Hunter. Hunted. In this case, it's all the same....
Nov 17, 2018 19:34:45 GMT -5
via mobile
The Anarchist, Gerard Angelo, and 1 more like this
Post by Holden Ross on Nov 17, 2018 19:34:45 GMT -5
*The scene opens as a camera, presumably attatched to a drone, dips and dives through the streets of Greensville. It passes over a couple as the huddle under an umbrella, walking briskly down the street in the ateady rain. It jumps to a rain soaked street, the rain now stopped, in what appears to be the industrial part of town; brief glimpses of warehouses and heavy equipment is the tip off. The shot finally jumps to an ariel view of a scrap yard. It’s dusk now, flood lights set up along the perimeter fence as well as mounted on key poles through the compound cast enough light so that it looks almost daylight.
The drone moves in and begins to pan around a figure standing atop a pile of ruined vehicles and pieces of scrap iron. The shot tightens and it is revealed to be Holden, looking slightly different than when we last saw him; his Mohawk is gone, the back of his head is shave as well as the sides, what was his Mohawk is now pulled back into a tight ponytail. He is clad in a baggy pair of black Dickies, a black P.C.W. hoodie under his black leather bikers jacket. Covering the lower half of his face is a leather mask, made up to like like a grinning sharks maw. Finally, in his right hand is his axe handle, now with the business end wrapped in barbed wire.
He slaps the wire wrapoed end against the palm of his left hand as the shot switches to a more traditional camera. He hands the weapon off to Tessa, who has appeared from behind the former Underground King, before reaching behind his head and unclasps the mask and removes it. She takes it from him as well before kissing him on the cheek and disappearing off camera.*
Congratulations are in order for the new King of the Underground, Georgia's favorite, David Hunter! You were able to pin my shoulders, after what turned out to be one of the most brutal matches in the history of the division. The fact a fan got taken out, well, just goes to prove that anything can, and does, happen here in Pure Class. This week, though, the fans wont be seeing any kind of match. They’re not going to be seeing aclassic “Pier Six” brawl. No, what they are going to be a witness to a the murder of the current King. A coup of power before I move on to bigger fish.
I'm not counting you out, not by any stretch of the imagination, but more like I'm confident in my abilities. Especially seeing as how this will be a one-on-one affair rather than fending off multiple opponents. The advantage falls back to me. And I am far from the chump you’re going to try and make me out to be. I know your type; you had some small time success somewhere and automatically you believe your skils are far superior than they actually are. Maybe you lettered in football or Track. Knowinf you, you were a stand out in home economics and theater design and lighting. Remember, your win over me came after how many weeks of stellar, and brutal, matches that I managed to pull outta that shitbag, Razor.
*Holden decends the pile of scrap upon which he was standing and takes a seat in a throne of sorts; built from a leather bucket seat from a long gone vehicle, scrap iron skulls on the hand rests and posts on the back of the chair. Tessa arrives on the scene, again, and takes a seat on a weathered, three legged stool. The blue-green paint it once wore is faded and scuffed. The metal plating on the toes of her boots cast starbursts, reflecting the harsh lighting from above. Her Mohawk remains in place, black and green, matching the black mascara and green eye shadow and lipstick. She takes a long draw from a blunt before handing it to her King. He takes a long draw from it and holds the smoke in, letting out a small squeak of a cough, before blowing smoke rings. The slight breeze rips the smoke rings apart and disappates the smoke almost instantly. As he begins to speak again, a mist begins to fall and in the background, the crash of a pile of scrap being dumped can be heard.*
Mi Reina on one side, Seromine on the other; I am looking more unbeatable than ever. You crowed after the show to anyone who would listen how you obtained that Belt within your first two months, as if that was a feat I myself hadnt achieved first. Aside from me, the calibre of opponents you have faced thus far is lacking. I faced both Stormm and Dominator, and took them both to their limits. I only came up short in both of those contests due to my greenness, something which I have quickly gotten past that.
This time it’s just you and me, mano-y-mano, in a match tailor made for a Bastard like me. I may be above the likes of you and in it for the money, but at least I’m honest. I don’t play up to the mouthbreather's at ringside and I sure as Hell ain’t gonna lick the boots of those watching at home. In that ring, the ringside, and maybe even in the back, I'll prove to you and the rest of the World I am the rightful King.
*He takes a hit from the blunt before handing it back to Tessa.*
Dave, you ain’t the only one im lookin to address this week; I'm also lookin at you Tyler. I'm not goin to let it slide, I'm like a dog with a bone, and I ain’t lettin it slide. You. You stuck the knife in my back. Frank told me all about you, months ago, but never made any mention of needing to watch my back. Guess it’s true what they say; don’t trust anybody. Regardless of what my Father and Ethan said….I never should have trusted you.
Or Rick. Most even say I shouldn’t trust Seromine, either, but they are the very same individuals who told me I could trust Rick. Or Tyler. And we all know how that turned out. Some say I am like an animal, a dog, and that I only understand violence; fist and boot. This may be true but I also understand anger and vengence. The latter I will have soon against both Dave and Tyler. The former, I will hold on to in order to fuel the vengence, and the fire you that you both stoked within me.
Corintheans Seventeen-one, in the Devil's Bible states that “The Sins of the Father can only be outdone by the Sins of the Son.” When I'm finished around these parts, my Father will look like an Alter Boy compared to me….I, along with Seromine, shall lay waste to the rest of you, beginning with Rick, Tyler, and first off, in my path, is you, Dave. See you soon, Hillbilly, Hell is coming for you and I am leading the pack. Your Kingdom is going to fall and I shall retake my throne… The Hunter has become the hunted….
*She rises off of her stool as he rises from his throne. She produces the axe handle feom behind the throne and hands it to Holden, who rests it on his shoulder. He takes a long pull from the blunt as they begin to stroll out of the shot, seemingly not a care in the World, while the crash of more scrap metal rumbles throughtout the yard. As the scene begins to fade, Holden's Dwarf cousin scampers through the scene carrying a chain, with a few feet dragging, and jangling, behind him.
The next day…
Well away from the cameras and the World of P.C.W., Holden and his cousin have just parked his blue Chrysler Three-Hundred. His classic pick-up was ruined in the last round of flooding after the latest hurricane, this ride is the result of the check issued to him by the insurance company. They are parked in front of a run down building, looks to be an old diner of sorts, at the opposite end of the cracked blacktop lot from a damn near new-off-the-lot Lincoln Navigator, with a driver waiting behind the wheel.
Holden and his cousin enter the building through a propped open door and enter into a room dimly lit by a couple of oil lamps. Most of the tables and chairs have fallen into ruin, the last customers here had to have been at least twenty years ago. The boards over the broken windows cling by a nail in some places, completely gone in others. Nature has begun to take this place back, vines have grown through the boards and broken windows and signs of animal life are abound.
In the center of the room is a table, still standing, with one of those oil lamps casting off its yellow glow. A man sits at the table in a faded jean jeacket and a beat up “John Deer” ball cap pulled down over his head. Hes close to fifty, about six feet tall and pushing two-fifty, but in more of a homebody type of build. He obviously doesn’t lift weights…. The duo approach and Holden takes a seat in a chair that he doesn’t completely trust and lights the stub of a cigar. The smoke hangs in the stagnant air.*
Man: I got what you asked for….you got the money?
*Holden reaches inside his coat and down the left sleeve, fishing out a brick of bills rubber banded together, before doing the same out of his other sleeve. He places the stacks in the lamp light and the man flips through them using his thumb, checking that they are indeed all one hundred dollar bills. A grin curla his lip and he gives a nod of approval to a man waiting in the shadows by the door. The man crosses the room and lifts a large, Army green, canvas duffle bag from behind the old bar and brings it to the table. He places it on the floor next to Holden and returns to his post in the shadows. Holdens cousin unzips the bag, checks its contents, and looks up at Holden with a grin.*
Looks like we're good. Expect more business in the future…
*The two shake hands and within minutes the Chrysler is rocketing down the backroads….*
The drone moves in and begins to pan around a figure standing atop a pile of ruined vehicles and pieces of scrap iron. The shot tightens and it is revealed to be Holden, looking slightly different than when we last saw him; his Mohawk is gone, the back of his head is shave as well as the sides, what was his Mohawk is now pulled back into a tight ponytail. He is clad in a baggy pair of black Dickies, a black P.C.W. hoodie under his black leather bikers jacket. Covering the lower half of his face is a leather mask, made up to like like a grinning sharks maw. Finally, in his right hand is his axe handle, now with the business end wrapped in barbed wire.
He slaps the wire wrapoed end against the palm of his left hand as the shot switches to a more traditional camera. He hands the weapon off to Tessa, who has appeared from behind the former Underground King, before reaching behind his head and unclasps the mask and removes it. She takes it from him as well before kissing him on the cheek and disappearing off camera.*
Congratulations are in order for the new King of the Underground, Georgia's favorite, David Hunter! You were able to pin my shoulders, after what turned out to be one of the most brutal matches in the history of the division. The fact a fan got taken out, well, just goes to prove that anything can, and does, happen here in Pure Class. This week, though, the fans wont be seeing any kind of match. They’re not going to be seeing aclassic “Pier Six” brawl. No, what they are going to be a witness to a the murder of the current King. A coup of power before I move on to bigger fish.
I'm not counting you out, not by any stretch of the imagination, but more like I'm confident in my abilities. Especially seeing as how this will be a one-on-one affair rather than fending off multiple opponents. The advantage falls back to me. And I am far from the chump you’re going to try and make me out to be. I know your type; you had some small time success somewhere and automatically you believe your skils are far superior than they actually are. Maybe you lettered in football or Track. Knowinf you, you were a stand out in home economics and theater design and lighting. Remember, your win over me came after how many weeks of stellar, and brutal, matches that I managed to pull outta that shitbag, Razor.
*Holden decends the pile of scrap upon which he was standing and takes a seat in a throne of sorts; built from a leather bucket seat from a long gone vehicle, scrap iron skulls on the hand rests and posts on the back of the chair. Tessa arrives on the scene, again, and takes a seat on a weathered, three legged stool. The blue-green paint it once wore is faded and scuffed. The metal plating on the toes of her boots cast starbursts, reflecting the harsh lighting from above. Her Mohawk remains in place, black and green, matching the black mascara and green eye shadow and lipstick. She takes a long draw from a blunt before handing it to her King. He takes a long draw from it and holds the smoke in, letting out a small squeak of a cough, before blowing smoke rings. The slight breeze rips the smoke rings apart and disappates the smoke almost instantly. As he begins to speak again, a mist begins to fall and in the background, the crash of a pile of scrap being dumped can be heard.*
Mi Reina on one side, Seromine on the other; I am looking more unbeatable than ever. You crowed after the show to anyone who would listen how you obtained that Belt within your first two months, as if that was a feat I myself hadnt achieved first. Aside from me, the calibre of opponents you have faced thus far is lacking. I faced both Stormm and Dominator, and took them both to their limits. I only came up short in both of those contests due to my greenness, something which I have quickly gotten past that.
This time it’s just you and me, mano-y-mano, in a match tailor made for a Bastard like me. I may be above the likes of you and in it for the money, but at least I’m honest. I don’t play up to the mouthbreather's at ringside and I sure as Hell ain’t gonna lick the boots of those watching at home. In that ring, the ringside, and maybe even in the back, I'll prove to you and the rest of the World I am the rightful King.
*He takes a hit from the blunt before handing it back to Tessa.*
Dave, you ain’t the only one im lookin to address this week; I'm also lookin at you Tyler. I'm not goin to let it slide, I'm like a dog with a bone, and I ain’t lettin it slide. You. You stuck the knife in my back. Frank told me all about you, months ago, but never made any mention of needing to watch my back. Guess it’s true what they say; don’t trust anybody. Regardless of what my Father and Ethan said….I never should have trusted you.
Or Rick. Most even say I shouldn’t trust Seromine, either, but they are the very same individuals who told me I could trust Rick. Or Tyler. And we all know how that turned out. Some say I am like an animal, a dog, and that I only understand violence; fist and boot. This may be true but I also understand anger and vengence. The latter I will have soon against both Dave and Tyler. The former, I will hold on to in order to fuel the vengence, and the fire you that you both stoked within me.
Corintheans Seventeen-one, in the Devil's Bible states that “The Sins of the Father can only be outdone by the Sins of the Son.” When I'm finished around these parts, my Father will look like an Alter Boy compared to me….I, along with Seromine, shall lay waste to the rest of you, beginning with Rick, Tyler, and first off, in my path, is you, Dave. See you soon, Hillbilly, Hell is coming for you and I am leading the pack. Your Kingdom is going to fall and I shall retake my throne… The Hunter has become the hunted….
*She rises off of her stool as he rises from his throne. She produces the axe handle feom behind the throne and hands it to Holden, who rests it on his shoulder. He takes a long pull from the blunt as they begin to stroll out of the shot, seemingly not a care in the World, while the crash of more scrap metal rumbles throughtout the yard. As the scene begins to fade, Holden's Dwarf cousin scampers through the scene carrying a chain, with a few feet dragging, and jangling, behind him.
The next day…
Well away from the cameras and the World of P.C.W., Holden and his cousin have just parked his blue Chrysler Three-Hundred. His classic pick-up was ruined in the last round of flooding after the latest hurricane, this ride is the result of the check issued to him by the insurance company. They are parked in front of a run down building, looks to be an old diner of sorts, at the opposite end of the cracked blacktop lot from a damn near new-off-the-lot Lincoln Navigator, with a driver waiting behind the wheel.
Holden and his cousin enter the building through a propped open door and enter into a room dimly lit by a couple of oil lamps. Most of the tables and chairs have fallen into ruin, the last customers here had to have been at least twenty years ago. The boards over the broken windows cling by a nail in some places, completely gone in others. Nature has begun to take this place back, vines have grown through the boards and broken windows and signs of animal life are abound.
In the center of the room is a table, still standing, with one of those oil lamps casting off its yellow glow. A man sits at the table in a faded jean jeacket and a beat up “John Deer” ball cap pulled down over his head. Hes close to fifty, about six feet tall and pushing two-fifty, but in more of a homebody type of build. He obviously doesn’t lift weights…. The duo approach and Holden takes a seat in a chair that he doesn’t completely trust and lights the stub of a cigar. The smoke hangs in the stagnant air.*
Man: I got what you asked for….you got the money?
*Holden reaches inside his coat and down the left sleeve, fishing out a brick of bills rubber banded together, before doing the same out of his other sleeve. He places the stacks in the lamp light and the man flips through them using his thumb, checking that they are indeed all one hundred dollar bills. A grin curla his lip and he gives a nod of approval to a man waiting in the shadows by the door. The man crosses the room and lifts a large, Army green, canvas duffle bag from behind the old bar and brings it to the table. He places it on the floor next to Holden and returns to his post in the shadows. Holdens cousin unzips the bag, checks its contents, and looks up at Holden with a grin.*
Looks like we're good. Expect more business in the future…
*The two shake hands and within minutes the Chrysler is rocketing down the backroads….*