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Thread: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

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    CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    CWA proudly presents: ”SOUTH PACIFIC”.

    MAIN EVENT
    CWA World Tag Team Championships.
    The Gang Stars (Alyster Black and Krash) [c] vs. The Division (Trevor Ocean and Noah Stocke).
    (1/60)
    Graders: SS, noJ, AON, Jimmy, TGO.

    Gold Rush Tournament: Final.
    Winner of Semi-Final #1 vs. Winner of Semi-Final #2.
    (1/∞)
    Graders: SS, Sulley, TGO, Shake, + eliminated GR competitors.

    “Heart of Darkness” Match.
    Lilith vs. Michelle von Horrowitz.
    (?/??)
    Graders: noJ, CBK, Jimmy.

    CWA World Tag Team Championships: #1 Contendership “Jailhouse Blues” Match.
    Murder, Inc. (Jermaine Creed and Kendrick Lethal) vs. The Echo (Drew and Ethan Connor) vs. The Undisputed Alliance (Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage).
    (1/60)
    Graders: SS, TGO, Shake.

    Fatal 4-Way Match.
    Clint Shepard vs. Billy Hatcher vs. Johnny Vegas vs. XYZ.
    (1/20)
    Graders: SS, noJ, AON.

    Tag Team Match.
    The Diamond Dogs (Ricardo Vance and Santino Dongarelli) vs. The DiMiaco Brothers (Paul and Joey DiMiaco).
    (1/20)
    Graders: SS, noJ, CBK.

    Gold Rush Tournament: Semi-Final #2.
    Cyrus Truth vs. Krash.
    (1/∞)
    Graders: SS, Sulley, TGO, Shake, + eliminated GR competitors.

    Gold Rush Tournament: Semi-Final #1.
    Jon Snowmantashi vs. Shawn Summers.
    (1/∞)
    Graders: SS, Sulley, TGO, Shake, + eliminated GR competitors.

    Pre-Show:

    The "I'm New Here" 25-Person Battle Royale.
    Entrants: The Power, “Pretty” Billy “Mr.” Wright, Trevor Walker, Ratin Mikichin, Kung Fu Karl, Juan Tothrefor, “Lightning” Lamont Banner, Devour the Suffering, Violet Dreyer, “Squeaky Clean” Dick Washer, RetroJethro1984, FaZe, “Superstar” Shawn Primax, Kasey Conner, “TheTranceQueen” Luna Piper, Fiyero Lermontov, Tank Aikae, Jimmy Boom Boom, Meg, “Machine” Mikey Williams, KAOTIK, Sirviente, The Abominable Snowman, ???, ???.

    Singles Match.
    Dicky Zucko vs. Diego Gonzalez.
    (1/20)

    Noah Hanson's 'Next' Announcement.
    (w/ special guest Randy Ramon)
    * Notes:
    1. Matches on the pre-show and those in the Gold Rush do NOT require a promo. The Gold Rush has already been promo'ed for, and they can be found here: http://wrestlingclique.com/showthread.php?t=176070.
    2. The deadline for promos is Monday 21st June at 11.59 Pacific Time. This happens to be my birthday so make sure your promo/present is good.
    3. All eliminated Gold Rush competitors now have the opportunity to grade the four remaining promos. We will be using a ranking system for this as opposed to the FWA grading system: please just send me an ordered list from 1 to 4 if you wish to vote. The remaining competitors are Cyrus Truth, Jon Snowmantashi, Krash, and Shawn Summers.
    4. Graders for matches will be revealed over the next week.
    5. All promo and card discussion should still take place in the other thread: http://wrestlingclique.com/showthread.php?t=176044.
    Last edited by SupineSnake; 06-03-2021 at 03:00 PM.


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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    Origin Story


    The pre-internet era of human existence seems like centuries ago. In reality — a touchy word in this story — it was only decades ago. Only 30 or 40 years ago. Few households had internet at the end of the 1990s. And the internet was a shallow place for researching different medical conditions, issues, or worries. The idea of WebMD was still years away.

    When you search the phrase, "Can children get psychosis?" the first answer popping up is from the Nationwide Children's Hospital website. "Childhood psychosis is extremely rare," the Google snippet listing states. Then a bunch more information about the symptoms and effects.

    In May of 1998, a woman with unkept hair and a worried expression didn't have this ease of access to answer her question. She relied on making a doctor's appointment and a doctor's visit. She struggled through nurses testing a young child sitting next to her, a child of age 8.

    "Can children really get psychosis?"

    The doctor's answer vaguely mirrored the one you'd find now in 2021.

    "Well, yes. It doesn't happen often. It's not something that occurs from birth. It has to be a very severe traumatic event. Something that is long-term debilitating. It usually doesn't occur until teenage or young adulthood. It's very rare for children of his age.

    You mentioned his parents abandoned him a year ago?"


    The "his" and "he" referred to by the doctor is a boy with bulging blue eyes and curly light brown hair. His skin is pale, freckles across his arms and scattered on his nose. He remains quiet throughout the conversation, swinging his legs from the edge of the doctor's table, his eyes wandering through the ceiling tiles above. He has a cape, really just a purple cloth, tied around his neck and hanging behind his back.

    "A couple years ago."

    "Mhm."

    "They left him on the street and he made his way 2.5 miles in the dead of night to my orphanage."

    "Enough to be considered severe trauma."

    A better view of the doctor's office: The table with the boy swinging his legs has the usual black padding for semi-comfort. The white walls and ceiling and strong lighting creates sort of a purgatory feeling, like a middle ground train station aura. The doctor's desk includes a sink on the right side and a small table with a large computer monitor, one of those oversized bulky ones that look like they could be mistaken for tube televisions if not for the big power button in the very center of the plastic horizontal bottom, below the actual screen.

    The doctor is sitting on one of those circular chairs that has no backrest, with four legs and bars connecting them. The woman sits on a square chair with a plastic seat and backrest, her back nearly touching the wall. The light brown wooden door is on the wall opposite the desk, adjacent left to the patient table, and just off the right elbow from the concerned woman.

    "Psychosis is a symptom of schizophrenia. It's characterized by delusions and hallucinations. You've described him to speak of having some magical powers, and of another world, another universe, correct?"

    The lady pauses, her lip quivering as she tries to answer.

    "He says ..."

    She pauses again, her voice cracking under the pressure of the question and the attention of the doctor's not-great bedside manner.

    "He says he has power from the stars and the moon and the sun."

    "It's not uncommon for young children, especially boys, to create fantasy worlds for themselves. I think we need to continue seeing him, continue monitoring him, and he may ... and I hate to use this phrase ...

    grow out of it."


    The woman is unsatisfied by this answer, darting her eyes to the side and down to the ground. She sniffles and shakes her head, trying to stay composed amid the doctor's apparent lack of compassion or, more importantly, urgency.

    "I do not agree, but I will continue to keep an eye on him and ...

    trust your judgment. I hope you're right."


    Little did the doctor know, though, that this wasn't something to grow out of. The woman didn't know, either, but she knew more than the doctor. She just wasn't explaining the boy's trauma properly.

    When the boy's mother dropped him off on the sidewalk at approximately 10 o'clock at night two years ago, she said to follow the stars. It wasn't meant to lead him anywhere in particular, just comfort. She said to look for the moon above. She also said the boy will always be her sunlight, a hollow expression of sympathy for a child you're leaving deserted in the middle of a city's suburb.

    The boy was left with a dog — his dog — and two blankets, one in hand and one tied around his neck loosely. He had nothing left. The dog was large and black, a labrador retriever named "Al". The family called him "Big Al" because of his ... larger ... size.

    The dog stood by the boy's side no matter what, followed him everywhere, played with him all day, protected him relentlessly. Even bit the mailman and a few of the mother's friends and family.

    So it was only fitting to leave Al with the boy for protection.

    "You're still my superhero," the mom said as the car, which she wasn't driving, accelerated away down the poorly lit road, under a tunnel, and to the other side, eventually gone from sight in a thick fog aside from one working red tail light.

    So they walked, aimlessly through the night, only arriving at the front of an orphanage early the next morning. The boy didn't intend to stop, but the woman sweeping the front porch of her mostly vacant orphanage — an orphanage she planned to close in the coming months due to her old age and desire for retirement — couldn't let the boy and dog continue on.

    She called the police. That led to nothing, as the mother fell off the face of the earth. When they found her months later, she died of a drug overdose. The woman at the orphanage took the boy and dog in, but she knew there were some mental issues. This is now the fourth doctor's visit, resulting the same as the first two.

    "Wait and see."

    She has been waiting and seeing for the past 19 months. The boy was 6 years old, well-aged to remember events. He's now 8, aged enough to let those experiences dovetail into something ... more.

    "So come back in a few weeks. We'll check on him again."

    The doctor looks at the patient paperwork, the usual clipboard full of paper-clipped papers that legal guardians must complete.

    "I see his name is ..."

    "Yes but he likes to be called ... I put it there at the end."

    "X ... YZ?"

    "Yes. That's what he calls himself."

    "Do you know what that's from?"

    "That's his superhero name. He doesn't respond to anything else."

    "Mmmh...

    The way we can tell if he is experiencing psychosis is whether or not he believes in ... what he says. He will have ... visions ... or delusions. He may believe he's in ... unrealistic situations. Maybe space, perhaps. Or fighting criminals and villains. Many boys make-believe this type of scenario but they're grounded in reality enough to realize it's all fantasy. They snap from it upon their mother or father, or in your case legal guardian, calling hem for supper."


    "Yeah, he seems to never snap from it. Well ... rarely. Very rarely."

    "Mmm... yes, well, we will look into whether he's just being ...

    just a little boy playing make-believe to forget about some of his past."


    We slowly fade away with the doctor, lady, and boy sitting in silence. The doctor's scene grows smaller and smaller around a growing black exterior of nothingness. The square room, now with just pinch-sized silhouettes of the three people, slowly rotates to a 45-degree angle, and then a 90-degree angle. 125 degrees. 180. 215. Until it's a speck of white that appears unmoving.

    The black backdrop alters to show countless little specks of silver, all flickering slowly and softly, almost unnoticeably.

    The specks begin shifting from left to right, with more specks being revealed as the pan continues. Then a brighter, bolder, thicker silver light zooms across the vision from left to right with what looks like visible airwaves or light moving behind it, like a cape behind a superhero.

    "Another shooting star. Third one today."

    The words of Big Al, an oversized black man with an appetite for fried foods and rick starches, offers his customary short-and-sweet observations. He is floating in space, without a jacket or a helmet or really anything protective. He should, in theory, freeze to death from the cold temperatures and lack of oxygen. He should freeze or suffocate.

    But he does neither, instead able to move where he wants and breathe as easily as he wants.

    Next to him is XYZ, the cape-wearing commando with frizzy light brown hair and stern-looking eyes. The two are facing the same direction, looking down at a multi-colored ball-shaped figure. One glance reveals earth, with the white clouds scattered aimlessly over variations of blue and green shapes.

    "It is time, Al. It is time to return."

    Johnny Vegas, Billy Hatcher, and Clint Shepard. Those names cross through XYZ's mind at a rapid pace, sandwiched between other words and thoughts.

    Such as: FWA. CWA. Wrestling. Winning. Saving. Leading. Champion. Hero. Good. Believe. Sun. Moon. Stars. Planets. Mountains. Skyscrapers. Wind. Eagles. Falcons. Hawks. Hurricanes. Tornados. Monsoons. Avalanches. And many other words.

    The ones appearing the most in his thoughts? Dream.

    He can loosely piece together his dream. He can piece together Big Al's dream, the one he hasn't told anyone else but XYZ himself. He wants all the dreams to come to fruition. For him, for Big Al, for all the people of earth. For the downtrodden, the hopeless, the fighters with feelings of a lost cause.

    Johnny Vegas. Billy Hatcher. Clint Shepard.

    Clint Shepard. Johnny Vegas. Billy Hatcher.

    Billy Hatcher. Clint Shepard. Johnny Vegas.

    "Big Al ... it's time to return to earth. It's time to head home. Our scathed land of dashed promises and burned traction. Of tire rubber smelling foul from the sins of capitalists and malfeasance, holding down the little guy with vices and vile, playing to uncontrollable urges. We must be leaders, beacons of the sun, the moon, and the stars."

    "Finally."

    Finally is right. We've helped people across 15 different planets, four different galaxies. We've seen six black holes, survived being sucked into two of them, and rode space material through 3,000 lightyears.

    "It's finally time we returned ... to unfinished business."

    "The FWA?"

    "Not yet. In time.

    CWA."


    XYZ's eyes fixate on the southern pacific portion of earth's large global design.

    "You have a dream. I have a dream.

    With the power of 10,000 tons of force from the ethers, the passion of the piranhas, and the glow of travels from yesteryear gone awry ... we will return to our home.

    We have the thousands of minion ants by our side, the rocket fuel of eternal bliss. The oak trees sing for the heavens, the lava running deep through our veins. Tidal waves and tornadoes cannot stand as brick walls before our elephant-sized hearts. A thousand missiles cannot deter us from our scorching policy of bravery and hope.

    We are a beating collection of souls. We are lost treasures of sand and anteater bones.

    We are floor tiles and coin piles.

    Big Al ... we are going home ...

    to where it all started ... because it is good to return home where it all started ...

    where more than one story started.

    Because..."


    XYZ pauses as he floats in space, looking down at earth with a small-yet noticeable grin shaping on his face. Big Al, likewise, offers a smile as he sees XYZ — and knows what is coming next.

    "Because the dream ...

    NEVER ...

    dies."



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    2020 North American Sports Poster Of The Year

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    Re: CWA: SOUTH PACIFIC! [CARD and PROMO thread]

    New Hebrides

    24th of August, 1774

    It is Tuesday today, at least, I think it is. For some reason I seem to be able to remember the date but I struggle to keep track of days. Natasha says it’s because we can’t see the sun. I miss the sun. It’s been 23 nights since we snuck onto Das Vorbild. That’s the name of the ship, Das Vorbild. I’m not quite sure where it’s headed but all I know is it was better than the faith that awaited us back home. Not that New South Wales ever felt like home. If only William did not steal that horse! Then, maybe it would not have been so bad. Father would have whipped him, of course, and his punishment would likely be extended but now … now we have no idea where we are headed or what awaits us. I’m scared. Natasha says not to be. She said William will protect us. I do believe her, William is strong and one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. When Father first caught him talking to Natasha, he ordered him to receive ten lashes and I swear, he didn’t even wince. Natasha said he loved her and would do anything to protect her and as family, he would protect me too. It isn’t William I’m worried about. It’s Adam. Adam wasn’t part of the plan. I guess, in a way, I wasn’t either. William and Natasha had just been caught behind one of the plantation houses by one of Father’s more nasty captains, Clint. I have long feared this man to be partial to Natasha and I believe upon catching William and Natasha in a moment of intimacy, Clint flew into a rage and barricaded William into the house. William managed to escape when Clint left to round up the other captains. The last he was sighted he was setting off into the nearby forest but he returned later that very night, on horseback and whisked Natasha away into the dead of night. I followed on Father’s horse. I shouldn’t have. I wished I hadn’t. But I could not bear the thought of staying in that house a second longer, especially without Natasha. Father had promised it would be fine when we first came over but there was nothing to do except read and draw. Natasha was livid when I approached them as they stood in the shadows of Das Vorbild but William just smiled. He just said there was nothing that could be done now. The plan wasn’t anything grand. We were to stowaway on the boat until it hit land and the hope was that it would be somewhere far enough away that William was not recognized nor known. William would build a new life for him and Natasha in a new place. And me, I suppose. I don’t want to blame William, he’s gotten us through the last three weeks, but the plan was ill-thought out at best. Though it was impossible for him to know two really important things; we weren’t the only stowaways on board and … it was one of my father’s ships. Das Vorbild should have given it away, our grandfather hailed from Germany and our father was always paying tribute to his heritage in manners such as this. Even if William had known, he probably would have bundled us on to the ship in the dead of night anyway - certain death awaits him in New South Wales. As for our company? Adam. An Irish stowaway, on the run, not unlike ourselves. He is vulgar and crass and I do not care for him. William and Natasha seem to think he’s helpful, though. He has skulked around the lower galleys with us for three weeks, hiding in the shadows and behind upturned barrels, scavenging food and scraps and watching over each other. It is nice to have an extra set of eyes, I suppose, but he’s just so rude and he constantly argues with Natasha. Still, we’re nearly there. He told me. Last night he even took me-
    “Put dah out, for Jaysis sake!”

    There is a sizzle as the room plunges into darkness, a stench of burnt flesh hanging lightly in the air. It’s not total darkness, light filtering through some cracks from the outside and we can see a young, looking girl with mousy-brown hair sitting on the floor, quill and diary in hand. She reddens as she looks up at a relatively small but well-built man who has just extinguished her light source with his finger-tips. Both are in dark, raggy clothing. There is the occasional creak and smash of waves against the wooden frame of the boat but that aside, total silence encapsulates the galley of the boat. In the darkness the same voice calls out, quietly but the anger is detectable.

    “Wha’ did I tell ye about lightin’ them bloody candles? Didn’t I only just tell ye that you have to wait until night? What do ye think is going to happen if somebody has to pop down here to grab a cask of ale and they see the whole bleedin’ place lit up? What do you think will happen then, Nicole?”

    The girl doesn’t reply, merely meekly turns her head away, not wishing to make any conversation with the gruff, Irish man. He tuts at her before turning away and making his way over towards a sleeping couple, tucked away behind a few barrels of non-perishable rations. He lightly shakes them awake. Yawning, the man speaks in an English accent.

    “What is it, Adam? It’s hard enough to get a sleep on this godforsaken boat.”

    Adam laughs heartily, slapping William on the back.

    “Better to sleep rough but free, am I right William?”

    “As you seem prone to tell me.”


    “Speakin’ of freedom, it’s high time we discussed ours, wouldn’t ye think?”


    The feminine figure curled up beside William suddenly shifts, sitting upwards and even in the dim light we can see a concentrated fury in her eyes as she glares at Adam.


    “What do you mean by discussing it? The plan is
    set … right, William?”

    “Of course. Adam I know you’re worried about things getting physical but ... I’ll be able to handle an old ship captain if it comes to it.”

    Not Clint. He ain’t any old ship captain, I remember in a pub in New-”

    “Did you say Clint?”

    Natasha speaks curtly, cutting the Irish stowaway’s sentence in two.


    “Uh, yeah-yeah … Clint’s his name, alright. I’d notice that big beak a’his anywhere. Nasty piece of work.”

    “We know.”

    “You
    know?

    Natasha sighs as William sits stiffly. Nicole has shied away to a corner and picks idly at some chipped wood on a barrel. Natasha softly traces her finger in three horizontal lines across the back of William, her eyes glossing over as she speaks.

    “We know who Clint is. He … made sure we’d never forget him.”

    Nicole stops running her fingers over William’s back as she snaps her head up at Adam.

    “If it’s him though … you’re right.”

    “Natasha, I’m not afraid of him. This isn’t your father’s plan-”

    “Be that as it may, it’s not a chance worth taking. Suppose he does manage to strike you with a blow? You know what Clint is like. He’s fiercely loyal and believes in Father’s cause. If he manages to best you … where would that leave us?”

    William takes a moment to respond. Natasha is right. Clint was an old dog and while ten of his finest lashings ensured that William would never warm to the man, he held a twisted sort of respect for him. He staunchly and steadfastly believed in the creed that he followed and the men who headed that up had his life if that was what was needed. William found it hard to imagine himself ever doing something so morally … selfless. He glances at Natasha and allows the warm feeling she generates inside him to build. He could do it, he guesses … if it was worth it. Unwavering loyalty was the downfall of men like Clint. William had seen it at home in England and after his penal transportation to Australia, he’d seen it tenfold. Good, loyal men cast aside when the new flavour of the month arrived at the plantation, men with fancier backgrounds given higher-ranking positions in a bid to keep relations sweet between the wealthy plantation owners. Men like Clint who’s sole, programmed response was “How high?” to the barked command of “Jump.” A man who was dime a dozen with no remarkable features outside of his dog-like obedience and rabid ferocity when his ideals were tested. But William could outsmart a dog.

    “Natasha, I can handle an old ship captain. Any old ship captain. Clint is bigger than me and he’s been around the block longer but I promise you - if a situation arises with Clint, I can handle him.”

    “And his crew?”

    “He’s the chief mate. There's only a few a'them, they'll step down, they always do, trust me!”

    “That’s exactly the problem, Adam, I don’t trust you!”

    “Listen I’ve a lot more on the bleedin’ line then you three! What did ye do, William? Stole a horse? Slept with a plantation owner’s daughter?”

    “ADAM!”

    William immediately shoves Adam into a couple of barrels, knocking them over with a thud. The fear of the noise attracting attention from above overrides any animosity between the pair, at least momentarily. After a few seconds of baited breath, Adam pulls himself to his feet, angrily dusting himself down.

    “Listen, I haven’t got feckin’ time for pleasantries and Natasha - I’m sorry for what I said but I do need off this ship. Why would I do anything that could get in the way of dah? Look, you stole and ran away with the man who owns this boat’s daughter. That’s a pretty bad fix. I stole more than that from a man. I stole his wife. And that man is on this very ship.”

    “He
    what?!”

    Natasha nearly spit her words through her gritted teeth. She turns to William and dismisses Adam.

    “That’s it then, he’s on his own. He’ll be spotted.”

    “Wait-wait-wait! He doesn’t know it’s me! All he knows is his missus shacked up with some Irish fella down near the port and he came askin’!”

    “Oh great, so we’re safe as long as you don’t open your fat mouth! He’s going to know it’s you as soon as he hears that accent. Pin my hopes of a safe escape on you being quiet? I’d rather William took his chances with Clint.”

    “Alright, gewan then! You’s climb up onto the middle deck and make yer way to the ladder! You know where to go once you’re up on top, right? Funny really, I could’ve sworn it’s been me sneakin’ around up there at night plannin’ our bleedin’ escape! At least I thought I was!”

    William purses his lips as Natasha mutters under her breath. Adam was right, of course. William was a strapping figure and stealth was not a strong suit which had left recon operations to their unchosen comrade, Adam. Adam had done a reasonable job, it had to be said. He’d learned that the boat wasn’t heavily manned, at least, not in terms of men who would be considered a viable threat. He’d gleaned that this was Captain James Cook’s third or fourth trip to this archipelago (he hadn’t managed to snag a name as he was eavesdropping on guards conversations) and that this particular vessel was packed particularly full with items to trade and use, rather than humans. Between the four of them they’d managed to survive in the darkness of the damp, bottom galley. They weren’t in great condition but they were far from starved and after three weeks, the prospect of getting above ground and starting a new, free life outweighed the danger of Adam’s spontaneity.

    “Look, I’m tellin’ ye, this guy doesn’t know who I am. He bought passage off Cook hopin’ that one of the shipmates would know somethin’ about a charmin’ Irish gentleman! And if not, he gets to check out some new potential plantation sites - win-win!”

    Adam beamed a smile, he’d nice teeth for such a hard-done by type. Natasha sighed and threw up her arms as William nodded his head.

    “Of course you have been planning our escape. We wouldn’t be able to do this without you, tell me about this man and what problems he’s going to pose.”

    “Typical, rich arsehole - apologies for the language Natasha but that’s what he is. What Jenny ever seen him I don’t know but regardless - he’s all bluster. He’ll run at the first sign a’trouble and I’m thinkin’ if we create a bitta trouble … we can use that to our advantage.”

    An alarmed Natasha immediately interjects.

    “Hold on, what do you mean create trouble?”

    “The way I see it right … there’s only four guards on the boat, that’s includin’ Clint. Now don’t get me wrong big man, I fancy our chances against two, even three of these lads but not them all and that old bastard Clint. They walk around in a pack but if we can divide them …”

    “And how would we do that?”

    “With me good friend Mr Vegas!”

    “You committed adultery with his wife and you think that man is going to help you?”

    “Not directly!”

    “I don’t like this …”

    William is starting to look a bit pissed off and angrily remonstrates with Adam to get on with it.


    “We’re not the only people on this boat. There’s the couple of guards, a mid-sized crew, a couple of people that bought passage to check out the new found lands and … some
    crazy bastard they’ve got locked up in the brig. This bloke’s insane, I’m tellin’ ya! Even the guards are afraid of him! They say he claims he can talk to the stars and the sun or some shit, they have him reckoned for a witch or a warlock!”


    An uneasy silence falls over the dimly lit room.


    “And what do you think?”


    “I think there’s no such thing as magic. I reckon the fella is just straight looney and these boys are runnin’ scared for no good reason. He could be harmless but it’s the fear we need, that’s it ... I reckon we spring him. Vegas is bound to demand protection with a crazy on the loose and Cook is bound to send his best man, Clint.”

    William stands up and away from Adam, disgusted at the suggestion.

    “Natasha is right - you ARE a liability! That’s a ridiculous plan. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Do you think I’d let - no, risk - Natasha and Nicole with this hare-brained-”

    “He’s right.”

    What?”

    “About fear. Men act crazily in the face of fear. Remaining calm and dealing with a fear that’s in your very face is a quality most don’t possess. Aren’t you feeling fear now? Fear that this plan won’t work? Fear that you’ll have to return and await your faith? Fear that you’ve come to this place and you won’t really know what to do?”

    Even the loud-mouthed Adam is as silent as the overlooked Nicole, staring at William as they await his response. Despite Adam and Natasha being the main drivers of conversation, they seem to await William’s last word on things. He mulls the questions over in his head and comes to the conclusion that Natasha is wrong. Does he feel fear?

    “No.”

    “But you aren’t like most men, are you?”

    Natasha smiles warmly at William and in that instant, he knows, he knows he’s going to go through with Adam’s plan.

    “Lay it out for me.”

    “It’s simple, we move quickly, we move tonight. We spring this guy, wait until they realise and wait until they send Clint down to guard Mr Vegas-”

    “How will we know when that happens?”

    Adam points at himself and then William.

    “We’ll know because we’ll have eyes on his room.”

    “And if you two are there, who will be releasing the prisoner?”

    Adam says nothing but slowly looks at Nicole and then back to Natasa.


    “What,
    us? No way, have you lost your mind? We don’t even know where to go! We’ve never been out of this stinking supply room!”

    “She has.”

    Natasha looks shocked but turns her head to see that Adam was indeed jutting his thumb in the direction of her sister, Nicole. He know stands there, beaming with pride like a proud father.

    “She knows where to go … because she was the one to swipe the key.”

    Natasha’s mouth actually opens as Nicole produces a long silver key from the folds of her drab attire. William, however, has the smallest of smiles on his face. Natasha turns on Adam in an instant.

    “You brought her up with you? You selfish idiot! What if she was hurt? What is she got-”

    “Well she isn’t and she didn’t! I’m sorry Natasha but did you think we were goin’ to pull up wherever the feckin’ hell it is we’re goin’, pop upstairs, thank Cook for the lift and trapeze off into the sunset? That’s not how it works. We’re in this shit now. We have to follow through. With everything we do.”

    “Well you better hope it works.”

    Natasha storms over to presumably reprimand Nicole as Adam casts an eye over the ever-brooding William.

    “I’m bein’ serious you know.”

    William dejectedly exhales before looking up at Adam.

    “Serious about what, Adam? I honestly don’t care what we do once those two are safe and we get off this damn boat.”

    “Then ye need to listen. I’m serious about us bein’ in this shit now. All that chat there? That’s to get Natasha on side. The girls will be safe but this escape? It’s goin’ to be far from clean. That’s not gonna work. There’s too many movin’ parts. Vegas, Clint … even this prisoner lad … I’d be lyin’ if I said I know what way he’s goin’ to pan out but even if it does all start to fall our way … we leave nothin’ to chance William, ye hear me?”

    “What about the crazy? What if he helps?”

    A beat. Then coldly.

    “Liability.”

    The boat suddenly lurches forward causing the two to lose their balance momentarily. William props himself up using a wooden box but holds Adam’s gaze as he regains his footing.

    “We’ve stopped.”

    Adam reaches into his rags and produces two lumps of broken glass. He pushes one into the palm of William’s hand, silently instructing him to take it, knowing his acceptance is his understanding.

    “Then it’s go time ... and like I said … nothin’ to chance … nothin’ at all.”

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    A bare-chested child runs across a sandy stretch of beach on the shores of the Pacific ocean. A little in-land from the stretch is what appears to be a man-made hamlet. An older man, black skin stretched over well developed muscles, blonde hair sat messily atop his head, calls out at the younger, also unusually-fair haired, child in an indecipherable language. All that is certain is that it is not English. The older man seems to be beckoning the child to return, he cautiously eyes the ship that is moored not too far down the stretch. The recent visitors had been friendly thus far, still, that could change at any time. What was more unusual was the fact that the ship had been docked since yesterday, yet nobody had emerged. Usually, at least with the visits thus far, white men approached nearly immediately upon landing, bearing gifts for the Melanesian natives.. The child had plopped himself on the ground and was staring at something in his hand. The older approached the child, presumably fed up with having his calls ignored. As he reaches the child, he looks up and out at the boat. He strains to see in the sunshine but he sees what looks like three unidentifiable objects bobbing in the water. Giving up on making out what they are, he turns his attention to what the child has in his outstretched hand. It was a torn piece of blood-stained parchment, with some symbols etched on it that were foreign to his eye. Still, he found himself looking at what was in front of him.

    25th of August, 1774

    We got off.



    GET UP FOR THE MONEY FOR THE POWER THE FAME

    WE NEED IT, NEED IT!

    2x FWA World Tag Team Champions

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