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X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » Savage Boards » "Savage Saturday Night" RP Board
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Twisted Nerve
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The Engineer Offline
Man of Peace

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Post: #1
06-22-2018 09:02 PM

The Engineer is before us, huddled in front of....something. Behind him is the interior of a tool shed with numerous sharp bladed items adorning the wall. The light is dim, but the sunlight entering into the shed is just enough to catch a glint off each and every one of these wicked looking instruments of destruction. And, as Engy works on...whatever it is he's working on, he whistles an odd little tune.

Yes, a strange little diddy. So ostensibly cheery you can almost picture the little Disney animated birds alighting on his shoulders, their humanized faces smiling wider, and wider to match the beat. That bright, chipper, sound. That uplifting sound. That inhuman sound. That terrible sound. The little birdies smile...inside your head. Shouldn't you be happy too? Oh yes, yes you REALLY should.

Engy continues to work feverishly on the mystery item sitting atop the work bench before him, back arched and brow furrowed in concentration. Well, inquiring minds want to know, what is it? The shot swings around over his shoulder to give light to your query.

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Sometimes perhaps, blissful ignorance is best. But nonetheless, Engy works at the skull, affixing a flesh like resin to the bleached bone and carving with the gentle inclinations of a practiced surgeon. Oh, he has a vision, you see. A very particular design for this skull.

And that whistling. That sweet intoxicating, horrifying, no good very bad sound. He never stops whistling. Whistle while you work they say. Who says? They do.

A whiteboard appears behind Engy now as he works. Where did it come from? No matter. A phrase is written on it in the crimson, broad strokes of a felt tip marker.



An image suddenly appears onscreen of the Engineer viciously punching Robert Main, a man he respects deeply, in the face.


Another image, like lightning. This time The Engineer has his submission hold “A Boy Named IT” locked in on his very good friend Jim Caedus.


And now we see the champ dragging his own bound, gagged, and traumatized son Joachim out of the trunk of a car.


Finally, The Engineer is slamming a car door into the head of his former stable mate Bearded War Pig again...and again....and again....until he goes eerily still.


And then we're back in the shed. The board is still behind him, except now the phrase from earlier has been completed.


The latter half of the phrase is wet and running down the board, leaving streaks of blood red like veins against the backdrop of the pristine white board. In fact, it doesn't really look like marker at all, it rather looks like....

He's still whistling, mind you. Still that vivacious, happy, hellish screech. Check your ear, it feels warm. Is that blood?

The white board is gone now, leaving Engy with just his skull. And it's starting to take shape now, long black hair follicles stitched into the scalp of this perverse Cabbage Patch, faux flesh molded into a familiar visage. “Have you seen this man?”

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The whistling sounds louder now. Piercing. Setting a rattle in your teeth, a twitch in the eye. You find your hands traveling to your ears to make it go away.

The Engineer picks up the freshly minted skull of Michael Graves, he never stops whistling and doesn't even look at the skull. He just looks at YOU, affixing you with a vacant, bizarre stare as he just keeps up that damnable fucking whistling!

He takes the skull, cradling it gently as he brings it to the far wall of the shed, the wall you have yet to see, but again it's that whole ignorance is bliss thing then, isn't it? The wall has more heads mounted on it, unsettling facsimiles of XWF superstars, each one with a simple plaque beneath their likeness. We read them in turn.

John Samuels. 18.

Trax. 19.

Peter Gilmour. 32.

Chris Chaos. 42.

Jim Caedus. 43.

Naturally there is one more plaque. The Engineer considers the waxy, uncanny-valley abomination in his hands, with it's soulless dead eyes and sickly pallor and deems it adequate. He stuffs it on the wicked meat hook above the sixth and final plaque. The head makes a nauseating sucking sound as the hook sinks in. He never stops whistling.

Michael Graves. 36.

The champ claps his hands together, taking a moment to admire a job well done. And then he turns to you. Whistling. It's definitely even louder now. A ghastly sonic wail digging it's fingers right into you...into your body, maybe even your soul. Your vision fades a bit and the world spins on it's axis, just a tad. Your stomach lurches as bile tickles the back of your throat and your last meal threatens to betray you.

The Engineer's mouth opens and you suddenly become aware he's not even the one whistling anymore, he can't be. His mouth opens wider, wider, jaw distending like a serpent into an unseemly rictus of a vicious smile, or maybe he's going to speak. But you'd have to remove the hands from your ears to hear and you must not risk it, not with all the blood already rolling down your cheeks and the pain, the immense pain and.....


The Engineer starts to speak.


But there is nothing left to say, is there?

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[-] The following 4 users Like The Engineer's post:
(06-22-2018), Azrael Erebus (06-26-2018), Dark Warrior Micheal Graves (03-13-2019), Nathan Kennedy (06-24-2018)
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