Post by Tamatoa Harikoa on Jul 23, 2013 19:43:00 GMT -4
An ambience created by dull, muted cries of agony.
Fluorescent lighting flickering off dull tan walls.
The smell of disinfectant.
Electronic doors slide open and Hayden walks through, taking a deep breath as he does so; breathing in that tell-tale hospital smell. Above him, a sign reads “Emergengy” – white lettering on a red background. The arrow on the sign points Hayden in the right direction and he walks towards the Emergency Department. Push through a swinging door and Hayden is greeted by the ambience of what one would expect from an Emergency Department - the sound of patients in agony, busy doctors and nurses, artificial lighting that attacks the eyes when one walks into the room and yes, that hospital smell.
“A busy hospital, full of lots of sick and injured people. A timely reminder that in life, things can and will go wrong.”
Hayden walks towards a row of beds, each one separated into its own pod by a dividing curtain. Peeking past the first curtain, he sees a teenage boy lying motionless on the bed. At his side, his mother holds his hand while a doctor goes about his examination. His head is bleeding from a large gash above the right eye, not yet bandaged, and his arm protrudes at an unnatural angle.
“This young man has just been hit by a car, crossing the street with his iPod blaring. He didn't even see the car coming. He’s lucky by comparison to a lot of people, some broken bones and a concussion. He will live to walk out of here.”
Passing yet another bed pod, he comes across a curtain that is closed. No sound comes from within this bed, just a slow methodical beeping of a heart-rate monitor.
“Jury is still out on this one – fell from the second story of a construction site, should have been wearing a harness. As yet, he has not woken up.”
Hayden continues his walk along the row of beds. He comes across yet another stall. A man, not much older than Hayden himself is proceeding to berate the nursing staff attending his wounds. As he screams out, the stench of alcohol and vomit is unmistakable. He drips blood from a large gash on his left cheek that he refuses to let the nurses cover up. His chest is scratched and bleeding, and he has an array of bruising around the right side of his face and eye socket.
“The ever present drunk. This one has been in a bar brawl – got cut up pretty badly with a broken beer bottle. And for good measure, he had a bar stool smashed over his head. Definitely came of second best in this one, the poor guy only got one swing in… missed by a mile. Apparently the six foot three, two hundred and forty pound patron didn't like him hitting on his missus. He learnt that lesson the hard way.”
Hayden takes a few steps out into the ward, turning to the camera that is following him around.
“I've been to places like this many times in my career. Sometimes conscious, sometimes not. Each time, I have been lucky enough to walk away. And each time, I am given the same warning – ‘be careful, give up the wrestling; it’s too risky to put your body through that’… I tried to heed their warnings, really, I did. But something inside me kept me coming back for more punishment. It has cost me my marriage, friendships and definitely taken years off my life – but I regret nothing.”
Hayden begins to walk again, heading past a few busy pods of hospital beds as he continues his speech.
“Every time I step through those ropes, I put my body on the line. Every time I step through that entrance curtain, I expect to not walk back up the ramp at the end of the night under my own strength.
Never in the history of my career has that expectation been stronger. This is not a just match for me, this is the end. I will beat Vladimir Strife, or I will die trying.”
Hayden stops at a more secluded, quiet section of the Emergency Department. None of the people in this corner of the ward are awake, none speak. The family members sitting with them are quiet, save for the tears. Doctors and nurses scurry about their patients with cold, silent efficiency.
“Life can be over in an instant, whether I push myself to the limit or not.”
Hayden points out particular patients as he continues.
“Heart attack, stroke, virus, overdose... There are simply too many ways to go. I control my destiny, I control my ending. And I choose to go out with one hell of a bang.
Vladimir Strife; Hayden HardKore – One way or another, this will be my final hurrah. Win, or die trying.”
Hayden pushes through another swinging door, into an empty corridor. In the distance, nursing staff huddle around a reception desk but Hayden stops before they come within earshot.
“There are champions and then there are legends.
Champions experience a moment of glory. Sometimes this is a long moment; sometimes brief. Nevertheless, this moment passes and this champion falls back into the abyss that they emerged from.
Legends experience the glory that does not fade with championships and gold. Legends live on in the memories of those that watch them, those that cheer for them or against them, those that feel the pain and emotion that they feel. A legend cuts his teeth in the business, rises to the top and stays there as a benchmark long after they have moved on.
This will be the benchmark that all other matches will try, and fail, to live up to. Two titans, Vladimir Strive and Hayden HardKore, going to battle. And when titans battle, the universe stands still and watches. The Asylum Cage is our Mt. Olympus - and there can be only one titan left standing on the mountain.”
Hayden fishes into his pocket, pulling out a New Zealand $5 note, behind the note is a photograph – the contents of which are covered by the orange note itself. On the note is a man’s smiling face, underneath which is the caption “Sir Edmund Hillary” – to his left is the picture of a mountain, which he appears to be staring at. Hayden holds the note with one hand and the photo with the other. The photo is an old picture, black and white. It shows two men standing together, Mt. Everest behind them as a backdrop.
“I have grown up with greatness instilled into me. The lineage of New Zealand his unique - climb any mountain, overcome any obstacle. A small country that doesn't take no for an answer.
Meet Sir Edmund Hillary – a typical New Zealand bloke. First man to climb Mt. Everest – a Kiwi. When others told him it was impossible, he turned around and did it anyway. Well, Vladimir Strife is my Everest. Going up against him in his own creation, the Asylum Cage Deathmatch, is insanity… suicide even. I know, but I’ll do it anyway.
I will beat Vladimir Strife or die trying – no man walks away from this match, that much I expect. All is left is to decide who is going to be wheeled away as the victor.”
Hayden smiles as he puts the items back into his pocket.
“I've already booked my bed in here, Vlad, let’s make it a room for two shall we. My entire career has been building towards this match, Titans clashing in the heavens.
You’re my Everest, and I will climb my mountain."
Hayden exits the scene by walking towards the reception desk. His figure fades into a soft focus blur as he walks away, leaving his words echoing around the halls.
"I will climb my mountain.”
Fluorescent lighting flickering off dull tan walls.
The smell of disinfectant.
Electronic doors slide open and Hayden walks through, taking a deep breath as he does so; breathing in that tell-tale hospital smell. Above him, a sign reads “Emergengy” – white lettering on a red background. The arrow on the sign points Hayden in the right direction and he walks towards the Emergency Department. Push through a swinging door and Hayden is greeted by the ambience of what one would expect from an Emergency Department - the sound of patients in agony, busy doctors and nurses, artificial lighting that attacks the eyes when one walks into the room and yes, that hospital smell.
“A busy hospital, full of lots of sick and injured people. A timely reminder that in life, things can and will go wrong.”
Hayden walks towards a row of beds, each one separated into its own pod by a dividing curtain. Peeking past the first curtain, he sees a teenage boy lying motionless on the bed. At his side, his mother holds his hand while a doctor goes about his examination. His head is bleeding from a large gash above the right eye, not yet bandaged, and his arm protrudes at an unnatural angle.
“This young man has just been hit by a car, crossing the street with his iPod blaring. He didn't even see the car coming. He’s lucky by comparison to a lot of people, some broken bones and a concussion. He will live to walk out of here.”
Passing yet another bed pod, he comes across a curtain that is closed. No sound comes from within this bed, just a slow methodical beeping of a heart-rate monitor.
“Jury is still out on this one – fell from the second story of a construction site, should have been wearing a harness. As yet, he has not woken up.”
Hayden continues his walk along the row of beds. He comes across yet another stall. A man, not much older than Hayden himself is proceeding to berate the nursing staff attending his wounds. As he screams out, the stench of alcohol and vomit is unmistakable. He drips blood from a large gash on his left cheek that he refuses to let the nurses cover up. His chest is scratched and bleeding, and he has an array of bruising around the right side of his face and eye socket.
“The ever present drunk. This one has been in a bar brawl – got cut up pretty badly with a broken beer bottle. And for good measure, he had a bar stool smashed over his head. Definitely came of second best in this one, the poor guy only got one swing in… missed by a mile. Apparently the six foot three, two hundred and forty pound patron didn't like him hitting on his missus. He learnt that lesson the hard way.”
Hayden takes a few steps out into the ward, turning to the camera that is following him around.
“I've been to places like this many times in my career. Sometimes conscious, sometimes not. Each time, I have been lucky enough to walk away. And each time, I am given the same warning – ‘be careful, give up the wrestling; it’s too risky to put your body through that’… I tried to heed their warnings, really, I did. But something inside me kept me coming back for more punishment. It has cost me my marriage, friendships and definitely taken years off my life – but I regret nothing.”
Hayden begins to walk again, heading past a few busy pods of hospital beds as he continues his speech.
“Every time I step through those ropes, I put my body on the line. Every time I step through that entrance curtain, I expect to not walk back up the ramp at the end of the night under my own strength.
Never in the history of my career has that expectation been stronger. This is not a just match for me, this is the end. I will beat Vladimir Strife, or I will die trying.”
Hayden stops at a more secluded, quiet section of the Emergency Department. None of the people in this corner of the ward are awake, none speak. The family members sitting with them are quiet, save for the tears. Doctors and nurses scurry about their patients with cold, silent efficiency.
“Life can be over in an instant, whether I push myself to the limit or not.”
Hayden points out particular patients as he continues.
“Heart attack, stroke, virus, overdose... There are simply too many ways to go. I control my destiny, I control my ending. And I choose to go out with one hell of a bang.
Vladimir Strife; Hayden HardKore – One way or another, this will be my final hurrah. Win, or die trying.”
Hayden pushes through another swinging door, into an empty corridor. In the distance, nursing staff huddle around a reception desk but Hayden stops before they come within earshot.
“There are champions and then there are legends.
Champions experience a moment of glory. Sometimes this is a long moment; sometimes brief. Nevertheless, this moment passes and this champion falls back into the abyss that they emerged from.
Legends experience the glory that does not fade with championships and gold. Legends live on in the memories of those that watch them, those that cheer for them or against them, those that feel the pain and emotion that they feel. A legend cuts his teeth in the business, rises to the top and stays there as a benchmark long after they have moved on.
This will be the benchmark that all other matches will try, and fail, to live up to. Two titans, Vladimir Strive and Hayden HardKore, going to battle. And when titans battle, the universe stands still and watches. The Asylum Cage is our Mt. Olympus - and there can be only one titan left standing on the mountain.”
Hayden fishes into his pocket, pulling out a New Zealand $5 note, behind the note is a photograph – the contents of which are covered by the orange note itself. On the note is a man’s smiling face, underneath which is the caption “Sir Edmund Hillary” – to his left is the picture of a mountain, which he appears to be staring at. Hayden holds the note with one hand and the photo with the other. The photo is an old picture, black and white. It shows two men standing together, Mt. Everest behind them as a backdrop.
“I have grown up with greatness instilled into me. The lineage of New Zealand his unique - climb any mountain, overcome any obstacle. A small country that doesn't take no for an answer.
Meet Sir Edmund Hillary – a typical New Zealand bloke. First man to climb Mt. Everest – a Kiwi. When others told him it was impossible, he turned around and did it anyway. Well, Vladimir Strife is my Everest. Going up against him in his own creation, the Asylum Cage Deathmatch, is insanity… suicide even. I know, but I’ll do it anyway.
I will beat Vladimir Strife or die trying – no man walks away from this match, that much I expect. All is left is to decide who is going to be wheeled away as the victor.”
Hayden smiles as he puts the items back into his pocket.
“I've already booked my bed in here, Vlad, let’s make it a room for two shall we. My entire career has been building towards this match, Titans clashing in the heavens.
You’re my Everest, and I will climb my mountain."
Hayden exits the scene by walking towards the reception desk. His figure fades into a soft focus blur as he walks away, leaving his words echoing around the halls.
"I will climb my mountain.”
