Guest SupaTaft Report post Posted October 15, 2002 running... running... out of fear... out of hate... why... All these thoughts flood the mind. The lights are turned on with a thwick, they take a moment to turn on fully. Logan suddenly snaps back to the present with a jerk, removing the damp towel from his draped over head, and looks up to see that the locker room is empty, except for an old janitor... and himself. The old man speaks kindly to Logan... obviously not privy to his in ring actions. “Hey bud, I just finished cleaning up, that means you gotta skate.” Logan growls his response, sending the old man a message “Leave.” The janitor couldn’t be more happy to oblige as he quickly exits the room, pushing his bucket o’ suds out with him. Logan closes his eyes and puts the towel back over his head. “Pathetic.” He thinks to himself. “I’m ashamed to be of the same breed. They ruin the very soil they walk on and refuse to remedy their mistakes. Oh, they will pay for their mistakes in due time...” Logan’s thoughts are cut off by a sudden snarl creeping on his lips. He gets up and removes the towel from his head and slips on his Carhart coat and leaves the locker room. He walks out a back door that the old janitor is waiting by. Logan walks out the door into the cool October air and the door slams behind him. Logan turns around with bad intentions for the old man on his mind but he stops himself. “Fuck it.” he mumbles. “He’s too feeble to beat and leave alive.” Logan walks slowly down the crowded New York city street, its late at night... or early in the morning. Not that it matters to Logan anyways. New York is always crowded and moving... teeming with people. The race to which Logan belongs but so vehemently detests. Walking directly in the middle of the sidewalk, head hung low, dozens... possibly hundreds of shoulders bumping into him as he walks. To them he pays no visible heed, but inside he thinks deeply. “That man... buying up everything he can get his delicate hands on. His hands look as though he’s never worked a day in his life. As if he deserves to share oxygen with the other creatures of this world.” Logan cuts through the crowd with at a slow pace, his simple clothes clashing heavily with the top-dollar threads adorning some of New York’s wealthiest patrons. “And her, wearing a mink fur stole. Safe to say she didn’t kill those beats herself.” Logan gives a soft growl. The unshaven grappler walks slowly towards his selected target and opens the door with a ding. A man emerges from the back and wipes his hands off on his blood-stained apron. “Hey there mack, what can I do ya for?” The man’s humble tone irritates Logan, but he refrains from his violent nature for the moment. “Two rib-eyes.” he grates out low. The butcher eyes Logan up for a moment and then says cautiously “You ain’t from around here are ya?” The eyes narrow and the butcher catches Logan’s drift, quickly grabbing the steaks out of meat case. Logan pays for his meat and leaves the store, continuing his walk. People give him strange looks as he walks down Fifth Avenue. “Its a lot easier than hunting, but the meat just doesn’t taste as good cold. Plus you don‘t get the thrill of the hunt.” The strange looks turn into gasps and shouts of disgust as he takes heaping bites of the raw steak. Logan rounds a corner and moves down a back alley, a place hidden from the bright lights and the loud noises of New York. Finally he arrives at his temporary lodgings. This place could best be described as a shit hole. The sign above the door says “Transients Welcome”, Logan smirks as he enters the run down building, tossing a small chunk of gristle to the side. Its very dark inside, the only two lights are above the unused pool table and above the “office” of the manager. The manager is much to Logan’s liking... he’s mute. He walks quickly through the dilapidated halls, hurrying in case they decide to crumble on him. Amidst the peeling paint and the water damaged roof, Logan looks at relative peace. Upon entering his room, we find that almost nothing is changed, save a messy bed and a duffle bag on the table. “Away from the masses, a nice change of pace. Too bad I cant stay here, but there is work to be done. People have to see what I can do... in order to understand where I am from... and why I do what I do.” Logan sits on a wooden folding chair and bows his head down. “Hardy... only the first. Now Hardy knows my name, and its imbedded in his face for life. The next time he cuts an interview, everyone will see my handiwork on his fat face.” A low, gravelly chuckle emanates from his thick frame. “Fugue, wounds heal in time... but you can never get back the blood that I let from your veins. See if you cross me again you dumb bastard. Ejiro... so you like to wrestle do you? In five minutes, I’m going to make you hurt like you’ve never hurt before... maybe I’ll leave my mark on you too. Show you first hand what I can do. Only five minutes to make you respect me eh? That should suit me nicely...” Logan grabs his gear bag and leaves the hotel, disappearing into the golden morning light, reflected by the pinnacle of man’s accomplishments. running... running... Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Guest Ace309 Report post Posted October 15, 2002 Well, I still don't see why Ben Hardy is a trophy. Interesting glimpse into Logan's mind, though. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Secret Agent 0 Report post Posted October 16, 2002 Ditto that. This new charater Logan has far more room to grow, and i anticipate the next chapter in his escapades(SP?) Anyway, great job Taft. I hope to see more cool shit like this in the future from ya. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
