Post by Henry Lee Hyde on Apr 26, 2022 14:47:22 GMT -5
[ON/OFF] SCENE ONE
When chaos comes knocking at your door and you answer, there's different ways to react. To come down from the fight.
For Henry, it's been a long fight against his demons – both real and nightmare – and the end leaves his fists feeling hollow yet heavy. It takes Sherry to pick him up from where he stays over Victor's limp yet alive body. When they hug, it feels just as awkward as the few times they've done so before – this time though because Henry doesn't want to get Victor's blood on her, his fingers twitching away remnants of adrenaline.
Henry moves on in silence. Washes the blood from his hands, ignores the bullet holes and wood splinters. Hauls Victor into the back of his car, Sherry on lookout. And they drive off into the night to find the nearest diner. Flickering neon signs catch their attention deep down the road; the promise of free coffee in the window prompting them to pull into the near-empty parking lot outside.
They don't sit inside, despite the abundance of booth seats. Instead they're perched on the trunk of Henry's car, warming trembling hands with takeaway cups, the steam from their coffee the only thing lingering between them until the words manage to crawl up Henry's dry throat.
“I'm gonna go home for a while,” he says as he watches car headlights drift past. “Need to clear my head.”
“And going home's the best way to do that?”
Sherry knows his history, his family – from the good to the bad. Henry sighs. “I think I just need to get away from here. No offence.”
“None taken. I'll probably go see my sister, do my annual “I'm still alive” bit.”
“You do need a break.”
Sherry mock-gasps, holding a hand to her chest. “Finally someone acknowledges that fact.” She smirks, then she sobers. “You deserve one too. It's been a rough...few weeks?”
“Feels like longer.”
“It's been worse now though, with...Mike and everything.” Just the sound of that name makes Henry flinch. “And then wrestling on top of that, Jesus, Watson. Amazed you're still able to function.”
All Henry can give is a hollow, “Yeah.”
They're silent for a moment, Sherry sipping some coffee, spirit lifted enough to say, “Still kinda surprised you trusted Mike as much as you did. I mean, not to drag you, but you barely ever get close to people and yet he was the one you defended. Despite all the evidence.”
“I thought he was a friend.”
“You barely knew him.”
Henry shrugs. “Got used to him. He seemed like he wanted to help, didn't ask too many questions after the whole Wright thing. I thought I could trust him. In a place like Fallout, you need all the allies you can get.”
“Until they stab you in the back.”
“Right.” Henry takes a long sip. “When it comes to Project: Honor: no more allies, no more prisoners.” He gives Sherry a nod. “Just informants.”
She buries a finger into his chest. “And assistants.”
Henry rolls his eyes, but his smile hides beneath the dark. “Yeah, yeah. Just promise you won't leave the apartment in a worse state than it's already in if you come back before me.”
“Don't think that's possible. Besides, between you bleeding through your bandages onto everything and not putting my files back in the right place, I think you've messed it up the most between us – you going away for a while will be a blessing to that house.”
“I get it, you want me out as soon as–”
The car rattles, something thudding from within the trunk. The two of them look down at the source, unfazed by Victor's muffled protests.
Henry nods to the trunk. “We should deal with him first.”
“Good idea.”
For Henry, it's been a long fight against his demons – both real and nightmare – and the end leaves his fists feeling hollow yet heavy. It takes Sherry to pick him up from where he stays over Victor's limp yet alive body. When they hug, it feels just as awkward as the few times they've done so before – this time though because Henry doesn't want to get Victor's blood on her, his fingers twitching away remnants of adrenaline.
Henry moves on in silence. Washes the blood from his hands, ignores the bullet holes and wood splinters. Hauls Victor into the back of his car, Sherry on lookout. And they drive off into the night to find the nearest diner. Flickering neon signs catch their attention deep down the road; the promise of free coffee in the window prompting them to pull into the near-empty parking lot outside.
They don't sit inside, despite the abundance of booth seats. Instead they're perched on the trunk of Henry's car, warming trembling hands with takeaway cups, the steam from their coffee the only thing lingering between them until the words manage to crawl up Henry's dry throat.
“I'm gonna go home for a while,” he says as he watches car headlights drift past. “Need to clear my head.”
“And going home's the best way to do that?”
Sherry knows his history, his family – from the good to the bad. Henry sighs. “I think I just need to get away from here. No offence.”
“None taken. I'll probably go see my sister, do my annual “I'm still alive” bit.”
“You do need a break.”
Sherry mock-gasps, holding a hand to her chest. “Finally someone acknowledges that fact.” She smirks, then she sobers. “You deserve one too. It's been a rough...few weeks?”
“Feels like longer.”
“It's been worse now though, with...Mike and everything.” Just the sound of that name makes Henry flinch. “And then wrestling on top of that, Jesus, Watson. Amazed you're still able to function.”
All Henry can give is a hollow, “Yeah.”
They're silent for a moment, Sherry sipping some coffee, spirit lifted enough to say, “Still kinda surprised you trusted Mike as much as you did. I mean, not to drag you, but you barely ever get close to people and yet he was the one you defended. Despite all the evidence.”
“I thought he was a friend.”
“You barely knew him.”
Henry shrugs. “Got used to him. He seemed like he wanted to help, didn't ask too many questions after the whole Wright thing. I thought I could trust him. In a place like Fallout, you need all the allies you can get.”
“Until they stab you in the back.”
“Right.” Henry takes a long sip. “When it comes to Project: Honor: no more allies, no more prisoners.” He gives Sherry a nod. “Just informants.”
She buries a finger into his chest. “And assistants.”
Henry rolls his eyes, but his smile hides beneath the dark. “Yeah, yeah. Just promise you won't leave the apartment in a worse state than it's already in if you come back before me.”
“Don't think that's possible. Besides, between you bleeding through your bandages onto everything and not putting my files back in the right place, I think you've messed it up the most between us – you going away for a while will be a blessing to that house.”
“I get it, you want me out as soon as–”
The car rattles, something thudding from within the trunk. The two of them look down at the source, unfazed by Victor's muffled protests.
Henry nods to the trunk. “We should deal with him first.”
“Good idea.”
HENRY LEE HYDE.
THE LONG ROAD HOME.
FALLOUT XXIV: PAID IN BLOOD.
[ON/OFF] SCENE TWO
Henry always forgets how long and winding the roads back home are. An endless maze that drags him through towering cityscapes, broken concrete jungles and yellowing rural fields. There's a familiarity in his surroundings though, no matter how long it's been since he drove down these roads – like a fog, heavy enough to make him think twice, but light enough for him to see through and onwards towards familiar ground.
So he knows when something is amiss.
As he drives through the more rural stretch of road, only the long grass moving either side of his car, he spots it. Perched atop a hill, bleeding into the grass. A barn, battered by the worst of the weather, yet its crimson paint remains a stark contrast against the overcast sky. Its windows are shuttered, its black door closed yet dark enough it looks like its stretched open, some silent cry spilling from it.
Henry almost stops just to stare at it. Actually feels himself slowing down as he watches it, standing there unwavering.
Its door cracks open. Maybe because of the wind.
Hopefully because of the wind.
So he knows when something is amiss.
As he drives through the more rural stretch of road, only the long grass moving either side of his car, he spots it. Perched atop a hill, bleeding into the grass. A barn, battered by the worst of the weather, yet its crimson paint remains a stark contrast against the overcast sky. Its windows are shuttered, its black door closed yet dark enough it looks like its stretched open, some silent cry spilling from it.
Henry almost stops just to stare at it. Actually feels himself slowing down as he watches it, standing there unwavering.
Its door cracks open. Maybe because of the wind.
Hopefully because of the wind.
[ON/OFF] SCENE THREE
Henry can't quite go home yet. It never feels right any more, to just drop in unannounced and expect the whole house to shift around his needs. Especially not with every tense glance his father gives him. As much as he wishes to see his sister and nephew, it can't be justified now as evening creeps in.
Instead he finds his second home.
Beating in the heart of a high school gym is a wrestling show. Local, humble, yet roaring with life. Just as Henry remembers it. It's this same gym where he got his start in wrestling, for the same promotion he was hesitant to leave behind. Being back, sitting at the very top of the bleachers, should feel good.
But there's a tight ache in Henry's chest as he watches the action unfold in the ring. A ring he's stained with his own blood and sweat. By now it's probably been painted over with another man's blood, stomped deep into the canvas. Some part of Henry longs to draw it out again.
He's in Project: Honor now and he's happy, of course. Bigger paycheques to put towards bigger things, world-famous competition to test himself against. The Gatekeeper Championship, his name now etched in gold. Making the leap into Project: Honor was something Henry will never regret, but as he watches homegrown talent after talent wrestle in a ring that used to be his, he can't help but feel he left something behind when he moved on from it. The fight that possesses the wrestlers he watches.
It's a feeling that lingers even as he's leaving, hood up so as not to be caught by anyone who may still remember his face. Little chance of that.
Not no chance, though, he realises as a familiar voice calls his name just as he reaches his car. Henry rolls his eyes, turning to find the one person he least wanted to see. Billy Payne is just as his name suggests.
“Thought I recognised this wreck,” he says, gesturing at Henry's car.
Henry huffs. “Sweet of you to remember me somehow.”
“What're you doing back?” Billy leans on the hood of Henry's car and holds his narrowed stare. “Thought you'd be busy defending your title across the world.”
“So you're keeping up with my career?”
A scoff. “When you won it, it was all boss could go on about. Bet he'd wanna see you – it's been a minute.”
“Another time,” Henry says, unlocking his car. But of course, Billy doesn't move. “I'm tired as hell from all the driving.”
“You drove up here? Today, on your own?” When Henry nods, Billy chuckles. “Who'd you piss off to drive all the way out here alone?”
Too many people to name – both in and out of Project: Honor. “No one. Just needed to get away for a bit.”
“'Cause this is a great town to 'get away' in...”
Something about those words, that tone, sparks a memory in Henry's mind. The barn, atop its hill – its hill, like it owns it – paint as red and vivid as the moment Henry first saw it. Door inching open.
“Was that always there,” Henry begins to say without even thinking, stumbling over his words, “that...tall barn?” At Billy's furrowed brow, Henry continues, “The one in the long grass, up on that hill. Middle of nowhere, drove past it on the way in. Red barn, black door?”
Billy shakes his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The fuckin' barn, Billy.” Henry almost tears the car door off with the force he yanks it open. “Don't start screwing around.”
“There ain't a barn out there, Henry. No one's built anything out on that hill, never. And if they were going to, it'd be apartments or some shit. City planning, all that.”
“I know what I saw.”
“You'd be the only one.”
With a scowl, Henry dips into his car and fires up the engine. As it hums to life, Billy jolts away and Henry speeds off into the night.
Instead he finds his second home.
Beating in the heart of a high school gym is a wrestling show. Local, humble, yet roaring with life. Just as Henry remembers it. It's this same gym where he got his start in wrestling, for the same promotion he was hesitant to leave behind. Being back, sitting at the very top of the bleachers, should feel good.
But there's a tight ache in Henry's chest as he watches the action unfold in the ring. A ring he's stained with his own blood and sweat. By now it's probably been painted over with another man's blood, stomped deep into the canvas. Some part of Henry longs to draw it out again.
He's in Project: Honor now and he's happy, of course. Bigger paycheques to put towards bigger things, world-famous competition to test himself against. The Gatekeeper Championship, his name now etched in gold. Making the leap into Project: Honor was something Henry will never regret, but as he watches homegrown talent after talent wrestle in a ring that used to be his, he can't help but feel he left something behind when he moved on from it. The fight that possesses the wrestlers he watches.
It's a feeling that lingers even as he's leaving, hood up so as not to be caught by anyone who may still remember his face. Little chance of that.
Not no chance, though, he realises as a familiar voice calls his name just as he reaches his car. Henry rolls his eyes, turning to find the one person he least wanted to see. Billy Payne is just as his name suggests.
“Thought I recognised this wreck,” he says, gesturing at Henry's car.
Henry huffs. “Sweet of you to remember me somehow.”
“What're you doing back?” Billy leans on the hood of Henry's car and holds his narrowed stare. “Thought you'd be busy defending your title across the world.”
“So you're keeping up with my career?”
A scoff. “When you won it, it was all boss could go on about. Bet he'd wanna see you – it's been a minute.”
“Another time,” Henry says, unlocking his car. But of course, Billy doesn't move. “I'm tired as hell from all the driving.”
“You drove up here? Today, on your own?” When Henry nods, Billy chuckles. “Who'd you piss off to drive all the way out here alone?”
Too many people to name – both in and out of Project: Honor. “No one. Just needed to get away for a bit.”
“'Cause this is a great town to 'get away' in...”
Something about those words, that tone, sparks a memory in Henry's mind. The barn, atop its hill – its hill, like it owns it – paint as red and vivid as the moment Henry first saw it. Door inching open.
“Was that always there,” Henry begins to say without even thinking, stumbling over his words, “that...tall barn?” At Billy's furrowed brow, Henry continues, “The one in the long grass, up on that hill. Middle of nowhere, drove past it on the way in. Red barn, black door?”
Billy shakes his head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The fuckin' barn, Billy.” Henry almost tears the car door off with the force he yanks it open. “Don't start screwing around.”
“There ain't a barn out there, Henry. No one's built anything out on that hill, never. And if they were going to, it'd be apartments or some shit. City planning, all that.”
“I know what I saw.”
“You'd be the only one.”
With a scowl, Henry dips into his car and fires up the engine. As it hums to life, Billy jolts away and Henry speeds off into the night.
[ON/OFF] SCENE FOUR
The road stretches and yawns into the dark, headlights not quite cutting through the night. They bleach the long grass a bony-white, like fingers reaching out the dense earth. There's no cars out here, no people wandering along the road. Just Henry speeding into nothing.
And yet some voice calls him, guides him down this winding stretch.
Leads him to the barn. It is there. Even in the night, Henry can see it standing tall in the grass, towering over everything else. Over the hill, the road, the sky itself, distorted in the darkness.
He pulls up at the side of the road, slips from his car. Can't even remember if he shut the door behind him. All he knows is he has to follow the barn, follow that instinct that it calls to within him. That fighting spirit, that roar for violence it churns up.
Pushing through the grass, he drags himself up the hill, the barn ebbing in and out of his vision as the tall grass tries to grab at him, blind him. But the door opens once more, wider this time, and from it comes a silent cry that rushes through Henry's blood. Spurns him on to run, to charge towards it. He doesn't feel his lingering wounds from Public Execution, the stitches breaking open, the strain in his legs. He feels no pain as he enters the barn, the door closing behind him.
And yet some voice calls him, guides him down this winding stretch.
Leads him to the barn. It is there. Even in the night, Henry can see it standing tall in the grass, towering over everything else. Over the hill, the road, the sky itself, distorted in the darkness.
He pulls up at the side of the road, slips from his car. Can't even remember if he shut the door behind him. All he knows is he has to follow the barn, follow that instinct that it calls to within him. That fighting spirit, that roar for violence it churns up.
Pushing through the grass, he drags himself up the hill, the barn ebbing in and out of his vision as the tall grass tries to grab at him, blind him. But the door opens once more, wider this time, and from it comes a silent cry that rushes through Henry's blood. Spurns him on to run, to charge towards it. He doesn't feel his lingering wounds from Public Execution, the stitches breaking open, the strain in his legs. He feels no pain as he enters the barn, the door closing behind him.
[ON/OFF] SCENE FIVE
Henry stalks like a man possessed through the dimly-lit room, disappearing and reappearing from the fringes of the camera's view. He runs a hand down his still-bandaged nose, a battle scar from his title defence against Yuriko, and slowly begins to settle with every wince a single touch to his wound elicits.
“At Public Execution, I rose to the challenge Yuriko gave me,” he hisses, still pacing, as if not quite able to be still. As if something compels him to keep moving, like a shark in uncharted waters. “That fight I wanted, needed. I won, but it didn't feel like a 'win', y'know? Like that image you have of victory: arm raised, title in hand, people cheering. It wasn't like that.”
Henry stills finally and stares down the camera, face darkened by bruises as much as by the shadows cast by the weak light above.
“And you can tell it wasn't like that when you look at my face, when you hear that roar I let out as I felt the air burn my lungs again. It was a close victory. When I felt the scratch of gauze on my nose, stitches clawing at my head; when I stood there in the shower, picking blood out from under my nails and watching it swirl down the drain, I knew that win was earned, yeah. But it also nearly didn't happen.”
“Yuriko, you gave me the fight I asked for. The opportunity to prove that I do still have what it takes to keep up with the rising stars, the future. But at the same time, going against someone with so much fire in them, made me realise something else.”
He rolls a shoulder, grunts.
“I feel like my body's not right there where my mind is; not aligned. Like it's playing catch-up, and that's been fine these past couple matches, I've been lucky. But I can't be a step behind any more. I can't let myself fall behind the pack when there's new blood, new threats, new champions like you, Alyssa.”
“We both had our challenges at Public Execution. Me a bloody title defence, you a title match against one of the most deranged competitors in Project: Honor. Our wins, our methods of victory, they mirror each other in a way: a pushing through, resiliency, a struggle for breath. Only you took the breath away, and I fought for mine.”
“It won't be the same at Fallout.”
“I rose to Yuriko's challenge – you rose to Wright's. But I can't struggle any more with my victories, and I can bet you don't want to either. You wanna redeem yourself from your last time as a champion. And as painfully short as that reign was, as much as you must look back at it in anger, you still achieved something with that first taste of gold here. You beat two people who've cemented their places in Fallout history, two people who are no doubt at the top of many people's target lists. The fuckin' Entity. You beat them. With power and determination and skill. And that is what I remember from your Ascension Championship match. That is what you need to live up to.”
“You won that belt, and I wasted my opportunity at it. Then again, I won the Gatekeeper Championship by putting the final nail in Angelo's coffin when you couldn't. Back at Fallout XIX – feels so long ago now.”
“But then you beat the man I couldn't to become the new Artist of Honor Champion. Like the name. You beat Wright more decisively than I ever could, on his own turf, so I guess that makes you better than me, right? What kind of man am I to be tormented by the monster for so long and yet...not even be the one to truly put an end to his reign. I don't think it's a coincidence I've felt more sound of mind since you beat him – so I should thank you, I suppose.”
“Thank you for taking on the burden. 'Cause I know what his games do to people.”
“I know they linger, cut into you deeper than any knife could. You see him out the corner of your eye, standing in the shadows, in your own reflection. In your nightmares, your waking life. And you might be a champion, you might've done what I couldn't do, but nothing can protect you from his influence. It's taken me so long to feel this...comfortable. To feel myself again. And I have a feeling that when I walk into Fallout and step into that ring, I won't be standing against the same Alyssa Grace I've shared a ring with before. Not the one who beat the Entity and Savannah. I don't even think I'll be against the one I saw win at Public Execution.”
“There's not been enough time for you to pick up the shattered pieces of your psyche, Alyssa. And it's not your fault, not when you walk away from something like you experienced in that house. I know, in time, you'll heal. You'll feel the weight of your title around your waist, not your chest. And you'll breathe again, see the world again. I do. I see it with a clarity I haven't felt in weeks.”
“I see the mistakes I've made. The mistakes you've made. And I know with certainty that you're either gonna walk into this match as a hardened champion with a burden on her shoulder – or a shell of who you once were, now filled with boiling blood and anger and pain.”
“And I also know I'm ready for either. For both. I don't know if I'll ever beat Wright – but I wanna beat you. I proved to myself against Yuriko that I can rise to the future, now I need to rise to the past. Put that nail in the coffin of what Wright stirred in me – that confusion, that fury, that doubt – and prove that I can move on. Fully. Finally.”
“Our careers here have had so many small similarities. Those little moments where our paths have crossed, mirrored each other. In our struggles, our wins and losses, our methods, our fears. We're both champions, and yet both cursed by the same lingering evil.”
“The difference right now is I've survived. I've clamoured out of the darkness, I see the light, I'm standing tall. I've proven myself to be worthy of holding this title. I've elevated the Gatekeeper Championship despite the darkness, the turmoil, the doubt. I've prevailed and I will continue to.”
“But you still have a lot weighing on you. Too much, perhaps. High expectations, crushing past defeats, and now a title that's been marked by the death stench of the man you beat for it.”
“This is a battle for redemption, for power, to prove ourselves. And here you are, afflicted with the hooks that title's past has caught you with. Either you walk out of this a victor or a victim. I hope it's the former, I really do. I hope you can find the way out like I did.”
“But against me?”
Henry stares down the camera, calm, breathing so shallow it's as if he isn't moving at all.
“You're lucky if you walk away at all.”
“At Public Execution, I rose to the challenge Yuriko gave me,” he hisses, still pacing, as if not quite able to be still. As if something compels him to keep moving, like a shark in uncharted waters. “That fight I wanted, needed. I won, but it didn't feel like a 'win', y'know? Like that image you have of victory: arm raised, title in hand, people cheering. It wasn't like that.”
Henry stills finally and stares down the camera, face darkened by bruises as much as by the shadows cast by the weak light above.
“And you can tell it wasn't like that when you look at my face, when you hear that roar I let out as I felt the air burn my lungs again. It was a close victory. When I felt the scratch of gauze on my nose, stitches clawing at my head; when I stood there in the shower, picking blood out from under my nails and watching it swirl down the drain, I knew that win was earned, yeah. But it also nearly didn't happen.”
“Yuriko, you gave me the fight I asked for. The opportunity to prove that I do still have what it takes to keep up with the rising stars, the future. But at the same time, going against someone with so much fire in them, made me realise something else.”
He rolls a shoulder, grunts.
“I feel like my body's not right there where my mind is; not aligned. Like it's playing catch-up, and that's been fine these past couple matches, I've been lucky. But I can't be a step behind any more. I can't let myself fall behind the pack when there's new blood, new threats, new champions like you, Alyssa.”
“We both had our challenges at Public Execution. Me a bloody title defence, you a title match against one of the most deranged competitors in Project: Honor. Our wins, our methods of victory, they mirror each other in a way: a pushing through, resiliency, a struggle for breath. Only you took the breath away, and I fought for mine.”
“It won't be the same at Fallout.”
“I rose to Yuriko's challenge – you rose to Wright's. But I can't struggle any more with my victories, and I can bet you don't want to either. You wanna redeem yourself from your last time as a champion. And as painfully short as that reign was, as much as you must look back at it in anger, you still achieved something with that first taste of gold here. You beat two people who've cemented their places in Fallout history, two people who are no doubt at the top of many people's target lists. The fuckin' Entity. You beat them. With power and determination and skill. And that is what I remember from your Ascension Championship match. That is what you need to live up to.”
“You won that belt, and I wasted my opportunity at it. Then again, I won the Gatekeeper Championship by putting the final nail in Angelo's coffin when you couldn't. Back at Fallout XIX – feels so long ago now.”
“But then you beat the man I couldn't to become the new Artist of Honor Champion. Like the name. You beat Wright more decisively than I ever could, on his own turf, so I guess that makes you better than me, right? What kind of man am I to be tormented by the monster for so long and yet...not even be the one to truly put an end to his reign. I don't think it's a coincidence I've felt more sound of mind since you beat him – so I should thank you, I suppose.”
“Thank you for taking on the burden. 'Cause I know what his games do to people.”
“I know they linger, cut into you deeper than any knife could. You see him out the corner of your eye, standing in the shadows, in your own reflection. In your nightmares, your waking life. And you might be a champion, you might've done what I couldn't do, but nothing can protect you from his influence. It's taken me so long to feel this...comfortable. To feel myself again. And I have a feeling that when I walk into Fallout and step into that ring, I won't be standing against the same Alyssa Grace I've shared a ring with before. Not the one who beat the Entity and Savannah. I don't even think I'll be against the one I saw win at Public Execution.”
“There's not been enough time for you to pick up the shattered pieces of your psyche, Alyssa. And it's not your fault, not when you walk away from something like you experienced in that house. I know, in time, you'll heal. You'll feel the weight of your title around your waist, not your chest. And you'll breathe again, see the world again. I do. I see it with a clarity I haven't felt in weeks.”
“I see the mistakes I've made. The mistakes you've made. And I know with certainty that you're either gonna walk into this match as a hardened champion with a burden on her shoulder – or a shell of who you once were, now filled with boiling blood and anger and pain.”
“And I also know I'm ready for either. For both. I don't know if I'll ever beat Wright – but I wanna beat you. I proved to myself against Yuriko that I can rise to the future, now I need to rise to the past. Put that nail in the coffin of what Wright stirred in me – that confusion, that fury, that doubt – and prove that I can move on. Fully. Finally.”
“Our careers here have had so many small similarities. Those little moments where our paths have crossed, mirrored each other. In our struggles, our wins and losses, our methods, our fears. We're both champions, and yet both cursed by the same lingering evil.”
“The difference right now is I've survived. I've clamoured out of the darkness, I see the light, I'm standing tall. I've proven myself to be worthy of holding this title. I've elevated the Gatekeeper Championship despite the darkness, the turmoil, the doubt. I've prevailed and I will continue to.”
“But you still have a lot weighing on you. Too much, perhaps. High expectations, crushing past defeats, and now a title that's been marked by the death stench of the man you beat for it.”
“This is a battle for redemption, for power, to prove ourselves. And here you are, afflicted with the hooks that title's past has caught you with. Either you walk out of this a victor or a victim. I hope it's the former, I really do. I hope you can find the way out like I did.”
“But against me?”
Henry stares down the camera, calm, breathing so shallow it's as if he isn't moving at all.
“You're lucky if you walk away at all.”
[ON/OFF] SCENE SIX
The morning sun is pale and unrelenting, washing the tall grass in its light. Henry squints awake from where he lies amongst it, bandaged nose aching, wounds sore. He presses a hand to his forehead and comes away with flecks of dried blood; stitches peeled open. Only the birds sing their sympathies. As he looks around, he realises he's alone, save for his car parked far from the hill he sits upon now.
The hill.
He glances every which way, searching for it. The barn. But it's not here, not across the field, not hidden in the grass. Gone, nothing left but the overgrown spot it once sat on and the sun glaring down, no longer blocked by the barn's height.
Has he been here all night? Lying here, in a trance? Henry remembers so vividly walking through that barn door, feeling the rush of air as it shut behind him and then–
He has to go. Has to head back home, to relative safety.
Head foggy, body drained, he hauls himself to his feet, clamours and digs his way up. Feels his hand brush against something as he does, and as he looks down again at the earth his breath hitches.
Lying amongst the tall grass, barely visible against the dull ground, is a small shard of black-painted wood. A nail, reaching for something, sticking out from it. It calls to Henry just as the barn did, beckons that power, that spirit.
He hides the shard of wood in his pocket and almost runs back to his car. Finally drives restless, unblinking, to the Hyde family home.
The hill.
He glances every which way, searching for it. The barn. But it's not here, not across the field, not hidden in the grass. Gone, nothing left but the overgrown spot it once sat on and the sun glaring down, no longer blocked by the barn's height.
Has he been here all night? Lying here, in a trance? Henry remembers so vividly walking through that barn door, feeling the rush of air as it shut behind him and then–
He has to go. Has to head back home, to relative safety.
Head foggy, body drained, he hauls himself to his feet, clamours and digs his way up. Feels his hand brush against something as he does, and as he looks down again at the earth his breath hitches.
Lying amongst the tall grass, barely visible against the dull ground, is a small shard of black-painted wood. A nail, reaching for something, sticking out from it. It calls to Henry just as the barn did, beckons that power, that spirit.
He hides the shard of wood in his pocket and almost runs back to his car. Finally drives restless, unblinking, to the Hyde family home.
END.
