‘’One’s’’ The planning of ‘’The plan’’ (2)

[Level-Two]

‘’One’s’’ The planning of ‘’The plan’’ (2)
War Games RP

I slipped the picture of Kayla back into the cracked frame, before putting it back up onto the wall. I’m out of hiding…

I'm going to war; and I'm coming back in one peice.

I took a long lasting stare at the picture; even through the cracked frame, I could formulate her face so fluently. Despite how much I hated her, and what she’s done to me, I couldn’t help but be sucked into her eyes. A pool in which you couldn’t help soak in, no matter how dirty, rough, and torn your skin was. Eyes, you’d be willing to drown in, if you could stare through it’s reflection for all eternity.

And her lips? The sweet scent of something natural. A clean scent, when she longed to me. Not the dirty, filthy, cockbreath she was bound to have in her dealings with Brian, and his chauvinistic ways. Those lips, is why I’ve sat down and planned his death out to a T—and somewhere along the way, if she had to be sacrificed then so be it. Even if she was gone, I’d still be able to feel that touch.

That touch…

DING DONG!

The doorbell rang, snapping me out of my trance. I quickly shook my head free, and walked towards the door. I reached out for the door knob, and my hands slowly formulated it’s threshold around it, and then just as quickly had I jerked it away. What the fuck I was thinking? They were after me. Why the hell would I be so damn welcoming, at my doorstep? I had no guests planned, nor did anyone call to tell me they were stopping on by. Did I order a pizza?

No, I fucking didn’t order a pizza. Get the gun, get the fucking gun…

DING DONG!

I quickly ran over to my dour; ripping it open. Grabbing a pistol, I tucked it under my shirt, and then walked back to the door. The odds had been even, but what if they were more than one of them? I pulled out my gun, quickly snapping open the barrel, about four bullets remained in it’s chamber, I’d be alright I thought as I tucked the gun back under my shirt, and quickly pulled open the door.

‘’What the fuck are you doing here?’’ I blurted out, shocked at the man who stood on the other side of the door. It was none other than my employer…President Jeff?

‘’Sorry to stop on by on such short notice…’’ President Jeff calmly stated, almost inviting himself inside my penthouse.

‘’More like no-notice’’ I hissed under my breath, as he made his way further into the suite, with his pockets in his hands; he eyed the penthouse. While big and beautiful on the outside, Jeff quickly grew suspicious once on the inside.

‘’What the hell happened in here?’’ Hurricane Jeff quizzed, before slowly turning back to me. ‘’It looks like a hurricane hit it’’ I couldn’t help but fight back a smile, what irony. ‘’…Seriously, what the hell happened here?’’ President Jeff asked once more, this time growing a bit frustrated. What the hell was I supposed to tell him, the SWAT team busted in?

‘’…A SWAT team busted in’’ I told him, as Hurricane Jeff’s eyes widened in disbelief.

‘’SWAT team? What the hell is going on here, Level?’’ President Jeff quizzed further, as I shrugged my shoulders. Jeff quickly took it upon himself to sort through the broken mess, the SWAT team had been kind enough to leave lying around.

‘’It was just a misunderstanding, no biggie’’ I told Jeff in a carefree manner, following him into the living room, where he sorted through an assortment of broken shit.

‘’I don’t know what the hell your up to Level, but this isn’t looking good’’ President Jeff said, as he picked up a load of vintage CD’s putting them back onto it’s nearby shelve. ‘’I’ve had things like this happen to people I know. I was heavily involved in drugs back in the day. Your not into that crap, are you?’’ Hurricane Jeff asked me, as I nodded my head.

‘’I’m clean, Jeff’’ I tell him. Which was the honest to god truth. I’m pure, nothing other than prescription drugs, has ever entered this body.

‘’…This hasn’t anything to do with Lily now, does it?’’ Hurricane Jeff quizzes me, as I roll my eyes.

‘’I have nothing to do with the damn women. Crazy Man even knows it’’ I hissed in frustration. President Jeff stood up straight looking me into my eye.

’'Look, the truth is I’m worried about you’’ President Jeff confessed. ‘’You’ve been a big part of the APW and I hate to see you go down this path. You can deny it all you want, Level, but something is up’’ Jeff pushed on. As I pointed my finger in his face.

‘’Who the fuck do you think you are, Jeff?’’ I had lost my temper. Jeff simply clenched his teeth, his cheekbones puffing through the side of his face. ‘’You don’t fucking own me, nor am I your friend. I’m here to wrestle, and you’re here to make a penny of my hardwork. I don’t know where you got off thinking you’re my father, nor friend’’ I said to Jeff, bending over picking up a few DVD cases before shoving them with frustration into a random dour, as Jeff watched on.

‘’You need help’’ Jeff had recommended. ‘’…I’m telling you, not asking you. You need to see a physiatrist’’ I looked a Jeff, before cracking a wild smile. ‘’I’m afraid your seriously going to hurt someone. You’ve lost your mind. You’ve become a liability to everyone around you, including yourself’’

‘’Shut up’’ I shot off carelessly. President Jeff only continued on…

‘’I’ve received countless statements from fans outside the arena, that you’ve become increasingly hostile towards them. Your constant threats inside and out the ring, is also putting my pay-roll, MY roster at danger. Last but not least, you have an on-going investigation pending, which could result in your serving jail-time’’ President Jeff finally issued.

The truth is, I didn’t want to hear any of it. Even if I did tell him what was going on, he wouldn’t understand. He’d only put tighter restrictions on me, and the last thing I wanted to be was controlled. Fuck that.

‘’…Fuck you, Jeff’’ This seemed to be the last blow. President Jeff reached over grabbing my arm, pulling me face to face.

‘’Level, I’m not telling you…I’m demanding you to see a Physiatrist. This is in your contract’’ Jeff further explained. I knew what it was coming down too. ‘’…Should fail to do this, I’ll have no choice but to terminate your contract’’

I stopped. I took a deep breath, and then brushed past him. President Jeff stood waiting, as I went into my room, reaching under my king sized bed, removing a large security box. Jeff wasn’t going to get what he wanted; I was too damn stubborn for that. I walked back into the living room, before kicking everything off of a nearby table, before setting the large box on the table. Jeff didn’t say a world.

I inserted the key, and flipped the lid to the box. In the box, paper after paper, in stacks reminded. After sorting through it, I had found the papers I needed. Pulling them out, I held them above my head.

‘’…August, I needed to see one before I hand entered the Experts tournament’’ I said cold, and calmly. ‘’It states in my contract that these check ups can only be issued once every 8 months, and I’ve passed this one’’ I looked at Jeff who was glancing down at my plans. Quickly I flipped the book closed, removing the paper from within it. Jeff looked up at me.

‘’I’m sorry things went down this way’’ Jeff said, the first sign of him giving in.

‘’See you in another month, Jeff’’ I shot back, handing him over the sheets. President Jeff slowly reached out and grabbed hold of them, before lowering his head in disappointment. He simply walked away, and didn’t even turn back.

I can’t be saved.

---

Pre-show, Carnage.

President Jeff reaches his office. Slipping on a pair of classes he takes a seat in-front of a wooden desk. A light hangs over it, he adjusts the lightings sensitivity, and when it meets his expectations, he places the paperwork in-front of himself. However, a sheet of paper titled ‘’Carnage plans’’ slips out. This catches the President’s eye, as she shoves everything else to the side, and takes a look at it.

To be quite honest, I’m fucking tired of this bullshit. You’ve got around the mill guys like Jason Royce, throwing himself upon marquee’s he simply doesn’t belong. You’ve got no good thus, like Lynch portraying negative stereotypes about MY skin color, as if I didn’t have enough fucking bullshit to deal with. Then you have guys like Carl Cage, whom I am lead to believe is trying to ruin MY rasslemania plans.

Well, Carl Cage should know that I’m not going to take any of his shit. Not to mention, a main-event with-out me, is simply stomach turning. That story about Carl Cage and drugs? Well, let’s just say that isn’t the most reliable source out there. Carl Cage won’t make APW’S carnage, but it won’t be because of a silly non-existing drug habit. See, that’s just a diversion.

I’ll be waiting for Carl Cage, and when he arrives at the arena; I will remove my hidden cloak, and break his leg with my steel chair. I’m going to bloody him, I’m going to beat him. Carl Cage has a rasslemania dream, and I’m going to take it away from him, with a fucking smile on my face. And then? I’m going to leave him where he lays, his dream’s shattered beside him. I show no remorse for my actions.

I’ve been responsible for many of the happenings of the APW, and I’ll only be behind a few more. Max Carter isn’t smarter than me. I know he’s increased security around the building, after what I’ve done to Lynch last week. But he doesn’t know that I’ve already infiltrated his security, before he’s had a chance to assign them to a post. I’m sure, Max Carter won’t be pleased with the fact that at exactly 7: 42 the road leading to the arena, will be blocked off. I won’t hold it up too long, then again, do I really need too?

Where will your security be then, Max?
When will your favorite superstar milk in the cash cow, Jeff?

…and lastly, explain to me why you believe it will be Michael Lively, who will come to defend his title against me at rasslemania?

That’s up to me.

President Jeff having just read the letter quickly looks up at the time 7: 43, before turning his attention back down at the letter.

…Want to save me? Your already too late.

---

Live @ APW'S Carnage

We open up to Level-One backstage holding a cam-corder to his face with one hand. In another, hangs a steel; he can’t help but crack a proud smile.

Now, I want you all to listen to me VERY carefully. If you are watching this video, then I’m afraid it’s too late. But those who’ve been blinded by confusion, will soon have the sheets ripped away from their eyes. See last week I was FRAMED by someone live on television. Someone who is trying to spoil my Rasslemania opportunities, and give yet Michael lively another pass. Not only was he handed over the world championship, but now a title defense? I REFUSE to have any of it.

And so, I searched deep into my sources. I had searched around, dug up a little dirt, and it turns out that there was a ‘’weak’’ link infiltrating one of the teams in the main-event. Oooooh, shocking huh? Max Carter is up to his old tricks, but I’m one step ahead of him. You see, Max Carter and his band of morons decided it would be best to ‘’plant’’ a traitor in amidst the main-event at Carnage, in hopes to make Lively and his already stacked team, emerge victorious. That big dumb, over-weight, giant was going to turn his back on his team. However, did Max Carter believe I was really that stupid to watch it happen?

Slowly he nods his head back and forth. The mood set, has clearly been sad and somber, despite the fact he feels no regret of the deed he has done. All he does is raise the steel chair, which is coated with blood.

Unfortunately, he was. Fortunately, our little friend Carl Cage is going to be absent from our little spectacle that’s been scheduled tonight. One had to wonder why I wasn’t in the match to begin with? Well the answer is simple. Events are meant to play out a certain way, Max Carter loves to pull strings and make us all dance. However, what Max Carter fails to realize, I walk on my OWN terms. I do what I want, and I fucking say what I want. More importantly I come with NO strings attached. And so now one of his power players, will be sidelined. And by the look of things? Carl Cage isn’t going to be there at Rasslemania either; I foiled his fucking plot.

I’m not sorry.

He stops dead in his tracks, before slamming the steel chair down onto the concrete. He pauses for a second, and then resumes his walk backstage.

Carl Cage will be a lesson to you all. You pussyfoot around me, I will smash your skull in with my first, or a steel chair optional. That’s the dick of my style. It seems a lot of you thought I was just hype. Level-One? He just believes he’s all that and a bag of chips, I’ll show him! Yeah, fucking right. I must be blind, because nobody has shown me anything I haven’t seen before. And I better fucking see something soon. I’m running out there with the APW cream of the crop…

…With the exception of Jason Royce. How the fuck did he manage to snake his way into a match of this caliber?

Speaking of snakes. How the fuck did Dr. Matt suddenly become re-employed with the APW? I know due to the ‘’John Green’’ clause, every fucking failure is due to redeem himself at least once, but it was only what…a month since Dr. Matt’s been fired? Way to stick to your guns, Max Carter. I’m starting believe you’d do anything but dress up in a chicken suite for ratings. You make me sick.

And if Max Carter believed Dr. Matt was going to rein in the ratings, he should just walk back over to the EWC and GM a Monday Night Brawl show, that no longer exists, because this shit sounds like some fantasy booking right here. Dr. Matt does not bring ratings, he brings guilty pleasure. You can’t help but cheer the guy on, because his fall from grace has been so pain-full, it’s similar to sitting through an entire Twister promo. While it lasts about 2 minutes and 30 seconds (played 82 times it rivals ONE of John Greens) and at the end of it, you only clap because it’s over.

Dr. Matt, you have no business in my ring. Seriously. The only thing that motivates you when you wake up in the morning to lace up those boots and step foot in that ring, is that fact you need the pay-cheque at the end. But fuck, you sucked dick for bus fair to get down to the arena; you should thank god it’s only going to be a one way trip for you. And if your lucky? You won’t have to walk out at all. I’ll leave you a fucking paraplegic, and you can be ushered and catered too…right out of my ring. You can bank in on your insurance policy, and stay the fuck out of this industry, where you clearly do NOT belong, Matt.

Level-One turns a corner where he meets two paramedics coming his way, as one yells out ‘’He’s not too far away, he needs help immediately’’ Level-One pays them no mind, in fact he doesn’t even glance back at them, as they run past him. Despite being responsible for the chaos that has ensued.

You people make me sick. Too busy trying to get a few cheap laughs; walking a fucking mile bare foot, only to put a smiles on a few faces. This is what you call entertainment, these days? More like side show freaks. Gimmick, after gimmick, turned out by who the fuck knows who. Dr. Matt, shove that PHD straight up your ass. You have as much charisma and excitement, as a fucking colostomy bag.

However, Dr. Matt isn’t the only joke in this match. Twister? Are you fucking kidding me? I mean, I can’t even comprehend how anyone with your talent, or there lackof has had even the slightest margin of success in the APW. Have you always sucked this much, or am I really swinging with the little leaguers in the APW? Hurricane Jeff promised me better than you, Twister.

It’s good to see you kept running your mouth to a bare minimum this time around. Too many people have issued threats they simply could not back up. I’m still waiting for Jason Royce to ‘’take out the trash’’ which is supposedly me, because clearly creativity is the best personal trait Jason Royce has working for him. The garbage truck has done it’s route ten times over, yet I’m still here. Imagine that. But you? Your smart, you know you are no longer the best in this business and with the newest inclusion of me, you are now perfectly fine with being sub-par. Well, while your motivation is clearly shit, you do have a brain, Twister.

You have been sure to give yourself enough breathing room, in which you won’t be swiped of all credibility, should you fail to emerge victorious yet again. Everyone else I’ve faced, is too busy running their mouth, before actually sitting down and processing what they’re about to say. It’s fun watching them stumble, back track, and trip over every last word they spoke, deep down wishing they could take it all back. I hope you are satisfied keeping your credibility, even though in turn, you’ve given away your voice, Twister.

He continues his long walk down the hall way, before bumping in to Max Carter. ‘’Jeff’s looking for you, what the hell have you done…’’ Max Carter questions Level-One, who only shoves Max Carter to the side lifting the camera back to his face, leaving Max Carter watching on from behind.

As for the Hardcore Kid? I’m saving something special for that little cunt. Another child, issuing baseless, false-threats, that can only be heard through the grape-vine, because he hasn’t yet developed the balls to say it face to face. Last time, weren’t you taking me to hell? Let me tell you, that place isn’t really as bad as you make it out to be. In fact, take me again sometime. I could use the ‘’warm up’’ and deep seeded ‘’preparation’’ it makes for quite the vacation, you know? A week off wrestling people that actually have talent.

And fuck, more of this ‘’I’m going to end your career before rasslemania’’ bullshit? Quite frankly, I’m sick of your white noise. If I actually took anything you said serious, my career would be done about a month ago. I’d be buried 6 feet deep, next to John Doe in some grave yard, nobody visits. Yet, I’m still here. I’m still here in one piece. You couldn’t even dent my armor, never mind chip it, you pathetic piece of shit.

Hardcore, if I really had to BEAT you before you learnt you were inferior, then you really are stupider than I originally thought. And trust me; I had you just above Fyre Angel and just below John Green, on the dumb fuck totem pole. This really isn’t going to help your cause. Hardcore, before I beat you…I beat every single member on your team, with the exception of Dr. Matt. This is simply because I haven’t gotten the opportunity to do so. So unless you thought you were the better of your two new ‘’bff’s’’ your statement is oxymoron.

However, you don’t need to think when your running your mouth. Especially, when you believe nobody is watching, right kid? Rumor also has it that you believe I’m in some deep seeded trouble because Michael Lively, is on the opposite side of me? Please, give me a few seconds to shake in my boots, eat my vitamins and say my prayers. For the last time I recall, it was Michael Lively’s shoulders pinned to the mat, and my hand raised high in victory.

You act like I haven’t proved myself before. How many times must I beat you all until you fucking realize your inferior? That the only chance you have is based on, three wishes, a miracle, and a margin of error the size of a pubic hair Lively’s mom consistently pulls out from in-between her teeth? I’ve fucking spelt it out for you, and everyone with the exception of Fyre Angel, should be able to read it and comprehend the countless messages I have sent.

He’s almost there. In fact, he can now hear the crowds chant. As they call for Carl Cage, who simply isn’t going to appear tonight. With that a fall to one knee, not too far behind the curtain. Staring into the camera, it was clear he was talking directly to none other than Michael Lively.

Lastly, is none other than the ‘’Jesus’’ himself, Michael Lively. While I should probably be saving every last bit of ammunition for you come Rasslemania, I simply have bullets to share. In fact, you Michael Lively play a big part on why I’m jumping into this match, un-invited. This is because I don’t want to wait to Rasslemania, to remind you of what I’m capable of.

This right here? Tonight isn’t going to settle a damn thing between us. Simply, because I don’t play nice with others.

Fuck my team.
Fuck YOUR team.
Fuck all these guys.

The only way you walk out this Sunday, with victory painted over your head, is if my entire fucking team blows chunks, and leaves me fighting you all on my own. Even then, will you have something to worry about. The truth is, Lively. Since day one in the APW you’ve been fed with a golden spoon, and now it’s about time I kicked the silverware down your throat. While I busted my ass to get where I am today, you’ve squirmed your way to the top, capitalizing on any opportunities that arose.

I hope you enjoy your time as APW world champion, Lively. For all I need is that one chance, that one opportunity to face you one on one, man to man, main-eventer vs. main eventer, on the biggest stage of them all…that’s all I need, and with that I become the NEW APW world champion.

Guess what Lively? I’ve been already given that chance. It’s been marked down. The calendar preaches it’s truth. So while you hold that APW championship, I want you to enjoy your time with it. I want you to take pictures with it, kiss it, and go to sleep with it for all I care. However, while you do all this, I want you to keep an eye on that clock. For it will tell you, when your time is finished.

No restarts. No extra lives. No second chances.

Before he pushed the stop button, and rips his way through the curtains he delivers one last sentence…

There’s no beating Level-One in this game.

Fade.