Post by Deleted on Mar 15, 2013 3:24:24 GMT -6
“Terror Dome qualifying: ‘Sick’ Drake Blake vs. Lost in Time…vs. Patrick Jones,” reads the text message on my phone. Usually, updates like this would come from Vanessa or Jesse Styles. This time, it is from my opponent and best friend, “Sick” Drake Blake. The message just simply contains the announcement with none of the normal witty banter. Something must be bothering Drake. Whatever the problem is, he knows that his mind has to be clear before our match.
Although, the last time we had a match his mind was anything but clear, and he nearly killed us both with a dive from a 20 foot high balcony. The Sickness had been the mastermind behind that ordeal. Drake had since vanquished his inner nemesis though…or had he?
Last week, I had come to the conclusion that The Sickness, in some form, was manifesting itself again. The tell-tale sign of his eyes changing from light blue to red had inadvertently been revealed by the nurse last week in a vague and inconclusive, but still convincing enough to me, way. Drake’s match this week had done little to prove anything out of the ordinary was happening at first glance. Further inspection had revealed something disturbing enough that I had to check the evidence again.
Reaching over, I mash the remote control’s play button. Ironically, I had just finished reviewing Drake’s match for a strategy session later in the week. One which he would probably have shrugged off or goofed his way through like usual. That is, if we had not been pitted against each other. He definitely would not want to be going over match strategies with me, especially since I am usually the one to guide the talks and would have gleaned much more from him than he would from me, not that either of us have much to surprise the other with inside the ring.
The DVR begins to replay the footage which I had finished the earlier viewing by scrutinizing. In it, the camera had caught an almost perfect angle of Drake looking right into the lens. A quick click of the pause button causes the video to stop in its tracks and capture The Sick One’s visage on the screen in a perfect head-on view. The high definition camera had caught the perfect evidence. My HD TV now had that evidence in stunning resolution.
Drake Blake’s face nearly fills the screen. Nothing is out of the ordinary until his eyes are examined closely. I had not noticed it until stopping at a similar point in the footage with the original intent being to rewind and re-watch another portion of the match. The still frame had halted my perusal of the remaining video. His eyes are not the trademark red of a Sickness take over, but they are not his natural baby blue color either. Instead, his eyes have a reddish tinge on the edges with the irises being a purple-ish color, mixing The Sickness’s red and Drake’s blue.
It is a phenomenon that I do not ever recall witnessing. This color mixing must indicate some sort of blending between the characters. Drake would never consciously work with Sick, so Drake’s inner demon must be somehow manipulating him without Drake knowing. I thought The Sickness had been destroyed, but maybe Sick had somehow worked a ploy to trick his host. The Sickness must somehow be working below Drake’s conscious and manipulating him by poisoning his thoughts.
This realization causes me to slam down the remote in anger. The thoughts start racing. “What can I do to stop this? How can I fight something inside his mind? How far will the battle go this time? When will Drake ever be truly free? Can Sick ever be completely defeated?” all join a mass of other, similar questions in bouncing inside my skull. Each question is joined by the possible answers in a cacophony of enraging thought. The pure helplessness fuels the angry fire that is starting to build inside of me.
A growl of primal rage escapes from between my gritted teeth and rumbles from between my lips. The Sickness might just be creating a very angry counterpart to deal with in his battle for Drake. Sick’s advantage is that he is inside SDB’s mind, but the disadvantage is that he cannot get out from his prison inside of Drake’s body. My anger, however, can find a target. It may not be Sick himself, but there is another man in our match, Lost in Time.
The resurgent Lost in Time has sadly been thrust into the middle of a very personal situation. He finds himself in the unenviable position of a man whose two opponents are tag partners with each having their own reason for especially desiring the victory. My friend Drake Blake will be driven by not just his own personal will and determination but also the self-serving success The Sickness craves. My reasons are much more conscious and understood. They are no less driving though because the race to save my best friend has begun.
If Sick can power Drake to victory, a bargaining chip is gained in that mental war. The Sickness could use this success and the evidence of his presence during it to convince Drake of his usefulness. However strong my friend’s resolve is, any small slip in his conviction of Sick’s evil ways could provide the necessary moment for him to lose control of his own body to his disturbed alter ego. Last time, he barely survived the mental fight to regain his body. This time, I doubt that he can do the same if he goes completely under The Sickness’s control again.
Realizing that I need to confront this before we enter the ring, I turn off the television and stand. I need to be totally relaxed to face Drake face to face, knowing what I know about The Sickness. Any outbursts or wrong moves could set off the mental war. The risk is worth it though. This week could be Drake’s most vulnerable point with him trying to get any edge to beat me. No matter how close our friendship has been, we have always pushed each other to, and sometimes over, our limits when facing off in a match.
Sighing in an attempt to steady myself and release my body’s tension, I walk to the door of my hotel room. I step into the hall, looking about for any other faces that I know. With none present, I move a few doors over to where I had been told Drake was staying. Our very public friendship had made getting his room number from the front desk easy.
On the other side of this door, hopefully, is Drake Blake. With luck, he is not out doing some of the free running that is his addiction. A little more luck might mean that he is back to being more like the man who is my best friend, not the angry one that told me off in Germany or the deranged psychopath who resides within his mind. Whichever side of Drake it is, I have to meet it head on with a clear approach.
His well being, my well being, and both of our shots at qualifying for the Terror Dome hang in the balance. Only one of us can go through, but the wild card right now is Lost in Time. His skills had been returning to former peaks in the previous weeks. This triple threat match is so much more than that with so much on line from Terror Dome to Drake’s mental state.
When a situation as perilous as this arises, only the most zoned in approach will work. I have to navigate a face-to-face meeting right now and a match later in the week. I have to be completely on my game for the next week or more. No room for error exists. The slightest misstep could turn a small fire into an epic blaze with many people getting burned.
Although, the last time we had a match his mind was anything but clear, and he nearly killed us both with a dive from a 20 foot high balcony. The Sickness had been the mastermind behind that ordeal. Drake had since vanquished his inner nemesis though…or had he?
Last week, I had come to the conclusion that The Sickness, in some form, was manifesting itself again. The tell-tale sign of his eyes changing from light blue to red had inadvertently been revealed by the nurse last week in a vague and inconclusive, but still convincing enough to me, way. Drake’s match this week had done little to prove anything out of the ordinary was happening at first glance. Further inspection had revealed something disturbing enough that I had to check the evidence again.
Reaching over, I mash the remote control’s play button. Ironically, I had just finished reviewing Drake’s match for a strategy session later in the week. One which he would probably have shrugged off or goofed his way through like usual. That is, if we had not been pitted against each other. He definitely would not want to be going over match strategies with me, especially since I am usually the one to guide the talks and would have gleaned much more from him than he would from me, not that either of us have much to surprise the other with inside the ring.
The DVR begins to replay the footage which I had finished the earlier viewing by scrutinizing. In it, the camera had caught an almost perfect angle of Drake looking right into the lens. A quick click of the pause button causes the video to stop in its tracks and capture The Sick One’s visage on the screen in a perfect head-on view. The high definition camera had caught the perfect evidence. My HD TV now had that evidence in stunning resolution.
Drake Blake’s face nearly fills the screen. Nothing is out of the ordinary until his eyes are examined closely. I had not noticed it until stopping at a similar point in the footage with the original intent being to rewind and re-watch another portion of the match. The still frame had halted my perusal of the remaining video. His eyes are not the trademark red of a Sickness take over, but they are not his natural baby blue color either. Instead, his eyes have a reddish tinge on the edges with the irises being a purple-ish color, mixing The Sickness’s red and Drake’s blue.
It is a phenomenon that I do not ever recall witnessing. This color mixing must indicate some sort of blending between the characters. Drake would never consciously work with Sick, so Drake’s inner demon must be somehow manipulating him without Drake knowing. I thought The Sickness had been destroyed, but maybe Sick had somehow worked a ploy to trick his host. The Sickness must somehow be working below Drake’s conscious and manipulating him by poisoning his thoughts.
This realization causes me to slam down the remote in anger. The thoughts start racing. “What can I do to stop this? How can I fight something inside his mind? How far will the battle go this time? When will Drake ever be truly free? Can Sick ever be completely defeated?” all join a mass of other, similar questions in bouncing inside my skull. Each question is joined by the possible answers in a cacophony of enraging thought. The pure helplessness fuels the angry fire that is starting to build inside of me.
A growl of primal rage escapes from between my gritted teeth and rumbles from between my lips. The Sickness might just be creating a very angry counterpart to deal with in his battle for Drake. Sick’s advantage is that he is inside SDB’s mind, but the disadvantage is that he cannot get out from his prison inside of Drake’s body. My anger, however, can find a target. It may not be Sick himself, but there is another man in our match, Lost in Time.
The resurgent Lost in Time has sadly been thrust into the middle of a very personal situation. He finds himself in the unenviable position of a man whose two opponents are tag partners with each having their own reason for especially desiring the victory. My friend Drake Blake will be driven by not just his own personal will and determination but also the self-serving success The Sickness craves. My reasons are much more conscious and understood. They are no less driving though because the race to save my best friend has begun.
If Sick can power Drake to victory, a bargaining chip is gained in that mental war. The Sickness could use this success and the evidence of his presence during it to convince Drake of his usefulness. However strong my friend’s resolve is, any small slip in his conviction of Sick’s evil ways could provide the necessary moment for him to lose control of his own body to his disturbed alter ego. Last time, he barely survived the mental fight to regain his body. This time, I doubt that he can do the same if he goes completely under The Sickness’s control again.
Realizing that I need to confront this before we enter the ring, I turn off the television and stand. I need to be totally relaxed to face Drake face to face, knowing what I know about The Sickness. Any outbursts or wrong moves could set off the mental war. The risk is worth it though. This week could be Drake’s most vulnerable point with him trying to get any edge to beat me. No matter how close our friendship has been, we have always pushed each other to, and sometimes over, our limits when facing off in a match.
Sighing in an attempt to steady myself and release my body’s tension, I walk to the door of my hotel room. I step into the hall, looking about for any other faces that I know. With none present, I move a few doors over to where I had been told Drake was staying. Our very public friendship had made getting his room number from the front desk easy.
On the other side of this door, hopefully, is Drake Blake. With luck, he is not out doing some of the free running that is his addiction. A little more luck might mean that he is back to being more like the man who is my best friend, not the angry one that told me off in Germany or the deranged psychopath who resides within his mind. Whichever side of Drake it is, I have to meet it head on with a clear approach.
His well being, my well being, and both of our shots at qualifying for the Terror Dome hang in the balance. Only one of us can go through, but the wild card right now is Lost in Time. His skills had been returning to former peaks in the previous weeks. This triple threat match is so much more than that with so much on line from Terror Dome to Drake’s mental state.
When a situation as perilous as this arises, only the most zoned in approach will work. I have to navigate a face-to-face meeting right now and a match later in the week. I have to be completely on my game for the next week or more. No room for error exists. The slightest misstep could turn a small fire into an epic blaze with many people getting burned.