Post by Sawyer on Dec 7, 2021 17:55:53 GMT -5
Preludium
The walk to Whalan was peaceful; like the calm before the storm. The road was mostly barren, bereft of any fallen leaves leading the frozen trail into town. Sawyer soldiered on, doggedly into the night, dressed head to toe in black, making sure he blended in. Along the way his own thoughts consumed him as if they were needles pricking into his skin. Some told him to turn back and some told him he didn’t know what he was getting into.
And they were right.
Sawyer had no predators isolated in the mountains back home, wildlife notwithstanding. His companion Hayley was always at his flank and part of him felt secure in that. There wasn’t a soul for miles and anyone who dared to take on the ominous chill of the air wouldn’t last long through the night.
This was different.
This was another animal entirely.
Was he ready? Was he prepared? Was he fearful even?
The answer was no.
The time to turn back came and went. The blade of his knife may have well been embedded in his hand at this point. He heard commotion in the distance. Screams of merriment clashed with screams of agony which created a feeling of nagging dread.
That’s when he took a detour into the mighty forest before the street light could hit him.
The Cabin In The Woods
Snow started to drift into his point of view; the sheer magnitude of naked trees shivering in place obscured any vision of outsiders that may show up unannounced. He cut his way through outstretched branches and skipped over the protruding roots of the trees like it was an artform. Nestled ahead was a babbling stream and to the east of it rested a forlorn cabin, ravaged, picked through, and left for dead. Sawyer darted his eyes from left to right, he tried to keep his footsteps as silent as possible but it was difficult with the amount of twigs and dead leaves impeding his every step.
It was so dark.
Unimaginably so.
Not even which nightmares could conjure.
The cloud cover was vast, any semblance of light was slim to none, but his eyes, more so his instincts, made his approach tame as he climbed through the shattered window of the cabin. The innards were gutted, not even the memories of its past stuck around and why would they? He figured it was a better tactic than wandering around in the wilderness where he would be more prone to an attack. Patience was key while he laid low. Without it he would have been victimized already. Sawyer noticed a strip of razor wire near his boot and an idea popped into his head. He knelt down beneath the window frame and wrapped it around his boot.
As if his feet could become even more deadly.
Sawyer felt obligated to head into town as some time had gone by before a brief flash of a figure caught his eye in the amber glow of the street light. Sawyer shook his head and couldn’t believe their foolishness by revealing themselves.
It was time to hunt.
The First Kill
And so Sawyer stalked. His eyes were as wide as saucers. He was methodical in how he handled the situation, moving from tree to tree in an instant until he reached the forest’s edge. In the middle of the road stood a masked man, El Puma, who seemed completely unaware of his surroundings.
Sawyer crouched and slowly approached him and before you know it the masked man was on his knees.
Sawyer felt the razor wire unmercifully slice through his jaw like a hot knife through butter.
He never knew what hit him.
Muddy Waters
The rush Sawyer felt after his first successful attack was barely containable but he knew he had to keep a lid on things. While the night was still young, he knew there were many others roaming Whalan with a similar mindset as his. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down no matter what. His pulse was racing at a mile a minute but not to the point of hysteria. He found himself slithering through a backyard and patches of fog were starting to creep in, so it was getting increasingly difficult to scout the environment.
He finagled his way to the garage roof of the household. He made sure he was shielded by the shadows and he perched himself there like a gargoyle. Sawyer heard the frantic breaths of someone barrel through the backyard and peered over the garage’s edge to see James Ranger fallen and battling the mud.
This was his moment.
Sawyer turned his back to Ranger and closed his eyes before diving off the top.
It was a risk that had to be taken and when the surge of pain shot through Sawyer’s body, he wondered if it was worth it.
Once the three count was made, the question was answered for him.
Wreaking Havoc
There was chaos in the streets of Whalan and bodies lay scattered. Sawyer drifted into the heart of town not too long after his second elimination. Lost in the commotion Sawyer found himself in the trenches with a demon. He felt the wrath of The Nightmare King when Havoc split his eyebrow open off the bleachers.
Havoc had Sawyer right where he wanted him, but he briefly got distracted by someone or something.
A crucial mistake.
The blood was like an ever flowing stream into his eyes but he managed to drop Havoc into the cold hard ground below.
The Prime champion was in dire straits. Sawyer, through blurred vision of the other battles waging on in the distance, covered Havoc with what little vision he had left.
Sawyer had pinned the renowned Prime Champion and under the bleachers the gleam of a token caught his eye. It was beckoning his name. He reached his outstretched arms and secured it.
That would be his last moments in The Purge.
What The Future Holds
After The Purge concluded Sawyer stayed put. He sat on the bleachers, wondering what this night held and wondering what he could have done differently. He looked around and surveyed the carnage, while the sound of ambulances distorted fantasy from reality.
This was all too real.
And as grueling as The Purge was, it was educational at the same time. It taught Sawyer how far the men and women alike in Project: Honor are willing to go for fame, for fortune, and for championships. Even if it means ending up in the morgue as a result. Sawyer twiddled his token between his fingers, holding it against the emerging moonlight.
P.
Who knew that one single letter would hold so much significance?
It could be his meal ticket or it could be his doom but that’s a different matter entirely. The one thing he did know is that it belonged to him.
And nobody else.
++++++
“I find myself increasingly mesmerized by the lengths that some people will go to in order to achieve even a chance at immortality. It is an obsession and those that live by the sword will ultimately die by it. For some, stardom is the be all end all. We all have different motivations and things that make us tick. What drives us is usually a personal crusade or an obstacle we have yet to overcome. The Purge didn’t change me, it didn’t change my convictions, and what I believe but it does make you think. It makes you question how far you’re willing to push the envelope.
To end up in the final four is more than anybody could have imagined from an outcast like me walking into a town and promotion with little repute. My demise was not in vain, it was simply the end of a chapter, a chapter full of intrigue and triumph. I am no hero, I am a mortal man like anyone of you, who is carving his path from scratch. Rome wasn’t built in a day and I don’t expect it to be easy. It’s never easy. There will always be those who oppose me and those with fierce animosity in their hearts, but they would be foolish to not take me as a very real threat.
Ask El Puma.
Ask James Ranger.
Ask Havoc.
They weren’t just mere casualties, they were building blocks. Make no mistake about it, this isn’t a pissing contest, but a revelation that I hold substantial value. The road ahead is treacherous, yes, but if I were to fear the unknown, then I would have never made it to Whalan in the first place. Whalan was my gateway and now I have drawn the ire of True Society. I have fired the first shot and I’m not blind; I see the path of destruction True Society has left in their wake, but if there is one thing I have an affinity for, it’s ridding cancerous parasites that infect companies from within. Ask Lazarus Arjen and the rest of the misfits in the Killjoy Club such as Ellie Quinn and Graham Baker. This isn’t my first rodeo.
I’m not filled with dread when I see True Society.
It’s simply deja vu.
The only difference is the size and it’s a wonder how many ragtag vagabonds willingly fall in line to spare no one in this company. They put their individual grievances on the backburner at least for now and sacrifice their careers for what? Control? For Arik Holt? To put Project Honor on notice? To run roughshod over this entire company? Control is a fickle thing because it never ends well. Eventually those who believe in outright power and control are inevitably overrun by a much stronger force. It has a shelf life. True Society believes that there’s strength in numbers but they need to realize that there’s more people not willing to adhere to the standards set by True Society then there is engrained in the group.
Jason Long and Julius Fairweather may have questions about me, about whether they can put their faith in Sawyer. I can't blame them, but the same question could be and is reciprocated from my end. There’s no magic answer I have for them, there’s only results. We’ll get our pound of flesh one way or another. Nobody’s above Project: Honor, not the likes of Slade Castle, Billy Bennett or even Syndicate, but they know how to tow the line and cross it when need be.
They’ve been playing chess while the rest play checkers.
I firmly believe Big Drip Productions have been driven to their wit’s end.
But that’s not to say True Society is free of flaws.
When you stockpile so many bodies in one group, when you have to feed so many egos at one time, it’s a pressing task to keep them all at rest.
Like noisy rats in a cage and when there’s so little wiggle room, they’ll start to turn on each other. It's a tale as old as time. They’ll throw their weight around and the stronger ones like Syndicate, like Havoc, they unfairly and unjustly compartmentalize others as less valuable and that’s what I see with Syndicate, Slade and Billy. Syndicate is the head honcho, Slade while holding his own as the Noble Champion should realize that the championship itself has a cap on it. It’s only for those pegged to be unruly and hardcore. While you specialize in this field, know that Syndicate will only use you as a proverbial tool to keep the heat off.
Slade was a once proud marine and everything he did was for the sake of the core. The core, the core, the core, that’s all that mattered. It wasn’t until his squad was wiped did he turn down a rogue path. A path that has led him astray into the arms of True Society. I’m sure they’ve promised you a bunch of sweet nothings that should have gone through one ear and out the other. Instead you seek out genuine competition and legitimacy but at True Society’s every beck and call. Resorting to street fights as some sort of safe haven to ward off the painful memories of everything your squadron stood for. Like honor, valor, pride and what it’s like to be and function as a man.
It’s just a dog and pony show.
The greed of True Society knows no bounds. It expands and grows every week that goes by.
Why should I believe that Slade is anything more than a moving part? His Noble Championship is nothing but leverage for True Society’s grip over Project: Honor as opposed to something he holds with great prestige. Come at me with your street smarts and I’ll kick your head into the goddamn sea. I haven’t been here five minutes and I can already see the sludge like sewage dripping down Project: Honor’s walls from True Society’s filth but they don’t abhor me, they motivate me. In a sense they give me a purpose; a challenge instead of being lost in the shuffle.
However, a purpose can also be a grave thing and I don’t wear rose tinted glasses, I see True Society for what they are but I know that Jason Long and Julius Fairweather can hold their own. True Society likes to play the mental game, that’s why even scoundrels like Slade Castle and Billy Bennett can get their share of the pie. They’re fighters; foot soldiers to an army of derelicts. There is no low they won’t stoop to but I don’t need to sink to sickening depths in order to achieve prominence.
True Society, while immaculate in size, will eventually operate as individuals once the honeymoon phase wears off.
It’s all for selfish gains.
Arik Holt promises liberation to run away swamp girls like Billy Bennett and she’ll take that bait like a fish out of water. These delusions of grandeur are so tantalizing, it’s no wonder someone with the I.Q of a house fly and the homeliness of a catfish would wander towards a source of light, to escape the confines of the murky backwoods and thick humidity of Florida for greater pastures.
Only to land right back in the muck.
Such a pity.
Because there is talent there. It’s just misused. She doesn’t stand a hair over five feet, and she’ll wrap around you like an anaconda but as they say, when you cut the head off the snake, what is left? Just a metric shit ton of flesh. A boatload of wasted potential poisoned by the protruding fangs of Arik Holt. Who will I be facing on Fallout, hm? A firecracker who will fight like hell with no ounce of quit in her? Or a traumatized raggedy ann doll-gothic hybrid who has a string attached to her back because she doesn’t know what she’s fighting for?
I see your broken spirit.
There’s no sense in hiding it.
Do you really believe coming out of the woodwork and settling beneath the shadow of Arik Holt’s wing will provide recluse from the obvious tragedies that have taken place in your life? Maybe I shouldn’t pretend to know who you are, because I don’t, but I can and will scrutinize the choices you have made. I know that you live in a violent if not dismal world that is spiraling out of control. The agony of others isn’t a substitution for you, it’s an outlet. It’s a chance to finally breathe.
But who said Jason, Julius and myself are willing to succumb to True Society without a whimper?
Do you expect us to sit here and take it?
Do you expect us to give up, like you did, Billy? When you signed on True Society’s line in your own goddamn blood? Or when Slade sold his soul to a bunch of leeches so he can stop the excruciating reminders that still haunt him to this day? They’re not gonna stop, it’s gonna keep going.
And going.
Until the lot of you are drained and dried up. I don’t have to go to one extreme or the other to beat any of you, I just gotta show you what everybody has known all along and what has become blatantly apparent in my short time here. Without each other, you are godless mutts limping across the very streets you came from with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. You’re zombies holding the fort with no real incentive.
Syndicate isn’t absolved from it either.
He’s the worst offender of them all, drunk on his own influence or what he perceives to be an influence. He’s even thrown his own tag team partner, Billy Bennett under the bus, dubbing her a swamp ass bitch, chastising where she came from, yet I’m supposed to expect some form of camaraderie between the three of you? Billy Bennett and Slade Castle are too busy playing catch up to Syndicate.
And he’s lost in his own self-righteous reverie to give two shits regardless.
What is this but another tedious exhibition where he plays Billy and Slade like a fiddle as a means to an end? To impress one Arik Holt.
Even Syndicate, the fabled outlaw himself, answers to somebody.
Because if he didn’t, he might be a nobody. That’s a risk he can’t take. He sits atop his purge perch with the Legacy Championship in his grasp, feeling like a king. He got his comeuppance in one night. He took me and others out. We were just pawns, weren’t we? Now he wears this cloak of invincibility. As if nothing can touch him and who am I to question him? I’m a meager little cog in the machine, but perception is a stark contrast from reality.
He should be smarter than to confuse the two.
Should be.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to sweep me under the rug as nothing more than a nuisance at best and it’s true, I might be fighting an uphill battle but that doesn’t mean anything when you’re locked in my crosshairs on an even playing field. Even so called outlaws can be abolished. When I pinned Havoc I knew I was on my last legs and to your credit you picked at my scraps; you finished the job. Another nondescript pinfall over new blood. I doubt I satisfied your craving but you left me with satisfaction.
That’s all I need.
I made one of True Society’s generals taste the bitter agony of defeat. I’m nothing but a rookie you might say. I shouldn’t have made it so far. I was lucky to even land a spot on the card, yet here I am. Main eventing Fallout in my second ever contest against one vainglorious asshole who’s full of himself, and two soulless empty deadbeats who aren’t so sure of themselves.
Something’s gotta give.
And something will.
If you want to beat someone, you focus on their weakness. If you wanna break someone, you focus on their strength.
Do you wanna beat us Syndicate, Billy and Slade? Or do you wanna break us? The choice is yours.
I know which avenue I’m going down and I’m sure Jason and Julius will agree when I say.
Let the bodies hit the floor.”
