A Taste Of Hell

"W—What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" I asked the brute to the left, my heart starting to pound in my chest cavity while the moths fluttered away in my stomach. The brutish monster, showing his demonic fangs and piercing red eyes simply scoffed in my direction, callous pupils looking forward.

"Let me go!" I shouted, struggling against the cold metal prism that encased my wrists behind my back. "I'm not crazy! I don't deserve this!" Refusing to follow, I dragged my feet on the metallic floor, yet still the creatures with porous faces in dirty white lab coats continued tugging me towards Hell itself without a shred of humanity in their eyes. One raised a claw and snapped his fingers in a show of arrogance, every door on every cage opening wide to let the rest of the freak show play along with the game locked inside my head.

The howling of the other patients was palpable, my skin nearly crawling off the thick muscle. They all repeated the same mantra as I did, all pleading at the top of their lungs that they were sane in a symphony of tortured voices that could make even the most strong-willed tremble. The pitch was akin to the awful bubblegum pop top twenty music on the TV, an earworm that wouldn't leave no matter how bad to wished it would.

I shouted at the voices to stop their incessant babbling, shouted from the top of my lungs to drown them all away. They didn't stop, eager to drive me mad with each aching syllable. They kept taunting me, male and female alike crooning and complaining that their lives weren't fair and that nobody would help them.

"We're saving you," the monster on my right told me, his words deep and terrible, grit coating every word. "We'll stop the voices from ever coming back and you'll finally feel like yourself again. Isn't that what you want, Nick?" The word hung in the back of my throat, the patients insisting on continuing to babble on and on, saying how the doctor was right and all. I shook my head, shouting at the top of my lungs yet again, a small whine at the end.

"No! No, I don't! I don't wanna be saved, okay? I don't wanna just be Nick Kramer anymore, that boy is DEAD!" I silenced the voices for one solitary moment, all left with mouths agape while they listened to my powerful voice. "That boy DIED when his mom and dad didn't wanna come to his fucking graduation like they promised 'cause - WHOOPTY FREAKIN DOO - a 'finance meeting' was clearly more—!"

"We're here," he cut my speech short, the door swinging wide in front of me. With that, it only took an instant before they threw me in the chair and hooked up electrodes to my body, strapping me in the chair like a prisoner destined to feel the brunt of what was to come.

"Relax, this won't hurt a bit," one of the doctors smiled, suddenly pulling a rickety switch executioner style when—

Thank you.

Thank you for challenging me to the first match I've had in EXODUS in a loooong time and thank you for being so cordial and forthcoming with it. I didn't have to beg, I didn't have to plead, no. You wrapped it up in a pretty little bow and handed it to me like a present, smiling heavy with gritted teeth the whole fucking time, and you know what? I respect that. I respect that you decided to fight me. I respect that you wanna stand up to your girlfriend to try and prove without a shadow of a doubt that the lie you construed about loving her all along was fact, not fiction. I even respect the way you groveled to the new Director, how you chose to do nothing when my torment of Destiny began weeks back on Twitter. Yes, I remember, don't try to convince me otherwise, Shinji.

I remember the first few nights I teased her when she was a wreck about you wanting to stay in Japan, I remember when she wanted you home and you treated her like shit. Whichever way you wanna tell the story, hey, more power to you, but fact is, when she was crying, a mess of a human being, you were nowhere to be found and me? Well, I watched. No, I didn't just watch, I toughened her up. I told her you never loved her. See? I did the work for you, and you had to come back and mess it up for yourself, had to tie yourself to the anchor once again just to save face when we both know you didn't really want to. Like the public whore you continue to be, however, drenched in contemptible garbage right down to the marrow, you chose to come back, to comfort her, to make everything the way it used to be, but let's be honest...

If you gave even the slightest shit about her, you would've defended her on twitter ages ago instead of letting Heather do all the dirty work.

Oh, but Heather and I had our fun, don't worry. I messed with her as well, and trust me, there's much, MUCH more where that came from, lemme tell you. So the fact is, it all comes down to your responsibility. Do you stay in your little dojo, fighting training dolls for fun or whatever the fuck it is you do for fun, or do you actually stand up for the people you love? 'Cause frankly, the more and more I think about it, this distasteful display of 'honor' is pretty laughable when you consider the timing. And frankly? If it's honor you want, that's just what you'll get, but I'm afraid your own 'honor' is running quite dry, and when you lose and you couldn't defend yourself or your girlfriend from 'big bad Lifer,' maybe it oughta be time to rethink a whole lotta those life choices, hm? Maybe you oughta move back to Japan. You know, without Destiny holding you back. It's what you wanted to do all along, right?

Thank you.

Thank you for making a fool out of yourself.

I lied about respecting anything you did, by the way. I'm sure you haven't gotten a hang of sarcasm either, huh Shinji?


"It's called electroconvulsive therapy, not 'electroshock therapy' anymore, Mr. Lifer. And I checked the files. Blackthorn never scheduled for an ECT this week, or any week for that matter," the woman across the desk informed me, her face stern like a teacher with sharp wrinkles around her eyes and red fingernails on her stubby little fingers that pitter-pattered against the file, turning page after page.

"But— I remember! It didn't work, didn't cure me. I just... Remember it hurt. I remember getting shocked. I... I swear to God, I remember..." My voice shook with fear, with pain in my bloodshot eyes while I looked over at the older doctor behind the desk once again. "I'm sorry, but... Who are you again?"

"Oh, you can call me Ms. Steen. I'm simply here to analyze your thought patterns before the trial tomorrow to decide whether or not you can go home. An assessment, as you will, to see how far you're progressing, or digressing, with the treatment. Which reminds me," she started, tilting her head. "The voices, the demons.... Has this happened quite a bit while you've been in Blackthorn Asylum?"

I thought for a moment before answering. "Yeah, I... It has. Every time I think about my daughter, Saylor back home. Every time I think about what EXODUS did to me when all I wanted to do was stay and wrestle, I just... I completely lose it."

"It says in your records that you assaulted an orderly?" she noted, her words shocked somewhat as she finished her sentence. "Is that because she looked like a monster, or were you just angry? Maybe a voice told you to do it?"

"I... I don't remember that, I'm sorry," I answered her, honesty in my voice. "I'll try to remember again, but some things just... Fall out of my skull, I don't know," I shrugged, frustrated with myself. I assaulted an orderly, a nurse? When? How?

"Interesting..."

"What's interesting?" I countered back.

"I can't say anymore. Good luck tomorrow at your trial hearing. I'll be in attendance and I'll give what I know to your lawyer first thing in the morning. And Mr. Lifer?" My ears perked up. "Congratulations. I can speak for what the judge will say, but as far as I'm concerned, you're better if you're home with your family, with your job back, so long as you stay out of trouble."

"I... Really? Thanks so much, Ms. Steen," I answered, shaking her hand before she left for the very first time.



I've been silent on the cold hard facts lately, haven't I? I held off on drilling the truth down your fucking throat and I kept my thoughts to myself, kept the jokes at a minimum. Frankly, I know you don't deserve that shit, Shinji. None of you do. No more laughing, no more pointing, no more calling me an idiot, I'm tired of that shit! It's 'bout time I take this seriously, what with 'honor' being the main course and all.

Let me let you in on a little secret, one I learned first hand. True honor doesn't exist, geniuses! It's all a ploy to fuck you sideways and take your money when you're not looking, a prelude to disaster! Nothing fun ever comes from following the rules, but this match with pacific coast implications might be that elusive exception.

See, what greater message would it send on my beloved in ring redebut - something EXODUS has been clear to sweep under the rug in a sad attempt at fucking me over for another countless time - than kneeing Shinji in the skull and making sure he never gets back up, hm? What better way to show that I'm not messing around when I defeat a champion and get a chance to hold that belt over my shoulder just so I can say I'm better than all the rest with one giant example to point towards? Of course, that comes much later, but it's fun to fantasize, ain't it?

I'll beat you at your own game, 'Sentinel.' I'm on my way to tarnishing your legacy in one fowl swoop so fast that even Japan 'll see that you're nothing but a coward who could barely even stand up for his girlfriend or even make it in the United States market. You belong in (R)evo and that's where you deserve to stay, so this little pretend game you're trying to play up right now? All gone. All the time you spent learning English? It'll account for jack shit. 'cept when you're finally apologizing for even asking for this match in the first place.