A Cry For Help In A World Gone Mad: Chapter II - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum: Warfare Boards (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +--- Forum: Warfare RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=12) +--- Thread: A Cry For Help In A World Gone Mad: Chapter II (/showthread.php?tid=6058)

A Cry For Help In A World Gone Mad: Chapter II - Casey Jones - 08-28-2013 The sight of four people walking carefully along the misaligned, poorly cut grass was the only thing that interrupted the picturesque, albeit mysterious, backdrop of the woodland area. None of them spoke a word as they walked, each considering what had just occurred. Casey Jones walked ahead of the other three, his mind working especially quickly as he considered what had just happened. The image of Eli James sat in the rocking chair was one that seemed to be burned onto Jones’ retinas. He himself could not deny that James was a charismatic man. Like Jones himself, Eli seemed to have an air of mystery about him, an eerie sense of peace and calm. In all his travels, Jones had never met a man similar to himself, and the differences between him and Eli were obvious, but he also could not deny a familiarity; he could empathise with Eli. He suddenly stopped and turned, facing the other three people. “Thoughts?” he asked brightly, smiling at the three of them. They each looked at each other unsurely, each willing the others to be the first to speak. “They’re odd” Michael River said, his soft voice breaking the awkward silence that had amassed between the group. Jones nodded slightly at River, encouraging more. “But they seem to be strong, united by faith. Not unlike us…” “They aren’t like us at all” argued the other man, Dax Robinson. “They don’t think for themselves! They do whatever that James freak says!” Silence fell again, the three people each looking up at Jones, waiting for his input. He gazed down at them, smiling slightly, before turning on his heel and continuing to walk. The three looked at each other; Jones’ actions were bizarre, but they had learned not to question it. “And what of Ms Jessie Diaz?” Jones asked as he walked, not bothering to turn around to look at the others. “She’s attract…” began Dax. “She’s a dog” Jones, River and Dax turned around and looked at Kathi Foster in surprise. Jones removed his glasses and wiped them on his grey blazer before gazing upon her, a surprised, amused look on his face. “That was unkind Kathi, and it seems to be unwarranted as well. Ms Diaz has been nothing but kind to me since I made my arrival into this little organisation.” Kathi glanced up at Jones angrily before looking down at the floor again and continuing to walk. “Where are we going anyway?” she asked bitterly. Her anger and jealousy were apparent to the three men, but each knew better than to make a snide comment. “To see an old friend” Jones said brightly. --- The woman walked slowly and painfully up the stairs of her house. She knew she should sell it and buy a bungalow, but there was just no one to help her with these things anymore. Time had passed and left her behind; she had been forgotten, just as he had been. The police had forgotten about him. The military had forgotten about him. The reporters had forgotten about him. As she finally lifted herself to the top of the stairs, her trembling hand flicked the light switch, dully illuminating the room. She walked further forwards, reaching for the door knob to his room and twisting it. The interior of the room was dark, save for one corner, where a flickering light bulb swayed above it. She stumbled slowly over to the corner, feeling the walls as she did, like a blindfolded child. She finally made it over to the corner, staring up at the picture of him on his twelfth birthday dressed in his marine costume. She smiled sadly at the picture, tears threatening to break through. All he ever wanted to do was join the marines, and she was never one to stand in the way of her son’s dreams. He had looked after her when Paul left, kept her happy, made her life worth living. They had always struggled for money, but he had never complained. She could never afford the best toys for him, but he never cared. He ignored the cruel jibes that the other children made at him, because he was happy. He didn’t care about designer clothes, or hi-tech toys. He just cared about being happy, and living a happy life. It was then that she heard the knocking at the door; three slow, loud knocks rang out around the house like the chimes of Big Ben. Slowly she grabbed her walking cane and began the slow descent down the stairs to the door. She knew who it was. It happened every year on his birthday, without fail. Trembling slightly, she opened the front door, and there he stood, immaculate. A dark grey sweater vest complimented his deep, light blue eyes and the white shirt that he wore underneath. His eyes were sad; understanding but firm. The first time she saw him she was surprised and upset. Now his yearly appearance was a comfort to her. In his hand he clutched white roses, her favourite flowers. How he knew this she did not know. She didn’t even know his name, but he knew her better than any man since her son. She suddenly fell forward, landing in his arms, and as she sobbed into his sweater vest, he patted her head understandingly but not patronisingly. When he finally gently pushed her away, she looked up into his eyes, and he stared back gently. She knew what was coming next; it was the same thing he said every year, without fail, from his first appearance what seemed like years ago, all the way to the present day. He fixed her with his comforting smile and said gently: “We salute you Mrs River”. With that he handed her the roses, turned on his heel and left. She numbly walked back inside her house, hearing the door slam shut behind her. She placed the roses on the table, leaned back against the shut door, and, just as she did every year, began to cry. --- A sense of abandonment surrounded Casey Jones’ favourite children as they sat in a street which wouldn’t look out of place in a depiction of post-nuclear Paris. Outside tables lay overturned on the street and the creaking of a shop sign seemed as loud as a trumpet. The three looked down at the dossiers Jones had assembled of the War Games combatants. They had identified the strengths and weaknesses of each, or so they thought, and were about to turn away when they heard the familiar clip-clop of dress shoes along the pavement. They turned around and saw Jones walking towards them, a contented smile on his face. As if called to arms, each child stood to their feet and walked up to him. “The event ran smoothly” Jones said in his peculiar accent. “It was as expected” Kathi and Dax nodded and walked off, leaving Jones to turn his gaze upon Michael River. “I am very proud of you Michael” he said, smiling the way a father might do a child who had just learnt to tie his shoes. “More proud than you would ever know” “Thank you” River said, turning to leave with a satisfied smile on his face. Jones watched him carefully as he walked off, smiling to himself. “Happy Birthday Michael…” he drawled, turning around and chuckling to himself as he slowly disappeared from sight. Doctor’s Journal Excitement is abuzz as we approach closer to War Games. Deep down, I am sure that every single combatant is insistent that their time to reach the top of the food chain is now. Everyone wants to be the king. Everybody wants to rule over this place. It is simple human nature; we crave power, and by winning War Games, one person will get the opportunity to gain all the power they could possibly, possibly desire. It is because of the possibility of attaining such power that I presume some have become blinded; that would be the only possible explanation for Mister Shawn Steele making a ridiculous allegation that *I* am a part of the so-called Extreme Revolution! Good gracious me, the mere implication that I have anything to do with any of those men is simply absurd! As aforementioned, Mister Steele, I find the whole movement ridiculous and moribund, not something that I want to be a part of. Dear oh dear. One of the things that has been drawn to my attention the most is the efforts of members on both teams to take the moral high ground. Why don’t people understand that there IS NO moral high ground? No one is doing this for moral reasons! Every single member of each team is doing it for their own personal gain, and nothing more than that. I wish I could say that I am a better man, doing it for better reasons, but alas I am not. I am doing this to take control of this company; the only difference is that I admit it. I do not hide behind facades of bravado and integrity. I am here to take this crown from Mr Madison, if only to prove that I can. That my Children can. I don’t care who it is that must sacrifice himself (or herself) for my cause at War Games, just know that it will happen. I will show superior skill, superior tactics, superior gamesmanship, because I can! Remember what I said before: there are no ‘good guys’, no ‘heroes’. We’re not in Wonderland anymore Alice. Goodbye for now…