Darkness.

[Hawkeye]

It's a quiet uneventful night, the watering hole has a few customers inside who are drinking and chatting about the results of the Total Carnage Pay Per View. The door begins to slowly push open and a disheveled man enters into the bar, his face is covered in a full beard, he is wearing sunglasses, his clothes are dirty, his white wife beater is untucked and covered with what appears to be various dried food stains. From the looks of things he probably hasn't seen a bath in well over several days, his white hair with it's trademark blue streaks is shaggy, frizzled, and completely completely knotted. He shuffles his feet as he makes his way toward the counter where the female bartender, a red head is working. She turns eyeing the man who has climbed up and is sitting at the bar stool. She asks the man what he is drinking, and the man replies back, the bartender turns to grab the half filled  bottle of  Canadian Irish Whiskey and sets it down in front of the man, along with a shot glass. The man takes the bottle and pours the liquid into the glass, eyeing it for several seconds, looking at the amber color, without hesitation he throws back the shot, slamming the glass to the table, pours another shot filling up the glass to almost full, lifts it up and slams it back again, this goes on for several minutes as patrons in the bar begin to focus there attention on the man who is throwing back shots as if they are going out of style.

Hawkeye ignores the stares that are looking in his direction, his world having been turned upside down and inside out, over the events that have unfolded over the last couple of months before coming to a head during the Total Carnage Pay Per View. The images of what happened to his family continue running through his mind. He hears the screams of terror from his wife's lips before she dies, see's the look of fear on her face, see's his daughters being burned alive, there screams for help falling on deaf ears as the fire burned them alive. His son being brutally beaten and then killed with no remorse or care, these images cause Hawkeye to take the shot glass and throw it against the wall, the glass is thick and sturdy, but it shatters against the wall, causing the bartender to shake her head as she goes to the back to get the broom and dustpan to clean it up. Hawkeye grabs the bottle and begins to slam it, stopping just long enough to breath, before continuing to swallow the liquid, as the bottle empties and he gets the last drop from the bottle, he motions for the bartender to bring him another bottle. She goes and gets another bottle and places it in front of the man, who tips her and begins to drink it, without a second thought, the images getting stronger and not going away...NO! STOP! NOT MY WIFE! YOU DIRTY BASTARD!...Everyone turns there attention and look on as suddenly the man begins to cry.

TBC by anyone

[RKP/Wyziner®]

Bryan Wyziner strikes out for the first time in long time, the young blond that he had been chatting up, shoots him down; everything had been going well, her sweet ass was almost in the bag...but the sudden outburst from the crying, foul-smelling, man at the opposite end of the bar was a real deal breaker. Wyziner lets it go, as the lady in the blue dress stands and exits the bar, Wyziner extinguishes the last of his cigarette, takes a sip of his martini, and with a flourish he eats the olive from the glass. He stands, and wipes the excess liquid from his lips with perfectly manicured fingers and fastens the single button on his white dinner jacket; he sits down next to the slovenly dressed man, with his clean shaven face and swept hair, in stark contrast.
Wyziner motions to the red-haired women and says stoically...     

"Whiskey Sour...Woodford Reserve... if you have it."

As she makes his drink, Wyziner takes his silver cigarette-case from his pocket and lights another; He eyes this strange man, who has stopped crying momentarily, and he takes a deep drag before reciting something his father once read to him...

"You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk."

The waitress sets the glass of green whiskey in front of Wyziner, who takes a few mellow sips, before turning back to the man he now recognizes as a relic from a bygone era...the legendary, if not infamous, Hawkeye...and says.

"However, you're grotesque drunkenness is no fucking excuse for ruining my evening, so... this drink...is on you."

TBC: Hawkeye.

[Hawkeye]

Hawkeye, continues to look down at the bottle, the words that came from the young man's mouth go in one ear and out the other. Those thoughts continue to run through his head, looking again at the bottle, he tilts his head back as he brings the bottle to his lips and guzzles several more times before turning to face the young kid who has chosen to sit next him.

And who the fuck are you to talk about ruined evenings? You wet behind the ear, young little punk assh bitsch.

Hawkeye turns back and again guzzles from the bottle which is now only bout 1/4 of the way full. Wyziner, looks on as another saying from his dad comes to mind, but before it is finished Hawkeye's voice interrupts the thought.

So what the fuck did I ruin for you? That you had to drink one on me? Did you not get enough love from parents growing up? Were you abandoned and left to play with the dogs, while your parents worked?

Wyziner prepares to speak back, but again is beaten to the punch as Hawkeye continues to ramble on.

I have a few questions for you kid...Have you ever walked through the bowels of Hell and lived? Have you seen all you work and all you built, destroyed and taken from you? Have you looked Death in the face on daily basis and asked him what's up? Have you!? Damn it boy I asked you questions.

Hawkeye, turns back to the bottle and finishes off the last bit of it, setting it on the table, he calls the bartender over and points at the bottle asking for another. The bartender goes into the back and again brings out another full bottle, which she sits in front of the man, taking the money that is on the table as she turns her attention to Wyziner who sends her away with a shooing motion before turning his attention back to Hawkeye, who is seen taking another big swig from the bottle.

TBC

[RKP/Wyziner®]

"Wow, wet behind the ears....really? So not only are you a washed-up has-been, who is to drunk to remember how good it feels to be my age, but you're also a walking cliche. Impressive. Who am I you ask? Well, I'm a three time All American, a second dan black-belt in Raj Kim-Po's Shzhòng Shu Kung Fu, and my masters degree in psychology is enough for me to plainly see that you're suffering from severe post-traumatic stress syndrome. What you ruined for me, is a night of ridiculously good sex with some dumb college sophomore who was in over her head, but more importantly, happened to be ANYONE other then my wife." 

Wyziner sips his whisky sour, the expensive, smooth, single-batch, bourbon-whisky softens his pallet; it's sweetness floods his senses, right before the sharp tang of the lemon and lime squeezings. He eyes Hawkeye, who cringes at the mention of Wyziner's wife. With a smirk Wyziner starts back up.

"What, I struck a nerve? Get the fuck over it. You talk about hell, torment...you know what hell is? Having to wake up in the morning to the same fucking face for the rest of your life; knowing that nothing will ever change, nothing will ever be interesting again. What's more is that my fucking kids just keep getting older, and the older they get the more they want...always fucking taking and never giving anything in return. So what, you're old lady left you...boo-fucking-hoo, are you really content to sit her and drink your life away over some dumb bitch you're better off without; I'm mean really some men would give everything they built to be where you are right now, to be free again...to be human again! What the fuck do you know?"

Bryan takes a big swig of his whiskey, and drags his cigarette. Remembering his father he hangs his head.

"Look out at the funking world man...just look at it, one big fucking jungle; some of the people in this world are born to kill, others have to helplessly sit and watch as everything they know turns to shit. They huddle together in their little herd and just pray that it's not their turn...one predator comes and takes their calf, then one comes to get their mate, and for the final insult one comes to snatch up the legacy. After years of hoping that it's not their turn, they realize that they're walking the lonely fucking road to perdition; that they never had the fucking horns to do anything about their station in life, that from the time that they where born...they merely were getting fat for the satisfaction of others. Fuck that man....fuck that shit, I knew the game was rig from the start. Real early one, I traded in my horns for teeth, I traded in my hopes for claws; I'm the one that creeps around the jungle and kills off your fucking herd in the dead of night, that's who the fuck I am."    

Wyziner finishes the last of his drink and starts on his third cigarette.

"People like you are the fucking worst, the ones who think that because they lost something, that nobody else in the world can have any meaningful pain. Fuck you, I resent the fact that you have the nerve to accuse me of naivety, while you sit here and drown yourself in cheap whiskey...as if you can get drunk to the point where your pain won't matter. You remind me of my old man, you're right he was never around...and when my mom finally left his sorry ass, he decided to never be sober again for the rest of his life. In 2010 he is doing this little tournament for some company that nobody gives a fuck about anymore, I think it was called H-Games or some shit like that. It's a pretty big deal, he is wrestling the best fucking guy in the company, on one of it's flagship pay-per-views, and he needs something to calm his nerves. So before his final match, he snorts a line of coke, and then proceeds to wrestle for 29 minutes with Vladimir T. Strife; the mother-fucker picks my dad up and drops him into an "explosive" casket, my dad suffers a massive heart attack and dies the next day. Of-course I have to front the money for the funeral, and we have it on the following Wednesday...you know who shows up? Nobody, not a single fucking person...not Ryan Hughes, not Metal Dragon, not Matthew Oliveira, not Kahlan Clarkson, or Dominick Santiago...not even Vladimir Strife, that son of bitch killed my dad and didn't have the fucking heart to show up to his funeral. Four years with that company, and we didn't get so much as a fucking card! Don't you talk to me about looking into the face of death...I've come here every night and I have had to look that motherfucker in the eyes...in fact, he signs my checks."

He motions for the waitress once again. 

"I inherited everything from my dad, which wasn't much, I mean I got his philandering, his drug habit, his egomania, and a couple thousand dollars. Well I guess almost everything, I didn't inherit his habit for giving a fuck; so honestly I don't give a shit about your pathetic little life...or your story, you have no fucking excuse for ruining my night with your god-damned melancholy. I can't stand to watch a grown man cry like a women, so I'm leaving...but before I go, here is 480 dollars; there is a pawn shop across the street, it's open pretty late, that should be enough to buy a used shot-gun and some shells. If you want to walk through hell so bad...don't go there slowly; do us all a favor, hurry up and decrease the surplus population."  

Wyziner gets up and walks to the other end of the bar, and as he is walking says to the waitress...

"Whiskey sour, I'll take it over here, this guy's good for it." 

TBC
  

[Hawkeye]

Hawkeye sits there for several more minutes, the look in his eye's hallowed and repressed deep within the sockets, the harsh words that came out of the kids mouth almost had some truth to them, but again thought Hawkeye, what would this young kid know about adversity, or about sacrifice, or even bout living. It seemed to Hawkeye that this kid cared only bout what cheap thrills he could get before going home. Hawkeye again swigs from the bottle before he speaks, a slight yell follows his tone as the alcohol begins to take effect, impairing his vision slightly, causing his head to ache and throb.

I am NOT a washed up has-been, Kid I was selling my soul to sell out arenas, before you were a nut stain in your Daddies underwear. I have won more titles then girls you have slept with. HELL I built GHW....I also helped Raj Kim Po to be something, I have taken more superstars beyond there limit. KingBear! Vladimir T. Strife! Alex Stall! Kahlan! and MANY others, pushed them to be GREATER then they thought possible. But enough about me, it seems I was wrong about you having Daddy issues, it seems you also had Mommy issues too. You say I am suffering from this PTSD, hell kid if that was the case I probably would have gone and shot myself already...But you see Hell wouldn't take me, because the Devil knows that I would kick his ass and take over. Heaven wouldn't take me either because I have been a FORSAKEN ANGEL for a very long time.

Hawkeye tries to get off the bar stool as he picks up the money and stumbles almost falling on his ass, the rush from him standing up after drinking like he had, brought a feeling the likes he had felt many times before, only this time his vision went black. The kid watches the man, shaking his head as he tries to enjoy his drink, hoping that he would have gotten some piece after putting the money on the counter.

You know...It might have been easier if she and my kids had left me, the whole thing would have been more enjoyable. It would seem, that you are missing the finer points of what it means to be a good husband and a caring Father. I guess that would be expected considering what you were raised in, not knowing what true love and affection was. Not being able to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I get it kid, I have been there...If my WIFE knew the number of times I was unfaithful while we were touring, it probably would have broke her heart. Though I do give my wife credit, if she knew what I was doing while out on the road, she was a very strong woman, who made sure that when I came home, a warm dinner was on the table, the kids were dressed and greeted me as I walked into the door. My WIFE stood by my side, through the good and the bad...and to hear you talk down about how you feel about your wife and kids. Well, be happy that YOURS are still alive and around. YOU DON'T HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE FACT, that your house is gone, your cars SOLD, just to pay a debt and even then when that debt wasn't paid, to be punished by having to watch your wife and kids get murdered in front of your eyes, tied up laying there, no way to help or to save THEM.

Wyzner finishes his drink, his look still showing that he doesn't give a shit about what the drunken, stumbling man is saying. Hawkeye begins to sway to the left and to the right, the room begins to spin and he again start's to see blackness in front of his face. Quickly he reaches out with his free hand grabbing the bar, using it to prop himself up and keep him steady as he feels like he is inside one of those spinning rides. Wyzner finishes the cigarette and again takes a drink as he again hears Hawkeye speak.

You know sshon, your right...in many ways your punk assh issh right. It is a Gawd Damn Forsaken Jungle out there. You might be right about the people who would sacrifice all they have to attain what I have attained. But you know what, you should be happy that your assh has a job, something that you seem to like doing, Do you know how many people, or better yet ant's that get up every day and do the same boring, tedious, mundane job, day in and day out. You know son, I get you have anger issues, again it starts with your upbringing and the lack of love your parents, especially your Father showed you. As for what you look at as being free, I call it PRISON, I call it RETRIBUTION for the life I chose to lead. In all of my dealings, I never once asked my family to be a part of it...Anytime they showed up at the shows it was there doing. Hell maybe things would be different had my family never showed up at events, never got to meet the superstars who put it all on the line, for a lot of ungrateful, ignorant, stupid, marks. Hell lets not forget all the shitless talent that ALWAYS wanted to be on top, never wanted to work or EARN there place in this sport. FUCK maybe my life would have been easier had I stuck to what you do and blamed the world for every fucking thing that is wrong with me. You know, you may be right on another account...All this drinking I am doing doesn't take the pain away, doesn't make things any damn easier to face, but you know WHAT? It helps to numb the pain, keep the Demons at bay.

Hawkeye pushes himself up to a standing position once again, the room continues to spin, his vision continues to fade to black, everything remains blurry when the blackness fades. Hawkeye slowly walks towards Wyzner, his feet shuffling like a prisoner with shackles on thier feet. Again a rush envelops his body as he stops to take another drink from the bottle, it takes several gulps but the bottle is empty. Hawkeye's face scrunches up, he tips the bottle trying to make sure to get the last drop, satisfied he grabs the bottle by the neck turning it upside down, so that the round end is up.

You know kid, I think your right, but I also think you needed a bit more disipline to be greatful for what you have even if it is very little. You say do I know how many people would kill to be where I was? Probably as many people who would kill for the oppurtintes you have been given, even if you feel that Mr. Strife was responsible for your Dad's death and didn't send flowers or a card. YOU KNOW WHAT MAKES ME SICK? UNGRATEFUL FUCKS.

Hawkeye leans back, the bottle slowly going behind the side of his head, leaning forward Hawkeye prepares to launch the bottle in the direction of Wyzner.