Down In A Hole

Post by Maxwell Mason Stone on Mar 13, 2024 21:27:33 GMT -5

Playa Del Luna, CA
Three weeks after “The Event”
One day after the storm

“Mommy, should we help that man?”

“No, sweetie. Just leave him alone.”

“But he might be dead!”

“No, I saw him move. Let’s keep walking. When big storms hit like this, sometimes neat stuff can wash up on the beach. Maybe we can even find some old coins that are worth something!”

“Do you think that man washed up on the beach in the storm?”

“I don’t know how he got here. Let’s not worry about him, okay?”

A mother and daughter continue their search for potentially priceless artifacts on the shores of Playa Del Luna after what’s been referred to as “the storm of the century.” Off in the distance we can see workers cleaning up the damages that were thrust upon business that lined the beachfront. The pavement of the city streets are barely visible under the thick layers of sand, driftwood, seaweed, shells, rocks and other debris regurgitated by the once angry ocean. Almost indistinguishable from the clutter of the shoreline lies the man that garnered the interest of the good samaritan child, unphased by bubbling water that’s been creeping up the shore and under his back.

The tide ascends

The tide recedes

Underneath the hood pulled over his head, we can see a blank expression on his face. He aint dead but calling him alive would be pushing the boundaries of the term to its limit.

The ocean surges

The ocean withdraws

He gazes into the dull gray sky, his attention captured by the darker swells of clouds that appear to be rapidly expanding. Suddenly, the wind lets out a piercing howl and a giant wave on the horizon starts to take shape.

The sea advances

The sea retreats

As he fixates on a giant black cloud, it begins to tear apart, opening a window for the radiant sun to burst through and cast a beam straight down onto the beach where he lies. He shields his eyes with his hands to protect them from the immense energy concentrated down upon him. His head turns to the side and that’s when he notices a shadowy figure walking towards him.

The waves roll in

The waves roll out

The figure looms closer and then, all of a sudden, we’re engulfed in complete darkness and accompanied by nothing but the sound of the cascading waves.

in…

out…

surging…

ebbing…

plotting…

planning…

scheming…

preparing…












You shouldn't have come here. Maxwell isn't up for visitors at the moment.

Sunlight shines in through a tiny window in what looks to be a small sitting room but something about it just isn't right. It's old… from the solid carved wood antique couch with the velvet upholstery to the Victrola phonograph atop a side table, the room just feels like it's from an era long bygone.

If you've found yourself here by accident I will offer you the opportunity to turn around and go back the way you came. If you've willingly stepped through this door with any malicious intentions then I will now let you know that I am the one you'll be dealing with today. Anything you have to say can be said to me and I will eventually relay the message to Maxwell. Any comments…

Any concerns…

Any questions…

Any inquisitions.

Footsteps purposefully tromp throughout the room, the sound reverberating off the walls filling the small room with a presence that cannot be seen.

I’m sorry, where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. Maxwell has had quite a few different names for what he thinks I am.

A dark side.

An alter ego.

A maniac.

And perhaps when he’s gotten bored of those terms, he'll throw some repeating numbers together to place an identifier on me. You see, Maxwell and I have a complicated relationship. I have a way of coming back around when he needs me the most but he’s just too stubborn to admit it. He thought he was rid of me for good, and it really looked like he was but now he needs my help more than ever.

The shiny brass horn of the old Victrola begins emitting a dark, black smoke throughout the sitting room as the ticking of the clocks grows louder and faster. The smoke curls and twists around the room like the contents of a lava lamp.

Maxwell is in a bad place right now. He’s grieving. He’s lost. He perhaps could have prevented the horrible tragedies of Paradox Pines, but they happened anyway. Now that guilt controls him, attaching itself to every fiber of his being. He drinks himself unconscious in an attempt to reprieve himself from the crushing weight of the remorse atop his shoulders. But it’s now up to me to do what I do best and get him to where he needs to be because I will not let him lose this championship in his first defense against you. That’s right, I haven’t forgotten about you, the unwelcome visitor who picks locks to gain uninvited entry into the minds of those who find themselves in a vulnerable position. This scenario we find ourselves in does not lead to an outcome that's favorable towards you.

The smoke is now starting to concentrate in the center of the room, amalgamating to form a human-like entity.

I gave you the opportunity to leave, to walk away from what I have in store for you. For someone who presents paths and choices, you have yet to realize that you have passed the point of no return on the wrong path you have chosen. The consequences will present themselves clearly in the middle of the field of battle when we take our trip to paradise. I assure you that I will have him ready to go to war like he has every time he gets into that ring. Maxwell may not be currently cognizant of all that is at stake but we will find out together just how serious he is when he puts you down with the Momenta Axis and gets that three count.

The swirling smoke at the feet of the humanoid mass begins to materialize into shiny leather boots.

It’s approaching a year since I brought him to Thunder Pro Wrestling. He enlisted my help to save him and lift him out of the dead end hole he wasn't even aware he was in. His career was wasting away more and more with each passing day so I lifted him on my shoulders and carried him into the sanctuary that is Thunder Pro Wrestling. I placed our mask over his face and we got to work staking our claim in this company and when the time was right I made him aware of my presence. I was so proud of him and I knew he was going to do great things here and then I went back to sleep knowing that he was going to be okay.

The smoke molecules continue to ascend up his legs, twisting and morphing into strands of fabric woven together to create a pair of black jeans.

I've watched as Maxwell has conquered damn near every challenge placed in front of him here in his new home. Challengers have been lined up and knocked down, clearing the path for him to get his hands on that American Championship…

And his reign is JUST GETTING STARTED.

The smokey mass begins to stomp his right foot on wooden floor, creating a sound akin to the firing of a cannon throughout the room.

So why are you here, INQUISITOR? Have you found what you're looking for? Do you hope that the answers you seek will present themselves when our physical bodies step between those ropes and inflict damage on each other? As you trudge down your path, do you truly believe that you will arrive at an ending where you will hoist the TPW American Championship up high? Your time is over before it's ever had a chance to begin because the path you have taken is the easy one. The mighty Inquisitor need not ask why the barrier to entry was so simplistic but the time to seek answers will come when you're broken and bruised on the floor. Perhaps your memory can fail you once more and you'll wake up the next day with your head in the clouds of blissful ignorance wondering how you've found yourself in an island paradise.

The process transforming smoke into physical matter rapidly accelerates, working its way up the body. It completes the formation of the legs and begins working its way up the torso, transforming into a black hooded sweatshirt.

Are you finding everything you wanted, INQUISITOR?

Are the answers clear?

Wasn't quite what you expected, was it?

Didn't I warn you?

Didn't I say you shouldn't be here?

What's wrong?

You don't like when someone else is asking the questions?

The smoke makes its way up to the face and facial details start to form, solidifying into tattered gray cloth forming around two beady eyes.

You're locked in here with me now, INQUISITOR. I wish I could tell you that this will be the worst of it but it isn't. You willingly entered this space and ignored my warnings so this is just a little taste of how twisted it is in here. But it will get so much worse when you step in the ring with him. Each punch. Each kick. Each painful submission hold will have you screaming to wake up from this nightmare that YOU CHOSE.

He reaches up and RIPS off his mask to reveal a large flame flickering within his hood. With a piercing screech, the flame falls onto the floor rug, igniting it in a sudden blaze sending billows of dark smoke dancing around the room.

WAKE UP, INQUISITOR.

WAKE UP, INQUISITOR.

WAKE UP!

WAKE UP!

The smoke splits apart and begins rising vertically into the air in front of him. The thin plumes of smoke solidify and take on a metallic texture, becoming rigid bars of a cell. The smoke spreads and engulfs the physical items in the room, transforming them with its touch. The antique velvet couch contorts and morphs as it’s plush upholstery tears away to reveal a cold concrete.

STONE

STONE, COME ON.

Maxwell Mason Stone looks up and through the cell bars. He blinks his eyes and takes a look around a small jail cell he's been contained in. Another man who looks just as disheveled as Stone looks at him in sheer bewilderment.

Officer: What the hell have you been yapping about in here?

MMS: Excuse me?

Officer: We will provide you with a list of some mental health resources that can help you. Come on, you posted bail.

The officer opens the cell door and Maxwell follows him down the hallway. Moments later, the officer slides a plastic bin full of Maxwell's belongings over. Maxwell picks up his wallet, keys and then an ugly gray mask with beady eyes. He quickly shoves that in his pocket. Stone makes his way out the front door and out into the wind and light rain.

“Yo, Max…”

Maxwell looks and sees his friend and tag team partner, Devlin Knight, standing on the sidewalk.

MMS: Thanks for the bail.

Devlin: Of course, I know there was no way in hell you're missing that match.

MMS: Surprised to see you since I failed to secure our victory in the cup. I've been doing a lot of failing lately.

Devlin: There was nothing you could have done differently up there in Paradox, man. Your dad was crazy and dead set on violence.

MMS: Did you bail me out to talk crap about my family?

Devlin: No, I did it because you're my friend and you're becoming a pathetic shell of yourself! Now are you going to stay down here and drink yourself to death or are you gonna take that anger and pain and make it work for you?

Stone falls silent then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the mask, gazing into its dark beady eyes.

MMS: I am…