Post by Gerard Angelo on Nov 19, 2018 23:31:03 GMT -5
The fire raged all around him. The world was burning around him and he could do nothing about it.
He walked down the street as if in a daze, looking up at the twisted skyscrapers that reached towards the red sky as if they were trying to escape the hellish scene around them. He was pulled from his daze by his foot hitting something. He looked down and immediately jumped back, startled. His foot had hit a charred corpse on someone. The man fell to his knees as he looked around, seeing piles of burnt bodies littering the street.
“No, no, no…”
He pulled his hair as he looked around at the devastation.
What happened?
Who did all this?
Am I in hell?
As the thoughts fluttered through his head, the first burnt corpse started to stir. It sat up slowly, burnt flesh cracking as it’s head turned to face him. The man stared at the the suddenly reanimated corpse, the dark, empty, eye holes staring back at him as if it was casting eternal judgement. It seemed like eons passed as they stared at one another, until the fire kissed cadaver opened its charred maw, pieces of black skin cracking and falling to the asphalt, and the man heard an other-wordy voice escape it.
“This is your fault…”
The voice was both accusing and mocking a the same time.
“You let this happen…”
The man tried to find the words to deny it, but they got caught in his throat. His dead accuser kept at it.
“You could’ve stopped this…. yet you just stood by…”
The man looked down at his hands and then back at the corpse.
“How? I..I don’t even know what happened.”
The accuser lifted an arm, burnt flesh and clothing hanging from it as charred bones cracked from the movement and pointed a finger at the man.
“Your selfish nature caused this. You could have stopped him…”
“Stopped who?!”
The dead person seemed to smile with what was left of its lips.
“Him.”
The man wanted to ask who him was but was cut off by more of the corpses start to sit up, all turning dead stares at him like the first one. All of their horrifying mouths open at once and joined with with the first accuser, chanting.
“Your fault…”
“Your fault…”
“Your fault…”
The man clutches his face in his hands, seemingly knowing this was true. The first cadaver started to reach out, dragging itself towards the man. The rest of the burnt bodies followed suit, still chanting as they crawled towards him.
“Your fault…”
“Your fault…”
The man started to sob as the first creature grabbed his wrist. Soon he started feeling dozens, and then hundreds, of the hands of the damned. The pulled at him, jerking him every which way as they continued to blame him for their fate. He finally let out a scream and then blackness.
Gerard sat up quickly in bed, sweat dripping down his body. His heart pounded in his chest like a double base drum, as if trying to escape his ribcage. He looked over at the clock on his nightstand. The digital numbers read 4:36. Angelo sighed as he turned and and sat on the edge of his queen sized bed, running a hand through his sweat drenched hair. He had been having the same dream every night for two weeks since the elections. He figured the dream had something to do with his father, who had recently won the election and was to be sworn in as a New York senator. Not to mention the fact that his father was technically his agent now, albeit via proxy.
His father had invited him to his victory party. Gerard declined because the last thing he wanted to do with his Tuesday night was watch an entirely new set of fools kiss his father’s ass. He spent the first eighteen years of his life doing that. Gerry tried not to let all this consume him, but that was easier said then done. He had been distracted and frustrated for weeks since his father confronted him on the set of Iron Horse and it had been manifesting it’s self in his everyday life. Gerard had gone completely out of character and kicked Kyle Shane in the face on Trauma. That had snowballed into more drama in the main event where Shane had stolen a sure win from him.
While Gerry was pissed about the loss, he knew it was just business. He was gonna get a chance at reattribution this week when he teamed with Grimm to take on Kyle and Stormm. He also had a bone to pick with Michaels, since he was too busy to watch his back last week. Typical.
Gerard got out of bed and exited his bedroom, walking down the long hall. He walked down the spiral staircase down to the first floor and went into his kitchen. Gerry opened one of the dark oak cabinets and pulled a bottle of tequila out. He unscrewed the top and took a long deep pull from the bottle. Gerard put it down on the counter and wiped his mouth with his arm. He needed to get his mind right. He was three weeks away from one of the biggest matches of his career, and the biggest of his short career in PCW. The Hollywood Hero could ill afford to not be one hundred percent on top of his game. He had already begun to hear and read the whispers. No one even thought he had a chance against Shane. And Gerard knew that if he didn’t put all of his focus on Kyle and PCW, he was going to get embarrassed at Collision Course.
He looked at the clock on his oven. It was 5:12. He had been lost in his mind for almost for nearly a half hour. Gerard needed to focus. He needed to change his fortunes this week. Going into the Pay-Per-View on a losing streak was less than ideal. Though they did pair him with Grimm this week, so he had as good as chance as any to be able to beat Shane and Michaels. Gerard just hoped his partner would watch his back this week.
Gerry picked up the tequila bottle, but thought better of it and put it back.
He needed to focus.
Gerard exited his kitchen and headed down the hall, going into his study. Various trophies and replicas of titles won in feds past adorned the shelves on the wall.
He needed to focus.
The Man Without Peer sat down as his desk and opened his MacBook. He opened up two tabs. One for YouTube and one in the PCW Network. In both he searched the same thing. Kyle Shane.
He needed to focus.
============
It was the wee hours of the morning in New York City, but The Butcher had already been up before the sunrise. Vladimir sat in the office of The Butcher’s Best, going over paper work and invoices. He had a few managers that worked here that he could have do this, but Semenov actually enjoyed doing this. He finished placing an order to his seafood supplier, and set his pen down, taking off his glasses. Vladimir grabbed a mug full of black coffee and took a sip. It had been a great few weeks for Vlad. The restaurants were all doing great business. The FBI was no closer to pinning any of the murders on his or his associates then they had been at the beginning of the investigation. Not to mention his friend had won his election. That would lead to a lot of good things for him and his business in the future.
Vlad smiled to himself as he took another sip of coffee. Mister Angelo had simply no idea how he would repay Vladimir at the end of all this. He was sure the future senator simply thought his involvement would be making sure the New York Justice Department would look the other way when it came to his business dealings. The Butcher was fine with that. Mister Angelo being naive to his even bigger plan worked in his favor. He had been in communication with his friend in the Kremlin for the last few weeks, trying to get phase two of the plan rolling.
The Butcher was already one of the most powerful men in all of New York, both in the light, and in the darkness. Soon, he would be one of the most powerful men in the world.
Soon.