Roleplay goes here. 2 RP limit for this round.
Round 1: "Jester" Chad Allen vs. Tarrasque
- Thread starter Chad
- Start date
We catch sight of one side of a wrestling ring. Tarrasque is seen flying through the air, catching the top rope with his back and flipping over the ropes to smash his head on the ring apron and land heavily on the concrete floor.
Outside of the ring, "the Brain" Allen Anderson stands with both hands on his dark wooden cane topped with a golden sphere. He watches with contemplation as the man who just threw Tarrasque three-quarters across the ring and out stands with his arms in the air as if already victorious. A smaller man stands next to Anderson, looking concerned.
Man: "What is this? Who is this creature handling the great Tarrasque like a play toy?"
Anderson grins. "Tarrasque is a failed experiment in Warhammer's super soldier program at the secret research facility known as Twilight. This man in the ring is the next model. Where Tarrasque did not retain his mental facilities, this new model has."
Man: "A new model? Amazing! What is this one called?"
Anderson: "Kharnavor. I am using him to train Tarrasque for this tournament."
Tarrasque rolls back into the ring, but Kharnavor is on him with stomps to the back of the head that smash Tarrasque's face into the mat. Blood spurts from a broken nose and split lips as Tarrasque attempts to get up.
Kharnavor grabs Tarrasque by the hair, pulls him up, and drops a leg on the back of his neck to drive Tarrasque's face into the mat again. This time, a tooth goes flying to land on the floor by Anderson's feet.
Man: "Mr. Anderson...are you certain that this is a good idea? I mean. Is this your idea of training? This has gone on for an hour and Tarrasque has been treated like one of those ballistic gel dummies in Spike TV's Deadliest Warrior."
Anderson smiles in a cruel fashion that gives the man next to him the chills.
Anderson: "Indeed. You notice that even after all the beating he has taken. Despite leaving his blood splattered all over the place. My beast is still getting up. And if he falls? The people at this tournament don't have to know...Kharnavor will simply become Tarrasque."
Kharnavor waits for Tarrasque to get up on all fours and then hits with a thunderous running kick to the ribcage. Anderson doesn't flinch as he hears the sound of ribs breaking and Tarrasque spits out globules of blood. Kharnavor picks Tarrasque up into a power bomb position and then hurls him across the ring to land on the back of his head. Tarrasque bounces twice and is still.
Anderson: "Looks like we may be just about finished with the old model. Hey, the new Tarrasque wants a microphone."
The man with Anderson nods and rolls a microphone into the ring. Kharnavor picks it up with a harsh chuckle and walks over by Tarrasque.
Kharnavor: "I am the latest in genetic manipulation, chemical engineering, specialized training, and physical conditioning. I am the greatest creation of the Seven Shadows of Twilight. Tarrasque...you are nothing. A throwback. A failure that should have been shot instead of being sent to the Akira Dome to be allowed to develop into a pathetic excuse of a warrior to eventually wind up in the pro wrestling world. One foot will finish this disgrace and then? I will finish his life."
Kharnavor places his foot on Tarrasque's chest. The man next to Anderson rolls into the ring and begins counting the pinfall.
One...
Two...
Th-Tarrasque pushes Kharnavor's foot off of his chest and makes his way to his feet. Kharnavor watches in open mouthed astonishment as Tarrasque puts up his hands as if challenging Kharnavor to a test of strength (they did such a contest early on before the cameras started rolling where Kharnavor easily won). Kharnavor drops the microphone and accepts the challenge, driving Tarrasque down to his knees in seconds.
The man slides out of the ring to rejoin Anderson. "Has there been other Tarrasques?"
Anderson shakes his head, intent on the action in the ring. "No. It's a pity that there will have to be a second."
Man: "I'm not so sure..."
Kharnavor spits on Tarrasque, laughing in his arrogance. "So the mighty has fallen. You had terrorized many with your mindless violence for a long time. Now, it all comes to an end. Who is the strongest now, reject?"
Tarrasque, his face a mask of blood and pain, breaks into a grin. "Me am."
Then without warning. Tarrasque begins to push Kharnavor back, rising to his feet, and slowly pushing Kharnavor down. Kharnavor moves quickly and rams his head into Tarrasque's broken ribs, turning the tide and sending Tarrasque back down to his knees.
Kharnavor: "There is nothing that you can do to stop me. I am the strongest there is!"
Tarrasque merely smiles. "No. Me am."
Tarrasque stands up so suddenly that Kharnavor is thrown backwards onto his back. Over the next few minutes Tarrasque goes on a brilliant display of vulgar violent wrestling techniques that the man next to Anderson retches. Anderson for his part seems unmoved.
Anderson: "I'm getting bored, Tarrasque. Finish this."
Tarrasque sends Kharnavor to his belly and climbs onto his back to lock in a camel clutch, but instead of pulling back on Kharnavor's chin, Tarrasque grabs his head and twists. He holds the pressure for a few seconds, releases some of his grasp, and then violently twists again. There is a loud crack and Kharnavor struggles no more.
Anderson: "The Paralyzing Factor. It can have lasting effects. I'm afraid that if Kharnavor survives the night, he will never walk again. I do think though that he has already passed on. It is a shame that the Seven Shadows of Twilight will have to start over again. Still, this does mean that I won't have to break in another Tarrasque to win this tournament."
Man: "Who do you face first?"
Anderson shrugs. "For a special tournament, they give out few details to work with. I know his opponent goes by 'Jester' Chad Allen. I know nothing else. I must therefore prepare my beast for anything. Beast! Go get cleaned up and bandaged. Well get you recovered and then ready for your upcoming tournament."
Tarrasque nods and slips out of the ring. He pounds on his chest while wincing at hitting his own broken ribs. "Me the strongest!"
Outside of the ring, "the Brain" Allen Anderson stands with both hands on his dark wooden cane topped with a golden sphere. He watches with contemplation as the man who just threw Tarrasque three-quarters across the ring and out stands with his arms in the air as if already victorious. A smaller man stands next to Anderson, looking concerned.
Man: "What is this? Who is this creature handling the great Tarrasque like a play toy?"
Anderson grins. "Tarrasque is a failed experiment in Warhammer's super soldier program at the secret research facility known as Twilight. This man in the ring is the next model. Where Tarrasque did not retain his mental facilities, this new model has."
Man: "A new model? Amazing! What is this one called?"
Anderson: "Kharnavor. I am using him to train Tarrasque for this tournament."
Tarrasque rolls back into the ring, but Kharnavor is on him with stomps to the back of the head that smash Tarrasque's face into the mat. Blood spurts from a broken nose and split lips as Tarrasque attempts to get up.
Kharnavor grabs Tarrasque by the hair, pulls him up, and drops a leg on the back of his neck to drive Tarrasque's face into the mat again. This time, a tooth goes flying to land on the floor by Anderson's feet.
Man: "Mr. Anderson...are you certain that this is a good idea? I mean. Is this your idea of training? This has gone on for an hour and Tarrasque has been treated like one of those ballistic gel dummies in Spike TV's Deadliest Warrior."
Anderson smiles in a cruel fashion that gives the man next to him the chills.
Anderson: "Indeed. You notice that even after all the beating he has taken. Despite leaving his blood splattered all over the place. My beast is still getting up. And if he falls? The people at this tournament don't have to know...Kharnavor will simply become Tarrasque."
Kharnavor waits for Tarrasque to get up on all fours and then hits with a thunderous running kick to the ribcage. Anderson doesn't flinch as he hears the sound of ribs breaking and Tarrasque spits out globules of blood. Kharnavor picks Tarrasque up into a power bomb position and then hurls him across the ring to land on the back of his head. Tarrasque bounces twice and is still.
Anderson: "Looks like we may be just about finished with the old model. Hey, the new Tarrasque wants a microphone."
The man with Anderson nods and rolls a microphone into the ring. Kharnavor picks it up with a harsh chuckle and walks over by Tarrasque.
Kharnavor: "I am the latest in genetic manipulation, chemical engineering, specialized training, and physical conditioning. I am the greatest creation of the Seven Shadows of Twilight. Tarrasque...you are nothing. A throwback. A failure that should have been shot instead of being sent to the Akira Dome to be allowed to develop into a pathetic excuse of a warrior to eventually wind up in the pro wrestling world. One foot will finish this disgrace and then? I will finish his life."
Kharnavor places his foot on Tarrasque's chest. The man next to Anderson rolls into the ring and begins counting the pinfall.
One...
Two...
Th-Tarrasque pushes Kharnavor's foot off of his chest and makes his way to his feet. Kharnavor watches in open mouthed astonishment as Tarrasque puts up his hands as if challenging Kharnavor to a test of strength (they did such a contest early on before the cameras started rolling where Kharnavor easily won). Kharnavor drops the microphone and accepts the challenge, driving Tarrasque down to his knees in seconds.
The man slides out of the ring to rejoin Anderson. "Has there been other Tarrasques?"
Anderson shakes his head, intent on the action in the ring. "No. It's a pity that there will have to be a second."
Man: "I'm not so sure..."
Kharnavor spits on Tarrasque, laughing in his arrogance. "So the mighty has fallen. You had terrorized many with your mindless violence for a long time. Now, it all comes to an end. Who is the strongest now, reject?"
Tarrasque, his face a mask of blood and pain, breaks into a grin. "Me am."
Then without warning. Tarrasque begins to push Kharnavor back, rising to his feet, and slowly pushing Kharnavor down. Kharnavor moves quickly and rams his head into Tarrasque's broken ribs, turning the tide and sending Tarrasque back down to his knees.
Kharnavor: "There is nothing that you can do to stop me. I am the strongest there is!"
Tarrasque merely smiles. "No. Me am."
Tarrasque stands up so suddenly that Kharnavor is thrown backwards onto his back. Over the next few minutes Tarrasque goes on a brilliant display of vulgar violent wrestling techniques that the man next to Anderson retches. Anderson for his part seems unmoved.
Anderson: "I'm getting bored, Tarrasque. Finish this."
Tarrasque sends Kharnavor to his belly and climbs onto his back to lock in a camel clutch, but instead of pulling back on Kharnavor's chin, Tarrasque grabs his head and twists. He holds the pressure for a few seconds, releases some of his grasp, and then violently twists again. There is a loud crack and Kharnavor struggles no more.
Anderson: "The Paralyzing Factor. It can have lasting effects. I'm afraid that if Kharnavor survives the night, he will never walk again. I do think though that he has already passed on. It is a shame that the Seven Shadows of Twilight will have to start over again. Still, this does mean that I won't have to break in another Tarrasque to win this tournament."
Man: "Who do you face first?"
Anderson shrugs. "For a special tournament, they give out few details to work with. I know his opponent goes by 'Jester' Chad Allen. I know nothing else. I must therefore prepare my beast for anything. Beast! Go get cleaned up and bandaged. Well get you recovered and then ready for your upcoming tournament."
Tarrasque nods and slips out of the ring. He pounds on his chest while wincing at hitting his own broken ribs. "Me the strongest!"
[A single man sits quietly in the dark, head down, the jester's hat he wears on his head dangles down around his face, any little movement setting off the quiet tingle of the bells that end each of the points. The man looks up a bit, we can see the glimpse of an eye, and the white of an evil, toothy smile. The man speaks, whisper quiet...]
something wicked this way comes...
[The man looks up a little more, moving the points of his hat off of one side of his face. Amongst the shadows, we catch a glimpse of white and black clown paint, making the bloodshot eye stand out, as well as making the evil smile come off even more eerie. The man speaks again, a little louder this time...]
Something WICKED this way comes...
[The man now sits up a bit more, he is wearing what looks to be a black wrestling singlet, his arms and chest covered in tattoos and scars. The smile grows wider, the eyes begin to bulge as he once again repeats what is now the familiar refrain, his volume once again moving upward.]
Something WICKED THIS WAY comes...
[Now rising completely to his feet. He wears black boots with silver tips on his feet. We now see that almost his entire body is covered in scars and ink. In his right hand, he holds a wooden cane, topped by a small image of the man who stands before us, painted and smiling. In his right hand, a small box, with a single red button. Things like this almost NEVER end well. The man's eyes are now completely bugged out and watering, his smile has stretched almost too far across his face, as a small line of drool runs down the corner of his lip, mixing in with the black paint, sending a gray smear down his chin, and landing on his chest. The man now yells out at the top of his lungs...]
SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES!!!!!!!!!!!!
[His hand now SMASHES down on the button, taking us from darkness to full carnival light! Behind the man lights up an entire carnival, the Circus Diabolicus, home of "The Jester" Chad Allen. The Jester stands arms out as every ride, every game, begins to move and pulse and make its carnival noise all at once. But this is not your typical fun carnival for the whole family to enjoy, closer inspection shows rides in horrible disarray, broken seats, blood soaked tracks. The games are lit up, but the stuffed animal prizes are dirty and ripped, the stuffing spilling out like the viscera of a slaughterhouse. JCA looks around his home as if it is the Taj Mahal, before continuing...]
JCA: Welcome back all my friends, to the show that never ends, we are so glad you could attend, come inside, come inside!
[The infamous evil laugh escapes his lips for the first time, sending a chill down most spines.]
JCA: For those that do not know me, allow me to introduce myself, I am The "Wicked Clown", "The Hardcore GOD", "The Jester" Chad Allen.
[A small bow..]
JCA: I am a long time vet of this sport we call wrestling, where I have won titles the world over, including some very prestigious world titles, and even held an amazing 7 hardcore titles at one time.
[A proud grin, that quickly turns to a dark seriousness in the blink of an eye.]
JCA: I have also opened more veins and spilled more blood from the US to Japan to Mexico than the f**king Red Cross. Bones have been broken, careers have been ended. In some parts of the world, they speak of me in whispers. One part of South America uses me like the boogeyman, to help make their kids behave.
[A small chuckle.]
JCA: But let's all be honest shall we, you don't give a damn about my past accomplishments when it comes to titles, or who I have hurt in my career. This is a matter of "what have you done for me LATELY?" So allow me to tell you what I plan to do for you, oh viewing audience of the ULTRATITLE Tournament...
[Jester holds up his index finger]
JCA: 1: My music will hit, which will bring the fans that know me to their feet, and those that don't to stop and stare and see what all the commotion is about.
[Middle finger]
2: I will smile, laugh, take off my Jester's cap, and hang it on the corner.
[Ring finger]
3: I will turn to my cyborg like opponent, bash him, bloody him, take out his giant Duracell battery from his back, and leave him laying in the middle of the ring.
[pinky]
4: My music will kick back on, I will put my hat back on, and go onto the next person in this tournament.
[Jester puts his hand down, he looks directly into the camera]
JCA: And don't get me wrong, Tarrasque, I have seen what you can do, I have seen your power, and I am impressed. But though strong may get you far, cunning and treachery gets you even farther. And interestingly enough, those are my best traits...
[Jester lets out another evil laugh]
JCA: But in the end, I will give you the one piece of advice that I give every opponent I face, and I hope, that you are smart enough to take this one piece of advice...
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!
[Jester hits the button on the box one more time, as the Circus shuts back down again, plunging us into darkness.]
something wicked this way comes...
[The man looks up a little more, moving the points of his hat off of one side of his face. Amongst the shadows, we catch a glimpse of white and black clown paint, making the bloodshot eye stand out, as well as making the evil smile come off even more eerie. The man speaks again, a little louder this time...]
Something WICKED this way comes...
[The man now sits up a bit more, he is wearing what looks to be a black wrestling singlet, his arms and chest covered in tattoos and scars. The smile grows wider, the eyes begin to bulge as he once again repeats what is now the familiar refrain, his volume once again moving upward.]
Something WICKED THIS WAY comes...
[Now rising completely to his feet. He wears black boots with silver tips on his feet. We now see that almost his entire body is covered in scars and ink. In his right hand, he holds a wooden cane, topped by a small image of the man who stands before us, painted and smiling. In his right hand, a small box, with a single red button. Things like this almost NEVER end well. The man's eyes are now completely bugged out and watering, his smile has stretched almost too far across his face, as a small line of drool runs down the corner of his lip, mixing in with the black paint, sending a gray smear down his chin, and landing on his chest. The man now yells out at the top of his lungs...]
SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES!!!!!!!!!!!!
[His hand now SMASHES down on the button, taking us from darkness to full carnival light! Behind the man lights up an entire carnival, the Circus Diabolicus, home of "The Jester" Chad Allen. The Jester stands arms out as every ride, every game, begins to move and pulse and make its carnival noise all at once. But this is not your typical fun carnival for the whole family to enjoy, closer inspection shows rides in horrible disarray, broken seats, blood soaked tracks. The games are lit up, but the stuffed animal prizes are dirty and ripped, the stuffing spilling out like the viscera of a slaughterhouse. JCA looks around his home as if it is the Taj Mahal, before continuing...]
JCA: Welcome back all my friends, to the show that never ends, we are so glad you could attend, come inside, come inside!
[The infamous evil laugh escapes his lips for the first time, sending a chill down most spines.]
JCA: For those that do not know me, allow me to introduce myself, I am The "Wicked Clown", "The Hardcore GOD", "The Jester" Chad Allen.
[A small bow..]
JCA: I am a long time vet of this sport we call wrestling, where I have won titles the world over, including some very prestigious world titles, and even held an amazing 7 hardcore titles at one time.
[A proud grin, that quickly turns to a dark seriousness in the blink of an eye.]
JCA: I have also opened more veins and spilled more blood from the US to Japan to Mexico than the f**king Red Cross. Bones have been broken, careers have been ended. In some parts of the world, they speak of me in whispers. One part of South America uses me like the boogeyman, to help make their kids behave.
[A small chuckle.]
JCA: But let's all be honest shall we, you don't give a damn about my past accomplishments when it comes to titles, or who I have hurt in my career. This is a matter of "what have you done for me LATELY?" So allow me to tell you what I plan to do for you, oh viewing audience of the ULTRATITLE Tournament...
[Jester holds up his index finger]
JCA: 1: My music will hit, which will bring the fans that know me to their feet, and those that don't to stop and stare and see what all the commotion is about.
[Middle finger]
2: I will smile, laugh, take off my Jester's cap, and hang it on the corner.
[Ring finger]
3: I will turn to my cyborg like opponent, bash him, bloody him, take out his giant Duracell battery from his back, and leave him laying in the middle of the ring.
[pinky]
4: My music will kick back on, I will put my hat back on, and go onto the next person in this tournament.
[Jester puts his hand down, he looks directly into the camera]
JCA: And don't get me wrong, Tarrasque, I have seen what you can do, I have seen your power, and I am impressed. But though strong may get you far, cunning and treachery gets you even farther. And interestingly enough, those are my best traits...
[Jester lets out another evil laugh]
JCA: But in the end, I will give you the one piece of advice that I give every opponent I face, and I hope, that you are smart enough to take this one piece of advice...
RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!
[Jester hits the button on the box one more time, as the Circus shuts back down again, plunging us into darkness.]
We open to a small office. "The Brain" Allen Anderson is sitting at the desk, reading through some emails on a personal computer. He seems to be in his work when Tarrasque bursts into the room with a tablet computer in his hands.
Tarrasque: "Clown man talk!"
Anderson frowns at Tarrasque, snatching the tablet from his hands. He mumbles under his breath wondering how Tarrasque even managed to use a tablet computer when he sees it's cued up to the Jester promo. He immediately goes several shades of white.
Anderson: "So...the name Jester is literal? He's...he's...he's...an evil clown?"
Tarrasque nods his head with enthusiasm. "Yes! Him FUNNY!"
Anderson drops the tablet onto the desk and backs away, still in his chair. "No...no...no. NO! We can't do this. I can't do this. The deal's off. The tournament is off. We'll pay your debts some other way. No one said anything about evil clowns!"
Tarrasque smiles and hands the tablet back to Anderson.
Tarrasque: "Only make up. It ok."
Anderson frowns. "It's not okay! Being an evil clown is more than make up. The Carnival of Lost Souls is far more than mere make up. The sinister show travels from place to place, drawing all evil to it. The shows are showcases of the most twisted, vile things that you could ever imagine. No one who ever goes to such a show is ever the same."
Tarrasque sighs. Clearly, Anderson has lost it.
Tarrasque: "This same show? Who own that show?"
Anderson seems to go out of focus for a time until he realizes that Tarrasque just asked him a question.
Anderson: "Oh...the Warhammer Corporation owns the Carnival of Lost Souls. It's run by a man named
Tarrasque: "Clown man talk!"
Anderson frowns at Tarrasque, snatching the tablet from his hands. He mumbles under his breath wondering how Tarrasque even managed to use a tablet computer when he sees it's cued up to the Jester promo. He immediately goes several shades of white.
Anderson: "So...the name Jester is literal? He's...he's...he's...an evil clown?"
Tarrasque nods his head with enthusiasm. "Yes! Him FUNNY!"
Anderson drops the tablet onto the desk and backs away, still in his chair. "No...no...no. NO! We can't do this. I can't do this. The deal's off. The tournament is off. We'll pay your debts some other way. No one said anything about evil clowns!"
Tarrasque smiles and hands the tablet back to Anderson.
Tarrasque: "Only make up. It ok."
Anderson frowns. "It's not okay! Being an evil clown is more than make up. The Carnival of Lost Souls is far more than mere make up. The sinister show travels from place to place, drawing all evil to it. The shows are showcases of the most twisted, vile things that you could ever imagine. No one who ever goes to such a show is ever the same."
Tarrasque sighs. Clearly, Anderson has lost it.
Tarrasque: "This same show? Who own that show?"
Anderson seems to go out of focus for a time until he realizes that Tarrasque just asked him a question.
Anderson: "Oh...the Warhammer Corporation owns the Carnival of Lost Souls. It's run by a man named
Kongurin and it operates in Europe normally."
Tarrasque: "Look show. Look the same?"
Anderson watches the promo more closely now to see what's going on in the background. "No. This looks different."
Tarrasque chuckles and presses a button on the tablet, changing the screen to a new page. Two side by side bios.
Anderson: "How are you doing this? (Tarrasque shrugs) What is...oh!"
Anderson reads for a bit, his grin growing by the moment ever more cruel. "I think I have read enough. Let's go."
Anderson pockets the tablet, stands up by using the desk, grabs his cane, and makes for the door. Now it's Tarrasque's turn to look confused.
Tarrasque: "Where we go?"
Anderson only laughs. "You'll see."
We cut away to return to Queens, New York in the little neighborhood of Kew Gardens. "The Brain" Allen Anderson and Tarrasque are walking down a sidewalk on Abingdon road.
Anderson: "I called ahead to a local media outlet that is owned by Frederick Cole, an up and comer in the Warhammer Corporation. He has agreed to set up some 'random' meetings with people who once knew Chad Allen.
First up? Galen Vossen. He's a short man, who seems broader at the shoulder than he does tall. He looks more of a brooding midget ogre than a man. Anderson stands to the side of Tarrasque and just a little bit behind him.
Anderson: "What can you tell us about the man known as Jester or Chad Allen?"
Galen grins with past memories. "The kids one of them wrestling punks. He used to come to school and talk about the wrestlers he watched on television, thinking that if he talked about something everyone else was talking about for five minutes then he'd be accepted as cool. Total fail. I used to bully him for his lunch money. Oh cauliflower ears, indian burns, and so on. I did it."
Tarrasque glowers threateningly, but Galen doesn't seem to notice.
Anderson: "So he was just a victim back then?"
Galen feels at his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. "Well no. He did fight back sometimes. Once, he caught me off guard with a punch so hard that it did permanent harm to my thyroid gland. I have to take these big pills and I never grew any taller after that. I hate that little son of a *****."
Anderson: "So then, you're saying that even as a kid, he had some bite to him."
Galen becomes flushed with anger. "I didn't say that! I said the little punk got lucky! Why don't I show you how tough I am?"
Galen takes a step, but Tarrasque hefts him up and bounces him off of the nearest brick wall. They pair continues.
Next up, Lennie "Pariah" Purcell. This man seems a bit scrawny, but is well defined and is tall.
Lennie: "I worked with Chad during wrestling school. He was a great student and better friend. He used his judo skills to great effect and could always be counted on to help when we did the little bit of hardcore wrestling after school in a back alley where the homeless guys would be food on who would win the matches."
Anderson: "So he was a good wrestler, a great friend, and even better when dealing with some back alley bloodthirsty wrestling?"
Lennie nods. "Yes, sir. That sums it up!"
Anderson shakes his head. "Beast...this one too."
Tarrasque hefts Lennie up and tosses him through a glass pane window. Anderson gets out his cell phone.
Anderson: "This isn't working out. I wanted some dirt on the little juggalo that calls himself the Jester. I need a way to help my beast win against him in the ring so we can go onto the next round of the tournament."
It isn't long before a man in a dark costume appears around a corner.
Man: "I'm Batman. You need help fighting the Joker?"
Anderson blinks and looks at the phone for a moment before responding. "Seriously? You send this guy? It's NOT funny. Beast..."
Tarrasque smashes the man's face against the wall and tosses him into the street right in front of a speeding bus. End of Batman.
Anderson: "I need a pick up. I'm returning. This is really not helping me any."
A quick fade and we are back to a local gymnasium. Tarrasque is working on a bench press, lifting more than sane men would even attempt. All the while he is humming the theme music to the old 60's Batman series. Anderson just shakes his head.
Anderson: "Well, Jester. I tried to dig up some dirt on ya. No, I didn't try that hard, but I thought a little surface skim would work. Notta. So let's get down to the nitty gritty. You say you are the God of Hardcore. Then you must know my beast. He lives and breathes hardcore. As part of Hardkore World and many other regions, he has shown the world what hardcore can be. He is the very definition of hardcore wrestling. Of pure, brutal power. Of selfless violence."
"You mention cunning and treachery. He knows little of these things it is true. This is where I shine. The drugs that slip into your meal before you hit the stage? That's me. The flash of a ring light exploding that distracts you enough for my beast to take you down hard? That's me. The little sting you feel in the back of your neck during the match? That's not me. That's the sniper in the nose bleed section, but that's me who paid him the money. He fights on animalistic instinct and strategies programmed into his mind by the best post-hypnotic machines and mindless drills. His very blood has been banned as a control substance designed for performance enhancement. Between his brawn and my brains, you will be the first victim in the series of many that will see my beast crowned as Ultratitle champion. If you're lucky? After fighting my beast you won't be required to change your call name to Wheels because of the wheelchair that will be your only mode of transportation."
"Be prepared, Chad for your most devoted follower is about to dethrone you as God."
Tarrasque: "Look show. Look the same?"
Anderson watches the promo more closely now to see what's going on in the background. "No. This looks different."
Tarrasque chuckles and presses a button on the tablet, changing the screen to a new page. Two side by side bios.
Anderson: "How are you doing this? (Tarrasque shrugs) What is...oh!"
Anderson reads for a bit, his grin growing by the moment ever more cruel. "I think I have read enough. Let's go."
Anderson pockets the tablet, stands up by using the desk, grabs his cane, and makes for the door. Now it's Tarrasque's turn to look confused.
Tarrasque: "Where we go?"
Anderson only laughs. "You'll see."
We cut away to return to Queens, New York in the little neighborhood of Kew Gardens. "The Brain" Allen Anderson and Tarrasque are walking down a sidewalk on Abingdon road.
Anderson: "I called ahead to a local media outlet that is owned by Frederick Cole, an up and comer in the Warhammer Corporation. He has agreed to set up some 'random' meetings with people who once knew Chad Allen.
First up? Galen Vossen. He's a short man, who seems broader at the shoulder than he does tall. He looks more of a brooding midget ogre than a man. Anderson stands to the side of Tarrasque and just a little bit behind him.
Anderson: "What can you tell us about the man known as Jester or Chad Allen?"
Galen grins with past memories. "The kids one of them wrestling punks. He used to come to school and talk about the wrestlers he watched on television, thinking that if he talked about something everyone else was talking about for five minutes then he'd be accepted as cool. Total fail. I used to bully him for his lunch money. Oh cauliflower ears, indian burns, and so on. I did it."
Tarrasque glowers threateningly, but Galen doesn't seem to notice.
Anderson: "So he was just a victim back then?"
Galen feels at his throat, looking a little uncomfortable. "Well no. He did fight back sometimes. Once, he caught me off guard with a punch so hard that it did permanent harm to my thyroid gland. I have to take these big pills and I never grew any taller after that. I hate that little son of a *****."
Anderson: "So then, you're saying that even as a kid, he had some bite to him."
Galen becomes flushed with anger. "I didn't say that! I said the little punk got lucky! Why don't I show you how tough I am?"
Galen takes a step, but Tarrasque hefts him up and bounces him off of the nearest brick wall. They pair continues.
Next up, Lennie "Pariah" Purcell. This man seems a bit scrawny, but is well defined and is tall.
Lennie: "I worked with Chad during wrestling school. He was a great student and better friend. He used his judo skills to great effect and could always be counted on to help when we did the little bit of hardcore wrestling after school in a back alley where the homeless guys would be food on who would win the matches."
Anderson: "So he was a good wrestler, a great friend, and even better when dealing with some back alley bloodthirsty wrestling?"
Lennie nods. "Yes, sir. That sums it up!"
Anderson shakes his head. "Beast...this one too."
Tarrasque hefts Lennie up and tosses him through a glass pane window. Anderson gets out his cell phone.
Anderson: "This isn't working out. I wanted some dirt on the little juggalo that calls himself the Jester. I need a way to help my beast win against him in the ring so we can go onto the next round of the tournament."
It isn't long before a man in a dark costume appears around a corner.
Man: "I'm Batman. You need help fighting the Joker?"
Anderson blinks and looks at the phone for a moment before responding. "Seriously? You send this guy? It's NOT funny. Beast..."
Tarrasque smashes the man's face against the wall and tosses him into the street right in front of a speeding bus. End of Batman.
Anderson: "I need a pick up. I'm returning. This is really not helping me any."
A quick fade and we are back to a local gymnasium. Tarrasque is working on a bench press, lifting more than sane men would even attempt. All the while he is humming the theme music to the old 60's Batman series. Anderson just shakes his head.
Anderson: "Well, Jester. I tried to dig up some dirt on ya. No, I didn't try that hard, but I thought a little surface skim would work. Notta. So let's get down to the nitty gritty. You say you are the God of Hardcore. Then you must know my beast. He lives and breathes hardcore. As part of Hardkore World and many other regions, he has shown the world what hardcore can be. He is the very definition of hardcore wrestling. Of pure, brutal power. Of selfless violence."
"You mention cunning and treachery. He knows little of these things it is true. This is where I shine. The drugs that slip into your meal before you hit the stage? That's me. The flash of a ring light exploding that distracts you enough for my beast to take you down hard? That's me. The little sting you feel in the back of your neck during the match? That's not me. That's the sniper in the nose bleed section, but that's me who paid him the money. He fights on animalistic instinct and strategies programmed into his mind by the best post-hypnotic machines and mindless drills. His very blood has been banned as a control substance designed for performance enhancement. Between his brawn and my brains, you will be the first victim in the series of many that will see my beast crowned as Ultratitle champion. If you're lucky? After fighting my beast you won't be required to change your call name to Wheels because of the wheelchair that will be your only mode of transportation."
"Be prepared, Chad for your most devoted follower is about to dethrone you as God."
[We open our scene to a face painted freak, the Hardcore God, the Wicked Clown, "Jester" Chad Allen. He sits in the seat of one of the rides that adorn his Circus Diabolicous. He leans back, legs propped up onto the pull bar, his arms outstretched along the seat. His trademark Jester's cap falls over one eye, the other eye darting around, scanning everything around him.]
JCA: I agree with one thing you said, Mr. Anderson, being an evil clown is DEFINITELY more than just clown paint.
[He puts his feet down and leans forward in his seat, the grin quickly dissapears...]
JCA: And finding out some of my dirty laundry takes more than a trip to Queens. The problem you have failed to realize is that the man who used to call Kew Gardens home, the man that the people spoke of on the streets of my former home, and the GOD that stands before you today are simply not one and the same anymore, much beyond a name. Sure, they once knew of Chad Allen, but none of them have been there to witness the ascension I have taken to my next level. They have not been involved in the pain, the blood, the orgy of violence that I have made my calling card for over 10 years.
[Jester moves in close to the camera with a smile...]
JCA: But your Google search you did told you that already, didn't it? I am sure you had fun making light of my past as you walked the streets, but deep in the back of your mind, you know what you are sending your charge into. You know that no matter what game plan, no matter what distraction, no matter who you may pay off to try to advance your Man/Monster to the next round of this tournament, that ultimately it ends here, it ends NOW. It ends at my hands, drenched in his blood. His eyes will be wide, fear slowly seeping out as his last heartbeat pumps through his body, looking up at the lights, seeing whatever afterlife he needs to see to move on. His death will be the start of a long line of destruction and bloodshed for me, but in the end, he will go on as any warrior should, in the heat of battle, fighting for your very life. I will respect him when it is done, for he will do anything and everything to try to stop me, and I appreciate his sacrifice, and will honor him afterwords...
[Jester stands up from his makeshift throne, his "sermon" continues as he starts to step down from the ride he is on, his steps echo loudly on the rusted steel.]
JCA: You on the other hand, Mr. Anderson, will die the coward you are. I want you to beg and plead for your life, as urine and feces runs down the leg of the expensive pants that go along with your tailored suits. And if you think for one moment that I am worried about what you might do at ringside, then you should have looked longer during your background check, because you missed one very important part about me.
[The sound of what seems to be a child's laughter is heard somewhere in the shadows of the Circus Diabolicous. Jester smiles as the laughter gets louder, and from out of the shadows steps not a child, but a woman, but this is definitely not any normal woman. She wears a torn and tattered white baby doll dress, with torn up white tights underneath, and topped off with black combat style boots. Her fire engine red hair drapes down in front of her porcelain white skin. Her hand clutches a small baby doll as the other hand reaches out and takes the hand of the Wicked Clown.]
JCA: For those of you that don't know this lady by my side, she is my Psycho Sweetheart, The Goddess of Hardcore, and the "Pretty Pretty Princess" Iris Galiver. Women all over the world have been hurt, maimed, and broken by my love, and she will gladly be at my side as I face off against Tarrasque, simply so that I can make sure that you won't try anything stupid, Mr. Anderson. You see, Iris has no worries about slitting your throat, and leaving you choking for air at ringside for simply looking at me wrong, let alone actually TRYING something.
[Iris lets out a squeal of delight, then begins laughing maniacally again, her eyes dart like Jesters behind her hair.]
JCA: In the end, Mr. Anderson, if you truly are the "Brain", I recommend you do the smart thing, and tell your charge what I have already warned you once to do...
[Iris moves the hair out of her face a little bit, and whispers...]
IG: run for your lives...
[Jester gives Iris a kiss on her cheek as they begin to walk off.]
JCA: Couldn't have said it better myself.
JCA: I agree with one thing you said, Mr. Anderson, being an evil clown is DEFINITELY more than just clown paint.
[He puts his feet down and leans forward in his seat, the grin quickly dissapears...]
JCA: And finding out some of my dirty laundry takes more than a trip to Queens. The problem you have failed to realize is that the man who used to call Kew Gardens home, the man that the people spoke of on the streets of my former home, and the GOD that stands before you today are simply not one and the same anymore, much beyond a name. Sure, they once knew of Chad Allen, but none of them have been there to witness the ascension I have taken to my next level. They have not been involved in the pain, the blood, the orgy of violence that I have made my calling card for over 10 years.
[Jester moves in close to the camera with a smile...]
JCA: But your Google search you did told you that already, didn't it? I am sure you had fun making light of my past as you walked the streets, but deep in the back of your mind, you know what you are sending your charge into. You know that no matter what game plan, no matter what distraction, no matter who you may pay off to try to advance your Man/Monster to the next round of this tournament, that ultimately it ends here, it ends NOW. It ends at my hands, drenched in his blood. His eyes will be wide, fear slowly seeping out as his last heartbeat pumps through his body, looking up at the lights, seeing whatever afterlife he needs to see to move on. His death will be the start of a long line of destruction and bloodshed for me, but in the end, he will go on as any warrior should, in the heat of battle, fighting for your very life. I will respect him when it is done, for he will do anything and everything to try to stop me, and I appreciate his sacrifice, and will honor him afterwords...
[Jester stands up from his makeshift throne, his "sermon" continues as he starts to step down from the ride he is on, his steps echo loudly on the rusted steel.]
JCA: You on the other hand, Mr. Anderson, will die the coward you are. I want you to beg and plead for your life, as urine and feces runs down the leg of the expensive pants that go along with your tailored suits. And if you think for one moment that I am worried about what you might do at ringside, then you should have looked longer during your background check, because you missed one very important part about me.
[The sound of what seems to be a child's laughter is heard somewhere in the shadows of the Circus Diabolicous. Jester smiles as the laughter gets louder, and from out of the shadows steps not a child, but a woman, but this is definitely not any normal woman. She wears a torn and tattered white baby doll dress, with torn up white tights underneath, and topped off with black combat style boots. Her fire engine red hair drapes down in front of her porcelain white skin. Her hand clutches a small baby doll as the other hand reaches out and takes the hand of the Wicked Clown.]
JCA: For those of you that don't know this lady by my side, she is my Psycho Sweetheart, The Goddess of Hardcore, and the "Pretty Pretty Princess" Iris Galiver. Women all over the world have been hurt, maimed, and broken by my love, and she will gladly be at my side as I face off against Tarrasque, simply so that I can make sure that you won't try anything stupid, Mr. Anderson. You see, Iris has no worries about slitting your throat, and leaving you choking for air at ringside for simply looking at me wrong, let alone actually TRYING something.
[Iris lets out a squeal of delight, then begins laughing maniacally again, her eyes dart like Jesters behind her hair.]
JCA: In the end, Mr. Anderson, if you truly are the "Brain", I recommend you do the smart thing, and tell your charge what I have already warned you once to do...
[Iris moves the hair out of her face a little bit, and whispers...]
IG: run for your lives...
[Jester gives Iris a kiss on her cheek as they begin to walk off.]
JCA: Couldn't have said it better myself.