Post by Deleted on Sept 11, 2019 7:05:50 GMT -6
Waves crash against the rock jetty stretched out before us as rain drenches whatever the ocean ceases to reach. In the middle of the screen, in large bold letters, the date 9-13-19 appears. Fading away, we concentrate on the scene before us. Standing in the rain, a woman looks into the distance, as a helicopter makes its way toward her position. She turns and we follow as she walks toward a helipad a few feet away from her. In the distance, a modest sized house sits on the very center of the island, with a few acres on all sides. With the flip of a switch, the helipad comes alive with lights, strobe and otherwise. Sarah removes herself from the helipad area, and stands between it and the house.
The scene then changes and in the middle of the screen appears the date 9-9-19. As it fades, the rest of the screen becomes clearer. A tent sits in the empty desert, battered by the winds that sweep across it. As we pan toward the tent, the zipper moves and the flap opens. Standing up, our man Nomad looks about the area, and takes a deep breath. He stares at the setting sun going down in the distance, and then turns his attention to a location so far in the distance, we can’t make it out. Reaching into the tent, he pulls out a very large duffle bag, and slings it over his shoulder. Metal items, heavy in weight, can be heard rattling against each other as they settle. He takes a deep breath and begins to walk across the desert, carefully and slow, but with a purpose.
“My life is forfeit of all things comforting, and familiar. Warm beds, indoor plumbing. The bare minimum of the human experience is far too lavish for me to enjoy. These can be used against me. As a way to find me. And that just can not be allowed. It’s a lot of work. And it’s worth twice the effort. I do miss the little things, the kind and soft things, that life used to offer. Perhaps one day I’ll know them again. Until then, the rocks are my pillow, and the earth is my bed. Someone much smarter than me once said, ‘you don’t know what you can do without until you no longer have it.’ I have nothing but what you see, and it's a good bit more than what some of you will ever know. (opponent’s name), I very specifically mean you...”
“I don’t pretend to be one of the good guys. I could never. I know myself too well. I know who I am, I know what I am, and I don’t hide it. I don’t make excuses. I just make decisions, and stick to them. Novel idea for this crowd, I know. People get married so fast it’s almost like divorce is on the dollar menu at Wendy's. I’m not one of those people. I don’t pretend that the consequences aren’t out there, waiting for me. I don’t have a name but if I did it damn sure wouldn’t be as tainted with accepted failures as this crowd is ripe with. Don’t know how to be a parent? Give it up. Can’t make it under the assumed name you’ve given yourself? shed it. You know the saying. This ain’t checkers, it’s chess. Most of you motherless cunts aren’t even playing checkers, You’re playing Guess Who?”
“And boy is it a difficult game to play in a group of people who are constantly changing who they are to fit what they want. There’s so little god damn stability in this place I almost feel like it should be called FoCuS. You know, the stable that spells its name the way sarcastic spongebob speaks? The one that had members come and go the way most of Blair B’s boyfriends do? You get the reference, even if you don’t get the point. I’m as the country bumbkins say “plum tuckered” the fuck out from being the only person employed by this company who is exactly what he says he is, no matter the time or day in which you find him. Even without my name, you know who the fuck I am by witnessing what the fuck I do, and yes, what I say as well.”
“Besides, what good is a name amongst the likes of you? Maybe one or two of you are worth the attention, but most of you are not what I came for. I come not a fight, but for war. And while there are fighters to be found, the amount of actual fucking warriors is slim to god damn none. You’re all...something else. Something else that became a fighter. An actor who fights, a fucking mechanic who fights, a farmer who fights, a fucking reality star, who fights.. I am nothing else but a goddamn warrior who has come for the sole purpose of having a fucking war. I am Sparta. You’re the fucking Potter. And you’re all on your way to be planted.”
“Morbid Wolf. Jimmy Wolf. Whatever you wish to be called between now and the moment you change it, Take the loss, take the lesson, take a hike. You are not out of your element, you’re out of your fucking mind. I am not the one to play with, and you wouldn’t understand the rules even if I was. You’ve done real well at surviving in this business by staying in your lane. Get in mine again, and you’re gonna be a greasy spot people drive around so they don’t get their car dirty. For once in your life, be smart enough to avoid an ass kicking the second time around.”
“Not to dig up the past, Morbid. But while we have not been down this road before, you have. You know what I am, where I come from, and who has sent me, so to speak. You know better because you’ve been taught better by better. Unlike all of you, who haven’t learned, and are about to.”
Our man stops short, and we pan around him to see why. Standing before him is a very large black wolf. The wolf and the man study each other, each sniffing at the air between them. The wolf approaches our man, but slowly, and carefully. Our man approaches the beast the same way, and for a moment, the two are almost nose to nose, looking deep into each others eyes. That moment passes, and the wolf heads off into the distance, wanting no part of the man before him. Our Man continues his walk, as well as his speech.
“In the wild, respect is something earned and fought for, and never given freely. Man has never had to endure these rights and rituals, mostly. Instead, they develop less difficult ways to obtain the admiration they seek. Ways in which they can buy and sell at will. I was like that once. Thinking that the faster my car was, the softer my suit, the more rare the ointment my hair was washed with, the better I was. There’s a poetry to the truth of it all, but I am no poet. I know that the more I lost, the more free I became. And when truly free, the only thing that stops you from being who you wish, or what you wish, is yourself. I stopped letting me get in my way, and I became that which I had always wished to be. Ask yourself this...If I didn’t let me stop me, what makes you think I’ll let you?”
“Despite the many reasons I have to the contrary. I actually like myself a lot. Hell, I’d go ahead and say out of all the pieces of shit I’m on a first name basis with, I am my absolute favorite. Second on that list, might as well be any of you. Because the amount of attention you’re about to get from me, is only rival to the attention I give to me. I am going to study you all far more than I have ever looked into myself. The attention I will pay to every one of you and your every detail, every word, every action, is going to make you think that I don’t just want to beat you, but I want to BE you. All of you. Like I’d ever be able to whine that much.”
“And no, It doesn’t matter to me which of you I end up fighting the hardest, or last. It doesn’t even occur to me to calculate the chances. All that matters to me is that once the time comes for the madness to begin, that I’m still standing when its time for it to end. Of course, some of you merit more attention than others, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least call you out, for shits and giggles more than anything, you understand.”
“Let’s start the Wright way. Roger, you and I made ignite look like a fucking PPV. We tore down the house and left the fans feeling something that you could never make Blair Buchanen feel. Fucking satisfied. I’d like to do the same. The powers that be are sending us, for some reason, to fuckign Alaska. I propose to you that we take that fire, that heat we had last time, bring it to Alaska, and speed up this global warming shit in ways no one thought possible. Should you come out of this the victor, Let me be the one that takes the weight off your shoulders. Let me be the one who takes the belt, or maybe...I’ll be the one who takes the head off your neck, and puts his foot in your guts..”
“Speaking of guts, Let me get to the girl whose guts I used to be in. Allison. My dear princess. I tell you, the idea of being in that ring against you, it doesn’t make me happy. It makes me very happy. See, we’ve got some unfinished business, you and me. Well, me and everyone that’s ever known me, really. I can’t say I don’t approve of the new guy. I get it. He’s a good man. I don’t get why he’d wanna put up with your father in order to deal with you, but hey, pot for every lid, right? Well, this pot that you didn’t quite fit, isn’t going to be pulling any punches come game time. So if you should find yourself across from myself. Do me a favor, and repeat what you did back in the day when I needed you the most. Run.”
“Run away, run home, just run. I may owe your boy a favor for helping me out, but we aren’t accepting coupons at this time. Favors get paid back by me, when it's convenient for me. I don’t throw myself on the tracks for nothing, or nobody. With that being said, I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. If I have to I will. And at the same time, I feel really bad for anyone that tries to do it when I’m there. I don’t know, Peach. I might just be conflicted on this. I’d love to say you’re the only one. That’s the thing about conflicts. They are rarely ever uncomplicated.”
“And I can’t even say either of those words without thinking of you, John. We’ve got...things to deal with. We both know that. We both know that these things’ve been coming to a head for as long as we’ve had heads. Now might not be the time. Then again, it might not be up to us. All I know is, Thanks for the hand last week, but don’t ever stick your fucking nose in my business again. It’s 4:19, John. I’ve got a minute..but do that again, and you won’t.”
“To the rest of you, From Haven, to our legendary Nocturnal...Be warned, be weary, be absolutely positive, that at some point in this match, you will have to deal with the unstoppable force and the immovable object that is the man before you. Be prepared for hardships. Be sure of their onset. And most of all, be certain of a point I’ve made before, and is true yet again. I am not in this match with you...You are all in this match with me.”
Our Man reaches his destination, and we see the area he’s headed toward is actually a grave yard. Approaching the wrought iron fence, he drops his bag to the ground, and opens it. Removing a large section of rug, he throws it over the spikes atop the fence. Inside the bag we can see a shovel, hatchet, a crowbar, and a pair of metal snipping scissors. Zipping the bag up, he launches it over the fence and goes in after it, dropping out of sight as we drop into a different scene.
We slowly fade away and come into the interior of a pawn shop. Dimly lit and cluttered like a hoarder’s home. The clerk sits behind a cage, looking down at a porno mag that predates most of those alive today, if the bush is any indicator. His attention to said bushes is broken by the toll of the door opening, and his eyes raise up to meet a behemoth of a man standing before him. Tattoo’s cover his skin and dirt and mud cover that, and he moves like he has a purpose that none would be smart to interrupt. Welcoming the man, he stumbles, obviously made nervous to be in the company of him.
“...help you?” he says, only delivering half of the greeting he intends due to just being an overall asshole. His customer drops a small bag on the counter and opens it. Inside a host of tarnished gold and silver rings, broaches, watches and the like begin to spill out. The clerk, taking one look at the offerings and the man in possession of them, doesn’t take long to figure out what exactly occurred. He takes less time to decide he doesn’t care. “...Take me a minute to tally.”
“Well…” Our man Nomad said, unblinking and unmoving. “Get to it.”
The clerk took the bag to the desk behind him, and began to sort it out. Using the skills and equipment of his almost despicable trade, he checked each and every item for worth, and then wrote it down on a yellow legal pad that he kept nearby. With every item, our man noticed, he made three columns. He couldn’t see what the columns contained, but he was growing impatient in the time it was taking to find out. Several minutes pass, and the man finally returns to the window, pad in hand.
“..’right. First column, that’s what is worth. Second column, is what i’ll pay. Third column, is what I'll pay, but will develop amnesia, should someone come asking whats I get it from. You can’t have column A.”
Our man smiled, it was nice to deal with a professional for once. Sure, he’d had a match with Roger Wright, the face and backbone of the NEW, but since then, it had been amateur hour all over the place. Not just with opponents, but with so called friends as well.
“I’ll take C. But a much higher rate of C.” Nomad is a physically threatening man if there ever was one. Very little was needed to display that fact to others, but with the simple furrow of his brow, he could get across the fact that he is not one to fuck with, to those who may or may not be inclined to fuck with him.
“....s’okay. I can do that.” the clerk said as he smiled, his chipped and blackened teeth flashing for far too long for anyone’s liking. “Gives a minute. It’ll be fair.”
Vanishing into the back, the man comes back with an envelope and drops it onto the counter, Sliding it through the hole and into the waiting hands of Our Man Nomad. Opening the envelope, our man looks at the cash, and begins to count it. Satisfied with the amount, Our Man Nomad walks to the door, and suddenly stops in his tracks. Turning back, he gives the little gnome the chills, as he stares into him with a look of pure anger that no man of this size, stature, body type, and overall diet wants to get from a machine of a man such as he.
“By any chance…” Our man asks with a smile. “...you know anyone selling a motorcycle?”
The Man shakes his head no, and we fade away as Our Man Nomad exits the store, and whistles. A very large black animal comes to his heel, with a very large bone in its mouth. The two take down the sidewalk slowly, as we slowly fade away to another scene.
NOW
Standing where we left her, Sarah Wolf waits for the helicopter to land, and steels herself. As the door opens, we see a very familiar face in that of The Phreeq Mega, Vincent Black. Dressed in the color one one would expect, he plants his feet and soldiers forward toward his waiting sister. With a firm hug and a kiss on the cheek, the two begin their walk toward the house in the distance. Sarah, keeping her eyes ahead of her, and Vincent, looking around, carefully studying his surroundings.
“So…” he says, sniffing the air. “This is a good place for a rum distillery?”
“...That’s what I was told.”
“No worries about pirates in the waters? You know, Because of the rum?” He joked.
“Funny.” She responded, not a smile to be seen. Vincent had not grown up with Sarah, as most familiar with his family history, were aware. He had been given up for adoption, and had been taken in by a family which, for the most part, did their best to destroy him. He had not found his new family, or they had not found him, until several years ago. But despite that, Vincent knew something was not right. And with every step he took, he felt it more and more. It was not the disturbance in the force. It was...The joe pesci feeling.
“What’s going on, Bats?” He asked, stopping in his tracks. He looked at her face and he saw exactly what he was looking for. Blind hatred, the kind only a sibling could have and still stand before you. “...What’s going on?” he insisted.
“...you really thought you could keep it a secret? We would never find out?”
“...I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“June 23rd, 2014. Go on. Tell me you don’t know. Go ahead. LIE TO ME.”
Vincent Black was not a person who kept secrets. One must feel shame, and Vincent had never known that. He had stood by every action he had ever committed, regardless of who thought what. He had never known what such a feeling might be like. Standing in front of his sister, aware that the web he’s crafted has come apart without his knowing, he suddenly feels what a bit of that must be like. “...I can explain.”
“You’re going to. Because we don’t just let anyone into this family, Vin. You’ve got to earn it. You did. Dane did. Ani did. Everyone does. And when someone does earn it, NO ONE has the right to take that away. So you better have your best dancing shoes on, guy. Because you owe us one hell of an explanation.”
“...We?”
“Yes, Vincent...We.”
Vincent took a deep breath, and took a step forward, as his sister stomped in behind him, angry even in her movements. The door to the modest cabin opened, and voices are heard emanating from within. All of these voices, silence at the moment that Vincent comes into view. As Sarah shuts the door behind her, we slowly pan away to the now empty helicopter pad, as the chopper has taken to the skies, just as we take the darkness from which we came.
The scene then changes and in the middle of the screen appears the date 9-9-19. As it fades, the rest of the screen becomes clearer. A tent sits in the empty desert, battered by the winds that sweep across it. As we pan toward the tent, the zipper moves and the flap opens. Standing up, our man Nomad looks about the area, and takes a deep breath. He stares at the setting sun going down in the distance, and then turns his attention to a location so far in the distance, we can’t make it out. Reaching into the tent, he pulls out a very large duffle bag, and slings it over his shoulder. Metal items, heavy in weight, can be heard rattling against each other as they settle. He takes a deep breath and begins to walk across the desert, carefully and slow, but with a purpose.
“My life is forfeit of all things comforting, and familiar. Warm beds, indoor plumbing. The bare minimum of the human experience is far too lavish for me to enjoy. These can be used against me. As a way to find me. And that just can not be allowed. It’s a lot of work. And it’s worth twice the effort. I do miss the little things, the kind and soft things, that life used to offer. Perhaps one day I’ll know them again. Until then, the rocks are my pillow, and the earth is my bed. Someone much smarter than me once said, ‘you don’t know what you can do without until you no longer have it.’ I have nothing but what you see, and it's a good bit more than what some of you will ever know. (opponent’s name), I very specifically mean you...”
“I don’t pretend to be one of the good guys. I could never. I know myself too well. I know who I am, I know what I am, and I don’t hide it. I don’t make excuses. I just make decisions, and stick to them. Novel idea for this crowd, I know. People get married so fast it’s almost like divorce is on the dollar menu at Wendy's. I’m not one of those people. I don’t pretend that the consequences aren’t out there, waiting for me. I don’t have a name but if I did it damn sure wouldn’t be as tainted with accepted failures as this crowd is ripe with. Don’t know how to be a parent? Give it up. Can’t make it under the assumed name you’ve given yourself? shed it. You know the saying. This ain’t checkers, it’s chess. Most of you motherless cunts aren’t even playing checkers, You’re playing Guess Who?”
“And boy is it a difficult game to play in a group of people who are constantly changing who they are to fit what they want. There’s so little god damn stability in this place I almost feel like it should be called FoCuS. You know, the stable that spells its name the way sarcastic spongebob speaks? The one that had members come and go the way most of Blair B’s boyfriends do? You get the reference, even if you don’t get the point. I’m as the country bumbkins say “plum tuckered” the fuck out from being the only person employed by this company who is exactly what he says he is, no matter the time or day in which you find him. Even without my name, you know who the fuck I am by witnessing what the fuck I do, and yes, what I say as well.”
“Besides, what good is a name amongst the likes of you? Maybe one or two of you are worth the attention, but most of you are not what I came for. I come not a fight, but for war. And while there are fighters to be found, the amount of actual fucking warriors is slim to god damn none. You’re all...something else. Something else that became a fighter. An actor who fights, a fucking mechanic who fights, a farmer who fights, a fucking reality star, who fights.. I am nothing else but a goddamn warrior who has come for the sole purpose of having a fucking war. I am Sparta. You’re the fucking Potter. And you’re all on your way to be planted.”
“Morbid Wolf. Jimmy Wolf. Whatever you wish to be called between now and the moment you change it, Take the loss, take the lesson, take a hike. You are not out of your element, you’re out of your fucking mind. I am not the one to play with, and you wouldn’t understand the rules even if I was. You’ve done real well at surviving in this business by staying in your lane. Get in mine again, and you’re gonna be a greasy spot people drive around so they don’t get their car dirty. For once in your life, be smart enough to avoid an ass kicking the second time around.”
“Not to dig up the past, Morbid. But while we have not been down this road before, you have. You know what I am, where I come from, and who has sent me, so to speak. You know better because you’ve been taught better by better. Unlike all of you, who haven’t learned, and are about to.”
Our man stops short, and we pan around him to see why. Standing before him is a very large black wolf. The wolf and the man study each other, each sniffing at the air between them. The wolf approaches our man, but slowly, and carefully. Our man approaches the beast the same way, and for a moment, the two are almost nose to nose, looking deep into each others eyes. That moment passes, and the wolf heads off into the distance, wanting no part of the man before him. Our Man continues his walk, as well as his speech.
“In the wild, respect is something earned and fought for, and never given freely. Man has never had to endure these rights and rituals, mostly. Instead, they develop less difficult ways to obtain the admiration they seek. Ways in which they can buy and sell at will. I was like that once. Thinking that the faster my car was, the softer my suit, the more rare the ointment my hair was washed with, the better I was. There’s a poetry to the truth of it all, but I am no poet. I know that the more I lost, the more free I became. And when truly free, the only thing that stops you from being who you wish, or what you wish, is yourself. I stopped letting me get in my way, and I became that which I had always wished to be. Ask yourself this...If I didn’t let me stop me, what makes you think I’ll let you?”
“Despite the many reasons I have to the contrary. I actually like myself a lot. Hell, I’d go ahead and say out of all the pieces of shit I’m on a first name basis with, I am my absolute favorite. Second on that list, might as well be any of you. Because the amount of attention you’re about to get from me, is only rival to the attention I give to me. I am going to study you all far more than I have ever looked into myself. The attention I will pay to every one of you and your every detail, every word, every action, is going to make you think that I don’t just want to beat you, but I want to BE you. All of you. Like I’d ever be able to whine that much.”
“And no, It doesn’t matter to me which of you I end up fighting the hardest, or last. It doesn’t even occur to me to calculate the chances. All that matters to me is that once the time comes for the madness to begin, that I’m still standing when its time for it to end. Of course, some of you merit more attention than others, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least call you out, for shits and giggles more than anything, you understand.”
“Let’s start the Wright way. Roger, you and I made ignite look like a fucking PPV. We tore down the house and left the fans feeling something that you could never make Blair Buchanen feel. Fucking satisfied. I’d like to do the same. The powers that be are sending us, for some reason, to fuckign Alaska. I propose to you that we take that fire, that heat we had last time, bring it to Alaska, and speed up this global warming shit in ways no one thought possible. Should you come out of this the victor, Let me be the one that takes the weight off your shoulders. Let me be the one who takes the belt, or maybe...I’ll be the one who takes the head off your neck, and puts his foot in your guts..”
“Speaking of guts, Let me get to the girl whose guts I used to be in. Allison. My dear princess. I tell you, the idea of being in that ring against you, it doesn’t make me happy. It makes me very happy. See, we’ve got some unfinished business, you and me. Well, me and everyone that’s ever known me, really. I can’t say I don’t approve of the new guy. I get it. He’s a good man. I don’t get why he’d wanna put up with your father in order to deal with you, but hey, pot for every lid, right? Well, this pot that you didn’t quite fit, isn’t going to be pulling any punches come game time. So if you should find yourself across from myself. Do me a favor, and repeat what you did back in the day when I needed you the most. Run.”
“Run away, run home, just run. I may owe your boy a favor for helping me out, but we aren’t accepting coupons at this time. Favors get paid back by me, when it's convenient for me. I don’t throw myself on the tracks for nothing, or nobody. With that being said, I don’t want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. If I have to I will. And at the same time, I feel really bad for anyone that tries to do it when I’m there. I don’t know, Peach. I might just be conflicted on this. I’d love to say you’re the only one. That’s the thing about conflicts. They are rarely ever uncomplicated.”
“And I can’t even say either of those words without thinking of you, John. We’ve got...things to deal with. We both know that. We both know that these things’ve been coming to a head for as long as we’ve had heads. Now might not be the time. Then again, it might not be up to us. All I know is, Thanks for the hand last week, but don’t ever stick your fucking nose in my business again. It’s 4:19, John. I’ve got a minute..but do that again, and you won’t.”
“To the rest of you, From Haven, to our legendary Nocturnal...Be warned, be weary, be absolutely positive, that at some point in this match, you will have to deal with the unstoppable force and the immovable object that is the man before you. Be prepared for hardships. Be sure of their onset. And most of all, be certain of a point I’ve made before, and is true yet again. I am not in this match with you...You are all in this match with me.”
Our Man reaches his destination, and we see the area he’s headed toward is actually a grave yard. Approaching the wrought iron fence, he drops his bag to the ground, and opens it. Removing a large section of rug, he throws it over the spikes atop the fence. Inside the bag we can see a shovel, hatchet, a crowbar, and a pair of metal snipping scissors. Zipping the bag up, he launches it over the fence and goes in after it, dropping out of sight as we drop into a different scene.
We slowly fade away and come into the interior of a pawn shop. Dimly lit and cluttered like a hoarder’s home. The clerk sits behind a cage, looking down at a porno mag that predates most of those alive today, if the bush is any indicator. His attention to said bushes is broken by the toll of the door opening, and his eyes raise up to meet a behemoth of a man standing before him. Tattoo’s cover his skin and dirt and mud cover that, and he moves like he has a purpose that none would be smart to interrupt. Welcoming the man, he stumbles, obviously made nervous to be in the company of him.
“...help you?” he says, only delivering half of the greeting he intends due to just being an overall asshole. His customer drops a small bag on the counter and opens it. Inside a host of tarnished gold and silver rings, broaches, watches and the like begin to spill out. The clerk, taking one look at the offerings and the man in possession of them, doesn’t take long to figure out what exactly occurred. He takes less time to decide he doesn’t care. “...Take me a minute to tally.”
“Well…” Our man Nomad said, unblinking and unmoving. “Get to it.”
The clerk took the bag to the desk behind him, and began to sort it out. Using the skills and equipment of his almost despicable trade, he checked each and every item for worth, and then wrote it down on a yellow legal pad that he kept nearby. With every item, our man noticed, he made three columns. He couldn’t see what the columns contained, but he was growing impatient in the time it was taking to find out. Several minutes pass, and the man finally returns to the window, pad in hand.
“..’right. First column, that’s what is worth. Second column, is what i’ll pay. Third column, is what I'll pay, but will develop amnesia, should someone come asking whats I get it from. You can’t have column A.”
Our man smiled, it was nice to deal with a professional for once. Sure, he’d had a match with Roger Wright, the face and backbone of the NEW, but since then, it had been amateur hour all over the place. Not just with opponents, but with so called friends as well.
“I’ll take C. But a much higher rate of C.” Nomad is a physically threatening man if there ever was one. Very little was needed to display that fact to others, but with the simple furrow of his brow, he could get across the fact that he is not one to fuck with, to those who may or may not be inclined to fuck with him.
“....s’okay. I can do that.” the clerk said as he smiled, his chipped and blackened teeth flashing for far too long for anyone’s liking. “Gives a minute. It’ll be fair.”
Vanishing into the back, the man comes back with an envelope and drops it onto the counter, Sliding it through the hole and into the waiting hands of Our Man Nomad. Opening the envelope, our man looks at the cash, and begins to count it. Satisfied with the amount, Our Man Nomad walks to the door, and suddenly stops in his tracks. Turning back, he gives the little gnome the chills, as he stares into him with a look of pure anger that no man of this size, stature, body type, and overall diet wants to get from a machine of a man such as he.
“By any chance…” Our man asks with a smile. “...you know anyone selling a motorcycle?”
The Man shakes his head no, and we fade away as Our Man Nomad exits the store, and whistles. A very large black animal comes to his heel, with a very large bone in its mouth. The two take down the sidewalk slowly, as we slowly fade away to another scene.
NOW
Standing where we left her, Sarah Wolf waits for the helicopter to land, and steels herself. As the door opens, we see a very familiar face in that of The Phreeq Mega, Vincent Black. Dressed in the color one one would expect, he plants his feet and soldiers forward toward his waiting sister. With a firm hug and a kiss on the cheek, the two begin their walk toward the house in the distance. Sarah, keeping her eyes ahead of her, and Vincent, looking around, carefully studying his surroundings.
“So…” he says, sniffing the air. “This is a good place for a rum distillery?”
“...That’s what I was told.”
“No worries about pirates in the waters? You know, Because of the rum?” He joked.
“Funny.” She responded, not a smile to be seen. Vincent had not grown up with Sarah, as most familiar with his family history, were aware. He had been given up for adoption, and had been taken in by a family which, for the most part, did their best to destroy him. He had not found his new family, or they had not found him, until several years ago. But despite that, Vincent knew something was not right. And with every step he took, he felt it more and more. It was not the disturbance in the force. It was...The joe pesci feeling.
“What’s going on, Bats?” He asked, stopping in his tracks. He looked at her face and he saw exactly what he was looking for. Blind hatred, the kind only a sibling could have and still stand before you. “...What’s going on?” he insisted.
“...you really thought you could keep it a secret? We would never find out?”
“...I don’t know what you’re on about.”
“June 23rd, 2014. Go on. Tell me you don’t know. Go ahead. LIE TO ME.”
Vincent Black was not a person who kept secrets. One must feel shame, and Vincent had never known that. He had stood by every action he had ever committed, regardless of who thought what. He had never known what such a feeling might be like. Standing in front of his sister, aware that the web he’s crafted has come apart without his knowing, he suddenly feels what a bit of that must be like. “...I can explain.”
“You’re going to. Because we don’t just let anyone into this family, Vin. You’ve got to earn it. You did. Dane did. Ani did. Everyone does. And when someone does earn it, NO ONE has the right to take that away. So you better have your best dancing shoes on, guy. Because you owe us one hell of an explanation.”
“...We?”
“Yes, Vincent...We.”
Vincent took a deep breath, and took a step forward, as his sister stomped in behind him, angry even in her movements. The door to the modest cabin opened, and voices are heard emanating from within. All of these voices, silence at the moment that Vincent comes into view. As Sarah shuts the door behind her, we slowly pan away to the now empty helicopter pad, as the chopper has taken to the skies, just as we take the darkness from which we came.