Post by Church on Oct 5, 2021 15:28:34 GMT -6
4/28/21
Aria Alleyway
Darkness cloaked the long alleyway, a cacophony of chaos surrounding them. Sirens from police cars that were more likely stolen then operating as enforcement; shouts and yells, mostly angry and driven. It was a purge of anything that had survived the test of the months in locked down Las Vegas.
“What’s happenin’?” Luther King asked, resting his back to the security door. 4 of Luther’s guys stood in a defensive line watching the south side of the alley for any incoming problems, guns at ease of grabbing from their waistbands. A few of Church’s crew keep their eye on the North side.
Luther’s words are directed at Amanda Porter, who is crouched down against the far brick wall, moving her phone in several directions in an attempt to maintain enough connection to continue watching the BPW broadcast.
“He’s, uh...OH, I got it. Ransack just took him down and is putting his fingers in Church’s mouth.”
“Fuckin’ bitch, better not fuck this up…” Amanda shoots him daggers from across the alley.
“HE JUST BIT RANSACK’S FINGERS OFF!” She says in a quiet yell, both excited and disgusted.
“Atta boy, floss ‘em.” Luther lights up a cigarillo. One of his guys, who is also watching something on his phone, walks over slowly to show a live feed from a camera at the Golden Nugget, Luther King’s main place of operation. A group of bodies are inside, torching everything.
“Fuck, Nugget’s down.” Luther watches as a hooded figure with a baseball bat swings it straight through a line of liquor bottles behind the bar. With the quick movement of a zippo, the entire bar engulfs into flames. Luther averts his eyes from the screen, down to the asphalt at his Timberlands. “Guess Patron’s off my menu for the foreseeable future”.
“HE DID IT, CHURCH JUST DROPPED HIM AND...YES, he fuckin’ did it!.” Her stream freezes up as the group quietly celebrates. A tear rolls from Amanda’s eye.
“Aight, Church, get those dollars and lezgo,” Luther says calmly, before his eyes jump to the near entryway. “Fuck, we got company. Yo, don’t shoot anybody ‘less we gotta, boys.” 3 men start coming down the alleyway, walking with purpose. Amanda’s focus does not leave the broadcast, still frozen on the moment Conrad Dukes stands near with a briefcase in hand.
“Go the other fuckin’ way, NOW.” Luther’s voice commanded the immediate threat, as all 12 of them faced the same way, creating quite the physically-imposing roadblock. The approach didn’t stop. A gunshot rings out suddenly from one of the 3 and a scuffle breaks out. One of Luther’s guys is down, taking the bullet somewhere in the leg, as he yells out in pain. In the blink of an eye, Luther is raining his heavy fist into one of the men, as the other two men start getting dismantled by the numbers advantage of Luther’s and Church’s groups. Amanda stays put, moving the phone around wildly to get connection back to the video.
The stream reconnects. Amanda’s heart drops through her stomach, as she whimpers a “noo, no, no”. Luther hears it.
“WHAT’S HAPPENIN?” He yelled in between face-shattering punches that have his guy completely unconscious, at best. They all start to reassemble as all three guys are left lying.
“They...They’re...” Amanda answers as loud as she can through the tightening of her throat. She gasps for a breath, as they gather around to watch Church getting hit with stun gun after stun gun after stun gun, finally being taken down like a loose gorilla. They watch as he gets taken away, sack over head and all. Amanda is crying as the plan falls apart at their feet.
“Aight, aight...Uh...everyone inside, let’s get inside.” Luther’s barking commands already as he gets to the security door. He looks back to Amanda, who has the swipe key to get them back in. “Yo, let’s go Amanda, come on.”
“We have to go get him, we have to...” She asks through tears as she starts to turn her body away. Luther steps forward aggressively, placing a hand on each of her shoulders and looking into her eyes.
“Hey, you know I don’t ever back away from a fight. Unless it’s a fight guaranteed to get you killed. We can’t help him, not right now, get inside.” She flails a bit before pulling out the keycard and getting everyone safely inside, she follows reluctantly. Luther holds the door open with his fingers, but stands there for an extra moment, looking down towards the Strip, a mile down the alley. His eyebrows draw downward, a fire of rage lighting his dark pupils.
“Fuckin’ Church, go and get yourself in this mess. If you had just kept your fuckin’ mouth shut. You fucked this up.” He grimaces a bit, taking a final puff of the stick in his hand, before entering the Aria and letting the door slam behind him.
? ?
4/30/21
The walls were cold, somehow, even though the air was humid and densely warm. Church squinted upward, his body a solid sheet of pain and future scars. Prison bars. He reached up towards his throat, a collar locked up against his flesh; a very off-putting new accessory.
“...the fuck?” He whispered to himself. He could barely move as every muscle yelled for stiffness. He pulled at the collar a bit, only an inch or so of give before it clamped back down like a choker. He growls as he begins to pull more violently at it, to the detriment of his own neck and skin. He pulls again, practically pulling his own head off, before a strange voice comes from the dark hallway.
“It wasn’t made for a Golden Retriever, Mr. Church. I wouldn’t bother.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Church asks through a barely present voice.
“Oh, I’m nobody.” The voice was soft, unassuming. No bass, all treble.
Church sits in the silence for a moment before fighting gravity to get to his feet, groaning through every fiber trying to halt him. He walked forward to the bars, grabbing hold of them to steady his dizziness.
“Where the fuck am I?”
“Why, you’re right there, Church. I can see you. You’re real. And you’re really here.” Child’s play.
“What...what is this thing around my neck? Where’s my mone-”
“Congratulations on becoming BPW’s first Champion, Tyler Church. Quite the achievement.”
“Let me THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.” His voice soars from its struggle, a lion’s echo off the walls.
“Quite the achievement.”
“Listen, you let me out of here and I’ll give you a cut of the prize money. 250 grand, yours, who...whatever the fuck you are.”
“Quite the achievement.”
Church rests his forehead on the cold steel, closing his eyes for a moment. His hair was still clotted with blood from the battle with Ransack, resting heavy at the sides of his face. He breathes in deep, even the expansion of his chest creating new pains.
“What happens now?” Church asks sincerely, piecing together enough of his own puzzle.
There’s atleast a full minute of silence, Church not even sure if the person answering him is still present.
“Quite the achievement.”
Church reaches out and starts shaking the bars, seeing if there’s any give at the concrete at the top. He can’t quite see it, but keeps his face close to feel for any falling rubble.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable doing that, they’re going to electrify the bars soon.” The voice, still so calm and soft, despite fighting with the struggling sounds to be heard. Church slowly backed away and found himself sitting on a cot, a surprisingly very comfortable mattress resting on top of it as his frame sinks slowly into memory foam. He shakes his head slowly.
He continued to peer around the darkness, letting two of his fingers explore the collar for any buttons or screws.
Nothing.
No give.
No escape.
No answers.
No million dollar prize.
No BPW championship belt.
Quite the achievement.
10/5/21
The bus hits a couple final bumps before it pulls up to its destination. The Suez Canal awaited the type of peril only a BPW show on a stuck boat could bring.
Church wasn’t even cuffed at this point, just along for the transport of their ‘Champion’. A couple guards sat in nearby seats, but didn’t seem too worried. The collar was still in place. Church’s head was down, beanie cap on. The hydraulics of the door can be heard as Church slowly tilted his head to look out to the awaiting venue of his first BPW match since winning the Championship.
“I’m sorry for what I have to do to you, Blackwater. I’m sorry for what I have to do to you. I’m sorry for what I have to-” He murmurs the words under his breath, as his thought process is interrupted by the tug of his left arm.
*Credit to J.C./McManus for the banner*