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The Masterplan
Topic Started: Jan 4 2018, 07:45 PM (158 Views)
Terry McKenna
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MANCHESTER, ENGLAND
DECEMBER 28, 2017


A loud high-pitched noise rung throughout his ears as Terry Mckenna stumbled through the entrance curtain, clinging on to everything in sight in order to remain upright. As Terry struggled to regain his bearings, a stagehand was yelling at him to move out of the way so the Main Event could go on, but Terry simply couldn't understand what he was saying. Not just understand him, he could barely hear him. The man's deep voice was muffled and muted, and though he stood only a few feet away from him, sounded very distant. Slowly, he raised his head at the man - or men, as there suddenly became two of them. Nodding, though he didn't particularly know why, Terry slowly descended down the three small steps. On any given week, it was something he done without even thinking about it. Right now, however, those three steps felt like three thousand. Traversing down Mount Everest felt like a simpler task right now.

After successfully tackling the tricky steps, Terry stumbled away and headed towards the wall. The ringing in his ears intensified, and his vision became blurred. The well-lit backstage area suddenly became a shade of grey. Blinking, several times, Terry tried to restore his vision, but it felt as if with every blink, it got worse. His head felt like it was swimming, swaying from one side to the other. Bringing his hands up to his head in an attempt to suppress the migraine-like pain that had abruptly came over him, Terry noticed the sudden clamminess feeling on his hands. His head no longer felt like his swimming but as if he was drowning, like someone had plunged him into a tank of water and left him there. He looked down at his hands but the only thing that caught his attention was a small black dot, which increased with each level of concentration. His entire body became numb, as if he had just gone to war, though in a manner of speaking he just had. Pressing his hand against the wall, he slowly attempted to walk, but his legs remained rooted to the spot. He reached out to grab a hold of the black production box in front of him but his hands seemed to go right through it. Complete darkness had clouded his vision and-

He didn't feel a hit, he didn't feel anything at all other than a falling sensation. A constant one at that, as if he had slipped into the abyss. The room had disappeared, and his fall into the black hole was nauseating. At least, that's how he imagined it would be. But the fact of the matter was that Terry couldn't feel anything. Everything had stopped. The world had slipped into darkness and his thoughts were his only companion.

He was alone.

Ainsley was off in Mexico; Ana, Bronx, COBA, Kayla were all in America somewhere. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. His big moment - he was finally getting his career back on track - and there wasn't a single friend in the business here to celebrate with him. Had he really burned that many bridges?

All he had to do was beat Quinn Castillo, something he knew he was capable of doing, and he'll be one step away from perhaps the biggest crowning achievement in his career thus far. Quinn was tough, but still new to the business; he knew he could win based on experience alone. The slightest of slip up from her and he'll have a gateway to victory. He just had to be careful, make sure he doesn't get too close to Castillo or she could catch him off guard, strike him with a-

Wait, had the match happened already?

Terry seemed to remember... remember taking a beating. Punch after punch, kick after kick - it was an onslaught. With every knee she struck him with, he seemed to remember brief phases of nothingness, almost as if they were short episodes of... whatever this was. Had it been that bad? Was he really outmatched against her?

Did... did he lose?

That would explain the momentary lapses in memory he had. It would explain... this. He was so sure of a victory, that the thought of losing had never really crossed his mind. But the last thing he remembered was getting kneed in the face and then, darkness. Nothing else. There weren't any fans cheering his name, the referee never raised his arm; it wasn't supposed to happen like this. None of it. All he wanted to do was get his career back on track by returning to the place that made him a household name, but it all got out of hand too quickly. Attacking Craig, it wasn't something he planned with foresight - he acted out of anger. The mess that he had left the British scene in, someone had to step up and get it back to where it once was. Terry was that person. Meant to be, anway.

The crowd were supposed to welcome him back. They were supposed to accept his motives, encourage him and cheer him as he became the sole reason for the British scene's revival. It was all meant to begin today: beat Quinn Castillo and put an end to Holly Chainsaw. It was all too perfect. He could picture it now, the crowd screaming his name, "Terry... Terry... Terry--"

The darkness had slowly started to fade out, and a bright light had pierced his retina. The ringing sound in his ears had hastily returned, his vision disorientated, and what little he could make out of the situation, he was now in an unfamiliar room. None of it made sense, and for whatever reason, he couldn't quite help but think he was elevated off the ground.

"Terry?"

"Ainsley..."

"It's not Ainsley, it's Gem--"

"Did we do it?"

The soft, dulcet tone of the Midlands belonged to Terry's current protege, Gemma King. He had invited her to the show, partly because he wanted her to get the feel for what it was like being backstage at a big event, but mainly because with everyone away, he just wanted someone to hang with. Though Terry had seemingly forgotten that.

"Babe, did we do it?"

She stood there, looking down at her mentor, judging what the best course of action was to take. Given his current state, the fewer words the better.

"Yes."

It pained him to do so, but Terry reached out and grabbed her hand. He lifted his head up slightly and scanned the room, trying his best to understand the situation. His eyes darted from who he believed to be Ainsley to the man shining a light into his pupils. A sudden compression in his left arm caused him to wither in pain, and as he glanced over to his left, he noticed this blood pressure was being monitored. Terry was in a state of confusion, and torn as to whether or not he should be worried. He lowered his head flat onto the bench he was lying on and looked in 'Ainsley's' direction.

"You sure?"
Edited by Terry McKenna, Jan 8 2018, 11:41 AM.
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