Date: April 4th, 20XX
Location: Unknown
Time: 2200 Hours
Redemption and retribution can come in many forms, especially for those walking a path that is hardly followed by a creature of a soft
constitution. Rain was falling over a skyline that stretches off seemingly into infinite. The hour was late, but far from the hour of the Wolf.
During the daylight hours this metropolis is a hub of business, commerce and travel. At night, it takes on a seemingly hideous transformation. Citizens and criminals of ill-repute crawl out of the gutters choked full of trash from endless fast-food chains and convenience stores. Thugs stand on the corners looking for the latest soul to shatter with their addictive and poisonous candies. Teenagers posing as barely-legal prostitutes look for their latest trick with vacant, glazed over orbs reflecting a soul that can never be saved. The combined cesspool of humanity was more than the man could stomach, but he had the unfortunate luck of calling this place home.
“Control, this is Sokaris, I am approximately two blocks away from the target” came the voice of the individual who could be seen standing back into the shadows of a desolate and dark alleyway. Clad from head to toe in typically civilian clothing, to the untrained eye the man could appear to be one of thousands who frequented the streets upon any given night. Yet, to those with a keener sense of vision, it would be easy to see that the person standing in the alley is a trained killer of the highest order. Plain black military boots bushed against the faded material of blue jeans which meshed against a plain black t-shirt and a leather bomber jacket. The jacket had been custom-designed by the R&D Department back at Control; it allowed for the man to carry a wide assortment of toys. Leaning against the brick wall of the adjacent building, piercing hues studied the large hotel while awaiting his next set of orders.
“Sokaris, this is Control. You are cleared for Phase Two of Operation Redemption. Remember, numerous Senators are attending this
fundraiser tonight. Senator Roberts is the target and the mission needs to be carried out as discretely as possible” cracked the metallic voice over a small BlueTooth device that was perched comfortable within his left inner ear. “Control, I comply. Will be in touch once the scumbag Senator has been cleansed from this city” the imposing male known as Sokaris replied. Reaching for an adjacent fire escape, the oxidized steps came down quickly enough as the male clamored up ten flights in under a minute. Despite a frame standing over six feet tall and a build that would make an offensive lineman jealous, Sokaris was more than able to move swiftly and quietly up to the roof of the building he had been leaning against.
The downpour from the skies above had been taking place for the better part of the day, this would make his trek across the rooftops
extremely treacherous. Moving from Air Handler to Refrigerator stack and Exhaust Fans, he used the shadows of the structure to remain
hidden until he came to the edge of the building. An alley of similar condition to the one he was just standing in divided the office complex he stood upon and the Five Points Hotel where the Democrats were having one of their numerous fundraisers. Parties of excess where millionaires and billionaires gloated about their riches, took tug-jobs from lobbyists and generally scoffed in the faces of the taxpayers who were footing the entire bill for the gluttonous affair. Tonight that all was coming to a close; tonight, a message was going to be sent to the entire cancerous establishment that sought to bring this fine country back into Third World Status.
“Control, I’m beginning my infiltration into the hotel, what is the current status of the target?” Sokaris spoke into the Blue Tooth as his left hand reached into his jacket and produced a pistol that shared a similar design with a paint ball gun. At the end of the barrel of the weapon was a grappling hook that was propelled forward by Co2 under high pressure. Nimble digits take hold of the weapon’s grip and the hook is fired across the gap between the buildings. The hook collides into the concrete of the building and takes hold. Quickly he attaches a harness to the zip-line that closed the gap, allowing the male to climb over the rail and pull himself quickly to the hotel rooftop. Hoisting himself up and over, he unhooks the harness and zip-line, leaving little trace of the infiltration.
“Sokaris, Control. Senator Roberts is currently enjoying his fifth Vodka Tonic and has been eyeing the bathrooms on the Ballroom Floor.
Our implanted sensors will give you a constant readout on your HUD Device” the disembodied voice of Control replied. A pair of tinted
shooting glasses were produced from one of the many pockets within his jacket. As he dons them they instantly become clear and display a complete three hundred and sixty digital rendering the ballroom floor and countless dots. The dots represent all the people within the
ballroom; almost every single dot is green, spare two dozen. The solid red dots represent the Secret Service and the blinking red dot is
Senator Roberts.
“Control, the target is moving to the bathrooms. I’m beginning my infiltration of the hotel” the man spoke as he produced a Lock Pick Kit and quickly opened a Maintenance Door that leads into one of numerous stairwells within the hotel. Taking the steps two-by-two, Sokaris is able to come down to the Seventh Floor in under thirty seconds. Pushing a button on his glasses, once more the digital HUD is displayed. Leaning against a doorframe, it was the last obstacle before he would enter the corridor where the bathrooms are located. He could see Two Red Dots situated by what he surmises is the entrance to the bathroom. Reaching down to his beltline, the man produces two balls the size of ball bearings. Pushing open the door open ever so slightly, he tosses the balls into the hallway. Upon impact with the ground, the devices spring open and produce an odorless gas that renders the guards unconscious within seconds. Donning a portable biohazard rebreather, Sokaris springs into the hallway and closes the distance with the bathroom entrance. As he opens the door, he is quickly greeted by an imposing figure standing before him with an H&K USP .45 Semi-Automatic grasped in his right hand.
“The jokes on you, Sokaris” are the only words he hears as a gunshot follows and darkness takes over…
Date: January 1st, 20XX
Location: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Time: 1300 Hours
Physical exertion can be the highest form of release, especially when one is pushing themselves beyond their known limits. The sound of flesh crashing into leather rings throughout a warehouse that was once a thriving location for import, export, and commerce in general. Now, it, like the majority of the buildings that are dotted along the piers within the city, is empty. Fortunately buildings like this sell for cheap, especially when the cash is up front and bountiful. A man adorned in a simple pair of navy blue sweatpants and a white beater is seen standing before a punching bag. The bag is suspended from the ceiling with a thick metal chain link which is barely keeping the bag from flying across the warehouse as the man delivers a series of devastating blows with each backswing of the bag. His knuckles are wrapped in bloodied and tattered athletic tape. The violence comes to a climax and extinguishes quickly, as he works to calm his breathing while picking up a squeeze bottle of water.
“Not bad, kid, but it’s going to take a fuckton more of violence and motivation for you to honestly make an impact where you plan on going” echoed a gruff, weathered voice that seems to reverberate from the rafters of the warehouse. The man who assaulted the punching bag takes a large squeeze of water while looking up to the rafters. “Shut up, old man, I know what I’m doing” he sets the bottle down and begins to unwrap the tape from his bloodied knuckles. “I know that there was a time when you were at the top of the game, but what the hell do you have to show for it?” he speaks up to the dark rafters, removing the tape from his hands. He then walks over to the free weight bench and sits down on the edge of it. “Listen, shit-for-brains, I was kicking in skulls and carving up flesh while you were still a cumstain in your mother’s drawers, Matthew” the gruff voice cuts back which only brings a shit-eating grin to the man who is sitting on the bench.
“I’ve heard through my old contacts in the business that you’re looking to get into the game. You always talked about it as a kid, but your father thought it would be a waste of time” the voice from the rafters spoke while Matthew had taken to curling fifty pounds rather easily with his left arm. “He could never stop me from watching those matches, but he always told me they were nothing but senseless acts of violence. He repeated over and over to me how you had nothing to show for it but unpaid medical bills and injuries that will haunt you to an early grave” Matthew replies as he switches over to his right arm. A boisterous laugh is heard from above, following by a drawn sigh. “Your father was right about the injuries, but I managed to make enough money to purchase this warehouse in hopes of training brain-dead scrubs like you for this business” was the reply from the drafty rafters.
“This isn’t going to be like the Indies, Matthew. Where you plan on going, the competition is at a whole different level. You’re going to have to train to the sharpest you’ve ever trained. Plus…..how are you honestly going to juggle this with your……other responsibilities?” the voice of question echoes down to Matthew, causing the young man to lower the weight to the floor as his eyes seem to stare off into the distance in deep contemplation. After several seconds he snaps out of the daze and stands back up to his feet. “They will know nothing about my other responsibilities, I’ve been trained in how to keep my lives separate from one another. How hard could it possibly be?” Matthew asks as he walks over to an area of the warehouse where a kitchen had been erected. He opens up a refrigerator that seems as old as the warehouse and pulls out a protein shake.
“You have no idea the toll the business can take on you, Matthew. It’s one thousand times more difficult when you decide to keep two
completely separate lives. Just when you think you have everything figured out, it all comes crashing down on top of your head” the voice
replies as Matthew glances up to the ceiling while ingesting the dark chocolate flavored shake. Tossing the empty bottle into a trash can, he tugs off the sweat-soaked beater from his upper body. A chiseled form is revealed, but the flesh is adorned with scars that range from a tone of white that rivals marble, while others are still as pink as a baby’s bottom. “Even now you are adorned with scars that will never leave your body. If you decide to through your name into the fray and join Pro Wrestling X, those scars will only be the beginning” the voice speaks. “Shut up, old man, that’s just the senility in you taking over. That’s what happens when you take one too many light tubes to the head. I’m going to get a shower, how about you make yourself useful and grill us up some steaks?” Matthew replies, as he walks towards a door adjacent to the kitchen and enters into the shower stalls, disappearing from sight. Silence falls over the warehouse for several seconds. “Fucking kid…..he sounds just like me at that age….”
Date: April 4th, 20XX
Location: Unknown
Time: 2330 Hours
“Time to wake up, asshole!” the voice snapped him out of the darkness along with the collision of a fist into the sternum of Sokaris, who is currently bound by his wrists and ankles to a chair in an undisclosed location. The punch drives all of the air out of his body as a man dressed in tactical clothing steps backwards, shadowed by two more men in similar uniform. “My, my, you must be really fucking slipping up in your “old” age, Sokaris. I can’t believe you couldn’t see the signs of an ambush from the start” the man who is obviously the soldier in charge speaks. Reaching for a shot glass perched on a small table, he downs a rather potent brown liquid and then picks up a rusted bowie knife that was resting on the same table. “Salem….you gutless traitor. You worked for the fucking company for all those years….they thought you died in Brazil!” Sokaris exclaims as the man known as Salem springs over and kicks him in chest, causing the man and the chair to topple completely over.
“They left me for dead! They could have sent an extraction team in to save me! Instead they pull you out with the President’s cunt of a
daughter and mark me out of the ledger books? Do you even know who you are really working for? They knew that you were investigating
their operations back in the States. Why do you think they sent you on this mission, Sokaris? Because they knew that I had also been handed down this mission from my own employers. When I found out that you were going to be there….I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make you pay for abandoning me” Salem speaks as he motions for his two comrade to lift the chair and Sokaris back up. As they place him back down upright onto the floor, Salem approaches with the blade held in his gloved hand. “You forget one thing, Salem….I was taught to always plan for every contingency!” Sokaris replies as he explodes with a sudden burst of strength, ripping his ankles free from the legs of the chair.
Flipping forward, the legs of the chair catch the two men who moved him in their throats, knocking them ass backwards onto their neck and shoulders. Forward momentum brings Sokaris colliding into Salem as the force shatters the chair between their two bodies. As Salem moves to pick the knife up from the ground, Sokaris is standing with two fractured chair legs held in his opposing hands. As Salem rushes him with his knife in hand, Sokaris dips to the side and pummels him with a combination of strikes from both of his hands utilizing the pieces of wood as improvised tonfas. As Salem staggers his two comrades have a chance to get back to their feet and rush Sokaris. The operative spins on the heel of his left boot and delivers a roundhouse kick to the jaws of both men. Two resounding pops follow as both men drop to the ground with broken necks. The distraction from the two men gives Salem enough time to grab a pistol from a control board of a broken down computer station.
Just as Salem turns to Sokaris and take aim, Sokaris capitalizes on the split second it takes his captor to bring up a center-mass shot.
Snapping his right arm into a throw that would make most Major League Baseball pitchers shit their pants, Sokaris chucks the fractured piece of wood in his right hand and drives it right into the right eye socket of Salem. Salem falls back against the control panel as the wood has punctured through his skull and splayed brain matter against the control panel. Wasting little time, Sokaris rushes to the body of Salem and takes the gun from the floor and secure radio from one of the pockets on Salem’s tactical vest. Stepping towards a door, Sokaris looks down to the radio and punches in a secure frequency. After waiting for the radio to synchronize with a satellite in space, he punches the transmit button.
“Control, this is Sokaris, over” the man speaks clearly into the radio and then releases the transmit button. After several seconds of
feedback, the radio chirps to life “Sokaris, Control. We have gotten a lock on your internal homing beacon. You’ve been taken to an
abandoned packing plant fifteen miles from your initial location. What is your status, over” the familiar mechanical voice crackled over the
secure radio. Sokaris pushes open the door slowly while aiming forward with his left hand. Entering a long hallway, he notices no guards within his vicinity. “Control, I was captured by Salem. Repeat, I was captured by Salem” Sokaris barks into the radio as he rushes down the hallway and up a flight of stairs two steps at a time. Clearing flights in in a blur of speed, he is fueled by rage and adrenaline. As he comes to the top floor of the stairwell, he notices a guard by an emergency exit having a smoke. Leveling his pistol, he squeezes the trigger twice, sending two rounds crashing into the chest and throat of the guard. He then kicks open the emergency exit and comes to the rooftop of the packing plant. As Sokaris hears the sounds of helicopter rotors in the distance, he looks up to the star-lit sky above him. Raising the radio to his lips, he punches the transmit button. “Control, this is Sokaris….I am coming home…and I am pissed…” he speaks into the radio and then chucks it over the side of the building. As the sounds of the rotors grow in volumes, we are left with a shot of deep contemplation and rage upon the face of this one-man army.
Date: April 5th, 20XX
Location: Somewhere Deep in the Pennsylvania Wilderness
Time: 16344 Hours
The scene pans open to a vast wilderness, an endless mass of trees and over-brush that seems to stretch from one end of the horizon to another. Pines and Oaks are bearing fresh leaves as the arrival of spring has descended upon this area. The serenity and peace of the
scene is suddenly broken as the sound of wood being chopped sends a flock of birds into the cloudless sky. The scene pans forward and we come to find Matthew Prince in front of a rather large but humble log cabin. Held between hands with taped digits in an ax with an edge sharp enough to cleave muscle from bone. A large pile of wood has already been chopped and set to the side while several sections of an oak tree sit off to the side. Bandages can be seen covered various parts of the man’s body.
Clad in a crimson flannel t-shirt and rugged, worn out jeans, it appears as if the man is in a trance as each block is placed upon a rather
large stump and then hacked clean in half with one fell swing from the axe. Rivulets of sweat bead down across the man’s brow and into his eyes, causing him to momentarily step back and take a breath. “This is probably the most unorthodox form of training I have ever
encounter…” Prince seems to speak to himself as he takes a moment to catch his breath. “Yet….the Old Man always said unorthodox is what gives you the edge in this business…” Prince continues chatting with himself. Maybe the man has sustained some form of a mild head injury?Setting the ax down to the side, the roar of thunder could be heard off in the distance as a storm front is approaching. “First things first….I’ve been hearing from all the dweebs on the Internets about how shocked they were regarding my assault on TJ Codair. These same nerds were calling for my head as they believed a spectator should have never been able to break through PWX Security in the first place. Funny thing is….I signed my contract with the company days before this previous Adrenaline…and I figured I needed to make an impact upon this company. TJ Codair seemed the perfect choice to begin my assent to the upper echelon of the PWX Roster” Matthew continues as he walks over to a small storage shed and produces a large, waterproof tarp. With rain approaching Matthew moves to covering his large pile with the tarp to make sure the wood blocks are not soaked completely through. Once secured with crude bolts of iron, Prince picks up the ax from the forest floor and shifts over towards the log cabin.
“PWX has been around for a long time from what I have heard through my contacts throughout the Indy Circuits. Yet, it seems to me that aside from the talent currently holding the various Championship titles….the remaining roster is nothing but fodder and chaff. How could I not resist such an opportunity to get into the game and turn this company completely on its head?” Matthew expounds as he pushes open the front door belonging to the cabin and steps inside. The house is decorated simply and in an almost military fashion. The cabin is comprised of one large room that houses the kitchen, living room and bedroom. The only other room connected to the cabin is where the shower and wash room could be found. Matthew pushes into the kitchen and fills up a glass of water from the sink. Quenching his thirst for the time being, his eyes wander to the tile wooden floor before him.
“The first offering to me is a man who calls himself “The Wrestling God.” Anton Chase….that is one hell of a moniker to be walking around with in this business. Sure…who am I to be running my mouth, for I am the rookie in this company and a record of Eighteen Wins, Eight Losses and one Draw is nothing to sneeze at in a company such as this. Yet….you are just a man, Anton. You are made of flesh and blood, and you are quite fallible. While you may be trained and experienced in the ring…none of this is going to prepare you for me. See…where I come from….the place where I was trained in the wrestling arts….you actually square off face to face with true Wrestling Gods…” Prince speaks as his eyes seemingly glaze over as he becomes flooded with memories of the past. Several seconds pass and it seems that the man is able to bring himself back into reality.
“Anton….you are just the appetizer, a mere teasing that will sate my appetite for a few weeks before I am presented with the main course. If PWX seems fit to toss me a simple warm-up for the time being….then I will use the opportunity to brush up on my skills while using you as an example for both the PWX Fans and the PWX Roster. Boy….you are simply in over your head, and it would be wise if you simply stuck your tail between your legs and as far away as you possibly could. My eyes are set for far loftier goals, and you’re nothing more than a pimple on my ass that needs popping to provide that momentary relief” Prince finishes as another roar of thunder is heard. The sky is quickly turning black as a flash of thunder suddenly lights up the rather dark and humble cabin. Prince walks out of the kitchen and over to the large cot in the corner of the cabin. Glancing out a triple-paned window that seems rather thick for a civilian house, his eyes narrow into twin pools of sharpened focus. “There is a storm coming….lets pray that the PWX can weather it…”
April 5th, 20XX
Location: The Pennsylvania Wilderness
Time: 1910 Hours
The storm has been raging for several hours now across the vast Pennsylvanian wilderness. Despite the crude and rudimentary design of
the log cabin, it seems more than capable of weathering the powerful storm that has the region in its grip. A rather slow and rhythmic pattern of snoring can be heard as Prince is sprawled out across the cot with his left hand dangling off the side and his right resting underneath a mound of pillows. A sudden knock can be heard coming from the lone door to the cabin in between crashes of thunder. The man’s eyes split open instantly as he rolls out of the bed. His right hand emerges from underneath the mound of pillows gripping a Sig Sauer P320 that he levels with the door. As he approaches it from an angle, one would notice that the hinges had been reversed so that the door swings out onto the porch instead of inward to the cabin. Approaching the door jam, hit a hidden button adjacent to the door which causes it to spring open to the porch.
Pushing away from the wall he comes to stand in the doorway with his hands both gripping the pistol as his arms have formed a perfect
triangle. His eyes go wide as he soaks in the features of the source of the knocking. A woman is standing before him; she stands close to six feet tall and has a build that would make an Olympic Swimmer and Victoria Secret model both throw up. Crimson locks stick to ivory flesh as a set of emerald hues focus upon the man. She is dressed in civilian clothing comprised of jeans, boots and a plain black raincoat. Held in her own hands in a perfect firing position is a Berretta M9 Semi-Automatic. “Samantha” is spoken from the lips of Prince as he lowers his weapon and motions for her to quickly enter the cabin.
“I wasn’t followed, Matthew. I doubled back at least four times and covered my tracks as I made my way to the cabin. You had always told me this would be a safe place if I was ever compromised…” Samantha explained as she lowered her own weapon and ran her free hand through her shoulder-length hair. Prince turns around after shutting and locking the door, looking towards the woman with a mask of both shock and wonder. “You were compromised? What the hell happened?” Prince asks as he walks into the kitchen and opens up the
refrigerator. “I was in Moscow keeping oversight on Operation Cardinal. I was tasked with protecting one of our High-Value Assets. Turns out the Asset was an Assassin that managed to put a bullet through my shoulder before I put three through his neck and chest” the woman
explained as she slipped out of her soaked raincoat. Her upper body is adorned in a plain black beater that clashes with a crude bandage that had been secured right above her right collarbone. Prince enters the living area of the cabin with two beers in his hands.
“Salem found me during Operation Red Crown. I was tasked with killing a corrupt senator that was found squandering millions of tax payer’s dollars for his own private coke parties. It was an ambush and I managed to escape, using my undercover network of connections to get my ass here before Division Seven caught up with me. They have to be dirty, Samantha. Why else would they attempt to wipe out two of their most important assets?” Matthew asked Samantha as he opens up his own bottle of beer. “I thought the same thing, Matthew. Listen….I have information on a USB Drive that I discovered while over in Moscow. The drive is encrypted and I can’t open it, but I believe it has something to do with Division Seven” Samantha explained to Prince.
“If you have volatile information regarding Division Seven, which could explain why they attempted to erase you. We need to get that
information to one of my computer dweebs that has been hacking computers since he was young enough to suck milk from his mother’s tits. He’s located outside Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and I have the perfect cover to get us there under the radar ” Prince speaks which illicit a snort from Samantha, causing the woman to almost shoot beer out of her nose. She sits down on the cot in the cabin and sighs, looking over to him. “Only in the middle of the biggest shit-storm I have ever witnessed could you make me laugh hard enough to snort beer out of my nose” Samantha playfully chastised him as she shook her head and took another pull of beer. “Is there enough hot water in the heater for me to get a shower tonight? I just spent the last day and a half on the run and this fucking storm decided to open up right on top of me” the female asked as she stood back up to her feet and slipped out of her soaked combat boots.
“Well, there is enough water in the heater right now for one person to take a half hour shower. I’ll have to get the fire going again to heat up more water so I can take one, later. Fortunately I chopped up enough wood to last for two days before this storm rolled in” Prince speaks to Samantha as he finishes his beer. The woman as already kicked out of her boots, socks and soaked jeans, leaving her clad in a black beater and a pair of black booty shorts. “Well, why bother with wasting firewood for the heater, we’re going to need it for the fireplace. This storm isn’t supposed to move out of the region until tomorrow afternoon” Samantha speaks to Prince as she too finishes her own beer. The lithe and agile female crosses the cabin floor and comes to stand in front of Prince. With the look of a devil upon her lips she takes hold of the man’s own shirt and drags him off towards the bathroom. The scene fades to darkness as the bathroom door shuts and the storm rages on relentless outside the log cabin.
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