Post by cataclysm on Apr 1, 2007 22:50:48 GMT -5
Police Recorded Telephone Conversation One
"A Debt to be Repaid."
Riiiiing! Riiiiing!
AKM: Hello?
SCT: You're time is almost up, Mortimer.
AKM: Please, you must be reasonable, Mr.--
SCT: I'm through with being reasonable! You have little over one week to give me back what's mine.
AKM: One week! Give me two, and you'll have it.
SCT: You've had too many chances as it is, Mortimer.
AKM: I give you my word. I'll get what belongs to you.
SCT: How?
AKM: Two words: "Blue Ruin."
SCT: Your fighter? What was his name?
AKM: Cataclysm.
SCT: You can't depend on him solely, you know that.
AKM: This time I can. I know this man, he's more powerful than he's been given credit for.
SCT: But can I TRUST him?
AKM: You don't have to. Trust ME, and let me worry about the fighter.
SCT: You had better be right about this, Mortimer, for your sake.
Click!
[ Scene comes to life outside a large warehouse-looking building. A large metal blue double-door leads into the body of the structure. Standing outside, dressed in a thick fur coat over his light brown dress coat, is Alexandr Mortimer, his bald head covered by a protective black toque. Standing next to him, wearing a familiar black hood, is the ever-so-enigmatic Cataclysm. Mortimer wraps the fur coat tightly over himself, shivering. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: I thought North Carolina was supposed to be warmer than Moscow.
[ Cataclysm says nothing. The cold wind blows the tail of his hood revealing the torn jeans, and the very muscular structure of his very powerful legs. Mortimer looks up at the building, and back down at a small scrap of white paper in his hand. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: It looks like this is the place. Shall we go in?
[ Cataclysm is silent. Mortimer walks up to the large door, and knocks with the back of his knuckles. A thin shaft at eye level on the door, supposedly used as a spy hole, slides open and a pair of very dark eyes gaze out at the pair. The camera cuts to the vision of those eyes. ]
Guard: Password?
[ Mortimer looks aghast. Cataclysm hides his face, as he was before, keeping perfectly still and perfectly quiet. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: I beg your-- Oh, yes!
[ He pulls the small scrap of paper out again and glances at the chicken-scratch on the page, readable only by Mortimer. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Ahh... "Your mother's wooden leg has a kickstand?"
[ Cut back to rear view of the two. The spy hole slides shut, and Mortimer is left with that piece of paper, and the man who wears the hood stands perfectly still. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Perhaps they aren't going to let us in?
[ At that moment, the door opens, and a large man with dark eyes, we guess to be the guard from behind the spy hole, stands looming over Mortimer. He stands aside to let the two in. Mortimer bows in appreciation, and Cataclysm follows him into the large warehouse.
Cut to an inside view of the warehouse. It's very large, a row of windows extends around the entire structure, high up on the walls providing the only light. There are various workout equipment spread out throughout the outside of the warehouse, being occupied by very large, thug-like men. Most of them African-American. In the middle is a wrestling ring, also occupied by two men in the middle of a heated contest. Cataclysm keeps his face hidden the whole time.
Most of the men have stopped what they were doing to see who could have just entered. Most of them laugh when they see the two, both of them small, both insignificant-looking. Cataclysm hiding his face also got a laugh. Mortimer glances around at everyone in the room. Intimidating smiles and glares shoot in his direction from every direction possible. Clearly, they're not welcome here. Mortimer spots a vacant leg-press machine. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Ah, yes. This way, my friend.
[ He leads Cataclysm over to the machine as though the thugs in the room staring menacingly at him didn't even exist. Not a care in the world. Poor fellow.
Cataclysm starts to apply many forty-five pound weights to the rings of the leg-press. Mortimer sits down on a bench nearby, pulling out his Apple laptop. He brings up Brian Bruno's last few promos as Cataclysm begins his workout, lifting weights summing up to damn near fifteen-hundred pounds with his legs, almost with ease. Mortimer's face begins to build a puzzled expression. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: "Behind on the times"... What does he mean?
[ He brings up some of Brian Bruno's latest matches, all with just a few clicks of his keyboard. After about ten minutes, Mortimer begins to look quite reinformed. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Oh. Well, it seems our "respectable" Brian Bruno has simply... lost his mind, I think, my friend.
[ Cataclysm continues to non-stop pump his legs up and down, up and down, building their already massive muscles. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Remember, ninety degrees each time, slow easy pumps, deep breaths.
[ Cataclysm obliges, slowing his pumping and his breathing, making sure that his knee joints are ninety degrees on each descent. His leg muscles flex heavily with each pump. Always, though, no matter what, he keeps his face hidden. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: No matter, though, he's still just the perfect competition for you, my friend. You may have to grow eyes on the back of your head; he's a sneaky one, this Bruno.
[ Cataclysm doesn't seem to be listening. He continues to pump his legs through, gripping the hand bars tightly on either side of him. Mortimer brings up Bruno's next chronological promo. After a while he begins to dance around a bit, intrigued by this new music. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: This american music is quite catchy, no?
[ After a moment, the music stops. Brian Bruno begins to speak, but the speakers aren't loud enough for the camera microphones to pick it up. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Who told this man that you came from the darker side of the world?
[ Cataclysm is silently pumping his legs. Mortimer brings up Bruno's latest promo. A little while of listening to Bruno rant, and then an untinentional yawn. Mortimer covers his mouth to hide it. Cataclysm's legs are locked in the straight position, listening intently to the promo. Cataclysm lifts the bars beneath him, to lock the leg press in place, and then stands, still listening to Bruno. Mortimer does not notice that Cataclysm is now behind him, watching the promo intently. How curious can a man this enigmatic be? Mortimer doesn't understand either. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: What was that all about? I don't want to hear men explaining their life's story to me. Honestly, I don't care. Neither does my Cataclysm, do you--
[ He looks up to find Cataclysm not on the leg press. Cataclysm leans over Mortimer's shoulder to present himself, and Mortimer might need a change of underwear after his surprise. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Yikes! Don't do that.
[ Mortimer closes the laptop, just as Cataclysm reaches over to replay the promo. Mortimer doesn't notice. He tucks the computer safely into his bag and stands up. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: So, are you finished? [looking at his watch] I guess it was twenty minutes, was it? Now we can work on your chest, and arms. On to the bench-press.
[ Mortimer has no time to lead Cataclysm over to the bench. Three very large thugs have aproached, flexing huge steroid-endused biceps and pectorals, cracking their knuckles. So intimidating. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: May I help you gentlemen?
Thug #1: New meat, huh?
Thug #2: We love new meat.
Thug #3: Yeah, especially dark meat.
[ The two other thugs stare at the idiot third one. Mortimer raises an eyebrow. ]
Thug #2: Anyway, we saw your friend here doing that heavy lifting.
Thug #1: He doesn't look so tough to me.
Alexandr Mortimer: I assure you fine gentlemen, my friend here and I were just about to--
Thug #1: Yeah, and that's a problem.
Thug #2: Y'see, new meat here can't leave until they've fought someone.
Thug #1: That ring there? It's there for a reason, y'know.
Thug #3: Yeah, and it's not for the buffet.
[ Another awkward silence reinforced with heavy staring. More eyebrow raising from the Russian man in the toque. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: [to Cataclysm] Hmm... rather large individuals, aren't they? What, about 6'6", maybe two hundred-ninety pounds, give or take? Should be some good practice for your match against Bruno, yes?
[ Cataclysm is silent for a moment, like he is thinking. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: You gentlemen have a deal!
[ The three men smile and the largest one, African American, climbs into the ring, the other two gather by his corner, smiling. Cataclysm stands still for a moment, and then begins to approach the ring himself. He reaches the apron and swiftly jumps onto it in a single motion. He jumps over the ropes, landing nimbly in the ring, all while keeping his face hidden. Mortimer finds his place near Cataclysm's corner.
The thug moves toward Cataclysm, swinging with a hard right, neatly ducked by Cataclysm. Cataclysm stands straight up to meet an rapidly incoming left hook, also neatly evaded. Mortimer couldn't be more amused as he watches the fight. The other thugs try to egg on their leader. Cataclysm backs up a bit, but the large man keeps coming. Right hook; ducked. Left jab; side-stepped. Right uppercut; evaded. Cataclysm, making the saying "The best offense is a good defense" perfectly true, is neatly evading every attempt at offense from his adversary. The thug, tired out, has backed into his corner, breathing deeply. Cataclysm stands perfectly still near the middle of the ring. ]
Thug #2: You can do it. Show this midget who's boss!
[ The large thug moves back toward Cataclysm, smiling sickly as he circles him. Suddenly, the thug charges Cataclysm with a burly clothesline as the third thug goes for his legs with a steel pipe. The footage goes to slow motion as Cataclysm jumps, flipping to aviod both collisions. He lands neatly on his feet as the third thug tries another shot with the pipe, and the footage speeds to normal. Cataclysm blocks with a front kick, followed up with a quick spinning heel kick to the face of the thug. The first thug is back though, with brass knuckles heading straight for the back of Cataclysm's head. Cataclysm ducks low, bringing his foot up into the jaw of the thug, sending him backward into the ropes.
Grasping the ropes to keep his balance, the thug holds his jaw, spitting a tooth and a mouthful of blood all over the canvas. ]
Thug #1: You're gonna regret that.
[ The second thug has come in with a baseball bat, he swings high, but Cataclysm steps backward before sending the thug flying to the far ropes with a powerful shuffle side kick. The third thug has come back with his pipe, but he's a little groggy. Cataclysm gets a running start, and then hurls the thug over the ropes with a running superkick to the chin. The second thug, armed with a large, dangerously sharp knife, begins his charge. Cataclysm turns his head to spot the thug, and ducks under the knife, before throwing his foot into the thug's jaw. The thug reels backward, flipping over the ropes and out of the ring.
The first thug, still out for revenge, blind with rage, charges toward Cataclysm with a head full of steam and a knife covered in blood. Cataclysm faces the thug, ready for any attack. The camera slows again, as Cataclysm steps forward turning his left foot inward. Hurling his right leg into the air for the springing action, he leaps into the air, spinning in a three hundred and sixty degree pattern before landing a very hard left roundhouse kick to the thug's temple, just as he was raising the knife.
Cataclysm lands neatly on his feet as the thug, unconcious, falls in a heap on the canvas. Cataclysm stares down at the unconcious man as Mortimer stands, wooping and cheering like he just won the superbowl. Everyone esle in the warehouse is dead silent, amazed at Cataclysm's skill. Even in a place with no rules, Cataclysm can come out on top. Even in a place where all the odds are against him, he can come out on top. Cataclysm breathes normally as he jumps over the ropes and out of the ring, making his way toward the door alongside his manager. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: [still celebrating] I'll tell you what, if you fight like that on Tuesday, there's no way you can lose! Now I REALLY can't wait!
[ Cataclysm is silent, but you hardly notice. Everyone is silent. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: [as they leave the warehouse] Those guys were about as big as Bruno was! They were all just as angry! They were all just as dangerous! Well, maybe they're a LOT less experienced, and a LOT less educated, but it doesn't matter! REBEL is supposed to be no disqualification, yes? You just proved today that you can come out victorious even under THOSE circumstances! Amazing! I can't wait to see Bruno's face!
[ The door closes. The lights fade to black. ]
No thugs were harmed in the making of this promo.
"A Debt to be Repaid."
Riiiiing! Riiiiing!
AKM: Hello?
SCT: You're time is almost up, Mortimer.
AKM: Please, you must be reasonable, Mr.--
SCT: I'm through with being reasonable! You have little over one week to give me back what's mine.
AKM: One week! Give me two, and you'll have it.
SCT: You've had too many chances as it is, Mortimer.
AKM: I give you my word. I'll get what belongs to you.
SCT: How?
AKM: Two words: "Blue Ruin."
SCT: Your fighter? What was his name?
AKM: Cataclysm.
SCT: You can't depend on him solely, you know that.
AKM: This time I can. I know this man, he's more powerful than he's been given credit for.
SCT: But can I TRUST him?
AKM: You don't have to. Trust ME, and let me worry about the fighter.
SCT: You had better be right about this, Mortimer, for your sake.
Click!
[ Scene comes to life outside a large warehouse-looking building. A large metal blue double-door leads into the body of the structure. Standing outside, dressed in a thick fur coat over his light brown dress coat, is Alexandr Mortimer, his bald head covered by a protective black toque. Standing next to him, wearing a familiar black hood, is the ever-so-enigmatic Cataclysm. Mortimer wraps the fur coat tightly over himself, shivering. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: I thought North Carolina was supposed to be warmer than Moscow.
[ Cataclysm says nothing. The cold wind blows the tail of his hood revealing the torn jeans, and the very muscular structure of his very powerful legs. Mortimer looks up at the building, and back down at a small scrap of white paper in his hand. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: It looks like this is the place. Shall we go in?
[ Cataclysm is silent. Mortimer walks up to the large door, and knocks with the back of his knuckles. A thin shaft at eye level on the door, supposedly used as a spy hole, slides open and a pair of very dark eyes gaze out at the pair. The camera cuts to the vision of those eyes. ]
Guard: Password?
[ Mortimer looks aghast. Cataclysm hides his face, as he was before, keeping perfectly still and perfectly quiet. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: I beg your-- Oh, yes!
[ He pulls the small scrap of paper out again and glances at the chicken-scratch on the page, readable only by Mortimer. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Ahh... "Your mother's wooden leg has a kickstand?"
[ Cut back to rear view of the two. The spy hole slides shut, and Mortimer is left with that piece of paper, and the man who wears the hood stands perfectly still. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Perhaps they aren't going to let us in?
[ At that moment, the door opens, and a large man with dark eyes, we guess to be the guard from behind the spy hole, stands looming over Mortimer. He stands aside to let the two in. Mortimer bows in appreciation, and Cataclysm follows him into the large warehouse.
Cut to an inside view of the warehouse. It's very large, a row of windows extends around the entire structure, high up on the walls providing the only light. There are various workout equipment spread out throughout the outside of the warehouse, being occupied by very large, thug-like men. Most of them African-American. In the middle is a wrestling ring, also occupied by two men in the middle of a heated contest. Cataclysm keeps his face hidden the whole time.
Most of the men have stopped what they were doing to see who could have just entered. Most of them laugh when they see the two, both of them small, both insignificant-looking. Cataclysm hiding his face also got a laugh. Mortimer glances around at everyone in the room. Intimidating smiles and glares shoot in his direction from every direction possible. Clearly, they're not welcome here. Mortimer spots a vacant leg-press machine. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Ah, yes. This way, my friend.
[ He leads Cataclysm over to the machine as though the thugs in the room staring menacingly at him didn't even exist. Not a care in the world. Poor fellow.
Cataclysm starts to apply many forty-five pound weights to the rings of the leg-press. Mortimer sits down on a bench nearby, pulling out his Apple laptop. He brings up Brian Bruno's last few promos as Cataclysm begins his workout, lifting weights summing up to damn near fifteen-hundred pounds with his legs, almost with ease. Mortimer's face begins to build a puzzled expression. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: "Behind on the times"... What does he mean?
[ He brings up some of Brian Bruno's latest matches, all with just a few clicks of his keyboard. After about ten minutes, Mortimer begins to look quite reinformed. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Oh. Well, it seems our "respectable" Brian Bruno has simply... lost his mind, I think, my friend.
[ Cataclysm continues to non-stop pump his legs up and down, up and down, building their already massive muscles. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Remember, ninety degrees each time, slow easy pumps, deep breaths.
[ Cataclysm obliges, slowing his pumping and his breathing, making sure that his knee joints are ninety degrees on each descent. His leg muscles flex heavily with each pump. Always, though, no matter what, he keeps his face hidden. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: No matter, though, he's still just the perfect competition for you, my friend. You may have to grow eyes on the back of your head; he's a sneaky one, this Bruno.
[ Cataclysm doesn't seem to be listening. He continues to pump his legs through, gripping the hand bars tightly on either side of him. Mortimer brings up Bruno's next chronological promo. After a while he begins to dance around a bit, intrigued by this new music. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: This american music is quite catchy, no?
[ After a moment, the music stops. Brian Bruno begins to speak, but the speakers aren't loud enough for the camera microphones to pick it up. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Who told this man that you came from the darker side of the world?
[ Cataclysm is silently pumping his legs. Mortimer brings up Bruno's latest promo. A little while of listening to Bruno rant, and then an untinentional yawn. Mortimer covers his mouth to hide it. Cataclysm's legs are locked in the straight position, listening intently to the promo. Cataclysm lifts the bars beneath him, to lock the leg press in place, and then stands, still listening to Bruno. Mortimer does not notice that Cataclysm is now behind him, watching the promo intently. How curious can a man this enigmatic be? Mortimer doesn't understand either. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: What was that all about? I don't want to hear men explaining their life's story to me. Honestly, I don't care. Neither does my Cataclysm, do you--
[ He looks up to find Cataclysm not on the leg press. Cataclysm leans over Mortimer's shoulder to present himself, and Mortimer might need a change of underwear after his surprise. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: Yikes! Don't do that.
[ Mortimer closes the laptop, just as Cataclysm reaches over to replay the promo. Mortimer doesn't notice. He tucks the computer safely into his bag and stands up. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: So, are you finished? [looking at his watch] I guess it was twenty minutes, was it? Now we can work on your chest, and arms. On to the bench-press.
[ Mortimer has no time to lead Cataclysm over to the bench. Three very large thugs have aproached, flexing huge steroid-endused biceps and pectorals, cracking their knuckles. So intimidating. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: May I help you gentlemen?
Thug #1: New meat, huh?
Thug #2: We love new meat.
Thug #3: Yeah, especially dark meat.
[ The two other thugs stare at the idiot third one. Mortimer raises an eyebrow. ]
Thug #2: Anyway, we saw your friend here doing that heavy lifting.
Thug #1: He doesn't look so tough to me.
Alexandr Mortimer: I assure you fine gentlemen, my friend here and I were just about to--
Thug #1: Yeah, and that's a problem.
Thug #2: Y'see, new meat here can't leave until they've fought someone.
Thug #1: That ring there? It's there for a reason, y'know.
Thug #3: Yeah, and it's not for the buffet.
[ Another awkward silence reinforced with heavy staring. More eyebrow raising from the Russian man in the toque. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: [to Cataclysm] Hmm... rather large individuals, aren't they? What, about 6'6", maybe two hundred-ninety pounds, give or take? Should be some good practice for your match against Bruno, yes?
[ Cataclysm is silent for a moment, like he is thinking. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: You gentlemen have a deal!
[ The three men smile and the largest one, African American, climbs into the ring, the other two gather by his corner, smiling. Cataclysm stands still for a moment, and then begins to approach the ring himself. He reaches the apron and swiftly jumps onto it in a single motion. He jumps over the ropes, landing nimbly in the ring, all while keeping his face hidden. Mortimer finds his place near Cataclysm's corner.
The thug moves toward Cataclysm, swinging with a hard right, neatly ducked by Cataclysm. Cataclysm stands straight up to meet an rapidly incoming left hook, also neatly evaded. Mortimer couldn't be more amused as he watches the fight. The other thugs try to egg on their leader. Cataclysm backs up a bit, but the large man keeps coming. Right hook; ducked. Left jab; side-stepped. Right uppercut; evaded. Cataclysm, making the saying "The best offense is a good defense" perfectly true, is neatly evading every attempt at offense from his adversary. The thug, tired out, has backed into his corner, breathing deeply. Cataclysm stands perfectly still near the middle of the ring. ]
Thug #2: You can do it. Show this midget who's boss!
[ The large thug moves back toward Cataclysm, smiling sickly as he circles him. Suddenly, the thug charges Cataclysm with a burly clothesline as the third thug goes for his legs with a steel pipe. The footage goes to slow motion as Cataclysm jumps, flipping to aviod both collisions. He lands neatly on his feet as the third thug tries another shot with the pipe, and the footage speeds to normal. Cataclysm blocks with a front kick, followed up with a quick spinning heel kick to the face of the thug. The first thug is back though, with brass knuckles heading straight for the back of Cataclysm's head. Cataclysm ducks low, bringing his foot up into the jaw of the thug, sending him backward into the ropes.
Grasping the ropes to keep his balance, the thug holds his jaw, spitting a tooth and a mouthful of blood all over the canvas. ]
Thug #1: You're gonna regret that.
[ The second thug has come in with a baseball bat, he swings high, but Cataclysm steps backward before sending the thug flying to the far ropes with a powerful shuffle side kick. The third thug has come back with his pipe, but he's a little groggy. Cataclysm gets a running start, and then hurls the thug over the ropes with a running superkick to the chin. The second thug, armed with a large, dangerously sharp knife, begins his charge. Cataclysm turns his head to spot the thug, and ducks under the knife, before throwing his foot into the thug's jaw. The thug reels backward, flipping over the ropes and out of the ring.
The first thug, still out for revenge, blind with rage, charges toward Cataclysm with a head full of steam and a knife covered in blood. Cataclysm faces the thug, ready for any attack. The camera slows again, as Cataclysm steps forward turning his left foot inward. Hurling his right leg into the air for the springing action, he leaps into the air, spinning in a three hundred and sixty degree pattern before landing a very hard left roundhouse kick to the thug's temple, just as he was raising the knife.
Cataclysm lands neatly on his feet as the thug, unconcious, falls in a heap on the canvas. Cataclysm stares down at the unconcious man as Mortimer stands, wooping and cheering like he just won the superbowl. Everyone esle in the warehouse is dead silent, amazed at Cataclysm's skill. Even in a place with no rules, Cataclysm can come out on top. Even in a place where all the odds are against him, he can come out on top. Cataclysm breathes normally as he jumps over the ropes and out of the ring, making his way toward the door alongside his manager. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: [still celebrating] I'll tell you what, if you fight like that on Tuesday, there's no way you can lose! Now I REALLY can't wait!
[ Cataclysm is silent, but you hardly notice. Everyone is silent. ]
Alexandr Mortimer: [as they leave the warehouse] Those guys were about as big as Bruno was! They were all just as angry! They were all just as dangerous! Well, maybe they're a LOT less experienced, and a LOT less educated, but it doesn't matter! REBEL is supposed to be no disqualification, yes? You just proved today that you can come out victorious even under THOSE circumstances! Amazing! I can't wait to see Bruno's face!
[ The door closes. The lights fade to black. ]
No thugs were harmed in the making of this promo.
