A New Prison (vs. Regan and Black)
Jan 14, 2022 13:25:55 GMT -5
Johnny Bacchus and Vanessa Rivers like this
Post by Max f'n Daemon on Jan 14, 2022 13:25:55 GMT -5
The lights are off.
The only illumination the room allows is the streetlight outside shining into this nothing hotel room.
Max sits on the bed, breathing hard but otherwise containing any twitches or sweats.
Eventually, the door to the room opens. Max looks over and spots his Doctor. The two lock eyes for a few moments with Doc not moving.
Doc approaches Max, giving him a hug that the latter just falls into.
The two remain like that for a few moments before separating.
“Is this something that you have to do?” Doc asks.
“I’ve been away from the Group for too long. Dad told me I needed ta' do something, and unfortunately, this something is this,” Max says.
They touch foreheads and stare into the other’s eyes.
Their lips meet for a moment that is elongated only by desire.
Max is the one to back away.
He stands up, keeping Doc in his arms for a few moments before stepping back.
Doc raises their hand, offering Max his pair of pistols. Max nods, taking them in his grasp and placing them in his pants pockets.
He gives Doc another quick peck on the lips before approaching the door.
“Stay here. If Paddy calls, tell him I’m occupied elsewhere for a while. I don’t expect this ta' take that long, but if it does, I want ya' safe,” Max says.
Doc just nods.
Max smirks—more for himself—before closing the door.
-------------------------------------------------------------
“Why are we working overtime for this?” Rebecca asks.
Max, Rebecca, and Nathan all find themselves on a speedboat fast approaching a steadily growing island. They can see a beach and bunch of trees, but what stands out is the single black tower standing in the middle, viewable from the skyline far before they reached it.
“With David deciding to step down as the Group’s leader, everybody is in a hurry to figure out some sort of plan to replace him. Unfortunately, certain things have fallen through the cracks. This situation is one of them,” Nathan says.
“And ya’ brought me back in because…?” Max asks.
“It was Lapis, actually. She wanted to know where you stood, and since you are still technically part of the Group, we needed to get you back involved,” Nathan answers.
Rebecca lets out a sigh before adding her own two cents.
“Look, I know you’re busier than shit right now and this is far from the best time—”
“Ya’ think?” Max asks rhetorically.
“—but they think this might be best suited towards your…history.”
Max doesn’t respond.
He just stares at the beach they are steadily approaching.
“If my history is really what’s at play here, then unknown help the fuckwad we’re about ta' face,” he says.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The trio land on the island and spend no time making haste towards the tower.
It doesn’t take them that long to traverse the thick layer of trees and leaves to reach the wide base of the tower.
Whilst Max gazes up at the few birds circling the tower’s peak, Nathan and Rebecca attempt to locate an entrance.
It’s Rebecca who accidentally clicks a trigger embedded into its wall.
Unexpectedly, a door opens from the ground up, revealing an…empty room. The floor, walls, and ceiling is all black, and save for bright white lights on the walls to illuminate the place, all that the first floor contains is a set of stairs.
The three share a familiar familial look before they all take out their two handguns.
The Trio of Two Hands are on the clock.
Rebecca is chosen to stay on the bottom floor, playing both as look out and to investigate if there’s anything of note. This leaves Nathan and Max to make the trek up the tall tower.
A solid half hour passes before they reach a floor with a window. It’s just an opening in the wall, but Nathan stares out of it towards the ground, gauging how high they are.
The answer is pretty fucking high.
He looks up towards the top of the tower.
“We are about halfway up. I am going to look around the next few floors to see if there is anything at all that we are missing. Go on ahead. If you see anything, do not hesitate in calling me,” he says.
“I got it, Dad,” Max says.
He preps his two pistols for a few moments before continuing his trek up the tower’s ridiculous number of steps.
It’s here that Max makes his words known.
“Lissie Hope can rot in hell for all I care.
I’m sure John feels the same way about Odin, and I bet Regan’s hopin Downfall can join ‘em.
But unlike those two, I’m not on some journey. I don’t have any plans in AW at the moment. Everythin I’ve been doin is ta' get ta' March and defeat McGregor. Lissie called me out for it, but yeah, this is all filler ta’ me.
Unlike Black I don’t give a fuck if I’m losin title opportunities.
Unlike Regan I don’t give a fuck about losin Wrestler of the Year.
Ya’ know what I really give a fuck about right now?
Keepin momentum goin inta’ March.
Because ya’ know what this match is?
It’s a fuckin pity match for those that lost last week.
I lost ta’ Lis.
Regan lost ta’ Vanguard.
Black lost ta’ Odin.
Now I’ve never faced Vanguard—and we’ll get ta’ Regan in a bit, don’t worry—but I’ve faced Odin.
Correction: I’ve beaten Odin. Motherfucker with a God complex who thinks he’s unbeatable?
I’ve scratched that immortal in the cheek and made him fuckin bleed.
Black couldn’t even put the guy through the table, let alone pin him or make him tap out. At least I could do that. And that was when Odin came after me. I never expected to be facin Odin, yet there I was.
And I fuckin beat him.
Who the fuck has Black beat?
He beat Der Metzger for the TV Title, that was ace.
But since then, can John Black say he’s been a winner? Can anybody look at John Black and say that he’s the kinda guy who deserves ta’ walk away from any match, let alone one with me and Regan in it as victorious?
Let me save ya’ some time: no, ya’ fuckin idiot.
John Black calls himself The Underground King, well, I know another King of the Underground who did more with less spotlight. A King who deserved his crown and kept on earnin it.
He didn’t choke when the time was right. He didn’t lose his title and then fail ta' regain it in short order.
If John Black thinks that he’s on the rise, he’s more delusional and stuck in their own fantasy than…well, I’m sura ya’ can guess where I’m goin with that.
Me? I’m on the rise. I’ve got plans for the future and right now it’s all momentum and advertisements baby.
I don’t give enough of a fuck about Black ta' consider him anythin more than a guy who couldn’t beat Odin.
And if ya’ can’t beat Odin, then get the fuck outta my way.
Besides, I’m more interested in Regan.
And yeah, she’s hot, that’s a nice fuckin thing to note, but who the fuck cares about looks when their actions speak for themselves?
I’m sure she’s got a laundry list of shit she can use on me because it seems that people love ta' just label me with bullshit and falsehoods and it seems ta' actually work in their favor, but here’s the thing about Regan.
She’s more methodical than that. She plans ahead. She’s smart, definitely a genius.
And yeah, she dominated CruiserClash, and I could easily give her credit for makin that brand her bitch for so long.
But we all fuckin know how I feel about CruiserClash, and even if she isn’t on that show anymore, I’ll gladly consider her still on their level.
Because she didn’t end last year as the Wrestler of the Year.
She ended last year as Cruiserweight of the Year.
Which is kinda like bein the Bridesmaid of the Year.
Your role mighta had attention, but the show was never about ya’.
And ain’t that just fittin?
Clash is a goddamn minefield of people lookin ta’ claim that spot. We’ve got guys in the top tier who are lookin ta' make that leap to the next level, and all it will take is just that one moment, that one match that’ll do it for ‘em.
Unlike CruiserClash, you’re not a Queen starin down a buncha peasants all tryin to scratch and claw just ta' lay a fingernail on your title.
This is Clash. The big show, the big time, the premiere broadcast of AW.
And between ya' focusin on this partnership with Jill and your recent chokejobs, I think it’s safe ta' say that you’re not bein put on any breakout list.
Unlike me.
I’ve been a breakout star since I got here. I was a Top 30 wrestler after only bein here for two fuckin months.
I was top 20 last year and anybody who denies what I’ve done or belittles any of my accomplishments are jus tryin ta’ find ways ta' fool themselves.
Underestimatin anybody is a mistake.
Underestimatin me is your last mistake.
So I’ll say it: Regan is good. She’s dominatin and a evil fuckin genius.
But in case it wasn’t clear: I don’t give an iota of a fuck right now.
I want this win and I will claim it.
And if Regan or Black think they have what it takes ta' take it from me, than by all means, give it a shot.
But I’m Max fuckin Daemon.
And if the name of the game in a 3-way is survivin?
Than boy and girl…you’re lookin at the Survivor.”
Max reaches the top of the stairs. Once there, he sees a single metal door.
Its gray and rust are out of place on an otherwise solid wall of black.
He approaches it, grasping the handle tightly
He wrenches down and throws the door open, quickly aiming into the room…
…where he sees a man in a black suit trench coat, sitting in a black office chair. He has gray slacks and black dress shoes. His blue gloves are holding a black scabbard with a black handle.
But what Max’s eyes are widened and locked in on is the white hair and smirking face staring back at him.
The man in the office chair just smirks harder at Max’s surprise.
The pistol in his right-hand drops to the floor, allowing Max to pick up his phone. Without removing his eyes, he dials a number.
After a few moments, it picks up.
“Hey Dad, get your ass up here now. You need to—” he stops himself with a quick shake of his head, bringing the accent back. “Ya’ need ta’ see this.”
He hangs up and puts the phone away. He keeps the pistol in his left hand aimed at the man in the chair.
“Oh come on now…is this any way to treat your brother?” the white haired man asks.
The pistol in Max’s left hand hits the ground soon after.
“What the fuck are you doing here Vergil?” Max asks.
“Aw…no accent for me?”
Max’s fists clench for a few moments. He looks around the room.
It's different. White walls, white ceiling, white floors.
Actual glass in the windows.
He looks back at the door he entered and spots the device on the inside of it.
A lock.
“This…was a prison?” Max asks.
He hears a noise and turns around, aiming a gun that isn’t there.
Virgil approaches, his sword in the chair. He opens his arms and smile.
“Come on Dante…it’s me…actually me…” he says.
Hesitantly and with more confusion than anything, Max closes the gap and accepts the embrace.
The only illumination the room allows is the streetlight outside shining into this nothing hotel room.
Max sits on the bed, breathing hard but otherwise containing any twitches or sweats.
Eventually, the door to the room opens. Max looks over and spots his Doctor. The two lock eyes for a few moments with Doc not moving.
Doc approaches Max, giving him a hug that the latter just falls into.
The two remain like that for a few moments before separating.
“Is this something that you have to do?” Doc asks.
“I’ve been away from the Group for too long. Dad told me I needed ta' do something, and unfortunately, this something is this,” Max says.
They touch foreheads and stare into the other’s eyes.
Their lips meet for a moment that is elongated only by desire.
Max is the one to back away.
He stands up, keeping Doc in his arms for a few moments before stepping back.
Doc raises their hand, offering Max his pair of pistols. Max nods, taking them in his grasp and placing them in his pants pockets.
He gives Doc another quick peck on the lips before approaching the door.
“Stay here. If Paddy calls, tell him I’m occupied elsewhere for a while. I don’t expect this ta' take that long, but if it does, I want ya' safe,” Max says.
Doc just nods.
Max smirks—more for himself—before closing the door.
-------------------------------------------------------------
“Why are we working overtime for this?” Rebecca asks.
Max, Rebecca, and Nathan all find themselves on a speedboat fast approaching a steadily growing island. They can see a beach and bunch of trees, but what stands out is the single black tower standing in the middle, viewable from the skyline far before they reached it.
“With David deciding to step down as the Group’s leader, everybody is in a hurry to figure out some sort of plan to replace him. Unfortunately, certain things have fallen through the cracks. This situation is one of them,” Nathan says.
“And ya’ brought me back in because…?” Max asks.
“It was Lapis, actually. She wanted to know where you stood, and since you are still technically part of the Group, we needed to get you back involved,” Nathan answers.
Rebecca lets out a sigh before adding her own two cents.
“Look, I know you’re busier than shit right now and this is far from the best time—”
“Ya’ think?” Max asks rhetorically.
“—but they think this might be best suited towards your…history.”
Max doesn’t respond.
He just stares at the beach they are steadily approaching.
“If my history is really what’s at play here, then unknown help the fuckwad we’re about ta' face,” he says.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The trio land on the island and spend no time making haste towards the tower.
It doesn’t take them that long to traverse the thick layer of trees and leaves to reach the wide base of the tower.
Whilst Max gazes up at the few birds circling the tower’s peak, Nathan and Rebecca attempt to locate an entrance.
It’s Rebecca who accidentally clicks a trigger embedded into its wall.
Unexpectedly, a door opens from the ground up, revealing an…empty room. The floor, walls, and ceiling is all black, and save for bright white lights on the walls to illuminate the place, all that the first floor contains is a set of stairs.
The three share a familiar familial look before they all take out their two handguns.
The Trio of Two Hands are on the clock.
Rebecca is chosen to stay on the bottom floor, playing both as look out and to investigate if there’s anything of note. This leaves Nathan and Max to make the trek up the tall tower.
A solid half hour passes before they reach a floor with a window. It’s just an opening in the wall, but Nathan stares out of it towards the ground, gauging how high they are.
The answer is pretty fucking high.
He looks up towards the top of the tower.
“We are about halfway up. I am going to look around the next few floors to see if there is anything at all that we are missing. Go on ahead. If you see anything, do not hesitate in calling me,” he says.
“I got it, Dad,” Max says.
He preps his two pistols for a few moments before continuing his trek up the tower’s ridiculous number of steps.
It’s here that Max makes his words known.
“Lissie Hope can rot in hell for all I care.
I’m sure John feels the same way about Odin, and I bet Regan’s hopin Downfall can join ‘em.
But unlike those two, I’m not on some journey. I don’t have any plans in AW at the moment. Everythin I’ve been doin is ta' get ta' March and defeat McGregor. Lissie called me out for it, but yeah, this is all filler ta’ me.
Unlike Black I don’t give a fuck if I’m losin title opportunities.
Unlike Regan I don’t give a fuck about losin Wrestler of the Year.
Ya’ know what I really give a fuck about right now?
Keepin momentum goin inta’ March.
Because ya’ know what this match is?
It’s a fuckin pity match for those that lost last week.
I lost ta’ Lis.
Regan lost ta’ Vanguard.
Black lost ta’ Odin.
Now I’ve never faced Vanguard—and we’ll get ta’ Regan in a bit, don’t worry—but I’ve faced Odin.
Correction: I’ve beaten Odin. Motherfucker with a God complex who thinks he’s unbeatable?
I’ve scratched that immortal in the cheek and made him fuckin bleed.
Black couldn’t even put the guy through the table, let alone pin him or make him tap out. At least I could do that. And that was when Odin came after me. I never expected to be facin Odin, yet there I was.
And I fuckin beat him.
Who the fuck has Black beat?
He beat Der Metzger for the TV Title, that was ace.
But since then, can John Black say he’s been a winner? Can anybody look at John Black and say that he’s the kinda guy who deserves ta’ walk away from any match, let alone one with me and Regan in it as victorious?
Let me save ya’ some time: no, ya’ fuckin idiot.
John Black calls himself The Underground King, well, I know another King of the Underground who did more with less spotlight. A King who deserved his crown and kept on earnin it.
He didn’t choke when the time was right. He didn’t lose his title and then fail ta' regain it in short order.
If John Black thinks that he’s on the rise, he’s more delusional and stuck in their own fantasy than…well, I’m sura ya’ can guess where I’m goin with that.
Me? I’m on the rise. I’ve got plans for the future and right now it’s all momentum and advertisements baby.
I don’t give enough of a fuck about Black ta' consider him anythin more than a guy who couldn’t beat Odin.
And if ya’ can’t beat Odin, then get the fuck outta my way.
Besides, I’m more interested in Regan.
And yeah, she’s hot, that’s a nice fuckin thing to note, but who the fuck cares about looks when their actions speak for themselves?
I’m sure she’s got a laundry list of shit she can use on me because it seems that people love ta' just label me with bullshit and falsehoods and it seems ta' actually work in their favor, but here’s the thing about Regan.
She’s more methodical than that. She plans ahead. She’s smart, definitely a genius.
And yeah, she dominated CruiserClash, and I could easily give her credit for makin that brand her bitch for so long.
But we all fuckin know how I feel about CruiserClash, and even if she isn’t on that show anymore, I’ll gladly consider her still on their level.
Because she didn’t end last year as the Wrestler of the Year.
She ended last year as Cruiserweight of the Year.
Which is kinda like bein the Bridesmaid of the Year.
Your role mighta had attention, but the show was never about ya’.
And ain’t that just fittin?
Clash is a goddamn minefield of people lookin ta’ claim that spot. We’ve got guys in the top tier who are lookin ta' make that leap to the next level, and all it will take is just that one moment, that one match that’ll do it for ‘em.
Unlike CruiserClash, you’re not a Queen starin down a buncha peasants all tryin to scratch and claw just ta' lay a fingernail on your title.
This is Clash. The big show, the big time, the premiere broadcast of AW.
And between ya' focusin on this partnership with Jill and your recent chokejobs, I think it’s safe ta' say that you’re not bein put on any breakout list.
Unlike me.
I’ve been a breakout star since I got here. I was a Top 30 wrestler after only bein here for two fuckin months.
I was top 20 last year and anybody who denies what I’ve done or belittles any of my accomplishments are jus tryin ta’ find ways ta' fool themselves.
Underestimatin anybody is a mistake.
Underestimatin me is your last mistake.
So I’ll say it: Regan is good. She’s dominatin and a evil fuckin genius.
But in case it wasn’t clear: I don’t give an iota of a fuck right now.
I want this win and I will claim it.
And if Regan or Black think they have what it takes ta' take it from me, than by all means, give it a shot.
But I’m Max fuckin Daemon.
And if the name of the game in a 3-way is survivin?
Than boy and girl…you’re lookin at the Survivor.”
Max reaches the top of the stairs. Once there, he sees a single metal door.
Its gray and rust are out of place on an otherwise solid wall of black.
He approaches it, grasping the handle tightly
He wrenches down and throws the door open, quickly aiming into the room…
…where he sees a man in a black suit trench coat, sitting in a black office chair. He has gray slacks and black dress shoes. His blue gloves are holding a black scabbard with a black handle.
But what Max’s eyes are widened and locked in on is the white hair and smirking face staring back at him.
The man in the office chair just smirks harder at Max’s surprise.
The pistol in his right-hand drops to the floor, allowing Max to pick up his phone. Without removing his eyes, he dials a number.
After a few moments, it picks up.
“Hey Dad, get your ass up here now. You need to—” he stops himself with a quick shake of his head, bringing the accent back. “Ya’ need ta’ see this.”
He hangs up and puts the phone away. He keeps the pistol in his left hand aimed at the man in the chair.
“Oh come on now…is this any way to treat your brother?” the white haired man asks.
The pistol in Max’s left hand hits the ground soon after.
“What the fuck are you doing here Vergil?” Max asks.
“Aw…no accent for me?”
Max’s fists clench for a few moments. He looks around the room.
It's different. White walls, white ceiling, white floors.
Actual glass in the windows.
He looks back at the door he entered and spots the device on the inside of it.
A lock.
“This…was a prison?” Max asks.
He hears a noise and turns around, aiming a gun that isn’t there.
Virgil approaches, his sword in the chair. He opens his arms and smile.
“Come on Dante…it’s me…actually me…” he says.
Hesitantly and with more confusion than anything, Max closes the gap and accepts the embrace.
