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Post by pwsstaff on May 1, 2023 19:33:31 GMT -5
PWS:APEX PRESENTS: THURSDAY NIGHT RIOT Thursday, May 11th Capital One Arena- Washington, DCMain Event: Jonathan Sanders vs Jack Russow Deadline is Monday 5/7, 11:59:59 pm est 1 rp per character. 300 min, 5000 max
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Post by Jonathan Sanders on May 8, 2023 20:17:35 GMT -5
PRELUDE: AN EPITAPHFade in.*We open on a shot of what appears to be a cemetery; it’s around twilight, with the last orangered rays of waning sunlight bathing the area in an eerie firelike glow. Long shadows fall across the flat, manicured grass - visual echoes of the grey, decaying headstones and overgrown mausoleums which dot the landscape. We hold on this solemn vista, panning slowly through the rows of graves and memorial sites with an appropriately-sombre pace, as a familiar voice pipes up to speak over top of the scene.* “As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil…”*The footage abruptly flickers and jump-cuts to the feet of Jonathan Sanders, and slowly pans up his body - clad in a black suit with matching tie and overcoat - as he strides slowly through the field, clutching a solitary white rose in one hand. He continues his voiceover, though the mouth of the Sanders we see on-screen does not move at all.* “For I know that Thou art with me.”*As Sanders continues to walk, the long shadows behind him seem to lengthen further and coalesce into the black-robed form of The Dark Reflection, who strikes a Baphomet pose as the footage begins to flicker and jump like an aging VHS tape.* “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”*The distortion and noise in the feed grows even stronger until we abruptly cut to black-and-white footage of Tyson Sykes laying out Jonathan Sanders in the steel cage with a Kendo Stick.* “Thou preparest a table for me in the presence of mine enemies…”*Another flicker, and we cut to a shot of Sykes pouring out the thumbtacks, preparing for his Syko Bomb.* “Thou anointest my head with oil…”*The feed jumps again and cuts to Sanders being raked across the cage, the blood trickling down from his forehead as the wires cut into his flesh.* “My cup runneth over.”*We smash-cut to footage of the Syko Bomb onto the thumbtacks, which then replays twice more from different angles.* “Surely, goodness and mercy will follow me for all the days of my life…”*As he speaks, the other three members of ANTITHESIS - Alexander Lyons, Alexandra Sanders and Dionysus - fall into step behind him from off-screen, and the quartet continue to walk until they come to a particular headstone, much newer and less decayed than all the others.* “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”*Sanders then kneels down before the new gravestone, raising the white rose to his face to sniff it once before laying it across the fresh earth. The camera slowly pans around to reveal the epitaph of the face of the tombstone, which reads:* TYSON SYKES 1992-2023 SON. HUSBAND. BROTHER.
*Jonathan Sanders looks up, now, the camera zooming in on his face as he finally speaks aloud.* “Amen.”*He glares daggers through the camera for a beat, and then…* Fade Out.—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANTITHESIS: THE FAMILIAR DARKFade in.*Our shot opens with the sound of footsteps echoing on concrete. As the scene fades into view, we find ourselves in unfamiliar environs - the backstreets of Washington, DC. It seems to be a residential area, though not particularly affluent or well-tended, with many dilapidated tenements and buildings clearly left abandoned to the wiles of time, home now only to cobwebs and the vague memory of promise these grim facades once held. A few sparse, flickering light sources can be glimpsed in the background of our shot, suggesting far-off fires likely tended by squatters or the unhoused, seeking refuge for a chilly night in the capital of the wealthiest nation on the planet. The sound of the footsteps continues as we pan through this scene of destitution and despair, though viewers are no closer to learning their source, until a familiar voice speaks out over our scene.* “Did you believe that I was gone?”*A beat. A crash of lightning. The footage flickers and jumps in time with the thunder, switching to black-and-white footage of Tyson Sykes’ retirement speech on Riot, immediately following Demon’s Run.* “Did you believe that it was over?”*Thunder crashes once again, and the footage smash-cuts to Tyson on the ramp, waving to the fans, before Jonathan Sanders comes out of nowhere and blindsides him from behind.* “Did you truly believe… that you were safe?”*Another beat. Another crash. Another cut, this time to Tyson taking a piledriver onto the concrete floor, and Jonathan Sanders cradling his fallen body. A resounding, mirthless cackle echoes through the air as the footage glitches one more time to bring us back to Washington DC, this time face-to-face with the self-styled Lost Cause, who has not broken his stride. The former PWS: Apex Collateral Damage Champion is clad entirely in black - black jeans, a black overcoat, and even a black hoodie to match, offset only by the white “Danzig” logo and horned skull emblazoned on the front. His normally-coiffed hair is messy, bangs falling over his forehead as the rest is whipped about by the wind, but he continues walking undeterred, his steel-grey eyes fixed on the camera in front of him.* “I have told you this a thousand times, and still you have refused to listen. I am not a problem you can solve. I am not a disaster this business can withstand. I am Armageddon given life and shape and form - a Walking Apocalypse disguised in human skin! What became of Tyson Sykes was merely the inevitable - the natural consequences of spitting fire into a hurricane. It should not have been surprising to you that I would go out of my way to see my Justice done, especially when Brother War would so brazenly and arrogantly deny the truth of who and what he is…”*Sanders pauses, here, a heavy sigh escaping him as he slowly pauses, turning to gaze over the rooftops to his left. In the distance, obscured by the fog of night, the Washington Monument is barely visible.* “And yet, when the cat is away…”*Sanders tears his eyes away from the monument as if in disgust, whirling back around to face the camera with a sneer.* “All the rats begin conspiring.”*Another pause. Sanders’ sneer becomes a sort of sardonic, mocking smirk.* “I am well aware of the words which have been said regarding my… absence, of late. The rumours, the speculation - ‘perhaps he is retiring’, ‘perhaps they’ve broken up’. I have heard you call this an obsession… and perhaps it has been. But is that truly such a negative? Should we demonize ‘obsession’, when all it truly does is act as a measure of which among us are truly, dangerously, unstoppable? I have called myself a force of nature - I have claimed in the past to be something more than merely human… is this not all the proof you needed? Why do you decry my so-called ‘obsession’ when all it truly indicates is how little you can do to dissuade me from my course? Ah, but I KNOW the answer to that little hypothetical…”*Sanders pauses, his smirk growing into a grin.* “You do it because you’re scared.”*Another pause, only for a moment.* “Because deep down, you realize that my ‘obsession’ is a reminder of how little you can do to stop me. And because YOU do not POSSESS that same level of dedication, you must tamp it down. Snuff it out, like an uncontrollable flame. But I am not a servant to your fear - you SHOULD be terrified of me, and my ‘obsession’, because you have SEEN what it can DO! Ask Tyson Sykes… if he is still capable of speaking.”*Jonathan pauses again, longer this time, as he begins to walk down the middle of the deserted street once more. He approaches a corner and rounds it, and as the camera follows him, astute viewers can very briefly glimpse the arena where Riot will be taking place tonight in the distance.* "But I am not the only one in this business who is burdened with the double-edged blessing of obsession… am I, Jack Russow?"*Another pause. The Snake of Eden’s black lips part as his smirks a terrible, wicked smirk, eyes locking with the camera.* "Tell me, Jack… how's that knee feeling?"*He pauses again, allowing the rhetorical question to hang in the air for a moment, before continuing his tirade as his smirk slowly vanishes.* "You know, you had a remarkable opportunity on your hands, Jack. It is not often fate presents us with such a direct and obvious escape route from this vicious, withering trap which has ensnared our mortal souls… and yet this is precisely where you found yourself. You could have been FREE. Unburdened. You could have RID yourself of the STINK of this modern-day bloodsport for good, Jack Russow, and ridden off into the sunset to enjoy your twilight years with a body that still functions, rather than looking back in misery at the life you might have lived."*Sanders pauses again and lets his smirk return, though this time it bears a more derisive, biting edge.* "Alas… you simply couldn't bring yourself to do it, could you, Jack? Like the tired old gunslinger, clinging desperately to the glorious notoriety of youth, you were drawn in by the allure of one. Last. Ride. It would almost be pitiful, were it not so fucking funny. Because I have seen this happen before, Jack Russow. I have watched countless other veterans eschew their well-earned rest in favour of recapturing the fame and adulation which they crave so desperately… and each and every time, I have watched them crash and burn. For fame is truly fleeting, isn’t it, Jack? You know this so much better than most - you have seen, I’m sure, how it has affected your own family. This crowd may still pop for Papa Levi, but they don’t truly go wild for him the same way they used to, do they? When dear old Uncle Jesse returned from his long absence, was he truly welcomed as a hero? A returning veteran? Or was he a nobody, forced to once again work his way up from the bottom in the hopes of reclaiming a fraction of his former glory? Allow me to answer that question with another one…”*He pauses, the smirk growing wider.* “What’s Jesse been up to lately? I know I can’t remember seeing him… have you?”*A beat. The Outsider’s smirk becomes a withering grin, his steel-grey eyes glinting with sadistic glee.* "And he is not the only one, is he? You feel this happening to YOU, too, don’t you? You’ve won the United Championship - the same belt you held before your - shall we say ‘abrupt hiatus?’ - but it does not feel quite the SAME, does it? You do not FEEL like a champion… and these fans are not TREATING you like one. We both heard the boos when Max Sheppard Jr. was forced to relinquish that belt - funny, how its holders seem so prone to injury - and while we did hear them cheer when you won it in his place… it wasn’t the reaction that you WANTED, was it? Because that’s the thing about glory, Jack… it’s never quite enough.”*Jonathan pauses once more. His grin has simmered down into a smirk yet again, and he cocks his head slowly to one side, flipping his bangs out of his face.* “You could fight a thousand battles in a thousand doomed promotions, you could win every belt there is to win and conquer EVERY challenger who comes your way to take them… and you’d still feel empty. That gaping, aching pit in the centre of your soul that SCREAMS for you to fill it with praise and adulation and success would still be just as hungry, just as insatiable and ravenous, as it has been every single day you’ve been alive. Because you’re sick, Jack Russow. Broken. Afflicted with the most horrible, demanding curse the human soul could ever bear…”*A beat. The Lost Cause stops abruptly in his tracks, as his countenance takes on a more wistful, introspective quality.* “Obsession.”*Another beat. Sanders’ lips curl into a slightly bitter half-smile.* “You see, I understand you, Jack Russow. I know what sort of man you are. I have FELT the sting of that obsession in my own veins, and so I know how needy it can truly be. But that’s the difference between us, at its core; I understand my own obsession. I am not interested in winning titles, or in seeking the vain and fleeting love of these mercurial, sycophantic blood-wolves who feast upon our suffering - oh, no. I am obsessed with something FAR greater. MY goal involves the collapse of everything - a veritable RAGNAROK for all who would oppose my grand ideal!”*Sanders pauses once again, inhaling sharply as he tries to calm himself. He waits a long moment before continuing, his words laced with venom as he spits them at the camera.* “And that is precisely why you want no part of this conflict against me. Because you are not PREPARED for this level of obsession, Jack Russow. Because you could not imagine the lengths to which I will be driven to achieve my ideals and quiet that screaming, hungry black hole at the centre of my being! Because I understand you, Jack, but me? You have NEVER faced a thing like me. You have never glimpsed a soul HALF as black and twisted as my own! I never go back to where I’ve been, Jack Russow; when I ride away, I pay not a backward glance to the death and devastation I have left behind. Because there ARE ashes in my wake, oh yes - the road to my Valhalla is PAVED with the bodies of all I had to slay to GET there.“But YOURS, Jack? Well…”*Sanders pauses once more, his black lips blossoming again into a wicked, violent, anticipatory grin.* “The rainbow bridge does not lead to paradise for YOU, I’m afraid… but straight into the waiting mouth of your own personal World-Serpent.”*A beat, and the Snake of Eden inhales sharply, then exhales through gritted teeth to make an elongated hissing sound, holding his gaze on the camera for a long moment as the scene slowly fades to black.* Fade Out.Fin.
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Post by Jack Russow on May 8, 2023 21:31:44 GMT -5
“Three?”
(Jack Russow looked around his packed house where everyone was crowded around the sectional couch taking their turns to step up and look at little Rory. Jack was parked against the window with Mack McKane flanking him. Mack smacks him on the back…)
Mack McKane: Well met, bruv…he’s gonna be a ripper.
Jack Russow: I have three kids…
Mack McKane: Oh Gods…not this agai-
Jack Russow: I HAVE…THREEEEEEE…KIIIIIIIIDS!!!
(He looks over as Mattie sits next to Alanah as Alanah holds up little Rory and Mattie holds the United Title up to his little waist.)
Jack Russow: He’ll be the best of the Russow name…if he wants to be. He will grow up and want for nothing. Because I’m going to provide for my family. That’s what that title means. That’s the WORKHORSE title and I feel like I’ve been pounding more than a two dollar whore on Sunday.
Emma Russow: JACK!
Jack Russow: Sorry Ma!
(Just then, at the surprise of no one, Levi comes dancing across the living room, no shirt on, bottle of Patron in his hand.)
Levi Russow: Seeeexy Papi! Imma seeeeeexy Papi! I made that kid, that kid came out cute! Now he has his own three and the word precious doesn’t suit! Imma seeeeeexy Paaaaaapi!
Jack Russow: WHERE IS YOUR SHIRT!?
Levi Russow: FUCK *YOU*, IS WHERE MY SHIRT IS!!!
Alanah O’Connell-Russow: BOYS!
Jack Russow: …yes dear. Sorry dear.
(Jack looks around as the scene fast forwards around him…scenery fades away and suddenly we’re in an empty room at the arena. Well…save for the chiseled features of Jack Russow prepping for a war. As he snaps the tape off his right hand and flexes it tightening it…he rubs it tighter with his other hand. He looks at the battered, bruised man staring back at him.)
Jack Russow: See, I thought we were playing the game the OLD way…the TRADITIONAL way…but yet Alexander Lyons…doesn’t want to FACE me? So who does good ol’ “Antithesis” send?
…Johnathan Sanders.
Jack Russow: Kid…I have been kidnapped and tropsed around the world as the prisoner of a fire eating, snake dancing, tongues spoutin’ Bayou Billy Bass baby backed BITCH so do you HONESTLY think you can come in here…with your vague sermons and your Hot Topic chic…and try to get a rise…out of ME?
(The door opens and Alanah enters with the kids giving him a kiss on the cheek. Before she can walk away he pulls his whole family into the mirror just looking at them.)
Jack Russow: They told us we were too young…they said it’d distract from what we wanted to really do. They told us young couples don’t last…don’t have kids yet, it’s too soon! But LOOK at us! She is unequivocally the single most beautiful woman I have ever seen…she’s given me these three gifts that filled the gaping hole in my heart. She has patched me up, she’s soaked me down. Wins, losses, weirdness…in sickness and in health. So I may be on a skidding stop when it comes to momentum but let me make one thing clear…I’m tired NOW…but when whichever one of you Cyberdine rejects figure out which one of you wants to plug into the Matrix and show me how you learned Kung Fu…I am going to erase your ass from existence.
…you think that over.
(Jack cuddles his twins as Alanah holds little Rory as the camera backs out of the room.)
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