Post by Frazier on Jan 19, 2013 16:23:40 GMT -6
Exodus Pro Episode #4
Jafreese Frazier vs. Daniel Prophet
January 27, 2013
RIMAC Arena
Jafreese Frazier vs. Daniel Prophet
January 27, 2013
RIMAC Arena
July 27th 2006
9:31 P.M.
PLAK! PLAK! PLAK!
WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
PLAK!
The sound of sweet leather resounded all over the mediocre-looking locker room. A young Jafreese Frazier displayed all the characteristics of what could be a future World Champion in the sport of the Mixed Martial Arts. He was giving a display of relentlessness and strength that was, for lack of a better adjective, downright scary. His punches impacted the leather gloves with the force of a thousand thunderbolts at the speed of light. His kicks made his trainer squint of terror every time they landed, probably imagining how the face of “Deathgrip’s” opponents would look like if one of those tree-like legs landed swiftly on their face. Or maybe he questioned if it was possible to get kicked into another dimension with those weapons. He certainly didn’t want to test its truth.
The mystery behind the man is how stoic he was after landing each and every strike. He had no expression at all, as if someone or something would’ve stolen his emotions forever. No signs of happiness, no signs of sadness, just pure and brutal…nothingness…
It was like seeing a haunted soul, an empty soul...a hungry soul looking to release his fury at any cost, anytime, anywhere….or maybe right now?
The old man goes for a takedown, but Deathgrip sprawls.
It was just a matter of seconds when Frazier had him already mounted. The old trainer somehow turns the tables on J-Friz as Friz responds immediately pulling guard. Mister Trainer goes for a punch but its grabbed midway.
And there it is…Can you literally see fear?
Just a hint of…awkward pleasure on ‘grips eyes…
A sadistic yet soothing grin draws on his face.
Faster than a rabbit gets…screwed, Frazier locks a Triangle Choke or as he loved to call it…The Death Sentence. His trainer taps out, but he doesn’t let go. It took several seconds and hundreds of tap-outs by his trainer to finally let the lock loose.
“What the hell are you doing, son?” – The old trainer grabs his neck while having problems to get up.
Silence filled the empty place. Frazier stands up slowly and expressionless.
“Answer me…what the hell is running through your mind, kid? You think this is fun?”
Frazier just looks deep into his trainer’s eyes, burning holes through them…almost.
“Kid, let me tell you something. You won’t get too far going around trying to kill people, ya’ know that? This is not the streets where you grew up. This is a professional business. MMA wasn’t made for fulfilling your sinister and creepy desires of hurting people…"
More silence…
“MMA is an art, son. An art that would help you defend yourself on the streets, but here, is all about showcasing your talent to the world. So tell me then…you want to behave like an animal, or earn the respect of the world with your greatness...”
“Deathgrip” clenches his fist tightly showing a lot more emotion than before. He comes face to face with his trainer and the tension is palpable…literally palpable, however impossible that may sound. Seconds later, a whispered was uttered….
“You just wait and see for yourself.”
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-*- Cameras fade in at a dark bedroom. The only thing we could notice from all the thunder and rain that it’s falling on the outside is the silhouette of a man sitting beside a window looking to the rain outside. This man doesn’t look at the camera, but we can see the camera stopping when they have a side view of Jafreese Frazier’s emotionless face watching as the rain pour and the Thunder rumbles through all the room.-*-
William Miller…Edgar Cayce…Hall Lindsey…Marshall Applewhite…Harold Camping…
-*- He just stopped there, looking outside through the window without making the minimum intent on looking at the camera. -*-
What do they all have in common? It’s quite easy. They’re false prophets spouting false prophecies. Each and every one predicting fallacies to the ignorant enough that believe in them blindly without looking at the facts and detaching their own self from reality. Myself, I may not be named, nicknamed, or last named “Prophet”, but I do have a prophecy that will be fulfilled soon enough. The time to unleash the beast within me has arrived and it has a date and a place. January twenty-seven in San Diego, California. The venue? The place you may know as Exodus Pro Wrestling. Maybe for some people like my opponent…or victim for that matter would like this prophecy to be just a rumor, a tell-tale, a hoax, a bad dream perhaps. But I’m so sorry on your soul, Daniel; it is not anything like you wish for. It will not feel as your wishes, it will not develop like your dreams play out on your little thick skull; it will not end like you hope…
-*- A quick grin can be seen on the side of Deathgrip’s face, but he’s yet to give his face to the camera.-*-
Speaking of which…Do you know the meaning of “hope”, Daniel? I think you should go back and learn what hope is, because that’s the only thing that keeps you with any chance to defeat “Deathgrip”. If “hope” is all you bring to the table for our encounter, you’ll be choked out in the middle of that ring within an inch of your miserable life when it’s all said and done. That’s pretty sad. If I had emotions, I would be worried about you right now. But I don’t, so I’m just waiting, anticipating…I’m hunting for the kill and you’re the defenseless prey from whom I’ll rip his life out and let him become one of the many lifeless sack of bones that are roaming through this rotten and vile world…
-*- Frazier turns to the camera and looks at it with the corner of his eye.-*-
…And I’ll love it, Prophet. Every single time you squirm at my punches, kicks, submissions…I’ll savor it. I’ll feed on each and every one of your fears and when it’s all said and done, you’ll become the nothingness that you’re destined to be for crossing paths with Jafreese Frazier. At the end of it all you will despise the day you thought it was a good idea to try and tame the beast, because when you signed that contract, you didn’t sign just another match. No Daniel. You signed your Death Sentence, and I’ll oblige mercilessly on handing it to you the only way that I know…with pain…a lot of pain. Trust me; there isn’t a sedative in this world powerful enough to soothe the agony you are about to experience. There’s no prayers, no medicine, no virtual reality that will make this easier for you…as well as there isn’t a dream, goal, hope, limb…that Deathgrip can’t destroy in a matter of seconds. So the question remains… What are you going to do Daniel?
-*- Frazier stands up and walks slowly towards the camera. He picks the camera up and zooms closely to his eyes. -*-
What are you going to do when you’re on the opposite side of the ring, on the wrong side of the ring, and look at the darkness inside these eyes? What are you going to do when you feel your bones breaking after I start to bend them in ways they shouldn’t be bent? What are you going to do when you feel your spirit has been taken away from you and been replaced with suffering and chaos? What are you going to do when the match is over and the only thing you can see clearly with those blurry eyes is the lights of the RIMAC Arena raining the spotlight of defeat over you? Nothing Daniel…absolutely nothing. Do what you need to do to survive because disaster will be spelled with your crimson red blood all over San Diego, California…and then…
-*- The camera gets more zoomed in.-*-
It’s on to the next one…
-*-FADE TO BLACK-*-