Promo: The Beast Within

[janusd 0]

In the aftermath of SWF Storm's main event, the arena is empty. Many of the superstars and others such as road agents have already packed up and gone home with the exception of the few still deconstructing the ring. Like a sulking beast, the form of Terrence "Janus" Bailey sits on the mat, leaning against the apron. The black and white hair of the Anti-Heel Machine hangs in his face, some of the white showing a bloody red hue. Under the hair, the face of the seven footer is grim and frostbittenly cold, made even more intense by the dried blood that covers it.

 

He'd lost the Hardcore Gamers Title. Granted, it was not the highest of the high, yet it was something he'd earned by defeating the BEST Hardcore Gamers Champion in the business. Cold fury burned through his veins as he recalled hearing the three count, and of John Duran celebrating. He'd failed to take the impudent Notorious One out with the Rage Unleashed, and so it was the officials that had felt his wrath. And yet - he felt oddly at calm with himself. As if it were perfectly natural to assault so many men.

 

~Who am I?~

 

~Janus.~

 

~No, I'm Terrence...you're Janus.~

 

~Ah, but the lines have blurred, child. You know you loved the violence you caused tonight.~

 

~I didn't...~

 

~You DID and you can NOT deny it!~

 

"SHUT UP!" the Anti-Heel Machine roared, surging to his feet with his hands clapped over his ears as if to shut out the voice in his head, expression a cross of fury and anguish.

 

"Uh... Mr... Bailey... sir?"

 

The bloodied face of Terrence "Janus" Bailey swings away from its blank stare into the middle distance, coming to rest upon the form of one of the more nondescript road agents. He holds a folded letter in one hand, and under the ominous glare of the Anti-Heel Machine, he holds it out. Yanking the letter from the little man's grip, the big man holds it up and scans it. The anguished, angry look on his face faded to one of stone, his expression unnaturally grim.

 

"Do you know the contents of this letter?" he growled softly.

 

"Uh... no sir... not at all. Mr. Stevens just asked me to..."

 

"Get out of my sight."

 

"Excu..."

 

The road agent lets out a squeal of fear as Terrence sends a right hand swinging towards him, and falls on his rear. With a panicked look on his face, the little man scrambles to his feet and away from the bigger man, who watches with a smile curving his lips. The smile fades again as he looks down at the note clutched in his gloved hands. It was printed out, but at the bottom of it was the familiar signature of SWF Commissioner "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens.

 

"Terrence Bailey,

 

Concerning the aftermatch of tonight's show, your conduct is worrying. The level of aggression you displayed was hardly befitting of an SWF superstar, especially one with your known history of mental imbalance. Moments after the show went off the air, I received a call from one Doctor Frood. He told me you did not make your appointment with him, one you organised yourself. After seeing you in the ring tonight, it is of my opinion you will be suspended immediatley for a period of two to three shows, pending a psychiatric evaluation. You are to see Doctor Frood at your earliest convienence.

 

Regards,

'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens

SWF Commisioner"

 

Crumpling the letter in his hand, the Anti-Heel Machine let out a low growl. How dare he, he thought. How dare Stevens suspend him for something as trivial as the brutality he'd shown earlier tonight. But on the other hand, what Stevens had said rang true. He had purposefully missed the appointment with Doctor Frood, and continued to wrestle.

 

~Indeed, who is he to do this? All it would take is a walk to his office next show, and show him our rage...~

 

~We're suspended.~

 

~You will let THAT...~

 

~No, I won't let YOU influence my decisions! I'm going to visit Doctor Frood, and we'll shut you up again.~

 

~I'm always here, Terrence. Always.~

 

That little whisper lingering in his head, the Anti-Heel Machine finally let the aggression drain out of his system, and sighed deeply. Clenching his fist tightly around the crumpled letter, he began to stalk towards the locker rooms. Dropping the piece of paper as he moved, the seven footer rounded a corner and vanished from sight. A moment later, another hand reached down to lift the crumpled piece of paper up and unfold it. The figure holding the letter slowly began to chuckle, a recognisable chuckle. Smiling broadly at the letter in his hands, the Notorious One folded it neatly and tucked it into a pocket, making his own exit from the arena.

 

The Anti-Heel Machine, unknowing and uncaring, threw his bags into the boot of his Torana before climbing in and starting the engine. As the car pulled away from the arena, the expression on the seven footer's face was one of a relaxed exhaustion. It was only a temporary suspension, he reasoned, one that would be over the moment he visited Doctor Frood and they suppressed Janus again.

 

But the question lingered in his mind.

 

Could the Hell Machine truely be subdued?

 

All that I know, there was no God for me

Force that shatters all, absence of humanity

Revive all my fears, revive wasted tears

Revive void within, revive once again...

[Crowe 0]

Does this mean I have to come back and beat Janus dead again?

 

Sigh.

[The Amazing Rando 0]

That promo rules. Alot.

 

 

...and people call me crazy.... (Y) All you need to do now is to start seeing hallucinations of your former wrestling friends and foes and have them give you advice, and it'll be pretty damn close to an angle I ran a few years ago in another fed.

[Toxxic 0]

That promo kicks arse. As long as you don't become Gollum...

[Crowe 0]

He's about the right size.