A generically labeled tape. What is it? Why does it sit in the offices of the HEW? There was only one way to find the answer . . . insertion into the VCR . . . and the tape began to play . . .
Afternoon. The sun was still up, although the moon was becoming visible through the blue sky. A light haze set over the surrounding . . . a surrounding made of chipped brick and a cracked cement ground. Patches of grass had sprouted up inbetween various openings in the floor.
The camera view rotated from what appeared to be the entrance of the structure, and traveled further into the passage way. As the camera holder walked, the view bounced up to down, and left to ride. Almost the point of becoming natious from the lack of care for how the shot was being taken.
Slowly, though, the filmer came into an enlarged area of what was now detectable as an alley. The brick walls were cracking even worse in this section. The grass that should of been growing up inbetween the busted cement was instead trampled and beat down into the very pours of the cement. Wooden crates and pallettes lay strewn across the far corners of the enclosed alley ending. Newspapers, brown with age, and stiffened from fallen rain, coated several parts of the floor. A metal garbage can rested in the center of the enclosure. Ashes coated the bottom rim of it.
The person holding the camera took a step back. The camera view juggles just slightly from the step. With just a step back, though, it enabled the view of the entire alley ending to come into full view. It was not just an alley . . . it held it's residence along Gilman Street, in Berkeley, California. It was appropriately dubbed "the Gilman alley."
From behind the lens, the filmer began to narrate his questionable documentary of his gloomy surroundings . . .
"Take a good look. Look familiar? Nothing has changed except for the routine rotation of dirt that makes it's way to and from this alley . . . my alley. The simple gesture is something that some might desire of this place themselves . . . the ability to leave it. But people also have a way of repaying someone, or something, for a positive deed from earlier in life."
The filmer took one last panoramic glance, from left to right, of the alley's enclosed ending.
"Call it the just due."
Slowly, the camera view fizzled, a slight amount of static, before suddenly ending in abrupt darkness . . .
It was night time when the recording's view fizzled back in. There had only been a mere six second transition delay, but the surrounding's picture was countered as the night time countered the sunny days. The view rested securely this time, the sounds of wind did not sway it. It's focus was on one of the walls of the alley, a section where two crates laid, one propped awkwardly against the chipping bricks as if arranged like a chair. Shadows bounced back and forth from view, as a fire had obviously been lit in what had been a still, cold garbage can just hours earlier.
Suddenly, amongst the shadows cast by the fire, a new shadown appeared with them. A shadow in the shape of a human, walking directly up from behind the camera's view. It started out large, running up the walls, past the view of the recording camera. But as the figure slowly walked closer, the shadow shrank, until it was nearly the same sized outline of a person. The owner of the shadow had to of been standing directly behind the camera.
Slowly, with one step, a figure came into view of the recording range. The range was only able to record from below his knees, to his upper torso, because of the such close proximity that the man had to the camera.
The camera did get a good shot of the outlook of the person's attire, though. Loose fitting blue jeans, cut and frayed just above the calf muscles. A white t-shirt, sticking out from underneath what looked to be a black sweatshirt. A chain wallet dangled against the left leg of the person.
Click. Click The sound of a lighter. A deep inhale, followed by a long, slow exhale. Smoke passed in front of the camera, as the figure walked further from the camera's lenses, and into a better view of his full frame and upper torso and head regions. It turned out to be a sweatshirt that he was wearing, as, coming from the view of his back, the hood of it had been pulled up and rested atop his head.
Slowly, the person walked further away, and closer to the crates that rested against the ground and wall. Turning, he sat down amongst them. The hood, though, shadowed his face. Only the burning end of a cigarette gave off a small amount of light to inside the fortress of his hood.
Taking another deep drag, he slowly exhaled. Raising his head up, as in a gesture to look up at the stars, he slowly stretched his neck from left to right. Then slowly, he brought the shadowed glaze back to a deadpan stare at the recording camera. With another drag, he began to speak as the smoke came slowly out of his mouth . . .
"The more things change . . . the more they rearrange. Earlier in the day, this alley was covered in sunlight and was highly visible, but it was still this alley. Now it is tonight, no sun shining down upon the alley to "brighten" it's day. But yet, it is still the same alley as it was earlier today. The walls are chipping . . . the disorder of the ground is still in effect. The more the light changed on the alley, the more it is still the same complete rearranged home."
From under the shadow of the hood, Zero took another deep drag from his cigarette. The glow of the cigarette but cast a quick glare from off of a piercing under the hood
"Now a new light has shone upon HEW. The last time that the spotlight was on it, things, like this alley, were out of place and in a slight amount of total chaos. A large portion of it's talent roster had all left at nearly about the same time. People were going to and fro, each learning their position daily. A man who's best career was left where he last laid his mask down at was the champion. And Havoc had been put out with injury by the hands of me . . . while I had signed with the CSWA shortly after dispensing of Havoc. The HEW closed within fourteen days after that.
"But now that the HEW has reopened, the past has been put behind it, one would think. It is easy to forget the worst times, and move on to a better and brighter day, right? Discard the gloom of the night time, and only shoot for the moments when everything is in the light and exposed . . . if only things could be like that."
Cigarette smoke filtered up from his hand on the ground. Casting a slow look towards the burning stem, Zero flicked the smoking flilter away, towards the fire. Looking back straight ahead towards the recording camera, he sighed. Taking a deep breath, he once again spoke.
" When a wound is opened on someone's body, do they treat it instantly? Or do they leave it, watching the blood trickle down their body in a morbid sense of delight? Does it depend on the size of the wound for whether they do or don't? For some, it must be treated, or else it will remain a constant itch, a dependable aggravation, for the rest of their lives until they actually do do something about it.
" Pertaining to the HEW, one of it's members is like this. A constant aggravation, a fervent itch along the inside walls of my blood that makes the red liquid curl at the mere mention of his name, and boil hot at the sight of his frame. This man . . . is Havoc.
" When Havoc and I left off, he was on the receiving end of a Level Zero, out of the HEW for an indefinate amount of time. Weeks went by, and into months. Still no Havoc in HEW. Maybe the itch had been cured. But in fact, only a razor blade could of cured the itch that would soon start up.
" When I departed from the HEW, and signed with CSWA, Havoc was also making a return to it. The HEW had closed, so his return to it would of never happened. But in CSWA, the return was highly anticipated for I, Zero. And he soon found out how much I had anticipated his return, after I had thought I had finished the battle, sealed the wound, between the two of us. On a program in that federation, Havoc and I had a match that would highly match any match that we have had to date. The problem was, it ended without there being a clear cut winner when my . . . when his . . . girlfriend, Karen, intervened in the whole match, therefore putting an end to the whole contest for good on that night. "
Adjusting in his sitting position, Zero retrieved another cigarette. It was the last one in his pack. Lighting it up, he casually tossed the empty box towards the camera's view, hitting the camera. The view rocked and jolted a little from it's obviously unstable mounting technique.
Inhaling deeply for the first few drags, Zero seemed to be in reminisence of the past. Encounters and feuds, hatred and bloodloss. Taking one more drag, he started back up from that frame of mind."
" But just weeks after that match-up, Havoc and I done the unthinkable. Together with Blade and the new HEW aquisition, Wicked Sight, we all formed together to make up what was known as Forsaken. But it was not a bond of enjoyment for each other's delight and company. I could not stand, and despied Havoc worse than ever at that moment. With Blade, he was still a thorn in my side that would not ever seem to go away. We have had our moments where we were partners, when he was actually a person who could keep his word, and had an emotion of drive to get something accomplished. I never broke Zero Tolerance up. It was his own selfishess and stupidity that caused it's demise. But despite wounds between the two of us that never seemed to finish, it had it's own way to kind of seal on it's own. And Wicked Sight . . . a disgruntled kid who despised the way things were being run, would soon become a new thorn in my side that would never shut up and keep his own peace. He might tell others that Zero is one of his friends, but he is no more than a sucking up piece of trash that believes only one thing, and cannot listen to what he is told on how life is truly LIVED. Overall . . . three men who I hated or would hate worse than anything else . . . all joined together for a single goal of driving out the forces that opposed us and were determined to not let us rise up with them in the federation.
" But things would of never worked, for the hatred that I still felt for Havoc was something too strong to keep even a union of four men who didn't even like each other to begin with, together. And that has now become just a part of my past, the same as something such as the original forming of Terror Inc. With each, my only goal of being inside their system, was to have an easier shot at getting who I wanted in the first place . . . Havoc.
" And now it is the HEW. All four of those men are in the same federation again, but with new things to proove to everyone. This isn't the CSWA. It's the HEW, where the Forsaken angle can grab it's ticket to Hell. Havoc and I still have something to proove to one another . . . but not only that, I have something to proove to myself. "
Putting the cigarette between his lips, Zero slowly reached for the hood of his sweatshirt's hood. As the shadows of the fire bounced to and fro, he lowered the hood of the sweatshirt, with his face now being seen for the first time in five months. His hair was spiked and jet black, with only the very tips being bleached a contrasting white color. His ears, eyebrow, and lip still each had their piercings from long ago. And his eyes . . . despite being away for five months of the constant strain of what the wrestling world had been to him, they were still dark and shadowy. Not something of good health, but the eyes of a man who had seen a lot in only 25 years, and were the eyes of a man who had been through much heartache and despair throughout all of those years.
Looking at the face, one would of wondered if something had indeed happened during those five months of absense that was never reported because it wasn't associated with his wrestling career. Maybe one day the people would know.
Retrieving the cigarette from his mouth, he exhaled the stream of smoke, and began to speak once again.
" Like a new day that holds new posibiliteis, perhaps, maybe, this new day in HEW could hold a new beginning for me. Something that would be an escape from the constants that the past year have been inside of this, and following, organizations.
" Does this new experience, a rebirth in a way, in the HEW, offer a new experience for me in HEW? Or will the past only come back full circle on this follow through?
" It's like open wounds. You can either tend to them and mend them, or you can watch them bleed until a bloodclot stops the initial blood flow. With tending to a wound, you know that it is finished, that the repairs have been taken care of. You can move on from there in life, and continue with whatever it was you were doing, or you can ever start something new and afresh.
" But leave the wound open, relying on it to tend itself, and you have a wound that could grow crooked, or perhaps, never even truly fix itself at all. And from then on, throughout the rest of your life, it will always serve as a reminder of what happened, and serve as a kick in the ass of how you could of made it right when it first happened.
" With Havoc, it's too late to fix the initial wound, but it's not too late to do reconstructive surgery and repatch the wound the way it was meant to be arranged in the first place. But until I do that, the limp known as Havoc will stay be persistent in my life. And until then . . . the new beginning will still just be a rehashed experience in the daily life of Lint Douglas."
With that, Zero lowered his head just slightly, taking the last drag off of his cigarette. Then, tossing it to the ground, he slowly got up and made the walk over to the camera.
Walking out of view, you could hear an aloof sigh, before a fizzle, crack, and then the view of the abandoned chipped brick wall faded out into static.
midi: "Infected" by Bad Religion
