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The scene opens. The camera now has gone inside, switched off for the duration of the journey within; a journey of darkness and of tales long ago told and sooner forgotten. The camera now is in a small chamber, absent of much light. The focus of the shot is a dark wall, its bricks worn by age and damp to the touch like most stone seems to be. As the camera pans, into view comes an ancient-looking tapestry. The embroidery is of a dark cloth around the edges, an explosion of beautifully red flame expanding from the center to the darkness it is within.
The camera pans further, examining the tapestry to reveal the image of a bird flying outwards from the flame of this nova-like explosion. The camera slides away from the tapestry to show the viewer the entrance; a strong and ancient oaken door bound by iron fittings, stands tall in a shadowy corner. Near this door there stands a stone statue, large in a way a gargoyle would stand, yet this statue is of a bird of prey, its stone head raised high, its stone wings spread out and the detail of the sculpture is so precise one could almost believe it to have once been real, captured now in a case of eternal stone.
The camera shifts again, and it shows on the panelled floor a rug of a deep, expensive crimson. Above this large rug there are two seats; one a chair, heavily stuffed, of a beautiful spun black material, soft, and full. The other is a sofa, the same colour, harder than the seat. Behind the chairs is a stone hearth, with a roaring hot fire made to keep the two occupants of the chairs warm in this cold room.
The camera turns at an angle to show clearly the figure sat on the solid sofa, his knees out and his legs folded beneath him. The figure has long, blonde hair that he has let flow freely down his back without care. He wears a black T-shirt, emblazoned with the logo depicting Insane Massacre IV, and a pair of tartan shorts, blue in color. This appearance, and the cheesy grin on the character�s face is giveaway that he is The Jackrabbit of ICWF. Unusually it is noted that he does not wear his sunshades� likely because of the darkness of the tower he is in, and so his bright blue eyes are clear to view.
Sat opposite The Jackrabbit is another, larger figure. He is dressed most enigmatically, a long black robe from his knees covering his form, complete with a hood covering his head all but a few stray strands of hair, the shadow of the hood making his face hidden except for the tip of a nose and staring eyes of a brilliant, dark brown.
�I see you were able to traverse the wastelands�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Nah, I didn�t� I just skipped through �em.�
The Jackrabbit just grins at the cloaked figure, and a soft chuckle escapes from the concealed lips.
�And of your opponents that you shall face at this grand event, this Insane Massacre?�
THE JACKRABBIT: �What of them? You doesn�t think The Jackrabbit will get the easy Last Laughs over �em? You think The Jackrabbit will be made out as a Standing Joke? Well then you�re wrong! Hahahahah you�re wrong and I�m right! Freezey and Sharky both don�t know what�s comin,� they don�t see that me, me me and more me, The Jackrabbit, The Unorthodox One, is the one winning this match! So what of �em??�
�There are two men, stacked against you. Against you, one person. Alone in the ring, watching two approach. Slowly moving closer, surrounding, encircling, ensnaring. Fighting you and each other. Are you sure you will stand against them, strong against the unrelenting storm?�
THE JACKRABBIT: �Storm? What storm? I�m fighting peoples� wrestlers! And I doesn�t care how many peoples there is� one two, four, two� I�ll win anyways. It doesn�t matter cos one way or another or another way completely, somebody�s hand is being raised by that referee and that hand is going to be on my wrist, and that wrist is going to by on my arm, and that arm is going to��
�Please, your drivel confuses all. Of course you will win, so it is said, so it shall be. Relax, Jay. Relax.�
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With a sound resembling that of ripping cardboard, he is instantly inside his mind. The cloaked figure stares around the location he is suddenly torn into by his own will. What he sees before him seems almost to shock him as he shakes his hooded head. The shape of the mind was not as he had expected, but instead a scene wrought of chaos. They are there as he had hoped, the memories of past long forgotten but ready for remembrance at a moment�s notice, though it did surprise him that there were comparatively so few. However what disturbed was that the memories themselves were unarranged, inaccessible, and barely useable even to the trained. Swirling almost like a tornado amidst the endless darkness of a mind, the memories had no order.
�Utter chaos. To be expected, from a forgotten fool.�
The dark figure waves a cloaked hand and in a blink of an eye the memories take shape. The whirlwind-like chaos is no more as suddenly the memories, now floating spheres of silver, settle down in lines upon lines, stretching out both wide and long. But one memory does not arrange itself. The dark figure tilts his hooded head, gliding over to the memory for there is no ground on which he might walk. The figure lowers his head slightly, staring into the memory� both hands he places flat on the shimmering surface of silver.
-
The dark figure finds himself on top of a building, a city stretching out far and wide around him. From the dusky sky he deducts that it is late in the day. The streets are near empty, save a few drunks finding their way home after closing time, and not a car passes down the street below him. Hearing a noise, the cloaked figure swirls around in time to see a door opening; it is the door that acts as both entrance and exit to the top of his building. Two men stagger into sight, leaning upon one another to keep their balance, and slowly the dark figure tilts its head in watch. The two men though pay him no heed.
As they stagger closer, the camera is able to get a focus on them. One is a tall man, flowing brown hair down his shoulders. He wears a leather trench coat over a black T-shirt with a claw of some sort on it. His blue denim jeans have a hole in one of the knees, but his black boots have been recently cleaned. The smaller figure on which he leans has long flowing hair also, though his is blonde, and bright blue eyes. He is wearing a black shirt which has fallen open to reveal his chest, as well as a pair of blue jeans of his own. The dark figure tilts his head� he is inside one of the many memories.
The two move closer still, completely ignoring the figure they see, until they are particularly close to the edge of the building. They laugh and tease one another idly passing their time. The figure steps back from them both, his eyes visibly narrowed slightly from the shadow covering his face. What happens next shocks the figure noticeably. The larger of the two men suddenly gets a glimmer in his eye, his teeth gritting as he stares at the smaller man that had seemed his friend.
TALLER MAN: �DIE, FOOL!�
With not another word spoken, the taller man grabs the other, holding him tightly by the neck and side and tosses him clean over the side of the building on which they stand. A shrill cry leaves the lips of the smaller as his body falls. The dark figure moves quickly to the edge of the building, staring over the edge at the falling figure and shaking his head. Torn.
-
He is torn from the memory in the blink of an eye and is back in the small, poorly lit chamber, the heat of the slowly simmering fire burning on his back. The dark figure pulls his hood further over his head before turning towards the camera, shaking his head.
�Warped illusions of a delusional man. So much told from the mind, be awake Jay; for when the phoenix rises that sphere must lay dormant. Be awake Frost, Street Shark� you will not be in battle with a mere man, but an animal; a Jackrabbit. Heed these words for none shall block his path.�
The dark figure turns back and the camera moves, focusing slowly on The Jackrabbit, slumped on the floor at the foot of the solid sofa. He appears to be just waking, stretching his arms and then rubbing his eyes with a stifled yawn and a confused look around the room; blatantly he was unaware of his unconscious state as the inners of his mind were observed. The hooded figure looks back to the camera, his face as hidden by shadow as before.
�For When The Phoenix Rises� The Jackrabbit will get The Last Laugh.�
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