Post by Alexander Raven on Aug 10, 2023 6:58:40 GMT -5
Fight or Flight
“Funny how I was always right, isn’t it Alexander?”
Dead men tell far too many tales. It was a nice change at least, that this one had his father’s voice. He was growing sick of Leon’s gloating. His father was a familiar venom. A familiar poison. A familiar burnt visage. Against the better judgment of all involved, the irate Alexander had been granted access to the aircraft carrier. Money had a way of talking, and the greasing of palms with quips of wanting to be familiar with the environment. Well, even the most untrusting of seafarers could be swung to see greener pastures.
“A failure, Alexander. You are nothing but a failure. A failure as a son, a failure as a husband. A failure in everything. But of all things. A complete and utter failure of a wrestler. Useless mongrel.”
Against even greater judgment, he had been allowed to sit inside one of the jet fighters that were currently strapped to the deck, as he waited for the pilot. He loved the adrenaline, and so they were going to go for a flight. Sitting in there was against the rules, but, again. Nothing money couldn’t fix. However, the weather was beginning to prove a little bit unsafe. The waters of Bermuda were already thrashing violently beneath the ship. Alex was currently strapped into the seat, under the careful watch of one of the aircraft technicians that was working nearby. A two person jet, with the burnt visage of his father looming in the rear seat. Half of his face peeled away with eternal burns. The red flesh beneath with a seared quality to it.
“Nobody is more cruel to me than I am Vater.”
The echoing guffaw bounced around the interior. Forever a part of his mind.
“You’re nicer than Leon at least.”
The smile, the all too real feeling of the hands around his throat. The tightening of his breathing. His mind was cruel indeed. The ocean bucked beneath the carrier, and his stomach shifted. His Opa had once told him of the nightmares he would give himself. That the world stretched up to swallow him whole on those ships. He knew he was safe, that the planes were safely locked to the ship.
“The depths threaten to suck you in, don’t they?”
The safety was a lie. Like everything, the safety was just to trick the mind. To make the insane feel safe. A slipped strap is all it took, and into the ocean they would plunge. All the weight in the world crushing them into the ocean itself. When the ship bucked, there was nothing to protect them. Into the ocean they would go. His Opa had taught him, that the fear wasn’t the rise. It was the inevitable crash. That the the coming of the world to meet the denier was the scary part. Death was what terrified that man who defied it.
Fire was the fear of the alcoholic.
He was more like his Opa. Afraid of death, but more so. The fear of losing consciousness. Of losing his existence. Of being nothing. The fear of the crushing nothingness.
“Those clouds look threatening don’t you think? Violent even.”
Alex’s eyes were fixated on the water that lay almost vertically below him. The buck of the waves. The technician was trying to signal something to him, covering his head as he slowly began to walk towards the jet Alex was in. Alex waved at him, and went to try and release the canopy. It wouldn’t go.
Momentary panic.
It was odd. There in the clouds, or rather, the space left by the clouds. Swirling dark grey masses leaving a perfect triangle gap. In fact, it was almost like the Triad itself. Swirls of cloud filling gaps, leaving others to exist.
“Even the gods hate you Alexander. Worthless mongrel.”
“Shut up old man. I’m sure even ghosts can burn.”
A snap of lightning. The urgency of the tech as he moved forward. His arms waving wildly, his yells muffled by the whipping wind and the boom of thunder. Then, in the centre of it all. Like the hand of god, a bolt of lighting cracks through the gap in the clouds. Ripping through the cloud Triad. The bolt hits too close. The world turning white.
Panic.
The canopy wouldn’t open. The lightning had struck the strapping. Flames ripped up wildly. There was a sudden surge of activity. The world beneath him jerking violently. Stalwart at the best of times, the panic filled him. His chest heaving with heavy breathing. His hand frantically searching for the ejection lever. Desperately attempting to push the canopy open. The crews shouts were being drowned by the sudden heavy thunderstorm. He could feel the flames. He couldn’t see them anymore, but he could feel them.
A sudden snap, the twang of metal and cloth breaking. The ship heaved, the plane bucked. And then the ocean came up to greet him. Plunging directly towards the water. Plunging into the swirling depths below. And then he saw it. The Invisible Hands, dragging him with their insidious chains into the depths. His hand gripped the lever, and he yanked. The ship bucked, smacking the plane violently askew as the canopy blasted open.
He shot into the air, the chair blasting him off away from the carrier. The parachute launched, the seat ejected him. Shot off into the swirling waters. The last thing he saw. The hands sliding back into the water depths. Disappearing into a reflection. A reflection of that Triad in the sky.
The Invisible Hands were real, and the Triad their master.
And then he slipped into unconsciousness, lost to the waters and their unforgiving masters.
Missing in Action
The following footage was sent to Marcus Welsh via text message from an unknown number.
All evidence points to the footage being legitimate.
We are unable to accurately date when this footage was captured.
All efforts are being made to ascertain the whereabouts and safety of Alexander Raven.
The following may be distressing to the two friends that Alexander Raven has.
You have been warned.
“Not even the gods themselves could stop me.”
Alexander Raven was laying in what appeared to be a small life raft. His head was banged up, blood dribbling from a somewhat nasty gash. The waters were thrashing violently, the life raft bucking vigorously in the water. It seemed a poor time to be recording himself.
“Whilst I bob away on the ocean, with no concept of when someone… or anyone for that matter, will come for me. I figure I might as well dedicate some time to something other than my own potential mortality. Considering my shortcomings so far, it might be a relief for those if I were to simply. Disappear beneath the waves. Isn’t that right Welsh?”
He coughed, shivering slightly in the freezing cold. His head was soaking wet, hair and beard plastered to his face. The life jacket pushed up tight around his neck. Despite it all, he didn’t seem too concerned. Perhaps shock.
“The hypocrite herself. Confidently mouthy when successful. Unapologetic to the descent of madness in others. Hypocrite Handbasket. A tough one to be sure, but toughness changes nothing. A paranoid little worm, who thinks it appropriate to rattle on about others, whilst ignore their own missteps. You may take it in stride, but not all of us are allowed that freedom. For failure in my house was met with the bare-fisted beating of an angry, alcoholic boxer. For to be a step behind was to be left black and blue on it too.”
The storm cracks like a thousand whips. The air filled with bolts of lightning, the rumble of thunder almost constant.
Distraction was the name of the game.
“I don’t care for sympathy. I don’t need it. My father was who he was, and he paid the price. We all pay the price for our avarice. Our lust. Our rage. Our greed. We all pay in the end Hypocrite. What you fail to comprehend, is that you do not get to comment on the collapse of others minds. You do not get to comment on the way one deals with their pain. You stick your nose out, expect to get it fucking ripped off. But hey. You’re just ‘lampshadin’, isn’t that right?”
“Unfortunately Hypocrite. You pointed something out that has become horrifically relevant. My obsession costs me, over and over. My obsession with the runty scrapper cost me twice. My obsession with your ‘Da’, cost me in Peru. Logic would demand that I bleed you, to pay the debt I now feel owed. But, you’re right. Obsession is my vice. So let us shift our gaze. To dear sweet Penelope.”
There was a flicker of light in the distance.
“Penelope my dear. I don’t disdain you, like I do so many of the others. In fact, I quite appreciate what you do. Unfortunately, I do not agree with your attitude. I don’t like that you, like so many others, feel the need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Ramblings of a team culture is all that I hear. Knox talks about how you are the only real team. How unfortunate it will be, when the bell tolls. But are you really a team player, Penelope? I mean, they’ve cost you. You need a win, but you need to root for the failure of another. I wonder, do you let your personal glory fade without an offer of freedom? I wouldn’t think so, Penelope. I would think, you stand to gain so much more by denying the others. By ascending you become so much more. Defend not the quarreling of the lessers. Be the greater. Can you do it? Or are we all destined to be rejects, bound to the fates of those who would spit upon us were it worth anything to them.”
The light was speeding towards him. Bouncing roughly on the waves. A saviour perhaps? Solace? He lifted himself up, pulling free an emergency flare. Waving it in the air. A smile spreading across his face. The distraction had done its distracting.
“We are all just pawns in the game of gods, Penelope. I wonder. Will any of us break free?”
A smile. A glimpse beneath the intensity.
Humanity.
A Real Life Ghost
Alex waved the flare above his head. The boat was barreling towards him. Truth be told, he thought this was the end. Then it struck him. Was this just another trick of the gods? The Invisible Hands that sought to drown him deep beneath the waves. Flames had been his kingdom, it would be only fitting to drown beneath the waters. His father’s head bobbed just in front of him, sticking above the water’s surface.
“Who would want to save you? They’d all rub their palms together in happiness if you stayed lost Alexander.”
The thought had occured to him also. Would Welsh have really sent anyone to find him? To find him drifting on the ocean. The only people in the world that had ever cared for him, he’d cut free or they were dead. Luna would have searched, but they hadn’t spoke in weeks. Not since she failed to tell him the truth. James by association, also cut free. No, this was strange.
Who would be searching stormy waters in the middle of the Bermuda?
As the search boat pulled up towards him, he noticed only one person on board. They were wrapped up heavily in a thick coat. Their face obscurred behind the high collar and a low draping hat. They stepped away, holding their hand out. Alex floudered around and found a rope in his survival kit. The one solace in having being fully kitted out when he was forcibly ejected from the fighter jet. He threw the rope, and the person pulled tightly. Dragging him in towards the rescue boat.
The skies roared in agony, lightning smashing into the water all around them. The world itself seemed to be threatening to split. He could see it still. Looming like a beacon. The Triad in the clouds. A bizarre space in the torrent of black.
He lurched forward and was pulled from the life raft. He thudded to the floor of the boat roughly. His hand clasped around the forearm of the man who had come to rescue him. He looked up, the wind whirling. It whipped the mans hat from his head, his collar blowing back.
Alex’s eyes widened. His heart boomed in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. He narrowed his eyes, and shook his head in disbelief. The person just smiled back, no warmth in it.
“Leon?”
“Hello bird boy. Lets get you home, shall we?”
It couldn’t be. He was dreaming. Leon was dead. Hell, maybe Alex himself was dead. This couldn’t be real. His heart hammered, and his breathing picked up. Rapid breathing. His vision clouded, darkness creeping in. He tilted backwards as his conscious begin to slip away.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
“Funny how I was always right, isn’t it Alexander?”
Dead men tell far too many tales. It was a nice change at least, that this one had his father’s voice. He was growing sick of Leon’s gloating. His father was a familiar venom. A familiar poison. A familiar burnt visage. Against the better judgment of all involved, the irate Alexander had been granted access to the aircraft carrier. Money had a way of talking, and the greasing of palms with quips of wanting to be familiar with the environment. Well, even the most untrusting of seafarers could be swung to see greener pastures.
“A failure, Alexander. You are nothing but a failure. A failure as a son, a failure as a husband. A failure in everything. But of all things. A complete and utter failure of a wrestler. Useless mongrel.”
Against even greater judgment, he had been allowed to sit inside one of the jet fighters that were currently strapped to the deck, as he waited for the pilot. He loved the adrenaline, and so they were going to go for a flight. Sitting in there was against the rules, but, again. Nothing money couldn’t fix. However, the weather was beginning to prove a little bit unsafe. The waters of Bermuda were already thrashing violently beneath the ship. Alex was currently strapped into the seat, under the careful watch of one of the aircraft technicians that was working nearby. A two person jet, with the burnt visage of his father looming in the rear seat. Half of his face peeled away with eternal burns. The red flesh beneath with a seared quality to it.
“Nobody is more cruel to me than I am Vater.”
The echoing guffaw bounced around the interior. Forever a part of his mind.
“You’re nicer than Leon at least.”
The smile, the all too real feeling of the hands around his throat. The tightening of his breathing. His mind was cruel indeed. The ocean bucked beneath the carrier, and his stomach shifted. His Opa had once told him of the nightmares he would give himself. That the world stretched up to swallow him whole on those ships. He knew he was safe, that the planes were safely locked to the ship.
“The depths threaten to suck you in, don’t they?”
The safety was a lie. Like everything, the safety was just to trick the mind. To make the insane feel safe. A slipped strap is all it took, and into the ocean they would plunge. All the weight in the world crushing them into the ocean itself. When the ship bucked, there was nothing to protect them. Into the ocean they would go. His Opa had taught him, that the fear wasn’t the rise. It was the inevitable crash. That the the coming of the world to meet the denier was the scary part. Death was what terrified that man who defied it.
Fire was the fear of the alcoholic.
He was more like his Opa. Afraid of death, but more so. The fear of losing consciousness. Of losing his existence. Of being nothing. The fear of the crushing nothingness.
“Those clouds look threatening don’t you think? Violent even.”
Alex’s eyes were fixated on the water that lay almost vertically below him. The buck of the waves. The technician was trying to signal something to him, covering his head as he slowly began to walk towards the jet Alex was in. Alex waved at him, and went to try and release the canopy. It wouldn’t go.
Momentary panic.
It was odd. There in the clouds, or rather, the space left by the clouds. Swirling dark grey masses leaving a perfect triangle gap. In fact, it was almost like the Triad itself. Swirls of cloud filling gaps, leaving others to exist.
“Even the gods hate you Alexander. Worthless mongrel.”
“Shut up old man. I’m sure even ghosts can burn.”
A snap of lightning. The urgency of the tech as he moved forward. His arms waving wildly, his yells muffled by the whipping wind and the boom of thunder. Then, in the centre of it all. Like the hand of god, a bolt of lighting cracks through the gap in the clouds. Ripping through the cloud Triad. The bolt hits too close. The world turning white.
Panic.
The canopy wouldn’t open. The lightning had struck the strapping. Flames ripped up wildly. There was a sudden surge of activity. The world beneath him jerking violently. Stalwart at the best of times, the panic filled him. His chest heaving with heavy breathing. His hand frantically searching for the ejection lever. Desperately attempting to push the canopy open. The crews shouts were being drowned by the sudden heavy thunderstorm. He could feel the flames. He couldn’t see them anymore, but he could feel them.
A sudden snap, the twang of metal and cloth breaking. The ship heaved, the plane bucked. And then the ocean came up to greet him. Plunging directly towards the water. Plunging into the swirling depths below. And then he saw it. The Invisible Hands, dragging him with their insidious chains into the depths. His hand gripped the lever, and he yanked. The ship bucked, smacking the plane violently askew as the canopy blasted open.
He shot into the air, the chair blasting him off away from the carrier. The parachute launched, the seat ejected him. Shot off into the swirling waters. The last thing he saw. The hands sliding back into the water depths. Disappearing into a reflection. A reflection of that Triad in the sky.
The Invisible Hands were real, and the Triad their master.
And then he slipped into unconsciousness, lost to the waters and their unforgiving masters.
Missing in Action
The following footage was sent to Marcus Welsh via text message from an unknown number.
All evidence points to the footage being legitimate.
We are unable to accurately date when this footage was captured.
All efforts are being made to ascertain the whereabouts and safety of Alexander Raven.
The following may be distressing to the two friends that Alexander Raven has.
You have been warned.
“Not even the gods themselves could stop me.”
Alexander Raven was laying in what appeared to be a small life raft. His head was banged up, blood dribbling from a somewhat nasty gash. The waters were thrashing violently, the life raft bucking vigorously in the water. It seemed a poor time to be recording himself.
“Whilst I bob away on the ocean, with no concept of when someone… or anyone for that matter, will come for me. I figure I might as well dedicate some time to something other than my own potential mortality. Considering my shortcomings so far, it might be a relief for those if I were to simply. Disappear beneath the waves. Isn’t that right Welsh?”
He coughed, shivering slightly in the freezing cold. His head was soaking wet, hair and beard plastered to his face. The life jacket pushed up tight around his neck. Despite it all, he didn’t seem too concerned. Perhaps shock.
“The hypocrite herself. Confidently mouthy when successful. Unapologetic to the descent of madness in others. Hypocrite Handbasket. A tough one to be sure, but toughness changes nothing. A paranoid little worm, who thinks it appropriate to rattle on about others, whilst ignore their own missteps. You may take it in stride, but not all of us are allowed that freedom. For failure in my house was met with the bare-fisted beating of an angry, alcoholic boxer. For to be a step behind was to be left black and blue on it too.”
The storm cracks like a thousand whips. The air filled with bolts of lightning, the rumble of thunder almost constant.
Distraction was the name of the game.
“I don’t care for sympathy. I don’t need it. My father was who he was, and he paid the price. We all pay the price for our avarice. Our lust. Our rage. Our greed. We all pay in the end Hypocrite. What you fail to comprehend, is that you do not get to comment on the collapse of others minds. You do not get to comment on the way one deals with their pain. You stick your nose out, expect to get it fucking ripped off. But hey. You’re just ‘lampshadin’, isn’t that right?”
“Unfortunately Hypocrite. You pointed something out that has become horrifically relevant. My obsession costs me, over and over. My obsession with the runty scrapper cost me twice. My obsession with your ‘Da’, cost me in Peru. Logic would demand that I bleed you, to pay the debt I now feel owed. But, you’re right. Obsession is my vice. So let us shift our gaze. To dear sweet Penelope.”
There was a flicker of light in the distance.
“Penelope my dear. I don’t disdain you, like I do so many of the others. In fact, I quite appreciate what you do. Unfortunately, I do not agree with your attitude. I don’t like that you, like so many others, feel the need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Ramblings of a team culture is all that I hear. Knox talks about how you are the only real team. How unfortunate it will be, when the bell tolls. But are you really a team player, Penelope? I mean, they’ve cost you. You need a win, but you need to root for the failure of another. I wonder, do you let your personal glory fade without an offer of freedom? I wouldn’t think so, Penelope. I would think, you stand to gain so much more by denying the others. By ascending you become so much more. Defend not the quarreling of the lessers. Be the greater. Can you do it? Or are we all destined to be rejects, bound to the fates of those who would spit upon us were it worth anything to them.”
The light was speeding towards him. Bouncing roughly on the waves. A saviour perhaps? Solace? He lifted himself up, pulling free an emergency flare. Waving it in the air. A smile spreading across his face. The distraction had done its distracting.
“We are all just pawns in the game of gods, Penelope. I wonder. Will any of us break free?”
A smile. A glimpse beneath the intensity.
Humanity.
A Real Life Ghost
Alex waved the flare above his head. The boat was barreling towards him. Truth be told, he thought this was the end. Then it struck him. Was this just another trick of the gods? The Invisible Hands that sought to drown him deep beneath the waves. Flames had been his kingdom, it would be only fitting to drown beneath the waters. His father’s head bobbed just in front of him, sticking above the water’s surface.
“Who would want to save you? They’d all rub their palms together in happiness if you stayed lost Alexander.”
The thought had occured to him also. Would Welsh have really sent anyone to find him? To find him drifting on the ocean. The only people in the world that had ever cared for him, he’d cut free or they were dead. Luna would have searched, but they hadn’t spoke in weeks. Not since she failed to tell him the truth. James by association, also cut free. No, this was strange.
Who would be searching stormy waters in the middle of the Bermuda?
As the search boat pulled up towards him, he noticed only one person on board. They were wrapped up heavily in a thick coat. Their face obscurred behind the high collar and a low draping hat. They stepped away, holding their hand out. Alex floudered around and found a rope in his survival kit. The one solace in having being fully kitted out when he was forcibly ejected from the fighter jet. He threw the rope, and the person pulled tightly. Dragging him in towards the rescue boat.
The skies roared in agony, lightning smashing into the water all around them. The world itself seemed to be threatening to split. He could see it still. Looming like a beacon. The Triad in the clouds. A bizarre space in the torrent of black.
He lurched forward and was pulled from the life raft. He thudded to the floor of the boat roughly. His hand clasped around the forearm of the man who had come to rescue him. He looked up, the wind whirling. It whipped the mans hat from his head, his collar blowing back.
Alex’s eyes widened. His heart boomed in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. He narrowed his eyes, and shook his head in disbelief. The person just smiled back, no warmth in it.
“Leon?”
“Hello bird boy. Lets get you home, shall we?”
It couldn’t be. He was dreaming. Leon was dead. Hell, maybe Alex himself was dead. This couldn’t be real. His heart hammered, and his breathing picked up. Rapid breathing. His vision clouded, darkness creeping in. He tilted backwards as his conscious begin to slip away.
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
