Awakening

[Damon Synn]

Scene One
"Awakening"
July 29th, 2010

She reached out to him, one slender, white-skinned hand reaching. Her face... he tried to focus on her face, but no matter how hard he tried to focus on it, it seemed hazy, distant, and distorted. He was falling, and her arm was getting further, and further away. She yelled something, but he her voice fades along with her image. Soon, all there is is darkness.

His eyes shot open, deep brown spheres darting about a darkened room. There was a steady whir of machinery in the background, and a few soft lights, including a slow beeping noise coming from his side. He let his eyes adjust to the opaque gloom; slowly, the room around him comes into focus as the moonlight seems to intensify. The room is cast in a deep blue hue, and he is able to more closely examine his environment: a plastic gray chair, a sink, several jars, and a bio-hazard container. This was... a hospital room? How had he gotten here?

He sat up suddenly, brought his hands to his face. Nevermind how he'd gotten here... who was he? Panic spread like an octopus' tentacles, wrapped around his body, his heart and his brain. He started to shake, his big frame wracked by convulsions. He fell back against the pillow, breathing hard; the beeping at his side got faster, the numbers on the monitor climbing in time with his heartbeat. Then suddenly, it occurred to him that if he was in a hospital, he should have a chart. He threw the covers off himself, and shifted his legs painfully under him, finally grabbing the clipboard on the foot of the bed. He looked upwards, and around, before finding a bedside lamp, a cheap industrial one with stainless steel all about, and turned it on.

DOE: "John... Doe?"

He rolled the word over his tongue slowly, as if it didn't taste quite right. And in a way, it didn't. This wasn't his real name, John Doe was the default name for a homeless person or somebody with no ID. He looked at his nails; they were clean, and neatly cut. That indicated that he was from at least a fairly well-off position in society; he wasn't a bum. His hand reached up toward his face, feeling for a beard. What he felt was bandages. As his hand explored his face, he felt many bandages; and the skin that wasn't covered by them was rough, and uneven. He shuddered, not wanting to know what he looked like; he must look like a monster.

DOE: "What happened to me?"

His question comes out in a deep, muffled tone. Nobody answers; the machines beside him whir and hum, the steady beep of his heart monitor just kept going. Slowly, he swings his legs over the side of the bed. Expecting them to be weak, he is surprised to find that he is easily able to stand. As he did, something fell onto the floor, just out of his reach. He couldn't quite make it out through the darkness, but it looked like a manila folder. Doe reached down, rethought his actions, and stood back up. He ran his hand along the side of the monitor until his fingers rubbed against a switch. He turned the monitor off, and then sank to one knee to retrieve what had fallen. I was a manila envelope, and as he turned it over in his hands, a message scrawled neatly in black magic marker appeared.

DOE: "To Mr. Doe. Open ASAP."

He mouthed the words one last time before undoing the tied-fastner in the back, and shaking the envelope over the bed. Out fell a packet of papers, a pair of photographs, and a folded-up piece of legal paper. One photo was, presumably, of him; he was standing outside, his hand to his face, a shadow obscuring from the neck-up. He was wearing a black t-shirt, black jeans, and was leaning on a black car.

DOE: "Huh. Apparently I like black."

He flipped over the photo, but nothing was written on it. The next photo was of a young man, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He had long, brown hair, and was clearly a wrestler. Doe flipped it over, to find a bulls-eye drawn in black magic marker. Below it, in neat handwriting: "Boom." Doe dropped the picture, and picked up the note. The unfolded it, to see that same, neat handwriting. He read it out loud to himself:

DOE: "Dear Mr. Doe, my sincerest apologies for your accident and loss. You and I were not acquainted previously, but due to a vast body of work and a perfect resume, I would like to extend an offer on behalf of the APW. Enclosed in this packet, you'll find two photos. One is you. The other, with the bulls-eye, is your first opponent, if you choose to accept the contract, which is the final thing enclosed in the folder. You'll find it to be industry standard, and you'll be paid small bonuses for wins. However, your contract will have one provision you will NOT find standard; I'm sure you want answers; who you are, how you got to be in the situation you're in, questions about your past, etc. I will make it all clear. You want answers? If you can manage to rise to the top, I'll answer every question you have."

Below that, the paper was signed XM. Doe held the paper, read it again, and finally, laid it down. He picked up the packet of papers, and without even reading it, turned to the last page. He grabbed the attached pen, and without hesitating, wrote John Doe on the dotted line. If this place had answers, he had to go. No questions asked. It wasn't about money, it was about the truth.

SCENE 2
"Genesis"
July 31st, 2010

Doe kills the engine to the yellow Ford Fusion he had rented. It was 10PM, and it was unseasonably cold in the usually warm city of Austin. As he opened the door, Doe pulled a black canvas duffel bag from the passenger seat and slung it over his shoulder. He closed the door, locked it with the remote, and struck off toward the darkened arena doors. He had received in the mail a key-card with his name on it, and used this to open the usually closed back-door. The hallway was still lit with buzzing halogen lights. He proceeded straight down the hallway, reading each room number until he found his; room six. The door swung open, and the lights flickered on. The room smelled like smoke; not the bad sort of stale smoke, but a strange, murky smoke that, for some reason, made Doe feel right at home. He laid his bag out on the lone folding table in the room and unzipped it. Even in the gloom of the room, with nobody around for probably miles, he spoke to himself. He had tried to stop himself from doing it, but in a strange way, it was comforting.

DOE: "And so long as nobody is around, why not?"

He reached into the bag and pulled out some black under armor, a black Everlast shirt, and a brand new pair of black cargo pants.

DOE: "If black was my color before, it's only fitting that it be my color now."

He took out a few other things; a pair of big Arrogant Bastard Ale bottles, a water bottle, and a digital camera. And then, finally, he pulled out a black, spandex mask. He pulled it toward himself, and into the light. It was a black mask with a yellow skull motif on it.

DOE: "I'm not really sure who I am. To find out, I need to become somebody I'm not. I know I can fight... I just feel it in my blood."

He pulled the mask tightly over his head. The mask fits well, and he turned to view himself in the full body mirror. At 6'8'', he was already a hell of an imposing figure. His arms were riddled with scars, probably from doing this very career; with the gleaming yellow skull mask on, he looked downright frightening, like something out of a child's nightmare.

DOE: "So; if The Mystery is the first step on my path to revelation, so be it. I am not who I was, and I am not John Doe. From now on, I'll be The Yellow Skull."

Skull walked toward the door, pausing to turn back and look at his new visage. He was very glad he wasn't his opponent. He turned the light off, and there was darkness.

[Damon Synn]

The Yellow Skull thing is just something apart of a gimmick. I'll evolve into Damon Synn soon.