Post by Corey Bull on Nov 28, 2019 21:15:22 GMT -5
OFF CAMERA
There is no Hemicuda. Instead, Corey Bull is sitting in what looks like an average black sedan. He is parked on some street in what looks like downtown Dallas. It’s 1 am by the clock on the dash and the monster sits...watching. His mask just smiles that smile...what lies beneath is unknown. Is there emotion? Is there any remorse for the things he has done..for the things he will most likely do? No answer is forthcoming from the mask. Sitting next to him is the mannequin of Lissie. Bulls focus is not within the confines of the sedan, but rather to a street corner ahead of him. There, a man seems to be talking to several women. Bulls voice sounds emotionless as the words roll out of the mask.
“Pimps. Fucking insects.”
The man watches the girls leave, but pulls one back, and not friendly. Her “friends” quickly move along and take up spots down the road. But the man seems to be aggressively speaking with the woman, who then seems to start speaking back. The man, fast as can be, slaps her across the face, never letting go of her arm.
The monster in the mask, moves forward in his seat.
Flash to a hospital room in a mental institute. Not your normal room, but the person we see from the eyes of the Hatebringer lets us know where we are. It is Dove Darkhawk, Bulls youngest sister. Dove hasn’t left this room for over seventeen years. When she was just a girl of eighteen, Dove was driving home and hit by a drunk driver. The man t-boned her car and cause massive damage to the girls mind. And now, all these years, she physically ages, but her mind remains that of a twelve year old girl. So the room is more like a little girls bedroom. My Little Ponies dominate shelves and a dresser on one side of the room. The windows have those little glass paint by number things you can hang up and the sun shines through. Pink is the dominant color here, as the bed looks more fit for a princess then a patient. Bull must be standing at the door, for we are seeing things through his eyes. And we are watching a children's program where one kid appears to be being mean to another kid, a little girl..
“That boy is a meanie head! You should find him Bully and stop him from hurting that girl.”
“Would that make you happier Dove?”
“Yes! My Bully is always there to protect me. And you protect others. I saw you on the wrasslin show. Yep, told all my friends here how you helped that woman. That’s my Bully.”
We are back with the monster in the sedan. The monster in the mask tilts his head ever so slightly. The mask comes off, revealing the face of a monster hardened by many years of brutality. His face is clean shaven for the first time in many years. Shockingly, there is a decently handsome man under the scruff and scars. He sets the mask down and opens the door.
“I’ll be right back Lissie. Don’t go driving all over.”
He walks across the street casually, aiming for an area not occupied by working girls. The man is walking in the opposite direction of his girls and rounds a corner, the large figure of the Hatebringer following right behind him. They walk down the block a ways before the man steps off into an alley and Bull follows.
“Excuse me, I was told you were the man to talk to about purchasing many party favors.”
The man turns around and eyes up Bull.
“And who da fuck told ya that?”
“One of those fine ladies out there. I understand that they are your employees?”
The man scoffs. He pulls out what looks like a dillinger, the gun aimed squarely at the chest of Bull.
“Those be my bitches and they be my property. So yeah, those cunts were right telling you that I am the man to talk to.”
A flash to a tall dark haired woman. Raven Darkhawk, the other sister. She is standing with her boot on the chest of some guy in what looks like a parking lot.
“So Jacob, it's really simple. You pay us the money you owe our Uncle Vlad and we in return, do not remove your limbs from your body and beat you to death with them."
The man on the ground spits on Ravens boot.
“Fuck you cunt!”
Raven grins in a way that screams run.
“I think I am going to let my brother show you what happens to men that call women cunts.”
We slowly get closer to the guy….
...and just like that we are back to the current time. A shot rings out in the night. And it hits the monster in the chest, but seemingly does nothing to slow him down. His hand envelopes the guys face and he is shifted at high velocity into the nearest wall. One smack, two smack, and then the sound of a melon smashing on the pavement. Against the brick building, the man we simply know as a pimp, slides a bloody slide down the wall. Whatever remains of his face is partially on the brick wall. Bull looks down, as if he sees nothing more than a bag of garbage, and plucks the large gold chain that says “Pimp” on it off the man. He looks at it in the light and shrugs, then down to the pile of pimp. The necklace slides into a pocket and the man is lifted up and tosses into a nearby dumpster, the top closing when the man bounces off of it. Bull turns from the mess and he slips the hood up. Walking to the sedan, no one stops him, no one says so much as hi to him. The girls continue to work their wares to men in vehicles that are pulling over or driving up the street.
Bull slides into the sedan, reaching over and slipping the mask back over his face. He opens the leather jacket, slides up his shirt with a bullet hole and underneath is a bullet proof vest, the dillinger’s bullet smashed into a compact little metal button. Bull plucks it from the vest and it too slides into a pocket. He slides down the shirt and zips up the jacket and grabs the keys. His voice doesn’t speak of happiness or anger, just nothing.
“You feel like Chinese? I feel like Chinese.”
Bull starts the sedan and drives off into the night.
ON CAMERA
**Somewhere outside San Antonio. A small home that sits on a ton of empty land. The house itself seems to be, for lack of a better term, in disarray. The external of the home screams nightmare, as it is a mismatch of siding and bare board covered in felt paper here and there. Shingles not held down like they use to be lift up as the wind whips them. Inside this shack, things are much better, but still anything but great. Furniture tarps cover most of the furniture in here, a layer of dust that tells the world they have been covered for a very long time. A workbench lamp light shines from one side of the room, where a large figure sits. On the wall, in what is obviously three fresh nails in the wall, is a silver switchblade sitting on two of them and a thick gold necklace with the word “pimp” hanging from the third. A flip phone, the kind that police like to call a burner sits next to Bull along with some other electronic device. And sitting next to Bull on a chair is the Lissie Hope mannequin.**
**Bull seems to be humming, but there is no joy in it. It's more methodical, as if he is working something through his mind or is keeping himself occupied. Bull stops humming and picks up the electronic device and holds a button on it. He flips open the phone and dials a number, putting the phone on speaker. It rings and rings, finally going to voicemail.**
“Hey it’s Lissie, you know what to do.”
BEEP
**Bulls voice comes out obviously masked.**
“Hello Lissie. Do you like scary movies? Don’t worry, I’ll just come get my answer soon.”
**Bull hangs up the phone and sets the device down. He turns to the mannequin.**
“I can’t believe you didn’t pick up the phone. Lazy. Like Joke boy. Just fucking lazy.”
**Bull spins around in the chair and looks directly at the camera.**
“Lazy. That is a common theme of this new generation of social justice warriors. It isn’t a theme that they are pushing...just a theme that they are living. We deserve this...we want that...gimme gimme gimme. But don’t expect them to lift a finger beyond the rattling of their keyboards. That might offend them if you suggest they actually put their backs into something.”
**Bulls masked head shakes slowly back and forth. His voice continues to spew out, void of anything that resembles emotion.**
“He told us all about these people...how they are taking over and driving hard working individuals into the dirt. Pushing agendas that make those who haven’t done a single thing but worked hard their entire life...and forcing them to now struggle in a swamp mired with people who believe they are privileged to do nothing. Sexism is now a weapon. Racism is now a weapon. But it isn’t a weapon wielded by the just...it is wielded by soft and lazy. They believe that no matter who you are...you are guilty of these crimes by simple existing.”
**Bull’s right hand is in a fist on the table and you can hear him crack the knuckles he is squeezing his hand so hard. But the voice continues to come out with no emotion**
“He was right about you Masuda. He told us how you would fail more than succeed because you are not emotionally or physically prepared for what lies in front of you. And now you stand across from me. A monster that doesn’t care that your a pansexual...or some supposed voice of the future. The only thing we care about...is the amount of punishment we are going to dish out. Others...they might want to make a statement. How this is simply proof that the new generation of youth growing up in today's society is void of any real potential. Our statement...will be something a lot less political and correct. It will be straightforward and definitive...you are not ready for a monster like me. Physically...emotionally...or mentally.”
**Bulls hand relaxes, you can see that there is blood returning to the whitened part of his fist. But again...his voice hasn’t changed.**
“I normally would say you have no one to blame but yourself. But that would be wrong. For what is going to happen to you, for the things that I am going to do...well for that you can blame HER. But for what you have done...for the things you will do...that harm you cause, intentional or otherwise...that is all on you and the world. And this world...this country...needs to remember how it got to this point. It wasn’t on the back of people sitting behind a computer and screaming about the injustices of the world. It was from the backs of hard working people..people that dealt with their problems right up front. HE told us that the time is coming...that the reckoning was on its way. Until then...we will destroy anyone and everyone that gets in our way.”
**Bull stands, turning to the wall. He pulls the necklace and switchblade off of the wall and slides them into his leather jacket. He yanks the cord out of the wall, sending the world into darkness, but his footsteps are easy to follow, the darkness not complete enough that one can’t tell Bull is walking towards the camera as it backs up and out the door. Bull stops at the entrance and turns, pulling a matchbook out of his pocket. With a snap that echoes within the ears and mind, a match flares to life and lands on the ground just within the door. Fire starts to blaze up as the shed like house begins to burn. Bull turns, closing the door behind him**
“On Monday...I will walk into the ring...I will take you apart...and I will burn the new world with the strength of the old. And then you can write a blog or send some tweets or whatever the fuck it is you new world warriors do. Because in the end...it won’t fucking matter.”
**Bull walks away from the spreading blaze, climbing into his Hemicuda and taking off, as the camera fades to black**
OFF CAMERA
Local Dallas man found dead in dumpsters behind restaurants.
There is no Hemicuda. Instead, Corey Bull is sitting in what looks like an average black sedan. He is parked on some street in what looks like downtown Dallas. It’s 1 am by the clock on the dash and the monster sits...watching. His mask just smiles that smile...what lies beneath is unknown. Is there emotion? Is there any remorse for the things he has done..for the things he will most likely do? No answer is forthcoming from the mask. Sitting next to him is the mannequin of Lissie. Bulls focus is not within the confines of the sedan, but rather to a street corner ahead of him. There, a man seems to be talking to several women. Bulls voice sounds emotionless as the words roll out of the mask.
“Pimps. Fucking insects.”
The man watches the girls leave, but pulls one back, and not friendly. Her “friends” quickly move along and take up spots down the road. But the man seems to be aggressively speaking with the woman, who then seems to start speaking back. The man, fast as can be, slaps her across the face, never letting go of her arm.
The monster in the mask, moves forward in his seat.
Flash to a hospital room in a mental institute. Not your normal room, but the person we see from the eyes of the Hatebringer lets us know where we are. It is Dove Darkhawk, Bulls youngest sister. Dove hasn’t left this room for over seventeen years. When she was just a girl of eighteen, Dove was driving home and hit by a drunk driver. The man t-boned her car and cause massive damage to the girls mind. And now, all these years, she physically ages, but her mind remains that of a twelve year old girl. So the room is more like a little girls bedroom. My Little Ponies dominate shelves and a dresser on one side of the room. The windows have those little glass paint by number things you can hang up and the sun shines through. Pink is the dominant color here, as the bed looks more fit for a princess then a patient. Bull must be standing at the door, for we are seeing things through his eyes. And we are watching a children's program where one kid appears to be being mean to another kid, a little girl..
“That boy is a meanie head! You should find him Bully and stop him from hurting that girl.”
“Would that make you happier Dove?”
“Yes! My Bully is always there to protect me. And you protect others. I saw you on the wrasslin show. Yep, told all my friends here how you helped that woman. That’s my Bully.”
We are back with the monster in the sedan. The monster in the mask tilts his head ever so slightly. The mask comes off, revealing the face of a monster hardened by many years of brutality. His face is clean shaven for the first time in many years. Shockingly, there is a decently handsome man under the scruff and scars. He sets the mask down and opens the door.
“I’ll be right back Lissie. Don’t go driving all over.”
He walks across the street casually, aiming for an area not occupied by working girls. The man is walking in the opposite direction of his girls and rounds a corner, the large figure of the Hatebringer following right behind him. They walk down the block a ways before the man steps off into an alley and Bull follows.
“Excuse me, I was told you were the man to talk to about purchasing many party favors.”
The man turns around and eyes up Bull.
“And who da fuck told ya that?”
“One of those fine ladies out there. I understand that they are your employees?”
The man scoffs. He pulls out what looks like a dillinger, the gun aimed squarely at the chest of Bull.
“Those be my bitches and they be my property. So yeah, those cunts were right telling you that I am the man to talk to.”
A flash to a tall dark haired woman. Raven Darkhawk, the other sister. She is standing with her boot on the chest of some guy in what looks like a parking lot.
“So Jacob, it's really simple. You pay us the money you owe our Uncle Vlad and we in return, do not remove your limbs from your body and beat you to death with them."
The man on the ground spits on Ravens boot.
“Fuck you cunt!”
Raven grins in a way that screams run.
“I think I am going to let my brother show you what happens to men that call women cunts.”
We slowly get closer to the guy….
...and just like that we are back to the current time. A shot rings out in the night. And it hits the monster in the chest, but seemingly does nothing to slow him down. His hand envelopes the guys face and he is shifted at high velocity into the nearest wall. One smack, two smack, and then the sound of a melon smashing on the pavement. Against the brick building, the man we simply know as a pimp, slides a bloody slide down the wall. Whatever remains of his face is partially on the brick wall. Bull looks down, as if he sees nothing more than a bag of garbage, and plucks the large gold chain that says “Pimp” on it off the man. He looks at it in the light and shrugs, then down to the pile of pimp. The necklace slides into a pocket and the man is lifted up and tosses into a nearby dumpster, the top closing when the man bounces off of it. Bull turns from the mess and he slips the hood up. Walking to the sedan, no one stops him, no one says so much as hi to him. The girls continue to work their wares to men in vehicles that are pulling over or driving up the street.
Bull slides into the sedan, reaching over and slipping the mask back over his face. He opens the leather jacket, slides up his shirt with a bullet hole and underneath is a bullet proof vest, the dillinger’s bullet smashed into a compact little metal button. Bull plucks it from the vest and it too slides into a pocket. He slides down the shirt and zips up the jacket and grabs the keys. His voice doesn’t speak of happiness or anger, just nothing.
“You feel like Chinese? I feel like Chinese.”
Bull starts the sedan and drives off into the night.
ON CAMERA
**Somewhere outside San Antonio. A small home that sits on a ton of empty land. The house itself seems to be, for lack of a better term, in disarray. The external of the home screams nightmare, as it is a mismatch of siding and bare board covered in felt paper here and there. Shingles not held down like they use to be lift up as the wind whips them. Inside this shack, things are much better, but still anything but great. Furniture tarps cover most of the furniture in here, a layer of dust that tells the world they have been covered for a very long time. A workbench lamp light shines from one side of the room, where a large figure sits. On the wall, in what is obviously three fresh nails in the wall, is a silver switchblade sitting on two of them and a thick gold necklace with the word “pimp” hanging from the third. A flip phone, the kind that police like to call a burner sits next to Bull along with some other electronic device. And sitting next to Bull on a chair is the Lissie Hope mannequin.**
**Bull seems to be humming, but there is no joy in it. It's more methodical, as if he is working something through his mind or is keeping himself occupied. Bull stops humming and picks up the electronic device and holds a button on it. He flips open the phone and dials a number, putting the phone on speaker. It rings and rings, finally going to voicemail.**
“Hey it’s Lissie, you know what to do.”
BEEP
**Bulls voice comes out obviously masked.**
“Hello Lissie. Do you like scary movies? Don’t worry, I’ll just come get my answer soon.”
**Bull hangs up the phone and sets the device down. He turns to the mannequin.**
“I can’t believe you didn’t pick up the phone. Lazy. Like Joke boy. Just fucking lazy.”
**Bull spins around in the chair and looks directly at the camera.**
“Lazy. That is a common theme of this new generation of social justice warriors. It isn’t a theme that they are pushing...just a theme that they are living. We deserve this...we want that...gimme gimme gimme. But don’t expect them to lift a finger beyond the rattling of their keyboards. That might offend them if you suggest they actually put their backs into something.”
**Bulls masked head shakes slowly back and forth. His voice continues to spew out, void of anything that resembles emotion.**
“He told us all about these people...how they are taking over and driving hard working individuals into the dirt. Pushing agendas that make those who haven’t done a single thing but worked hard their entire life...and forcing them to now struggle in a swamp mired with people who believe they are privileged to do nothing. Sexism is now a weapon. Racism is now a weapon. But it isn’t a weapon wielded by the just...it is wielded by soft and lazy. They believe that no matter who you are...you are guilty of these crimes by simple existing.”
**Bull’s right hand is in a fist on the table and you can hear him crack the knuckles he is squeezing his hand so hard. But the voice continues to come out with no emotion**
“He was right about you Masuda. He told us how you would fail more than succeed because you are not emotionally or physically prepared for what lies in front of you. And now you stand across from me. A monster that doesn’t care that your a pansexual...or some supposed voice of the future. The only thing we care about...is the amount of punishment we are going to dish out. Others...they might want to make a statement. How this is simply proof that the new generation of youth growing up in today's society is void of any real potential. Our statement...will be something a lot less political and correct. It will be straightforward and definitive...you are not ready for a monster like me. Physically...emotionally...or mentally.”
**Bulls hand relaxes, you can see that there is blood returning to the whitened part of his fist. But again...his voice hasn’t changed.**
“I normally would say you have no one to blame but yourself. But that would be wrong. For what is going to happen to you, for the things that I am going to do...well for that you can blame HER. But for what you have done...for the things you will do...that harm you cause, intentional or otherwise...that is all on you and the world. And this world...this country...needs to remember how it got to this point. It wasn’t on the back of people sitting behind a computer and screaming about the injustices of the world. It was from the backs of hard working people..people that dealt with their problems right up front. HE told us that the time is coming...that the reckoning was on its way. Until then...we will destroy anyone and everyone that gets in our way.”
**Bull stands, turning to the wall. He pulls the necklace and switchblade off of the wall and slides them into his leather jacket. He yanks the cord out of the wall, sending the world into darkness, but his footsteps are easy to follow, the darkness not complete enough that one can’t tell Bull is walking towards the camera as it backs up and out the door. Bull stops at the entrance and turns, pulling a matchbook out of his pocket. With a snap that echoes within the ears and mind, a match flares to life and lands on the ground just within the door. Fire starts to blaze up as the shed like house begins to burn. Bull turns, closing the door behind him**
“On Monday...I will walk into the ring...I will take you apart...and I will burn the new world with the strength of the old. And then you can write a blog or send some tweets or whatever the fuck it is you new world warriors do. Because in the end...it won’t fucking matter.”
**Bull walks away from the spreading blaze, climbing into his Hemicuda and taking off, as the camera fades to black**
OFF CAMERA
Local Dallas man found dead in dumpsters behind restaurants.
By Scarlet Lavey
Police were called down to Dicks Last Resort on North Lamar street this morning after a bus boy found a body in a dumpster. While no details are forthcoming, the individual found was identified as Tyler Nixon, known to the locals at “BD”.
We spoke with several individuals this morning that knew Tyler. He was known for his hot temper and the ability to rub people the wrong way. More on this as details are forthcoming.
Police were called down to Dicks Last Resort on North Lamar street this morning after a bus boy found a body in a dumpster. While no details are forthcoming, the individual found was identified as Tyler Nixon, known to the locals at “BD”.
We spoke with several individuals this morning that knew Tyler. He was known for his hot temper and the ability to rub people the wrong way. More on this as details are forthcoming.