Match of the Millennium

Description: Seeking local fame and free publicity from the NFG's Small Business Initiative, Stoker and Sons have proudly opened their doors for the grand clash between local hometown hero Brian Storm, and critically acclaimed actor John Doe. It's anyone's guess which of these Super Stars will come out on top, but one thing is certain: in the cut throat world of the rich and famous, only one of these men's careers can come out alive. The other will be leaving in a body bag. (Or, maybe they'll both just get even more famous.)

[JOHN DOE]
** 30 Minutes Ago **
"That's not faaaair! I'm the Fight Coach, I get to go to the fights!""
The high, faintly horse cries of Titania Belle fill the penthouse with girlish rage, pixy face pale with fury as she strains against the zip ties binding her tattooed wrists to the arms of a heavy wooden chair. The high-backed relic has been dragged out of the dining room and set upon the carpet of the luxurious living area, coffee table propped against the nearby wall to create space. Spiky blue pigtails hanging limp, athletic wear in disarray, she glares up into the face of Bethany Alexander's ice-blue eyes, the statuesque woman staring back with frosty indifference.
"A privilege which you subsequently forfeited through damaging NFG equipment. An incident that many NFG employees claim was a deliberate attempt to sabotage Ms. Tamaki, and which was only resolved when I assured them that you lack the mental facilities to attempt such a plot."
"I already said I was sorry!"
"Being sorry, Ms. Belle, is not enough." Bethany replies cooly, one perfectly manicured hand coming to rest on her leather legal satchel as she turns toward the door, heels spiking the thick carpet with elegant finality as she strolls unhurriedly toward the elevator. Her beautiful features make a striking profile as she half looks back over one shoulder, dark skirtsuit contrasting her pale skin with villainous glamour. "As Mr. Doe's legal council, I have decided that your presence at his matches is a liability, and thus Mr. Dangerfield will be remaining here to insure you do not further jeopardize my client's position."
The Matt in question had been just about to stand from the sofa, large hands on skinny knees, when the lawyer's pronouncement startles him into immobility, wide eyes turning toward her with the look a bunny gives a speeding truck at 2:37 in the morning.
"Yo, wait, what?! Are--"
The frigid lance of Bethany's stare causes words to die in his bullish throat, adams apple bobbing as he gives an understanding bob of his bleach-blonde head.
"Well, damn...Yeah...Alright," he stammers, voice regaining its cocky confidence by small degrees. "Yeah. if it's to help out JD I'm on it."
Beefy arms folding across his chest, he sinks back into the sofa and turns his attention back to Titania, who thrashes and flails against her bindings as the lawyer glides into the elevator with effortless poise. Throwing her meager weight this way and that, the bloody-minded girl lets out a hissing growl that could be confused with a wet cat, the sound bringing an amused smirk to Matt's lips.
And then, she stops.
Lithe form going stock still, Titania's hazel eyes settle upon Matt with laser focus. Staring back, he lets the moment stretch...and stretch...until his smirk begins to falter. Eyes flicking away from hers, he shifts uncomfortably upon his seat, gold chains rattling. A moment later, he nervously clears his throat.
** 0 Minutes Ago **
The gentle scratch of Bethany's pen joins the soft ticking of a large grandfather clock as she sits in Stoker and Sons' warmly appointed lounge, finishing the last few details of John Doe's special pre-match waver. Hair pulled back in a loose bun and smooth legs crossed, she sits in a stately armchair with her clipboard balanced atop a mostly bare thigh, ignoring the looks that the two suited men across from her are pretending not to take. A final flourish of the pen and she leans forward to proffer the clipboard to the older of the two, a cool smile curving the corners of full lips.
"As agreed. JD will do everything in his power to avoid the record's room, lounge, and second floor, and has agreed to work in concert with the NFG to repair any damage caused to the lobby, show room, service area, and basement facilities."
As the older man reaches out to accept the clipboard, JD himself wanders out the door into the lobby, black leather shoes scuffing softly across the polished wood of the floors. Long Hair slicked back from perfect pale features, the grey-eyed movie star is dressed in a fine black suit with pleated trousers and small silver cufflinks in the shape of dangling skulls. From the chin of a silver skull tie clasp dangles a silk tie of dark grey with royal purple knot work, contrasting the light grey of a subtly pinstriped shirt.
In short, he looks damn good, no sign of injuries from his previous matches marring his features as he wanders up to the spiral stairs and rests a hand upon the worked iron of the rail, waiting for the arrival of his opponent while the camera crew sets up in the corner.

[BRIAN STORM]
As all the clocks in the Stoker and Sons funeral home suddenly start to chime out the hour, there's a sound of shuffling from beneath the floor, followed by ascending, ringing steps. Finally, a creaking sound comes from the basement door. The eyes of the two men signing the agreement both turn in horror toward the noise, watching as it slowly swings open. One turns to the other.

"Wait... there's not supposed to be anybody working in the preparation room right now," the older one says. "Is there?"

They both pale further as a looming figure steps out from behind the heavy door...

...and emerges into the light, revealing a musclebound man in a somber black suit with a headful of straight long blonde hair spilling out from beneath a top hat. Noting the looks that he's getting, Brian Storm laughs.

"Wow, whoops! Sorry, dudes. I thought I'd grab a cold one from the fridge downstairs, but it turned out there were people trying to sleep. It's okay though, I managed to find a juice pack."

The bearded man pulls a fluid pouch of some kind from his lapel, jabs a familiar-looking metal straw into it, and sucks it dry in moments, causing the two funeral directors to gag and retch at the sight.

Brian appears not to notice, smacking his lips.

"Mmm. Cherry!"

He tosses the empty pouch into an open urn, mistaking it for a garbage bin, and turns around, looking around until he finds John Doe leaning against the rail of the spiral staircase. He marches up toward him.

"John, my good sir! It's a privilege to meet such an aspirational talent as yourself right here in the very City of Sunshine. I am Brian Storm. You may not remember me, but I once performed as a stunt double in a television show that aired just after one that you starred in. Ever since that day I hoped that I would have the honour of meeting you in person."

He offers his white-gloved right hand to John Doe to shake.

[JOHN DOE]
The chime and jangle of many clocks rouses JD from his contemplations, grey eyes turning toward the basement door with evident curiosity. With the camera crews bustling into position, and the funeral directors going white, it is Bethany alone who seems undisturbed by the tromping steps, her attention having fallen to the small tablet extracted from the leather satchel beside her seat.
"Mr. Stoker, Mr. Stoker; If my client were to be harmed by an outside party during the course of his visit, you would be liable for all damages." she explains with distracted indifference, annotating a digital file with a thin silver stylus. "Site security was one of Very few responsibilities left to your care in this arrangement."
Fortunately for the brothers and their future prospects, the giant who reveals himself is the expected second party to this match. Whether or not they should be storing their cherry juice bags inside their patron's sleeping fridges is a matter for another lawyer, and thus the frosty presence of Bethany Alexander remains silent.
"Hrrfpf." John greets the enormous man with a mumble, craning his head back just enough to aim a vague glance somewhere in the direction of Brian's neck. Eyes averted shyly to the side, the clearly star struck young man reaches out to grasp the gloved mit in smaller but surprisingly powerful fingers, shaking it firmly even as his chin dips and he mutters something that sounds like, "Mmh bgfnnh."
Just which of his many TV shows Brian might have seen is anyone's guess. It could have been Dead Rising, the action drama about a WWII pilot who came back from the dead to fight the nazis in glorious dogfights, or maybe Dead Rising, the fake docucomedy about a luckless office worker who gets hit by a car only to come back from the dead and suddenly get promoted despite doing absolutely nothing in the office. Or maybe it was Dead Rising, the short lived but cult favorite raunchy comedy about the young teen fresh out of high school who gets scouted into the porn industry only to suffer a stroke during his first performance and be raised as a zombie when his first video is so popular.
But of course JD, the humble fan that he is, knows instantly which show Brian was in. Jack Action, the burly Australian astronaut Special Forces Combat Medic Engineer. Who could forget?
Releasing Brian's hand, JD shuffle back a step and lifts his shoulders in a brief little shrug, smiling toward his feet while the camera crew gets a good of both suited men in profile. If he were a lesser star he might be upset that they both showed up in suits, or that he's getting matched against such an industry darling as the wrestling stunt man Brian Storm. But going by his body language, the young method actor couldn't be more eager, hands clinching and unclenching at his sides, whole body swaying on his feet as he shifts from foot to foot.

COMBATSYS: John Doe has started a fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
John Doe         0/-------/-------|

[BRIAN STORM]
Stepping back from John Doe after the handshake is solemnly exchanged, Brian Storm casts a look around the space that the two competitors stand in, peering past doorways and nodding at each person he sees in turn. Bethany, in particular, gets a wink as well, his expression remaining otherwise intense. Once he's assured himself that he's made a visual connection with everybody in the potential audience, he clears his throat quietly, then bellows out:

"FINALLY, Brian Storm has come back to STOKER and SONS FUNERAL HOME! The one and very same funeral home where Juniper Storm, AKA Brian Storm's paternal grandmother, was prepared prior to her cremation in the autumn of two thousand fourteen!"

As he speaks, he steadily unbuttons the buttons of his suit jacket, before shrugging out of it and handing it to a costume tech. Underneath, he's wearing a burgundy vest with a picture of his face sewn into both halves - with the word 'BRIAN' on the left and 'STORM' on the right - over a white collared shirt with short, cuffed sleeves.

"I have always sworn that I would honour her memory by performing a match in her favourite place in the world, but it was not until this opportunity arose that I realised I would finally be able to make that dream a reality!"

Brian unbuttons the two buttons of the vest before shrugging out of it and handing it to another wardrobe worker, revealing the words 'TEAM BLAZE' in stylized font above a small fireball on the shirt's breast pocket.

"You see, of all the places that Brian Storm ever spent time with Juniper Storm, this was the one place she complained about the least!"

Emotion clearly overtaking him, his dark guyliner under threat of the moisture in his eyes, Brian throws down his top hat on the ground, revealing that the golden hair was actually a wig attached to it all along - his own hair having taken on essentially a buzz cut during his fight with Big Buford, which has now been cropped in a more dignified manner. Another wardrobe tech quickly retrieves and removes the hat.

"So, this one is for you, Grandma Junie!"

Finally, he flexes his pectorals and biceps, causing the buttons of his shirt to pop off, before tearing it off and tossing it to another wardrobe tech. He then tears off his trousers as well, splitting them in half in the process and throwing each half at two final unfortunate NFG costume department employees. Underneath it all, as it turns out, he's wearing a pair of black knee pads, wrestling boots, and a pair of black wrestling trunks with a portrait of an elderly woman's face on the front, her hair blown back and eyes smouldering similarly to Brian's own expression on his usual t-shirt and the vest he was just wearing. Underneath the face are the words 'JUNE STORM,' and beneath, '1911-2014.'

Now suitably dressed to wrestle, Brian wastes no time.

"RING THE BELL!"

As a deep bell rings out from the central room, Brian takes a swing at John Doe, aiming to scrap with him. After throwing a couple of punches, he'd try to transition into a German Suplex position before rolling backward, aiming to slam John into a chair, then rolling backward again to slam him through a sign and into the floor. Finally, he'd then roll backward one more time before releasing John toward a grandfather clock that stands underneath the spiral staircase!

COMBATSYS: Brian Storm has joined the fight here.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Brian Storm      0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0         John Doe

COMBATSYS: John Doe blocks Brian Storm's Brutal Throw Chain.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////////////  ]
Brian Storm      0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0         John Doe

[JOHN DOE]
The tap and slide of Bethany's stylus continues as Brian's voice booms in through the open lounge door, causing one perfectly shaped brow to twitch upward in annoyance. Lifting her frosty gaze from the tablet, she flicks a pointed look from the suited Stoker brothers to the doorway. After a barest moment's hesitation, the brothers file out into the lobby, door clicking shut behind them and reducing the roar of the wrestler's voice to muffled thunder.
Meanwhile, Brian's layered display of strip speaking has fully captured John Doe's attention. Though no tears come to his eyes, there is a softening there, a look of genuine empathy that creases his smooth features in sorrow for the loss of such a formidable woman. Hands fumbling into a clasp at his waist, he bows his head, letting the pronouncement roll over him. A moment of silence, announced by the ceremonial ringing of a bell...
And then he gets punched in the head.
Staggering back a step in foggy bafflement, the smaller fighter takes another meaty punch to the jaw, head rocking back, and a third to the chest, body already beginning to topple backward from lack of balance. Helpfully, Brian chooses that moment to grab a double fist full of expensive suit jacket, JD's right hand latching around the big man's wrist as he's dragged forward into the clinch.
Expression shifting from clueless bafflement to dawning joy, JD flails his free hand while Brian ducks around him, thick arms clamping the actor's torso in a crushing hug. Fingers clawing up and back, he scrabbles uselessly at the bigger man's face and head, even as the hand around the wrestler's wrist forces the arms away with startling strength. Groping and grabbing, his reaching hand finally clamps onto the back of Brian's neck, dragging him forward with a mighty tug even as the actor's skull accelerates up and back, body straightening as he aims to plough his head of glossy black locks into the hometown hero's face with enough force to send them staggering apart in opposite directions.

COMBATSYS: John Doe successfully hits Brian Storm with Brain Dead.
- Power hit! -

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Brian Storm      0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0         John Doe

[BRIAN STORM]
As the two fighters grapple with each other, John Doe manages to free himself of the suplex-filled fate that Brian had intended upon him through sheer force of determination. Brian's eyes go wide as he realizes that he's been matched in the Department of Muscle Power by John Doe's Committee for Tenacious Resistance. The imbroglio is broken when the two come together in a meeting of minds; Brian, for his part, is so stunned by the conclusion that he stumbles backward before colliding with the very grandfather clock that he had intended to smash John into in an alternate chain of events. In this quantum reality, the clock instead comes crashing down toward Brian, as time does come for all men; and in a painful reunion, grandfather and grandmother meet once more from beyond the grave.

"GRRRRRRAAAGGH!"

Fortunately, like any good athlete, Brian is equipped with protective gear for occasions like this. Unfortunately, it still hurts like a bitch, judging by the sound that comes out of him.

Throwing the antique clock aside with reckless disregard, Brian pumps back up onto his feet.

"I see you, too, are a man of cunning," he says as blood drips down from his nostrils, his voice somewhat stuffy. "But don't think that that will be enough to defeat me, dude!"

Static electricity gathers around Brian's body in a dull hum as his polished, treadless boots slide across a rug that covers the hardwood flooring toward John Doe. When he reaches out to lock collar-and-elbow with the Hollywood star, a discharge snaps out from him, possibly enough to daze his foe - and perhaps set him up for the heavy Irish whip that he intends to force the actor into, intent on sending him across the carpet to collide with the wall at the base of the stairs, where another, smaller clock is hung.

COMBATSYS: John Doe endures Brian Storm's Brian Whip.

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////////      ]
Brian Storm      0/-------/----===|===----\-------\0         John Doe

[JOHN DOE]
Stumbling drunkenly away from his brain share with Brian Storm, JD is unfortunately not a witness to the family reunion going on behind him. As the crash and BONG is overtaken by the wrestlers roar of pain, the actor takes a moment to comb pale fingers through his luxurious locks, doing his best to scrape out the drops of blood and spit.
"Frrfjlkrf..." he grumbles, wiping his hand on his pants before swaying about in a turn to meet the big man's challenge, right hand lifting to point dramatically back into the blonde's oncoming chest. This, while suitably theatrical, makes it pretty easy for the grappler to snag his elbow, a jolt of electricity singeing a smoking hole through his jacket sleeve.
Flinching and flailing on unsteady feet, JD is pulled irresistibly into the tie up, planting a warding palm against Brian's collarbone as the other man grips the back of his neck, grey eyes wide as hot breath washes across his face.
Are...Are they about to kiss? Teenage girls and lovers of certain manga genre will speculate for months.
But no, though John Doe is mightily strong, he isn't especially bulky, all 180 athletic pounds of him spun around and flung into a staggering sprint to try and keep his balance, leather shoes pounding across the rug before his forehead impacts the clock face with a violent explosion of glass and wood.
"...?"
Curiously enough, there is no cry of pain, no gasp of breath from the young man as he rebounds in a shower of glittering shards, dark drops of blood spattering between his fingers as he reaches up to cover his injured face. Wheeling away from the wall, he falls back toward Brian, shoulder threatening to plough into the man before hands pull away from a face that is...perfectly fine, really. A few small cuts mar his cheeks, a bit of glass juts from his forehead over his right brow, and he has a darkening bruise forming between his eyes, but all things considered he looks pretty good. Good, and happy, his eyes wide and beaming as he attempts to latch on to the bigger man and stand.
Unless the wrestler can break free, he will find himself hoisted free of the ground by the arms around his waist, swung through the air to crash down seated upon, then through the chair he tried to send JD through moments before, only for the smaller man to loom forward over him and swing one, two, three wild kicks into what should be a pile of wood, leather, stuffing and Storm.

COMBATSYS: Brian Storm interrupts Violent Clinching from John Doe with Whirlwind Lariat.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////           ]
Brian Storm      0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0         John Doe

[BRIAN STORM]
As John Doe's arms wrap around his waist, Brian's arms are pinned against his sides. He glowers intensely and clenches his teeth as he struggles to break free of the other fighter's tenacious grasp.

"Hrrrrgghhh!!"

Finally, he manages to pull one hand loose, using it to punch John in the head twice before the definite non-zombie manages to slam him through the chair. When the first kick comes through, Brian catches it, pushing back to give himself an opening to rise up and grab hold of the top of John Doe's head. Spinning around to gather momentum and electricity on the carpet, he finally crashes forearm-first into John's neck, releasing his grip on the actor as he lurches past and grabbing hold of the bannister to steady himself.

"Thanks, buddy, but I don't need a seat!" he growls.

[JOHN DOE]
Lips pulled back in an expression somewhere between manic smile and grimace, JD clings to the big man like a drunken super fan as first one, then a second punch hammers into the side of his head, remaining cool and focused under fire. Literally cool, like, almost unsettling so for a man wearing a black suit in sunny California during summer. But that's probably just some acting trick.
The explosion of wood and fluff goes exactly to plan. However, as his first kick is forced back, he nearly topples onto his ass from surprise, Brian's helpful head grip the only thing that keeps him from going down. Flailing and striking at the thick arm that holds him, he begins to strain forward, to push against the pressure of the arm, when WHAM!
"GHRKH!"
Sent ass over kettle in a shower of sparks, JD manages 2 wild summersaults as he flies the length of the room, smashing into a heavy stone pedestal. Man, plinth, and the display earn atop it crash to the polished wood in a mess of broken pottery and one mysterious red-stained packet, shards bouncing away as the movie star comes to a sliding crash against the heavy basement door.
"...Buuh..."
Hair staticed out in all directions, the John Doe gropes his way up the door until he is gripping the handle, using it to hall himself slowly to his feet. Shoulder braced against the portal, he glances down at his singed sleeve, checks the crisped collar of his shirt, and finally pokes at the wild mess of his long, beautiful hair.
He frowns.
Grey eyes rimmed in red, the actor turns a very neutral stare upon Mr. Storm, shoving away from the door and clearing some pottery out of his path with the toe of one shiny black shoe. It is a very much not smiling, not happy Not Zombie that shuffles toward Brian, steps transitioning from shamble to stumble, stumble to run, and run to charge before he throws himself at the big man, fists flying in blow after wild, powerful blow as he attempts to force the bigger fighter back against the rail and pin him there, pounding punch after punch into his stomach, ribs, and chest, before finishing with a wild hook for the jaw strong enough to lift the wrestler clear of the ground and send him up and over the rail onto the stairs themselves.
"HRRRRRRRGGH!"
And now he's growling back.

COMBATSYS: John Doe successfully hits Brian Storm with I Zombie.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////           ]
Brian Storm      1/-------/=======|==-----\-------\0         John Doe

[BRIAN STORM]
Brian's stormy eyes follow John Doe's hands as they check the damage, and when the actor becomes cognisant of the state of his hair, Brian's expression flashes a pang of empathy, his jaw setting. Stepping backward against the wall, he tries to catch the first fist that flies at his face, but he's not quick enough; instead, he's socked right in the chest, unbalancing him and opening him up to the continuing assault. He roars with pain as his body contorts with each punch, selling each blow so impressively that it could be mistaken for a theatrical athletic performance. Finally, the hook to the jaw sends him flipping backward so hard that he clears the railing and lands on the stairwell. Grabbing hold of the rails before he can start sliding down, Brian pulls himself up the steps with frenetic haste, clambering up to the top before whirling around to face John.

"Welcome to the NFG, John Doe!" he yells, pain and wrath filling his voice in equal measure. "Nobody's hair is safe!!!"

With that, he grabs hold of the railing, the lights on the upper stairwell flickering as electricity dances across Brian's shoulders. Then, he heaves himself up onto the railing, flipping toward his foe in a flying senton!

COMBATSYS: John Doe blocks Brian Storm's Rolling Thunder.

[                \\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////             ]
Brian Storm      1/-------/=======|===----\-------\0         John Doe

[JOHN DOE]
Hands clinched into fists at his sides, JD stares over the rail toward Brian's fallen form, chin lifting to track the wrestler's motion as he scrambles up and around the spiral to the landing beyond. Unblinking, unmoving, the actor stares up into the blonde's enraged face, seeing in that expression the death of something precious.
And yet, he feels no sympathy. For while Brian's hair might have been precious. John Doe's, is glorious. Majestic.
Iconic.
Shadows from the fluctuating lights alternately throw JD's face into light and darkness, eyes remaining hidden beneath the furrow of his brows. That shadow only deepens once the wrestler makes his leap, hulking form eclipsing JD's own as he descends in a storm of static...
Only to be dragged down across the smaller man's lean shoulders. Catching the blonde native out of the air, he staggers a couple of unsteady steps beneath the crashing weight, electricity leaving a trail of thin burns down his limbs before blazing twin holes into the expensive rug beneath his feet. Suit smoking, fire alarms beginning to chirp, the actor turns his stagger into a determined trudge, barreling a crunching path across shattered pottery on a direct line toward the basement door.
Head lowered, John Doe heaves Brian up and off of his shoulders, driving him toward the door with what promises to be a tremendous splintering impact, only to sway dangerously upon the very edge of the top step. Wobbling, then tottering, he turns in a slow half circle, Brian still clamped tightly in his arms. Then, with his back to the stairwell, he finally allows himself to fall, crashing backward down the stairs as Brian is flung up and over his head, doing his best to suplex the wrestler ahead of him in a twin series of dangerous bangs and thuds.

COMBATSYS: Brian Storm blocks John Doe's Cemetery Man.

[                  \\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////              ]
Brian Storm      1/-----==/=======|===----\-------\0         John Doe

[BRIAN STORM]
Caught by John Doe out of the air, Brian flails and kicks, trying to escape. It doesn't seem to be working out - and as his eyes see the basement door lurching ever closer, they start to go wide.

"No! NO! Not the door! NOOO! JAY-DEE!" he bellows in a fearful tone, before finally punctuating his thought with a scream: "PEEEOPLE ARE SLEEEEPING!!!!"

In a last-ditch attempt at self-defense, he throws his arms up in front of his head, causing his elbows to be the first thing that crash through the heavy wooden door. Both fighters start to tumble down the stairs, but when they hit the landing at the bend halfway down, Brian manages to bounce out of the bump and catch himself on the railing, leaving John Doe to continue flopping down the second half of the flight to the basement floor.

The cold, crypt-like atmosphere of the sterile basement preparation room greets the two grapplers, most of the storage units carefully closed, though it looks as if someone has been rummaging around - at least one unit is hanging partially open. Occupying most of the room is a station filled with tubes of various fluids that run beneath a cloth lying over an ominously humanoid shape on a metallic table.

Brian holds the side of his head as he peers down into the cool lighting.

"Good, they're still asleep," he calls out quietly to John in a raspy stage-whisper. "Let's try and keep it that way!"

Rubbing his hands against his head, he starts to gather fresh static, the lights flickering from the room below as his buzzed hair stands on end, buzzing with energy.

An AM radio gently crackles to life on a desk next to the preparation table.

"Is he going to do it? Yes... I think he is! Here it comes... the Thunderhead!"

The transmission turns to static as Brian leaps off of the landing, throwing himself headfirst in a cross between a spear and a headbutt toward John Doe as his crown crackles with blue lightning! The attack is surreally silent -

At least, until whatever happens next.

COMBATSYS: John Doe dodges Brian Storm's Thunderhead.

[                    \\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////              ]
Brian Storm      1/------=/=======|===----\-------\0         John Doe

[JOHN DOE]
Showing all the grace and reflexes of a crash dummy, John Doe tumbles heavily down the second flight of stairs to land with a heavy THUD at the bottom; a pile of limbs, hair and cloth that lies unnaturally still. A fall like that could definitely have broken the young man's neck. Perhaps, as Tasty and Loverboy predicted, one of the fighters really is going to leave here in a coffin.
Pale fingers twitch, hand pressing down upon the cold cement floor as JD unfolds to hands and knees, scorched suit jacket hanging loose and tie askew. Though a few glossy locks of hair still project themselves up and out in an untidy mop, the majority falls across his face in a silky curtain, hiding his features as a low, hollow groan rises from deep within his chest.
It's like coming home. The delicious smells, the comfortable chill.
Coming slowly to his feet, the actor tilts his head back to peer up toward Brian as his distraught face appears over the rail, attention soon shifting toward the nearby metal table. Staggering over to it, he collapses against the chilly stainless steel, lights pulsing above and radio crackling its static-filled report.
"HrrrruUUUGH..."
John Doe's head bows briefly over the table's sleeping occupant. Hand moving to pat the shrouded figure, he shoves himself clear of the table, takes one wobbling step away, and completely misses the spectacle of Brian Storm ploughing head-first into the prone figure, skull releasing a violent crack of gathered electricity.
Sound of the crash bringing him back around, JD stares, scandalized, at the smoldering result, lurching forth to try and grab hold of the wrestler by shoulder and knee, to drag him free of the poor accidental victim and hurl him aside, hulking form lobbed toward a couple of sleek black coffins that lie closed beneath the stairs, their glossy dark wood giving back a faint reflection of the grim surroundings.

COMBATSYS: Brian Storm endures John Doe's Medium Throw.

[                        \\\\\\  < >  ////////////////              ]
Brian Storm      1/---====/=======|====---\-------\0         John Doe

[BRIAN STORM]
The body beneath the blanket twitches and flails as Brian's electrified head crashes into it, sending both wrestler and the presumed cadaver falling down to the basement floor. The sleeping body, a Latino man in his early thirties wearing nothing but a pair of heart-covered boxer shorts, sits bolt upright. It has none of the signs of a corpse being prepared for funereal display; rather, the man appears perfectly healthy, aside from having just fallen on the floor after getting electrically headbutted.

"Oh, crap!" the guy says, looking back and forth at John and Brian, then focusing on John. Some look of recognition crosses his face, and his eyes go wide, before finally he screams and runs for a heavy door opposite the stairwell, opening it up. A cool draft blows in before being cut short as the hispanic man *SLAMS* the door shut behind himself.

"I told you he was sleeping, dude," Brian groans as he holds a bleeding gash on his forehead and half-slumps against the table. He doesn't even have a chance to defend himself as John Doe grabs him from behind and hurls him across the room.

*CRASH*

The sound of the Storm collapsing over the coffins is loud enough to wake the dead - let alone sleeping funeral home employees who've been kicked out by their wives over affairs - and, somehow, Brian ends up not just on top of the coffins, but inside a third one against the wall behind them.

"Hrrgghh..." comes a muffled sound from inside the coffin.

*THUMP*

*THUMP*

"HRRRRNNGHHH."

The sound increases in intensity.

*THUD*

*THUD*

"HHHHHRRRRRRAAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHRRRHHHAHRRRAAHHRR!!"

*THUD*

*KRRRAAASSH*

Suddenly, without warning, Brian explodes out of the coffin, engulfed in blue lightning that fills his eyes and his body like some sort of freshly-charged Hollywood Frankenstein monster. His biceps tremble and his hands clench in fists at his sides as blood runs down his face where he used his forehead to smash the coffin open instead of using the safety handle provided for easy exit.

"LLLET'S GO, JOHN DOE! YOU CALLED DOWN THE THUNDER, NOW REAP THE LIGHTNINGGG!!!"

Electric speed suffusing his otherwise sluggish frame, he lumbers forward, throwing punch after punch, aiming to whip John Doe from corner to corner of the room before flipping him to the ground with a back body drop. If he succeeds, he'll hop onto the table, roll both shoulders, and continue to spark and buzz as he squats once, twice, then launches himself frog-like upward - to crash into the ceiling before rebounding to collapse across John Doe in what may well be the world's second most badly-botched splash of the century.

COMBATSYS: Brian Storm successfully hits John Doe with Brian Lightning.

[                          \\\\  < >  ////////////////              ]
Brian Storm      0/-------/---<<<<|====---\-------\0         John Doe

[JOHN DOE]
Having fully expected the sleeping man to be a corpse, JD can only stand in the wake of his attempted White Knighting and stare after the fleeing Latino, the crash and groans of the recently interred echoing throughout the chamber. Though normally prone to mumbling and grumbling only half comprehensible nonsense, the noise that escapes the young actor is very clear, and extremely perplexed.
"Huh."
Reaching up to scratch the back of his head, he looks from the now closed door, to the fallen sheet, and finally back over his shoulder toward the explosive crash, catching the impressive sight of Brian erupting from the coffin like something from a Resident Evil game.
Game specifically, not the horrible movies that John Doe refuses to be a part of.
The bit of glass still imbedded in JD's forehead glitters in the radiant glow of Storm's aura, a tiny sparkling beacon guiding the oncoming hero's fist toward the otherwise hidden target of his face.
WHAM!
The first punch catches John square in the cheek, spinning him in a sloppy half circle only for the second to snap his skull back and send him staggering toward the corner. Blow after blow pounds him back, left, and around, causing him to wobble into a crashing impact with one of the refrigeration units. Every punch lands with authority, blasting through the smaller man's feeble attempts to bat them aside, as he is beaten up one side of the room and down the other, jacket reduced to a smoldering wreck of fabric more holes than whole. Beneath that, his light grey shirt shows several small burns and tears, bruised skin peaking through. And yet, he doesn't shout in pain, or curse. Eerily silent, he scrabbles for a counter hold as he is hoisted into the air, pale fingers dragging across Brian's crackling skin, only going still once the huge man sends him crashing into the cement to lie sprawled and twitching upon the cement.
There is a final, feeble attempt for him to roll when The Storm looms above him on the table. A last ditch effort to get out of the way before, uh, the big man smacks himself off of the ceiling and comes belly flopping down with the force of a falling corpse.
The actor lies still.
Deathly still...
All is silent, save for the white hiss of the radio and the deep thrum of refrigeration.
The match, is, ov--?
Hinging at the waist, John Doe sits bolt upright, arms hanging loose at his sides and hidden face staring off straight ahead. Without a word, or even a groan, he reaches out to try and grip Brian Storm by the throat, clamping on with all the unnatural strength of someone infused with the dramatic power of Hollywood. Dragging himself upright by that strangling grip, he attempts to hoist the brute up and up, raising him high overhead as he strides stiffly toward the first of the coffins.
A single heavy kick smashes the lid open, revealing the cushioned black interior.
"See me."
Words whispered soft and despairing, JD attempts to send the wrestler hurtling down into the coffin with a choke slam, ignoring the sparks of energy that jump constantly between them.

COMBATSYS: Brian Storm interrupts Burial Ground from John Doe with Hurricane Brian.

[                  \\\\\\\\\\\\  <
John Doe         0/-------/-======|

COMBATSYS: Brian Storm can no longer fight.

[                  \\\\\\\\\\\\  <
John Doe         0/-------/-======|

[BRIAN STORM]
Brian is as resistant as a wet rag as John Doe grabs him by the throat while he's still lying on the floor and hauls him up to his feet, then off of them. He starts to kick as he regains his senses, the deprivation of air causing him to gag and awakening him from the verge of comatosis that his stunt moments before had left him in. He finally stops struggling as his gaze meets that of the actor, eyes locking with John's as he's held precariously over the coffin.

"I... see you," he gasps out in quiet answer to John's words.

Then, suddenly, he delivers a swift kick between John's legs.

Forcing himself free of the actor's grip, he grabs J.D. by the shoulders immediately, forcing him double and stepping his legs over either side of his head. Leaping up in the air, he spins, plowing John head-first straight down into the box the other fighter had intended to send him out of the fight in with a truly magnificent spinning piledriver. However, while John rebounds back off of the coffin, Brian ends up on his ass inside the plush interior.

"Hey, this is kinda nice -"

*SMACK*

The lid topples into Brian's head, knocking him senseless to collapse backward into the coffin, before falling shut one more time and latching.

This time, there's no more sound from inside the coffin.

Several seconds later, when the sounds of violence have died down, the door to the cooling room creaks open, and the Hispanic embalmer emerges wearing a pair of jeans with a half-buckled belt and a bundle of clothes under his arm.

"Hey, we didn't see each other, okay?" he says, pointing at John before tapping his nose and heading up the stairs toward the waiting NFG filming crew.

[JOHN DOE]
A head to toe shudder runs through John Doe's body as he meets Storm's oddly perceptive gaze. It is only a moment, a stolen glimpse through the draping curtain of hair, but a connection is made. Made, and then promptly broken as a large foot catches the actor square between the legs, sending enough pain alarms ringing that even his normally numbed flesh can feel it.
Face twisting into a slight wince, he releases his hold on Brian's throat, dropping the man on top of himself and barely managing any sort of resistance as he's scooped upside down into the spinning descent. Arms reaching, Feet lashing, he takes the tremendous impact squarely to the skull, bouncing free of the coffin to land with a heavy THUNK on the next one over.
"Ghuugh..."
Groaning softly, John slowly pushes himself up to a sit, working his head back and forth with a disturbing series of cracks. Glancing over at the now closed coffin beside his, he fumbles his way across their tops, plops himself down, and is sitting slumped atop it when the Latino emerges from deeper in.
"Hmmh." he grunts in exhausted disinterest, waving the man on with barely a glance. Only after he is once more alone does he decide that a nap might do him some good as well, lurching to his feet and shuffling over to one of the large cooling units. Unlatching the heavy freezer drawer, he pulls it out, carefully lies himself down, and slides it closed with himself inside, ready to catch a few relaxing Zs before someone finally comes to fetch him.

COMBATSYS: John Doe takes no action.

[                        \\\\\\  <
John Doe         1/------=/=======|

COMBATSYS: John Doe has ended the fight here.

Log created on 16:16:11 07/01/2023 by John Doe, and last modified on 12:10:23 07/10/2023.