Post by The Hard Core Society on Sept 7, 2016 7:06:53 GMT
CAMERA OFF - Post Aokigahara match at Wicked Live EP-1
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I finally had a moment alone to myself and away from my two new followers. I enter my locker room, some of that gunk that was sprayed in my face still there along with spatters of Zombie's blood. Every nerve in me tingles, my senses alive and on fire. I could not show that weakness in front of others. I refused, letting my other 'selves' suffer for me. That's how I endure when the pain becomes too great, I let someone else inside me take the overflow. I don't know what that shit was that Aoki spat upon me in the match but ever since, it's like my sense of touch was ten fold. I slide my hand upon the surface of one of the lockers, the sensation suddenly fresh and new as I felt even the slightest imperfections in the metal beneath the smooth, glossed blue paint.
The normal dull aches in my body felt more akin to having cracked bones and deep tissue bruising. I literally started flexing my face and could barely stop myself from wincing in pain. At the same time, I felt so much stronger and more powerful than I had ever felt in my life. I say this knowing that I've never been in a better physical shape, but Jesus fucking Christ I felt powerful. I felt like I could destroy worlds. It was not unlike the sensation of being high on cocaine, only with the added twist of being sensitive to every fucking thing.
After I shed my gear, I go straight to one of the shower stalls to get this shit off me. With a turn of the knob, I suddenly felt as I were being stabbed in the chest by sharpened icicles. I growl in pain and fall back against the stall, only making things worse as more sensitive areas are hit by the water. What the fuck is this shit?! I reach out for the knobs trying to turn on a bit of hot water to at least make this bearable. I'm quivering as I finally hit that sweet spot, turning ice cold into warm water. Panting for breath, I lean forward and as soon as the water touches those aching parts of my skull, I immediately regret it, but it wasn't nearly as bad as what felt like absolute sub zero temperatures.
"Hey Jackie boy," I hear his voice in my head. Stilletto, that motherfucker daring the speak out of turn, here and now? "That's some potent shit. Maybe we should find the Zombie and steal some to get high together. What do you say?"
What do I say? WHAT DO I SAY?!
"Fuck off and die, Stilletto or I swear I will find a way to fucking kill you once and for all...."
He laughs, he fucking laughs. That punk bitch motherfucker then says to me, "I die, you die. Them's the rules bitch."
I slide down to a seat at the floor of the shower, just letting the water do it's thing. Bit by bit, I feel less and less sensitive as Aokigahara's mist remnants swirl down the drain. I don't know what that shit was that he used, but I know that if he ever sprays me with it again, his dead man status would become quite literal in a fucking heartbeat. I start to wash the blood and grime from my body, all of it Aoki's as I didn't even bleed in this match. Funny how that works out, ain't it? It's probably for the best as I could only imagine just how bad shit would have gotten if that damn drug he spit on me had gotten into my blood stream.
Once I get done washing up, I throw on some fresh duds and pick up my favorite walking companion; the old mop handle. I'm out the door in a flash to go have a little chat with Calvin Harris, hopefully just like the one I had with Cross Recoba earlier this very evening....
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=============================
I finally had a moment alone to myself and away from my two new followers. I enter my locker room, some of that gunk that was sprayed in my face still there along with spatters of Zombie's blood. Every nerve in me tingles, my senses alive and on fire. I could not show that weakness in front of others. I refused, letting my other 'selves' suffer for me. That's how I endure when the pain becomes too great, I let someone else inside me take the overflow. I don't know what that shit was that Aoki spat upon me in the match but ever since, it's like my sense of touch was ten fold. I slide my hand upon the surface of one of the lockers, the sensation suddenly fresh and new as I felt even the slightest imperfections in the metal beneath the smooth, glossed blue paint.
The normal dull aches in my body felt more akin to having cracked bones and deep tissue bruising. I literally started flexing my face and could barely stop myself from wincing in pain. At the same time, I felt so much stronger and more powerful than I had ever felt in my life. I say this knowing that I've never been in a better physical shape, but Jesus fucking Christ I felt powerful. I felt like I could destroy worlds. It was not unlike the sensation of being high on cocaine, only with the added twist of being sensitive to every fucking thing.
After I shed my gear, I go straight to one of the shower stalls to get this shit off me. With a turn of the knob, I suddenly felt as I were being stabbed in the chest by sharpened icicles. I growl in pain and fall back against the stall, only making things worse as more sensitive areas are hit by the water. What the fuck is this shit?! I reach out for the knobs trying to turn on a bit of hot water to at least make this bearable. I'm quivering as I finally hit that sweet spot, turning ice cold into warm water. Panting for breath, I lean forward and as soon as the water touches those aching parts of my skull, I immediately regret it, but it wasn't nearly as bad as what felt like absolute sub zero temperatures.
"Hey Jackie boy," I hear his voice in my head. Stilletto, that motherfucker daring the speak out of turn, here and now? "That's some potent shit. Maybe we should find the Zombie and steal some to get high together. What do you say?"
What do I say? WHAT DO I SAY?!
"Fuck off and die, Stilletto or I swear I will find a way to fucking kill you once and for all...."
He laughs, he fucking laughs. That punk bitch motherfucker then says to me, "I die, you die. Them's the rules bitch."
I slide down to a seat at the floor of the shower, just letting the water do it's thing. Bit by bit, I feel less and less sensitive as Aokigahara's mist remnants swirl down the drain. I don't know what that shit was that he used, but I know that if he ever sprays me with it again, his dead man status would become quite literal in a fucking heartbeat. I start to wash the blood and grime from my body, all of it Aoki's as I didn't even bleed in this match. Funny how that works out, ain't it? It's probably for the best as I could only imagine just how bad shit would have gotten if that damn drug he spit on me had gotten into my blood stream.
Once I get done washing up, I throw on some fresh duds and pick up my favorite walking companion; the old mop handle. I'm out the door in a flash to go have a little chat with Calvin Harris, hopefully just like the one I had with Cross Recoba earlier this very evening....
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