Post by cureforthesickness on Feb 21, 2007 9:10:18 GMT -5
To the one whom I love, to the one whom I hate;
It was a dark and stormy night on the evening of August 3rdh 2005. No one should be out in this kind of weather, but I trekked through the rain, wind, hail, and all that other crap to see the one that I love. Our secreted love is in veil no longer and I can express the way I truly feel about her. It’s too bad that once the cloak of darkness is lifted, we are forced to part ways due to her lack of self control and a need for self loathing. Once I lay next to her, my scorn lover, and watch as she cry, for our baby is not doing well. Now, in the greatest time in my spawn’s life, her mother decides to abandon her for greater pastors elsewhere. Let me tell you Ashley, the grass is much greener on the other side, and once you’ve smoked that grass and the killer hangover passes, you’re left with the same ashes and after smell you started with. Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. A great man once said “forge not what you are, but what you want to be, and when that path has been laid, you must follow it”. Follow it to the grave you stupid c*nt because I’m done with you. You’re dead to me.
This note lays on a solid oak desk in a slightly crumbled mess. Time has not been friendly to the piece of paper, as the corners are damaged, crumble marks appear all over the paper, and the ink appears to be fading. Just off side of the center of the note is a single watermark, causing the ink around the area to swirl slightly. The note lays haphazardly on the desk, the hate filled paper laid for anyone to see. Just off of the note is a messy desk, particularly cluttered at the moment by computer software. Various floppy discs and CDs sit everywhere, some even underneath the note. Most have been labeled with sloppy handwriting and in ink pen or permanent marker, but one disc really sticks out from the mess. It’s a black disc with a yellow logo on it, with the words “The Best of Reverend Shadow” underneath the logo, easily identifiable as the WFWF logo. A quick skim over the other discs reveals them to also be WFWF related, with such scribbled titles as “7/5/05 Hybrid”, “10/10/05 Code Red”, “11/27/05 Hybrid” “6/22/06 Odium” and others. The four above mentioned sit the most predominantly, displayed with red lettering in marker over or near the black, labeling the dates. Elsewhere in the room, a light shines brightly from a light bulb in the ceiling, leaving the entire room in an elegant glow, but particularly lighting up the figure that sits on the bed. This figure belongs to someone known by the masses as Obo. He sits casually but intensely on a bed. The bed looks worse for wear, the sheets in disarray and the blankets balled up. Obo seems uncaring about these problems, because just by the look on his face, he has problems of his own. He stares at the desk with hatred. The desk seems to be an object of true torment for him. He stares at the disorganized piece of furniture with hatred that hasn’t been seen in his eyes in years. Is he focusing on the DVDs of Reverend Shadow? Does he have some sort of blind rage against Shadow? What else could be on these DVDs, other than footage from WFWF that is causing him such anger? Obo hops off the bed and grabs the note and simply falls backwards, landing by chance on the bed. He seems uncaring at his possible self destruction. His body is limp and motionless and if his eyes weren’t still open and blinking, he’d pass as unconscious. He lays in this motionless state for what seems like hours but in all actuality, is only minutes, until an awkward version of “Cop Killa” by Ice T begins to play. It sounds like the actual song, and is indefinable as the actual song, but the sound is distorted and mutilated. The source of the butchered music is quickly revealed, as Obo reaches into his phone and pulls out a small flipping cell phone. He looks at the screen as the song continues to play. He stares deep at the screen, almost mesmerized by it. His eyes are glued to the numbers. 555-1432. 555-1432. 555-1432. He’s looking at the screen with such focus that the numbers are reflecting backwards from his eyes. 555-1432. The song is still playing. 555-1432. He’s not answering it. 555-1432. The song stops for a moment, but only to start back over in a loop. The break in the sound is not enough to cause Obo to break his concentration. 555-1432. This loop of old school rap finally becomes too much and Obo launches the phone. It hits the wall viciously and shatters into millions of pieces. With one final buzz, the fractured phone rains to the floor. Obo falls backwards onto the bed again, this time releasing his thoughts into the open world for anyone who’s willing to listen.
Obo: She was f*cking dead. She was f*cking dead. Why couldn’t she just stay f*cking dead?
Silence once more infests the room as Obo lays again in a near dead state. His face has a painted on expression of anger and the need for destruction, but he is too sapped for either. A knock on the door is heard, but Obo lays motionless. The knocking stops. Obo sits up from his bed and walks over to the cluttered desk, quickly clearing it of all it’s contents, sweeping the DVDs and note to the floor in a rush. The few things that do remain on the desk seem of particular interest to Obo, a small orange bottle and a bottle of water. The orange bottle has a small white lid on it which Obo quickly rips off. He lifts the small bottle, a medicine bottle, up to his lips and tilts the bottle straight back, filling his mouth with the white pills that spill from inside. With as many as he can fit in his mouth in, he guzzles down some water. He lifts the orange bottle and takes the remaining pills, again, with a drink of water. He stands still for a moment, looking at the floor, at the pile of discarded DVDs. He begins to wobble standing in place. Another knock at the door is heard. He takes a step but his foot misplaces itself on it’s way back towards the ground and he stumbles. He grabs a hold of the desk but his hand doesn’t hold on. He falls quickly and bangs his face off the chair in front of the desk. His neck snaps backwards violently and he collapses to the ground as the door swings open. The young daughter of Obo, Samantha, steps into the room slowly.
Samantha: Daddy? Are you sleeping?
She she’s her father on the ground. She runs to her downed dad’s side and grabs his head. He’s split wide open and is bleeding all over the place and his neck is bent in an awkward way. She looks at her father for a moment before screaming.
Reverend Shadow.. Yeah, f*cking c*nt. Priests are all the same. Save me from the devil. F*ck the devil. I killed him. I f*cked his daughter. Her name’s Ashley. Save me from my sins, oh great Reverend. I want to be born again. After you dip my head in that vat of nasty ass scum water, maybe you can remove the upside down star and 666 I got tattooed on my back. F*cking homo. Oh, and tell Cecil that crank he sold me is no good.
The house looks exactly as it was before, but now there is blood everywhere. Gallons of blood. The floor is soaked in blood. The walls are soaked in blood. The pictures are soaked in blood. The bed is solid blood. The only savior from this crimson existence is a white line on the blood soaked floor. The line starts like a circle but leads into arm shaping, then a square type shape, followed by legs. It’s a chalk line. Walking around the room are several police, but all step carefully and take many pictures of everything. From out of no where, Obo jumps, diving down with a long samurai sword in his hand. He grasps on to a cop and slides the samurai sword across the cop’s neck, quickly cutting the head clean off. Two of the other cops do a quick pivot and go for their guns. One fires a quick shot and it hits Obo right in the stomach but it doesn’t phase him. With a quick dive, he stabs the samurai into the cops stomach, stabbing it so far that it comes out the other side. The remaining cop tries to defend himself and he shoots Obo right between the eyes. Blood flies everywhere, but the large gaping wound on Obo’s head quickly heals to perfect health as he dives at the cop, stabbing this one in the stomach as well. With three dead cops, Obo leaves his own house, diving in dramatic fashion. The sword is still in his hand. He dives through the air and crashes into a window. Glass shatters everywhere as Obo goes right out the window. He falls. One story passes and another. Another and another and another. He’s in a perpetual fall. The ground is quickly approaching. He’s going to splatter on the ground. The ground comes quickly and he lands. His legs explode into nothing, bones, skin and blood flying everywhere, but he spawns new legs and quickly stands up. Several small people come running up to him. These people are literally a foot tall. They are faceless. Obo swipes his blade and quickly destroys them all.
Obo: Nameless punks. No one makes a name off me. F*ck them.
Reverend Shadow now comes running down the street. He’s got a bible in his hand and is in his best black priest robe. He seems set on his goal. He’s running right at Obo. He throws the bible. The bible is growing as it comes closer. It’s as big as Obo and it’s still flying. Obo spins with his blade and strikes the bible, cutting the Good book into millions of pieces. The bible falls everywhere. Shadow looks at Obo and fear has been struck in him. His head begins to shrink. His arms are shrinking. He’s shrinking. He shrinks too much and his robe falls to the ground. He’s stuck beneath the robe. He is small now. He’s just as tiny as the previously destroyed faceless people. He’s nude.
Obo: You’re naked without your bible. You’re nothing without the cloth.
Obo swings his blade violently and catches the Mini-Reverend right in the middle. The blade begins to slice him and cuts him in half. The two halves fall to the ground and disappear, flying away in dust form. Obo continues his trek, now walking down a desolate looking road. From behind a trash can, something jumps at him. It catches his leg. He continues walking, but the dead weight of this unknown creature is holding him back. Obo looks down at what’s holding his leg. It’s a person. The person is in rags. A destroyed flannel shirt and equally tattered blue jean shorts. It’s Percy. Obo lifts his blade and quickly jams the dagger down into Percy’s head, driving it so far that it goes all the way through the skull and deep into the ground. He pulls the blade back out and swings it quickly, first hacking off the right arm, then the left, before finally stomping down in the middle of Percy’s back and yanking his blade backwards.
Obo: Clinging f*ck. Destruction is key. Destroy those who hold you back. F*ck friends. Focus on the goal.
With the corpse of Percy released from his body, Obo takes a couple of steps down the street before the familiar voice of his daughter is heard.
Samantha: Daddy!! Daddy!!
She comes running out of the darkness. With all the mindless destruction and blood everywhere, she remains untarnished. She runs up to Obo with her arms extended for a hug, but he lifts the blade and it stabs her right in the chest. He twists the blade and pulls it backwards as his daughter collapses with a permanently etched look of pain on her face.
Obo: You were an accident anyways..
Obo continues walking towards his unknown goal until a voice is heard. It’s his voice, but it’s not coming from his mouth.
Obo: Stop..
Obo turns around quickly, to see himself. He is standing looking outwards, looking at the sword wielding Obo. It’s an Obo clone.
Obo clone: What the f*ck are you doing? Is mindless killing really the path to greatness.
Obo: F*ck you dick.
Obo clone: Really? What does this accomplish? Are you the world champion now?
Obo: F*ck the title..
Obo clone: Are you any closer to the fame and fortune you desire?
Obo: F*ck fame and fortune..
Obo: Does this get your revenge on Ashley?
This really strikes a cord on the original Obo, who throws the blade at the Obo clone. The Obo clone catches the blade and comes running at the original Obo. Clone Obo attempts to strike Original Obo with the blade, but Original Obo ducks backwards Matrix style. Clone Obo pulls the blade backwards and quickly drives it into the bridged chest of Original Obo, but Original Obo just laughs and pulls the blade out.
Obo: F*ck.. I can’t kill myself..
TV style static takes over the entire area, destroying anything that isn’t white and black static in the process and distorting everything to this view. The static scrambles at random, black and white, white and black, dim shades of gray. All that can be seen is this static. Slowly, the black begins to evaporate, replacing itself with dark gray that slowly turns white, eventually turning to a white of the exact same pitch as the other white, leaving everything white. Unfamiliar voices are heard.
??: He’s coming back..
?? #2: He’s got a pulse..
??: Will he be okay?
?? #3: He was out for a long time..
?? #2: He took more pills than I’ve ever seen anyone take..
??: He’s okay!!
The white darkens and quickly turns to black
Back inside, the area has now changed to a very generic looking room. Florissant lighting lights the room, leaving everything in a professional looking glow. The walls are decorated in a flower type pattern that seems to scream “average”. Nothing special about the room, except the large plastic container hanging on the wall with a “BIOHAZARD” sticker on the side. In the middle of the room sits a bed, railing standing high and tall around the bed to keep the body in and everything else. Someone lays in the bed, but he or she cannot be seen beneath a mountain of sheets and blankets as well as several people standing around the bed, all in matching white coats. Cords and tubes run into the bed from every angle imaginable, leaving the body inside an obvious poked and prodded mess. One particularly large tube runs right through the railing onto the bed into the center of the bed. Instead of pumping fluids in like the other tubes, it seems to be pulling them out. One of the people in a lab coat begins to speak, and he has the same voice as the previously heard first person.
??: He seems to be recovering fine from his suicide attempt, but what worries me are these scars all over him. His head is a mess. Did he just do these or were these previous suicide attempts?
?? #2: I’m not exactly sure, but I’ve seen scarring like his before. Teenagers have come in with this kind of damage, usually with deep lacerations that need sewn up. They call it “carving”. It usually runs hand and hand with depression. I’ve never seen anyone with them on their forehead before, or as many as he has..
?? #3: He also has a lot of tattoos.. What do the stars on the shoulders mean?
??: I have no idea. I’m a doctor, not a tattoo artist.
A fourth person enters.
?? #4: I just got a hold of someone that knows him, and it definitely unveils part of the enigma. She’s on her way over, and she’s bringing the patient’s daughter with her. I couldn’t get much, because her cell phone was cutting in and out, but from what I got, he’s a professional wrestler.
?? #2: So these are wounds from steroids?
?? #4: Not exactly. He apparently is very violent when wrestling. Those are from a razor blade, from what I’ve been told. This may sound asinine, but he apparently cuts himself with a razor to draw blood..
??: That can’t be.. That wrestling stuff is all fake..
The man sits up in the bed and his face is clear for the first time, revealing “The King of Gore” Obo.
Obo: I’m fake.
??: That’s not what I said, sure, and you need to lay back down. We are currently pumping your stomach to remove the high amount of pain pills you injected.
Obo: They need to be there..
?? #2: If they stay in there, your body will eventually shut down and you will die.
Obo: How can I die? I don’t even exist..
?? (now with a particularly irritated tone): That’s not what I said sir..
Obo: I’m fake. I’m just a TV character.
Through the door walks a curvy blonde. She is wearing a tight mini skirt and an equally fitting tube top with knee high boots with tall heels. Her hair is of the curly blonde variety and her face is annoyed looking. Upon entering the room, a loud beep is instantly heard and two doctors run to a machine and begin pushing buttons.
?? #3: His pulse just shot through the roof sir.. I think the pills just busts open..
Obo: Get the skank out of here.
Through the door walks Samantha, Obo’s daughter. His pulse returns to a somewhat normal state upon seeing his innocent offspring.
?? #2: I’m sorry, no children are allowed in this area..
Samantha: But that’s my daddy..
Obo: If she leaves, so do I. I’ll cut these f*cking cords.
?? Blonde: Always with the foul mouth.. I thought nearly dying would change you, but it never will. People never change.
Obo: This must mean you still suck off anyone with two dimes and a nickel..
?? Blonde: F*ck you..
Obo: A witty retort from the lovely Ashley Young..
Ashley: Bite me..
Samantha begins to cry.
Samantha: Stop.. Please stop..
Obo (now screaming): See, now you made my daughter cry! If I wasn’t strapped down I would kill you, you f*cking whore!!
Ashley walks towards Obo and grabs a pair of scissors along the way.
Ashley (screaming as well): COME ON TOUGH GUY!! MISTER KING OF GORE!!
She puts the scissors into the hand of Obo and Samantha hollers in misery. Obo yanks his arm as hard as he can in an attempt to stab Ashley, but he cannot muster the strength to up. His arm flails loosely before crashing back down to the bed. The scissors slide out of the bed and crash to the floor. Obo’s head tilts slightly as the previously heard buzzer goes off once more, this time constantly.
??: He’s going into shock!!
Obo (weakly): It’s mine.. Nothing can stop me.. F*ck death. Destruction is key. Destroy those who hold you back. F*ck friends. Focus on the goal. Focus on the…. Championship…
A final long beep is heard and everyone in the room except Ashley goes into panic mode, rushing to help in any way possible, while the young child sits in the corner sobbing.
It was a dark and stormy night on the evening of August 3rdh 2005. No one should be out in this kind of weather, but I trekked through the rain, wind, hail, and all that other crap to see the one that I love. Our secreted love is in veil no longer and I can express the way I truly feel about her. It’s too bad that once the cloak of darkness is lifted, we are forced to part ways due to her lack of self control and a need for self loathing. Once I lay next to her, my scorn lover, and watch as she cry, for our baby is not doing well. Now, in the greatest time in my spawn’s life, her mother decides to abandon her for greater pastors elsewhere. Let me tell you Ashley, the grass is much greener on the other side, and once you’ve smoked that grass and the killer hangover passes, you’re left with the same ashes and after smell you started with. Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it. A great man once said “forge not what you are, but what you want to be, and when that path has been laid, you must follow it”. Follow it to the grave you stupid c*nt because I’m done with you. You’re dead to me.
This note lays on a solid oak desk in a slightly crumbled mess. Time has not been friendly to the piece of paper, as the corners are damaged, crumble marks appear all over the paper, and the ink appears to be fading. Just off side of the center of the note is a single watermark, causing the ink around the area to swirl slightly. The note lays haphazardly on the desk, the hate filled paper laid for anyone to see. Just off of the note is a messy desk, particularly cluttered at the moment by computer software. Various floppy discs and CDs sit everywhere, some even underneath the note. Most have been labeled with sloppy handwriting and in ink pen or permanent marker, but one disc really sticks out from the mess. It’s a black disc with a yellow logo on it, with the words “The Best of Reverend Shadow” underneath the logo, easily identifiable as the WFWF logo. A quick skim over the other discs reveals them to also be WFWF related, with such scribbled titles as “7/5/05 Hybrid”, “10/10/05 Code Red”, “11/27/05 Hybrid” “6/22/06 Odium” and others. The four above mentioned sit the most predominantly, displayed with red lettering in marker over or near the black, labeling the dates. Elsewhere in the room, a light shines brightly from a light bulb in the ceiling, leaving the entire room in an elegant glow, but particularly lighting up the figure that sits on the bed. This figure belongs to someone known by the masses as Obo. He sits casually but intensely on a bed. The bed looks worse for wear, the sheets in disarray and the blankets balled up. Obo seems uncaring about these problems, because just by the look on his face, he has problems of his own. He stares at the desk with hatred. The desk seems to be an object of true torment for him. He stares at the disorganized piece of furniture with hatred that hasn’t been seen in his eyes in years. Is he focusing on the DVDs of Reverend Shadow? Does he have some sort of blind rage against Shadow? What else could be on these DVDs, other than footage from WFWF that is causing him such anger? Obo hops off the bed and grabs the note and simply falls backwards, landing by chance on the bed. He seems uncaring at his possible self destruction. His body is limp and motionless and if his eyes weren’t still open and blinking, he’d pass as unconscious. He lays in this motionless state for what seems like hours but in all actuality, is only minutes, until an awkward version of “Cop Killa” by Ice T begins to play. It sounds like the actual song, and is indefinable as the actual song, but the sound is distorted and mutilated. The source of the butchered music is quickly revealed, as Obo reaches into his phone and pulls out a small flipping cell phone. He looks at the screen as the song continues to play. He stares deep at the screen, almost mesmerized by it. His eyes are glued to the numbers. 555-1432. 555-1432. 555-1432. He’s looking at the screen with such focus that the numbers are reflecting backwards from his eyes. 555-1432. The song is still playing. 555-1432. He’s not answering it. 555-1432. The song stops for a moment, but only to start back over in a loop. The break in the sound is not enough to cause Obo to break his concentration. 555-1432. This loop of old school rap finally becomes too much and Obo launches the phone. It hits the wall viciously and shatters into millions of pieces. With one final buzz, the fractured phone rains to the floor. Obo falls backwards onto the bed again, this time releasing his thoughts into the open world for anyone who’s willing to listen.
Obo: She was f*cking dead. She was f*cking dead. Why couldn’t she just stay f*cking dead?
Silence once more infests the room as Obo lays again in a near dead state. His face has a painted on expression of anger and the need for destruction, but he is too sapped for either. A knock on the door is heard, but Obo lays motionless. The knocking stops. Obo sits up from his bed and walks over to the cluttered desk, quickly clearing it of all it’s contents, sweeping the DVDs and note to the floor in a rush. The few things that do remain on the desk seem of particular interest to Obo, a small orange bottle and a bottle of water. The orange bottle has a small white lid on it which Obo quickly rips off. He lifts the small bottle, a medicine bottle, up to his lips and tilts the bottle straight back, filling his mouth with the white pills that spill from inside. With as many as he can fit in his mouth in, he guzzles down some water. He lifts the orange bottle and takes the remaining pills, again, with a drink of water. He stands still for a moment, looking at the floor, at the pile of discarded DVDs. He begins to wobble standing in place. Another knock at the door is heard. He takes a step but his foot misplaces itself on it’s way back towards the ground and he stumbles. He grabs a hold of the desk but his hand doesn’t hold on. He falls quickly and bangs his face off the chair in front of the desk. His neck snaps backwards violently and he collapses to the ground as the door swings open. The young daughter of Obo, Samantha, steps into the room slowly.
Samantha: Daddy? Are you sleeping?
She she’s her father on the ground. She runs to her downed dad’s side and grabs his head. He’s split wide open and is bleeding all over the place and his neck is bent in an awkward way. She looks at her father for a moment before screaming.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Reverend Shadow.. Yeah, f*cking c*nt. Priests are all the same. Save me from the devil. F*ck the devil. I killed him. I f*cked his daughter. Her name’s Ashley. Save me from my sins, oh great Reverend. I want to be born again. After you dip my head in that vat of nasty ass scum water, maybe you can remove the upside down star and 666 I got tattooed on my back. F*cking homo. Oh, and tell Cecil that crank he sold me is no good.
The house looks exactly as it was before, but now there is blood everywhere. Gallons of blood. The floor is soaked in blood. The walls are soaked in blood. The pictures are soaked in blood. The bed is solid blood. The only savior from this crimson existence is a white line on the blood soaked floor. The line starts like a circle but leads into arm shaping, then a square type shape, followed by legs. It’s a chalk line. Walking around the room are several police, but all step carefully and take many pictures of everything. From out of no where, Obo jumps, diving down with a long samurai sword in his hand. He grasps on to a cop and slides the samurai sword across the cop’s neck, quickly cutting the head clean off. Two of the other cops do a quick pivot and go for their guns. One fires a quick shot and it hits Obo right in the stomach but it doesn’t phase him. With a quick dive, he stabs the samurai into the cops stomach, stabbing it so far that it comes out the other side. The remaining cop tries to defend himself and he shoots Obo right between the eyes. Blood flies everywhere, but the large gaping wound on Obo’s head quickly heals to perfect health as he dives at the cop, stabbing this one in the stomach as well. With three dead cops, Obo leaves his own house, diving in dramatic fashion. The sword is still in his hand. He dives through the air and crashes into a window. Glass shatters everywhere as Obo goes right out the window. He falls. One story passes and another. Another and another and another. He’s in a perpetual fall. The ground is quickly approaching. He’s going to splatter on the ground. The ground comes quickly and he lands. His legs explode into nothing, bones, skin and blood flying everywhere, but he spawns new legs and quickly stands up. Several small people come running up to him. These people are literally a foot tall. They are faceless. Obo swipes his blade and quickly destroys them all.
Obo: Nameless punks. No one makes a name off me. F*ck them.
Reverend Shadow now comes running down the street. He’s got a bible in his hand and is in his best black priest robe. He seems set on his goal. He’s running right at Obo. He throws the bible. The bible is growing as it comes closer. It’s as big as Obo and it’s still flying. Obo spins with his blade and strikes the bible, cutting the Good book into millions of pieces. The bible falls everywhere. Shadow looks at Obo and fear has been struck in him. His head begins to shrink. His arms are shrinking. He’s shrinking. He shrinks too much and his robe falls to the ground. He’s stuck beneath the robe. He is small now. He’s just as tiny as the previously destroyed faceless people. He’s nude.
Obo: You’re naked without your bible. You’re nothing without the cloth.
Obo swings his blade violently and catches the Mini-Reverend right in the middle. The blade begins to slice him and cuts him in half. The two halves fall to the ground and disappear, flying away in dust form. Obo continues his trek, now walking down a desolate looking road. From behind a trash can, something jumps at him. It catches his leg. He continues walking, but the dead weight of this unknown creature is holding him back. Obo looks down at what’s holding his leg. It’s a person. The person is in rags. A destroyed flannel shirt and equally tattered blue jean shorts. It’s Percy. Obo lifts his blade and quickly jams the dagger down into Percy’s head, driving it so far that it goes all the way through the skull and deep into the ground. He pulls the blade back out and swings it quickly, first hacking off the right arm, then the left, before finally stomping down in the middle of Percy’s back and yanking his blade backwards.
Obo: Clinging f*ck. Destruction is key. Destroy those who hold you back. F*ck friends. Focus on the goal.
With the corpse of Percy released from his body, Obo takes a couple of steps down the street before the familiar voice of his daughter is heard.
Samantha: Daddy!! Daddy!!
She comes running out of the darkness. With all the mindless destruction and blood everywhere, she remains untarnished. She runs up to Obo with her arms extended for a hug, but he lifts the blade and it stabs her right in the chest. He twists the blade and pulls it backwards as his daughter collapses with a permanently etched look of pain on her face.
Obo: You were an accident anyways..
Obo continues walking towards his unknown goal until a voice is heard. It’s his voice, but it’s not coming from his mouth.
Obo: Stop..
Obo turns around quickly, to see himself. He is standing looking outwards, looking at the sword wielding Obo. It’s an Obo clone.
Obo clone: What the f*ck are you doing? Is mindless killing really the path to greatness.
Obo: F*ck you dick.
Obo clone: Really? What does this accomplish? Are you the world champion now?
Obo: F*ck the title..
Obo clone: Are you any closer to the fame and fortune you desire?
Obo: F*ck fame and fortune..
Obo: Does this get your revenge on Ashley?
This really strikes a cord on the original Obo, who throws the blade at the Obo clone. The Obo clone catches the blade and comes running at the original Obo. Clone Obo attempts to strike Original Obo with the blade, but Original Obo ducks backwards Matrix style. Clone Obo pulls the blade backwards and quickly drives it into the bridged chest of Original Obo, but Original Obo just laughs and pulls the blade out.
Obo: F*ck.. I can’t kill myself..
TV style static takes over the entire area, destroying anything that isn’t white and black static in the process and distorting everything to this view. The static scrambles at random, black and white, white and black, dim shades of gray. All that can be seen is this static. Slowly, the black begins to evaporate, replacing itself with dark gray that slowly turns white, eventually turning to a white of the exact same pitch as the other white, leaving everything white. Unfamiliar voices are heard.
??: He’s coming back..
?? #2: He’s got a pulse..
??: Will he be okay?
?? #3: He was out for a long time..
?? #2: He took more pills than I’ve ever seen anyone take..
??: He’s okay!!
The white darkens and quickly turns to black
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back inside, the area has now changed to a very generic looking room. Florissant lighting lights the room, leaving everything in a professional looking glow. The walls are decorated in a flower type pattern that seems to scream “average”. Nothing special about the room, except the large plastic container hanging on the wall with a “BIOHAZARD” sticker on the side. In the middle of the room sits a bed, railing standing high and tall around the bed to keep the body in and everything else. Someone lays in the bed, but he or she cannot be seen beneath a mountain of sheets and blankets as well as several people standing around the bed, all in matching white coats. Cords and tubes run into the bed from every angle imaginable, leaving the body inside an obvious poked and prodded mess. One particularly large tube runs right through the railing onto the bed into the center of the bed. Instead of pumping fluids in like the other tubes, it seems to be pulling them out. One of the people in a lab coat begins to speak, and he has the same voice as the previously heard first person.
??: He seems to be recovering fine from his suicide attempt, but what worries me are these scars all over him. His head is a mess. Did he just do these or were these previous suicide attempts?
?? #2: I’m not exactly sure, but I’ve seen scarring like his before. Teenagers have come in with this kind of damage, usually with deep lacerations that need sewn up. They call it “carving”. It usually runs hand and hand with depression. I’ve never seen anyone with them on their forehead before, or as many as he has..
?? #3: He also has a lot of tattoos.. What do the stars on the shoulders mean?
??: I have no idea. I’m a doctor, not a tattoo artist.
A fourth person enters.
?? #4: I just got a hold of someone that knows him, and it definitely unveils part of the enigma. She’s on her way over, and she’s bringing the patient’s daughter with her. I couldn’t get much, because her cell phone was cutting in and out, but from what I got, he’s a professional wrestler.
?? #2: So these are wounds from steroids?
?? #4: Not exactly. He apparently is very violent when wrestling. Those are from a razor blade, from what I’ve been told. This may sound asinine, but he apparently cuts himself with a razor to draw blood..
??: That can’t be.. That wrestling stuff is all fake..
The man sits up in the bed and his face is clear for the first time, revealing “The King of Gore” Obo.
Obo: I’m fake.
??: That’s not what I said, sure, and you need to lay back down. We are currently pumping your stomach to remove the high amount of pain pills you injected.
Obo: They need to be there..
?? #2: If they stay in there, your body will eventually shut down and you will die.
Obo: How can I die? I don’t even exist..
?? (now with a particularly irritated tone): That’s not what I said sir..
Obo: I’m fake. I’m just a TV character.
Through the door walks a curvy blonde. She is wearing a tight mini skirt and an equally fitting tube top with knee high boots with tall heels. Her hair is of the curly blonde variety and her face is annoyed looking. Upon entering the room, a loud beep is instantly heard and two doctors run to a machine and begin pushing buttons.
?? #3: His pulse just shot through the roof sir.. I think the pills just busts open..
Obo: Get the skank out of here.
Through the door walks Samantha, Obo’s daughter. His pulse returns to a somewhat normal state upon seeing his innocent offspring.
?? #2: I’m sorry, no children are allowed in this area..
Samantha: But that’s my daddy..
Obo: If she leaves, so do I. I’ll cut these f*cking cords.
?? Blonde: Always with the foul mouth.. I thought nearly dying would change you, but it never will. People never change.
Obo: This must mean you still suck off anyone with two dimes and a nickel..
?? Blonde: F*ck you..
Obo: A witty retort from the lovely Ashley Young..
Ashley: Bite me..
Samantha begins to cry.
Samantha: Stop.. Please stop..
Obo (now screaming): See, now you made my daughter cry! If I wasn’t strapped down I would kill you, you f*cking whore!!
Ashley walks towards Obo and grabs a pair of scissors along the way.
Ashley (screaming as well): COME ON TOUGH GUY!! MISTER KING OF GORE!!
She puts the scissors into the hand of Obo and Samantha hollers in misery. Obo yanks his arm as hard as he can in an attempt to stab Ashley, but he cannot muster the strength to up. His arm flails loosely before crashing back down to the bed. The scissors slide out of the bed and crash to the floor. Obo’s head tilts slightly as the previously heard buzzer goes off once more, this time constantly.
??: He’s going into shock!!
Obo (weakly): It’s mine.. Nothing can stop me.. F*ck death. Destruction is key. Destroy those who hold you back. F*ck friends. Focus on the goal. Focus on the…. Championship…
A final long beep is heard and everyone in the room except Ashley goes into panic mode, rushing to help in any way possible, while the young child sits in the corner sobbing.
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all over your roleplay.