Post by The Cosplay Playboy on Nov 12, 2015 11:35:42 GMT -6
March 6, 2015
Littleton, Colorado
It felt like something out of a movie up until the burnt smell of charcoal and ash hit his lungs.
That was when the reality began set in.
What Chris Strike saw in front of him, to others, was one of many houses on this particularly quiet, suburban neighborhood in Littleton, Colorado. Beautiful place, the kind where people felt it was great for starting a family in. It was just around the time that he got his contract with Sex & Violence Wrestling in 2011 that Chris Strike financially was in a position to go out and accomplish one very important long-term goal that he set out for on day one of his wrestling career - to make it in the wrestling industry far enough to buy his mother a house. A larger house than what she had before her divorce with his stepfather, somewhere where she could continue with her preschool business inside of the basement, somewhere she could take what was already inside and improve it with her own artistic, creative ways. This particular home was a representation of their American dream.
And now, they watched across the street and from a distance, with a few curious neighbors concerned joining them and the firemen trying to put out the flames.
He held his mother with one arm, holding her close and letting her simply hold on, crying, more than likely wondering how in the world this misfortune could have been caused onto their house, onto the very thing that the two of them had built together, all of it crumbling into ashes before them…
The fact she had no idea why was probably what stung Chris Strike the most inside as he looked at what was on his right hand. Something they managed to grab onto along with his mother and the dog - who was being checked up on by one of the neighbors who happened to be a veterinarian - the moment that Chris smelled gas all over the house after coming to visit and seeing the very things that he now held in hand.
A black lantern and a small letter that came attached to it.
A letter that had only a few simple words he did not dare reveal to his mother or anybody else…
“Stop looking for me...or I will take it all away from you.”
The sign of Gemini was scribbled right below said note.
...He knew the hunt for these Marks was getting dangerous...but never, in his entire life, did he fathom this...
The shock turned into rage as he heard his mother muttering why in the world something like this could happen in their native Portuguese. Why would God let such a thing happen, she kept saying. Why? Now there was a proper question in Chris Strike’s head, his trembling left hand making it into a fist with some concentration. He needed to find out who did this and when he did, somebody was going to pay the price for choosing to go after his family. No tears would be shed from him, not when he needed to be at his strongest for his family.
Chris Strike held his mother tightly for a few more moments, before kissing her head, looking down and saying he would be right back. He carefully walked her to one of their neighbors, asking them to keep an eye on her while he made a couple of phone calls. It didn’t take very long for the particular calls needed to come up in his mind, almost like a list. The police and firefighters were already on the scene, so there was no need for them. Family members and close friends, the insurance company, a couple of the students at the Sanctuary that he wasn’t going to be able to look after for the next week...those certainly were going to happen. But the very first call on the list was going to be to one man who knew their enemies all too well and who needed to know all too well that he was still coming into work in a few more days regardless…
He held the iPhone to his ear after pressing the particular number on speed dial, hearing a few rings before it was picked up on the other side.
“Sharpie...something fucking happened...I need you and the crew. Immediately.”
Not even the original War Machine member could deny that he was way over his own head...and he needed the help. And fast.
Or otherwise, whoever this maniac was would end up taking everything away...
----------------------------
-------------------------------------
A few hours later, Chris Strike finally walked out of the substation of the Littleton Police Department - having given the detectives just about everything he knew on the situation, including even the note and the black lantern that he saw just before smelling the gas and getting everybody out of the house before it resulted in the explosion. The process had been rather arduous, enough to where he literally needed a stiff drink or ten. Night had already set in, as he could still see the residue and the dark clouds created from the fire at his mother’s own home as he looked to the northwest of the station’s entrance. His mother’s own recounting of the tale had been earlier in the day shortly after all the calls her son made, with Chris being there for her every step of the way. As he was almost out from the sidewalk and nearing the parking lot concrete, Strike saw a particularly fancy car make its way through the curve leading up to the substation’s entrance and stopping right in front of him. A black, sleek Bugatti Veyron Super Sport in which the door on the driver’s side is open after the engine is gradually turned off.
Standing on the other side of the car in a three-piece suit and with a concerned look on his face, Chris Strike’s “War Machines” brethren in Michael Sharp can’t help but to comment on the condition of his friend and comrade.
“You need a drink, my friend.”
Strike just nodded. There wasn’t any particular desire to get sassy or throw off a sarcastic remark to the obvious. Not after the shit he’d been through over the course of the day.
“But first and foremost, what about your mom and Simon?”
“I’ve already got them back at my house and they’ll be staying there for the foreseeable future while I use the apartment,” Chris replied, his voice at a lower octane both due to stress and tiredness from the day’s affairs. “Let’s not take too long with this. I wanna be here in town for as long as I can before I have to go back on the road.”
“Aye. Get in,” Sharp replied. “I’ve done what yinz asked me about on the phone while flying out here to grab yinz...they’ll be safe. Trust me. Ain’t nobody going to want to fuck with yinz’s family under our watch.”
Chris Strike took in a deep breath as they both entered the car and Sharp started up the engine before practically bolting his way out of the substation, as if his own obnoxious way of sticking it to authority as a rich tycoon of some sort.
“Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Another pause. The truth itself was far too risky and way too far-fetched for Sharp to reckon with at this point. But the major bullet points, at the very least, would not hurt.
“...Ellum’s come back to haunt me, Sharpie...and I don’t think I’m the only one.”
Littleton, Colorado
It felt like something out of a movie up until the burnt smell of charcoal and ash hit his lungs.
That was when the reality began set in.
What Chris Strike saw in front of him, to others, was one of many houses on this particularly quiet, suburban neighborhood in Littleton, Colorado. Beautiful place, the kind where people felt it was great for starting a family in. It was just around the time that he got his contract with Sex & Violence Wrestling in 2011 that Chris Strike financially was in a position to go out and accomplish one very important long-term goal that he set out for on day one of his wrestling career - to make it in the wrestling industry far enough to buy his mother a house. A larger house than what she had before her divorce with his stepfather, somewhere where she could continue with her preschool business inside of the basement, somewhere she could take what was already inside and improve it with her own artistic, creative ways. This particular home was a representation of their American dream.
And now, they watched across the street and from a distance, with a few curious neighbors concerned joining them and the firemen trying to put out the flames.
He held his mother with one arm, holding her close and letting her simply hold on, crying, more than likely wondering how in the world this misfortune could have been caused onto their house, onto the very thing that the two of them had built together, all of it crumbling into ashes before them…
The fact she had no idea why was probably what stung Chris Strike the most inside as he looked at what was on his right hand. Something they managed to grab onto along with his mother and the dog - who was being checked up on by one of the neighbors who happened to be a veterinarian - the moment that Chris smelled gas all over the house after coming to visit and seeing the very things that he now held in hand.
A black lantern and a small letter that came attached to it.
A letter that had only a few simple words he did not dare reveal to his mother or anybody else…
“Stop looking for me...or I will take it all away from you.”
The sign of Gemini was scribbled right below said note.
...He knew the hunt for these Marks was getting dangerous...but never, in his entire life, did he fathom this...
The shock turned into rage as he heard his mother muttering why in the world something like this could happen in their native Portuguese. Why would God let such a thing happen, she kept saying. Why? Now there was a proper question in Chris Strike’s head, his trembling left hand making it into a fist with some concentration. He needed to find out who did this and when he did, somebody was going to pay the price for choosing to go after his family. No tears would be shed from him, not when he needed to be at his strongest for his family.
Chris Strike held his mother tightly for a few more moments, before kissing her head, looking down and saying he would be right back. He carefully walked her to one of their neighbors, asking them to keep an eye on her while he made a couple of phone calls. It didn’t take very long for the particular calls needed to come up in his mind, almost like a list. The police and firefighters were already on the scene, so there was no need for them. Family members and close friends, the insurance company, a couple of the students at the Sanctuary that he wasn’t going to be able to look after for the next week...those certainly were going to happen. But the very first call on the list was going to be to one man who knew their enemies all too well and who needed to know all too well that he was still coming into work in a few more days regardless…
He held the iPhone to his ear after pressing the particular number on speed dial, hearing a few rings before it was picked up on the other side.
“Sharpie...something fucking happened...I need you and the crew. Immediately.”
Not even the original War Machine member could deny that he was way over his own head...and he needed the help. And fast.
Or otherwise, whoever this maniac was would end up taking everything away...
----------------------------
-------------------------------------
A few hours later, Chris Strike finally walked out of the substation of the Littleton Police Department - having given the detectives just about everything he knew on the situation, including even the note and the black lantern that he saw just before smelling the gas and getting everybody out of the house before it resulted in the explosion. The process had been rather arduous, enough to where he literally needed a stiff drink or ten. Night had already set in, as he could still see the residue and the dark clouds created from the fire at his mother’s own home as he looked to the northwest of the station’s entrance. His mother’s own recounting of the tale had been earlier in the day shortly after all the calls her son made, with Chris being there for her every step of the way. As he was almost out from the sidewalk and nearing the parking lot concrete, Strike saw a particularly fancy car make its way through the curve leading up to the substation’s entrance and stopping right in front of him. A black, sleek Bugatti Veyron Super Sport in which the door on the driver’s side is open after the engine is gradually turned off.
Standing on the other side of the car in a three-piece suit and with a concerned look on his face, Chris Strike’s “War Machines” brethren in Michael Sharp can’t help but to comment on the condition of his friend and comrade.
“You need a drink, my friend.”
Strike just nodded. There wasn’t any particular desire to get sassy or throw off a sarcastic remark to the obvious. Not after the shit he’d been through over the course of the day.
“But first and foremost, what about your mom and Simon?”
“I’ve already got them back at my house and they’ll be staying there for the foreseeable future while I use the apartment,” Chris replied, his voice at a lower octane both due to stress and tiredness from the day’s affairs. “Let’s not take too long with this. I wanna be here in town for as long as I can before I have to go back on the road.”
“Aye. Get in,” Sharp replied. “I’ve done what yinz asked me about on the phone while flying out here to grab yinz...they’ll be safe. Trust me. Ain’t nobody going to want to fuck with yinz’s family under our watch.”
Chris Strike took in a deep breath as they both entered the car and Sharp started up the engine before practically bolting his way out of the substation, as if his own obnoxious way of sticking it to authority as a rich tycoon of some sort.
“Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Another pause. The truth itself was far too risky and way too far-fetched for Sharp to reckon with at this point. But the major bullet points, at the very least, would not hurt.
“...Ellum’s come back to haunt me, Sharpie...and I don’t think I’m the only one.”
