Post by The Cosplay Playboy on Oct 10, 2015 16:53:44 GMT -6
October 10, 2015
Littleton, Colorado
“Okay. This might just be the most complicated fucking web I have ever seen…”
“Welcome to the past year of my life.”
Chris Strike’s own “Sanctuary” served as this makeshift HQ of sorts, the place where he decided to set-up camp to not only keep track of this “web,” as Michael Sharp described it, but also as a means of connecting all of the pieces in this wild duck and goose hunt he had gotten himself into over the last year after the events in Ellum, Texas. There was a large cork board set-up on the wall of a medium-sized office with file cabinets, a desk, a modern computer by it, some books, title belts in frames and all of it decorated to Strike’s own whims. The cork board was filled with multiple pictures in various different spots - be it the twelve signs of the Zodiac, different persons associated with them in any manner, a few news articles and the biggest thing were all of the red strings connecting them all together. They weaved their way all across the board to where Chris could see why Sharp was calling it a “web.” All of them, however, led to one spot at the very center - a large fire clock with twelve flames in it, a sign of the zodiac printed below each flame.
Michael Sharp took a closer look at the board, analyzing it one last time before pointing out the very thing at the center.
“Is that the crazy giant clock you were telling me all about?”
Strike nodded. “I pulled off the records from Zinkus and Gerrard’s computers to confirm it and that’s the exact thing,” he explained, crossing his arms as he took a seat on the main office chair behind the computer, his own bottle of Yuengling held firmly in his left hand. “Although surprisingly, nowhere near as giant let alone a clock. It’s a symbol of some sort. The translations were incomplete on the doc, but major bullet points included stuff like cult and protectors of the Marks.”
“Ain’t that some shit,” Sharp remarked, almost chuckling before he took his eyes off the cork board and looked over at his fellow, first generation War Machine. “How did you manage that much?”
“One of the kids in Section D is some sort of computer whizz too. He comes to the shows. He also hates about anything Section B related and both Zinkus & Gerrard have roots there, so add that and enough cash to pay part of his next semester of tuition…”
“Nothing like extra motivation to pay the bills, then. That would also explain why Collins decided to backfist your lights out at Welcome Oblivion along with Beowulf.”
Strike exhaled. He wasn’t particularly trying to think in regards to things inside of the squared circle right now and yet, it was what it all came back to. Ellum, Hal Snyder, the Twelve Marks, the lanterns...all of it came back to EXODUS Pro in some way.
“If that’s the case, then it just proves he’s got something to hide in this far more than I do…” Strike remarked, his eyes narrowing at just the mere thought. “He knows who is holding the Mark of Aries. In fact, I know it’s somebody close to him, maybe even in the family itself. Ophelia’s been quietly keeping a read on him and everyone else over the last few months in developmental while she recovered from her concussion...”
“Nothing like getting caught in the middle of a civil war while trying to piece this bullshit altogether, huh?” Sharp remarked, no smile on his face as he took a swig from the beer bottle in his right hand. A Yuengling traditional lager. A Pennsylvanian through and through. “Although I can say this, nobody was expecting Collins to pull off that stunt. Especially if he was hoping to right the ship...”
“Assuming his little biker golden child isn’t taking too well to it either, then.”
“Our golden child, asshole. We’ve done more for Carey Caldwell than Jonathan Collins could ever dream of,” Sharp snapped. “Don’t dare take this out on him. You did wrong by him and you know it, to the point where getting him to listen in regards to what you’re ACTUALLY trying to do be damn near impossible.”
“It was for the best, Michael,” Chris snapped back. “The moment Gemini showed up in the picture pretending to be Reika, I needed to play along. I needed to be every bit of the villain they wanted me to be if this smokescreen was going to be accurate. Because if something happened to that kid on my watch due to this, I don’t fucking know how I would have lived with myself.”
Sharp sighed. “You need to patch things up with the boy. Both of you need this, regardless of how stubborn you both are. Unlike what you seem to think, that boy can defend himself. Especially now that he’s starting to realize what he can use that Mark of his...we confirmed that much, right?”
“From what you’ve told me observing Carey these past few weeks, the stuff pulled off from Zinkus & Gerrard...” Chris sighed. “While it needs to still be seen to be believed, Carey Linus Caldwell is literally the toughest son of a bitch we know thanks to the Mark of Taurus.”
“That narrows most of them down...all we need at this point is to figure out who Aries is, find Virgo and then, that’s everybody tracked down in some matter.”
“And then, you can finally put an end to this entire crazy ass saga of your life?”
“Yes, please and thank you,” Strike replied with a sigh. “Because I’m literally getting too old for this shit…”
Chris glanced down at his beer bottle, bringing it up and gulping down a large swig from it, audibly wincing in the process. He was never the biggest fan of beer, but they had been a housewarming gift that Sharp brought along with him...and as War Machines, the rules were rather simple. Somebody brought liquor, you drank it. A smirk appeared on Sharp’s face as he saw his compadre’s particular struggle.
“What’s the matter? Too goddamn American for your tastes there, buddy?”
“Oh fuck off,” Strike rolled his eyes. “You know outside of Sapporos that I can’t do the whole beer is tasty bullshit to save my damn life…”
“But we got you learned. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah. Guess you did.”
“So...as to the Marks…once this is all over, Chris...” Michael Sharp took a few steps towards the office desk, sitting on the smaller chair on the other side of it, looking over at his long time friend and associate. “Give any thought to what’s next?”
For a moment, Chris Strike sat there quietly, almost as if pondering the very foundation of the question. The way they had all scattered over the last year in EXODUS Pro, all of the chaos, all of the unpleasantness, all of it done with the hope for a better tomorrow without being sure if they’d be there to see it. But between all of that and his own successes inside of the ring, with all of the accolades achieved in the course of a year and the recognition gained from nearly fifteen years of wrestling all over the globe, there was one prevalent thought that was coming to mind.
“Yeah...actually, I do have an idea. I’ve been thinking on it and you’re right. One way or another, bitter as we may be, I want to make things right for the kid...it might take him kicking me in the balls or something for all I put him through but that isn’t too heavy a price to pay.”
“Hmmm...I like it. Plus it adds to his whole ordeal that your fucking dick keeps getting you into all this crazy shit.”
Chris Strike rolled his eyes. “Never fucked the zombie Reika. Can’t say my life choices are that poor,” he replied. “Besides, his Irish looks about as insane as Magdalena…”
“Different nationality, same kind of crazy if you ask me,” Sharp said. “Only difference is that she’s committed to him. She sees something great in the kid in a similar way to how we did. She’s loyal. She’s a War Machine. And that’s the thing, Chris...it’s not just Carey anymore. You gotta right by the new blood.” He took another swig from his Yuengling. “I keep saying that you’re still one of us. You’re going to need to prove that before they decide to drop you on your ass for good.”
“...I can deal with that. But in due time. We’ve got loose ends to tie with this shit first. Once we do that? I’ll pay the price for my own sins. And then, maybe then...I can finally redeem myself for all of this before it’s all over...”
“Isn’t it a little too early to be talking about the ending you won’t live to see, you little shit?”
The voice echoed through the entirety of the Sanctuary, as Chris Strike and Michael Sharp immediately jumped out of their seats, recognizing the voice all too well as they began looking around the entirety of the area - with Sharp going as far as drinking the rest of his Yuengling bottle before breaking it against the table with every means to use the sharp remnants of glass as a deadly weapon. And yet, no matter how hard they looked, there was no person to be seen. Or better yet, the person both War Machines knew that the voice belonged to…
That was, of course, until the doors of the Sanctuary opened wide and exposed the dark, starry skies for the briefest of moments before closing shut behind this new entry. Chopped up, dyed hair that was a dark red color, one amber colored eye while the other was a dark red shade, a thin smile complementing their androgynous features. Sunglasses rested just slightly above their forehead and their look was further accentuated by a faded red t-shirt with the words “Hey, It’s Not So Easy Being a Gemini,” navy blue skinny jeans and a pair of black lace-up toe booties. They also had a bag slung over their left shoulder and the smile widened as they stepped closer and closer into the Sanctuary, staring at the two men who looked ready to put up a fight for their lives.
“Oh relax, you fuckers. If I wanted you dead, I’d have cut off the power to this place from the outside and outright made a bloodbath of this place...” The person who bears the resemblance to Reika Seragaki steps further into the fold, approaching the two with a shit-eating grin plastered all over them. “Besides, you’ve all done so very good in writing such a compelling drama of complete and utterly shitty people to where we can’t just blow our load on me quietly taking your blood one by one and me getting my one wish out of uniting all of these Marks…”
“...Bullshit. I’ll absolutely fucking STAB yinz if you take a step closer, you fuckin’ zombie mut-”
It didn’t take long for something to blast Michael Sharp from his position all the way into the opposite wall by a literal fucking lightning bolt right out of the person under the meat guise of Reika Seragaki and sent flying into the wall to where it left a large dent in the process. Chris Strike’s eyes widen, hands immediately turning into fists as he feels his own chest burning for a moment but to where he’s able to point right at the person who still wore the guise of Reika under them and one particular bit of power came to mind. It didn’t have the level of strength it did at the Arino household when its user’s abilities were right there to be tapped into but he memorized it enough to where one simple command would be enough:
“LEAVE AND NEVER SET FOOT IN THIS PLACE AGAIN!”
The command mimicked from the Libra constellation seems to be able to stop the yielder of the Mark of Gemini in their tracks, a pained expression appearing in their face, eyes widened in full before their expression eased into something far more docile as they spoke to Chris Strike again.
“That was a warning shot to your friend, you little shit. Barely grazed him but he might die if you don’t do something about it in the next few minutes. Next time we meet, it’ll be just us. We do have a lot of ground to cover, Sagittarius...so, try not getting caught up in Collins and Gray’s power play bullshit while you help gather up my large, big wish with all the Twelve Marks united, would you?”
Strike’s hand turned into a fist. Shit. Maybe the command didn’t work in full, because otherwise, they would have just shut up and done it. “...Who the fuck are you even…?”
The Mark of Gemini’s smirked went from damn near ear-to-ear.
“Why, I’m the First Disciple. The original Mark. But most importantly, Christopher Martins Damasceno...I am the Last Scion of Synder!”
Without another word, the figure snapped their fingers and seemed to follow the command to an absolute degree as some sort of black hole opened right behind them, stars, nebulas and the like flashing for a mere moment before they stepped on through it and disappeared out of sight.
For any normal man, they’d think they were tripping on shrooms or acid by seeing something like this.
Unfortunately, Chris Strike didn’t have that fucking luxury.
His instincts immediately moving to a groaning, pained Michael Sharp who was holding on to his shoulder for dear life. The spot where he crashed high on the wall smeared down with the blood escaping from his three-piece suit and unlike most times, he wasn’t laughing or smiling at any attempt to do him bodily harm. Something he was infamous for in wrestling, something that most people didn’t expect from a steel industry tycoon who took up this particular sport as a goddamned hobby rather than his driving life force.
No, this was the expression of a man who was probably seeing the writing on the wall unless they managed to do something for him and do something NOW! Chris Strike got rid of his black t-shirt, immediately placing it against the open wound as a means to help stop the bleeding. Almost panicked, Strike kept looking around and all over the office - the first aid kit being the first thing he damn near tore off the wall, fumbling with his hands to open it while Sharp kept groaning, looking over at Strike finally open the first aid kit and not being able to himself to another remark as he weakly watched it all unfold.
“Sure could use...the kid’s Mark right about now…”
It was almost like a bulb instantly went off in Chris Strike’s head.
While he had not been around Carey Caldwell anywhere near enough lately (and yes, that’s also including the few minutes spent fighting him at Revolution Roulette II) to project the abilities of Taurus into somebody else like he had been able to do with the Aquarius and Libra abilities, there was something else they could do. Something that the Mark of Gemini themselves delivered when Chris was still trying to figure out exactly what made “Reika Seragaki” tick and what brought them to him, during their visit of (R)Evolution Wrestling where Strike fought Caleb Storm and his Pantheon gathered together to fight for the first time. They managed to grab something from Dr. Cyril Kuller’s office and the then-Reika stated that this was Carey Caldwell’s blood. The blood of one yielding a Mark, the explanation being “just in case that little shit can’t cooperate with our plans.”
Chris Strike didn’t understand why, back then. Now? It was either save the one sample, take Sharp to the hospital and risk him dying, the blood being on his hands entirely…or find a way to make his peace with the damn kid, because he was hopefully saving Michael Sharp’s life with this one.
Strike darted towards a small mini-fridge of sorts within the office, opening it wide and digging deep towards a particular corner where he stored the sample. Of course, with that came the realization that he didn’t have a goddamned syringe to insert it in. “SHIT,” Strike exclaimed, before looking back over at Michael Sharp and where his hand was holding onto his shoulder...the crazy lightning bolt they’d seen had been enough to take out the clothing fabrics in that area as well as a good chunk of skin and definitely enough to where the blood was pouring from an open wound there. Then, of course, it hit him that the first aid kit would have it. He didn’t spend damn near fifty dollars on it for it to not have one.
Opening the blood sample vial with his right hand while grasping the syringe out from the first aid kit, Chris Strike knelt down by Michael Sharp, unbuckling the rich man’s own belt from his jeans, roughly pulling them out (because it’s EXODUS, this deserves a “no homo” warning, mind you) and then handing it over to Sharp. “This is probably not going to be pleasant,” Strike stated, as Sharp looked at the folded belt in Strike’s free hand, biting down on it as Strike let go, preparing the syringe and keeping his breaths regulated as to not have a damn panic attack of his own before he finally stretched out Michael Sharp’s right arm, found a vein and inserted the end of the syringe into it as Sharp howled in further pain, biting down on the leather belt as a means to make sure he wouldn’t bite his damned tongue off. Strike watched carefully as he pressed down on the plunger and saw the blood from Carey Caldwell gradually make its way into Michael Sharp. He removed the syringe and placed it aside, keeping his eyes on the shoulder wound for a few moments, moving the cloth and Sharp’s left hand that held it out of the way…
No change.
Well, that was of course until he noticed something almost inhuman…
“What the fuck…”
A natural reaction to anyone who hadn’t witnessed what the hell these Marks of the Zodiac could possibly do but not even somebody with a year under his belt like Chris Strike expected to see a bloody wound slowly closing itself out. The color on Michael Sharp’s features was regaining its natural, rosy peach complexion and the man finally spat out the leather belt, coughing accordingly as he finally got a glance at the wound itself before glancing back at a panting Chris Strike, the man’s hands covered in Sharp’s own blood and his body shaking…
“...Okay...we definitely...need to do something about these Marks...”
Chris Strike held on to his chest with his left hand, staring down at the bullet-hole scars all across it while Sharp’s blood smeared his skin and remained there…
Whatever wish the Mark of Gemini wanted to have out of uniting these twelve Marks, Chris Strike would never allow it to happen.
Even if that meant facing his end far sooner than he ever expected.
Littleton, Colorado
“Okay. This might just be the most complicated fucking web I have ever seen…”
“Welcome to the past year of my life.”
Chris Strike’s own “Sanctuary” served as this makeshift HQ of sorts, the place where he decided to set-up camp to not only keep track of this “web,” as Michael Sharp described it, but also as a means of connecting all of the pieces in this wild duck and goose hunt he had gotten himself into over the last year after the events in Ellum, Texas. There was a large cork board set-up on the wall of a medium-sized office with file cabinets, a desk, a modern computer by it, some books, title belts in frames and all of it decorated to Strike’s own whims. The cork board was filled with multiple pictures in various different spots - be it the twelve signs of the Zodiac, different persons associated with them in any manner, a few news articles and the biggest thing were all of the red strings connecting them all together. They weaved their way all across the board to where Chris could see why Sharp was calling it a “web.” All of them, however, led to one spot at the very center - a large fire clock with twelve flames in it, a sign of the zodiac printed below each flame.
Michael Sharp took a closer look at the board, analyzing it one last time before pointing out the very thing at the center.
“Is that the crazy giant clock you were telling me all about?”
Strike nodded. “I pulled off the records from Zinkus and Gerrard’s computers to confirm it and that’s the exact thing,” he explained, crossing his arms as he took a seat on the main office chair behind the computer, his own bottle of Yuengling held firmly in his left hand. “Although surprisingly, nowhere near as giant let alone a clock. It’s a symbol of some sort. The translations were incomplete on the doc, but major bullet points included stuff like cult and protectors of the Marks.”
“Ain’t that some shit,” Sharp remarked, almost chuckling before he took his eyes off the cork board and looked over at his fellow, first generation War Machine. “How did you manage that much?”
“One of the kids in Section D is some sort of computer whizz too. He comes to the shows. He also hates about anything Section B related and both Zinkus & Gerrard have roots there, so add that and enough cash to pay part of his next semester of tuition…”
“Nothing like extra motivation to pay the bills, then. That would also explain why Collins decided to backfist your lights out at Welcome Oblivion along with Beowulf.”
Strike exhaled. He wasn’t particularly trying to think in regards to things inside of the squared circle right now and yet, it was what it all came back to. Ellum, Hal Snyder, the Twelve Marks, the lanterns...all of it came back to EXODUS Pro in some way.
“If that’s the case, then it just proves he’s got something to hide in this far more than I do…” Strike remarked, his eyes narrowing at just the mere thought. “He knows who is holding the Mark of Aries. In fact, I know it’s somebody close to him, maybe even in the family itself. Ophelia’s been quietly keeping a read on him and everyone else over the last few months in developmental while she recovered from her concussion...”
“Nothing like getting caught in the middle of a civil war while trying to piece this bullshit altogether, huh?” Sharp remarked, no smile on his face as he took a swig from the beer bottle in his right hand. A Yuengling traditional lager. A Pennsylvanian through and through. “Although I can say this, nobody was expecting Collins to pull off that stunt. Especially if he was hoping to right the ship...”
“Assuming his little biker golden child isn’t taking too well to it either, then.”
“Our golden child, asshole. We’ve done more for Carey Caldwell than Jonathan Collins could ever dream of,” Sharp snapped. “Don’t dare take this out on him. You did wrong by him and you know it, to the point where getting him to listen in regards to what you’re ACTUALLY trying to do be damn near impossible.”
“It was for the best, Michael,” Chris snapped back. “The moment Gemini showed up in the picture pretending to be Reika, I needed to play along. I needed to be every bit of the villain they wanted me to be if this smokescreen was going to be accurate. Because if something happened to that kid on my watch due to this, I don’t fucking know how I would have lived with myself.”
Sharp sighed. “You need to patch things up with the boy. Both of you need this, regardless of how stubborn you both are. Unlike what you seem to think, that boy can defend himself. Especially now that he’s starting to realize what he can use that Mark of his...we confirmed that much, right?”
“From what you’ve told me observing Carey these past few weeks, the stuff pulled off from Zinkus & Gerrard...” Chris sighed. “While it needs to still be seen to be believed, Carey Linus Caldwell is literally the toughest son of a bitch we know thanks to the Mark of Taurus.”
“That narrows most of them down...all we need at this point is to figure out who Aries is, find Virgo and then, that’s everybody tracked down in some matter.”
“And then, you can finally put an end to this entire crazy ass saga of your life?”
“Yes, please and thank you,” Strike replied with a sigh. “Because I’m literally getting too old for this shit…”
Chris glanced down at his beer bottle, bringing it up and gulping down a large swig from it, audibly wincing in the process. He was never the biggest fan of beer, but they had been a housewarming gift that Sharp brought along with him...and as War Machines, the rules were rather simple. Somebody brought liquor, you drank it. A smirk appeared on Sharp’s face as he saw his compadre’s particular struggle.
“What’s the matter? Too goddamn American for your tastes there, buddy?”
“Oh fuck off,” Strike rolled his eyes. “You know outside of Sapporos that I can’t do the whole beer is tasty bullshit to save my damn life…”
“But we got you learned. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah. Guess you did.”
“So...as to the Marks…once this is all over, Chris...” Michael Sharp took a few steps towards the office desk, sitting on the smaller chair on the other side of it, looking over at his long time friend and associate. “Give any thought to what’s next?”
For a moment, Chris Strike sat there quietly, almost as if pondering the very foundation of the question. The way they had all scattered over the last year in EXODUS Pro, all of the chaos, all of the unpleasantness, all of it done with the hope for a better tomorrow without being sure if they’d be there to see it. But between all of that and his own successes inside of the ring, with all of the accolades achieved in the course of a year and the recognition gained from nearly fifteen years of wrestling all over the globe, there was one prevalent thought that was coming to mind.
“Yeah...actually, I do have an idea. I’ve been thinking on it and you’re right. One way or another, bitter as we may be, I want to make things right for the kid...it might take him kicking me in the balls or something for all I put him through but that isn’t too heavy a price to pay.”
“Hmmm...I like it. Plus it adds to his whole ordeal that your fucking dick keeps getting you into all this crazy shit.”
Chris Strike rolled his eyes. “Never fucked the zombie Reika. Can’t say my life choices are that poor,” he replied. “Besides, his Irish looks about as insane as Magdalena…”
“Different nationality, same kind of crazy if you ask me,” Sharp said. “Only difference is that she’s committed to him. She sees something great in the kid in a similar way to how we did. She’s loyal. She’s a War Machine. And that’s the thing, Chris...it’s not just Carey anymore. You gotta right by the new blood.” He took another swig from his Yuengling. “I keep saying that you’re still one of us. You’re going to need to prove that before they decide to drop you on your ass for good.”
“...I can deal with that. But in due time. We’ve got loose ends to tie with this shit first. Once we do that? I’ll pay the price for my own sins. And then, maybe then...I can finally redeem myself for all of this before it’s all over...”
“Isn’t it a little too early to be talking about the ending you won’t live to see, you little shit?”
The voice echoed through the entirety of the Sanctuary, as Chris Strike and Michael Sharp immediately jumped out of their seats, recognizing the voice all too well as they began looking around the entirety of the area - with Sharp going as far as drinking the rest of his Yuengling bottle before breaking it against the table with every means to use the sharp remnants of glass as a deadly weapon. And yet, no matter how hard they looked, there was no person to be seen. Or better yet, the person both War Machines knew that the voice belonged to…
That was, of course, until the doors of the Sanctuary opened wide and exposed the dark, starry skies for the briefest of moments before closing shut behind this new entry. Chopped up, dyed hair that was a dark red color, one amber colored eye while the other was a dark red shade, a thin smile complementing their androgynous features. Sunglasses rested just slightly above their forehead and their look was further accentuated by a faded red t-shirt with the words “Hey, It’s Not So Easy Being a Gemini,” navy blue skinny jeans and a pair of black lace-up toe booties. They also had a bag slung over their left shoulder and the smile widened as they stepped closer and closer into the Sanctuary, staring at the two men who looked ready to put up a fight for their lives.
“Oh relax, you fuckers. If I wanted you dead, I’d have cut off the power to this place from the outside and outright made a bloodbath of this place...” The person who bears the resemblance to Reika Seragaki steps further into the fold, approaching the two with a shit-eating grin plastered all over them. “Besides, you’ve all done so very good in writing such a compelling drama of complete and utterly shitty people to where we can’t just blow our load on me quietly taking your blood one by one and me getting my one wish out of uniting all of these Marks…”
“...Bullshit. I’ll absolutely fucking STAB yinz if you take a step closer, you fuckin’ zombie mut-”
It didn’t take long for something to blast Michael Sharp from his position all the way into the opposite wall by a literal fucking lightning bolt right out of the person under the meat guise of Reika Seragaki and sent flying into the wall to where it left a large dent in the process. Chris Strike’s eyes widen, hands immediately turning into fists as he feels his own chest burning for a moment but to where he’s able to point right at the person who still wore the guise of Reika under them and one particular bit of power came to mind. It didn’t have the level of strength it did at the Arino household when its user’s abilities were right there to be tapped into but he memorized it enough to where one simple command would be enough:
“LEAVE AND NEVER SET FOOT IN THIS PLACE AGAIN!”
The command mimicked from the Libra constellation seems to be able to stop the yielder of the Mark of Gemini in their tracks, a pained expression appearing in their face, eyes widened in full before their expression eased into something far more docile as they spoke to Chris Strike again.
“That was a warning shot to your friend, you little shit. Barely grazed him but he might die if you don’t do something about it in the next few minutes. Next time we meet, it’ll be just us. We do have a lot of ground to cover, Sagittarius...so, try not getting caught up in Collins and Gray’s power play bullshit while you help gather up my large, big wish with all the Twelve Marks united, would you?”
Strike’s hand turned into a fist. Shit. Maybe the command didn’t work in full, because otherwise, they would have just shut up and done it. “...Who the fuck are you even…?”
The Mark of Gemini’s smirked went from damn near ear-to-ear.
“Why, I’m the First Disciple. The original Mark. But most importantly, Christopher Martins Damasceno...I am the Last Scion of Synder!”
Without another word, the figure snapped their fingers and seemed to follow the command to an absolute degree as some sort of black hole opened right behind them, stars, nebulas and the like flashing for a mere moment before they stepped on through it and disappeared out of sight.
For any normal man, they’d think they were tripping on shrooms or acid by seeing something like this.
Unfortunately, Chris Strike didn’t have that fucking luxury.
His instincts immediately moving to a groaning, pained Michael Sharp who was holding on to his shoulder for dear life. The spot where he crashed high on the wall smeared down with the blood escaping from his three-piece suit and unlike most times, he wasn’t laughing or smiling at any attempt to do him bodily harm. Something he was infamous for in wrestling, something that most people didn’t expect from a steel industry tycoon who took up this particular sport as a goddamned hobby rather than his driving life force.
No, this was the expression of a man who was probably seeing the writing on the wall unless they managed to do something for him and do something NOW! Chris Strike got rid of his black t-shirt, immediately placing it against the open wound as a means to help stop the bleeding. Almost panicked, Strike kept looking around and all over the office - the first aid kit being the first thing he damn near tore off the wall, fumbling with his hands to open it while Sharp kept groaning, looking over at Strike finally open the first aid kit and not being able to himself to another remark as he weakly watched it all unfold.
“Sure could use...the kid’s Mark right about now…”
It was almost like a bulb instantly went off in Chris Strike’s head.
While he had not been around Carey Caldwell anywhere near enough lately (and yes, that’s also including the few minutes spent fighting him at Revolution Roulette II) to project the abilities of Taurus into somebody else like he had been able to do with the Aquarius and Libra abilities, there was something else they could do. Something that the Mark of Gemini themselves delivered when Chris was still trying to figure out exactly what made “Reika Seragaki” tick and what brought them to him, during their visit of (R)Evolution Wrestling where Strike fought Caleb Storm and his Pantheon gathered together to fight for the first time. They managed to grab something from Dr. Cyril Kuller’s office and the then-Reika stated that this was Carey Caldwell’s blood. The blood of one yielding a Mark, the explanation being “just in case that little shit can’t cooperate with our plans.”
Chris Strike didn’t understand why, back then. Now? It was either save the one sample, take Sharp to the hospital and risk him dying, the blood being on his hands entirely…or find a way to make his peace with the damn kid, because he was hopefully saving Michael Sharp’s life with this one.
Strike darted towards a small mini-fridge of sorts within the office, opening it wide and digging deep towards a particular corner where he stored the sample. Of course, with that came the realization that he didn’t have a goddamned syringe to insert it in. “SHIT,” Strike exclaimed, before looking back over at Michael Sharp and where his hand was holding onto his shoulder...the crazy lightning bolt they’d seen had been enough to take out the clothing fabrics in that area as well as a good chunk of skin and definitely enough to where the blood was pouring from an open wound there. Then, of course, it hit him that the first aid kit would have it. He didn’t spend damn near fifty dollars on it for it to not have one.
Opening the blood sample vial with his right hand while grasping the syringe out from the first aid kit, Chris Strike knelt down by Michael Sharp, unbuckling the rich man’s own belt from his jeans, roughly pulling them out (because it’s EXODUS, this deserves a “no homo” warning, mind you) and then handing it over to Sharp. “This is probably not going to be pleasant,” Strike stated, as Sharp looked at the folded belt in Strike’s free hand, biting down on it as Strike let go, preparing the syringe and keeping his breaths regulated as to not have a damn panic attack of his own before he finally stretched out Michael Sharp’s right arm, found a vein and inserted the end of the syringe into it as Sharp howled in further pain, biting down on the leather belt as a means to make sure he wouldn’t bite his damned tongue off. Strike watched carefully as he pressed down on the plunger and saw the blood from Carey Caldwell gradually make its way into Michael Sharp. He removed the syringe and placed it aside, keeping his eyes on the shoulder wound for a few moments, moving the cloth and Sharp’s left hand that held it out of the way…
No change.
Well, that was of course until he noticed something almost inhuman…
“What the fuck…”
A natural reaction to anyone who hadn’t witnessed what the hell these Marks of the Zodiac could possibly do but not even somebody with a year under his belt like Chris Strike expected to see a bloody wound slowly closing itself out. The color on Michael Sharp’s features was regaining its natural, rosy peach complexion and the man finally spat out the leather belt, coughing accordingly as he finally got a glance at the wound itself before glancing back at a panting Chris Strike, the man’s hands covered in Sharp’s own blood and his body shaking…
“...Okay...we definitely...need to do something about these Marks...”
Chris Strike held on to his chest with his left hand, staring down at the bullet-hole scars all across it while Sharp’s blood smeared his skin and remained there…
Whatever wish the Mark of Gemini wanted to have out of uniting these twelve Marks, Chris Strike would never allow it to happen.
Even if that meant facing his end far sooner than he ever expected.
