With heightened senses near.
I taste an XWF that is bitter.
I feel an XWF clinging hard.
I hear an XWF screaming.
I see an XWF in turmoil.
I smell an XWF in fear.
So I take off my hat.
allisachievable
Soar Deep as you Dream W i d e
Wisdom▬Reason▬Peace
scrolls
will
reveal
hidden
truths
Vision-9
Have at your
command
the wisdom
of the ages
Fortune-3
Look and understand
before
you jump
Guidance-9.5
Prize truth▬beauty▬love
seeking harmony
with the infinite
Be not
a cancer
on the Earth
leave room for nature
leave room for nature.
Seek-Demand-Excel-Find
May an Age of Reason and Illumination be your guide
Most will never see--> A TRUTH
We have seeds planted on every XWF show
We own all
We are all
The men who want are the men who will take,
at any cost▬by any means▬no matter what
*~* static *~*
*~* static *~*
*~* static *~*
The following airtime has been paid for in full by Donathan Alphonse Francois
5
4
3
2
1
And roll
/
The footage
$ He exists in a world beyond your world $
~beyond infantile bickering among teammates~
*^* Continued from part 1 of the De Sade▬Flynn meeting. Mark Flynn had presented the perfect plan. Donathan Alphonse Francois De Sade had dismissed it almost instantaneously. Of course, Flynn had questioned this.
"It's really very simple," responds Donathan as he motions for Darakhshan to bring a couple fresh glasses of water to help wash down the meal he and Flynn drank moments ago. Donathan goes on to explain that "the reason your plan won't work is because of the unbalanced furies that reside behind the walls of an easily falsified sense of awareness." Mark Flynn remains silent as he continues to listen▬a look of displeasure still radiating as he keeps his eyes on Donathan. "In other words, we're dealing with some downright crazy and unpredictable people in this match. We've got elements on our team that we can't begin to make assumptions regarding and we've got a team of opponents who even I, with my current position of control over Mister Mystery himself, cannot fully predict the actions of. The plan you explained to me would, in fact, be a success if▬and only if▬every supporting component lived up to a very specific set of expectations."
Darakhshan returns to the table and sets down a glass of water in front of Donathan before turning to Flynn and setting his glass in front of him. Flynn doesn't acknowledge her or the glass' presence; tap, tap, tap of his index finger on the table as he appears very uncomfortable hearing Donathan go on. "You may not want to hear it, Mark," continues Donathan as he lifts his glass and takes a sip of the refreshing drink. He takes a moment to enjoy the water as he nods his approval to Darakhshan politely. Flynn's glass, however, remains untouched as his eyes finally focus on it. Donathan continues his thought: "but the fact remains▬we must be prepared to force our victory into the history books, even in the event that. . ." a considerable hesitation; Donathan's eyes veer off to the side and his voice lowers: ". . .the unthinkable happens."
Flynn's eyes shoot up from the glass and lock onto Donathan who continues looking away.
"The unthinkable?" Flynn tosses back to Donathan like a hot coal he wanted no part in embracing. Donathan continues looking off to the side and the slightest hint of something▬almost depression▬seems to come over him as he remains silent through Flynn's query: "You don't think my plan covers any of the unthinkable elements that the others might interject? You don't think we, you and I, are the two minds that can turn the tide even with consideration of the mental faculties of all others involved?"
Donathan takes his glass and begins to lift it to take another sip▬then stops cold; places the glass down; stands up unexpectedly as Flynn's eyes follow him. "That's just it," he says as he walks over to a fine painting on the wall and gazes deep into the detail of the large forest depicted within. "What if the unthinkable should happen? What if somehow▬someway▬one of us gets eliminated from the team? What if Unknown Soldier is eliminated? Remember, disqualification is in full effect for this match and we already know we can't trust one of the two referees involved. John Madison has already gone on record as stating that if somebody touches him, they're disqualified, even if he was the one to initiate first contact. Do you think he'll be gunning for members of the team with Sebastian Duke and Nathaniel Idenhaus on it? Aside from Madison's ongoing issues with Mister Mystery he has virtually no reason to go after anyone on that team so his threat was clearly directed toward us. Now take that and couple it with the possibility that General Manager Blackwater could also be an opposing force to our will and we've got quite the unstable recipe. We need to be able to take this, this, this ball of different colored blobs of goo and mold it into what we need it to be; even if it means slicing parts of it off that have hardened beyond the capability of being shifted by hand."
Flynn taps his finger on the table and then stops abruptly. He finally gives in to his thirst in two ways: First, he takes a large gulp of that water that's been taunting him all this time. Second, he asks: "So what do you propose? I want to walk into that arena knowing we've already guaranteed victory. I won't have my record tarnished with a loss to a team that has the likes of Michael James' corpse on it."
Donathan swivels on his heel and locks eyes with Mark; a revitalized surge of assertion beaming from De Sade's piercing blue eyes.
"And neither will I, Mark."
Donathan begins walking to a closed door in the corner of the room and he produces a skeleton key from his pants pocket. "Come with me; I've something in my laboratory you aught to see," says Donathan as he proceeds to unlock the door and walk down a narrow set of stairs. Mark finishes his glass of water and leaves it on the table for Darakhshan to collect as he follows Donathan down the stairs.
Stairwell
TO
innocencE
Go on ~ tug the cloth
Go on ~ rip it free
Go on, sloth ~ take your place on your knee
For in this land we've come to one of those points in time that must not be broken by any means imaginable. The flow of your world's history itself is dependent upon these grains of sand falling right into place▬exactly as{when} intended by her ancient writings. Destiny is a lady of many virtues and at times the cards she'll deal may spell disaster for the greater majority of men holding their hands out in anticipation.
A fallen artifact has once more been propped upright, despite its age old feet crumbled and incomplete ~ it still manages to balance so long as no agent of change enters its vicinity. This mere statue of a once formidable warrior may still wear the shades of his former self; may very well wield the same weaponry as his deceased soul▬but what happens when the wind blows?
The former warrior called Michael James. . .
That's what happens. The sentence was complete.
The former warrior called Michael James, happens.
A walking disaster would he be,
if only he remembered how to take a step forward. By all rights this ghost has simply come to ensure that his memory is given proper burial at the hands of the elite powers of the industry he once professed himself to dominate with simplicity. By targeting one Tyler Decker upon his return, he has given the signal to pull the release and drop him down into the trap door he so willingly stepped onto▬for it was he who built it himself, long, long ago.
Michael James ~ a man who says he "reads" the promos of his foes.
What does this mean, you ask? How does one read a promo, for instance, a Donathan Alphonse Francois De Sade promo that is delivered in complete absence of audio, save for the very last minute of footage? This was the case one week ago when the audience was denied audio during a very special meeting of the minds, and no doubt one of the promos our fallen cohort no doubt thought he "read" before commenting on De Sade's supposed lack of material. Many 65 year old children with Michael James classic sunglasses on were left scratching their heads at much of his Donathan related verbal-abuse, but their loyalty to their star of yester-decade implanted some semblance of belief in his words nevertheless. Perhaps Michael really could read a silent promo after all; yes?
Mr. James' cell phone will no doubt be "blowing up" with text messages once this piece airs and all he will know how to do is draw between an action figure's legs with a marker that ran out of ink around the same time he ran out of steam.
I▬as one who has offered to be your angel, I'm left with a quandary.
Advise the fallen star of the steps needed to regain his spark▬relight his flame? Extend a hand to a crusted over shell, so brittle and frail, that to accept my hand would result in his own disintegration? How do I save the one who can't even remember what light looked like, let alone be enlightened from within? It's an age old riddle that far too many have come to fulfill the wrong end of.
Welcome, Michael James ~^~ Welcome to Destiny. You've wanted it all along▬you've claimed to be living it time and time again.
Now? You become it. You become her as I kiss you goodnight; a tear still in my eye that holds the wish for your own revitalization. I'm so sorry I could not be . . .
~youRAngel~
or even Your deviL
because you quite simply were your own worst enemy
the moment you laid your eyes on an XWF return
From the depths of a forgotten sector of humanity's failed experiments we ascend to the imaginary peak of power possessed by a man I've already illuminated.
I've sent a fire through his veins and he's never been more alive ~ Sebastian Duke.
I come to you not with a threat;
not with a warning;
but with a gift▬release.
Mister Mystery 17 31707 1 already knows every frayed curve and every bent piece to the puzzle that makes up your core and essence.
With one snap of my finger.
Pay attention.
End of Duke ~ >>>{snap}<<< ~ Duke of End
For it won't be me who lays a hand on you to deliver you from this war▬it will be the man standing on the same side of the battleground as yourself.
It will be Mister >>>>>>> Idenhaus.
Play with that, for a while; Duke of End.
We're now left with mere smoke and noxious gas among a smoldering ruin of shards and splinters.
Ghost of Michael James ~ Self-inflicted, fatal wound
Duke of End ~ Stricken down by the blade of his newest ally
Kinwrathi? Ah, but a mere mention of this being's name brings his fate gravitating toward him even faster than the hand-of-Destiny's quill can etch his demise's custom styling. Cut down the blanket of allure and burn away the storied source of his presence on our Earth and what have we left? But a mere vessel controlled by a drive that is unfortunately guided by a broken compass.
North? Down? Right? Left▬for dead▬written out of the script of this time-line. Vanquished in such an instant that to call it a blink of an eye would be an exaggeration of mythic proportions.
I've already forgotten who I was referencing.
I am Your Angel ~ I am your evil's undoing. To claim residence in any world that is encompassed within my times'{plural+possessive} eye is to remain but equal to all those that find their place in the crevice of the underside of a sandal that's existed since biblical eras.
To my gladiator▬my champion▬my loyal, Mysterious executioner: Know that when I give the command and the others have already been weakened, I am here on this day to save none but myself and those who swim in my luminescence.
We are the Elite ~ I am the deity
It is but no Mystery
that when I signal
they'll crumble
at your
feet
If only a single one of you had the smarts and prowess to possess so many guaranteed Aces up your sleeves.
If only a single one of you had,
a chance at enlightenment
a home within
the all
Farewell TO controL
The journey down the stairwell to what presumably was Donathan's underground laboratory was a long and tiring one. It literally took so long that Mark Flynn and Donathan were both thirsty once again.
"Would you guy like some more water?" Darakhshan asks as Mark Flynn just freezes and stares at her, wondering the obvious. He glances back at the bottom of the staircase he and Donathan just finished walking down, then back at Darakhshan. She's holding a tray with two ice cold glasses of water on it as Donathan eagerly accepts and begins to drink, motioning for Mark to do the same. Mark blinks his eyes and decides to go along with it, taking the other glass and quenching his thirst once again. Darakhshan gently nods and walks away, down a dark corridor that Flynn peers down for a second as he and Donathan pass by it.
"This way," says Donathan as he leads Mark down a hallway that looks to be about one hundred feet or so long. "We're still not there?" inquires Flynn as they pass a picture of a man in a lab with two glowing orbs in his hands:
Mark Flynn stops to look at the picture with an odd expression on his face as Donathan's voice echoes through the hallway from several feet ahead now: "That's a picture of my great grandfather; the man was a miracle worker, quite literally." Donathan keeps walking forward, letting Flynn know that "there isn't much farther to go yet," and Flynn proceeds to follow.
Static
STATIC
statiC
This is when the cameraman is told he needs to place a cover over his lens. Donathan and Mark enter a door to the underground laboratory and instead of seeing it in all its glory, we're shown an imaginative rendition of what it might look like:
This is all we see from this point forward as we hear Donathan speaking with Mark.
"Do you know what this is?" asks Donathan. There is no response from Mark for several seconds as the sound of glass clanging on glass▬possibly test tubes of some kind▬echoes a few times. "Take a close look; don't be afraid," adds Donathan as there is still no verbal response from Mark Flynn. "I'm sure you're familiar with the fact that, in nature, there are several examples we humans have been given to work with in the art of absolute mind control and you're looking at what very well could be the perfected serum . . . for its human transition."
Donathan goes on to give a few examples of what he means: "As I'm sure you may have known, the Glyptapanteles is a genus of parasitoid wasps found in Central and North America. What happens is the female will lay several dozen eggs inside of a young caterpillar host. Then, after hatching, the larvae will feed on the caterpillar’s delicious insides until they are fully developed. Once they're developed, most of them will exit the caterpillar and relocate to a branch or leaf to form a cocoon; however, one or two larvae remain inside and manipulate the caterpillar's brain to take up a position near those cocoons. What happens next is quite amazing▬the caterpillar will arch its back, cease to move or feed, and when the cocoons are disturbed the caterpillar will thrash around violently to fend off whatever insect has come too close. The pupae effectively have themselves a zombie-caterpillar bodyguard. The caterpillar remains this way until the cocoons hatch, at which point, the caterpillar has fulfilled its mission and simply dies. Absolute beauty at nature's finest, if I do say so myself."
No response from Flynn.
Donathan goes on: "Another stunning example▬one of my personal favorites▬the Costa Rican Parasitoid Wasp, or Hymenoepimecis Argyraphaga as some may call it. It's a wasp whose host is the spider Plesiometa argyra. The adult female wasp will locate one of these spiders and temporarily paralyzes the spider so it can lay an egg on its abdomen. The spider eventually regains control of its own body and that egg inside of it eventually hatches into a larva, which sucks the spider’s blood through small holes while the spider goes about its normal web building and insect catching behavior for weeks. When the larva is ready, it injects a chemical into the spider, causing it to build a very specific web whose design is completely different from any it has ever made before. Next, the spider simply sits motionless in the middle of this new, foreign web that it has been forced to create. The wasp larva then molts, kills the spider with a poison, and sucks its body dry before discarding it and building a cocoon that hangs from the middle of that very web which the spider has perfectly built to suit that need. The larva pupates inside the cocoon, and then emerges to mate and begin the cycle over again with a new spider."
No response from Flynn.
The sounds of clanging is heard once again as Mark Flynn finally struggles to find the words: "So this, what, who? This guarantees us victory? Who exactly are you planning on.." but he's cut short when Donathan's cell phone rings and Donathan answers it. Before long, Donathan informs the camera man whose lens is still covered, to shut off his audio and end this session. It would seem Donathan is running behind for a very important meeting with an old friend of his.
No response from hope if you oppose this man's agenda.
The preceding airtime has been paid for in full by Donathan Alphonse Francois
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