Loaded RP: Enter the Lone's Wolf's Lair.

Off through the new day's mist I run, out from the new day's mist I have come. I hunt, therefore I am. Harvest the land, taking of the fallen lamb. Off through the new day's mist I run, out from the new day's mist I have come. We shift, pulsing with the earth, company we keep, roaming the land while you sleep. (Shape shift) Nose to the wind, (shape shift) Feeling I've been, (move swift) All senses clean, (earth's gift) Back to the meaning, Back to the meaning of... Life.... ((Of Wolf and Man-Metallica))

Such a primal feeling, these words evoked as one thunderous punch after the next landed on the punching bag sending it knocking back against the wall, only to return to receive some more carnal damage. The man's hair was combed back, sleek silver; his icy cold sapphire eyes that shone with sheer malice amplified his wolfish appearance. Donned in nothing but a pair of MMA gloves and a pair of baggy camo pants the man began to work combos on the sandbag, returning to his MMA roots. Letting out a barbaric, almost inhuman roar he charged forward and speared the sandbag clean off it's hinges causing the metal chain to snap and flying forward with it he landed shoulder first into the sandbag then proceeded to land hammer like punches to the sandbag. As the tracks changed midway he heard a small gasp from behind, jumping to his feet and staring the person right in the eye, it was a small, blonde woman with a microphone in her hand, next to her stood an extremely slim male with a camera.
"Ummm.. I'm so sorry Pain... I wasn't aware..." The camera was rolling the entire time he was punching the sandbag. Pain interjected her by merely walking past her, his eyes glinting with sheer malicious intent, death metal was blaring through his headphones. With the corner of his eyes he scanned out his intruders closing in on him as he seated himself on the bench machine. There was simply no chance he would be able to fully focus with these two clowns running amok in his safe haven. The bench bar was all set with the weights he had in mind, however something was amiss, removing the headphones from his head he had a sudden urge to go over there and spear her too. In the background he heard the woman speak of him, as though he was some exotic animal, explaining to the camera.
Stacy: "An elusive, wild beast, so brutal, so primal, yet so silent he is quite a character, I could feel his intensity from over here."
((After doing a set of 10, he slowly set the bar down back on the hooks where it belongs a he glared right into the eyes of the interviewer.))

Pain: You're still here. (His voice extremely threatening)

Stacy Gray: ((takes a step away from him as he rises from the Bench press machine))Yes Pain, your debut was quite impressive, your raw power was just awesome to behold… However people are wondering if your brute force will be enough to win you your title match this week?

Pain: ((Glaring right at Stacy as he begins to rise his face not even attempting to mask his sheer madness, a spine tingling grin etched on his face)) Brute force… ((Pain with one quick swoop grabbed her by the throat and raised her a few good inches off the ground as she gasps for air, his face craning forward, a few inches away from hers camera zooms in)) Listen here and listen good woman… I dominated Tombs; I toyed with him from apron to apron… That little S***didn't see what was coming when I crushed him in half with my spear, neither will Cam Nitta once I step into that ring and obliterate him too. That title will be around my waist at the end of that match and there isn't a single thing he will be able to do about it? Got it? ((Smiling sadistically)) Now get lost! ((Pain slammed her against the wall.))

((Camera zooms out as Pain begins to continue his workout and Stacy on the floor gasping))


Children laughing and endless amount of balloons of all shapes and colored littered the ceiling of Children's Hospital. A massive white haired man stood in the middle of a crowded hospital ward as they cheered and laughed as he made faces made funny faces at some whilst others tugged at his leg. The massive man seemed to be simply elated as children laughed and played around him. Brock loved how he could always spend his free time away from the ring doing what he loved best. No masks, no gimmicks, Brock as himself playing himself doing what he does best, entertaining. However Brock as opposed to Pain brings joy and laughter to others as much as he possibly could, as opposed to Pain who brings sheer pain and agony upon others, hence his gimmick name. However outside the ring, Brock, despite his massive stature is a massive softy on the inside and feels at best around children who were underprivileged or injured or maltreated animals. A doctor walks into the room and asks Brock to step outside.
Once he goes outside he was blinded by a storm of flashing lights as paparazzi bulbed him causing him to go blind for a few good seconds. A duality had erupted from within, the madness and blood seeking was about to emerge, Brock could not let Pain take over, not now.
"Pain, Pain, are you going to bash Cam's head in this week at Loaded?"
"Hey Pain what are you doing in a children's hospital, picking out a new victim?"
Brock rushed back into the room and quickly shut the door behind him his rock sized fists clenched tightly. The children had heard and they were now backing away from him. His titan size seemed far more intimidating now; his icy cold sapphire eyes petrified them, rooting them to their places away from him. Brock took one good look around and understood exactly what he had to do. Brock turned around giving his back to the room put his hands to his face and turned around and made more funny faces, to which the kids gratefully responded positively to, laughing and joking.

Despite his extremely harsh, almost cruel upbringing and his fall from grace, due to his career choice, he had always been a softy at heart, that was solely why he chose to join NATO was to assist the truly helpless in the world that and it soothed his undying rage which had been spawned from his harsh upbringing. Brock had always been bullied at school and teased for being so skinny and so weak. He never liked it, he had grown into a coward who was simply frightened almost to a phobic extent of being hurt and his military career had shed that away, that on top of his career shift into wrestling, which was his ultimate fantasy allowed him to break free of his fears.

A single trail of silver smoke slithered up and beyond from a lit cigarette that was lying in a silver ashtray, which was reflecting the moonlight from an interesting angle if one, was to take notice of such a trivial matters. His destiny was one night away and there was no way in hell he was going to blow it. Brock had merely debuted last week; however he impressed the high board so much that they actually offered him a title shot on his second week on the show. That must mean something, was he destined to greatness? Or was he simply only stupidly lucky? Brock inhaled deeply from his cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke as he looked up at the stars above, a crescent moon, surrounded by constellations shone down upon him, for some bizarre reason gazing at the stars gave him great ease. Brock continued smoking his cigarette, watching the blazing cherry ignite as he inhaled from the cigarette and then exhaling slowly allowing the smoke to part his lips. He noted to himself that his hands were no longer shaking; the whiskey had finally kicked in, however he merely had enough to sedate him yet. Brock put the cigarette out in the ashtray and walked back inside the house and towards the kitchen.
Pouring himself a glass of whiskey on the rocks, he twirled the contents of the glass as he held the glass with his fingers as his palm formed an arch over the cup. Brock used to be exactly like Pain, he was no gimmick, and this was Brock's mask during NATO and during his university years to protect himself. Some saw right through it, others did not, that was all very peripheral now, why was he thinking of such stupid thoughts right now? A pair of sapphire eyes caught his in the mirror and he could not help himself but stare back into the reflection of a haunted man, a hungry man, hungry for power and absolute control. Yet deep down he wants peace and is afraid… The contradiction was eating at his sanity. Brock took a large swig of the whiskey, to which he barely reacted then shooting his reflection one more gaze but only a haunted soul looked back. Anger erupted from within his chest as he slammed a nearby table sending all it's contents flying, punching walls and anything he could possibly reach until he reached the balcony, in the corner next to the ashtray was his Ipod. Quickly placing the headphones in his ears he played the first song that was on. Teardrops began to roll down the side of his cheeks as he focused on the lyrics. Brock had always had difficulty expressing his emotions and would always do it through music or listening to music. When he would like a girl he would find the most song that expresses the situation, send it to her and ask her to listen in for the hints in this song.

I'm looking at you through the glass
Don't know how much time has passed
Oh God it feels like forever
But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home
Sitting all alone inside your head

'Cause I'm looking at you through the glass
Don't know how much time has passed
All I know is that it feels like forever
But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home
Sitting all alone inside your head

How do you feel? That is the question
But I forget you don't expect an easy answer
When something like a soul becomes initialized
And folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You can't expect a bit of folks

So while you're outside looking in
Describing what you see
Remember what you're staring at is me