06-07-2014, 05:57 PM
The view from Big Ben is breath taking as the night air wisps through London. The street lights are shining brightly, exposing the roads in all their concreted glory. The British people are going home from long days of work, spending times with their loved ones or embarking on trials they probably should of reconsidered. Big Ben, with a mighty roar, strikes his hands to midnight. The chimes of the giant, echo through out the area, like the yell of a lost soul through the shades of time. The last toll breaks its silence, then all is calm. The only sounds heard are the normal engines, of the thinning herds of automobiles in the city streets below. There hasn't been hide nor hair seen of the new "Ripper." The tabloids are writing articles, front pages are displaying "Jack's Back," and "Copy Cat Killer, Strikes Again." People are in panic, but the law enforcement has nothing to go on. They send patrols through the back alleys of every London district, hoping for a sign. But none the less, he remains unknown.
The cameras lens becomes cloudy, like a fogged up windshield. The cameraman, takes the camera from his shoulder to inspect the lens. He wipes the fog off and places it back in its original filming position. He continues to scan the area. The camera lens again, becomes fogged over, and before the camera man has a chance to clear it, it freezes over. A thin coat of ice envelopes the view from the only camera XWF sent to London. The feed that is sent to XWFcom, goes to static. Producers are in an uproar, yelling back and forth at each other to get the feed back up. Assistants are running back and forth from office to production room, making phone calls, sending emails and text messages. Right as the director decides to cut the feed, the static begins to clear. The view is no longer in London. All the camera can see is white. A snow covered field, ice covered mountains and nothing more. The producers and director are confused as to what is taking place, trying to get in contact with the cameraman who is in London. Their calls go unanswered and eventually, are sent straight to his voicemail. The audio from the new feed in the snow, starts crackling and hissing, soon coming to life. All that is heard is the wind as it tears through the valleys and the peaks of ice. Then a voice begins to speak. A male voice, with a strong accent, Russian perhaps, but a little different.
" The cold winds rise through the barren tundra. All that is not hidden becomes part of the sub-zero landscape. Living creatures perish from the frigid blast of the howling storms. The blizzard tears mind from body and soul from the world. Life ceases to exist upon the white, ice covered plains. Mountains grow higher with every flake that falls, rivers become a solid slab of clear rock and trees becomes stalagmites from the root, to the apex of the tallest branch. This is not a place people want to live. There is no chance of survival. This land, exclaims the emotion of a lost soul. It screams through the wind as it whines and weeps. Yet there are no tears. What you see here, is frozen death. A wasteland. Deserted by those who want to continue their life on this earth. Unless you are someone who is banished to such a place. Unless you are the victim of a crime that can not be handled by a judicial system. A crime where there is only a prosecutor and no defendant. A crime, unforgivable by the powers that be....
The winds begin to pick up as the camera, which is obviously on a tripod stand, shakes back in forth due to the violent gusts. The winds cease for a few seconds as the camera settles back into its position. With out a moments notice, the camera shuts off and the feed fades to black. Producers are in awe and in shock as to what their technology is doing to them right now. The director breaks his astonished silence and begins to yell at everyone in the production room to start working on the feed. As they panic and rush around, trying to find something for the viewers to see, the wind can be heard through the audio again. All of the production crew come to a dead halt, no one murmuring the smallest whisper. The wind is not as heavy and powerful as it was before. The video snaps back into view, and it is back in London. The camera man has the camera upside, looking at his face as he tries to figure out what the problem is. The director gains contact back with the camera man and lets him know that he is now live. He is still on top of the menacing Big Ben, scaling far above the ground below. The camera man is obviously weary about being in this position, but none the less, stays the course. He is protected by the floor and walls around him inside the bell room. He continues scanning the landscape, as he turns back around to the position he started his scan, he is startled by the presence of Frost on the clock tower. He is leaning against Big Ben from the ledge. With his back against the landmark, he stands with his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket. His blonde hair, twitches with every small exhale of the wind. He keeps his eyes forward but begins to speak.
Frost: The rumors that circulate through the mouths and through the powerful source of information the world knows as the internet, try to explain my existence. Many think I was an assassin that was excommunicated because I turned my back on my country and my employer. Others think I am a lost soul, trying to find my way home. Few think that I am a vampire. Contrary to that belief, I am afraid to say that I am not a vampire. Vampires do not exist in this world. Which is by far the best outcome for me, due to the fact that the media has made vampires into lovers and romantic entities, instead of the blood lusting incubus' they would actually be. People can believe what they want to believe. It is not my place on this world to judge a man by his beliefs. Unfortunately, it is my objective and my orders from a power beyond my comprehension, to judge a man by his actions. This is why you have seen me before. This is why my subsistence is made aware to you, the fans of the XWF. Now I have no quarrel with any of you, unless you're put on the list to be exterminated by my hand. What I do outside of the ring you all hold so sacred, matters not to anyone that does not want to acquire the same fate. But what should matter to all of you, is what I do inside of that sentimental square of canvas and ropes. It would be wise for some, more than others to take consideration in it dearly. I want to be released from my eternal bonds. I am in exile on this rock you all call home. I shouldn't be here. A being such as I, does not belong in the presence of the mortals. So I must do what I am told to do. By whom, I do not know. Maybe it is the God, Christians believe in and talk to in their moments of prayer. I highly doubt this is the case, because my orders outside of the ring, always consist that I take a life. A life that has run its course. A life that has turned sour due to mental inebriation or psychotic impulses. Murderers... rapists.. child molestors.. just to name a few of the cases that get thrown at my feet to vanquish. This fact alone leads me to believe that my existence is procured as a bounty hunter for the Prince of Darkness. Do not get my words twisted and falsify my statements because I do not, worship any entity. But when your past, was as full of as much torment and anger as the one I had years ago, you end up where most dread of going. You may be wondering... why the cold? This is as simple to understand as a learning to lace your shoes. When you have one foot, stretched across the threshold of the gates of Hell.. you try to stay as far away as you possibly can. Just let it be known that I am not around to make allies. The people that spend their money to watch me wrestle, could spend that same money elsewhere and I would not be phased in the slightest. I am just doing what I have to do, to be rid of this world forever.
Frost turns his gaze towards the camera man. He is now parallel with the ledge, facing towards Big Ben.
Frost: Now that my introduction is out of the way and you have a small glimpse of what you see standing before you now is, let me make it known to my opponent, who he is risking his existence against. I do find it slightly amusing that the upper management of the XWF, put me into a match, with a man named "Fire Dragon." How you managed to secure this title, or where your name derived, makes no difference to me. If you want to pretend you are a dragon.. and pretend you are of the fire element, please, by all means, have your fun. I just want you to come to terms with what you are about to embark on. You are not stepping into the ring with a mortal man. I am sure you have faced mortal men during your career. There is a remarkable different between those men and the beast that you will be facing on Wednesday. Mortal men can have strength. Mortal men can have agility. Mortal men can have power and speed. But it is a rare occasion that a man is blessed with all those highly aspired attributes. I have all of them. Not by choice. You could consider it a curse to be given abilities beyond any of your understanding. And I use those abilities well. Just let it be known, that you had your chance, to excuse yourself from this match. I must end this promotional declaration a little soon I am afraid. I have more important matters to attend to. Do not believe the hype of your manufactured identity, "Fire Dragon." Because as hot as the flames may be.. Nichego ne gorit, kak kholod... Nothing... burns like the cold.
Frost peers into the camera, never changing the expression on his emotionless face. He spreads his arms out to his side, and then falls backwards off of Big Ben. The camera man runs to the short walls edge to try to get a view over it, but nothing is there to see. The camera man begins to feel light headed and sets the camera down to the floor of the bell room. The camera, pointed at the massive metal gong inside Big Ben, as the clock strikes one... fades to black.
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