"Human Sacrifices Needed." Fallout X (Dead By Daylight)
Jul 26, 2021 19:45:09 GMT -5
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Post by Deleted on Jul 26, 2021 19:45:09 GMT -5
JULY 17TH, 2021
“BUTCHER’S ROW” New Orleans, Louisiana.
A cloud of smoke hung in the air over Lazarus Arjen. He stood outside of a seedy, run down, hole-in-the-wall type bar somewhere off of a back alley in New Orleans. This was the type of establishment one would generally cross the street to avoid walking in front of. On a regular day, working girls would meet their John’s in front of these doors, if not, inside of the bar itself. Nightly bar fights; muggings, stabbings, if not worse. The neon bar sign read “BUTCHER’S ROW” flickered every few seconds, the interior bulbs barely holding on to what life they had left. That neon pink and blue light is what illuminated the area around Lazarus, who stood with his back to the shitty exterior materials - old, rotted wood and weather eroded brick. His right leg lifted and bent so his foot was placed flat on the building side. In one hand a lit cigarette was clutched between his index and middle fingers, a trail of smoke seeping up from the lit end. In the other was a beer bottle, three-quarters empty now - even less after he took another long swig from it.
He was dressed casually, well - as casual as Laz would be. Jeans, ripped and tattered - a huge hole in the knee/shin area of his straightened leg - flaps of denim and strings blowing with the slight breeze. A sleeveless black shirt underneath a black hooded sweater - zipper undone, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and hood over his head. All completed by the black combat boots he wore.
He brought the hand holding the cigarette to his mouth, tucking the butt-end of the cigarette between his lips and holding it there between a pinched index finger and thumb. He took the final pull from the death stick before dropping it to the pavement beneath his foot. Bringing his wall-mounted foot down, he stomped out the cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“Took you long enough.” Lazarus said into, seemingly, the night. He took the final swig from his beer bottle as he adjusted his stance vertically. A shape emerged from the void across from him, dressed somewhat casually, as well, but he glanced sideways at Charon. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, with a denim jacket overtop. A pair of blue jeans and black boots adorned his legs and feet. He shrugged.
“I work on my own time. I’m a busy man, Laz...even for you, unfortunately.” The man looked to the bar, and then to the beer bottle. “I see you’ve been drinking...care for another? I’m parched.”
Without waiting for an answer, the man pushed into Butcher’s Row, past Lazarus.
Flicking the cigarette butt from his fingers and taking the last swig from the bottle before tossing that as well, Lazarus turned to re-enter Butcher’s Row. The bottle shattered into pieces on the pavement, but it didn’t matter to Lazarus - he disappeared into the wretched little bar.
The lights were dim, almost too dim to where you couldn’t see while walking in front of you. Lazarus pushed by patrons of the bar, eventually making his way to Charon who found himself a little booth, hidden away from the crowds of the bar. Passing by the bartender, Lazarus gave him a look which was met by a full bottle of whiskey. Lazarus brought it to the booth, sliding in opposite of Charon.
“It’s been awhile.” Lazarus said, twisting the cap off of the bottle and crudely taking a drink from it without pouring into a glass - which sat directly in front of him. Charon raised a brow and poured himself a glass off of Lazarus’ already-sipped from bottle. He took a long sip, and nodded.
“That it has. I see you’re still as barbarous as ever, I can only assume your violent habits match the grittiness with which you’ve always imbibed life.” Charon cracked half a smile. “Glad to see that time doesn’t change just everyone. How’s Maisie?” His eyes flitted up to Lazarus’ face.
“You know me better than most. I don’t change for anyone or anything. My outlook on life matches my outlook in our industry; my actions in life, match my actions there.” Lazarus replied, his voice as stern as ever. “Maisie, though, gives me reason to carry on - to make my time in this industry as good as I can, so she has something to be proud of me for when she is older.” He took another drink from the bottle, this time a slight grimace after. “She would love to see you, you know..”
Charon pauses, and takes a long drink from his glass. He nods. “Legacy, our individual and that of the Collective, are the most important facets of all of this. You, Lazarus, you’ve always taken the lead on carving out your own chunk of meat. I can only assume you’ve continued to do the same for this period of time, aye? The Killjoy Club? Bit of a garish name, and too much of a collective for my personal tastes...but I respect it.” Charon considers Lazarus’ late comment, and nods. “I’m sure she would. Amelie and I will make an appearance soon, perhaps, you just know that I’m a very…busy man. I should make more time for family.”
Charon chuckled. He’s caught himself.
”Family. Funny, that word. It’s just you, me, Amelie, and Maisie now, of mine. Lonely world.”
“Family is all we are, all we have. You and Amelie never have been excluded.” Lazarus replied before he took another drink. “The Killjoy Club - Project Death - Death Blooms, the name holds no weight. We are a family, each one of us. The unwanted, the undesirable. You and Amelie will always be a part of that, whether or not you represent it on the front line of war.”
Charon nods. He looks down at his drink for a moment, before glancing back up to Lazarus.
“Perhaps we should bear that name, that family more outwardly, more…violently. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten our hands dirty, hasn’t it? Perhaps...we should do that again.”
Charon lets the thought hang in the air as he and Laz share a knowing glance ...
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JULY 24TH, 2021
New Orleans, Louisiana - Next Level Wrestling: “Eve of Champions”
Ring Announcer: “And your winner - and NEW NLW SOUTHERN STATES CHAMPION … LAZARUS ARJEN!”
Alpha Wolf’s “Akudama” ripped through the sound system when Lazarus was awarded the Southern States Championship. In his right hand, he still clutched the steel pipe that he used to cave David Goon’s head in. The New Orleans street fight proved to be a bloody, horrific brawl - but Lazarus Arjen was the last one standing on this night. He ripped the championship away from the official before dropping to the mat and rolling out of the ring.
The blood trickled down from his forehead. He threw his newly won championship over his right shoulder while still holding that pipe, and began his march to the curtain. He kept his focus straight ahead, ignoring the crowd. Surprisingly, he was met with some favorable cheers - probably because he is a New Orleans representative himself. But he was ice cold, even to those fans who actually liked him - and don’t worry, it wasn’t very many. Representing the city or not, Lazarus’ actions were not liked by many people within the industry or fans of the industry.
He pushed through the curtain, walked through the small, makeshift ‘audio station’ before he reached an open area of the backstage. A few staff members stood around doing their duties, but stopped to congratulate Lazarus. Lazarus kept forward momentum, nodding to their congratulations, but he walked with a purpose. That purpose would be his five year old daughter, Maisie. She sat in a green room, under the supervision of one of the female referee’s employed by the NLW organization. Lazarus approached the room, twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open.
As soon as the door swung open, Maisie lifted her head and her eyes lit up. A smile formed on her face, showing her toothless little smile. The official said no words, nodding to Lazarus before standing and leaving the room. Maisie quickly discarded the crayons in her hand, pushing aside the book and standing up to rush to her father. Lazarus dropped to his knees, placing the steel pipe down on the floor and allowing his championship to slide off of his shoulder - which also fell to the ground. Maisie stopped in front of Lazarus, looking at the blood that was rushing down his face.
“Daddy, are you okay?” She said, her voice filled with concern. Her head tilted just slightly to the side, studying him - watching as his lips curled into a smile to match the one she previously wore. Taking his eyes off of her for a moment, he looked around - spotting a small towel on a nearby stool. Reaching out, he picked up the towel and used it to wipe away the blood.
“All better, baby.” He said in response, which caused her to smile again. She closed the gap, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. “I got you something.” He said to her, which caused her to break the embrace. Lazarus picked up his championship, holding it out with one hand to her. Of course she wouldn’t be able to hold it, the weight of it was too much. But she looked down at it, marveling at the sight of it. “I won this tonight. I won this - for you.”
She would finally look up at Lazarus, and he gave her an assuring nod before motioning for her to jump on the nearby couch - which she did. Once she was settled, Lazarus stood and laid the championship across her lap. Her hands moved to the Gold face place, her little fingers tracing the engraved design. Lazarus picked up the steel pipe and shoved it into his nearby duffle bag just as there was a knock at the door. Looking over his shoulder, Lazarus spotted Charon Seede and Amelie DeGatineau. Turning just as Charon threw the previously used, blood soaked, towel - Lazarus caught it after it hit his chest.
“Congratulations.” Charon said, a sentiment that Amelie echoed before she walked into the room. She passed by Lazarus, offering him a friendly pat on the shoulder as she moved to the couch and flopped down next to Maisie. Maisie’s attention was still on the championship that almost blanketed her lap.
“Thanks brother.” Lazarus replied, to which Charon nodded his head before entering the room. Lazarus turned to his duffle bag once more, withdrawing a small black - old school - flip phone. Lazarus was never the type of person to want, or to need, the top of the line - newest released things, especially phones. But with Maisie now in his care, he had to have some way to be accessed or have access out incase of emergency.
Lazarus flipped the phone open, scrolling to find something he saved as he approached Charon - who was now watching Amelie and Maisie have their conversation about the championship. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. ‘Getting our hands dirty again’.” He said, ripping Charon’s attention from the girls - directing it to the phone. “You and I. Project Honor…”
Charon took a moment to study the message on the phone before looking up to Lazarus. It was as if the two long time friends (best, almost brothers in terms of how close they were) didn’t need to say a word. They knew what the other was thinking. Charon gave Lazarus a smirk, and that was enough of an answer for him. Lazarus snapped the phone closed.
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PRESENT DAY.
“HUMAN SACRIFICES NEEDED.” New Orleans, Louisiana.
“To exist is to destroy.”
“The world is a fucking violent, horrible place. The things that I’ve seen, the things that I’ve done? It’s just a blood drop in the bucket used to paint a gruesome ‘bigger picture’ of life.”
“That bigger picture today the world is then forced in front of everyone’s eyes at a young age - burning that image permanently into everyone’s minds - but what’s missing? The dark, the violent part of the world. It’s ignored because it would upset the established order. It would make the masses feel unsafe, especially when they’re comfortable in their alarm-protected houses.”
The video was filmed in a grainy, black and white filter. Lazarus Arjen and Charon Seede sat side by side somewhere on the outskirts - but still within the city limits - of New Orleans, Louisiana. Despite the fact that it felt over a hundred degrees, Lazarus and Charon both sat in the direct sunlight - both wearing black hooded sweaters. Charon wore his death mask, white dominant with black accent features on the eyes and mouth. Lazarus didn’t, but the hood of his sweater was pulled up over his head.
“People murder others in the street on a daily basis. Mother’s drown their children. Junkie whores and vagrants do any and everything they can in order to get that next fix. Politicians lie, governments are corrupt - but those are the things that people turn a blind eye to. What myself and Charon represent is the filthy, disturbing underbelly. The violence that you shield yourselves and your loved ones from, is where we come from - and that is what we bring with us. When we march, chaos ensues and death follows - that is what is in store for Project Honor. Violence. Chaos. Death. If you want examples, look no further than Europe - here in New Orleans - and everywhere Charon has traveled with ALPHA.”
“Do you remember me, Project Honor? If not, I will refresh your memory on Fallout …”
A wicked grin touches his lips.
“We will give you an introduction to our world in just a few days' time. We will re-introduce violence to Project Honor, and there isn’t a more aptly named event than Dead by Daylight. Jordan Bishop and Bezerk will, of course, have no idea who we are or what we are capable of. They will promise victory, they will promise to do what it takes in order to win - but it will all be a lie. Attempts to control the narrative as if it means something to people like myself and Charon. We don’t follow narrative and we burn scripts. Jordan Bishop, a quote-unquote ‘Prize Fighter’ with more accolades than you can list. Neither of us are intimidated by it. Neither of us are intimidated by your height or weight advantage. Every man falls the same when their kneecaps are shattered. Every man falls the same when your Achilles tendons are severed. Every man bleeds the same when my syringes are stabbed into your fucking scalp. Hear me when I say this; Charon and I are merciless. Charon and I are the epitome of savage and what we intend to do to you and to Bezerk is just the tip of the iceberg of what we have planned for the rest of the roster. A little teaser for what is in store for every team that has enlisted in the tournament taking place in a few months time. You, Jordan - and you, Bezerk - are the two unfortunate fucks that have been left at our feet with a note attached: “Do as you please”. And make no mistake, Jordan, that is exactly what we will do - show up at Fallout, and do what the fuck we want to do. We’re going to show you how little your punk ass MMA ‘skills’ mean when you step into the ring with us. We’re going to show you how little we care that you were a former world champion in another company. What we are going to do, Jordan, is make an example out of you. Out of your partner for this evening. See; guys like you are the reason guys like us were always looked over. You have accolades, you must have talent - right? Wrong. Ninety percent of the time, it’s guys like you who fluff up their resume and are picked over guys like myself and Charon because you have the accolades and you fit the ‘mold’ that society and talent relations alike deem ‘normal’ for professional wrestling. At Fallout, what myself and Charon are going to do is strip away all of the fluff - all of the filler - and all of the bullshit, showing the world that Jordan Bishop was nothing more than a worthless nobody masquerading as a big, tough, badass. We will see how tough you are when our blades have penetrated your flesh and the blood begins to pour from your wounds.”
“Believe me when I say that the pain you feel when the blowing wind hits your fresh, open wounds will be a stark reminder of what happened to you on this night. In fact, maybe this night is the night that we die - so with that thought planted in your brain, you can understand why Charon and I will hold no punches. Why we will leave no blades sheathed, and we will leave no spool of wire rolled tight. We treat this night, and any night, as we were taught to survive. It’s kill or be killed. Someone like BEZERK … a self-proclaimed ‘likeable lunatic’ would, theoretically, understand where I’m coming from - but someone like BEZERK has read books, heard news reports and watched movies that depicted the lives that people like myself and Charon have lead, and decided that it was the next ‘cool’ trend. Look at him, and you can see for yourself. There is no likeable lunatic. There is no humorous cult-leader. This is not make believe, or a fairy tale. There are no puppy dogs and kitty cats. You want to meet a lunatic? You want to see violence? Then you will be pleasantly surprised when you step into the ring at Fallout. BEZERK is a facade. You know nothing of our pain, of our torture and of our lives - yet here you stand, the ‘Likeable Lunatic’, the ‘Humerous Cult-Leader’. Step into our world, BEZERK, come down to our neighborhood and you will not last a minute. Walk the streets that we’ve walked - where we’ve bled, where we’ve spilled the blood of others - and you will be carried away in a fucking bag. You will be scraped off of the streets in pieces, because you will have been dismantled in the cruelest fucking ways imaginable. People like you, BEZERK, are nothing but show. There is no substance to you. Your threats - they’re empty. Your promises - they’re broken. You, BEZERK, are a gimmick - nothing more, nothing less. Someone who saw something edgy once, and has strived to replicate it. Has strived to duplicate the horror stories that you have heard about, from places where myself and Charon call home. To say that your life is in grave danger at Fallout would be an understatement. You have a matter of days to settle your affairs and to tell your family goodbye, because what myself and Charon are going to do to you - there is no coming back from.”
On that note, both Lazarus and Charon stood to their feet. The camera remained focused tight on the team known as ‘The Massacre’. In Lazarus’ hand, he held his death mask. Charon stood next to Lazarus, his head tilted to the side - giving off a very unsettling vibe.
“The torture that Jordan Bishop and BEZERK will endure, is just a taste of what is to come for Fallout - for the Tag Team event Collision Course - and for Project Honor. What myself and Charon have done separately has made headlines in this industry. The violence that we’ve unleashed in our respective promotions has been unseen previously, and will forever be unmatched. So imagine what the two of us are going to do together - here in Project Honor.”
A wicked, malicious little grin hits Lazarus’ face again. He brought his free hand forward, pushing off the hood of his sweater before pulling his death mask onto his face. The latex mask crafted to resemble human skin, a throwback to the ‘Leatherface’ character of cinematic fame was fastened to straps that were custom fit for Lazarus’ head. The jaw of the mask was a separate piece and moved as he spoke the last few words.
“Who will survive and what will be left of them after the Massacre takes place? I’ll answer that for you.”
“Nobody and nothing.”
And with that said, Lazarus pulled the hood back over his head. He and Charon would turn and walk out of camera view. Finally, the camera would pull back to reveal the location behind them.
It was a dilapidated house. The wooden siding of the house was extremely weathered, paint was chipped off in numerous places all around. The roofing was old and desperately needed to be replaced - but why bother? This house stood vacant, empty (as far as we know) and has done so for years. The windows were boarded up, probably having been broken and destroyed long before. But what stood out - what made this fit the vibes of Lazarus and Charon? What made this so special? The words that were crudely painted on the side of the house.
“HUMAN SACRIFICES NEEDED.”
That was the entire vibe of this promotional video from Lazarus and Charon. And those sacrifices would be Jordan Bishop and BEZERK.
“BUTCHER’S ROW” New Orleans, Louisiana.
A cloud of smoke hung in the air over Lazarus Arjen. He stood outside of a seedy, run down, hole-in-the-wall type bar somewhere off of a back alley in New Orleans. This was the type of establishment one would generally cross the street to avoid walking in front of. On a regular day, working girls would meet their John’s in front of these doors, if not, inside of the bar itself. Nightly bar fights; muggings, stabbings, if not worse. The neon bar sign read “BUTCHER’S ROW” flickered every few seconds, the interior bulbs barely holding on to what life they had left. That neon pink and blue light is what illuminated the area around Lazarus, who stood with his back to the shitty exterior materials - old, rotted wood and weather eroded brick. His right leg lifted and bent so his foot was placed flat on the building side. In one hand a lit cigarette was clutched between his index and middle fingers, a trail of smoke seeping up from the lit end. In the other was a beer bottle, three-quarters empty now - even less after he took another long swig from it.
He was dressed casually, well - as casual as Laz would be. Jeans, ripped and tattered - a huge hole in the knee/shin area of his straightened leg - flaps of denim and strings blowing with the slight breeze. A sleeveless black shirt underneath a black hooded sweater - zipper undone, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and hood over his head. All completed by the black combat boots he wore.
He brought the hand holding the cigarette to his mouth, tucking the butt-end of the cigarette between his lips and holding it there between a pinched index finger and thumb. He took the final pull from the death stick before dropping it to the pavement beneath his foot. Bringing his wall-mounted foot down, he stomped out the cigarette before exhaling a cloud of smoke.
“Took you long enough.” Lazarus said into, seemingly, the night. He took the final swig from his beer bottle as he adjusted his stance vertically. A shape emerged from the void across from him, dressed somewhat casually, as well, but he glanced sideways at Charon. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, with a denim jacket overtop. A pair of blue jeans and black boots adorned his legs and feet. He shrugged.
“I work on my own time. I’m a busy man, Laz...even for you, unfortunately.” The man looked to the bar, and then to the beer bottle. “I see you’ve been drinking...care for another? I’m parched.”
Without waiting for an answer, the man pushed into Butcher’s Row, past Lazarus.
Flicking the cigarette butt from his fingers and taking the last swig from the bottle before tossing that as well, Lazarus turned to re-enter Butcher’s Row. The bottle shattered into pieces on the pavement, but it didn’t matter to Lazarus - he disappeared into the wretched little bar.
The lights were dim, almost too dim to where you couldn’t see while walking in front of you. Lazarus pushed by patrons of the bar, eventually making his way to Charon who found himself a little booth, hidden away from the crowds of the bar. Passing by the bartender, Lazarus gave him a look which was met by a full bottle of whiskey. Lazarus brought it to the booth, sliding in opposite of Charon.
“It’s been awhile.” Lazarus said, twisting the cap off of the bottle and crudely taking a drink from it without pouring into a glass - which sat directly in front of him. Charon raised a brow and poured himself a glass off of Lazarus’ already-sipped from bottle. He took a long sip, and nodded.
“That it has. I see you’re still as barbarous as ever, I can only assume your violent habits match the grittiness with which you’ve always imbibed life.” Charon cracked half a smile. “Glad to see that time doesn’t change just everyone. How’s Maisie?” His eyes flitted up to Lazarus’ face.
“You know me better than most. I don’t change for anyone or anything. My outlook on life matches my outlook in our industry; my actions in life, match my actions there.” Lazarus replied, his voice as stern as ever. “Maisie, though, gives me reason to carry on - to make my time in this industry as good as I can, so she has something to be proud of me for when she is older.” He took another drink from the bottle, this time a slight grimace after. “She would love to see you, you know..”
Charon pauses, and takes a long drink from his glass. He nods. “Legacy, our individual and that of the Collective, are the most important facets of all of this. You, Lazarus, you’ve always taken the lead on carving out your own chunk of meat. I can only assume you’ve continued to do the same for this period of time, aye? The Killjoy Club? Bit of a garish name, and too much of a collective for my personal tastes...but I respect it.” Charon considers Lazarus’ late comment, and nods. “I’m sure she would. Amelie and I will make an appearance soon, perhaps, you just know that I’m a very…busy man. I should make more time for family.”
Charon chuckled. He’s caught himself.
”Family. Funny, that word. It’s just you, me, Amelie, and Maisie now, of mine. Lonely world.”
“Family is all we are, all we have. You and Amelie never have been excluded.” Lazarus replied before he took another drink. “The Killjoy Club - Project Death - Death Blooms, the name holds no weight. We are a family, each one of us. The unwanted, the undesirable. You and Amelie will always be a part of that, whether or not you represent it on the front line of war.”
Charon nods. He looks down at his drink for a moment, before glancing back up to Lazarus.
“Perhaps we should bear that name, that family more outwardly, more…violently. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten our hands dirty, hasn’t it? Perhaps...we should do that again.”
Charon lets the thought hang in the air as he and Laz share a knowing glance ...
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JULY 24TH, 2021
New Orleans, Louisiana - Next Level Wrestling: “Eve of Champions”
Ring Announcer: “And your winner - and NEW NLW SOUTHERN STATES CHAMPION … LAZARUS ARJEN!”
Alpha Wolf’s “Akudama” ripped through the sound system when Lazarus was awarded the Southern States Championship. In his right hand, he still clutched the steel pipe that he used to cave David Goon’s head in. The New Orleans street fight proved to be a bloody, horrific brawl - but Lazarus Arjen was the last one standing on this night. He ripped the championship away from the official before dropping to the mat and rolling out of the ring.
The blood trickled down from his forehead. He threw his newly won championship over his right shoulder while still holding that pipe, and began his march to the curtain. He kept his focus straight ahead, ignoring the crowd. Surprisingly, he was met with some favorable cheers - probably because he is a New Orleans representative himself. But he was ice cold, even to those fans who actually liked him - and don’t worry, it wasn’t very many. Representing the city or not, Lazarus’ actions were not liked by many people within the industry or fans of the industry.
He pushed through the curtain, walked through the small, makeshift ‘audio station’ before he reached an open area of the backstage. A few staff members stood around doing their duties, but stopped to congratulate Lazarus. Lazarus kept forward momentum, nodding to their congratulations, but he walked with a purpose. That purpose would be his five year old daughter, Maisie. She sat in a green room, under the supervision of one of the female referee’s employed by the NLW organization. Lazarus approached the room, twisting the doorknob and pushing the door open.
As soon as the door swung open, Maisie lifted her head and her eyes lit up. A smile formed on her face, showing her toothless little smile. The official said no words, nodding to Lazarus before standing and leaving the room. Maisie quickly discarded the crayons in her hand, pushing aside the book and standing up to rush to her father. Lazarus dropped to his knees, placing the steel pipe down on the floor and allowing his championship to slide off of his shoulder - which also fell to the ground. Maisie stopped in front of Lazarus, looking at the blood that was rushing down his face.
“Daddy, are you okay?” She said, her voice filled with concern. Her head tilted just slightly to the side, studying him - watching as his lips curled into a smile to match the one she previously wore. Taking his eyes off of her for a moment, he looked around - spotting a small towel on a nearby stool. Reaching out, he picked up the towel and used it to wipe away the blood.
“All better, baby.” He said in response, which caused her to smile again. She closed the gap, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him. “I got you something.” He said to her, which caused her to break the embrace. Lazarus picked up his championship, holding it out with one hand to her. Of course she wouldn’t be able to hold it, the weight of it was too much. But she looked down at it, marveling at the sight of it. “I won this tonight. I won this - for you.”
She would finally look up at Lazarus, and he gave her an assuring nod before motioning for her to jump on the nearby couch - which she did. Once she was settled, Lazarus stood and laid the championship across her lap. Her hands moved to the Gold face place, her little fingers tracing the engraved design. Lazarus picked up the steel pipe and shoved it into his nearby duffle bag just as there was a knock at the door. Looking over his shoulder, Lazarus spotted Charon Seede and Amelie DeGatineau. Turning just as Charon threw the previously used, blood soaked, towel - Lazarus caught it after it hit his chest.
“Congratulations.” Charon said, a sentiment that Amelie echoed before she walked into the room. She passed by Lazarus, offering him a friendly pat on the shoulder as she moved to the couch and flopped down next to Maisie. Maisie’s attention was still on the championship that almost blanketed her lap.
“Thanks brother.” Lazarus replied, to which Charon nodded his head before entering the room. Lazarus turned to his duffle bag once more, withdrawing a small black - old school - flip phone. Lazarus was never the type of person to want, or to need, the top of the line - newest released things, especially phones. But with Maisie now in his care, he had to have some way to be accessed or have access out incase of emergency.
Lazarus flipped the phone open, scrolling to find something he saved as he approached Charon - who was now watching Amelie and Maisie have their conversation about the championship. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. ‘Getting our hands dirty again’.” He said, ripping Charon’s attention from the girls - directing it to the phone. “You and I. Project Honor…”
Charon took a moment to study the message on the phone before looking up to Lazarus. It was as if the two long time friends (best, almost brothers in terms of how close they were) didn’t need to say a word. They knew what the other was thinking. Charon gave Lazarus a smirk, and that was enough of an answer for him. Lazarus snapped the phone closed.
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PRESENT DAY.
“HUMAN SACRIFICES NEEDED.” New Orleans, Louisiana.
“To exist is to destroy.”
“The world is a fucking violent, horrible place. The things that I’ve seen, the things that I’ve done? It’s just a blood drop in the bucket used to paint a gruesome ‘bigger picture’ of life.”
“That bigger picture today the world is then forced in front of everyone’s eyes at a young age - burning that image permanently into everyone’s minds - but what’s missing? The dark, the violent part of the world. It’s ignored because it would upset the established order. It would make the masses feel unsafe, especially when they’re comfortable in their alarm-protected houses.”
The video was filmed in a grainy, black and white filter. Lazarus Arjen and Charon Seede sat side by side somewhere on the outskirts - but still within the city limits - of New Orleans, Louisiana. Despite the fact that it felt over a hundred degrees, Lazarus and Charon both sat in the direct sunlight - both wearing black hooded sweaters. Charon wore his death mask, white dominant with black accent features on the eyes and mouth. Lazarus didn’t, but the hood of his sweater was pulled up over his head.
“People murder others in the street on a daily basis. Mother’s drown their children. Junkie whores and vagrants do any and everything they can in order to get that next fix. Politicians lie, governments are corrupt - but those are the things that people turn a blind eye to. What myself and Charon represent is the filthy, disturbing underbelly. The violence that you shield yourselves and your loved ones from, is where we come from - and that is what we bring with us. When we march, chaos ensues and death follows - that is what is in store for Project Honor. Violence. Chaos. Death. If you want examples, look no further than Europe - here in New Orleans - and everywhere Charon has traveled with ALPHA.”
“Do you remember me, Project Honor? If not, I will refresh your memory on Fallout …”
A wicked grin touches his lips.
“We will give you an introduction to our world in just a few days' time. We will re-introduce violence to Project Honor, and there isn’t a more aptly named event than Dead by Daylight. Jordan Bishop and Bezerk will, of course, have no idea who we are or what we are capable of. They will promise victory, they will promise to do what it takes in order to win - but it will all be a lie. Attempts to control the narrative as if it means something to people like myself and Charon. We don’t follow narrative and we burn scripts. Jordan Bishop, a quote-unquote ‘Prize Fighter’ with more accolades than you can list. Neither of us are intimidated by it. Neither of us are intimidated by your height or weight advantage. Every man falls the same when their kneecaps are shattered. Every man falls the same when your Achilles tendons are severed. Every man bleeds the same when my syringes are stabbed into your fucking scalp. Hear me when I say this; Charon and I are merciless. Charon and I are the epitome of savage and what we intend to do to you and to Bezerk is just the tip of the iceberg of what we have planned for the rest of the roster. A little teaser for what is in store for every team that has enlisted in the tournament taking place in a few months time. You, Jordan - and you, Bezerk - are the two unfortunate fucks that have been left at our feet with a note attached: “Do as you please”. And make no mistake, Jordan, that is exactly what we will do - show up at Fallout, and do what the fuck we want to do. We’re going to show you how little your punk ass MMA ‘skills’ mean when you step into the ring with us. We’re going to show you how little we care that you were a former world champion in another company. What we are going to do, Jordan, is make an example out of you. Out of your partner for this evening. See; guys like you are the reason guys like us were always looked over. You have accolades, you must have talent - right? Wrong. Ninety percent of the time, it’s guys like you who fluff up their resume and are picked over guys like myself and Charon because you have the accolades and you fit the ‘mold’ that society and talent relations alike deem ‘normal’ for professional wrestling. At Fallout, what myself and Charon are going to do is strip away all of the fluff - all of the filler - and all of the bullshit, showing the world that Jordan Bishop was nothing more than a worthless nobody masquerading as a big, tough, badass. We will see how tough you are when our blades have penetrated your flesh and the blood begins to pour from your wounds.”
“Believe me when I say that the pain you feel when the blowing wind hits your fresh, open wounds will be a stark reminder of what happened to you on this night. In fact, maybe this night is the night that we die - so with that thought planted in your brain, you can understand why Charon and I will hold no punches. Why we will leave no blades sheathed, and we will leave no spool of wire rolled tight. We treat this night, and any night, as we were taught to survive. It’s kill or be killed. Someone like BEZERK … a self-proclaimed ‘likeable lunatic’ would, theoretically, understand where I’m coming from - but someone like BEZERK has read books, heard news reports and watched movies that depicted the lives that people like myself and Charon have lead, and decided that it was the next ‘cool’ trend. Look at him, and you can see for yourself. There is no likeable lunatic. There is no humorous cult-leader. This is not make believe, or a fairy tale. There are no puppy dogs and kitty cats. You want to meet a lunatic? You want to see violence? Then you will be pleasantly surprised when you step into the ring at Fallout. BEZERK is a facade. You know nothing of our pain, of our torture and of our lives - yet here you stand, the ‘Likeable Lunatic’, the ‘Humerous Cult-Leader’. Step into our world, BEZERK, come down to our neighborhood and you will not last a minute. Walk the streets that we’ve walked - where we’ve bled, where we’ve spilled the blood of others - and you will be carried away in a fucking bag. You will be scraped off of the streets in pieces, because you will have been dismantled in the cruelest fucking ways imaginable. People like you, BEZERK, are nothing but show. There is no substance to you. Your threats - they’re empty. Your promises - they’re broken. You, BEZERK, are a gimmick - nothing more, nothing less. Someone who saw something edgy once, and has strived to replicate it. Has strived to duplicate the horror stories that you have heard about, from places where myself and Charon call home. To say that your life is in grave danger at Fallout would be an understatement. You have a matter of days to settle your affairs and to tell your family goodbye, because what myself and Charon are going to do to you - there is no coming back from.”
On that note, both Lazarus and Charon stood to their feet. The camera remained focused tight on the team known as ‘The Massacre’. In Lazarus’ hand, he held his death mask. Charon stood next to Lazarus, his head tilted to the side - giving off a very unsettling vibe.
“The torture that Jordan Bishop and BEZERK will endure, is just a taste of what is to come for Fallout - for the Tag Team event Collision Course - and for Project Honor. What myself and Charon have done separately has made headlines in this industry. The violence that we’ve unleashed in our respective promotions has been unseen previously, and will forever be unmatched. So imagine what the two of us are going to do together - here in Project Honor.”
A wicked, malicious little grin hits Lazarus’ face again. He brought his free hand forward, pushing off the hood of his sweater before pulling his death mask onto his face. The latex mask crafted to resemble human skin, a throwback to the ‘Leatherface’ character of cinematic fame was fastened to straps that were custom fit for Lazarus’ head. The jaw of the mask was a separate piece and moved as he spoke the last few words.
“Who will survive and what will be left of them after the Massacre takes place? I’ll answer that for you.”
“Nobody and nothing.”
And with that said, Lazarus pulled the hood back over his head. He and Charon would turn and walk out of camera view. Finally, the camera would pull back to reveal the location behind them.
It was a dilapidated house. The wooden siding of the house was extremely weathered, paint was chipped off in numerous places all around. The roofing was old and desperately needed to be replaced - but why bother? This house stood vacant, empty (as far as we know) and has done so for years. The windows were boarded up, probably having been broken and destroyed long before. But what stood out - what made this fit the vibes of Lazarus and Charon? What made this so special? The words that were crudely painted on the side of the house.
“HUMAN SACRIFICES NEEDED.”
That was the entire vibe of this promotional video from Lazarus and Charon. And those sacrifices would be Jordan Bishop and BEZERK.