Post by Johnny Rebel on Feb 5, 2017 2:54:17 GMT
“Man, you look like you’ve got one foot in the grave, old man,” a concerned citizen interjected his unsolicited opinion on the physical condition of Johnny Rebel. “I think there’s a trash can up ahead if you’re going to lose your cookies.”
The end of one’s wrestling career didn’t casually creep up on a competitor. Father Time was well prepared for every encounter and was grievously undefeated against even the most stubborn of individuals. Together with the Grim Reaper, the duo united their forces, and an opponent never lasted more than one round against the two. Johnny Rebel’s time was certainly expired and now the tag-team was cruelly toying with the PW Hall of Famer.
The sun had already begun to set on downtown Chicago with the skyline slowly swallowing up what rededmain of the afternoon daylight. The demands of the Iron King tournament were accelerating Rebel’s physical decline; his body was nearly incapable of holding-up under the substantial pressures it was facing with each round. He could show up, half-drunk and full of vinegar, and still defeat the likes of Pork Chop, but he knew that he’d have to be in tip-top shape if he were to even dream of being in the same league again as Aurora. Cardio wasn’t a strong suit but if he didn’t build up some sort of stamina, she’d make light work of him. That was unacceptable. Slaine Rodrick and honestly, a luck-of-the-draw seemingly gave him a new lease on life: the Rebirth Championship and Iron King Crown were staring back at him in the mirror. This was the opportunity of a lifetime – even for Johnny Rebel.
“Funny,” Rebel huffed back, almost losing himself in his own thoughts. “Now, I suggest you’d get a move-on before I spill your guts all over this pavement.”
The peanut gallery allowed Rebel a courtesy laugh and scurried along. Johnny continued to jog down the pavement until an alley provided a crucial recess; a necessary intermission from the rigors of preparation. If you’ve never experienced downtown Chicago, you weren’t missing much – it was dark and dingy. The back street Rebel happened to duck-down didn’t stray much from the city’s reputation. The stench of overrun metal dumpsters was practically overpowering and each step deeper in to the darkness sent rodents scampering out of sight. If the stinging sensation that was prevalent in Rebel’s chest wasn’t enough of a reminder of the unimaginably cold air, the constant drip of the melting snow, which created a steady flow of rushing water down the middle of the alley, did the trick.
Rebel made sure to disappear just enough outside of eye-shot of the main road before squatting down to catch his breath. He slid his hand inside his coat and pulled out a flask of whiskey – nature’s heater -from his pocket. He may not have been able to feel his extremities but his insides would be a fiery furnace within minutes.
Unfortunately, before a drop of the liquid gold that Rebel depended on to carry him from one day to the next could hit his lips, something drew his eyes near a chain link fence several feet off in in the distance. Something felt… off. Rebel wasn’t usually the jumpy type but the situation dictated that he be on high alert. Chicago was renown for crime and the average man wouldn’t be caught dead navigating the back alleyways after dark but Johnny suddenly found himself thrust as the main character in what seemed like a horror movie. The streets belonged to those who were strong and coy enough to defend their turf… old men who couldn’t manage fifteen minutes without a splash of booze didn’t belong here. They became a warning shot for those who happened to stumble upon their territories. Rebel didn’t back down from many challenges and wasn’t the average man but he didn’t have an easiness in his stomach.
“Who’s there?” Rebel called out. “I can hear you… don’t try to hide!”
He could have handled the moment in any number of waves – but he went with the illusion of bravery. However, the shakiness of his voice didn’t do him any favors and anybody with half a brain could see right through his schtick. The harmony of a baseball bat clanging against the chain-link fence reverberated through the night, which heightened Rebel’s alarms.
“I’ve got a knife,” Johnny shouted. He didn’t really but whoever was lurking in the shadows didn’t need to know that. “I’m not afraid to use it.”
Rebel didn’t dare move from his perched position but the thumping only continued to accelerate closer to him with each passing second. A trio of shadows emerged from the entryway of the alley, which only increased the darkening of his immediate surroundings. His thoughts hurriedly turned to any alternate routes of escape but whatever was hiding now surrounded Rebel and there wouldn’t be any circumvention. He could start to feel his chest tighten as he sensed his stalkers beginning to converge in on his location. Wouldn’t that be something? A heart attack in the middle of an alleyway while attempting to get in shape – seems like an awful Johnny Rebel like way to go out, doesn’t it? The scenario repeatedly echoed in his brain as he cycled through his potential options but the only logical way this ended with him getting out unscathed would be to scream… and there certainly wasn’t anyone within earshot that would risk their own life to save his. And besides, even Rebel wouldn’t stoop to such lengths!
His heart rate skyrocketed. His breathing, which was once rhythmic and under control, had now become unstable. Beads of sweat began to build at each of his temple and traced down his forehead before diving off his nose in to the puddled water below. His hands clenched tightly around the metal flask – a subtle reminder that the strangers in the dark had rudely interrupted his intended binge session. Before long, the wind seemingly picked-up and was now ferociously blowing in his face. His lower lip quivered, not necessarily out of fear, but a human reaction – one that he couldn’t stop. This was getting out of control.
And then almost out of nowhere… total darkness.
A dark sack was wrapped over Rebel’s head and effectively left him gasping for life. He scratched and clawed with such veracity; his life would seemingly depend on breaking free from his captors. However, deep down, he knew that he wouldn’t succeed. There were arms coming from every direction, each one violently forcing Rebel’s own limbs down by his side, rendering them completely ineffectual. He felt a host of men hoisting him off his feet, which altogether eliminated any leverage he had remaining – he was a vegetable. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. And before long, he couldn’t breathe. The thud of Rebel’s lifeless body was the last thing he remembered hearing before what seemed like the door of a car trunk crashing over top of him. His consciousness was waning as the car sped off to an unknown location where Rebel knew he’d probably meet his impending doom.
“Wake ‘em up. We’ve let the ol’ chap sleep long enough… if we wait for him to arise on his own, we might be here until next Tuesday. Get me a dose of Propofol. I’ve been waiting 20-years to get my hands on this motherfucker… I’m not waiting anymore.”
A mountain-like figure appears from the shadows and walks over to a limp Johnny Rebel before heaving him over his shoulder. A slightly groan peaks through a line of drool hanging from the corner of Rebel’s mouth as he’s clearly comatose and completely dead to the world. The tribe makes their way through a set of double doors as the open air of the ocean forces a bit of a stumble. Smack-dab in the middle of the cargo ship is a wooden cross that’s attached to a set of cables. Rebel’s nearly naked body is deliberately placed across of the wooden structure; his arms stretched out across the beam and thankfully, saved from the same treatment as the historical Jesus, but bound on each side with something akin to barbed wire. His legs suffer the same fate and draw a second whimper from the clearly under-the-influence Johnny Rebel.
“Now,” demanded someone who seemed to have some sort of authority. “It’s time.”
The man waved an almost fatal dosage of an underground concoction designed to quickly wake-up a senseless man accomplished its purpose as Rebel was quickly jolted awake. With his eyes nearly bugging out of his head – he tried to scream but his vocal chords hadn’t yet been awakened.
“Mr. Rebel,” the man snickered. “It’s been quite awhile… in fact, it’s probably been too long!”
The familiar voice brought about goose bumps on the back of Rebel’s neck. His unfortunate position didn’t allow him any logical deduction on who might have been holding him hostage. The only thing present on the horizon was that Rebel was in dire position and he was somewhat familiar with the tone of the voice that was inches away from his face and openly mocking his condition.
“You know, I thought that maybe once the moment arrived that I’d be a little more… excited? You run repeatedly through all the different possible outcomes and you have this picture perfect idea of how things might go down. And you, my friend, played your role perfectly. Like the pathetic peon that I remembered. You should have seen your face! ‘Oh, no, the big bad man’s coming to get me!’
Rebel continued to rack his brain but nothing was firing correctly.
“See this?” A light flickered in his hand, which was followed by a sadistic laugh. “This little guy here… it’s what we like to call a memory jogger! It’s no respecter of persons, let me tell you! Every time it touches your skin, .2 amps of electricity will find every nook-and-cranny in that terribly out-of-shape shell that you’re still carrying around. See… watch this!”
Rebel’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as the device sends shockwaves through his body, effectively losing all voluntary control of his muscles. The violent convulsions send the already-rocking contraption stretching Rebel’s torso in a tizzy and if it weren’t for the cables attached, would have without a doubt tipped over on his backside. After a few moments of watching the juice torment his lifeless victim, the man released the device, and watched as Rebel twitched again and again. He couldn’t contain the squeal of glee in enjoyment at the whole ordeal… and Rebel was close to once again blacking out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “Get back here!”
A waft of smelling salt snapped Rebel back in to momentary consciousness. The man’s face was still well hidden behind a shadow and Johnny couldn’t catch a fair glimpse of the man torturing him.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to torture you any longer. I think you’ve got quite the grasp on how we accomplish things around here and I’m not going to have to show you again, am I? I didn’t think so.”
A slightly middle-aged man wearing a white coat and carrying a brief case appeared suddenly from the bottom of the ship. He cautiously navigated his path to the operation despite the waves threatening to throw him to the ground. Upon reaching the man, he delicately turned the briefcase sideways and handed it over to the henchmen behind Rebel, who began preparing its contents.
“I’m sorry that it has to be this way but unfortunately, you’re the only person that can help us now. See… we need to hurt someone. And regrettably, we’ve been unable to get close. But you? You’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime. We’ve got no issues with you. For fuck’s sake… you couldn’t punch your way out of a wet paper bag the last time we met. But Legacy? Oh, Legacy. You see… he fucked us. Royally. And I’ve been marking down the days until I’ve had the chance at my revenge… and here it is! You’re going to erase the only thing that will cut that son-of-a-bitch… Aurora.”
Rebel immediately shook his head no. He wouldn’t dare hurt Aurora, or do anything to ruin his friendship with Legacy, quite possible the only person that’s ever defended him from anything. He couldn’t. Legacy was the only family that Rebel had left.
“I thought that might be your response. But don’t you worry! I’ve come prepared… hold still. This won’t hurt a bit!”
The man disappears briefly, only to return with a needle. He flicks it twice to make sure that nothing is blocking it’s path as Rebel works tirelessly, albeit to no-avail, to free himself from the wooden cross holding him hostage. It was useless to try and fight.
“I knew you wouldn’t go willingly. And we thought, since Legacy and Aurora are so hellbent on erasing identities that we’d do a little science experiment right here! What do you think about that? You’re just going to feel a little prick. The contents of this vile are going to swim right up through your bloodstream and camp out in what’s left of those brain cells up there and one-by-one, it’s going to single-handedly remove any memories that you might have! Then, and only then, can we make sure that you’ll stop at nothing to completely eradicate Aurora’s existence from this little earth!”
Rebel can’t speak but mouths some unflattering words at the thought of erasing every memory he’s had. The last memory that flashes across his mind before going dark is the night that Legacy, Johnny Rebel and Aurora sat behind a burning warehouse where they finally put to rest their saga involving Mark Mease. Legacy would never forgive Johnny and that’s what hurt the most… but it wouldn’t matter before long as the needle pumped an unknown amount of the solution through Rebel’s veins. It wouldn’t be long before his head slowly met his chest and the fight had completely been stolen from Johnny Rebel.
“Soon, friends, very soon! Yuppy - I want you to go with Johnny to Redemption. Make sure that he accomplishes his task. Don't come back until it's finished. Do you understand? Simply put, eh?"
A slight Australian accent became even more apparent after Rebel was no longer privy to his conversation. Before long, the deck was completely empty, except for Rebel's lifeless body hanging from the wooden contraption. Everything was gone. If Rebel had nothing to fight for before... he really had nothing to fight for now. He would awake within a few hours to absolutely nothing. An empty memory bank of a lifetime full of remembrances completely wiped clean. If Aurora expected Rebel to show any kind of weakness at Redemption and the Iron King Tournament, than she'd be sorely mistaken - a friendship was now completely erased. Rebel would be fighting on his own for his life. And when that happened? He'd usually come out on top.
The end of one’s wrestling career didn’t casually creep up on a competitor. Father Time was well prepared for every encounter and was grievously undefeated against even the most stubborn of individuals. Together with the Grim Reaper, the duo united their forces, and an opponent never lasted more than one round against the two. Johnny Rebel’s time was certainly expired and now the tag-team was cruelly toying with the PW Hall of Famer.
The sun had already begun to set on downtown Chicago with the skyline slowly swallowing up what rededmain of the afternoon daylight. The demands of the Iron King tournament were accelerating Rebel’s physical decline; his body was nearly incapable of holding-up under the substantial pressures it was facing with each round. He could show up, half-drunk and full of vinegar, and still defeat the likes of Pork Chop, but he knew that he’d have to be in tip-top shape if he were to even dream of being in the same league again as Aurora. Cardio wasn’t a strong suit but if he didn’t build up some sort of stamina, she’d make light work of him. That was unacceptable. Slaine Rodrick and honestly, a luck-of-the-draw seemingly gave him a new lease on life: the Rebirth Championship and Iron King Crown were staring back at him in the mirror. This was the opportunity of a lifetime – even for Johnny Rebel.
“Funny,” Rebel huffed back, almost losing himself in his own thoughts. “Now, I suggest you’d get a move-on before I spill your guts all over this pavement.”
The peanut gallery allowed Rebel a courtesy laugh and scurried along. Johnny continued to jog down the pavement until an alley provided a crucial recess; a necessary intermission from the rigors of preparation. If you’ve never experienced downtown Chicago, you weren’t missing much – it was dark and dingy. The back street Rebel happened to duck-down didn’t stray much from the city’s reputation. The stench of overrun metal dumpsters was practically overpowering and each step deeper in to the darkness sent rodents scampering out of sight. If the stinging sensation that was prevalent in Rebel’s chest wasn’t enough of a reminder of the unimaginably cold air, the constant drip of the melting snow, which created a steady flow of rushing water down the middle of the alley, did the trick.
Rebel made sure to disappear just enough outside of eye-shot of the main road before squatting down to catch his breath. He slid his hand inside his coat and pulled out a flask of whiskey – nature’s heater -from his pocket. He may not have been able to feel his extremities but his insides would be a fiery furnace within minutes.
Unfortunately, before a drop of the liquid gold that Rebel depended on to carry him from one day to the next could hit his lips, something drew his eyes near a chain link fence several feet off in in the distance. Something felt… off. Rebel wasn’t usually the jumpy type but the situation dictated that he be on high alert. Chicago was renown for crime and the average man wouldn’t be caught dead navigating the back alleyways after dark but Johnny suddenly found himself thrust as the main character in what seemed like a horror movie. The streets belonged to those who were strong and coy enough to defend their turf… old men who couldn’t manage fifteen minutes without a splash of booze didn’t belong here. They became a warning shot for those who happened to stumble upon their territories. Rebel didn’t back down from many challenges and wasn’t the average man but he didn’t have an easiness in his stomach.
“Who’s there?” Rebel called out. “I can hear you… don’t try to hide!”
He could have handled the moment in any number of waves – but he went with the illusion of bravery. However, the shakiness of his voice didn’t do him any favors and anybody with half a brain could see right through his schtick. The harmony of a baseball bat clanging against the chain-link fence reverberated through the night, which heightened Rebel’s alarms.
“I’ve got a knife,” Johnny shouted. He didn’t really but whoever was lurking in the shadows didn’t need to know that. “I’m not afraid to use it.”
Rebel didn’t dare move from his perched position but the thumping only continued to accelerate closer to him with each passing second. A trio of shadows emerged from the entryway of the alley, which only increased the darkening of his immediate surroundings. His thoughts hurriedly turned to any alternate routes of escape but whatever was hiding now surrounded Rebel and there wouldn’t be any circumvention. He could start to feel his chest tighten as he sensed his stalkers beginning to converge in on his location. Wouldn’t that be something? A heart attack in the middle of an alleyway while attempting to get in shape – seems like an awful Johnny Rebel like way to go out, doesn’t it? The scenario repeatedly echoed in his brain as he cycled through his potential options but the only logical way this ended with him getting out unscathed would be to scream… and there certainly wasn’t anyone within earshot that would risk their own life to save his. And besides, even Rebel wouldn’t stoop to such lengths!
His heart rate skyrocketed. His breathing, which was once rhythmic and under control, had now become unstable. Beads of sweat began to build at each of his temple and traced down his forehead before diving off his nose in to the puddled water below. His hands clenched tightly around the metal flask – a subtle reminder that the strangers in the dark had rudely interrupted his intended binge session. Before long, the wind seemingly picked-up and was now ferociously blowing in his face. His lower lip quivered, not necessarily out of fear, but a human reaction – one that he couldn’t stop. This was getting out of control.
And then almost out of nowhere… total darkness.
A dark sack was wrapped over Rebel’s head and effectively left him gasping for life. He scratched and clawed with such veracity; his life would seemingly depend on breaking free from his captors. However, deep down, he knew that he wouldn’t succeed. There were arms coming from every direction, each one violently forcing Rebel’s own limbs down by his side, rendering them completely ineffectual. He felt a host of men hoisting him off his feet, which altogether eliminated any leverage he had remaining – he was a vegetable. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. And before long, he couldn’t breathe. The thud of Rebel’s lifeless body was the last thing he remembered hearing before what seemed like the door of a car trunk crashing over top of him. His consciousness was waning as the car sped off to an unknown location where Rebel knew he’d probably meet his impending doom.
--
“Wake ‘em up. We’ve let the ol’ chap sleep long enough… if we wait for him to arise on his own, we might be here until next Tuesday. Get me a dose of Propofol. I’ve been waiting 20-years to get my hands on this motherfucker… I’m not waiting anymore.”
A mountain-like figure appears from the shadows and walks over to a limp Johnny Rebel before heaving him over his shoulder. A slightly groan peaks through a line of drool hanging from the corner of Rebel’s mouth as he’s clearly comatose and completely dead to the world. The tribe makes their way through a set of double doors as the open air of the ocean forces a bit of a stumble. Smack-dab in the middle of the cargo ship is a wooden cross that’s attached to a set of cables. Rebel’s nearly naked body is deliberately placed across of the wooden structure; his arms stretched out across the beam and thankfully, saved from the same treatment as the historical Jesus, but bound on each side with something akin to barbed wire. His legs suffer the same fate and draw a second whimper from the clearly under-the-influence Johnny Rebel.
“Now,” demanded someone who seemed to have some sort of authority. “It’s time.”
The man waved an almost fatal dosage of an underground concoction designed to quickly wake-up a senseless man accomplished its purpose as Rebel was quickly jolted awake. With his eyes nearly bugging out of his head – he tried to scream but his vocal chords hadn’t yet been awakened.
“Mr. Rebel,” the man snickered. “It’s been quite awhile… in fact, it’s probably been too long!”
The familiar voice brought about goose bumps on the back of Rebel’s neck. His unfortunate position didn’t allow him any logical deduction on who might have been holding him hostage. The only thing present on the horizon was that Rebel was in dire position and he was somewhat familiar with the tone of the voice that was inches away from his face and openly mocking his condition.
“You know, I thought that maybe once the moment arrived that I’d be a little more… excited? You run repeatedly through all the different possible outcomes and you have this picture perfect idea of how things might go down. And you, my friend, played your role perfectly. Like the pathetic peon that I remembered. You should have seen your face! ‘Oh, no, the big bad man’s coming to get me!’
Rebel continued to rack his brain but nothing was firing correctly.
“See this?” A light flickered in his hand, which was followed by a sadistic laugh. “This little guy here… it’s what we like to call a memory jogger! It’s no respecter of persons, let me tell you! Every time it touches your skin, .2 amps of electricity will find every nook-and-cranny in that terribly out-of-shape shell that you’re still carrying around. See… watch this!”
Rebel’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as the device sends shockwaves through his body, effectively losing all voluntary control of his muscles. The violent convulsions send the already-rocking contraption stretching Rebel’s torso in a tizzy and if it weren’t for the cables attached, would have without a doubt tipped over on his backside. After a few moments of watching the juice torment his lifeless victim, the man released the device, and watched as Rebel twitched again and again. He couldn’t contain the squeal of glee in enjoyment at the whole ordeal… and Rebel was close to once again blacking out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked. “Get back here!”
A waft of smelling salt snapped Rebel back in to momentary consciousness. The man’s face was still well hidden behind a shadow and Johnny couldn’t catch a fair glimpse of the man torturing him.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to torture you any longer. I think you’ve got quite the grasp on how we accomplish things around here and I’m not going to have to show you again, am I? I didn’t think so.”
A slightly middle-aged man wearing a white coat and carrying a brief case appeared suddenly from the bottom of the ship. He cautiously navigated his path to the operation despite the waves threatening to throw him to the ground. Upon reaching the man, he delicately turned the briefcase sideways and handed it over to the henchmen behind Rebel, who began preparing its contents.
“I’m sorry that it has to be this way but unfortunately, you’re the only person that can help us now. See… we need to hurt someone. And regrettably, we’ve been unable to get close. But you? You’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime. We’ve got no issues with you. For fuck’s sake… you couldn’t punch your way out of a wet paper bag the last time we met. But Legacy? Oh, Legacy. You see… he fucked us. Royally. And I’ve been marking down the days until I’ve had the chance at my revenge… and here it is! You’re going to erase the only thing that will cut that son-of-a-bitch… Aurora.”
Rebel immediately shook his head no. He wouldn’t dare hurt Aurora, or do anything to ruin his friendship with Legacy, quite possible the only person that’s ever defended him from anything. He couldn’t. Legacy was the only family that Rebel had left.
“I thought that might be your response. But don’t you worry! I’ve come prepared… hold still. This won’t hurt a bit!”
The man disappears briefly, only to return with a needle. He flicks it twice to make sure that nothing is blocking it’s path as Rebel works tirelessly, albeit to no-avail, to free himself from the wooden cross holding him hostage. It was useless to try and fight.
“I knew you wouldn’t go willingly. And we thought, since Legacy and Aurora are so hellbent on erasing identities that we’d do a little science experiment right here! What do you think about that? You’re just going to feel a little prick. The contents of this vile are going to swim right up through your bloodstream and camp out in what’s left of those brain cells up there and one-by-one, it’s going to single-handedly remove any memories that you might have! Then, and only then, can we make sure that you’ll stop at nothing to completely eradicate Aurora’s existence from this little earth!”
Rebel can’t speak but mouths some unflattering words at the thought of erasing every memory he’s had. The last memory that flashes across his mind before going dark is the night that Legacy, Johnny Rebel and Aurora sat behind a burning warehouse where they finally put to rest their saga involving Mark Mease. Legacy would never forgive Johnny and that’s what hurt the most… but it wouldn’t matter before long as the needle pumped an unknown amount of the solution through Rebel’s veins. It wouldn’t be long before his head slowly met his chest and the fight had completely been stolen from Johnny Rebel.
“Soon, friends, very soon! Yuppy - I want you to go with Johnny to Redemption. Make sure that he accomplishes his task. Don't come back until it's finished. Do you understand? Simply put, eh?"
A slight Australian accent became even more apparent after Rebel was no longer privy to his conversation. Before long, the deck was completely empty, except for Rebel's lifeless body hanging from the wooden contraption. Everything was gone. If Rebel had nothing to fight for before... he really had nothing to fight for now. He would awake within a few hours to absolutely nothing. An empty memory bank of a lifetime full of remembrances completely wiped clean. If Aurora expected Rebel to show any kind of weakness at Redemption and the Iron King Tournament, than she'd be sorely mistaken - a friendship was now completely erased. Rebel would be fighting on his own for his life. And when that happened? He'd usually come out on top.