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 Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2015 1:49 pm
[Note: This is NOT a segment. This is not something viewable In Character, as it would not make sense. This tale is simply for the people involved; I simply didn't see a better place to post it. Please enjoy.]
"We need a shot of adrenaline now!" The doctor's voice echoed through the room, overpowering the fading pulse of the heart monitor. The beat of the monitor was dropping, a constant reminder to the medical personnel that this man was dying.
That man, laid out in a hospital bed, was Matt Shanahan. As it turned out, the titantron collapsing on him did as much damage as people thought: the bulk of it being internal. His lungs had collapsed, and his heart hadn't faired well after he was crushed under the rubble. Broken bones and fractures could be repaired. His woulds would heal. The scars and bruises that littered his body were only temporary. This was all nothing new to the Hardcore-styled veteran. However, his organs weren't going to cooperate on this matter. Not this time.
Nurses rushed to get the adrenaline shot ready, though the pressure was weighing down harder and harder; each beat of the monitor seemed to come slower and slower.
Slower and slower, unlike Shanahan's career. Within the past few years, The Storm's career had skyrocketed. He was the founder of the most successful faction in WWF:G history, The Outcasts. He held the Hardcore title and was the first to rename it. He managed to beat Kelly King 2.0 in one of the longest Singles matches in WWF:G history. He had managed to win the Royal Rumble in 2014. He became the WWF:G Legacy Champion at the grandest stage in the business. He was 4-0 at Wrestlemania. He was a Hall of Famer. He had achieved more than most would ever dream to.
And it was all at risk, from one freak accident.
With the shot of adrenaline in hand, the doctor pushed the needle into Matt's head and sent the adrenaline running through his veins. They had to keep him alive long enough to get him to surgery, just long enough to hold his lungs into place so that they could try to save his life under a longer time-table.
But the adrenaline wasn't kicking in fast enough.
"Damn it, get me another shot! This man is going to die!" The doctor shouted once more as the pulse of the monitor managed to stop slowing down. While it wasn't dropping, it wasn't picking up speed either. It was in danger of giving out.
"Any more and his heart might give out, sir." A nurse responded, trying her best to remain calm in this matter.
The doctor looked at her with a cold stare, responding rather passionately "If we don't get another shot into this man, his heart isn't going to make i-"
He was cut off by the sound he was afraid to hear. The heart monitor was flat-lining. The remaining traces of life seemed to fade from Shanahan's face and every muscle went lax.
"Damn it! Get the defibrillator!" The doctor's voice cried out...
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Posted: Sun Apr 12, 2015 8:56 am
Matt's eyes opened wide. He stared up at the space above, bright and blinding; but he stared, his gaze unwavering.
He took in a breath, letting the air fill his lungs. The crisp air brought relief to his body, he no longer felt crushed. It was like the weight of the world was finally off his shoulders.
He flexed his hands, making sure they were still intact, before slowly attempting to sit up. To his surprise, he didn't struggle. He didn't feel the pain he was anticipating. He felt better than ever, actually.
He was alive. But should he be? He knew of his fate; he knew he had been crushed under the debris of the titantron. In his few conscious moments afterwards, he felt he was going to die. He knew he would. Yet, here he sat, in his...
... wrestling ring?
Matt's eyes finally began to look around and take note of his surroundings. He wasn't in a hospital bed. No, he was sitting up in the center of a wrestling ring, in some empty arena. He looked around for some sign of what this place might be, but nothing gave it away. There were no promotion banners, no signs, no anything. Just a ring with white ropes and aprons, a sea of empty chairs, and the stage. It seemed Matt had been abandoned in this arena.
Slowly, he began to stand. He noticed he was in his usual attire, trenchcoat and all. The trenchcoat was in pristine condition, not a single tear in sight. His black jeans were also completely intact. He took a moment to put his hands against his torso, feeling for the scars or stitches he was sure to have. There were none.
Was it all in his head? Maybe he hadn't been crushed by the titantron. Maybe he had been sleeping this whole time; it was all just a horrible nightmare. Maybe it all was just a horrible, twisted nightmare. The titantron, the pain, the last waking moments he felt before slipping into unconsciousness. It never happened.
None of it ever happened.
Matt began to step towards the ropes once he was on his feet, taking the time to gaze around the empty arena as he did. "HELLO?!" The Storm boomed out, his deep bass voice echoing off the walls of the empty room. "Is anyone here?!"
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Posted: Wed Apr 15, 2015 7:55 am
Matt's words echoed around the empty arena, clinging to the air around him. Was he alone? Was this finally the end of the journey? In this white hall, at the edge of the ring, all alone, Matt was left to contemplate his existence (or, as it stands, his lack thereof). The titantron had done what many wrestlers couldn't, and defeated him, in the most final of ways.
However, Matt's question would be answered soon enough. A sudden rush of wind blew from the four corners of the squared circle, whistling behind Shanahan's ears. The white arena started to pulsate with an unnatural light, getting brighter with each blinding throb. The ring soon began this strange activity too, from the ring ropes to the apron to the mat on which he stood, until everything was surging with light. Something was happening.
Almost as fast as it began, the light began to fade, until it had returned to how it had been... with one small exception. Behind Matt, on the opposite end of the ring, a ghostly apparition had appeared. It wore a long, flowing coat, as white as clouds on a midsummer day. The mask which covered it's face, however, was not as pure; half was white, but half was a deep, burnt black, with a hole penetrating through the cheek, causing a severe crack through the darkness.
The spirit leaned back, onto the ropes; he seemed very comfortable in the ring, as if he (and it was a he) had spent a lot of time there. He reached up, removing the mask from his face. It revealed a familiar face, to Shanahan at least. He smiled - a sad smile, as if something great had been lost from the world. He stared unwavering at Shanahan, staring in disbelief into the back of his head. Taking a deep breath, he spoke to him, with an almost forgotten voice.
"Not quite alone yet, friend."
The ghost stopped leaning. He took a step forward, towards the centre of the ring, his sad smile stubbornly clinging to his jaw.
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Posted: Wed Apr 15, 2015 11:10 am
Shanahan stood firm in the center of the ring as the wind rushed by his ears. After all, it wasn't the wind that caught his attention; it was how the room was beginning to pulse with light. As the light began to increase to a blinding level, Matt attempted to hide his eyes from whatever source it may be coming from. He kept his arm up in front of his eyes for sparing moments, until the wind began to die down. He could only assume that the lights had returned to normal as well.
He lowered his arm, noting that everything was back to normal. His eyes danced around, looking for some explanation to the phenomenon that had occurred. Something to explain, something to...
Something to explain why he was hearing that voice.
The familiar voice of a long lost friend. One he hadn't truly heard in years. One that he only heard in his nightmares, a voice that haunted him through-out the past couple of years. The one voice that he could never let go of.
Slowly, Matt turned his head over his shoulder, his body following along with the motion. His black eyes searched about, until they landed on the ghost that had suddenly appeared behind him.
The ghost of an old friend, the only plausible source of the voice.
Matt stood stock still in the center, his black eyes glaring at the man before him. A stark contrast, truly; in style, they always were. They looked like complete opposites, with Matt wearing all black and his opposite wearing a pure white coat. The man smiled, albeit halfheartedly, while Matt remained firm in his stone-like expression.
At the sight of this man, others might be flabbergasted. They would praise him, they would exclaim his accomplishments. They would recognize the late legend before them.
Not Shanahan though. He simply stood in silence, glaring right into the eyes of this ghost. He didn't know what to say; he didn't know what to think. To Matt, it was all too clear that his dream wasn't over. After all... he was seeing the ghost of Saint Joey.
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Posted: Sun Apr 19, 2015 10:39 pm
Saint Joey stood, staring at a dumbfounded Shanahan. He took another step closer to his friend, throwing his mask from his hand, down to the mat below. He exhaled through his nose sharply, looking to the ground. He nodded, his lips quivering slightly. His words stuck in his throat. Joey wasn't sure what to say either. What does a man say to those he leaves behind?
"... What? Nothing to say?"
Joey chuckled half-heartedly. This whole situation was absurd, and they both realised that. He swished his coat back, putting his hands on his hips. He almost looked confident, if it wasn't for this intangible frailty which he seemed to exude. Nevertheless, he held his head high.
"Nothing at all? How long has it been? s**t, I can't remember... Your memory tends to go to s**t when you blow your own brains out."
Joey tried to use humour to deflect the situation, as he often had with his friends, but it wasn't sticking. Not this time. A very awkward silence hung in the air, palpable enough to rip open old wounds that had never fully healed. His eyes shuffled to the ground, as keeping eye contact had almost become painful. He tried to laugh, but it was stifled by an inner filter, becoming nothing but a harsh breath.
"... That, err, that was a joke. A joke, Matt. Don't tell me your sense of humour died, too."
Once again, he tried to laugh, his teeth gritted. Nothing emerged. This was... far more awkward than he had anticipated. He looked back at Matt, trying to smile through it.
"You know, I had a match in Hawaii once. Well, sort of. See, Summers and me went into a bar, and-"
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Posted: Mon Apr 20, 2015 6:23 am
Jokes. After all this time, all Joey had for Matt was jokes. Whether or not Matt was truly dead wasn't registering with him anymore, even with Joey trying to make a joke out of what seemed to have been his demise. The Storm's icy glare kept on his former tag partner, unblinking and unwavering. With each joke, his anger was becoming more and more visible in certain aspects. His left eye began to twitch, betraying the stone-cold expression he always maintained. His hands were balling up into tight fists, and nearly vibrating with restraint as Joey fired off joke after joke. To some, it was just the kind of greeting they'd expect from the ol' Saint. To Matt, it was nothing short of insulting.
At the mention of Hawaii, Matt knew where this was going. Another joke. To Joey's credit, it was probably a good one; too bad Shanahan was far from a joking mood. In the middle of his sentence, Matt's right suddenly fired upward, aiming to connect with Joey's jaw in classic Shanahan style, a full blown haymaker.
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Posted: Mon Apr 20, 2015 6:28 am
Crack.
The sound that Matt's fist made against Joey's face was sickening. If there was an audience, they'd be eating it up, ready to see these old allies tear each other to pieces. Joey stumbled backwards, caught by complete surprise mid-sentence. He coughed and spat, clearly feeling the blow. Regaining his footing, he grinned meekly, looking in Shanahan's eyes. He had no intention of firing a blow back. He was still Matt's friend, after all.
"... Alright, maybe I deserved that. You-"
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Posted: Mon Apr 20, 2015 7:17 am
After the blow connected, Matt's anger was magnified rather significantly. His expression finally broke down, his bared teeth and furrowed brow now built into his face. He was shaking with rage, as if he was on the verge of destroying Joey that instant. As the former Alliance member began to speak again, Matt's left fist fired off, aiming to connect with the other side of his jaw. Whether or not it hit, words would finally begin to funnel out of his mouth.
"YOU SELFISH SON OF A b***h!" The Storm roared with a fury only thunder could match. "FOUR YEARS. FOUR LONG YEARS. I've wanted to do that FOUR YEARS. Do you know why? BECAUSE YOU'RE A SELFISH p***k!"
For the first time in years, Matt was practically screaming in rage. Not since Joey's death had he shown any emotion close to this level. If Joey expected otherwise, he clearly hadn't been keeping tabs on Shanahan.
"Do you know what you did to me? Do you know?!" The Storm raged on, his icy, hateful glare focused down onto Joey. "We were gone, Joey! We were a ********' inch from quitting this bullshit of a career! We hated this, and we were gone!" Matt heaved a breath before continuing. Whether or not you needed oxygen when you were dead was beside the point; in his mind, Matt was alive. "Plane tickets were ordered; but no! That wasn't enough for you, was it? You had to go off yourself without considering the people you were ******** over in the process... You didn't think about your best ********' friend! You didn't think that I'd care? You didn't think it'd affect me? ********, you made me into what I am in that goddamn moment! I came back into this bullshit because of you! You did this to me! People call me a monster and it's because of YOU! I severed every ********' tie! Burned every bridge! Do you know when the last time Christina contacted me? Do you know the last time I've had a civil conversation with ANYONE in this business? Even King, I even ******** over him! I broke him, I broke his family, I betrayed the only people that trusted me! BECAUSE. OF. YOU."
Matt heaved another breath, trying to prevent his blood from boiling over in anger. "You abandoned me, you son of a b***h. You were one of the last friends I had, the last real best friend I had. The only one that understood. Without you, no one else mattered either. Christina, the Kings, Marxx, Nova... none of them mattered. None of them understood ME. And you come at me with jokes? You come at me thinking it's all okay? It's NOT! You don't know how I've suffered because of you. You don't know what I've been through. So if this is a dream, you better start ********' praying I wake up, because two punches doesn't make up for four years of trying to figure out why the ******** you did what you did..."
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Posted: Mon Apr 20, 2015 8:51 am
Joey stumbled once more, taking the blow on the chin, another sickening smash of knuckle on bone. The blow was weaker this time, but that didn't matter. It wasn't the punches that hurt, it was a thousand sharp words, each one as painful as any wrestling move that the two had ever been through. Matt's anger was palpable, but Joey understood it. He knew he could never apologise for what he had done - for the irreparable damage he had done to his best friend - and so he never would. He stood, for now, in silence, letting Matt project his pain, until he too fell silent.
On the verge of tears, Joey took a deep breath. He was calm. He always was the calm one of the two; even before, Matt always had a temper. Never quite this angry. Then again, never quite this justified. This wasn't a small slight Matt was talking; this was a life. An intangible value that could never be replaced, and Joey had taken it recklessly. He took a moment, searching for words to say. All of them empty. None of them would mean anything to Matt.
"Okay. No more jokes, then. Fine. Yes. I abandoned you. And my daughters. Both of them. Little Maria would be sixteen, now, and Sarah twelve, probably both beautiful and as full of life as they always were. But I left them. And their damned mother. Along with every single fan I ever got in this ******** abomination of a career. I abandoned all of it. Left everything behind. Why? I don't know. Maybe I was selfish. Just a little. Or maybe my depression had danced its ******** tango in my mind and I just wasn't sure what I was doing anymore. Maybe I couldn't handle being torn between two lives that wanted too ******** much of me, so much that I just couldn't stand either of them anymore. Maybe I just wanted it to stop. So don't sit there, on you ******** high horse, and tell me what pain feels like."
Joey was trying, his voice crumpling with strained anger, but there was no justifying what he did. Not really. He knew this, but he couldn't just stand in silence, listening to his broken friend. He had to do what he couldn't when he was alive. He had to speak up.
"I could have gone with you, Matty. Maybe I could've gotten better. We could have gone, flown for hours and hours, for however many miles, and sat on that beach until we were old, and nobody could remember our names, or what we did. Titles wouldn't matter, or accomplishments, just two friends, reminiscing on old times until our bones began to creak and our bodies were worn down by the waves and sand, like the epilogue to a ******** romance novel. But it wouldn't have lasted. Be realistic, Matt. How long would the money have lasted, huh? Your third option? It wasn't an option. Not really. Christ, I was already out of it, and my b***h of a wife would've taken me for everything I had if I upped and left her and the kids. And, even beyond all that, do you really think you'd have just sat there, day by day, doing nothing? You don't have it in you. You'd have upped and ran back to the ring before we'd even seen our first sunset."
Joey took a step closer to Matt, his voice beginning to rise in force, hoping his words were sinking in, making some kind of sense to him. It was a hard sell - he could see it in Matt's eyes that he was in anguish. The words were probably just bouncing off him. But that was fair. After all this time, words were never going to heal anything. Not really.
"Matt, you have too much fight in you. Far, far too much. You could have left at any time after I died. Any time. But you didn't! Nobody forced you to fight, to argue, to push your way back to the top of this ******** world, but you did it anyway. Sure, maybe you weren't in your right mind - and of all people I'm not gonna be the one to lecture you on that - but you did it anyway. Four years, and you're still ******** going, still nearly dying every damn show. Hell, look where we are now. Even your own personal purgatory is a ******** wrestling ring. You'll never walk away from this. Not even in your own ******** death."
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Posted: Mon Apr 20, 2015 10:18 am
"What choice did I have?!" Matt finally roared back at Joey, showing that he had heard enough of his friend's rebuttal. "When you died, what did I have left?! Who stayed in my life, Joey? No one! That's who!"
He remained silent for a long moment, but the anger was still clear on his face. The rage that boiled for years was spilling out, and there was no controlling it at this point. When he spoke again, he didn't shout. He tried his earnest to contain himself.
"We had options. We could've got away from this. You could've worked it out with your wife, hell, I would've been there to help. I was always there to help. I was always a ******** call away. Hell, we talked the night before! You wanna tell me you knew pain? Your two lives were too hard to balance? Your daughters, your friends, the life you had before you? It was all too much? That's bullshit! Live my ONE life, Joey!" Matt's voice finally cracked into another roar; clearly, he failed at controlling himself at this point. "Step into my shoes! Step into them for just a minute, if you could! See a day in my life, in the past four years. See what it feels like, to be left completely alone. See the pain that weighs on me everyday. The friends that called me a brother, the kids that called me an uncle, everyone that's ever felt anything for me... Gone. If I didn't push them away, they pushed me. I don't have the option of choosing a life, Joey. I don't have options! I AM this! That's what you left me! You left me to this life! The day you died, this is what I saw!" Matt's arms went wide, motioning around him to prove his point. "This is what I saw when I closed my eyes. This is what I saw in my dreams; welcome to my nightmare! Every night, I see this! Every time I'm in the ring, this is how it is for me! Just me and the lights, because that's all that's left in my life, Joey! This is no purgatory!... This is my Hell."
His arms fell to his side, silence slowly creeping over them once more. That is, until Matt's lips parted one more time, "... And now this is my final stop, I assume."
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Posted: Sun May 17, 2015 3:55 pm
Joey pursed his lips as he looked at the ceiling, taking a step away from Shanahan. He turned to the side, slightly away from him, looking at the lights that Matt had grown to hate so much. The lights at the end of the tunnel. The last stop. He was almost in tears, but he did not grow to anger, as Matt had done. His was a refined sadness, one which he had lost the right to express through his actions. He bit his tongue.
"... Looks that way."
He took a deep breath, shaking his head. It would seem his eyes had begun to ache from the brightness, as he lowered his head, squinting at the floor beneath his feet.
"So... here it ends. Two dead friends, and not a beer between them. Should have gone to that ******** beach. At least there'd be liquor."
His head twisted towards Matt, as he looked into his friend's eyes.
"Weird to think this all comes back to me. I mean, it has been a while. Hell, I knew Legacy. Trained the b*****d, sort of. Weird to think it's him that put you down. Well, that and a ton of steel and glass. Always thought it'd take more then that to do it, but here we are."
He sighed. A moment's respite. He wasn't sure what he was saying anymore. The words weren't forming in his head. Only two, burning their way to the forefront. Finally, they burst through the barrier of pride, and gently wandered towards his friend.
"... I'm sorry, Matt. For everything. I truly am. I didn't know this is where you'd end up. I didn't know it was all so wrong, not then. We're men, and you know the burden of it. We don't speak about our problems, not to anyone. You didn't know mine, and I didn't know yours. All this talk of friendship, and through it all, in the end, we both failed. I'm sorry, Matt. So, so sorry. If I could go back? In a heartbeat. We'd be on that beach, with a new life and clearer heads, marred by alcohol and not life's doubts. But it can't be that way. That's not how my book closed, and it's not how your story has ended, either."
Walking a few steps forward, Joey's face became blank. He raised his arm, placing it on Matt's shoulder. A cold, dead touch, warmed with intention.
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Posted: Mon May 18, 2015 4:16 pm
"Heh... not much that can be done now," Matt muttered in response, his eyes casting down to look down at his shorter, deceased best friend.
"We're here. Whether or not we belong is questionable... I dunno what your little slice of afterlife looks like, but this... mine... is Hell. I always figured when I died, it would be a little more... peaceful. In my sleep or something. Not on a stage, in front of thousands. Not under a destroyed titantron. To think, I was planning on retiring after that match..."
Matt slowly looked back up to the lights, his black eyes glaring at them without a single care to how bright they were. He was used to them. "And now, I'll dry out under these lights for the rest of time, right? An eternity to think of the 'what ifs...', a lifetime to consider where I could've changed paths.... where we could've avoided all of this. I'm sorry too, Joey..."
Shanahan lifted his arm and placed it on Joey's free shoulder, letting a rare smirk appear on his lips afterwards. "I'm sorry we aren't at least on a beach in this damnation... it would've been more bearable with a few beers, aye?"
A quiet chuckle left Matt's lips, but it wasn't heartfelt. The look in his eyes showed that he resented something still. He was not at ease in this afterlife. "It should've taken a lot more to put us down. Neither of us should be here, but... we are. Just a goddamn shame such a little brat is the one that ended my life. Not even someone worthy of mentioning... what a ********' joke..."
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Posted: Wed May 20, 2015 4:44 pm
"Ha!"
Joey chortled in disbelief. He listened to every word Matt said, sure, but he didn't quite believe it all.
"Wise words from the dead; everywhere is better with a few beers. There's got to be a pub somewhere in Hell. If not, maybe in purgatory, seeing as I imagine it's a great place for one of those 'tests of will' godly folk are so fond of. Might get a few burns looking for it, and the hangover sure isn't going to be pretty... but hey, what can you do?"
Joey chuckled, wholeheartedly. The situation wasn't as dire as Matt thought it was. Not yet, anyway. It's not all doom and gloom in the afterlife. However, it was abruptly cancelled with disbelief. LEGACY, ha. Joey always thought that s**t would have scarpered as soon as he got a taste of the roughness, but apparently he was a harder man than he thought.
"Seriously though, Matt. You're right. It's not right, that b*****d ending your life like he earned something. ********. If anybody was gonna kill you, I had money on King. That or other causes. Ours is not a life to end in old age. As... well, as we can both attest to now, I guess. Still. Titantron. Wow. Didn't see that one coming. Fancier than a gun, I reckon. More expensive, at least."
Joey's face twisted into a grin. There was one thought which did make him a little at ease over the whole thing. A mischievous thought.
"Hehe. I bet that b*****d Jed is ******** livid. F:G's got to have had a share of lawsuits, this aint gonna help him. ******** gonna die of a heart attack."
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Posted: Wed May 20, 2015 4:49 pm
Matt remained silent for the majority of Joey's banter, merely giving his old a smirk. Something that hadn't been seen on his face since probably Royal Rumble 2013. He'd changed a lot over the years. The rage of how his life had spiraled had gotten to him. But here, he knew it was over. There wasn't much to be angry about anymore.
"King killing me... now -that- is a joke..." Matt muttered, almost to himself. "Can't say I didn't cost the company a pretty penny on my exit, I suppose. I'm sure someone will sue over that; but Jed won't be footing the bill. He's been long gone, just like you. Retired. It's in the hands of some... Salem Croft now."
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Posted: Wed May 20, 2015 4:57 pm
Joey stood a moment, taken aback, silent.
"Jed? Retired? Well I'll be. Can't say it wasn't overdue... huh. Shame that."
A quizzical look suddenly formed on his face.
"... Who the <******** is Salem Croft?
Well, never mind that, I guess. Not that it matters now. Poor sod was probably waving to his friend at the auction, eh? Daft git. God help whoever takes over that dump."
Before Joey even finished with his tangential thoughts, the ring suddenly dropped into a thick, cold darkness. A few seconds passed. A rumble. A hiss. Then, from afar, a bright light...
From the entrance, at the top of the ramp, a light was shining. What would in any ordinary arena be the curtains was now a shining wall of light, illuminating the arena where the Angered Alliance stood. Joey shielded his eyes, blinded by the sudden burst of bright white rays. Honestly, this was new to him.
"I'm going to be honest here, Matt... I'm not entirely sure what that is."
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