:: - The Fake Sound of Progress - ::

New York, the city that never sleeps. A Haze has fallen over the city as the night stretches on against the swirling gray sky. The buildings draped in a deep black, only contrasted by the lights accenting their edges. From the lights of the streets below, to the dimming glow of the apartments overhead, the city is as alive as ever. The Noir of the midnight hour, differs greatly from the bright and shimmering reflections of the mid-day sun, so to, are the people. Gone are the tourists, shopkeeps, businessmen, and day-traders that call this city home; and in there place stand the underbelly of New York City. A dark black Bugatti Chiron rolls through the clouds of steam emanating through the drains at the corners of the street, the sound of the low rumble of the engine accompanied only by the percussion of echoing High Heeled Footsteps.

She's a brunette, a woman of medium build; the heels leading up to tight fitting black leather pants, a gold plated belt, slowly tattering from use. A Small tank top and an oversized Leather Jacket. She puffs the final drags of a cigarette before pushing open the door of an alleyway apartment complex; the Bugatti slowly making it's way across the frame at her back. As the door shuts behind her, a figure can be seen stepping up to the building, looking up for just a second, before disappearing upwards.

The halls are quiet, save for the sounds of Thumping music from various apartments. The place always smelled like mold; bits of trash and discarded toys lining the edges of the hallways. The walls, once white, were now a deep stained brown, bits of graffiti against bits of discoloration; as if the building itself was bruised by the lives slowly passing within. It was a very rough place to call home. The Girl had been living here as long as she could remember, she had come to the city looking for fame, fortune, but like so many others all she found was a single bedroom apartment, and what seemed like night after night of endless heartache. The Bright Lights and Vibrant Color had faded, and all that was left now was the grim reality that not everyone makes it; that not everyone is made for The City. The stairways are dark, flickering with the failing wiring of the old building, her footsteps echoing up its length. The Homeless have begun to pack in for the winter, and as she passes she leaves a few dollars in the Jar next to the makeshift lean-to at the bottom of the stairs; from there, its up the many flights to her apartment.

The door slides open, revealing a single room, kitchen on the left side against the wall. A Small computer desk at the end of the counter, recessed into the wall. The countertop is cluttered with trinkets, figurines and perfumes, right alongside a couple of old plates, a coffee mug left half empty, a moth rotating lifelessly in the cup. The single bedroom is next, the door hangs loosely open, as if unsecured at its hinges. She throws her jacket onto the chair near the living area. A single couch and chair set, around an old stained Coffee table, circles apparent in the woodgrain. She steps through her bedroom and into the Bathroom, turning in to shower after a long night. The decorations around her room denote she may be a dancer, at least some sort of performer. Posters of Broadway shows, and old movies surrounded by Neon Lights, glowing Dark Blue and Hot Pink. The sound of running water can be heard throughout the apartment, the soft light of the bathroom sneaking through the cracked doorway. After a few minutes, the shower goes quiet.

She slides on a pair of shorts, and a loose fitting tank top, wiping the fog from the mirror. There is a bruise on her face, quickly healing as she looks it over. After a couple of moments, it has disappeared completely. She reaches for her toothbrush before abruptly stopping, her hand subtly shaking, she isn't alone.

The apartment has fallen silent, the creaking of the bathroom door echoes through the space. She steps through her bathroom and into the living room. Making her way towards the sink, behind her, a figure is seated in a single chair against the far wall, a pistol sitting on the desk at his side. She takes a tall glass from the cupboard, running herself a glass of water before addressing the man seated behind her. The man is dark, his face covered by the large hood of his Poncho-style long-coat, the tight fitting combat suit stretches as he sits forward. He toys with something in his hand, a small device with a retractable screen, he flips it open, and then closed again, Open... and Closed.

"Would you mind not doing that?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude."

She takes a drink, watching him in the reflection at the bottom of the glass. She can see the device in his hand, the glowing Red Screen flickering in his hand.

"Didn't think you'd come so soon."

"I think you owe yourself more credit than that."

She nods, accepting the compliment.

"Do You Enjoy it? The Things your kind does?"

"Depends... sometimes you make it easy."

"You think it will be this time?"

"I would like it to be."

She smirks to herself, "Of Course You Would." she thinks to herself as she finishes the glass of water, placing it quietly on the counter. She begins stretching, the man sighs, calmly tucking the device back into his pocket.

"Can I At least see your face?"

"It won't matter."

"Than there should be no problem." she whispers, turning to face the man now standing from the chair.

After a few moments, he pulls the large hood back. He is a skinny man, his cheeks somewhat gaunt, various symbols upon his cheeks, and centered on his forehead. His eyes are deep, dark, and pitted; as if suffering from a sleeplessness only the wicked could understand. He raises his eyes to meet hers, and as they do, they begin to glow a bright green. Looking into his eyes, she can't help but feel drawn to them, as if somehow compelled, almost attracted.

"So it is true..."

The room falls silent...

The man rushes forward, not with a step, but with a blur. She catches his fist in mid-swing, forcing him over onto his back with a violent jerk. His body slams into the floor with a sickening thud, he lays in two punches, his fists duplicating with the motion, several loud thuds can be heard as the shots make contact with her face, busting her nose wide open. She rips him by the arm, dragging him across the floor and slamming his body through the drywall, splinters of wood and dust fly into the bedroom as the two crash through the framing. He is taken off guard, almost dazed by the sheer force of the impact. She stays on top of him, dropping a series of violent elbows across the man's face and neck, trying to crush his skull into the hardwood. He grits his teeth, the world rocking with every shot. She reaches her fist backwards, going for the killshot, but before she can his body blurs again. Her body flies into the air, crashing into the ceiling fan above, sending sparks and debris flying in all directions. He catches her with a single fist as she falls back to the ground, her head jerking backwards with the shot, sending her body spinning like a helicopter back to the floor. She rolls, but he's already on top of her, she grabs him by the neck, pushing upwards, trying to crush his windpipe. His eyes flash for a moment, before beginning his onslaught. He grabs the front of her skull, slamming it violently against the hardwood floor, again, and again, and again. The wood strains, and snaps, but he doesn't let up, by the time he's finished, the hole beneath her skull is almost through to the floor below. Pipes and insulation are bent and broken, water spews across her face, smearing the deep red of the blood now pouring out of her ears and mouth. Her body is all but motionless as he takes the device from his pocket, laying it against the side of her skull. The machine is a sort of X-Ray device, displaying an infrared look at her brain. The vessels strain and bulge as her heart flutters in her chest. Against the inside of the skull, is a stamp, stamped into the bone itself.


The screen displays a green checkmark. A Digital Female Voice begins to play.

"Identity Confirmed, 0-6-1-2-2-1-0-3-1-9 Scheduled for Recycling, extraction team inbound, approximate wait time, 300 Seconds."

The man stands, pulling his hood back over his head. She begins to stir, rolling onto her side. He breathes a disgusted sigh, stepping back to the table and retrieving the pistol. It always pains him to do it this way, in a perfect world these things wouldn't even exist. But the idle hands of man have worked greedily these many years. He begins to tuck the pistol into his coat, but he hesitates. Behind him, the woman has risen to her feet, her head slowly rising, her eyes now glow a shade of deep red. She rushes forward with a furious scream.

A Flash of White...

And Silence.

::-- South Texas Deathride --::

Jessica jerks awake in her seat. The sun shines through the open window of the carriage, her head rested against the window as the world sweeps by beyond the glass. The muffled sounds of the train racing over the tracks underneath droning in the background. Jessica stretches, it wasn't like her to oversleep, but the ride was turning out to be longer than expected, and less eventful than she had hoped. The mission was simple, an escort into Southern Texas. The train was slower than she would have liked, but at least she didn't have to drive. She was due in San Antonio that weekend, for an event her employer was putting on. Making her the ideal candidate for the escort. The Family had been contracted by a member of the Political Class to make sure their client arrived safely at her destination. Jessica on the other-hand, was on something of a different mission. The Akagi Clan had a price on her head, a price driven by revenge, they had sent one of their best to collect it. The Assassin had stepped into The Family's business, where the Family only looked to balance power through secrecy and subterfuge, the man had changed that; and instead had set the Family up to look like nothing more than violent murderers.

It was because of this, that Jessica was given this assignment, not just as a way to make the Family a couple of Dollars, and assure their clientele they were more than capable of handling the work in front of them. Jess felt she was responsible, and in the eyes of the Father, she was. So now it was on her to clean up the mess that had been left in the wake of the meeting with the Head of The Union in Chicago that left him, and a number of his high-ranking officials dead. As much as Jess hated feeling like this was on her, she knew the best way to get through it was to keep her focus where it belonged, on the job at hand. Checking her watch, it was long passed time for another sweep, a foot patrol from the front of the train to the rear. The train clattered through the countryside at a healthy pace, as Jessica made her way through the various compartments of the train, she couldn't help but take in the view. In between checking the couplings of each car, and securing the exits and stairwells of the various Sleepers, and searching the Private Roomettes for any signs of forced entry. Pulling at each of the windows as a way to test their security.

It took Jess less than a half hour to get the train fully secured, she breathed a sigh of relief, as it was out of the ordinary for her to fall that deep into sleep while on task like this. But the passed couple of weeks hadn't afforded her much time to actually rest, so she enjoyed the downtime while she had it. Hannah on the other hand, was missing in action. The two had separated at the train station, Hannah dropping Jess at the terminal before returning to the Facility. Father, in his "Infinite Wisdom" had determined that it would be more enticing to send Jessica alone, making her seem like a more vulnerable target for her pursuers.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the distance, the tails of a Poncho-Style long-coat blow across the rooftop. The assassin looks on as the train crosses in the distance, his face shadowed behind the oversized Hooded Coat. He holds a set of Binoculars to his face, a single porthole out the front, an Infrared monitor displayed in his vision. Speed, weight, size, Point-of-Origin, and Destination are displayed in the corner. He lowers them to his side, as a voice echoes through his headset.

"Have trouble finding the target?"

"Please... you know me a little better than that."

"You're right, I do, you wouldn't have told me even if you had."

"Spare me, what's the deal, what am I dealing with here?"

"Thermal Scans indicate Minimal Presence inside. Looks like its just our girl, and a single Political VIP."

"Who's the VIP?"

"She'll be of no consequence, get in, get out, we'll have the extraction team waiting for pick-up."

"We can't take her off in public, too risky."

"Don't worry, we'll extract her In-Transit."

As the two speak, a large gunship floats into frame, red and black markings in the pattern of tech-camouflage.

"Bogey on the board, unidentified, analysis?"

His vision narrows on the Attack Chopper, its larger than an Apache, considerably. No visible windows along its blackened frame, a small passenger deck hangs below, as if attached in a modular fashion. Red and Yellow brackets surround it momentarily. A screen scrolls through the various known models from different Companies. Coming up with a local designation, AT-C97-08 Model Designation "Fuujin".

"It appears to be some kind of prototype, shouldn't be an issue. Your Task remains unchanged, find the target, destroy it. Eliminate the Bogey."


He goes dark, taking himself off coms, letting his black earpiece fall to his shoulder. He nods, he knows who they are, and what they are there to do. Might be Interesting...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jessica has returned to her seat, the VIP is secure, calmly drinking an iced coffee and scrolling through her Phone. The two share an apathetic look to one another, the trip is no doubt just as uninteresting to her as it was to Jess. Sitting back in her seat she too begins scrolling through her phone, Hannah hadn't checked in for some time. The two had agreed to keep good communications throughout the Job, but it appears Hannah was slipping on her end, very uncharacteristic. She set her phone back in her lap and began once again watching the scenery outside the window, it was then she saw it, the shadow of the chopper hovering just above the train. Looking up she could see the edges of the Gunship, coming to a hover just above the moving train. It was Go Time. She picked up her phone, sending out a text to both Hannah, and The Father.

"They're Here, Moving VIP, Checkback 5 Minutes."

She stands from her seat, calmly moving across the room, motioning with her hand for the Woman in the gray Pantsuit to follow her. Jess' pace denotes a feeling of urgency, the two move to the connected Car, Jessica syncs her Biometrics with a small panel on the doorway. In a flash the windows of the car slam closed, thick metal sheeting rolling downwards from the ceiling to the floor. Jessica grabs the VIP and throws her inside, the door slams shut between the two. A Thick layer of Bulletproof glass displays a countdown, 5 Minutes and ticking. More than she needs.

VIP Secured, Jessica now turns her attention to the chopper. Above, the chopper has matched the pace of the train, a small laser protrudes from just beneath where the cockpit would have been. It cuts a small hole in the roof of the train, dropping the heavy metal in only a few seconds. The transport pod opens, revealing a single person, they are clad in a tight fitting combat suit, with various markings and insignia throughout the patterns of black. The coat over the top is adorned in Various Dragon patterns, armor plating in various locations ripping as if independently controlled, setting themselves into place. Their face is covered by a worn leather mask, much like a World War II style Gas Mask. The forearms are the only parts that are visible, obviously Modified in much the same way Jessica's were. Gigatech Upgrades, their Obvious Red and Black markings worn from years of use. Stepping off the deck, the figure drops straight down through the smoking hole in the roof of the train.

Through the smoke Jessica can make out the outline of the masked swordsman. She flexes the plates rippling up her Forearms, exposing the prosthetic muscle tissue. Her knuckles sling forward, then lock back into place. The smoke begins to clear as the figure begins to remove their mask, a man. His face is scarred but his eyes are bright blue, on his forehead is tattooed a single symbol, 4 Swords. Jessica has seen the symbol before, but was in disbelief as to what she was seeing. It was then a deep feeling of Dread came over her, something only felt by children in their nightmares. It took her a moment to truly believe just what was standing in front of her, as if every horror story she had ever heard... Had jumped off the page.

The figure lurches forward, smoke trailing behind him as he dives. Four throwing knives appear from his jacket, spinning he throws each in Jessica's direction. Jessica leaps backwards, twisting her body through the air, dodging all but one of the blades, planting itself deep in her shoulder. She grits her teeth but her attacker is already on top of her. Slashing in a calculated pattern with another set of four knives drawn from the opposing side of his coat. Jess dodges the shots, leaning backwards, swinging her head just out of the way of the shimmering metal. She lifts her leg, catching his extended arm, driving it down to the floor, using the momentum to drop a hard Metal Fist across his face, the hard packing sound of metal on bone rings out across the compartment. He rotates over, dropping a back-elbow against the side of her head. The shot sends Jessica a couple of steps back, another round of knives suddenly are let fly, she gets her arm up just in time to catch all four of them, the blades burrowing deep into the plates. He charges forward again, but Jess is ready, a strong shot to the center of his vest takes him off his feet. He catches himself, sliding backwards on the carpet, Jess comes forward, he drops back just in time to avoid the leaping fist slamming into the floor, the carpet rips as the metal frame bends around Jessica's fist, shaking the entire compartment.

Realizing he is outmatched in sheer strength the Swordsman drops back, popping a large smoke bomb, instantly filling the car with a thick layer of black smoke. He leaps back upwards through the hole created by the gunship, Jessica sees his smoke trail, and choose to follow. Emerging onto the roof, she is met with another round of slash attacks. Catching her jacket and ripping through her shirt into the flesh of her stomach. She winces before kicking him backwards, the addition of the passing wind sends him sprawling onto the roof of the train, catching himself with one of his blades before falling to the ground below.

Jessica takes the moment to regain her composure, looking down at herself she can see that she's bleeding, the red coloring beginning to stain the bottom of her shirt. Overhead the Gunship is moving into position just behind the locomotive. A Large Minigun begins spinning up, letting out a sound known around the world, BRRRT BRRRT BRRRT. Bullets begin ripping across the top of the train, sending shards of shrapnel flying into the air. Jessica rolls left, then dodges back to the right, driving her fingers into the roof of the train as she swings along the side. She throws herself into the air, ripping the knife out of her shoulder and throwing it towards the muzzle of the chopper. It drives in, locking the spinning Minigun in place, rendering it useless. The Gunship begins pivoting, beginning another mode of attack. The swordsman has regained his balance, catching Jessica off guard as she lands on the train. She falls backwards, sliding herself on her back across the roof as a set of knives dig in just below her feet.

A Strong kick collides with his chin as Jessica rolls backwards, keeping him in her sights, while also watching the Circling Helicopter in her peripherals she begins to go over what can be done. She's outgunned, possibly outmanned, and in a fight with someone she perceived to be immortal. The train itself has begun to pick up speed, as the wind becomes more intense her choices are quickly dwindling. She feels the creeping sense of Desperation, overhead the Helicopter locks his targeting systems onto her outline, Charging The Beam. It fires, Jessica leaps towards the man standing in front of her, desperation coupled with a tinge of anger. Her Body Blurs, moving faster than their eyes can catch, the Targeting System loses her for just enough time to reset the laser. Her attacker is completely taken off guard at the now smoking figure landing just in front of him. She looks at herself, her arms retracting into place as the outlines of the plates glow a hot shade of red. She takes it in for a moment, unable to understand what's just happened? But the pressure stays on, the man comes in, but her hands catch him, moving fast enough to leave tracers behind. she pulls him in, keeping the distance close in an attempt to keep the Helicopter from getting a clear shot. In close, she uses her strength to overcome her opponent, locking her legs around his waist and pulling him into a volley of hard punches. He stumbles under the onslaught and Jessica sees her moment, she slams him savagely against the roof, denting the sheet-metal with every blow. A Plume of smoke explodes again, surrounding them both for a second before the wind sweeps it away, but its just enough to break loose. He puts a bit of distance between the two, he's quickly becoming less and less sure of himself. Anger begins to break through his prideful demeanor, The Helicopter lets out an echoing Deep Siren, like a Technological Foghorn. He looks up, almost in frustration, he signals to Jessica, as if to say the two will meet again. And with that, he deploys a small hook, grappling the chopper as it rips him off the roof.

Jessica watches the chopper as it moves towards the locomotive, the speed has progressively gotten quicker as the two fought, but now it seems like the train is almost out of control. Jessica has to secure the VIP, but as she moves back towards the hole punched into the roof of the train, something else catches her attention. A Dark Black Power Wagon crashing through a barricade and onto the small dirt path beside the tracks, it's Hannah. Jessica waves her hand, signaling to drive ahead, Hannah flashes her phone. Jessica had completely forgotten about it, the check-in. She takes her phone from her Pocket, a number of alerts from Hannah's number all displaying a singular Message.


Looking forward she can see the Gunship tracking outwards in front of the Train. She leaps into the air, pushing herself against the furious wind, landing on top of the Armored Compartment. Ahead, the tracks begin to elevate onto a bridge, the road beside trailing off into a valley, The bridge itself is build onto a hard corner, and is fast approaching. She knows the train will never be able to make the corner. She drops down into the train, the smoldering fabric from where the laser made its first cut has started a fire that is spreading across the roof of the car, filling it with a thick smoke. She reaches the Biometrics and releases the lock, yanking the VIP out and dragging her with her through the clouded room. Throwing her up through the hole in the roof, then leaping into the air, catching her mid-air. The woman is locked in a state of shock, as the world whips by around her. Her legs freeze into place, begin to shake underneath her as Jessica drags her towards the edge of the train.

"We Have to Jump!!" Jessica points to the curve ahead. As the woman sees the turn, realizing their situations, her legs crumble. Looking down at the Truck below keeping pace with the accelerating locomotive. She timidly shakes her head.

"I Can't!"

They're out of time. The front of the train begins to make the curve, Jessica can see it begin to lift off the track.

"Well You're About To!"

Jessica lifts her up, throwing her off the train, the two crash down hard into the bed of the truck, Jessica holds her flat against the bed as Hannah jerks the wheel to the right. The Truck swings under the bridge as the train topples over, sending the various cars crashing down into the trees below, the cars twist and crumple under the velocity of the impact, sending shards of metal and heavy pieces of machinery flying in all directions. The Truck swings left, and right, narrowly avoiding the many splinters sliding and tumbling all around them.

The sound can be heard for Miles, the echoing crash of the derailing train cross the ears of the Dark Assassin, clad in his Poncho-Style Longcoat. He watches the trees disappear and tousle as the train crashes to earth. His eyes deeply concentrated, its not the train, or the gunship that now weighed heavy on his mind, it was the fact that he just witnessed a Member of the "Yontoryu" find themselves bested by the girl. The girl who now displayed abilities much like his own, he had seen it before, in Colorado. At the time he thought maybe it was just a glitch, a mistake, but now it was obvious. His hands began to tremble, a feeling he hadn't felt in many years, it was almost a serene moment for him, to feel so Human once again. A Cold and fearful realization began to come over him...

His target was something different...

Something Dangerous.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The creaking brakes of the truck come to a stop just outside the safe house in downtown San Antonio. A thick layer of dust has settled on the truck, obvious against the dark paint. Patches of Mud and Oil streak the sides in an almost tear-like pattern. Inside, Jessica has rendered aid to their VIP, she suffered minor bumps and bruises as a result of their fall, but other than that she seems to be in good health. Jessica does a last scan for concussions and other trauma, a small device pulsating in her hand as she scans the side of the VIP's skull. It clears her, a flashing Green indications bar. She nods to the two girls, opening the door and stepping out into the night air.

"Told you you could do it..."

The woman chuckles subtly, nodding her head back at Jessica, still seated in the backseat of the truck. Jess shoots her a salute before the woman shuts the door. The two had been through quite an ordeal, and somehow come out on the other side intact. Jessica sits back in the chair, taking a deep breath before pulling her shirt up, revealing the cut on her side, still healing. It was mostly closed now, she ran the small device over the top of the wound, in the viewfinder, she could see it was closing as it should. Before the night was over there would be little evidence other than the bloodstained shirt. Jess put her head against the window behind her; letting out a sigh of relief. Hannah on the other-hand, was obviously less than pleased, her hands squeezing tightly on the wheel. It took Jess a minute to collect herself, in her eyes the situation had gone about as good as it could have. Although the circumstances were less than ideal to say the least, the job was done. Hannah was projecting, the atmosphere inside the truck grew heavy as she flipped through the contacts on the center screen of the dashboard.

She stopped on a Contact "The Father". He would no doubt be more than disappointed in the events of the day. As the phone rang, the tension in the truck came to a head.

"Hannah, Situation Report."

"VIP secured, destination reached. Requesting Clean-Up Team Zero-Four. JV-Class Response."

"What happened?"

"It appears the situation has changed, They derailed the train. Sent some kind of Super Soldier, in some kind of Gunship."

"Derail the T--Goddamnit..."

There are a few moments of Silence, The Father begins setting in motion as Jamais-Vu Level Response Unit. Jessica considers telling him what she saw.

"Okay, team in route, what about the target?"

"We Couldn't--

"He was a Yontoryu... The Target is a Yontoryu."

Hannah turns to her, narrowing her eyes incredulously. They had all heard the stories, tales of Undead Warriors who raided the homes of Criminals across Japan. Until today, Both Jessica and Hannah had thought them to be only that, Stories.

"No, Father, she's lying..."

"I know what I saw, he had a tattoo, an insignia, Four Swords. He used Volleys of Four Daggers."

She raises her arm, the spots where the throwing knives hit her were still obvious, dug into the plating on her arm.

"Those are Stories, Father, in Japan they are like Cryptids. The Yontoryu were said to be some sort of Undead Monster, like the Skinwalkers of North America, they were warriors in the days of the Samurai, but were cursed for their disloyalty to the Emperor, or however the story goes. They aren't real, just something parents would make up to keep you from misbehaving."

"Yeah well, what I saw was every single one of those stories come to life, I felt it. Undead or not, they are real enough for me."

The Father considers his options.

"Jess is right, these people are real, judging by the fact that I'm speaking to both of you right now, and not just Hannah, tells me that they are also real enough to be beaten. You guy's are still doing your little "Thing" down there, right?"

"If you need us to come in, we can."

"No, I have some things I need to prepare. Questions I need answered, I'll be in touch, keep your lines available for further instruction."

"Thank you Father.
"Thank you Father.

The girls say together. The channel closes, and the two are left in complete silence.


"Tell me I'm Not Crazy, because believe me I know how crazy I must have sounded..."

Hannah breathes a deep sigh, tapping her finger on the wheel.

"With everything that's gone on lately, I would be Crazy not to believe you. So lets say your right, and whoever that was tonight was some kind of Undead Samurai. That would mean that there are another Three of them, even if you had managed to kill him, another would have stepped right into his place."

"Well then I've got my work cut out for me don't I?"

"More than that Sam. Father said it, what you did today put us both higher on their list. In all the stories you ever heard, how many of those people lived to talk about it?"

"Someone must have... Otherwise there'd be no stories."

"Well I never heard of a single one, Undead or not these people are on another level. I think its time we leveled up ourselves."

"Where do we gotta go..."

"I Know... It's just been a while since I've spoken to them..."

The headlights of the truck switch on. As the truck rumbles off into the distance the night is left silent, and still.

All Except for the tails of a Longcoat, blowing in the wind.

Another introduction, It seems like every couple of weeks I've been put in the same position, the position of having something to prove. To be honest, I'm getting a little sick of it. Having to walk out into a ring with a bunch of people who essentially count for nothing, and last week was no different. Devil's Night has been known for decades as a night for Fun, Laughs, and Mischief. But for me, it was just another uninteresting Test, another brand that expected me to "Prove Myself". So I guess the only thing left is to ask every single one of you watching, did I Prove Myself? Did I need to Prove Myself? No doubt if you've tuned in, if you've kept up, you know that someone like me doesn't need it. That I can walk in and out of anywhere I choose, and fundamentally change the status quo. And like many things that changed at Devil's Night, so to did everybody's idea of what the status quo should be, where they all stand in this business. When you look at someone like me, its easy to be mislead, easy to mischaracterize someone like me. Think of me as just another Zoey Epsilon, or Jensen Kidd. But I made it very clear to everyone, that not only am I different, I'm in an entire different class.

Last week I got my first up-close look at the talent of the Asylum, just what this company truly has on offer. And I would be lying to tell you that I was impressed. I guess we'll start with the most Relevant, Avery McCullen, who like many I've been through in the past, spoke so confidently into a camera. But when faced with someone who might actually snap back, fell ridiculously and hilariously short on every single one of her Promises. I didn't speak about you Avery, because it was clear to me, as it is now to every single one of these people, that you don't fucking Matter. Anything you could have said was rendered absolutely irrelevant. To your credit, there was no way to know what you were walking into, what it was you were up against. The Deck was always stacked in my Favor, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. Avery ended No Careers, and couldn't even begin to stand toe to toe with someone like me. It what made it fun... laying her in the dirt. So maybe you should take the hint, and try something else, as it doesn't seem like you have much of a future with the AWS. Last week this company was put on notice, that everything that had happened before Devil's Night was only a Prequel.

My Reasons for Joining the Asylum should be clear to someone like you Avery, I came here to knock holes into people like you. People who have Big Egos, while all the while having nothing more to offer than any other Cookie-Cutout Superstar. If I toured around the United States, looked into every single broadcast throughout the many territories. I would find a dozen women who look and act exactly the same as you do. It's like there's some sort of factory somewhere, putting out mediocre gimmicks, mediocre actors, mediocre talent, and trying to pass them off as some sort of "Game Changing Superstar". When in reality, they are all ham-fisted creations, carelessly written and shoved down the throats of fans who, lets face it, are absolutely done with seeing the same faces on every channel. Someone like me looks to break that trend, that trend that has almost killed this business that we all love. You said you wanted to try something new, well why the fuck didn't you? All I saw were the same moves, done in the same order, like a goddamn broken record. People like you are the reason this business is nothing like it was a decade ago, hell, lets go Five Years back. Getting into this was next to impossible, talent was lined up out the door. But then reality set in, and boy was that a hard bump to take. When you realize people only want to write characters a certain way, they all have to fit into the Order, and you Avery... are nothing different.

Much the same as the next challenge, another Pretty face, another slender build, another set of the same tired gimmicks we've seen for years and years. Vespertine, the Asylum Goddess Champion. Who, like many other people, can't wait to get into how many matches she's had, how long she's been around, and name drop anyone who she feels like grant her a bit of credibility, all after plastering a Cringey, Buttrock Lyric Video across your fucking screen. We Get it, Dark Music from the Mid-2000s, Woooo... fucking original. Shut the Fuck Up. Next you'll lead off with fuckin Alter Bridge or something, like it supposed to add depth to your stupid little narrative, well it doesn't. It just makes everything after it seem almost embarrassing to watch. But that might not click for you, as it seems like you just might not be that bright. You go over the same talking points over and over again, and I know, sometimes I can get a little repetitive. But Nothing gets me more than the words "Where you can get any type of match or stipulation for a match. Any type of stipulation, YARG and any type of match." Spoken like a true fucking wordsmith in your stupid little pirate costume, once again, Please Shut the Entire Fuck Up.

She spent the last two weeks touting some "Thunderdome" nonsense, trying to put that shit over like it still 1985. How can a person so young, speak like an absolute Boomer? Are you Kidding? This is the type of person who holds The title "Goddess" in the AWS?? So what happened after all your "Two Men Enter One Man Leave" bullshit? Is Anika still in that ring in San Antonio? Is that what you think? You know what, don't answer, I can already tell you might actually think that. You see, I've watched, and listened, and as far as I can tell the Asylum is living up to its name, both Figuratively and Actually. Someone like you definitely needs some type of Special Help to make it through your day. I can just tell, in the way you talk, the way you carry yourself, there is something wrong with you. Something that falls outside of the Tagline "Asylum Wrestling." No, there is actually something the matter with your brain, and going into the ring with someone like you, could lead a lesser person to a very serious problem. Which is why this week, I plan to stop that, to take you completely out of that ring, not just for a week or two, but forever. You don't belong in the same ring as the rest of us, and you definitely don't deserve any type of reputable status amongst the Superstars or the Staff of Asylum Wrestling, or any other promotion for that matter.

From your stupid Humor, to your inability to take valid criticism of your garbage Promos. There is nothing about you that someone should find likeable, simple as that. Maybe no one has ever said that directly to you before, but here I am, You Don't Fucking Belong Here. Last week you lost your 5150 Title, if you were any type of champion at all you would have been able to fight off a single mindless trucker, but you couldn't. And now you stand to lose again, to lose everything you have left, and boy is it going to be my fucking pleasure to be the one to take it from you. Lemme guess, "you're gonna push me to my limit, and then passed it, push me to my limit and then passed it." You See? The same lines over and over again in Rapid Succession because you think the rest of these people have as hard a time understanding things as You Do. When No, no one is that stupid. Which is why some things you tell people fall into question. Like how exactly was it that you came to hold that 5150 Championship in the first place? Was it just given to you? In your promos leading up to your, lets just be real, Underwhelming Match at Devil's Night, you claimed that no one had seen you in action before, yet you somehow held a title? Is this the direction this company is going? Just shove belts onto whoever steps into the room? Because that shit is done, over, I don't know why they thought something like that was a good idea.

Basically, what that told me, was that you never earned a goddamn thing. That you never really "Proved" yourself the way I had to. And instead were just handed a belt because of what? Having a Tolerable Face? Its either that or you must suck a good dick, Because if no one's ever seen you wrestle before Devil's Night, what other reasons could there Possibly Be? It makes me really, really happy that I get to be the one who takes that belt, who shows you just what it means to compete at the top level, the way I have. And No, I'm not going to go into it, because it doesn't matter where I've been, or the many names stamped on the bottom of my boots. I don't have to come out here and tell these people Over and Over and Over again that "The best there is, was and ever will be. Tonight, I will gain the Goddess title. I will be the best there is, was and ever will be. I will be double champion in AWS. The best there is, was and ever will be." Because these people already fucking know it.

It Took me one match, and I have done more in this company than some have in their entire careers. But I can't see it as an achievement, not when someone like Vespertine is elevated to the heights she is. This is a person who can't even get her claims straight, can't figure out what way she wants to push, have we never seen you in a match or have we? You Clearly got your belt from somewhere, didn't you? So where was it? In a Match that no one saw? With more names that you'll just drop like it scores you some type of clout? Those names, mean nothing to me, they mean nothing to these people. All that matters is what you can show, and judging by the rest of the so-called "Talent" that drags ass around this company, you haven't really shown a fucking thing. So for every single word you had for a man like Stalker, who honestly is another mental case that I'll be MORE THAN HAPPY to get to when the AWS puts him on my plate, it was all meaningless. When it was all said and done, and the dust settled from your less than impressive showing, it was Stalker who had delivered on his promises, he took what he wanted from you, and you did nothing to stop him. So do these people really have a reason not to laugh when you step out here this week and give your less than entertaining and overall repetitive Promos? No, They Don't. Because you are a Joke to these people, a Joke to me, a Joke to everyone walking through that locker room, and you don't even know it.

I Hear what they say, because they say it to me, the only reason you're where you are is because of the things you've Done Behind the Scenes, what you've done when you're not even in that ring. And let me tell you, that leaves way to much open to the imagination. But we all know exactly what it is now don't we? They like elevating someone like you above everyone else, as some sort of role model for old, female incels, and aging double-chinned fuckboys keeping tabs on Wrestling Drama from the safety of their anime-clad twitter pages. So it no doubt comes as somewhat as a Surprise that none of them, not a single person who you call your "Friends", believe that you are walking out of this week holding that title. They set you up to lose, in hopes that you will take that long walk of shame. Because they don't want you here, they don't need you here, someone like me can do the work of Ten of You, and I put that on display at Devil's Night. I've put that on display in the days since, because I'm a worker, a different class, someone who studied at the foot of men who've been in this business for decades, seen the rot, the favoritism, and the gatekeeping that has all but destroyed this business. It's because of that history that has brought people like you to the pedestal you stand on today, because there is simply not enough Real Talent Left.

Come This week, I will show you exactly why they call Me, The Mass Casualty Event. Maybe after this week they'll actually get my fucking name right.

I Know You Goddamn Sure Will.


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