Post by Max f'n Daemon on Aug 31, 2021 0:01:53 GMT -5
We head backstage in the parking lot. A collection of referees and EMTs are surrounding Max Daemon. His normally white wifebeater is stained with blood. His jacket is hanging limply from his right hand. His face is caked with blood with fresh drops still pouring from his face.
Around him, the various officials guide him as Max slowly stumbles towards the ambulance.
A stretcher is wheeled to Max's right, but the man himself weakly shakes his head.
Max Daemon: Fuck off.
He spits a glob of blood onto the floor, pausing a bit to regain his bearings.
Doctor: Max, come on now.
Referee: It's not worth it, let's go.
Max weakly shoves the stretcher away as he continues to meander towards the ambulance, this time, not out of a drunken stupor but out of a stubborn will to remain standing. Eventually, Action Wrestling's main medical official approaches him from behind.
Max turns his head and spots them. The two share a quick look, but Max is the first to look away.
Main Doctor: Max...get on the stretcher.
Max glances towards the main doctor, the same one who cleared him despite his less than stellar health these last few months.
The EMTs and referees don't allow any room for Max. With the main audience having seen him walk out of the arena and make it all this way, it feels like another failure. Despite his hesitance, despite his personality, despite his desire to hang on and just make it the rest of the 15 or so feet...with a soft nod, he falls sideways onto the stretcher. He isn't laid down perfectly, but it's enough for the doctors in the ambulance to drag him away.
The world knows. They know he made it this far despite losing so much. They can allow him this one moment of rest.
The main doctor stares on, walking towards the ambulance and joining the ambulance crew. The doors close and the feed fades away.
Around him, the various officials guide him as Max slowly stumbles towards the ambulance.
A stretcher is wheeled to Max's right, but the man himself weakly shakes his head.
Max Daemon: Fuck off.
He spits a glob of blood onto the floor, pausing a bit to regain his bearings.
Doctor: Max, come on now.
Referee: It's not worth it, let's go.
Max weakly shoves the stretcher away as he continues to meander towards the ambulance, this time, not out of a drunken stupor but out of a stubborn will to remain standing. Eventually, Action Wrestling's main medical official approaches him from behind.
Max turns his head and spots them. The two share a quick look, but Max is the first to look away.
Main Doctor: Max...get on the stretcher.
Max glances towards the main doctor, the same one who cleared him despite his less than stellar health these last few months.
The EMTs and referees don't allow any room for Max. With the main audience having seen him walk out of the arena and make it all this way, it feels like another failure. Despite his hesitance, despite his personality, despite his desire to hang on and just make it the rest of the 15 or so feet...with a soft nod, he falls sideways onto the stretcher. He isn't laid down perfectly, but it's enough for the doctors in the ambulance to drag him away.
The world knows. They know he made it this far despite losing so much. They can allow him this one moment of rest.
The main doctor stares on, walking towards the ambulance and joining the ambulance crew. The doors close and the feed fades away.