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X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » XWF PPV Boards » Relentless Day 3 RP Board 2020
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Relentless Media, Part IV: Empathic Hypnosis
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Lacklan Offline
Low Effort
TITLE - Universal Champion



XWF FanBase:
The 'cool' kliq fans

(booed by casual fans; opportunistic; often plays dirty while setting the trends)


Post: #1
09-15-2020 01:14 PM


DING DING DING!

Jeanine looked up from and saw Mr. Jenkins walk out the door, the jingle and dingle of the bell attached to the handle filling the air, and smiled as he waved. Mr. Jenkins had been coming into Dunk ‘n Go for years to grab a cup and a bear claw before his night shift at the plant. He’d always been nice, always left a dollar on the table. He was one of the regular customers, one of those unheralded superstars who made the late shifts bearable. Ever since she had become a key-carrier and started closing up five nights a week, she had learned to appreciate guys like Mr. Jenkins.

“Am I good to go, Jeanine?”

She looked to her left at the question, seeing the bright and shining eyes of Carrol. Carrol was nice, though not the brightest girl they had ever hired, with shining brown hair and a cute dimple. She was wearing more makeup than usual tonight, and with the way she was practically hopping up and down on her heels, she likely had a date with that Brandon fellow. Jeanine chewed on the inside of her lips in thought, then swivelled her head left and right to cast a critical eye over the shop. Only two customers left, Ms Willy and Mr Cruze, and all of the tables had been cleared.

“Welllllll…”

Carrol hopped up and down on her heels even more as Jeanine led her one, and then sighed in relief when she nodded her head. She rushed over and enveloped her in a hug, squeezing her tight.

“Thanks!”

She pulled away and then practically ran into the back for her things. Jeanine laughed and shook her head as she picked up a towel from behind the bar and began to wipe down the counter. When Carrol, with her purse in hand and her jacket over her shoulder, ran by her, Jeanine stopped her with a call.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Carrol looked over her shoulder and gave her a big wink.

“Oh, I won’t! Just remember...you’ve had kids!”

Jeanine’s face flushed as Carrol laughed and closed the door behind her. Yes, she did have kids. Two, in fact, which caught people by surprise. She had been naive when she was younger, and had “popped out,” as her mother had said, two kids before she was 19. Now at the age of 23, she had been a mom herself for seven years, and often spoke to other young women about the evils of allowing a guy into their pants without enough coaxing. John, the father of her two children, was LONG gone, having “found himself” in the Peace Corps. Had “found himself” in some slut, probably.

The scraping of a chair on the floor shook Jeanine from her thoughts. Mr Cruze was helping Ms Willy with her coat. Good for him! It was cold outside and the world needed more gentlemen like him. He helped Ms Willy both to and from church every Thursday, which included this little nightcap of tea. They waved at her as they headed out the door, once again the jingle and dingle of the bell playing in concert to the light music playing on the radio.

With a light sigh, Jeanine went about her closing duties: She filled all of the various flavored syrups...chai was becoming popular, but she didn’t “get” why people wanted to taste grass...and the sugar and cream first. She then wiped down all of the tables, working top to bottom, just like Mr Thomlinson, the owner of Dunk ‘n Go for the last six years, had taught her. She swept and mopped the floors until they shined. She kept a smile on her face for much of it, singing softly to herself with the radio as she did so, passing the time quickly enough.

At the end, she stood up and stretched out her back, letting it pop and groan from the strain of the work. Her mom wanted her to get a “real” job, to make some “real” money, but she was always saying that. SHE got a great job right out of high school, a receptionist and assistant for a dental office, but that was back in the 70s when you didn’t need a degree for anything. Now, in the early 2000s, it was nearly impossible to do ANYTHING without a degree. She JUST read an article in Time about how there were guys with MBA’s flipping burgers at McDonald’s! She was lucky to get the job she did...and thankful for it, to boot! Besides, there were only so many things she could do with the kids at home during the day, and she couldn’t afford a babysitter.

“...what a day…”

She could hear how tired her voice was. She looked at the reflection in the windows and saw a haggard, if still pretty, woman looking back at her, with a sheen of sweat glowing in the ceiling lights. She looked left and right, using the shop's many storefront windows to get a good look across different views, and gave a tired sigh. Her blonde hair was messy and in need of a cut...but those were expensive. Not like she had a date to look pretty for, anyway. As soon as guys heard that she had two kids, they ran for the hills like she said she had the plague! She was too tired to date, anyway. These long shifts-

“...ow!”

She recoiled as bright headlights flashed on through the windows. She covered her eyes with her hand, keeping them blocked, until she could peak over them. She squinted as she tried to see outside of the windows, but the light was too blinding. She thought it was some jerk with his brights on...looked like a pretty big car, like something clunky from General Motors...across the parking lot. She blinked several times, trying to get her sight back, and thought she got a decent view of the jerk in the front seat of his car. Looked like some hobo sitting there. Kinda reminded her of that scene in Christine when the guy sat in the driver’s seat, waiting for the two guys so he could run them-

“-what the?!”

The sound of a revved engine startled her, made her drop her hands so that the light blinded her again. A second rev from an engine made her knees shake near to the point of buckling. And then she heard the screech of tires and the sound of the car coming closer.

And closer.

And-

She screamed as she turned and ran, but then the air was forced from her lungs when she slammed into the bar. Dazed, and still hearing the car coming closer, she turned to see it, turned to deny that this was happening. Turned to-

CRASH!

Her face turned into a mask of terror as the car barrelled through the biggest window, the window that Mr Thomlinson had been so proud to keep clean. No cleaning service for him, no sir! He didn’t spend the $15 a week on the cleaning guys. His squeegee was just as good, thank you very much! But not any more. No amount of squeegee and Windex would be enough for that!

Her mind was racing, and she knew it.

It was filled with panic.

She was avoiding the reality, as inconceivable as it was, by thinking of tiny details.

Weird, the things you thought about at times like this.

She screamed as the car slammed into her, screamed louder and higher than she thought was possible. Hot, searing pain filled her, filled her chest, filled her stomach. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, was pinned between the bar and the car. Thankfully, relief came when the car backed up a few inches, and she fell to the ground. She still couldn’t breathe...every inhalation was a stabbing pain in her chest more painful than any contraction she had had when she was a teenager.

She felt her body being pulled, felt more pain as her arm was ripped from it’s socket by a powerful grip. She groaned as she slammed onto the ground, her head bouncing off the linoleum. She had just mopped it, too. Why did she mop it if it was just going to get dirty again? Tell me THAT, Mr Thomlinson!

Her mind was racing again, lost in a babble of chaos. She tried to focus, tried to ignore the agony of broken bones. She was able to shake her head a little...that hurt, too...and clear her eyes. She saw the man, the man who was sitting in the car like that guy from Christine, this hobo-looking freak with dirty hair and a scraggly beard. Had she seen him somewhere before? Did he come in for coffee once or twice? Did he like a shot of vanilla in his Seattle’s Best? One sugar or two, Mr Mountain Man?

Her mind was babbling again. She was delirious. She was-

All thought left her mind when she saw him reach for his belt.

She opened her mouth to scream, to protest, to deny, to do ANYTHING, and-





"AHHHHHH!"

Sarah's scream pierces the air, the keen of the banshee seeming to rip the entire room in twain. She sits up, her face twisted like that of a ghast, with eyes and mouth wide open, and sweat pouring down her porcelain face. Her body is drenched with sweat, the liquid soaking through her green and yellow dress, sending deep lines from her bodice and down below the sheet crumpled up on her legs. She looks all around her, her head moving back-and-forth with a wild abandon that makes her platinum hair whip and snap against her pale cheeks. She screams until her voice grows hoarse and fails, her throat burning with the effort.

“Babe! It's okay!”

The voice of Kenzi Grey-Lacklan is distant in her ears, not close enough to help calm her. The caramel starlet reaches out with one of her soft hands to touch her shoulder, and the albino flinches involuntarily, drawing away from the touch. She looks around with the eyes of a caged rat, the oddly red orbs trying to take in her surroundings. Kenzi, with a face full of concern that argued with the premise of this being “okay.” A couch underneath her, with a sheet atop her legs. A room filled with dark colors and a blend of straight lines and curves, the picture of Modernistic design. Sitting behind a desk to her left, a stern man with a widow's peak and a face as sharp as her own, whose dark eyes are behind thin spectacles which stare down at her, a pad of paper and a felt pen on the desk before him. Those eyes behind the thin spectacles regard her cooly, with a stark detachment which can be felt in her very bones. The man picks up his pen, looks down at his pad of paper, and begins to write, the scritch scritch of his pen making her shudder.

“It’s okay, Sar.”

She can hear Kenzi’s voice better, this time. She tries to take in a deep breath, but finds herself unable to draw deeply enough, unable to take a full breath. Her body shakes with the memories of what just happened. She can feel the terror filling her. She can feel the pain of broken bones and cracked ribs, and then the horror of the mountain man’s intention overtaking all of the pain and replacing it with a desperate helplessness. Note even the primal need to escape was strong enough to combat that.

“...hey…”

Sarah’s body jumps as Kenzi places both of her hands on her shoulders and gives three quick squeezes, a nonverbal cue between the two from the very beginning: We’re safe.

“...what...where…”

She places her own hands on her stomach and presses gingerly, her eyes already prepared to wince from the pain. But there was no pain. She presses harder, feels the contours of her abs, pushes with her fingers to feel for the cracks ribs, but there are none. No broken ribs, no broken arms.

“We’re at Rezniks…”

Sarah can almost hear the barely-restrained “...the quack…” which normally comes with that name.

“...we-”

Empathic Hypnosis, Missus.”

The voice from the psychiatrist is as dry as his skeletal face would make one assume, as if his throat were a valley of sharp rocks grinding against each other for eternity.

“A successful attempt, I see.”

Sarah nods as she tries to moisten her lips with an equally dry tongue. The anxiety and fear were far more than a memory, were far more than a reflection of another. They were HERS, now.

“I was there. I was her.”

She looks into Kenzi’s eyes, the dark chocolate orbs full of pain, and gives her a small nod of reassurance.

“We have to stop Charlie.”

She reaches up, takes Kenzi’s forearms in her hands, and gives them a squeeze, before pulling them down, making her release her shoulders. She scoots her hips over on the couch further, making room for Kenzi, who sits down next to her. She holds Kenzi’s hands in her lap, their thumbs unconsciously caressing one another lightly, then turns toward the doctor.

“How long was I under?”

Dr. Reznik’s pen continues to scratch out his notes, but he takes a moment to look at the old watch on his gnarled wrist.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“...it felt like a day…”

The doctor, and his pen, ignore Kenzi’s grumbling.

“How did it feel?”

Sarah shivers as she ponders the question. The constant scritch scritch of the doctor’s pen was piercing her head, causing the beginnings of a headache, but she knew better than to object. After irregular visits spanning back to when she was five, she knew it was folly to ask the doctor to stop taking notes for even a minute’s reprieve. Instead, she closes her eyes in an attempt to limit the amount of sensory stimulation, forces her body to push away the desire to shudder, and focuses on the hypnosis.

“...like my body was there. Like I was her. I could taste the bitterness of the coffee. Smell the lemon of cleaning agents. See the blinding lights of his car as…”


She trails off before the memory of the car’s impact can flood back. She opens her eyes and looks around, her eyes darting about. She sees the doctor’s diploma. Sees the Newton’s cradle on his desk, the small set of metal balls he used to give her a cadence for her rhythmic descent into sleep fifteen minutes prior. Sees the glint of sunshine coming through the office’s window, a glint which could very well be reflecting off her own car window a floor below them. Sees-

She sighs when she realizes what is happening. Just like the poor girl, she is allowing herself to ignore the truth, ignore reality. She is focusing on nothing to avoid everything. She takes a deep breath and turns her eyes back to the doctor.

“I felt how helpless she was. It felt like I was helpless. Not unlike when I was faced with Jacob, or in the beginning with that gutless Hooded Man. I felt like I would have done anything, taken any deal, perhaps even from Lucifer himself, if he could push the man away and let me escape. She was in so much pain! Her arms, her stomach, her legs. She...I...was covered in blood...wanted to die...and then it was all pushed away by the terror of that blight of evil that was Charlie. Is...is that what really happened?”


The doctor’s pen continues to take notes.

“More or less. The essence, at least. I had to fill in the details, the flavors.”


The pen pauses for a moment, giving Sarah’s head some relief, and then he raises his eyes to meet hers above his spectacles.

“Do you regret this session?”


Sarah shakes her head vehemently.

“No. Not all. I needed to know.”


Sarah squeezes Kenzi’s hands and then swings out her legs, placing her bare feet on the ground, and pushes herself up to a standing position. Kenzi reaches down and snags Sarah’s pair of heels, but the albino waves them away. She walks forward to the other side of the room, turns on the ball of her right foot, and begins to walk the other way.

“This isn’t just about wrestling. This is about life. And a detestable man like Charlie needs to be finished!

Sarah continues her pacing, turning back the other way, the dull thuds of her heels bouncing against the walls of the office.

“I’m going to stop this man. Not just from continuing to wrestle...though I am loathe to call the car crash of flesh he employs wrestling...but from living life the way he does. I am going to hurt him, going to stop him. So that he can’t do this to anyone else.”


The scratching of the pen resumes, and while still as maddening as ever, is dulled by her growing anger.

“I’ve gone on and on about his brand of garbage wrestling is bad for the world. I have gone on and on about how his approach to God’s sport is a spit into that Holy Eye. In front of the cameras, he is the kind of man who will hurt, harm, and destroy for the sake of destruction, which is something we must all deal with as a cost of doing business-”


“...asshole tried to fridge me!”


“-but his consistency behind the camera is the true problem. He is a terror to everyone he knows, a cancer to life itself, and he must be eradicated. Listen, I know what it’s like to have someone close to you, who loves you, be in need of salvation. My father was just about every ‘ist’ in the book, after all. In his pursuit of God’s grand vision for the world, he became so angry at the refusal of the masses to comply that he became judgemental of just about everything alive. Racist, sexist, bigotted. He thought that, in order to build the world anew, he first had to raze it to the ground! The older he got, and the more adversity he faced, the more angry he got. The more vile. The more evil. Truth be told, there would have been a time when Daddy would have used someone like Charlie to help further his cause, before dispatching him after his usefulness had run out.

“It was my job to keep him grounded, to keep him in the world. It was my job to remind him that there was beauty all around us, and that the world was worth fighting for. Unfortunately, at the end, I had to break my father. I had to take his whole life, his whole persona, and smash them into little pieces with the Knocker.”

She pauses for a second, one lithe hand stroking her pointed chin in thought.

“Ya know, it's not too different from how Mumsie looks at the world of wrestling. Whereas Father's position was that he had to burn everything to the ground so as to raise up a new order, her philosophy is that you take the chaos, you take the forces of evil, you take the weapons of the enemy, and you use them against them. You break the world with chaos and then use the pieces to rebuild. And I think that, when it comes to Charlie Nickles, I might want to lean a little on her side.”

Sarah begins pacing again, her hands and arms moving in big arcs and swirls, and seems to ignore both the scratching of Reznik’s pen and Kenzi’s muttered grumbling over how she feels about Sarah’s “Mumsie.”

“Ya see, Charlie Nickles is a disturbed man. He’s disgusting, detestable, impulsive, chaotic. And the way he is now, the way he exists in our world, is everything God doesn't want. Abusive to his family, abusive to random people, abusive to everything in front of him that doesn’t give him what he wants. And I think the way to approach him, the way to eliminate him, is to break him, to smash him into little pieces. Rip off his arms, rip off his legs, rip off his head. Hell, flay him alive and rip out his bones! Take apart EVERYTHInG that he is, grind it all down until there is naught but dust, and then rebuild him, craft a whole new man.

“This way...THIS WAY...there will NEVER be another Charlie Nickles! There will NEVER be another man of such abhorrent behavior for the likes of those few garbage fans to be inspired by. I’m not just doing this for the Path of the Light, of course. No no! Not JUST for them! I’m doing it for the WORLD! I’m doing it so that there will NEVER be another Jeanine. Or Connie. Or Sue. Or Amanda. Or Karen. OR ANYONE!"

Sarah stops her pacing, her breath coming in sharply, her body again lathered in sweat underneath her dress, her face shining with the sheen. When she speaks again, her voice is controlled and calm.

"Save the XWF...save wrestling...save the world. And that means not only eliminating people like Charlie, but also eliminating Charlie himself."

She turns to Kenzi and the red and brown eyes lock.

"And for that? I have a plan!"


Doctor Reznik’s pen never stops scratching along the page.
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