Post by The Predator on Jul 8, 2012 10:02:19 GMT -6
He was swimming in darkness.
It was a strange feeling. Though clearly weightless, he felt like he was falling, constantly. Maybe he was. Black all around. No up or down in sight. Falling, flying? Is this hell?
This must be it. I've died. One of those ladder shots knocked a clot into my brain or some shit, and I've died. This is hell. Or Purgatory. Mom was Catholic. Maybe I'm in purgatory.
Suddenly, a landing. Ground coming up to meet him with startling speed. The impact should have crushed him, but somehow, it didn't. He landed on his feet, with far more grace than he felt he should have. And suddenly, he was changed. His nakedness covered with red and white spandex. His feet in fiery red boots. His elbows, padded.
He looked down, thoughtfully. Wrestling gear. Not his, not now. This gear, he wore as a rookie, as an up an comer. Then he started. His body was different. More muscular, more toned, just plain bigger. His pectorals and shoulders almost comically oversized. He looked like a bodybuilding gorilla. Definitely his younger figure, his younger body, before experience had educated him and age had slimmed and slowed him. His form today was more of a finely honed, masterfully wield tool, of which strength played a big part. This body was more of a weapon, a blunt instrument, of which freakish strength was everything.
And then, he was no longer alone.
Out of the darkness, over the soft ground, a figure strutted forward, dressed in star spangled pants, long hair swishing backwards and forwards. He was, so startlingly good looking, a blazing smile and sparkling eyes.
Erik.
And Dylan was floored. His older brother was dead. Tragically wrenched away at his apex. A philanthropist, a ladies man, the nicest guy on the planet, and one of the best wrestlers alive. A champion, killed hitting his final finisher, his instantly dead body pinning, in brutal irony, his final opponent.
But here he was. And Dylan wanted to weep. He staggered forward, seeking his brothers embrace, his attention, his affection. For he missed him so.
But a happy reunion, this was not to be. For Erik's eyes narrowed, and the ground they were standing upon shrank. Ropes rose. A ring. And Erik punched him, hard, in the face as a bell rang in the distance.
This is hell.
Erik was a flawless in ring technician in life, and apparently, becoming an apparition or zombie had done little to dull it. Dylan is instantly overwhelmed. His young body is clumsy, slow. He can't counter. Can't wrestle. He swings, he misses. Erik instantly escapes every hold, and the punishment begins to mount. Suplexes. German suplexes. And there is was, a massive superkick to the jaw, Erik's signature technique. Dylan vaguely felt his legs turned to jelly, his consciousness jarred by the impact. He dropped to his back, looking up, at black.
Erik ascended to the top of the nearest turnbuckle, and gazed down. He uttered one word.
"Disappointing."
And he lept. And flipped. And Dylan felt fire. His body changed. He was him again. And he rolled.
The ring in the blackness shook with impact, and the Predator charges with anguish to take advantage. The Final Glory, attempted. Hit. He stares down at his brother, and goes to his knees to assist him. His brother's eyes are wide open, the same dead vacant stare Predator remembers from that horrible night so many years ago. Broken neck, shattered spine.
A dead brother. And his cries of anguish fill the empty. This is hell.
And he wakes up.
----
We see Lana Honey rise from a bed, getting a generous glimpses of centerfold perfect back before it is disappointingly wrapped in a silk robe. She looks about, a concerned look etched on her features, and leaves the bedroom. She searches about many winding halls, before exiting onto a balcony overlooking a city with lights mere twinkling stars, indicating early morning.
The Predator sits, in his boxers, on the railing, gazing pensively out at the urban expanse. The beauty sidles up to him, kisses his cheek, and smiles.
"Couldn't sleep?"
He barely acknowledges her for several seconds, and then leans into her slightly. "Oh no. I slept. That's the problem."
She frowns. "Bad dream?"
He shivers. "You could say that."
She rubs his back. "Is this about teaming with Matt Hawk next week?"
He shakes his head. "I hate the fucker's guts. But we're both top shelf talent. We can keep it together long enough to win this match. After which, all bets are off."
She nods, and yawns. "I'm tired, big guy. Long night. You remember. I'm going back to bed."
He nods, his eyes still focused elsewhere. "Sleep well."
She goes to leave, but is stopped once more by his call. "Lana...This stays between us. Don't tell John. This, with a manager...It's not what champions do. Let me win that belt before we..."
She looks crushed, but recovers quickly and nods blankly, before returning to the labyrinthine hallway. Predator returns to looking pensively out at his property, and reaches for his phone, sitting on a patio table. He presses some buttons on his touch screen, and then speaks into it, like a recorder.
"Family has always been an elusive concept for me. But it's time I looked at it long and hard. I have gone years using a name given to me by a family that didn't want me. I was lucky enough to end up with a family that did. That means everything. So, personal note; Change your last name in the registries. My name, my family name, the name of my brother: Dylan Rogers."
Blackout
It was a strange feeling. Though clearly weightless, he felt like he was falling, constantly. Maybe he was. Black all around. No up or down in sight. Falling, flying? Is this hell?
This must be it. I've died. One of those ladder shots knocked a clot into my brain or some shit, and I've died. This is hell. Or Purgatory. Mom was Catholic. Maybe I'm in purgatory.
Suddenly, a landing. Ground coming up to meet him with startling speed. The impact should have crushed him, but somehow, it didn't. He landed on his feet, with far more grace than he felt he should have. And suddenly, he was changed. His nakedness covered with red and white spandex. His feet in fiery red boots. His elbows, padded.
He looked down, thoughtfully. Wrestling gear. Not his, not now. This gear, he wore as a rookie, as an up an comer. Then he started. His body was different. More muscular, more toned, just plain bigger. His pectorals and shoulders almost comically oversized. He looked like a bodybuilding gorilla. Definitely his younger figure, his younger body, before experience had educated him and age had slimmed and slowed him. His form today was more of a finely honed, masterfully wield tool, of which strength played a big part. This body was more of a weapon, a blunt instrument, of which freakish strength was everything.
And then, he was no longer alone.
Out of the darkness, over the soft ground, a figure strutted forward, dressed in star spangled pants, long hair swishing backwards and forwards. He was, so startlingly good looking, a blazing smile and sparkling eyes.
Erik.
And Dylan was floored. His older brother was dead. Tragically wrenched away at his apex. A philanthropist, a ladies man, the nicest guy on the planet, and one of the best wrestlers alive. A champion, killed hitting his final finisher, his instantly dead body pinning, in brutal irony, his final opponent.
But here he was. And Dylan wanted to weep. He staggered forward, seeking his brothers embrace, his attention, his affection. For he missed him so.
But a happy reunion, this was not to be. For Erik's eyes narrowed, and the ground they were standing upon shrank. Ropes rose. A ring. And Erik punched him, hard, in the face as a bell rang in the distance.
This is hell.
Erik was a flawless in ring technician in life, and apparently, becoming an apparition or zombie had done little to dull it. Dylan is instantly overwhelmed. His young body is clumsy, slow. He can't counter. Can't wrestle. He swings, he misses. Erik instantly escapes every hold, and the punishment begins to mount. Suplexes. German suplexes. And there is was, a massive superkick to the jaw, Erik's signature technique. Dylan vaguely felt his legs turned to jelly, his consciousness jarred by the impact. He dropped to his back, looking up, at black.
Erik ascended to the top of the nearest turnbuckle, and gazed down. He uttered one word.
"Disappointing."
And he lept. And flipped. And Dylan felt fire. His body changed. He was him again. And he rolled.
The ring in the blackness shook with impact, and the Predator charges with anguish to take advantage. The Final Glory, attempted. Hit. He stares down at his brother, and goes to his knees to assist him. His brother's eyes are wide open, the same dead vacant stare Predator remembers from that horrible night so many years ago. Broken neck, shattered spine.
A dead brother. And his cries of anguish fill the empty. This is hell.
And he wakes up.
----
We see Lana Honey rise from a bed, getting a generous glimpses of centerfold perfect back before it is disappointingly wrapped in a silk robe. She looks about, a concerned look etched on her features, and leaves the bedroom. She searches about many winding halls, before exiting onto a balcony overlooking a city with lights mere twinkling stars, indicating early morning.
The Predator sits, in his boxers, on the railing, gazing pensively out at the urban expanse. The beauty sidles up to him, kisses his cheek, and smiles.
"Couldn't sleep?"
He barely acknowledges her for several seconds, and then leans into her slightly. "Oh no. I slept. That's the problem."
She frowns. "Bad dream?"
He shivers. "You could say that."
She rubs his back. "Is this about teaming with Matt Hawk next week?"
He shakes his head. "I hate the fucker's guts. But we're both top shelf talent. We can keep it together long enough to win this match. After which, all bets are off."
She nods, and yawns. "I'm tired, big guy. Long night. You remember. I'm going back to bed."
He nods, his eyes still focused elsewhere. "Sleep well."
She goes to leave, but is stopped once more by his call. "Lana...This stays between us. Don't tell John. This, with a manager...It's not what champions do. Let me win that belt before we..."
She looks crushed, but recovers quickly and nods blankly, before returning to the labyrinthine hallway. Predator returns to looking pensively out at his property, and reaches for his phone, sitting on a patio table. He presses some buttons on his touch screen, and then speaks into it, like a recorder.
"Family has always been an elusive concept for me. But it's time I looked at it long and hard. I have gone years using a name given to me by a family that didn't want me. I was lucky enough to end up with a family that did. That means everything. So, personal note; Change your last name in the registries. My name, my family name, the name of my brother: Dylan Rogers."
Blackout