Post by Joka on May 22, 2015 20:06:57 GMT -5
Joka's Journal: 5-22-15
The Icemann Invitational Tournament.
Who in their right mind (HAHAHAHAAAA get it?) thought that I should be entered into this tournament. Frank Foley is sadly mistaken if he thinks this will thwart me or satiate me. A hundred thousand dollars would buy alot of tacos though. About a hundred thousand of them. So Stormm has made it... and he has to face Mr. Showtime. The winds will howwwwwl and the thunder will crack as the show begins. I wonder who could hurt me more. Stormm has already beaten me... and I hate him! Hate him! HATE HIM!!!
I thought Stormm could make me feel pain and he did... I'd almost respect him if he was such a delusional goody two-shoes! He isn't the killer... I've seen the killer in my dreams. The killer is standing next to The Nightmare Man. He is a shadow covered in darkness. I remember seeing him before, long ago. Can't remember his face or what he looked like. Hard to see in the dark.
Stormm can still be the one!
Stormm isn't the one...
Then who is the one? I marked Gem and she went after... "them"!
"They" have it all...
Yeah. Share the wealth guys (and gals). Some of us around here are trying to get our sociopathy on! Then again... if I hit hard enough... maybe, just maybe, they'll hit back.
What about the trophy?
I do like shinies...
You DO like shinies!
NO! Stick to the plan! We must find him... her... it... "them". This tournament is just a distraction and a weak one at that. I don't care about winning or losing. The trophy IS shiny and it could be mine, but we have an agenda to get to. A nefarious agenda... filled with delightful and terrible pain.
Delightful?
And terrible too!
But it would seem I have one... last... obstacle. Mr. Not-Right-In-His-Head has made a glorious comeback and hopes to trounce a clown for the crown. I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't respect him on principle alone.
You'd be lying to me too!
And him and him and SHUT UP! Non Compos Mentis! The name just rolls off the tongue and I do love the little latin flair. Call me Umbra Ingredior! I hear the roarings back stage. Hard not to when you lurk in the ceiling. The name of Non Compos Mentis is revered and reviled all the same. What's better NCM, to be feared or respected? I know the feeling all too well and I do revere the name. But a name is just a name. Names can be corrupted, broken, torn apart.
Especially long names such as his.
I want to find out if he is out of his mind. We could be great friends and skip down the street, hand-in-hand, as we murder with glee. A little murder buddy.
But first.
Yes. After what happened on Trauma... it would seem Non Compos Mentis has his eyes on me. Now the eyes are on HIM. No mind games.
No mind games?
None. No mind games and no tricks. No super-duper special holds and no conversations. Two men who were made to fight each other for eternity meet for the first time. Just two psychos going for everything... or nothing. I really wanted to get my hands on Sadistic but as luck would have it... I got someone made for the job.
Is he the killer?
He could kill!
You think he has any business references.
Yeah it's out in the hallway with all the other trophies and replicas. HOW SHOULD I KNOW!!!
So I guess this tournament could be fun... but I refuse to look like I'm having fun. No one is getting the smiling, laughing, giggling Joka. The Black Hand, Gem, Nathan Saniti, Alexa Black, none are safe.
We should move on with the plan.
I'm not UNopposed to that.
Monster and Dr. Klein stand amazed at the journal entry that the god doctor just recited out loud. Dr. Klein slowly sets the journal on the table next to him as Monster turns around and begins heading towards the steel door exit to the old utility tunnel.
Dr. Klein: I just have one question.
Monster: What is it?
Dr. Klein: Who is the killer... and who are they suppose to kill?
Monster shakes his head as the two retreat from the premises at a quickened pace. The headlights from Monsters truck and Dr Klein sedan slowly fade as the candlelight again illuminates the facility macabre. Suddenly, a scraping of metal is heard as Joka jumps down from the pipes that hang in the high concrete ceiling of the tunnel. Joka slowly walks over to the table and puts his hand on his journal as his crooked smile shines in the candlelight.
Joka: They're suppose to kill... me!