02-06-2019, 11:17 AM
OOC: Storyline-driven RP here. Good luck!
“I remember everything.
I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday.
Funny, is it not? To be so certain, so sure, of something only to be told that it was all an illusion. I am told this is a space where I can let out my innermost thoughts, but I feel now like my innermost thoughts are not my own… at least that is what I am being led to believe.
I am being told that everything since February 17, 2008, has been nothing but an elaborate lie designed to satiate me into obsolescence? Safety? I cannot be entirely certain what goal was being pursued at the time. I am told I was seeking a greater peace of mind. But I do not believe that. I am told that today I exhibit signs of paranoia, of megalomania… of seeing things and believing things that are not simply… real.
THEY ARE FUCKING LYING TO ME!
No… no… I did not mean to raise my voice there. There is no need to issue further sedation. I am just…
I remember it all.
I remember it all so vividly… with such clarity. I remember Brian Kinney… Brian Kinney taking advantage of my grieving state to capitalize and RIP the SCW World Championship from my grip. Brian Kinney seeking to avenge his own misfortune at my hands by liberating the title from me and succeeding. I remember ruling the Underground until Shyne did similarly. I remember setting myself on fire to make a point to Greg Cherry. I remember Sparkles… I remember mutilating that concoction of felt and stuffing to the point it was unrecognizable.
I remember Kennedy Street… her father’s attempts at buying me off to take my own daughter who had been taken from me…
Perhaps I am a monster. Perhaps I do belong in an institution like this… but not like this… not now…
Someone is going to pay DEARLY for this…”
-------------------------------------
The scene opens up inside a dark office. As the Doctor – currently treating Damian Angel after over a decade of delusions and psychotics – enters the path, she becomes immediately aware of another presence within the room.
Doctor: “You know you cannot sneak up on me. This is my building, after all.”
She turns the light on, coolly spotting Katya D. sitting in the seat opposite her own. Katya turns and smiles.
Katya: “I just wanted to check in on our mutual arrangement.”
Doctor: “Subject 667?”
Katya laughs.
Katya: “That’s clever… “667” – one off from the Devil. That ought to twist Damian up.”
Doctor: “Look, I’m doing this as a favour to the world. I have seen what Subject 667 is capable of first-hand. I was sitting there in the crowd the night he set himself on fire. He’s a mentally disturbed man.”
Katya: “Oh, I understand that. Which is why I brought him to you. And your work has begun yielding results. I don’t know how you broke the other three into your illusion so easily…”
The Doctor laughs this time, shaking her head as she passes around her desk.
Doctor: “Please… Malphas, Behemoth, and Kali? They’re idiots. Their simple minds were simply fish in a barrel. But Subject 667? He’s different. He’s…”
Katya: ““The Devil Himself”… yes, we all know the hype.”
Doctor: “I don’t think he sees it as hype. I think he truly believes that he is the physical manifestation of the Lord of Hell.”
Katya: “All the more reason he should be here then. He took a creative gimmick and bought into it so deeply that he believes himself an ethereal being.”
The Doctor shakes her head, leaning forward as she sits in her chair.
Doctor: “I don’t believe that.”
Katya again laugh, this time with a sense of blatant skepticism in her voice.
Katya: “You don’t mean to tell me that you believe his delusions.”
Doctor: “No… not that. I don’t believe he took it as a gimmick. When he signed under your employment some 12 years ago…”
Katya: “13 years, actually… lucky number 13.”
Doctor: “Whenever it was… when he signed with SCW, I don’t believe that he considered what he was doing an act. In the time I have spent here with Dam… with Subject 667… I think he took his real world into SCW and let it unfurl there. I believe he truly believes the things he says and, as such, as forced himself into SCW’s consciousness.”
Katya nods, sitting back in her own chair as she digests the information.
Doctor: “Damian doesn’t display the classic signs of delusional behaviour. He doesn’t latch onto conspiracy theories or talk about things in front of him as though they represented something different than they are. He is entirely cognizant of what is in front of him and what it means. He just has a bigger position for himself in the world. It’s probably what brought him to professional wrestling in the first place. It’s tailor-made for people who see them bigger than the entire picture.”
Katya: “Watch what you’re saying, Doctor.”
The Doctor holds her hands up in self-defence.
Doctor: “I mean no disrespect, but look at what happens. People fight over gold-plated cummerbunds… they obsess over them. They…”
Katya: “ENOUGH!”
Katya slams a fist on the desk as she stands up, before catching herself and smiling.
Katya: “As I said… there are some good people.”
Doctor: “Maybe so… but that’s not what’s important here. Speaking of which… why are you here, Miss D.?”
Katya: “I’m seeking a regular progress report on Damian. Alex thinks it’s a good idea to keep tabs on our more… dangerous subjects. You know, so we can anticipate any uncouth behaviour and cut it off at the pass before it becomes a problem.”
Doctor: “Well, there’s nothing of note to report. He’s still resistant to the new information being given. His mind is still too strong.”
Kayta: “I’m not paying you to simply give him new information. I’m paying you to break his mind and maybe, just maybe, afford me something of an insurance policy.”
The Doctor shakes her head, attempting to reconcile what she is being told with what she had previously been told.
Doctor: “I thought you just wanted to break him.”
Katya: “I do. Break him, so we can then rebuild him into a loyal soldier. Do you think you are capable of that? Or am I wasting my time with you?”
Doctor: “No…”
The Doctor attempts to alleviate Katya’s fears.
Doctor: “No… I can do that.”
Katya: “Good. I expect bi-weekly updates and real progress.”
Katya rises from her seat, taking her coat and turning to the door.
Katya: “And, of course, I expect complete discretion on your part. My name doesn’t pass through your lips in any conversation pertaining to… what was it? Subject 667?”
The Doctor nods.
Doctor: “Of course. Thank you…”
Katya smiles before exiting the Doctor’s office. The door closes behind her as the Doctor sits back in her chair, exasperated. The scene shifts…
-------------------------------------
“I have never ben one to shirk at the prospect of Championship glory. So many within SCW want it… they crave it. They let dreams of being a Champion dictate their every move. They betray their friends, their allies, to that end. They let these dreams of immortality become so all-encompassing that they would willingly sell their souls for it.
Thomas Valentine – what would you do to retain that Television Championship?
If we are honest with each other, would I be willing to sell my soul to topple you, to claim that which you presently own solely so you would not have it any longer? Well, I suppose that is truly a moot point, is it not? For all you need to do is listen to the rumblings that follow me everywhere I go… listen to the voices that will never STOP their INCESSANT opposition to me!
I have no soul to sell.
You look to your present Championship tenure. You have defeated an oaf in Derek Adonis. You have defeated a friend in Dawn Lohan. And you have defeated a Cornerstone in Donovan Kayl. That third one, it would seem, would place you at an advantage over myself. But I assure you that if your plan is to follow the statistics… if your design is to trace that which is eternally variable… you will come up short.
I am not just any other professional wrestler, Thomas. On the contrary. I am Damian Angel, the DEVIL HIMSELF! I do not suffer kindly for fools. I can be knocked down, but never out. I can be attacked from behind by a buffoon with a hammer, granting him some hollow victory over me, but that will never be enough to finish the job and put me away for good. No one in this company has that capability. So I caution you – if that is your goal, abandon it now. You will not be successful.
As for the Championship – while I do not personally care for trinkets such as the SCW Television Championship, perhaps I will entertain the idea of taking it from you solely so you do not have it. Perhaps I shall take it under my possession so that Manvel, the oiled-up troglodyte who waits in a week, must face his own personal hell as he attempts to take it. Perhaps my goals – although not driven by altruism and the pride of being a Champion – shall be brought to fruition to spite those who would find my Championship reign unpleasant.
Or perhaps I shall simply abandon the Championship and leave you a broken mess anyway.
Thomas, while I wish you no specific harm, know that you are being placed in my path by manipulating forces seeking to place a tether or a leash on me, to bind me to the ground. It is because of those forces that you are facing the prospect of serious medical trauma. It is because of them that I will break you. You must not blame yourself. You must not look to me to find responsibility for what will happen to you tonight. You must look to those responsible for placing you in harm’s way knowing who I am and of what I am capable.
This is not an ordinary match, Thomas. This is your judgement day.”
-------------------------------------
Damian Angel sits back inside his padded room following a recent spate of SCW programming, clothed in fabrics without laces or buttons, left without shoes. He has his legs crossed as he rests back against the wall. As he looks at the plain walls, knowing he could hit them for hours and not suffer serious injury, he drives his elbow backwards, striking the padding. One strike turns into two, which turns into three, four, five…
Until footsteps are heard outside the door. Damian thinks nothing of it, though it serves to stop his elbow strikes on the wall behind him. He simply looks to the camera, knowing that someone will soon be watching the workers from his ironic personal hell barge in and sedate him. He stares icy daggers into the lens, but the red light suddenly cuts out. Damian doesn’t know what to think. He was under constant surveillance, and the light buzz of the camera light had been his only companion inside the asylum. Rising to his feet, he moves closer to the door. A page slides underneath, and that was enough for Damian to reach for the door, attempting to open it. The door was locked, however, and Damian’s efforts proved fruitless. Exasperated, he bends over, picking the piece of paper up off the floor. He slowly unfolds it, gazing upon five words pasted onto it with letters cut from magazines, reminiscent of stereotypical ransom letters sent to the families of kidnapping victims. Tracing his hands over the glued letters, Damian reads…
“TrIoS – fOlLoW tHe WhItE rAbBiT”
Knowing exactly what the words mean, he folds the paper back up, nodding his head in understanding. He knows what’s to come.
And now he knows that Wonderland is ready…
“I remember everything.
I remember every little thing as if it happened only yesterday.
Funny, is it not? To be so certain, so sure, of something only to be told that it was all an illusion. I am told this is a space where I can let out my innermost thoughts, but I feel now like my innermost thoughts are not my own… at least that is what I am being led to believe.
I am being told that everything since February 17, 2008, has been nothing but an elaborate lie designed to satiate me into obsolescence? Safety? I cannot be entirely certain what goal was being pursued at the time. I am told I was seeking a greater peace of mind. But I do not believe that. I am told that today I exhibit signs of paranoia, of megalomania… of seeing things and believing things that are not simply… real.
THEY ARE FUCKING LYING TO ME!
No… no… I did not mean to raise my voice there. There is no need to issue further sedation. I am just…
I remember it all.
I remember it all so vividly… with such clarity. I remember Brian Kinney… Brian Kinney taking advantage of my grieving state to capitalize and RIP the SCW World Championship from my grip. Brian Kinney seeking to avenge his own misfortune at my hands by liberating the title from me and succeeding. I remember ruling the Underground until Shyne did similarly. I remember setting myself on fire to make a point to Greg Cherry. I remember Sparkles… I remember mutilating that concoction of felt and stuffing to the point it was unrecognizable.
I remember Kennedy Street… her father’s attempts at buying me off to take my own daughter who had been taken from me…
Perhaps I am a monster. Perhaps I do belong in an institution like this… but not like this… not now…
Someone is going to pay DEARLY for this…”
-------------------------------------
The scene opens up inside a dark office. As the Doctor – currently treating Damian Angel after over a decade of delusions and psychotics – enters the path, she becomes immediately aware of another presence within the room.
Doctor: “You know you cannot sneak up on me. This is my building, after all.”
She turns the light on, coolly spotting Katya D. sitting in the seat opposite her own. Katya turns and smiles.
Katya: “I just wanted to check in on our mutual arrangement.”
Doctor: “Subject 667?”
Katya laughs.
Katya: “That’s clever… “667” – one off from the Devil. That ought to twist Damian up.”
Doctor: “Look, I’m doing this as a favour to the world. I have seen what Subject 667 is capable of first-hand. I was sitting there in the crowd the night he set himself on fire. He’s a mentally disturbed man.”
Katya: “Oh, I understand that. Which is why I brought him to you. And your work has begun yielding results. I don’t know how you broke the other three into your illusion so easily…”
The Doctor laughs this time, shaking her head as she passes around her desk.
Doctor: “Please… Malphas, Behemoth, and Kali? They’re idiots. Their simple minds were simply fish in a barrel. But Subject 667? He’s different. He’s…”
Katya: ““The Devil Himself”… yes, we all know the hype.”
Doctor: “I don’t think he sees it as hype. I think he truly believes that he is the physical manifestation of the Lord of Hell.”
Katya: “All the more reason he should be here then. He took a creative gimmick and bought into it so deeply that he believes himself an ethereal being.”
The Doctor shakes her head, leaning forward as she sits in her chair.
Doctor: “I don’t believe that.”
Katya again laugh, this time with a sense of blatant skepticism in her voice.
Katya: “You don’t mean to tell me that you believe his delusions.”
Doctor: “No… not that. I don’t believe he took it as a gimmick. When he signed under your employment some 12 years ago…”
Katya: “13 years, actually… lucky number 13.”
Doctor: “Whenever it was… when he signed with SCW, I don’t believe that he considered what he was doing an act. In the time I have spent here with Dam… with Subject 667… I think he took his real world into SCW and let it unfurl there. I believe he truly believes the things he says and, as such, as forced himself into SCW’s consciousness.”
Katya nods, sitting back in her own chair as she digests the information.
Doctor: “Damian doesn’t display the classic signs of delusional behaviour. He doesn’t latch onto conspiracy theories or talk about things in front of him as though they represented something different than they are. He is entirely cognizant of what is in front of him and what it means. He just has a bigger position for himself in the world. It’s probably what brought him to professional wrestling in the first place. It’s tailor-made for people who see them bigger than the entire picture.”
Katya: “Watch what you’re saying, Doctor.”
The Doctor holds her hands up in self-defence.
Doctor: “I mean no disrespect, but look at what happens. People fight over gold-plated cummerbunds… they obsess over them. They…”
Katya: “ENOUGH!”
Katya slams a fist on the desk as she stands up, before catching herself and smiling.
Katya: “As I said… there are some good people.”
Doctor: “Maybe so… but that’s not what’s important here. Speaking of which… why are you here, Miss D.?”
Katya: “I’m seeking a regular progress report on Damian. Alex thinks it’s a good idea to keep tabs on our more… dangerous subjects. You know, so we can anticipate any uncouth behaviour and cut it off at the pass before it becomes a problem.”
Doctor: “Well, there’s nothing of note to report. He’s still resistant to the new information being given. His mind is still too strong.”
Kayta: “I’m not paying you to simply give him new information. I’m paying you to break his mind and maybe, just maybe, afford me something of an insurance policy.”
The Doctor shakes her head, attempting to reconcile what she is being told with what she had previously been told.
Doctor: “I thought you just wanted to break him.”
Katya: “I do. Break him, so we can then rebuild him into a loyal soldier. Do you think you are capable of that? Or am I wasting my time with you?”
Doctor: “No…”
The Doctor attempts to alleviate Katya’s fears.
Doctor: “No… I can do that.”
Katya: “Good. I expect bi-weekly updates and real progress.”
Katya rises from her seat, taking her coat and turning to the door.
Katya: “And, of course, I expect complete discretion on your part. My name doesn’t pass through your lips in any conversation pertaining to… what was it? Subject 667?”
The Doctor nods.
Doctor: “Of course. Thank you…”
Katya smiles before exiting the Doctor’s office. The door closes behind her as the Doctor sits back in her chair, exasperated. The scene shifts…
-------------------------------------
“I have never ben one to shirk at the prospect of Championship glory. So many within SCW want it… they crave it. They let dreams of being a Champion dictate their every move. They betray their friends, their allies, to that end. They let these dreams of immortality become so all-encompassing that they would willingly sell their souls for it.
Thomas Valentine – what would you do to retain that Television Championship?
If we are honest with each other, would I be willing to sell my soul to topple you, to claim that which you presently own solely so you would not have it any longer? Well, I suppose that is truly a moot point, is it not? For all you need to do is listen to the rumblings that follow me everywhere I go… listen to the voices that will never STOP their INCESSANT opposition to me!
I have no soul to sell.
You look to your present Championship tenure. You have defeated an oaf in Derek Adonis. You have defeated a friend in Dawn Lohan. And you have defeated a Cornerstone in Donovan Kayl. That third one, it would seem, would place you at an advantage over myself. But I assure you that if your plan is to follow the statistics… if your design is to trace that which is eternally variable… you will come up short.
I am not just any other professional wrestler, Thomas. On the contrary. I am Damian Angel, the DEVIL HIMSELF! I do not suffer kindly for fools. I can be knocked down, but never out. I can be attacked from behind by a buffoon with a hammer, granting him some hollow victory over me, but that will never be enough to finish the job and put me away for good. No one in this company has that capability. So I caution you – if that is your goal, abandon it now. You will not be successful.
As for the Championship – while I do not personally care for trinkets such as the SCW Television Championship, perhaps I will entertain the idea of taking it from you solely so you do not have it. Perhaps I shall take it under my possession so that Manvel, the oiled-up troglodyte who waits in a week, must face his own personal hell as he attempts to take it. Perhaps my goals – although not driven by altruism and the pride of being a Champion – shall be brought to fruition to spite those who would find my Championship reign unpleasant.
Or perhaps I shall simply abandon the Championship and leave you a broken mess anyway.
Thomas, while I wish you no specific harm, know that you are being placed in my path by manipulating forces seeking to place a tether or a leash on me, to bind me to the ground. It is because of those forces that you are facing the prospect of serious medical trauma. It is because of them that I will break you. You must not blame yourself. You must not look to me to find responsibility for what will happen to you tonight. You must look to those responsible for placing you in harm’s way knowing who I am and of what I am capable.
This is not an ordinary match, Thomas. This is your judgement day.”
-------------------------------------
Damian Angel sits back inside his padded room following a recent spate of SCW programming, clothed in fabrics without laces or buttons, left without shoes. He has his legs crossed as he rests back against the wall. As he looks at the plain walls, knowing he could hit them for hours and not suffer serious injury, he drives his elbow backwards, striking the padding. One strike turns into two, which turns into three, four, five…
Until footsteps are heard outside the door. Damian thinks nothing of it, though it serves to stop his elbow strikes on the wall behind him. He simply looks to the camera, knowing that someone will soon be watching the workers from his ironic personal hell barge in and sedate him. He stares icy daggers into the lens, but the red light suddenly cuts out. Damian doesn’t know what to think. He was under constant surveillance, and the light buzz of the camera light had been his only companion inside the asylum. Rising to his feet, he moves closer to the door. A page slides underneath, and that was enough for Damian to reach for the door, attempting to open it. The door was locked, however, and Damian’s efforts proved fruitless. Exasperated, he bends over, picking the piece of paper up off the floor. He slowly unfolds it, gazing upon five words pasted onto it with letters cut from magazines, reminiscent of stereotypical ransom letters sent to the families of kidnapping victims. Tracing his hands over the glued letters, Damian reads…
“TrIoS – fOlLoW tHe WhItE rAbBiT”
Knowing exactly what the words mean, he folds the paper back up, nodding his head in understanding. He knows what’s to come.
And now he knows that Wonderland is ready…