon impact. As José stumbled back, Erica screamed, charging forward and left her feet, aiming a flying knee which lands flush on his chin, sending him backward into the cage, and then fell face-first into the mat. The head trainer, Franco rushed in to get in between Erica and José. It was at this exact moment that Erica realized what had just happened.
"What the fuck, Erica?"
Franco was beside himself, and rightfully so. Erica cringed as she peered down at her handiwork. José was a bloody heap in the corner. Erica looked on as medical personnel filed into the cage and tended to the unconscious José. She looked away, knowing she was responsible.
"I'm...sorry."
She was. She was also embarrassed. Luckily, Franco knew her past all too well. He was conflicted. Erica was far superior to all his other fighters. He wasn't about to throw her out the door. That being said, this was serious. José was out cold. Broken jaw. Broken nose. He saw the fire in her. He knew if she was able to harness that, and control it, she would be nearly unstoppable.
Of course, that's easier said than done.
He led her into the office. They sat on opposite sides of a cherry coloured mahogany desk. As Franco looked forward, Erica peered down. She assumed the worst was coming. It was a reasonable assumption.
"That was..."
Here it comes.
"Unreal."
That wasn't what Erica was expecting. She finally looked up. Franco was impressed. There was no doubt about it.
"You aren't mad?"
"Well..."
He mostly shrugged it off.
"José is in rough shape. He will need a lot of attention. Not something I'm exactly thrilled about. But, these things happen."
Wow, that was a load off. Still though, Erica was at a loss for what happened. She hallucinated a vision of Richard and she lost all control.
"Let's get to work on your control."
Trabiju, São Paulo, Brazil
May 9th
1:32 P.M.
After the training incident, Erica worked twice as hard. She had an extra chip on her shoulder. She wanted to prove to Franco and the rest of Black River that she wasn't a liability. She felt awful about José, but wouldn't dare visit. It still bugged her that she lost control in the manner that she had on that day. It was the first instance it had happened. Would it be the last?
That's the question she asked herself as she peered into her full length mirror of her bedroom closet. She was not the same girl she was when Richard was a prominent part of her life. She was not the same woman she was even a year ago. She was constantly evolving as a person and as a martial artist. It was the first time she pondered whether or not that was actually a good thing.
As she looked in the mirror, she scanned her plethora of tattoos. She could see practically all them now, as she wore a black tank top and white shorts. Each tattoo was a message, or a memory. They all meant something to her. They were constant reminders of the wars she had fought. The Battles she had survived. The lessons she had learned that had brought her to this point in her life.
Her look of confusion turned into one of determination.
She may still have feared the demon of her past. The man that had taken everything from her. Despite that, it made her who she was today. She was confident that one day, justice would be served. One day, she would get closure; finality. It may not have been today, but that was okay.
Suddenly, three thunderous knocks echoed throughout her apartment. She knew instantly who they emanated from. As she shyly peered out from her bedroom window towards the front door, she saw the culprits. Three para-militaries. A sad and inevitable aspect of life in Trabiju, at least right now. It wasn't clear to her what they could want, but she didn't feel like sticking around to find out. As her front door was smashed in, she climbed out of her bedroom window, carefully dropping to the ground below. She ran through a nearby alleyway and into the town area. Luckily they wouldn't be able to follow her, this time.
Her phone buzzed feverishly. Franco was calling. After everything that's happened, she knew she would have to answer.
"Are you okay?! A worried Franco practically screamed into the phone. He knew something Erica didn't.
"The paramilitaries?"
There was a long, tense, pause. That was as much of an answer as Erica would need.
"What's going on?"
Another long pause.
"Franco?!"
"Black River hasn't been paying them money."
She had no idea what he meant by that. Something Franco picked up on by the silence.
"São Paulo is a dangerous place, Erica. You can't pretend that it's not. Black River pays the "God's Right Hand" to protect us from it. To protect our fighters."
Erica ducks down another alleyway as she notices familiar faces ahead. Better to be safe than sorry.
"But you haven't been."
The regret was evident on the other side of the phone call. Franco's breathing was uncharacteristically frantic.
"That's kind of why we didn't do too much about the José incident.
Erica's heart sank. It made sense now. What didn't make as much sense was why she was being chased by paramilitaries.
"So they're after me?"
"They view you as the greatest incentive to get the money they are owed. You are the most recognizable and well known fighter at Black River."
Silence. Franco's breathing relaxed.
"Can you get to the airport?"
"Probably. It's not far from here. Why?"
"Get there as fast as you can. A Black River associate will meet you. The logo will be displayed on a helicopter. He will take you to St. Petersburg."
Erica didn't ask anything further. She knew why. She was too much of a target here. As much as it was to process, she couldn't fathom it. Only time would allow her to do that. For now, she was off to Russia.
May 10th
St. Petersburg, Russia
3:03 P.M.
Erica was settling into a bit of a rundown motel on the outskirts of St. Petersburg. It was a far cry from the events and situation she found herself in back home in Brazil. It wasn't beautiful, and it wasn't even peaceful. To Erica though, it was perfect. She was still attempting to wrap her mind around what exactly she had run from. Paramilitaries. Protection money. It was all crazy. Something out of a movie. There was nobody for her to turn to. She worried about contacting Franco. Nobody else would likely believe the tale.
As she stood in front of the only window in the room, looking out at the dreary, overcast weather, all she could do was think. The text from Richard, the training mishap, the paramilitary situation. All in the span of a few days. It seemed as though the closer she got to her dream, the more the world threw her way. Now, she was tasked with winning her debut. Not just for the recognition it would afford her in a new company, but now to ensure her fighting team could continue to even exist. It was a lot to handle.
Then again, that's really the narrative of her entire life so far. So, in a way, it was same old same old. That was the only bit of comforting information she had to hold on to.
As she turned from the window, she turned around and flopped back-first onto the single bed. She took a moment staring up at the beige ceiling. She sighed.
"When will it end?"
Clearly, not yet, as her phone starts to buzz over on the small dresser that's up against the wall directly in front of the bed. As she slowly peels herself from the bed, she notices a familiar number. She gasps.
"Richard." She says to herself, disgusted of the very name. She hesitates. Then...she answers, reluctantly. She knows now that he has found her, he won't give up. She would have to force her hand.
"What the fuck do you want?" She snaps upon answering.
"Now now now... That's not very lady like, Erica."
Her eyes rolled. Her blood boiled.
"I'm not the same naive little girl you used and abused years ago."
"Clearly not. I've been following your story. So inspirational."
Erica looked nauseous. Richard's words were like snake venom.
"What. Do. You. Want?"
Her patience was running on empty. Richard was amused, however.
"I want in."
Erica looked perplexed. What did he mean? Richard knew she was confused. He didn't wait for her to ask what his intentions were.
"Franco didn't tell you the whole story, Erica."
She knew something was fishy about her trainer's story.
"No...
You..."
She could barely fathom the truth. It was heart-wrenching. It was sickening and it was disturbing. Richard laughed on the other end.
"That's right, Erica. I've been in Trabiju longer than you have. I've built quite the reputation. You don't hold the power here.
I do."
Erica's heart sank. She wanted to end this man more than anything in the world. She wanted to seem him suffer like he had made her suffer all those years ago. He wanted him to pay.
It hurt that she didn't believe it would ever be possible. He had flourished in the drug underworld, even in Brazil.
"So you want my winnings." She declared, dejected."[/color]
"Not exactly. We want to back you. A lot of opportunities can come with your success. I've seen you before. I know what you are capable of. Granted, we will need 10%, but nothing more other than your unconditional cooperation."
It kept getting worse. Erica wanted to end the call immediately, but knew that would practically be suicide.
"Cooperation with what, exactly?"
] "We will be in touch."
The call ended. Erica couldn't fathom what had just occurred. She had signed a deal with her own personal satan. The man who caused her more grief than any other. She now worked for him, basically.
She launched herself back onto the bed.
Speechless.
In shock.
In tears.
Doomed to work with the man who tortured and abused her. Bound to the man she wanted to end.
"What a fucking week." She muttered to herself as she once again, fixated on the ceiling. Unsure of what to do next.
#27
Archive / UNLEASHED 3: JACKSON vs BELANE
Last post by Mike - May 08, 2017, 05:43:06 PM
DEADLINE
SUNDAY JUNE 11 11:59 PM EST
EVENT DATE
JUNE 16, 2017
LOCATION
BELGRADE, SERBIA
ARENA
KOMBANK ARENA
MAIN EVENT
(1) JACKSON vs (3) BELANE
CO-MAIN EVENT
(4) THOMPSON vs (2) CHAMBERS
UNDERCARD
(5) RAAB vs (6) TERRYN
(7) VORON vs THIRTEEN
ALVAREZ vs WINSTON
SUNDAY JUNE 11 11:59 PM EST
EVENT DATE
JUNE 16, 2017
LOCATION
BELGRADE, SERBIA
ARENA
KOMBANK ARENA
MAIN EVENT
(1) JACKSON vs (3) BELANE
CO-MAIN EVENT
(4) THOMPSON vs (2) CHAMBERS
UNDERCARD
(5) RAAB vs (6) TERRYN
(7) VORON vs THIRTEEN
ALVAREZ vs WINSTON
#28
Events On Demand / SPIRAL vs CHAMBERS 2
Last post by Mike - May 05, 2017, 03:18:30 PM[div class="ppv"]
The house lights dim. Feet pound like war drums. On the screen, footage of marching soldiers from fascist states is intercut with scenes of police brutality, riots, and religious hysteria.
The voice of Robert Oppenheimer echoes. "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." Screams rip through the arena, followed by a lumbering guitar riff that echoes around the arena like a funeral dirge.
DON'T FRET PRECIOUS I'M HERE
STEP AWAY FROM THE WINDOW
AND GO BACK TO SLEEEEEP
The first verse of Counting Bodies begins, harkening the entrance of Spiral, made visible by a series of lights that slowly strobe to the music. Spiral emerges from the tunnel and walks with purpose toward the cage. His stride is patient and deliberate, matching the pounding rhythm of the music. Thousands of eyes watch his every movement. Some cheer like a ravenous mob, while others boo out of utter contempt and disgust, but every single one of them are on his feet.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]JOHN CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And there he is, ladies and gentlemen, the number one contender.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]FREDDY LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Seriously, he looks like Hannibal Lecter and Margaret Thatcher had a love child who decided to become an MMA fighter in his spare time when he's not busy frightening children and stealing dreams.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"][Laughing] What do you think his chances are tonight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Let me put it this way. He's a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the champion. It would be like if I tried to fight Andre the Giant. [Doing an Andre Impression] Anybody want a peanut?[/div]
COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP!
COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP!
He avoids the outstretched hands and stops at cageside. He is calm and collected as the referee applies vaseline to his brow and cheeks. After being cleared, he is quick up the steps and into the cage.
GO BACK TO SLEEP!
GO BACK TO SLEEP!
He languidly circles the inside of the cage. He ignores the hatred coming from all around him, paying no attention to the vulgar screams of his name. He finds his corner and stands silent, with a cold focus.
The light in the arena suddenly goes out, when the first notes of 'Sonne by Rammstein hit. With the crowd jumping from their seats, there is a single purple spot falling onto the top of the entrance ramp. Moments later the well build 'British Bombshell' LARA CHAMBERS steps out. She is awaited by her trainer and mentor SHANNON SUMMERS.
eins
Hier kommt die Sonne
zwei
Hier kommt die Sonne
drei
Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen
vier
Hier kommt die Sonne
With the fans erupting in chants, mixed reactions as always, she starts to walk down the ramp. Mostly ignoring the audience, here and there teasing them a little. The british fighter posing a few seconds in front of the cage, allowing the referee to check them. Giving a smirk at the clumsy attempt, before finally entering. Taking a seat on the mat while focusing on the entrance area.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You mentioned before that you think her size disadvantage will make it difficult to beat the challenger.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Difficult, but not impossible. She's done it once already. Granted, Spiral will tell you that his eye injury was the reason for the loss, and that certainly was a factor, but putting all the blame on the injury completely overlooks the amazing boxing display Chambers put on in the first fight.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]What will be her key to victory tonight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Avoid taking damage. Quick movement. Counterpunches. Feints. If she can get the challenger to the mat, she may be able to get an armbar or another rear naked choke. She has the gas tank to tire Spiral out if he doesn't fight smart.[/div]
[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 his right, Lara Chambers lightly bounces on feet, shaking her hands. To his left, Spiral is unmoving, with his hands on his hips, staring directly at Chambers.
[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 All-Russia Athletic Federation. Our three judges scoring this contest at cageside are Ostat Kalinin, Luke Zotov, and Tatiana Bazarova, 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 Saint Petersburg, Russia...
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"]One round! Twenty minutes! For the Undisputed UNLEASHED Championship of the World! Introducing first...[/div]
Hayes whips to his left toward Spiral.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]FIGHTING out of the Blue Corner!
This man is a Cage Fighter, with a professional record of 13 wins and 4 losses. Standing six feet three inches tall and weighing in at 205 lbs. Fighting out of New Orleans, Louisiana, USA...Presenting the challenger, and the number one ranked fighter in the world...
THE PALE KING...SPIRAL![/div]
It is a mixed reaction from the fans in attendance. Most are cheering him on, but there is a strong contention of boos. Spiral seems to not care one way or another. His gaze is focused sharp on his opponent across the cage.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And now introducing the champion...FIGHTING out of the Red Corner![/div]
Hayes walks right over to Lara. She feeds off his intro, grinning through her mouthguard, bouncing faster and throwing her hand up.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She is a Submission Specialist, with a professional record of 3 wins and no losses. Standing five feet three inches tall and weighing in at 105 lbs. Fighting out of New York City, USA...
Presenting the REIGNING...
DEFENDING...
UNDISPUTED CHAMPION of the WORLD...
LARA...the Lady of...CHAMBERS.[/div]
Lara Chambers steps forward, kisses her hand and holds it out to the fans. It is a mixed reaction for her, as well, but there seems to be a bigger crowd for the Champ than her opponent. Chants of Chambers, Chambers, Chambers can be heard under the cheers.
Referee Kovalyov signals both fighters to meet in the center. The fighters glare at one another. Spiral towers over her. Chambers looks defiantly up at him. The referee instructs them to obey his commands at all times, and gives them the chance to touch gloves. Spiral and Chambers immediately back away.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Oh man! These two are ready to tear each other apart.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And HERE...WE...GO![/div]
Chambers runs across the cage and fires a high kick at Spiral's head. He blocks it and waves his finger at her. She tries another high kick, but he counters with a takedown. Lara is driven onto the mat with Spiral on top in her open guard. He throws down two timed strikes, forcing her to defend, and then tries for a kneebar. Chambers rolls on the ground, trying to get free, kicking at Spiral with her other leg.
She escapes! Thirty seconds into the fight, Chambers stands above Spiral and the crowd is on their feet. From his back, he tries to defend as she sends a hard, popping kick into his thigh, and another! Spiral launches an up-kick intended for Chambers' head...
It connects! It lands flush with her left jaw, snapping her head backwards.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That's what I talked about. She can't take hits like that. She just needs to let him up.[/div]
But Chambers doesn't backdown. She kicks Spiral again in the thigh with a pop! And again! He tries for another up-kick, but this one she dodges. She moves back in, but his active feet keep her at a distance.
There are some boos starting to build in the crowd due to the stalled action. Kovalyov halts the fight and stands Spiral up. The fans immediately begin cheering again. The referee says Fight!
Both rush to the middle. Chambers throws a kick to Spiral's midsection, but he catches it, and sweeps her to the mat for another takedown!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral seems intent on keeping this thing on the ground.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Which is surprising considering his advantage on his feet.[/div]
Spiral is in her closed guard. She immediately tries to escape while he takes a moment to rest. The crowd is starting to get restless again.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Only three minutes in and Spiral is taking big breaths, John.[/div]
Chambers grabs at Spiral's face. While trying to restrict his breathing, her fingers run over his eyes. The referee is out of position to see. Spiral whips his head away to protect his vision.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I'm not sure that wasn't intentional.[/div]
Chambers uses the opening to hip roll. She reverses position and is now in full mount! 4:15 into the fight and Chambers is dropping heavy hammer fists at Spiral's face, but they aren't getting through his forearms. He rocks back and forth, trying to hip escape, but he can't.
Chambers is still attacking, now with elbows. Spiral tries to block them with his hands, but one gets through, hitting him on the brow. Another breaks through, nailing the same spot, and this one splits him open. Blood immediately starts running down the side of his face and drips on the mat.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That is a nasty cut.[/div]
Spiral starts throwing hard rights into her ribs from the bottom. The third one hurts her. The impact makes her rethink her strategy. On a dime, she spins, taking Spiral's arm with her, and goes for an armbar! The crowd jumps and screams.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Will this end it?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She has that lock cinched in tight, John. We could see a tap out.[/div]
Spiral's arm is bent awkwardly, but his face isn't showing much pain. He rolls around, away from the pressure, and then climbs to his feet. He lifts the much smaller fighter up and then SLAMS her down hard. The Champ releases his arm, getting the wind knocked out of her. Spiral is now on top and pounding on Chamber's like a training dummy. She manages to block most of the hits coming at her face, but they are starting to get through her guard!
One punch smashes into her left eye, and another crushes the bridge of her nose. The referee looks, ready to stop the fight. Spiral raises back for the killing blow...Chambers wraps her legs around his neck and shoulder, going for a leg triangle! Spiral slips out of it, but loses his control over her.
Chambers jumps up to her feet! She sends a fast kick to his left shoulder while he's still on his knees. Spiral reaches forward, shoving her away easy and he gets to his feet. The clock says 10:20 and both fighters are standing up, ready to trade blows.
Chambers wipes at her left eye, which is purple and swollen nearly shut. The left side of Spiral's face is covered with blood. Both are smiling like maniacs as the crowd urges them to get violent.
Spiral throws a series of jabs that keep Chambers at a distance, then launches himself at her, getting her locked into a thai clinch. He backs her into the cage, trapping her. She keeps her hands low, blocking his knees shooting up at her torso. She is trying to slip out, but can't. The challenger turns, and whips her off the cage and onto the mat, then stalks after her.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It is just hard to defend against that much power.[/div]
Chambers rises off the mat with an uppercut that lands perfectly on Spiral's chin. He stumbles back.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That one hurt him![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral might be in trouble![/div]
The crowd starts chanting Olé! Olé-Olé-Olé-Olé! Olé! Olé! as she goes for the kill. Jabs, hooks, uppercuts. She backs the Challenger into the cage. He has his arms locked over his face, but a few hits get through, or come across to the side of his head.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She needs to be careful not to gas herself out.[/div]
Chamber steps back and throws a vicious high kick! It lands on the side of Spiral's head! She kicks him again, this time busting his ribs! His guard opens, and she throws a straight right directly into his mouth!
Spiral stumbles left, against the cage. Chambers moves, but now much slower than she had been, and she is breathing hard. All these punches and kicks are taking a toll on her. She throws another kick, this one lazy, and he dodges! He throws an uppercut that almost knocks Chambers into orbit!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]OH![/div]
Spiral connects with a mid-kick as the Champ stumbles back! The crowd reacts to the loud pop! Chambers gets desperate, rushing in for a takedown. She gets Spiral around the waist and grabs at his left leg. He bounces back on one foot until his back presses into the cage.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Chambers better protect her neck![/div]
Spiral wraps his arm around her head and cranks back on a guillotine choke! She immediately releases his leg and starts fighting it off. He drops down to his back, trying to drag her with him, but with all the sweat, she slips right out.
Spiral is on his back and Chambers delivers a hard stomp to his face! It widens that split eyebrow even more. The mat is starting to look like a murder scene as Spiral grabs for Chambers left leg. He pushes off the cage floor and lifts the Champ up onto his shoulder. He runs with her across the cage, then leaps and plows her down hard onto her back. He jumps off her and steps away, motioning her to stand up.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral is done taking this fight to the ground.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It's the smart move, and the crowd agrees.[/div]
Surrounded by rabid cheers and chants, Chambers gets to her feet and meets the challenger in the middle of the cage. Spiral leads with a punch, but Chambers avoids it, landing a counterpunch to his jaw. She follows it with a quick combination of two shots to the ribs, then one straight into his mouth.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]The champ isn't known for her striking, but she is putting on a display.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She seems to have gotten her legs back.[/div]
The crowd is behind her as Spiral misses another right. She seems to have hit her second wind as she circles around him. She delivers a couple of quick jabs, then hits the outside of his left knee with a snapping kick. The impact bends his leg at an odd angle puts him off balance. She sends a spinning kick at his face, but he ducks under it and throws a left into her solar plexus!
Chambers stumbles back, but Spiral gives chase, swinging wildly after her, but she stays out of range, until her back hits the cage and she bounces right into a massive right hook. Her legs wobble and she drops to the mat!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]THIS COULD BE IT![/div]
Spiral drops on top of her and begins raining down hammerfists. The clock says 19:00. The champ only has to hang on for sixty more seconds! Chambers has her hands over her face. She's intelligently defending herself. Most of the blows bounce off her gloves or forearms! Kovalyov is in position, ready to stop the fight!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Forty seconds! Can she maintain this defense?![/div]
Spiral stops with the hammerfists and tries to pull her arms away from her face. He looks up at the clock, then back down. He instead grabs for her right ankle and twists her into a leg lock. She reacts immediately, spinning away to get out of the hold. Spiral counters on the ground, moving to take her back, but Chambers slips free.
She stumbles away from Spiral, trying to get to her feet. She stands and turns with her hands up, but Spiral is there, in her face! He throws a looping overhand right that catches her on the left side of her face. The crowd roars as she goes down!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She's not moving![/div]
The clapper signals ten seconds into the fight! Spiral doesn't even pursue! She is out! The referee is signaling the end of the fight!
[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"]Wowww![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]We have a NEW champion![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Chambers is still out, John.[/div]
Spiral walks around the cage with his arms over his head, face and upper body smeared red with blood. Officials are already in the cage checking on Chambers. She is starting to sit up. She asks the cageside doctor what happened.
The referee pulls Spiral into the middle of the cage as 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 nineteen minutes and fifty five seconds, declaring the winner by knockout...
aaand NEW UNDISPUTED UNLEASHED FC CHAMPION of the WOOOOORLD...
SPIRAL![/div]
The noise is deafening in the arena when the referee raises the right hand of the new champion. Wade Crewe wraps the new UNLEASHED FC belt around Spiral's waist. He is grinning from ear to ear, with the side of his face tinted red from the stain of blood, and vaseline packed into the deep cut on his brow. He walks around the cage, until Freddie Larsson approaches him with the microphone.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I am here with the winner and new King of the Cage, Spiral. How does this feel to you, to win here tonight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]SPIRAL[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Before I answer your question, I want to give a shout out to a very important person. Devon Rivera, wherever you are, this one's for you. You inspired me to bring hell into this cage tonight. Now get the blender ready. Momma is comin' home and she's going to need her food pureed for the next few days.[/div]
The feed cuts to ringside, to Lara Chambers' husband Devon Rivera. He is standing, heckling at the new champion. UNLEASHED officials are blocking him from entering. Back in the cage, Spiral starts over toward that side of the cage, yelling back at him, but Larsson has his arm, trying to pull him back. Wade Crewe moves over to intervene, and redirects Spiral back to the interview camera.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral, this was a huge victory tonight. Was there anything about it that surprised you?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]SPIRAL[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I was surprised that first hit that knocked her down didn't finish her. I know I have said a lot of things about Chambers, about our last fight, but let's be honest: she's a great fighter. She has a lot of heart. Lesser fighters would have given up, but she didn't.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Earlier tonight, Jackson defeated Thompson in what many assumed to be the fight to declare the number one contender. However, that was before you and Chambers put together this amazing performance tonight. Is Jackson next? Or does Chambers get a rematch?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]SPIRAL[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That isn't my decision and I couldn't care less.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Congratulations again on an amazing accomplishment. [Turning to the crowd] Give it up for the new champion![/div]
Spiral exits the cage with the new belt now slung over his shoulder. The camera then pulls away, following Larsson to Lara Chambers. She is now on her feet, steady, with her hands on her hips. A purple mouse under her left eye, swelling it nearly closed. She also has a few scrapes on her jaw. The crowd is cheering for her even in defeat, awed by her performance despite coming up short.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Lara, outstanding fight. Amazing performance. Unfortunately, you just came up a bit short there at the end. Was striking against him part of your game plan?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CHAMBERS[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You can plan a lot of things, but inside this cage it doesn't matter. I lost. He won. I don't know what excuses I am supposed to tell, so I won't bother. Congratulations to Spiral, but beware of one thing my pet—you won this battle. Not the God damn war.[/div]
She suddenly walks past Larsson, leaving him a bit confused for a moment.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Thank you very much for an excellent fight. [Back to the crowd] Lara Chambers, ladies and gentlemen![/div]
The feed cuts away to live shots of the crowd.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]The now former champion. A woman of few words. She will be back, as will we, when UNLEASHED 3 comes to Belgrade! 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 house lights dim. Feet pound like war drums. On the screen, footage of marching soldiers from fascist states is intercut with scenes of police brutality, riots, and religious hysteria.
The voice of Robert Oppenheimer echoes. "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds." Screams rip through the arena, followed by a lumbering guitar riff that echoes around the arena like a funeral dirge.
DON'T FRET PRECIOUS I'M HERE
STEP AWAY FROM THE WINDOW
AND GO BACK TO SLEEEEEP
The first verse of Counting Bodies begins, harkening the entrance of Spiral, made visible by a series of lights that slowly strobe to the music. Spiral emerges from the tunnel and walks with purpose toward the cage. His stride is patient and deliberate, matching the pounding rhythm of the music. Thousands of eyes watch his every movement. Some cheer like a ravenous mob, while others boo out of utter contempt and disgust, but every single one of them are on his feet.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]JOHN CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And there he is, ladies and gentlemen, the number one contender.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]FREDDY LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Seriously, he looks like Hannibal Lecter and Margaret Thatcher had a love child who decided to become an MMA fighter in his spare time when he's not busy frightening children and stealing dreams.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"][Laughing] What do you think his chances are tonight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Let me put it this way. He's a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the champion. It would be like if I tried to fight Andre the Giant. [Doing an Andre Impression] Anybody want a peanut?[/div]
COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP!
COUNTING BODIES LIKE SHEEP!
He avoids the outstretched hands and stops at cageside. He is calm and collected as the referee applies vaseline to his brow and cheeks. After being cleared, he is quick up the steps and into the cage.
GO BACK TO SLEEP!
GO BACK TO SLEEP!
He languidly circles the inside of the cage. He ignores the hatred coming from all around him, paying no attention to the vulgar screams of his name. He finds his corner and stands silent, with a cold focus.
The light in the arena suddenly goes out, when the first notes of 'Sonne by Rammstein hit. With the crowd jumping from their seats, there is a single purple spot falling onto the top of the entrance ramp. Moments later the well build 'British Bombshell' LARA CHAMBERS steps out. She is awaited by her trainer and mentor SHANNON SUMMERS.
eins
Hier kommt die Sonne
zwei
Hier kommt die Sonne
drei
Sie ist der hellste Stern von allen
vier
Hier kommt die Sonne
With the fans erupting in chants, mixed reactions as always, she starts to walk down the ramp. Mostly ignoring the audience, here and there teasing them a little. The british fighter posing a few seconds in front of the cage, allowing the referee to check them. Giving a smirk at the clumsy attempt, before finally entering. Taking a seat on the mat while focusing on the entrance area.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You mentioned before that you think her size disadvantage will make it difficult to beat the challenger.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Difficult, but not impossible. She's done it once already. Granted, Spiral will tell you that his eye injury was the reason for the loss, and that certainly was a factor, but putting all the blame on the injury completely overlooks the amazing boxing display Chambers put on in the first fight.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]What will be her key to victory tonight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Avoid taking damage. Quick movement. Counterpunches. Feints. If she can get the challenger to the mat, she may be able to get an armbar or another rear naked choke. She has the gas tank to tire Spiral out if he doesn't fight smart.[/div]
[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 his right, Lara Chambers lightly bounces on feet, shaking her hands. To his left, Spiral is unmoving, with his hands on his hips, staring directly at Chambers.
[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 All-Russia Athletic Federation. Our three judges scoring this contest at cageside are Ostat Kalinin, Luke Zotov, and Tatiana Bazarova, 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 Saint Petersburg, Russia...
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"]One round! Twenty minutes! For the Undisputed UNLEASHED Championship of the World! Introducing first...[/div]
Hayes whips to his left toward Spiral.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]FIGHTING out of the Blue Corner!
This man is a Cage Fighter, with a professional record of 13 wins and 4 losses. Standing six feet three inches tall and weighing in at 205 lbs. Fighting out of New Orleans, Louisiana, USA...Presenting the challenger, and the number one ranked fighter in the world...
THE PALE KING...SPIRAL![/div]
It is a mixed reaction from the fans in attendance. Most are cheering him on, but there is a strong contention of boos. Spiral seems to not care one way or another. His gaze is focused sharp on his opponent across the cage.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And now introducing the champion...FIGHTING out of the Red Corner![/div]
Hayes walks right over to Lara. She feeds off his intro, grinning through her mouthguard, bouncing faster and throwing her hand up.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]HAYES[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She is a Submission Specialist, with a professional record of 3 wins and no losses. Standing five feet three inches tall and weighing in at 105 lbs. Fighting out of New York City, USA...
Presenting the REIGNING...
DEFENDING...
UNDISPUTED CHAMPION of the WORLD...
LARA...the Lady of...CHAMBERS.[/div]
Lara Chambers steps forward, kisses her hand and holds it out to the fans. It is a mixed reaction for her, as well, but there seems to be a bigger crowd for the Champ than her opponent. Chants of Chambers, Chambers, Chambers can be heard under the cheers.
Referee Kovalyov signals both fighters to meet in the center. The fighters glare at one another. Spiral towers over her. Chambers looks defiantly up at him. The referee instructs them to obey his commands at all times, and gives them the chance to touch gloves. Spiral and Chambers immediately back away.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Oh man! These two are ready to tear each other apart.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]And HERE...WE...GO![/div]
Chambers runs across the cage and fires a high kick at Spiral's head. He blocks it and waves his finger at her. She tries another high kick, but he counters with a takedown. Lara is driven onto the mat with Spiral on top in her open guard. He throws down two timed strikes, forcing her to defend, and then tries for a kneebar. Chambers rolls on the ground, trying to get free, kicking at Spiral with her other leg.
She escapes! Thirty seconds into the fight, Chambers stands above Spiral and the crowd is on their feet. From his back, he tries to defend as she sends a hard, popping kick into his thigh, and another! Spiral launches an up-kick intended for Chambers' head...
It connects! It lands flush with her left jaw, snapping her head backwards.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That's what I talked about. She can't take hits like that. She just needs to let him up.[/div]
But Chambers doesn't backdown. She kicks Spiral again in the thigh with a pop! And again! He tries for another up-kick, but this one she dodges. She moves back in, but his active feet keep her at a distance.
There are some boos starting to build in the crowd due to the stalled action. Kovalyov halts the fight and stands Spiral up. The fans immediately begin cheering again. The referee says Fight!
Both rush to the middle. Chambers throws a kick to Spiral's midsection, but he catches it, and sweeps her to the mat for another takedown!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral seems intent on keeping this thing on the ground.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Which is surprising considering his advantage on his feet.[/div]
Spiral is in her closed guard. She immediately tries to escape while he takes a moment to rest. The crowd is starting to get restless again.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Only three minutes in and Spiral is taking big breaths, John.[/div]
Chambers grabs at Spiral's face. While trying to restrict his breathing, her fingers run over his eyes. The referee is out of position to see. Spiral whips his head away to protect his vision.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I'm not sure that wasn't intentional.[/div]
Chambers uses the opening to hip roll. She reverses position and is now in full mount! 4:15 into the fight and Chambers is dropping heavy hammer fists at Spiral's face, but they aren't getting through his forearms. He rocks back and forth, trying to hip escape, but he can't.
Chambers is still attacking, now with elbows. Spiral tries to block them with his hands, but one gets through, hitting him on the brow. Another breaks through, nailing the same spot, and this one splits him open. Blood immediately starts running down the side of his face and drips on the mat.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That is a nasty cut.[/div]
Spiral starts throwing hard rights into her ribs from the bottom. The third one hurts her. The impact makes her rethink her strategy. On a dime, she spins, taking Spiral's arm with her, and goes for an armbar! The crowd jumps and screams.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Will this end it?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She has that lock cinched in tight, John. We could see a tap out.[/div]
Spiral's arm is bent awkwardly, but his face isn't showing much pain. He rolls around, away from the pressure, and then climbs to his feet. He lifts the much smaller fighter up and then SLAMS her down hard. The Champ releases his arm, getting the wind knocked out of her. Spiral is now on top and pounding on Chamber's like a training dummy. She manages to block most of the hits coming at her face, but they are starting to get through her guard!
One punch smashes into her left eye, and another crushes the bridge of her nose. The referee looks, ready to stop the fight. Spiral raises back for the killing blow...Chambers wraps her legs around his neck and shoulder, going for a leg triangle! Spiral slips out of it, but loses his control over her.
Chambers jumps up to her feet! She sends a fast kick to his left shoulder while he's still on his knees. Spiral reaches forward, shoving her away easy and he gets to his feet. The clock says 10:20 and both fighters are standing up, ready to trade blows.
Chambers wipes at her left eye, which is purple and swollen nearly shut. The left side of Spiral's face is covered with blood. Both are smiling like maniacs as the crowd urges them to get violent.
Spiral throws a series of jabs that keep Chambers at a distance, then launches himself at her, getting her locked into a thai clinch. He backs her into the cage, trapping her. She keeps her hands low, blocking his knees shooting up at her torso. She is trying to slip out, but can't. The challenger turns, and whips her off the cage and onto the mat, then stalks after her.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It is just hard to defend against that much power.[/div]
Chambers rises off the mat with an uppercut that lands perfectly on Spiral's chin. He stumbles back.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That one hurt him![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral might be in trouble![/div]
The crowd starts chanting Olé! Olé-Olé-Olé-Olé! Olé! Olé! as she goes for the kill. Jabs, hooks, uppercuts. She backs the Challenger into the cage. He has his arms locked over his face, but a few hits get through, or come across to the side of his head.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She needs to be careful not to gas herself out.[/div]
Chamber steps back and throws a vicious high kick! It lands on the side of Spiral's head! She kicks him again, this time busting his ribs! His guard opens, and she throws a straight right directly into his mouth!
Spiral stumbles left, against the cage. Chambers moves, but now much slower than she had been, and she is breathing hard. All these punches and kicks are taking a toll on her. She throws another kick, this one lazy, and he dodges! He throws an uppercut that almost knocks Chambers into orbit!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]OH![/div]
Spiral connects with a mid-kick as the Champ stumbles back! The crowd reacts to the loud pop! Chambers gets desperate, rushing in for a takedown. She gets Spiral around the waist and grabs at his left leg. He bounces back on one foot until his back presses into the cage.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Chambers better protect her neck![/div]
Spiral wraps his arm around her head and cranks back on a guillotine choke! She immediately releases his leg and starts fighting it off. He drops down to his back, trying to drag her with him, but with all the sweat, she slips right out.
Spiral is on his back and Chambers delivers a hard stomp to his face! It widens that split eyebrow even more. The mat is starting to look like a murder scene as Spiral grabs for Chambers left leg. He pushes off the cage floor and lifts the Champ up onto his shoulder. He runs with her across the cage, then leaps and plows her down hard onto her back. He jumps off her and steps away, motioning her to stand up.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral is done taking this fight to the ground.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]It's the smart move, and the crowd agrees.[/div]
Surrounded by rabid cheers and chants, Chambers gets to her feet and meets the challenger in the middle of the cage. Spiral leads with a punch, but Chambers avoids it, landing a counterpunch to his jaw. She follows it with a quick combination of two shots to the ribs, then one straight into his mouth.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]The champ isn't known for her striking, but she is putting on a display.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She seems to have gotten her legs back.[/div]
The crowd is behind her as Spiral misses another right. She seems to have hit her second wind as she circles around him. She delivers a couple of quick jabs, then hits the outside of his left knee with a snapping kick. The impact bends his leg at an odd angle puts him off balance. She sends a spinning kick at his face, but he ducks under it and throws a left into her solar plexus!
Chambers stumbles back, but Spiral gives chase, swinging wildly after her, but she stays out of range, until her back hits the cage and she bounces right into a massive right hook. Her legs wobble and she drops to the mat!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]THIS COULD BE IT![/div]
Spiral drops on top of her and begins raining down hammerfists. The clock says 19:00. The champ only has to hang on for sixty more seconds! Chambers has her hands over her face. She's intelligently defending herself. Most of the blows bounce off her gloves or forearms! Kovalyov is in position, ready to stop the fight!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Forty seconds! Can she maintain this defense?![/div]
Spiral stops with the hammerfists and tries to pull her arms away from her face. He looks up at the clock, then back down. He instead grabs for her right ankle and twists her into a leg lock. She reacts immediately, spinning away to get out of the hold. Spiral counters on the ground, moving to take her back, but Chambers slips free.
She stumbles away from Spiral, trying to get to her feet. She stands and turns with her hands up, but Spiral is there, in her face! He throws a looping overhand right that catches her on the left side of her face. The crowd roars as she goes down!
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]She's not moving![/div]
The clapper signals ten seconds into the fight! Spiral doesn't even pursue! She is out! The referee is signaling the end of the fight!
[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"]Wowww![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]We have a NEW champion![/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Chambers is still out, John.[/div]
Spiral walks around the cage with his arms over his head, face and upper body smeared red with blood. Officials are already in the cage checking on Chambers. She is starting to sit up. She asks the cageside doctor what happened.
The referee pulls Spiral into the middle of the cage as 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 nineteen minutes and fifty five seconds, declaring the winner by knockout...
aaand NEW UNDISPUTED UNLEASHED FC CHAMPION of the WOOOOORLD...
SPIRAL![/div]
The noise is deafening in the arena when the referee raises the right hand of the new champion. Wade Crewe wraps the new UNLEASHED FC belt around Spiral's waist. He is grinning from ear to ear, with the side of his face tinted red from the stain of blood, and vaseline packed into the deep cut on his brow. He walks around the cage, until Freddie Larsson approaches him with the microphone.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I am here with the winner and new King of the Cage, Spiral. How does this feel to you, to win here tonight?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]SPIRAL[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Before I answer your question, I want to give a shout out to a very important person. Devon Rivera, wherever you are, this one's for you. You inspired me to bring hell into this cage tonight. Now get the blender ready. Momma is comin' home and she's going to need her food pureed for the next few days.[/div]
The feed cuts to ringside, to Lara Chambers' husband Devon Rivera. He is standing, heckling at the new champion. UNLEASHED officials are blocking him from entering. Back in the cage, Spiral starts over toward that side of the cage, yelling back at him, but Larsson has his arm, trying to pull him back. Wade Crewe moves over to intervene, and redirects Spiral back to the interview camera.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Spiral, this was a huge victory tonight. Was there anything about it that surprised you?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]SPIRAL[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]I was surprised that first hit that knocked her down didn't finish her. I know I have said a lot of things about Chambers, about our last fight, but let's be honest: she's a great fighter. She has a lot of heart. Lesser fighters would have given up, but she didn't.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Earlier tonight, Jackson defeated Thompson in what many assumed to be the fight to declare the number one contender. However, that was before you and Chambers put together this amazing performance tonight. Is Jackson next? Or does Chambers get a rematch?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]SPIRAL[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]That isn't my decision and I couldn't care less.[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Congratulations again on an amazing accomplishment. [Turning to the crowd] Give it up for the new champion![/div]
Spiral exits the cage with the new belt now slung over his shoulder. The camera then pulls away, following Larsson to Lara Chambers. She is now on her feet, steady, with her hands on her hips. A purple mouse under her left eye, swelling it nearly closed. She also has a few scrapes on her jaw. The crowd is cheering for her even in defeat, awed by her performance despite coming up short.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Lara, outstanding fight. Amazing performance. Unfortunately, you just came up a bit short there at the end. Was striking against him part of your game plan?[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CHAMBERS[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]You can plan a lot of things, but inside this cage it doesn't matter. I lost. He won. I don't know what excuses I am supposed to tell, so I won't bother. Congratulations to Spiral, but beware of one thing my pet—you won this battle. Not the God damn war.[/div]
She suddenly walks past Larsson, leaving him a bit confused for a moment.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]LARSSON[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]Thank you very much for an excellent fight. [Back to the crowd] Lara Chambers, ladies and gentlemen![/div]
The feed cuts away to live shots of the crowd.
[div class="ppv-speech-headline"]CARDONA[/div]
[div class="ppv-speech"]The now former champion. A woman of few words. She will be back, as will we, when UNLEASHED 3 comes to Belgrade! 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]
#29
Events On Demand / JACKSON vs THOMPSON
Last post by Mike - May 05, 2017, 03:18:12 PM[div class="ppv"]
Thompson comes out strong, using the same offense that worked so well against Petrova at Unleashed 1, tagging Jackson with a low kick before missing on a big left. Jackson staggers from the impact but swings and misses with a big hook, opening himself to more assault on the legs from Thompson. Jackson backs off to the cage and Thompson nails a big kick to the body. He goes for a second but Jackson drops and rolls, leaving Thompson kneeing the cage instead. Jackson slips behind and snags a takedown, looking to sink in a choke but Thompson twists and catches him with an elbow in the mouth. They break back to their feet and again Thompson comes in with the big kicks to the body. Jackson with a right hand up top and he's doing what he can to keep the younger fighter at bay as they move into the clinch. Thompson drops for a takedown and gets the action to the floor but Jackson refuses to stay there and crawls right back up. Jackson shoots in for a takedown of his own and he's got the mass to pull it off, dropping some hard strikes as they go. Thompson defends well, but Jackson's second effort gets it to the floor. Thompson with a closed guard and he shifts for the arm. He almost has it, but Jackson rolls with it, right into the cage, forcing another break.
Thompson regroups and starts up the assault again, leading off with a solid uppercut and a kick to the body. Jackson answers with an uppercut of his own and dives in for another takedown, knowing his ground game is better than EMT's. Thompson keeps working from guard. Jackson tries to sneak in a few elbows but Thompson keeps the guard closed, controlling the wrists from underneath. Jackson does work them free and sneaks in a few punches, bloodying EMT's lip with a solid left. Thompson's looking for potential submissions, but Jackson keeps moving, pulling free. Jackson's scoring points with his positioning, and Thompson seems content for now to work from his back, biding his time. Jackson postures up and kicks the legs before diving back down with a punch to the head and then starts pounding away with elbows. Thompson blocks some of them but he's still on his back.
Jackson tries to step over to mount but Thompson defends. Jackson goes back to grinding away from the top, absolutely battering Thompson's face. Jackson finally staggers up, looking like he's in pain and Thompson stays on his back. Jackson attempts to kick Thompson in the face but it's blocked and Thompson rolls up to his knees. Jackson goes for a choke and misses. Thompson staggers up and the crowd goes nuts. Jackson grabs his ankle, jerking his feet out from under him, nailing a strike to the temple when Thompson falls, leaving a nasty welt there. He sinks in the hooks and the clock is ticking down close to the end of the fight clock. Jackson catches the now-dazed Thompson in the rear naked choke, ending the fight with a minute and a half to spare.
JACKSON WINS via SUBMISSION (REAR NAKED CHOKE) at 14:01.
[/div]
Thompson comes out strong, using the same offense that worked so well against Petrova at Unleashed 1, tagging Jackson with a low kick before missing on a big left. Jackson staggers from the impact but swings and misses with a big hook, opening himself to more assault on the legs from Thompson. Jackson backs off to the cage and Thompson nails a big kick to the body. He goes for a second but Jackson drops and rolls, leaving Thompson kneeing the cage instead. Jackson slips behind and snags a takedown, looking to sink in a choke but Thompson twists and catches him with an elbow in the mouth. They break back to their feet and again Thompson comes in with the big kicks to the body. Jackson with a right hand up top and he's doing what he can to keep the younger fighter at bay as they move into the clinch. Thompson drops for a takedown and gets the action to the floor but Jackson refuses to stay there and crawls right back up. Jackson shoots in for a takedown of his own and he's got the mass to pull it off, dropping some hard strikes as they go. Thompson defends well, but Jackson's second effort gets it to the floor. Thompson with a closed guard and he shifts for the arm. He almost has it, but Jackson rolls with it, right into the cage, forcing another break.
Thompson regroups and starts up the assault again, leading off with a solid uppercut and a kick to the body. Jackson answers with an uppercut of his own and dives in for another takedown, knowing his ground game is better than EMT's. Thompson keeps working from guard. Jackson tries to sneak in a few elbows but Thompson keeps the guard closed, controlling the wrists from underneath. Jackson does work them free and sneaks in a few punches, bloodying EMT's lip with a solid left. Thompson's looking for potential submissions, but Jackson keeps moving, pulling free. Jackson's scoring points with his positioning, and Thompson seems content for now to work from his back, biding his time. Jackson postures up and kicks the legs before diving back down with a punch to the head and then starts pounding away with elbows. Thompson blocks some of them but he's still on his back.
Jackson tries to step over to mount but Thompson defends. Jackson goes back to grinding away from the top, absolutely battering Thompson's face. Jackson finally staggers up, looking like he's in pain and Thompson stays on his back. Jackson attempts to kick Thompson in the face but it's blocked and Thompson rolls up to his knees. Jackson goes for a choke and misses. Thompson staggers up and the crowd goes nuts. Jackson grabs his ankle, jerking his feet out from under him, nailing a strike to the temple when Thompson falls, leaving a nasty welt there. He sinks in the hooks and the clock is ticking down close to the end of the fight clock. Jackson catches the now-dazed Thompson in the rear naked choke, ending the fight with a minute and a half to spare.
JACKSON WINS via SUBMISSION (REAR NAKED CHOKE) at 14:01.
[/div]
#30
Events On Demand / TERRYN vs VORON
Last post by Mike - May 05, 2017, 03:17:56 PM[div class="ppv"]
Terryn comes in fast with a high kick that's blocked. Voron lands a right hand as follows, stalking Terryn around the cage, keeping him off-balance with a series of well-timed strikes. Terryn manages to avoid most of them, spinning off and studying his opponent. Pretty evenly paced from the start, Voron looks like he's the aggressor but Terryn remains a moving target, giving no ground. Voron keeps him in the center, trying to cut off the cage. Terryn fires a big right that glances off but gets Voron's attention. Terryn misses a kick but lands a spinning backfist that sends Voron down to the floor. Terryn follows and drops the bombs from the top. Voron handles them well enough but Terryn keeps up with the strikes that Voron has no answer for in this position. He gets wrist control finally but can't get his legs up. Voron turns for the arm and manages to reverse to Terryn on his back and the pair struggling before the officials force a break.
Voron seems slow to rise, but they collide again as Terryn shifts laterally, staying out of harm's way. A front kick from Terryn connects with the gut and then a side kick to the knee has Voron staggering back. He throws a punch to the throat as Terryn goes for another kick. Voron follows with a right hand and falls into a takedown, but Terryn pushes him away. Voron scores a right hand over the top and then dives for a leg. Terryn hops away, but Voron latches on to the body, looking for the takedown so he can maintain control with a choke. Terryn grabs the cage, almost wrenching his own arm from the socket and then lands on top when he falls. Voron grabs him, firing body shots in before Terryn breaks away. One minute left to the fight and Terryn seems to be dealing with Voron well although he's not really getting the deadly shots in that he needs to put the bigger man away. Voron nails a few punches to the body against the cage. Terryn kicks the legs and staggers Voron, forcing a break and a huge elbow strike across the face snaps Voron's head back, sending him down at the time limit bell.
JUDGES SCORECARDS:
Tatiana Bazarova 9-9 DRAW
Ostat Kalinin scores it 9-9 DRAW
Luke Zotov scores it 10-9 TERRYN
THIS CONTEST IS JUDGED A MAJORITY DRAW.
[/div]
Terryn comes in fast with a high kick that's blocked. Voron lands a right hand as follows, stalking Terryn around the cage, keeping him off-balance with a series of well-timed strikes. Terryn manages to avoid most of them, spinning off and studying his opponent. Pretty evenly paced from the start, Voron looks like he's the aggressor but Terryn remains a moving target, giving no ground. Voron keeps him in the center, trying to cut off the cage. Terryn fires a big right that glances off but gets Voron's attention. Terryn misses a kick but lands a spinning backfist that sends Voron down to the floor. Terryn follows and drops the bombs from the top. Voron handles them well enough but Terryn keeps up with the strikes that Voron has no answer for in this position. He gets wrist control finally but can't get his legs up. Voron turns for the arm and manages to reverse to Terryn on his back and the pair struggling before the officials force a break.
Voron seems slow to rise, but they collide again as Terryn shifts laterally, staying out of harm's way. A front kick from Terryn connects with the gut and then a side kick to the knee has Voron staggering back. He throws a punch to the throat as Terryn goes for another kick. Voron follows with a right hand and falls into a takedown, but Terryn pushes him away. Voron scores a right hand over the top and then dives for a leg. Terryn hops away, but Voron latches on to the body, looking for the takedown so he can maintain control with a choke. Terryn grabs the cage, almost wrenching his own arm from the socket and then lands on top when he falls. Voron grabs him, firing body shots in before Terryn breaks away. One minute left to the fight and Terryn seems to be dealing with Voron well although he's not really getting the deadly shots in that he needs to put the bigger man away. Voron nails a few punches to the body against the cage. Terryn kicks the legs and staggers Voron, forcing a break and a huge elbow strike across the face snaps Voron's head back, sending him down at the time limit bell.
JUDGES SCORECARDS:
Tatiana Bazarova 9-9 DRAW
Ostat Kalinin scores it 9-9 DRAW
Luke Zotov scores it 10-9 TERRYN
THIS CONTEST IS JUDGED A MAJORITY DRAW.
[/div]