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| Date of RP: 12/08/02 Current Accomplishments: IWF Bad-Ass Champion Check out all the IWF action here. |
~~The soft pattering of rain makes music on
the city streets, painted neon shades of despair and whispers of late-night
revelry. The street is quiet tonight...the bums and drunkards have
all sought refuge from the rain, and the bar crowd had filed out hours ago,
having taken their fill and gone home. There are a few late-night hanger-ons;
crack heads and college kids braving the rain for a bit of munchy food at
the gas station down on the corner. The rain plays a playful tune,
pattering in the puddles and pools, filled cracks on the road and melted
snow. The stormdrains near the top of our hill are all clogged with
snow and slush, so a tiny river, wide and shallow, winds its way down the
street, looking for a place to hide. Somewhere off in the distance
we can hear a dog barking, softly and somberly. This night is about
peace, tranquility.~~ ~~Peace and tranquilty until it's shattered
by the roaring of an engine, far off, piercing the shield of night like a
lance..~~
~~The camera turns, once facing uphill,
a full 180, quickly. Down the street, lamps and neon make the glass-like
sheen of the street glow with color. Off, far in the darkness of distant
blocks and hills, a small light appears, white, straightforward, and moving
at an incredibly fast speed.~~VRRRRRRRRRRRRR.... VRRRRWAAAAAAAHHH...
~~The single light gains speed and intensity, shooting down the street It gains incredible speed, speeding across the wet streets like a low-lying plane, picking up water and tossing it aside, cutting through it like a soft fruit. As the figure comes closer, rocketing down the street, it picks up speed, trying to race the still-working light...a match between time and speed, increasing intensity, fire of the engine pounding and burning and pulsing, the camera vibrates, shakes slightly with anticipation. The man on the machine is a man with a rocket between his crotch, fearless, heroic, and tinted with a little madness. The crotch rocket flies by the camera, fly-by rocking the cameraman in his boots. The cycle takes up over the hill, disappearing over the crest of the hill and losing volume. Slowly, as the rain begins to pound harder, more furious, the sounds of the engine fade out into the darkness...~~ ~~The camera pauses there a second, waiting. The camera shudders momentarily as the cameraman is tapped on the shoulder.~~ VOICE: Gonna catch cold out here, kid. Is your career really worth the flu? CAMERAMAN: What? ~~The camera slowly turns to reveal a figure, 6'6" or so, a good solid 260 lbs, dressed in a black leather trenchcoat, black Chuck Taylor All-Stars on his feet, torn and ripped jeans, and an old THE TRU$T shirt, dotted with moth-eaten holes and stains with long-forgotten sources. The figure, a man with a scraggly beard and a bandanna stretched across his head, puffs on half a cigar, knuckled between his fore and middle finger. He takes a long puff, igniting the dime-sized cherry at the end of the stick. He winks and nods. This is one of those faces that speaks of the man who is somewhat twisted, sometime anger-prone, and always a blunt-as-hell hardcore son of a bitch.~~ MAN: Just what I said, kid. You stand out in the rain like that for too long, and your ass is in sickbay. ~~The camera pauses for a moment as the figure of the man shifts feet and looks off where the crotch rocket took off. He shakes his head and takes a long puff off of his cigar, blowing out a billowing mass of thick white smoke.~~ MAN: Kids are nuts and don't have any style anymore. They just want the fasted piece of plastic on the road to carry them to their own personal hells and back...ass mounted to fire. Dumb as shit. ~~The man turns back to the camera, shaking the cigar at the lens.~~ MAN: They're nuts, I tell ya. Wouldn't catch me on one of those pieces of shit. CAMERAMAN: Who are you? ~~He sighs and shakes his head.~~ MAN: You're not even listening, are ya? No style on those things...now a '65 Harley...thats a piece of work. ~~He takes another long pull from the cigar.~~ CAMERAMAN: Yeah, I guess. I'm looking for one guy... a wrestler by the name of Krev MacDougan...I'm here from When Worlds Collide. MAN: A wrestler, huh? There seems to be a lot of them around Pittsburgh anymore...finding just 'one' might be a problem. ~~The man cracks a smile as he motions around himself.~~ CAMERAMAN: Do you know him? ~~He makes a whistling motion with his mouth and takes a final puff off the cigar, and then tosses it to the ground, grinding it with the heel of his shoe.~~ CAMERAMAN: Calls himself KMD, know him? MAN: Thats a hard question, son. No one really "knows" KMD...maybe his family, but even thats questionable...no one has ever really gotten close enough to him, connected on a spiritual level...or an intelligence level, know what I mean?. CAMERAMAN: Uhh...I think. ~~He shakes his head, turning away.~~ MAN: No ya don't. ~~He begins to walk up the street, rain pattering on his shoulders, making quick slapping sounds against the shined black leather. The cameraman begins to follow.~~ MAN: Ya just don't get it...this isn't worth my time. CAMERAMAN: WAIT!!! Can you take me to him? ~~He stops and turns back around, glaring at the camera(man) with a stoic set of eyes, peering out through the downpour..~~ MAN: What will that acomplish? I already said that this wasn't worth my time. CAMERAMAN: Just take me to him...I can make this worth your time. ~~He pauses and nods. He motions for the camera man to follow him, leading him down a dark street, every other light burned out and abandoned shopping carts litter the sides. The rain shifts direction as we fade to black.~~ ~~We fade back to a shot of a hallway, ceiling and walls covered with cracked and chipped plaster. The carpet is clearly second-hand, in poor repair, and worn through in various spots. The camera shakes a little as the cameraman knocks water off himself. This seems to be an antryway of sorts, a door beside a worn-out stairwell. The man turns to the cameraman and motions up the steps.~~ MAN: Thats where the beast sleeps.. CAMERAMAN: Up there? Is he really as crazy as they say he is? ~~He nods.~~ MAN: "Crazy" is an understatement. I've read stories of where he took an axe to a close friend for messing up a match...put the guy in the hospital. I've seen him climb off of gurneys to go back to matches, took motorcycles to hardcore matches...indoors, drove a bulldozer through countless rings, gone through cage after cage after cage, taking a beating and dishing it out just as well. I've seen him covered in blood and scars, eyes glazed over in a mist of red, raging like a beast...and laughing all the same. I've seen him take people to the brink of death...just for shits and giggles. Crazy, indeed. CAMERAMAN: I heard that sometimes you never know if Krev is talking to you...he's that whacked out. ~~He chuckles as he pulls off the leather trenchcoat, turning his back to the camera. He drapes the coat over the banister and cracks his knuckles. He sits down on the steps and looks at the camera, trying to wipe the twisted grin from his face.~~ MAN: Yeah, you could say that.. ~~The man pulls out another cigar from his pocket, bites off the end, spits it across the room, and then lights it.~~ CAMERAMAN: So it seems you do know him...can you tell me some more about him before I go up there? ~~He slowly nods, taking a long, slow puff from the cigar. He knuckles it and leans back a little on the steps.~~ MAN: Yeah, I probably could. The really strange thing about KMD is that he's prone to switch between personalities like changing underwear...one day he could be calm as a spring breeze, and on other days he's as pissed off as a mad bull. I've seen him spend days in solitude...doing god-knows-what in that tiny appartment up there. Most of the time, though, he's on the road...anymore. Can I tell you a little story first? To let you know what you're going to deal with. CAMERAMAN: Yeah, sure. ~~The man sits back up and looks up the stairs, and then back down at the camera.~~ MAN: KMD's been gone a while from the world of wrestling. The last fed he was in, before Shawn and Jason's IWF was the W3...got into it big with Sensation. They nearly killed each other...but I think they patched that rift, becoming brothers in crime once again. ~~The man points at the "THE TRU$T" shirt he's wearing...its an older shirt with a bunch of faces from a couple years ago...~~ MAN: Krev's the one with the shaved head and angry eyes. Not that one...that's Lockdown. The older guy. That's him. He brought THE TRU$T back this time around...gonna take care of Joey Padrino and his goons...try to save Shawn Holliday from the likes of what was once called "The Graveyard Shift." That was Padrino's crew...a crew that once contained KMD himself. CAMERAMAN: KMD was in Padrino's crew? The same group thats after Holliday's ass? MAN: After it? Shit, the boys already been snatched up by them. KMD was one of them...KMD worked with Joey...he was like a brother to him. Like a brother until he did that thing a few years back...and then did it again last week. ~~He takes another long puff from the cigar.~~ MAN: Joey decided to try to take contol of the fed, again. It ain't gonna work this time...he slipped, he messed up. KMD will have his fists all over him like a swarm of angry wasps. He allowed the rape of KMD's sister, Bryan Tann's wife. He clued KMD out of the fact that his mentor had died. He convinced KMD, in a slightly altered state of reality, that it was still the year 2000, and his son, a patient at Bellview Mental, was still missing...or thats what Joey told KMD. Royally f#$@ed up his perspective on the world...did it all Mob style and all that shit...made him feel at home, made him feel like he held the power, made him feel that he was doing something right. That was all just heat building up...building up from what happened those 6 months that KMD disappeared from the world...leaving behind ~~The man pauses as he takes another long haul off the cigar. He pulls off the bandanna to reveal a tuft of messed up hair, and wrenches the bandanna, water running out over his fists. He lays the bandanna against the bannister.~~ MAN: Between you and I, this is the first time that past, those 6 months, are being let out in public. Its probably better I told you before you asked foolish questions. He hasn't even come clean with his son...his own flesh and blood. People still wonder about where he was...and what he was doing that might have made him a little more batty than he already was. Got it? ~~The camera nods up and down..~~ MAN: Alright. KMD left the world 6 months ago...took some time off to think some things over...I guess it was a sort of mid-life crisis...I mean, the dude is nearly 40, and the only thing he's done his life is kicked ass. He was a Marine back in the South American wars in the 80's...lots and lots of blood-crazy incidents...they don't tell you that there are wars that big down there, not in polite society, but thats how the govt keeps control, know what I'm sayin'? So KMD jumped on his bike...a 65 Harley...and toured the country. Seen the sites, all the places he wanted to go when he was on the road wrestling, but never had time to see. Then he went to South America... ~~The man pauses, swallowing hard. He shakes a little, and takes a puff from the cigar, to calm the nerves a little.~~ MAN: ...he went back to South America. Brazil. Before KMD left the military life, he was part of a mission to rescue Special Forces kept as POWs. They never told him that it was probably the last mission he was going to run...he wasn't supposed to get back out. It was a set-up; some of the higher-ups in the military wanted to eradicate the already problematic group of special forces down there...the group that KMD was a part of. Black Ops and all that shit. He went back to the place where his entire platoon was wiped out...his entire platoon minus KMD. What he found there, no graves, no bodies, was something that probably made him crack. ~~He pauses again. He closes his eyes and stares at the darkness, his head tilted slightly upward. He speaks like he's seperate from the incident...somewhere else.~~ MAN: The place was cleaned up...never knew anything went down there. The village that was there is gone now...it was little more than a small farming community taken over by the Brazillian govt. to hold POWs. All that was there was a broken wall, shattered by gunfire. There was no one there, save one little man, a native, covered in tattoos, sitting beside a roaring fire. He was some sort of shaman or something. As KMD walked around what was where his buddies were killed, he fell into a deep sleep...he told me this himself, KMD did...he dreamed, while in that slumber, of the missions, replays of his friends being mowed down in a hail of bullets, by an ambush. He dreamed that he had left that place...that he was somewhere else...somewhere high on a mountaintop, looking down at the world. The people he knew and loved...even the dead...were there with him, looking at his world. The world was calm, clear. Then the darkness came. The mountain was swallowed by a thick black fog, and his friends and family were gone. The atmosphere became much colder, harsher. Things were obscured from him, he began to forget about things...the things that hurt him most. All of his fears, his pain, the bits of madness and anger...cloaked. When he woke, there was a strange tattoo etched on the back of his neck...a ward against the painful memories. The shaman, and all traces of his fire, were gone when KMD awoke, leaving him standing there cold and confused. Eventrually he made his way back to civilization...back to the US...back to the IWF when it re-opened. CAMERAMAN: A tattoo? MAN: Yeah. Ever see one of those worry dolls they make in Cental America? CAMERAMAN: Yeah. MAN: Just like that, only a tattoo. Hell if we know the roots of it. CAMERAMAN: What memories did it wipe away? MAN: I dunno man...I just told you they wiped them away. How the hell can he tell me if he forgot about them? ~~The camera shrugs. The man takes another long puff from his cigar.~~ CAMERAMAN: What was his childhood like? Did it do anything for or against him? MAN: Other than make him pissed off at proper society? Not much. Tell ya what, though...KMD grew up on the rough streets...a street urchin. Jumped between a dozen or so foster homes with his little sister, Drusilla, before finding a home on the streets. His sister found a great home...but still shares the traditional MacDougan tinge of madness...that sort of disconnectedness that divides fools from genius. After a couple of years of scrounging for what he needed...food, warmth, companionship, he met a man that would change his life...a man that created the man known as KMD. The man was an old man...an old wrestler back from the 50s...took KMD under his wing and taught him all that he knew about the sport. The rest, they say, is history. He, KMD, became the King of Legends. ~~He pulls a short puff off the cigar, bringing it to nothing more than a stub. He tosses the cigar to the floor and grinds it into the carpet with his heel.~~ CAMERAMAN: You wouldn't know what brought him to us, would you? He didn't ever tell you why he joined WWC, did he? MAN: On the contrary. He was feeling a little on the down-side...he was always damn good, but it just never seemed to pan out for him...no matter how popular his name became, no matter how big his ego could grow, it still wasn't enough. In the end, what it came down to, was that KMD just didn't think he was getting the respect he deserved. And, well, it pisses off Padrino. Already there are a handful of wrestlers from the fed that he's trying to control that have made the leap. How can Padrino fully control someone if they got too big? How can Padrino contol his fed if one of the guys in his modest little fed got his name plastered around the world? Famous people don't make for good goons, ya know. That's KMD's plan, anyway. Everyone has their own reasons. KMD's is defiance. Always was, and always will be. ~~He relaxes on the stairs again, draping himself over the loose and poorly-carpeteed steps. He folds his hands beshind his head.~~ MAN: Besides, with the wealth of pros in WWC, he's shooting to make a few more allies...a few more guys that'll rally behind the flag of THE TRU$T and bring wrestling back to the way things used to be...a bunch of guys whose only plan is to entertain and better themselves through testing their limits...to make things right. He's through with the over-commercialism of the sport...the need to sell out everything and anything to make a buck. True atheletes crave for nothing more. CAMERAMAN: The Trust? MAN: Naw...THE TRU$T, emphasis on "Trust", know what I'm sayin? He's the leader of that group...always had been. CAMERAMAN: So KMD sees himself as a leader of some sorts? Is he a leader? ~~He chuckles, staring at the ceiling.~~ MAN: Yeah, you could say that. You could say that he's definately a leader. Now, my turn to ask a question or two before you head off to encounter the beast in his lair. Who'd he pull first round? CAMERAMAN: Kryptonite. ~~The man sits up and stares at the cameraman, his face blank, expressionless...slowly, ever so slowly, a smile spreads across his face. A look of total pleasure and amusement.~~ MAN: Kryptonite? CAMERAMAN: Yeah, Kryptonite...he- MAN: Yeah, I know of the guy. Thats just perfect...the loonatic faces the loon the first round. Nothing could have been planned better, even if the gods themselves came down from the heavens to build the perfect matches of all time. This is like the time of giants on earth...this is where the best of the best play, it seems. Kryptonite. At least it wasn't some no-namer...KMD will at least recognize the name, and he'd be pleased. Usually KMD draws no names the first round in a fed...the first couple of weeks are spent almost entirely around KMD taking out all of the no-name losers that congest a fed...the free-loaders, the assheads who are in it for the money, but then really find out how hard the life of a pro is...they just sort of give up. Thats KMD's job...make sure the sport remains pure. Remains full of the people who really want to be here...there. Kryptonite will give KMD a run for his money...KMD almost worked for Kryptonite, did ya know that? ~~The camera nods 'no'. The man yawns and looks around the room...old, battered, broken. He looks back at the camera.~~ MAN: KMDs lived better places, ya know. Until a month ago, he had hit the bottom of the barrell...really lived a simple, plain life. CAMERAMAN: Did his fall from grace do anything for or against him? MAN: I dunno man...some things just never change. Ya drink beers, ya smoke some cigars...live life easily and without cares, it never seems to change at all. Maybe it was for the best shit happened to the man. Keeps life interesting. ~~The man stands up, chuckling.~~ MAN: Ya may as well meet the man now...let him set things straight with ya. What would I know? I'm just an old fool. ~~Grabbing his coat and bandanna, he turns around . A large tattoo stretches across the back of the man's neck...a sort of little black-work man with frighteneed eyes and squiggly lines coming from it's head. The man...KMD...turns back around to the camera, stone still and not moving.~~ KMD: You coming, kid? I'm pretty sure the man is ready to meet ya now. I'll vouge for ya. ~~KMD turns a corner, heading up the steps, winding up to the third floor. The camera, still solidly not moving...motionless...stands there, watching where Krev stood, somewhere between shock and horror. We slowly fade to black.~~ |
