Post by Ransack Manson on Apr 13, 2021 18:27:31 GMT -6
 Sometimes I try to do things and they just doesn't turn out the way I want them to and I get real frustrated, ‘cause I take my time and I try hard, but no matter what I do, and no matter what I try, things don't work out Ransack stood before a mirror in the locker room area. He braced himself against the sink as the water ran weakly out of the tap. He cupped his right hand under the tap and threw a handful of scalding hot water into his masked face. He winced as the water burned at the skin it splashed upon, but he accepted the surge of pain as a penance. Pete Harper watched in horror as Ransack repeated this motion over and over with water that only seemed to get hotter each time. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Ransack grunted but refused to answer Harper’s question while he began to use both hands to throw the scalding water into his own face. “Hey! I asked you a question! What. The. Fuck. Are you doing?!” Ransack stopped for a moment; he snarled into the mirror as he gazed upon the reflection of his swiftly reddening skin and saw the telltale signs of blisters forming under his eyes. Ransack’s gaze shifted from his own reflection to the look of horror which hung from Harper’s face as the former Devil’s Gate assistant watched the madman engage in this modern form of self-flagellation. “Spare the rod, right, Harper?” “Wh...what?!” Harper sat on the arm of a chair that flanked Ransack in the sitting area of the locker room facility, and he shook his head in disbelief. “All of this because you lost a single fucking match?! You’re… you’re fucking crazy, man.” Ransack guffawed and replied sarcastically. “Ya think so, huh?” Harper maintained a stunned silence, and the room was quiet for a beat before Ransack butted back in to correct the record. “And I didn’t fucking lose. Gust stole it from me. I figure if that motherfucker is inside of me, he must feel what I feel, so… here we are, huh?” Ransack splashed another steaming hot handful of water into his own face, hoping - without evidence - that his own pain would also belong to his undesired temporal tenant, The Raging Dead. I had to distract Ransack from his situation with Nate before Ransack decided upon doing something even more destructive to punish my cousin. I knew the fight to get Ransack to accept Nate as a new part of his existence was a fool’s errand, so in that moment, I decided misdirection was not only prudent but necessary. I racked my brain to come up with some kind of idea that would successfully pull his attention away from the fact that Nate was there inside of him and Nate had a deathgrip on Ransack’s kill switch. And then it happened: Church locked up his victory over the A Block. Since I’d arrived, I’d seen Ransack watch each match in the tournament, and there wasn’t a single competitor in the field that absorbed Ransack’s attention like Church. I knew the promise of facing someone he clearly viewed as a formidable challenge would be the one thing that could pull his attention away from Nate and to literally anything else. I was certain that the rumblings of Church shutting down the Aria were too enticing for Ransack to resist when I’d ask him about heading out to the strip for a night on the town. The look in his eye when I made the pitch told me how right I was. Ransack stood before the mirror in the locker once more, but instead of punishing himself, this time, Ransack was preening himself and taking a whore’s bath in the sink. Ransack stood before the mirror in the nude, so Harper made the executive decision to put a wall between them and save himself the visual trauma of seeing the madman splash handfuls of water on his undercarriage. Harper looked at the mask he held in his hands and the near smiling visage of the worn leather made him uneasy. The smell of the thing turned his stomach. Ransack ran a battered old comb through his matted hair and smiled a nearly toothless smile into the mirror. Ransack couldn’t remember the last time he’d removed the mask, but for this special occasion? Seeing Church work out of the ring? Well, that was certainly something big. Ransack turned his head to find a bag on a clothes hanger, and his eyes lit up. “Don’t you think this is a bit much?” “Hell no! Gotta have church clothes, right?” “I know I lit this fire, but Ransack, you’ve got to remember, in order for you to, uh, go to Church, you can’t lose sight of Clearwater.” “Yeah, yeah. It’s Church’s first ‘last night.’ I’ll see him off tonight and send him off in his second ‘last night.’” Harper let out a sigh. He’d unleashed a monster by making Ransack aware of Church’s Aria shutting its doors, but he’d achieved what he set out to achieve: Ransack hadn’t had a killswitch moment since Episode 12, and now, the madman was as giddy as a schoolgirl as he marched out in front of Harper wearing an ill-fitting tuxedo. “I need my mask.” Harper looked at Ransack with contempt. “The mask and a fucking tuxedo?” “Gotta look my best, Pete.” What are you trying to say, you're trying to say I'm crazy? When I went to your schools I went to your churches I went to your institutional learning facilities! So what are you trying to say here, you're trying to say that I'm crazy? As Harper and Ransack first stepped foot into Aria, Harper was expecting Church’s people would throw them out, but the man that Church sent was more bark than bite. “If y’all get outta line, the killswitch Church’s got in his office will be a little more, uh, permanent than what your boy’s used to. You understand, Harper?” Harper smiled a disarming smile as he nodded to the guard. “No trouble here. My boy just wanted to pay his respects.” “Sure. I bet.” Ransack butted in. “Where’s Church?!” “Oh hell no, man. You ain’t seein’ Church tonight. The best you can hope for is seein’ the band playin’ in the lounge. You want to see Church? He said he’ll see you in the finals… if you make it.” Ransack chuckled. “I can’t wait to burn that prize money right in front of him.” The guard stuck a firm hand in the air and pointed. “The lounge is there. It’s the only fuckin’ place you boys are welcome in Aria. Go watch the fuckin’ band or get the fuck out.” Ransack winked at the guard. “You got it, boss. I wouldn’t want to go to church. Not just yet anyway.” They stuck me in an institution Said it was the only solution To give me the needed professional help To protect from the enemy myself I'm not crazy! You're the one that's crazy! You're driving me crazy! I was terrified of how Ransack would handle that slap in the face. He saw Church as someone who was as close to an equal as he could find in Vegas, and yet, Church saw him as another one of the crazies driven mad in a global disaster. To Ransack, Church was a pillar. To Church, Ransack wasn’t shit. I thought that realization would break him, but it just… didn’t. Ransack’s resolve doubled as if fueled by spite, and he set out to win the prize money so that he could burn it in front of someone that had spent his entire life motivated by money and profits. It didn’t make sense to me. Until it did anyway. Ransack knew the world looked at him and saw a crazy person, a stereotype, a villain but it was people like Church who managed to did villain shit as they worked to wring every dime out of addicts and other vulnerables to enrich themselves that were fucking crazy. It was people like Church who took advantage of everyone around them, the users, the abusers. It was that moment of lucid understanding when it clicked for me: Ransack had never actually hurt anyone who hadn’t hurt him first. The whole reason I came here - to kill him in defense of everyone else - was based on a lie. Ransack was a wild animal, and he only lashed out in violence when he was cornered and threatened. And until now, I’d been blind. Nate’s existence inside of Ransack was just the next threat that forced him to last out, and because Ransack wanted nothing more than to be free of his unwanted guest, he was here in Aria poking the fucking bear, looking Church in the eye and begging for Church to make a move. Ransack had come to a critical conclusion: he knew Church would either put him down like a dog or Ransack would get to spit in Church’s eye. |