Post by Sawyer on Nov 21, 2021 11:10:43 GMT -5
Kingdom Come
That one man was Sawyer.
He knew that it was all or nothing. He knew that everything he worked for, everything he fought for was riding on his back. To usurp the disgrace known as The Killjoy Club and to abolish the ranks one by one wasn’t just a feeling of euphoria.
It was a feeling of peace.
Yet bittersweet.
The company that had molded him for years closed its doors on that fateful night. He sat alone in the locker room long after the carnage and subsequent celebration had subsided. His hair was drenched with a grimy mixture of blood and sweat hanging over his shoulders like a tattered flag. He held the Kingdom Championship in his chiseled hands, while his reflection flashed off of the gilded plate. The scars he earned were eternal if not symbolic. It wasn’t a battle of good versus evil. It was a battle between those living to die.
And those dying to live.
++++++++++++
At the Heart of Winter
The snow was relentless deep in the trenches near Mount Washington and there was no end in sight. The chill in the air was tight and sharp; unmerciful to anyone or anything it came across. At a frigid -5 degrees Fahrenheit, it served as a reminder that winter wasn’t just on the horizon, it was here and in full. Nestled in the pitch black of night was a rugged log cabin, surrounded by an army of pine trees; like overwatching guardians. A nearby brook curved around the property as one solid sheet of ice while a chimney bellowed out smoke from the snowy rooftop. A shoveled path led to the doorway and inside it was relatively dark. Shadows crept and danced on the walls as a pronounced fire illuminated the room.(Jingle Playing)
♫ “Welcome to Mount Washington, where the view is a win!” ♫
“Yes, we’re back folks! This IS WMZ 98.4 THE only radio station this close to the peak and the only radio station period, really. It’s a blizzard outside and you can feel the chill to the bone, so make sure you’re layered up! It’s never too early for Christmas music in my book so just relax with a little hot chocolate as we play Christmas’ greatest hits! This is The Eskimo saying over and out!”
♫“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock
Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring
Snowin' and blowin' up bushels of fun
Now the jingle hop has begu--”♫
CRASH!
A thunderous bang resonated throughout the cabin and the radio stopped soon after. A beautiful white wolf sprinted around the corner and headed toward the front door; barking non-stop while snarling its teeth. If looks could kill this wolf would be a mass murderer. Suddenly the silhouette of a person’s shadow paced across the cabin’s wall and with it a knife flicked open, blending in with the shadow. The wolf looked up and met the fearsome gaze of the figure. It started growling, a deep roaring growl enough to scare anyone away.
“Hayley, heel.” The figure commanded in a low raspy voice. She was hesitant and confused, while her natural instincts were to protect and potentially hunt, she also knew she had to obey her master’s command. She backed off but was ready and able to pounce at a moment’s notice. The tension was building. The mysterious shaded figure didn’t know what or who was out there but they were well equipped either way. Slowly the figure approached, the creeks of the floorboards giving away their position and in one fell swoop, they yanked open the door, the sharp tip of the knife ready to slice and maim whoever it may be.
But there was nothing.
Except for a lone sheet of paper that the whistling wind blew in. The figure stuck its head out the door frame and into the raging blizzard for a few moments but there wasn’t a soul in sight. They closed the door and looked at Hayley who was sniffing the piece of paper curiously, perhaps picking up some sort of scent. The figure knelt down, picking up the piece of paper, or as it was, a flyer in Uncle Sam style lettering.
The Purge Wants YOU!
Can you survive the gauntlet?
On it, were a list of names in alphabetical order. The figure trailed a finger across every name until he found his.
Sawyer.
He eyed the paper closely and looked up, walking into the fluorescent orange hue of the fire. He turned his head and looked at his Kingdom Pro Championship resting proudly on the mantle and looked back down once more at the flyer.
He knew what he had to do.
+++++++++++++
“The roads we travel aren't always glistening with gold. The sooner we are able to realize that, the sooner we can progress as a whole. But to progress, we must learn, to learn we must adapt, and to adapt we must be cognizant of our limits. Everyone grows differently and at different paces. Some are late bloomers and others blossom in the blink of an eye. As long as you are not stagnant, progress can always be made. With progression there comes responsibility and what you do with said progression. Do you take the ball and run with it? Or do you drop it completely and, in fact, regress? Ultimately it's up to the individual party themselves. It’s about their drive and their motivation. It’s about their willingness to expect the unexpected. That’s easier said than done but those who are able? They flourish.
They grow exponentially and they are able to achieve feats thought unimaginable. I realize that not everyone is perfect and to reach perfection is imperfect in itself. I don’t strive to be perfect. I strive to guide those wounded and aggrieved to stand up and turn miles of ruin into miles of orchids. I strive to notice those left behind in the shadows because I see strength in them as I see strength in myself. They are not lost on me, they serve a purpose but to some, those who are malevolent, it is a sign of weakness. To them, believability in oneself is such an obscure concept that it makes them, in turn, feel shunned and insecure.
It’s a vicious cycle.
But there are instances where it’s a necessary one. There are those out there that are lost and confused so they turn to malice as their one and only craft. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t done that myself but the methods to my madness aren’t fueled by disdain. They are fueled by carrying the torch of a legacy gone too soon. And so my journey has taken me to Project: Honor. They have lured me out of certain recluse post-Kingdom Pro. I was at a crossroads and unsure of my next venture. My home was in Europe for the past three years and now I return to my roots.
My intuition stays the same, and any changes on the horizon I deem as a learning experience for better or for worse. It is said that things happen for a reason, but I think that is an excuse to justify a change. Project: Honor isn’t fate, it’s an opportunity; one to seize. There is no credence in such things as destiny. Only a fool would believe in something predetermined, as it gives you little wiggle room, to begin with. I was beckoned for The Purge, not because of fate, but because they saw something in me. Something that spans beyond the confines of a company.
I will not be bound by anything.
Or anyone.
Not in The Purge
Not anywhere.
Only I can control what happens in my future. I am no cog in any machine. I am the machine, my own machine and I will operate through my own hands. I march to the beat of my own drum and if that isn’t blatantly obvious then you got the wrong man. The Purge is my opportunity to strike while the iron is hot but I know this task will not be easy. There are men and women collectively with good and bad intentions afoot. I will be forced into an empty town I know nothing about and while I know nothing about this town.
This town knows nothing about me.
Including its inhabitants.
I am the unknown and while this voyage is perilous, it is just as unpredictable. The sea of humanity that will storm into this town, of different skill sets, different sets of morals and principles is a testament to that. I do not fear the wicked men and women who will roam this tiny town, they all fall under the same umbrella.
Targets.
Some stronger than others, some more familiar than others.
Some of which I have already cut down.
It’s easy to say that we’re all vying for the same prize, but I sense that a handful of these souls don’t know what they’ve got themselves into. They’re under the impression that it’s strictly about the survival of the fittest and it’s about living to fight another day when push comes to shove. Crucial mistake. It isn’t about only surviving. It’s about thriving against all odds. Sure you can take the methodical approach and walk on eggshells. Sure you can throw caution into the wind and sever the heads of those susceptible. However, those that can achieve a healthy balance? That is the individual who will unhook the case from the heavens.
That is the individual that will be the one to pin the champion or champions.
That is who I am.
Nobody has genuine faith in me because hardly anybody recognizes the name Sawyer AND they have no expectations of what and who Sawyer is.
It is my obligation to change that.
The ones that I do know?
The ones that I’ve gone with and against in the heat of battle?
Have witnessed me first hand.
Jason Long, a champion seemingly everywhere he’s gone, I disposed of in Kingdom Pro without as much as a whimper. He wasted my time with a paltry half-assed effort that could have been used to dethrone Harvey Yorke from his lofty perch even sooner, but I suppose Kingdom Pro was merely a ‘backup’ promotion in his eyes. He padded his resume with Michael Bishop as the Commonwealth Tag Team Champions with a forgettable piss-ass two month reign and they were eventually dismantled by an even worse assemblage of mediocrity in Beauty, Dirty, Rich who vanished soon thereafter. What I saw was a man devoid of passion and a man who phoned it in all those months ago. I’m sure you have no recollections of that night which doesn’t surprise me. With a few Project: Honor accolades to your name already, I’m curious if I’ll run into a decorated champion or the useless bag of excrement I obliterated in a span of five minutes. I know you’re adored by many and there is merit in that, but there’s no sugarcoating your effortless hack job attempt at putting me down in Kingdom Pro.
What makes this time any different now that we’re in a jungle?
And in jungles, we tend to find ravenous beasts like Michael Bishop. We fought side by side to annihilate The Killjoy Club from existence but as much as you were a necessity, all good things must perish eventually. I will never doubt your innate abilities and the vigor you fight with or the validity of your toughness, but I will take matters into my own hands once the icy chill of the night is upon us. We’re both in the same boat, closing one chapter and starting another anew. We both stroll into Project: Honor as fresh faces. We’re both starting from scratch but the vivid shine of Project: Honor will not intimidate me or deter me from securing the universal briefcase and more, but The Purge isn’t just about briefcases or championships.
It’s about legitimacy.
It’s about knowing that Kingdom Pro wasn’t just an aberration.
I bring up Kingdom Pro repeatedly because my first set of stripes were earned there, but it will mean nothing if I become another footnote buried in Project: Honor lore. There is only triumph or there is only disappointment. There is no in between. I have navigated around the world from ocean to ocean and sea to sea. I have lost loved ones in unfathomable ways and I’ve gained a trustworthy companion in that same span. To dwindle back into a spiraling abyss of self-loathing and despondency is something I cannot, and will not go back to.
The scars that have shaped me will always be there.
But I will not always be there for them.
As I surge forward.
The Purge is indeed a gauntlet. The champions should be mindful of that. They have a massive bullseye on their heads and the burden of fending off so many souls at once is bound to take its toll. If you don’t have eyes in the back of your head, then your collective reigns are as good as dead. I know nothing of Valkyrie, what drives her is beyond my comprehension and is of no relevance to me. I know she has held The Ascension Championship since the summer months. She has earned her keep, she has stood vigorously against any and all adversaries and hasn’t blinked once. She is constantly on the prowl, but what she needs to understand is while her eyes are glued to her prey - there’s another set of eyes, camouflaged in the pit of darkness that is locked on her. I will test your patience, I will test your mettle of a true huntress and when I helplessly carry you by your neck in my jowls not for show, not for recognition but to simply stay alive, you will know that suffering is a two-way road.
This isn’t only about getting my feet wet, this is about making a statement that will shake the foundation Project: Honor was built on. The fools that deduce me as nothing more than a fledgling rookie in over his head are the same ones that will be staring up at the starry night’s sky, frozen in fear, unable to assimilate what just hit them, and unable to reverse course of their misfortunes. The process doesn’t end at The Purge. It only begins. Champions like Earl Boyde, rough and tumble on the surface with a troglodytic train of thought notwithstanding, are painstakingly unaware of the dangers involved in this race. When your brain operates like a meat grinder, any notion of strategy, anything that is even remotely complex is too much to process. Brawl as you may, fight like hell, throw back a cold one like it’s your last night on earth; it’s gotten you this far. Know that when we are at a crossroads I will not back down at any juncture, no matter the circumstance.
For no mercy will be shown to me.
I suppose if Ellie Quinn shows her haggard face after licking her wounds as she went down on The Killjoy Club’s sinking vessel she will try to find me and Bishop with hellfire in her eyes. I say take your shot as it's the only one I’ll afford you to have before you are swiftly decimated in my wake. It will take a lot more than the boiling angst of a woman scorned to avenge The Killjoy Club to dispose of me and Bishop. I watched you crumble in the Cage of Death and despite your fiery disposition, you were reduced to nothing but ash. Your precious Atlantic Championship went into the hands of Remington Ivory Prescott, such a fitting performance for a shameful wench who is perpetually on the rag. I relish in your dismay. Just look at you, thrown into this ordeal to find some sort of refuge and to erase the embarrassment of defeat.
It will never be erased.
It will be a permanent stain on your legacy.
Regardless if you acknowledge it or not.
That goes for the likes of Graham Baker too, who was pissed away in the Cage of Death in a matter of minutes. While you were no more than a lowlife lackey at the end of The Killjoy Club’s whip and guilty by association - It makes me wonder how a self-proclaimed monster can look so feeble and be so inconsistent on a regular basis. I will shed no pity when you are extirpated once again and stacked atop Ellie Quinn as nothing more than a source of heat to keep me warm through the dark hours in Whalan.
In the dark hours, dark minds tend to follow suit, it’s where malefactors get their kicks and Havoc is no different. The name is not foreign to me, he reigns supreme as Fallout's top champion. No one should take him lightly and to do so is a certified death wish. His ideations are predicated on fear, but if you walk into the purge with fear pulsating through your veins you will not last long. Fear is as strong as you make it to be. As the head of a demonic cult fear is used to lash those who are vulnerable. I will not adhere to intimidation and scare tactics. The universal briefcase, the championships are far too important and override any apprehension that may arise. The thing about demons is they can be exorcised and while I bear no crosses, I bear a force that inspires me to abolish evil where it stands.
She is watching over me as we speak.
She won’t fight my battles for me, but she will remind me as a source of strength that there is beauty in perseverance.
Even beyond the grave.
+++++++++++++
Final Destination
The sun was dipping below the shoulder of the horizon. The night was in its infancy and the roads were barren. A lost sector swallowed by an amassing of trees lays bleak and lifeless. Sawyer stood still facing the freezing north wind. Dressed in black from head to toe. He whipped out his knife once again and balled his other fist while looking at a nearby decaying roadside sign riddled in dead branches and rot.
Welcome to Whalan!
The little town with a big heart!
The little town with a big heart!
It was do or die time. There was no going back. The preparation for what was to come and the anticipation was finally over. He looked ahead and could see the outline of the town beyond the rays of the sun.
He marched forward with the rest of the world at his back.
And the gleam of twilight winking off his blade.
