Post by Andrew Savage on Jul 2, 2012 21:01:30 GMT -6
"And then there was nothing left to fear, save fear itself."
October 31st, 2011.
Tonight was a special night, a very special night indeed. It was a night where supposedly the boundaries between the human world and the spirit world were at their weakest. Tonight, on All Hallow's Eve's our reality crossed over into a realm of darkest night, a realm of the greatest evil for mere minutes only.
And tonight was the night where the entity known only as the mysterious Andrew Savage stepped forward one more time, from darkest gloom, from deepest night. He stepped forward into the great unknown, clutching at a sheet of paper in his hands. A sheet of paper that perhaps held the key to his destiny. Although we cannot read the words scrawled onto the scrap of paper, there are four letters that are immediately visible written in bold, black letters at the top.
USPW.
*****
The scene opens into a darkened room. Although all we can see initially is darkened shadow, after a couple of seconds there is a sharp scraping sound, and a singular flicker of light as a match is lit. The flickering light goes downwards slowly until a larger light is created, the light of a hang-top lantern.
A solitary figure stands solemnly, head bowed, holding onto the lantern. Slowly, the figure bends down, gently setting the lantern onto the chipped stone floor. Around the figure we see cold, granite walls, stretching into a perfect, equilateral cube of granite.
The man, standing in a dark jacket and black trousers, stands, head hanging forwards, stringy black hair coming forwards and obscuring his features.
Suddenly springing into life, the man shoots his head forwards, displaying a pale, worn face, and several days worth of stubble. Angry, red scars crisscross his features and his mouth drops open in an impossibly wide scream. But most telling are his eyes, beginning as a deep brown, the pupils gradually fade until only the whites of his eyes are displayed.
In his minds eyes, he hears the sound of screaming and a million voices talking to him in a screeching, halting tone. The voices have accompanied him on each and every day of his existence, singing to him, telling him of each and his every failures.
They sing to him of his friend, a friend of his now dead and gone because of Savage. He promised him he would be there, would have his back but he did not. And now he was gone, a victim of suicide.
His wife, Raven. The love of his life. She had died in a car accident. An accident brought about because of Savage, because of his addiction and obsession with drugs. He had tripped and lost control of his car. She was dead, and it might as well have been by his hands.
Max, a victim of Savage's own penchant for violence. A man whom Savage professed to respect, and yet he was instead the victim of a vicious, deadly attack.
Their spirits, haunting him. Hovering over him like three vengeful angels, following him wherever he went. Waiting for the day that Savage received his comeuppance. Waiting for the day his hold on life would end. Waiting for the day when he too would die and walk amongst them. Then, they would have their vengeance. They would tear at his flesh. They would rip at his soul. They would devour his essence until there was nothing left.
Yes, this was the fate that awaited Andrew Savage one day. A fate that he had brought upon himself.
And so the man stood, rigid, eyes rolled back into his skull, listening at the screams of vengeful spirits proclaiming his demise.
*****
We see an old woman, dark of skin, with bone-white hair and wrinkled skin stretched taut over her face like cheap leather.
Although there are no outward signs of violence to her form, she glides across the floor like a mannequin dangling from a puppeteers strings. Her head lolls forward around her neck and shoulders from side to side.
She is dead, and yet she walks still like some demented puppet, left foot snapping forward followed by the right foot. And so she comes forwards, one foot dangling in front of the other, as if she is not walking from her own free will, but by the will of another.
And then her eyes suddenly open, and we see all black. Black like two twin pools of eternal night.
A horrific, gruesome smile contorts her features, stretching and twisting her face into a grotesque parody of a human being.
Opening, hissing inhuman words spill forth, like a nest of venomous snakes.
"A dark star. It wakens. God help us all."
The woman drops to the floor, all pretense of life fleeting from her hollow corpse.
*****
We return to the stone room, where the mysterious Andrew Savage laughs, a demonic inhuman sound.
"My name is Andrew Savage. And like a revenant stalking the night, I seek my soon to be killer."
*****
We flash back to a moment not so long ago in the past. A large mansion, a silhouette against the night sky. Travelling in through the solid, oaken double doors, we walk the corridors of Savage's home like a silent ghost flitting through the sky.
The house is large. The house is beautiful. The hallway is comprised of a stately, purple rug. Adorning the walls are expensive oil paintings depicting various locations and various people. Expensive looking ornaments line the walls and shelves. At the far end, a large staircase begins on both sides of the room and meets in the middle, angling up towards the second floor. An expensive looking balustrade separates each half of the staircase.
But this is not our destination dear reader. No, we need to travel forwards and upwards to the second floor, to a large winding corridor. On either side, doors adorn each side of the corridor, leading to private rooms where guests would quite occassionally frequent.
At the far side of the corridor, one of the doors is open. Hanging from the doorframe is a dark shadow, dangling slowly from side to side. A thick, hempen rope is attached to the doorway, fashioned into a noose. As we get closer we see swollen, black flesh. We see cheeks, puffed out from constriction. We see eyelids flickering open and closed. We see black lips, a trickle of blood dribbling out from it.
Suddenly, the eyes open and stare at us....pupils expanded, whites bloodshot. The thick, swollen, bloody lips creep forwards into a sly smile and a voice, scraping and halting issues forth.
"I know what this looks like, but I'm not dead."
And now the man.....creature, looks straight at us, eyes piercing through our skin into the very fabric of our soul.
"I will survive this. I will fall into a coma, but I will come out of it. And I will seek my revenge."
The body continues to dangle from side to side.
"I know what this looks like, but it is not suicide. Someone tried to kill me. I will find this person, and I will make them pay for what they have done."
The figure laughs, a ghostly, unearthly sound.
"My name is Savage, and I am not quite dead yet. Like a revenant stalking the night, I seek my would-be killer."
*****
We return to the present day. A gaunt, frail man arrives in a broken-down Audi in Toronto, Canada.
The man is as much of a physical and mental wreck as the vehicle that he travels in.
For you see, he is a man that has a burning obsession, and a desire to seek the truth he does not yet know. Although not a man on the run, he is somebody that has come here pursued by the shadows and demons that eat away at his psyche.
But, above all else, he has a purpose. A purpose that he felt he could accomplish in USPW, before he sees his time go.
His name is Savage, and he has a mission.
He is here to catch the person that tried to kill him.
And, as he stops his car, puts on his handbrake and looks ahead at the sweeping, Canadian countryside, he stares at the only thing that he has left to him.
The only thing that keeps him going.
A ripped and torn piece of paper, but one that has four bold, black letters written at the top.
USPW.
Perhaps here he can finally discover the truth.
Whatever the cost will be Matt Hawk and Deathrow will HEAR THE THUNDER...HEAR THE DRUMS...FEAR THE BATTLE FOR MAYHEM COMES.....
The scene fades to black.
October 31st, 2011.
Tonight was a special night, a very special night indeed. It was a night where supposedly the boundaries between the human world and the spirit world were at their weakest. Tonight, on All Hallow's Eve's our reality crossed over into a realm of darkest night, a realm of the greatest evil for mere minutes only.
And tonight was the night where the entity known only as the mysterious Andrew Savage stepped forward one more time, from darkest gloom, from deepest night. He stepped forward into the great unknown, clutching at a sheet of paper in his hands. A sheet of paper that perhaps held the key to his destiny. Although we cannot read the words scrawled onto the scrap of paper, there are four letters that are immediately visible written in bold, black letters at the top.
USPW.
*****
The scene opens into a darkened room. Although all we can see initially is darkened shadow, after a couple of seconds there is a sharp scraping sound, and a singular flicker of light as a match is lit. The flickering light goes downwards slowly until a larger light is created, the light of a hang-top lantern.
A solitary figure stands solemnly, head bowed, holding onto the lantern. Slowly, the figure bends down, gently setting the lantern onto the chipped stone floor. Around the figure we see cold, granite walls, stretching into a perfect, equilateral cube of granite.
The man, standing in a dark jacket and black trousers, stands, head hanging forwards, stringy black hair coming forwards and obscuring his features.
Suddenly springing into life, the man shoots his head forwards, displaying a pale, worn face, and several days worth of stubble. Angry, red scars crisscross his features and his mouth drops open in an impossibly wide scream. But most telling are his eyes, beginning as a deep brown, the pupils gradually fade until only the whites of his eyes are displayed.
In his minds eyes, he hears the sound of screaming and a million voices talking to him in a screeching, halting tone. The voices have accompanied him on each and every day of his existence, singing to him, telling him of each and his every failures.
They sing to him of his friend, a friend of his now dead and gone because of Savage. He promised him he would be there, would have his back but he did not. And now he was gone, a victim of suicide.
His wife, Raven. The love of his life. She had died in a car accident. An accident brought about because of Savage, because of his addiction and obsession with drugs. He had tripped and lost control of his car. She was dead, and it might as well have been by his hands.
Max, a victim of Savage's own penchant for violence. A man whom Savage professed to respect, and yet he was instead the victim of a vicious, deadly attack.
Their spirits, haunting him. Hovering over him like three vengeful angels, following him wherever he went. Waiting for the day that Savage received his comeuppance. Waiting for the day his hold on life would end. Waiting for the day when he too would die and walk amongst them. Then, they would have their vengeance. They would tear at his flesh. They would rip at his soul. They would devour his essence until there was nothing left.
Yes, this was the fate that awaited Andrew Savage one day. A fate that he had brought upon himself.
And so the man stood, rigid, eyes rolled back into his skull, listening at the screams of vengeful spirits proclaiming his demise.
*****
We see an old woman, dark of skin, with bone-white hair and wrinkled skin stretched taut over her face like cheap leather.
Although there are no outward signs of violence to her form, she glides across the floor like a mannequin dangling from a puppeteers strings. Her head lolls forward around her neck and shoulders from side to side.
She is dead, and yet she walks still like some demented puppet, left foot snapping forward followed by the right foot. And so she comes forwards, one foot dangling in front of the other, as if she is not walking from her own free will, but by the will of another.
And then her eyes suddenly open, and we see all black. Black like two twin pools of eternal night.
A horrific, gruesome smile contorts her features, stretching and twisting her face into a grotesque parody of a human being.
Opening, hissing inhuman words spill forth, like a nest of venomous snakes.
"A dark star. It wakens. God help us all."
The woman drops to the floor, all pretense of life fleeting from her hollow corpse.
*****
We return to the stone room, where the mysterious Andrew Savage laughs, a demonic inhuman sound.
"My name is Andrew Savage. And like a revenant stalking the night, I seek my soon to be killer."
*****
We flash back to a moment not so long ago in the past. A large mansion, a silhouette against the night sky. Travelling in through the solid, oaken double doors, we walk the corridors of Savage's home like a silent ghost flitting through the sky.
The house is large. The house is beautiful. The hallway is comprised of a stately, purple rug. Adorning the walls are expensive oil paintings depicting various locations and various people. Expensive looking ornaments line the walls and shelves. At the far end, a large staircase begins on both sides of the room and meets in the middle, angling up towards the second floor. An expensive looking balustrade separates each half of the staircase.
But this is not our destination dear reader. No, we need to travel forwards and upwards to the second floor, to a large winding corridor. On either side, doors adorn each side of the corridor, leading to private rooms where guests would quite occassionally frequent.
At the far side of the corridor, one of the doors is open. Hanging from the doorframe is a dark shadow, dangling slowly from side to side. A thick, hempen rope is attached to the doorway, fashioned into a noose. As we get closer we see swollen, black flesh. We see cheeks, puffed out from constriction. We see eyelids flickering open and closed. We see black lips, a trickle of blood dribbling out from it.
Suddenly, the eyes open and stare at us....pupils expanded, whites bloodshot. The thick, swollen, bloody lips creep forwards into a sly smile and a voice, scraping and halting issues forth.
"I know what this looks like, but I'm not dead."
And now the man.....creature, looks straight at us, eyes piercing through our skin into the very fabric of our soul.
"I will survive this. I will fall into a coma, but I will come out of it. And I will seek my revenge."
The body continues to dangle from side to side.
"I know what this looks like, but it is not suicide. Someone tried to kill me. I will find this person, and I will make them pay for what they have done."
The figure laughs, a ghostly, unearthly sound.
"My name is Savage, and I am not quite dead yet. Like a revenant stalking the night, I seek my would-be killer."
*****
We return to the present day. A gaunt, frail man arrives in a broken-down Audi in Toronto, Canada.
The man is as much of a physical and mental wreck as the vehicle that he travels in.
For you see, he is a man that has a burning obsession, and a desire to seek the truth he does not yet know. Although not a man on the run, he is somebody that has come here pursued by the shadows and demons that eat away at his psyche.
But, above all else, he has a purpose. A purpose that he felt he could accomplish in USPW, before he sees his time go.
His name is Savage, and he has a mission.
He is here to catch the person that tried to kill him.
And, as he stops his car, puts on his handbrake and looks ahead at the sweeping, Canadian countryside, he stares at the only thing that he has left to him.
The only thing that keeps him going.
A ripped and torn piece of paper, but one that has four bold, black letters written at the top.
USPW.
Perhaps here he can finally discover the truth.
Whatever the cost will be Matt Hawk and Deathrow will HEAR THE THUNDER...HEAR THE DRUMS...FEAR THE BATTLE FOR MAYHEM COMES.....
The scene fades to black.
