Post by Dark Camelot on Mar 14, 2014 23:30:48 GMT -6
The Long, Hard, Road out of Hell:
"River of Blood"
Somewhere between an excuse and a lie,
You found something that you believe.
So proud, I guess I can't imagine why,
Three cheers for what we used to be.
Pathetic. Wasted. Soulless. Compromised.
Sleep-walking the mind field.
Shit talking, it crumbles around you.
It comes back around.
Somewhere between delusion and denial,
You'll drown in your own sympathy.
Profound, at least you thought so at the time,
A ghost of who you used to be.
Date: July 25th 2012.
Time: 7:11 A.M.
Location: Unknown
Place: Medical Institution
[ The Following is yet another brief recording of "Patient X" interviewed by Doctor Sasha Metzger... ]
Doctor Metzger-"Taped patient interview twenty... This will more than likely be my final interview with the patient, though it is hard for my studies to conduct a proper diagnosis or any kind of theory as to the patient's condition..."
The doctor slips a low, weary sigh into the microphone while collecting her thoughts as she pauses for a moment...
Doctor Metzger-"As previously stated I cannot for the record say I am looking forward to this interview, I've been feeling anxious... I've began to feel as though I'm letting this patient get to me. I no longer am positive I can extract any pieces of useful information from him. It's as though this patient has spent years building mental blocks to keep him cut-off from the outside world. Disabling any form of deep communication in or out to the outside world that surrounds him."
The doctor continues, having now admitted to her failed attempt on researching and analyzing the patient thoroughly.
Doctor Metzger-"Though I am unsure if the patient can ever be cured, it is quite uncertain if we can help his condition at this establishment."
A few short seconds following the doctor's previous statement, a knocking is heard at the nearby door.
Doctor Metzger-"It is okay, you may bring him in now..."
The doctor answers in her sweet, firm, Russian accent.
Security Orderly-"He's been quiet all day doc, should cooperate just fine today... Otherwise, call us in and we'll teach him some manners."
One of the orderly guards grumbles to the doctor, shoving the chained patient into his seat before marching off with a callous chuckle...
Doctor Metzger-"Thank you; I'm sure he will be just fine, how are you feeling today now that you've gotten your walk?"
The kind doctor asks in a hesitant, yet polite manner as she thumbs through her notes near the microphone. Meanwhile the patient remains perfectly still and has not yet spoken a word...
Doctor Metzger-"Well, I take it?"
The doctor assumingly asks... Yet the patient keeps quiet.
Doctor Metzger-"Very well then, let's move on shall we? I thought we could begin today by maybe trying to reconnect with your past. Can you tell me a little bit about your parents?"
The doctor calmly waits for a response, clicking the lengthy heel of her shoe gently against the tile floor...
Doctor Metzger-"Maybe just their names, where they were from?"
The patient remains silent staring at the floor, his tattooed hands resting in his lap while the doctor continues her notes...
Doctor Metzger-"Any siblings?"
No response.
Doctor Metzger-"Very well then."
The doctor answers in a griping and irritated tone, slamming her notebook shut and collecting her documents along the desk.
Doctor Metzger-"I am sorry, but the only possible way you can progress any further and be released by any means from this program is by cooperating and helping us as professionals diagnose your condition. It wouldn't be so damn difficult for us to continue our work if you threw us a god-forsaken bone once in a while... We're the only people here trying to help cure you and get you back to a normal life!"
The doctor protests leaning over the audio recording device as she states her case to the patient, before collecting her things as her heels can be heard stamping across the tile...
Doctor Metzger-"Best of luck with your future, because the only life you'll have left is to be rotting in a cold, padded, cell for the rest of your life or to die wrestling in that chaos you call a job... Goodbye."
The doctor bids farewell in her accented tone, lifting her suitcase and folders from the desk and continues towards the door...
Patient X-"I-I remember being born and raised in a broken home in Los Angeles, my mother uh-she was a cook for a real, nice Italian restaurant that was on one of the corners downtown. I um... I remember every day walking home from school I could always smell the fresh lasagna getting pulled out of the oven, granted I was two blocks away but you could damn sure smell my mother’s cooking. By the time I got there I’d always say ‘hey’ to the bus boys and waitresses, and do my homework in a booth in the corner. My mother would always leave me a glass of milk with my plate of lasagna and garlic bread on the table, ‘cause she knew I was always hungry from a long walk from school... She had this big white apron she would always wear and wrap me in it when she came to give me a hug; I remember it always being so warm from the heat coming out of the oven..."
The patient answers quietly, head hung low while breathing against the dark, crow feather-like hair, waving almost like a liquid over his face... The doctor can be heard stopping at the door, the doorknob turned yet the door hasn't been opened.
Patient X-"My father would usually be one of the last customers of the night, coming in from his late night shift of working in the sheet metal shops... Grinding and cutting sheet metal, I never really went there usually because he didn’t want me there. The liquid metal usually made the place seem like "Hell" it was so hot, and just barely brushing against the metal meant a six-inch scar on your skin if not a missing finger. He’d always come in and tell me about metal, and explain to me what they did that day... But after a while his stories stopped, he came into the restaurant, kissed my mother on the cheek and sat at the end of the counter on his stool reading the paper. At home he’d usually sit in the basement and drink, work on metal, and argue with my mother any time she’d ask about the house or bills. I got beat around a couple of times, only because I couldn't answer my father in his drunken state of mind-I guess it pissed him off a little."
The patient continues, keeping to his monotone, gruff, deep voice as the words begin to finally come out... The answers being brought to the table, while the doctor carefully moves slowly back towards the desk.
Doctor Metzger-"Please... Continue..."
The doctor pleas softly, keeping her words brief and short.
Patient X-"One night, my mother was closing up the restaurant, she forgot something in the kitchen and left the door open-I can’t quite remember what it was she forgot I was so young then. She came out of the kitchen and walked to the door, and that was when it happened... Three men came rushing in and knocked her to the ground, my mother tried to scream but one of them held her mouth shut while another pinned her to the ground. My father was just getting off work and got me from school on his way to pick her up; when his truck pulled up they panicked. That was when everything went out of control, my father being a huge, muscular, metal worker charged in and found my mother lying there on the floor... They stabbed her, choked her, raped her, robbed her, and left her there to die, as I walked in my father screamed for me to get help. I was so horrified and scared I couldn’t move my legs, and then I heard the men yelling in the back trying to get the back door open."
The patient pauses, his words beginning to tremble as he swallows his pride down for a moment...
Patient X-"My father chased after them, got one to the ground and beat him pretty good-then another one cut him with a knife across his left cheek... That was when I heard the one sound I could never to this day forget, my father was shot twelve times in the chest and left lying in a pool of blood at the back door. By the time anyone heard the commotion, I was kneeling beside my mother, holding her in my arms soaked in blood from my neck down to my shoes. I still remember looking through the tears in my eyes back in that beautiful green-eyed gaze she had. When police arrived, they said I couldn’t let go of my mother, that I wouldn’t let anyone near my parents... That I became psychotic and tried to attack anyone who tried to get close."
Pausing as he struggles to find the words, with a short sniffle between each coming breath the patient clears his throat and continues...
Patient X-"I was put in some form of an orphanage to the age of fifteen, when I ran away and found an empty, abandoned church a few miles from my old home. I stole food from nearby grocery trucks parked behind stores, I pummeled bullies picking on kids and stole their money, and I survived. I lived on with nothing but hatred as my one and only true friend... Hate was all I knew, it built my world, it imprisoned me, taught me how to eat, how to drink, how to breathe. I thought I'd die with all my hate in my veins living alone in that cold and abandoned church. Until one day, a man who claimed to be a widower came by asking if the church was for sale... All the while I threatened to kill the man if he didn’t leave, yet somehow he convinced me otherwise. He soon became my mentor, a man who showed me there is no paradise in the afterlife, nor a "Hell"...THIS... was Hell, and we had to do everything necessary in order to survive it."
The patient utters quietly, small streams of what begin to look like tears trickle down one side of his face as the doctor documents these details...
Doctor Metzger-"How did this man help you?"
Patient X-"He told me I appeared to be a young man, whom had been seeking a life of great significance... Meanwhile I continued to threaten the man to leave me alone, to leave my newfound ‘home’ and never come back or I’d kill him. He told me, my anger was filled with such hate that it was like the wind crushing against his skin. He told me my anger could fuel my focus, make me stronger... He told me he would teach me all he could, and that I would soon have vengeance against those like the men who killed my parents. Until one morning I woke up, and everything was gone... My belongings, everything I’d used to survive, even him... Gone... So from that day forward, I trusted no one and trained my mind and body pushing it to exceed its very limits, to train in every form of combat I could study with what little money I had. Now, I’ve found that home... I’ve found that sanctuary where not even God is allowed, this is my place to rule, my place to extract vengeance, to deliver pain and suffering-this is MY time to take what belongs to ME."
The patient states as his chained wrists pound gently against the surface of the metal desk, as the doctor flinches in a startling manner.
Patient X-"You see doctor... I’ve mended my wounds, I’ve buried my emotions, and I’ve lived by my word and I won’t rest until I’ve reached the end of that road and claimed my throne atop the mountain. I haven’t busted my ass, broken my body, and spilled this much blood in my life to only be brought down... I will succeed, I will overcome, and I will be... Champion."
The patient grumbles, once more, implying he's ready and willing to do whatever necessary to survive and strike down any opposing force willing to attempt stopping him.
Doctor Metzger-"Thank goodness, and how wonderful for you…! I am so pleased you could finally share this-now I just have to copy this recording and pass it onto proper care to be examined for you analysis."
The doctor replies pleasantly, proud her long, tiresome, and hard-worked efforts have proven a success in her attempts to break the patient's secrets into the open.
Patient X-"...You what?"
Doctor Metzger-"Yes, surely you understand every bit of noted information and data gathered from these interviews and recordings is taken to be further analyzed so our patient's may be diagnosed... properly, of course."
Patient X-"No..."
The patient answers quietly in a bit of disbelief, while the doctor continues as she collects her notes... Continuing to rant on as the patient speaks his opinion as she carries on.
Doctor Metzger-"With this we can continue these interviews during your extended stay with us and proceed to alter your medication to the right level of treatment. This way we can finally break you into the habit of taking these prescriptions and finally rid of these 'demons' you talk about..."
Patient X-"Doctor..."
The patient calls to the doctor, who continues to organize her notes and place her documents and notebooks into her suitcase. Meanwhile the patient can be heard getting up from his chair, as the linked chains fastened to his wrists rattle carefully against his clothing...
Doctor Metzger-"Such a wonderful thing I must say, for such a dark-minded and violent human being to open up so freely is like a scientific miracle or something'."
The doctor continues to ramble in her accent, as the patient's chains echoing in the distance grow closer towards the microphone and doctor...
Patient X-"Doctor."
The patient growls.
Doctor Metzger-"-Yes?"
STAB!
The impaling sound of the doctor's ink pen being driven through the bottom of her chin resonates loudly, as the choking sounds of the doctor gurgling on her own blood sound through the audio...
Patient X-"Take your 'analysis'... and go fuck yourself."
The growling, trembling words of the patient come clearly into the microphone as the convulsing doctor finally drops dead, as the ink pen is ripped back out from her chin... Seconds later, guards can be heard bursting into the room...
Security Orderly-"OH JESUS CHRIST-Doctor Metzger is dead! We need help!"
The guard screams for help, as the patient's rattling chains suddenly can be heard turning away from the microphone as a tiny gasp from a nearby guard resonates loudly...
Patient X-"Your... 'doctors' and their predecessors appeared to want to know a great deal about me, unfortunately they forgot to realize I surrendered my freedom voluntarily. Now, what you don't seem to know is I can have my freedom back whenever I choose."
The clattering sound of the linked chains attached to the patient's wrists suddenly are heard falling to the tile floor...
Security Orderly-"Patient X, I am ordering you to put those handcuffs back on and get on the ground... now."
The guard can be heard hesitant in a anxious tone, moving slowly into the room as the patient chuckles audibly to himself...
Patient X-"Patient X is already dead."
The patient grumbles slowly turning away from the audio recording device and microphone...
Patient X-"My name... Is Kyle Northman. I shall bring my vengance to this world as my true self Gawain Knight of Dark Camelot."
The patient states, as seconds later the final sound is that of the guard's screams.
recording stops.
------------------------------------------------------
"The limits you feel are all in your head. Ignore them."
"One miserable, disappointing fucking upset to end an even shittier night", was the only thought that came to mind as he sat along the rail near the docks off the shoreline. Brushing his index and middle finger of his right hand across the stitching of a four-inch cut from barbed wire... A minor wound from the hands of Bryan Payne he suffered the previous week, much less a helpful reminder to never leave a weapon close by when he's got a fist bashing into his head while he's stuck on his back...
A bit of realistic consequence he would have to move on and heal from, but it was simply a matter of which man wanted that victory more... Clearly that night belonged to Bryan Payne, of course it didn't mean he was any better- yet it simply meant he was the man wanting the win more than he did that night. A hard lesson learned in the art of war...
Tilting his head aside, he carefully brushes his dry lips against the shoulder of a plain white t-shirt, before resting his hands against the pant-legs of his baggy denim jeans staring at the water below...
The water rippling, tossing, and turning, nearly hypnotizing to his eyes... Allowing him to relax, calmly exhale and let his imagination roam... Staring at the surface of the water as it merely begins to transform before his very eyes, his imagination turning the water into blood... This channel of water that nearly runs through this level of reality, and in it are punished the wrathful and the gloomy. The former bodies floating along are forever lashing out at each other in anger, furious and naked, tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth. Flowing by his imagination continues to trick his mind as he begins to see the faces of former enemies, fallen victims, and lost loved ones...
The latter are gurgling in the black mud, slothful and sullen, withdrawn from the world. Their lamentations bubble to the surface as they try to repeat a doleful hymn, though with unbroken words they cannot say it. Speechless he continues to glare at the massive number of bodies floating by, as if imagining the millions who've simply suffered in life and given up their misery... Somehow it reminded him of the pain he's caused others, the torture he's brought into their lives... He almost began to question why he had even done it, regardless this was indeed a reminder he too has lived a cruel, vindictive and hateful life...
"I am not a stereotype nor am I just a name, but I am in-fact an idea, one which you cannot fucking erase. I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them... but you cannot spit on an idea, cannot touch it, break it or hold it... ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love or listen... Ideas such as mine simply exist to change your world into my darkest dream. I am an idea, and ideas are simply bulletproof to any toxic venom you can spew."
The tattoos, the eye contacts, the blood, the dim lights, all simply belie his true sadistic and twisted nature. Gawain was beyond what was classified as “psychotic”, in the least bit of sense. Aside from his intense hatred for humanity, the insane, homicidal, and ruthless superstar he was... Hades had overcome his demons, conquered the fear of his past, and became something more. He didn’t want help, never asked for help, and simply never needed any help... To him, anyone trying to get involved was simply getting in the way.
"The fragile, impotent, untalented, annoyance that is the weakling Vinnie Jones. A man who couldn’t be separated from the rest, a man who couldn’t be the dominant male, an independent, clever little bitch who only uses his words to weaken those superior. Unfortunately, he’s only a pathetic, insignificant half-wit who opens his mouth to get what he wants. Me, I take these two hands and squeeze the life out of whatever stands blocking my view to get what I want. Vinnie Jones is a small, frail man whose bones I will tear like paper, whose face will bruise and blister like a disease and whose body will crumble like the rest. Monday night, I’m going to give Vinnie Jones the beating he never had, once I’ve pummeled his face into the canvas-until all I'm doing is punching wet chips of bone into the blood-stained mats. The ass-kicking is going to be a treat, but his pure punishment? Will be a fucking pleasure..."
He thought to himself. He chuckled at the thought, now overlooking the seagulls swooping down through the water, like the vultures in this industry as they merely are in reality picking at the most vulnerable prey...
"I could give a shit how ‘good’ someone claims to be, until they’ve backed every hollow promise, every unintimidating threat, and lived up to every word to bring my downfall. I’ve lived my life training through near-career-ending injuries, recovering from huge climatic upsets, and overcoming some of the most implacable odds. Do you even for one second believe that I will allow such an inferior cockroach to defeat me? Fuck, majority rules in favor of you all being fickle-minded, snob-nosed, delusional idiots suffering a case of swollen egos if you believe that day will ever come. What will occur is Jones regretting the day he ever stepped into this cold, dark, and miserable cruel world only to suffer the agonizing and heart-breaking defeat of the one and only Gawain."
He continued to tell himself, snapping his adrenaline as it began to course through his veins and drawing in his focus.
"I’m going to take what we, in Dark Camelot deem to be hours. I am going to use Jones as the jumpstart to my career, and I am most certainly going to dish out the biggest display of rude awakenings this industry has yet ever witnessed. It's now or never, and right now-someone's head is about to get ripped the fuck off."
Northman smiles at his thoughts.
"CAW!!"
A seagull screams swooping by, nearly tearing his head off as he falls off the railing and flat onto his ass.
"Sonava...bitch...."
Scene fades to black.
"River of Blood"
Somewhere between an excuse and a lie,
You found something that you believe.
So proud, I guess I can't imagine why,
Three cheers for what we used to be.
Pathetic. Wasted. Soulless. Compromised.
Sleep-walking the mind field.
Shit talking, it crumbles around you.
It comes back around.
Somewhere between delusion and denial,
You'll drown in your own sympathy.
Profound, at least you thought so at the time,
A ghost of who you used to be.
Date: July 25th 2012.
Time: 7:11 A.M.
Location: Unknown
Place: Medical Institution
[ The Following is yet another brief recording of "Patient X" interviewed by Doctor Sasha Metzger... ]
Doctor Metzger-"Taped patient interview twenty... This will more than likely be my final interview with the patient, though it is hard for my studies to conduct a proper diagnosis or any kind of theory as to the patient's condition..."
The doctor slips a low, weary sigh into the microphone while collecting her thoughts as she pauses for a moment...
Doctor Metzger-"As previously stated I cannot for the record say I am looking forward to this interview, I've been feeling anxious... I've began to feel as though I'm letting this patient get to me. I no longer am positive I can extract any pieces of useful information from him. It's as though this patient has spent years building mental blocks to keep him cut-off from the outside world. Disabling any form of deep communication in or out to the outside world that surrounds him."
The doctor continues, having now admitted to her failed attempt on researching and analyzing the patient thoroughly.
Doctor Metzger-"Though I am unsure if the patient can ever be cured, it is quite uncertain if we can help his condition at this establishment."
A few short seconds following the doctor's previous statement, a knocking is heard at the nearby door.
Doctor Metzger-"It is okay, you may bring him in now..."
The doctor answers in her sweet, firm, Russian accent.
Security Orderly-"He's been quiet all day doc, should cooperate just fine today... Otherwise, call us in and we'll teach him some manners."
One of the orderly guards grumbles to the doctor, shoving the chained patient into his seat before marching off with a callous chuckle...
Doctor Metzger-"Thank you; I'm sure he will be just fine, how are you feeling today now that you've gotten your walk?"
The kind doctor asks in a hesitant, yet polite manner as she thumbs through her notes near the microphone. Meanwhile the patient remains perfectly still and has not yet spoken a word...
Doctor Metzger-"Well, I take it?"
The doctor assumingly asks... Yet the patient keeps quiet.
Doctor Metzger-"Very well then, let's move on shall we? I thought we could begin today by maybe trying to reconnect with your past. Can you tell me a little bit about your parents?"
The doctor calmly waits for a response, clicking the lengthy heel of her shoe gently against the tile floor...
Doctor Metzger-"Maybe just their names, where they were from?"
The patient remains silent staring at the floor, his tattooed hands resting in his lap while the doctor continues her notes...
Doctor Metzger-"Any siblings?"
No response.
Doctor Metzger-"Very well then."
The doctor answers in a griping and irritated tone, slamming her notebook shut and collecting her documents along the desk.
Doctor Metzger-"I am sorry, but the only possible way you can progress any further and be released by any means from this program is by cooperating and helping us as professionals diagnose your condition. It wouldn't be so damn difficult for us to continue our work if you threw us a god-forsaken bone once in a while... We're the only people here trying to help cure you and get you back to a normal life!"
The doctor protests leaning over the audio recording device as she states her case to the patient, before collecting her things as her heels can be heard stamping across the tile...
Doctor Metzger-"Best of luck with your future, because the only life you'll have left is to be rotting in a cold, padded, cell for the rest of your life or to die wrestling in that chaos you call a job... Goodbye."
The doctor bids farewell in her accented tone, lifting her suitcase and folders from the desk and continues towards the door...
Patient X-"I-I remember being born and raised in a broken home in Los Angeles, my mother uh-she was a cook for a real, nice Italian restaurant that was on one of the corners downtown. I um... I remember every day walking home from school I could always smell the fresh lasagna getting pulled out of the oven, granted I was two blocks away but you could damn sure smell my mother’s cooking. By the time I got there I’d always say ‘hey’ to the bus boys and waitresses, and do my homework in a booth in the corner. My mother would always leave me a glass of milk with my plate of lasagna and garlic bread on the table, ‘cause she knew I was always hungry from a long walk from school... She had this big white apron she would always wear and wrap me in it when she came to give me a hug; I remember it always being so warm from the heat coming out of the oven..."
The patient answers quietly, head hung low while breathing against the dark, crow feather-like hair, waving almost like a liquid over his face... The doctor can be heard stopping at the door, the doorknob turned yet the door hasn't been opened.
Patient X-"My father would usually be one of the last customers of the night, coming in from his late night shift of working in the sheet metal shops... Grinding and cutting sheet metal, I never really went there usually because he didn’t want me there. The liquid metal usually made the place seem like "Hell" it was so hot, and just barely brushing against the metal meant a six-inch scar on your skin if not a missing finger. He’d always come in and tell me about metal, and explain to me what they did that day... But after a while his stories stopped, he came into the restaurant, kissed my mother on the cheek and sat at the end of the counter on his stool reading the paper. At home he’d usually sit in the basement and drink, work on metal, and argue with my mother any time she’d ask about the house or bills. I got beat around a couple of times, only because I couldn't answer my father in his drunken state of mind-I guess it pissed him off a little."
The patient continues, keeping to his monotone, gruff, deep voice as the words begin to finally come out... The answers being brought to the table, while the doctor carefully moves slowly back towards the desk.
Doctor Metzger-"Please... Continue..."
The doctor pleas softly, keeping her words brief and short.
Patient X-"One night, my mother was closing up the restaurant, she forgot something in the kitchen and left the door open-I can’t quite remember what it was she forgot I was so young then. She came out of the kitchen and walked to the door, and that was when it happened... Three men came rushing in and knocked her to the ground, my mother tried to scream but one of them held her mouth shut while another pinned her to the ground. My father was just getting off work and got me from school on his way to pick her up; when his truck pulled up they panicked. That was when everything went out of control, my father being a huge, muscular, metal worker charged in and found my mother lying there on the floor... They stabbed her, choked her, raped her, robbed her, and left her there to die, as I walked in my father screamed for me to get help. I was so horrified and scared I couldn’t move my legs, and then I heard the men yelling in the back trying to get the back door open."
The patient pauses, his words beginning to tremble as he swallows his pride down for a moment...
Patient X-"My father chased after them, got one to the ground and beat him pretty good-then another one cut him with a knife across his left cheek... That was when I heard the one sound I could never to this day forget, my father was shot twelve times in the chest and left lying in a pool of blood at the back door. By the time anyone heard the commotion, I was kneeling beside my mother, holding her in my arms soaked in blood from my neck down to my shoes. I still remember looking through the tears in my eyes back in that beautiful green-eyed gaze she had. When police arrived, they said I couldn’t let go of my mother, that I wouldn’t let anyone near my parents... That I became psychotic and tried to attack anyone who tried to get close."
Pausing as he struggles to find the words, with a short sniffle between each coming breath the patient clears his throat and continues...
Patient X-"I was put in some form of an orphanage to the age of fifteen, when I ran away and found an empty, abandoned church a few miles from my old home. I stole food from nearby grocery trucks parked behind stores, I pummeled bullies picking on kids and stole their money, and I survived. I lived on with nothing but hatred as my one and only true friend... Hate was all I knew, it built my world, it imprisoned me, taught me how to eat, how to drink, how to breathe. I thought I'd die with all my hate in my veins living alone in that cold and abandoned church. Until one day, a man who claimed to be a widower came by asking if the church was for sale... All the while I threatened to kill the man if he didn’t leave, yet somehow he convinced me otherwise. He soon became my mentor, a man who showed me there is no paradise in the afterlife, nor a "Hell"...THIS... was Hell, and we had to do everything necessary in order to survive it."
The patient utters quietly, small streams of what begin to look like tears trickle down one side of his face as the doctor documents these details...
Doctor Metzger-"How did this man help you?"
Patient X-"He told me I appeared to be a young man, whom had been seeking a life of great significance... Meanwhile I continued to threaten the man to leave me alone, to leave my newfound ‘home’ and never come back or I’d kill him. He told me, my anger was filled with such hate that it was like the wind crushing against his skin. He told me my anger could fuel my focus, make me stronger... He told me he would teach me all he could, and that I would soon have vengeance against those like the men who killed my parents. Until one morning I woke up, and everything was gone... My belongings, everything I’d used to survive, even him... Gone... So from that day forward, I trusted no one and trained my mind and body pushing it to exceed its very limits, to train in every form of combat I could study with what little money I had. Now, I’ve found that home... I’ve found that sanctuary where not even God is allowed, this is my place to rule, my place to extract vengeance, to deliver pain and suffering-this is MY time to take what belongs to ME."
The patient states as his chained wrists pound gently against the surface of the metal desk, as the doctor flinches in a startling manner.
Patient X-"You see doctor... I’ve mended my wounds, I’ve buried my emotions, and I’ve lived by my word and I won’t rest until I’ve reached the end of that road and claimed my throne atop the mountain. I haven’t busted my ass, broken my body, and spilled this much blood in my life to only be brought down... I will succeed, I will overcome, and I will be... Champion."
The patient grumbles, once more, implying he's ready and willing to do whatever necessary to survive and strike down any opposing force willing to attempt stopping him.
Doctor Metzger-"Thank goodness, and how wonderful for you…! I am so pleased you could finally share this-now I just have to copy this recording and pass it onto proper care to be examined for you analysis."
The doctor replies pleasantly, proud her long, tiresome, and hard-worked efforts have proven a success in her attempts to break the patient's secrets into the open.
Patient X-"...You what?"
Doctor Metzger-"Yes, surely you understand every bit of noted information and data gathered from these interviews and recordings is taken to be further analyzed so our patient's may be diagnosed... properly, of course."
Patient X-"No..."
The patient answers quietly in a bit of disbelief, while the doctor continues as she collects her notes... Continuing to rant on as the patient speaks his opinion as she carries on.
Doctor Metzger-"With this we can continue these interviews during your extended stay with us and proceed to alter your medication to the right level of treatment. This way we can finally break you into the habit of taking these prescriptions and finally rid of these 'demons' you talk about..."
Patient X-"Doctor..."
The patient calls to the doctor, who continues to organize her notes and place her documents and notebooks into her suitcase. Meanwhile the patient can be heard getting up from his chair, as the linked chains fastened to his wrists rattle carefully against his clothing...
Doctor Metzger-"Such a wonderful thing I must say, for such a dark-minded and violent human being to open up so freely is like a scientific miracle or something'."
The doctor continues to ramble in her accent, as the patient's chains echoing in the distance grow closer towards the microphone and doctor...
Patient X-"Doctor."
The patient growls.
Doctor Metzger-"-Yes?"
STAB!
The impaling sound of the doctor's ink pen being driven through the bottom of her chin resonates loudly, as the choking sounds of the doctor gurgling on her own blood sound through the audio...
Patient X-"Take your 'analysis'... and go fuck yourself."
The growling, trembling words of the patient come clearly into the microphone as the convulsing doctor finally drops dead, as the ink pen is ripped back out from her chin... Seconds later, guards can be heard bursting into the room...
Security Orderly-"OH JESUS CHRIST-Doctor Metzger is dead! We need help!"
The guard screams for help, as the patient's rattling chains suddenly can be heard turning away from the microphone as a tiny gasp from a nearby guard resonates loudly...
Patient X-"Your... 'doctors' and their predecessors appeared to want to know a great deal about me, unfortunately they forgot to realize I surrendered my freedom voluntarily. Now, what you don't seem to know is I can have my freedom back whenever I choose."
The clattering sound of the linked chains attached to the patient's wrists suddenly are heard falling to the tile floor...
Security Orderly-"Patient X, I am ordering you to put those handcuffs back on and get on the ground... now."
The guard can be heard hesitant in a anxious tone, moving slowly into the room as the patient chuckles audibly to himself...
Patient X-"Patient X is already dead."
The patient grumbles slowly turning away from the audio recording device and microphone...
Patient X-"My name... Is Kyle Northman. I shall bring my vengance to this world as my true self Gawain Knight of Dark Camelot."
The patient states, as seconds later the final sound is that of the guard's screams.
recording stops.
------------------------------------------------------
"The limits you feel are all in your head. Ignore them."
"One miserable, disappointing fucking upset to end an even shittier night", was the only thought that came to mind as he sat along the rail near the docks off the shoreline. Brushing his index and middle finger of his right hand across the stitching of a four-inch cut from barbed wire... A minor wound from the hands of Bryan Payne he suffered the previous week, much less a helpful reminder to never leave a weapon close by when he's got a fist bashing into his head while he's stuck on his back...
A bit of realistic consequence he would have to move on and heal from, but it was simply a matter of which man wanted that victory more... Clearly that night belonged to Bryan Payne, of course it didn't mean he was any better- yet it simply meant he was the man wanting the win more than he did that night. A hard lesson learned in the art of war...
Tilting his head aside, he carefully brushes his dry lips against the shoulder of a plain white t-shirt, before resting his hands against the pant-legs of his baggy denim jeans staring at the water below...
The water rippling, tossing, and turning, nearly hypnotizing to his eyes... Allowing him to relax, calmly exhale and let his imagination roam... Staring at the surface of the water as it merely begins to transform before his very eyes, his imagination turning the water into blood... This channel of water that nearly runs through this level of reality, and in it are punished the wrathful and the gloomy. The former bodies floating along are forever lashing out at each other in anger, furious and naked, tearing each other piecemeal with their teeth. Flowing by his imagination continues to trick his mind as he begins to see the faces of former enemies, fallen victims, and lost loved ones...
The latter are gurgling in the black mud, slothful and sullen, withdrawn from the world. Their lamentations bubble to the surface as they try to repeat a doleful hymn, though with unbroken words they cannot say it. Speechless he continues to glare at the massive number of bodies floating by, as if imagining the millions who've simply suffered in life and given up their misery... Somehow it reminded him of the pain he's caused others, the torture he's brought into their lives... He almost began to question why he had even done it, regardless this was indeed a reminder he too has lived a cruel, vindictive and hateful life...
"I am not a stereotype nor am I just a name, but I am in-fact an idea, one which you cannot fucking erase. I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them... but you cannot spit on an idea, cannot touch it, break it or hold it... ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love or listen... Ideas such as mine simply exist to change your world into my darkest dream. I am an idea, and ideas are simply bulletproof to any toxic venom you can spew."
The tattoos, the eye contacts, the blood, the dim lights, all simply belie his true sadistic and twisted nature. Gawain was beyond what was classified as “psychotic”, in the least bit of sense. Aside from his intense hatred for humanity, the insane, homicidal, and ruthless superstar he was... Hades had overcome his demons, conquered the fear of his past, and became something more. He didn’t want help, never asked for help, and simply never needed any help... To him, anyone trying to get involved was simply getting in the way.
"The fragile, impotent, untalented, annoyance that is the weakling Vinnie Jones. A man who couldn’t be separated from the rest, a man who couldn’t be the dominant male, an independent, clever little bitch who only uses his words to weaken those superior. Unfortunately, he’s only a pathetic, insignificant half-wit who opens his mouth to get what he wants. Me, I take these two hands and squeeze the life out of whatever stands blocking my view to get what I want. Vinnie Jones is a small, frail man whose bones I will tear like paper, whose face will bruise and blister like a disease and whose body will crumble like the rest. Monday night, I’m going to give Vinnie Jones the beating he never had, once I’ve pummeled his face into the canvas-until all I'm doing is punching wet chips of bone into the blood-stained mats. The ass-kicking is going to be a treat, but his pure punishment? Will be a fucking pleasure..."
He thought to himself. He chuckled at the thought, now overlooking the seagulls swooping down through the water, like the vultures in this industry as they merely are in reality picking at the most vulnerable prey...
"I could give a shit how ‘good’ someone claims to be, until they’ve backed every hollow promise, every unintimidating threat, and lived up to every word to bring my downfall. I’ve lived my life training through near-career-ending injuries, recovering from huge climatic upsets, and overcoming some of the most implacable odds. Do you even for one second believe that I will allow such an inferior cockroach to defeat me? Fuck, majority rules in favor of you all being fickle-minded, snob-nosed, delusional idiots suffering a case of swollen egos if you believe that day will ever come. What will occur is Jones regretting the day he ever stepped into this cold, dark, and miserable cruel world only to suffer the agonizing and heart-breaking defeat of the one and only Gawain."
He continued to tell himself, snapping his adrenaline as it began to course through his veins and drawing in his focus.
"I’m going to take what we, in Dark Camelot deem to be hours. I am going to use Jones as the jumpstart to my career, and I am most certainly going to dish out the biggest display of rude awakenings this industry has yet ever witnessed. It's now or never, and right now-someone's head is about to get ripped the fuck off."
Northman smiles at his thoughts.
"CAW!!"
A seagull screams swooping by, nearly tearing his head off as he falls off the railing and flat onto his ass.
"Sonava...bitch...."
Scene fades to black.
