Welcome to the Darkness
Dec 4, 2019 13:36:11 GMT -5
The Papa John's Pizza Man, Hobo, and 2 more like this
Post by Dackle on Dec 4, 2019 13:36:11 GMT -5
The camera is focused on a clock enclosed in a wire cage, hung on a white cinder block wall. The only sound is the distinct but quiet tick...tick...tick... as the second hand makes it's way around the face. The camera slowly pans out to the empty expanse of the room. In the far left corner of the room, concealed in shadows, the faint outline of a being can be made out. For several more seconds, all that can be heard is the clock.
"Welcome... My name is Steve, but you can call me...you can call me...heh, it doesn't matter what you call me. Nothing matters. Nothing at all...at least right now..."
Rustling from the darkened corner gives way to the shadowy figure rising and coming into the light. Dackle, in nothing but a gray pair of sweat pants comes forth in front of the camera. The camera pans over his body, showing the scars, tattoos, cuts, and bruises caused by a life of abuse.
"It doesn't matter because once I get done with Boss Hog or Voss Water or whatever they are, you will call me something completely different. You will call me 'Monster.' You will call me 'demented.' You will say I am a menace, a real determent to good health and the spirit of competition this company was built on. And ya know what? You're going to be right."
Dackle reaches up and taps the light above his head. It's a lone bulb hanging from it's electrical wires. It begins to sway back and forth, throwing the light around the room in differing patterns. Dackle chuckles and begins to pace.
"I know how these things tend to go. Guys come in here into companies like this and claim to have an edge. They talk all dark and brooding and pretend to be this big bad ass bad guy who is all evil and into Satan and blah, blah, blah... It is a good technique. It's entertaining. It's easy. Hell, it works... for about a month.
Then these guys flame out, get forgotten, and get replaced by the newest dark flavor of the month. Sure, some stick around. Some stay, but they don't stay that way for that long...
It takes a special kind of human to put up that shtick for a prolonged amount of time. Hear what I just said though. 'Put up.' The problem with most of these wanna-be, self-deprecating, emo pricks is that they aren't who they claim to be. They are glorified stunt men who think they can act. Anyone can try and impersonate Brandon Lee, but most that do have their career look like Lee now, DEAD.
The difference between those Crow cosplayers and me, is I am that person. I live that life."
Dackle reaches out and grabs the camera. While holding the lens with one hand he reaches up and grabs the bulb with the other, holding the light in place.
"See this scar right here? (He points to a long diagonal scar on his chest.) When I was a POW in Afghanistan, one of my captors watched Indiana Jones and decided to see if he could use a whip like Indy. I was his target...See this round one right here? (He motions to a circular scar on his right shoulder.) I was stabbed with a piece of re bar. They used that piece of re bar while it was in my chest as a hat rack...for a full fucking week... Check out this one (Dackle holds up his left forearm.) This is where they tied my arm to the cage to keep me upright as they beat me..."
The camera pans to his face and zooms in on his expression. The intensity makes the situation uncomfortable. Once again, all that can be heard is the ticking of the clock.
"A villain is born from pain, molded by hate, and forged by opportunity. I am not pretending to be something I am not. I am not some dark guy who walks behind a curtain and completely changes. I don't take off make-up when I leave the arena and go home to my wife and three kids at the end of a cul-de-sac in suburbia. I have nothing. I have no one. I feel nothing. What I am in front of this camera and in that ring is what I am, a dark, twisted, uncaring piece of shit who cares as little for who else is in that ring as he does about himself.
I am not some flavor of the month. I am not some jerkoff who comes in all big and brooding and won't be seen again after I flame out. To flame out, you have to have a flame. Flames give off light. Flames give off warmth. You will find none of that here. You may not understand what I am saying, and honestly, I couldn't care less. In time, you will see. Then again, maybe you won't. It's hard to see without the light.
Welcome to the Darkness...
Dackle reaches up and grabs the light bulb. He squeezes it and crushes it. The room goes black. A few ticks of the clock can be heard before Dackle's evil laugh dominates the sound as the camera cuts away.
"Welcome... My name is Steve, but you can call me...you can call me...heh, it doesn't matter what you call me. Nothing matters. Nothing at all...at least right now..."
Rustling from the darkened corner gives way to the shadowy figure rising and coming into the light. Dackle, in nothing but a gray pair of sweat pants comes forth in front of the camera. The camera pans over his body, showing the scars, tattoos, cuts, and bruises caused by a life of abuse.
"It doesn't matter because once I get done with Boss Hog or Voss Water or whatever they are, you will call me something completely different. You will call me 'Monster.' You will call me 'demented.' You will say I am a menace, a real determent to good health and the spirit of competition this company was built on. And ya know what? You're going to be right."
Dackle reaches up and taps the light above his head. It's a lone bulb hanging from it's electrical wires. It begins to sway back and forth, throwing the light around the room in differing patterns. Dackle chuckles and begins to pace.
"I know how these things tend to go. Guys come in here into companies like this and claim to have an edge. They talk all dark and brooding and pretend to be this big bad ass bad guy who is all evil and into Satan and blah, blah, blah... It is a good technique. It's entertaining. It's easy. Hell, it works... for about a month.
Then these guys flame out, get forgotten, and get replaced by the newest dark flavor of the month. Sure, some stick around. Some stay, but they don't stay that way for that long...
It takes a special kind of human to put up that shtick for a prolonged amount of time. Hear what I just said though. 'Put up.' The problem with most of these wanna-be, self-deprecating, emo pricks is that they aren't who they claim to be. They are glorified stunt men who think they can act. Anyone can try and impersonate Brandon Lee, but most that do have their career look like Lee now, DEAD.
The difference between those Crow cosplayers and me, is I am that person. I live that life."
Dackle reaches out and grabs the camera. While holding the lens with one hand he reaches up and grabs the bulb with the other, holding the light in place.
"See this scar right here? (He points to a long diagonal scar on his chest.) When I was a POW in Afghanistan, one of my captors watched Indiana Jones and decided to see if he could use a whip like Indy. I was his target...See this round one right here? (He motions to a circular scar on his right shoulder.) I was stabbed with a piece of re bar. They used that piece of re bar while it was in my chest as a hat rack...for a full fucking week... Check out this one (Dackle holds up his left forearm.) This is where they tied my arm to the cage to keep me upright as they beat me..."
The camera pans to his face and zooms in on his expression. The intensity makes the situation uncomfortable. Once again, all that can be heard is the ticking of the clock.
"A villain is born from pain, molded by hate, and forged by opportunity. I am not pretending to be something I am not. I am not some dark guy who walks behind a curtain and completely changes. I don't take off make-up when I leave the arena and go home to my wife and three kids at the end of a cul-de-sac in suburbia. I have nothing. I have no one. I feel nothing. What I am in front of this camera and in that ring is what I am, a dark, twisted, uncaring piece of shit who cares as little for who else is in that ring as he does about himself.
I am not some flavor of the month. I am not some jerkoff who comes in all big and brooding and won't be seen again after I flame out. To flame out, you have to have a flame. Flames give off light. Flames give off warmth. You will find none of that here. You may not understand what I am saying, and honestly, I couldn't care less. In time, you will see. Then again, maybe you won't. It's hard to see without the light.
Welcome to the Darkness...
Dackle reaches up and grabs the light bulb. He squeezes it and crushes it. The room goes black. A few ticks of the clock can be heard before Dackle's evil laugh dominates the sound as the camera cuts away.