Post by Sentinel on May 22, 2015 23:03:28 GMT -6
In the aftermath of the Monday Night Mayhem main event, Sentinel vaguely recalled hearing the roar of the packed arena over the notes of "Die & Rise" playing in the background. Someone seemed to be looming over him, saying things the couldn't understand, little more than a fuzzily-outlined shadow against the bright lights above. It was hard to recall, but he remembered seeing Gabriel Krown turning his back and a red haze tainting his vision. For just a moment it was several weeks ago and the Destroyer wasn't seeing one-half of the UWA World Tag Team Champions but instead the face of Benimaru, the man who had killed his best friend all those years ago...the man who slit his throat...the motherfucker who shot his wife in the leg.
When Sentinel's arm connected with the back of Krown's neck, he felt for a moment as though something snapped against the crook of his elbow and a brief, sadistic smile lit up his eyes and marred his usually-handsome features. Then Sentinel snapped out of it and got the one-two-three. It's there that the blur starts. Short blips of the goings-on in his vicinity flash before his eyes like single frames in an old movie reel: Krown and Murphy with steel chairs...Arsenal distracted by Lacey Roberts...the tag champions winding up for the home run...and an unmistakable, undeniable urge to not let them have their way. It was like lightning in his veins. Sentinel's body lunged forward before he had proper control over what he was doing, knocking Jeszika Gautier and Bethany Kenyon to the mat. It...was probably harder than necessary, but it did the job.
It also left him wide open. When the cold, expertly-swung steel collided with his back and head, he went down like a sack of wet bricks. And he was prepared for that. Better him, Sentinel thought, than the champion who he was facing in two weeks and the woman who had been accusing him for near a month of stalking her and her friends. Seems like a bright fucking idea now, doesn't it? Somehow, the Destroyer pulls himself to his feet, many moments after the tag champions and their temporary partner had vacated ringside. Next thing he knew, he was kicked harder than he'd ever been kicked in his life. Three superkicks, all colliding with his face with supreme accuracy. Seemed like he went airborne for a moment before hitting the mat flush. And that's where he started to come around.
Official: "...ll right there? Tha...sty shot...eed a han..."
Bits and pieces of words only understood here and there. Sentinel got up to his feet unsteadily, the official's attempts to assist in this almost useless. The Destroyer does more with a grip on the ropes than this 150-zebra can with both arms and both legs.
Sentinel: "..."
Official: "...EY! Need som...own here!"
The shouting, though...that got through. Sentinel reacted on instinct when the pain he'd been dealt started to kick in: the first warm body got snatched by the lapels and thrown toward the turnbuckles. Half-lurching, half-lunging, Sentinel was on the hapless referee in less than a second, demanding answers to questions that couldn't be answered.
Sentinel: "WHERE ARE THEY?! TELL ME!"
Official: "What, Arsenal?! I don't know! They're already gone!"
Sentinel: "DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME!"
More officials come running down, sure, as do some EMTs and some security. Samuel or Olivier, or both, must have been watching and were taking no chances on dealing with the aftermath of an angry Destroyer. Except for that old saying about too little, too late. The first security guy to reach in and try to calm the monster down caught a right hand for his efforts. The next ate a headbutt and the third rolled out of the ring before Sentinel could accomplish a weaponless decapitation. The officials wisely back off, as do the EMTs, though they still attempt to coax some reasonable action out of Sentinel first...
...but the monster isn't having it. He warns them away with a glare and drops to the canvas, rolling out of the ring. He's moving somewhat gingerly but no one attempts to assist anymore, nor does he want it. We cut to a shot of him coming through the curtain to the backstage area, heading down the hall and making a beeline for his locker room. He yanks the door shut behind him and half-staggers over to the mirror, placing his palms on the counter and staring into it. He was already showing evidence of that triple-boot to the mush in the form of a busted lip and another small cut inside. That said nothing of the bruises that were sure to form. But another outburst didn't happen despite this, despite the injustice of it all. Instead, Sentinel took a few slow breaths and stood up straight, forcing the pain aside for now.
He walked over to his locker and opened it up, reaching into the bag within and taking out a cellphone. He cycled through the contacts, staring hard at the screen for a minute or two before finally making the call. We hear several rings before someone on the other end picks up and an accented voice snaps out.
Zachariah Blood: "Yeah?!"
Sentinel: "...it's me."
There's silence for several moments before Zachariah responds, plenty of edge still in his voice yet a more controlled tone delivering it. He quiets slightly as though trying to keep the nature of the person on the other end a mystery to any who might be watching.
Zachariah Blood: "Where the hell have you been? You don't answer your fuckin' phone no more?"
Sentinel: "Yeah, well..."
Sentinel thinks back as we're shown a clip of one of his recent promos, one which ended with his phone smashed on the pavement and peeled off by the rear tire of his Harley as he tore off down the highway. All that remained were shiny bits of debris and memories. Snapping from his reverie as the camera's back on the Destroyer, sentinel remarks quietly.
Sentinel: "...old phone broke. Took time to get another."
Zachariah Blood: "Yeah, all right. So what's going on?"
Sentinel: "You still keep any contacts from your pit-fighting days?"
It was hard to catch Blood by surprise, in or out of the ring. But at this moment, Sentinel had done just that. Another protracted silence commences before the Cajun responds quietly.
Zachariah Blood: "Whatever you're thinking...fuckin' stop it. You don't want to go that road. Not when you got a fuckin' title match incoming in, what, two weeks?"
Sentinel: "All I need to hear from you is 'yes' or 'no'."
Now the Patron Saint of Suffering sounds agitated again, though he's keeping the conversation low in volume still.
Zachariah Blood: "And what if I can? What then? Did you forget everything I told you about these damn things? Even without knowin' all of what's goin' on, I can tell you're pissed about something. You're thinking you want to exorcise some demons so that you can get yourself focused on the title match. And in another world and another time, I'd have no issue with that. Hell, I'd take up a fight myself for old time's sake just to remind motherfuckers of who I am..."
Sentinel's former partner pauses to take a breath, needing to center just as much as the Destroyer.
Zachariah Blood: "...but you didn't come up in that shit like me. There's too damn many variables to consider. Even if the fight's on the up and up between you and the other guy, the dude running it might not be. And the people that spectate those fuckin' things? Animals. Eleven hairs short of being fuckin' babboons. It's a cesspool of epic proportions on a good day. If you're damn certain about doing this shit, and I can tell you are..."
Sentinel: "That obvious, huh?"
Zachariah Blood: "Hardy-fuckin'-har. If you're sure then, yeah, I can probably ring up someone. But there ain't no backing out if I do this, hear me? You'll take your giant ass inside whatever cage they offer and fight any poor bastard they want to toss in with you even if I have to drag you in there myself. Got that?"
Snorting half in amusement, Sentinel responds affirmatively without a word. Blood, knowing his old partner that well, gets the answer and one can hear him sigh on the other end of the line.
Zachariah Blood: "How far are you from New Orleans?"
Sentinel: "Couple days, less if I push it."
Zachariah Blood: "Fine. Meet me at the Bloody Rose in the French Quarter on Wednesday at, say, noon. But if you ain't there within fifteen minutes of that time, you lose your shot. These fuckers get tense about new blood."
Sentinel: "I can do that."
Another pregnant silence.
Zachariah Blood: "...so, what, that's it?"
Sentinel: "What do you mean by that?"
Zachariah Blood: "Don't fuckin' be that way, man. You're really gonna get off here and not ask how Talon or Cheyenne are doing?"
We can literally HEAR Sentinel gritting his teeth.
Sentinel: "...I'm sure they're fine."
Zachariah Blood: "See, now? Now you're pissing me off. Don't be that kind of asshole, brother. Just because of all the shit that went down..."
But Blood is cut off.
Sentinel: "Just be there Wednesday."
He hangs up before Blood can retort and shoves the phone back in his bag. On the clock now, knowing that he'd have to make an all-night ride or close to it to reach New Orelans by the designated time, Sentinel quickly snatched a towel from his locker and made to head for the showers. It was at that point that Thumper came strolling in, cameraman in tow and looking for a few sound bites.
The Destroyer's first impulse was to take the asshole's head off but he reined that in somehow. There'd be fines coming for striking security and roughing up an official already and he wasn't made of money.
Thumper: "Uh, you got a minute, Sentinel?"
Sentinel: "...talk fast."
Thumper: "Well, I just figured you'd want to know that despite what went down out there, word from Olivier Georgio's office is that the title match is still on."
The Destroyer barks out a note or two of mirthless laughter.
Sentinel: "You say that like it's a surprise."
Thumper: "You DID strike your partners twice, big guy. Once during and once after the match. That isn't exactly a cut-and-dry situation you kn-"
Sentinel's glare cuts Thumper off cold.
Thumper: "Er, I mean...not that that was intentional on your part or anything..."
Taking a few steps, quickly closing the space between himself and Thumper, Sentinel looks to be on the edge of hauling off and decking the guy. Thumper, wanting to protect what passes for his face, holds his hands up as he backs off, eventually bumping into the cameraman, who bumps into the wall.
Sentinel: "You think you're gonna be just like them, Thumpy? Accuse me of shit that I didn't do? For that I almost took Jeszika's fucking head off and she's a legit warrior. What the hell do you think I'd do to you if I thought you were crossing that line with me? Or to Georgio if he tried taking my title shot away?"
He gets within a breath of Thumper, nearly nose-to-nose with the hapless interviewer.
Sentinel: "I'm...fucking...SICK...of people's baseless accusations. How many times have I put my ass on the line for people here? How many months of my career did I lose against the Children before coming back and almost-singlehandedly sending them scattering? But all you and everyone else want to see is some monster who mauls his opponents and doesn't care who gets in his way. You see the man I was instead of the man I'm fighting to become! Is that what you all want?!"
He'd been quiet at first, but now he was raging!
Sentinel: "Congratu-fucking-lations, because that's what you're getting! Now get the hell out of my sight!"
He needs no further invitation to leave with his face intact. Thumper almost falls on his face as he leaves the locker room, the cameraman hurrying after him as Sentinel slams the door behind them.
The scene cuts to an indeterminate time in the future without pretense, taking us from the image of Sentinel about to, figuratively, eat Thumper alive to a shot of some manner of lounge. From the looks of it, the place is in a fancy mansion or at the very least an upper-class home on the affluent side of town, wherever that town may be. The large windows give a clear view out to a garden of grand proportions, complete with a hand-carved stone fountain, fish pond and all else. A couple of white-clad workers are bustling about within it, though thanks to the sound-proofed glass it's impossible to hear what's going on with them.
In the background, between the windows and the emerald-velvet divan, paces Sentinel. From what few glances we can get of him as he moves back in forth, making an effort to grind a trench into the granite flooring, he looks to have finally gotten some sleep. At least the dark circles under his eyes are gone, if that's any indicator. Sitting on the divan itself, though, is Zachariah Blood, dressed in his usual punk-like attire of a mesh shirt beneath a black tee and black cargoes with various chains and other metallic objects attached. They mesh well with the strapped combat boots he has on and the leather trench worn over it all. His wild hair is spiked as per usual and his cold stare is leveled on the camera. If Sentinel knows things are underway, he isn't showing it. Instead, Zachariah takes the ball and runs with it.
Zachariah Blood: "I certainly hope you're all really fucking proud of yourselves for what you've accomplished. Especially you, Jeszika Gautier, and you to a lesser degree, Bethany Kenyon. That goes for your little shit sister, Ashley, while I'm at it. But you're easily the worst, 'Jezzy'. I'm actually ashamed to share the same hometown as you at this point, you mouthy little bitch. People like you should be sterilized the moment you fall sloppy and screaming out of your mother's bleeding twat. You think the fucking world owes you something because you had a rough life. When things don't go you way you start tossing around threats and starting shit for people to cover the fact that you can't handle your shit. Telling my brother that you'd put a bullet in his head? Real fuckin' classy. I should twist your Tattooed Barbie head off just for that!
Luckily for you, though, it's none of my damn business. Sentinel will handle you in due time. Eventually, see, the truth is gonna come out and the lot of you are going to feel like the morons that you are for wasting a nanosecond's worth of breath to accuse my brother of anything. He has never been anything but honest and straightforward with your lot and everyone else from the time he set foot in this damn company and that ain't changed. When he was knocking people's heads off left and right, laying waste to everyone Georgio put in front of him while Talon laid down the verbal law, there were never any questions about integrity. The Silent Destroyer was here to do what he came to do, what he always does: Destroy. When he returned from injury and wasted the Children of Nephilim, including their now-former leader, there were even less questions about his attitude or methods. Why is that, do you think? Maybe because he was saving your fucking useless hides, doing something none of you had the stomach to do!"
The Masochist needs a moment to compose himself as his anger is raging at the treatment of his brother-in-law. Sentinel hasn't stopped pacing, the only alteration in his motion being to occasionally glance out the window or crack his knuckles noisily. Zachariah leaves him to it, downing a gulp of seltzer water with lime before setting the glass back on the mahogany coffee table before him. On a coaster, of course.
Zachariah Blood: "The big bastard has done everything that's been asked of him and more, finally breaking his silence after almost a decade and joining up with his boys in the Dead Men to settle old business. Yet he still found time to storm that ring and leave the drones in the crowd on the edge of their seats in wonder with his special brand of violence. By reaction alone those people turned him into some kind of hero, something that's still pretty amazing to me considering. And when Georgio set down his tournament, Sentinel beat down everyone in his way before he ran into Bethany. No sense takin' that loss hard, and he didn't...mostly 'cause the girl went on to become champ. She earned that shit and she knows it. She left the ring with the lumps to prove it. She's due some more, though...that and some forced weight loss to the tune of ten pounds of gold and leather."
The ever-intense Zachariah glowers at the camera as Sentinel comes to a stop behind him. Blood glances over his shoulder slightly at the big man, who just stares...looking over and past the camera. No telling what he's glaring at, though. Zachariah continues his rant in due course.
Zachariah Blood: "Am I bold for saying so cause I ain't the one going into the match? Think whatever the hell you want where that's concerned. The monster that's been hiding in Sentinel, though...that fucker's clawing his way out. You own a win over the Destroyer, Bethany, but you're not ready for what's lurking inside this beast behind me. Out of the three I called onto the carpet before, you're the only one that's handled yourself with class through all this, even if that three-way kick was fuckin' shifty. I hope once you caught the replay of the show that you felt like shit about it, too. I doubt the same could be asked of Ashley or Jeszika, though. For obvious reasons."
Sentinel: "Let it be."
Blood turns again to look at Sentinel. The Destroyer is already staring down at his brother-in-law, and Blood's tone turns incredulous again.
Zachariah Blood: "You fuckin' know I'm right. Hell was Ashley even doing down there, anyway?"
Sentinel: "Why're YOU here?"
Zachariah looks irritable for a moment but answers seriously.
Zachariah Blood: "Because I'm family."
Sentinel: "You answered your own question about Ashley."
Zachariah Blood: "Hell are you gonna do about it is the question."
In the background, the groundsmen are having a peek at what's going on inside, whispering to one another. It might as well be shouting, all things considered, since they're not gonna hear anything and neither are The Unforgiven. One glare from Sentinel though, on a whim and nothing more, spooks them back into their weed-whacking and lawn-mowing respectively.
Sentinel: "About Ashley and Jeszika? Nothing. The former will destroy herself before anyone else can and the latter isn't gonna get close to me for fear of being knocked the hell out. My focus is Bethany."
Zachariah Blood: "As it damn well should be."
Sentinel: "The goal is what it's always been: the World Heavyweight Championship."
Both men are silent for a few moments before Blood pipes up again.
Zachariah Blood: "You could get this message across a lot more eloquently than I could, you know."
Sentinel: "I've said enough already."
As if by divine intervention, a gentleman dressed like an old-school butler walks into the frame. He needs but a moment to survey the scene before his attention settles on the Destroyer.
Servant: "Ah, you must be Sentinel. Mr. Rourke will see you now."
Sentinel: "...you got this?"
Zachariah Blood: "Just like old times."
Sentinel: "Mm."
Sentinel departs with the older man, leaving Zachariah by his lonesome on the divan. It doesn't take him long to turn his glare back on the camera.
Zachariah Blood: "Mincing words isn't my thing. Take it from someone who's seen the man at his nadir and his zenith, Bethany: you're stumbling into a lot of trouble with the Destroyer in Fort Worth. Even I ain't gonna take away that you were the first person in years to pin him in any company. I may be an asshole but I won't shy away from giving someone their due. But how much is that gonna matter when the bell rings and the belt is on the line? Is it trite to say that it ain't the same man you beat before Tragic Engagement? That wouldn't change how true it is. And your girlfriends and sister got a fair bit to do with that. If nothing else, when Sentinel lifts the belt from off your shoulder and holds it up, you'll have someone to blame other than yourself.
Sentinel, as me and many others have said before, is an honest creature. So am I. If we tell you something, whether you like it or not, you can take it to the damn bank. And right at this point?"
He looks over his shoulder toward the direction in which Sentinel had departed, his expression twitching slightly, before turning back to the camera.
Zachariah Blood: "Sentinel worries me."
To get words like that out that could be construed as an indication of weakness or fear...for Zachariah, it was akin to a heretic taking their god's name in vain. Every muscle in his face is tight, his expression grim.
Zachariah Blood: "There's nothin' I can say that Sentinel hasn't already, Bethany: he's talked about being alone versus the world, about how the championship is all that he has left and all that shit. I'd call him on that being the talk of a defeatist but I just know better. Now, in response you could snap off with how my being here with him means he isn't completely alone and in a sense you'd be right. But I'm not here as family, friend or even partner. I'm just his enabler. What he's stepping into just days away from his big match with you is an environment I grew up in. Fighting in back alleys, in pits and cages against every kind of muscled scum you can imagine, that's what kept me from doing worse things with my life. It turned me into a championship-caliber wrestler and gave me an outlook on existence, and on the purity of delivering and receiving pain, that has served me well in all endeavors. Sentinel? He's using it as some kind of stress-killer, trying to level off his mental state so that he doesn't do something else he'll regret.
You know...the kind of thing that made him shut his hole for several years. He doesn't want that to happen again, girl, not even to you. In his mind, better that he batters some jacked-up thugs or washed-up fighters into submission instead of damaging you to a level from which you might not recover. Again, not casting aspersions on what you can or can't handle. Fuck that noise because it always bites you in the ass when you browbeat an opponent like that. Never ends well. But like I said: he worries me right now. Me. Someone who laughs at their opponents when they twist one of my limbs to an inch away from snapping, who has licked the blood they've torn from someone's body and routinely submits himself to a woman who has mastered the art of delicious suffering just to please him.
Nothing and no one scares me. Not until now."
The Masochist is ill-at-ease, but he presses on after a pause.
Zachariah Blood: "For all the work he's put into being a better man and not repeating past mistakes, everything and everyone are pushing him to that point. No sooner did he put nine bullets in the face of the man who killed his best friend and put the blame on Sentinel himself than did the world start to crumble beneath him all over again. Talon's got a bullet in her leg and may not walk right again for some time...maybe ever. That cuts him off from her, his daughter, Alex, Rayne...you get the picture. What should have settled him and let him get his mind back on the business of championships only made things worse. He's turning into a man that I've only heard stories about.
You see what I'm getting at here? Other people can talk about being monsters and having dark sides all they want because most of the time it's shtick. It sells t-shirts and pay-per-views. With Sentinel it's the real deal. You were there during that job with him and the Dead Men. Did you see any hesitation in him at all in blowing away those guards? Do you think he gave a damn about their lives and families or that they were just doing the job for someone as a means to make a living for their kin back home? The rest of the Dead Men did their share, sure, but they're not bloodthirsty. Their previous lives saw them on the battlefield day after day so they've learned to detach. Not Sentinel. He just...reacts.
And again, what the hell does that have to do with your match?"
A slight, tainted smirk from Sentinel's 'enabler'.
Zachariah Blood: "It means that you better hope he gets what he wants out of the cage, Bethy. Because no matter how little you had to do with the plague infesting him right now, all he's going to see is a warm body keeping him from something he wants. Screams of pain and pleas for mercy aren't going to matter one whit to him. You're a tough woman, smart and skilled, but those things don't matter when a monster's clawing your guts out. There's not a person alive, not even me, who can get through to him, much less stop him, if the cork pops off his bottle."
He gets to his feet, presumably to join Sentinel in the other room. However, he gives one last stare to the camera.
Zachariah Blood: "And if you have to decide between that title and your well-being? You'd better make the right damn choice."
Zachariah picks up the camera and starts off toward the aforementioned room. Just as the door opens, showing Sentinel and a distinguished-looking gentleman speaking, Blood finds the off-switch and shuts the feed down.
When Sentinel's arm connected with the back of Krown's neck, he felt for a moment as though something snapped against the crook of his elbow and a brief, sadistic smile lit up his eyes and marred his usually-handsome features. Then Sentinel snapped out of it and got the one-two-three. It's there that the blur starts. Short blips of the goings-on in his vicinity flash before his eyes like single frames in an old movie reel: Krown and Murphy with steel chairs...Arsenal distracted by Lacey Roberts...the tag champions winding up for the home run...and an unmistakable, undeniable urge to not let them have their way. It was like lightning in his veins. Sentinel's body lunged forward before he had proper control over what he was doing, knocking Jeszika Gautier and Bethany Kenyon to the mat. It...was probably harder than necessary, but it did the job.
It also left him wide open. When the cold, expertly-swung steel collided with his back and head, he went down like a sack of wet bricks. And he was prepared for that. Better him, Sentinel thought, than the champion who he was facing in two weeks and the woman who had been accusing him for near a month of stalking her and her friends. Seems like a bright fucking idea now, doesn't it? Somehow, the Destroyer pulls himself to his feet, many moments after the tag champions and their temporary partner had vacated ringside. Next thing he knew, he was kicked harder than he'd ever been kicked in his life. Three superkicks, all colliding with his face with supreme accuracy. Seemed like he went airborne for a moment before hitting the mat flush. And that's where he started to come around.
Official: "...ll right there? Tha...sty shot...eed a han..."
Bits and pieces of words only understood here and there. Sentinel got up to his feet unsteadily, the official's attempts to assist in this almost useless. The Destroyer does more with a grip on the ropes than this 150-zebra can with both arms and both legs.
Sentinel: "..."
Official: "...EY! Need som...own here!"
The shouting, though...that got through. Sentinel reacted on instinct when the pain he'd been dealt started to kick in: the first warm body got snatched by the lapels and thrown toward the turnbuckles. Half-lurching, half-lunging, Sentinel was on the hapless referee in less than a second, demanding answers to questions that couldn't be answered.
Sentinel: "WHERE ARE THEY?! TELL ME!"
Official: "What, Arsenal?! I don't know! They're already gone!"
Sentinel: "DON'T YOU FUCKING LIE TO ME!"
More officials come running down, sure, as do some EMTs and some security. Samuel or Olivier, or both, must have been watching and were taking no chances on dealing with the aftermath of an angry Destroyer. Except for that old saying about too little, too late. The first security guy to reach in and try to calm the monster down caught a right hand for his efforts. The next ate a headbutt and the third rolled out of the ring before Sentinel could accomplish a weaponless decapitation. The officials wisely back off, as do the EMTs, though they still attempt to coax some reasonable action out of Sentinel first...
...but the monster isn't having it. He warns them away with a glare and drops to the canvas, rolling out of the ring. He's moving somewhat gingerly but no one attempts to assist anymore, nor does he want it. We cut to a shot of him coming through the curtain to the backstage area, heading down the hall and making a beeline for his locker room. He yanks the door shut behind him and half-staggers over to the mirror, placing his palms on the counter and staring into it. He was already showing evidence of that triple-boot to the mush in the form of a busted lip and another small cut inside. That said nothing of the bruises that were sure to form. But another outburst didn't happen despite this, despite the injustice of it all. Instead, Sentinel took a few slow breaths and stood up straight, forcing the pain aside for now.
He walked over to his locker and opened it up, reaching into the bag within and taking out a cellphone. He cycled through the contacts, staring hard at the screen for a minute or two before finally making the call. We hear several rings before someone on the other end picks up and an accented voice snaps out.
Zachariah Blood: "Yeah?!"
Sentinel: "...it's me."
There's silence for several moments before Zachariah responds, plenty of edge still in his voice yet a more controlled tone delivering it. He quiets slightly as though trying to keep the nature of the person on the other end a mystery to any who might be watching.
Zachariah Blood: "Where the hell have you been? You don't answer your fuckin' phone no more?"
Sentinel: "Yeah, well..."
Sentinel thinks back as we're shown a clip of one of his recent promos, one which ended with his phone smashed on the pavement and peeled off by the rear tire of his Harley as he tore off down the highway. All that remained were shiny bits of debris and memories. Snapping from his reverie as the camera's back on the Destroyer, sentinel remarks quietly.
Sentinel: "...old phone broke. Took time to get another."
Zachariah Blood: "Yeah, all right. So what's going on?"
Sentinel: "You still keep any contacts from your pit-fighting days?"
It was hard to catch Blood by surprise, in or out of the ring. But at this moment, Sentinel had done just that. Another protracted silence commences before the Cajun responds quietly.
Zachariah Blood: "Whatever you're thinking...fuckin' stop it. You don't want to go that road. Not when you got a fuckin' title match incoming in, what, two weeks?"
Sentinel: "All I need to hear from you is 'yes' or 'no'."
Now the Patron Saint of Suffering sounds agitated again, though he's keeping the conversation low in volume still.
Zachariah Blood: "And what if I can? What then? Did you forget everything I told you about these damn things? Even without knowin' all of what's goin' on, I can tell you're pissed about something. You're thinking you want to exorcise some demons so that you can get yourself focused on the title match. And in another world and another time, I'd have no issue with that. Hell, I'd take up a fight myself for old time's sake just to remind motherfuckers of who I am..."
Sentinel's former partner pauses to take a breath, needing to center just as much as the Destroyer.
Zachariah Blood: "...but you didn't come up in that shit like me. There's too damn many variables to consider. Even if the fight's on the up and up between you and the other guy, the dude running it might not be. And the people that spectate those fuckin' things? Animals. Eleven hairs short of being fuckin' babboons. It's a cesspool of epic proportions on a good day. If you're damn certain about doing this shit, and I can tell you are..."
Sentinel: "That obvious, huh?"
Zachariah Blood: "Hardy-fuckin'-har. If you're sure then, yeah, I can probably ring up someone. But there ain't no backing out if I do this, hear me? You'll take your giant ass inside whatever cage they offer and fight any poor bastard they want to toss in with you even if I have to drag you in there myself. Got that?"
Snorting half in amusement, Sentinel responds affirmatively without a word. Blood, knowing his old partner that well, gets the answer and one can hear him sigh on the other end of the line.
Zachariah Blood: "How far are you from New Orleans?"
Sentinel: "Couple days, less if I push it."
Zachariah Blood: "Fine. Meet me at the Bloody Rose in the French Quarter on Wednesday at, say, noon. But if you ain't there within fifteen minutes of that time, you lose your shot. These fuckers get tense about new blood."
Sentinel: "I can do that."
Another pregnant silence.
Zachariah Blood: "...so, what, that's it?"
Sentinel: "What do you mean by that?"
Zachariah Blood: "Don't fuckin' be that way, man. You're really gonna get off here and not ask how Talon or Cheyenne are doing?"
We can literally HEAR Sentinel gritting his teeth.
Sentinel: "...I'm sure they're fine."
Zachariah Blood: "See, now? Now you're pissing me off. Don't be that kind of asshole, brother. Just because of all the shit that went down..."
But Blood is cut off.
Sentinel: "Just be there Wednesday."
He hangs up before Blood can retort and shoves the phone back in his bag. On the clock now, knowing that he'd have to make an all-night ride or close to it to reach New Orelans by the designated time, Sentinel quickly snatched a towel from his locker and made to head for the showers. It was at that point that Thumper came strolling in, cameraman in tow and looking for a few sound bites.
The Destroyer's first impulse was to take the asshole's head off but he reined that in somehow. There'd be fines coming for striking security and roughing up an official already and he wasn't made of money.
Thumper: "Uh, you got a minute, Sentinel?"
Sentinel: "...talk fast."
Thumper: "Well, I just figured you'd want to know that despite what went down out there, word from Olivier Georgio's office is that the title match is still on."
The Destroyer barks out a note or two of mirthless laughter.
Sentinel: "You say that like it's a surprise."
Thumper: "You DID strike your partners twice, big guy. Once during and once after the match. That isn't exactly a cut-and-dry situation you kn-"
Sentinel's glare cuts Thumper off cold.
Thumper: "Er, I mean...not that that was intentional on your part or anything..."
Taking a few steps, quickly closing the space between himself and Thumper, Sentinel looks to be on the edge of hauling off and decking the guy. Thumper, wanting to protect what passes for his face, holds his hands up as he backs off, eventually bumping into the cameraman, who bumps into the wall.
Sentinel: "You think you're gonna be just like them, Thumpy? Accuse me of shit that I didn't do? For that I almost took Jeszika's fucking head off and she's a legit warrior. What the hell do you think I'd do to you if I thought you were crossing that line with me? Or to Georgio if he tried taking my title shot away?"
He gets within a breath of Thumper, nearly nose-to-nose with the hapless interviewer.
Sentinel: "I'm...fucking...SICK...of people's baseless accusations. How many times have I put my ass on the line for people here? How many months of my career did I lose against the Children before coming back and almost-singlehandedly sending them scattering? But all you and everyone else want to see is some monster who mauls his opponents and doesn't care who gets in his way. You see the man I was instead of the man I'm fighting to become! Is that what you all want?!"
He'd been quiet at first, but now he was raging!
Sentinel: "Congratu-fucking-lations, because that's what you're getting! Now get the hell out of my sight!"
He needs no further invitation to leave with his face intact. Thumper almost falls on his face as he leaves the locker room, the cameraman hurrying after him as Sentinel slams the door behind them.
The scene cuts to an indeterminate time in the future without pretense, taking us from the image of Sentinel about to, figuratively, eat Thumper alive to a shot of some manner of lounge. From the looks of it, the place is in a fancy mansion or at the very least an upper-class home on the affluent side of town, wherever that town may be. The large windows give a clear view out to a garden of grand proportions, complete with a hand-carved stone fountain, fish pond and all else. A couple of white-clad workers are bustling about within it, though thanks to the sound-proofed glass it's impossible to hear what's going on with them.
In the background, between the windows and the emerald-velvet divan, paces Sentinel. From what few glances we can get of him as he moves back in forth, making an effort to grind a trench into the granite flooring, he looks to have finally gotten some sleep. At least the dark circles under his eyes are gone, if that's any indicator. Sitting on the divan itself, though, is Zachariah Blood, dressed in his usual punk-like attire of a mesh shirt beneath a black tee and black cargoes with various chains and other metallic objects attached. They mesh well with the strapped combat boots he has on and the leather trench worn over it all. His wild hair is spiked as per usual and his cold stare is leveled on the camera. If Sentinel knows things are underway, he isn't showing it. Instead, Zachariah takes the ball and runs with it.
Zachariah Blood: "I certainly hope you're all really fucking proud of yourselves for what you've accomplished. Especially you, Jeszika Gautier, and you to a lesser degree, Bethany Kenyon. That goes for your little shit sister, Ashley, while I'm at it. But you're easily the worst, 'Jezzy'. I'm actually ashamed to share the same hometown as you at this point, you mouthy little bitch. People like you should be sterilized the moment you fall sloppy and screaming out of your mother's bleeding twat. You think the fucking world owes you something because you had a rough life. When things don't go you way you start tossing around threats and starting shit for people to cover the fact that you can't handle your shit. Telling my brother that you'd put a bullet in his head? Real fuckin' classy. I should twist your Tattooed Barbie head off just for that!
Luckily for you, though, it's none of my damn business. Sentinel will handle you in due time. Eventually, see, the truth is gonna come out and the lot of you are going to feel like the morons that you are for wasting a nanosecond's worth of breath to accuse my brother of anything. He has never been anything but honest and straightforward with your lot and everyone else from the time he set foot in this damn company and that ain't changed. When he was knocking people's heads off left and right, laying waste to everyone Georgio put in front of him while Talon laid down the verbal law, there were never any questions about integrity. The Silent Destroyer was here to do what he came to do, what he always does: Destroy. When he returned from injury and wasted the Children of Nephilim, including their now-former leader, there were even less questions about his attitude or methods. Why is that, do you think? Maybe because he was saving your fucking useless hides, doing something none of you had the stomach to do!"
The Masochist needs a moment to compose himself as his anger is raging at the treatment of his brother-in-law. Sentinel hasn't stopped pacing, the only alteration in his motion being to occasionally glance out the window or crack his knuckles noisily. Zachariah leaves him to it, downing a gulp of seltzer water with lime before setting the glass back on the mahogany coffee table before him. On a coaster, of course.
Zachariah Blood: "The big bastard has done everything that's been asked of him and more, finally breaking his silence after almost a decade and joining up with his boys in the Dead Men to settle old business. Yet he still found time to storm that ring and leave the drones in the crowd on the edge of their seats in wonder with his special brand of violence. By reaction alone those people turned him into some kind of hero, something that's still pretty amazing to me considering. And when Georgio set down his tournament, Sentinel beat down everyone in his way before he ran into Bethany. No sense takin' that loss hard, and he didn't...mostly 'cause the girl went on to become champ. She earned that shit and she knows it. She left the ring with the lumps to prove it. She's due some more, though...that and some forced weight loss to the tune of ten pounds of gold and leather."
The ever-intense Zachariah glowers at the camera as Sentinel comes to a stop behind him. Blood glances over his shoulder slightly at the big man, who just stares...looking over and past the camera. No telling what he's glaring at, though. Zachariah continues his rant in due course.
Zachariah Blood: "Am I bold for saying so cause I ain't the one going into the match? Think whatever the hell you want where that's concerned. The monster that's been hiding in Sentinel, though...that fucker's clawing his way out. You own a win over the Destroyer, Bethany, but you're not ready for what's lurking inside this beast behind me. Out of the three I called onto the carpet before, you're the only one that's handled yourself with class through all this, even if that three-way kick was fuckin' shifty. I hope once you caught the replay of the show that you felt like shit about it, too. I doubt the same could be asked of Ashley or Jeszika, though. For obvious reasons."
Sentinel: "Let it be."
Blood turns again to look at Sentinel. The Destroyer is already staring down at his brother-in-law, and Blood's tone turns incredulous again.
Zachariah Blood: "You fuckin' know I'm right. Hell was Ashley even doing down there, anyway?"
Sentinel: "Why're YOU here?"
Zachariah looks irritable for a moment but answers seriously.
Zachariah Blood: "Because I'm family."
Sentinel: "You answered your own question about Ashley."
Zachariah Blood: "Hell are you gonna do about it is the question."
In the background, the groundsmen are having a peek at what's going on inside, whispering to one another. It might as well be shouting, all things considered, since they're not gonna hear anything and neither are The Unforgiven. One glare from Sentinel though, on a whim and nothing more, spooks them back into their weed-whacking and lawn-mowing respectively.
Sentinel: "About Ashley and Jeszika? Nothing. The former will destroy herself before anyone else can and the latter isn't gonna get close to me for fear of being knocked the hell out. My focus is Bethany."
Zachariah Blood: "As it damn well should be."
Sentinel: "The goal is what it's always been: the World Heavyweight Championship."
Both men are silent for a few moments before Blood pipes up again.
Zachariah Blood: "You could get this message across a lot more eloquently than I could, you know."
Sentinel: "I've said enough already."
As if by divine intervention, a gentleman dressed like an old-school butler walks into the frame. He needs but a moment to survey the scene before his attention settles on the Destroyer.
Servant: "Ah, you must be Sentinel. Mr. Rourke will see you now."
Sentinel: "...you got this?"
Zachariah Blood: "Just like old times."
Sentinel: "Mm."
Sentinel departs with the older man, leaving Zachariah by his lonesome on the divan. It doesn't take him long to turn his glare back on the camera.
Zachariah Blood: "Mincing words isn't my thing. Take it from someone who's seen the man at his nadir and his zenith, Bethany: you're stumbling into a lot of trouble with the Destroyer in Fort Worth. Even I ain't gonna take away that you were the first person in years to pin him in any company. I may be an asshole but I won't shy away from giving someone their due. But how much is that gonna matter when the bell rings and the belt is on the line? Is it trite to say that it ain't the same man you beat before Tragic Engagement? That wouldn't change how true it is. And your girlfriends and sister got a fair bit to do with that. If nothing else, when Sentinel lifts the belt from off your shoulder and holds it up, you'll have someone to blame other than yourself.
Sentinel, as me and many others have said before, is an honest creature. So am I. If we tell you something, whether you like it or not, you can take it to the damn bank. And right at this point?"
He looks over his shoulder toward the direction in which Sentinel had departed, his expression twitching slightly, before turning back to the camera.
Zachariah Blood: "Sentinel worries me."
To get words like that out that could be construed as an indication of weakness or fear...for Zachariah, it was akin to a heretic taking their god's name in vain. Every muscle in his face is tight, his expression grim.
Zachariah Blood: "There's nothin' I can say that Sentinel hasn't already, Bethany: he's talked about being alone versus the world, about how the championship is all that he has left and all that shit. I'd call him on that being the talk of a defeatist but I just know better. Now, in response you could snap off with how my being here with him means he isn't completely alone and in a sense you'd be right. But I'm not here as family, friend or even partner. I'm just his enabler. What he's stepping into just days away from his big match with you is an environment I grew up in. Fighting in back alleys, in pits and cages against every kind of muscled scum you can imagine, that's what kept me from doing worse things with my life. It turned me into a championship-caliber wrestler and gave me an outlook on existence, and on the purity of delivering and receiving pain, that has served me well in all endeavors. Sentinel? He's using it as some kind of stress-killer, trying to level off his mental state so that he doesn't do something else he'll regret.
You know...the kind of thing that made him shut his hole for several years. He doesn't want that to happen again, girl, not even to you. In his mind, better that he batters some jacked-up thugs or washed-up fighters into submission instead of damaging you to a level from which you might not recover. Again, not casting aspersions on what you can or can't handle. Fuck that noise because it always bites you in the ass when you browbeat an opponent like that. Never ends well. But like I said: he worries me right now. Me. Someone who laughs at their opponents when they twist one of my limbs to an inch away from snapping, who has licked the blood they've torn from someone's body and routinely submits himself to a woman who has mastered the art of delicious suffering just to please him.
Nothing and no one scares me. Not until now."
The Masochist is ill-at-ease, but he presses on after a pause.
Zachariah Blood: "For all the work he's put into being a better man and not repeating past mistakes, everything and everyone are pushing him to that point. No sooner did he put nine bullets in the face of the man who killed his best friend and put the blame on Sentinel himself than did the world start to crumble beneath him all over again. Talon's got a bullet in her leg and may not walk right again for some time...maybe ever. That cuts him off from her, his daughter, Alex, Rayne...you get the picture. What should have settled him and let him get his mind back on the business of championships only made things worse. He's turning into a man that I've only heard stories about.
You see what I'm getting at here? Other people can talk about being monsters and having dark sides all they want because most of the time it's shtick. It sells t-shirts and pay-per-views. With Sentinel it's the real deal. You were there during that job with him and the Dead Men. Did you see any hesitation in him at all in blowing away those guards? Do you think he gave a damn about their lives and families or that they were just doing the job for someone as a means to make a living for their kin back home? The rest of the Dead Men did their share, sure, but they're not bloodthirsty. Their previous lives saw them on the battlefield day after day so they've learned to detach. Not Sentinel. He just...reacts.
And again, what the hell does that have to do with your match?"
A slight, tainted smirk from Sentinel's 'enabler'.
Zachariah Blood: "It means that you better hope he gets what he wants out of the cage, Bethy. Because no matter how little you had to do with the plague infesting him right now, all he's going to see is a warm body keeping him from something he wants. Screams of pain and pleas for mercy aren't going to matter one whit to him. You're a tough woman, smart and skilled, but those things don't matter when a monster's clawing your guts out. There's not a person alive, not even me, who can get through to him, much less stop him, if the cork pops off his bottle."
He gets to his feet, presumably to join Sentinel in the other room. However, he gives one last stare to the camera.
Zachariah Blood: "And if you have to decide between that title and your well-being? You'd better make the right damn choice."
Zachariah picks up the camera and starts off toward the aforementioned room. Just as the door opens, showing Sentinel and a distinguished-looking gentleman speaking, Blood finds the off-switch and shuts the feed down.
