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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Fire and Ice 2022 PPV RP Boards
Eventide & Vengeance
Author Message
The Chameleon Offline
is Ned Kaye



XWF FanBase:
Mixed

(loved by some; hated by some; dips between clean/dirty)


#1
01-22-2022, 08:14 AM

Arpeggio


Part 1-A:
Eventide


==============================
"Don't discount our powers. We have made a pass at the infinite."
-Robert Frost
==============================

EARTH XWF99
Approx. one mile beneath Boston, Massachusetts, US
17/1/2022, 11:20 Hrs, Local Time


~Leaping over the crumbling structure beneath his own two feet, the reflective-faced, persona imitating, mysterious doppelganger dubbed The Chameleon landed on a small, hovering cargo platform that had been rapidly escaping him just moments earlier. He peered downward at his tattered coat's breast pocket for the artifact, patting its place against his chest. The oblong tactility of the artifact responded in kind, confirming its presence as The Chameleon patted his over his jeans. The synthetic fabric was capable enough to provide shielding whilst remaining comfortable and discreet enough for mundane assignments and recreation, two things The Chameleon would've far preferred to an impromptu firefight in this decrepit portion of the spaceport.

As a combination of gunfire and concentrated energy whiffed past him, he shouted into the concealed communicator built into his wrist, delivering a swift strike with a curled fist as the holographic display stuttered in front of him. "Hey, I dunno if The Khybaris was just dying to have a workplace orgy as soon as I departed, but I'm actually dying out here, so some backup would be nice!"

The Chameleon's hands trembled as the thunderous rainfall of ammunition blasted from his six, ducking instinctively as he powered on a Quantum Immortality Probability Field Device harnessed to his back, the stray few shots that had finally managed to find their target colliding with the thin force shield the device projected and dissipated into dissolved possibility. The security drones continued to pursue, however, and they were going to discover a fatal line of sight sooner rather than later. He once again attempted to establish communication with his allies aboard The Khybaris.

"Nicky..?! Erin..?! Tasha- anybody for Christ's sake!?" He screamed into the air as the cargo platform pushed further towards the rendezvous site, the Secur-1-Trons arranging in such a fashion to sever his only means of escape. A simmering futility in his chest began to boil as his calculated percentage of survival dropped rapidly.

In all of the chaos and confusion, The Chameleon had actually managed to forget why this mission had been so paramount in the first place. What was the artifact that he was attempting to recover? What was going to go down as the job that marked the end of him? He nearly tore his coat open to free the object within, inspecting it with a shivering grip. It was... a remote?

At that moment, a bullet of an indeterminate caliber shredded through his side, a rush of blood splattering across the platform and throwing The Chameleon off balance. The gasp that forced itself out of him brought a disruptive and bitter paralysis before he plummeted towards the surface of the planet, the single shot enough to shove him from his final opportunity for a getaway. An answer only now rang out through his communicator, though the voice was muffled and muddy to The Chameleon's ears. He couldn't place a name to the words being spoken at him, nor could he muster the strength to find some final words for his friends and loved ones. He silently pleaded for forgiveness to no one as the surface of the world he would hover so effortless above accelerated towards him, ready to be the one that claimed The Omega Man. The Chameleon closed his eyes and braced for the impact... the impact that never came.~

==============================
"The underground of the city is like what's underground in people. Beneath the surface, it's boiling with monsters."
-Guillermo Del Toro
==============================


~There was a rosiness to her face as The Custodian stared down at her. Her eyes were glazed over with a lustful thirst as their bodies thrashed upon the crumpled sheets, her right hand gripped onto his left wrist and guided it down her body. Her name was Kristen Kyers, one of the few personnel stationed inside of The Facility alongside himself. They had been speaking and working with each other for a fortnight, beginning with the inception of the project itself and she quickly became infatuated with The Custodian. Fleeting glances, the occasional flirty comment, a habit of gazing at his body for extended periods of time. All of it leading to this moment.

She was traditionally attractive herself. Kyers' auburn hair draped over her features, a string of saliva draped down her chin. As he overlooked her, the more he saw her displayed exposure; her willing vulnerability. She curled her body upwards to meet his lips, kissing him with intense passion in the micromovements of her face, much like soft skin brushing against the edge of a razor. Interrupting the embrace was the chime of his phone resting on her bedside table. He swiftly lifted himself from her, maneuvering his form to the edge of the mattress to comfortably answer. Kristen dragged a few of her unwelcome fingertips down his spine while he answered.

"There's been a problem, sir," a woman's voice travelled through the telephone, a hint of reluctance in her cadence "we're going to need you up here."

"Very well," he replied before ending the call, leaning over to collect his clothes and apply them swiftly. The woman tugged on his shoulders desperately, beckoning him to return the impulses he held such distaste for. The Custodian couldn't help but find something internally sickening about her perverse desire for this kind of unfortunate biological need. Standing up, he grabbed a small, silver pocket watch and a collection of papers that laid near his phone, adjusting his belt before stepping towards the door.

"Darling, won't you please come back to bed..?" asked the woman with a sultry quality to her words, nearly moaning out the request.

"Before I forget, take these papers. You'll need to read them before you attend to anything else," The Custodian uttered with a chilled tone as he handed her the stack.

Kristen tossed them to her side, biting her lip, helplessly lost in her own emotions and sentimentality for the act they were engaged in merely a minute prior, "I'll just read them when you get back."

"I'm afraid I must insist otherwise, considering they are your letter of termination from this project." Her easy distractibility and her willingness to succumb to her emotions made her a volatile fit for any position in The Facility. "A security officer will be on their way to escort you from the premises at noon, so you should begin collecting your things."

She remained quiet for a moment, a combination of disbelief and betrayal coursing through her veins. "You- you prick!" she yelled towards him, tossing a pillow at his back that never made it to its target. He adjusted his suit while expletives continued to emanate from her room, not wasting another ounce of mental energy on Kristen Kyers.~

---------------

~The Custodian stepped down the stairs leading into the observation room where the call originated from. A line of monitors adorned the ceiling above the woman on observational duties while The Custodian relieved some personal tensions. She was profoundly average in many ways, slightly overweight, skin too pale to seem living at points, and with a vocal range that seemed to slide between completely infuriating and slightly intolerable. But this woman- this Darcy Ellis- was far more useful than many other employees The Custodian had worked alongside prior. She didn't gaze at him with longing or intrigue. She gazed at him with a respectful intimidation. It was the only admirable trait he found in Darcy, but it made her nigh indispensable in some ways.

Ellis was shoveling some sweets into her maw as The Custodian arrived, her cheeks puffed in a revolting display of gluttony to him. The soft clicking of his boots upon the smooth concrete floors alerted her to his presence, causing her to hold up a hand to hide her chin as she swallowed the pastries she was snacking on. Wiping down the desk with a napkin, she tidied up what she could for her superior, sensing his gaze through her skin. When he ultimately made his way to beside where she was seated, he glanced up at the monitor to see TC01, dubbed The Chameleon by the staffers, floating in a void of darkness.

"What caused this error?" The Custodian's voice visibly made Darcy nauseous as she attempted to string together her answer.

"It-uh, it hesitated and fell out of bounds after getting shot, s-sir. I it they got distracted by something, but I really don't know what..."

He considered a few courses of action before settling upon one. "I am going inside to speak to them."

She shook her head in protest, "You can't be serious! None of us know how that could affect the specimen before its first public display. You might be the director of this project, doctor, but we have certain protocols we follow for a reason and you can't-"

"Open the door, Ms. Ellis," His attention stood still upon the large metal door into the simulation chamber in front of him. He didn't waste a strain of his neck to look at her as he issued the order. The steel door whirred and whined as its gears forced it open, retreating inward and to the side. He walked into the chamber, giving a signal to shut the door behind him.

---------------

~It wasn't night, nor day. There should have been a breeze or feeling of rushing air due to the fall, but The Chameleon felt nothing. Just a profound sensation for want of a feeling. Even the sting of the wound that continued to pour blood that trailed through the empty sky occasionally. Only one object stayed in view, yet an arm's length from reach: the remote. It twirled every now and then, as if to remind him that he was still suspended in air... or something approximating it. But then, the most peculiar thing occurred. A hand reached out and gripped the remote.

With a single press of a button, The Custodian reset the location of himself and The Chameleon to a simulated spacecraft. That singing pain from the gunshot disappeared, as did the blood and battle damage to his attire, all replaced by a throbbing headache. TC01 stood up, holding his head in one of his palms as it pulsed with discomfort.

"Wait... this is-" The Chameleon attempted to construct his thoughts together.

"The Khybaris. At least as you know it. As a portion of this simulation," The Custodian finished TC01's thought, preferring to get past some of the pretense to his real intention for conversing with the specimen.

"Simulation..? So, Tasha... Evelyn... the rest of them... they aren't real?" The Chameleon inquired, a slow building of reality returning to him.

"To my knowledge, they are quite real, but that could be brought into question for many reasons not worth voicing at this time. The pertinent fact here is that they hold no importance to you because you are not Jay Omega." He answered, uninterested in supplying the information, but deeply curious in the coming response.

"You-.... you're right. Why was I living out a simulated construct of his life?" TC01's head seemed to clear up somewhat, though a few pangs near his forehead continued to torment him.

"You have an upcoming match. Jay Omega is one of your opponents by technicality. And you need to understand him. Every bit of him. The blessings and the curses. Believe it or not, you've made it much farther along in a much more brief period than I anticipated," admitted the doctor, gazing out into the emulated vastness of space.

"Why am I not surprised," The Chameleon began to speak on auto pilot, encountering the strangest feeling of deja vu, "One way or another it..."

"...always comes back to wrestling?" The Custodian completed the thought with a smile. "Your abilities to imitate are impeccable, TC01. Unfortunately, you are not quite finished today. There is another I would like you to experience before the day is done."

"Rampage," recalled the specimen.

"Precisely. I will leave you to your next assignment, but I shall be keeping a close eye on you. This project will be my masterpiece if you continue to progress in this manner." He began to approach the exit, the door opening with the bright beams of light stretching onto the returning void around The Chameleon.

"Wait," pleaded TC01, "why did you leave the remote in here if you wanted a smooth simulation? It's what caused this moment of lucidity."

The Custodian glanced back with a fragile smirk beneath his facial hair, "I suppose I merely made an error."

With the door closing behind him, The Custodian stepped back towards Darcy, placing the remote next to her without hearing even a syllable of questioning from her. She was insufferable for many reasons. This was not one of them.

"Everything seems to be prepared for the Rampage program... you actually spoke to it... I kinda can't believe that." She fidgeted with a pastry wrapper, throwing away the restraint of professionalism for a need to stress eat.

"We do what we must." The Custodian glanced down at his pocket watch, seeing the tarnished silver on the outside contrasted by untouched beauty within as it opened. Everything was ahead of schedule.

"So, I've been wondering," Ellis whispered to the doctor, "...who is The Chameleon anyway?"

With a bright smile that faded as suddenly as it showed, The Custodian stepped upstairs with nary a sound and awaited the beginning of the next protocol.~

==============================
"Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am is a man in a mask."
-V (as written by The Wachowskis)
==============================


*Greetings, True Deceivers! Welcome to the first action-packed video packed-age of the sensational shapeshifter, the mind melting menace, the existential enigma, The Upsilon huMan: The Chameleon! The footage begins with The Chameleon lazing about on a supersonic hammock or whatever similar sci-fi nonsense he can rest upon! Lazing about, like SOME of us wish we could, he keeps his eye(?) on the camera as it zooms in for a close up. Wait! Don't go that close, you'll get the camera in the shot! Ol' Chamy stretches his arms out before pulling himself up and out of the gizmo to deliver a few words. A loose fitting set of clothes dingy enough for a scoundrel adorns his person. He lifts up a vape pen, only to be foiled in the act of vaping by a lack of lips! But he won't allow a missing mouth to dissuade him from speaking his mind! Let's hear what he has to say!*

THE CHAMELEON: Ask any follower of The Many Worlds Theory and they will enthusiastically inform you that reality is a boundless, infinite, unquantifiable construct.

*Chameleon shrugs before making an exaggerated motion with his head as if he were rolling his eyes.*

THE CHAMELEON: Ask anyone with at least one functioning ear and they can tell you the exact same is true about Jay Omega's ego. Look at him: he's got infinite chances to meet the women he loves countless times, but instead just participates in the biggest recorded circlejerk this millennium. I'm surprised he even bothered to keep up the pretense of liking somebody else and didn't just start eloping himself. I suppose it's never too late for a little self acceptance, Jay.

*He tosses the pen away, ruffling through the coat pockets to find a holographic data card. With a swift shake, it projects a small image of Jay Omega, looking as photogenic as he is accomplished in the XWF.*

THE CHAMELEON: We could sit here and dissect you all day, however we're both aware that not a single individual copy of yourself is worth the time to summarize. You should be counting your lucky stars, all 100-400 billion of them, that you managed to beat Tommy Wish because otherwise you'd simply be the multiverse's most interesting jobber instead of this universe's least interesting undercarder. The fact that I'm still contending with is that you possess all these resources and your best impulse to utilize them is to try going after a guy who has the same nickname as your last name? You're obviously not concerned about non-interference clauses, so why don't you cure a little cancer here and there and maybe build some affordable housing for a few fuckers? You could even take the credit for it, but we're both aware that you'll never go that far because it simply isn't as immediately enjoyable for you as some other options. Plus, positive, reformative change doesn't let you inject more empty praise into yourself like some sort of psuedo-Ayn Rand.

*The Chameleon makes a slight jerking motion with his wrist, letting the world know precisely what he thinks of Omega's masturbatory promos, the stagnant simulated air whiffing past him.*

THE CHAMELEON: No one can understand a word that escapes those chapped lips of yours, not as a result of your aspiration to remain erudite. You're just a fuckin' snorefest, buddy. You're telling me you have a nigh unlimited supply of alternate selves and the best one you had got pinned by a Spencer's Gifts manager in training? That's not sad, Jay, that's downright tragic. Let's not mince words here: the luckiest thing you've ever encountered is a universe intelligent enough to spare itself the embarrassment of hosting one of your various versions. Shit, you squander so much so consistently, it's a miracle and a half you're still married/dating. And I'm not knocking the polyamory. Being sex-positive is great for your partners, it's being you-positive that's immensely questionable. You want to be apart of a tag team, but you can't even trust yourself to wrestle on your own behalf. You're not a partner. You're barely even a wrestler. You're your own carnival barker and people are already tired of watching the freak show.

*Chameleon reaches back and yanks the holo-hammock forward, presenting it to the camera with a gesture.*

THE CHAMELEON: So, sit back for once and enjoy the first time that someone who understands what it means to live the experience of being you actually wins a title, 'cause Gods know you're a long way from any of your curated selection of narcissists doing anything of note. Your journey in this reality is over before it even began and its not my fault, it's yours. How you view others, yourself, all of it. How do I put this simply?

*He pantomimes flicking a cigarette at the camera, turning his back afterwards.*

THE CHAMELEON: You're a worker for a hire. Doing the job is in your nature.

*He walks out of view as the virtually recreated environment around him dissipa-

Part 2-B:
Vengeance


The last few hours were quite peaceful for The Chameleon. For some reason, the Rampage protocol wasn't as effective at removing the innate sense of self he had. Or at least that's how it felt. He sits on a boat, the waves rocking against the sides of the ship, splashes of water occasionally drizzling over him from the crashing waves. The Chameleon takes off his cap and airs it out a bit, flapping it in the cool sea breeze. It was refreshing to experience Earth again after the space shit. There were therapeutic qualities to the ocean, even if you just stared at it from the deck. But underneath all of it was a dread building deep within him. It might be a pretty place to spend a few hours in, but this wasn't for The Chameleon's work-life balance: this was all business. A shadow overcast the boat as the reason for this trip made its way into The Chameleon's gaze. He'd been trying to ignore it the whole trip, but there it stand.



Alcatraz. A "fun," little attraction for the odd tourist, but a landmark with more than a handful of scars attached to it.

Photographer: Look, dude! It's right there! Jeez, it's even more imposing in person!

Chameleon: You know, a lot of people say the same thing about me.

Photographer: Well I can always say that somewhere else, so just let me appreciate the scenery! And hold this for me, will ya?

He shoves a camera bag into The Chameleon's arms who holds it with an intentional lack of delicacy, secretly wishing some of the equipment inside gets a bit scratched. To add to his annoyance, a series of shrieking shutters blares off in his ear, causing him to make a motion like if he were gritting his teeth. Departing from the boat, the two carry large duffel bags of extra tools to help the shoot go smoothly. Each step towards the entrance of the former prison brings a twinge of soreness to the pair. The stairs are steep and many and any misstep is sure to be a bitch. After a tumultuous climb, they managed to actually get close to the top, finding some other tourist walking past them in the opposite direction. As he passes, the tourist bumps his shoulder against The Chameleon. It didn't cause an ounce of pain or even a loosening of his grip, but it was mighty frustrating and insulting.

Chameleon: What the hell, man? Didn't your parents teach you any manners?

Photographer: C’mon! We don’t have time to be wasting yelling at a single rude tourist! We’ve here on a job; be professional for once!

Chameleon grumbles under his breath, swallowing the annoyance of the moment before muttering a few words building pressure in the back of his lungs.

Chameleon: This is the same kind of disrespectful behavior the XWF throws my way. It doesn’t matter that I’m a former Television… Champion… to them I’m just garbage.

The words begin to trail out slowly as he speaks them, a realization overcoming him once again: he is not immune to the reality distorting effects of the simulation, despite a more lucid outlook during this program. The Television Title run that had ended without as much fanfare as a respectful clap was not his own, but Rampage’s. Chameleon shakes off the false memory as best he can, managing to shut out the strange sensations for long enough to make it to where the photographer was leading them.



Photographer: Alright, get into position! I want you behind those bars looking like you’re clawing your way out! We’re gonna make you look dangerous for the upcoming Super Scramble!

Rolling his eyes, The Chameleon walks over into position, disinterest plain upon his face. These promotional stunts were unbelievably dull and there was only so much you could do to spice them up. Ask for a comfortable backstage room? Get a janitor’s closet. Ask for Alcatraz? Get forced to walk up the steps and work with some pompous ass, “all I shit is sunshine,” unprofessional-



…photographer. Shit. Chameleon had witnessed a lot of things in his life, but a guy just disappearing into thin air while his back was turned? That was a brand spanking new kind of weird. To be fair, maybe not by today’s standards, but it was still off putting as hell. He calls out for the missing photographer, uncertain exactly where you’re supposed to find someone who has disappeared without a trace in what is by far one of the creepiest locations to feel alone on planet Earth. He darts for the entrance, finding numerous hallways replacing the straight-forward area they had originally arrived from. Each path Chameleon takes seems to loop around, little details recurring with no exit in sight. A panic builds deep in his chest, a surprising claustrophobic reaction to his surroundings until he turns and sees the tourist from earlier, slamming into his shoulder once more, with an infuriating intent. Chameleon grabs the man by the neck, panic and anger creating the perfect combination of violence, but as he looks in the man’s eyes, staring with a purposeful hate, all he sees is fear. Taking a breath, The Chameleon lets him go.

Chameleon: Look, I’m having a rough day… I’m not gonna hurt ya, just refrain from doing that again, okay?

All of a sudden, everything turns still around him, even the air itself, as a voice disapprovingly speaks from… somewhere.

Custodian: No, no… this simply will not do. Rampage in this situation would have resorted to some form of violence, yet you avoided that outcome.

Chameleon: There was a better way.

Custodian: We are not putting you through these trials for better. We are attempting to achieve “same.”

Chameleon: Why? Isn’t it important to improve upon their methods to defeat them? They already know their weaknesses, whether I choose to emulate them or not.

Custodian: Incorrect. They believe they understand their failings, but do so only at a surface level. A comfortable modicum of self-awareness. They’ll never be able to take advantage of what truly makes you weak, because they cannot acknowledge it in themselves. Not without allowing the whole tower to crumble.

The world rewinds, placing the tourist right in the position to slam his shoulder into The Chameleon again, who is motionless and helpless to prevent what’s about to happen.

Custodian: We will repeat this moment until you understand.

The man walks directly into Chameleon, the surge of anger pulsing through his entire body. And as suddenly as the first repetition came, so did the second. And third. And fourth. A constant stream of disrespect. Nothing painful, but intensely infuriating until there was no longer any restraint to pretend to have. The Chameleon lifts the man up by his neck, his hands squeezing the life out of him. At some point, he had been transported back to the steps leading into Alcatraz, but it didn’t do anything to pacify his brimming anger. The photographer tries to say something to get Chameleon to stop, but all of it is lost to the wind. It wasn't until an officer with a cattle prod showed up that Chameleon dropped the man, only due to the sting of pain from the shock. Three officers apprehend him, yanking him towards a police vehicle right as the paparazzi and news reporters show up, excited to get another story out of Rampage Chameleon.

While Chameleon is being shoved into the car, a TMZ reporter lunges up close to his face, shoving her microphone towards his mouth.


Harley: Chameleon, Chameleon! For TMZ, I’m Harley Tellins!

Chameleon: Well, I’m hardly asking.

Harley: This is quite a scandal you’ve set yourself up for! Assaulting a tourist on Alcatraz Island! Are you still going to be attending your match at XWF’s Fire & Ice?

Chameleon: I’m not just gonna be attending it. I’ll leave attending to the fans and the boys in the back without a single shot of motivation in their bodies. I’m going there to win it and remind people why there’s a big reason to respect The Chameleon. But I have someone I want to give a few words to: Rampage. The big, strong man with the small, frail heart. For someone who despises politics and frilly speeches, you sure as hell aspire to give as many as you can when you’re not bumbling into failure. You’d think by now that you’d learn that just grabbing a belt once doesn’t make you hot shit, but you still can't seem to get the bigger picture.

Harley: What do you think he’s missing?

Chameleon: The truth. That he’s the same kind of ineffectual loudmouth that any of his opponents have been, he can just lift an anvil if he feels like it. You go on and on about how you get so pissed off, but you’re really only ever pissing away opportunities. You’re D-lister who could be Grade B talent if he just gained back his focus, but that’s the thing about being furious all the time, huh? You don’t have to acknowledge that it’s just your bullshit keeping you away from success, you can just toss it on the company or a bad shake. Pathetic. You didn’t have a chance in this match from the moment you got booked in it and it was never anybody’s fault but yours.

Harley: So, why are you gonna win it, Mr. Chameleon?

Chameleon: Chameleon is just fine, Mr. Chameleon’s my father. I’m gonna win these because I’m not Grade A or B or C. I’m uncharted levels of competence and I have real strength: discipline. You push yourself to the gym every other day, Rampage? I’ll live in the damn gym if it means getting victory at the end of the day. And that cannot be taught or put into your head even if they shoved a book into your skull. Lift all the bars you like, you’ll never reach the ones I raise.

The interview is broken up as they shove Harley away, rolling the windows up and preparing to start the car. As the cops begin to chatter, they abruptly stop alongside with the rest of the world surrounding them. All save for The Chameleon, sitting alone in a static world for a few moments.

Chameleon: I would like to stop now.

No answer.

Chameleon: Please, I would like to sto-
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