Post by Mitch 'The Broken' Heart on Jun 29, 2020 23:27:29 GMT -5
hero.
It was a slow night at the Toy Box.
The air was thick with humidity, and the drizzle was doing more to make the atmosphere thicker than to cool off the early summer heat. It seemed most of Detroit’s horny men were opting to stay at home and jerk off rather than come out in the wet heat for a lapdance. This had its pros and cons- it let Mitch Heart come out for a smoke break, having less of a crowd to keep an eye on, but it also meant that the clientele that had shown up were far from Detroit’s most charming bachelors.
Eyes like pale blue glass kept flicking back over his shoulder, ear listening intently for the hint of trouble. Even as he lit the last Lucky Strike in the pack and lifted it to his lips, he seemed tensed, like a spring coiled too tight.
He was a scrappy looking fellow, his short chestnut hair and matching beard scraggly beneath the hood of his black sleeveless shirt. His jeans had holes in the knees and cuffs, and his boots were scuffed and worn- a good sturdy pair once, but nearing the end of their service life. One shoulder bore a tattoo that looked as if someone had done it in their basement- the outline of a broken Valentine style heart, three drops of blood dripping from the bottom, with a knife in it. His eyes gave another dart behind him, and seemingly satisfied, he reached into his pocket to check his phone--
“Don’t make me get Mitch in here!”
“Right on fucking cue.”
Mitch grumbled, dropping the outdated Samsung back into his pocket. He knew the voice well- miss Raya Sunshine, one of the Toy Box’s A girls. She’d chosen her stage name well- she had a bright personality and was bubbly as the Crystale that barely sold because nobody had the money for bottle service in this neighborhood. Unfortunately, nobody really noticed that. What they noticed was a shapely Latina beauty with, in the poetic words of the clientele, ‘big ol’ titties’. But, he supposed, neither Raya or any of her coworkers had been hired for their personalities.
Extinguishing his cigarette against the outside wall and slipping through the door, Mitch padded up behind the offender, a somewhat portly fellow with a receding hairline and wispy mustache who was leering directly at Raya’s chest- this was part of the job, but the fact his hands kept trying to follow his gaze was not. Mitch recognized the man- a frequent problem customer. If it were up to him he wouldn’t let the creeper inside the Toy Box at all, but the manager was the sort to let guys like Mitch handle misbehavior instead of nipping it in the bud and possibly costing himself a profit.
Mitch cleared his throat. The man jumped and turned, raising his hands up in a defensive position. The index finger of the right hand was slightly crooked.
“F-forget it man, I get the hint. Senora Funbags here isn’t worth having to deal with you again.”
“Too bad. I was starting to think you needed a couple more of those grubby fingers readjusted.”
Rubbing his hands together- a gesture that made him seem like an overgrown rodent- the man scurried past the bouncer without another direct word, though he was muttering something under his breath about taking his business elsewhere. Mitch certainly hoped so, though he felt bad that the girls at whatever club the skeever jumped to would have to put up with his greasy, handsy self.
Raya let out a sigh of relief.
“My hero! Mitch, I don’t know what we’d do without you. Sometimes I don’t even want to come in on nights when you aren’t here, you know.”
“Give him a punt in the family jewels next time. Would send a pretty clear message, especially in those shoes.”
He eyed Raya’s bright yellow stiletto pumps, which she was currently wearing with a matching string bikini bottom and nothing else. She laughed vivaciously.
“Oh sure, that’d do wonders for my tips. Guys want to be titillated by me, not cower in fear that I’ll crunch their nuts if they look at me cockeyed. Besides, we start doing that, guys like you’ll be out of a job, and that’d just be terrible.”
The topless woman winked, and Mitch shrugged.
“Yeah it would, but probably not for the reasons you’re getting at.”
“Hardcase. Anyway, when are you going to ask me out to dinner? I mean, c’mon, how many hints does a girl need to drop?”
Raya gave her cutest pout, batting her eyes a bit for emphasis. Mitch just sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.
“Enough to counter the fact that I don’t date coworkers. Bad idea. So. Yeah. You better get back up there before the boss yells at you.”
“Fine, fine. But I’m gonna crack that shell of yours one day, Mitch Heart, you’ll see.”
Turning back to the stage, Raya sauntered away from the bouncer with a not so subtle sway of her hips, eliciting quite a few wolf whistles from the remaining customers at the sight of her voluptuous- and mostly bare- behind. Mitch, however, just resumed his post, arms folded, eyes piercing and vigilant.
The rest of the night passed without any major incident. Mitch clocked out and walked toward the bus stop, finally checking the phone that had been neglected during his cut-short break. He glanced at his contact list- a scant one, with nearly all the numbers having to do with clubs he worked, labeled things like ‘Toy Box’, ‘Silver Cricket’, ‘Scores’, and the like. His thumb clicked on the one at the top- ‘Ice Cool Pen’- and slid to the texts.
-Send me a pic of the inside of the fridge
That had been sent earlier, just after he’d left for work. It had a reply, only half an hour old- the desolate insides of an empty refrigerator, a bottle of mustard front and center. Raising an eyebrow, he returned a message.
-I didn’t think we had mustard.
We didn’t. I had an empty bottle and I thought it’d be funny.-
-Har har har, we have no food but at least you’re a comedian.
He paused, then was suddenly struck by a thought that made his blood run cold.
-Wait. There’s nothing in there at all but your non-mustard? What about your medicine, Pen?
Um, yeah, I used the last of it today. Can you pick me up some more?-
The rest of the world seemed millions of miles away. His ears were ringing. Still, somehow, his thumbs moved across the phone’s digital keypad almost automatically.
-Sure thing. Hey, it’s really late, why are you still up?
I wasn’t tired. I wanted to wait for you.-
-Go ahead and go to bed, Pen. I’ll be home in a while.
Mitch sighed numbly, still somewhat dazed, sitting down on the bench at the stop and listening to the rain patter off the roof of the open plexiglass enclosure. No medicine. How could he have been so incredibly stupid?. His new job didn’t start for over a week yet and his pay from his bouncer work would be a couple more days. A glance at his bank account told him that he had just enough to pay the rent and utilities due but no more. He could borrow a ten or twenty from a coworker for some rice and milk or something and stretch it a few days, that was doable. But the insulin, that was way out of his depth.
Taking a few deep breaths, Mitch weighed his options, swearing under his breath. This sucked. He hated it. But the need for a roof over their heads and everything that came with it was essential. There would be no touching the money in his bank account.
Mitch wasn’t going to let Pen go without her medicine, though. He closed his eyes, burying one hand in his pocket. He felt soft knit material and something hard that it was wrapped around. It was almost as if he instinctually had predicted this.
“...yeah, Raya, some hero I fucking am. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Snorting, he looked up as the bus screeched to a halt- it lingered a minute and then passed without him. Glass blue eyes looked as lifeless as marbles as they gazed at the Walgreen’s across the street.
Squeezing the bundle in his pocket, he went to the crosswalk and pressed the button.
“Nothing will ever be the same again.”
The camera focuses its gaze on a park bench in the rain. A man in a sleeveless hoodie laid out on it, staring upward, seeming completely ambivalent to the drops pattering over his face, the drops of water running over every scar and contour, the premature lines in his forehead borne of stress, beading on his beard and dripping off the scraggly ends of his hair.
“Heavy words. You say that, you say your presence is a sea change. That the world as everyone knows it will be forever altered by your coming. Like you’re a hurricane, or a fucking earthquake. Or maybe you’re God, here to alter the shape of things with your own divine hands.”
Mitch Heart goes quiet again, the patter of the rain against concrete, metal, and ragged grass the only sound for a few long moments. Then, slowly, he turned his head to the side, facing the camera. His expression was completely deadpan, but his sharp eyes, like pale blue glass, pierced into the lens.
“You’re so full of shit.”
Propping one hand against the surface of the bench, paint scratched with countless initials and expletives, the man who called himself The Broken pushed himself upwards, the hood of his shirt casting his eyes in shadow. His hands rested on the worn knees of his jeans, and he leaned forward, rainwater running down his bare arms in rivulets, the street lamp nearby shining in flickers off the slick surface of his musculature- not ‘jacked’ or ‘cut’, but the toned arms of someone who’s built their body not in the gym, but on the streets.
“You aren’t a natural disaster, and you sure’s hell aren’t any sort of god, Leonhart. I don’t see anything half as grand when I look at you. You know what I see? Just another dime a dozen pumped up chump with a Hitler Youth haircut.”.
Snorting, Mitch pulled half a cigarette out of his pocket, holding it in his mouth while he lit it, using one hand to shield the flame of the disposable Bic from the rain. Jamming the lighter back into his pocket, he took a good long drag from the Lucky Strike before exhaling the smoke in an extended plume. It tasted stale, but it kept him steady.
“Nobody knows who you are and nobody gives a shit. But don’t feel bad. Nobody knows who I am either, so maybe I oughta introduce myself.”
He waved, one corner of his mouth curling into a sardonic smirk.
“Hey, Carnage people. My name is Mitch Heart. They call me ‘The Broken’. I’m from Detroit, born and… raised, I guess. I’ve wrestled in backwater shithole outfits that none of you people have ever heard of unless you’re really into nothingburger wrestling out of Michigan. I’ve never won a title. I’ve never main evented. But I still got the call from Baltimore because I’m very good at what I do. What I do is break faces. Fingers. I don’t do any fancy flippy moves, I’ve never done a half gainer with a twist off the top of a ladder, but I once busted six of a guy’s teeth out of his mouth.”
Shrug. He raised the cig to his mouth and took another drag. Exhaled.
“Sometimes you need that, I guess. Just a guy with two fists and a bad attitude who wants to fight. And that’s what I’m bringing to the table, Leonhart. You’re bigger than I am, you’re definitely got a better body, you've probably got better training than me, and you know what? That won’t make a lick of difference when I’m breaking your nose, splitting your lip, and choking the air out of your lungs. You might be more charming and cultured than me, hell, I don’t know, but what I do know is all the charm and culture in the world won’t help you when I’m crashing your face into the canvas.”
The Broken allowed himself a chuckle, taking a couple finishing puffs before extinguishing the butt end of the cigarette in a swath of rainwater on the bench and flicking it into a nearby trash can.
“From where I’m sitting, the only thing that’s never gonna be the same again is your facial bone structure. And maybe I’m just talking shit and you’re gonna make me pay for it. That’s entirely possible, wouldn’t be the first time. But I don’t think that’s the case, pretty boy. I think you’re in over your head. I think you’re strutting into Baltimore thinking your big body and big muscles are going to make a big impact. That you see a guy like me and think you’re going to have the easiest debut ever. You won’t. Even if you beat me, I promise you that you won’t feel like you’ve won a damn thing.”
Mitch rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck.
“Lions are good for nothing animals- they spend most of their time lazing around while the lionesses do all the hunting for them. They look regal but they’re nothing but lazy, entitled dicks. You won’t be making your name off my sweat and blood. But Anthony?”
He stood, walking a tense pace to the camera. He filled the picture with his intense gaze.
Post by anthonyleonhart on Jul 1, 2020 10:17:10 GMT -5
[Anthony Leonhart, the new superstar of Carnage Wrestling is in a very hostile place, where plants have taken over civilization. He uses this unknown place to train, to meditate and finally to fight some battles with the otokines who come to venture in this forest. Anthony Leonhart is covered with wounds barely closed on his upper torso, on his ribs.
We can deduce that he made his way in this forest to return to civilization and thus return in time to be at Chaos 94, during this time of training, his phone rang and warned him that he was going to face, Mitch the Broken Heart. During his walk home, Anthony Leonhart consulted Mitch's itinerary and analyzed Mitch's character, his attitude. Anthony took off his shirt and revealed his bare chest, covered with wounds. He stands up straight and poses as if he's in front of an MMA federation desk.]
ANTHONY LEONHART: That's it, it's time! Anthony Leonhart is now a Carnage Wrestling superstar. No one saw my return, everyone thought I had left the wrestling world. AND NO! I fucked you good on that one. Serves you right. And now that I'm here at Carnage Wrestling, I'm gonna go ahead and disfigure all your perfect heroes from the fashion magazines right now, I'm sick of it. I'm tired of seeing those silly smiles and the looks of a handsome Apollo there!
We know very well that you did this so that your oversized ego would be satisfied and that all the girls would be at your feet drooling on your bodies. Admit it! It's all for show, just so you can have cock fights in the locker room. Fucking assholes, come on!
And don't say I have the same body as them, because unlike your overprotective hotties, my body is covered in stigmata. Stigma of life. I was expelled for my violent side but in fact when I understood the real reason for my expulsion, the taste became more bitter and I forged this body at the cost of my health to make it stronger. I crossed forests, jungles, climbed mountains and had to make love to Judas to finally find the REAL me. And strangely enough, as soon as I got back to town, I saw your fans all crowding around me.
My mind was different, sharper, more incisive. But my body had changed and of course the fans didn't look any further, they had found a new hero but me instead of being in the crowd and becoming the new leader of their cardboard revolution. I decided to push back this human tide, breaking the neck to the received ideas and forging my own way even if I had to stay alone.
[Anthony Leonhart would throw punches at himself to boost him up.]
I don't care. I'd be the fighter scorched alive by Life. Now that I'm done with the introduction. Might as well get down to business. Let's talk about Chaos '94. Let's discuss Mitch, shall we? Let's talk about Mitch, shall we? Seriously. Who's that guy? I just came back from an intense journey to find myself face to face with this guy. Mitch "The Broken" Heart, what's that?
Is his nickname a description of his body or what, really, where are we? Shit, I come back to a wrestling federation and find myself with the social cases? I'M NOT A SOCIAL WORKER, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! Fucking hell, I've had enough! Enough, enough, enough! I'M FED UP! Every time I get the social cases for my debut, I attract them, it's not possible otherwise.
[Anthony Leonhart looked ready to fight, his teeth almost out, ready to knock people left and right if he was outside. He's like a beast that is in its cage.]
If you want a festival of degenerates and decerebrates, call me, I'll deliver them in packs of 10! FUCK. So what's this one doing? A toy box? Cigarettes? Oh great! A new Pokémon! Gotta get it into my Pokédex! I've got to catch them all! I've got to catch them all so I can break their heads, shoulders, legs and anything else that breaks to leave more than a lifeless carcass in the middle of the ring. And of course, like every other retard in my Pokédex, it's blood and sweat. Yoohoo. I'm glad to hear you like to fight, Mitch.
[Anthony Leonhart would clap in his hands, mocking Mitch Heart and obviously making fun about him.]
Because it's slightly, but very slightly, why you join a wrestling federation. Unless you want to smoke and jerk off, you can do that at home. Count on me to take you on, scumbag. I'm not mincing my words. That's the way I am. Fuck the world on every level, from kings to rednecks like you. It's clear, it's neat and it's precise, right? You're pissing me off.
I'm sick of the brain-dead right now. So at Chaos '94.I'm going to swing your body from left to right, up and down and inflict damage to you so that you're bruised inside and out and that way you'll say thank you Dr. Anthony Leonhart for the general anaesthesia and for the cosmetic surgery because even if it doesn't show, I'm an aesthete, but an aesthete of fighting, my pig. Yes, sir, an aesthete! Then prepare for your trip to the hospital, my precious Mitch Heart. Because now you're going to be broken! Smashed into a million pieces! Broken, like The Broken, your nickname.
You see how funny I can be, right? See you at Chaos 94, you son of a bitch! Seriously, did you think I was gonna be all smooth?! You can shove your cigarette in your arse and tell me if your nose feels like a chimney. See ya!
[Anthony Leonhart would leave the room where he does his interviews and teasing videos, leaves it with anger and pressure, we can see feel that he has boiling blood inside his body.]
