Post by Henry Lee Hyde on Apr 14, 2022 13:11:09 GMT -5
[ON/OFF] SCENE ONE
When Henry arrives at his apartment, he's already bloody. His steering wheel's slick with it and in the dimming light of day, it's starting to become part of his skin.
He always did have Mike's blood on his hands, he felt. That guilt of getting him involved in Mr. Wright's games never did wash off easily. Mike's voice always one he heard in his nightmares, behind that forbidden door – now his shouts, his cries, are ones Henry will always hear in some distant corner of his mind. In the silence, like he sits in now. Outside his apartment, watching the building.
There's no sign of Victor, the last vestige of Henry's nightmare. But the apartment building's door is ajar, taunting Henry.
He rises to its challenge, storms from his car towards it. Fists sheathed in his pockets, ready to strike. Driven by the shadows, the voices, the visions and nightmares. By the call for revenge, for a fight, that runs through his veins.
He always did have Mike's blood on his hands, he felt. That guilt of getting him involved in Mr. Wright's games never did wash off easily. Mike's voice always one he heard in his nightmares, behind that forbidden door – now his shouts, his cries, are ones Henry will always hear in some distant corner of his mind. In the silence, like he sits in now. Outside his apartment, watching the building.
There's no sign of Victor, the last vestige of Henry's nightmare. But the apartment building's door is ajar, taunting Henry.
He rises to its challenge, storms from his car towards it. Fists sheathed in his pockets, ready to strike. Driven by the shadows, the voices, the visions and nightmares. By the call for revenge, for a fight, that runs through his veins.
HENRY LEE HYDE.
DRIVING THE DEMONS AWAY.
PUBLIC EXECUTION II.
[ON/OFF] SCENE TWO
There's a deep silence as Henry ascends to the very top floor of the apartment building. One only broken by the rhythmic dull thudding that swells within his own home. Growing louder with every step, until it echoes heavy in his chest as he crosses the threshold of his apartment.
With deadly precision, Henry finds him. Victor, the last remaining spectre of Henry's deepest wounds. And with him comes the thudding. He bashes against a door, every kick causing the walls to shudder. Not just any door either – Sherry's door, and Henry knows from how steady it holds, how the lock whines with every hit, that she's in there. Hiding.
The door begins to splinter and with it snaps Henry's last thread of control.
“Victor.”
The voice that comes from Henry's throat isn't quite his own, warped in his ears by some gritty darkness. When Victor turns to face him, his eyes shine like lights in a cave, flames flickering in shadow, and for a second Henry doesn't see a man. He sees Victor for the monster he is, the last face people saw before their deaths. The constant, oozing wound in Henry's head. Sees the gun in his hand, fingers wrapped like roots around it.
Victor aims his gun at Henry and fires.
Somehow he dodges. The bullet finds a cabinet behind him, tears through, leaving a dust of papers and smoke. And from it Henry charges at Victor, slamming him into the door, the wood creaking under their weight. He wrenches Victor's arm, grits his teeth as nails gouge into his face. But he keeps his grip, pulls Victor's arm up. It twists with a loud snap and Victor cries, fires again in agony.
The shot shatters everything. Not just the ceiling, but the sound, the air, the boiling tension that's melting away Henry's flesh. Through the ringing in his ears, he tears Victor down. Crushes a knee beneath his foot, rips the gun free from his skin. The ringing drowns out everything and all Henry can remember is flashes and feelings: the streak of red dragging down the wall as Victor fell to the ground; the volume of his voice but not the words, the cries, the curses; bone crumbling beneath bone. From Victor's body, every bit of the past bled out. Every one of Henry's bad memories.
With every punch.
His sister's car crash.
Every stomp.
The robbery orchestrated by Victor.
Every scratch.
Mr Wright's first attack on him.
Every gash.
The scars still there.
And every single loss –
– wound –
– betrayal.
Every nightmare, waking and asleep, bleeds into the floor. Stains Henry's fists, clothes, face. He sees red, then black, then his apartment. His home. Sees Victor motionless, breathing shallow, on the ground. Henry closes them again, tight, as if he never wanted them to open again.
The battered bedroom door behind him clicks open and from it emerges Sherry. She regards the chaos with a steady stare, steps measured as she approaches Henry.
“It's over, isn't it?” she asks, voice soft as if to avoid shattering the fragile air around them.
Henry opens his eyes and sees clearly for the first time in weeks. Maybe months. The haze of the nightmares, influences, revenge now just a fine, morning mist. The kind that swirls around him, drifts from his fists when he unclenches them – like smoke. Like dreams he's woken up from.
Everything's finally fixed.
He nods. “We got them,” he says, voice dry, drained. “The demons. They're gone.”
With deadly precision, Henry finds him. Victor, the last remaining spectre of Henry's deepest wounds. And with him comes the thudding. He bashes against a door, every kick causing the walls to shudder. Not just any door either – Sherry's door, and Henry knows from how steady it holds, how the lock whines with every hit, that she's in there. Hiding.
The door begins to splinter and with it snaps Henry's last thread of control.
“Victor.”
The voice that comes from Henry's throat isn't quite his own, warped in his ears by some gritty darkness. When Victor turns to face him, his eyes shine like lights in a cave, flames flickering in shadow, and for a second Henry doesn't see a man. He sees Victor for the monster he is, the last face people saw before their deaths. The constant, oozing wound in Henry's head. Sees the gun in his hand, fingers wrapped like roots around it.
Victor aims his gun at Henry and fires.
Somehow he dodges. The bullet finds a cabinet behind him, tears through, leaving a dust of papers and smoke. And from it Henry charges at Victor, slamming him into the door, the wood creaking under their weight. He wrenches Victor's arm, grits his teeth as nails gouge into his face. But he keeps his grip, pulls Victor's arm up. It twists with a loud snap and Victor cries, fires again in agony.
The shot shatters everything. Not just the ceiling, but the sound, the air, the boiling tension that's melting away Henry's flesh. Through the ringing in his ears, he tears Victor down. Crushes a knee beneath his foot, rips the gun free from his skin. The ringing drowns out everything and all Henry can remember is flashes and feelings: the streak of red dragging down the wall as Victor fell to the ground; the volume of his voice but not the words, the cries, the curses; bone crumbling beneath bone. From Victor's body, every bit of the past bled out. Every one of Henry's bad memories.
With every punch.
His sister's car crash.
Every stomp.
The robbery orchestrated by Victor.
Every scratch.
Mr Wright's first attack on him.
Every gash.
The scars still there.
And every single loss –
– wound –
– betrayal.
Every nightmare, waking and asleep, bleeds into the floor. Stains Henry's fists, clothes, face. He sees red, then black, then his apartment. His home. Sees Victor motionless, breathing shallow, on the ground. Henry closes them again, tight, as if he never wanted them to open again.
The battered bedroom door behind him clicks open and from it emerges Sherry. She regards the chaos with a steady stare, steps measured as she approaches Henry.
“It's over, isn't it?” she asks, voice soft as if to avoid shattering the fragile air around them.
Henry opens his eyes and sees clearly for the first time in weeks. Maybe months. The haze of the nightmares, influences, revenge now just a fine, morning mist. The kind that swirls around him, drifts from his fists when he unclenches them – like smoke. Like dreams he's woken up from.
Everything's finally fixed.
He nods. “We got them,” he says, voice dry, drained. “The demons. They're gone.”
[ON/OFF] SCENE THREE
Faint incense smoke rises to caress closed eyes. Deep breaths step across the silence, and when those eyes finally open, they're bloodshot and darkened.
Henry sits cross-legged before a small shrine, its candlelight forgiving against his bruises, his weathered face. With a huff, the smoke dissipates, fleeing into the recesses of this dimly-lit room. It's been a while since he returned to a temple, let himself truly sink into the depths of his mind – it scared him for too long. But now is the right time.
He needs to cleanse away the dark.
“The Gatekeeper Championship's been my first reign in a while. Had a few titles on the independent scene – none you've heard of – but I forgot how relentless it is to be a champion. How every match is a battle, a war, and every opponent a titan. But this reign has reminded me of two things: it's a heavy burden to bear, carrying a title.”
“And I'm more than capable of doing it.”
“It's in my bones, my blood, in every shred of skin beneath my opponents' fingernails, it's there. That fight, that spirit, that undying will. But there's moments, I'll admit, where I feel it fade.”
“Yuriko, you own one of those moments. You came close last time. When I felt those knees hit my chest, I thought for just a second that it was over for me. You pack a punch – or a knee, I guess. One to look out for.”
“The kind of fight I've been looking for.”
“See, I might've thought for a second I was out, but I pulled through. I got back up and I took down Boyde – did what I had to – because I couldn't let myself fall so easily when the fight I wanted had just started. When you took me out with that surprise meteora, Yuriko, I knew you'd be someone I'd fight again. And I knew I couldn't let you get an advantage – a point over me.”
Henry chuckles.
“End of our last match, you were still conscious. I've had some challenges as Gatekeeper Champion – defended against two former champions at once, competed in deranged matches. And when I won the damn title, it was in a match with some of the best wrestlers in Project: Honor, some of the toughest, most intelligent, most dangerous people in this company. People who're champions still. And even though you haven't quite gotten to the level of a champion or a main event-level star here, I've wrestled long enough to know when someone has that raw power, that drive to succeed. To never give in. I know when a threat lies in wait in the dust, and there's no time to let the dust of our last title clash settle. I need to be ready for the wave of new blood you're riding on.”
“'Cause I've entered the phase of my reign where people like to get complacent. I've beaten a lot of talent, I've made my mark on this title by becoming the current longest-reigning champion. In a way, I've done what I wanted to: I've set a standard, one that only the best rising star can overcome. And isn't that the point of the Gatekeeper Championship? To be that bar that people have to rise to meet?”
“And I know you're willing to jump far. To reach those heights and lows of the type of wrestling you admire. That's the biggest challenge against someone who idolises deathmatch wrestling as much as you do: you're willing to do anything to be seen amongst those bloodied idols you look up to.”
“Which means I can't risk becoming complacent. I can't look at your win-loss record, your lack of experience, your time here on Fallout and chalk you up as someone who hasn't proven herself yet, Yuriko. Because in one fell swoop, one quick move you proved more than enough to me. You proved you'll never give in, you'll always have some jolt of life in you. A taste for death, for risk. Always hanging on your last breath.”
“But I'm hanging there with you, Yuriko – always have been. You've seen 'death' in barbed wire and glass, I've seen death in the flesh. Bartered with the ferryman, knee-deep in rivers of blood. Death to you, Yuriko, is something you toy with in the ring. Something you tease and dance around with your deathmatch wrestling. And to me, death?”
“An old friend. Bitter enemy. Someone I see every night and pass by every day. I see them in the faces of some of my family members, I hear about them from friends. I've confronted death like a guy that's cut in line at the store – I'm not afraid of death.” Henry allows himself a laugh, a crack of a smile before he continues, “Not afraid of your style. In fact, I invite it. I want you to bring that violence, Yuriko. I know you can, know you can give me the fight I need. A war, a brawl, a dramatic fuckin' crescendo of chaos, I know you can do it. Give me it.”
“I need to know that I can still withstand it. Confront it. Last bit of new blood I faced before you was Tate – and I lost. I have to know that I can still call myself a Gatekeeper. This reign won't end in the collapse of my mind, it'll continue through the blaze of fire brought about by my hands.”
Closing his eyes once more, Henry breathes in deep the incense, its last wisps of smoke dancing in the air. He collects some of its ash upon his finger, wipes it away as he continues. “You have a bright future ahead of you, Yuriko. But the brightest burn out the fastest. I've felt the sting of your fire once before – and I'll extinguish it before it melts my gold away.”
“And if you wanna take me down? You'll have to burn yourself to the ground with me to make sure I'm still dead, this time.”
Henry blows out the candles at the shrine, the scene dying with their flames.
Henry sits cross-legged before a small shrine, its candlelight forgiving against his bruises, his weathered face. With a huff, the smoke dissipates, fleeing into the recesses of this dimly-lit room. It's been a while since he returned to a temple, let himself truly sink into the depths of his mind – it scared him for too long. But now is the right time.
He needs to cleanse away the dark.
“The Gatekeeper Championship's been my first reign in a while. Had a few titles on the independent scene – none you've heard of – but I forgot how relentless it is to be a champion. How every match is a battle, a war, and every opponent a titan. But this reign has reminded me of two things: it's a heavy burden to bear, carrying a title.”
“And I'm more than capable of doing it.”
“It's in my bones, my blood, in every shred of skin beneath my opponents' fingernails, it's there. That fight, that spirit, that undying will. But there's moments, I'll admit, where I feel it fade.”
“Yuriko, you own one of those moments. You came close last time. When I felt those knees hit my chest, I thought for just a second that it was over for me. You pack a punch – or a knee, I guess. One to look out for.”
“The kind of fight I've been looking for.”
“See, I might've thought for a second I was out, but I pulled through. I got back up and I took down Boyde – did what I had to – because I couldn't let myself fall so easily when the fight I wanted had just started. When you took me out with that surprise meteora, Yuriko, I knew you'd be someone I'd fight again. And I knew I couldn't let you get an advantage – a point over me.”
Henry chuckles.
“End of our last match, you were still conscious. I've had some challenges as Gatekeeper Champion – defended against two former champions at once, competed in deranged matches. And when I won the damn title, it was in a match with some of the best wrestlers in Project: Honor, some of the toughest, most intelligent, most dangerous people in this company. People who're champions still. And even though you haven't quite gotten to the level of a champion or a main event-level star here, I've wrestled long enough to know when someone has that raw power, that drive to succeed. To never give in. I know when a threat lies in wait in the dust, and there's no time to let the dust of our last title clash settle. I need to be ready for the wave of new blood you're riding on.”
“'Cause I've entered the phase of my reign where people like to get complacent. I've beaten a lot of talent, I've made my mark on this title by becoming the current longest-reigning champion. In a way, I've done what I wanted to: I've set a standard, one that only the best rising star can overcome. And isn't that the point of the Gatekeeper Championship? To be that bar that people have to rise to meet?”
“And I know you're willing to jump far. To reach those heights and lows of the type of wrestling you admire. That's the biggest challenge against someone who idolises deathmatch wrestling as much as you do: you're willing to do anything to be seen amongst those bloodied idols you look up to.”
“Which means I can't risk becoming complacent. I can't look at your win-loss record, your lack of experience, your time here on Fallout and chalk you up as someone who hasn't proven herself yet, Yuriko. Because in one fell swoop, one quick move you proved more than enough to me. You proved you'll never give in, you'll always have some jolt of life in you. A taste for death, for risk. Always hanging on your last breath.”
“But I'm hanging there with you, Yuriko – always have been. You've seen 'death' in barbed wire and glass, I've seen death in the flesh. Bartered with the ferryman, knee-deep in rivers of blood. Death to you, Yuriko, is something you toy with in the ring. Something you tease and dance around with your deathmatch wrestling. And to me, death?”
“An old friend. Bitter enemy. Someone I see every night and pass by every day. I see them in the faces of some of my family members, I hear about them from friends. I've confronted death like a guy that's cut in line at the store – I'm not afraid of death.” Henry allows himself a laugh, a crack of a smile before he continues, “Not afraid of your style. In fact, I invite it. I want you to bring that violence, Yuriko. I know you can, know you can give me the fight I need. A war, a brawl, a dramatic fuckin' crescendo of chaos, I know you can do it. Give me it.”
“I need to know that I can still withstand it. Confront it. Last bit of new blood I faced before you was Tate – and I lost. I have to know that I can still call myself a Gatekeeper. This reign won't end in the collapse of my mind, it'll continue through the blaze of fire brought about by my hands.”
Closing his eyes once more, Henry breathes in deep the incense, its last wisps of smoke dancing in the air. He collects some of its ash upon his finger, wipes it away as he continues. “You have a bright future ahead of you, Yuriko. But the brightest burn out the fastest. I've felt the sting of your fire once before – and I'll extinguish it before it melts my gold away.”
“And if you wanna take me down? You'll have to burn yourself to the ground with me to make sure I'm still dead, this time.”
Henry blows out the candles at the shrine, the scene dying with their flames.
END.
