Post by Max f'n Daemon on Apr 15, 2018 20:09:33 GMT -5
A camera turns on in a room with soundproof foam covering the walls. Hawaiian Hardhead being the first thing we see. He backs up, letting the camera get a good look at the bandage on his head.
“Terry Borden left me with one question.
What I am going to do?
You see…Terry is an…arrogant man who still believes that just because he can pull a leg drop out of his geriatric ass that he is still as good a wrestler as he was ages ago.
I’m not here to say you’re completely off the radar, but Terry, do you know how age works? You do realize that yes, even you, will all the pomp…all the circumstance…all the magic of your…immortality…is just a bunch of bullshit designed by you to get these fans to cheer for you.
And you did it. Congratulations! The people love you! The WGWF loves you!
And hell, even if I don’t want to admit it…even a part of me loves the idea that you can put on red and orange, walk down to that ring, flex to the world, and still walk away a winner.
It’s too bad that’s never worked out for me.
Now…here’s the thing I don’t understand about you Terry. You claim you don’t care about my respect, that’s fine, I don’t give a shit what you think either.
You claim to be this all around superstar who’s been in this business and seen everything and heard every line that people throw at you.
But for somebody as knowledgeable about this business as you claim to be…you’re a fucking idiot for not knowing who I am.
I’m 40 years old. Shit I remember watchin you pull out leg drops like World War 3 was comin for your ass. I remember seeing you hold those World Titles above your head for the world to witness.
Don’t mistake me for a youngster just because you sir…have become complacent.
Oh, and it’s 2018. Watch your fucking mouth. If you’re gonna say I’m stupid say I’m stupid, don’t say I’m mentally handicapped.
And isn’t it ironic. The same guy who claims to have heard it all and heard worse from better starts going off the same shit I’ve heard all my life.
I’m dumb, I’m slow, I’m not the best, you can name it, I have heard it.
You’re not the only ‘spring chicken’ to have laced his boots and competed in that squared circle more times than he can count. Don’t go around acting like you have the moral high ground just because I got a little bit antsy when I thought somebody was trying to take my spot. Hell, what even gave you the right to call me out like you’re such a big shot?
In the WGWF you might be a god. But where I come from…gods…can fall.
That’s right. I’m born and bred with x-treme runnin through my blood. I grew up in this game from a place that treats legends worse than I did. You think you’re hot shit because you called me retarded?
I’ve heard better insults from Dark Shadow, and that guy claimed to have punched a goddamn soul.
I’m built better than I ever have been and I’m lookin into your eyes and I see a man who understands that his time passed ages ago. If you’re so self-aware of your own age, why put yourself into the limelight? Why take the spot from somebody else who deserves it?
Because I can tell you straight up Terry, the last thing you’ve done that you deserved….was that hall of fame ring.
What have you done since then that’s worth mentioning?
Exactly! The biggest publicity you’ve had since you were on that ballot…was me calling you out and making you bleed. But hey, that’s fine, you got your payback. It’s okay.
But you wanna talk about stepping stones?
I came here with a purpose, and that purpose…lies with Raven. So how fucking dare you say that I’m a stepping stone?
God, you sound just as bad as every wannabe rookie trying to make their name on the back of bigger and better. I’ve been there. And it might’ve been half a century ago, but don’t deny that you’ve been there too.
That’s the difference between this. I’m not trying to make my name of yours. Everybody knows who I am. I’m here…to solidify my name.
And whether you’d like to admit it or not Terry…there’s not much now-a-days you can do. And if you think you’re walkin out there…starin into my eyes and witnessin a young boy tryin to make it to the next level…than I guess that’ll be the reason why you lose.
So to answer your question…of what I’m going to do.
I’m going to do...what I always do…and if you don’t know who I am, I suggest you pay attention.
I’m gonna walk out there, beat you down with every amount of strength I have—and trust me, it’s a lot more than those pathetic pythons you got, I’m gonna make you bleed boy, and then I’m gonna Spear you and knock you out….for a one…two…three.
And by the time the match is over, James Raven will be the last thing on your mind because the first thing you’re gonna think…is I know…who Hawaiian Hardhead is now.
It’s my debut at WrestleWars and I’m ready to go. Are you ready Atlanta for the roof to blow? It’s the biggest against the baddest on this fed’s greatest show.
And Terry…since you don’t know my now…
…well I guess it’s time for you to know.”
Hardhead walks forward, turning the camera off.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Hardhead enters his office, with two armored soldiers right behind him. Before they are able to enter, Hardhead closes the door in their face. He shakes his head, walking towards his mahogany desk. Seated in a chair is a blond young man. He’s got on denim jeans, a hoodie, some lose metal armor, and some easy sneakers.
Hardhead looks around the desk before taking a seat. A manila folder sits there, unopened.
“In case you’re wondering your sword is in the hands of your headmaster,” he says.
The young man doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Hardhead, raising an eyebrow.
HHH smirks, snickering a bit at this. He shakes his head, leaning back.
“Yeah…there’s no way you would’ve bought that. You’re too damn smart. All those cycles being taught my Ozzie, not to mention the cycles with Diego in it. You’ve learned the game of wordplay far more than I ever could,” he says.
The young man releases some breath, folding his arms across his chest.
The two men stare at each other, neither reacting much to what’s going on.
Eventually, Hardhead loses, shaking his head and starting to speak.
“Wondering why you’re here or do you know that too?” Hardhead asks.
The young man shrugs, opting not to speak.
“Of course you do. You know everything about The Game. You know everything about The Council, about Beacon’s role with them…and you know exactly why Nathan…had to change things back,” Hardhead says.
The young speaks, “I understand now that certain paths are destined to occur, that certain actions must take place…but can’t one cycle just change? Can’t I go through a year where things turn out right?”
Hardhead sighs, the smile no longer on his face.
“Unfortunately…that isn’t my decision. Nor is it The Council’s…in case you were wondering. Nah, that’s a decision that only your universe can determine. The only reason you’re here now and not living another go-around is because Diego stuck his nose too far,” he says.
“Bullshit,” the young man says. “Nathan has a place in that world. Whether with Winter, with Weiss, with Beacon…or with me.”
Hardhead opens up the manila folder, reading a few of the contents inside.
“Yeah, well…whether or not he belongs is still up to debate. There’s no denying he’s made an impact when he intruded on them what seems like eons ago…but the question of his validity there is not why you’re here. Do you know why you’re here…Mr. Arc?”
The young man---Mr. Arc—sighs, lowering his head.
“I’m assuming I’m testifying in Nathan’s defense,” he says.
“No.”
Mr. Arc looks up, his eyes narrowed and locked in on HHH. Hardhead closes the folder. He reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a zippo lighter. He lifts the envelope up and starts the lighter.
“I’m here to let you know that as of this moment…you will not be under the council’s watch. Due to your cooperation in dealing with Diego, The Council has deemed it fit that you be allowed free will and the ability to let your chips fall as they may. Jaune…we will not interfere in Vale’s happenings. We will not defeat any unnecessary evil…nor will we save any unnecessary defeats.”
The fire from the lighter touches the envelope. Once the blaze starts, HHH tosses it in front of Jaune, the concrete from the floor containing the fire long enough for it to disappear into ash. Jaune stares on, his eyes widened and mouth agape.
“Due to the circumstances of the ability your universe gave you, we feel as if you have enough hand and grasp on what is occurring to judge any situation yourself. I mean…it’s not like it can’t change the next time, right?”
Jaune looks up, meeting Hardhead’s smirk with narrowed eyes and a deep scowl.
“You’re mocking me. This isn’t freedom it’s just a deeper prison. You’re leaving me in the hands of the same universe that puts me through this hell. Why? What kind of watchers are you?” Jaune asks.
“We’re not watchers. We’re judges,” HHH says. “And near as I can tell, between the Diego situation and you having been through, what, 70 or so different scenarios, you have a firm enough grasp on your world to know what do and when to do it. And like I said…if something goes wrong…it’s not like you can’t do it again.”
Jaune stands up, allowing the chair to fall to the floor. The door opens, with the two soldiers entering and pointing their guns at the young man. Hardhead raises his hand and the two soldiers lower their guns. HHH stands up, looking straight into Jaune’s blue eyes, placing his hands on the mahogany desk.
“This wasn’t a decision made easily…but it’s a decision we all support. You have our full confidence that you can fix this. You’re a smart being with infinite chances to make things right. Jaune…it doesn’t matter how long it takes…we all know you’ll come out on top eventually. In the meantime…?”
Hardhead holds out his right hand. Jaune looks down at it, his face grimacing as if the very idea of this is revolting.
“…we’re gonna let fate…take charge.”
Jaune shakes his hand, backstepping away from Hardhead’s hand. An uneasy smile crosses his face as he heads towards the door.
“You’re all just as bad her. Get me the fuck out of here,” he says.
Once he exits the office, the two soldiers follow him. When the door is closes, Hardhead lowers his hand, taking a seat in the chair.
After a bit, he fiddles around in his jeans. He takes out his cell phone, turning off the lock screen.
He goes for the contacts, finding the L’s.
The name “Lydia” shines on the screen, with a green “call” button on the bottom half.
HHH stares at it, his breathing fading in and out.
Eventually he tosses the phone on the desk. He opens a drawer on the right, taking out a bottle of Jack and a glass. He uncaps the bottle and pours himself a glass.
All we catch is the first of many glasses that night.
“Terry Borden left me with one question.
What I am going to do?
You see…Terry is an…arrogant man who still believes that just because he can pull a leg drop out of his geriatric ass that he is still as good a wrestler as he was ages ago.
I’m not here to say you’re completely off the radar, but Terry, do you know how age works? You do realize that yes, even you, will all the pomp…all the circumstance…all the magic of your…immortality…is just a bunch of bullshit designed by you to get these fans to cheer for you.
And you did it. Congratulations! The people love you! The WGWF loves you!
And hell, even if I don’t want to admit it…even a part of me loves the idea that you can put on red and orange, walk down to that ring, flex to the world, and still walk away a winner.
It’s too bad that’s never worked out for me.
Now…here’s the thing I don’t understand about you Terry. You claim you don’t care about my respect, that’s fine, I don’t give a shit what you think either.
You claim to be this all around superstar who’s been in this business and seen everything and heard every line that people throw at you.
But for somebody as knowledgeable about this business as you claim to be…you’re a fucking idiot for not knowing who I am.
I’m 40 years old. Shit I remember watchin you pull out leg drops like World War 3 was comin for your ass. I remember seeing you hold those World Titles above your head for the world to witness.
Don’t mistake me for a youngster just because you sir…have become complacent.
Oh, and it’s 2018. Watch your fucking mouth. If you’re gonna say I’m stupid say I’m stupid, don’t say I’m mentally handicapped.
And isn’t it ironic. The same guy who claims to have heard it all and heard worse from better starts going off the same shit I’ve heard all my life.
I’m dumb, I’m slow, I’m not the best, you can name it, I have heard it.
You’re not the only ‘spring chicken’ to have laced his boots and competed in that squared circle more times than he can count. Don’t go around acting like you have the moral high ground just because I got a little bit antsy when I thought somebody was trying to take my spot. Hell, what even gave you the right to call me out like you’re such a big shot?
In the WGWF you might be a god. But where I come from…gods…can fall.
That’s right. I’m born and bred with x-treme runnin through my blood. I grew up in this game from a place that treats legends worse than I did. You think you’re hot shit because you called me retarded?
I’ve heard better insults from Dark Shadow, and that guy claimed to have punched a goddamn soul.
I’m built better than I ever have been and I’m lookin into your eyes and I see a man who understands that his time passed ages ago. If you’re so self-aware of your own age, why put yourself into the limelight? Why take the spot from somebody else who deserves it?
Because I can tell you straight up Terry, the last thing you’ve done that you deserved….was that hall of fame ring.
What have you done since then that’s worth mentioning?
Exactly! The biggest publicity you’ve had since you were on that ballot…was me calling you out and making you bleed. But hey, that’s fine, you got your payback. It’s okay.
But you wanna talk about stepping stones?
I came here with a purpose, and that purpose…lies with Raven. So how fucking dare you say that I’m a stepping stone?
God, you sound just as bad as every wannabe rookie trying to make their name on the back of bigger and better. I’ve been there. And it might’ve been half a century ago, but don’t deny that you’ve been there too.
That’s the difference between this. I’m not trying to make my name of yours. Everybody knows who I am. I’m here…to solidify my name.
And whether you’d like to admit it or not Terry…there’s not much now-a-days you can do. And if you think you’re walkin out there…starin into my eyes and witnessin a young boy tryin to make it to the next level…than I guess that’ll be the reason why you lose.
So to answer your question…of what I’m going to do.
I’m going to do...what I always do…and if you don’t know who I am, I suggest you pay attention.
I’m gonna walk out there, beat you down with every amount of strength I have—and trust me, it’s a lot more than those pathetic pythons you got, I’m gonna make you bleed boy, and then I’m gonna Spear you and knock you out….for a one…two…three.
And by the time the match is over, James Raven will be the last thing on your mind because the first thing you’re gonna think…is I know…who Hawaiian Hardhead is now.
It’s my debut at WrestleWars and I’m ready to go. Are you ready Atlanta for the roof to blow? It’s the biggest against the baddest on this fed’s greatest show.
And Terry…since you don’t know my now…
…well I guess it’s time for you to know.”
Hardhead walks forward, turning the camera off.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Hardhead enters his office, with two armored soldiers right behind him. Before they are able to enter, Hardhead closes the door in their face. He shakes his head, walking towards his mahogany desk. Seated in a chair is a blond young man. He’s got on denim jeans, a hoodie, some lose metal armor, and some easy sneakers.
Hardhead looks around the desk before taking a seat. A manila folder sits there, unopened.
“In case you’re wondering your sword is in the hands of your headmaster,” he says.
The young man doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Hardhead, raising an eyebrow.
HHH smirks, snickering a bit at this. He shakes his head, leaning back.
“Yeah…there’s no way you would’ve bought that. You’re too damn smart. All those cycles being taught my Ozzie, not to mention the cycles with Diego in it. You’ve learned the game of wordplay far more than I ever could,” he says.
The young man releases some breath, folding his arms across his chest.
The two men stare at each other, neither reacting much to what’s going on.
Eventually, Hardhead loses, shaking his head and starting to speak.
“Wondering why you’re here or do you know that too?” Hardhead asks.
The young man shrugs, opting not to speak.
“Of course you do. You know everything about The Game. You know everything about The Council, about Beacon’s role with them…and you know exactly why Nathan…had to change things back,” Hardhead says.
The young speaks, “I understand now that certain paths are destined to occur, that certain actions must take place…but can’t one cycle just change? Can’t I go through a year where things turn out right?”
Hardhead sighs, the smile no longer on his face.
“Unfortunately…that isn’t my decision. Nor is it The Council’s…in case you were wondering. Nah, that’s a decision that only your universe can determine. The only reason you’re here now and not living another go-around is because Diego stuck his nose too far,” he says.
“Bullshit,” the young man says. “Nathan has a place in that world. Whether with Winter, with Weiss, with Beacon…or with me.”
Hardhead opens up the manila folder, reading a few of the contents inside.
“Yeah, well…whether or not he belongs is still up to debate. There’s no denying he’s made an impact when he intruded on them what seems like eons ago…but the question of his validity there is not why you’re here. Do you know why you’re here…Mr. Arc?”
The young man---Mr. Arc—sighs, lowering his head.
“I’m assuming I’m testifying in Nathan’s defense,” he says.
“No.”
Mr. Arc looks up, his eyes narrowed and locked in on HHH. Hardhead closes the folder. He reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out a zippo lighter. He lifts the envelope up and starts the lighter.
“I’m here to let you know that as of this moment…you will not be under the council’s watch. Due to your cooperation in dealing with Diego, The Council has deemed it fit that you be allowed free will and the ability to let your chips fall as they may. Jaune…we will not interfere in Vale’s happenings. We will not defeat any unnecessary evil…nor will we save any unnecessary defeats.”
The fire from the lighter touches the envelope. Once the blaze starts, HHH tosses it in front of Jaune, the concrete from the floor containing the fire long enough for it to disappear into ash. Jaune stares on, his eyes widened and mouth agape.
“Due to the circumstances of the ability your universe gave you, we feel as if you have enough hand and grasp on what is occurring to judge any situation yourself. I mean…it’s not like it can’t change the next time, right?”
Jaune looks up, meeting Hardhead’s smirk with narrowed eyes and a deep scowl.
“You’re mocking me. This isn’t freedom it’s just a deeper prison. You’re leaving me in the hands of the same universe that puts me through this hell. Why? What kind of watchers are you?” Jaune asks.
“We’re not watchers. We’re judges,” HHH says. “And near as I can tell, between the Diego situation and you having been through, what, 70 or so different scenarios, you have a firm enough grasp on your world to know what do and when to do it. And like I said…if something goes wrong…it’s not like you can’t do it again.”
Jaune stands up, allowing the chair to fall to the floor. The door opens, with the two soldiers entering and pointing their guns at the young man. Hardhead raises his hand and the two soldiers lower their guns. HHH stands up, looking straight into Jaune’s blue eyes, placing his hands on the mahogany desk.
“This wasn’t a decision made easily…but it’s a decision we all support. You have our full confidence that you can fix this. You’re a smart being with infinite chances to make things right. Jaune…it doesn’t matter how long it takes…we all know you’ll come out on top eventually. In the meantime…?”
Hardhead holds out his right hand. Jaune looks down at it, his face grimacing as if the very idea of this is revolting.
“…we’re gonna let fate…take charge.”
Jaune shakes his hand, backstepping away from Hardhead’s hand. An uneasy smile crosses his face as he heads towards the door.
“You’re all just as bad her. Get me the fuck out of here,” he says.
Once he exits the office, the two soldiers follow him. When the door is closes, Hardhead lowers his hand, taking a seat in the chair.
After a bit, he fiddles around in his jeans. He takes out his cell phone, turning off the lock screen.
He goes for the contacts, finding the L’s.
The name “Lydia” shines on the screen, with a green “call” button on the bottom half.
HHH stares at it, his breathing fading in and out.
Eventually he tosses the phone on the desk. He opens a drawer on the right, taking out a bottle of Jack and a glass. He uncaps the bottle and pours himself a glass.
All we catch is the first of many glasses that night.