Post by Slade "The Main Man" Craven on Nov 9, 2012 19:06:22 GMT -4
[glow=darkgreen,9,200]THEN...[/glow]
Shadow looked down at Slade, that long beard covering his face. They were in the hospital, it was September 2nd. Slade had been asleep for far too long. The heart monitor beeped slowly. His heart was barely beating, it was pathetic.
Later that day Shadow was standing next to Slade’s hospital bed with the rest of the A.K.A. Assassin and Dita looked at him, Shadow had just poured his heart out and they all knew it was really hard for him to deal with this right now. As they both opened their mouths to respond to Shadow, Slade’s hand suddenly twitched. Shadow, in a panic of wonder, slapped him in the face hard. The shock made Slade’s eye shoot open!
He’s Awake!!!!
[glow=darkgreen,9,200]NOW...[/glow]
[shadow=white,left,1200]Monday November 5th, 2012[/shadow]
The white washed walls of the room are very dull and depressing. Overhead fluorescent bulbs flicker and hum. Inside this room are two heavy steel chairs that are bolted to the floor. Between them sits a steel table with beveled edges. Like the chairs, this table is bolted down. Hunched over the table, with his stringy brown hair draped over his face is a figure. The man is in a straight jacket with his ankles shackled to the floor; all safety precautions. This man does not move, he just stays there with his head bowed in utter silence. If it wasn’t for the straight jacket, you’d think you were watching Sean Connery in “The Rock.” The only sound comes from the humming overhead. Behind the chair opposite the man is a two way mirror, but whoever is on the other side goes unseen. To the left of that mirror is a door, but there is no door handle on this side. The only way to access this room is from the outside. A loud click is heard as the figure with long stringy light brown hair still does not move. The door opens and in walks a tall lanky fellow in a grey suit with a purple vest. He has a smoking pipe in his lips and carries a file folder. This man peers out from behind his round wire frame glasses at the man sitting at the table.
“Slade Craven?”
‘The Main Man’ slowly raises his head, it’s very different to see him without his hair dyed all sorts of funky colors. Slade finally says something.
“Doc, I can’t take it anymore.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “The walls are closing in; blah, blah, blah. A couple more days of this crap food and I’ll be saying it for real.”
He is not amused. “I’m not a doctor Mr. Craven. I work for the United Nations Organization.”
“So you’re a diplomat?” Craven is confused.
“Not exactly. I work for a branch of U.N.O. The W.H.O. the World Health Organization.”
“Clever.”
“My name is Professor Plum,” The man begins as he takes his pipe from his mouth and approaches the table. “Reginald Schmidt asked me to give you a psychological evaluation.”
“And why would he want that?”
The Professor takes a seat opposite ‘The Main Man.’ He sets the file folder on the table and flips it open. Craven eyes the paperwork and tries to read it from and upside down perspective.
“What do you remember about the past few months?”
Slade has several flashbacks immediately. First one is Rasslemania, then Overdrive in his match versus Chris Hart, then loss after loss after loss to a half assed win to a whole bunch more losses. All the while Professor Plum watches Slade and reads his body language.
“I got my ass kicked.” Craven replies. He shifts in his straight jacket, the chain that holds his ankles to the floor rattles.
“Anything else?” Plum makes a few notes on the paperwork before him.
Craven tries to think back. But something is clouding his memory. He ponders remembering: a train nearly running him down, breaking into Shadow’s hotel room, this creepy ass house in Beverly Hills. They feel like someone else’s memories though. Slade can’t put his finger on it. Then he remembers the fireplace. The last night he drank and man was he drunk. It’s fleeting and then it’s gone.
“No. Nothing,” Slade simply states. “Wait, I think I remember Hannah Storm bitching to me about EVERYONE hitting on her and how she plans to file a sexual harassment lawsuit on the next person who does so. So I smacked her ass. She slapped me. Is this about that? Can you tell her I was only joking?”
Across the table the man makes a few more notes. Slade swears he read something about a ‘Defense Mechanisms.” Plum moves to the next question on his list.
“Any dreams that you can recall?”
Craven shakes his head. “No Doc,” his voice looks a little exacerbated. One might say it’s hurting Slade to think. “What is this all about? And what did you mean earlier, Reginald Schmidt? I’m on Overdrive.”
“Not anymore.” Plum replies. “Now please think, are you sure you haven’t had any strange dreams; possibly even some reoccurring dreams?”
“No!” Slade yells. He is getting frustrated. The Professor takes a note of Slade’s attitude.
“Are you positive? I recall a reoccurring dream I had back in the fifties where I was hanging from a clock tower. Think back to your childhood.”
Craven struggles with his straight jacket but to no avail. Finally he gets tired of wrestling with his bonds. Plum waits patiently.
“No Doc. I don’t remember any dreams, period. Will you please tell me what the Hell is going on here?”
Professor Plum sighs and takes off his glasses. He begins cleaning them with a leafy green handkerchief that he produces from his vest pocket. After a moment Slade begins to feel anxious; however, he keeps calm.
“You were in a coma Mr. Craven.”
Slade’s jaw drops.
“Two actually. During your match at Shockwave you landed on your head. It was an accident, nobody’s fault. Later that evening you were found in your hotel room unconscious. The impact caused a delayed chain reaction that sent approximately .121 gigawatts of static electricity into your brain and when you discharged that electricity by touching the lamp in your hotel room you collapsed. It sent you into a coma for eight days.”
As Plum speaks, Slade remembers waking up and being slapped in the face by Shadow. He also remembers he gets slapped a lot. Plum isn’t making any sense. It sounds like a really horrible way to explain an unexplainable situation.
“You awoke on Labor Day...”
“It’s a Labor Day Miracle!” Dita Morgan’s voice echoes in his head.
“Then the following week on Overdrive you aggravated your condition and sent yourself into another coma that lasted until One Night in Hell. Strangely you awoke at exactly 10:04 PM. It was announced the following morning that upon a clean bill of health you would be immediately transferred to Asylum.”
“Why?”
“Because the schedule works better and can reduce the chances of relapsing back into a coma.”
“So are you going to release me?”
“Not yet,” Plum says. “There are still a few more questions to cover. Tell me do you know a woman named Ruby?”
Slade has never met a woman with that name in his life. He shakes his head. Plum looks at another sheet of paper; this one looks like a police report.
“Are you sure?” Plum remarks, “She is the one who called the police from your hotel room. When the police arrived you were found motionless and the door was locked from the inside. No one else was there. No one knows how she got out with the door locked that way.”
Again, Slade shakes his head from side to side. “Doc man, I didn’t know I was in a coma, let alone two! When the hell did this happen. What day is it?”
“It’s actually a red letter date in the history of science, November 5, 2012.”
“It’s November?!”
“Hrm,” Plum comments. He jots down a few other things ignoring Slade’s outburst. “Police toxicology report showed you were clean, that’s a good sign. Most people expected you to immerse yourself in alcohol or drugs with the cold streak you had going.”
Craven is a little taken aback by that statement. He realizes almost immediately that Plum is testing him. Slade doesn’t react. Nevertheless he still thinks back to the night he got the divorce papers from Stacy, that same night he touched his last drink, the night he was attac—
“Do you think you are fit to wrestle Mr. Craven?”
“Hell yes!” Slade responds with an upbeat tone. “I’ll go right now, I’ll fight anybody. So what, am I already booked or something?”
“As a matter of fact you are, that’s the concern. It’s not just your wellbeing that’s being called into question. It’s the safety of your competitors.”
“Competitors?” Craven raises an eyebrow. “How many people am I facing, tag match, fatal four way, triple threat?”
“Let’s not jump the gun Mr. Craven.” Professor Plum says. “While medically you appear fine, Reginald Schmidt is worried about your possible deteriorating mental state. He wants to make sure his Megastars are not in any danger, just as he is concerned about your health. We don’t want to rush things. You should take it easy, and go one step at a time.”
“Just tell me who I’m facing. Or at least the match I am in so I know what I have ahead of me.”
“A tables, ladders and chairs match.”
‘The Main Man’ sits there silently for a few seconds. In his head he thinks to himself, so much for baby steps. “Sweet! Who am I facing?”
Professor Plum sighs and rubs his temples. “Phil Atkin, Jair Hopkins, T.J. Yarmouth, Keaton Saint and oh Michael Callahan; hrm he looks familiar.”
“Great Scott!”
Slade thinks about this for a moment. Past few months he’s had his ass handed to him on Overdrive, unable to catch a break. Just one humiliating defeat after another and now he is in a TLC match?
“Aww well it must be my birthday!”
“No that was 38 days ago.” Plum makes another note, something about Slade forgetting his own birthday. “Mr. Craven, I don’t think you’re competent to compete. Your mind is in a very damaged state. Putting you in a number one contender’s match for the World Heavyweight title, it’s too big a risk.”
“It’s for wha!?” Craven’s jaw hits the table in shock.
“Yes, did I not mention that?”
“No!” Slade exclaims.
“Oh, well it’s a number one contenders match for the—”
“I’m well aware of that now Freud. You got to get me out of here.” Slade pleads.
“Mr. Craven,” The Professor says, “If I clear you to compete and you go out there and do something stupid, like shoot a Megastar in the face with an umbrella again; and get yourself hurt, I don’t know if I could carry that weight on my conscious.”
“It’s alright Doc, I lost like 30 lbs. in that coma.”
Craven nods to his paperwork. Plum looks down and sees that Slade has been reading the notes and files upside down. Despite everything, this impresses the Professor. Plum picks up his pipe and reaches into his pocket for a match. The older chap from U.N.O. W.H.O. strikes it against his coarse pants legs and takes a long puff. Craven was never a fan of smoking but he doesn’t object. Slade looks right in Plums eyes as the professor exhales a long stream of smoke from his lungs.
“Mr. Craven, I have to say: You’re one in a million, one in a billion, one in a googolplex. You got me thinking... What the hell?”
“You’re the Doc, Doc.”
Plum produces a stamp from his coat pocket and slams it down on Slade’s file. Then he gets up turns and takes another drag from the pipe as he raps on the exit door. Someone from the other side opens it as Professor Plum walks through. On the other side, in the two way mirror room Plum is standing there with several of APW’s senior officials, medical staff doctors, security guards and Reginald Schmidt. The professor looks at them and says with a smile.
“Good news everyone..." He pauses for a brief second. “He’s good to go!”
They all cheer and shake hands before they all turn and walk out the other door in the observation room. One by one they all file out and the door is shut behind them. Through the window/mirror Slade is still sitting there shackled in his straight jacket. He looks at his file for a moment then at the mirror/window. Everything is silent.
“Doc?”
Another pause.
Craven shifts in his seat.
He stares toward the mirror/window. Silence abounds.
“Hello?”
Well here we are. They finally shacked me up in the wacko basket. That’s fine. New blood is fresh blood and “The Main Man” loves making new friends. But you may be asking yourself: How the hell can some guy who spent the last six months getting kicked around like the ball at the world cup have the audacity to call himself “The Main Man?” Simple answer, I’m insane. Complicated answer: Well you put Slade Craven in the ring with not one, not two, but six other Asylum Megastars—toss in a few tables ladders and a couple of chair—and you’ll find out why. Last time I was a match that involved a ladder I got put through a table. Not just through a table I believe the words used to describe it were “shattered the table.” yeah that sounds about right. I don’t know, I’ve been in a coma since then maybe my memory is a little fuzzy but that hurt like hell.
So why on earth would I desire to put my body through that kind of brutal torture and mutilation again? Because, it is fun! When I heard about this match and who I was facing I didn’t think “man I better be careful out there who knows what might happen.” I thought “Tables Ladders and Chairs? Hell Yes!” And while some of you assholes may go to my new boss and complain because Slade Craven doesn’t deserve a chance to go for the World Heavyweight Title. And rightfully so; it’s my first day on the job and I’m pissing in someone else’s pool. But you can’t have a match that involves a ladder and exclude “The Main Man.” It’s just not cool.
I understand people bring up a valid point when they say I don’t deserve to “go for the gold.” Slade says this: Fuck you! Oh my! He dropped an F-Bomb. Yes I did and I don’t give a damn, fine me, sue me, send me down to Meltdown; Slade Craven is going to keep working, day in and day out, walking to that ring, kicking people in the face and dropping Fly Flys, Why? Because “The Main Man” loves it! People want to run their mouth on Overdrive and Meltdown about how Shadow has stepped out of his mentor’s shadow. Something you som-bitches don’t know is I was never Shadow’s mentor folks. I met Shadow at after he completed his training. In fact HE invited me to work with him and then I invited him to my home fed. And all this happened when most of you were going through “Chop Day” at the academy. This ain’t Slade getting angry; this is Slade setting things straight. No matter what you may do, no matter how many of ya’ll think you can retire me; Slade Craven has, and will always, withstand the test of time. I’ll keep doing this to the day that I die, because I love it. And while you may say me being here running my mouth pisses you off, I know the truth. What everyone’s problem really is: I’m too good looking!
Sure I could sit here spouting off insults at all of you. But what good would it do. I haven’t backed ANYTHING up. What do I have to prove? Not a damn thing. Do I give a damn what anyone out there thinks? Hell no! I can lump all my problems from before under the rug, or I can come out here and keep doing what I love: pissing you off because I’m still here. Most people would like to see Slade Craven roll over and die, most want him to just go away. But if it bothers you I still got a contract: Good! Sit on it and rotate bitches. Yeah we’ve come a long way from “Mr. Wholesome and Good” Slade Craven who wouldn’t use foul language because of the Family Roots background, but where did that get me? Set on fire. So when I opened my mouth and started telling ya’ll what “The Main Man” really thought of you hapless glory seeking assholes I found myself in not one but two comas. Call me Crazy but I feel that maybe that means I’m doing something right.
To all my fans, patience. Slade Craven will reclaim himself once more. One win is all it takes. Wouldn’t it be nice if Slade Craven rolled into Christmas Chaos to take on Sally Talford? I’m sure that would piss off a bunch of people. And I say GOOD! Cause you know who it won’t piss off? The fans. Ole’ Callahan, Todd Atkin’ brother and the others can watch as Slade Craven walks into town on his first night and just drops a Deuce all over your plans, that sounds like the start of the Holiday Season to me. Slade’s on Asylum folks. You can lock me up with the other nuts but sooner or later this Nut is going to take over the Nuthouse. God help ya’ll that day. People all around the world are going to be screaming “Slade Craven has lost his mind!”
Yep, and I don’t miss it!
