Wish it were only a nightmare (RP2)
Sept 24, 2016 3:28:08 GMT
Valentina Lemay and Jack Owyns like this
Post by Quintin Blood on Sept 24, 2016 3:28:08 GMT
The last time we saw Quintin Blood he left us sitting back in a recliner in a dark room in an unknown location. He was clearly digging to under Jason Kaine’s skin using Roxanne. He proclaimed that Jason Kaine didn’t have what it took to defeat him if he wasn’t enough for Roxanne. But, as we know, relationships do end at no fault of either party. The voices continued to control what words spewed from Quintin’s mouth, but now…
“Peace and quiet at last.”
Quintin didn’t want to stir them. He didn’t understand what they were. He only knew that they had possessed him when he was a child. His mother didn’t believe that. She assumed he had been seriously affected by seeing his father die. Therapists believed that he was suffering from some mental disorders. He had diagnosed Quintin with serious PTSD at first. It would have made sense, but upon getting to know Quintin better, he recognized that there was more going on than PTSD. In time, the therapist got together with a few psychiatrists. Due to his strange outbursts, they diagnosed Quintin with Intermittent Explosive Disorder at the age of twelve. He prescribed SSRIs for Quintin. It was time for Quintin to take them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so as he popped two pills into his mouth and washed them down with eight ounces of water.
“I hate this shit. I know what the fucking problem is, but no one believes it. They’ll be forced to believe one of these days. But, it may be too late.”
Quintin was standing in his temporary rundown apartment. The complex had been owned by his uncle, but when the man passed away from cancer, he left Quintin the estate. He waited for all the tenants’ leases to run out and let them know he wouldn’t renew their leases when their time was up. He wasn’t sure if that decision was his or not, but that’s what happened. Through an inheritance, Quintin had the rest of the buildings demolished. Liquor stores and laundry mats had gone up in their place, including a franchise Subway store that people never felt right about going to in the first place.
Quintin dropped the glass in the sink. It almost broke. He walked over to the window and began staring out as far as he could see. Two buildings across the street blocked his view, but he could at least see down the alley way between them. It was raining and he thought with less people out and about he could go for a nice relaxing walk, as long as the two freaks inside his head didn’t decide to come out and play.
Quintin grabbed his long black trench coat, put a beanie on, and grabbed the keys to the apartment. He took a deep breath before turning the knob. He twisted the nipple on the door to lock it, and shut the door behind him. He locked the bolt with his key and began walking toward the stairs.
The night was going well. The rain let up a bit and on his way back to the apartment, he saw a poster advertising the October 2nd EOW Victory show. He stopped to look at it for a bit. The main attraction for the show showed the faces of Matthew Page, Finn Whelan, Felix Hartley, and Jack Owyns as the Ultimate Championship series was going to begin. Beneath their images showed Connor Jacobs with the EOW Internet Championship title over his shoulders as he would be defending against Mysti Savage. Only two other matches were booked for the night that didn’t have those six individuals in them. Courtney Leinart would face Harper Riley to open the show, and Jason Kaine would face Quintin Blood.
Quintin knew that his match with Jason Kaine wasn’t the match people were going to tune in to watch. He may have been a big name in the underground and local wrestling companies. But, when it came to the spotlight, no one knew who the hell he was. But, October 2nd he would make sure that everyone knew the name Quintin Blood. When he wrestled, he didn’t mind letting those two fiends inside his mind to think for him. It was almost like having eyes in the back of his head. They also didn’t give a shit about him. They would push him to take risks that he didn’t like taking. He’d suffered the pain that came with it, they didn’t. A homeless man came walking by.
“Looks like a good show coming.”
Quintin turned around to see a man that hadn’t aged too well. He may not have been in his 50s yet, but looked like he could be close to 60. Quintin nodded.
“You going?”
“Goodness no."
The homeless man start chuckling.
"Can’t afford that. I can’t even afford a good meal everyday.”
Quintin shakes his head. He checks his pockets. He pulls out a few loose dollar bills.
“Here. If I had my wallet on me there’d be more.”
He hands the man the dollar bills.
“Bless you!”
“Hope that tides you over a few hours.”
The homeless man smiles and starts heading down the street in the same direction that Quintin would be going. He looks at the man.
“On second thought, hold on. I’ll walk with you.”
The homeless man stops and turns to look at Quintin.
“Well com’ on then.”
Quintin catches up with him. They walk down the sidewalk together. The homeless man looks at him with curiosity. He asks Quintin a few questions about why he’s walking around in the rain. Then…
“What’s your name?”
“Quintin.”
The homeless man smiles and chuckles a bit.
“Got a last name, Quintin?”
Quintin stops and looks at the man, hoping the man’s laughter and questions don’t get the wretched fiends’ attention inside him. He waits a moment before answering to be sure.
“Blood…”
The man’s eyes get big with surprise as he recognizes the name from the poster.
“You don’t have to buy tickets for the show! You’re part of the entertainment.”
Quintin nods and they continue walking as the homeless man continues on.
“Well that’s a fairly new company. Ain’t heard much about it. You think it’ll last?”
Quintin shrugs.
“It’s hard to say. But, I’ll give the fans something to watch. I’ll make people want to tune in to see what I do. That’s the whole point of doing what I do?”
The homeless man looks at Quintin with a smug look on his face. Quintin doesn’t notice it. They walk for almost a block as the rain picks up again. They decide to stop at a bus stop to get out of the rain. The homeless man decides to pick at Quintin.
“What exactly is it that you do?”
Quintin takes in a short breath. That type of tone and question was just the type of thing that could cause a problem. He wouldn’t harm this man. There were no limits to what the other two would do. He waited again, hoping that nothing would happen. Satisfied he opened his mouth to speak.
“For example…Jason Kaine is already emotionally broken. He’s been on a drinking binge as of late. He may or may not be hung over when we come face to face in the ring on victory. I only hope that he isn’t. I would hate to stand tall, with my arm raised at the end knowing that I just beat a drunkard. That won’t set well with me. If he’s not hung over by the time the bell rings, I’m going to make sure that those watching know what it looks like when a broken man is destroyed.”
The homeless man shakes his head in disappointment. Quintin doesn’t look at him as the two men watch as the rain pours down onto the street. Lightning flashes a couple times, followed by the low rumbling of thunder. The homeless man clears his throat before he continues.
“Is that what Quintin Blood is about when you get into that ring? No honor? No respect? No mercy?”
Quintin turns to look at him. The homeless man sits on the bench staring at him with compassion in his eyes. Quintin lets out a sigh and closes his eyes.
“If you only knew what type of life I’ve had, you’d know that mercy is the last thing I’d ever show anyone in that ring.”
Quintin opens his eyes and looks at the graffiti on the brick building across from them.
“I can respect talent when I see it. I can respect hard work. I don’t find anything honorable about a man that can’t handle losing a woman and tries drinking sorrow away. Sorrow doesn’t disappear with booze. It only numbs the pain. When that numb feeling goes away, the depression only gets worse. So, Jason Kaine has already lost. He’s made it so that people aren’t going to tune in to watch Jason Kaine lose. They’ll tune in to watch him cry out in agony.”
As the rain dies down again, the two walk out from under the covering of the bus stop. The homeless man puts his hand on Quintin’s shoulder.
“I hate to break it to you, but I think you’re going to be in for a much tougher fight than you think.”
At that moment, the two voices within Quintin’s head come to full attention. Quintin loses control of his actions and grabs the homeless man by the collar of his jacket and pulls him close with a jerk.
“Jason Kaine will tremble at our feet, filthy maggot!”
The homeless man’s eyes are bright with fear as Quintin pushes him against the advertising wall of the bus stop. The plastic rattles with the impact of the man’s back hitting it. He tries pushing Quintin’s arms away so Quintin would let him go. He’s no match for Quintin’s strength, but it is not Quintin’s strength alone that has ahold of him.
“There will be no glory for Jason Kaine at the end of the night! There will not be an ounce of passion left in his bones!”
“No glory. No passion.”
Quintin pulls the homeless man away from the advertising wall and then shoves the man against it again. The homeless man continues to try to break free with no success. He grabs the back of his neck from the slight whiplash from Quintin jerking him forward and slamming him against the plastic wall again. Lightning flashes again, lighting up the homeless man’s face. Quintin sees the fear in his eyes.
“Yes, that’s it. That’s the look that Jason Kaine will have when he faces us in the ring. He, too, will know what it feels like to be afraid.”
“Be careful—“
Quintin snarls, but it’s the aggressive persona inside him snarling at the passive’s words.
“Quiet!”
The homeless man trembles knowing his life is in immediate danger.
“Don’t kill me. Please. Let me go.”
Quintin’s aggressive side cackles at the man’s begging. Quintin gets face to face with the homeless man and gives a sinister look into the man’s eyes.
“Run.”
Quintin lets the man go and the doesn’t hesitate to run away from Quintin. Quintin watches him run until the man is out of view with a look of pleasure on his face. He then turns to walk back to his apartment.
“All of Victory will run when they see what we are capable of.”
Quintin is nearly back to the apartment when the rain stops completely. The two voices go back into their silence, leaving Quintin with no memory of when he parted with the homeless man.
“Not again.”
He lets out another heavy sigh of sorrow as he climbs the stairs of the apartment building. He reaches his door and stands there for a moment. He takes his key out, but doesn’t unlock the deadbolt. Instead he puts his hand on the door frame, just above eye level. But the aggressive persona comes back.
“Jason Kaine.”
Quintin turns his head toward the camera.
“You’re therapy session may be over…for now. And you’re right. You don’t belong there. I do.”
A sinister smile comes over his face. Quintin no longer has control of his own words as the aggressive persona takes over.
“Jason, Jason, Jason. Are those the words of a man that holds on to a fool’s hope? We know so. You think that you’re considerable talents make you safe from us? You really believe we can’t catch you?”
He cackles for a few moments and then slams his fist against the frame of the door. He turns his entire body towards the camera and takes a few steps toward it.
“No, Jason. There is nothing that can keep you safe. You have no ability to hide from us. Yes, Jason. A monster looks back at us when we look in the mirror. It smiles. And we smile back. But, you will look into the eyes of a monster on October 2nd and you will tremble. The monster, Jason, is by your own definition. Not ours. By our definition, you’ve never experienced what a monster truly is.”
He laughs softly and as Quintin approaches the stairs, he sits on the top step. He scratches his forehead hard leaving red marks, but not breaking the skin. He looks past the camera, not into it, as he speaks.
“You’ve had a session with good ol’ Doc Rockport. But, we all know that there is nothing Rockport can do for you. The only thing he ought to do is prepare to give you your last rites. That’s the only thing that will be left when we’re finished with you. But, that isn't his line of work. And no one cares enough about you to do it.”
Quintin closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath through his nose.
“You smell that, Jason? It’s a real therapy session coming your way. It will come October 2nd.”
He opens his eyes, glaring right into the camera, squinting.
“We are only what we are, Jason. If that comes across to you as…looney…you have only seen the beginning. You call us a monster? Why don’t we look deeper into that?”
Quintin reaches into his pocket and takes out a pocket sized dictionary and turns to the term monster.
“Monster? An imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly, and frightening.”
Quintin looks up at the camera.
“What you see before you is very real, Jason. We may be large…frightening…but…”
Quintin tilts his head to the left slightly, an evil grin beginning to form.
“Ugly is really more along the lines of someone who can’t accept what is coming to them.”
Quintin points to the camera like he’s pointing at Jason directly.
“That will be grotesque. People won't be able to look upon your corpse without vomit spewing from their mouths. Let’s continue…”
Quintin looks back at the dictionary in his hands and continues to read.
“Another definition of monster! So exciting! An inhumanly cruel, or wicked person.”
Quintin nods with a smirk on his face.
“We are guilty. And you will experience this first hand, Jason.”
He looks up at the camera once again.
“You will be the first of many to experience what we are capable of. When others watch, they will cower away. They won’t be able to bear the thought of what could happen to them if they stand in our way. You won’t be given that chance. You won't be able to look away. We pity you, Jason. More than you can ever understand.”
He turns the page. Another definition is waiting to be read. He looks down, reading silently.
“Well, well, well. By this definition, you are also a monster, Jason.”
He points to the top of the page, this time reading it aloud.
“It says, ‘a person, typically a child, who is rude or badly behaved.’ Now, that certainly isn’t us, Jason. But, that is definitely the type of person that strips down in a psychiatrist's office, swinging in the breeze. Even though the object in question would need a microscope to verify that it’s indeed swinging at all. We doubt the microscope would be able to see the hooks used for the attachment.”
Quintin snickers. He grabs the book on either side and tears it apart slowly as he begins laughing louder. He tosses the two parts of the book behind him, and as they hit the hallway floor his laughter abruptly stops.
“We couldn’t help but to hear your reference to us as a child. A child inside a man the size of a monster…is indeed dangerous. We’re not only dangerous. We are a hazard to your health. We are treacherous to your livelihood. We are perilous to your sanity.”
He looks down at the steps below his feet.
“Now, Jason, inside therapy…you refer to us as a monster. But, when it comes to the reflections that we see in the mirror you assume much. You say we don’t see a man or a monster. You believe what we see is a child. That is such a grim illusion you have. There is no question that your thoughts are distorted. In fact, your thoughts are monstrous.”
He looks up at the camera with a big grin covering his face.
“Good. Hold onto whatever you believe will save you from us. Believe that your experience in the ring will save you. T’is true, Jason. The fact may be that you were indeed born for this. But we were made for destruction. We are here to destroy each and every single pathetic excuse for a human being on the Victory roster in EOW. And we start with you.”
He shakes his head in great disappointment. He mocks sorrow with his eyes.
“What a poor, broken man you are! You fool! To believe that we will see anything else in that ring besides you is ignorance! To think that we would dare distract one another from our common goal shows your lack of experience with facing those like us. It is once again evidence of hope that you grasp onto. The only thing you have that we do not is willful delusion.”
Quintin stares into the camera. His eyes no longer imitate a spoof of sorrow, but absolute demonic rage.
“You will indeed see us at Victory, Jason Kaine. But, you will wish it were only a nightmare.”
Quintin Blood stares into the camera as the scene slowly fades.
“Peace and quiet at last.”
Quintin didn’t want to stir them. He didn’t understand what they were. He only knew that they had possessed him when he was a child. His mother didn’t believe that. She assumed he had been seriously affected by seeing his father die. Therapists believed that he was suffering from some mental disorders. He had diagnosed Quintin with serious PTSD at first. It would have made sense, but upon getting to know Quintin better, he recognized that there was more going on than PTSD. In time, the therapist got together with a few psychiatrists. Due to his strange outbursts, they diagnosed Quintin with Intermittent Explosive Disorder at the age of twelve. He prescribed SSRIs for Quintin. It was time for Quintin to take them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so as he popped two pills into his mouth and washed them down with eight ounces of water.
“I hate this shit. I know what the fucking problem is, but no one believes it. They’ll be forced to believe one of these days. But, it may be too late.”
Quintin was standing in his temporary rundown apartment. The complex had been owned by his uncle, but when the man passed away from cancer, he left Quintin the estate. He waited for all the tenants’ leases to run out and let them know he wouldn’t renew their leases when their time was up. He wasn’t sure if that decision was his or not, but that’s what happened. Through an inheritance, Quintin had the rest of the buildings demolished. Liquor stores and laundry mats had gone up in their place, including a franchise Subway store that people never felt right about going to in the first place.
Quintin dropped the glass in the sink. It almost broke. He walked over to the window and began staring out as far as he could see. Two buildings across the street blocked his view, but he could at least see down the alley way between them. It was raining and he thought with less people out and about he could go for a nice relaxing walk, as long as the two freaks inside his head didn’t decide to come out and play.
Quintin grabbed his long black trench coat, put a beanie on, and grabbed the keys to the apartment. He took a deep breath before turning the knob. He twisted the nipple on the door to lock it, and shut the door behind him. He locked the bolt with his key and began walking toward the stairs.
The night was going well. The rain let up a bit and on his way back to the apartment, he saw a poster advertising the October 2nd EOW Victory show. He stopped to look at it for a bit. The main attraction for the show showed the faces of Matthew Page, Finn Whelan, Felix Hartley, and Jack Owyns as the Ultimate Championship series was going to begin. Beneath their images showed Connor Jacobs with the EOW Internet Championship title over his shoulders as he would be defending against Mysti Savage. Only two other matches were booked for the night that didn’t have those six individuals in them. Courtney Leinart would face Harper Riley to open the show, and Jason Kaine would face Quintin Blood.
Quintin knew that his match with Jason Kaine wasn’t the match people were going to tune in to watch. He may have been a big name in the underground and local wrestling companies. But, when it came to the spotlight, no one knew who the hell he was. But, October 2nd he would make sure that everyone knew the name Quintin Blood. When he wrestled, he didn’t mind letting those two fiends inside his mind to think for him. It was almost like having eyes in the back of his head. They also didn’t give a shit about him. They would push him to take risks that he didn’t like taking. He’d suffered the pain that came with it, they didn’t. A homeless man came walking by.
“Looks like a good show coming.”
Quintin turned around to see a man that hadn’t aged too well. He may not have been in his 50s yet, but looked like he could be close to 60. Quintin nodded.
“You going?”
“Goodness no."
The homeless man start chuckling.
"Can’t afford that. I can’t even afford a good meal everyday.”
Quintin shakes his head. He checks his pockets. He pulls out a few loose dollar bills.
“Here. If I had my wallet on me there’d be more.”
He hands the man the dollar bills.
“Bless you!”
“Hope that tides you over a few hours.”
The homeless man smiles and starts heading down the street in the same direction that Quintin would be going. He looks at the man.
“On second thought, hold on. I’ll walk with you.”
The homeless man stops and turns to look at Quintin.
“Well com’ on then.”
Quintin catches up with him. They walk down the sidewalk together. The homeless man looks at him with curiosity. He asks Quintin a few questions about why he’s walking around in the rain. Then…
“What’s your name?”
“Quintin.”
The homeless man smiles and chuckles a bit.
“Got a last name, Quintin?”
Quintin stops and looks at the man, hoping the man’s laughter and questions don’t get the wretched fiends’ attention inside him. He waits a moment before answering to be sure.
“Blood…”
The man’s eyes get big with surprise as he recognizes the name from the poster.
“You don’t have to buy tickets for the show! You’re part of the entertainment.”
Quintin nods and they continue walking as the homeless man continues on.
“Well that’s a fairly new company. Ain’t heard much about it. You think it’ll last?”
Quintin shrugs.
“It’s hard to say. But, I’ll give the fans something to watch. I’ll make people want to tune in to see what I do. That’s the whole point of doing what I do?”
The homeless man looks at Quintin with a smug look on his face. Quintin doesn’t notice it. They walk for almost a block as the rain picks up again. They decide to stop at a bus stop to get out of the rain. The homeless man decides to pick at Quintin.
“What exactly is it that you do?”
Quintin takes in a short breath. That type of tone and question was just the type of thing that could cause a problem. He wouldn’t harm this man. There were no limits to what the other two would do. He waited again, hoping that nothing would happen. Satisfied he opened his mouth to speak.
“For example…Jason Kaine is already emotionally broken. He’s been on a drinking binge as of late. He may or may not be hung over when we come face to face in the ring on victory. I only hope that he isn’t. I would hate to stand tall, with my arm raised at the end knowing that I just beat a drunkard. That won’t set well with me. If he’s not hung over by the time the bell rings, I’m going to make sure that those watching know what it looks like when a broken man is destroyed.”
The homeless man shakes his head in disappointment. Quintin doesn’t look at him as the two men watch as the rain pours down onto the street. Lightning flashes a couple times, followed by the low rumbling of thunder. The homeless man clears his throat before he continues.
“Is that what Quintin Blood is about when you get into that ring? No honor? No respect? No mercy?”
Quintin turns to look at him. The homeless man sits on the bench staring at him with compassion in his eyes. Quintin lets out a sigh and closes his eyes.
“If you only knew what type of life I’ve had, you’d know that mercy is the last thing I’d ever show anyone in that ring.”
Quintin opens his eyes and looks at the graffiti on the brick building across from them.
“I can respect talent when I see it. I can respect hard work. I don’t find anything honorable about a man that can’t handle losing a woman and tries drinking sorrow away. Sorrow doesn’t disappear with booze. It only numbs the pain. When that numb feeling goes away, the depression only gets worse. So, Jason Kaine has already lost. He’s made it so that people aren’t going to tune in to watch Jason Kaine lose. They’ll tune in to watch him cry out in agony.”
As the rain dies down again, the two walk out from under the covering of the bus stop. The homeless man puts his hand on Quintin’s shoulder.
“I hate to break it to you, but I think you’re going to be in for a much tougher fight than you think.”
At that moment, the two voices within Quintin’s head come to full attention. Quintin loses control of his actions and grabs the homeless man by the collar of his jacket and pulls him close with a jerk.
“Jason Kaine will tremble at our feet, filthy maggot!”
The homeless man’s eyes are bright with fear as Quintin pushes him against the advertising wall of the bus stop. The plastic rattles with the impact of the man’s back hitting it. He tries pushing Quintin’s arms away so Quintin would let him go. He’s no match for Quintin’s strength, but it is not Quintin’s strength alone that has ahold of him.
“There will be no glory for Jason Kaine at the end of the night! There will not be an ounce of passion left in his bones!”
“No glory. No passion.”
Quintin pulls the homeless man away from the advertising wall and then shoves the man against it again. The homeless man continues to try to break free with no success. He grabs the back of his neck from the slight whiplash from Quintin jerking him forward and slamming him against the plastic wall again. Lightning flashes again, lighting up the homeless man’s face. Quintin sees the fear in his eyes.
“Yes, that’s it. That’s the look that Jason Kaine will have when he faces us in the ring. He, too, will know what it feels like to be afraid.”
“Be careful—“
Quintin snarls, but it’s the aggressive persona inside him snarling at the passive’s words.
“Quiet!”
The homeless man trembles knowing his life is in immediate danger.
“Don’t kill me. Please. Let me go.”
Quintin’s aggressive side cackles at the man’s begging. Quintin gets face to face with the homeless man and gives a sinister look into the man’s eyes.
“Run.”
Quintin lets the man go and the doesn’t hesitate to run away from Quintin. Quintin watches him run until the man is out of view with a look of pleasure on his face. He then turns to walk back to his apartment.
“All of Victory will run when they see what we are capable of.”
Quintin is nearly back to the apartment when the rain stops completely. The two voices go back into their silence, leaving Quintin with no memory of when he parted with the homeless man.
“Not again.”
He lets out another heavy sigh of sorrow as he climbs the stairs of the apartment building. He reaches his door and stands there for a moment. He takes his key out, but doesn’t unlock the deadbolt. Instead he puts his hand on the door frame, just above eye level. But the aggressive persona comes back.
“Jason Kaine.”
Quintin turns his head toward the camera.
“You’re therapy session may be over…for now. And you’re right. You don’t belong there. I do.”
A sinister smile comes over his face. Quintin no longer has control of his own words as the aggressive persona takes over.
“Jason, Jason, Jason. Are those the words of a man that holds on to a fool’s hope? We know so. You think that you’re considerable talents make you safe from us? You really believe we can’t catch you?”
He cackles for a few moments and then slams his fist against the frame of the door. He turns his entire body towards the camera and takes a few steps toward it.
“No, Jason. There is nothing that can keep you safe. You have no ability to hide from us. Yes, Jason. A monster looks back at us when we look in the mirror. It smiles. And we smile back. But, you will look into the eyes of a monster on October 2nd and you will tremble. The monster, Jason, is by your own definition. Not ours. By our definition, you’ve never experienced what a monster truly is.”
He laughs softly and as Quintin approaches the stairs, he sits on the top step. He scratches his forehead hard leaving red marks, but not breaking the skin. He looks past the camera, not into it, as he speaks.
“You’ve had a session with good ol’ Doc Rockport. But, we all know that there is nothing Rockport can do for you. The only thing he ought to do is prepare to give you your last rites. That’s the only thing that will be left when we’re finished with you. But, that isn't his line of work. And no one cares enough about you to do it.”
Quintin closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath through his nose.
“You smell that, Jason? It’s a real therapy session coming your way. It will come October 2nd.”
He opens his eyes, glaring right into the camera, squinting.
“We are only what we are, Jason. If that comes across to you as…looney…you have only seen the beginning. You call us a monster? Why don’t we look deeper into that?”
Quintin reaches into his pocket and takes out a pocket sized dictionary and turns to the term monster.
“Monster? An imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly, and frightening.”
Quintin looks up at the camera.
“What you see before you is very real, Jason. We may be large…frightening…but…”
Quintin tilts his head to the left slightly, an evil grin beginning to form.
“Ugly is really more along the lines of someone who can’t accept what is coming to them.”
Quintin points to the camera like he’s pointing at Jason directly.
“That will be grotesque. People won't be able to look upon your corpse without vomit spewing from their mouths. Let’s continue…”
Quintin looks back at the dictionary in his hands and continues to read.
“Another definition of monster! So exciting! An inhumanly cruel, or wicked person.”
Quintin nods with a smirk on his face.
“We are guilty. And you will experience this first hand, Jason.”
He looks up at the camera once again.
“You will be the first of many to experience what we are capable of. When others watch, they will cower away. They won’t be able to bear the thought of what could happen to them if they stand in our way. You won’t be given that chance. You won't be able to look away. We pity you, Jason. More than you can ever understand.”
He turns the page. Another definition is waiting to be read. He looks down, reading silently.
“Well, well, well. By this definition, you are also a monster, Jason.”
He points to the top of the page, this time reading it aloud.
“It says, ‘a person, typically a child, who is rude or badly behaved.’ Now, that certainly isn’t us, Jason. But, that is definitely the type of person that strips down in a psychiatrist's office, swinging in the breeze. Even though the object in question would need a microscope to verify that it’s indeed swinging at all. We doubt the microscope would be able to see the hooks used for the attachment.”
Quintin snickers. He grabs the book on either side and tears it apart slowly as he begins laughing louder. He tosses the two parts of the book behind him, and as they hit the hallway floor his laughter abruptly stops.
“We couldn’t help but to hear your reference to us as a child. A child inside a man the size of a monster…is indeed dangerous. We’re not only dangerous. We are a hazard to your health. We are treacherous to your livelihood. We are perilous to your sanity.”
He looks down at the steps below his feet.
“Now, Jason, inside therapy…you refer to us as a monster. But, when it comes to the reflections that we see in the mirror you assume much. You say we don’t see a man or a monster. You believe what we see is a child. That is such a grim illusion you have. There is no question that your thoughts are distorted. In fact, your thoughts are monstrous.”
He looks up at the camera with a big grin covering his face.
“Good. Hold onto whatever you believe will save you from us. Believe that your experience in the ring will save you. T’is true, Jason. The fact may be that you were indeed born for this. But we were made for destruction. We are here to destroy each and every single pathetic excuse for a human being on the Victory roster in EOW. And we start with you.”
He shakes his head in great disappointment. He mocks sorrow with his eyes.
“What a poor, broken man you are! You fool! To believe that we will see anything else in that ring besides you is ignorance! To think that we would dare distract one another from our common goal shows your lack of experience with facing those like us. It is once again evidence of hope that you grasp onto. The only thing you have that we do not is willful delusion.”
Quintin stares into the camera. His eyes no longer imitate a spoof of sorrow, but absolute demonic rage.
“You will indeed see us at Victory, Jason Kaine. But, you will wish it were only a nightmare.”
Quintin Blood stares into the camera as the scene slowly fades.
