Post by madison on Jun 27, 2019 21:29:26 GMT -5
Tokyo, Japan.
A dingy, clammy warehouse.
No padding. No safety; nothing. Just a ring.
This wasn’t a new ring, either. Blood and sweat stains were clearly visible in many spots. You could practically hear the small ripping of flesh as students rebounding off of them. The ring visibly shook with each slam; with each bump. The thuds would reverberate off of each of the walls within the cement dungeon. This was the venue that would become known as “Camp Blood”.
As Madison Bonaparte entered with little more than the clothes on her back, her mask, and a small duffel bag, she was ready to “learn”.
Was that the right word? She wasn’t so sure. She knew the names. Eddy Poe. Jason Cashe. Squiggly The Clown. 3 names that were sure to conjure up names of sadistic violence and destruction. If you weren’t sure on the path you wished to take in this business, you better not step foot inside Camp Blood. As the motto of the gym went, Camp Blood wasn’t about to teach you to ‘wrestle’. At Camp Blood, you would learn how to be dangerous. Torture. Maim. Destroy. Perhaps that’s why Madison Bonaparte, as she tossed her bag to the floor and looked around her new surroundings...had a smile on her face. This wasn’t the start of her journey, far from it actually, but it was indeed a turning point. She was prepared to forget everything she thought she knew. Both about giving and receiving punishment. For a “traditional wrestler”, this site would be appalling.
Sickening.
Disgusting.
Revolting.
Dozens of words could be used, and they would all apply; they would all be correct.
However, that’s precisely why Madison was here. She was sure every other student could say the same, but, even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter because they would be weeded out in no time. As crazy as it would sound, and it sounded downright deranged, Madison Bonaparte was HOME.
June 28th, 2019
The chair shot reverberated through the warehouse. Madison could feel the steel on skull from five feet away. She watched one of her fellow students drop immediately on his back, possibly knocked out cold; probably concussed.
Madison couldn’t help but smirk. This repeated through several students. They would be handcuffed and become victim to some serious chair shots to the head, courtesy of coach Jason Cashe, whom seemed more than grateful to be on the other side of the chair. Another student entered. After one sickening chair shot, he wobbled but didn’t fall. A second wicked swing later he was on his back and barely moving. Blood splattered the canvas by his forehead. This was when Madison decided she had watched long enough, and when Cashe asked the remaining students who was next, she proudly stepped forward.
After having her hands tied behind her back, Cashe readied himself in front of Madison, just as he had with the students before her. Cashe asked her if she was ready. She did not reply. Instead she shot him a piercing gaze that needed no verbal response.
“Very well.”
Cashe delivered his first chair shot to Madison, which was a glancing blow at best. She felt the cool impact of the chair followed by pain in the left side of her head, but she barely flinched. Cashe had obviously gone a little lightly, and Madison knew it. She simply lowered her head and Cashe delivered another chair shot with the same result. And another. And another.
Eddy Poe, who was at the far corner of the ring spoke up.
“Swing harder.”
Cashe nodded, and his steel chair came crashing down onto the cranium of Madison. The metal clanging off of her skull ECHOED throughout the warehouse. But even still...she didn’t fall. There was a moment where time seemed to stand still. As droplets of blood fell onto the canvas from beneath her mask, Madison slowly craned her neck up to meet Cashe, eye to eye.
“That...all...you...got….
...Coach?”
The tone was slightly disrespectful and by the body language of most of the students that stood back and watched, they weren’t sure how to feel about this situation. To his credit, Cashe didn’t seem bothered or deterred. He wound up and slammed the chair onto Madison’s head, principle contact coming at her hairline. She stumbled back a step before again making eye contact with her Coach. After steading herself again, she looked over to the other coaches and yelled…
“Can I get a substitute?”
Again, there was a pause. It seemed deafening. Blood continued to pool at Madison’s feet, dripping from underneath her mask and now her forehead was also lacerated. All of a sudden, Cashe yelled in her face.
”Tell me I’m ugly!”
The demand seemed to catch everyone off guard, even Madison.
“What?”
“Tell me I’m ugly!” Cashe again demanded from behind the chair.
After a moment, Madison said “You’re more than ugly. You’re a putrid waste of a carcass. You’re a sorry sack of flesh and bones. You’re a fucking puss-” Madison couldn’t quite spit out the last part of her sentence before Cashe swings the chair sideways, almost like a bat, connecting with the entirety of the left side of Madison’s face. She stumbled back into the ropes and came stumbling back forward…
WHACK!
Another thunderous chair shot, connecting ON TOP of Madison’s head! She grunts loudly, dropping to one knee but popped back up almost instantly. None of the coaches could believe it. Madison looked at Cashe again, spitting blood onto the canvas at his feet. She was yelling something but it was inaudible. It sounded like gurgling. Again Cashe wound up and smashed the chair against the side of her head, the impact sending her back a few steps and the sound once again echoed throughout the entire arena.
She still. Stood. Up.
Cashe took a step forward and delivered three hellacious chair shots, all connecting on her hairline, before finally Madison’s body crashed against the canvas. Everything went black.
Later that Day…
Madison sat up in a cot, in what appeared to be a room in a hostel. It appears others are staying in the room but currently, Madison is the only person there. Her mask appears to be blood soaked, likely from the beating her head took from a steel chair earlier in the day. Her head throbbed and her ears rang. She could barely look straight without feeling an intense sensation of wanting to vomit. Yet despite all of that, a smile was evident on her face.
Then she began laughing; hysterically. She stood up from her cot and stumbled slightly, before walking and looking into a nearby mirror. She examined her cuts, some of which were deeper than others. She looked genuinely fascinated by the lacerations on her face and head. She touched them as if she had never seen such a mark before, yet this was far from true.
“Call me ugly.” She said to herself, in the mirror; remembering what Cashe had said to her earlier in the day.
Again, she began laughing hysterically.
A dingy, clammy warehouse.
No padding. No safety; nothing. Just a ring.
This wasn’t a new ring, either. Blood and sweat stains were clearly visible in many spots. You could practically hear the small ripping of flesh as students rebounding off of them. The ring visibly shook with each slam; with each bump. The thuds would reverberate off of each of the walls within the cement dungeon. This was the venue that would become known as “Camp Blood”.
As Madison Bonaparte entered with little more than the clothes on her back, her mask, and a small duffel bag, she was ready to “learn”.
Was that the right word? She wasn’t so sure. She knew the names. Eddy Poe. Jason Cashe. Squiggly The Clown. 3 names that were sure to conjure up names of sadistic violence and destruction. If you weren’t sure on the path you wished to take in this business, you better not step foot inside Camp Blood. As the motto of the gym went, Camp Blood wasn’t about to teach you to ‘wrestle’. At Camp Blood, you would learn how to be dangerous. Torture. Maim. Destroy. Perhaps that’s why Madison Bonaparte, as she tossed her bag to the floor and looked around her new surroundings...had a smile on her face. This wasn’t the start of her journey, far from it actually, but it was indeed a turning point. She was prepared to forget everything she thought she knew. Both about giving and receiving punishment. For a “traditional wrestler”, this site would be appalling.
Sickening.
Disgusting.
Revolting.
Dozens of words could be used, and they would all apply; they would all be correct.
However, that’s precisely why Madison was here. She was sure every other student could say the same, but, even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter because they would be weeded out in no time. As crazy as it would sound, and it sounded downright deranged, Madison Bonaparte was HOME.
June 28th, 2019
The chair shot reverberated through the warehouse. Madison could feel the steel on skull from five feet away. She watched one of her fellow students drop immediately on his back, possibly knocked out cold; probably concussed.
Madison couldn’t help but smirk. This repeated through several students. They would be handcuffed and become victim to some serious chair shots to the head, courtesy of coach Jason Cashe, whom seemed more than grateful to be on the other side of the chair. Another student entered. After one sickening chair shot, he wobbled but didn’t fall. A second wicked swing later he was on his back and barely moving. Blood splattered the canvas by his forehead. This was when Madison decided she had watched long enough, and when Cashe asked the remaining students who was next, she proudly stepped forward.
After having her hands tied behind her back, Cashe readied himself in front of Madison, just as he had with the students before her. Cashe asked her if she was ready. She did not reply. Instead she shot him a piercing gaze that needed no verbal response.
“Very well.”
Cashe delivered his first chair shot to Madison, which was a glancing blow at best. She felt the cool impact of the chair followed by pain in the left side of her head, but she barely flinched. Cashe had obviously gone a little lightly, and Madison knew it. She simply lowered her head and Cashe delivered another chair shot with the same result. And another. And another.
Eddy Poe, who was at the far corner of the ring spoke up.
“Swing harder.”
Cashe nodded, and his steel chair came crashing down onto the cranium of Madison. The metal clanging off of her skull ECHOED throughout the warehouse. But even still...she didn’t fall. There was a moment where time seemed to stand still. As droplets of blood fell onto the canvas from beneath her mask, Madison slowly craned her neck up to meet Cashe, eye to eye.
“That...all...you...got….
...Coach?”
The tone was slightly disrespectful and by the body language of most of the students that stood back and watched, they weren’t sure how to feel about this situation. To his credit, Cashe didn’t seem bothered or deterred. He wound up and slammed the chair onto Madison’s head, principle contact coming at her hairline. She stumbled back a step before again making eye contact with her Coach. After steading herself again, she looked over to the other coaches and yelled…
“Can I get a substitute?”
Again, there was a pause. It seemed deafening. Blood continued to pool at Madison’s feet, dripping from underneath her mask and now her forehead was also lacerated. All of a sudden, Cashe yelled in her face.
”Tell me I’m ugly!”
The demand seemed to catch everyone off guard, even Madison.
“What?”
“Tell me I’m ugly!” Cashe again demanded from behind the chair.
After a moment, Madison said “You’re more than ugly. You’re a putrid waste of a carcass. You’re a sorry sack of flesh and bones. You’re a fucking puss-” Madison couldn’t quite spit out the last part of her sentence before Cashe swings the chair sideways, almost like a bat, connecting with the entirety of the left side of Madison’s face. She stumbled back into the ropes and came stumbling back forward…
WHACK!
Another thunderous chair shot, connecting ON TOP of Madison’s head! She grunts loudly, dropping to one knee but popped back up almost instantly. None of the coaches could believe it. Madison looked at Cashe again, spitting blood onto the canvas at his feet. She was yelling something but it was inaudible. It sounded like gurgling. Again Cashe wound up and smashed the chair against the side of her head, the impact sending her back a few steps and the sound once again echoed throughout the entire arena.
She still. Stood. Up.
Cashe took a step forward and delivered three hellacious chair shots, all connecting on her hairline, before finally Madison’s body crashed against the canvas. Everything went black.
Later that Day…
Madison sat up in a cot, in what appeared to be a room in a hostel. It appears others are staying in the room but currently, Madison is the only person there. Her mask appears to be blood soaked, likely from the beating her head took from a steel chair earlier in the day. Her head throbbed and her ears rang. She could barely look straight without feeling an intense sensation of wanting to vomit. Yet despite all of that, a smile was evident on her face.
Then she began laughing; hysterically. She stood up from her cot and stumbled slightly, before walking and looking into a nearby mirror. She examined her cuts, some of which were deeper than others. She looked genuinely fascinated by the lacerations on her face and head. She touched them as if she had never seen such a mark before, yet this was far from true.
“Call me ugly.” She said to herself, in the mirror; remembering what Cashe had said to her earlier in the day.
Again, she began laughing hysterically.