Post by Corey Black on Oct 29, 2021 11:11:33 GMT -5
THUD
THUD
THUD
A darkened figure walks down a splintering wooden staircase from the now closed doorway behind them. As they traverse the stairs, darkness swallows them nearly whole until a familiar noise provides a soft white glow, illuminating the darkened room. It's an old television set on the floor, resting on a dull gray rug. A withering couch behind them, cold hard cement floor below them reflecting the television's aura from beyond the edges of the rug. They walk over to the left and turn on a lamp that reveals a large collection of old, decaying VHS tapes lined up neatly on shelves on the wall. Each title gets more and more obscure as The Faceless drag their fingers along the tapes, hoping to find the perfect selection for viewing pleasure. A Nightmare on Elm Street? No, that's not the one. Halloween II? Pass. Their fingers stop on Terrifier, but ultimately that's not the one either.
A couple rows of movies don't particularly excite The Faceless, their face obscured by shadowy blackness. They must crouch now, down near the floor they find a movie that might just satisfy. A toothy grin forms, The Faceless' fingers grasp the tape and pull it from it's place. The cover features a grotesque mask and green print; Ambivalence. The video is turns over, where a synopsis describes the film and a photo of the main character is printed. At the top - "don't let doubt creep in" - a fitting tagline for such a movie. The Faceless taps the tape a few times before heading back over to the old television set and eagerly placing the movie into the VCR. With a few familiar clicks and crunches, the whirl of the machine spinning the reels fills the room and the screen turns into a dark static haze as the movie begins. The Faceless takes a few steps back and rests themselves on the couch behind, eyes glued to the screen.
The movie begins in a swanky house. Floor to ceiling windows, a large living room with a dining room attached. On the television is Texas Chainsaw Massacre and someone sitting in a chair at the other end of the room watching. Pitter patter of rain on the windows and roof give a little ambiance but it's the sudden ringing of a phone that startles the man. He grabs his cell off the coffee table in front of him and answers. "Hello?" he says, eyes locked on the movie. His thumb passes over speakerphone. "Corey! Hey, are you all packed up and ready?" the voice on the other end says, excitedly. Corey sighs, grabbing the remote and pausing his movie. He slumps back into his chair. "Yeah, I'm ready. Just relaxing before the big event." The female on the other end of the call can sense it. "Corey.." He plays it off, "I said I'm ready. This past year has been so eye opening. I knew the sport existed outside of Action Wrestling but I didn't realize the scope. The quality of talent our there. The events, the excitement - I feel like a rookie again, looking out into the world with doe eyes. I want to do it all before my body decides to call it a day." Corey sits forward, the rain outside has started to come down even harder, saturating the landscape. He stands, the person on the other end of the call talking but he isn't listening. There's a black van parked in the street, to the left of the driveway. Corey cuts the caller off; "sorry, what was that?" They're annoyed, but they repeat themselves, "ugh, your body isn't ever going to shut down until there's no more air in your lungs. If you can breathe, you're going to wrestle - just now you have a tour guide. A beacon in the distance, James Raven is someone you can look at and say 'yeah, that guy is having fun.'" "It's not that I'm not having FUN," Corey says, "but if it weren't for him coming to face me at Evolution, or coming to wrestle Dandy at XIII, this wouldn't be happening. I wouldn't be in the main event of the final day's proceedings. I wouldn't have this chance to show a whole new crop of talent exactly the King I am." As the other voice responds, Corey's phone beeps and lights up. Unknown Caller. "Hey, hold on a second, I have call waiting.." Corey says, eyes wide. He switches over to the other line. "Yes?" he says, expecting a response but all he is met with is heavy breathing. "Can I help you?" Corey asserts, he hears a faint cruise liner horn and a click. Puzzled, Corey swaps back to the original call. "Hey, I'm back.. that was strange. Must have been a wrong number," a reserved Corey asserts. Just before the person on the other end of the line responde, everything flashes white! A large, crackling boom overtakes the area as lightning strikes nearby! The power to the house is cut, leaving nothing more than the cellphone in Corey Black's hand as a source of light. Even the street lamps outside have gone down. "Jesus what was that? Are you okay?" the voice on the other end of the line blurts, clearly concerned. Corey pokes his head out of the front door, peering into the night and he hears a car door slam. Then another. And a third. "Just the storm, nothing to be worried about," he says, closing the door behind him and locking it. "So about this cruise.." "Yes! Okay so you're well acquainted with the opposition, I imagine?" the voice excitedly exclaims. "Yes, well aware of the five miscreants posing as professionals I'll easily endure. I can already hear their annoying, run of the mill bullshit mouths now - 'king of what?' they'll say, trying to tear down my walls. I'm King of all of them, and I built my kingdom in the place The Goddess couldn't even escape cruiserweight division hell from. She floundered among wrestlers she'd spit on if it meant she could post one more sweaty selfie to lure all the thirsty, testosterone and HGH fueled menaces she so proudly surrounds herself with. Outward appearance means more than anything to her, even her highly spoken heritage, which will make it all the more sweeter when I rearrange her facial features with my elbow. My apologies in advance to the section of the world attracted to females, the only doves she's going to be talking to are the ones flying around her head," Corey scorns through gritted teeth in the blackened night. A pause, a beat, then a sigh on the other end of the phone, "she's not one to take lightly." "Lightly? Of course not. She's got close a dozen title wins in her toddler aged career. That's just it though, isn't it? We could all spout off all the stuff we've done but in the end, it means nothing - except to Atara. She's the only one that, as far as I know, has crossed into where I come from. It isn't all surprise closings and New York FIGHTs out there. I'm from the top of the food chain. The best of the best. To many, a cutthroat company stacked to the brim with men and women that wouldn't mind throwing anyone under a bus to get ahead. Somewhere people like Atara Themis thought they could saunter in and conquer without breaking a sweat - I'm talking about the REAL fuckin' gritty gritty. I sharpened my already legendary blade at the stone wheel of Action Wrestling, where Atara was ground up and forgotten. Maybe it was a 'rookie mistake,' maybe she learned fast and hard that she's more suited where the big boys don't play. She's skilled though, and that's eighty percent of beating her. Knowing that getting into the ring with this minx isn't a fashion show. It's a fight. She's going to try to take you down, sit on you, use her weight as well as she can - what does she know about me?" "Not enough," the voice says. "Exactly. I've seen her in a cage, I've seen her on the street and I've seen her in a ring. There's nothing she can do that will surprise a twenty year veteran," Corey says, confidence radiating. "But what can you do that will surprise a twenty year vet?" the voice asks. "A twenty year back alley boxer? A twenty year less than bingo hall, near discount at the Strip buffet enjoyer? I'm going to peel the leathery skin from his bones and do him a favor - stop the pain. I could just break his arms and rewire the nerve damage but that would be too easy. See, when it comes to people like myself and Bruce McLeod - we're in this for what it'll do for us. But for him, he's the fifty year old virgin getting his chest waxed by the goddamn King of All Wrestlers. He's going to be screaming for Taylor Swift because I've been in the limelight, I've main evented the biggest venues in the world and he's just barely a passable wrestler" Corey pauses because the voice on the other end of the call is laughing but a light breeze comes through the home. It flicks Corey's hair ever so slightly, enough for him to notice. "Hang on.." he says, lurching full sprint toward the ajar front door. Wood splintered along the locking mechanism. His eyes dart, but he remains calm. Corey continues, while slowly creeping through the darkness of the home, ever pooling water forming at the open front door from the pouring rain; "you look at a man like Bruce and you have to respect him. He's still in the game after getting kicked around in what has to be the lowest places on the totem pole. But he's got heavy hands, heavy enough to rock a man's soul out of his ears. The old adage goes - you can't hit what you can't catch. Or you can't hit what hits you first and drops you on your silver lined skull. What sets me apart is my hunger. My drive to walk onto this boat and not to put on a great show for charity - no, my goal for this is to walk out with as much blood on my body as possible and making damn sure none of it is mine. I'm glad a cause is getting help because I'm fighting but rest assured, my first venture out into this greater landscape won't come without casualties." As Corey finishes his sentence, he hears something from the kitchen. He presses the phone to his chest to muffle it ,as he peers around the corner to find five hooded individuals standing there, rummaging through whatever they can find. He notices most of them have sharp weapons, holding them at their side. One looks up and catches a glimpse of a ducking Corey Black, pointing their blade toward the living room. Two of the intruders rush over and search around finding nothing. Two others run to the front door and find it just as they left it. Upstairs, Corey Black is breathing heavy and pulls the phone from his chest. He's sitting in the hallway. "Are you alright? That was weird," the phone says. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Corey responds, not wanting to alarm the caller. He looks around and spots a closet to slip into. "So Sebastian looks like he might be trouble," the caller says. "In what way, buying himself to the survivor's table? Get the hell out of here, I'm going to smear that pompous fuck all over the ring and deck, giving the cleaning crew a rough day at the office. I'm going to destroy him so bad even his grandpa Bastion recoils in agony. Have him on his knees and make him beg for mercy. 'O wonderous King, I beg of thee not to deny me another morning!' But I will. I will absolutely darken his whole life. No amount of Nandos chicken will cheer him up from what he has coming to him. I'm a typhoon of violence, directed right at his hankie pocket." Corey clears his throat as quiet as he can before turning on a radio voice, which he does surprisingly well; "Piercing Media Network Studios breaking news, Sebastian Everett-Bryce the third, thrice of his name, fifteen nicknames that get increasingly cringe, had his Empire halted today because he thought he could step up to Corey fuckin' Black. A tall order against a not so tall man, it mattered not. He could break down a person at surface level and that, ladies and gentlemen, is not enough to box with Kings." A few smashes from downstairs startle Corey, but he continues on, "would it be poetic if I stomped this dork's face in wearing Crocs? But it ain't personal, it's just business - it's just building an Empire one key at a time. Turn it, unlock a new opportunity - this door isn't one he would want to be unlocking, this is the one door in the wrestling industry he should leave unopened. There isn't any amount of radical clichés Captain 80s could spout off that would accurately convey the barbarity he's about to bear witness to and be a participant to." A hand flies through the blinds type closet door, swinging a knife in Corey's face! He dodges, kicking the door open and sending it into his attacker's head. A splintered, jagged piece of door through the skull. Blood sprays everywhere, dousing Corey Black. He picks up his phone, whispering into it. "Look, I'm in a bit of a situation here.." he says, trailing off. "What, Bert McAlroy?" the voice asks. Corey scoffs, wiping blood from his brow. "Are you kidding me? He's a fledgling in a fledging company, highest ascension is grabbing tag team titles and hitting a bong I guess, dude's less pro wrestler and more Snoop Dogg Young Boy. The Doggfather himself could show up on the cruise and little Berty wouldn't be able to make it to the ring on account of being blitzed into a coma and forgetting he's even on a boat. He'd probably prefer that than to fight what will surely be the best collection of professional wrestlers he will ever come across. He's half kamikaze and all smoked stupid, that's for goddamn sure. Completely fearless until Halloween, when the night after he comes face to face with a man that literally fears nothing. A man that looked a mongrel in the eye and told the world that he would put him down." Black reaches over, crawling over the corpse of the intruder and peels the mask back. A non-descript person is under the hood, but the hood is what he wanted. His eyes widen, a smile forms on his face. "Well Corey.." the voice says, still trying to continue this conversation. "Well what?" he responds, "Tony Savage is a tragedy. Plain and simple. But that's too easy for a proverbial student of the game. Long nights watching tape, long days in the cage prepping for battle. Only to show up to a contest against another human being and tear down every single thing that makes them tick. See, I've been watching Tony for a while now. He thinks he has the higher ground but that tower in his rear view isn't just a convenient metaphor - it's where I'm going to snipe his fucking head off from." The mask droops in his hand, but Corey puts it on in one swift move. "Tours in the Army, MMA, boxing, all of that doesn't prepare you for the unknown. The x-factor. I'm coming into this thing as the guy that doesn't run with this group and I'm going to leave it the one none of them ever forget. I hope Tony had enough time to research the name, because if he did his diligence - he won't even fucking bother showing up. He's no hero, and he'll be glad to hear it; but he won't be glad to know that I'm well aware of who he is and why he does what he does. He can blame it on the pills, the flashbacks and the overwhelmingly bad decisions all he wants; he enjoys inflicting harm. He loves to tell grown ass men that their lives mean nothing. All because he's entitled to the honor of a soldier. What a disgrace." Corey finishes, his eyes under the mask piercing through. "Go get 'em, tiger," the voice on the other end of the phone says, and with a click Corey hangs up. He looks to his right to see four masked people standing in the hallway, ready and eager to tear his shit apart. Corey stands, masked face toward them. THEY RUSH! Corey ducks, bobs and weaves blade swipes! He guides one's knife into another sending a cascade of blood spraying, front kicks one down the stairs and onto their neck, surely breaking it and grabs another in a sleeper, choking the life from them! The last, a heap on the floor, reaches toward Corey as he squats down beside them. They pull the mask down, revealing the red blood stained face. He smiles. His hand extends and his thumb slowly presses the intruder's eye back into their skull! Blood shoots out like a hose, again covering Black in dripping sanguine. "No fucking doubt, fear the unknown," Corey says as the life escapes the final intruder. We fade to black. |
As the movie's credits roll, we slide out of the television screen and back into the room with The Faceless. They shake their head and audibly laugh to themselves, albeit slight, then sit back into the couch. Moments pass, the credits finish and the tape clicks itself off, again casting a staticky glow from the screen into the room.