Post by The Sky King on Aug 23, 2011 16:06:31 GMT -5
*Part VIII – Rest For The Wicked*LOCATION: Southern Hills Hospital and Medical Center, Las Vegas, NV. TIME: 7:51pm |
For Luck, being in a hospital simply reminded him of the complete and utter bad luck that he was suffering at the moment.
Sat in a large waiting room with Zack at his side, who remained completely and utterly emotionless and silent, Luck felt that he just wanted the earth to swallow him up and hide him from everything. He wanted to lock his hands around his throat and throttle himself. He wanted to take spoons and dig them into his eye sockets. He wanted to take red-hot metal toothpicks and shove them under his nails.
He had failed. He had failed to beat Oblivion. All the promises were lies. All the words were dust.
People made a deal out of it, though. They said that Luck had taken Oblivion to the edge. People looked on Luck with a bit more pride now. They saw Luck as someone who could storm the future and make him something of himself. They saw someone that took a man who believed he was God, and showed them that Gods could bleed.
But for Luck, making God bleed just wasn’t enough.
He wanted to be better than God.
Yet, he had failed to do so. He wanted to punish himself for it. He wanted to hide because of it. Even though he was giddy that Zack had returned, it was quickly smothered by the boiling feelings of rage and disgust that stirred throughout his body as he sat there, realising that Oblivion simply had not been pinned by Luck.
He could taste the victory. Instead he had to settle for blood.
However, things were getting slowly worse for Luck. Despite what many saw as Oblivion taking part in the ultimate pyrrhic victory, Luck felt a complete and utter fool. On top of that, Dave Markinson was currently lying in a hospital bed, his back cut to ribbons following the combination of a powerbomb onto steel steps and a ruthless Royal Rumble match shortly after.
His faithful bodyguard and best friend, now removed from the equation. Luck knew that Dave had long since earned his rest, and now it was time for Luck to step out from behind Dave and move in for the kill himself.
But it still didn’t stop him from feeling sick. Sick from the humiliating defeat, and sick because he witnessed the breakdown of the strongest man he had seen.
**
The limousine which held the Las Vegas Commission was rolling up Interstate 15. The sands of the Mojave had long since cooled off from the afternoon heat, yet the disappointment that welled within the ornate interior of the limousine was enough to heat Las Vegas for ten thousand years. Luck was sat on the left, seething in anger at himself for failing to outright kill Oblivion. Zack was sat in the middle, his face simply blank without any recognisable mention, while Dave was sat on the right, his face reflecting a mixture of congested anger and absolute pain. The mood simply could not get any more poisonous than it already was. The joy and the novelty of Zack's return had long since worn off, leaving three men who had been spit out and scarred by the recent events of the Asylum. Luck:: [Bitterly] “Another fucking loss to Oblivion. Not to mention that it’s all over. All fucking over.” Dave:: [Angrily] “..Fucking Rumble..I WAS SO CLOSE! Fucking Meltdown! What fucking business did he have stepping into the ring, anyway?! Fucking stupid!” Zack:: [Sadly] “..Sorry guys..” Luck sighed, wrapping an arm around Zack’s shoulders and giving him a friendly shake. Luck:: “It’s alright…welcome back..” Zack:: “Thanks…Are you alright?” Luck:: [Sharply] “Not even a little. The only reason I’m being so friendly is because the moment I so much as let my hair down, I’m going to break down and snap the neck of anything that gets in my way.” Zack gave a small, nervous laugh, but Luck’s expression remained deadly serious as he kept his arm clasped around Zack’s shoulders. Dave:: [Pained] “Hey, can we stop? …Fucking back’s killing me..” Luck removed his arm from around Zack’s back, rapping lightly on the tinted glass. Luck:: “Stop now.” The limousine swerved slightly, pulling up onto the edge of the road and allowing its tires to nestle in the sands. Dave moved forward in the seat slightly, hunching forward and patting his lower back. Zack:: “Dave, are you alright?” Luck shuffled forward, concerned about the wellbeing of his friend. Luck:: “Dave? Is everything alright?” Dave:: [Grunting] “….Yeah…just some pain…” Dave groaned loudly, continuing to rub his back soothingly. Zack:: [Somewhat Concerned] “Shit, man..Maybe we should get you to a doctor..” Dave:: [Chuckling Slightly] “Could say the same for you, Zack…you don’t look too hot yourself..” Zack:: [Listlessly] “It’s nothing..I just feel….I don’t know…I still hear them…laughing jackals in my mind….the feeling of slapping and punching…the pain…the darkness…” Luck:: [Concerned]“Goddammit, both of you are probably going to need a good rest. I can’t have you guys like this.” Zack:: “..I’m fine..” Luck:: [Sharply] “Bullshit, none of us are fine. I got beaten by Oblivion and now all I feel is the cloud of humiliation corroding my skin, you’re clearly suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of being stuck two weeks with regular beatings, and Dave’s back is killing him.” Dave:: [Groaning] “It’s..fine..just some…pain—“ Dave suddenly flung himself against the back of his seat, letting out a bellowing howl as his back arched forward. Zack scrambled backwards, sitting in Luck’s lap as Dave howled louder, using the free space to swing his feet around and lay down on the seat, his back arching. Luck:: [Panicking] “DAVE?!?!?” Dave:: [In absolute agony] “..FUCK!!!!!….HELP ME!!” The howling of pain grew louder. Dave writhed violently, pulling his legs into his stomach in an attempt to contort his back into such a position that would prevent the spasms from growing worse. Zack began breathing heavily, letting loose torrents of panicked sweat as his breathing grew ragged and began emitting panicked weeps. Luck quickly rapped on the glass. Luck:: [Hastily]“SOUTHERN HILLS! MOVE IT! MOVE IT NOW!! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!?!? NOW!!” The limousine roared and screeched into life as the tyres spat sand behind them, driving forward onto the tarmac and zooming forward, continuing down the interstate to Southern Hills Hospital and Medical Center.. |
***
Back in the hospital, Luck gave a nervous sigh, twiddling his thumbs. Zack simply looked blank, as if the very thought process used to process emotions caused him a great deal of pain. Luck pounded his fist into his open palm, clasping both hands together as he waited nervously.
The wait was killing him. Was Dave spines bruised? Was his spine broken? Would he walk? Would he wrestle? What had happened?
Following his loss to Oblivion, Luck simply could not deal with any more stress. He knew that if he had to deal with it, his entire body would just cave in to the stress and the pressure that it would cause. He simply couldn’t afford it. He already felt disgusted and ashamed in himself at not being able to completely and utterly paralyze Oblivion by driving that chair into his throat and snapping his spine directly from his neck. He felt even more disgusted that, in the joy of having Zack return relatively unscathed, that he ended up giving the tiniest of nods to Oblivion as he laid there on the verge of death.
People talked about how Luck took Oblivion to the limit, but they talked not of a victory over Oblivion. It wasn’t a victory. The people who talked about Luck beating Oblivion to within an inch of his life made Luck sick. Fucking sycophants. Where were they when Luck was struggling to lay a dent into Oblivion? Absolutely nowhere. Where were they now that Dave was hospitalized? Nowhere.
Let them talk of how Luck took Oblivion to the limit. He did not finish the job he sent out to do. For Luck, that was a sickening disgrace, and a disgrace that would need to be punished for.
Luck’s head quickly snapped to the right, watching as a tall man with fair hair and a pale complexion wearing a flowing white coat and carrying a clipboard under his left arm strolled out. The man looked behind at the door at Luck, giving a small nod and turning to him. He pulled the clipboard out from under his arm, scanning it before looking at Luck and Zack.
Doctor Watson:: “Greetings, Mister Hetfield. My name is Doctor Watson..Greetings and pleasantries aside, I’m afraid that Mister Markinson is suffering from a minor compression fracture of the spine.”
Luck:: [In disbelief] “What? Doc, you’ve got to be fucking kidding! He seemed fine after Scars and Stripes!”
Doctor Watson:: [Calmly] “I’m afraid that he will need to be kept in the hospital for up to a week, perhaps two, to ensure that the fracture does not worsen over time. Once we are ready, he will be fitted with a brace that will keep his spine stable and prevent the fracture from growing. Between six and twelve weeks, we will require him to visit the hospital regularly to attend supervised rehabilitation exercise to ensure that there are no post injury complications and to strengthen his back.”
Zack:: [In deep concern] “Fuck..He won’t…be paralyzed, will he?!”
Doctor Watson:: “No! While Mister Markinson was in severe pain, a compression fracture will not disable him. From preliminary examination, his spinal column appears to be in relatively good health, and the nerves are in good condition. However, he will not be able to enter a wrestling ring for at least fifteen weeks. Fifteen being enough to make sure he achieves a full recovery. I’d rather not have him return to wrestling, but I have a feeling that I can’t stop you or him.”
Luck:: [Letting out a sigh of relief] “…So he’s safe? He’s fine?”
Doctor Watson:: [Calmly] “Mister Hetfield, don’t worry. We will put him on the road to recovery as soon as possible. He is suffering no other complications. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and talk to him to make sure he understands what he will go through for the next few months. Good day.”
Doctor Watson turned around, walking back through the swinging double doors as Luck forced himself up to his feet. He looked back at Zack who remained seated, his eyes staring ahead, as blanks as slates. Luck tapped his right shoulder. Zack’s head shot up, and Luck gave him a small smile.
Luck:: “C’mon. Dave’s gonna be alright. We just need to give it a few days before visiting him. C’mon.”
Zack gave a small, listless nod, pulling himself up and trudging after Luck as they walked across the glittering powder-blue linoleum.
On the outside, Luck looked absolutely fine. His body showed signs of wear and tear, an obvious side-effect of the brutal war at Scarsand Stripes, but otherwise? He looked brilliant. Inside, however, Luck was broken. The foundations were rotten, and beginning to crumble away.
He felt he had let everyone close to him down: Dave had went and injured himself in Luck’s employ in a desperate and futile attempt to help win the match, while Zack was now stuck in a tragic world that he couldn’t escape, no matter how much his old self tried to pound at the doors. He was feeling far too vulnerable and far too pathetic to do anything outrageous, or to even pat himself on the back and reassure himself that beating Oblivion down to the point where he needs a stretcher just to get out of the ring means that he did something right.
Zack’s footsteps fell heavily on the concrete as they walked through the automatic glass doors of Southern Hills Hospital and Medical Center. The neon lights shone down on them as they walked out, the only lights that existed in and around them.
The Las Vegas Commission was, for all intents and purposes, dying a very slow and painful death.
Despite being Luck’s master plan, he couldn’t stop the Commission from crumbling around him. All he could do was watch as his Empire was swallowed by the flames, leaving nothing left but ashes for a false emperor. How he wished he could dig into himself and remind himself that he was still superior, that he was the better man in all of this! But he couldn’t. He felt far too pathetic and weak to try such a thing.
How disgusting. What a wretch this man was! Look at him drag his feet! Was this the same man that lauded himself as the Last Emperor? Was this the same man who guaranteed victory over Oblivion? He had become nothing more than a broken shell of a man. A broken shell of a man looking for one spark to ignite the fury and the rage that was growing inside his body.
A fury towards God. A rage towards the Asylum. Two beings that had done so much wrong to him, yet believed that they were oh-so-right.
Luck and Zack climbed into the limousine that was parked on the curb of the sidewalk, waiting eagerly for them. Luck climbed in, shuffling over the white leather and allowing Zack to scoot in nonchalantly, his feet dragging lifelessly. Luck gave a quick rap on the glass, and it was enough for the engine to roar into life and carry them back onto their journey, minus a very good friend.
A toast was needed for Dave Markinson: The brave Optio who fell in the line of duty, fighting valiantly for his Centurion.
Centurions, Optios, Emperors..Luck felt no desire to refresh his knowledge of Roman history anymore. He felt like Rome following the Battle of Cannae: Humiliated. Broken. Wounded. Dejected. A powerful force brought down on its knees by an insignificant rat.
Luck sighed, jabbing the side of his temple with his thumb before looking over at Zack whose head remained bowed.
Luck didn’t want to give up on Zack. He didn’t want to lose Zack too. One best friend bidding him adieu was heartbreaking enough for this once-proud and ruthless athlete.
Luck:: [Quickly] “Zack..I’m sorry.”
Zack:: [Confused] “Why?”
Luck:: “For dragging you into this mess.”
Zack:: [Sighing softly] “Don’t blame yourself. Oblivion told them to release me after all was said and done. It’s the Devils Due who did the damage.”
Luck:: “I incited them, Zack, and to top it off, you won’t even tell me what they did.”
Zack:: “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s the one fucking chapter in my life that I want to erase.”
Luck:: [Quietly]“Alright…Sorry.”
Zack:: [Impatiently] “Hetty…just…stop and let me forget. I don’t want to be carrying the mental scars long after these physical bruises have been healed.”
The rest of the drive remained absolutely silent. The kind of silence that could slice a man into pieces from the sharpness of the tension in the air. Luck found his eyes wandering, looking at Zack’s head and face which remained looking forward while barely changing expression.
Luck could see something brewing inside Zack’s skull, but he didn’t dare ask what it was. He could see that his eyes shifted from a pained expression as he recalled humiliating memories, to a saddened expression that reflected sorrow for Luck’s failure, to an odd expression that seemed halfway between a sordid idea and a stifling of a memory. Luck didn’t know what was going in Zack’s mind, and judging by the expressions, he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t even imagine what it was like to come out of the other side of hell with those experiences on his back.
Luck had completely forgotten about the pain he was in, instead now focusing on Zack. Despite intentionally nudging him aside and dirtying his name inside his head before Scars and Stripes, Zack was now at the complete front of Luck’s mind. The pain that was tearing away at his lungs and bones was little more than a scratch upon his back when he saw the anguish Zack was carrying. When he saw Dave lying on his back, suffering the spasms.
Luck felt the weight of his actions crash down on his shoulders as everyone around him began to feel the immediate effects. Everyone but him.
It was all happening so fast that one could step back and see it as picture perfect: Luck’s empire was crumbling all at once. Friends were hurting, opponents were victorious, and Luck’s mind was slowly beginning to unravel, as was his reputation. Luck was simply left to pick up the pieces, and nothing more.
If God could grant one mercy, Luck wanted that mercy to be a bullet to the head at that moment. A quick and preferably painless death in an instant that would allow him to rest with his friend and not worry about getting up tomorrow, an ordeal that he knew he was going to regret when the time came. He had no desire to face the world anymore, nor did he have a desire to listen to the sick gloating of the Devil’s Due and Oblivion’s fans over their victory. All Luck wanted to do was rest.
Even God denied him that. Luck was left to merely exist as what was fast becoming an empty shell. He was beginning to lose patience with Dave and Zack, but most crucially he was beginning to lose patience with his own self. His own body was limited in its skill and in its ability to finish the job. Another Pay-Per-View loss that had been punctuated by a tragedy for Luck.
When Luck lost, he didn’t just lose: He got annihilated.
Luck couldn’t rest. Not yet. The only thing he could do now was drink, and hope that the crisp taste and soothing icy kiss of a Budweiser would lull him into a sleep, or perhaps just knock him out.
Luck didn’t care. He just wanted this fucking cursed day to end. Maybe he could rest soon.
Maybe.
*Part IX – An Empire Falls…* LOCATION: Maynard Hetfield's Mansion, Las Vegas, NV. TIME: 11:02pm |
For Luck, the rest that he had so desperately seeked came artificially: From the bottom of a bottle. It was less dangerous than pills, but Luck had already drank enough to put down a small Bull Elephant. His words had became sludge in his head, and his reactions had slowed down into a crawl.
Still, he was in the safety of his mansion, busy watching a replay of Scars and Stripes as Josef Nzogbia sat beside him on the black leather couch, eyeing him cautiously as Luck dropped another glass bottle onto the pile that had formed at his feet, instead choosing to lean over and reach under the couch, letting loose a loud belch as he pulled out a half-full bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold, grinning inanely to himself and pulling the bottle close to his chest as Jonesy trotted over, laying at the side of the chair.
Luck:: [Sighing happily] "..This is better...Two companions who don't judge me....Tequila and my dog...."
Josef:: [Perturbed] "If it's any consolation, I don't judge you either. I'm just waiting for you to go to sleep so I can pack my shit and return to the Double Aces."
Luck:: [Impatiently] "Hey....go...I...I...uhh..ain't stoppin' you..."
Luck unscrewed the cap, throwing it to the floor and tipping his head back, swallowing the liquid before Jonesy lifted his head, growling at the screen as soon as Oblivion appeared. Luck opened an eye, tilting his head forward and looking at the screen, where a much fitter and stronger Luck was stood over a fallen Oblivion, clutching a chair and ready to drive it into the bastards throat, ready to outright kill him.
That face. The face of a man possessed. The face of a man who had put everything aside just to hurt his opponent.
That was what had got him that match: It wasn't the hunt for glory, it wasn't the hunt for championships: It was the simply and primal desire to go out there and kill a man.
A beautiful instinct.
Luck:: [Venomously] "...Wish I fucking did it...wish I did him in..fucking broke his neck with that chair...dunno why I stopped..fucking stupid asshole I am....didn't cripple that old fuck..."
Josef:: "Don't beat yourself up, kid. You had the chance, you just didn't take it. Makes you a better person than him."
Luck:: [Angrily] "WHO SAID I WANTED TO BE A BETTER PERSON?!?!?!...guh....uh....Never wanted to be.....I want to be worse....I want to kill more people than car crashes and train wrecks combined...I don't want to be some....glowing martyr...or hero...I WANT TO BE A SNAKE!....A disgusting, slimy snake...who slides on his belly....and kills people...with his fucking venom....Hissssssssssssssssssssssss.....Ehehehehe...I want to be a killer...not a saviour....These people...need...a killer..."
Josef:: [Calmly] "Maybe you should get some sleep--"
Luck:: [Inanely] "HA!! Who needs sleep?!?!?....The....the....the weak! Yeah....The strong don't sleep...don't need sleep....we recharge! Yeah....sleep..pfff.....mind you..I need a piss.....Where's Zack....Hm......OI! ZAAAAAAAAAAACK!! ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCKKK!!! ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK, YOU CUNT!!"
Luck stumbled up to his feet, kicking aside the pile of bottles before stabilising himself, looking up at the ceiling as Jonesy raised his head before drooping it down again, shutting his eyes.
Luck:: [Bitterly] “Where..the fuck is…that…idiot..?”
Josef:: [Shrugging nonchalantly] “I don’t know. He just went to bed.”
Luck:: [Inanely] “Ssh. Ssh. Ssh….Do you..Do you hear that?”
Josef looked at Luck, cocking an eyebrow.
Josef:: [Confused]“No, I don’t hear anything.”
Luck:: [Paranoid, Cocking his right eyebrow] “Exactly..There’s nothing to..hear…It’s silent….Too silent..”
Giving the combination of a hiccup and a belch, Luck hurled the bottle of Jose Cuervo through the air, allowing it to smash off of the wall just beside the television and spray the monitor with the golden liquid, the glass shards tinkling to the floor like sharp snowflakes. Luck fell to one knee, clutching his stomach and gave a dry heave before stumbling up to his feet, his vision blurred and his awareness dulled down to that of a rock. He stumbled forwards, tripping slightly and slammed face-first into the wooden door beside the television, grasping the handle and fumbling with it roughly. Josef gave a deep, heavy sigh, getting to his feet and jogging over, grasping the handle and forcing it open. Luck stumbled forward into the darkness of the passageway, giving a small hiccup.
Luck:: [Groaning loudly] “…Fucking hell..No..I’m fine..Just a bit of blurred vision..I’m fine..”
Nzogbia: “Hetty..Why are you doing this? Why are you abusing yourself?”
Luck:: “..Hopefully, I can stop feeling tortured..if I torture myself enough..if I give myself enough pain..If I put my body through enough..”
Nzogbia:: [Disgusted] “You are a madman!”
Luck:: [Impatiently] “Of course..have been since losing to Oblivion….Felt weak….alone…tortured….then the bad luck started….dropped a glass….broke a mirror…and now….now…this…Where..is that bastard?!?!”
Luck stumbled up the stairs, turning right at the top and stumbling towards the oak door that stood guard over Zack’s room. A thin strip of neon light danced under it, as well as the dull sound of voices, indicating that a television was at least on. Luck shook his head, slapping his cheeks in a futile attempt to regain some composure that had been stolen from him by the toxic kiss of the bottle.
Luck grasped the metal handle of the door, forcing it open.
Luck’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging open and trembling in sheer terror: Zack was splayed out on the floor, seemingly not moving aside from the weak pulsation of his chest. His chest was bare, revealing the skin which was beginning to tint in a blue color. Around his forearm was a tight rubber band, presumably used to push out a vein, as a needle, still half-filled with a clear liquid, was pushed into one of the veins in Zack’s wrist.
Luck gave a despaired cry, looking down at Zack, the sheer terror causing his heart to pound into overdrive and causing the effects of the alcohol to die down just enough for Luck to fling himself forward on his knees at Zack’s side.
Luck:: [Panicking] “ZACK!!......ZACK!! WAKE..WAKE..WAKE UP!! ZACK!!...OI!...ZACK!!”
Josef entered the room, looking down at Zack. His mouth stood agape, his eyes widened as he turned around, darting out of the room and scrambling into his pocket.
Nzogbia:: [Hastily] “HOLD ON A FEW MINUTES!!”
Luck rolled Zack onto his back, laying his head on his chest and listening carefully: He was breathing, but barely audible. His pulse was weak. His lips were a slight tiny of pale blue. Luck quickly grasped the syringe shoved into the wrist of Zack’s arm, pulling it free with a small arc of arterial spray and threw it across the room, slapping Zack’s cheek. Zack’s lips moved, but no sound came out. The door burst open as Josef ran in once more, clutching his mobile phone. Tears were beginning to pour free from Luck’s eyes as he looked down at his best friend, yet again helpless and unable to help him.
Josef:: “Ambulance is on the way!”
Luck looked down at his best friend. His best friend who was flirting with death. His best friend who had decided to use the cowards way of alleviating stress and heartache. The cowards way of forgetting the ordeal he had suffered.
Luck couldn’t see it, but the problems were so clear that Luck could vomit. Zack had suffered under his capture, and Luck couldn’t do a fucking thing. Luck could only watch as the Devil’s Due kidnapped him. Luck could only wait as they beat him and tortured him, and now Luck could only watch as his best friend died before him.
Was this karma? No. It couldn’t be. Was Luck this horrible of a human being that he had to suffer this? To watch his own friend die?
He could see the fear and the panic in Zack’s glazed eyes. Luck cradled Zack’s head, kneeling down beside him. Zack’s left arm, the one untouched by a needle, reached up weakly, placing itself on Luck’s lower back seemingly out of instinct alone.
Zack:: [Gasping] “….Hetty….I’m…sorry..”
Luck:: [Tearfully, Shaking him] “JUST HANG IN THERE, ZACK! HANG IN THERE!”
Zack’s breath was fading. He could feel it weaken against him.
The room suddenly flooded with red and blue lights, the sound of a wailing siren piercing Luck’s eardrums. Zack kept his lower hand on Luck’s back, while Luck kept Zack close to him in a futile hope that the Grim Reaper would somehow take Luck instead of Zack.
Luck was to blame for this. Luck should have known Zack would resort back to old habits after such a traumatic event. Luck didn’t do anything to stop the event from happening. He was completely and utterly powerless to do so, and now he was going to watch his best friend die.
Tears streamed down Luck’s face in a fury at himself for failing his best friend once again. He felt his arms get grabbed as paramedics pulled him away from Zack, a stretcher wheeling into the room. Luck watched in absolute horror as they lowered the stretcher, lifting Zack up onto it and strapping him onto it before placing a breathing mask over his mouth in an attempt to keep him breathing while they transported him to the hospital in order to flush out his system.
Luck remained frozen on the spot. The horror. The absolute horror.
Luck’s legs moved automatically, following the paramedics as they desperately rushed Zack out of the room.
Luck’s empire had crumbled, and now he was the only man left standing in the rubble.
This was his punishment, but even this was far too cruel.
It was pushing too far. The sinews that held Luck’s sanity in place began to creak and buckle. Looking down at Zack, he felt sick, horrified…and enraged. Enraged that a simple feud in a wrestling company could lead to a mans death. Were the Devils Due happy? Was Oblivion happy? Was Rivera happy? They got their paychecks. They got their ratings. They got their reputation boosted. They had gained it at Luck’s cost.
But it was becoming dangerous. Luck felt his sense of self-restraint loosen. He felt his sense of morality shake. He felt what little sanity he had left crumble.
Luck was beginning to snap.
They had taken everything from him. Zack being wheeled out was the straw that broke the camels back.
*Part X - …An Emperor Rises* LOCATION: Southern Hills Hospital and Medical Center, Las Vegas, NV. TIME: 1:06am |
Luck’s senses barely came to in the hospital waiting room. Seated beside a pair of swinging double doors that opened to allow the occasional smell of powerful chemicals to punch Luck in the nose, Luck found himself waiting in the very same hospital that Dave was currently resting his back in.
His thumbs twitched, his eyes blinked, yet fatigue wasn’t setting in. An unseen force was somehow keeping Luck upright, long after his mind had wanted his own body to collapse and fall backwards in the hope of a long rest. His eyes were heavy, his senses were dulling, and the pain was now starting to contort itself into a dull throb. The alcohols effects still hung heavy over him, and while his vision had sharpened, his words were still significantly slurred, his mood sombre, and his reactions and perception dulled.
He felt so close to giving up, yet so far from being able to do so.
Without Zack or Dave, Luck finally felt the loneliness creep in. He was barely able to comprehend it. He had no-one to hide behind anymore. He had no-one to protect him anymore. He had barely anyone to confide in anymore.
He looked around the waiting room. He felt vulnerable. Too vulnerable. Were they looking at him? He wouldn’t put it past them. It was these kinds of people who would gang up on him and jeer him out of the room. These mismatched groups of pedestrians suffering various ailments, seated in neat rows as they talked amongst themselves, waiting to be served. He could feel it. He could feel the hostility towards him grow.
Luck’s thumbs twitched. Where was the Doctor?! Luck had been waiting for five hours, cursed into the inability to sleep! He was one of the living dead, cursed to walk the earth without a drink to quench his thirst nor food to slay his hunger.
First Oblivion beat him and destroyed his reputation and his plans.
Then Dave is forced into resting.
Then Zack, trying to forget those two horrifying weeks, accidentally put himself out with an overdose.
And now, Luck was alone, Luck was sleepless, and Luck was vulnerable.
How was he supposed to survive in the Asylum now?
The doors opened up, and out strolled Doctor Watson, a stern look across his face. His head swept to the left, catching Luck’s eyes, then quickly turned around, facing him and looking down at him. Luck grasped the sides of the chair, barely managing to push himself to his feet before teetering back with his legs against the edge of the seat, almost collapsing. Watson watched, concerned as Luck stopped, gulping loudly and looking at him.
Luck:: [Inanely] “How is he, Doctor? Will he live? Will he live?!”
Doctor Watson:: “He’s reacting well to the treatments. Thankfully, he didn’t mix it with other drugs, but he did inject a large quantity into his veins. I suspect we may see recovery within forty eight hours, perhaps longer. For now, we need to keep him on breathing support and IV to make sure he remains in a stable condition.”
Luck:: [Nervously] “Doc..I NEED THIS MAN! I need him out right now! I can’t fucking go it alone out there in that world!”
Doctor Watson:: “What do you mean, Mister Hetfield?”
Luck:: [Bitterly] “The world out there that HATES MY GUTS! That man is one of the very few people I trust! I CAN’T JUST HAVE HIM LAYING IN A BED SOMEWHERE!”
Doctor Watson:: “Mister Hetfield, I’m afraid there is no other option. This young man skated so close to death that it is remarkable that he is even still alive. He needs to be kept in hospital for several days at most, and he most definitely needs to check-in to rehabilitation following his stay here.”
Luck:: [On the verge of tears] “Doc, you don’t understand!! With these two hospitalized, I can’t go on! I have no-one to fall back on! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?! Without them, I have nothing! I am a man facing the world alone! I need them out RIGHT NOW!”
Doctor Watson:: [Impatiently] “No, you don’t understand, Hetfield! Dave is stable, but I’m not letting him out with a bruised spine, nor am I simply going to allow you to remove Zack from hospital! He is staying here whether you like it or not..I think it’s time you leave.”
In that one moment, the final light in Luck’s head..
..simply switched off.
Luck:: [Angrily] “Without my friends, I have nothing. I can’t walk into the Asylum without them. I don’t want to. They are all I have. They are all that is left for me. Without them, I have to bear those vile chants, listen to those inbred peasants jeer at me, and I have to confront the man who stand in my way alone. I can’t do that, Doc. I can’t.”
Doctor Watson:: “Why?”
Luck:: [Hissing quietly and giving a small smile] “Without them..I have no reason to hold back. Nothing will stop me from just..losing control.”
Doctor Watson:: [Impatiently] “Zack and Dave are not going anywhere. If you must insist on the dramatics, then I can check you into therapy for your anger. I suspect it may be Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Maybe even a dose of social phobia—“
With those words, Luck snapped. Grabbing the Doctor by his collar, Luck lifted him up, marching him forward and slamming him against the wall, glaring into his eyes and shaking him roughly.
Luck:: [Venomously] “I won’t listen to you, you patronizing fuck! There’s nothing wrong with me! I love me! I love what I am! But I need these men at my sides!”
Doctor Watson:: “S-SECURITY!!”
Luck let go of the Doctor, allowing him to slide loosely down the wall and onto his rear. Luck’s hand flicked towards his jacket, but in a fit of common sense, he stopped himself, grasping his hand and stopping it from reaching the switchblade he had tucked into one of the pockets. Instead, he chose to turn around, glancing at the waiting room who had now turned all their eyes to him.
Luck:: [On the verge of hyperventilating] “What? What are you all looking at? Don’t think that I won’t raze this fucking hospital to the ground! Don’t think that I will not take your eyeballs and thread them on a string for a necklace! STOP STARING!”
Luck stormed forward, ignoring the somewhat-frightened glances that shot his way and hurtled towards the automatic glass doors, barging out and slamming into the metal frame of the left-hand door before it could open, swinging out a kick and kicking the bottom glass pane roughly, smashing it into several shards which fell to the carpet inside and the concrete outside.
The door opened. Luck stormed out into the cold Las Vegas night, throwing his head up to the air and looking at the stars.
Luck:: [With un unfathomable fury] “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!?!? HAVEN’T YOU TAKEN IT ALL?!?!? WHAT ELSE CAN YOU DO TO ME?!?!?”
Luck shook his head roughly, the tears stinging in his eyes as he pulled his jacket tighter over his body and stormed across the road, reaching the pavement on the other side without bothering to listening to the blaring horns that sounded as he ran across the path of oncoming traffic with a single care.
He had left behind Zack. He had left behind Dave. The Empire had crumbled. All that was left was the outcast Emperor, left to drown in his own sick and poisonous pool of loathing. The Asylum was the furthest thing from his mind, even with Prestige incoming. Luck couldn’t bare thinking about it. He couldn’t bare sparing a thought towards the one thing that was beginning to rob him of all he had left.
Luck could feel everything inside beginning to crumble. His thoughts, his feelings, the very sinews of his sanity: Everything. He was being punished for everything he had done, but karma was far outweighing the actions Luck had enacted on his possible empire. What could happen next? Could a Devils Due member just roll past on a motorcycle and shoot him? Maybe a mugger would stab him in the neck and paralyze him? Did it even matter anymore? What did Luck have to live for?
And he was sick of that fucking name! Luck, Luck, Luck! He wasn’t lucky anymore, he was angry! He was sick and tired! He was unlucky! He was the kid who had finally been thrown into the gutter and trampled into dirt!
Luck ducked right and into a dark alleyway ensconced between a seedy bar and a shop whose windows and door had been boarded shut. He stumbled across the tarmac which was stricken with puddles of urine and waste water, twisting so his back faced the wall of the bar before hurling himself backwards, slamming his back roughly into the cold brick. All he could feel was pain anyway, so it didn’t even matter. He slid down the wall, his hands clasped on either side of his head as he sat on the pavement in what was effectively a puddle of filth, mould and mildew beneath him, but it didn’t even matter anymore.
Luck tried, but he couldn’t feel anything. All he could feel was that sickening pit of misery growing in his stomach.
He simply couldn’t hold it back any longer. Zack and Dave were gone, left to rest on the sidelines while Luck faced the world alone. A world that wanted to carve into his stomach, pull out his intestines and lynch him with them. A world that placed one hand over its heart to indicate its kindness, and another hand clutching a noose to systematically exterminate anyone it felt to be unworthy of life, Luck included. A world that ranted about everything wrong except itself. A world that pointed its fingers at everywhere but its own black heart.
Luck screamed violently. A scream that curdled the blood and caused the stomach to ice over. A scream that echoed throughout the air of Las Vegas for several seconds. A scream that released every emotion pent up inside Luck’s body at once. A scream that pierced the heavens.
The scream subsided into terrified and angered sobs. Luck’s fists clenched over his face like that of a young baby going through the motions of a temper tantrum. His face turned a violent shade of purple mixed with red. The sobs filled the alleyway, echoing around Luck and creating the audible experience of the pits of hell itself. The tears rolled down his cheeks, stinging them roughly as they combined with the cold air that blew through Las Vegas.
The sobbing continued for several moments, but suddenly it stopped. Luck dropped his fists down onto his thighs, his eyes red, puffy and itchy, his cheeks burnt from the waterfalls of tears he had shed, his nose running with mucus. Something stirred in that twisted mind of his. Memories of a better time.
Voice:: “Maynard, Do me a favour, will ya? Cut the crying, kid. If anyone should cry, it should be me. I spent days sitting in a foxhole down in Bastogne, letting the snow fall around me while my testicles froze into snowballs. I was there at Market Garden, watching men fall to the ground in their thousands with bullets in their brains and in their hearts. I’ve seen my best friends explode into clouds of red dust as a Panzerkampfwagen just rolls down a hill and fires at them without a second thought. I’ve seen the Wehrmacht take the men who I considered to be my superiors and pump bullets into their heads. I was there at Vietnam, watching men fall into pungi pits and skewer themselves on shit. I saw men hanging from trees with their throats cut from ear to ear. I came back from the Gulf War just recently, and it was more of the same. Civilians strewn on the ground with their guts hanging out, mothers with unborn babies ripped from the womb, I saw the fires of oil fields cause the sky to light up like the vision of hell itself. I never cried. Screaming Eagles never cry. You know what I did? I let it all go, and realised that these bastards had to die. Vietnamese, German, Iraqi? I didn’t discriminate, I killed anyone who got in the way of me and in the way of this country. I know I’m going to the grave with it in my conscience, but I don’t give a damn.” Young Hetfield:: “B-B-But Grandpa..H-How can you look at y-yourself in the mirror?” Voice:: “Because I realised it was them or me. If you want to get anywhere in life, kid, then you better do it while being ruthless. You care for someone, and the world will just chew them up and spit them out, like what I saw happen to my friends in France. You go out into the world, Maynard, and you get the job done. Don’t think. Do it. Go out there and destroy anyone who stands in the path of you or what you believe in. Don't bother trying to make a legend for yourself: You'll fail. Don't bother trying to exceed expectations: You'll fail. You want to get shit done? You do it by going out there and destroying the first person who crosses your path, and the second, and the third, and every single one of that persons successors. The legends of this world aren't made through pacifism, they're made with blood on their hands. That should be your onus in life. And don’t cry about it too, you little pansy.” |
Luck’s head slowly raised up, his eyes tired and dry, the swelling of his eyes beginning to subside. He let out a tired sigh, his eyes lacking any sort of emotion whatsoever as they slowly lit up into consciousness.
He knew what he had to do to survive in the Asylum.
He was all alone in the world. He had to complete the job himself. He had to eradicate his opponents by himself. He had to turn away his ears from his friends and his fallen comrades and focus his eyes on the road ahead. He had to push aside anyone who stood in his way.
Luck just didn’t care anymore. Caring is what got him into this mess. Consequences were meaningless. Punishments were temporary, and so was pain. Luck felt absolutely nothing as he rose to his feet, his arms swinging as he pushed himself backwards against the wall, leaning his head backwards against it, his eyes as blank as a slate.
Turning right, Luck headed out of the alleyway, his arms simply swinging by his sides as he looked across the street at the hospital, taking in the lights. He gave a small, regretful sigh.
Zack and Dave could sit this one out. It was time for Luck to abandon crossing the Rubicon, and it was time to abandon building an empire. Both of those plans had fallen down, crumbled into ash and simply scattered into the wind.
Luck had a new plan, a new goal. A goal that couldn’t fail him. A goal that didn’t require partnership and certainly didn’t require tactics. A goal that he knew would make his grandfather proud of him.
A goal that would help him get through the Asylum.
A goal that would finally help him understand himself.
He was simply going to keep on hurting people until he felt something.
