Obituary
* Spectre RP for C13.
The camera faded in to a black screen. Then, after several moments some bold white text appeared in the center.
“Throw out everything you think you know...
...about Spectre...”
Classic newscast music is heard, the type you would hear while listening to news radio. The camera cut to a newsroom studio setting, where we saw none other than Spectre sitting down behind a large wooden news desk. His mask bore the same open-mouthed expression as the mask from the movie Scream. Behind him was a large plasma television monitor and a logo that once read “New ERA of Wrestling Television.” The words “New ERA of Wrestling” and the “Tele” part in the word television had been spray painted over so that the logo now read “Spectrevision.” Standing on either side of Spectre were two voluptuously shaped women in extra tight black dresses smiling and blowing kisses...two of the Spectrettes. The music cut off and the ghoulish figure behind the desk spoke in a mysterious voice.
“Welcome to a Spectrevision special report, where we have the lowdown on Spectre’s debut appearance in New ERA of Wrestling! Let’s go right to the videotape for the Spectrevision play of the week...”
A clip aired showing Spectre sliding into the ring at Cyberstrike 12 and slamming a white steel chair into Larry Tact’s cranium. Tact goes down in a heap...then the clip is rewound to the point when Tact is about to be hit with the chair and plays again, and then again, and again...the sick thud of the impact and the oohs and ahhs of the capacity crowd being heard over and over repeatedly.
“I love you, you love me... let’s team up and kill Larry! Oh Larry! We had such a fun time playing at Cyberstrike! You know you’re great at playing, Larry... for a second there I really thought you were dead!
“You don’t have to thank me, big guy... after all, what are pals for? And you’re a real special pal, Larry... I want you to know I’ll always be around to lend a helping hand, just like at Cyberstrike. You looked like you could use a good nap after your match so I came down and planted a few tweety birds in your head...”
A tweeting sound effect played as the screen was frozen on a shot of Larry Tact laid out on the mat after the vicious chairshot.
“And there you were, looking all starry eyed and peaceful... I was going to make your state a little more permanent until that meddlesome fool Harry Tact had to come and spoil all our fun... but don’t worry, Larry, we have all the time in the world to play some more. I promise I’m just getting started.”
Spectre rubbed his hands together in seeming anticipation.
“Just thinking about it makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck, Larry... I told you it was going to be alright now that your old pal is here in New ERA of Wrestling... We’re going to have so much fun playing together... The Tact Legacy will include me forever... the Tact Legacy will be stained with blood!”
Spectre seemed to be off in another place as he reveled in the thought of Larry Tact’s blood on his hands. Then the news music started playing again and the words “BREAKING NEWS!” spiraled into the center of the screen. One of the sexy Spectrettes walked over and handed Spectre a piece of paper. Spectre glanced at it quickly, cleared his throat and read from the top of the page.
“In other breaking news, New ERA wrestler Eugene King... was found dead by his own hand after no-showing Cyberstrike 12 and not being seen since. King had been suicidal for some time after having to endure a rough childhood without the aid of character or testicles...”
Spectre turned his head slowly and looked at one of the Spectrettes. She shrugged her shoulders with an “I don’t know” expression. Spectre turned back and the ghastly looking mask stared straight into the camera lens. He put down the piece of paper on the desk and resumed speaking, this time in a much more serious tone.
“And what a travesty that is for the wrestling world, isn’t it?
“That is, if you considered Eugene King to be a wrestler at all... If Eugene were still with us today I’d say I’m not here to make fun of you, Eugene. I’m here to warn you: don’t come back to New ERA of Wrestling. Don’t show yourself at Cyberstrike 13. Heaven knows no one has more sympathy for your plight than good ole Spectre. After all, I’m just a regular bleeding heart. But it’s time now to go back and submit to your cowardice and self-loathing, maybe try some new medication... before you get yourself hurt.
“If Eugene King were still alive I’d say I know, Eugene... I know you have the rage of ten rabid wolverines pent up inside you. I know you’re a real angry man... I know you think that it’s “your turn.”
Spectre cackled as he shook his hands in the air in a mock gesture of fear.
“The problem is... you’re right. It will be your turn, Eugene, if you show up at Cyberstrike.
“If Eugene were still here on this Earth I’d say I watched you get the victory over “Mr. Amazing” at Cyberstrike 11 in your first and only match, Eugene, oh yes, very impressive... Hey sugarbuns, do we have a clip of that debacle?”
One of the Spectrettes nodded and shortly after a clip aired from Cyberstrike 11 showing Eugene King grabbing onto the legs of Richard Dweck as he was perched on the top turnbuckle. Dweck hooked the head and leaped off the top and over King’s shoulder, sending the back of King's head crashing into the mat. Dweck jumped to his feet and made a quick cover, but was nearly tossed out of the ring by Eugene King. The five foot five Dweck then wasted no time in bringing the six foot ten, 280 pound King to his feet... and it was all downhill from there. King grabbed Dweck around the neck with one hand and tossed him into the corner with a thunderous impact. From there a flurry of short clips played in succession, showing Dweck choked, piledrived, and generally beat down ending in a vicious chokeslam off of which Eugene King got the pin.
“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but the only thing that’s amazing about Dweck is the boundlessness of his stupidity."
A Homer Simpson “Doh!” sound effect played as the screen showed a shot of Richard Dweck lying flat on his back after taking the Psychosis.
“Eugene is a massive redwood, stiff and lacking in athleticism as he may be... Dweck you’re five foot nothing... you had him grounded and you pick him back up off the mat? Eugene, if you were still with us today I’d say that from that position, I introduce you to a netherworld of pain from which you never return. Do you really think beating up some prepubescent kid with pigeon stool for brains is any indication of what’s going to happen when we meet? Are you foolish enough to think you’ll last in the ring with someone the likes of me?
“Well then, let me tell you a little something about the man they call Spectre... The rage that burns inside me is nothing like yours. My rage is not blind, but rather focused through a prism of talent, training, and discipline that is unparalleled in this business. From the moment I arrived, I instantly became New ERA of Wrestling’s finest form of organized violence and mayhem.
“I’ve devoted my whole life to perfecting my talents, Eugene. I’ve put in the hard work while you’ve been doing what, exactly? Living with mommy? Lying in the fetal position in your bed, contemplating the futility of your existence? I’ve devoted my whole life to realizing the greatest of heights in this business... you’ve devoted yours to getting rocks bounced off your head and realizing how bad you suck. You think I’m going to allow some overgrown baby bitch to step into the ring with me and walk away in one piece? Insolent motherfucker!”
Spectre slammed his fist down in anger on the desk, his breathing elevated. After a few seconds he calmed down, cracked his neck, and looked back into the camera lens.
“If Eugene King were still alive today I’d say I’ve chopped down bigger trees than you before, Eugene. Men that knew what they were doing in that ring. You’re nothing but a wannabe bully, a pathetic loser desperate for some form of salvation. Unfortunately for you, this is not the place to find it. I’m warning you, Eugene: if you show up at Cyberstrike I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to put you out for a while. I’m gonna send you back home, where you and that crackpot Doctor Sweeney can watch it over and over again from a hospital bed on Spectrevision next week.
Spectre looked down at the piece of paper lying in front of him on the desk. He shook his head in disgust and returned his gaze to the camera once more.
“Then again, maybe I’m just wasting my breath... maybe you did us all a favor and you’re already dead.”
Spectre and the Spectrettes started laughing at the thought of Eugene King’s fate. Suddenly, there was a loud knocking at the door, as voices could be heard from the outside yelling to open up. Spectre stood up from behind the desk, pointed into the camera and spoke with frightening conviction.
“And before we go, a public service announcement for all of New ERA, from Larry to Eugene King, from the Shadow Puppets and their master to the African ex-convicts and foolhardy idealists... and especially that no good dirty rotten son of a bitch Harry Tact... beware, a Spectre now stands in your midst.
“What’s real and what is facade? Can you trust what your own eyes see before you? Just keep in mind one thing: you are all... so blind... to the lie... You only know what I want you to know. You got that? What I want you to know!
“And right now I want you to know that I have the control... I have the power... and to invoke the wrath of Spectre... is akin to committing suicide...
“So blind to the lie...”
Loud banging was heard outside the door, accompanied by more calls to open up. Finally the door is busted open. At that exact moment the lights went out. A loud, violent calamity is heard in the darkness, then finally the lights came back on. Standing in the middle of the room were Jennifer Harding and a host of building security. Spectre and the Spectrettes were nowhere to be found. The studio around them had been completely trashed, plasma monitor shattered, desk toppled over, holes in the walls. A twisted white steel chair laid on the floor at their feet. Jennifer Harding shook her head and spoke in a very concerned tone.
Harding: I told Marcus it was a bad idea to let him in. No, it’s insanity. And we’re going to let this lunatic have a sanctioned match? We don’t even know who he is... Just look at this mess.
Security: Looks like the internet show’s not happening tonight. This is gonna be my ass. How did he get in here? The room was locked tight. And for that matter, where the hell did he go?
Harding: I was thinking the same thing... It’s as if he were a ghost...
Harding and the security stood there looking puzzled, staring down at the twisted white steel chair as the camera faded out.
