Post by Jesse Jamester on Sept 24, 2021 0:17:50 GMT -5
“Don’t tell me what to do Dylan. You haven’t earned that right. Not a soul tells me what to fuckin’ do, without earnin’ it first..”
Camera propped up above the rearview mirror, angled down to the passenger seat was Jesse Jamester. Unusual of him to be the passenger, but here he was, cruising down the highway on his way to the GUNS XHF Birthday Bash.
“I heard you tell me to step aside Dylan, and I don’t think you get the gravity of the situation. You’re in no position to give orders. If anyone, you’re the one to hit the bench in this situation. If anyone is teeing off on Mr. Kane’s teeth until he’s sporting dentures, it’s going to be this son-of-bitch right here! Save the respect and the other nonsense you’re conjuring with that silver tongue of yours, because I aint buyin’ it Dylan! You have fooled a lot of men with that con-job attitude of respect and honor, but we both are cut from the same cloth; that I know,” states Jesse, as he flicks a Mongo bobble-head that rests on the winnebago’s dashboard.
The demeanor of the man said he knew Dylan’s game, or at least had expected the mental mind games of being chummy, having respect, and trying to goat the Canadian Nightmare into letting his guard down. It was a great tactic, swooning the ego of your enemy to take out your other enemy. Though the trick was one Jesse had mastered, and while he fed it at first, it was gut check time.
With only four days left before the event, he was setting himself up for the destruction that was about to unfold on three men in a main event that could very well be one, if not all of the men’s final appearance.
While a deathmatch alone was a brutal assault on the senses for any human to endure, this one was amped up with an additional person. Now three of the sickest and deranged personalities in all of the XHF were about to throw down. XHF executives were sitting back in their tower, rubbing their hands over the large stack of cash this marquee match would be pulling in. At the cost of three souls, the XHF would celebrate 20 years of a wrestling tradition that had captivated the globe.
Cutting back, we see Jesse Jamester stand up in the aisle leading to the back area of the Winnebago. However right behind him a curtain hung, blocking the view.
To his left, in the driver seat, we see an ox of a human being, bulging from the seat on all sides. The man’s face was wearing a mental institution mask used to stop people from biting, but was made of leather and covered the left half of the face. His long oily black hair and different colored eyes gave the distinct reason people most likely stayed clear of the big man.
Grabbing the camera from the rearview mirror, Jesse takes it with him and parts the curtains to the back. The normal Winnebago inside was littered with barbed wire wrapped items, stacked as high as the ceiling. On his immediate left, Jesse passes a military box saying ‘Caution: Explosives!’ on the top of it, before he grabs hold of a hanging handle on the ceiling.
“What you see is what you get Dylan Black. I don’t make any bones about what we are about to do to one another. You and I, we were destined for a battle, and this is it!”
Spinning the camera around, Jesse shows a quick glimpse of the horrors he has created and brought with him. Staying true to his word to Spike, Jesse had delivered on the weapons for this evening. Whether the XHF would provide more, he did not know - but he wasn’t leaving anything up to chance.
“We have it all for your appetite of destruction fellas! From chairs to spatulas, ladders and lawn mowers, to toasters and tables! Hell I think I even wrapped up a golfing club I found at a Seven-Eleven! Oooooh -- Let’s not forget my favorite, the explosives I found in the barn basement! Anyone order some KA-Boom? Ahhhhhh the smell of gunpowder in the morning sure gets the juices flowing doesn’t it? But this… this is hardly a drop in the bucket to the physical carnage I have planned for you both.”
A shaky camera angle jolts the screen as the wheels of the winnebago rolled into a gas station and pulled up to the pumps. Jesse Jamester swings open the door, and steps out of the side door of the back. Sun hitting his boots and jeans, he takes another step, and the blazing scorchin summer heat could be seen in the air, waves of humidity in the distance.
“Spike, you said Dylan Black was scared of you. That we looked down on you as if we thought we were better. Let me just tell you right now Spike, I don’t think I am better than you, I know. I'm not demeaning your past, I know what that's like, no, you can keep the deranged fucking lonely existence you have lived, and tell me you have nothing to lose - but we both know that's a lie. You have one shot left, and if you can't win, you go back to your home in Hell! You're on a reprieve Spike, and I'm the failed engine on your flight, about to take you down! ”
Walking out into the sun, we see the heat as Jesse adjusts the camera angle. Now we could see the deranged looking winnebago he and the big man driving were in. Like an assault vehicle for the post-apocalypse, the winnebago was armored with barbed wire around the top, windows covered with metal bars and spikes, not including the black metal sheets to darken the inside. On top was a small satellite and a military style enclosure for being able to shoot from. Going around the vehicle showed mis-matched siding and assorted rust on various areas. Not to mention the giant 24 inch military grade tires meant for war.
“Spike and I, we are two different cats. I am the last of a dying breed. Spike is a spawn of Hell who has some repenting to suffer. We are not the same you and I, not in that way Spike. No, where we may share some commonalities, rests in what we will put ourselves through. Our bodies show the scars of war like badges of honor for the fights we’ve been in. That much, we have in common. However, that's where the line ends! Because you think you have something to look forward to after this match - Overheated is right around the corner for you. I, Jesse, don’t have that thought - I don’t expect to be the same person when I leave this fight! I’m ready to leave myself bleeding on the canvas if it means I finished the job I set out to do!”
Panning around, we see the big man who was driving filling the tank as Jesse finally stops, sun directly over his back, shining on each side of his shoulders. Eyes peering through the camera like daggers.
“Spike has to survive me in order to make it to Overheated! Mighty have been the men who have tried their hand to out wrestle me, many have sought to take the crown of violence, and all have laid defeated at my feet who dared. Spike Kane - you will be another victim. Another tally on the side of the Chaos Council’s war machine! I have no remorse for what you are about to go through... Your suffrage is your own doing, I’m coming to make sure it’s carried out correctly.”
Climbing up the back of the Winnebago using the ladder that's surrounded by barbed wire on both sides, Jesse reaches the top. A slam from the other side tells Jesse his driver has finished filling up. The Winnebago war machine rocks side to side, as the driver finds his seat. Within seconds, Jesse takes post on top in the small military cove that he has welded down to the roof. Stomping on the roof, the engine roars to a start, and black smoke pours out of the back double exhausts. Down the highway they go.
Parked outside the GUNS arena; the war machine Winnebago had arrived with its passenger for the evening’s event. Destination XHF Birthday Bash. The targets: Dylan Black and Spike Kane. The sickest birthday bonanza a man could wish for was on a countdown to commencing.
Flickering from an angled view overlooking the Winnebago from the sky. Another drone appears, following Jesse Jamester as he is seen coming through the roof top door of the arena.
Moments after Jesse is in the middle of the rooftop, we see a crane arm swing into view, lifting the War Machine Winnebago from the parking lot, and precariously putting it on top of the arena. The man who was driving before was now operating the crane.
Motioning in where to set it down, Jesse throws a thumbs up as the heavy armored Winnebago sets down on the rooftop. The drone hovers in closer on Jesse, who turns his back on the vehicle and addresses the camera.
“Marking 20 years of XHF, I felt it only fair to bring the gifts that will be the instruments of this war. The War machine has never failed me before. Tonight it’s packed to the brim of toys waiting to unravel the flesh from my opponents bodies!”
Swinging open the door, Jesse heads inside. The drone does a 360 of the Winnebago, not missing a detail. Suddenly the top hatch pops off and out rises Jesse Jamester, fully geared in his wrestling attire. In his hand is something shiny, thorny, but hard to see due to how dark it was.
Taking his spot on the top of the war machine’s roof, Jesse signals to the drone and it comes closer. Zooming in, the camera captures the frame of his upper body, angled slightly into the night sky. A moon hides behind the clouds, making soft appearances as they stretch across the atmosphere.
“From here on out, the only way to victory is through me.”
Coming up through the rooftop door, the masked driver and crane operator comes to the Winnebago side door. Swinging the door nearly off the hinges, he begins to unload the arsenal of items Jesse Jamester had brought along.
“My cousin Clyde is a handy man ain’t he? As my right hand man on the Council of Chaos, it was law to bring a witness. Where you are going, you will leave lesser than you entered. I guarantee you, your body will betray you tonight. Pain will be your only existence after tonight boys. For a God of Extreme, that should be charted lands… Spike should know exactly what I have in mind, if he's up to par with his Extreme skill set. I have my doubts with you Spike... But more than that, I have a craving to wrap my arms in barbed wire, and lock on the cross face, and show you why the Nemesis' Lock was banned in Japan for over two decades!
For a Messiah, that could be a journey into the violence. Tonight I will teach Dylan Black a thing or two. While he may innovate the game, I’m the author of the deathmatch! It’s time the author picks up his mighty pen, and writes a new chapter with the blood of his foes. Dylan's antics were admirable, his switch and bait approach to stroking my ego, it was clever... It will also be why I find that much more pleasure, putting a barbed wire bat through his head -- evening the score for our Call to Arms meeting. (Snarls)
The war machine marks the wars I have endured. One-hundred-twenty-three times I have entered a death match! You will find that the instruments of my destruction, have been tried and tested, they will serve unique purposes to your demise Dylan Black, Spike Kane… there isn’t anywhere to hide now. You have only yourself to blame for what you started!”
A confidence in his voice rang like a lieutenant giving a speech to his troops before war. Taking his black scales trench coat off, Jesse looked down and picked up the item he was gazing at earlier.
The drone gets in close to reveal a barbed wire crown. Lifting it up, he carefully places it around his cranium, fitting just above the forehead of his mask.
As he removes his hands, the crown begins to cut the forehead above the mask, where a single barb pierces.
With a sudden jerking of his neck backwards, Jesse stretches his arms like wings, and looks up to the sky, a moon lighting the sky behind him as though the clouds were pausing in this moment.
Jutting forward we see Jesse in a trance state, as the barbed wire crown has now caused blood to run down his mask from all sides of his head. Blood dropped off the chin and into his chest, as the camera closed in on the head.
“Survival of the fittest, or survive at all… there is little hope for any one coming out of this with a pulse. Spike thought he escaped Hell -- there is no such thing as escape now Spike! You’re God of Extreme can come challenge me for the King’s Crown of Violence, and Dylan can show us if he is worthy of his claim, or fall victim to being a Massacred Messiah in my ring.”
Blood slips down behind his mask, running through his left eye as his face turns ever so slightly to the left side. Showing the right masked cheek, the reptile dragon scaled black canvas now a crimson mask, as the camera cuts black and white, showing the black versus white on the face, and the grainy image of Jesse Jamester wearing the barbed wire crown he deemed the Crown of Violence.
Camera propped up above the rearview mirror, angled down to the passenger seat was Jesse Jamester. Unusual of him to be the passenger, but here he was, cruising down the highway on his way to the GUNS XHF Birthday Bash.
“I heard you tell me to step aside Dylan, and I don’t think you get the gravity of the situation. You’re in no position to give orders. If anyone, you’re the one to hit the bench in this situation. If anyone is teeing off on Mr. Kane’s teeth until he’s sporting dentures, it’s going to be this son-of-bitch right here! Save the respect and the other nonsense you’re conjuring with that silver tongue of yours, because I aint buyin’ it Dylan! You have fooled a lot of men with that con-job attitude of respect and honor, but we both are cut from the same cloth; that I know,” states Jesse, as he flicks a Mongo bobble-head that rests on the winnebago’s dashboard.
The demeanor of the man said he knew Dylan’s game, or at least had expected the mental mind games of being chummy, having respect, and trying to goat the Canadian Nightmare into letting his guard down. It was a great tactic, swooning the ego of your enemy to take out your other enemy. Though the trick was one Jesse had mastered, and while he fed it at first, it was gut check time.
With only four days left before the event, he was setting himself up for the destruction that was about to unfold on three men in a main event that could very well be one, if not all of the men’s final appearance.
While a deathmatch alone was a brutal assault on the senses for any human to endure, this one was amped up with an additional person. Now three of the sickest and deranged personalities in all of the XHF were about to throw down. XHF executives were sitting back in their tower, rubbing their hands over the large stack of cash this marquee match would be pulling in. At the cost of three souls, the XHF would celebrate 20 years of a wrestling tradition that had captivated the globe.
Cutting back, we see Jesse Jamester stand up in the aisle leading to the back area of the Winnebago. However right behind him a curtain hung, blocking the view.
To his left, in the driver seat, we see an ox of a human being, bulging from the seat on all sides. The man’s face was wearing a mental institution mask used to stop people from biting, but was made of leather and covered the left half of the face. His long oily black hair and different colored eyes gave the distinct reason people most likely stayed clear of the big man.
Grabbing the camera from the rearview mirror, Jesse takes it with him and parts the curtains to the back. The normal Winnebago inside was littered with barbed wire wrapped items, stacked as high as the ceiling. On his immediate left, Jesse passes a military box saying ‘Caution: Explosives!’ on the top of it, before he grabs hold of a hanging handle on the ceiling.
“What you see is what you get Dylan Black. I don’t make any bones about what we are about to do to one another. You and I, we were destined for a battle, and this is it!”
Spinning the camera around, Jesse shows a quick glimpse of the horrors he has created and brought with him. Staying true to his word to Spike, Jesse had delivered on the weapons for this evening. Whether the XHF would provide more, he did not know - but he wasn’t leaving anything up to chance.
“We have it all for your appetite of destruction fellas! From chairs to spatulas, ladders and lawn mowers, to toasters and tables! Hell I think I even wrapped up a golfing club I found at a Seven-Eleven! Oooooh -- Let’s not forget my favorite, the explosives I found in the barn basement! Anyone order some KA-Boom? Ahhhhhh the smell of gunpowder in the morning sure gets the juices flowing doesn’t it? But this… this is hardly a drop in the bucket to the physical carnage I have planned for you both.”
A shaky camera angle jolts the screen as the wheels of the winnebago rolled into a gas station and pulled up to the pumps. Jesse Jamester swings open the door, and steps out of the side door of the back. Sun hitting his boots and jeans, he takes another step, and the blazing scorchin summer heat could be seen in the air, waves of humidity in the distance.
“Spike, you said Dylan Black was scared of you. That we looked down on you as if we thought we were better. Let me just tell you right now Spike, I don’t think I am better than you, I know. I'm not demeaning your past, I know what that's like, no, you can keep the deranged fucking lonely existence you have lived, and tell me you have nothing to lose - but we both know that's a lie. You have one shot left, and if you can't win, you go back to your home in Hell! You're on a reprieve Spike, and I'm the failed engine on your flight, about to take you down! ”
Walking out into the sun, we see the heat as Jesse adjusts the camera angle. Now we could see the deranged looking winnebago he and the big man driving were in. Like an assault vehicle for the post-apocalypse, the winnebago was armored with barbed wire around the top, windows covered with metal bars and spikes, not including the black metal sheets to darken the inside. On top was a small satellite and a military style enclosure for being able to shoot from. Going around the vehicle showed mis-matched siding and assorted rust on various areas. Not to mention the giant 24 inch military grade tires meant for war.
“Spike and I, we are two different cats. I am the last of a dying breed. Spike is a spawn of Hell who has some repenting to suffer. We are not the same you and I, not in that way Spike. No, where we may share some commonalities, rests in what we will put ourselves through. Our bodies show the scars of war like badges of honor for the fights we’ve been in. That much, we have in common. However, that's where the line ends! Because you think you have something to look forward to after this match - Overheated is right around the corner for you. I, Jesse, don’t have that thought - I don’t expect to be the same person when I leave this fight! I’m ready to leave myself bleeding on the canvas if it means I finished the job I set out to do!”
Panning around, we see the big man who was driving filling the tank as Jesse finally stops, sun directly over his back, shining on each side of his shoulders. Eyes peering through the camera like daggers.
“Spike has to survive me in order to make it to Overheated! Mighty have been the men who have tried their hand to out wrestle me, many have sought to take the crown of violence, and all have laid defeated at my feet who dared. Spike Kane - you will be another victim. Another tally on the side of the Chaos Council’s war machine! I have no remorse for what you are about to go through... Your suffrage is your own doing, I’m coming to make sure it’s carried out correctly.”
Climbing up the back of the Winnebago using the ladder that's surrounded by barbed wire on both sides, Jesse reaches the top. A slam from the other side tells Jesse his driver has finished filling up. The Winnebago war machine rocks side to side, as the driver finds his seat. Within seconds, Jesse takes post on top in the small military cove that he has welded down to the roof. Stomping on the roof, the engine roars to a start, and black smoke pours out of the back double exhausts. Down the highway they go.
Parked outside the GUNS arena; the war machine Winnebago had arrived with its passenger for the evening’s event. Destination XHF Birthday Bash. The targets: Dylan Black and Spike Kane. The sickest birthday bonanza a man could wish for was on a countdown to commencing.
Flickering from an angled view overlooking the Winnebago from the sky. Another drone appears, following Jesse Jamester as he is seen coming through the roof top door of the arena.
Moments after Jesse is in the middle of the rooftop, we see a crane arm swing into view, lifting the War Machine Winnebago from the parking lot, and precariously putting it on top of the arena. The man who was driving before was now operating the crane.
Motioning in where to set it down, Jesse throws a thumbs up as the heavy armored Winnebago sets down on the rooftop. The drone hovers in closer on Jesse, who turns his back on the vehicle and addresses the camera.
“Marking 20 years of XHF, I felt it only fair to bring the gifts that will be the instruments of this war. The War machine has never failed me before. Tonight it’s packed to the brim of toys waiting to unravel the flesh from my opponents bodies!”
Swinging open the door, Jesse heads inside. The drone does a 360 of the Winnebago, not missing a detail. Suddenly the top hatch pops off and out rises Jesse Jamester, fully geared in his wrestling attire. In his hand is something shiny, thorny, but hard to see due to how dark it was.
Taking his spot on the top of the war machine’s roof, Jesse signals to the drone and it comes closer. Zooming in, the camera captures the frame of his upper body, angled slightly into the night sky. A moon hides behind the clouds, making soft appearances as they stretch across the atmosphere.
“From here on out, the only way to victory is through me.”
Coming up through the rooftop door, the masked driver and crane operator comes to the Winnebago side door. Swinging the door nearly off the hinges, he begins to unload the arsenal of items Jesse Jamester had brought along.
“My cousin Clyde is a handy man ain’t he? As my right hand man on the Council of Chaos, it was law to bring a witness. Where you are going, you will leave lesser than you entered. I guarantee you, your body will betray you tonight. Pain will be your only existence after tonight boys. For a God of Extreme, that should be charted lands… Spike should know exactly what I have in mind, if he's up to par with his Extreme skill set. I have my doubts with you Spike... But more than that, I have a craving to wrap my arms in barbed wire, and lock on the cross face, and show you why the Nemesis' Lock was banned in Japan for over two decades!
For a Messiah, that could be a journey into the violence. Tonight I will teach Dylan Black a thing or two. While he may innovate the game, I’m the author of the deathmatch! It’s time the author picks up his mighty pen, and writes a new chapter with the blood of his foes. Dylan's antics were admirable, his switch and bait approach to stroking my ego, it was clever... It will also be why I find that much more pleasure, putting a barbed wire bat through his head -- evening the score for our Call to Arms meeting. (Snarls)
The war machine marks the wars I have endured. One-hundred-twenty-three times I have entered a death match! You will find that the instruments of my destruction, have been tried and tested, they will serve unique purposes to your demise Dylan Black, Spike Kane… there isn’t anywhere to hide now. You have only yourself to blame for what you started!”
A confidence in his voice rang like a lieutenant giving a speech to his troops before war. Taking his black scales trench coat off, Jesse looked down and picked up the item he was gazing at earlier.
The drone gets in close to reveal a barbed wire crown. Lifting it up, he carefully places it around his cranium, fitting just above the forehead of his mask.
As he removes his hands, the crown begins to cut the forehead above the mask, where a single barb pierces.
With a sudden jerking of his neck backwards, Jesse stretches his arms like wings, and looks up to the sky, a moon lighting the sky behind him as though the clouds were pausing in this moment.
Jutting forward we see Jesse in a trance state, as the barbed wire crown has now caused blood to run down his mask from all sides of his head. Blood dropped off the chin and into his chest, as the camera closed in on the head.
“Survival of the fittest, or survive at all… there is little hope for any one coming out of this with a pulse. Spike thought he escaped Hell -- there is no such thing as escape now Spike! You’re God of Extreme can come challenge me for the King’s Crown of Violence, and Dylan can show us if he is worthy of his claim, or fall victim to being a Massacred Messiah in my ring.”
Blood slips down behind his mask, running through his left eye as his face turns ever so slightly to the left side. Showing the right masked cheek, the reptile dragon scaled black canvas now a crimson mask, as the camera cuts black and white, showing the black versus white on the face, and the grainy image of Jesse Jamester wearing the barbed wire crown he deemed the Crown of Violence.
All the King’s men
All the Kingdom's people
Came to the GUNS arena
Witnessing the New
Era of Violence
Witnessing the New
Era of Violence
Celebrating
The Birthday Deathmatch
of
XHF
