Post by Sentinel on Sept 15, 2015 9:27:51 GMT -6
We start in the dark but it doesn't linger overlong. A light flicks on, settled into the high basement ceiling at the base of the staircase. Heavy footsteps sound off upon this, carrying the form of Sentinel into sight in short order. At the bottom, black back slung over his shoulder, he looks back and forth before taking a right and heading further into the lower levels of the house. We briefly get a glimpse of a tidy laundry/storage room to the left before the view shifts with the Destroyer, showing him head into a large, open area of the basement. With the flip of a switch, the room's interior leaps into view, revealing a standard-size wrestling ring, a couple workout machines including an elliptical and a bench press and a few shelves and storage chests with various pieces of equipment within. Sentinel drops his bag on the bench and unzips it, taking out some exercise attire which he takes with him into the changing room in the back. He's not been inside more than a minute when Eric Donavan walks into the room, already changed.
Eric stops to look at the ring, a slight smile on his face. He rolls in under the bottom rope and runs the length of the squared circle a couple times, warming up and checking the tension of the ropes in the same motion. Sentinel reenters presently in a pair of black shorts, a Tapout shirt and black sneakers, climbing onto the apron and watching the Irish Dragon in motion for a moment. It isn't a stare so much as it is a calculating gaze, one which Eric returns when he realizes that the Destroyer is back. Flashing the well-known Donavan Smirk, Eric stops at the far side of the ring and inclines his chin in Sentinel's direction.
Eric Donavan: "Plotting already?"
Sentinel: "Just thinking."
Eric Donavan: "I'm afraid to ask."
Sentinel: "You're a smart-ass."
The smirk gets a little bigger as Sentinel snorts in response. Eric laughs aloud and gestures for Sentinel to ask his question.
Sentinel: "How long's it been since you stepped into the ring again?"
Considering thoughtfully for a moment, Eric turns back to his guest.
Eric Donavan: "Couple months. CPW has me on what you'd call 'special attraction' status."
Sentinel: "Ohhhhh."
Raising his brows as he nods deeply, Sentinel steps into the ring as, now, Eric eyes him with a similar curiousity as to what the UWA World Heavyweight Champion showed previously.
Eric Donavan: "What do you mean by 'ohhhhh'?"
Sentinel: "Just wondering if you know what you're getting into here. Sure you don't need a few minutes to work off some rust?"
Eric Donavan: "Now who's a smart-ass?"
Sentinel: "Hey, this was your idea. You said it might help to blow off some steam, so here we are. Don't want to go and hurt you or anything, old man."
Cracking his knuckles, then his neck, Eric starts to circle the edge of the ring while keeping his eyes on Sentinel. Following that motion, Sentinel maintains the distance between himself and Eric, grinning at the man's reaction to his comment.
Eric Donavan: "Old man, huh? You're only a few years younger than me. Age won't be an excuse after I kick your ass."
Sentinel: "Famous last words."
The two friends approach one another to grapple and the world around Sentinel chooses that moment to get all wavy and LSD-like. We half-expect to see Wayne and Garth slide past with their dream sequence sound effect, in fact. The ring within the basement becomes the front yard of a country house and Sentinel is no longer a massive, muscled wrestling champion but instead a boy of about six or seven. Big for his age, sure, but not the tower of power he'd become a couple decades down the line. He's in the same stance, though, except that he's grappling not with a former three-time World Heavyweight Champion but instead a boy slightly smaller than him. Said boy gets behind Sentinel and grabs him by the leg, trying to bring him down on the ground. Young Sentinel twists out of his friend's grip and tackles him but the smaller kid quickly gets away. There's no hate in this...it's all in good fun. Just two friends roughhousing before dinner under the afternoon sun.
It does seem to get a little salty as it continues, but not to the point where punches are thrown. There's just a little more squeezing and twisting when one gets hold of the other. Eventually, they're interrupted by someone calling the other boy in, at which point the two disengage and slap one another five.
Junichi: "Almost had you that time, D."
Sentinel: "Not even close, Juni. But hey, you can try again tomorrow if you feel lucky."
Junichi: "Lucky, huh? In that case, we oughta bet on it. Loser buys the first roll of quarters at the arcade Friday."
Young Sentinel laughs that off and nods in agreement.
Sentinel: "Deal. See ya tomorrow."
Things take a swift, wavering shift back to the present, just in time for Sentinel to find himself arm-dragged to the mat after a toss into the ropes. The landing, and the tight grip that Eric has on his left arm snaps him out of his reverie. The Irish Dragon's snark helps that along.
Eric Donavan: "Distractions can be a killer. Take it from an old man."
Growling in irritation more than anything else, Sentinel works himself up to his feet and reverses Eric's hold. The former champion twists out and puts Sentinel in a hammerlock before transitioning to a headlock. But Sentinel dead-lifts him and dumps him on his head and shoulders with a belly-to-back suplex. Eric is quick to roll back and get up to his feet, charging forward and ducking under Sentinel's lifted right leg. He ducks a back elbow as well before rebounding off the ropes and slamming his shoulder against the Destroyer's. The collision doesn't knock the big man down, a fact he exploits to land that clothesline he missed before. Eric's recovery is swift and he swipes the champion's legs out from under him before bounding up to his feet. Showing surprisingly agility, Sentinel kips up to his feet at about the time Eric is upright, leading to a stand-off.
Eric Donavan: "Okay, I'll admit it: I'm impressed."
Sentinel: "Just wait. It gets better."
Another collision...and another shift to a time long past. This is hardly as genial as before, showing a teenaged Sentinel among a group of others, all of Asian descent. Against them, a bunch of country fellas. Looks like a small-scale gang fight and Sentinel's the first one to jump, wrecking one of the rednecks with a right hand that sends him to the ground. The rest move in and it becomes chaos in short order. The boy he'd been shown with years before this is there, too...as well as a familiar, bald man. It doesn't take long to send the other guys scurrying and only Benny and Junichi keep Sentinel from chasing them down.
Junichi: "Let 'em go. They learned their lesson."
Sentinel: "They'll still be back."
Benimaru: "And next time, maybe we make it a permanent lesson."
It's not right back to reality this time. Instead, it's just another slight jump forward. This is more like the Sentinel we're used to, clad in the colors of the Dead Men, having a very violent row with some unpleasant sorts. Put simply, it's a shoot-out and Sentinel cracks off a couple shots from behind the crates against which he's crouched. Shawn is there, too, as it is Darius, the three shooting their way out of the building. Once it's clear, over the bodies they run, Sentinel only paying them enough mind to not step directly on them as he barrels through the doors with his brothers. Out of the building, out into the light...and back to reality.
A reality that comes dangerously close to going dark the moment he's cognizant again. Sentinel recoils just before Eric's right foot collides with his chin. He's off balance and Eric capitalizes on that, shoving him into the ropes and catching him with a forearm uppercut on his return. Sentinel swings in responds and gets caught by Eric who tries to heave the champion over with a suplex. Forcing his weight down to avoid this fate, Sentinel knocks Eric back a few steps with a headbutt before spearing him to the mat. Both guys have been going at it hard over the last several minutes as the perspiration glistening on their bodies can attest to. Despite his distraction by a three-pronged stroll down memory lane, Sentinel kept his wits about him well enough to briefly get the better of Eric, to whom he offers a hand up.
Eric Donavan: "That was just round one."
Both men laugh as Sentinel leans back against the ropes.
Sentinel: "Fair's fair. You still got it. Why the hell aren't you competing full time anymore?"
Walking over to the ropes near his friend, Eric leans against them with his arms folded, staring at the wall as he speaks.
Eric Donavan: "Got nothing else to prove, I guess. I'm content with what I've accomplished. Why ruin that?"
He turns to Sentinel, becoming serious in terms of expression.
Eric Donavan: "So where were you letting your mind run off to there, man?"
Caught off-guard a little by the question, Sentinel gazes at the mat quietly.
Sentinel: "Just remembering old times. Not really liking what I'm seeing, either, but the past is the past, ain't it?"
Eric Donavan: "Until you let it affect your present."
Sentinel: "One way or another, I've spent most of my life fighting. I've taken a lot of lives in the process and while I won't deny that every last one of them deserved it it still weighs on me."
Nodding, Eric keeps his eyes on Sentinel.
Eric Donavan: "I haven't walked your road, but I know the weight that comes with that sort of thing. Like I said: when the past starts holding you down...when you LET it hold you down...that's when you've got a problem. You'd better settle this quick, Dorian, or the title isn't the only thing that you'll lose."
Those words strike hard for the Destroyer, who watches Eric leave the ring and grab a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge at the corner of the room. He turns and tosses one to Sentinel, who catches it as he continues to watch his friend. The scene fades out and returns to the interior of the furniture shop which we were shown last time around. Talon isn't present at this juncture. In fact, Sentinel is the only one we see. He's milling about in the front room, cleaning off the various pieces of furniture one at a time with great attention to detail. The front window and the display within have already been polished and, to an extent, restored though the word is a bit too much to be used for the sake of dust and dirt. Regardless, someone could see within the place far more easily now, which was (or would be when he finished) a huge plus.
Music plays in the background, heavy and hard, the pumping drums and guitars just the sort of tunes that the Destroyer needed to get things like this done. It isn't so loud, of course, that we can't hear the champion speaking over the scene.
Sentinel, via voice-over: "The term karma gets thrown around so much these days that it's almost passe. Look at anyone's Facebook posts or Twitter feed and you'll see someone tossing up some half-amusing meme about letting karma do its work while they sit back and enjoy the show or whatever. That's all well and good but anyone with half a brain can tell you that karma isn't so simple as all that. Yeah, the guy who cheated on his girlfriend or the CEO who cheated his customers out of their life savings...they deserve to feel the consequences of their actions. But to sit back and smugly throw out from-the-bowels-of-the-Internet quotes and pat oneself on the back for their borrowed witticisms...
...in a word, it's stupid."
He pauses in his efforts, taking a long drink from a half gallon-sized thermal mug before setting it back down on the nearby table. Dust is already clinging to him as he dusts some off the bandanna wrapped around his head. There's a lot left to do but he doesn't seem bothered by the enormity of it all. He just gets back to work on the chair he's currently dusting and polishing as his voice continues to speak overall.
Sentinel, via voice-over: "It can take weeks, months, years...maybe even longer...for someone to get what's coming to them. Some people like to take matters into their own hands when the consequences aren't prompt enough for their liking, thus inviting punishment upon themselves. That's a whole other can of worms, though, bringing questions of faith and upbringing into the mix. The point is that everyone has to eventually deal with their past. No one is immune. It may cost you while you still breathe. It might take till after you're in the ground when they decide where you're taking up space all eternity long. But it WILL happen. No amount of dwelling on the matter will make it happen any faster, either.
That's the sort of thing that's been weighing on me lately, that being the question of where all my actions are going to end up leading me. It's something that goes far beyond wrestling. I've spent most of my life fighting either for fun, status or survival. Lives have been lost at my hands and others have been changed irrecovably in ways I couldn't begin to predict. It's the sort of thing that weighs on a man's soul if he has a soul to speak of. I've laid awake more nights than I'd like to admit thinking about that sort of thing. Those are the times when the darkness starts creeping up my spine again..."
His voice trails off a bit as before our eyes the chair is set aside. It looks damn near new at this point, shining in the sun now freed to shine through the plate glass windows. Back on his feet, Sentinel looks over the piece with no small amount of satisfaction. It's quite possible that it's something made by his hand or that of his father years ago, which would explain the acute attention to detail. Walking off into the other room briefly, he returns in short order with a shop-vac, drawing it toward the sofa against the wall, making that his next task.
Sentinel, via voice-over: "I still feel it even when I'm trying to ignore it. It goes way beyond a fan getting smacked with steel steps, beyond the rage that people like Ashley Kenyon or Vince Jones draw out of me on a regular basis. I've lived my life in a state of near-constant sin. Even my time spent as part of the Dead Men, doing the work that the authorities couldn't or wouldn't, doing warranted violence for what I was convinced was a greater good...even that doesn't set well.
My soul needs no more weight pushing down on it. It makes the road to redemption feel longer despite the progress I'm, albeit slowly, making toward balancing the scales. I suppose it's my fault in the here and now for letting you get to me even a little, Jones. Breaking it all down, I shouldn't be surprised at your bullshit. But I am.
Just...not for the reasons you might expect."
There comes a knock to the front door at that point, which Sentinel just manages to hear over the vacuum and the music. He shuts off the former, then lowers the volume of the latter via remote as he calls out to the door.
Sentinel: "It's open!"
He's expecting someone, it seems. That someone is not the person who opens the door and takes a few steps inside. Sentinel looks up and pauses, his expression going flat. As the view turns, we see one Robert Sasaki, someone who has nursed a powerful grudge against Sentinel for years as a result of the loss of his son during events in the past. The two men lock eyes for several moments before the older man, with some tentativity, breaks the silence.
Robert Sasaki: "We need to talk."
Sentinel: "...about what?"
Robert Sasaki: "Old business. And new."
Having turned back to his work, Sentinel looked up again at the 'and new' part of the response. Drawing in and releasing a deep breath, he gestures to one of the cleared chairs.
Sentinel: "Have a seat."
Robert moves to do so, at which point the scene cuts to black. Moments later under a rapidly-darkening sky, Sentinel rides into the drive of his Valley Forge home. Shutting off his bike, he eases himself off the seat and unstraps his bag from the back, sliding the strap over his shoulder. Shifting view to the others side of the front door, the key turns in the lock prior to Sentinel stepping inside. He puts his bag down near the door as Talon comes into view, greeting her husband with a kiss.
Talon: "How's the shop looking?"
Sentinel: "Better. Glad I have some help coming in tomorrow with the cleaning."
He looks over his wife's shoulder and around a little before reorienting on her.
Sentinel: "Cheyenne already asleep?"
Talon: "As of about an hour ago. She's getting eager for me to start her school stuff."
Sentinel: "Isn't that how it always is when they're young? Then they get to middle school and all of a sudden it's like pulling teeth just to get them out of bed."
Laughing at the comment, Talon steps into Sentinel's arms and rests comfortably against his chest.
Talon: "She'll be no different, I'm sure."
The two chuckle as they head over to the sofa, with Sentinel taking a seat alongside the Angel of Sin. From the looks of things he cleaned up before leaving the shop, which was probably the best idea lest he walk in his house looking like Pig Pen. Talon leans into him and they share silence for a minute before she speaks up again.
Talon: "Y'know, you've been acting a little different since you got back from Eric's a few days ago. Never did tell me how that went."
Realizing that he hadn't done that, Sentinel smiles a little and turns to Talon.
Sentinel: "Not much to tell. We talked shop for a while then went down to the ring to wear each other out for a while. Couple gallons of sweat and a few beers later, I crashed for a couple hours before coming home."
Talon: "...that's all?"
He pauses, then continues quietly.
Sentinel: "Did a little thinking while I was there, which nearly resulted in him kicking my head off."
Talon: "Can't turn your back on him in the ring for a moment."
Sentinel: "Yeah, I know. For some reason I couldn't get my mind off the past. 'Course, that's a small thing considering who showed up at the shop today."
Talon: "...who?"
Sentinel: "Robert."
Talon: "Seriously? What for?"
Sentinel: "To talk."
Talon: "That's it?"
Sentinel: "Yeah. I was surprised as you are. But...it went well enough."
Talon: "Small favors, I suppose."
They go silent again with Talon nestled in against the crook of Sentinel's neck. He's content to sit with his arm around her for a bit before that same cold, hard look that had gotten into his eyes when they were at the shop came about again. She seemed to sense the change aurally, sitting back and looking up at him. Her lips have barely parted to ask what's wrong before he interrupts her unspoken question.
Sentinel: "Is the camera charged?"
Talon: "Yes."
Sentinel: "Go get it. I'm cutting this now."
She doesn't waste a moment, unfolding her legs and getting up from the couch. She leaves and returns in less than a minute with the handheld camera they use so often, quickly setting it up. Talon takes up position across from Sentinel, sitting on the edge of the brick fireplace and centering the camera on the champion. He leans forward once he gets the signal from her, elbows resting on his knees as he gazes into the device.
Sentinel: "I know you're still absorbing all the talk of karma and consequences, Vince, so I'm going to keep this simple. I mentioned how much it's gotten under my skin, how you've been carrying yourself of late, and after some rumination on the long ride to home sweet home, I figured out why."
A trace smirk appears on his face as he leans his large frame back against the black leather sofa, staring at the camera unerringly.
Sentinel: "Seems to me that you showed a lot more desire where the title's concerned when you thought you could get it without a fight. When I walked down to the ring, ready to put that belt in Georgio's hands as a form of penance for my actions a few weeks before, you were all too fast to saunter down the ramp with your posse. You rattled off all that noise about me not wanting or deserving the belt while in the same breath demanding that it be put into your hands. Haven't seen you that gung-ho about anything in a long damn time. Now, honestly, it was both comical and sad when you break it down, but still...there was passion there, Vince. You actually sounded like a man who would settle for nothing less than the best and bust ass to get it, though that's kind of a dichotomy considering what you were barking about. But the point stands.
Looking back at that moment now, I wonder: do you realize how absurd that moment was in light of how you're carrying yourself in the here and now?"
From the expression on the champion's face, he finds it plenty funny even if he's not laughing. He leans forward, taking the heretofore unseen championship off the coffee table and placing it in his lap.
Sentinel: "That ended several seconds later when I sent your ass out of the ring the hard way. In that very moment, the second you realized that you weren't getting handed a goddamn thing, all that passion went poof."
Raising a closed hand, Sentinel makes a 'poof' sound quietly, hand opening and fingers waving as said appendage lowers to rest on the belt, a small grin forming.
Sentinel: "You were ready to take on the world until you figured out you had a fight on your hands. All of a sudden you were back to form, retreating up the ramp and talking shit while your boys 'held you back'..."
Fill in finger-quote motions here.
Sentinel: "...doing your best to hide the fact that you weren't prepared my reaction to Georgio's decree. What I've said since that night stands: I'd rather go in a grave than see you with this belt around your waist. You know deep down that you're not prepared to go to the lengths to properly earn this title that I'll go to defend my right to hold it. And so you conscripted Reno to swipe it from my locker room and proceeded to wear it to show after show the same way a child puts on a costume and begs for candy one night a year. That's exactly what you were and what you looked like, Vince: a beggar looking for praise and accolades, pretending to be something that you aren't.
You're not a champion. You haven't been for almost a year and after Raising Hell you still won't be. Wrapping gold and leather around your waist doesn't make you a champion. Hiding behind Georgio's efforts to preserve his pay-per-view main event and trying to play yourself off as smart by avoiding a fight with me doesn't do you favors, either. Or were you of the mind that hanging back while I mauled Michael Rivers and claiming that I did just what you wanted me to made you look intelligent? Do you really expect anyone to believe that you had it all figured out?
But the most damning piece of evidence is that, for all your blustering and preening like a peacock with your ill-gotten gains, you barely lifted a finger to stop me from taking it back. So much for pride, eh? So much for a champion's mentality. Yet again, when there's a fight to be had for this..."
He holds up the championship so that the dim lights in the room make it gleam beautifully.
Sentinel: "...the big, bad Violence is nowhere to be found."
The belt is lowered and the champion glowers at the camera angrily.
Sentinel: "You make me sick. You've a thief's karma. You invite the consequences of a thug's life with every breath you take. When the going gets rough, you take the same low road out of Dodge that you take squeezing out the rare victories you manage to get anymore. I'm going to get my hands around your throat at Raising Hell and for every single affront you've made toward me and my reign as champion, I'm going to take a slice of your hide. It's apparent that, once again, as I've done with so many opponents in the past, I have to make an example of someone. The first time didn't take with you. This time, I'll be damned if you EVER forget the punishment I level upon you.
But you're not even listening, are you? You don't give a damn in the slightest. You're just trying to figure out the easiest path to having your name engraved on this belt instead of mine."
He shakes his head, his expression calming though his words carry no less weight for the change.
Sentinel: "...and YOU'RE the top contender? Didn't you used to be Vince Jones? Or was I right the first time I flashed this card before the masses?"
A thin, dangerous smile threatens to appear as Sentinel leans in a little. From his pocket he draws the trading card with the nasty, insulting epithet scrawled upon it. He holds it in sight for a moment before crushing it in his hand and throwing it down.
Sentinel: "The jokes are done as of right now, Vince. And as of Raising Hell...YOU'RE done."
He gestures sharply for the camera to be cut off and Talon complies swiftly.
Fade to black.
Eric stops to look at the ring, a slight smile on his face. He rolls in under the bottom rope and runs the length of the squared circle a couple times, warming up and checking the tension of the ropes in the same motion. Sentinel reenters presently in a pair of black shorts, a Tapout shirt and black sneakers, climbing onto the apron and watching the Irish Dragon in motion for a moment. It isn't a stare so much as it is a calculating gaze, one which Eric returns when he realizes that the Destroyer is back. Flashing the well-known Donavan Smirk, Eric stops at the far side of the ring and inclines his chin in Sentinel's direction.
Eric Donavan: "Plotting already?"
Sentinel: "Just thinking."
Eric Donavan: "I'm afraid to ask."
Sentinel: "You're a smart-ass."
The smirk gets a little bigger as Sentinel snorts in response. Eric laughs aloud and gestures for Sentinel to ask his question.
Sentinel: "How long's it been since you stepped into the ring again?"
Considering thoughtfully for a moment, Eric turns back to his guest.
Eric Donavan: "Couple months. CPW has me on what you'd call 'special attraction' status."
Sentinel: "Ohhhhh."
Raising his brows as he nods deeply, Sentinel steps into the ring as, now, Eric eyes him with a similar curiousity as to what the UWA World Heavyweight Champion showed previously.
Eric Donavan: "What do you mean by 'ohhhhh'?"
Sentinel: "Just wondering if you know what you're getting into here. Sure you don't need a few minutes to work off some rust?"
Eric Donavan: "Now who's a smart-ass?"
Sentinel: "Hey, this was your idea. You said it might help to blow off some steam, so here we are. Don't want to go and hurt you or anything, old man."
Cracking his knuckles, then his neck, Eric starts to circle the edge of the ring while keeping his eyes on Sentinel. Following that motion, Sentinel maintains the distance between himself and Eric, grinning at the man's reaction to his comment.
Eric Donavan: "Old man, huh? You're only a few years younger than me. Age won't be an excuse after I kick your ass."
Sentinel: "Famous last words."
The two friends approach one another to grapple and the world around Sentinel chooses that moment to get all wavy and LSD-like. We half-expect to see Wayne and Garth slide past with their dream sequence sound effect, in fact. The ring within the basement becomes the front yard of a country house and Sentinel is no longer a massive, muscled wrestling champion but instead a boy of about six or seven. Big for his age, sure, but not the tower of power he'd become a couple decades down the line. He's in the same stance, though, except that he's grappling not with a former three-time World Heavyweight Champion but instead a boy slightly smaller than him. Said boy gets behind Sentinel and grabs him by the leg, trying to bring him down on the ground. Young Sentinel twists out of his friend's grip and tackles him but the smaller kid quickly gets away. There's no hate in this...it's all in good fun. Just two friends roughhousing before dinner under the afternoon sun.
It does seem to get a little salty as it continues, but not to the point where punches are thrown. There's just a little more squeezing and twisting when one gets hold of the other. Eventually, they're interrupted by someone calling the other boy in, at which point the two disengage and slap one another five.
Junichi: "Almost had you that time, D."
Sentinel: "Not even close, Juni. But hey, you can try again tomorrow if you feel lucky."
Junichi: "Lucky, huh? In that case, we oughta bet on it. Loser buys the first roll of quarters at the arcade Friday."
Young Sentinel laughs that off and nods in agreement.
Sentinel: "Deal. See ya tomorrow."
Things take a swift, wavering shift back to the present, just in time for Sentinel to find himself arm-dragged to the mat after a toss into the ropes. The landing, and the tight grip that Eric has on his left arm snaps him out of his reverie. The Irish Dragon's snark helps that along.
Eric Donavan: "Distractions can be a killer. Take it from an old man."
Growling in irritation more than anything else, Sentinel works himself up to his feet and reverses Eric's hold. The former champion twists out and puts Sentinel in a hammerlock before transitioning to a headlock. But Sentinel dead-lifts him and dumps him on his head and shoulders with a belly-to-back suplex. Eric is quick to roll back and get up to his feet, charging forward and ducking under Sentinel's lifted right leg. He ducks a back elbow as well before rebounding off the ropes and slamming his shoulder against the Destroyer's. The collision doesn't knock the big man down, a fact he exploits to land that clothesline he missed before. Eric's recovery is swift and he swipes the champion's legs out from under him before bounding up to his feet. Showing surprisingly agility, Sentinel kips up to his feet at about the time Eric is upright, leading to a stand-off.
Eric Donavan: "Okay, I'll admit it: I'm impressed."
Sentinel: "Just wait. It gets better."
Another collision...and another shift to a time long past. This is hardly as genial as before, showing a teenaged Sentinel among a group of others, all of Asian descent. Against them, a bunch of country fellas. Looks like a small-scale gang fight and Sentinel's the first one to jump, wrecking one of the rednecks with a right hand that sends him to the ground. The rest move in and it becomes chaos in short order. The boy he'd been shown with years before this is there, too...as well as a familiar, bald man. It doesn't take long to send the other guys scurrying and only Benny and Junichi keep Sentinel from chasing them down.
Junichi: "Let 'em go. They learned their lesson."
Sentinel: "They'll still be back."
Benimaru: "And next time, maybe we make it a permanent lesson."
It's not right back to reality this time. Instead, it's just another slight jump forward. This is more like the Sentinel we're used to, clad in the colors of the Dead Men, having a very violent row with some unpleasant sorts. Put simply, it's a shoot-out and Sentinel cracks off a couple shots from behind the crates against which he's crouched. Shawn is there, too, as it is Darius, the three shooting their way out of the building. Once it's clear, over the bodies they run, Sentinel only paying them enough mind to not step directly on them as he barrels through the doors with his brothers. Out of the building, out into the light...and back to reality.
A reality that comes dangerously close to going dark the moment he's cognizant again. Sentinel recoils just before Eric's right foot collides with his chin. He's off balance and Eric capitalizes on that, shoving him into the ropes and catching him with a forearm uppercut on his return. Sentinel swings in responds and gets caught by Eric who tries to heave the champion over with a suplex. Forcing his weight down to avoid this fate, Sentinel knocks Eric back a few steps with a headbutt before spearing him to the mat. Both guys have been going at it hard over the last several minutes as the perspiration glistening on their bodies can attest to. Despite his distraction by a three-pronged stroll down memory lane, Sentinel kept his wits about him well enough to briefly get the better of Eric, to whom he offers a hand up.
Eric Donavan: "That was just round one."
Both men laugh as Sentinel leans back against the ropes.
Sentinel: "Fair's fair. You still got it. Why the hell aren't you competing full time anymore?"
Walking over to the ropes near his friend, Eric leans against them with his arms folded, staring at the wall as he speaks.
Eric Donavan: "Got nothing else to prove, I guess. I'm content with what I've accomplished. Why ruin that?"
He turns to Sentinel, becoming serious in terms of expression.
Eric Donavan: "So where were you letting your mind run off to there, man?"
Caught off-guard a little by the question, Sentinel gazes at the mat quietly.
Sentinel: "Just remembering old times. Not really liking what I'm seeing, either, but the past is the past, ain't it?"
Eric Donavan: "Until you let it affect your present."
Sentinel: "One way or another, I've spent most of my life fighting. I've taken a lot of lives in the process and while I won't deny that every last one of them deserved it it still weighs on me."
Nodding, Eric keeps his eyes on Sentinel.
Eric Donavan: "I haven't walked your road, but I know the weight that comes with that sort of thing. Like I said: when the past starts holding you down...when you LET it hold you down...that's when you've got a problem. You'd better settle this quick, Dorian, or the title isn't the only thing that you'll lose."
Those words strike hard for the Destroyer, who watches Eric leave the ring and grab a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge at the corner of the room. He turns and tosses one to Sentinel, who catches it as he continues to watch his friend. The scene fades out and returns to the interior of the furniture shop which we were shown last time around. Talon isn't present at this juncture. In fact, Sentinel is the only one we see. He's milling about in the front room, cleaning off the various pieces of furniture one at a time with great attention to detail. The front window and the display within have already been polished and, to an extent, restored though the word is a bit too much to be used for the sake of dust and dirt. Regardless, someone could see within the place far more easily now, which was (or would be when he finished) a huge plus.
Music plays in the background, heavy and hard, the pumping drums and guitars just the sort of tunes that the Destroyer needed to get things like this done. It isn't so loud, of course, that we can't hear the champion speaking over the scene.
Sentinel, via voice-over: "The term karma gets thrown around so much these days that it's almost passe. Look at anyone's Facebook posts or Twitter feed and you'll see someone tossing up some half-amusing meme about letting karma do its work while they sit back and enjoy the show or whatever. That's all well and good but anyone with half a brain can tell you that karma isn't so simple as all that. Yeah, the guy who cheated on his girlfriend or the CEO who cheated his customers out of their life savings...they deserve to feel the consequences of their actions. But to sit back and smugly throw out from-the-bowels-of-the-Internet quotes and pat oneself on the back for their borrowed witticisms...
...in a word, it's stupid."
He pauses in his efforts, taking a long drink from a half gallon-sized thermal mug before setting it back down on the nearby table. Dust is already clinging to him as he dusts some off the bandanna wrapped around his head. There's a lot left to do but he doesn't seem bothered by the enormity of it all. He just gets back to work on the chair he's currently dusting and polishing as his voice continues to speak overall.
Sentinel, via voice-over: "It can take weeks, months, years...maybe even longer...for someone to get what's coming to them. Some people like to take matters into their own hands when the consequences aren't prompt enough for their liking, thus inviting punishment upon themselves. That's a whole other can of worms, though, bringing questions of faith and upbringing into the mix. The point is that everyone has to eventually deal with their past. No one is immune. It may cost you while you still breathe. It might take till after you're in the ground when they decide where you're taking up space all eternity long. But it WILL happen. No amount of dwelling on the matter will make it happen any faster, either.
That's the sort of thing that's been weighing on me lately, that being the question of where all my actions are going to end up leading me. It's something that goes far beyond wrestling. I've spent most of my life fighting either for fun, status or survival. Lives have been lost at my hands and others have been changed irrecovably in ways I couldn't begin to predict. It's the sort of thing that weighs on a man's soul if he has a soul to speak of. I've laid awake more nights than I'd like to admit thinking about that sort of thing. Those are the times when the darkness starts creeping up my spine again..."
His voice trails off a bit as before our eyes the chair is set aside. It looks damn near new at this point, shining in the sun now freed to shine through the plate glass windows. Back on his feet, Sentinel looks over the piece with no small amount of satisfaction. It's quite possible that it's something made by his hand or that of his father years ago, which would explain the acute attention to detail. Walking off into the other room briefly, he returns in short order with a shop-vac, drawing it toward the sofa against the wall, making that his next task.
Sentinel, via voice-over: "I still feel it even when I'm trying to ignore it. It goes way beyond a fan getting smacked with steel steps, beyond the rage that people like Ashley Kenyon or Vince Jones draw out of me on a regular basis. I've lived my life in a state of near-constant sin. Even my time spent as part of the Dead Men, doing the work that the authorities couldn't or wouldn't, doing warranted violence for what I was convinced was a greater good...even that doesn't set well.
My soul needs no more weight pushing down on it. It makes the road to redemption feel longer despite the progress I'm, albeit slowly, making toward balancing the scales. I suppose it's my fault in the here and now for letting you get to me even a little, Jones. Breaking it all down, I shouldn't be surprised at your bullshit. But I am.
Just...not for the reasons you might expect."
There comes a knock to the front door at that point, which Sentinel just manages to hear over the vacuum and the music. He shuts off the former, then lowers the volume of the latter via remote as he calls out to the door.
Sentinel: "It's open!"
He's expecting someone, it seems. That someone is not the person who opens the door and takes a few steps inside. Sentinel looks up and pauses, his expression going flat. As the view turns, we see one Robert Sasaki, someone who has nursed a powerful grudge against Sentinel for years as a result of the loss of his son during events in the past. The two men lock eyes for several moments before the older man, with some tentativity, breaks the silence.
Robert Sasaki: "We need to talk."
Sentinel: "...about what?"
Robert Sasaki: "Old business. And new."
Having turned back to his work, Sentinel looked up again at the 'and new' part of the response. Drawing in and releasing a deep breath, he gestures to one of the cleared chairs.
Sentinel: "Have a seat."
Robert moves to do so, at which point the scene cuts to black. Moments later under a rapidly-darkening sky, Sentinel rides into the drive of his Valley Forge home. Shutting off his bike, he eases himself off the seat and unstraps his bag from the back, sliding the strap over his shoulder. Shifting view to the others side of the front door, the key turns in the lock prior to Sentinel stepping inside. He puts his bag down near the door as Talon comes into view, greeting her husband with a kiss.
Talon: "How's the shop looking?"
Sentinel: "Better. Glad I have some help coming in tomorrow with the cleaning."
He looks over his wife's shoulder and around a little before reorienting on her.
Sentinel: "Cheyenne already asleep?"
Talon: "As of about an hour ago. She's getting eager for me to start her school stuff."
Sentinel: "Isn't that how it always is when they're young? Then they get to middle school and all of a sudden it's like pulling teeth just to get them out of bed."
Laughing at the comment, Talon steps into Sentinel's arms and rests comfortably against his chest.
Talon: "She'll be no different, I'm sure."
The two chuckle as they head over to the sofa, with Sentinel taking a seat alongside the Angel of Sin. From the looks of things he cleaned up before leaving the shop, which was probably the best idea lest he walk in his house looking like Pig Pen. Talon leans into him and they share silence for a minute before she speaks up again.
Talon: "Y'know, you've been acting a little different since you got back from Eric's a few days ago. Never did tell me how that went."
Realizing that he hadn't done that, Sentinel smiles a little and turns to Talon.
Sentinel: "Not much to tell. We talked shop for a while then went down to the ring to wear each other out for a while. Couple gallons of sweat and a few beers later, I crashed for a couple hours before coming home."
Talon: "...that's all?"
He pauses, then continues quietly.
Sentinel: "Did a little thinking while I was there, which nearly resulted in him kicking my head off."
Talon: "Can't turn your back on him in the ring for a moment."
Sentinel: "Yeah, I know. For some reason I couldn't get my mind off the past. 'Course, that's a small thing considering who showed up at the shop today."
Talon: "...who?"
Sentinel: "Robert."
Talon: "Seriously? What for?"
Sentinel: "To talk."
Talon: "That's it?"
Sentinel: "Yeah. I was surprised as you are. But...it went well enough."
Talon: "Small favors, I suppose."
They go silent again with Talon nestled in against the crook of Sentinel's neck. He's content to sit with his arm around her for a bit before that same cold, hard look that had gotten into his eyes when they were at the shop came about again. She seemed to sense the change aurally, sitting back and looking up at him. Her lips have barely parted to ask what's wrong before he interrupts her unspoken question.
Sentinel: "Is the camera charged?"
Talon: "Yes."
Sentinel: "Go get it. I'm cutting this now."
She doesn't waste a moment, unfolding her legs and getting up from the couch. She leaves and returns in less than a minute with the handheld camera they use so often, quickly setting it up. Talon takes up position across from Sentinel, sitting on the edge of the brick fireplace and centering the camera on the champion. He leans forward once he gets the signal from her, elbows resting on his knees as he gazes into the device.
Sentinel: "I know you're still absorbing all the talk of karma and consequences, Vince, so I'm going to keep this simple. I mentioned how much it's gotten under my skin, how you've been carrying yourself of late, and after some rumination on the long ride to home sweet home, I figured out why."
A trace smirk appears on his face as he leans his large frame back against the black leather sofa, staring at the camera unerringly.
Sentinel: "Seems to me that you showed a lot more desire where the title's concerned when you thought you could get it without a fight. When I walked down to the ring, ready to put that belt in Georgio's hands as a form of penance for my actions a few weeks before, you were all too fast to saunter down the ramp with your posse. You rattled off all that noise about me not wanting or deserving the belt while in the same breath demanding that it be put into your hands. Haven't seen you that gung-ho about anything in a long damn time. Now, honestly, it was both comical and sad when you break it down, but still...there was passion there, Vince. You actually sounded like a man who would settle for nothing less than the best and bust ass to get it, though that's kind of a dichotomy considering what you were barking about. But the point stands.
Looking back at that moment now, I wonder: do you realize how absurd that moment was in light of how you're carrying yourself in the here and now?"
From the expression on the champion's face, he finds it plenty funny even if he's not laughing. He leans forward, taking the heretofore unseen championship off the coffee table and placing it in his lap.
Sentinel: "That ended several seconds later when I sent your ass out of the ring the hard way. In that very moment, the second you realized that you weren't getting handed a goddamn thing, all that passion went poof."
Raising a closed hand, Sentinel makes a 'poof' sound quietly, hand opening and fingers waving as said appendage lowers to rest on the belt, a small grin forming.
Sentinel: "You were ready to take on the world until you figured out you had a fight on your hands. All of a sudden you were back to form, retreating up the ramp and talking shit while your boys 'held you back'..."
Fill in finger-quote motions here.
Sentinel: "...doing your best to hide the fact that you weren't prepared my reaction to Georgio's decree. What I've said since that night stands: I'd rather go in a grave than see you with this belt around your waist. You know deep down that you're not prepared to go to the lengths to properly earn this title that I'll go to defend my right to hold it. And so you conscripted Reno to swipe it from my locker room and proceeded to wear it to show after show the same way a child puts on a costume and begs for candy one night a year. That's exactly what you were and what you looked like, Vince: a beggar looking for praise and accolades, pretending to be something that you aren't.
You're not a champion. You haven't been for almost a year and after Raising Hell you still won't be. Wrapping gold and leather around your waist doesn't make you a champion. Hiding behind Georgio's efforts to preserve his pay-per-view main event and trying to play yourself off as smart by avoiding a fight with me doesn't do you favors, either. Or were you of the mind that hanging back while I mauled Michael Rivers and claiming that I did just what you wanted me to made you look intelligent? Do you really expect anyone to believe that you had it all figured out?
But the most damning piece of evidence is that, for all your blustering and preening like a peacock with your ill-gotten gains, you barely lifted a finger to stop me from taking it back. So much for pride, eh? So much for a champion's mentality. Yet again, when there's a fight to be had for this..."
He holds up the championship so that the dim lights in the room make it gleam beautifully.
Sentinel: "...the big, bad Violence is nowhere to be found."
The belt is lowered and the champion glowers at the camera angrily.
Sentinel: "You make me sick. You've a thief's karma. You invite the consequences of a thug's life with every breath you take. When the going gets rough, you take the same low road out of Dodge that you take squeezing out the rare victories you manage to get anymore. I'm going to get my hands around your throat at Raising Hell and for every single affront you've made toward me and my reign as champion, I'm going to take a slice of your hide. It's apparent that, once again, as I've done with so many opponents in the past, I have to make an example of someone. The first time didn't take with you. This time, I'll be damned if you EVER forget the punishment I level upon you.
But you're not even listening, are you? You don't give a damn in the slightest. You're just trying to figure out the easiest path to having your name engraved on this belt instead of mine."
He shakes his head, his expression calming though his words carry no less weight for the change.
Sentinel: "...and YOU'RE the top contender? Didn't you used to be Vince Jones? Or was I right the first time I flashed this card before the masses?"
A thin, dangerous smile threatens to appear as Sentinel leans in a little. From his pocket he draws the trading card with the nasty, insulting epithet scrawled upon it. He holds it in sight for a moment before crushing it in his hand and throwing it down.
Sentinel: "The jokes are done as of right now, Vince. And as of Raising Hell...YOU'RE done."
He gestures sharply for the camera to be cut off and Talon complies swiftly.
Fade to black.
