Post by Immanuel Taylor on Sept 1, 2011 13:13:52 GMT -5
The grotesque cut on Immanuel’s arm requires at least a hundred stitches to close up. If the cut had gone a couple of inches further it would have slashed the artery in Immanuel’s wrist and Immanuel Taylor, 42 years old and now the Hardkore champion, would have followed in the tragic footsteps of many emotionally unstable teenagers. Of course, this is much more attractive than the alternative. If Immanuel hadn’t shielded his neck with his hand whilst falling on the barbed wire, he would have literally got his throat slashed and Tyreke Bell would have retained the title. Losing to Bell and…well, dying isn’t that preferable to winning back the title and having to spend the night at the Washington hospital scarred, beaten and with a tube shoved in your mouth.
Immanuel had no idea why they stuck a tube in there. He passed out on the way to the hospital, bleeding like a pig on his way there. Apparently, they pumped some blood into him, stitched him up, and now he’s all ready to go back to the ring and engage in more barbaric behavior. Only this time, he’ll do it with the Hardkore Title around his waist.
Immanuel took the breathing tube out of his mouth, it’s kinda suffocating him, and he placed both his feet on the cold, marble floor of his private room. The coldness shot up his ankles and oozed up to his spine and he trembled for a bit even though the room is a little humid. Taylor’s been out for a day, plus the night he arrived. Confined to a bed and being subjected to a slew of check-ups by muscular male nurses. Immanuel got up, with a little difficulty, and walked around for a bit. He took in the view from his window, Capitol Hill can be seen from afar, and then he proceeded to take off his patient robe. He stood in front of a mirror and checked his naked body for bruises, scars and the like.
There was, of course, the huge bandage covering the grotesque scar on Immanuel’s cut arm, a small bandage on the right of his jaw covering the additional cut he received from the barbed wire and a blue bruise just below his right hand. This is what it took. This is what it took for Immanuel to regain the Hardkore Title, to get his name re-etched on that dirty front plate of the title.
Was it worth it?
Immanuel, still naked, turned to the mounted digital clock slightly above the Plasma TV. 3:55 PM. Evening. The 23rd. Taylor, still naked, approached the black duffel bag he brought along with him to the arena and was subsequently transferred to the corresponding hospital room and squatted down before zipping it open. He took out a set of street clothes he was attired in when he arrived at the arena before his match began, put them on and made his way out of the hospital.
It was a considerable distance to the Washington Dulles International Airport and Immanuel took the time in the back of the cab to think up of how he’ll come up with the money. He doesn’t have any account with banks and the only electronic means he uses to store up his money is through the EUW-Asylum Headquarters affiliated chequing account. Whatever hard cash he has with him was paid to the taxi driver at the completion of the taxi ride to the airport. Fortunately for Immanuel, however, his flight was delayed upon request of the EUW-Asylum staff to three nights after the original date. He had to wait six hours in the terminal before boarding his flight and heading back to San Francisco.
Immanuel arrived in San Francisco and managed to convince the cab driver that he’ll pay him when he drives him to the Hotel Tropicana. He showed him his EUW-Asylum Headquarters card as proof of his employment in a turbulent economy. It was at 5:32 AM that Immanuel was nestled safely in his bed in his hotel room at the Hotel Tropicana on Valencia Street in the Mission District. He kept an ever-watchful gaze of any suspicious Euro-looking man, whom Immanuel is convinced was and is hired by Rivera to either monitor his activities or dig into his past or possibly both.
Immanuel’s suspicions intensified when he received a carbon copy of the September 4th card on Friday the 26th along with a ticket to Moscow, Russia.
The intensification actually occurred after Immanuel received the card and tickets, right about when he ordered a copy of his opponent’s biography folder. It was then that Immanuel realized the nature of his situation. As the newly crowned two-time Hardkore champion, Immanuel will have just gone through an unstable and volatile Barbed Wire match and will be returning to the ring on Sunday the 4th to face an unstable and volatile opponent. Maynard Hetfield.
The first thought that shot through Immanuel’s brain after acquiring and reading Hetfield’s biography was of Mark Rivera booking this match on purpose, putting Immanuel in the path of a newly unhinged raging bull. Coming off a high-profile loss to Oblivion, temporarily losing a manager to heroin overdose and a partner to a spinal fracture. Dramatic and, in Immanuel’s case, painful. Hetfield’s going to be shaky at best and goddamn animalistic at worst. And what better way for Mr. Hetfield to let out all of that pent up rage than to take it out on the weird guy?
When making his way out of the EUW-Asylum Headquaters, Immanuel paused to inspect his surroundings. A simple sweep of the head, coupled with ever watchful eyes, and Immanuel was able to certify that the ambiguous Euro-looking man is not in the scene. He made his way out to the sidewalk and, with his head down in classic Taxi Driver fashion, made his way along the elegant sidewalks of the Mission District. San Francisco is alive and well, its status as a place of diversity well-represented by the numerous minorities. Immanuel is in deep thought and his constant suspicions could not fully shield him from the impact of finding out he will be going up against Maynard Hetfield.
The idea of Mark Rivera intentionally booking this match with Hetfield’s instability in mind once again returned to Immanuel’s always-moving train of thought. Taylor’s positive that that Euro-looking stalker was intentionally following him, Immanuel can spot such things due to his military background, and he was able to confirm it by showing Nadine the waitress (who may or may not be a waitress) a copy of his EUW-Asylum biography photograph, which she confirmed as being the same as that which that Euro-looking man showed her earlier. Since EUW-Asylum wrestler biography folders are off-limits to the public, this must mean that Rivera gave the Euro-looking stalker a copy of Immanuel’s biography folder.
What makes Maynard Hetfield especially perilous isn’t just the whole “I’ve snapped” attitude of his but rather the fact that the man has experience. This isn’t the psychotic new guy with a murky past, Immanuel occupies that role instead, but rather an experienced, seasoned and well-leant machine that’s gone on overdrive. Immanuel’s eyes scanned Hetfield’s folder and he picked up all sorts of red flags. A solid base of essentials, Suplexes and Submissions, which buoys up an arsenal of vicious maneuvers with an emphasis on stiff kicks to the opponent’s head. Immanuel Taylor’s answer to this would be to take out the energy, take out the inherent momentum in Hetfield’s system. The problem with that is how does someone tame a headcase such as Maynard Hetfield?
Immanuel stopped at the Mission Smoke Shop. He doesn’t smoke, of course. Immanuel went inside and, whilst opening the door, took a wide view of his surroundings. He did the same thing on his way out thirty seconds later. No Euro-looking man, no suspiciously familiar individuals. Immanuel has a crystal-sharp memory, perhaps even photographic. He continued his way up the Mission Street, having to balance his high alert mind with the innumerable thoughts of going up against Maynard Hetfield.
Taylor always kept an eye out on the status of his fellow superstars. Not out of sentimentality but out of his in-built survival instinct. To see and take note of the enemy before you have to engage him is a strong advantage to have. This goes double when you are a title holder. Immanuel is still ambivalent about being in the Hardkore division, let alone being its top competitor but, alas, it is his name on that dirty front plate and Taylor has to keep an eye out for future challengers to the belt. This brings everything back to Maynard Hetfield.
Hetfield’s recent demise into an unpredictable, animalistic and even masochistic behavior, as Taylor could easily see by reading his updated biography, makes him perfect for the Hardkore division. If Rivera booking him against Immanuel is an intentional maneuver, then it could be seen as a foreshadowing. Let the unleashed Metfield take a shot at the Hardkore champion in a non-title match. See what happens. It’s a standard rules match, to Immanuel’s relief since he hates Hardcore matches, but perhaps a mere tango with the current Hardkore title holder is more than enough to have Hetfield aim for the title.
Immanuel did not consider Maynard Hetfield a viable candidate before his transformation took place. Mister Luck. Immanuel gazed over his biography once and was struck with a note of familiarity. A socialite turned wrestler. Someone formerly from another galaxy than the drab, grunt-like life of ex-soldier Immanuel Taylor but ultimately brought in the same realm due to a common link. Their self-imposed inclusion into the wrestling world is what brings them here together. Immanuel could connect with that and he could see a bit of himself in Maynard Hetfield. It always helps when you are able to see a touch of humanity in the enemy you are engaging.
Immanuel is the Hardkore Champion but Sunday’s match is not governed by Hardcore Rules. Immanuel’s already heard that Church ended up in the hospital after the barbed wire fiasco. Taylor’s already put an EUW-Asylum trainer and an active wrestler in the hospital, both by accident. Or maybe not. Either way, the Hardkore Champion would have to get a grip on himself when his fateful encounter against Maynard Hetfield arrives. During all the inevitable carnage to come, the very possible bloodshed, the fact that Immanuel would be able to nitpick at least a thread of humanity from the animal known as Maynard Hetfield could be more than enough to stop the match from escalating to obscenely dangerous levels.
Immanuel stopped at Mr. Scooter’s and decided to head back to his hotel room at the Hotel Tropicana. It’s getting decently dark by now and, with his head down as usual, made his way back to his hotel. Just as he was reaching the front door, moving leg by leg down the sidewalk, a yellow taxi cab had pulled up in front of the place and Vitali Khodorkovsky, the man Mark Rivera hired to investigate Immanuel’s past, was in the back seat. He didn’t see Immanuel, busy enough as he was with rubbing his eyes and nursing his headache. Vitali paid the cab driver the fee and made his way out of the cab just as Immanuel went inside the Hotel Tropicana. Taylor nodded at the Hispanic man at the front desk and made his way to the stairwell entrance.
As soon as he opened the stairwell door and closed it behind him, Vitali entered the Hotel Tropicana and nodded at the Hispanic man at the front desk before heading to the elevator. Too tired to take the stairs this time. By the time he made it inside the floor and clicked on the “3” button, Immanuel had closed the stairwell behind him on the third floor and begun making his way to his room. Vitali reached the same floor just as Immanuel inserted his key into the keyhole. He turned the key, unlocking the door, as Vitali waited for the elevator door to open. Immanuel closed the door to his room behind him as Vitali exited the elevator and made his way to his room, going down the same corridor that Immanuel had just gone down.
Immanuel dropped his shoulder bag to the door and went to take his shirt off when he suddenly remembered that he forgot to purchase a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle. It really bugged him as Immanuel seeked to stay adrift on what’s happening in his surroundings. Immanuel decided its early enough to go back out to the convenience store across the street and purchase a copy. He turned around, with his keys in hand, and unlocked his front door before opening it. He instantly froze in breathless shock.
Across of him stood the Euro-looking stalker whom Immanuel had become assured that Rivera had hired to investigate him. The same man who asked Nadine for Immanuel’s name and got an alias, Jonathan Harker. Vitali Khodorkovsky has his back to Immanuel and is busy inserting his key into the keyhole of his front door. He does so in a second and twists and unlocks his room’s door. Just as he pushes it open and steps forward, turning around as a result, Immanuel reacts quickly by slamming his own door shut. A loud thud resonates and Vitali briefly cringes, already going through a headache of his own. He eyes Immanuel’s door and, not knowing Immanuel is in there of course, simply exclaims “Azhalek” under his breath before closing his own door.
Taylor, now in his closed room, slowly locked the door and took out his Soviet-manufactured SP9 and held it lightly in-between his crooked legs with his back to the wall. Immanuel stayed there, seated in the dark with a gun in his hand. He did not move from his position for a while. It didn’t matter, though, whether he stayed there or moved for the reality of the situation is still present. He’s there. The man whom Immanuel is sure was and currently is stalking him is right there, on the same floor and corridor. The reality sunk in one more time, this time dissolving fully.
The Euro-looking stalker, Vitali Khodorkovsky, is living just across the hall.
Immanuel had no idea why they stuck a tube in there. He passed out on the way to the hospital, bleeding like a pig on his way there. Apparently, they pumped some blood into him, stitched him up, and now he’s all ready to go back to the ring and engage in more barbaric behavior. Only this time, he’ll do it with the Hardkore Title around his waist.
Immanuel took the breathing tube out of his mouth, it’s kinda suffocating him, and he placed both his feet on the cold, marble floor of his private room. The coldness shot up his ankles and oozed up to his spine and he trembled for a bit even though the room is a little humid. Taylor’s been out for a day, plus the night he arrived. Confined to a bed and being subjected to a slew of check-ups by muscular male nurses. Immanuel got up, with a little difficulty, and walked around for a bit. He took in the view from his window, Capitol Hill can be seen from afar, and then he proceeded to take off his patient robe. He stood in front of a mirror and checked his naked body for bruises, scars and the like.
There was, of course, the huge bandage covering the grotesque scar on Immanuel’s cut arm, a small bandage on the right of his jaw covering the additional cut he received from the barbed wire and a blue bruise just below his right hand. This is what it took. This is what it took for Immanuel to regain the Hardkore Title, to get his name re-etched on that dirty front plate of the title.
Was it worth it?
Immanuel, still naked, turned to the mounted digital clock slightly above the Plasma TV. 3:55 PM. Evening. The 23rd. Taylor, still naked, approached the black duffel bag he brought along with him to the arena and was subsequently transferred to the corresponding hospital room and squatted down before zipping it open. He took out a set of street clothes he was attired in when he arrived at the arena before his match began, put them on and made his way out of the hospital.
It was a considerable distance to the Washington Dulles International Airport and Immanuel took the time in the back of the cab to think up of how he’ll come up with the money. He doesn’t have any account with banks and the only electronic means he uses to store up his money is through the EUW-Asylum Headquarters affiliated chequing account. Whatever hard cash he has with him was paid to the taxi driver at the completion of the taxi ride to the airport. Fortunately for Immanuel, however, his flight was delayed upon request of the EUW-Asylum staff to three nights after the original date. He had to wait six hours in the terminal before boarding his flight and heading back to San Francisco.
Immanuel arrived in San Francisco and managed to convince the cab driver that he’ll pay him when he drives him to the Hotel Tropicana. He showed him his EUW-Asylum Headquarters card as proof of his employment in a turbulent economy. It was at 5:32 AM that Immanuel was nestled safely in his bed in his hotel room at the Hotel Tropicana on Valencia Street in the Mission District. He kept an ever-watchful gaze of any suspicious Euro-looking man, whom Immanuel is convinced was and is hired by Rivera to either monitor his activities or dig into his past or possibly both.
Immanuel’s suspicions intensified when he received a carbon copy of the September 4th card on Friday the 26th along with a ticket to Moscow, Russia.
The intensification actually occurred after Immanuel received the card and tickets, right about when he ordered a copy of his opponent’s biography folder. It was then that Immanuel realized the nature of his situation. As the newly crowned two-time Hardkore champion, Immanuel will have just gone through an unstable and volatile Barbed Wire match and will be returning to the ring on Sunday the 4th to face an unstable and volatile opponent. Maynard Hetfield.
The first thought that shot through Immanuel’s brain after acquiring and reading Hetfield’s biography was of Mark Rivera booking this match on purpose, putting Immanuel in the path of a newly unhinged raging bull. Coming off a high-profile loss to Oblivion, temporarily losing a manager to heroin overdose and a partner to a spinal fracture. Dramatic and, in Immanuel’s case, painful. Hetfield’s going to be shaky at best and goddamn animalistic at worst. And what better way for Mr. Hetfield to let out all of that pent up rage than to take it out on the weird guy?
When making his way out of the EUW-Asylum Headquaters, Immanuel paused to inspect his surroundings. A simple sweep of the head, coupled with ever watchful eyes, and Immanuel was able to certify that the ambiguous Euro-looking man is not in the scene. He made his way out to the sidewalk and, with his head down in classic Taxi Driver fashion, made his way along the elegant sidewalks of the Mission District. San Francisco is alive and well, its status as a place of diversity well-represented by the numerous minorities. Immanuel is in deep thought and his constant suspicions could not fully shield him from the impact of finding out he will be going up against Maynard Hetfield.
The idea of Mark Rivera intentionally booking this match with Hetfield’s instability in mind once again returned to Immanuel’s always-moving train of thought. Taylor’s positive that that Euro-looking stalker was intentionally following him, Immanuel can spot such things due to his military background, and he was able to confirm it by showing Nadine the waitress (who may or may not be a waitress) a copy of his EUW-Asylum biography photograph, which she confirmed as being the same as that which that Euro-looking man showed her earlier. Since EUW-Asylum wrestler biography folders are off-limits to the public, this must mean that Rivera gave the Euro-looking stalker a copy of Immanuel’s biography folder.
What makes Maynard Hetfield especially perilous isn’t just the whole “I’ve snapped” attitude of his but rather the fact that the man has experience. This isn’t the psychotic new guy with a murky past, Immanuel occupies that role instead, but rather an experienced, seasoned and well-leant machine that’s gone on overdrive. Immanuel’s eyes scanned Hetfield’s folder and he picked up all sorts of red flags. A solid base of essentials, Suplexes and Submissions, which buoys up an arsenal of vicious maneuvers with an emphasis on stiff kicks to the opponent’s head. Immanuel Taylor’s answer to this would be to take out the energy, take out the inherent momentum in Hetfield’s system. The problem with that is how does someone tame a headcase such as Maynard Hetfield?
Immanuel stopped at the Mission Smoke Shop. He doesn’t smoke, of course. Immanuel went inside and, whilst opening the door, took a wide view of his surroundings. He did the same thing on his way out thirty seconds later. No Euro-looking man, no suspiciously familiar individuals. Immanuel has a crystal-sharp memory, perhaps even photographic. He continued his way up the Mission Street, having to balance his high alert mind with the innumerable thoughts of going up against Maynard Hetfield.
Taylor always kept an eye out on the status of his fellow superstars. Not out of sentimentality but out of his in-built survival instinct. To see and take note of the enemy before you have to engage him is a strong advantage to have. This goes double when you are a title holder. Immanuel is still ambivalent about being in the Hardkore division, let alone being its top competitor but, alas, it is his name on that dirty front plate and Taylor has to keep an eye out for future challengers to the belt. This brings everything back to Maynard Hetfield.
Hetfield’s recent demise into an unpredictable, animalistic and even masochistic behavior, as Taylor could easily see by reading his updated biography, makes him perfect for the Hardkore division. If Rivera booking him against Immanuel is an intentional maneuver, then it could be seen as a foreshadowing. Let the unleashed Metfield take a shot at the Hardkore champion in a non-title match. See what happens. It’s a standard rules match, to Immanuel’s relief since he hates Hardcore matches, but perhaps a mere tango with the current Hardkore title holder is more than enough to have Hetfield aim for the title.
Immanuel did not consider Maynard Hetfield a viable candidate before his transformation took place. Mister Luck. Immanuel gazed over his biography once and was struck with a note of familiarity. A socialite turned wrestler. Someone formerly from another galaxy than the drab, grunt-like life of ex-soldier Immanuel Taylor but ultimately brought in the same realm due to a common link. Their self-imposed inclusion into the wrestling world is what brings them here together. Immanuel could connect with that and he could see a bit of himself in Maynard Hetfield. It always helps when you are able to see a touch of humanity in the enemy you are engaging.
Immanuel is the Hardkore Champion but Sunday’s match is not governed by Hardcore Rules. Immanuel’s already heard that Church ended up in the hospital after the barbed wire fiasco. Taylor’s already put an EUW-Asylum trainer and an active wrestler in the hospital, both by accident. Or maybe not. Either way, the Hardkore Champion would have to get a grip on himself when his fateful encounter against Maynard Hetfield arrives. During all the inevitable carnage to come, the very possible bloodshed, the fact that Immanuel would be able to nitpick at least a thread of humanity from the animal known as Maynard Hetfield could be more than enough to stop the match from escalating to obscenely dangerous levels.
Immanuel stopped at Mr. Scooter’s and decided to head back to his hotel room at the Hotel Tropicana. It’s getting decently dark by now and, with his head down as usual, made his way back to his hotel. Just as he was reaching the front door, moving leg by leg down the sidewalk, a yellow taxi cab had pulled up in front of the place and Vitali Khodorkovsky, the man Mark Rivera hired to investigate Immanuel’s past, was in the back seat. He didn’t see Immanuel, busy enough as he was with rubbing his eyes and nursing his headache. Vitali paid the cab driver the fee and made his way out of the cab just as Immanuel went inside the Hotel Tropicana. Taylor nodded at the Hispanic man at the front desk and made his way to the stairwell entrance.
As soon as he opened the stairwell door and closed it behind him, Vitali entered the Hotel Tropicana and nodded at the Hispanic man at the front desk before heading to the elevator. Too tired to take the stairs this time. By the time he made it inside the floor and clicked on the “3” button, Immanuel had closed the stairwell behind him on the third floor and begun making his way to his room. Vitali reached the same floor just as Immanuel inserted his key into the keyhole. He turned the key, unlocking the door, as Vitali waited for the elevator door to open. Immanuel closed the door to his room behind him as Vitali exited the elevator and made his way to his room, going down the same corridor that Immanuel had just gone down.
Immanuel dropped his shoulder bag to the door and went to take his shirt off when he suddenly remembered that he forgot to purchase a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle. It really bugged him as Immanuel seeked to stay adrift on what’s happening in his surroundings. Immanuel decided its early enough to go back out to the convenience store across the street and purchase a copy. He turned around, with his keys in hand, and unlocked his front door before opening it. He instantly froze in breathless shock.
Across of him stood the Euro-looking stalker whom Immanuel had become assured that Rivera had hired to investigate him. The same man who asked Nadine for Immanuel’s name and got an alias, Jonathan Harker. Vitali Khodorkovsky has his back to Immanuel and is busy inserting his key into the keyhole of his front door. He does so in a second and twists and unlocks his room’s door. Just as he pushes it open and steps forward, turning around as a result, Immanuel reacts quickly by slamming his own door shut. A loud thud resonates and Vitali briefly cringes, already going through a headache of his own. He eyes Immanuel’s door and, not knowing Immanuel is in there of course, simply exclaims “Azhalek” under his breath before closing his own door.
Taylor, now in his closed room, slowly locked the door and took out his Soviet-manufactured SP9 and held it lightly in-between his crooked legs with his back to the wall. Immanuel stayed there, seated in the dark with a gun in his hand. He did not move from his position for a while. It didn’t matter, though, whether he stayed there or moved for the reality of the situation is still present. He’s there. The man whom Immanuel is sure was and currently is stalking him is right there, on the same floor and corridor. The reality sunk in one more time, this time dissolving fully.
The Euro-looking stalker, Vitali Khodorkovsky, is living just across the hall.
