Uprising VI - An Eye for an Eye
Sept 27, 2020 18:42:09 GMT -5
David Sanchez, Lissie Hope, and 3 more like this
Post by James Nightingale on Sept 27, 2020 18:42:09 GMT -5
“Destroying someone's life could be remarkably cathartic.”
Kate McNeil
SMASH!!!
James Nightingale stands over the fallen body of Etta Bennett, the remnants of a broken whiskey bottle in his hand.
With Walter away in North Dakota attending Clash, and The Heir’s mother, Alyssa Peyton, missing, childcare responsibilities had fallen upon Etta, who spent much of the night sitting in the humble apartment of the absent Mongrel, trying to erase the pain of both her deceased child and fairly shitty life by consuming the contents of a cheaply branded bottle of whiskey.
The copious amounts of booze had reduced her usually razor-sharp reaction time, and when MS-13 kicked the apartment door down, she was too slow in withdrawing her firearm. A tussle amongst Michael Brookes, Nightingale’s prospect, and herself ensued and after a moment, Nightingale quietly entered the apartment. He crept up behind the battle-hardened police officer unbeknownst to her, picking up the whiskey bottle in the process, raising it high in the air and driving it down over the back of her head, knocking her out instantaneously as the glass and remaining contents of the bottle showered across the lounge.
He calmly places down the remains of the broken bottle on the coffee table, striking a calm complexion despite having just performed such a brutal act of violence, he proceeds to crouch next to the downed handler of the current Action Wrestling champion.
“Is she dead?”, asks Brookes.
Nightingale smiles sadistically as he sweeps the hair off of Etta’s face, her eyes closed firmly as a stream of blood pours from the back of her head and pools into the immaculately clean carpet. Her nostrils continue to flare as she breathes, albeit shallowly.
“No”, replies Nightingale.
He presses his thumb into her right eye.
“An eye for an eye, Etta.”, he pushes down for a moment before releasing the pressure.
“Look at you now, months of taunting, of belittling, months of the ramblings of a drunken whore, so bitter and twisted by the thing she was meant to protect the world from, that you’ve become worse than him. Walter is plain old psycho, he was born broken. You, on the other hand, you had a choice, it appears you’ve made some fairly shitty choices because I’m standing over your prone, unconscious body.”
He spreads her legs slightly and runs his hand down her inner right thigh. “You’re so vulnerable right now, I could have one of my boys have his way right now with you and there ain’t a damn thing you could do to stop us.”
He slams her legs shut, “You’re fucking disgusting, your body is a vessel of anger and hatred, you have spent so many years numbing your pain by drinking this cheap shit that you’ve probably riddled yourself with hepatitis, I wouldn’t wish that upon any of my boys so you can keep your maggot-infested gash to yourself.”
He rummages through her pocket and pulls out the Leash, “It’s all about power and control with you Etta, you control Walter with this little device, you muzzle the rabies ridden dog so he doesn’t bite anyone, at least you used to. Since you stopped giving a shit this device is now meaningless. I’m not sure who even wants to see the world burn more now, Walter or yourself.”
Nightingale tosses the Leash to Brookes as he stands back up, “Letting the world burn won’t bring back your dead son Etta.”
Nightingale rummages through his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes, lighting one inside the sterile clean apartment. “I’ve waited for this moment ever since Uprising when you interjected yourself into the ladder match and stole my title. Climbing that ladder, desecrating the title with your disgusting hands. I knew I’d get my opportunity for revenge, and here we are.”
“What are you going to do to her, boss?”, asks Brookes, “Are you going to waste her here?”
Nightingale takes a long drag, holding it whilst he is deep in thought then exhaling, “No, I’m gonna let the whore live, because if we don’t kill her, Walter will. When he finds out what we’ve done here tonight, with his ‘Heir’, he’s going to go ballistic. We’ve got the Leash, we’ll take her gun. I can’t wait to read the police report when they’re done scraping her remains off this thoroughly clean carpet.”
Nightingale purposely spreads her blood around the floor with his boot.
“Well what shall we do with her now?”, asks Brookes curiously.
“Hogtie the bitch”, Nightingale replies with a smirk on his face, “Gag her too; we don’t want her to scream the place down when she comes to, can’t allow her to fuck up our plans. She’ll feel what it’s like to be neutered by a leash.”
He crouches down one last time and puts his cigarette out on the inside of her right hand. She doesn’t flinch as she remains unconscious. “An eye for an eye Etta. You helped Walter visit my family, you stole my title, you deserve everything you get, you piece of shit, bent cop. Walter should have known you couldn’t protect his ‘Heir’, you couldn’t even prevent your own child from dying a painful death.”
He jumps back up to his feet, “Right boys, which room is The Heir’s?”, Nightingale heads towards the two bedrooms.
“Eenie Meenie Miney Moe…”, Nightingales finger points from one door back to the other and he recites the nursery rhyme, “catch The Heir by her toe…”.
Nightingale opens the door to the right, revealing the child sleeping in her cot. Nightingale smiles sadistically. “Boys get the camera, it’s showtime.”
He enters the room and closes the door behind him.
Nightingale sits in a rocking chair in the corner of The Heir’s bedroom. The curtains are open, the window ajar slightly as the bright Vegas lights in the distances faintly illuminate the bedroom of Walter’s daughter. The challenger sits comfortably in the chair, a lit cigarette in his right hand, whilst the fingers of his left hand tap away on the varnished wood. He takes a long drag of the cigarette, holds it for what appears to be an eternity whilst staring intensely at the innocent child. He finally releases the smoke from his lungs effortlessly out from his nostrils, flicks the cigarette out of the window whilst standing up and walks over to the unknowing infant, staring at her whilst she blissfully sleeps, deep in thought.
“This is it, the line of no return. I passed it the minute I stepped foot inside this humble apartment. The two monsters of Action Wrestling, The Mongrel vs The Angel of Death, two deranged motherfuckers who both share a similar bloodlust that cannot be fulfilled, and both of whom share body counts higher than the mass graves of Auschwitz. Many predicted Nightingale was Walter lite, that he would be easily crushed by The Man Evolved. The predictions were all wrong, I survived the first encounter; Christ you could argue I was the victor. The second was not won by Walter; it was won by that disgusting whore out there. The third and final encounter?”
“When I said I’d passed the line of no return, I meant it… FOR WALTER!”
“You think you’re the Big Bad of Action Wrestling? Think again! You used to be the monster everyone feared, both in the squared circle and in the real world. There’s a reason they assigned Etta to hold your Leash as she picked up your shit in a bag. It’s the same reason you decimated the competition at Turmoil to win your first World Title, fear and domination. Because you used to be the Big Bad. But let’s not forget what happened after that tournament, you dropped the ball immediately by getting squashed by the now washed-up Odin Balfore, who’s only claim to fame recently has been to carry Kemp’s jockstrap and lay on his back counting the fucking stars whilst holding his injured cock.”
“You then fucked off, found love, learned your dick was built to go inside the freshly lubricated vagina of an alive woman rather than the dry cold one of a dead chick you’d just strangled to death and here’s the result lying in front of me, your Heir.”
“Life was looking good again; you returned all motivated, fire in your belly, you won Havoc then crushed Richards to claim the belt I so badly crave, but then it all came to a grinding halt once again, because you ran into a bigger, more evil monster...ME!”
Nightingale smiles sadistically at the child.
“This reign was meant to be your second chance in Action Wrestling, you changed your outlook in life, your whole bloody ethos. You went from wanting to cull the herd, salt the earth so evolution comes for us all to reshape, rebuild, sculpt the world so the Heir is proud. What once was the words of a big scary psychopath quickly turned into the motto for the new series of Extreme Makeover; they’re going to need to move that bus to carry your fat ass to the morgue.”
“That’s because your second coming was fucked from the minute I pinned Dandy DiVito’s shoulders to become number one contender!”
“Since then I have always been one step ahead of you at every turn. Every time I outmanoeuvre you, a little bit more doubt creeps into the back of your skull. Will I do to you what Odin did and embarrass you by taking the title?”
“The usually unflappable Walter has been exposed to be a petulant child in recent weeks. You now resemble a fat kid in school who no one wants to play with, who smells and has man boobs, who the other kids run away from and hope he will get too puffed out to chase them down. That’s what you’ve looked like all these weeks with The Lost Breed running circles around you. We are just that little bit too good for you, we are just that little bit smarter, therefore, we can ensure we are always out of your clutches.”
“On paper with your size and strength, we should be running scared from you… but fuck we truly have made you look like a weak!”
“When we finally stand face-to-face inside the steel cage surrounded by dozens of weapons and surrounded by my fellow members of The Lost Breed and my loyal MS-13 servants, you’ll quickly realise how much of a little bitch you’ve become. Sure I will be looking up at you; on paper you technically are the taller, heavier man. But old oak falls real hard champ; kill the roots and the trunk will die and crash to the ground. I’ve killed what grounds you to this company, your mystique, your presence. It’s all gone, vanished following weeks of you running after me. Sure you’ll try and throw me against the side of a cage, take out months of pent up frustration on me. But it’s harder to do that when I’ve destroyed your knee with a baseball bat, caved in your fucking skull so that your brain matter spoils the canvas, just as much as Etta’s has wrecked your lovely clean carpet in your lounge.”
“That mystique is gone and now you're just a pathetic, broken down, washed-up champion who is preparing to hand over the mantle of Monster of the Year to the rightful successor. It’s become rather comical. As champion it should be me doing all the chasing, yet your the one wearing the running shoes, so fucking hell-bent on chasing after me to give me your title, you blindly ran to Clash and left your most precious possession here in the care of someone who probably hates you more than I do, someone who got so fucked up tonight that she was too inebriated to protect this little cherub and now she’s been rather fucked up herself.”
“This visit was very much an eye for an eye Walter; you flew yourself over to England to eradicate my former family, and here I am now ready to return the favour. I was rather surprised when the man I had tailing Alyssa informed me Etta and yourself had abducted her and left her in a storage container. Is that how you reward the woman who gave you your Heir? Fuck me son have you seen yourself in the mirror recently? She deserves a medal for climbing on top of you, let alone willingly. She forced this abomination out of her gash for you and you reward her by locking her away? I mean it figures I guess; you are crazy and you have a fetish for killing beautiful women. But I thought this one was different, that you’d turned the corner and maybe you were a changed man? But old habits die hard and I guess you had an itch that she just couldn’t scratch. What was it? Were you failing her in the bedroom? Or was she bored? Maybe you’d retreated into full retard and perhaps she craved a real man like yours truly? Maybe she became so sick of you she was looking for a way out and you couldn’t stand it. That’s why you followed her to her brother’s apartment, my man watched you stand outside Roger’s door like a Peeping fucking Tom.”
“It must have torn you up inside knowing you’re unlovable, that no one would give a shit if you died inside the cage Sunday. Fortunately for your Heir, she’d go into foster care, never having to know how fucked up her old man was, whilst The Lost Breed drop your lifeless carcass into The Chicago River.”
“Unlike your visit to my family, I know tonight’s surprise will not miss. You are riddled with weakness Walter. You thought turning up at my old gaff would scare me off from my pursuit of your title. You were sadly mistaken. I didn’t give a shit that you were there; you could have worn Alice like a glove for all I cared. I bet you didn’t though. I’m not one hundred percent sure but I have a gut feeling Alice would have escaped with the kids and will now be in hiding because, after everything, she has proven she is a survivor. You wish you knew how she smelt mate because she’s smoking hot and the closest you’d ever get to a girl like that is by beating one out onto your TV screen”
“You, on the other hand, Walter, will definitely care that I’m here tonight. You have a huge weakness I have now exploited - your child. She is your whole world, more important than your title. And you leave her in the care of Etta, who hates your fucking guts just as much as she hates the whole damn world. This just proves that to truly be at the top, you’ve got to be ruthless, and have no remorse for your actions, as you used to before she was born. You can’t have anything which can be used against you, hence why I didn’t care about your venture across the pond, yet I have a feeling your gonna be busting more furniture when firstly you discover I’m here and secondly I wrecked your nice clean carpet by spilling Etta’s blood all over it.”
“Here’s a massive dose of reality - it’s going to slap you really hard in the face when the live feed starts playing, when you see that I’ve outmanoeuvred you for the final time.”
“You will be struck with the realisation that you cannot beat me on Sunday!”
“I was destined to be Action Wrestling World Champion from the very moment I debuted here last November. I immediately turned heads by popping skulls, showing my lust for violence. I showed I was the true villain to this story, that a real monster was uprising. It’s been a rollercoaster of a ride, week-after-week, another victim of Nightingale, another heinous act of violence. From almost tearing Malachi White’s jaw off with a chain to permanently disfiguring Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, to nearly killing both Deschanel sisters and systematically destroying Sam Kidsgrove, I’ve shocked the audience at every turn. I have climbed through the ranks so quickly through my sheer brutality that the roster is too scared to face me. Yet I draw the high ratings, I top the polls for the next breakout star, and now here I am ready to reap the rewards for a portfolio filled with the blood, sweat and tears of my many, many victims.”
“Yes we may both be monsters, but I’m the one who is the driving force here in Action Wrestling. You come and go as you choose, when the big match calls, you make your cameo. It’s smart; to this point it kept your mystique protected. But facing someone such as myself has proven that my acts of violence and horror truly engulf yours, that your urge for pain and suffering is not enough to topple my lack of conscience and regard for my opponents well being.”
“The joke is your urges have usually been suppressed by your Leash, you're normally always at the mercy of Etta’s thumb. Will she turn off safety mode, or keep you muzzled? Myself, on the other hand, my brain is free to act out any forms of violence that I please. Sure, I’ve been guided in the past by The Matriarch, but I am my own man, I control my own fate and I get the pleasure of doing sick and twisted shit twenty-four seven. You only get to do it when Etta permits you.”
“As much as I am fixated on causing suffering and despite having the utmost confidence that I’ll be victorious on Sunday, I know in the past I’ve had several high profile losses. I know exactly where I fell short in those defeats, I learned from the mistakes I made in those matches and I haven’t allowed them to hold me back in skyrocketing to the top of this business. I owned my defeats like a man, I made no excuses, I just made myself better, less vulnerable and more dangerous. In defeat, you looked weak and vulnerable yet I went down on my shield and to praise and acclaim. And when it comes down to the numbers, I’ve been pinned three times, you’ve been submitted once and pinned twice, that makes us pretty fucking even in my eyes.”
“2019 was Walter’s year, Monster of the Year. It’s fitting that 2020 is the year of Nightingale, the year the world fell into shit, the fires, riots, the fucking pandemic. It all happened as The Angel of Death was uprising, spreading my wings across the globe, advocating hatred, pain and suffering, eradicating the weakness riddling this existence for so long. Your claim to being a monster, Walter, was praying on beautiful woman, strangling the life out of them whilst you got a semi. Sure it made you feel powerful at the time, till your semi went flaccid. My hard-on for pain and suffering doesn’t fucking stop; it continues all the time.”
“Your impotence is more visible than ever as your grip over Action Wrestling has almost entirely worn off. No longer do we fear Walter, we laugh at you. If I want someone taken out, I’ll call Adrian. If I want my office furniture moved I’ll drop you a line because you’ve proven rather effective at that recently, and I’m sure you’ll be grateful for the work after your career is ended shortly. After all, you’ll need to provide for your Heir.”
“You’ll make one last attempt on Sunday to strike fear into our hearts again Walter, you’ll come out swinging like a caged animal in the metal structure, hellbent on reclaiming your mantle as the Big Bad of this organisation. Your urge to fight, your desire to remain top of the mountain.”
“It’s only natural that you’ll want to remain at the top. After all, you’ve been rebuilding this place so your Heir can be proud, so what? She can reign over us all?”
“FUCK THAT!”
“Your efforts at rebuilding this place will all be in vain, at least for yourself. I’ll knock you off the top of the mountain, and I’ll punt your abomination of a daughter off as well. I’ll take my rightful seat upon the throne and rule over this promotion. Whilst you have been chasing after me it will have become abundantly clear to you I have all your abilities and more. It will be the first time you walk inside a match more scared than your opponent, scared for what I’ll do to both yourself and your Heir when you fail to return to her.”
“You are entering my world Walter, you’re entering a match where the decks have been stacked in my favour. You are truly outnumbered. If you put me down, do you think you can get past Sanchez and Hawkins? Can you get past Adrian, who survived your latest stunt, and the dozens of MS-13 members? Can you survive Gravedigger? None of that matters because you’ll be standing inside the cage with The Angel of Death and I’ll choke the life out of you with my bare hands.”
“Execution will truly be your last stand, Walter. You’ll try and fight bravely, for the love of your daughter, but fate catches up to everybody. You should have been sentenced to death that first time Etta had you in court. You were spared that day so I could be your executioner. The Angel of Death is soaring over the battlefield like a Valkyrie, ready to take the chosen one to Valhalla. Except you don’t deserve Valhalla; you deserve to burn in hell for the sins you have committed. I’ll gladly drag you down there.”
“You sealed your fate the night I became number one contender when you shoulder barged me as you dismissed me. Pity, you didn’t realise the grave mistake you made with that sign of total disrespect.”
“You peaked too soon Walter; you’ve had your moment. You were last year's villain, but now you’ve been chained down by real-life bollocks and responsibilities. How can you change this little one’s nappies if I’ve snapped all your fingers? How can you push her down the street if your legs are fucking broken? How will you watch her ballet recital if I break your neck? It’s an eye for an eye. You will not get to do any of these things because you will not leave that cage alive. Where you peaked too soon, I’m peaking at the right time. I rid myself of all those burdens, it means I don’t need to worry about real-life shit. All I’ve had to think about for the last three months is plotting your downfall.”
“I thank Gravedigger for the chance of redemption; I will not fail this time. Third time's the charm. Your head is firmly in my sights, I will not miss.”
Nightingale touches the child’s hair.
“I hope you truly savour your last few days with this little one because they’ll be the last she spends with her father. I guess we best hope Alyssa didn’t meet the same fate as the other woman, because if she did and this one ends up in Etta’s care... well her track record of keeping children alive isn’t great.”
“There will be no time to mourn your loss Walter, because it will become clear at Execution who my first challenger will be for my newly won title at Clash 100, so forgive me when I move on quickly. But trust me, the battle will be fierce, you will fight valiantly, however it won’t be enough.”
“Your love for this little girl isn’t sufficient.”
“The Angel of Death is coming for you all… pray for mercy.”
Nightingale turns his head to the door. “Enter!”, he commands.
Brookes enters with a camera.
“It’s time”, says Nightingale. “Time to deliver our message.”