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DK Do Or Die RP: Thunder Is Devil's Footsteps

Jack straight, please.

The bartender turns away from the bright haired Devilkiller as she fixes his drink. Devilkiller should feel accomplished. A victor. Instead, he has an ache all over his body that just won't go away.

Especially the ringing in his head.

Oh god the ringing.

It's like the church steeple on a Sunday morning, waking up its neighbors with the annoyance of the ones who attend the church. The ringing comes when he least expects it. The ringing crescendo's right before he does it. The ringing echoes forever.

A lot like Thunder.

Not the sound in the storm, the man himself. The one that threw DK from the stage to the floor.

In his book, he explains that if you wrestle, you either wrestle long enough to become hated no matter what you do right by the people, or you retire always a few years too early.

Thunder has done the former. Thunder has turned on the crowd even though the same actions would've brought cheers some 6-7 years ago. Now, it's the chorus of boo's.

Like thunder echoing after a crack of lightening.

The petite brunette bartender slides the glass of Jack toward the former National champion, who gladly picks it up and downs it in one gulp. He slides the glass back to her and she repeats the process of refilling it. Something about her, something just catches his eye constantly. Maybe it's the fact she's wearing stone washed Levi's that hug her waist so tight you couldn't squeeze a credit card in there. Maybe it's because she's giving him liquor and the whiskey is making his chest feel all warm. Maybe it's because she's not Kaitlyn and he likes the change of pace.

No, stop it, you're married and you love your wife, no matter how good her ass looks.

The cute bartender turns around, a quizzical look on her face. Excuse me sir? Couldn't catch all of that.

Devilkiller snaps out of his day dream and looks back up at her. His mind starts racing on what's good to say, but the ringing is deafening his own thoughts out.

I was just talking about my friend, reading his text message he seems to want to cheat on his wife with some girl he met at the hotel he's staying at. No big deal.

The bartender chuckles and makes her way to the other end of the bar.

Why does this keep happening to me. God why does this keep happening. I fight it and fight it and, GOD!

Devilkiller downs the whiskey and slings the glass careening at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces as he lays a $20 on the table and walks out.

He climbs into his 67 Mustang and grips the steering wheel, squeezing it with all of his might. His knuckles turn white as he starts sobbing.

Why me, God? I have done nothing but good in this world. Yet here I am being left behind like a lame duck.

Is this my lamentation? Should I be like Jack Skellington and take off my head to recite Shakespearean Quotations?

Who am I kidding? I mean, I have my s**t together. How would anyone believe me? How the f**k do I get this goddamn ringing out of my head?

He turns the car over, the exhaust coming to life as he lays on the gas to peel out, following the roads that lead to his home in the outskirts of Jersey City. The whole way, his mind racing with the ringing forever echoing.

He pulls into the concrete driveway and slams the door shut, walking hurriedly to his front door and practically runs inside.

Hey hun, oh what's wrong? Headache again?

Kaitlyn walks from the kitchen to where Devilkiller is hunched over the living room couch, grasping at his head and pulling at his hair.

It just won't f**king stop, Kaitlyn. It's just not going away. It's from that fall, that goddamned fall. If Thunder had been respectful about the whole situation I may have been in better shape to wrestle. Yet here it is, two weeks afterwards and I practically have to pack up my family and move to the U.K. for 6 months, with this God forsaken headache. Now I have to wrestle after moving and while having this constant ringing.

Kaitlyn sighs, rubbing DK's back trying to soothe him. She reaches with her other hand towards her purse on the couch, she does a bit of scavenger hunting before pulling out a bottle of generic Ibuprofen.

Here, it's 200mg. You may want to take 4 since you're such a big boy.

Devilkiller let's out a soft chuckle, before raising up and taking the bottle from her hands. He pours out 8 of those little white oval shaped pills and puts them all in his gullet at once while he's walking to the kitchen sink to drown them.

I said 4, not 8, but whatever. It's your liver that's gonna kill you not mine.

Well if it's going to kill me I'd rather it get it over with now instead of having me deal with this bullshit.

Don't say that! Kaitlyn slaps DK's shoulder, making the big man wince from his soreness. You can bring that stuff on you know!

The Creator of Hell shrugs his shoulders, indifferent of the issue. I don't care hun. It's a constant ache that will not go away.

Maybe you need to go to the doctor, huh? See if they can help you out anymore with the headaches?

Devilkiller just shakes his head, taking deep breath along with another drink of water. It's been happening since SuperBrawl, I guess it's just part of me now baby.

Kaitlyn leans on the big man, pulling herself tightly into him. Well, you want me to help you pack up some stuff? You can go lay down, rest a bit?

No, no. I'll help. I need to help. Maybe the ringing in his ears will stop. The last thing he needs is to have Kaitlyn worry more. He can complain about his body aching, she saw that happen at Destroy What You Enjoy, and he can keep lying about a headache, as long as the talking doesn't start.

Kaitlyn smiles politely as they bring out their luggage bags. Devilkiller pulls out his old leather jacket from when he was in the Indy's, the old "Devilkiller" airbrushed onto the back becoming fainter with each season, he makes sure he packs it neatly into the bottom of his wrestling gear bag, having a small lightbulb go off on his head.

He pulls other wrestling tights down and off their hangers, he has almost every color of the rainbow. His red and black, his black and white, his purple and white, his red, black, AND white, about 8 tights in total comes out of the closet and into the bag as neatly as he can, before zipping it up for the long trip.

Maybe the old Devilkiller needs to come out, maybe the reason I gained the moniker 'Creator of Hell' needs to become my trait. Maybe the 'Hardcore King' needs to show his old colors. Maybe the Devilkiller from the Yard needs to make it into prime time television. Maybe I'll make lightening strike twice.

Whatcha talking about over there?

Devilkiller snaps away from his day dream, the ringing echoing forever between the walls of his cranial cavity, looking over at his beautiful wife, her hair over her shoulders, her mouth pursed with a smile, and her eyes big and inquiring. Just talking to myself honey. Thinking about going apes**t on Thunder in a few nights.

We'll be watching it all from here, I promise. I know Carter wouldn't sleep without watching you wrestle. It's a shame he has another week left for this nine weeks, or we'd be watching it front row. You did say this apartment you're renting is a three bedroom right?

Yes ma'am, and I'll have everyone's room ready for when they get there! Carter's will have his clothes hanging up, his TV hooked up, and I'll make sure ours has plenty of wine.

Thankfully, Kaitlyn just snickers and continues packing up her clothes. The sigh of relief from Devilkiller's lips can not be understated. He was inches away from having to explain what's going on, but luckily his quick thinking avoided it altogether.

Just like it won him a National championship.

Just like it will be the reason he beats Thunder.

Just like it will put him in the running for Survival of the Fittest.

Just like it will put him over to the next level.

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No! I won't tap to you!

You better if you knew what was good for you, punk!

The fake wrestling match between father and son had quickly turned into a tickling match, as Devilkiller is on his knees beside Carter ticking at his neck. The fiery fight of Carter is strong, but with every second that passes the fight gets weaker, and so does his bladder.

If you don't stop dad I'm gonna pee!

You better tap out then! I mean it!

It's close, Carter is inches from tapping, the pressure on high as he doesn't want to tap to his old man, and the urine buildup pressurizing every breath he tries to take.

Okay guys, time. Looks like Carter won to me.

The child and Carter both scoot back from eachother and high five eachother, before Carter goes running to the bathroom. Devilkiller smiles and pulls himself up on the couch, putting his arm around his wife's tiny frame, pulling her close to him.

I know you wanted to say I won. It's okay. Let him believe.

Kaitlyn smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear as she leans on the big mans shoulder. Yeah, but in all seriousness have you even thought about this trip?

Yeah, and I'm getting paid very well, and we're gonna have a nice place to stay at I promise.

I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about this whole Thunder thing. I remember watching him growing up. He's no one to underestimate.

Neither was Cameron Stone, yet I underestimated him pretty bad. I learn my lessons. I just don't want to think about him until it's curtain time.

But Logan, he's a serious opponent. Remember Penny Shannon? Remember how hard you studied? Even after studying you walked away with a concussion that I'm still not sure went away. Penny was a close match, and you got the win over her at a cost. Now I haven't seen you do any studying on Thunder, not one single match. I doubt you even watched his match at Hell. Even if Penny Shannon is and always will be my girl, Thunder is a slightly different, slightly stronger foe. You need to be ready. Win or lose, I don't want you hurt.

Devilkiller laughs and leans away from Kaitlyn to grab his cigarettes, pulling out the full flavored long cancer stick. He lights it with an old school Zippo lighter and slams the lighter shut, letting out a puff of smoke from his lungs. Yeah honey I know. You have every right to be worried. Things have changed since I've beaten Penny Shannon. Cameron Stone was a wake up call which in turn helped me become a better wrestler and not to take wins for granted. Thunder has already taught me never trust those who you used to look up to. I've done research, and if he did his research, he wouldn't come to the arena Sunday. I'm not just wanting a win to say "oh yeah I beat Thunder." I want to win so I can plant my feet onto the next stepping stone. I want a championship. Hell, if Billy Broom can beat Zmey, why couldn't I? Granted he wins the title this Sunday. I want people to know I mean business. That I commit my life to this place. That I want to stay around here. That I want to be one of the guys on billboards. Besting Thunder gets that job done.

Kaitlyn sighs, accepting that as the best answer she'll get. She nods into his chest to keep the smoke from getting to her as he squeezes her closer.

If it helps, I read his book.

The ringing starts up, from the back of his neck all the way to the top of his head has ringing echoing off the walls of his cranial cavity. He puffs hard on the cigarette before pecking Kaitlyn on the head. I'm gonna enjoy the beginning of the sunset before I have to leave. Before she can even reply he gets up and walks out the sliding glass doors in his kitchen and onto the back patio. He sits in the wrought iron furniture Kaitlyn picked out and takes another shakey drag off of his cigarette, just a little bit left hanging on that he's gonna make sure he smokes.

I can beat Thunder, right? I'm not underestimating him am I? Surely not. I know better. I know I can do it just fine. I know I can beat him. I know I need to beat him. I need the win, he needs it to show he's not a has-been. I understand where he's coming from. Of course I do. I had the same thing to prove some 6 months ago. Yet here I am, still here with a great track record and always impressive in showing. He is on a losing streak. Could I be used as an example? No, I will not let it happen. I'm the goddamned Hardcore King. The Creator of Hell. I'd be damned if I let someone walk in and take my f**king spot. I've earned it. I have been the one that wrestles day in and day out consistently, no matter what's at stake I'm there. I will not let this happen, you motherf***er. I will not let you waltz in and over me. No. I will make sure you go back in retirem-

Dad? Are you okay?

Devilkiller stops and spins around quickly, he looks at his gripped fingers and sees the butt of the cigarette has burnt out some time ago, he looks back up at the sky and sees the sun has all but disappeared behind the horizon, then back at Carter.

Yeah.. I'm okay buddy. Just was thinking out loud about Thunder. How badly I want this win. How passionate I feel. That's all.

That patch-o-nate is the word that means love, right?

Devilkiller chuckles at his offspring catching on to things he tells him so quickly.

Yes sir, it means love.

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4PM, Manchester, England. Day Before Do or Die.
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Devilkiller opens the door of his 'flat' as those across the pond say for the next few months and starts piling luggage in the family room. His wrestling gear and his everyday clothes, his wife's gigantic luggage case more than likely filled with clothes from the deepest depths of her closet, then his sons bag filled with pajamas, everyday clothes, and toys.

He stars gathering all of the stuff up and put in their respective places, Carter's stuff packed away neatly in drawers and on dresser tops, his toys in a corner of his room piled neatly like the Leaning Tower of Piza, then he does the same for his wives clothes, PJ's and delicates in the drawers and her fancy wear put up in the closet neatly hung so no shoulder nipple randomly appears on the garments.

He then heaves his wrestling luggage onto the bed and collapses beside of it, jet lagged from the 11 hour flight plus a gigantic time difference. He tries to close his eyes for one of his most peaceful naps he's had since coming back to WFWF, the ringing subsides for just a moments notice.

knock knock knock!

Ah dammit. I forgot J was supposed to be coming over. I just want some peace and quiet.

I can hear you in there saying something. Open up dammit!

The church bells start tolling again as DK climbs out of the comfortable bed and walks out of his master suite and into the foyer, damning himself for opening the door.

Hey bud. Just a bit jet lagged is all. Come on in.

Jayson Sykes 6'3 frame comes barreling in the door, holding a bottle of Jack.

I figured you could use the pick me up then. Guess I figured right huh?

The bottle throws DK back some time ago, back when he was still aching all over. Back to the bartender. Back to his episode.

Jayson makes himself at home real quick as he finds some glassware that's close enough to scotch glasses and pours Tennessee whiskey in them, handing one to DK. Devilkiller downs the glass in one big gulp and hands it back to J, trying to get the steeple to stop its calling.

So, making the big return huh?

J shakes his head, sipping lightly on his glass. Yeah, I'm pretty excited. It's been a long time coming. But that's not as big as what you're doing, DK. You're facing the legend, Thunder! You gotta have butterflies right?

Devilkiller closes his eyes tight, as if doing so will keep what's going to happen from happening. His fist clenched tight, his teeth grinding as he locks his jaw in place. No. I have nothing for Thunder. He is a stepping stone. His past doesn't matter, what matters is his future and the motherf***er decided to end his future early by throwing me off that stage. The ringing is deafening, it's so loud there's no reason why Jayson couldn't hear it. Devilkiller leans over the countertop and taps his head over and over on the wood grain laminate.

Are you okay? What's wrong?

Am I okay? I haven't been okay in months. I ache every single day, my head quakes with every single ring that resounds loudly and echoes around, I am definitely not okay, but no reason for me to tell you that.

I'm fine. A headache, J. You care to go? I know you just got here but I really wanna sleep and hopefully fix this.

Devilkiller looks up and sees Jayson just staring at him, downing the rest of his whiskey. He grabs the bottle of Jack and nods toward DK. I hope you feel better brother. I'm sorry everything hurts like it does, go lay down. If you need or want me to come back over later or tomorrow, just shoot a text. I'll be here.

With that, Jayson walks back out of the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. Devilkiller just slams his head back onto the counter. Welp, he heard all of that. Atleast it sounded like I was a smart ass, instead of just a rambling dead man.

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Devilkiller is seen sitting in the classic metal chair he sits in every night he has a match, the red light tinting the room ever so softly, as he looks up into the mirror into the camera.

I was a bit of a deranged man last I did this. Coming off the loss to Cameron Stone, I was dead set on showing I could beat him. At Destroy What You Enjoy, I did just that. I bested Cameron Stone. I showed that the fluke he got at Hell was just that, a fluke.

Thunder couldn't do that. He couldn't show that Frank Lynn was a fluke. That's why he attacked me.

Thunder knew what he was doing. He wanted to see if I would redeem myself before he accepted my challenge. Why, you may ask? Because he couldn't redeem himself if he wanted to.

When he got into the ring with Frank Lynn, he lost. He didn't want redemption. He was ashamed. Embarrassed. He was ready to ride off into the sunset again never to be seen or heard from. Back to writing. He was ready to call it quits. But I surprised him when I asked for a match. I asked out of pure respect. I asked so I could have the chance to say "I stepped in the ring with Thunder."

At first, he took it with a grain of salt. Irritated someone ruined his going away party. So he watched the match with Cameron Stone. When he saw that I am capable of redemption, something he is not, he got p**sed off.

So what'd he do? He threw me off the stage. Something only cowards do.

And for the first time in a long while, a chorus of boos arose from the arena. Something he's not used too that's for sure.

See, Stone and I were friends. We didn't care about making the other look bad. We just wanted the friendly, competitive rivalry. That's why he never did anything cheap like Thunder did.

Thunder thinks, like the storm, he cracks and booms and everyone listens. Instead, everyone realizes he's now just the Devil's footsteps.

Now instead of saying I was in the ring with Thunder, I can say I silenced Thunder. Like a tree falling in the woods, with no one around to hear it.

At first I was going to be satisfied with standing toe to toe with him. Now I won't be satisfied until I beat him, fair and square inside the ring.

Because Thunder is just that, he's my footsteps. People can be scared all they want but it's just the sound. It's the real things, like the Creator of Hell, the Hardcore King, the Devil himself, those are the real monsters.

Devilkiller gets up and kicks the chair away from him, the metallic cling echoing in the dimly lit room. He leans over the sink, getting closer to the mirror.

It's Do or Die time, Thunder. Are you gonna scare yourself away with the sounds of my footsteps? Go back to writing novels like Cameron Stone did with movies? Yeah, I bet you'll be scared once you realize that there is no redemption for someone like you.

With that, Devilkiller rears back and shatters the mirror, spiderwebbing cracks all over it out to its edges.