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Doctor Louis D'Ville · (02-14-2017)

002

HELP L E S S
Death is Sometimes Better

continued from POWERLESS: Tracing Lines

STILL SOME TIME AGO. . . . . . . . .

Doc picks his head up from out of the snow with a gasp. He spits and rolls over to his back with a groan looking up to the sky. It reminds him of the hyperspace he was just in watching the heavy snowfall in the night sky. Still winded, he curses every tree branch above him that broke his fall on the way down. Pain shoots up his left leg and into his back and he bites his lip. Mortal pain. Bleeding, bruising, burning, ugly, painful. Pain.

Doc limps over to a tree and rests against it for a moment still shoveling every breath. He reaches in his pocket and pulls a flat cigar from inside, he stares at it, then throws it on the ground. Looking around at his dark surroundings, it would appear he is lost in the middle of some pretty dense wilderness. Trees all around him, the night was cold and as quiet as a cemetery. He wonders of his situation for a moment and thought it wouldn't be in his best interest to just stand there any longer. He decided to pick a direction and go.

He groans as he pushes through the snow using the close trees to help with balance. The snow was deep, nearly to his knees, and it was, no shit, cold. He shivered and coughed as his nose began to pour and eyes started to water. Sensations the good doctor hasn't had the good pleasure of enjoying in quite some time. He laughs to himself as his journey has finally taken a turning point unlike no other. Powerless, fragile, and weak in a world that he's manipulated and even controlled off and on for so very long. Helpless.

"Folks are brought up to believe that things happen for a reason. That, no matter how bad it can be, it would all work out on the end."

He continues trudging and gasps between sentences.

"Optimism, right? I look around this tournament and I see a ton of you fine fellows just staring, like deer in headlights, at the bright white light at the end of the tunnel. Crossed fingers accompanied with goosebumps, butterflies, and hidden smiles. You're all so foolish."

Gasp. Gasp.

"That light that appears miles and miles away? The sign of hope that's within sight so it MUST be within reach? The chance, the luck, even the opportunity ALONE, to win the Lethal Lottery?"

The doc rests his back against a tree and sits down while searching his inside pocket for the box of cigars. After a couple of pat downs they're out and Doc is analyzing the first cigar. It's a bit out of shape, but still looks close enough to perfect to smoke. He tries producing a flame from his fingertips which, unfortunately for him, didn't happen. He spits out the cigar in anger and closes his eyes as he continues to rest against the tree.

"I see it in all of you. Whether you're the UNIVERSAL Champion, himself, or his wanna-be. Former champions, legends, alumni of myself..."

Doc releases a cold shiver as the cold appears to be getting to him a bit. Or a lot.

"It makes no difference and there's a fair share of you out there that already know that. Those that have been around the mill know that when I'm involved, prepare for anything. Prepare to lose. Horribly. Painfully. Mercilessly. As I proved with Havoc just a few weeks ago, who haven't been heard of or seen since, my friends. Perhaps Soldier and I removed a bit more than just that chip on their shoulder, after all."

The doctor looks around in the dark, again deciding a direction to go when something caught his eye. Either the clouds shifted or it was

The growl of an engine can be heard in the distance and Doc's head perks up. He presses his ear in the direction of the sound and listens closely.

A tractor trailer, for sure. There was no doubt a road was nearby. Doc springs to his feet, turns in the hopeful direction in the maze, and begins walking again.

"So if you missed anything in the past two years, there's proof right there that I alone can destroy an entire faction. Three men, three weeks, and gone. Either they had something to prove or they think Soldier and I did... Who knows? Never heard from again. So, do you think I'm in this tournament with something to prove? Anyone? Anyone? Nate Higgers and whoever the blue blazes this MYSTERY fellow is... Hell forbid you actually show up to this event. Thus far, the two of you haven't had TOO much to say about it, anyway, so maybe you already assume the worst. Good for you. Just you, Mister Higgers, with your standard ol' homobashin', mexican deporting, sunglasses, beige shirt, buh-buh bullshit. Save it for your comedy routine you most-likely over-paid ditch digger. You talk a lot maybe you drive a taxi or a community bus or something. That way you can bitch an moan to every single person that makes you comfortable enough to pick up and serve. Also so you can drive by minorities and purposely pass them up. Maybe you're an entrepreneur? Wait. That would be against your religion or something, wouldn't it? I meant to say, run your own business. Either way, there's a million other things in this world you could be doing this Wednesday other than getting completely torn apart by your's truly. Like posting more YouTube videos on how 'TRUMP'S DA BAWM' or 'GIT AAATTT!'. Surely that's more productive than the former, am I right? DO YOU think there's a light at the end of this tunnel, Mister Higgers? DO YOU MYSTER MAN? Obviously not, huh. The rest of you should follow these guys and realize that you're chances are about as good as these guys in front of me right now. The same goes for the guy beside me. I told you before, Mister Graves, the best thing you can do now is just hope and cross your fingers that we're either drawn together again. If you're against me you're out in that round. Any arguments there? If you're with me at least you make it one more. But it all comes down to the inevitable ending.... "

On a mission, Doc trudges through the deep snow with authority. Like he's on a Stair Master he syncs each step with the other and scales a very steep hill to reach the side of a snowy highway. He heaves and gasps for air as he finally reaches the top and rests against the guardrail. Looking up and down the highway, it seems like it hasn't been touched by any winter maintenance in quite some time. Deep tire tracks show that the road is definitely traveled some, but not very frequently. Unsure again on which direction to go, at least it was down to two now, he choses one and begins walking.

"One briefcase waits in the end of this tournament, my friends, so ONE person walks away with it. As retched as those things are, I think I want one. With nothing to prove, why not? I mean, I don't see why Chris Chaos needs a case. He's already holding the most prestigious belt in the biz! I don't see why the RADICAL needs one, he's number one contender, after all! Trax? Trax had his chance for glory and it blew up in his face. Or was blown in his face. Or what ever Mister Reno did to him. Sorry Trax, but your princess is in another castle. Try again, some other day, breadslice. I mean, Ghost Tank is Xtreme Champion if need someone to do the math for you. If you want a briefcase that's about the only way you're going to get one now. And THAT is apparently the only way you're capable of winning the UNIVERSAL Championship anyway. Now, I'll be careful with that, because the good doctor also became UNIVERSAL CHAMPION with his briefcase. HOWEVER. Defending the title counts, too. You owe Mister Loverboy both of those, don't you? Speaking of that sneaky pink pussy, who does he think he is? Tire of finding fill-ins for people so you sign yourself up Mister Owner? Okay, Vincent K. MacLane. Pretty sure I've broken your neck a few times, I don't mind doing it again. Unlike YOU, Mister Loverboy, I'm not done here, yet. There's still a lot of D'Ville to go around and there's still a lot of folks around here needin' the good ol' Doc's service. It appears my work is NEVER going to be finished around here. No bother. I say it all the time, the doctor's doors are ALWAYS open for new patients and always, most definitely, will be."

The doc takes a moment a shivers as he trudges down the side of the highway. He's moving much easier now and his breaths are shorter and definitely more efficient. The snow isn't as bad as it was in the forest, but it's still quite deep. He shoves his hands in his coat pocket and peers up through the snow. Is that?

Headlights.

A flicker of two highbeams glimmer for a second as hit lowers below the horizon again. Then back up. The doctor smiles and continues walking. The truck continues barreling down the road, until the driver apparently noticed our good doctor along the road and applied the brakes.

Doc stops where he is as the truck rolls to a stop beside him.

"What the HELL are you doing, stranger?!"

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