Post by "The Fabulous One" Dan Fierce on Jun 19, 2016 19:55:33 GMT -5
Trauma 194 - TIME OUT!
June 12th, 2016
It was maddening, sickening, the gamut of emotions Dan's mind was going through. Oh sure, it would be easy to give all of the credit to the Prophet of Pain, Murdoc. This time, it had nothing to do with vengeance or retribution. In fact, it had nothing to do with Pure Class Wrestling at all.
Dan watched the television, horror and a seething anger curling his normally beautiful smile into a grimace of outrage. His teeth were clenched so tight, his jaw muscles flexing together with such force, that he could have easily bitten a ten penny nail in half.
A gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida had been attacked by a murderer with a gun. Fourty-nine people lost their lives, and fifty others were injured. All because they were there to have a good time. All because a man, who would later be exposed to have possible "closeted" tendencies, couldn't handle the sight of two men kissing.
He was livid. He was horrified. His mind was a hurricane of tumultuous emotions.
And then his emotions fell silent.
Like a literal hurricane, some believe that the eye of the storm is the most dangerous part. Things are calm, yet the noises of nature remain silent. They know what has yet to come. They know that the respite is brief and the calamity will once again rage out of control.
Brian saw the expression on Dan's face and slowly turned off the television. Dan's eyes had glassed over, both in dumbstruck disbelief and a fury that would come to a boil more quickly had he allowed the idiot box to remain on.
Brian had seen this side of Dan only a handful of times; once when he received the news of his niece's suicide, and once when a transgendered friend of his had been brutally beaten and murdered. Neither time ended well. His niece's death ended in a flood of inconsolable tears. That tide had slowed eventually. The other lead to a rather public outburst from the gallery of a courtroom when he felt that the murderer hadn't gotten a harsh enough sentence, even in getting life. Brian could tell that this time was different. He couldn't pinpoint it, but something had changed within Dan, and things were about to get real ugly and real soon.
Then Dan's twitter feed began blowing up. Dan watched in dismay as vile people congratulated the murderer from the gay club. He had been gunned down, yet these disgusting excuses for human beings heralded him as a hero, as doing a "community service."
A phone flew through the air, imbedding itself in the drywall like a fat, oversized Japanese throwing star, as message after message popped into existence on the screen before it went black. Dan said nothing. He neither excused nor explained his actions. He was simply... Silent.
He would remain that way for the next few days.
As Dan stood, Brian knew the eye of the storm had passed, despite the quiet. Now the destruction would begin anew. This time, it would be devastating for anyone who dared cross his path, or say the wrong thing at the wrong time.
Dan flipped on the camera of his cell phone. The look in his eyes was alien in its sobriety for the flamboyant man whose most famous accessory is his contagious smile. He stood back, giving the camera ample room to discern his surroundings. Dan sat on the edge of what appeared to be a hotel room bed, the room lightly and generically decorated. Dan was decked out in a black Armani suit and Luis Vuitton loafers. The white button-up shirt and rainbow striped tie were the only hints of color in this otherwise normally colorful individual. He allowed a few moments of silence to pass before he finally began to speak in a clam, yet somewhat ominous tone.
"I'm here in Orlando to attend the services and help wherever I possibly can. I attended the vigil in San Francisco. Words can't describe it. I..." He trailed off, choking back tears. "I'm not even sure if I can concentrate long enough to address the Faithful of PCW.
"I think I've cooled off from these awful events to keep the politics out of this promo, but I make no promises. Less than two weeks ago, I was celebrating a huge victory. I was having fun and entertaining the fans as I know how.
"This time, I'm afraid I can't do that.
"I have nothing to celebrate when so many others are hurting. You'll have to excuse me if I choose to use this upcoming match to make a statement. I can guarantee a fucking victory this Thursday on Trauma. It's going to happen.
"Michael Wryght can manipulate the rules to his benefit all he wants. He can even pay off the referee if he chooses. Murdoc can decide to concentrate on Grimm, or he can walk away from being teamed with yours truly if that's what he wants to do. Grimm can bring his shovel and beard balm, and I'll place both neatly where the sun don't shine deep inside the Hangtown Horror. I still guarantee a victory.
"Just going out there to that squared circle will be a victory. Those who lost their lives in this senseless tragedy would want life to continue on, and it will. I'll do it in their honor.
"But boys, I'm going to tell you this just once. You're not facing the same fabulous bitch I was merely a few weeks ago. I'm coming out there, and I'm looking for blood. And I. Don't. Care. Who. I. Get. It. From.
"I'd say don't take it personal, but I honestly don't give a flying fuck on a rolling doughnut if you do or not. I just don't care. Other than being World Champion, Grimm has done nothing to earn my attention. Our illustrious President has done precisely zilch to make me want to put him on the disabled list.
"Murdoc, however, has given me cause to make him bleed. Unfortunately, he and I are on the same team. For now, that, and that alone, has earned him a pass. But only for now. I'm not in the habit of disappearing on my teammates. I've tagged with some of the most villainous heathens in this industry, even people I would rather bury in a fire ant colony and cover with honey. So I can deal with a single night as Murdoc's teammate.
"I do owe you Murdoc. Don't forget that, because when I collect, you will not see it coming. You have my word that it won't be during the match. Take that as you will, but there it is. After the final bell tolls, you're fair game. The only thing that will save your worthless hide is if I work out all of my aggressions during the match.
"Grimm... Wryght... I know you've dealt with people throwing threats at you your entire careers, just the same as I have, so I won't waste my breath beyond what I'm about to say: For your own safety, take the night off. I have a sociopathic rage inside of me right now, and you both are the unfortunate ones across the ring. Grimm, you can thank your stable mate and his big mouth for that.
"I'm not going to lie. It's going to take everything I have within me just to keep this a clean fight. It has nothing to do with any kind of history between any of us. I simply have a need to purge these feelings of hate and anger from my system before they mentally consume me. We can save the history for later.
"Seriously. Do the intelligent thing, both of you, all of you. Keep yourself healthy and stay. The fuck. Home.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a funeral to attend."
