Post by Deleted on Oct 11, 2021 20:18:10 GMT -5
“Well done.” a voice called out to Lazarus and Charon who, just moments ago, quite possibly put Julius Fairweather on the shelf with a violent assault.
FALLOUT, SEPTEMBER THIRTIETH - TWENTY TWENTY-ONE.
The Project Honor tag team championships were in their possession still; slung over Charon’s shoulder and held by the leather strap by Lazarus. The duo known to Project Honor as The Massacre, or globally as the Killjoy Club, marched their way through the hallways; staff and stagehands saw the blood staining their hands, their gear, and immediately backed out of the way - hugging the walls even to put distance between the two who both wore angry scowls. If looks could kill, right?
After pushing through the double doors that led to the parking area, Lazarus and Charon’s forward movement stopped at the feet of … Trevor O’Malley, the commissioner of Kingdom Pro. The man responsible for bringing Lazarus to Europe, who would then put the pieces together to build the Killjoy Club. Alongside O’Malley stood Ellie Quinn who had the Kingdom Pro. Atlantic Championship strapped around her waist, and a smug smile of satisfaction touching her lips.
“The trail of bodies continues to grow. When we first met, you told me of your plan to eradicate this industry entirely - and I’m proud to see how well you’ve progressed.” O’Malley said to Lazarus, a smile on his scruffy face. The flat brim of his baseball cap was turned just enough toward the overhead lamp on the outside of the building, that a shadow was cast over most of his face; but that smile was still visible. “And in the end, all will fall - just as you’ve always said.”
Lazarus looked up to O’Malley with a scowl, which was customary for him. “We told Julius and Pyro to come get the titles if they wanted them; we never said they would leave in one piece if they tried. These championships are right where they belong and if we have to kill in order to keep them here - then so be it.”
Trevor O’Malley had a proud smile on his face. This was the man who gave Lazarus his first platform. This was the man who gave Lazarus the chance when every other promotion saw him as deathmatch trash, and now he was proud to witness Lazarus rising through the rankings of the professional wrestling industry - rising through the rankings fast and violently.
Lazarus’ forward movement would continue, pushing past his Killjoy partner Ellie - pushing past Trevor O’Malley. Charon followed Lazarus, and both O’Malley and Ellie turned, watching them both pass. Trevor’s arms moved up to his chest, crossing one over the other. “You know something, Ellie -- I think Laz would legitimately kill someone for something he wanted.”
“I know he will. You haven’t been in the ring against him - I have. He’s as violent as they come.” Ellie replied, shifting her gaze to the Killjoy agent. “We’re all that way, Trevor. That’s why this works.” A smile formed over her lips.
“The Killjoy Club will not be stopped, no matter what continent we’re on.” He said to her, uncrossing his arms. It was a statement that Ellie agreed with fully, nodding her head before she and Trevor began to follow Lazarus and Charon into the parking lot.
-----------
Static.
The video cuts in abruptly. The Project Honor tag team championships are both hooked around an exposed, rusted and dripping pipe along the ceiling. The camera slowly panned downward, showing Charon Seede leaning against the cold brick wall behind him. And then panning further down we see, sitting on the cement floor - also with his back against the exposed red brick - was Lazarus Arjen. His legs were bent, his feet - covered in old, ratted leather boots that were untied in a sloppy manner - were planted firmly on the cement floor. The duo known together as ‘The Massacre’ of the Killjoy Club had blood on their hands, both literal and metaphorically, and now looked toward another ‘daunting’ task - if you could say that.
Lazarus’ arms were placed on his knees. His wrists were bent and his hands dangled limp. His dirty blonde hair was sloppily ‘combed’ behind his head - if you could call previously running his hands through his hair to force it in that position ‘combing’. His septum piercing caught and reflected brilliantly in the light. His eyes were momentarily on the ground, but would slowly rise to find the camera. Noticing the solid red light, he knew that it was recording. His lips curled into a wicked little smile before he even addressed what he needed to.
“We gave you the chance - the opportunity - to take back what you think belongs to you. We gave you the chance - the opportunity - to take back the Tag Team championships and Julius Fairweather bit. He attempted to do so, and paid the price. I told you to come and take them back, that I would have another grave dug for the mutilated corpse; but Julius Fairweather didn’t believe me. He thought he would waltz in and steal from us. He paid the price, dearly.”
“Make no mistake about it; no matter the result of Collision Course - the only - the rightful - and the most deserving team for the tag team championships is myself and Charon. We’ve ripped and torn through every team in this division. We’ve carved our names into the foundation of the tag team division. This was no spur of the moment thing - no ‘for fun to see what would happen’ scenario. We signed to Project Honor to destroy whatever remnants remained in the tag team division, and in doing so - to give birth to a new division that we would reign over.”
“Pyro and Fairweather winning was an atrocity. One that we set right on the very same night, and two weeks ago - we eliminated one of the foe-champions. Pyro? If he decides to try where his partner failed, we have ensured that a cold slab at the morgue right next to Fairweather is available for him. Try at your own risk, but be warned - it won’t end in your favor.”
His voice echoed in the room, the basement or whatever small - dingy little room he and Charon decided to shoot this video in.
“Just like Fallout isn’t going to end in the favor of this randomly selected team of Project Honor’s failures. Latoya Hixx, SWITCHBLADE, Noah Hope and Biance McBride - also known as the walking dead; because that is exactly what they will be when they enter this match. Dead.”
“Switchblade; you and I have gone to war - both against each other and side by side, and everytime I was the man who looked the best. At Night of Honor, we didn’t win - but that mainly falls on your shoulders. You were eliminated before you could prove your worth and that’s simply because - you’re worthless. A man with this persona you’ve built for yourself. A man with an aura that surrounds you, claiming that you’re a tough - violent son of a bitch, but in reality you’re none of the above. You’re just some loser kid putting on an act. Tough? You’re far from it. Violent? You don’t know the meaning of the word. SWITCHBLADE, all you are is a name. Which I’ll commend you on; good name. It’s a name that should immediately intimidate anyone you step into the ring against; you just simply have nothing to back up the name though. I’ve already made a fool out of you, do you remember Glasgow, Scotland in February? Myself and Andrew Arcus drove your head into the mat, ending your night - and your Kingdom Pro. tenure all with one move. This time? I’m coming for your life, Switch. This time, I’m coming to end this entire charade that you’ve thrown for -- however long you’ve been in this industry. You’re like an annoying insect. Harmless, yet everytime I turn around, there you are. So - at Fallout Fifteen, I exterminate the annoying little insect. No gas, no traps - just you screaming in horror as my boot comes stomping down.”
“And while I speak of annoying insects that I’ve already dished a loss to, we cannot forget Latoya Hixx. The biggest joke in this entire company. A joke whose punchline doesn’t deliver, just a feeling of forever waiting for something to happen. Nothing sums Latoya Hixx up more than that. Week in, and week out - she shows up on camera, spitting the same useless - mindless - bullshit and never delivers. Trying to stake claim for championships that will never be within her reach. Making absurd claims to be better than she truly is. The novelty wore off a long time ago. Project Honor keeping her around at this point is no longer just a detriment to the progress of her career - or lack thereof - but it’s also a detriment to their entire image. Imagine being the head of a company and being okay with the sideshow attraction Latoya Hixx representing you. But, like I said, the novelty has worn off. Latoya Hixx’s time has come and it has gone; myself and Charon will see to it that the self-proclaimed ‘Hoeski’ is dealt with for once and for all. Charon and I have savagely dismantled everyone in our way, but for Latoya? Make sure you have the coroner on standby, because you will witness a legitimate murder at Fallout Fifteen.”
“Bianca McBridge and Noah Hope? I’m going to be honest; I don’t know - nor do I care to know - anything about you. Just being in this match, handcuffed to the team mates that surround you, has already put you at a severe disadvantage. One that you will never make up, no matter how good you claim to be. No matter how tough, no matter how passionate you are - you are standing across from the Killjoy Club. Myself and Charon, the men in possession of the Project Honor tag team championships. You’re standing across from the fucking Killer Kaiju Graham Baker. From the Kingdom Pro. Atlantic Champion, Ellie Quinn. The four of us know each other like the back of our hands, and that is what will be the biggest advantage over your team of misfit toys. This isn’t going to be a traditional team match, not in the slightest bit. This is going to be a fucking massacre. This is going to be a fucking bloodbath, and there’s nothing that you two can do to change that. Your best bet would be to just avoid Lubbock, Texas like the plague. If you show up, the only guarantee that you will be looking at is a body bag and a tag to be wrapped around your toe.”
Finally, Lazarus would stand up. Charon remained silent against the wall, his hair hiding his eyes - but know that they were locked on the camera before them. Lazarus’ lips parted in a vicious smirk when he took a step forward.
“The four of us are violent. The four of us are depraved. Most importantly, the four of us are unleashed - free to do whatever the fuck we please at Lubbock. If you think that this match is going to be nice little display of sportsmanship - then you have the wrong fucking idea. The four of us will not be satisfied with anything less than absolute carnage. The four of us will not be satisfied with anything less than a violent display of maliciousness. We want nothing except to bleed out these four little pigs and leave their entrails scattered around as if they were streamers decorating a hall for a fucking birthday party. We want nothing more than to create a lasting imagery of horror - call it, our sadistic version of the Sistine Chapel. Instead of cherub angels, what we will give you is mutilated corpses. Instead of god like imagery, we will give you art that would make the Devil himself squeamish.”
“To be blunt. Fuck you all. We’re going to ensure that you all die a slow, gruesome and painful death. And we will smile watching the life drain from your bodies.”
Abrupt static end.
FALLOUT, SEPTEMBER THIRTIETH - TWENTY TWENTY-ONE.
The Project Honor tag team championships were in their possession still; slung over Charon’s shoulder and held by the leather strap by Lazarus. The duo known to Project Honor as The Massacre, or globally as the Killjoy Club, marched their way through the hallways; staff and stagehands saw the blood staining their hands, their gear, and immediately backed out of the way - hugging the walls even to put distance between the two who both wore angry scowls. If looks could kill, right?
After pushing through the double doors that led to the parking area, Lazarus and Charon’s forward movement stopped at the feet of … Trevor O’Malley, the commissioner of Kingdom Pro. The man responsible for bringing Lazarus to Europe, who would then put the pieces together to build the Killjoy Club. Alongside O’Malley stood Ellie Quinn who had the Kingdom Pro. Atlantic Championship strapped around her waist, and a smug smile of satisfaction touching her lips.
“The trail of bodies continues to grow. When we first met, you told me of your plan to eradicate this industry entirely - and I’m proud to see how well you’ve progressed.” O’Malley said to Lazarus, a smile on his scruffy face. The flat brim of his baseball cap was turned just enough toward the overhead lamp on the outside of the building, that a shadow was cast over most of his face; but that smile was still visible. “And in the end, all will fall - just as you’ve always said.”
Lazarus looked up to O’Malley with a scowl, which was customary for him. “We told Julius and Pyro to come get the titles if they wanted them; we never said they would leave in one piece if they tried. These championships are right where they belong and if we have to kill in order to keep them here - then so be it.”
Trevor O’Malley had a proud smile on his face. This was the man who gave Lazarus his first platform. This was the man who gave Lazarus the chance when every other promotion saw him as deathmatch trash, and now he was proud to witness Lazarus rising through the rankings of the professional wrestling industry - rising through the rankings fast and violently.
Lazarus’ forward movement would continue, pushing past his Killjoy partner Ellie - pushing past Trevor O’Malley. Charon followed Lazarus, and both O’Malley and Ellie turned, watching them both pass. Trevor’s arms moved up to his chest, crossing one over the other. “You know something, Ellie -- I think Laz would legitimately kill someone for something he wanted.”
“I know he will. You haven’t been in the ring against him - I have. He’s as violent as they come.” Ellie replied, shifting her gaze to the Killjoy agent. “We’re all that way, Trevor. That’s why this works.” A smile formed over her lips.
“The Killjoy Club will not be stopped, no matter what continent we’re on.” He said to her, uncrossing his arms. It was a statement that Ellie agreed with fully, nodding her head before she and Trevor began to follow Lazarus and Charon into the parking lot.
-----------
Static.
The video cuts in abruptly. The Project Honor tag team championships are both hooked around an exposed, rusted and dripping pipe along the ceiling. The camera slowly panned downward, showing Charon Seede leaning against the cold brick wall behind him. And then panning further down we see, sitting on the cement floor - also with his back against the exposed red brick - was Lazarus Arjen. His legs were bent, his feet - covered in old, ratted leather boots that were untied in a sloppy manner - were planted firmly on the cement floor. The duo known together as ‘The Massacre’ of the Killjoy Club had blood on their hands, both literal and metaphorically, and now looked toward another ‘daunting’ task - if you could say that.
Lazarus’ arms were placed on his knees. His wrists were bent and his hands dangled limp. His dirty blonde hair was sloppily ‘combed’ behind his head - if you could call previously running his hands through his hair to force it in that position ‘combing’. His septum piercing caught and reflected brilliantly in the light. His eyes were momentarily on the ground, but would slowly rise to find the camera. Noticing the solid red light, he knew that it was recording. His lips curled into a wicked little smile before he even addressed what he needed to.
“We gave you the chance - the opportunity - to take back what you think belongs to you. We gave you the chance - the opportunity - to take back the Tag Team championships and Julius Fairweather bit. He attempted to do so, and paid the price. I told you to come and take them back, that I would have another grave dug for the mutilated corpse; but Julius Fairweather didn’t believe me. He thought he would waltz in and steal from us. He paid the price, dearly.”
“Make no mistake about it; no matter the result of Collision Course - the only - the rightful - and the most deserving team for the tag team championships is myself and Charon. We’ve ripped and torn through every team in this division. We’ve carved our names into the foundation of the tag team division. This was no spur of the moment thing - no ‘for fun to see what would happen’ scenario. We signed to Project Honor to destroy whatever remnants remained in the tag team division, and in doing so - to give birth to a new division that we would reign over.”
“Pyro and Fairweather winning was an atrocity. One that we set right on the very same night, and two weeks ago - we eliminated one of the foe-champions. Pyro? If he decides to try where his partner failed, we have ensured that a cold slab at the morgue right next to Fairweather is available for him. Try at your own risk, but be warned - it won’t end in your favor.”
His voice echoed in the room, the basement or whatever small - dingy little room he and Charon decided to shoot this video in.
“Just like Fallout isn’t going to end in the favor of this randomly selected team of Project Honor’s failures. Latoya Hixx, SWITCHBLADE, Noah Hope and Biance McBride - also known as the walking dead; because that is exactly what they will be when they enter this match. Dead.”
“Switchblade; you and I have gone to war - both against each other and side by side, and everytime I was the man who looked the best. At Night of Honor, we didn’t win - but that mainly falls on your shoulders. You were eliminated before you could prove your worth and that’s simply because - you’re worthless. A man with this persona you’ve built for yourself. A man with an aura that surrounds you, claiming that you’re a tough - violent son of a bitch, but in reality you’re none of the above. You’re just some loser kid putting on an act. Tough? You’re far from it. Violent? You don’t know the meaning of the word. SWITCHBLADE, all you are is a name. Which I’ll commend you on; good name. It’s a name that should immediately intimidate anyone you step into the ring against; you just simply have nothing to back up the name though. I’ve already made a fool out of you, do you remember Glasgow, Scotland in February? Myself and Andrew Arcus drove your head into the mat, ending your night - and your Kingdom Pro. tenure all with one move. This time? I’m coming for your life, Switch. This time, I’m coming to end this entire charade that you’ve thrown for -- however long you’ve been in this industry. You’re like an annoying insect. Harmless, yet everytime I turn around, there you are. So - at Fallout Fifteen, I exterminate the annoying little insect. No gas, no traps - just you screaming in horror as my boot comes stomping down.”
“And while I speak of annoying insects that I’ve already dished a loss to, we cannot forget Latoya Hixx. The biggest joke in this entire company. A joke whose punchline doesn’t deliver, just a feeling of forever waiting for something to happen. Nothing sums Latoya Hixx up more than that. Week in, and week out - she shows up on camera, spitting the same useless - mindless - bullshit and never delivers. Trying to stake claim for championships that will never be within her reach. Making absurd claims to be better than she truly is. The novelty wore off a long time ago. Project Honor keeping her around at this point is no longer just a detriment to the progress of her career - or lack thereof - but it’s also a detriment to their entire image. Imagine being the head of a company and being okay with the sideshow attraction Latoya Hixx representing you. But, like I said, the novelty has worn off. Latoya Hixx’s time has come and it has gone; myself and Charon will see to it that the self-proclaimed ‘Hoeski’ is dealt with for once and for all. Charon and I have savagely dismantled everyone in our way, but for Latoya? Make sure you have the coroner on standby, because you will witness a legitimate murder at Fallout Fifteen.”
“Bianca McBridge and Noah Hope? I’m going to be honest; I don’t know - nor do I care to know - anything about you. Just being in this match, handcuffed to the team mates that surround you, has already put you at a severe disadvantage. One that you will never make up, no matter how good you claim to be. No matter how tough, no matter how passionate you are - you are standing across from the Killjoy Club. Myself and Charon, the men in possession of the Project Honor tag team championships. You’re standing across from the fucking Killer Kaiju Graham Baker. From the Kingdom Pro. Atlantic Champion, Ellie Quinn. The four of us know each other like the back of our hands, and that is what will be the biggest advantage over your team of misfit toys. This isn’t going to be a traditional team match, not in the slightest bit. This is going to be a fucking massacre. This is going to be a fucking bloodbath, and there’s nothing that you two can do to change that. Your best bet would be to just avoid Lubbock, Texas like the plague. If you show up, the only guarantee that you will be looking at is a body bag and a tag to be wrapped around your toe.”
Finally, Lazarus would stand up. Charon remained silent against the wall, his hair hiding his eyes - but know that they were locked on the camera before them. Lazarus’ lips parted in a vicious smirk when he took a step forward.
“The four of us are violent. The four of us are depraved. Most importantly, the four of us are unleashed - free to do whatever the fuck we please at Lubbock. If you think that this match is going to be nice little display of sportsmanship - then you have the wrong fucking idea. The four of us will not be satisfied with anything less than absolute carnage. The four of us will not be satisfied with anything less than a violent display of maliciousness. We want nothing except to bleed out these four little pigs and leave their entrails scattered around as if they were streamers decorating a hall for a fucking birthday party. We want nothing more than to create a lasting imagery of horror - call it, our sadistic version of the Sistine Chapel. Instead of cherub angels, what we will give you is mutilated corpses. Instead of god like imagery, we will give you art that would make the Devil himself squeamish.”
“To be blunt. Fuck you all. We’re going to ensure that you all die a slow, gruesome and painful death. And we will smile watching the life drain from your bodies.”
Abrupt static end.