|
Post by Deleted on Jul 23, 2021 2:56:56 GMT -5
[M#09] MID-CARD SLOT STANDARD ONE FALL FINISH CROSS-BRAND MATCH
SANATORIUM CHRISTY WINTERS VS DYSTOPIA HANARI CARNES
|
|
Former Champion
81 POSTS & 5 LIKES
|
Post by Christy Winters on Aug 2, 2021 1:18:22 GMT -5
These fucking windows ten updates are fucking shit.
The screen slowly fades into Brittany Fraser sitting at a computer.
Brittany: Better operating system my fucking ass.
The door of the nearby bedroom opens Christy and her sister Kayla exit, they kiss then Kayla heads towards the kitchen. Christy stands behind the chair and bends down kissing Brittany on the neck.
Christy: Still having problems.
Brittany: This computer runs like shit, but I got it as updated as best I could, it will serve the purpose.
Kayla steps into the room.
Kayla: If you're interested. I managed to whip up some breakfast.
Brittany and Christy walk into the kitchen and sit down.
Christy: This isn’t bad, I’ve had worse.
Kayla: That’s an understatement.
Brittany takes a sip of her coffee.
Brittany: So I’ve been monitoring all the news channels and somehow most of the escaped prisoners from the Sanatorium have been recaptured, present company excluded.
Christy: Funny isn’t the Sanatorium goes to shit after someone took out Eden, I'd like to meet that person and buy them a drink, but whomever rounded up the prisoners, didn’t have the common sense to check the Eden’s personal residence, you would think that would be one of the first places they would have checked.
Kayla: Indeed.
Christy: Yeah while everyone was running in every direction, I just slipped into her residence undetected, and I’ll give Eden credit she kept the place well stocked, the decor is a little tacky, but hey.
Brittany: Yeah, we’ve been hiding out here the whole time, and no one has bothered to check.
Kayla walks over and licks a piece of food from her sister's lip.
Kayla: You were always a messy eater.
Christy: Who knows this would have been so easy, escape from your cell using a makeshift key and hide out in the Warden’s house, and use it to run our crime operation.
Kayla: Exactly, and no one noticed me moving in and out of the Sanatorium grounds, honestly the security in this place sucks.
Brittany is punching buttons on the old laptop.
Brittany: Or I kept changing the camera feeds, to allow you to do so.
Kayla: Okay, but it's amazing that Christy has been hiding in plain sight for months.
Christy finished her breakfast.
Kayla: Sis, you've always been a great cook, now I’m going to make use of Eden’s big shower, so if one of you wants to join me.
Christy stands and walks out of the kitchen, Kayla and Brittany check her out, both admiring her butt in her tight jeans.
Brittany and Kayla: Damn!!!
Christy walks out of sight.
Kayla: Brittany, you’ve been invaluable to us, I'd like to know sometime who you managed to continue all that information to Christy during your visits.
Brittany: I had my ways.
Kayla: No doubt.
Christy is standing looking in the mirror wrapped in a towel, styling her mohawk.
Christy: That maintenance man was good for one thing, got the hot water fixed, too bad I had no use for him afterward.
Christy walks back into the living room. Kayla is slipping on her shoulder holster, and inserting her pistol.
Kayla: Sorry sis, got to slip out for a bit, got to take care of the shipment coming up from Mexico.
Christy: Alright, be careful.
Kayla: You know I always am.
Christy: Take the SUV, Eden certainly isn’t using it.
All three ladies laugh, then Kayla slips out.
Christy wraps her arms around Brittany.
Christy: I love her, but I’m glad she’s gone.
Christy kisses Brittany.
Christy: Now we get to have some valuable alone time.
Christy smiles and takes Brittany by the hand, clothes are discarded as they make their way to the bedroom.
Christy and Brittany emerge from under the blankets.
Christy: That was fucking awesome, fuck I love you.
Brittany: I love you too.
Kayla laughs as she enters the bedroom.
Kayla: Was I even out the door.
Brittany: Just barely.
Kayla: So the shipment from the Ortega’s arrived….
Christy: You're just going to stand there, get those clothes off and get in here.
Kayla undresses and climbs into the bed.
Kayla: As I was saying, the shipment from the Ortega’s arrived and payment has been made, who would have thought two sisters could have pulled what we have.
Christy: What do you mean starting a mob war and having the Andruzzi and Colon crime syndicates whip each other out, and you and I just slide in and take over.
Kayla: Yeah. and we now control everything from Manhattan Beach to L.A.
Christy: People need their pills, their dope, and their powder, which we provide, at a cost of course.
Kayla: Looks like we did actually learn something from our parents, may they be rotting in hell.
Christy: Exactly.
Kayla: I actually enjoyed putting the last shovel of dirt on their graves.
Brittany: And you two pretending to hate each, and fighting over the Winters family fortune, that was great.
Christy: We screwed every other family member out of there shares, and now we’re the only two Winters standing and everything is ours.
Kayla: Funny how all those accidents just kept happening.
Christy: Accidents, what a great word. Brittany is to thank for that, who you were that devious and shady.
Brittany kisses the sisters.
Brittany: Well I learned from the best.
Kayla: True.
Weeks past and Christy remained undetected in Eden’s warden residence, she made it her official homebase, developing a system for her, Brittany, and Kayla To move about undetected by whomever had taken over running the Sanatorium prison. It was just so easy.
Christy sat on the back patio, sipping a cold beer and puffing on a cuban cigar, Brittany sips a glass of red wine and Kayla pours a glass of Bowmore. Kayla swirls the glass and sits down next to her sister.
Kayla: Life is so easy.
Christy: Absolutely.
Brittany looks up from her computer.
Brittany: Holy shit.
Christy: What.
Brittany: Well it seems that Dr. Sly has gained power and has booked the first Sanatorium show in months with the remnants of the Sanatorium and some people from Dystopia. And get this the event is called Silence.
Christy: Tell me your fucking kidding, Dr. Sly is running the Sanatorium.
Brittany: Appears so.
Christy: So who has that nut job booked for this show?
Brittany scans the card.
Brittany: Your old friends Kiki, Mya Denton, Sarah Lynn and oddly you.
Christy: Me, how did my name end up there?
Brittany: No idea but you're facing someone named Hanari Carnes.
Christy: Who is that?
Brittany: No idea, let me check.
Brittany taps on her computer.
Brittany: Here it is Hanari Carnes. Rich Caribbean mobster dude.
Christy: Mobster, huh.
Kayla: Didn’t we just whip out a bunch of Mobsters.
Christy: Why, yes we did.
Brittany: Came from a poor Dominican family, wound up in the mob yada, yada, yada. Likes to flaunt his money and his power, trained in MMA, submission guy.
Christy: Okay, so it looks like I need to get off my ass and train then. Kayla time to take a trip outside and bring in the that MMA guy you were fucking.
Kayla: Gregor is out of the country.
Christy: Well find me someone then, I need to be ready to beat this guy half to death.
Brittany: Half.
Christy: Somehow I don’t think I’ll be allowed to kill someone on national television.
Kayla finishes her drink and leaves. A few hours later she returned with a Russian dude.
Kayla: So lucky Dimitri, was free to train you.
Christy: What are your credentials?
Dimitri: Russian special forces.
Christy: Works for me.
Christy and Dimitri turn the basement into their training area, the Russian’s training is intense, and quickly puts Christy into peak prime fighting condition.
Christy: Now I’m ready to kick some mobster ass. But first I want.
Christy slaps Kayla and Brittany on the ass.
Christy: These asses.
Hours later Christy is once again on the back patio. She puffs on her cigar.
Christy: So it seems I have to come out of my comfortable abode here to fight you Hanari. I can respect your liking for the finer things in life, like a good cigar, but people like you, Hanari, have always annoyed me.
Brittany pours Christy a drink.
Christy: Thanks. Hanari, I've dealt with your type before, flaunting your power and your wealth, thinking you can have whatever you want, and resorting to violence when you don’t. Hanari the last guy like you who puts his hands on me, I ate his liver, and fed his corpse to the stray dogs.People like you never survive people like me, I’m more ruthless, violent and vicious than you could ever imagine, I don’t fear people like you, people like you fear me.
Brittany and Kayla sit on Christy’s lap.
Christy: As you can see Hanari, I get whatever I want, fine cigars and even finer women.
Christy smirks.
Christy: Silence is such a great word, Silence is what I intend to do to you, silence you, and take everything you hold dear, at Silence Hanari, I’ll sing you Lecter’s lullaby, as you slip into unconsciousness.
Brittany and Christy begin to hum a lullaby.
Christy: And it will sound just like that.
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 5, 2021 14:08:24 GMT -5
Borders aren't actually a thing. They are an imaginary line drawn in the soil by people who have political and capital gains in mind. Nobody with nothing to gain makes a border, but people with everything to lose want them
You've never stepped on a border and thought "wow, this really feels like a border." You don't know, and most of the people who made them don't even know. Border's are made to control people, to cage them in an imaginary cage. One side of the sandbox has a certain set of laws and customs, the other side has different ones.
But who is really to say where the line is?
It's often the bigger and stronger kid in the sandbox, and often times, the play spaces are not equal.
Sometimes, the imaginary line is drawn in blood. The 1937 Parsley Massacre is widely regarded as a turning point in Haitian-Dominican relations. The slaughter, carried out by Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo, targeted Haitians along with Dominicans who looked dark enough to be Haitian -- or whose inability to roll the "r" in perejil, the Spanish word for parsley, gave them away.
Thousands of Haitains were gathered up, or, really, anyone black enough to be Haitian — and shipped them to the border, where they were likely expelled. They were denied citizenship from the onset, so there really wasn't an issue of rounding up 'citizens' falsely.
People became concerned, citizens or not, that they will be indiscriminately targeting people who are darker skinned, black Dominicans, Dominican Haitians and Haitian migrants. There was no science behind how they picked people. They literally looked at you and decided on the spot whether you fit the profile or not.
Hanari stood at this 'border' with his neighboring country. It didn't feel any different than his homeland. Same sandy beaches, same oppressive humidity, same heat, same trees....even the ice blue sky looked the same. To him this felt no different, but his entire life he was told to hate these people. His entire life, the people on the west side of the same piece of earth he called home, were considered lower class, scum of the earth, and not even human beings. He never understood this, but he accepted it, because as a child you cannot make those kind of logical decisions.
With everything going on in the United States currently, Hanari more than understood their burden.
As he looked over into an entirely separate country that shared an island with his, he wondered why.
Why were they among the poorest countries in the world?
Why was their AIDS and Tuberculosis numbers staggeringly higher?
Why were these people often regarded as some of the most oppressed people in the world, when their government doesn't give a shit whether or not they live or die. They aren't oppressed, they're neglected.
Hanari lit his cigar. He exhaled deeply. He hated doing this. Hated comparing the real world to the wrestling world. What went on in that ring was supposed to be his escape from it all. Why can he not escape?
The WWHQ is very much like this. Those "undesirables" aren't given much of a chance. They are labeled from jump street, and their battle to matter is uphill, both ways. Nobody in the WWHQ is given anything, but some have it easier than others.
In the Dominican, and, unfortunately, in the United States, its those with a certain color skin. In this business, it is those who are most willing to do absolutely anything it takes. Morals? What morals? Look at their Tag Team Champions for god sakes!
Hanari takes another puff as it becomes clear what he has to do. Most of the nations in this retched world, most of the "borders" which define them, have been etched with blood. Hanari has painted himself as a hero, both in his home country and in the WWHQ, but as a famous American once said in a movie somewhere, "your favorite hero's are the ones who could also be the villain". He wanted to help the Haitians, he wanted to show them that he is with them in their fight to be something more than the Carribean's landfill. He wanted to help the WWHQ get back to the glory days they had when he used to watch them religiously. He wanted to get the WWHQ back to the big leagues.
Help?
Psssht. The only help they understand is violence. He looked over into Haiti with tired eyes, and sighed. These people would never change unless someone changed them, they just weren't designed to. They were set up to fail.
WWHQ just wouldn't change unless someone did it for them.
He didn't need to cross a border to make a change, he could make the difference right here at home. He could show these people the error of their ways, could open their eyes!
The only thing they understood is violence.
Hanari smoked his cigar down to the nub. He went to flick it into Haiti but stopped.
Why pick on the little guys?
He turned around and flicked it onto the ground within his own country.
The Dominican Republic needed a wake up call, as did the WWHQ. They would conform, or he would burn them to the ground.
Oh yes.......there will be blood.
Cigar smoke filled the air, clouding up the small room. Men in suits sat around a rectangular table, each one with an individual ash tray and a rocks glass. A bottle sat in the middle of the table. At the head of the table was a large, lumbering man, with the nicest suit of any of them. His cigar was the largest, his rocks glass was a pint glass, and his jewelry glistened in the fluorescent light even through the dense smoke that clogged the room's oxygen supply. He was Hector Garcia, and he was the boss. He had called this meeting today because they had a little problem within the commission. There were two men that needed to be dealt with, two men whose ego's had gotten a little too big, and two men who were causing nothing but problems. The problem is, these were prominent and popular men, and their disappearance would raise some eyebrows. One man slid the bottle to the other, and they grumbled to each other as the liquor flowed into the small rocks glass. THE FOLLOWING DIALOUGE IS IN SPANISH, THIS IS THE TRANSLATION: "Gentleman....I have called you here today because he have to fix a little problem we have. We have two men who have become a problem, and I am open to listening to idea's regarding their disposal."
One man immediately suggested just shooting them in the head like everyone else. Brash, and cut to the chase. "No. Not these two. That would be too easy. These two need to be made examples of."
Another man slammed his hand on the table and suggested that they cinder block their feet and drop them in Santo Domingo harbor. "How would that be making an example? I mean, maybe to divers, but the people need to see that these men aren't martyrs, their nothing more than disposal trash."
All of these men were natural killers. There was several million dollars collectively within this room alone. They were all business men that had been successful in their ventures, but all were also the heads of their provinces local mafia's. They didn't know anything but making money, fine cigars, loose women and killing people. The men all shot ideas back and forth, talking over each other, all had idea's that they thought were brilliant. Only one man sat back in the corner, the dress shirt under his suitcoat unbuttoned. He was the new guy, recently sworn in, and he just sat there watching the madness before him with a small grin. "ENOUGH! SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!" Hector's voice boomed over the rest. All of the men stopped, and turned towards the Dominican's most ruthless crime boss. "All of you....these are normally good idea's, but this one has to be different. We have to make sure we are calculated with this one........"
He looked directly at the new guy, who was pouring himself another shot of Tequila. "You. You haven't said a word yet. I am not even sure I know your name. Who are you?"
The man finished pouring his shot and slid the bottle back to the middle of the table. "My name is Hanari Carnes, Don Hector."
He took a puff of his cigar, inhaling the finest Cuban tobacco on the planet. "Okay, Mr. Carnes, do you have a suggestion as to deal with our little problem?"
He grinned again, laughing softly to himself. "I wouldn't kill them at all, sir."
The men all turned towards him now, there were a couple gasps. What the hell did he mean he wouldn't kill them? He takes the shot, setting the glass a little more forcefully on the wooden table than was necessary. "Killing them accomplishes nothing. There will be hundreds of guys like this out there, they come along like the seasons. What you want to do--if you want to indeed set an example--you hurt these men. You establish your dominance. Break an arm, a leg, several ribs. You leave them worse for wear, but you don't kill them. Every day when they wake up, they should remember you. Every time they take a step and the pain shoots up their leg, every time they reach for a piece of bread and have trouble closing their hand, every time they try to breath and can't without wincing...they will remember. They will want the pain to go away, and they will want to make sure they never do what caused them this pain again. Sir, if you truly want control, killing does nothing. It only breed hate and resentment, it breeds and uprising. If you truly want control, you leave them in fear. Fear of pain, anguish, torment, fear of.........their families safety. If they don't comply, go after their parents, their children, anyone they love. But killing them, sir........killing them would be far too easy and would accomplish far less."
The men all sat there in silence for a few moments, looking at Hanari. Don Hector stared a hole through the newcomer, but the corners of his mouth were slowly twisting into a smile. "May I get the bottle again, Devi?"
Devi slid him the bottle and Hanari poured a shot again, sliding the bottle back to the middle of the table. Don Hector puffed his cigar and ashed it in the glass tray in front of him. "And who exactly is going to do all of this damage to them?" he asked. Hanari takes the shot again, and sets the glass down with the same ferocity as before. "I will. And when I do, we will never have to have one of these impromptu broad daylight meetings again. I could be on the beach right now........"
The men looked back to the Don. He dare talk like that to the most dangerous man in the Caribbean? After a few moments, the Don spoke. TO BE CONTINUED"You just don't get it, mamacita. You don't understand.....you are not stepping into the ring with any old dude....you're stepping into the ring with the most dangerous man in the world. I am not just a professional wrestler with a winning record against some of the best competition on the planet. I am a man who goes into every match, man or chica, with the intention to tap you out. I don't care about a pin fall.......I don't care about a three count......mmmmm..." Hanari gets close to the camera. "I want you to submit to me." He grins at the camera as he backs up. "There is just something so primal about it. It gets me going. You look at my career, all my time in that bubbling pool of infected puss called the XWF, and you see my track record. Broken arm after broken arm after broken arm. Mastermind held the Television Title for 129 days, and in my second match ever I took it from him. He refused to submit, so I broke his arm and put him on the shelf for almost the same length of time as his title run was.
At least Mastermind made it fun for me. At least he gave me something to look forward to. You use tattoos to cover up a lack of personality, and a resting bitch face to cover up the fact that your really are a scared little girl on the inside. And an uninformed one, at that.
Let me introduce you to just who it is that I am. My name is Hanari Carnes. The best dressed, the best skilled and the most money in WWHQ. You look like Hot Topic had an unwanted bastard daughter. That is the difference. You're chasing an image, I am creating one. I have the body of a god. If that bra did any more pushups it’d be a navy seal. I have the best smile in the business, chica. Your entire face looks like a pierced clit. Is that a nose ring? Or a pressure release valve for the trailer park cum reservoir you call a mouth. That same mouth that is going to beg me to stop. Plead me to not break your arm, your eyes welled with tears as you scream.
Because the tough ones always scream."
He grins again at the camera, moving closer to it. He had a sick grin on his face. "You have the image of a smack someone in the mouth type of chica. I like that. They make the best victims. What did you say sweetness? The last man who put his hands on you, you ate his liver and fed his corpse to stray dogs. Mmmmm....why does that make what I am about to do so much sweeter? You seem to think I am the entitled one, that I feel like I can do what I want? Honeybun, I can. It is you who has to project a persona in order to be taken seriously. Maybe it is because of your sexuality and the way women are viewed in sports where they compete against men? Or maybe it is due to lack of skill masked by brutish arrogance. Babygirl, you'd have to jump and swing up to hit me in the knees. You know it and I know it. I don't care how good you used to be, or how much you've been practicing. You're stepping into the ring with someone who enjoys making little girls like you squeal. A submission specialist without a heart in his perfectly tanned chest. It makes me smile to break down their spirits and make them question their entire existence. You said you want to take everything that I hold dear? And what exactly is that, chica? If you are going to talk out of the side of your face, you should probably elaborate. I do not hold a title here, at the moment. You won't take my money and you can't take my heritage. So what exactly is it that I hold dear? Or was this just another example of somebody in this company saying something for the sake of saying it? You can look me up sugar, I never tell a lie. I have crippled more people than polio. My track record is rock solid, and the more you talk tough, something else is getting there."He blows a kiss to the camera.
"But before you go all millennial on me, and accuse me of sexual harassment, I am not talking about you. I am not into bestiality, so don't worry. I am talking about the idea of taking your soul out of your body and crushing it under my boot. It makes me hot to think about another ego crushed, especially by a female who seems to think she belongs in a mans world. I will make you submit to me, and I won't even get you breakfast the next morning. Call me what you wish Ms. Winters but there is only one thing you will call me after SILENCE....
Papi."
|
|