Where Lost Things Go (vs. Ronnie)
Jul 28, 2023 18:29:10 GMT
JJ Slayer, daturawashere, and 1 more like this
Post by Max f'n Daemon on Jul 28, 2023 18:29:10 GMT
Max Daemon approaches the abandoned building with all the noise of a man who cares little about his own wellbeing, especially given all the abandoned assault vehicles strewn about the facility's parking lot.
Max pays them little mind as the smoke from his cigarette surrounds his face. His eyes lock on the door to the facility in front of him.
When trying the door the correct way yields no results, Max pulls out his two pistols and fires a pair of bullets into the glass. Using the pistols, he removes any remaining dangers before proceeding into the building.
Any idea where you’re going, by the way, or should I just continue narrating?
“Dealer’s choice,” Max says.
Whatever.
Max glances around a bit before his eyes lock on a directory.
After seemingly locating his intended destination, Max heads towards the elevator.
What are the chances the power to this place is still running?
“Doesn’t matter,” Max says.
And why is that?
Max grabs the elevator doors and starts pulling them open. It takes a bit more effort than he wanted, but eventually, the doors separate, revealing an open elevator shaft. One look down and he sees the elevator in question. One look up and he sees his target.
“Because the place we’re headed wouldn’t be in the elevator anyway.”
What makes you say that?
“The directory lists less floors up than the shaft has. There’s a very good chance we need a key or some shit ta’ get where we’re goin, somethin we're clearly missin. Now, shut up for a bit, I have ta’ climb up the hard way.”
With a beleaguered exhale of breath, Max spits the cigarette onto the carpeted floor. He stomps on it as he enters into what looks like a conference room given the oval-shaped table surrounded by rolling office chairs. A large window in the back gives a good view of the facility’s main gate.
Wow, talk about a god complex.
“That seems like an understatement.”
Worst part is I’ve seen ominous and illboding shit like this before.
“How bad was it?”
Max glances around the room to try and find something resembling…anything.
Alien crystals, megalomaniacal ruler who might’ve been a deity or alien, full control over people that might’ve bordered on actual mind control…dude was a whacko, but my Character was too blinded by his goal to see it.
“Sounds like ya’ve been a busy boy.”
Yeah, no shit.
Heads up, suspicious light at 9 o’clock.
“Isn’t that 3 o’clock?”
Alright, smart-ass…
Max approaches a wall where a small stream of light is pouring out of the bottom. That alone is enough to be wary, but combined with the existence of active electricity and it’s enough to warrant investigation.
He looks around the wall for a few moments before finding something suspicious, mainly a picture on the wall.
The only picture in the room.
Ooh, time to figure out how to open the secret wall door?
“Nah.”
Max grabs a nearby rolling chair and tosses it at the wall. The dry wall collapses, but not enough to break through. He grabs another of the rolling chairs around the conference table before chucking it at the same spot.
That yields results if the light that brightens up the room is any indication.
Well that’s disappointing.
Max rolls his eyes and sends his boot through the hole. After swiping and punching at the wall, there’s enough room to climb through.
The room with the working electricity isn’t dissimilar to the lab he found at the other facility. This one, however, is still active if the beeps and sounds of the various machines and servers against the wall is anything to consider.
Max’s eyes lock on a clear helmet sitting on a metal table.
Oh that’s convenient…
“Do me a favor and pour some near omniscience onta' me: what am I lookin at?”
A helmet.
Max just continues to stare at said helmet, his face noticeably lacking in any emotion.
Right, fair.
“Try again.”
What are you looking for here? It’s a glass helmet. You’re in a glass helmet match coming up. Honestly, that alone would ring suspicious.
By the way, why are we here again?
“Just because Johnny-boy gave up the ghost on this shit, doesn’t mean I need ta’.”
Please, we both know you’re too selfish to give a shit about anything as silly as morals.
“And ya’d be right. They’ve got my blood. They’re clearly more than they present themselves as. On top of makin sure what kinda fucky experiments my blood is gonna be a part of, I also wanna know what kinda shit they’re hands are also inta’. Shit man, a glass helmet alone is enough ta’ raise eyebrows, right?”
Honestly I assumed Cas was just a crazy bastard.
“Being chaotic neutral is fine. But Cas ain’t that. There’s a motive.”
So…what, you think his sponsors or whatever you call the people keeping him in check have ulterior motives?
“No shit, genius.”
I honestly just think you’re looking too deeply here.
“Ya’ start findin somethin hard enough, you’ll find something in anythin.”
Oh how profound. I bow to your silver tongue.
“Oh, shut up.”
Fuck off, Heather.
“What?”
Sorry, instinct.
“Besides, I know there’s more goin on than is obvious.”
Really, what brings that to your attention?
“That blue glow seems awfully fuckin suspicious.”
What, as suspicious as finding a glass helmet before a match involving a gla—
Wait, hold up, what blue glow?
Max takes a few steps towards a table. A computer sits next to it. Said computer is active, albeit on a screensaver from the 90s. The colorful maze one that’s fun to follow.
“Focus.”
Right, sorry.
The computer tower next to it isn’t too far off from the thick-ass monitor, but the blue glow that ebbs in and out from it is ominous.
And familiar.
“What color were those alien crystals ya’ mentioned?”
Take a fucking guess.
Max lets out a sigh, scratching the side of his head in exasperation.
“The chances of this havin anythin ta’ do with my blood is low. More than likely this is independent ta’ what I’m lookin for. But…”
The fact that we’ve got the glass helmet and these blue crystals in the same facility also owned by those who’ve got your blood…?
“We’re lookin at some pretty fuckin convenient coincidences.”
Are we following Sherlock rules or Poirot rules?
“Poirot, naturally.”
Max starts clicking on the computer, doing some digging.
One coincidence is just a coincidence…
Max looks at the file explorer and immediately come across a folder labeled ‘Results.’
“…two coincidences are a clue…”
When it opens, many files open. Their names indicate a wrestler on the CU:LT roster, a letter, probably indicating a blood type, a date of creation, and the positive or negative indications of the results.
“…three coincidences are proof.” the two state at the same time.
Max quickly scrolls through to find his own file, marked as such to indicate results from the first Pint of Blood Match.
The last word reads ‘inconclusive.’
With a grimace, Max opens the file, but before he can read anything further, the computer glitches.
“What the…?”
It glitches again, and before Max can try and recover, the computer screen turns black.
A familiar giggle reaches his ears.
Oh neat the schoolgirl is interdimensional.
A face hits the screen for a brief moment, but it’s enough for Max to let out a sigh.
“Well, whatever info there is, either she doesn’t want us ta' find it…”
…or she’s leading us further into it.
“Neither option is terribly good for us.”
A soft clank echoes throughout the room. Max turns his head towards the source immediately, eyes focusing on the placement of a hard drive on the metal table, next to the helmet.
“Wanna bet on the latter?”
Sure…?
Max approaches the table, grabbing the hard drive and stuffing it in a pocket in his jacket. He then turns back towards the computer tower. He fires a couple shots of his pistols at it.
Whoa!
Once the computer is off, Max rips it off the table, slamming it on the floor. With it sufficiently ruined and destroyed, Max reaches into a cracked open portion of it, pulling out the source of the glow.
A blue crystal.
It continues to glow, ebbing in and out suspiciously.
Wouldn’t recommend that.
“Hey man, I’ve got people of my own who could investigate this.”
What, you taking the helmet too?
Max puts said helmet under his arm as he approaches the hole in the wall.
“Yep.”
I sigh.
Max places the hard drive, the glass helmet, and the blue glowing crystal on the hotel table. He looks at them a few moments before tapping on the glass helmet.
“Fragile.”
No shit, it’s glass.
“Yeah, but why make something as…unnecessary and counterintuitive as a glass fuckin helmet?”
Says the wrestler in an unnecessary and counterintuitive glass fuckin helmet match.
“Alright, point taken.”
Cas is an evil genius—
“Ehhhh…”
Okay, he’s a sadist, whatever. Point is: he’s creative in disturbing ways. There’s just as much chance this was made specifically for a match as fucked up as this one as there is that these are secretly like…helmets for war, or some shit.
“The match isn’t even that fucked up.”
Compared to?
“The guy who drank the pint of blood last week.”
Two pints, actually…
“Case in point…”
Yeah, fair.
“Ronnie's gotten bold since winnin the Snuff Title. I get why, it’s a title ya’ have ta’ put your body and blood on the line every week just ta' hold. But like…in her confident rush ta’ face and defeat any opponent, she’s forgotten somethin pretty fuckin important.”
Oh, what might that be, oh arrogant one?
“I’m Max fuckin Daemon.”
………what?
“One of the sickest, most dedicated people on this entire roster. Driftwood likes ta’ boast, but that’s all that is: boasts. I’ve got the scars on my body and logo over my heart ta’ prove myself. Ronnie’s got a few specialty deathmatches under her belt and suddenly she’s a Queen or Carnage or some shit? Bitch hasn’t proven herself against a real deathmatch, hardcore fuck.”
And that’s you?
“No shit, it’s me. I’ve gone ta’ war with a lot of this roster, and even if the results haven’t been ta’ my likin lately, it’s undeniable that I’ve driven each and every one of those motherfuckers to their absolute limit. Ronnie’s got heart, spunk, and hardcore spirit, but spirit and spunk won’t mean much once that first glass pierces your face. It’s a shame really. She’s got a pretty face…”
Bro.
“Relax. I’m fine with a bit of scars on a woman.”
Bro.
“I’ve got survival instincts for days. A lot of what people hit me with that they’re confident are match enders often end with me kickin out. Besides, I’ve taken glass shards to the face before. Taipei Deathmatch ring a bell?”
Yeah, to Ronnie too.
“Fair, but I had it against Driftwood, and still walked out the other side smirkin. Somethin tells me Chester Roosevelt doesn’t compare ta’ a guy like JD.”
If you say so…
“Ronnie will fight. She will scratch and claw ta’ break this helmet against my head. She might even succeed. But I’m fightin ta’ keep this blood inside and free from their hands.”
That…would explain the glass part.
“It’s easy for blood ta’ appear with glass. It’s even easier for blood ta’ stick ta’ it.”
Shit, they’re good.
“Not really…”
So why play into their hands?
“I don’t have much other option. Besides, a win is a fuckin win, right?”
Oh, you ready to talk about Downfall?
“Nothin ta’ talk about.”
Okay, how about our supernatural, interdimensional stalker?
Max narrows his eyes, focusing on the hard drive.
With a grimace, he grabs it and puts it back in the pocket of his jacket.
“Later. Tell me about that Character ya’ narrated for last.”
Fine I’ll take the change of subject.
He was a loner who was focused on one goal: returning to the same dimension as his brother. He was obsessed with finding a way out in a dimension that otherwise wouldn’t allow it. He started following the word of somebody who could provide the means, but at the cost of…a lot of things, actually.
I was, and still am convinced that he was a villain in his original dimension, thus his tendency towards this guy.
“The guy who thought he was a deity…”
Yeah.
Him.
Max pulls out his pistols and fires two shots at the helmet.
It doesn’t shatter.
Oh that’s interesting.
Max lets a remnant of a smirk show for a few moments. He puts the pistols back in his pants pocket before grabbing the blue glowing crystal.
“I don’t know how these are related, but it looks like we’ll be doin some more diggin.”
More mysteries. Wonderful.
What about the helmet?
“A prototype, maybe? Or perhaps Cas’ handlers are preparin for somethin.”
What, like a war?
“Or a battle…”
A thought passes through his brain and he scowls.
“Or somethin more fucked up than anythin he’s come up with so far.”
And you think you might be involved with it?
“Whether he intends me ta’ be or not…?”
Oh, you’re a disruptive little bastard aren’t you?
“They’ve got my blood. Until I find out why, I’m gonna be as disruptive as possible. And if what we can find on that hard drive is anythin as bad as I can imagine…? Well, then let’s just say I’d be willin ta’ start a war, whether they want one or not.”
Max pays them little mind as the smoke from his cigarette surrounds his face. His eyes lock on the door to the facility in front of him.
When trying the door the correct way yields no results, Max pulls out his two pistols and fires a pair of bullets into the glass. Using the pistols, he removes any remaining dangers before proceeding into the building.
Any idea where you’re going, by the way, or should I just continue narrating?
“Dealer’s choice,” Max says.
Whatever.
Max glances around a bit before his eyes lock on a directory.
After seemingly locating his intended destination, Max heads towards the elevator.
What are the chances the power to this place is still running?
“Doesn’t matter,” Max says.
And why is that?
Max grabs the elevator doors and starts pulling them open. It takes a bit more effort than he wanted, but eventually, the doors separate, revealing an open elevator shaft. One look down and he sees the elevator in question. One look up and he sees his target.
“Because the place we’re headed wouldn’t be in the elevator anyway.”
What makes you say that?
“The directory lists less floors up than the shaft has. There’s a very good chance we need a key or some shit ta’ get where we’re goin, somethin we're clearly missin. Now, shut up for a bit, I have ta’ climb up the hard way.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Wow, talk about a god complex.
“That seems like an understatement.”
Worst part is I’ve seen ominous and illboding shit like this before.
“How bad was it?”
Max glances around the room to try and find something resembling…anything.
Alien crystals, megalomaniacal ruler who might’ve been a deity or alien, full control over people that might’ve bordered on actual mind control…dude was a whacko, but my Character was too blinded by his goal to see it.
“Sounds like ya’ve been a busy boy.”
Yeah, no shit.
Heads up, suspicious light at 9 o’clock.
“Isn’t that 3 o’clock?”
Alright, smart-ass…
Max approaches a wall where a small stream of light is pouring out of the bottom. That alone is enough to be wary, but combined with the existence of active electricity and it’s enough to warrant investigation.
He looks around the wall for a few moments before finding something suspicious, mainly a picture on the wall.
The only picture in the room.
Ooh, time to figure out how to open the secret wall door?
“Nah.”
Max grabs a nearby rolling chair and tosses it at the wall. The dry wall collapses, but not enough to break through. He grabs another of the rolling chairs around the conference table before chucking it at the same spot.
That yields results if the light that brightens up the room is any indication.
Well that’s disappointing.
Max rolls his eyes and sends his boot through the hole. After swiping and punching at the wall, there’s enough room to climb through.
The room with the working electricity isn’t dissimilar to the lab he found at the other facility. This one, however, is still active if the beeps and sounds of the various machines and servers against the wall is anything to consider.
Max’s eyes lock on a clear helmet sitting on a metal table.
Oh that’s convenient…
“Do me a favor and pour some near omniscience onta' me: what am I lookin at?”
A helmet.
Max just continues to stare at said helmet, his face noticeably lacking in any emotion.
Right, fair.
“Try again.”
What are you looking for here? It’s a glass helmet. You’re in a glass helmet match coming up. Honestly, that alone would ring suspicious.
By the way, why are we here again?
“Just because Johnny-boy gave up the ghost on this shit, doesn’t mean I need ta’.”
Please, we both know you’re too selfish to give a shit about anything as silly as morals.
“And ya’d be right. They’ve got my blood. They’re clearly more than they present themselves as. On top of makin sure what kinda fucky experiments my blood is gonna be a part of, I also wanna know what kinda shit they’re hands are also inta’. Shit man, a glass helmet alone is enough ta’ raise eyebrows, right?”
Honestly I assumed Cas was just a crazy bastard.
“Being chaotic neutral is fine. But Cas ain’t that. There’s a motive.”
So…what, you think his sponsors or whatever you call the people keeping him in check have ulterior motives?
“No shit, genius.”
I honestly just think you’re looking too deeply here.
“Ya’ start findin somethin hard enough, you’ll find something in anythin.”
Oh how profound. I bow to your silver tongue.
“Oh, shut up.”
Fuck off, Heather.
“What?”
Sorry, instinct.
“Besides, I know there’s more goin on than is obvious.”
Really, what brings that to your attention?
“That blue glow seems awfully fuckin suspicious.”
What, as suspicious as finding a glass helmet before a match involving a gla—
Wait, hold up, what blue glow?
Max takes a few steps towards a table. A computer sits next to it. Said computer is active, albeit on a screensaver from the 90s. The colorful maze one that’s fun to follow.
“Focus.”
Right, sorry.
The computer tower next to it isn’t too far off from the thick-ass monitor, but the blue glow that ebbs in and out from it is ominous.
And familiar.
“What color were those alien crystals ya’ mentioned?”
Take a fucking guess.
Max lets out a sigh, scratching the side of his head in exasperation.
“The chances of this havin anythin ta’ do with my blood is low. More than likely this is independent ta’ what I’m lookin for. But…”
The fact that we’ve got the glass helmet and these blue crystals in the same facility also owned by those who’ve got your blood…?
“We’re lookin at some pretty fuckin convenient coincidences.”
Are we following Sherlock rules or Poirot rules?
“Poirot, naturally.”
Max starts clicking on the computer, doing some digging.
One coincidence is just a coincidence…
Max looks at the file explorer and immediately come across a folder labeled ‘Results.’
“…two coincidences are a clue…”
When it opens, many files open. Their names indicate a wrestler on the CU:LT roster, a letter, probably indicating a blood type, a date of creation, and the positive or negative indications of the results.
“…three coincidences are proof.” the two state at the same time.
Max quickly scrolls through to find his own file, marked as such to indicate results from the first Pint of Blood Match.
The last word reads ‘inconclusive.’
With a grimace, Max opens the file, but before he can read anything further, the computer glitches.
“What the…?”
It glitches again, and before Max can try and recover, the computer screen turns black.
A familiar giggle reaches his ears.
Oh neat the schoolgirl is interdimensional.
A face hits the screen for a brief moment, but it’s enough for Max to let out a sigh.
“Well, whatever info there is, either she doesn’t want us ta' find it…”
…or she’s leading us further into it.
“Neither option is terribly good for us.”
A soft clank echoes throughout the room. Max turns his head towards the source immediately, eyes focusing on the placement of a hard drive on the metal table, next to the helmet.
“Wanna bet on the latter?”
Sure…?
Max approaches the table, grabbing the hard drive and stuffing it in a pocket in his jacket. He then turns back towards the computer tower. He fires a couple shots of his pistols at it.
Whoa!
Once the computer is off, Max rips it off the table, slamming it on the floor. With it sufficiently ruined and destroyed, Max reaches into a cracked open portion of it, pulling out the source of the glow.
A blue crystal.
It continues to glow, ebbing in and out suspiciously.
Wouldn’t recommend that.
“Hey man, I’ve got people of my own who could investigate this.”
What, you taking the helmet too?
Max puts said helmet under his arm as he approaches the hole in the wall.
“Yep.”
I sigh.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Fragile.”
No shit, it’s glass.
“Yeah, but why make something as…unnecessary and counterintuitive as a glass fuckin helmet?”
Says the wrestler in an unnecessary and counterintuitive glass fuckin helmet match.
“Alright, point taken.”
Cas is an evil genius—
“Ehhhh…”
Okay, he’s a sadist, whatever. Point is: he’s creative in disturbing ways. There’s just as much chance this was made specifically for a match as fucked up as this one as there is that these are secretly like…helmets for war, or some shit.
“The match isn’t even that fucked up.”
Compared to?
“The guy who drank the pint of blood last week.”
Two pints, actually…
“Case in point…”
Yeah, fair.
“Ronnie's gotten bold since winnin the Snuff Title. I get why, it’s a title ya’ have ta’ put your body and blood on the line every week just ta' hold. But like…in her confident rush ta’ face and defeat any opponent, she’s forgotten somethin pretty fuckin important.”
Oh, what might that be, oh arrogant one?
“I’m Max fuckin Daemon.”
………what?
“One of the sickest, most dedicated people on this entire roster. Driftwood likes ta’ boast, but that’s all that is: boasts. I’ve got the scars on my body and logo over my heart ta’ prove myself. Ronnie’s got a few specialty deathmatches under her belt and suddenly she’s a Queen or Carnage or some shit? Bitch hasn’t proven herself against a real deathmatch, hardcore fuck.”
And that’s you?
“No shit, it’s me. I’ve gone ta’ war with a lot of this roster, and even if the results haven’t been ta’ my likin lately, it’s undeniable that I’ve driven each and every one of those motherfuckers to their absolute limit. Ronnie’s got heart, spunk, and hardcore spirit, but spirit and spunk won’t mean much once that first glass pierces your face. It’s a shame really. She’s got a pretty face…”
Bro.
“Relax. I’m fine with a bit of scars on a woman.”
Bro.
“I’ve got survival instincts for days. A lot of what people hit me with that they’re confident are match enders often end with me kickin out. Besides, I’ve taken glass shards to the face before. Taipei Deathmatch ring a bell?”
Yeah, to Ronnie too.
“Fair, but I had it against Driftwood, and still walked out the other side smirkin. Somethin tells me Chester Roosevelt doesn’t compare ta’ a guy like JD.”
If you say so…
“Ronnie will fight. She will scratch and claw ta’ break this helmet against my head. She might even succeed. But I’m fightin ta’ keep this blood inside and free from their hands.”
That…would explain the glass part.
“It’s easy for blood ta’ appear with glass. It’s even easier for blood ta’ stick ta’ it.”
Shit, they’re good.
“Not really…”
So why play into their hands?
“I don’t have much other option. Besides, a win is a fuckin win, right?”
Oh, you ready to talk about Downfall?
“Nothin ta’ talk about.”
Okay, how about our supernatural, interdimensional stalker?
Max narrows his eyes, focusing on the hard drive.
With a grimace, he grabs it and puts it back in the pocket of his jacket.
“Later. Tell me about that Character ya’ narrated for last.”
Fine I’ll take the change of subject.
He was a loner who was focused on one goal: returning to the same dimension as his brother. He was obsessed with finding a way out in a dimension that otherwise wouldn’t allow it. He started following the word of somebody who could provide the means, but at the cost of…a lot of things, actually.
I was, and still am convinced that he was a villain in his original dimension, thus his tendency towards this guy.
“The guy who thought he was a deity…”
Yeah.
Him.
Max pulls out his pistols and fires two shots at the helmet.
It doesn’t shatter.
Oh that’s interesting.
Max lets a remnant of a smirk show for a few moments. He puts the pistols back in his pants pocket before grabbing the blue glowing crystal.
“I don’t know how these are related, but it looks like we’ll be doin some more diggin.”
More mysteries. Wonderful.
What about the helmet?
“A prototype, maybe? Or perhaps Cas’ handlers are preparin for somethin.”
What, like a war?
“Or a battle…”
A thought passes through his brain and he scowls.
“Or somethin more fucked up than anythin he’s come up with so far.”
And you think you might be involved with it?
“Whether he intends me ta’ be or not…?”
Oh, you’re a disruptive little bastard aren’t you?
“They’ve got my blood. Until I find out why, I’m gonna be as disruptive as possible. And if what we can find on that hard drive is anythin as bad as I can imagine…? Well, then let’s just say I’d be willin ta’ start a war, whether they want one or not.”
