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Steve "KingSlayer" Davids · (11-03-2013)

The scene opened up. Steve was visiting home for a couple of days and chose to visit one of his local bars in Boston, England. He was one of three people in the bar in the middle of the day, thoughts were running through his mind as he sat at the bar a couple of seats down from another man. A man who was much older, grey, and seemingly frail. The other figure was hooded and sat in the corner staring out onto the quiet and rainy road. The room was eerie and rain could be heard tapping on the window. Steve raised his hand and eye brow in unison to indicate to the middle aged bartender to pour him another gin.

“It's been a long time since I saw you in here Steve! Last time I saw you was when you finally got out of the damned asylum, glad you're better now though.”

Steve wore skinny jeans, black high tops and a white v neck t-shirt. He replied softly.

“Aye, better.”

The old man across the bar looked at Steve in intrigue. The bartender continued to talk.

“So what are you doing back here then? Shouldn't you be out wrestling in the States?”

“Got a few days off, got a big match coming up and need to re cooperate.”

“Ah I heard about that. You sure drinking yourself into a state is the best way to do that?”

“I need to relax.”

The old man peered over now, his face becoming clear. Steve turned and raised an eye brow, inviting a question from the old man.

He spoke, his voice was fiercer than Steve thought. The man no longer seemed fail. Rather, he seemed wise and full of intellect.

“A true competitor would not be sat here drinking on a Thursday night. A man who is renowned in these parts as a fighter, a man who is supposedly the resident psychopath certainly seems to have lost his bite if you ask me. That mind of yours Steve, is it truly well and focused?”

The bartender slipped away at this point, realising that the conversation was beginning to get extremely deep.

“Have you been watching? Last week I carried JTC to victory in the Lethal Lottery... and this week it is only fitting that I get to kick his ass straight out of the tournament. Dr. Zero and I will defeat JTC and Mystica because I am on a rampage and if you're too blind to see that then maybe just maybe you should keep your oh so wise and humble opinions to yourself.”

Steve moved a seat closer. He hissed and spat as he shouted at the man who did not move a muscle. The man merely smirked.

“Why do I find it so hard to believe that you are really at the top of your game? Physically, you might be at your peek. But it doesn't take a psychiatrist to notice that your mind is in the same shape it always has been. The only reason you were released was due to Hellington Asylum being deemed unsafe. They had nowhere to put you and now... without your uncle's control you are nothing other than a monster that needs mentally containing. A dog without his leash.”

“Who are you and how do you know all of this?”

“I am the man who watched over you all those years you were tragically locked up in that bloody asylum. I am the only doctor who had the guts to work with the monster that is Steve Davids. What good did it do though? My bravery was evidently worth nothing. You remain lost within your past. Haunted by the skeletons in your closet. You fear returning to the place in which it happened yet you claim to be demonic. I know everything about you Steve."

“How?”

“I have always been there, watching, looming. Many man have tried to conquer and understand your mind Steve. I have conquered just about every patient's mind... Yet you are a project that was never quite understood.”

“A project? I am not a hamster for you to practice science on you know old man.”

“Ah, old man. That was always your favourite insult. I thought after all of these years you might have come up with something new. It must be said though, wrestling has certainly helped you to channel your unnecessary aggression to something positive. It seems as though you can no longer take out anger on those undeserving.”

“Everyone is mine to torment.”

“NO THEY ARE NOT!”

The man roared in anger. He stood up, his drink spilled. He began to walk away, but as he got to the door he turned around and looked back at Steve. A tear rolling down his face.

“You caused enough pain and suffering to those who never deserved it. It seems as though you may not recall my name, or the names of those who you hurt, killed and tortured. The state that you were... are. Can clearly never be fixed.”

“Answer me. What is your name...”

“Albert Stone. Not only was I your doctor but I also happen to be the Father of Addison Stone. The boy you murdered out of rage. DO not tell me that everyone is yours to torment... That is not how the world was supposed to be be. I forgave you years ago Steve. I never forgot.”

The door slowly closed behind him. Steve dropped to his knees in the bar. A tear trickled down his bearded face. The other figure stared at Steve ominously as the bartender called for time at the bar...

The shot faded with Steve's head in his hands, he ripped at his hair. The memory of the poor boy began to eat away at any remaining joys in Steve's body.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode A Soul; ripped apart.
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