FINISHED

The camera flickers on to show an office. It is nicely kempt and seems to be in perfect order. A large picture of Porter Macleod hangs behind a mahogany colored desk. A leather swivel chair is turned with the back facing the camera. The camera zooms in on the chair and you hear clapping. The chair slowly turns to show Kaos sitting comfortably in it. He is clapping his hands and has a look of amusement upon his face. A large bandage covers his arm where he had bladed himself. He stops clapping and places his hands together in front of his face, the fingertips touching the corresponding fingers on each hand. His elbows are seated firmly on the arm rests. He concentrates on the camera and taps his index fingers together. Suddenly, he drops his hands into his lap and a smile crosses his lips.

He sits forward onto the edge of the seat, resting his arms on the desk. He looks over at a jet black computer sitting to one side of the desk. He puts his hand on the screen and gently pushes it off the edge of the desk. It clatters to the ground and you see the screen shatter on impact. Kaos looks at the broken piece of machinery and thinks for a moment. He moves his arm over the desk knocking all of the papers and adornments to the floor. He leaves nothing upon the desk. He puts his arms firmly on the desktop, tapping his fingers on it. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. His brow furls and he opens his mouth again.

“Razor Blade Willie? Porter may I inquire what the fuck did your parents due to you when you were little? I am tired of your stupid ass jokes. I am tired of boy-o this and lad that. I just don’t see why you think calling someone Count Chocula is amusing by any standards. You are nothing more than your stereotypical drunk Scotsman. I mean you are so fucking stupid! I don’t even understand how you would obtain such a pristine job of being the General Manger of a show. You don’t even know where you are from. You claim to be from Scotland, yet you say you are the pride of the “Emerald Isle” which from my knowledge is Ireland.’

Kaos shakes his head and sits back into the chair. He begins to open the drawers of the desk, pulling them far enough out to where they fall out of the desk to the floor. He pushes himself back in the chair, to where he is a slight distance from the desk. He places one of his feet on the edge of the desk and pushes it over. It topples over landing with a loud crash. Kaos sits back into the chair, pushing his hair from his face. He stares into the florescent light fixtures on the ceiling for a moment and begins to speak once more.

“You think I do all of this for attention, huh Porter? You think I want to be in the spotlight and am nothing more than a temper mental cutter? I am tired of all this fallacies. I am the way I am because that is the way I am. It is not because I want attention or do not know how do deal with lives downfalls. I will show you that even though you claim to be a veteran, you are out of your league. Just because you have been around longer than I does not mean a damn thing. I have seen more in my few years upon this world than you have or will ever see. I will show just a sample of the Hell I live daily. You will regret ever dealing with me Macleod. You have dug your own grave and are handing me the shovel. You are done, Scotsman. Your annoying voice and your stupid dialect will be nothing more than a distant memory after tomorrow. People will not remember your legacy, but remember you are the man that allowed me to achieve a chance to be one of the greats.”

Kaos places his hands on the armrests and pushes himself up out of the chair. He topples the chair over onto the desk. He begins to kick the materials that he has strewn about the office onto the fallen desk. Once everything seems to be in a pile he pulls out a small can of something from his pocket and begins to spray it over the different materials. He then pulls out a matchbook and ignites a match, dropping it onto the pile. It goes up in flames that send shadows dancing all over the room. Kaos watches as the blaze continues. A huge smile twists his lips and he begins to laugh. He turns to look at the portrait of Porter that hangs on the wall. He reaches up and pulls it down from the wall. He holds it in his hands, looking down at it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a razor blade.

“Porter, when will you learn that your mouth is too big? You cannot back up the smack talk. I am not some drunk in a bar looking for a simple fight. I am looking for blood. I am looking for destruction. I am looking for chaos.”

Kaos takes the blade and begins to chop at the portrait. Within seconds the portrait is torn beyond recognition. He turns back towards the fire and drops it into the blaze. It catches fire and begins to wither away. Kaos watches as the materials darken and become ash. Suddenly, the sprinklers come on in the office, dousing the flame. Kaos stands watching the fire grow smaller. His hair becomes soaked, matting to his face. The water runs down his chest and all over his body. The smile never leaves his face. When the fire is completely out he walks through the ashes and partially burned materials to a door. He places his hand on the door and speaks, not looking at the camera.

“We all decide our paths, Porter. We all make our own destinies. You have decided to include me in your path, which is more than you can handle. Pack your bags you bastard, your time here is finished.”

Kaos opens the door and steps through it. The camera follows him out. As he shuts the door you see a metal plate with “GM Porter Macleod” on it. Kaos looks at the plate and rips it from the door, bending it and tossing it aside. He reaches over and picks up a can of spray paint. He begins to write something on the door. The camera focuses on him. He stops and admires what he has written. He tosses the paint can down and turns walking down the hallway. He places his hands in his pockets and begins to whistle as he walks.

The camera panes around to the door and zooms out to show what Kaos has written. In black paint is “Kaos—WWA Champion.” The camera fades with the writing still in focus. The screen goes black as Kaos’s final words to Porter echo; “….your time here is finished.”