Post by Khaos on Mar 11, 2021 1:34:08 GMT -5
The scene opens in the near-empty parking lot of the Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City, Missouri where Damien “Khaos” Carter stands before a fire barrel, the drum lit ablaze, the flame-like-fingers reaching out to take him in their heated embrace. Most of the fans from the show have long since dispersed, with only a few of the truly faithful and devoted sticking around in hopes of getting a quick autograph or photo-op with their favorite superstars. Damien does not fall atop that list, his name not quite yet falling in the “superstar” category. Jerika Mason tentatively approaches Damien, her camera man a few steps behind. Cautiously, she ambles up next to him, rubbing her shoulders as if a chill-breeze suddenly blew through her body, despite the mild and humid air around them.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Damien asked, his eyes remaining on the fire.
“Just looking to get a reaction to tonight’s events,” Jerika forced out. “I mean… if that’s okay-“
“Perhaps you should be more specific with your questions,” Damien retorted, pulling his gloves from his hands and dropping them into the fire, feeding the blaze. “A lot of things happened tonight; a truly historic night in Revo1.”
The last part was laced with anger and regret and spoken through clenched teeth. Jerika shot a worrisome glance back at her cameraman before proceeding further.
“Um… okay,” Jerika swallowed hard, trying to stuff down the fear growing in her gut. “Maybe we can talk about the dra-“
“The draft changed the landscape of Revo1 forever,” Damien interjected, unzipping his tactical vest and tossing it into the flames next. “On one hand, I’m grateful that Cerise is still by my side. On the other, Anya and her Left Hand cronies get to hide over in Sin. Sort of throws my whole 'revenge' out the window, don’t you think?”
The word “revenge” seems to strike a chord with Damien as he pulls his shirt off next, letting the fire crackle up and engulf it as he holds the burning fabric in his hands. Only when he begins to feel the flames lick at his skin does he drop it in, his mind going back to a time he’d like to forget. He closes his eyes, seeing the memories like they were happening now. As Damien silently relived the horrors of his past, Jerika’s eyes couldn’t help but scan over his topless form. Adorning the majority of his body was cuts, burns, and scars of various shapes and sizes, none more prominent then the six-pointed sun star encircled by three symmetrical barriers branded into his flesh, directly over his heart.
“Damien,” Jerika dared to ask. “How did you get those scars?”
Damien opened his eyes, casting a glancing glance over at Jerika, before turning back to the fire. Something about the draft bothered him. No, not something… someone. Could she truly be here, after all of this time?
“Next question,” Damien remarked, pulling his boots off next and dropping them in.
“Your match with Chelsea LeClair tonight saw your first, official, loss in Revo1,” Jerika proceeded with caution. “How do you feel that affects you going forward?”
“I guess we’re glossing over the fact that I lost at Allegiance, eh?” Damien cracked a smirk. “Of course Johnny ate the pin… and I guess I sort of set him up for that… but sure, Chelsea had my number tonight.”
Damien began to unbutton his pants and slide them down his legs.
“Wha-what are you doing!?” Jerika asked, her face flushing red.
“I heard what Chelsea had to say about me,” Damien responded, ignoring Jerika. “More importantly, I heard what she had to say about herself. Right now, she might be thinking to herself ‘Am I really that good…? Did I just come in to a Main Event and pull off some miraculous upset…? Or am I just simply… lucky?’. I know what it’s like to start over… done it more times than I care to admit. But Chelsea, don’t sell yourself short, I don’t care who you are… when you’re standing across the ring from me, I take everyone seriously. In my line of work, if you underestimate someone you end up not living long enough to regret it. You bested me tonight, simple as that. Now I know that you were one of many drafted over to Sin and so our paths may not cross again, but if they do… I welcome the challenge. As for your hypothesis on victims… it does intrigue me. You see, so many of us wear masks… both physical and psychological. These masks exist to protect us from the outside world, shield us from all the shit that is thrown our way on a daily basis. I used to believe it possible that one can separate themselves while wearing this mask, almost like becoming someone else… or something else. But the truth is, though the world may see a different ‘you’, nothing underneath the mask changes. You cannot change what is in your true nature, and there-in lays the problem Chelsea because the fact of the matter is, in one way or another, we are all victims…”
Damien thought back to the final moments of the match, how Chelsea had applied her Finisher move and forced him to tap out. The pain that he had endured, resulting in him having to “submit”… it reminded him of a certain blue-haired she-devil, and the satisfaction she would derive from playing with her “pet”. He dropped the pants into the fire as Jerika did her best to keep her eyes above his waistline.
“Such a strange business to be in, don’t you think?” Damien asked, more-so rhetorically. “The way the crowd cheers for their favorite wrestler, yet boo vehemently the ones that they dislike. Do they really think that, in the end, their reaction matters? WE are the ones in that ring facing off against someone who wants to tear us limb-from-limb. It is OUR bodies that are broken… OUR blood that is spilled and yet, without them, we do not exist. Modern-day gladiators in a fucking steel coliseum.”
Damien removes his underwear and lets it slip into the fire as he stands now naked in the parking lot as a bewildered Jerika looks back at her camera man, unsure if she should even proceed with this outlandish interview.
“A defeat like this, back then, would’ve resulted in certain death,” Damien exhaled, breathing in the smoke. “But these are not ancient times and I’m most certainly NOT dead; not yet anyway. This isn’t the first time I’ve been baptized by the fire and I’m sure it won’t be the last. But like a mother-fucking Phoenix, I’m going to rise from the ashes. And in my wake, I’m going to burn it all down to the ground.”
Damien turns and looks directly into Jerika’s eyes as she swears she can see the fire burning within his very pupils.
“Just remember Jerika,” Damien stated, placing an open hand over the flames. “There can never be order… only Khaos.”
As he closes his fist, the flames instantly cease and a pillar of smoke rises. Damien continues to stare long and hard at Jerika, before a sudden realization hits him. He slowly looks down at his naked form, and then back up to the slightly turned-on, yet very disturbed, interviewer.
“I… probably should’ve brought a change of clothes with me before I burned those,” Damien declared.
His eyes quickly scan his nearby surroundings, looking for something to cover himself with, before they finally fall on “Twisty”. He snatches the poorly designed Amelia Hearts care bear up, using it – as best as he can – to cover his nether regions. Damien nods his farewell to Jerika as he awkwardly backs away from her and disappears out of sight.