Post by Sentinel on Jul 27, 2015 10:53:44 GMT -6
It's busy as usual in the terminal, even this late on a Monday evening. People rush about, suitcases pulled along in one hand and children clutching onto the other, the latter yawning behind pillows and stuffed animals as they rush to make their flights. Airports, some have said, are the best place to see how real people are, to see what's behind the mask and what really lurks in their hearts and souls. People wear their emotions on their sleeves freely here through tearful goodbyes and emotional hellos. Sentinel, however, is doing neither of those things and, in all honesty, is as stoic as ever. Nothing is chiseling through his impenetrable zen as he sits as comfortably as one can in a cramped, plastic seat with a television attached. He's watching something, chin resting in one of his hands, but the hustle and bustle means we can't hear what. It certainly has his attention, though.
Several moments after we're centered on him, Talon comes walking up in the background. Her six-feet-plus height and striking red hair make her rather hard to miss in the best of ways, looking for all the world like she's been poured into those jeans and the corset-like top she's got on beneath a half-buttoned shirt. It's not revealing anything that the world has no right to see, but it's turning more than a couple heads (and getting said heads smacked by wives and girlfriends in turn). Sentinel half-turns as he senses her coming, just before her hand comes down to rest upon his shoulder, an apologetic smile on her face.
Talon: "So, the flight has been delayed. Something to do with no fuel or something, so we will be here awhile. What are you watching, love?"
Sentinel: "Probably forgot to put the gas cap back on or something. This is why I'll be back to be back to using the bus from now on. I'm just catching the replay of Mayhem."
He chuckles at his own joke, prompting Talon to shove his shoulder a little. She walks around and takes a seat beside him, setting her carry-on down by his. Coming up on the end of the main event, Sentinel smirks slightly at the result...but his expression changes quickly upon seeing Vince at the top of the ramp with one of his cronies handing over the World Heavyweight Championship. While Talon's eyes widen in surprise, Sentinel's expression becomes utterly impassive. Without turning, he speaks to her.
Sentinel: "Mind checking the bag?"
Because, you know, it could have been a convincing fake. But opening the bag proves that it was no such thing. It was the real McCoy, draped over Jones's shoulder while he grinned like a Cheshire Cat.
Talon: "Um, hon, he actually did take it...it's not here..."
And Sentinel's response to this? Outright laughter. Not overly loud or boisterous, but definitely real...and amazingly out of place. Talon looks over, shocked for a moment at his laughter over the situation.
Sentinel: "Does this guy not know who I am or does he just not care?"
He gets a hold of himself after a few more moments of laughter, shaking his head a bit.
Sentinel: "I know, I know...but honestly, you really just have two choices when it hits the fan like this: you either laugh or you get violent. And the former is keeping me from the latter right now."
Composure regained, there's a chill that comes into Sentinel's tone, but it's a thin layer over top of a thicker batch of forced self-control.
Sentinel: "This doesn't surprise me at all and I know the reaction he's going for. But he's not going to get it. He's going to get something else entirely next Mayhem."
Talon: "I know, too. It's either what you said or he just got dropped off by the short bus and forgot his helmet..."
Close observation shows Sentinel taking slow, measured breaths, working to keep his anger under control. The effort is easily noticed by Talon, whose tension lets up quite a bit when he doesn't flip his lid as has been his wont of late. She nods to his request, sliding her phone out of her purse and handing it to him.
Sentinel: "Mind lending me your phone for a moment, Ren?"
Talon: "Umm, sure, but what for? I think we practically have the same Contacts list."
Accepting it, he opens up the Contacts list and sweeps through the phone numbers there until he comes to one labled "Order". Talon recognizes the number and watches with curiosity as Sentinel hits 'send' on the call.
Talon: "...them?"
Sentinel: "No, just the man in charge."
Talon: "Baby, even back when all four of us worked for them we never saw him in the flesh and barely spoke to him at all. I don't see why they'd let you through without making you jump through hoops."
Sentinel: "One word: Carnage."
Talon: "...what about him?"
Sentinel: "My next opponent. Their boss tangled with him pretty violently in wAw, remember? Not to mention he was slumming around in ACW the brief time we were there."
Realization dawns on Talon, whose smile is a little on the wicked side.
Talon: "Talk about aligning stars."
At that moment, a familiar voice answers the phone brusquely.
Alessandro: "Who is this?!"
Sentinel: "Domino's Pizza. Got a large garlic and pepperoni at the front door here..."
Talon laughs behind her hand, not wanting Alessandro to hear it. The man's reaction is predictably irritable, especially when he recognizes the voice of Sentinel.
Alessandro: "Your jokes bore me! What do you want?!"
Sentinel: "Put your boss on."
Alessandro: "Hmph. Grigori is indisposed at the moment, and I can't see why he'd want to talk to YOU anyway."
Sentinel: "The BIG boss."
Alessandro: "...you have no right to speak to him. It's arrogance to even think it. What could you possibly have to say that he would want to he-"
Sentinel: "It has to do with Carnage."
There's a long pause on the other end and one could almost hear Alessandro's blood freeze in his veins. There's a ragged, angry breath taken before he mutters into his end of the phone.
Alessandro: "One moment."
Seconds later, a female answers, her voice bearing a subtle Mediterranean accent and the smoothness of the finest Oriental silk.
?: "...Sentinel?"
Sentinel: "The High Priestess herself."
High Priestess: "It has been a while, has it not? I am to understand you wish to speak to the Revered One? Alessandro mentioned the name 'Carnage'."
Sentinel: "Yeah, but that's only part of the reason. Enough to get me past the watchdog, so to speak. Is he available?"
Some manner of noise comes from the other end of the phone but it's impossible to tell what it could be.
High Priestess: "Unfortunately not."
Sentinel: "Hmm."
High Priestess: "If you're that intent on speaking to him, you might show up at the service Sunday. He will most certainly be there and I can let him know to expect you. But that is the best I can do at present. You are aware of his ways."
Talon had been listening in surreptitiously and exchanges a look with Sentinel. They nod without speaking and Sentinel turns back to the call.
Sentinel: "Yeah, that's fine. I'll be there."
High Priestess: "I will let him know."
And with that, the call ends and the scene fades to black.
The path is somewhat familiar, an old gravel-and-dirt road off an unnamed highway, bordered on one side by shallowly-rolling hills and wildflowers, the other side by a veritable forest of oaks and pines. Dust is kicked up by the old black truck as it barrels down the bumpy path. Old isn't meant to mean 'in disrepair', either. The model is probably late-70s or early-80s, but the old Chevy is only dirty because of the road beneath it. Otherwise the polished black exterior is devoid of scratches or dents and every metal surface shines beneath the muddy dust.
After a time, the view changes as four-door truck comes to a stop in a leveled-out patch of low grass. Parked on the far end of a long row of cars, the view shifts again to show a white church building of modest size, a bell already ringing in the house of worship's highest point. There's a few folks outside, having a post-service chat among one another, who look to the truck with confusion. That state of being increases by degrees as Sentinel gets out on on the Chevy's passenger side. Seeing a man that size in a suit was still quite a sight, apparently.
Talon, however, remains in the driver's seat. Sentinel leans in through the still-open door and speaks quietly to her.
Sentinel: "This won't take long. Sure you don't want to come in?"
Talon: "I don't do churches. I'll wait right here."
Shrugging but accepting, Sentinel closes the door behind him before Talon can start blaring the radio, knowing with little doubt that Rammstein blasting in a church 'parking lot' was the wrong kind of attention to grab. He turns and walks down the path toward the building's front door, nodding quietly to those who step aside for him. The reaction doesn't bother him.
Stepping through the polished oak doors, he takes in the chapel's appearance, having not been here for some time. Little had changed. The place was impeccably clean without so much as a bit of lint on the cushioned pews or a page missing from the hymn books. But those were not Sentinel's destination. In the back of the main area stood the confession booths. He approached them, but did not reach them before a young woman approached him, dressed in a long black skirt and a high-collared white blouse. She could give Talon a run for her money in the beauty department though she hardly had the woman's size.
It's obvious from the first second that she recognizes Sentinel, offering her hand to him as he approaches, which he accepts and shakes gently. Her appearance and complexion match her voice from the phone call: she's either Spanish or Italian by descent, bearing inquisitive eyes and a rather warm smile though it remains small.
Sentinel: "Priestess."
High Priestess: "We thought you might not show up. He awaits."
Sentinel: "I appreciate it."
She turns to depart before the door even closes. Not usually utilized by men of his size, it takes a moment for Sentinel to get used to the relatively-limited space of his side of the booth, but he manages all right. The other door can be heard to open and close, and while there's but a silhouette to go by, the man on the other side by tone of voice could be assumed to be a larger fellow himself. Unlike the accent of the High Priestess, however, his is thick and very obviously Italian. It doesn't hinder his English, thankfully.
Sentinel: "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I am not a religious man as you well know, but sometimes a leap of faith is the only road open to us."
Priest: "I do know of your concerns and why you have come here. Your methods are at best questionable but..."
The priest considers his words carefully.
Priest: "...I do not doubt the veracity of your intents. Yours has been a troubled existence of late, this much I know. Shall we leave darker matters for another time and focus on that?"
Sentinel: "That's probably best."
A thoughtful sound comes from the opposite side of the woven 'window' separating the halves of the confessional.
Sentinel: "Then there's no need to recant what's happened over the past few months?"
Priest: "I keep my eyes upon all who are or were once part of the flock."
The way its described makes Sentinel twitch at the lips and eyes, cutting his gaze toward the window incredulously. There's no retort about the comment, but it's obvious that the Destroyer didn't care for it.
Sentinel: "I don't regret the choice I made in reference to the championsihp even if I did recant to spare people having to deal with Jones as champion. He would have been insufferable and no one deserves that. But I question whether it was the right choice sometimes."
Priest: "You sought atonement. In your own words, the company deserved a proper champion and you believed you did not fit that role. It should be considered the epitome of honor. Retracting that choice to, as you put it, spare the people...there is merit in that as well. However, the onus upon you is yet greater now. I wonder if you have the resolve to see this path through."
Sentinel: "I've dealt with worse."
Priest: "Have you?"
The immediate response Sentinel had for the preist's reply caught in his throat. He paused just as his mouth parted to speak, then closed it. Considering thoughtfully for a few moments, he responds.
Sentinel: "...probably not."
Priest: "Better that you're honest with yourself about this. The pressure on you will only become greater at this point. Not only in how you handle yourself as champion but in how you handle Jones and his theft of your property will go a long way in determining your immediate and perhaps long-term future. You cannot afford mistakes or action without thought."
The priest pauses, then continues.
Priest: "What happens, as well, should you lose?"
Sentinel: "What, against Carnage or Jones?"
Priest: "Both. One serves as ammunition for your future opponent to rip you apart verbally and weaken your focus and mindset, further opening his route to victory. The latter has more obvious consequences. You do not wish your hard work, tainted or otherwise, to be for naught, do you?"
It takes less than a second for Sentinel to answer that query.
Sentinel: "No."
Priest: "Then your path is set. But truly, I did not tell you anything that you didn't already know. Why go to the trouble of all this?"
Now that question? That took some pondering, searching for the proper response that both belied honesty and a certain amount of humility. It's almost half a minute before Sentinel finally responds.
Sentinel: "Because you've been there before and did so far more swiftly than I. And hearing it coming from someone with your level of insight was, I think, necessary to galvanize exactly what I should be doing. I already knew but needed to be reinforced."
Priest: "Talon has no doubt told you this several times."
Sentinel: "Yeah..."
Priest: "Then having it spoken by both of us, you should have no more doubts."
Sentinel: "I don't."
Priest: "Good."
Not another word is said before the door opens up on the other side and the priest leaves. Sentinel, obviously, had never said that he was finished...yet he barely noticed the man leaving. He rose after a bit of rumination, pushing the door open and stepping out. The High Priestess awaited off to the side, her soft voice cutting into his thoughts.
High Priestess: "Did you find what you sought?"
Sentinel: "Yeah...yeah, I did."
She smiles slightly, and he does the same. Putting his sunglasses back on, Sentinel turns and leaves the church as the scene cuts to black again.
It takes a late hour for the last vestiges of daylight to finally fade away, so deep in the thick of summer it is. The lights within the Valley Forge home of Sentinel and Talon, a place the former has finally been able to return to after so long abroad, tells the tale of everyone within already being in the throes of slumber. As for the aforementioned, they're taking a quiet evening out on the back deck, the advantages of having no artificial light set up outside paying off with every look into the star-filled sky. It's only the dim light from a few candles set on the table between them that offers illumination, reflecting not only off the sliding glass door but the pitcher of golden brown liquid, some of which fills each of their glasses. Sentinel has his in hand, in the process of sipping from it, as the camera clicks on thanks to a preset timer. Talon is merely tracing a fingertip around the rim of hers, both of them contently watching the fireflies dancing about in the backyard. Less than a week away from Mayhem in Hot Springs, it was time for Sentinel to say his piece.
Dressed more simply this evening than he had been when last seen, the World Heavyweight Champion takes a long sip from his glass before setting it down. Almost immediately does Talon refill it, earning a nod of thanks from him as he turns his gaze to the camera. From the expression on his face, it's apparent that the Crimson Demon has plenty to say.
Sentinel: "Every man's got a demon as my father used to tell me. Sometimes it's at the bottom of a bottle. Other times it's bouncing around a red-and-black wheel loaded with numbers. Hell, sometimes it's as close as your freezer or your back pocket, disguised as a pleasant vice that we swear we can quit any time we want.
Mine isn't so hard to find."
He taps his temple with his right index finger, flashing a half-smile.
Sentinel: "I see it every time I look in the mirror. Used to be that I had the thing on a lock but as of late, he's been wearing my face and raising hell. But I know the fault is mine for what's gone down, for the people who have gotten hurt and the reasons why almost everyone in every arena we fight in despises me."
Talon reaches out and gently sets a hand on Sentinel's. It'd be a stretch to call him emotional right now, yet evidence of his discomfort with his actions and the desire to right them are apparent. No amount of darkness, natural or otherwise, can hide that.
Talon: "Not all of them, baby. Some started to come around after you sent Jones over the ropes like a flying bitch."
Laughing despite himself, Sentinel turns his hand and clasps hers palm to palm for a moment.
Sentinel: "It was priceless, wasn't it?"
He's back to business quick after sharing in the amusement.
Sentinel: "It's easy to say that I'm trying to change, because anyone can talk. The line between words and action isn't as thin as some people like to think. It might as well be an eight-foot electric fence with razor wire and pissed off dogs running the length of it. People say they want to do better, whether it's through losing weight or being a better father or husband...whatever. But when they see what's required of them, they freeze up, backpedaling until they're neck deep in their ill ways. They usually end up even deeper than they were to begin with.
So when I say that I personally mean to change, to regain what honor I had and the respect that came with it, smart money says 90% of the people hearing that declaration are calling bullshit. If I were one of the masses, I'd do the same. But I'm not. I'm the UWA World Heavyweight Champion, even though for a moment I considered giving up that title as penance for my actions. To some, that devalued the belt I fought so hard to earn. I don't see it that way. I call it being a man and owning up to my mistakes. Most people don't know the pressure of being a champion, how everything you do is scrutinized down to the nanosecond."
He chuckles slightly.
Sentinel: "That's not arrogance. That's the truth. And if it weren't for Vince Jones, I'd have left Mayhem this past Monday as an ex-champion."
The mere mention of his opponent for his first title defense, the man who right now wrongfully possessed his property, should have made Sentinel quite angry. Instead we get a glimpse of the same odd mirth he expressed in the airport terminal before he speaks again.
Sentinel: "Abdication is one thing, but putting the championship in the hands of a thick-skulled clod who hasn't earned it isn't something I'm willing to do. Call me on that if you want, Rivers, because I know you're watching. I can handle the criticism and pontificating you're winding up to let loose. Given the choice between facing down the blackened stigma I've stained the championship with and watching Jones parade around with something he never earned in the first place...that's no choice at all."
Downing another gulp of what after closer inspection appears to be tea, Sentinel locks eyes on the camera anew.
Sentinel: "Part of me is glad he forced my hand. I devalued this title with my actions and it isn't right to foist the task of putting the shine back off on someone else. My mess, my task. Plus it gave me a chance to feel my fists collide with his skull and THAT was worth the price of admission."
Talon: "But he hasn't forgotten about you, Michael...or Carnage...whichever name you prefer nowadays. My Destroyer may be preoccupied with Vince Jones, not only because of his actions at Mayhem but also due to their upcoming match for the championship that larcenous gorilla stole from him, but when the bell rings you're going to learn first-hand how he got his reputation and earned that nickname of his."
Sentinel nods as Talon now pauses for a sip of tea, folding his hands before him upon leaning forward, resting his chin on top of them.
Sentinel: "We've run in the same companies a time or two but we've never crossed paths. I'm the only one in the UWA right now who remembers what you were like before, which gives me a leg up that your previous opponents haven't had. That doesn't guarantee a win, but it makes damn sure that I'm not going into this fight blind. You came within inches of the World Heavyweight Championship back in ACW and caused plenty of trouble in wAw before that place went to hell. You probably remember my old partner Zachariah from that place, but maybe not.
Still, there's something that's been nagging me where you're concerned. Not so much nagging, but missing. You know what I'm talking about right, Ren?"
Talon: "I think..."
The crimson-haired Angel of Sin looks thoughtful over her glass, midway to a drink, then realization strikes and she lowers it.
Talon: "Dahlia."
Sentinel: "Yeah..."
There's silence between the two, questions silently asked and unanswered. Talon takes that drink she'd paused on, keeping her attention on her glass as she lowers it. Sentinel, meanwhile, gazes out toward the near-darkness filled with flickering yellow lights going on and off, swirling about in patterns random yet beautiful.
Sentinel: "No sense in bringing up the past. The point, Michael, is that you're no stranger to me. The way you move in the ring hasn't changed except you're more reckless now, like you're trying to prove something to someone. There's been a lot of talk about right and wrong or what constitutes evil in your estimation.
I'm not gonna sit here and try to say that you're wrong but your perception of the philosophy separating good and evil, light and darkness...it's about the thing your 'namesake' would say. Maybe you've seen too many movies with religious overtones or, like me, you're dealing with issues that warp the mind and soul. It's not my place to say which is which or if either assumption is right. It's probably something else entirely."
Talon: "We've all done our time in the darkness. What it comes down to is whether we let those overpowering, overbearing shadows change us into monsters...or if we leash them and force them into submission. The only way the darkness can overcome you is if you let it."
Sentinel: "Sometimes, baby, you got no choice in the matter."
Turning her acid-green gaze in the direction of her husband, Talon scoffs lightly.
Talon: "Says you. Are you not fighting against your own even now? Is that not why you're back home for the first time in months?"
He doesn't turn to her as he responds.
Sentinel: "That doesn't mean the demon didn't ride me like a pack mule for months before now, Ren. It just means it made a misstep and I got back on top. I don't get to wash my hands of it that easily."
Talon: "Beating yourself up won't help."
He shrugs, setting his now-empty glass down again, a slice of lemon resting crooked over the small pile of ice. It grabs his attention for some reason.
Sentinel: "It's not beating myself up. It's facing down my mistakes and refusing to let them own me."
Blood-red lips part to reply but Talon stops herself. Another dose of realization hits and she instead nods with a small smile, saying nothing.
Sentinel: "I don't know what your goal is here, Michael. You've never been an easy guy to figure out. People waste too much time trying to get inside your head and before they know it you're riding their skull to the canvas and they're staring up at the lights, laid out long after the required three seconds are up. That's where I differ as far as your opponents here are concerned. There's no need for me to get inside your head, to understand you or know what makes you tick. All I need to know is that you're standing across the ring from me as my opponent.
But this won't be a simple fight, and not just because you're unpredictable as hell. No, this match serves a secondary purpose, something that you'll have to wait to discover. My wife is right that my mind is on Vince Jones. All roads, including the one you're standing in the middle of right now, are leading me to a showdown with him in defense of the World Heavyweight Championship. Screw the cliche crap about how you're in my way, talking about you like you're some kind of inanimate obstacle that I'm just going to walk over. I'm on a losing streak right now and that sort of talk won't wash.
That's not the detriment you might think it is, though, the pressure of not falling three times in a row. That's motivation. Like we said: you're neither a stranger nor a mystery to us. To the rest of the UWA you're someone who's been talking a good game from behind the table and are only just now starting to do damage between the ropes. They don't GET you. WE do."
Talon: "This is the fight of your life, the first real battle you've had in a long time. Tristan was just a warm-up. Amy Zing was a challenge, as a champion should be, but her victory was a Pyrrhic one. Even she would have to admit that. They didn't know what they were up against and neither did Silver Baron. In a short time, you've proven yourself to be dangerous to just about everyone in the UWA."
Sentinel: "Except...to us. As far as we're concerned?"
He turns to Talon, who nods before addressing the camera.
Talon: "It's just a reminder."
Figuring he has Michael's attention, Sentinel locks onto the camera once more.
Sentinel: "You get one warning, Carnage: don't take me lightly. If it were on reputation and the list of names and bodies alone, you'd be advised to be careful against me in that ring. But as I walk the long, winding path to redemption, there's a new light burning in me. And hell has nothing on the destruction that these hands can bring."
Talon rises and walks over to the camera, Sentinel giving it one last stare before returning his attention to the fireflies. It's the last shot of him we see before the scene comes to a close.
Several moments after we're centered on him, Talon comes walking up in the background. Her six-feet-plus height and striking red hair make her rather hard to miss in the best of ways, looking for all the world like she's been poured into those jeans and the corset-like top she's got on beneath a half-buttoned shirt. It's not revealing anything that the world has no right to see, but it's turning more than a couple heads (and getting said heads smacked by wives and girlfriends in turn). Sentinel half-turns as he senses her coming, just before her hand comes down to rest upon his shoulder, an apologetic smile on her face.
Talon: "So, the flight has been delayed. Something to do with no fuel or something, so we will be here awhile. What are you watching, love?"
Sentinel: "Probably forgot to put the gas cap back on or something. This is why I'll be back to be back to using the bus from now on. I'm just catching the replay of Mayhem."
He chuckles at his own joke, prompting Talon to shove his shoulder a little. She walks around and takes a seat beside him, setting her carry-on down by his. Coming up on the end of the main event, Sentinel smirks slightly at the result...but his expression changes quickly upon seeing Vince at the top of the ramp with one of his cronies handing over the World Heavyweight Championship. While Talon's eyes widen in surprise, Sentinel's expression becomes utterly impassive. Without turning, he speaks to her.
Sentinel: "Mind checking the bag?"
Because, you know, it could have been a convincing fake. But opening the bag proves that it was no such thing. It was the real McCoy, draped over Jones's shoulder while he grinned like a Cheshire Cat.
Talon: "Um, hon, he actually did take it...it's not here..."
And Sentinel's response to this? Outright laughter. Not overly loud or boisterous, but definitely real...and amazingly out of place. Talon looks over, shocked for a moment at his laughter over the situation.
Sentinel: "Does this guy not know who I am or does he just not care?"
He gets a hold of himself after a few more moments of laughter, shaking his head a bit.
Sentinel: "I know, I know...but honestly, you really just have two choices when it hits the fan like this: you either laugh or you get violent. And the former is keeping me from the latter right now."
Composure regained, there's a chill that comes into Sentinel's tone, but it's a thin layer over top of a thicker batch of forced self-control.
Sentinel: "This doesn't surprise me at all and I know the reaction he's going for. But he's not going to get it. He's going to get something else entirely next Mayhem."
Talon: "I know, too. It's either what you said or he just got dropped off by the short bus and forgot his helmet..."
Close observation shows Sentinel taking slow, measured breaths, working to keep his anger under control. The effort is easily noticed by Talon, whose tension lets up quite a bit when he doesn't flip his lid as has been his wont of late. She nods to his request, sliding her phone out of her purse and handing it to him.
Sentinel: "Mind lending me your phone for a moment, Ren?"
Talon: "Umm, sure, but what for? I think we practically have the same Contacts list."
Accepting it, he opens up the Contacts list and sweeps through the phone numbers there until he comes to one labled "Order". Talon recognizes the number and watches with curiosity as Sentinel hits 'send' on the call.
Talon: "...them?"
Sentinel: "No, just the man in charge."
Talon: "Baby, even back when all four of us worked for them we never saw him in the flesh and barely spoke to him at all. I don't see why they'd let you through without making you jump through hoops."
Sentinel: "One word: Carnage."
Talon: "...what about him?"
Sentinel: "My next opponent. Their boss tangled with him pretty violently in wAw, remember? Not to mention he was slumming around in ACW the brief time we were there."
Realization dawns on Talon, whose smile is a little on the wicked side.
Talon: "Talk about aligning stars."
At that moment, a familiar voice answers the phone brusquely.
Alessandro: "Who is this?!"
Sentinel: "Domino's Pizza. Got a large garlic and pepperoni at the front door here..."
Talon laughs behind her hand, not wanting Alessandro to hear it. The man's reaction is predictably irritable, especially when he recognizes the voice of Sentinel.
Alessandro: "Your jokes bore me! What do you want?!"
Sentinel: "Put your boss on."
Alessandro: "Hmph. Grigori is indisposed at the moment, and I can't see why he'd want to talk to YOU anyway."
Sentinel: "The BIG boss."
Alessandro: "...you have no right to speak to him. It's arrogance to even think it. What could you possibly have to say that he would want to he-"
Sentinel: "It has to do with Carnage."
There's a long pause on the other end and one could almost hear Alessandro's blood freeze in his veins. There's a ragged, angry breath taken before he mutters into his end of the phone.
Alessandro: "One moment."
Seconds later, a female answers, her voice bearing a subtle Mediterranean accent and the smoothness of the finest Oriental silk.
?: "...Sentinel?"
Sentinel: "The High Priestess herself."
High Priestess: "It has been a while, has it not? I am to understand you wish to speak to the Revered One? Alessandro mentioned the name 'Carnage'."
Sentinel: "Yeah, but that's only part of the reason. Enough to get me past the watchdog, so to speak. Is he available?"
Some manner of noise comes from the other end of the phone but it's impossible to tell what it could be.
High Priestess: "Unfortunately not."
Sentinel: "Hmm."
High Priestess: "If you're that intent on speaking to him, you might show up at the service Sunday. He will most certainly be there and I can let him know to expect you. But that is the best I can do at present. You are aware of his ways."
Talon had been listening in surreptitiously and exchanges a look with Sentinel. They nod without speaking and Sentinel turns back to the call.
Sentinel: "Yeah, that's fine. I'll be there."
High Priestess: "I will let him know."
And with that, the call ends and the scene fades to black.
The path is somewhat familiar, an old gravel-and-dirt road off an unnamed highway, bordered on one side by shallowly-rolling hills and wildflowers, the other side by a veritable forest of oaks and pines. Dust is kicked up by the old black truck as it barrels down the bumpy path. Old isn't meant to mean 'in disrepair', either. The model is probably late-70s or early-80s, but the old Chevy is only dirty because of the road beneath it. Otherwise the polished black exterior is devoid of scratches or dents and every metal surface shines beneath the muddy dust.
After a time, the view changes as four-door truck comes to a stop in a leveled-out patch of low grass. Parked on the far end of a long row of cars, the view shifts again to show a white church building of modest size, a bell already ringing in the house of worship's highest point. There's a few folks outside, having a post-service chat among one another, who look to the truck with confusion. That state of being increases by degrees as Sentinel gets out on on the Chevy's passenger side. Seeing a man that size in a suit was still quite a sight, apparently.
Talon, however, remains in the driver's seat. Sentinel leans in through the still-open door and speaks quietly to her.
Sentinel: "This won't take long. Sure you don't want to come in?"
Talon: "I don't do churches. I'll wait right here."
Shrugging but accepting, Sentinel closes the door behind him before Talon can start blaring the radio, knowing with little doubt that Rammstein blasting in a church 'parking lot' was the wrong kind of attention to grab. He turns and walks down the path toward the building's front door, nodding quietly to those who step aside for him. The reaction doesn't bother him.
Stepping through the polished oak doors, he takes in the chapel's appearance, having not been here for some time. Little had changed. The place was impeccably clean without so much as a bit of lint on the cushioned pews or a page missing from the hymn books. But those were not Sentinel's destination. In the back of the main area stood the confession booths. He approached them, but did not reach them before a young woman approached him, dressed in a long black skirt and a high-collared white blouse. She could give Talon a run for her money in the beauty department though she hardly had the woman's size.
It's obvious from the first second that she recognizes Sentinel, offering her hand to him as he approaches, which he accepts and shakes gently. Her appearance and complexion match her voice from the phone call: she's either Spanish or Italian by descent, bearing inquisitive eyes and a rather warm smile though it remains small.
Sentinel: "Priestess."
High Priestess: "We thought you might not show up. He awaits."
Sentinel: "I appreciate it."
She turns to depart before the door even closes. Not usually utilized by men of his size, it takes a moment for Sentinel to get used to the relatively-limited space of his side of the booth, but he manages all right. The other door can be heard to open and close, and while there's but a silhouette to go by, the man on the other side by tone of voice could be assumed to be a larger fellow himself. Unlike the accent of the High Priestess, however, his is thick and very obviously Italian. It doesn't hinder his English, thankfully.
Sentinel: "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I am not a religious man as you well know, but sometimes a leap of faith is the only road open to us."
Priest: "I do know of your concerns and why you have come here. Your methods are at best questionable but..."
The priest considers his words carefully.
Priest: "...I do not doubt the veracity of your intents. Yours has been a troubled existence of late, this much I know. Shall we leave darker matters for another time and focus on that?"
Sentinel: "That's probably best."
A thoughtful sound comes from the opposite side of the woven 'window' separating the halves of the confessional.
Sentinel: "Then there's no need to recant what's happened over the past few months?"
Priest: "I keep my eyes upon all who are or were once part of the flock."
The way its described makes Sentinel twitch at the lips and eyes, cutting his gaze toward the window incredulously. There's no retort about the comment, but it's obvious that the Destroyer didn't care for it.
Sentinel: "I don't regret the choice I made in reference to the championsihp even if I did recant to spare people having to deal with Jones as champion. He would have been insufferable and no one deserves that. But I question whether it was the right choice sometimes."
Priest: "You sought atonement. In your own words, the company deserved a proper champion and you believed you did not fit that role. It should be considered the epitome of honor. Retracting that choice to, as you put it, spare the people...there is merit in that as well. However, the onus upon you is yet greater now. I wonder if you have the resolve to see this path through."
Sentinel: "I've dealt with worse."
Priest: "Have you?"
The immediate response Sentinel had for the preist's reply caught in his throat. He paused just as his mouth parted to speak, then closed it. Considering thoughtfully for a few moments, he responds.
Sentinel: "...probably not."
Priest: "Better that you're honest with yourself about this. The pressure on you will only become greater at this point. Not only in how you handle yourself as champion but in how you handle Jones and his theft of your property will go a long way in determining your immediate and perhaps long-term future. You cannot afford mistakes or action without thought."
The priest pauses, then continues.
Priest: "What happens, as well, should you lose?"
Sentinel: "What, against Carnage or Jones?"
Priest: "Both. One serves as ammunition for your future opponent to rip you apart verbally and weaken your focus and mindset, further opening his route to victory. The latter has more obvious consequences. You do not wish your hard work, tainted or otherwise, to be for naught, do you?"
It takes less than a second for Sentinel to answer that query.
Sentinel: "No."
Priest: "Then your path is set. But truly, I did not tell you anything that you didn't already know. Why go to the trouble of all this?"
Now that question? That took some pondering, searching for the proper response that both belied honesty and a certain amount of humility. It's almost half a minute before Sentinel finally responds.
Sentinel: "Because you've been there before and did so far more swiftly than I. And hearing it coming from someone with your level of insight was, I think, necessary to galvanize exactly what I should be doing. I already knew but needed to be reinforced."
Priest: "Talon has no doubt told you this several times."
Sentinel: "Yeah..."
Priest: "Then having it spoken by both of us, you should have no more doubts."
Sentinel: "I don't."
Priest: "Good."
Not another word is said before the door opens up on the other side and the priest leaves. Sentinel, obviously, had never said that he was finished...yet he barely noticed the man leaving. He rose after a bit of rumination, pushing the door open and stepping out. The High Priestess awaited off to the side, her soft voice cutting into his thoughts.
High Priestess: "Did you find what you sought?"
Sentinel: "Yeah...yeah, I did."
She smiles slightly, and he does the same. Putting his sunglasses back on, Sentinel turns and leaves the church as the scene cuts to black again.
It takes a late hour for the last vestiges of daylight to finally fade away, so deep in the thick of summer it is. The lights within the Valley Forge home of Sentinel and Talon, a place the former has finally been able to return to after so long abroad, tells the tale of everyone within already being in the throes of slumber. As for the aforementioned, they're taking a quiet evening out on the back deck, the advantages of having no artificial light set up outside paying off with every look into the star-filled sky. It's only the dim light from a few candles set on the table between them that offers illumination, reflecting not only off the sliding glass door but the pitcher of golden brown liquid, some of which fills each of their glasses. Sentinel has his in hand, in the process of sipping from it, as the camera clicks on thanks to a preset timer. Talon is merely tracing a fingertip around the rim of hers, both of them contently watching the fireflies dancing about in the backyard. Less than a week away from Mayhem in Hot Springs, it was time for Sentinel to say his piece.
Dressed more simply this evening than he had been when last seen, the World Heavyweight Champion takes a long sip from his glass before setting it down. Almost immediately does Talon refill it, earning a nod of thanks from him as he turns his gaze to the camera. From the expression on his face, it's apparent that the Crimson Demon has plenty to say.
Sentinel: "Every man's got a demon as my father used to tell me. Sometimes it's at the bottom of a bottle. Other times it's bouncing around a red-and-black wheel loaded with numbers. Hell, sometimes it's as close as your freezer or your back pocket, disguised as a pleasant vice that we swear we can quit any time we want.
Mine isn't so hard to find."
He taps his temple with his right index finger, flashing a half-smile.
Sentinel: "I see it every time I look in the mirror. Used to be that I had the thing on a lock but as of late, he's been wearing my face and raising hell. But I know the fault is mine for what's gone down, for the people who have gotten hurt and the reasons why almost everyone in every arena we fight in despises me."
Talon reaches out and gently sets a hand on Sentinel's. It'd be a stretch to call him emotional right now, yet evidence of his discomfort with his actions and the desire to right them are apparent. No amount of darkness, natural or otherwise, can hide that.
Talon: "Not all of them, baby. Some started to come around after you sent Jones over the ropes like a flying bitch."
Laughing despite himself, Sentinel turns his hand and clasps hers palm to palm for a moment.
Sentinel: "It was priceless, wasn't it?"
He's back to business quick after sharing in the amusement.
Sentinel: "It's easy to say that I'm trying to change, because anyone can talk. The line between words and action isn't as thin as some people like to think. It might as well be an eight-foot electric fence with razor wire and pissed off dogs running the length of it. People say they want to do better, whether it's through losing weight or being a better father or husband...whatever. But when they see what's required of them, they freeze up, backpedaling until they're neck deep in their ill ways. They usually end up even deeper than they were to begin with.
So when I say that I personally mean to change, to regain what honor I had and the respect that came with it, smart money says 90% of the people hearing that declaration are calling bullshit. If I were one of the masses, I'd do the same. But I'm not. I'm the UWA World Heavyweight Champion, even though for a moment I considered giving up that title as penance for my actions. To some, that devalued the belt I fought so hard to earn. I don't see it that way. I call it being a man and owning up to my mistakes. Most people don't know the pressure of being a champion, how everything you do is scrutinized down to the nanosecond."
He chuckles slightly.
Sentinel: "That's not arrogance. That's the truth. And if it weren't for Vince Jones, I'd have left Mayhem this past Monday as an ex-champion."
The mere mention of his opponent for his first title defense, the man who right now wrongfully possessed his property, should have made Sentinel quite angry. Instead we get a glimpse of the same odd mirth he expressed in the airport terminal before he speaks again.
Sentinel: "Abdication is one thing, but putting the championship in the hands of a thick-skulled clod who hasn't earned it isn't something I'm willing to do. Call me on that if you want, Rivers, because I know you're watching. I can handle the criticism and pontificating you're winding up to let loose. Given the choice between facing down the blackened stigma I've stained the championship with and watching Jones parade around with something he never earned in the first place...that's no choice at all."
Downing another gulp of what after closer inspection appears to be tea, Sentinel locks eyes on the camera anew.
Sentinel: "Part of me is glad he forced my hand. I devalued this title with my actions and it isn't right to foist the task of putting the shine back off on someone else. My mess, my task. Plus it gave me a chance to feel my fists collide with his skull and THAT was worth the price of admission."
Talon: "But he hasn't forgotten about you, Michael...or Carnage...whichever name you prefer nowadays. My Destroyer may be preoccupied with Vince Jones, not only because of his actions at Mayhem but also due to their upcoming match for the championship that larcenous gorilla stole from him, but when the bell rings you're going to learn first-hand how he got his reputation and earned that nickname of his."
Sentinel nods as Talon now pauses for a sip of tea, folding his hands before him upon leaning forward, resting his chin on top of them.
Sentinel: "We've run in the same companies a time or two but we've never crossed paths. I'm the only one in the UWA right now who remembers what you were like before, which gives me a leg up that your previous opponents haven't had. That doesn't guarantee a win, but it makes damn sure that I'm not going into this fight blind. You came within inches of the World Heavyweight Championship back in ACW and caused plenty of trouble in wAw before that place went to hell. You probably remember my old partner Zachariah from that place, but maybe not.
Still, there's something that's been nagging me where you're concerned. Not so much nagging, but missing. You know what I'm talking about right, Ren?"
Talon: "I think..."
The crimson-haired Angel of Sin looks thoughtful over her glass, midway to a drink, then realization strikes and she lowers it.
Talon: "Dahlia."
Sentinel: "Yeah..."
There's silence between the two, questions silently asked and unanswered. Talon takes that drink she'd paused on, keeping her attention on her glass as she lowers it. Sentinel, meanwhile, gazes out toward the near-darkness filled with flickering yellow lights going on and off, swirling about in patterns random yet beautiful.
Sentinel: "No sense in bringing up the past. The point, Michael, is that you're no stranger to me. The way you move in the ring hasn't changed except you're more reckless now, like you're trying to prove something to someone. There's been a lot of talk about right and wrong or what constitutes evil in your estimation.
I'm not gonna sit here and try to say that you're wrong but your perception of the philosophy separating good and evil, light and darkness...it's about the thing your 'namesake' would say. Maybe you've seen too many movies with religious overtones or, like me, you're dealing with issues that warp the mind and soul. It's not my place to say which is which or if either assumption is right. It's probably something else entirely."
Talon: "We've all done our time in the darkness. What it comes down to is whether we let those overpowering, overbearing shadows change us into monsters...or if we leash them and force them into submission. The only way the darkness can overcome you is if you let it."
Sentinel: "Sometimes, baby, you got no choice in the matter."
Turning her acid-green gaze in the direction of her husband, Talon scoffs lightly.
Talon: "Says you. Are you not fighting against your own even now? Is that not why you're back home for the first time in months?"
He doesn't turn to her as he responds.
Sentinel: "That doesn't mean the demon didn't ride me like a pack mule for months before now, Ren. It just means it made a misstep and I got back on top. I don't get to wash my hands of it that easily."
Talon: "Beating yourself up won't help."
He shrugs, setting his now-empty glass down again, a slice of lemon resting crooked over the small pile of ice. It grabs his attention for some reason.
Sentinel: "It's not beating myself up. It's facing down my mistakes and refusing to let them own me."
Blood-red lips part to reply but Talon stops herself. Another dose of realization hits and she instead nods with a small smile, saying nothing.
Sentinel: "I don't know what your goal is here, Michael. You've never been an easy guy to figure out. People waste too much time trying to get inside your head and before they know it you're riding their skull to the canvas and they're staring up at the lights, laid out long after the required three seconds are up. That's where I differ as far as your opponents here are concerned. There's no need for me to get inside your head, to understand you or know what makes you tick. All I need to know is that you're standing across the ring from me as my opponent.
But this won't be a simple fight, and not just because you're unpredictable as hell. No, this match serves a secondary purpose, something that you'll have to wait to discover. My wife is right that my mind is on Vince Jones. All roads, including the one you're standing in the middle of right now, are leading me to a showdown with him in defense of the World Heavyweight Championship. Screw the cliche crap about how you're in my way, talking about you like you're some kind of inanimate obstacle that I'm just going to walk over. I'm on a losing streak right now and that sort of talk won't wash.
That's not the detriment you might think it is, though, the pressure of not falling three times in a row. That's motivation. Like we said: you're neither a stranger nor a mystery to us. To the rest of the UWA you're someone who's been talking a good game from behind the table and are only just now starting to do damage between the ropes. They don't GET you. WE do."
Talon: "This is the fight of your life, the first real battle you've had in a long time. Tristan was just a warm-up. Amy Zing was a challenge, as a champion should be, but her victory was a Pyrrhic one. Even she would have to admit that. They didn't know what they were up against and neither did Silver Baron. In a short time, you've proven yourself to be dangerous to just about everyone in the UWA."
Sentinel: "Except...to us. As far as we're concerned?"
He turns to Talon, who nods before addressing the camera.
Talon: "It's just a reminder."
Figuring he has Michael's attention, Sentinel locks onto the camera once more.
Sentinel: "You get one warning, Carnage: don't take me lightly. If it were on reputation and the list of names and bodies alone, you'd be advised to be careful against me in that ring. But as I walk the long, winding path to redemption, there's a new light burning in me. And hell has nothing on the destruction that these hands can bring."
Talon rises and walks over to the camera, Sentinel giving it one last stare before returning his attention to the fireflies. It's the last shot of him we see before the scene comes to a close.
