The dim presence in the air is like the buzzing of a gnat. Steve can't swat at it because he can't see it, but he knows its still there. He finishes packing the important files into a briefcase, finally sliding a sleeve full of CD ROMs in. He looks around and sighs, for some reason feeling the ending of something great. He exits the door and walks down the long hallway, but not toward the main entrance. Instead he steps onto an elevator and heads to the basement. The underground parking garage is not devoid of the presence either, but Steve tries to ignore it as he puts the briefcase into the trunk of his Pontiac convertible. He slides in and keys the engine, then floors the gas. He hits a control panel on his dash and the door to the tunnel at the other end of the garage slides open. Steve is in the tunnel in a splash of light and the door slides closed behind him.
The carpet is thoroughly soaked now. The fumes pierce Ichabod's nasal cavities.
But its not really Ichabod. This presence is what is inside him. Whatever took him at King Karnage still has him, and the Ichabod that belongs to WOW is hidden, locked away somewhere in the back of this new mindframe. This presence continues to use his body to carry out its intentions, whatever they may be.
Of course, I don't need to do all this. Pouring gasoline all around, setting fires. I could easily use the impart of my elevated senses to accomplish the destruction of this facility. It just feels good to be able to move like this once again. To feel muscle pulling against muscle, to stretch these ample ligaments. To touch, to really see everything is so fresh. I can't resist doing it this way.
"Ichabod" drops the now empty gas can by the front entrance and then goes outside. He reaches in his pocket and feels around for the zippo. He grabs the small box and removes it. He looks at it and notices it is a half pack of Newports. Ichabod's favorite smoke. He tosses it away and reaches for the lighter once more. "Ichabod" lights it and watches it burn as if he's never seen fire before. Finally he opens the door and drops it. He doesn't even wait for the flames to run their course through the entire facility.
The wealth of knowledge presented me by Ichabod's brain has proved more than valuable. The exact location of the control room in which the fire extinguishing mechanisms are powered took no time to locate and disable. And the knowledge of the flame retardant walls and ceilings allowed me to form this plan with flame triggered bombs. Soon the Myrtle Beach Headquarters of the Steve Parke Facility will be no more. I hope the corpse is holding tightly to its knowledge of who I really am and to that damn confining jar I left him.
"Ichabod" walks to the front gate and looks at it intently. It opens as if "Ichabod" had caused it to with his mind, if such things were possible that is. He walks out of the grounds and takes the sidewalk toward the beach itself. He steps off of it and walks across the sand into the water, spreading his hands and closing his eyes. He reaches back in his memory for the less than opponent he is meant to face this week. Richard Gazinya.
Little Richard Gazinya, how nice that you will be the first to fall sadly at my newest whim. You say you are real tired, as opposed to fake tired I'd guess, of waiting. Waiting to hear the "Evil Redneck" lash back at you. Sad little man, you will wait forever for that, because the evil redneck is no more. You say you don't care, yet you continue to hurl insults at what you think is Ichabod, ,and it really isn't. And you say you will make fools of men, when you already are a fool by all standards. Only fools care to attack that which they don't know, making for themselves a false enemy, something they can grasp and understand, so that they may feel secure in standing against it. You know nothing of what I am, nor will you ever understand me. You may continue in your compromising of victory for the sake of words that seem real and heartfelt to you, but are really the mindless drivel of someone unimportant to the bigger picture, the main scheme of things. And how sad it is that you yourself say that your dick will make me look bigger. I appreciate this compliment, but it is something I wish not to prove or disprove, as I have never had a fascination with the male sexual anatomy.
I know of this injury you have, that of the ribs. Truly sorry am I that this will inevitably play a large role in your removal from the World Title. Will I exploit that injury? Of course I will. You make yourself vulnerable by continuing to mention it. You bring to light your frailities by openly admitting them almost as much as you do by babbling inconsequential nonsense to any camera that is turned on. You make mention that "your the least of my worries." My what? You mention possession and yet you have nothing to name that is in my possession? I think it is a freudian slip. You know I will soon possess the World Title, and you have accepted it. I commend you for this, Richard. But then you contradict yourself by saying that you wil beat me... oh and then you do this cute little display of how you can count to three. Proud am I of you that you have reached such a level of education, but sad does it make me that you continue to lack the maturity to accept your fate en total as it were.
Ah and this fabled respect that most of you hold for each other. How silly it seems to me that you respect one another so greatly yet are able to suspend that respect for fifteen to twenty minutes in order to knock the sense out of one anothers brains. You don't respect Ichabod any more than he respects you, or I respect either one of you. But it doesn't matter how much anyone respects anyone else, because the fact is you will be facing me under the guise of Ichabod, and you know nothing of me.
And lastly, you spout these insults, this changing of names you amateurs seem to be so good at. Ex, B-Cock, Cumrag, Dichabod. How long really does it take you to think of titles such as these. Quite a while I would figure, because you use them over and over and there is no real freshness in using them. You've not had enough time to come up with new material so you use the same old same old tried but tired crap that everyone else uses. Let us hope that you don't think this slowly in the ring, for I am the fastest and most complete mind in the business, and I'll not enjoy destroying you in a matter of seconds. No, I am one of these that likes to prolong the anguish of my sufferers. You are the World Champion simply because of one fact... you've not yet faced the one who can beat you. And believe me, everyone does, Richard. Everyone does.
"Ichabod" laughs to himself knowing that Gazinya will be little more than a broken sweat at Malice. Something to really test his new limbs against. Nothing really--except the World Champion puffed so full of air that its rather funny. He has these ideas and views that are founded on nothing. The supposed political swindling, and at a time when Ichabod was nothing to WOW? Makes perfect sense to a fool. Especially one who fails to see that Ichabod overcame his greatest opponent in Justin Payne with that belt on the line. But fools see what they want to see.
Steve sits in the Pontiac watching the facility burn from a safe distance. He is less than upset about that; the insurance alone would be good to console him. What concerns him is the now known identity of the one who controls the chip, and Ichabod. He dials someone he never thought he'd have reason to call...
Hello, I have a message for Serious Darius please. Tell him to get in touch with Steve Parke as soon as possible. I need his help. Thank you.
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