January 18, 2018, 05:52:34 PM

Author Topic: Aftermath [Kale Tanev Storyline]  (Read 298 times)


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Aftermath [Kale Tanev Storyline]
« on: October 22, 2014, 04:56:41 PM »
FLASHBACK – September 25, 2014

Kale Tanev’s apartment has been ransacked.

Something has went terribly wrong.

The boxes that previously contained his precious dishware and glasses have been torn apart, shredding disbursed across the small kitchen and living room into a hundred pieces.

There are shards of plates and bowls everywhere.

There are divots in the wall from where plates cashed into them. Thick, ugly gouges out of the wall, craters of plaster.

The drywall has been pockmarked like an acme scarred face by uneven, rounded holes.  There are traces of blood thinly splattered against the delicate eggshell white paint.

There is glass everywhere.

The camera pans across to the patio overlooking the desert.  The sliding glass door has been smashed.  There is blood smeared on the inside wall of the deck.

Kale Tanev is slumped against the side wall of the deck, sobbing uncontrollably.

The hands and arms which shield his face from the camera’s peering gaze are covered in dozens of cuts, creating a patchwork of raw human flesh and blood.

He’s covered in sweat.  Sweat is almost the wrong way to describe it.  His body is covered in a thick layer of perspiration, soaking his longish hair, some of which has wicked across his forehead, plastering it to his skull.

He rocks back and forth in this seated position, silent except for the moans coming from his buried face. A fist suddenly darts out, smashing against the side wall, leaving a trail of gore, breaking a few chips of paint from the surface. When he speaks, he voice carried a strained tone of remorse and deep shame.

I never said I was a good guy.

I warned you that I wasn’t who you thought I was.

I wasn’t a charity case getting my life back together.

I wasn’t a nice guy who got unlucky and fell on bad times.

I deserved it all.  I did this to myself.  I did so much worse.

She’s gone because of me.

I extinguished the flame of my true love.

A primal, guttural groan emerges from the protective arms obscuring his face.  Slowly Tanev lifts his head.

My Janie.

It’s all my fault.

I did it.

I killed my wife.


They told me I was a fool for trying.

An unknown rookie was never going to have a chance to win the Master of the Mat.

Entragian and Corazon were destined to meet in the final.

It’s what everyone wanted.  It’s what everyone knew was going to happen.

It was practically pre-ordained.

They were right.

I was a fucking moron.  There was nothing I could do.

But I needed the money so badly.  Time is running out.

I failed. It’s all over.

The black screen dissolves and is replaced with an alarming image.  Kale Tanev sits slumped against a decrepit building in a desolate part of Las Vegas’ most seedy underbelly.  He’s shirtless, despite the falling desert temperatures in the evening.  He appears to be unchanged and unshowered since his loss a week ago.  He’s wearing his old ring attire, plain black basketball shorts and nothing else.  The tape that previously covered the gashes in his hands and forearms has mostly been peeled away over time, exposing an ugly and unhealthy collection of angry red wounds. His face is smeared with blood and grime, left over from his battle with Corazon and collected on the streets since.  He sits stoically, unblinking and unmoving. 

To his side rests Tanev’s black duffel bag.  The contents are spilled haphazardly out the top of beside it, including his cell phone (a bright green light blinks steadily indicating missed calls and voicemails, a tattered pair of jeans, and the Rule of Surrender championship belt.

Resting on Tanev’s thighs is a single photograph, the edges are frayed and dog-eared from years of handling. It shows Janie Tanev, his deceased young bride, holding their baby.  Tanev weeps silently.

The awkward scene continues for several minutes, unchanged.  Tanev occasionally paws at the photograph, without ever moving it.  His cell phone rings. It buzzes six times, but he doesn’t move to answer it. 

A rumbling is heard down the deserted street.  There hasn’t been activity on this road in the days Tanev has been here, but he doesn’t avert his gaze from the photo for a second.  A black Mercedes pulls down the street, moving briskly.  It drives past him, but slams on the breaks, kicking up loose gravel.  A door opens and slams. Heeled boots pitter patter across the pavement.


Her proclamation is met with silence.

Amie: Where the hell have you been?  Nobody has seen you in a week!  I went to your condo and your landlord said he threw you out because you trashed the place!  He said there was blood everywhere.  He called the fucking cops!  He had the locks changed, you know? You can’t go back there. 

AND WHY HAVEN’T YOU ANSWERED MY CALLS? I must have called you a hundred times.  Two hundred.  Three hundred, maybe.  And…Jimmy…he’s been calling too.  You’ve missed work, Kale.  Jimmy’s pissed.

I was soooooo worried. I was scared Kale. When people vanish in this city for a week, we don’t usually find them.  The girls and I….we’ve been trying to find you for days.  We were worried sick, Kale.



Amie: What the fuck is wrong?  Are you even listening to me?  Say something!


Amie: What the fuck is going on Kale?  Is this because you lost that match? Who cares?  It’s just a fucking match, Kale.  But…

The SHOOT Project has been calling me.  They’ve been trying to find you.  They want you at Revolution.  They want you to hype your title match.  All these guys have been calling you out, Kale. 

For the first time, Tanev looks up at Amie.

Kale Tanev: Tell them I won’t be there.