History Best Left Not Remembered
Nov 2, 2013 22:41:01 GMT -4
Vladimir Strife, Envy, and 1 more like this
Post by Nicholas Carson on Nov 2, 2013 22:41:01 GMT -4
The scene opens to somewhere dark and dank inside the Solid Core Gymnasium. Only a single light fills the room, albeit dimly, and sitting on the floor Indian style is the Maniac Mauler himself, Nicholas Carson. He is rocking forward and backward, thudding against the wall harder and harder each time, as he laughs then growls then laughs again.
"I never liked history. Not in school, not in old mens stories, and damn sure not on TV. So many things get twisted and perverted as history is spoken and passed down with everyone's nice little spin on it. You gave us all a history lesson not too long ago didn't you Rhaps? But yours was different and I must commend yo. It was the most accurate I have seen. You held nothing back and spoke nothing but the honest truth. Yet like so many others who like to recant their versions of history, you committed the same mistake they often make. You left out something. While you may have defeated a man that had only been bested by a few, you fell short in doing what only I have been able to do to him."
The Lord of Lunacy stops rocking and leans against the wall, coming to a relaxed state of being as he takes a trip down memory lane with all of us riding shotgun.
"Five years ago almost to this very day I stepped into the ring with Vladimir Strife. No, not the same Vlad you and KingBear and Desperado and Delta have beaten, this was Strife at his absolute best and most brutal. The objective was easy. First one to render their opponent unable to answer the 10 count wins. It was a match so brutal that it was pulled from the archives so nobody could copy and reproduce it to the public. Only those in the 'know' still have it for viewing pleasure. In that match he and I beat each other to the point of no return. For the first time in his career he was zapped of all his energy. He had given me every move in his arsenal and some not, massacred me with a drill, even took a potato peeler to my head and mangled me so bad that I still wake up screaming from the nightmares of that one terrifying night. After all of that, though, I still stood. So imagine his horror when I kept getting up and started to put him through the same hell. He was terrified as was I. He was soon crucified by my hands, courtesy of my almighty nail gun. Jimmy Pate didn't escape either, he received a nail in the chest for trying to intervene on Vlad's behalf. KingBear himself even made an appearance to talk sense into both of us. He was sent away. We kept fighting. Dying a little bit with each strike. The kitchen sink even came into play, though I can not remember who used it on who. Suddenly, Vlad and I found ourselves flat on our backs, the referee, who had also puked some during the carnage, was counting away in a hurried rush to get the match over with. Vlad and I scrambled and used the ropes to begin our respective climbs to victory. 7...8... Vlad was ahead of me, just barely, and suddenly I felt like Apollo Creed in Rocky 2. I heard 9 and saw Vlad shoot up for the briefest of moments while my fat ass just stayed one little second behind him. And that's all she wrote. 10 came and the ref awarded the bout to Strife. One fucking second. Vlad was only one second better than me that night."
Nicky slams the back of his head against the wall in frustration, but soon laughs as his memory fills with warmer thoughts.
"Medical teams swarmed in like roaches to crums of food. I fell out of the ring and fought them off until I stood upright under my own power. And from there I walked forward, slowly, each step feeling as though it would be my last. I collpased a few times but got back up, and brushed help away. Then I saw it. Something that took all the pain away. Vlad had collapsed also, but unlike me he was still down. They were loading him up on a stretcher with a sense of urgency and before I knew it he was being tossed into an ambulance and driven away. A short time later Strife was laying on a bed in the emergency room, medical teams swarming all around him to keep him alive. But they failed. For three minutes and nineteen seconds, Vlad's breathing stopped and his heart ceased its beating. The GodKing was dead. Literally, dead. Then, unfortunately, he was revived by a determined medical crew and a miracle. Strife would later spin it to make himself look good, saying he was too much of a bad ass to die and that he had fought himself to death in that match. But you don't inflict the types of wounds he had by yourself. I gave them to him. I beat him to death, Rhaps. Did you do that to him? Has anyone? No. Only I have. It took him over one week to get out of the hospital, and where did he go when he did? He went home and allowed his sweet little girlfriend to lick his wounds. But where was I one week later? Do you remember, Rhapsie Boy? I was in a steel cage with a maniac just like me. I fought Demon and was victorious and walked away with the Imperial Championship belt around my waist. Vlad won the battle but I won the war."
Nicky lurches forward off the wall so that his face is a bit more visible to the lense.
"So go ahead and tout your win over Strife, because to me it doesn't mean a fucking thing until you kill the son of a bitch. See, that's the problem with you Rhaps. You will do almost anything to your opponents to win. Almost. ALMOST anything. I'm different. I will do anything, and I do mean ANYTHING to crush my opponent. I will kill them if I have to. I care little for silver and gold and fame, in case you have forgotten. At MadHouse, Rhaps, I'm not going to just beat you in the ring. I'm not going to send you to the hospital. I'm not even going to send you to the morgue or six feet under the earth. Nah, Rhaps, that's not good enough for you. I'm going to beat you to fucking death then wrap my hand around your scrawny little neck and choke slam you through the ring, through the earth, through the core, and hand deliver you to satan himself. Then, after that, I'm going to drown you in whatever pit Lucifer has assigned you to and hopefully he'll allow me to stay for an eternity so I can torture you endlessly for ever and ever and ever and ever AND EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EEEEVVVVVVVERRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
He begins to laugh to the point of troubled breathing, then suddenly gets calm and serious as he stands up.
"And if Envy wants to join you there I'll gladly accommodate. Now, for my last bit of business."
He walks to the right a few steps and picks up his nail gun, then walks a little more until we see an elderly man unwillingly strapped into a chair with tape over his mouth.
"This here is Dr. Stevens. He led the medical team that bravely brought the GodKing back to life that famous nite so long ago. I've been meaning to close this chapter for awhile now, but I've been busy with other things. Better late than never, huh Rhaps? Now, Dr. Stevens, out of all the thousands upon thousands of lives you've saved, how does it feel knowing that one of those lives you saved, which didn't need to be saved, is now going to cost you yours?"
The Mauler laughs over the man's protests as he stands in front of him, his back providing a buffer between the action and the lens of the camera, before placing the muzzle of the weapon against the good doctor's right eye and firing a nail deep into it.
EOT.
"I never liked history. Not in school, not in old mens stories, and damn sure not on TV. So many things get twisted and perverted as history is spoken and passed down with everyone's nice little spin on it. You gave us all a history lesson not too long ago didn't you Rhaps? But yours was different and I must commend yo. It was the most accurate I have seen. You held nothing back and spoke nothing but the honest truth. Yet like so many others who like to recant their versions of history, you committed the same mistake they often make. You left out something. While you may have defeated a man that had only been bested by a few, you fell short in doing what only I have been able to do to him."
The Lord of Lunacy stops rocking and leans against the wall, coming to a relaxed state of being as he takes a trip down memory lane with all of us riding shotgun.
"Five years ago almost to this very day I stepped into the ring with Vladimir Strife. No, not the same Vlad you and KingBear and Desperado and Delta have beaten, this was Strife at his absolute best and most brutal. The objective was easy. First one to render their opponent unable to answer the 10 count wins. It was a match so brutal that it was pulled from the archives so nobody could copy and reproduce it to the public. Only those in the 'know' still have it for viewing pleasure. In that match he and I beat each other to the point of no return. For the first time in his career he was zapped of all his energy. He had given me every move in his arsenal and some not, massacred me with a drill, even took a potato peeler to my head and mangled me so bad that I still wake up screaming from the nightmares of that one terrifying night. After all of that, though, I still stood. So imagine his horror when I kept getting up and started to put him through the same hell. He was terrified as was I. He was soon crucified by my hands, courtesy of my almighty nail gun. Jimmy Pate didn't escape either, he received a nail in the chest for trying to intervene on Vlad's behalf. KingBear himself even made an appearance to talk sense into both of us. He was sent away. We kept fighting. Dying a little bit with each strike. The kitchen sink even came into play, though I can not remember who used it on who. Suddenly, Vlad and I found ourselves flat on our backs, the referee, who had also puked some during the carnage, was counting away in a hurried rush to get the match over with. Vlad and I scrambled and used the ropes to begin our respective climbs to victory. 7...8... Vlad was ahead of me, just barely, and suddenly I felt like Apollo Creed in Rocky 2. I heard 9 and saw Vlad shoot up for the briefest of moments while my fat ass just stayed one little second behind him. And that's all she wrote. 10 came and the ref awarded the bout to Strife. One fucking second. Vlad was only one second better than me that night."
Nicky slams the back of his head against the wall in frustration, but soon laughs as his memory fills with warmer thoughts.
"Medical teams swarmed in like roaches to crums of food. I fell out of the ring and fought them off until I stood upright under my own power. And from there I walked forward, slowly, each step feeling as though it would be my last. I collpased a few times but got back up, and brushed help away. Then I saw it. Something that took all the pain away. Vlad had collapsed also, but unlike me he was still down. They were loading him up on a stretcher with a sense of urgency and before I knew it he was being tossed into an ambulance and driven away. A short time later Strife was laying on a bed in the emergency room, medical teams swarming all around him to keep him alive. But they failed. For three minutes and nineteen seconds, Vlad's breathing stopped and his heart ceased its beating. The GodKing was dead. Literally, dead. Then, unfortunately, he was revived by a determined medical crew and a miracle. Strife would later spin it to make himself look good, saying he was too much of a bad ass to die and that he had fought himself to death in that match. But you don't inflict the types of wounds he had by yourself. I gave them to him. I beat him to death, Rhaps. Did you do that to him? Has anyone? No. Only I have. It took him over one week to get out of the hospital, and where did he go when he did? He went home and allowed his sweet little girlfriend to lick his wounds. But where was I one week later? Do you remember, Rhapsie Boy? I was in a steel cage with a maniac just like me. I fought Demon and was victorious and walked away with the Imperial Championship belt around my waist. Vlad won the battle but I won the war."
Nicky lurches forward off the wall so that his face is a bit more visible to the lense.
"So go ahead and tout your win over Strife, because to me it doesn't mean a fucking thing until you kill the son of a bitch. See, that's the problem with you Rhaps. You will do almost anything to your opponents to win. Almost. ALMOST anything. I'm different. I will do anything, and I do mean ANYTHING to crush my opponent. I will kill them if I have to. I care little for silver and gold and fame, in case you have forgotten. At MadHouse, Rhaps, I'm not going to just beat you in the ring. I'm not going to send you to the hospital. I'm not even going to send you to the morgue or six feet under the earth. Nah, Rhaps, that's not good enough for you. I'm going to beat you to fucking death then wrap my hand around your scrawny little neck and choke slam you through the ring, through the earth, through the core, and hand deliver you to satan himself. Then, after that, I'm going to drown you in whatever pit Lucifer has assigned you to and hopefully he'll allow me to stay for an eternity so I can torture you endlessly for ever and ever and ever and ever AND EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EEEEVVVVVVVERRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
He begins to laugh to the point of troubled breathing, then suddenly gets calm and serious as he stands up.
"And if Envy wants to join you there I'll gladly accommodate. Now, for my last bit of business."
He walks to the right a few steps and picks up his nail gun, then walks a little more until we see an elderly man unwillingly strapped into a chair with tape over his mouth.
"This here is Dr. Stevens. He led the medical team that bravely brought the GodKing back to life that famous nite so long ago. I've been meaning to close this chapter for awhile now, but I've been busy with other things. Better late than never, huh Rhaps? Now, Dr. Stevens, out of all the thousands upon thousands of lives you've saved, how does it feel knowing that one of those lives you saved, which didn't need to be saved, is now going to cost you yours?"
The Mauler laughs over the man's protests as he stands in front of him, his back providing a buffer between the action and the lens of the camera, before placing the muzzle of the weapon against the good doctor's right eye and firing a nail deep into it.
EOT.
