Place marker: Last RP of week Fourth Cut: Project DALEK - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf1999.com) +-- Forum: Warfare Boards (https://xwf1999.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +--- Forum: Warfare RP Board (https://xwf1999.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=12) +--- Thread: Place marker: Last RP of week Fourth Cut: Project DALEK (/showthread.php?tid=49617)

Fourth Cut: Project DALEK - The Director - 01-03-2026 “We can’t keep this up forever, you know.” Says The Director. He looks at his masked compatriot, XXXVI, who looks back at him. “What’s that?” “This whole mysterious masked men thing. It’s quite possible no one will care who we were before. Whose idea even was this?” XXXVI opens his mouth to answer, but he’s interrupted. “...don’t answer that. My point is, weapon, there will be a right time and right place for maximum effect and glorious purpose and, though I sent you as my emissary to the XWF and we won the Anarchy tag team championships together, our fates may not inevitably be intertwined.” The Director continues, “I thought I was content to be behind the scenes, in my eponymous chair as you will, but seeing you cut through Oz and TK to capture the Revolution title reminded me that I too once had ambitions to win championship gold in XWF.” “And so we did,” says XXXVI. “Until we lost it without even a single defense. I fear you weren’t as prepared for an in-ring return as you thought.” The director fumes, even visible behind his black mask. “How dare you, child!” XXXVI steps close and gets in his face. “Are you certain you want this?” The Director reconsiders. “Perhaps I was a bit too hasty issuing an open challenge. How was I to know that two makeshift teams would answer, including your recent partner Clutch Cassidy and that Dyson, not Arroyo would also step up? He reminds me a lot of myself, actually.” XXXVI turns and steps away from The Director. “Oh?” “Yes, in my youth I too was a sadistic spoiled brat. I don’t entirely blame him for being the way he is though. Even if Madison had been present, she’d be a shitty parent, but she admits to straight up abandoning him. Poor sap. I never knew my mum either. Dad hardly mentioned her. I had no siblings but I did have privilege. I never wanted for anything but attention. Madison is the obvious play that everyone goes to though when it comes to little Sammy. Low hanging fruit and he doesn’t even like her. In fact, he’s drugged her up and kept her like a play thing much in the way that Charlie Nickles did with Peter Principle. The real mystery is his father. So I have a mission for you…for us, really.” XXXVI is now seated in a chair across the enormous and grand boardroom in their lavish estate. “Please tell me this is not another one of your hare-brained fantasies only slightly changed from some existing IP.” “The Sole Stone was underrated! I was robbed!” XXXVI just stares silently. “Anyway, onto the mission at hand. You’ve heard me talk about project DALEK before, right?” XXXVI nods. “I do believe I asked for no IPs to be ripped off.” “You truly are no fun! I have no idea what you’re talking about anyway. It’s a completely original concept. It stands for Dimension Altering Liminal Emission Kiosk.” The Director explains. “Your mother must be proud, wherever she is.” XXXVI says, smugly. “I believe she’s dead.” The Director pauses a moment. “So, are you coming with me?” “Is it going to help me somehow prepare for my three matches against Oz on Anarchy?” “...Yes?” XXXVI stands. “I neither trust nor believe you, but I’m actually not doing much right now, so I’ll bite. What’s the plan? “To truly understand Mr. Dyson, we must go back to the very beginning. We’ll just step into the kiosk, program in the correct coordinates…” “So it’s a time machine.” “Not just time, but also relative dimen…yes, it’s a time machine.” The Director confirms, slightly deflated. “But do hold your comments until after you see it in action. Follow me!” The Director seems a bit more excited than usual to share his invention. The two masked men go to the garage, where they see this car: XXXVI takes it all in. “Quite the fancy ride you’ve got here.” “Rolls-Royce Boat Tail. One of only four in existence. Three are documented, but mine was manufactured and gifted specifically to me from the CEO of Rolls-Royce. You could argue I ruined it by adding the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey bits, but it’s not the kind of car one drives around anyway and I rather like to think of them as improvements. Strap in!” The Director pushes a button on his key fob and the doors open. They get in the front and passenger seats, respectively. He turns on the ignition and presses a series of touch screen buttons on the dash. “To infinity!” Just then, CIX emerges from behind. “Should I be expecting you for dinner?” “Not now, Cierra! I’m finishing my catchphrase!” Yells the Director over the increasingly loud engine/time machine sounds. “And beyond?” Posits XXXVI. “No, you fool! I’ll doxx you right here and now and leave you behind.” He continues. “To infinity…and back again!” A flash of light and CIX stands alone in the garage. It begins. “Samael, you Damien-from-Wish Jeffrey Dahmer looking motherfucker. You must be pretty proud of yourself. You think you did something stepping out of the shadows of your superior parents and that undead freak Kristoffer. You did something for once. You followed in my footsteps being a younger, uglier version of me. Ooh, he’s doing black magic and he has an army of people wearing paper sacks on their heads that do his bidding. Hmmm, sounds familiar.” “So you managed to pin me after doing your little party trick. You had one shot and you did not miss your chance to blow with your mum’s spaghetti. How is your mum? Is she still doing that whole Peter Principle circa three months ago impression? Are you enjoying yourself? It seems so. Yes, your acidic bile tasted almost as bitter as defeat, but now? We’re playing by my rules. Just ask Anarchy MVP Mr. Oz what it’s like to step into the Director’s Cut match. You can bring Miss Cassidy, all your masked minions and even that little imp that you lust after and it won’t be enough.” “If you are truly proud of beating me when the odds were against me and I wasn’t at 100 percent, then I feel sad for you. You no longer get off on all the wild fringe fetishes that we all know you’re into. But I won’t kink shame. I myself am into the strange and unusual, but taking a man’s title and not only not granting a rematch, but flat out refusing a challenge is pathetic. I truly am meant for much more than fighting the spawn of two alleged wrestling legends who somehow bears both a superiority and inferiority complex, but yes, I did want to show that I am not simply the result we all saw on the grand stage of Bosworth Field. I am no mere masked insignificant. I was someone before and without wrestling. I have ambitions to take by force what I wanted when you were but a small child, before your mother even entered these hallowed halls.” “I get it. My story isn’t exactly unique, but I’ve waited longer than our most recent Universal champion Kieran waited to get his Universal title match. I went home and took care of business. Business was booming. I got so busy making more money and I waited. I waited and I became so much of a businessman that I was a whole business, man. But I wanted, no, I needed to come back. I had unfinished business. Singles gold, possibly the pinnacle, the Universal championship, but also some more personal matters. I will reveal all when the time is right, but for now, you stand in my way. No titles, no contendership spot, only your lucky streak on the line, which began when you ended my own winning streak. I do remain undefeated in my playground.” “I left this place in 2012. I stayed training, fit and in fighting shape. I stayed out of trouble, which is quite the feat for me. 2012 me was like you, Samael, brash, angry, horny. I’m still all of these things, but I’ve matured, honed my skills like sharpened steel and I’m angry. I’m grown and I still have a chip on my damn shoulder. You have all of the pedigree, but none of the polish. Potential for days, but wasted on a frustrated unloved vessel. Maybe you channel all that hatred for the mother who never wanted you into something usable. Most likely though, you burn bright and quick and fizzle out before you become even a fraction of either parent’s legacy.” “It’s odd. You hate your mother, yet you took her name. You parade her around to remind us all that there was once a Dyson worth talking about. For all her faults, at least she had some redeeming qualities show up every once in a blue moon. What have you got? The loyalty of a daywalker who owes you some sort of Wookiee life debt? The love of a father who supposedly is a legend, but when I Google Matthew X, all I get is error 404, not found? We really are throwing around the word legend lightly these days. It’s nearly as bad as Preston Vanderlay Esquire declaring himself one without having stepped into a ring on his own. But there must be a paternal connection, at least a tenuous one, as you have adopted his finisher. Wait, is that the guy who once dumped a bag of puppies on someone to lick away their depression? Maybe he was a legend then? But you, Sam, are just a failed abortion, the boy who lived. Born to wrestling ‘royalty’, doomed to walk the earth in mediocrity disguised as grandeur and sociopathy. You share your mother’s feral unyielding sexual desire and yet none of her self-awareness or talent. Try your heart punch. I’m heartless. Black masterpiece? My family jewels are strong. The Boquet of Roses again? I’m more of a lotus guy and I think I’ve built up a tolerance now. Last time was a fluke, a stroke of rookie luck. This time you won’t be able to escape my house or horrors. You might like pain, we are alike in that, but you’ll hate losing to the man you already beat for the Anarchy tag title.” “I have an answer ready for every riddle. A zig for every zag. You. Me. My years of life experience versus your childish aggression. There’s no way I let myself lose to you twice in a row. Not after you ducked me. Not after you ran like a bitch when I called you out weeks ago. You really think you goaded me into a match when it’s what I wanted all along. On the contrary my dear Sammy, you fell into my trap. You may have youth on your side, but by your age, I had already won multiple bare knuckle boxing championships. I’ve had failed inventions more impressive than you. I have a size advantage and I make the rules. This isn’t a naval battle for a chance at a title. It’s no pay-per-view bout, but it still matters. I have nothing to lose. I’m expected to take the fall.” “You’re the new shiny toy, the golden child. A loss here is a chink in the plot armor. A loss to me is a chance for seeds of doubt to sink in. Even if you retain the tag titles in your Anarchy match, there’s still a singles loss to me, a slight thought that maybe in a rematch, the challengers might become the first ever two-time Anarchy tag team champions. For you, there’s a lot riding on a match against some old washed up nobody who hides his face. Simply put, you can’t afford to lose to me. I’ve already taken back-to-back losses to you and Clutch and now Centurion. I can afford another loss. I just refuse.” The DALEK time car parks outside of a trailer park, looking quite out of place. The year is 2003. Two masked men get out of the makeshift time machine, coming fresh from the year of our lord 2026.  “Okay, first rule of time travel, XXXVI…” “Is don’t talk about time travel. I know.” “I was going to say don’t interfere with anything that would drastically alter the current timeline. We are here to observe and learn, my weapon.” Says the Director. XXXVI looks around the Shady Acres trailer park for some sort of obvious clue, knowing full well it can’t be that easy. “What exactly are we looking for, D? Aren’t we in the wrong year? Samael wouldn’t even have been born yet.” “Precisely, X. Madison Dyson, mother of a monster. Don’t you see? Over here!” He sort of whisper-yells as he approaches the naked window of a nearby trailer. But it’s not the only thing that’s naked. The Director peers in on the unclad forms of two disgusting humans, Madison Dyson and the man known only as Matthew X, mid-coitus. “There it is,” he whispers. “The moment of conception. I have to say I’ve never seen a move quite like that one before. Leave it to wrestlers to come up with interesting sex positions. XXXVI hangs back, refusing to spy on the two lovers in action. “I knew you were sick, D, but this is just wrong.” “Tell me about it. The form is all wrong for conception. A woman can’t get pregnant pegging a man, right?” “Doing what?” XXXVI asks as he peeks in himself. “Made you look.” The Director says, trying hard to hold in his laughter. “As you can see it’s just boring old missionary, except both partners are completely bow-legged. Gotta love those superior genetics, right? This Matthew is prettier and with a nicer ass than Maddy. But I digress. Nothing out of the ordinary to see here. No immaculate conception. No incubus or succubus involvement, just normal, banal copulation. I think I’ve seen enough. Quickly to the getaway car before they spot us.” Fast forward about nine months. Our intrepid time-travelers go into the future, but still their distant past to a run down hospital in a small town. This is where the real magic happens, thinks The Director. “All right, X. This bit’s going to be trickier. This hospital has seen better days, but it’s still a few years post 9/11 and security is tighter than a camel’s arse in a sandstorm. We’re going to need to ditch the masks and find some more suitable disguises.” Before he can object, XXXVI finds himself following the directions of The Director. He follows the hall down to a broom closet, where the door is ajar. He removes his mask and dons the waiting uniform of a janitor. Meanwhile, the Director sheds his own mask allowing his presumably handsome face to shine as he approaches an attractive female nurse. He whispers something in her ear and she recoils. “That’s highly inappropriate and besides, I’m a lesbian!” He shrugs and shakes his head as she walks off. Janitor XXXVI pretends to mop the floor as a man approaches, looking really anxious. He’s pacing back and forth. He continues to mop, focused on the task as the man interrupts his flow. “Excuse me. Sorry to bother, but I think I’m a little in over my head.” Janitor stops mopping and looks at the man. “I’m about to be a dad and look, I’ve done a lot of crazy things in my time but having a kid is just terrifying, you know? Do you have kids?” XXXVI ponders whether to be candid for a moment before answering. “I had a daughter.” “Had?” “Yes. She passed fairly young. Cancer. But, she was my whole world.” He knows that this interaction is with a stranger and technically the events he’s remembering haven’t even occurred yet, but still, there is some peace in revealing a part of himself he’d buried, even if just for a moment. The man approaches him closer, softly. This man looks gruff, muscular and battle-hardened, but in that moment he’s vulnerable. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t even imagine. Truth is, I’m excited about fatherhood. I can’t wait to meet little Samael, but his mom is having a terrible time. She’s been sick so much throughout the pregnancy and I don’t think she’s really ready to be a mom.” He pauses. “So sorry, I’m sure you have a lot to do. Thank you for taking the time.” The man sighs and continues down the hall. XXXVI goes back to mopping. Elsewhere, The Director tries a different approach. He makes sure no one is looking and sneaks up behind a doctor and puts him to sleep. He moves the unconscious man into a nearby room, puts the curtain up around him as he places the doctor on the bed and swaps clothes. He comes out in scrubs and a face mask, rubber gloves and all.  As he walks the hall looking for the room where Madison Dyson labors, he hears a guttural scream. “Give me a god damn epidural!” Bingo. He picks up the nearby phone and dials. “Yes, this is Doctor Cunningham. We need an anaesthesiologist in room 8. Stat!” He chuckles. And hangs up the phone. “Always wanted to do that.” The good doctor steps into room 8 where Madison Dyson doesn’t glisten, she sweats a lot and she’s alone. She’s breathing through contractions as he approaches. “Gimme the epidural!” The Director kept his cool. “Yes, ma’am, the other doc is on his way with your happy hormones. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?” Her eyes are like fire. “The nurse said I was four centimeters dilated like twenty minutes ago. Can you check again? It feels like he’s coming.” The Director, again, calm says, “yes, of course. I can take a look.” He figures he’s seen enough vaginas and he knows how to measure well enough. What could go wrong? As he gets down in the trenches, he realizes he may be in over his head, but it’s too late now. He takes his fingers and places them in the opening and he fully feels the slimy head of the child who will grow up to be Samael Dyson. “Ouch! What the hell?!” He pulls out his fingers and finds there is a small break in the glove where blood pours from an open laceration. He winces. “I’d say you’re about eight to ten centimeters and this little thing will be evicted very soon. In other words, it’s too late for an injection.” He removes the glove and begins to clean the wound and dress it before putting on a new set of gloves. She looks at his hand. “The fuck happened there?” He pulls the new glove tight and answers. “Either you have a rare case of vagina dentata, or your baby just bit me.” She actually laughs through the pain. “Where the hell is Matthew?! He’s gonna miss this little shit being born! So, are you ready to get back in there and catch this thing? Because I’m ready to get it out of me.” He hunkers down like he’s done this before. (He hasn’t.) He feels woefully underprepared, but how hard could it be? She screams, she pushes and he sees the odd-shaped infant head begin to emerge. He does his best to guide the new child into the world, knowing full well the harm he will cause. As the baby emerges, he cradles him and eases him out and then he notices what looks like a second umbilical cord only it’s attached only to the baby’s rear end. The flesh colored thing appears to be a vestigial tail. Truly the stuff of nightmares. As he hands the crying wet demon baby over to its mother, he swears it stops to look straight into his soul. That’s when he notices the shadowy figure in the corner of the room. A man leans forward and he eventually clocks his face. Kristoffer Arroyo. It’s unmistakable. He feels a chill in the air as Arroyo studies him. He wonders if Madison notices him too or if she’s too busy trying to get her spawn to latch. “I see you, ‘Doc’, and trust me…I never forget a face.” The Director blinks and Arroyo is gone. Just then Matthew X arrives, just in time to meet his newborn son. He barely notices the ‘doctor’ as he goes to Madison and the baby and the good doctor slips out of the room, joining the janitor in the hall. “Where’ve you been?” Asks the Director. “Should’ve seen this kid Samael. Purple, covered in this horrible white hairy stuff. Must be a demon or something.” XXXVI laughs. “Purple is normal. Lack of oxygen on exit. The white stuff is vernix. Also totally standard. Did you notice any other ‘strange’ happenings?” “Well there was the tail.”  The Director waits for XXXVI to have a smart comment. “That is odd.” The Director nods. “I’m saying. Anyway, keep an eye out for that Arroyo bloke. I don’t trust him. We should get back.” “To the fut…” The Director places a finger in front of XXXVI’s mouth. “Don’t you dare.”                                                               FADE…to the future (present)...