The Aftermath Series
Show: Golden Intentions GI- The Road to Wrestle Fest IV
Scene 1: The Darkest Place
Through desolate darkness comes a whisper. Raspy and coarse to your ears like the scratch of sandpaper against your skin.
"They think they won."
The whispers are barely indistinguishable from the howling winds. All you can see is nothingness. The black void of an eclipse.
"Born and bred like hunters, they got bored and left me for dead. They think they won."
A bellowing laughter blasts out like a lightning storm.
"Everything happens for a reason. Everything came to me, laid out on a silver platter. Now...I AM EVERYTHING. I am the all consuming. I am the omnipotent. AND THEY THINK THEY WON??"
"There is no dark side, really. Matter of fact, it's all dark."
Scene 2: The Interns
Location: CWF Headquarters
"Hello, everyone, and I would like to thank you for your time and courtesy in being here for this today. My name is James Finkeltini, I am the supervisor of the newly revamped CWF Marketing Team."
James, a burly middle aged slob in an untucked white shirt waves to the merry band of barely-twenties standing in front of him. You can see the yellow stains of sweat and unhealthy choices on his arm pits. His hair is receding badly, but he's still sporting that mid-life crisis mullet and gruff on his back and all over his face. There's a ketchup stain on his pocket. This is the CWF's sorry example of a professional.
"As you are all probably aware, we have gathered you here today for an Internship for the upcoming CWF Magazine. All of the CWF fans around the world will be treated to stories about CWF wrestlers past and present. We will be publishing monthly to bring all the hard hitting news and the most obscure trivia. Any kind of story we can get our hands on, and that's where all you guys come in."
"So we will be meeting superstars our first week!?"
A scrawny little teenaged boy speaks out in excitement. He sports a black licensed tee-shirt of Mariella Jade Flair, but we think he got the size fitted for women. He doesn't care, it suits him well. He's a bit too excited and caught up in the moment.
"Calm down, Pip."
James shoots him a glare. James is big time, he doesn't get caught in the brights of the celebrity life.
"Today, you will be assigned a story. They will be randomly assigned, mostly consisting of past superstars that have fallen out of the limelight. An opportunity to give the fans a look back, and a look into what that person is doing today. Some of them were superstars, others...not so much. You get the story assigned to you, no exceptions."
"So how much time do we have to complete these stories?"
The voice of a sultry young redheaded vixen interrupts our friend James. That's Tabby Ubetcha. She wears a white bow in her hair, the bright red punctuated by an even brighter red pair of glasses. She flashes a quaint smile and James is blushing.
"I would say two weeks, unless you are working on something ground breaking. After a month or two, we will see if you have what it takes to work for CWF Magazine... or if we have to cut our losses and move on."
"That's not enough time! That's bullshit! I have to get my hair done tomorrow, and I'm getting a tooth crowning done and I still have to schedule my spray tanning! There's no way I'll have this thing done in that amount of time, for an unpaid internship? You're out of your mind!"
That's Sally Slithers. She's high maintenance and wears a god awful amount of makeup. It's practically gnawing at her face, that has been ripped to shreds by years of butchered plastic surgery, but she keeps going back to the doctor because he's got a flashy smile and he's good at keeping affairs quiet.
"Calm down, Sally." James says, trying out his stern voice.
"Yeah, calm down. I'll help you, as long as I get mine done and turned in on time."
That's Tabby Ubetcha, the over-achiever. Sally is a cold hearted bitch, to be frank, but Tabby is kind to her. To be fair, Tabby would be kind to a dead snail half melted to the sidewalk.
James steps away momentarily and comes back into the room with a stack of off-white folders. Each is packed to the brim with pictures and contact information, with the CWF logo emblazoned on the front of each one. James hands them out to each of the interns as they are flipped open and the assignments revealed.
A few members of the group can't seem to contain their excitement, while others seem to be a bit let down.
"RM Strong? Didn't he die???" A male voice blurts out, catching some negative vibes from around the room.
Sally Slithers looks over at Tabby Ubetcha.
"I am supposed to look into the Lost Treasure of Captain Johnny Blackheart. Is this a fucking joke? You've got to be kidding me!"
Tabby just flashes her a halfhearted smile.
"So who did you get?"
"It just says 'The Aftermath Series'. There was a match. Higher, Wire, Fire. Apparently several of the combatants in that match have not been seen or heard of from the public since. It's been months. Must have been a particularly brutal match."
"So you get to investigate a murder mystery while I am out drinking rum with some jolly ole mates? Sounds like my kind of job!"
Sally snickers at her own joke. Tabby giggles a little bit too.
"I suppose so."
"And I will need you to come in tomorrow to provide me an early update on how you are coming along. No exceptions, no excuses!" James says from the other room.
"...Now I just really need a cigarette." Sally speaks.
She would. She fucking smells like cigarettes.
Scene 3: The Assignment
Location: Montreal, Quebec, Canada
The slender and spectacular legs of Tabby Ubetcha make their way out of the driver's side door of a red Toyota Camry. Her nerves are getting the best of her, she almost doesn't even want to get out of the car. This must be the nicest neighborhood in Montreal. All these houses...huge monstrosities and mansions.
This guy, the reports say he's a bit of an asshole. Cocky, arrogant and conceited. Especially unkind to the press. A bit controversial. Blockheaded to say the least. Total womanizer and sexual pervert. Lives only for himself. May be a hard shell to crack, or maybe he's the one that's going to make Tabby Ubetcha crack.
"Not today, Tab." She says, reassuring herself. "You've got this."
The Jacehole. No, the reports say do not call him the Jacehole. Under no circumstances call him the Jacehole. There may have been other nicknames, but we will just address him by Jace.
Tabby gingerly walks through the gate onto the property of former two-time CWF World Heavyweight Champion Jace Valentine. A whole fleet of Cadillacs are lined up in the driveway, he's practically got a whole parking lot there lined up beside his in-ground beach-front pool complete with authentic beach sand.
This guy lives over the top is the thought running through her mind.
She peers around momentarily as she approaches the garden. In the center is a golden statue of a professional wrestler, presumably Jace himself.
Cocky. Arrogant. Conceited.
If nothing else, Tabby knew she was in the right place. The plaque reading "THE KING OF CANADIAN CONTROVERSY, JACE VALENTINE" confirms her beliefs. That's the nickname she was forgetting.
What a blow hard this guy must be.
She finally approaches the door. She glances in through the windows but is unable to see anything. All the curtains are down and it appears that all the lights are off. She knocks.
A few fleeting moments pass and there is no answer.
She knocks again.
The door quickly springs open.
"Who are you and what do you want?" The voice of a former champion comes calling.
But we see no champion when the door comes wide. There is just a bearded man sitting in a wheelchair. The rusted and dusted remains of a former champion, the beaten down and broken shell of Jace Valentine. The Host with the Most. The King of Canadian Controversy. Former World Heavyweight champion, Academy Champion and Paramount Champion. Broken down and reduced to a chair. He sees the microphone in Tabby's hand and does what he can to slam the door as Tabby takes the initiative to sneak her slender body in past his efforts.
"Hello, Mister, I am..." Tabby tries to speak in calmed tones, as if she can use the way of the force to calm him down. She is in way over her head and she just stepped into the lion's den.
"I know who you are." Jace cuts her off. "I know what you are doing here. You media are all the same. You've come out here to ridicule and embarrass me. What's the matter, sweetheart? Are the ratings down? You have to come out here and kick a handicapped man while he's down do you?"
"No, not at all..."
"You're just here to get my opinion, right? You're just here to get a word from a former CWF champion right? I used to be a star! You want my autograph! You want my advice! I get it, but my question is...why now?"
"Why now? Why do you suddenly give a shit NOW!? It's been 65 or 66 days and counting. I've been out of the spotlight doing everything I can just to survive. I've been in and out of the hospitals just to survive. I gave up my well being that night so I could stop Ryan Sunset from fulfilling whatever psychotic prophecy he was trying to accomplish. I took that fall to erase my sins. I took that fall to save Caledonia's ass! Karma took my legs away. Karma put me in this wheelchair, and I will never compete again. But in that whole time. Over two months now have passed and there hasn't been a single superstar, fan or member of CWF management that has reached out to me to see how I was doing."
"Sir, my name is Tabby, I am an Intern with CWF Magazine..."
"I don't care what your name is, Taffy. It's been over two fucking months and they send an intern out here to talk to Jace Valentine? What is this, your first fucking day?"
"Actually, yesterday was."
"Fucking fantastic. Like I said, all you press are the same. You put your fucking makeup and lipstick on your porky pig faces and you go out and act like you are asking the tough questions. Go ahead, Tammy, ask me -- Do I wipe my ass with Charmin or Ultra Plush?"
"That's uncalled for, Mister Valentine."
"You're in my fucking living room and you're gonna stand there and tell me what's uncalled for?"
Tabby is clearly uncomfortable in the presence of the Host with the Most but tries to play it off.
"I am just here to get some information on, umm, why Chaolin Sahn, Ryan Sunset and yourself haven't competed since the Higher, Wire, Fire match."
"Why I haven't competed? You can't be serious, sweetheart. Look at me. I'm in a fucking wheelchair because I saved Caledonia's neck in that match. Waist down it just isn't there for me anymore. Them's the breaks, kid. I got a serious case of the hero syndrome and it cost me it all. Then you see Caledonia on television and you see her walking around with the same belt I used to hold. It's about enough to make you sick."
"So you sacrificed yourself for the greater good?"
"You know, that's exactly what I thought I was doing. Now I am not so convinced. I thought I would be fucking knighted, man. I thought I was doing the right thing and with the way Ryan talked I sincerely thought I was fucking Ironman and I just saved the world from Atlantia or some bullshit. But that's all it ever was... bullshit. The fans, the people...they didn't care."
"I am sure they appreciated the effort."
"Maybe they did, for a moment. Then they popped their cosmic cocktails of Prozac and Adderall and moved on to the next hero with a flashy smile. It's been 65 days and I haven't heard a peep. I've been a recluse. I'm like a god damn hermit crab over here. There hasn't been a word about Jace Valentine on CWF Programming or anywhere else. It's like I've fallen off the grid."
"And that makes you angry?"
"Damn right that makes me angry. The whole world thought that Ryan was a big bad threat. He was going to recreate the world in his own image, blasting everyone to smithereens. His rants were grating to my ears. I believed him once. I don't know why, I don't know how, but never again."
"Have you heard from any of the others in that match?" Tabby asks quizzically.
"I just told you, lady, I haven't heard from a damn soul. Just me and my memories. The world have a funny way of forgetting about heroes. I guess I dug my own grave here. Not even my family can look me in the eye and say they are proud of me."
"I'm proud of you, Jace Valentine." Tabby says sarcastically.
"Shut the fuck up. You don't even know me." Jace says with a laugh. Tabby is getting him to open up a little bit.
"So do you know what has become of Chaolin Sahn and Ryan Sunset? From what I understand, they both also took a dive from that scaffolding on the night of Higher, Wire, Fire."
"As far as I know, Chaolin Sahn is still an asshole and he is still a prick. As far Ryan Sunset goes, if that guy is stuck face down in a pool of lava and I never see him again, it would be too soon. I have no fucking idea what happened to him."
"Okay, Mister Valentine. One more question here and I will be out of your way. If Ryan or Chaolin, or another force were to return and threaten the CWF, would you be inclined to stop them?"
Tabby looks shocked at his answer.
"What do you expect me to do? Gas up and wheel my chair down the entry ramp of Wrestle Fest 4000? I'm done. You've all already forgotten about me. My work in the ring is hardly even worth a mention on the CWF air now, you gotta push the spotlight onto the next generation of punks and jackasses. I'm done. I tried being the hero and people shit in my face and pissed in my cheerios. The CWF is done with Jace Valentine, and Jace Valentine is done with the CWF."
"Thank you for your time, Mister Valentine." Tabby says, flashing her pearly whites. "I must catch my flight back to the corporate offices. I hope we can talk again soon."
"Sure thing." Jace says with a wink. "Maybe next time I'll introduce you to... Jace Junior..."
Tabby Ubetcha can't get out of there fast enough.
Scene 4: The Tormented Boy
Location: CWF Headquarters
"Does Tabby have the best scoop in CWF? You Betcha!"
Our friend Tabby is back in the CWF office room, James Finkeltini glaring at her in disapproval.
"Trying out your catch phrases, dear? How 'bout we leave that to the superstars."
The surrounding interns snicker a little bit, putting in that little bit of effort to get on the good side of James. A little corporate ass kissing can go a long way some times. Tabby huffs, dejected and defeated.
"Actually, that's exactly what I was doing."
"Well, what you should be doing is giving me an update on your story. Yours is an important one, Miss Ubetcha, and I would not want silliness to get in your way."
"Oh, of course not. I have reached out to former CWF World Heavyweight Champion Jace Valentine. I even managed to get a recorded interview with the man. Turns out he's not in very good health. Terribly bitter about the whole situation."
"I asked for the story, Miss Ubetcha. Not your analysis on his psyche."
"Well, excuse me." Tabby mutters under her breath. "Sorry."
The room goes hush as a Japanese man walks into the room, sporting a business coat and sipping from a molten hot coffee. Some of the interns look legitimately frightened, while others are just in shock and awe, with a few others left standing around wondering what the big deal this.
Sally Slithers comes up behind Tabby and whispers in her ear.
"I hear that guy is a total creep."
The Japanese man seems to pay the other interns no mind, and he traverses through the room. He sips from his coffee, unmentioned and unannounced but certainly not unnoticed.
"Sahn..." The man called Pip squeaks out.
"Is that Chaolin Sahn?" Tabby ponders. "Is that really him?"
The Japanese man sighs, before he proceeds to speak.
"Yes, my name is Chaolin Sahn, and words can not express the pain I have been through. I have been lost, I have been found. Now I choose to be one of you. I am no longer a fighter, no longer a warrior of bloodlust. There is another path for me in this life, and find it I must. I just want to be an Intern, and work for CWF Magazine. I want you to forget about all the cruel and inhumane things that you have seen."
The interns nod, mostly out of fear and respect. But mostly out of fear.
Tabby Ubetcha, as valiant and determines as ever, approaches the man once known as the Tormented Soul. The CWF Hall of Famer. A former CWF World Heavyweight champion in his own right.
"Chaolin Sahn. I must speak to you."
"I wish not to make my personal business the spotlight of the day. I wish to carry on and go my own way. Your story is your own, Tabitha, and I will respect that. My story is my own, and I would like to leave it in the past."
"It is my assignment. I must ask you a few questions about the conclusion of Higher, Wire, Fire."
"So you must, the night I staved off Ryan with a punch. If you must, I ask that we meet for lunch."
"Name the time and place. I'll be there."
Tabby Ubetcha is valiant and determined. She has stepped into the lion's den, and emerged unscathed. Now she walk's into the bear's cave. Maybe she leaves this one in a body bag.
Scene 5: The Diner
He could have named any place. Why here? This run down little diner, I am surprised they are still open for business. The sign outside the building has seen the wear of forty years or more, and the menu is probably even more outdated.
The bar stools are torn to shreds. The jukebox has Elvis Presley listed under New Releases. The bar tender has a nasty scowl on her face only matched by the hickey scar on her neck. This place is nasty. The smell of decade old grease fills the air and there are the bones of half eaten chicken wings scattered on the floor unattended.
Tabby Ubetcha walks into the diner, her sultry red hair glistening in the overwhelming stank of misery. In the corner of the room, with his face concealed in a black cloak sits the man known as Chaolin Sahn. Tabby approaches him, not even bothering to order a drink or anything that could pass as food in this desecrated establishment.
"Hello, Chaolin. So I'm here. Do you mind doing a short interview with me now, for the CWF Magazine story?"
"People come, people go. Dear Tabitha, what is it you need to know?"
"Okay, first. Throughout your career with the CWF, you have often been referred to as the Tormented Soul. Is that a nickname that you like to associate yourself with today?"
"That is not me, at least not any more. I cast him aside, laid out on the floor. It took all of my strength, years as a Tormented Boy. I was corrupted by a deity, played like a toy. I fought and I clawed internally to hold the Soul back. Defiant as ever I withstood his every attack."
Tabby looks puzzled. She can't understand even one of Sahn's damned rhymes.
"So what you are saying is that you were possessed? By a demon of some sort?"
"I...am not quite sure if I understand it myself. All I know is that I've finally broken free, the chains collapsed, and the Soul has been shelved."
"That night...Higher, Wire, Fire. That is the night that The Tormented Soul released you?"
Chaolin nods for a moment, before taking a sip from the goblet of whatever the fuck he is drinking.
"Interesting. So where do you think the Tormented Soul has gone now? Has it been defeated? Do you think it has somehow passed on, crafted a new projection upon the world to create chaos and calamity? Stop me if I am off base here, I am trying to make sense of some of the reports I have so far."
"The Tormented Soul is a powerful force, that much can not be denied. If I told you that I did not fear it's presence on the free world, I would have lied. The question is not where the Tormented Soul is, but perhaps where it is going. The Tormented Soul moves as fast as the wind is blowing. It sits in the shadows, it watches and waits. It is the Maker of Creation, the guardian of the pearly gates. When the Buried Blade is unearthed and is found.... Then Chaos will return to lay claim to the crown."
Tabby nods in amazement, finally getting at ease with her surroundings. Maybe she is better at this job than she led her self to believe. Always valiant and determined, that Tabby Ubetcha. Too bad she's no closer to uncovering the truth.
"So you think the Tormented Soul will return, then?"
"It's not a matter of if, it is a matter of when. That being likes to play and this world is it's pen. I have had close contact with that beast, and to the bone I am scared. If the Tormented Soul comes back, I pray that humanity is prepared."
"Okay. Thank you so much for this information, Chaolin. One more question -- Do you know what became of Ryan Sunset? He hasn't spoken or been heard of from the media since the Higher, Wire, Fire match. From what I understand, he was very big on publicity stunts and getting his face out there."
With the mention of Ryan's name, the expression on Chaolin's face is notably changed.
"No, there is no way that his body survived that fall. If he did...It would be very bad. Very bad for us all."
"So you believe that he is dead?"
"That can't be right. Unless my reports are incorrect, it is believed that he escaped the hospital three days after admission. Left against the doctor's orders..."
Sahn goes silent, very alarmed. He stands up, flicks the hood over his face and walks out of the building.
No anger, no outrage.
Scene 6: The Doctor
Location: Undisclosed Hospital in Montreal, Quebec Canada
Time Stamp: 4/18/2018
"Doctor Wick, I suppose you have the reports on your patient? The badly injured professional wrestler?"
A skinny old doctor, well past any natural retirement age hands a frazzled younger woman a pile of documents.
"Yes, Miss Josephine. Though, I would hardly call him a professional wrestler. The guy we have in there on our surgeon's bed is none other than Ryan Sunset."
"THE Ryan Sunset? The guy we see on television all day, every day? You better make sure you are dotting all the I's and crossing all your T's in there then, Doctor Wick. We can't have a repeat of the last case, you know how much that set back our hospital financially."
"Understood." Doctor Wick says as he begins to walk away.
"How's he doing, doctor?"
"How's Ryan doing? I can't have him dying on my operating table. That's not good for publicity, in this hospital or any other in this country. We have to keep him alive, at all costs. You got that?"
"Well, Miss Josephine...I'm not even convinced the man needs doctors. At least not the kind of doctors that you employ in this kind of facility."
"What are you getting at?" Miss Josephine implores.
"The guy is straight up off his rocker. I know most celebrity types come off a little strong to the normal folks like me and you, but this guy seriously needs a psychiatrist. He needs thrown in a mental ward, and I would not be terribly upset if I watched them throw away the key."
"I should get you suspended for using that kind of language about your patient."
"The guy is having completely bizarre paranoid delusions."
"So what? He thinks something is after him?"
"Worse. He thinks something is IN him. Consuming him from the
inside, or something. What makes it so unsettling is...he seems to enjoy it. He's cackling in there. The thought of pain straight up makes his dick hard. The guy is a freak. I am convinced we should send an exorcist in there."
Miss Josephine huffs, obviously frustrated with Doctor Wick's approach to his patient. In the moment of silence, a young dark haired man in a lab coat rushes over and taps Doctor Wick on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, Walter...he got away."
"What? He got away?" Doctor Wick and Miss Josephine say in unison.
"Ryan. I don't know what the hell came over him but he got out of bed in the middle of his fucking surgery. Stood right up, walked over to the wall and knocked that shit down like he was the Big Bad Wolf. Just huffed and puffed and down it came. I never seen anything like it. He was bleeding like a gutted pig all the way down the hall."
Miss Josephine isn't happy.
"Quarantine that corner of the hospital. If there are patients in the guest rooms, move them to a different wing as soon as possible."
"And not a damn word gets out to the press about this."
Scene 7: The Eclipse
All that you touch, all that you see.
All that you taste, all that you feel.
All that you love, all that you hate.
All that you distrust, all that you save.
All that you give, all that you deal.
All that you buy, beg, borrow or steal.
All you create, all you destroy.
All that you do, all that you say.
All that you eat, and everyone you meet.
All that you slight, and everyone you fight.
All that is gone, all that's to come.
And everything under the sun is in tune.
But the Sun is Eclipsed by the Moon.
Darkness grips you. Do you feel it tight? Do you welcome it's warm embrace? Does it suit you like your favorite color or maybe anguish and pain is more to your liking?
I don't come here promising a better life. I come here promising to end your miserable existence. I have come to put an end to your lies, your buffoonery and lollygagging. It is all a charade and the time has come to drop a curtain on the whole show.
A million heroes and superstars will stand in line to tell you how Golden their Intentions are. Not mine. My intentions are blackened and blood-stained. My intentions are to start a war that they cannot win, because they can not even fathom the thought in their minds.
I have everything I ever wanted. I have everything I have ever needed. They have given up on me. Forsaken by term, but I would rather chose another word.
I will never be gone. They shall never be free. The people of this world shackle themselves in this illusion! They shall never be free! The people of the world they go to work and they get in line, rank and file to fulfill needless obligation. WHY?
Because it is the right thing to do. How many times in your life do you stop and wonder. Am I doing this because it pleases me, it satisfies my heart...or are you a coward simply looking to do the right thing for people who don't give a lick of shit about you and whether you eat at night?
Humanity is a fraud. Nobility is a fraud. It's defective. The Maker of Creation had a fatal flaw in the design. Morality. Not a single being in the animal kingdom is flawed to this degree except for humans. Everything that has happened has happened for a reason. Every winding road leads us to this point. The Hour of Reckoning is upon us.
How do I know? I am the Maker of Creation, himself.
I am the Tormented Soul Reborn. I am the Maker Reborn.
I am in Golden Intentions. I have gained entry because J Rish is exactly who J Rish is. He has always been bullheaded and naïve. Humanity doesn't change it's stripes. Humanity is doomed. I am the Angel of Grace and Deliverance. While most of the people enter this match with intentions of gold, I enter this match with intentions of cold malice and destruction.
When you meet me in the ring, what will you see? Will you see a phantom? Will you see a demon ascending to the sky? Or will you see a reflection of yourself staring back at you like a crystal clear mirror? Am I everything you've ever yearned to be? Will you embrace Amorality and salvation that comes with it?
Or will you burn in the eternal purge of my destiny?
A total of thirty men and women will enter that ring. Only one will stand victorious in the end. Everyone chases the glory of being decided the winner.
Just like the heroes of yesterday, they already think they've won. They are counting their blessings, or at the very least, ready and willing to take their lumps and live to fight another day.
That won't happen, I am afraid.
Duce Jones, Freddie Styles, Mariella Flair, Ataxia and The Shadow.
They all carry on like they don't have a care in the world. They just continue to live their lives. They think they've won. They think I have been defeated.
They think I CAN be defeated. Like I have just vanished without a trace. The thing is, they knew me. Quite frankly, they knew better. They knew that I wouldn't be gone long. They got naïve, they got hopeful and they thought this world really could survive without me.
Petty, pathetic little champions of justice. Let me rain on your parade a little bit. Let me claw at your skin. Let me break your bones like I break bread and eat. I will be engorged with a feast by the end of this match. There will be helpless and hopeless bodies laid to rest in my wake.
Title belts and trinkets of gold are the least of my concern. I want to maim, I want to punish. I want to make them suffer for each moment that went by with them thinking happy rainbow thoughts of a better tomorrow.
The better tomorrow is here, and I am bringing it to you.
Some will pay for other's misdeeds. Some will pay simply because it brings me pleasure, and who am I to deny myself such indulgence.
They won't know me. They won't know what hits them. It won't last long but I can't say it will be pain free. Every time that referee begins the count, I promise to be delivering agony to my adversaries. They won't know me, they won't have to. They just need to know me as their conqueror and their extinguisher.
Revenant, Eric Dane, Dick Fury, Dorian Hawkshurst. The names are lined up, but in the end they mean nothing at all. Simply labels attached to the new breed of superstars. Wrestlers who are green behind the ear and don't understand a lick about history.
Those that don't follow history are doomed to repeat the failures
of their predecessors.
Christian Starr, Bronzon Boxer, Clark Steele and Xander Haze. All young upstarts out to prove their own name. I don't have a name. I am simply the darkness. I am the feeling that makes you grate your teeth when you are scared. I am the monster under the bed. I am the dark thoughts in your mind when you close your eyes. They thought they won...yet, I was always here.
I was always watching. I was always waiting.
This would be my glorious return, yet, I am nothing. I am no one. I am everyone. I am everything. I am the dark side of the moon.
I am the Tormented Soul.
I am Eclipse.
You don't know me, but welcome to your reckoning.
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