Post by TheNewBreed on Jan 28, 2023 22:00:46 GMT -5
January 3rd, 2023... Las Vegas , NV - Medical Office of the WGWF Staff...
The pungent odor of antiseptic was pervasive and overwhelming inside the gleaming white exam room. The bright white light hanging from a hardware rig in the ceiling above was pulled low on the boom arm, and focused on Johnathan Cable's right knee. An elderly man in a white lab coat and a face mask rubbed his gloved hands over the Beasts kneecap and prodded at the soft side of the cartilage between the patella and the joint of his femur with his thumb. John winced as the doc pressed on the soft bits with his finger, and the older man pulled his fingers away and pushed the rolling stool away from the exam table with a shake of his head.
“Well, Doc... what's the verdict?” John's asks cautiously.
“I'll know more after the x-rays come back, but after the scans we took and a little bit of poking, I think it's just a strain. You should be good for the match on Monday, but I'm gonna get you a brace to wear to give it some extra support so it can heal right. We don't need it to get worse.” the Doctor says as he makes his way to the stainless steel table nearby and writes some notes on his clipboard.
“Alright... Good. Last thing I need right now is to tear something that's gonna put me on the shelf for the next month or more.” John says with a grim smile as he gets up from the exam table and grabs his clothes from a nearby chair.
“You'd think with the amount of money this place makes we'd get better gowns. These things are itchy as hell.” John quips with a smirk as he pulls at the collar of his drab gray and green hospital gown.
“Standards and practices, Sir. Standards and practices.” the Doc notes sarcastically over his shoulder as the scene fades to black.
* * * * *
January 20th, 2023... Jacksonville, FL – New Breed Foundation Main Office Complex...
Darina Weiman's sleek, blacked out SUV pulls into the main parking lot of the New Breed Headquarters and drives around the massive building in Downtown Jacksonville. She pulls up to guard shack entering a walled off section of the parking lot at the back of the building, and after a few moments, she is waved past the gatehouse and into the private lot. After snaking through the short rows of cars here, she pulls the SUV into a bay door and drives down a ramp under the building. After a few moments driving down a corkscrew ramp delving further under the building, a small parking lot opens up, and the SUV passes by a few cars before approaching a large bay door at the back of the lot. Darina leans out of the driver's window and flashes a badge in front of a sensor and the massive steel door begins to slide up into the ceiling. The window rolls back up and the SUV makes it's way into the massive elevator as the scene fades to black.
* * * * *
The R&D Garage buried well below the NBF HQ Building was state of the art. No expense had been spared to build a space where the engineers and scientists employed by the company could create new inventions and technologies to help solve the worlds growing number of problems. Many breakthroughs in construction and agriculture had been accomplished in this garage, but none of them had been as daunting as the project that was being undertaken at present.
Reverse engineering a dimensional time traveling device had proved to be more of a challenge than any of them had expected it to be, especially with all of the information and technical schematics that R2-IDEA had brought back from the future with it, and yet, here they were... lacking most of the technology they needed to replicate the abilities of the Dimensional FTV Drive, even with one of them right there in the garage to compare and study.
“It is not necessary to replicate this technology at this time. In fact, as I have stated many times in the last month, this technology WILL become available in a few years, and at that time, your society will be more prepared for this sort of advanced moral dilemma than it is at present.” R2-IDEA chimed in as they studied some of the paperwork from the last set of tests they had run. It's mechanical voice was cheery and endearing, albeit slightly jarring in it's unnatural cadence and enunciation.
The warning was not lost on them, of course. They were all aware the dangers of time travel, and while they understood the situation, the technology present could be used in many ways that wasn't specifically for time travel, at least they had theories about it anyway, and they wanted to know how it worked so they could explore other applications further.
“Yeah R2... we know. I just think there is a lot more here than just the time travel aspect, and we could utilize this technology to explore some new solutions to old problems.” John answers the droid floating nearby as he scans a page of the report.
“Regardless, we need to study how this works so we don't fuck this up and break the multiverse, you know?” the Citizen snorts at them as he shuffles some of the report sheets across a table nearby looking over some output charts.
“That is why the Elders chose to send me with the information that they have selected for my data library. It is also why they have chosen the accessory tools and added services of my new technical abilities, and why they have upgraded my systems to include security protocols and self defense mechanisms. I am designed and programmed to protect this technology and the effects of its usage on the future of this species. Do not forget that we have a mission, and I intend to see that mission to fruition. It is my sole purpose.” R2-IDEA states plainly in his unique fuzzy tone of static and pulsing electrical sounds as he floats across the table above the group.
Citizen and John look across the table at each other, then look to Darina, and back again. The tension in the room after hearing the words the droid had said escalated far faster than they had expected... and the furtive glances among them said volumes of how they all felt about the thinly veiled threat at any danger to the timeline they might cause with their research or their usage of the technology they had received from the Elders.
They all knew there was a mission... and they knew exactly how important it was to be successful. As far as they were concerned, figuring out the marvel of the FTV Drive was a key component to that mission... but R2-IDEA did not share this opinion. John had suggested a few times in the last month that perhaps the droid with the timeline data stored in his library might be right about the direction of the mission, and there was something else they should be doing instead, but he had been convinced this was a vitally important part of the mission... and they had proceeded with the testing and research anyway.
It did not change the fact that the words the droid had said were chilling if you stopped to think about the implications inferred in it's statement.
John wondered to himself just then if there had been a different timeline... some time before... or after... or at the same time, somehow parallel... where he had failed to do what he needed to do, and R2-IDEA had needed to follow through on it's threat? Had it 'taken actions' to protect the timeline and the species, and then just... hopped on to a different timeline to find him again and try it once more in a different thread of reality? Was he even the only gambit they were actively using in the multiverse right now... or were there hundreds of 'Chosen Ones' across infinite timelines spread out across the expanse of time itself already?
The idea of it all made his head spin thinking of the sheer size of the undertaking he had embarked upon that day, all those centuries in the future... not to mention the fact that the future of humanity being a peaceful one could very well rest in his hands...
The enormity of it was daunting and terrifying... but he was determined to try his best... and he could only hope it would be enough.
“R2... I need the materials list for the new production center project you were setting up for. I think that if you need that to ensure we can fabricate the parts you might need to maintain the truck and the FTV Drive that should be our first focus.” John finally blurts out, trying desperately to get the whole thing out of his head for a few minutes and focus on the task at hand.
“One moment.” the droid buzzed, before a printer on a table nearby began loading a page, spitting out a materials list into the tray.
John grabs the sheet from the printer, looks it over for a minute, and then hands it to Citizen.
“Send this to acquisitions, and have them shipped here. I don't think we'll need to outsource any of this, so it should be here within the month, right?” John asks him as the scene fades to black.
* * * * *
Untamed Demon, huh?
That is very interesting...
You might not know this... but I happen to have some personal... very intimate.. experience with demons.
Once upon a time... they were they the untamed variety too.
It's funny... you know? I spent a long time fighting my demons, and the battles didn't always go so well for me, at first.
I spent a long time lost in the desolation of those sulfurous plains of fire and ash... the constant pain of shards of pumice dust cutting away my flesh and the terrors of being hunted by monstrosities... all the while trying to find a way out of the hellish landscape I found myself trapped in.
A time came when I accepted my fate... I gave in to the despair... I decided if I was going to go out to a monster of titanic proportions with lust for the flavor of my flesh... I was going to make sure they were going to have to take my pound of flesh for their damned selves.
I faced my fear... I stood my ground... and I made them regret hunting me for sport.
Monday... at BRAWL... Damage... bring your demon... and I'll cage him... collar the monster... and lock him away with all the other ones buried deep inside.
It's not personal... but I do take it a certain kind of way... the look they give you when hunger takes them... their greasy drool alight and dripping from their jowls... the tendrils of smoke puffing from their snorting nostrils and smelling of burnt hair and rotten eggs...
There's something about the feeling of knowing they want to devour you whole... to ingest your flesh and pick their craggy teeth with your bones... it's unnerving to the core... and I have spent my life facing that very feeling head on.
Monday is no different, Damage.
I know you want to make a name for yourself on WGWF TV.
I know you have some inkling of grandeur... that you're the next big name to grace the Wrestling world... and I know you expect to just walk into the CCPE Arena on Monday night and show the world why your name is the next big one in the industry.
You're hungry... and you're looking at me right now just like the rest of the demons who've faced me before... slobbering and panting at the mere thought of the chance to taste the glory before them... and in the end... there is no glory to be had here.
There is only pain... anguish... torture.
There is only the knowledge that you will never be able to satiate your hunger at my expense... and it will torment you forever.
It will eat at you, gnawing at your brain... taunting you with the desire of it... but always being just out of reach... the desire of it consuming you until you are lost to the only thought... of wanting forever a thing you can never claim as your own.
In the end... there is only suffering for your hunger here.
* * * * *
* * * * *
January 26th, 2023... Jacksonville, FL – Downtown...
John Cable walks briskly down a sidewalk in downtown Jacksonville. His dark gray suit is neatly pressed, and a matching gray handkerchief sits pertly in the pocket of his dark turquoise collared shirt. His gray tie swirls around in the wind of the chilly winter morning as his hard soled, smartly polished black dress shoes clack loudly on the pavement below him, the steps out of sync with each other due to a right heavy limp and the brace after his match with Flynn at CCPE vs the World.
“Good luck on Monday, Cable!” a voice shouts from nearby causing John to turn, and look to see where it had come from.
There, at the doorway of a small cafe stands a man in his mid thirties. Sandy colored hair spirals off in all directions from under a tweed racers cap as he wipes a glass with a bar rag.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. It should be a good show. Hope you enjoy it.” John responds with a smile as he brings his hand up to shield his eyes from the midday sun to see the man better.
“Watch out for Chapman though...” the man says as he takes a step out onto the sidewalk.
“What do you mean?” John asks, turning now to face the man and walks towards him.
“I mean, he's got a thing with Damage right now, and I saw him talking trash on Twitter the other day about seeing him at the match. Just saying, you might want to watch your back.” the man urges.
“Well... I hope Sam thinks better of it. Whatever issues he has with Damage can wait until after our match is over. If he knows what's good for him, he'll stay out of my business, and take care of HIS business on his OWN time.” John says with conviction, truly hoping to just have a match and get to a finish without anyone sticking their nose in where it doesn't belong.
“You're leg good for the fight? I saw what happened with Mark Flynn the other day. Tough break too... you were really handling him there for a while.” the man says, seemingly sad about the outcome.
“Yeah... the leg's good. Not one hundred of course, but good enough. Doc says it's just a strain... gave me a brace to give it some support for a while so it heals up right, but otherwise doing good. Thanks, by the way. I know not everyone was cheering for me in that match, but I know some of you were, and that night, Mark had a better plan and took care of business where it mattered. I can't be too mad at the effort I put in, and honestly, it was a great match, even if I didn't win. I bet he won't forget it any time soon for sure.” John answers with a smile knowing he got his shots in that night too, and while it wasn't enough... it was enough for him to have put on a good showing against one of the best in the world.
“Well, that's good to hear about the leg I guess. As for Chapman, I guess just watch out while your in the ring is all. Good luck, or break a leg, or his leg... or whatever you guys says to each other before a match, man. Have a good one anyway.” the brown haired man chuckled at him as he waved goodbye and headed back to the doorway of his cafe and John wished him well and a thank you for good luck wishes, and then turned to head back down the street as the scene fades to black.