Unknown Location, Unknown Date, Unknown Time
*Of all the darkest nights, this storm ceases to end; it pours itself upon the dreary window panels, pattering against the foggy glass of antiquity. From beyond the looking glass of this window is the inner catacombs of this decrepit and ancient house in the wilderness. For all of the advancements of humanity, the creation and furthering of technology, this place remains untouched for nigh-on centuries. It is hallowed ground, unnoticed and implacably ill-kept. They say that this place is haunted by the stench of death. Where then, could such a begotten and horrid place exist? Perhaps it is only in the mind, as by the low candlelight of the waxed stick does a small tint of life exist. Through the window breaks a stillness in the air -- and so it begins.*
???: Welcome to my home, it is an honor to have you.
*A shadow forms from the darkness, a disquieting and discomforting eldritch entity etched in history as a horrific visage of that which men fear most: Death. From the gross, musty wooden doorway enters a disheveled, unnerved, and sepulchral man. His lusterless azure eyes wander from the broken and rugged floor up to what would be the feet of any semblance of a normal human being. A mist surrounds the base of this monstrous and bone-chilling animation, itself seemingly miasmic and incorporeal and without real form.*
???: Of course, it is fitting that we meet again, human.
*The shadow gives a slow, crawling bow to the sweat-plastered gentleman. The thing appears to stare out, somehow, some way, from where its head should be. The non-physical form begins to shed itself from the being as the horrendous aura grows and seeps into the pores of the horrified man. From the top, the being begins to grow a human-like appearance -- he looks deathly similar to the person before him… a doppelganger of affrighted proportion.*
???: Much better; do you disagree… Brian?
*The man, now named Brian, clutches his broken hands against the wooden boards of the floor and tempestuously glares from his eyes towards the visage before him. He is staring at himself, after all, something no human truly wishes to witness inside the confines of their own sanity.*
Brian: Damn you, you horrible fiend. Have you come to torture me further? To hurt me? As if you can take me any lower than I am now. You’ve ruined me, you evil thing.
???: Self-pity is not your strong suit, Brian; it only makes you more pathetic.
*The thing smirks uncaringly and without any sense of indignity. Brian takes to his feet to stand in defiance against the demonic entity before him. He has no power to fight back against this most powerful thing that stands within the reaches of his mind.*
Brian: What do you want from me then…
???: You catch on quickly. The keyword, however, is “want”, my human vessel.
Brian: What do you mean…?
*Brian’s indignant expression shifts to that of confusion and bewilderment. The doppelganger demon looks at Brian with wild eyes, glinting not of Brian’s own bluish hue but that of blood.*
???: If I spent what precious time we have told you everything I know, we would cease to be. Simply put, Brian… I *need* your body again.
*This thing has always wanted, and never needed from Brian. What then, in the darkness of this awful prison of the mind could he have a need for the man he has ruined and broken? However, Brian points his wretched finger at the demon thing and shouts maddeningly, not out of fear, but of frustration and hatred.*
Brian: Now hold on just a damn second here-- I’m not just about to hand over my body to you again so willingly after everything you’ve done to me. Give me one good reason why--
*The thing shifts, taking Brian’s own hand and enveloping it within the incorporeal appendage. Brian grasps his exposed wrist and pulls tightly, attempting to dislodge himself from the damned monstrosity’s grip. The thing, in Brian’s own vision, appears unsympathetic and unmoved.*
???: It’s true that I have no compunctions for causing and creating human misery for my own amusement; there is, however, something more malevolent than I am beginning to stir. If we let it wake, then even I will be powerless to stop it.
*The entity pulls back, freeing Brian’s hand from its capture. Brian stumbles backward against a broken-down desk, filled to the brim with old works and ancient inscriptions; webbed and dusted for an indeterminate amount of time. Brian’s hand rests on an ancient Phoenician writ, loosely translated into Arabic, and then Latin, with the singular word “Ammar” highlighted in blood. However, Brian is too focused on the thing before him to descry the item.*
Brian: What the hell are you talking about? It just sounds like you’re talking out of your ass-- Suppose I refuse, what then?
*The being thrusts itself into Brian’s face, closely breathing upon him with a tense atmosphere around him. The faux-Brian merely grins, its eyes widened with unhinged sanity perforating forth.*
???: You cannot refuse. You will either agree willingly and follow me, or I will leave you within the confines of this place while I do what I set out to do. You would be trapped here, unable to escape… then I could do as I please any time. So you have only one real option here, human.
*The being that poses as Brian floats backward to give the real man breathing room to decide. As if Brian would have any semblance of a reasonable choice. the deck has been stacked against the implacably embittered man.*
Brian: Damn you… Fine. I agree to your terms.
???: Wisely done, Brian. Wisely done -- Our first stop is Arkham.
*Brian stands against the damnable thing with much consternation and unexpected emotion. Arkham… It is an old city from the Thirteen Colonies’ period, home to Miskatonic University, one of the most renowned collegiate schools in the world. Its private library is home to many ancient and mystic texts from bygone eras.*
Brian: Arkham!? That’s over eight hours from where I’m supposed to be in Toronto. I-- I mean, I’m wrestling against Mac Michaud for god’s sake. I can’t abandon this company so willingly.
*The thing scowls at Brian and crosses his arms, tapping its fingers rapaciously. it runs a finger across the bridge of its nose and smirks, its devilish eyes closed in conjunction with Brian aggravatedly rubbing his eyes*
???: You and your pathetic dealings within the human realm. Take care of this quickly then. We still have some time before something happens. Perhaps days, months, even a year at most. But we must still act with haste. It is time we leave Brian. I will be with you in time.
*A whispering wind whips itself into a fervor against the body of Brian, whose bodily figure stands unable to fight against this force, as he is pulled through the empty void of blackness. The entity, without any semblance of correspondence, merely shifts its form back into the grotesque, Lovecraftian shadow. The rain presses itself against the aged windowsill, as this old and prehistoric hovel continues to stand against the elements of the mind. So it ends.*
Scotiabank Arena, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, December 11th, 2020
*The scene begins in the backstage area of the luxurious Scotiabank Arena in Toronto, Ontario, Canada; it is the setting for FWA’s Fight Nite. We find ourselves in a private room, which appears to be a mix of a locker room and meeting area. Facedown against a wooden table sits our protagonist of this awful tale: Brian. He is fast asleep, but not for long; he suddenly and immediately shoots up from the desk, caked in a cold sweat and breathing heavily. His eyes appear to have the thousand-yard stare glazed over his blue eyes*
???: Holy crap, are you alright? You scared the shit outta me!
*Right next to him is a woman, she is dressed in a dark leather jacket over a Motion City Soundtrack t-shirt, long dark blue jeans, and converse shoes. Her face is dotted with freckles and her hair is a strawberry blonde, a singular braided strand on the side, just over her left ear. She stares at Brian worriedly, her almond turquoise eyes piercing with slight shock*
Brian: I’m-- I’m sorry, Sarah. What happened? I must have passed out for a second.
Sarah: You goof, I know you said you were tired, but I didn’t expect you to sleep all day before your match.
*Brian and Sarah share a small laugh as he rubs his face as if to shake off a bit of the tiredness still seeping from him. He stares up at the lights of the room, thinking about what he had just experienced. Was it a dream? Was it really another reality entirely different from his own? Was it just in his mind?*
Brian: Yeah… I guess when you’re carrying around Death in your head, you get tired after a while.
*Sarah rolls her eyes and smirks indignantly; She’s obviously heard that joke before. She pretends to laugh and stands up, stepping up to a table where a coffee pot and some cups rest. She takes the pot and pours a cup of coffee for Brian, handing it to him.*
Sarah: Oh, don’t remind me. So what spooked you awake, huh? Was it being without your great and totally awesome partner in crime?
*Brian doesn’t laugh. He pauses for a second, not sure whether he wants to even debate with Sarah what he had been a part of minutes earlier. He tries to stall as best he can.*
Brian: Uh… I’d rather not talk about it right now. It’s something I’d-- Let’s just-- I dunno, man.
*Sarah sees right through him and flashes him a concerned look. She has seen this song and dance many times. She is, after all, Brian’s keeper. She was initially a tutor to Brian many years ago, but that time had passed; now, the FWA had hired her to keep a watch on him and keep him from falling back into his alcohol and drug addiction. She knows very well about the demon inside him, but not who it truly is.*
Sarah: Is that idiot back again? Please tell me he isn’t back. You were doing so well too. Do we have to change the medicine? Maybe counseling and therapy again? You know Dr. Temill is always available--
*Brian breaks off her concerns by shouting. It is something he tends to do despite her best intentions. A broken man will always retaliate to the smallest things.*
Brian: I-- You- I don’t know for sure! There are only a few things I know for certain. He’s scared. Scared of something big; what that is, I don’t know. But he told me he “needed” me right now.
*A tense moment of silence pervades through the room as the two look at one another, unable or unsure how to respond. Sarah finally takes the initiative to respond and address the situation.*
Sarah: He’s scared? Shocker. But-- What does he “need” you for, exactly? Outside of living inside your head.
Brian: He tells me that… I have to go to Arkham immediately.
*Sarah pounds her hand on the table Brian is sitting at, nearly knocking over his freshly poured coffee. Her expression is that of a stern older sister berating a younger brother.*
Sarah: No way in hell are you going to Arkham right now, mister. You have a match you have to focus on against “Malevolent” Mac Michaud! He’s no easy pickings there, Brian!
*Frustration flushes over Brian’s face, knowing that she’s right, but for some reason compelled to listen to the monster within him. He snaps for a second.*
Brian: I’m aware of that, Sarah! I’ll --
*He looks down and stares at his coffee, he ponders for a few seconds in awkward silence as Sarah watches him intently. She crosses her arms and taps her feet. Brian scowls at the situation before him but ultimately capitulates.*
Brian: I’ll deal with him and then we take a plane straight to Arkham. Something tells me we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with when we get there…
*With that, Sarah sighs and shrugs, sitting next to Brian. She takes one of his hands and squeezes it tightly.*
Sarah: Alright, fine… but just know I’m going with you. I don’t need you sneaking off somewhere and getting drunk, okay?
*Sarah’s frown turns slowly into a soft smile, her eyes lightening up and becoming more cheery. Brian gently grins back and pats her hand.*
Brian: I’d probably be lost without you, so I thank you… I better get ready for my match, I’ll see you in a bit.
*Brian sighs and stands up, grasping his bag from across the room and exiting the room.* |