Post by Reaver on Dec 2, 2012 22:40:28 GMT -4
Knuckles: I'M BROKE!!
His screams can be heard for miles. The tone in his voice, the anger in his soul.....everything he has ever worked hard for, challenged by a technicality. How could it have ever have come to this? How did this happen?
The scene opens in on a cold New York night as Johnny Knuckles is walking through his old stomping grounds, the place where he grew up. This time of night in the Bronx isn't safe for many, not even the vile whelps that lie around in the streets waiting to target another. This night was different. Knuckles managed to sign a temporary contract and get some spending cash until Christmas Chaos but now what? All that has happened recently, the beatings from behind, the constant ridicule, the almost permanent step on the bottom rung of the corporate ladder. The anger that burns inside Knuckles make it so that it would be the worst night ever for anybody who dare crossed him tonight.
Knuckles: For years, I've lived with a certain amount of guilt for what had happened all those years ago. I tried so hard to move on, to push forward but somehow I would still lose sleep at night wondering what might have been. As I walk along these street, I've come to fruition with what has happened. I thought that maybe I had finally found my place and moved on from such happenings only for it to continuously bite me in the ass, and this time......it hurts really bad.
He continues down the street, angry, sad. He never thought that this could ever come back to him. His long time friend, a friend whom he had thought had perished so many years ago.....has returned for something as petty as revenge. That feeling of helplessness wrestles inside of him like a tumble weed blowing in the desert breeze. What is a man of his position to really do?
Knuckles: It all began about seven years ago. Me and my friend, Chris, were training; in hopes of being something big someday. Nothing fancy, just very meager. A gym, if you can call it that, that had duct tape around the ring ropes, on the mat, in certain parts of the room itself. I was always taught that the meager you live, the meager you train, the more you excel. The flashier the man, the weaker he was. Sure you can wine and dine, wheel and deal with limo's and expensive women but how does that help the cause? How does that win fights?
He stops in the street and stares up at an old building. A warehouse of sorts, the very place where the career outside of the “family business” actually began. It was here that Knuckles got his start into learning self control and certain pieces of discipline. It was here that he encountered the team of Spank and Slammy. A former Circus freak who was abnormally large and uncontrollably smiling, and an extremely well trained helper monkey gone rogue who became addicted to smoking cigars and midget hookers. (and they say there's no such thing as big foot...PFFT!)
Knuckles: My first opportunity. I couldn't let it go to waste, and with Chris by my side; there was no stopping either one of us. The team of Sage and Spice. I didn't choose the name but I went with it. I was Sage. I wanted my own identity, my own rights and he wanted his. It worked and it worked well. His death defying prowess combined with my in your face technical brawler made it almost impossible for any team to beat us.
He continues walking and realizes where he is. That smell.....it was unmistakable. A huge lot of land, boarded up and fenced in with shotty planks of wood that were worn well over the years. That smell got to him. It made him angrier and angrier with every growing second. He hated to be there but he was hungry. He needed fuel for his body, he needed it for his mind. Lack of focus would take any man out of his game and this was his way of keeping it in check. This plot, this boarded up piece of land was the demolished building of where the incident took place. This was where the fire happened, a day that would forge itself inside of Knuckles soul for eternity.
Knuckles: This is where it all happened. The day before we left for our first real chance to be something, this was where the building caught fire. Seven long years ago, Chris and I were getting some rest, when suddenly, there were sparks shooting out from the wall. Apparently, the electrical wiring was done half-assed and couldn't handle the amount of power the building was using as a whole. I couldn't tell you why it started on the 9th floor, our apartment, but it did. I remember waking up to walls of flame all around me. The smoke alarm going off and loud screams coming from the outside. I rushed to help Chris but as I came close to his door, I was blown out from it like a scene from Backdraft. It literally took me off my feet and nearly through a couple of floors.
As I was escorted outside, I watched as the building collapsed under it own weight. And with no sign of him. I thought that he was left in there under the rubble and no matter how hard I tried to break free to run back inside to save him, there was nothing I could do. I've spent seven long years living with the guilt knowing that he died because I couldn't get to him in time to save him. I felt that it was all my fault......
Knuckles kicks over the wood and breaks it in half. Just thinking about how much guilt he's had to endure over the years has brought him to the point where a single tear drips from his face. He doesn't say a word. He just stands there with the grimaced look on his face; knowing that he continues to breath in that horrid smell.
Knuckles: Now here you are. Thinking that you can take away from me which I worked so hard for. I don't know what's happened over the years for him, but I am EXACTLY who I say I am and no amount of paper work can deny that. How he thinks he can walk around claiming mine is beyond me. Just because he has the legal documentation proving otherwise is unreal.
His name is Chris Kealey. This is the man who I once considered my brother. The man who I would lay my very life on the line in an instant without even thinking. This is how he repays my brotherhood, by attacking me on live television, by jumping me on show after show, in my hotel room, everywhere I go. Then he throws a lawsuit on me claiming what's mine is his? As if this was The People's Court with Judge Joe Brown?
Knuckles bends down and moves the rubble in hopes of finding a fond memory. To his dismay, he finds nothing. The charred brick and sot have melded well with the ground to make a disgusting version of clay that would slow anybody down; like quicksand. He lets out a huge chuck of lung butter and lobs it across the plot. Almost as if to say that he was disgusted by the appearance. It's a shock that they never built this area back up into a new building. Then again, it really isn't. There's lots of places in the Bronx that are like this and the cost of a building verses the property value of it wouldn't even be enough to turn a decent profit. So here it remains, an arid waste land of broken dreams and disappointment.
Knuckles: The irony is that it's come full circle. The arrival of my old “friend” is just like the arrival of you Strike. You come in and try to take away from me which is rightfully mine. The legal documents that you hold that say you are who you are; nothing more than a technicality to which that is rightfully mine. Everything I have earned over the years, my right. You come to take it away from me just as Chris has and I won't let you get away with it just like I won't let him. I don't know what's going through your mind just like his, but there's one thing I can guarantee Strike; and that's that I won't go down with out fighting you to the death for it.
Chris thinks that by dragging me through open court that he has merit, much like you think that by ignoring me that you will gain the advantage....to take me out of my mental game. My focus lies within myself and towards the Suicidal Championship. I will have my day in court and I will prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am me just as I will prove for the second time in a row that Chris Strike doesn't have it in him to get the job done. You bursted in on MY scene to claim the rights of violence only to falter so shortly after. I have proven that even “gods” could bleed and by laying you out in front of the world, I proved that I should be the rightful owner of that which you covet so little.
You can ignore me all you like Strike, but facts are facts. You couldn't handle the pressure that comes with the violence that you claim championship over and now you've aligned yourself with a woman that should have been your biggest adversary. This is what I like to call a cop out. You can't stand on your own two feet, I proved that last time, and now resort to intimidation tactics as if I would fold. You're not a very bright man are you Strike? You honestly think you ruffled my feathers by joining forces with some of the best Asylum has to offer?
You are the weakest link in the bunch and I will tare down the whole system if I have to in order to get what is mine. I will walk through hell once more, to walk away as champion. Can you honestly say that you would too? For me to be at my best, I have to be at my worst. You have only caught a small glimpse of what is yet to come and there will be nothing stopping me from finishing the job I already started.
Some of the common misconceptions that people may even have about me because of you are that I am a bad person. There's plenty of good reason's to hate me, I just don't want people to hate me for untruths or partial truths and rumors. Who is the real “good guy” here Strike? You? The cowboy coming over the hill to rape, pillage innocent people? I always stood for the under dog. If that makes me a bad person for standing up for what I believe in then you sure as hell got me dead to rights; I'm a bad man.
I am not like the rest of the people you've faced Strike. I embrace physical pain as friend AND companion. The one person who has never let me down and continues to build me up stronger with every shot I take. This week marks the last show before I put you down for good and take the belt that SHOULD be around MY waist. The REAL champion of violence. Where's all the hype now Strike? Your first and soon to be second loses at the hands of me. All that talk, all that “thunder”, gone in an instant because you thought that nobody would notice you stepping on my feet.
He stands up from his crouched position and covers himself up to feel the warm embrace of his coat in the cold winter's air. His past is finally unveiled and put to rest. His guilt, no more. Nothing for him is left to hold back and that smell just agitates him more with every breath. The fog coming from his now charred nose; let's out all of his frustration. His mind is clear and his heart is free from any doubt. No Sacrifice, No Glory. His willingness to sacrifice grows that much more in the coming weeks. The anticipation, the anxiety is almost enough to put a grin on his face.......but he manages to subdue it, for now.
Knuckles: Just like my old friend Strike, you come out of nowhere and attack the very life I live. You throw yourself in my way and refuse to see the coming consequences. I might have stopped with five shots to your back last time but this time? I might never stop. If I have to put the rest of your career on lock down, then I will gladly take it away from you just as you both tried to take it away from me.
Jason Kash has been trying to end my career for years now. Look how far he's come and how may times he's failed to put me away permanently. Violence has been the only thing that I could do better than everybody else. Not you, not the rest of the “Sally Squad”, not Jason Kash, not even President Jeff himself could keep me from making my mark. The same mark that I started carving all over your back, I will continue to carve all over your face. Just as he will fail to take MY identity away from me, you will FAIL in keeping me from becoming the next Suicidal Champion.
Christmas Chaos can't come soon enough.......
Knuckles makes his way off the plot and back onto the street. Satisfied that his heart is filled with enough hatred to motivate him for the week, he walks away as the scene fades.
His screams can be heard for miles. The tone in his voice, the anger in his soul.....everything he has ever worked hard for, challenged by a technicality. How could it have ever have come to this? How did this happen?
The scene opens in on a cold New York night as Johnny Knuckles is walking through his old stomping grounds, the place where he grew up. This time of night in the Bronx isn't safe for many, not even the vile whelps that lie around in the streets waiting to target another. This night was different. Knuckles managed to sign a temporary contract and get some spending cash until Christmas Chaos but now what? All that has happened recently, the beatings from behind, the constant ridicule, the almost permanent step on the bottom rung of the corporate ladder. The anger that burns inside Knuckles make it so that it would be the worst night ever for anybody who dare crossed him tonight.
Knuckles: For years, I've lived with a certain amount of guilt for what had happened all those years ago. I tried so hard to move on, to push forward but somehow I would still lose sleep at night wondering what might have been. As I walk along these street, I've come to fruition with what has happened. I thought that maybe I had finally found my place and moved on from such happenings only for it to continuously bite me in the ass, and this time......it hurts really bad.
He continues down the street, angry, sad. He never thought that this could ever come back to him. His long time friend, a friend whom he had thought had perished so many years ago.....has returned for something as petty as revenge. That feeling of helplessness wrestles inside of him like a tumble weed blowing in the desert breeze. What is a man of his position to really do?
Knuckles: It all began about seven years ago. Me and my friend, Chris, were training; in hopes of being something big someday. Nothing fancy, just very meager. A gym, if you can call it that, that had duct tape around the ring ropes, on the mat, in certain parts of the room itself. I was always taught that the meager you live, the meager you train, the more you excel. The flashier the man, the weaker he was. Sure you can wine and dine, wheel and deal with limo's and expensive women but how does that help the cause? How does that win fights?
He stops in the street and stares up at an old building. A warehouse of sorts, the very place where the career outside of the “family business” actually began. It was here that Knuckles got his start into learning self control and certain pieces of discipline. It was here that he encountered the team of Spank and Slammy. A former Circus freak who was abnormally large and uncontrollably smiling, and an extremely well trained helper monkey gone rogue who became addicted to smoking cigars and midget hookers. (and they say there's no such thing as big foot...PFFT!)
Knuckles: My first opportunity. I couldn't let it go to waste, and with Chris by my side; there was no stopping either one of us. The team of Sage and Spice. I didn't choose the name but I went with it. I was Sage. I wanted my own identity, my own rights and he wanted his. It worked and it worked well. His death defying prowess combined with my in your face technical brawler made it almost impossible for any team to beat us.
He continues walking and realizes where he is. That smell.....it was unmistakable. A huge lot of land, boarded up and fenced in with shotty planks of wood that were worn well over the years. That smell got to him. It made him angrier and angrier with every growing second. He hated to be there but he was hungry. He needed fuel for his body, he needed it for his mind. Lack of focus would take any man out of his game and this was his way of keeping it in check. This plot, this boarded up piece of land was the demolished building of where the incident took place. This was where the fire happened, a day that would forge itself inside of Knuckles soul for eternity.
Knuckles: This is where it all happened. The day before we left for our first real chance to be something, this was where the building caught fire. Seven long years ago, Chris and I were getting some rest, when suddenly, there were sparks shooting out from the wall. Apparently, the electrical wiring was done half-assed and couldn't handle the amount of power the building was using as a whole. I couldn't tell you why it started on the 9th floor, our apartment, but it did. I remember waking up to walls of flame all around me. The smoke alarm going off and loud screams coming from the outside. I rushed to help Chris but as I came close to his door, I was blown out from it like a scene from Backdraft. It literally took me off my feet and nearly through a couple of floors.
As I was escorted outside, I watched as the building collapsed under it own weight. And with no sign of him. I thought that he was left in there under the rubble and no matter how hard I tried to break free to run back inside to save him, there was nothing I could do. I've spent seven long years living with the guilt knowing that he died because I couldn't get to him in time to save him. I felt that it was all my fault......
Knuckles kicks over the wood and breaks it in half. Just thinking about how much guilt he's had to endure over the years has brought him to the point where a single tear drips from his face. He doesn't say a word. He just stands there with the grimaced look on his face; knowing that he continues to breath in that horrid smell.
Knuckles: Now here you are. Thinking that you can take away from me which I worked so hard for. I don't know what's happened over the years for him, but I am EXACTLY who I say I am and no amount of paper work can deny that. How he thinks he can walk around claiming mine is beyond me. Just because he has the legal documentation proving otherwise is unreal.
His name is Chris Kealey. This is the man who I once considered my brother. The man who I would lay my very life on the line in an instant without even thinking. This is how he repays my brotherhood, by attacking me on live television, by jumping me on show after show, in my hotel room, everywhere I go. Then he throws a lawsuit on me claiming what's mine is his? As if this was The People's Court with Judge Joe Brown?
Knuckles bends down and moves the rubble in hopes of finding a fond memory. To his dismay, he finds nothing. The charred brick and sot have melded well with the ground to make a disgusting version of clay that would slow anybody down; like quicksand. He lets out a huge chuck of lung butter and lobs it across the plot. Almost as if to say that he was disgusted by the appearance. It's a shock that they never built this area back up into a new building. Then again, it really isn't. There's lots of places in the Bronx that are like this and the cost of a building verses the property value of it wouldn't even be enough to turn a decent profit. So here it remains, an arid waste land of broken dreams and disappointment.
Knuckles: The irony is that it's come full circle. The arrival of my old “friend” is just like the arrival of you Strike. You come in and try to take away from me which is rightfully mine. The legal documents that you hold that say you are who you are; nothing more than a technicality to which that is rightfully mine. Everything I have earned over the years, my right. You come to take it away from me just as Chris has and I won't let you get away with it just like I won't let him. I don't know what's going through your mind just like his, but there's one thing I can guarantee Strike; and that's that I won't go down with out fighting you to the death for it.
Chris thinks that by dragging me through open court that he has merit, much like you think that by ignoring me that you will gain the advantage....to take me out of my mental game. My focus lies within myself and towards the Suicidal Championship. I will have my day in court and I will prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that I am me just as I will prove for the second time in a row that Chris Strike doesn't have it in him to get the job done. You bursted in on MY scene to claim the rights of violence only to falter so shortly after. I have proven that even “gods” could bleed and by laying you out in front of the world, I proved that I should be the rightful owner of that which you covet so little.
You can ignore me all you like Strike, but facts are facts. You couldn't handle the pressure that comes with the violence that you claim championship over and now you've aligned yourself with a woman that should have been your biggest adversary. This is what I like to call a cop out. You can't stand on your own two feet, I proved that last time, and now resort to intimidation tactics as if I would fold. You're not a very bright man are you Strike? You honestly think you ruffled my feathers by joining forces with some of the best Asylum has to offer?
You are the weakest link in the bunch and I will tare down the whole system if I have to in order to get what is mine. I will walk through hell once more, to walk away as champion. Can you honestly say that you would too? For me to be at my best, I have to be at my worst. You have only caught a small glimpse of what is yet to come and there will be nothing stopping me from finishing the job I already started.
Some of the common misconceptions that people may even have about me because of you are that I am a bad person. There's plenty of good reason's to hate me, I just don't want people to hate me for untruths or partial truths and rumors. Who is the real “good guy” here Strike? You? The cowboy coming over the hill to rape, pillage innocent people? I always stood for the under dog. If that makes me a bad person for standing up for what I believe in then you sure as hell got me dead to rights; I'm a bad man.
I am not like the rest of the people you've faced Strike. I embrace physical pain as friend AND companion. The one person who has never let me down and continues to build me up stronger with every shot I take. This week marks the last show before I put you down for good and take the belt that SHOULD be around MY waist. The REAL champion of violence. Where's all the hype now Strike? Your first and soon to be second loses at the hands of me. All that talk, all that “thunder”, gone in an instant because you thought that nobody would notice you stepping on my feet.
He stands up from his crouched position and covers himself up to feel the warm embrace of his coat in the cold winter's air. His past is finally unveiled and put to rest. His guilt, no more. Nothing for him is left to hold back and that smell just agitates him more with every breath. The fog coming from his now charred nose; let's out all of his frustration. His mind is clear and his heart is free from any doubt. No Sacrifice, No Glory. His willingness to sacrifice grows that much more in the coming weeks. The anticipation, the anxiety is almost enough to put a grin on his face.......but he manages to subdue it, for now.
Knuckles: Just like my old friend Strike, you come out of nowhere and attack the very life I live. You throw yourself in my way and refuse to see the coming consequences. I might have stopped with five shots to your back last time but this time? I might never stop. If I have to put the rest of your career on lock down, then I will gladly take it away from you just as you both tried to take it away from me.
Jason Kash has been trying to end my career for years now. Look how far he's come and how may times he's failed to put me away permanently. Violence has been the only thing that I could do better than everybody else. Not you, not the rest of the “Sally Squad”, not Jason Kash, not even President Jeff himself could keep me from making my mark. The same mark that I started carving all over your back, I will continue to carve all over your face. Just as he will fail to take MY identity away from me, you will FAIL in keeping me from becoming the next Suicidal Champion.
Christmas Chaos can't come soon enough.......
Knuckles makes his way off the plot and back onto the street. Satisfied that his heart is filled with enough hatred to motivate him for the week, he walks away as the scene fades.
