Post by Ca$h on May 31, 2007 11:46:20 GMT -5
The familiar bongos of "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones come in loud and clear through a dark night in Calgary, from a car radio somewhere in the neighborhood. The Ogden Legion Hall is empty. The fans left hours earlier, and the NAPW road crew pulled out just minutes ago, towing the equipment that made Badder Blood a resounding success. The talent clears the parking lot, another night in the books. They take their rental cars and taxis back to wherever they came from, with the exception of two men. One of them is Rex Caliber, who takes his private car to the airport, in anticipation of a flight to the Atlantic Seaboard for the next REBEL show. The other is Ca$h, who walks to his nearby apartment, gear bag hanging over his left shoulder. His right hand nurses his ribs, which are wrapped with tape under one of seemingly hundreds of NAPW sweatshirts. The hood is up, and Ca$h walks with his head down, eyes half closed. It's obvious that his barnburner with Bruce Richards has drained him, both physically and mentally.
As he rounds a corner to head down 69th Avenue, a streetlight above him bursts in a shower of glass. He ducks slightly, and the squares of safety glass rain off of his head harmlessly. Ca$h continues down the road, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. The words "Damn Canadian streetlights" are faintly audible.
At the next intersection, a stop light flashes, the single red light pulsing in the darkness. The "don't walk" sign follows suit, and finally goes out, though the traffic light keeps flashing. Looking left and right, and satisfied that there's nothing coming, Ca$h steps off the curb and proceeds across to the other corner.
He walks down the street another half of a mile, and passes a basketball court. One hoop is missing a net, and the other is missing a sizable chunk from the backboard, the edges jagged as if it was bitten off by some monster. A monster that loves fiberglass, maybe. A half-deflated ball sits at mid-court, and a single shoe lies on its side near the chain link fence surrounding the court. The whole scene gets no more than a passing glance from Ca$h, though. He walks on, oblivious, until the sound of a bouncing ball causes him to stop.
The bouncing stops as well for a second. Then the sweet sound of a shot going theough a hoop, nothing but net, replaces it.
*SWISH*
With this, Ca$h turns, and sees a man standing at the foul line, holding his right arm up high, the follow through from a textbook free throw. He walks under the basket, picks up the ball, and returns to the line to take another. This one goes through just the same as the last.
*SWISH*
Ca$h walks back toward the court, wary of this man, but oddly intrigued. Where did he come from? The court was empty just seconds ago, and if he was running, his shoes would've made some kind of noise on the pavement. Ca$h drops his bag to the sidewalk, and stands against the fence, fingers entwined in the chain-link. The mystery man takes another free throw, naturally as perfect as the previous two.
*SWISH*
"Nice shot. You play for a team anywhere?"
The man smiles a bit, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly. His eyes never leave the basket, and he takes another shot.
"You could say that."
*SWISH*
"So what's your name?"
"Taus. Malik Taus."
*SWISH*
"But my friends just call me Old Nick."
"Nice to meet you, Malik. I'm Casey. Friends call me C."
"I know who you are. You're a wrestler. Ca$h."
It's Ca$h's turn to smile, now.
"Guilty as charged. You're a wrestling fan, then?"
"No, but I have some acquaintances in the business."
*SWISH*
"Really? Anyone from around here?"
"I happen to be good friends with Rex Caliber, as a matter of fact."
Ca$h's grin isn't quite so wide this time.
"Friend of Rex's, huh? How'd you guys meet?"
"Oh, through a mutual friend, I believe. It was so long ago, I hardly remember how we became friends. When you get to be my age, things like that start to slip your mind more and more often."
*SWISH*
"You don't look that old. Younger than me, probably."
"Looks... Can be deceiving."
*SWISH*
"Nah, come on. Really, you can't be any older than I am. Just looking at you from here, you might even be in better shape than me."
With this, Malik bends down, and sits the ball on the pavement. It stays in place, despite a visible slope from the foul line to the basket. He straightens up, and turns to face Ca$h. Reaching up, he pulls back the hood of his black sweatshirt to reveal a grotesque mask of flesh. A small bump protrudes from either temple, and his nose is bent eerily to the left, as if it was broken but never set correctly. A haunting smile crosses his lips, and his yellow teeth are exposed, jagged spikes of rotting enamel poking out from pale gums. His eyes are nearly the same color, whites turned to a sickening yellow, but his irises are an evil red color. They seem to pulse with the same regularity as a healthy human heart. A pointed goatee completes his hideous face, facial hair as black as the night itself. He takes a step toward the fence, and Ca$h releases his death grip on the chain-link. Another step, and Ca$h does the same. Another... Another... One more step, and he's now up against the fence, while Ca$h is merely three feet away. An evil grin crosses his grotesque lips, and he takes another step, this time passing through the fence. Ca$h's eyes open wide with fear, and he takes a huge step backwards, tripping over his bag, and falling to the sidewalk. He winces in pain, and his hand immediately goes to his injured ribs. He looks up to see Malik step over the bag, and stand betwwen his sprawled feet. A quick kick comes up, but the man is too fast, and leaps over the outstreched leg with inhuman agility. Ca$h lashes out with the other leg, but it's batted away easily. He scrambles backwards, and bounces off the curb, landing on his ass in the gutter, his hand splashing onto a nearby storm drain. He looks down at it, then at his hand. It's not water. The red, viscous liquid runs over his hand, coating it like Simply Beautiful coated the NAPW ring just hours earlier. He slowly turns and looks up at the man, whose friends call him "Old Nick", and sees a sick grin once again. The realization finally hits home, and Ca$h wipes the blood from his hand onto his pants leg, standing up as fast as he possibly can. With him in the street and the ghastly figure in front of him standing on the sidewalk, the height difference is made even more massive. The man who called himself Malik reaches out and puts his hands on Ca$h's shoulders, gripping them like a child would to a favorite stuffed animal. His fingernails dig into the cloth of a sweatshirt, and then the flesh of the body underneath. Ca$h's entire body suddenly goes taut, and his eyes widen to the size of cue balls. Then, all at once, he goes limp, his eyes roll back in his skull, and the hold on his shoulders is released. He slumps to the pavement, a slight drop of blood trickling from his ear. The other man chuckles once, and slowly disappears into the night air.
"Hey mister! Mister! Wake up, man!"
Ca$h jerks to alertness, and his head swings wildly, searching for the source of the voice. He looks up to see a small boy, maybe twelve years old, shaking him by the shoulder. Ca$h looks at the shoulder itself. Not a single mark on it. The other one is the same. He looks down where the blood sat in the storm drain, and the area is dry. The familiar sounds of a heated basketball game come from inside the fence, and he looks up once again. The baskets are pristine, flawless nets hanging from them, and clean glass backboards with fresh paint around the outside and on the box behind the rim. Ca$h stands slowly, and picks up his bag. The zipper is undone, and the contents have obviously been searched. He looks down at the boy, who smiles sheepishly. Nothing is missing, however, so he closes the zipper and shoulders the bag again. Almost as an afterthought, he opens the zipper once more, and looks inside. A single slip of paper sticks out from the contents, and he reaches in and pulls it out. Unfolding it, he reads it aloud.
"Pleased to meet you. See you again soon. Malik."
His face pales, and he jams the note into his pocket. The bag is quickly zipped up again, and Ca$h starts walking quickly towards the nearby intersection, where a right turn will take him to his apartment less than 100 yards away. He stops at the corner, and a car pulls up next to him, its driver a young woman with dark hair. She reaches down and turns on the radio, the volume already at a high level. The song blares out into the surrounding area, and the lyrics are easily audible...
"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game"
FADE TO BLACK
As he rounds a corner to head down 69th Avenue, a streetlight above him bursts in a shower of glass. He ducks slightly, and the squares of safety glass rain off of his head harmlessly. Ca$h continues down the road, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. The words "Damn Canadian streetlights" are faintly audible.
At the next intersection, a stop light flashes, the single red light pulsing in the darkness. The "don't walk" sign follows suit, and finally goes out, though the traffic light keeps flashing. Looking left and right, and satisfied that there's nothing coming, Ca$h steps off the curb and proceeds across to the other corner.
He walks down the street another half of a mile, and passes a basketball court. One hoop is missing a net, and the other is missing a sizable chunk from the backboard, the edges jagged as if it was bitten off by some monster. A monster that loves fiberglass, maybe. A half-deflated ball sits at mid-court, and a single shoe lies on its side near the chain link fence surrounding the court. The whole scene gets no more than a passing glance from Ca$h, though. He walks on, oblivious, until the sound of a bouncing ball causes him to stop.
The bouncing stops as well for a second. Then the sweet sound of a shot going theough a hoop, nothing but net, replaces it.
*SWISH*
With this, Ca$h turns, and sees a man standing at the foul line, holding his right arm up high, the follow through from a textbook free throw. He walks under the basket, picks up the ball, and returns to the line to take another. This one goes through just the same as the last.
*SWISH*
Ca$h walks back toward the court, wary of this man, but oddly intrigued. Where did he come from? The court was empty just seconds ago, and if he was running, his shoes would've made some kind of noise on the pavement. Ca$h drops his bag to the sidewalk, and stands against the fence, fingers entwined in the chain-link. The mystery man takes another free throw, naturally as perfect as the previous two.
*SWISH*
"Nice shot. You play for a team anywhere?"
The man smiles a bit, one corner of his mouth turning up slightly. His eyes never leave the basket, and he takes another shot.
"You could say that."
*SWISH*
"So what's your name?"
"Taus. Malik Taus."
*SWISH*
"But my friends just call me Old Nick."
"Nice to meet you, Malik. I'm Casey. Friends call me C."
"I know who you are. You're a wrestler. Ca$h."
It's Ca$h's turn to smile, now.
"Guilty as charged. You're a wrestling fan, then?"
"No, but I have some acquaintances in the business."
*SWISH*
"Really? Anyone from around here?"
"I happen to be good friends with Rex Caliber, as a matter of fact."
Ca$h's grin isn't quite so wide this time.
"Friend of Rex's, huh? How'd you guys meet?"
"Oh, through a mutual friend, I believe. It was so long ago, I hardly remember how we became friends. When you get to be my age, things like that start to slip your mind more and more often."
*SWISH*
"You don't look that old. Younger than me, probably."
"Looks... Can be deceiving."
*SWISH*
"Nah, come on. Really, you can't be any older than I am. Just looking at you from here, you might even be in better shape than me."
With this, Malik bends down, and sits the ball on the pavement. It stays in place, despite a visible slope from the foul line to the basket. He straightens up, and turns to face Ca$h. Reaching up, he pulls back the hood of his black sweatshirt to reveal a grotesque mask of flesh. A small bump protrudes from either temple, and his nose is bent eerily to the left, as if it was broken but never set correctly. A haunting smile crosses his lips, and his yellow teeth are exposed, jagged spikes of rotting enamel poking out from pale gums. His eyes are nearly the same color, whites turned to a sickening yellow, but his irises are an evil red color. They seem to pulse with the same regularity as a healthy human heart. A pointed goatee completes his hideous face, facial hair as black as the night itself. He takes a step toward the fence, and Ca$h releases his death grip on the chain-link. Another step, and Ca$h does the same. Another... Another... One more step, and he's now up against the fence, while Ca$h is merely three feet away. An evil grin crosses his grotesque lips, and he takes another step, this time passing through the fence. Ca$h's eyes open wide with fear, and he takes a huge step backwards, tripping over his bag, and falling to the sidewalk. He winces in pain, and his hand immediately goes to his injured ribs. He looks up to see Malik step over the bag, and stand betwwen his sprawled feet. A quick kick comes up, but the man is too fast, and leaps over the outstreched leg with inhuman agility. Ca$h lashes out with the other leg, but it's batted away easily. He scrambles backwards, and bounces off the curb, landing on his ass in the gutter, his hand splashing onto a nearby storm drain. He looks down at it, then at his hand. It's not water. The red, viscous liquid runs over his hand, coating it like Simply Beautiful coated the NAPW ring just hours earlier. He slowly turns and looks up at the man, whose friends call him "Old Nick", and sees a sick grin once again. The realization finally hits home, and Ca$h wipes the blood from his hand onto his pants leg, standing up as fast as he possibly can. With him in the street and the ghastly figure in front of him standing on the sidewalk, the height difference is made even more massive. The man who called himself Malik reaches out and puts his hands on Ca$h's shoulders, gripping them like a child would to a favorite stuffed animal. His fingernails dig into the cloth of a sweatshirt, and then the flesh of the body underneath. Ca$h's entire body suddenly goes taut, and his eyes widen to the size of cue balls. Then, all at once, he goes limp, his eyes roll back in his skull, and the hold on his shoulders is released. He slumps to the pavement, a slight drop of blood trickling from his ear. The other man chuckles once, and slowly disappears into the night air.
"Hey mister! Mister! Wake up, man!"
Ca$h jerks to alertness, and his head swings wildly, searching for the source of the voice. He looks up to see a small boy, maybe twelve years old, shaking him by the shoulder. Ca$h looks at the shoulder itself. Not a single mark on it. The other one is the same. He looks down where the blood sat in the storm drain, and the area is dry. The familiar sounds of a heated basketball game come from inside the fence, and he looks up once again. The baskets are pristine, flawless nets hanging from them, and clean glass backboards with fresh paint around the outside and on the box behind the rim. Ca$h stands slowly, and picks up his bag. The zipper is undone, and the contents have obviously been searched. He looks down at the boy, who smiles sheepishly. Nothing is missing, however, so he closes the zipper and shoulders the bag again. Almost as an afterthought, he opens the zipper once more, and looks inside. A single slip of paper sticks out from the contents, and he reaches in and pulls it out. Unfolding it, he reads it aloud.
"Pleased to meet you. See you again soon. Malik."
His face pales, and he jams the note into his pocket. The bag is quickly zipped up again, and Ca$h starts walking quickly towards the nearby intersection, where a right turn will take him to his apartment less than 100 yards away. He stops at the corner, and a car pulls up next to him, its driver a young woman with dark hair. She reaches down and turns on the radio, the volume already at a high level. The song blares out into the surrounding area, and the lyrics are easily audible...
"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game"
FADE TO BLACK