Frank's Last Day

♥ Frank’s Last Day ♥
♥ Days before Battle Grounds XXIII ♥
♥ Philadelphia, PA ♥

Brenton Cyrus and myself were about to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. We were about to show the world just where my alliance was. For weeks, Brenton and I have been at each other’s throats. At least that’s what we wanted everyone to think. We wanted everyone including VVR to believe Brenton wanted my championship shot at Violent Impulse. We wanted everyone to believe I wasn’t a part of the Succession.

When really I’ve been a member since day motherfucking one

We had my father Frank held up in one of the ‘families’ many warehouses. I hand-picked this specific warehouse because it was the same place my father was made into the Hart Family Crime Organization. It was where my father became a boss. And now it’s gonna be one of the last places he sees alive. Brenton wanted to keep everything under wraps, and needed a place to hold Frank until the Live or Die match.

Frank’s been here for the last week or so, and he just like everyone else has no idea I’ve been working with Brenton the entire time.

Were less than 24 hours away from shocking the world, Brenton wanted to take a trip to the warehouse to check up on Frank. The same thing he’s been doing for the last week, only difference was he was taking me along with him. Brenton wanted to see the look on my father’s face when he found out his own son made a deal with the devil

Just like my cousin Nick Ridicule did to his father Johnny Styles, in a match that created the God that is Brenton Cyrus

Now it was my turn to leave the world breathless, and fill it with hatred for me and the rest of the Succession

It was time for the world to take notice

We were for real

The warehouse area on the edge of the docks of Philly was where we had Frank held up. Broken-down ships docked in the filthy bay, some leaning to their sides. One hundred yards away, droves of buses and taxis collected and dropped off tourists anxious to buy souvenirs at marked-up prices. Most of the tourists arrived in taxis, the way the hotels recommended.

Brenton drove through gloom and the rising stench wafting from the filthy waters beyond the ugly sign advertising the docks. Beyond where the tourist zone ended and beyond the Coca-Cola signs all over Philadelphia. Each of the factories had truck delivery doors that were faded and ten shades of chipping and worn blue.

The entire area fit the same description of neglect.

Brenton eased down the cobbled road toward the warehouses. Rico waited out front. He was thrilled to be on guard duty, he’s been having trouble finding work since his contract expired from NLWF. The only tourist that would stray this far from the safety and security of downtown Philly was a tourist who was about to lose his camera, his wallet, maybe his life.

Brenton parked. Graffiti marked every wall, vulgarities and threats sprayed in juvenile handwriting. He went to the trunk of the car. Took out blue booties and surgeon gloves.

RICO SUTTON
“BC, my car battery died about ten minutes ago.”

BRENTON CYRUS
“Where did you get a car battery?”

RICO SUTTON
“Took it out of Frank’s cars, the one you drove to drop him off.”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“There is a spare inside the trunk.”

Brenton handed a pair of booties to me.

Same for the gloves.

BRENTON CYRUS
“You’re going to need these”

Rico came to the trunk and took out the spare car battery. We pulled the booties over are shoes, we stepped inside the warehouse, pulling on the surgical gloves. What I inhaled at first reeked like a spoiled milk. Faint screams came from above, one level up. Two hours of pain had lessened the volume. The walls of the warehouse were blackened from a fire that had happened a long time ago, it’s disgusting odor still in the concrete. Bodies were in the debris and on the stairs. Young men and young women, who refused to join my rule of the family, they were still loyal to Frank. So much they even risked their lives trying to free him. Looking around I was realized that my mother Jada wasn’t a part of the nameless bodies. Jada was gonna take the news hard, despite Frank walking out on her leaving her to fend and raise a family on her own, She still loved him. I haven’t even spoken to her since Brenton put his plan in motion.

Just hoped she would listen to me before killing me

There were only two people left among the living in the warehouse. My father Frank Hart and his loyal lap dog Tails. Brenton figured it would have been Tails who would have played hero, so we took them both hostage.

Brenton had already pulled out his gun, I followed his lead. We followed Rico. Puddles of water were at the bottom of the stairs; that puddle of stench grew as a stream of water ran down the stairs, stairs that were as broken as the American dream.

The temperature was right above freezing. The brick walls kept in cold and refused heat.

I heard coughing, gurgling.

Heard muffled screams.

Brenton led the way and I followed. We made their way up the shattered stairs. Walked into a concrete room that, relative to that trash and stench they had seen when we entered, was surprisingly clean. Brenton told me to stand off in the shadows; he didn’t want the surprised to be premature. Syco Angel was covered in plastic; garbage bags cut apart and pulled over his head, another around his waist, like a plastic apron that hung to the ground. The whole thing look like a scene straight outta Dexter. Syco held a filthy water hose in one hand. In front of Syco, tied to a chair that had been turned on its back, was Tails, his head covered in a dirty towel. That towel was as dirty as the river, had been taped to Tails head with only small holes cut in the ratty material, holes for his mouth and nose.

Very small holes.

His clothing had been cut away.

Syco let short bursts of water run onto that towel. Tails was struggling, panicking, unable to scream or too much water would get inside his mouth and nose. When the water wasn’t running, the dampness from the towel continued, and with every inhalation he sucked in more water. The power of water was amazing.

Damage to the lungs.

Extreme pain.

Brain damage.

Eventually death.

It had been going on for the past two hours. Water torture. Just like the Bush administration used

Other side of the room, there was my father Frank Hart. Sitting there naked in a cold and damp room. His balls sagged, just like his spirit

He was positioned where he could see Syco’s rendition.

Frank saw Rico walk in with the car battery and tried to scream, the gag inside his mouth muffling his hysteria as he fought in vain and struggled against his bindings. Frank was tied to a rusty, dented metal door. Clamps were on his nipples and inner thighs. Those clamps were hooked up to a dead battery. He had been left alone for ten minutes. That was how long ago the first battery had died. Ten minutes to feel relief from close to two hours of living in the basement of Hell.

Now there was a brand-new battery.

Both Tails and Frank experienced torture, set free muffled screams as Syco and Rico rambled to themselves about their plans for the night.

I grimaced, stood back in the shadows and said nothing. Wasn’t my show. Not yet.

BRENTON CYRUS
“If I had a heart, I would feel as though all this was a bit cruel.”

Rico and Syco stopped talking. Then Syco put the water hose down and moved away. Rico disconnected the battery cables but didn’t move the battery.

Brenton stood in front of a terrified Frank Hart. He removed one of the clips and saw desperate hope in my father’s eye. Saw the diminution of his pain. His bruised flesh held a magnificent rich and brilliant incarnadine color. He made an apologetic face.

Then he smiled at Frank.

BRENTON CYRUS
“This is almost déjà vu for me Frank. A few years ago I stood in a spot similar to this shit hole, and I watched as your brother Johnny Styles clung to some sort of hope”

I stood a few yards behind Brenton, Syco stood over the drowning man, and in a kind voice said the same. He pulled the towel away from the man, let him breathe. The man hadn’t had fresh air in almost two hours. Rico moved the towel but didn’t turn off the running water. That simple sound of trickling water kept terror in Tail’s eyes, held the desperation in his voice.

Brenton gave instructions, told Syco and Rico to leave the room, to collect all of the hardware on site and begin loading the equipment inside his car.

Brenton stood in front of Tails, and the former member of the Heart Attacks looked up to Brenton coughing.

TAILS
“Word …. Cough … around the game was … cough … you were dead”

Brenton smiled at Tails

BRENTON CYRUS
“Guess I’m so evil that the Devil set me free to keep me from taking over Hell.”

FRANK HART
“Your wasting your time Brenton, this didn’t work with Johnny and this isn’t going to work on me or my son”

BRENTON CYRUS
“The only difference between you and your over hyped brother is, this time I take your life, rather than killing just your career”

FRANK HART
“You really believe Robbie would rather have a championship then save his own father’s life?”

BRENTON CYRUS
“I think that question would have carried more weight before you ran off to Japan, leaving a boy to run a crime family”

FRANK HART
“You and Nick left me no choice but to runaway!”

BRENTON CYRUS
“There were other options, you just pick the cowards way out!”

FRANK HART
“Your putting yourself in a spot you don’t want to be in! You think my brother is gonna let you get away with this? Nevermind my son!”

BRENTON CYRUS
“I already killed Johnny’s career, the man lives in fear because of me! I took Alex Mark a nobody and turned him into a bigger star then Styles! Your brother has never recovered from it”

On the filthy and broken concrete ground below Frank there was a puddle of piss. And shit.

The stench of fear.

Frank could keep the tuff guy act all he wanted, but what lied under him spoke loader then the bullshit he was feeding Brenton

FRANK HART
“I swear to god Brenton, when this is all over I WELL HAVE YOU HEAD!”

BRENTON CYRUS
“Such balls coming from a man who drench in his own piss and shit”

FRANK HART
“It’s gonna be fucking great watching my son whoop your ass! He’s the one person I can still count on, despite what happened a few years ago. He’s still my son and I’m still his father!”

BRENTON CYRUS
“You really believe that?!”

FRANK HART
“With all my Heart!”

I heard enough, it was time for Frank, to feel the heartbreak me and my mother Jada felt the day he faked his own death and started a new career in Japan.

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Tell me dad, how does it feel to have your heart ripped out of your chest?”

Frank’s face was priceless.

FRANK HART
“Robbie? What …. What’s all this about?”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Surprised?”

Brenton was smirking at his plan coming together

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“You should have done us all a favor and stayed in Japan.”

FRANK HART
“You can’t be serious?! You can’t actually be siding with Brenton?”

BRENTON CYRUS
“The kid’s banking on greatness. Just like Nick did”

FRANK HART
“You wanna end up just like Nick? With a syringe filled with Dope strapped to your arm?”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Sorry dad, I can’t talk anymore, I got a funeral to plan … again”

I made sure the booties were secure over my shoes, then walked away from Frank, but stopped in front of Tails

Brenton did the same, but he hooked up the battery, as Frank Hart dropped his head low, giving up all hope. That sight made everything Brenton and I planned worth every cent

Brenton hooked the clips back on to Frank, connecting the other ends to the fresh battery. His screams were the ones of someone begging to be killed. I walked over to Tails, the one person in the room we didn’t need alive. I kicked his chair back and placed the wet rag over his face.

I reached for the hose and this time made sure Tails wouldn’t be getting any breaths

I followed Brenton down the concrete stairs.

Bodies were all over the place. No big deal. Lots of squatters in the area. Philly streets had three-story buildings occupied by at least three hundred squatters. Violent evictions where squatters battled with the police. There had been enough drug raids where the police had seized cocaine, or the ephedrine trafficking network, this might be seen as an extension of their killing spree. This bloodbath would get added to some list at some point.

Brenton looked around.

BRENTON CYRUS
“Is one of the bodies missing?”

I took a look

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“You think one of them got up and walked out of here?”

BRENTON CYRUS
“There was a body there. On the stairs. I stepped over the body.”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Knowing Rico, he kicked it off the landing just to watch it fall.”

I stood next to Brenton

Brenton was fixed on that spot where he said a body had been.

Something wasn’t adding up.

He didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to see the numbers weren’t adding up.

BRENTON CYRUS
“Rico said they had taken out five hostiles. And four were left.”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Two were still breathing when we got here.”

They walked, counted the dead.

Five and four.

Nine.

Only eight bodies.

Robbie pulled out his gun, on full alert.

Brenton had already done the same.

BRENTON CYRUS
“This could fuck up everything we’ve been trying so hard to put together! Last thing we need is someone tweeting about are surprise”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Not to mention, if word of this gets back to my mother.”

Brenton pointed.
BRENTON CYRUS
“Blood trail. Hard to see in this darkness.”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“No footprints in the blood. We came that way. One of us would’ve stepped in the trail.”

BRENTON CYRUS
“They had to have moved after we came.”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“When all of us were up top, one of the dead got up and walked away.”

BRENTON CYRUS
“You see the directional pattern of the blood, right?”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Elongated. Tail the opposite direction from where we were.”

BRENTON CYRUS
“The pattern of escape.”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“Drops are close. Some overlapping drops.”

BRENTON CYRUS
“Somebody staggered out of here. Wounded and barely able to walk.”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“If one of them made it out of here, they won’t make it far.”

BRENTON CYRUS
“A dying kid staggering out of here, not the ideal situation.”

I nodded, then walked to the others. Made sure they were all dead

BRENTON CYRUS
“Rico can’t do a damn thing right!”

♥ ROBBIE HART ♥
“If you want something done right . . .”

Brenton marched on, headed out of the building.

I stayed behind.

I reloaded my weapon, double-checked the area, tried to track the blood trail. I ended up at a door that led out toward the colorful buildings, those buildings just beyond the corner bar, the last safe tourist spot in the area. But there were side streets that led deeper into the heart of the dark side of the city of brotherly love.

I took a breath, the inside of the warehouse reeking like piss.

I stared in the direction of the busloads of naïve tourists.

No police.

No sirens.

No one screaming they had seen a bloodied, half-dead kid staggering their way.

Someone had risen from the dead.

Just like Brenton himself had done

I turned around. The dead remained limp and scattered at his feet.

I counted the bodies in the piss-smelling, charred room. The number hadn’t changed.

Putting my weapon away, I walked to the smutty wall.

And with my gloved finger I scribbled four words

Succession is built from Blood

♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥
♥ CORRECTING AN INJUSTICE! ♥
♥ ROBBIE HART’S EDITION ♥
♥ The Shoot ♥
♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥ - - - ♥

Everyone’s favorite hero is back at the top of the company. Brandon corrected the injustice that was dealt to him, and he did it at my expense.

And he dedicated it to his late brother

He dedicated a win where he had America’s favorite whore drive a steel chair into my skull, not once but twice! In short Brandon dedicated a gang beating to his dead brother!

And each and every one of you cheered and cried right along with him.

Fucking Bunch of bitches

Pissed? I’m far from it, what happened at Violent Impulse was a damn shame, what’s even worse? I can’t even put the full blame on Brandon. Sure it’s his fault that I’m not standing here as the World Champion, sure it was his bitch who aided him in taking me out.

But what’s been on my mind for the last week and a half is where the fuck was the rest of the Succession? Where was Brenton? The man who was supposed to be in my corner was nowhere to be found! I killed my own father to make sure something like this wouldn’t happen!

Starting at Battle Grounds, things are gonna change under the Succession umbrella. I can literally rant and rave for hours about the bitch move Brandon pulled, or about how Brenton Cyrus left me to fend for myself. But life moves on.

So congrats, Brandon. As much as I hate to say it, you’re the new IWF World Champion. Give me a month.

I swear I’ll be wearing it again

Steel Angel, the man who caught the eye of every fan and every person on the board of directors with his win streak. He has the whole world talking about him, expect me. You've won some matches, you've gotten your name up the card, and you and Voss stole the show at Violent Impulse. However, for all that you've done...what have you accomplished? The belt you were carrying around was nice, but it’s really nothing more than a rinky dinky title that no one cares about except the low carders who would be nothing more than feeder fish to guys like myself. I won the IWF Championship 6 matches in my career, while you seemed like you were destined to stay in the New Blood Division!

Unfortunately, Steel, I'm not one of the mid-carders you've had your way with lately, so I won't be the easy meat you've enjoyed thus far in IWF. I am untouchable by the likes of you. Now, let me clarify that a bit further, so as not to be misunderstood by those of you who were educated somewhere other than Harvard. By "untouchable", I refer to the chasm of disparity between my level of ability in the ring compared to that of those I face in competition. It is vast. You may not want to admit it to yourself Steel, but you know deep down -if you're half as intelligent as you've made yourself out to be, and have paid any attention whatsoever- that when you step in the ring with me, you're not only going to be stepping in the ring with an opponent who has run roughshod over the best of the best, you're going to be stepping in the ring with the very best this business has ever, or will ever see. Barnone. Now, I hope you kept up, Steel, because that was in no way a shot at you or your ability. It was a simple statement of fact.

It literally makes no difference what you've done, who you've faced, or what experiences you've had in this business. You've never seen, done, or experienced anything that will have prepared you for me, motherfucker, and that's an Absolute Promise. I'm the Pretty Boy Assassin, and I've been beating better people than you since I first stepped into a wrestling ring. Come Battle Grounds, Steel, the only thing that's going to stop me from stomping two new holes in your ass is if you blow the fucking ring up before the event. That's the only way you don't get Absolutely F.U.B.A.R. in my ring at the end of the week.

If I say I'm going to do something, it is solidly grounded in what most people refer to as 'fact'. In most cases, it's also firmly implanted in history. What that means, Steel, is that if I say I'm going to make you tap right the fuck out, the fact that I can do such a thing has been documented. Asked VVR if you can find him. Me saying that I'm vastly superior to you is in no way a discredit to your ability in the ring, either. I just know how good I am, and I've seen how good you are

Have there been bumps in my road? Hell, the screw job from Brandon is very Important for you to take notice of. It was the only one-on-one match I've lost. What does that mean? That means no one's been able to pin me, make me submit, or otherwise defeat me. Except me.

That's how good you have to be to beat me, Steel. As good as me. And you, just like every other jumped-up jackass in IWF, simply are not. You may think that I get by on something other than preparation and hard work to be as good as I am, Steel, but as you'll find out at Battle Grounds, no one out works me. Not in the gym, and not in my ring.

You got the whole world buzzing about you, but all I see is nothing more than another standard wrestler, when you strip away all the easy wins, and the bullshit hype what you have left is another Standard superstar. You're just another 'regular' guy. You beat on the middle ranks of IWF's roster for a month and a half, like a regular guy

Who am I?

I'm the guy everyone else wants to be. The guy everyone wants to beat. I'm the guy everyone has been setting their sights on for years, because whether I possess a title belt or not, I'm the measuring stick. I'm the mark by which all you other motherfuckers are weighed, measured, and found wanting. And at Battle Grounds, I'm going to make that point with an intimately crystalline clarity, all over your face. Doubt me? Fine, but you shouldn't. Not even a little. When I tell you that your arrogance is second in this match to only mine, the difference being that my arrogance is deserved- is going to earn you a beat-down of biblical proportions, or that I'm going to tear your budding career in IWF to pieces and force-feed you your own regret covered in a scintillating gravy of your own blood and other bodily fluids, you should take that shit seriously. Why, you ask?

I've done worse shit to better people for less reason.

You will be, as you are in nearly every other respect, no different from any of the others. And don't take that, or any of the other things I've said about you as a lack of respect, Steel. I wouldn't be expending so much breath about you if I didn't realize the threat you represent. One of my strengths over the course of my short career has been the ability to properly assess the capabilities of those I face. So, don't doubt that I know what you can do in the ring. It's not unimpressive. Be that as it may, I know that what I regularly produce in the ring surpasses your best effort, and not by a little. By a lot.

I see this opportunity this situation presents. It is this kind of opportunity, this kind of spotlight that has always driven me. I thrive on being in the spotlight, Steel. It is, no-shit, the next best thing to sex. I'm going to take pride in sending you on a new streak, a losing one!

Add Syco as the ref, and I got a can’t lose situation!

Go ahead, bring that dry-as-a-desert and watching-paint-dry-boring promo you're filming, and tell my why and how you're going to beat me. Just be aware that every word you say to that effect is complete and utter horse shit, and I'm going to feed each and every one of them to you at Battle Grounds

Hope you're hungry, motherfucker.