Foreword

“The Devil is Real” an article by Frank D. Wilson

There have been various speculations and rumors as to the activities that took place in the quarantine camps set up for the victims of the Pyramid attack in the spring of 2004. Some have claimed that the detainees were subjected to horrific experiments by the government. Others believe that many were killed or unjustly incarcerated as a preemptive act to keep the public safe. The fact of the matter is that there is little evidence to support any theory as the information pertaining to the camps has been classified every since the project was terminated right before Christmas of 2004.

In recent weeks, the rise in street violence and organized crime associated with the reemergence of illegal fight clubs has lead to inquiries into the ethical practices taken in the aforementioned detentions. While the United States government has firmly stood by its initial statements that no wrongdoings took place while victims of the biological attack were in their custody, interesting questions continue to mount. Did federal agencies intentionally take advantage of a horrific incident in order to turn professional wrestlers into killing machines? Or did something go awry in the rehabilitation process to inadvertently transform these survivors into homicidal maniacs and set in motion a dangerous chain of events? Or maybe nothing happened.

In March of 2008, a man appeared on the television program “Personalities” hosted by a former

On a campaign trail three months later, Democratic Presidential Nominee, Hillary Clinton was attacked and seriously injured in Jonesboro, Arkansas when a masked perpetrator launched a fireball at her, seemingly from his bare hands. Due to the panic and mass hysteria, the secret service was unable to apprehend the attacker. One day later, a viral video emerged online from a radical terrorist group calling itself “Hell’s Army” taking full responsibility for the assassination attempt on Senator Clinton. The organization was lead by none other than Dion Brown. He now went by the pseudonym of “Blalok the Blazer” and proclaimed himself as the living incarnation of Satan.

Shortly after being inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States (and first Republican to take office in almost two decades), Mitt Romney officially named The Blazer as one of the country’s most wanted terrorists, only behind Saddam Hussein . Blalok the Blazer managed to elude detection by the many eyes of the feds and the reach of their long arms almost effortlessly. He took every opportunity he could to wreck havoc on and discredit those he felt were manipulating and controlling the unassuming citizens. In all, Dion Brown, Hell’s General, was behind close to one hundred bombings and arson attacks with a body count of nearly a thousand within the first six months of 2009. He showed no remorse and even took pride in his work. Many people in America and the world don’t believe in God or religion but now everyone believed in the devil.

As of this article, Blalok the Blazer remains at large and wanted by the FBI, ATF, CIA and Interpol. His whereabouts are unknown. However, he has been rumored to be hiding somewhere in the Mid-South area, possibly using an assumed identity.

“Hell Raiser”

The Church of the Morning Sun. November 2nd, 2009. 2:35 A.M.

A large duffel bag dropped to the ice-covered concrete pavement. A visibly exhausted Su Yung climbed down from the cab of the eighteen-wheeler from which she had hitched a ride. Things had not gone as expected for the Japanese-American warrior in the last days. She had barely escaped an onslaught from the psychopathic escaped mental patients known as The Asylum by the skin of her teeth. Fleeing the side of her employers, Picture Perfect had been her only option for survival. Their fate was unknown to her but she suspected the worst. The grizzled truck driver waved her farewell as she closed the door and picked up her belongings. He was completely oblivious to the fact that he had been aiding a wanted criminal, sharing conversation and passing the hours with a heartless killer. It was better that way.

The huge pentagram engraved on the brick wall of the entrance brightly illuminated the almost pitch black night. Su had definitely arrived at the right place. While living in Tokyo, she had read various reports from American news about the wrestler-turned-terrorist that had waged war against the government. Her simple admiration of The Blazer’s anarchist tactics soon developed into somewhat of an a fascination. Miss Yung read every publication printed about the new-age occultist, intrigued by his meticulous methods of combat and espionage. She knew that when the time was right she would return to the states and she planned to meet Blalok, either as an ally or a foe. It did not matter.

Su knocked on the door and waited. She was unsure if The Blazer would even allow her to enter. Two months earlier she had sent him a letter expressing her admiration of his works but doubted that he even read it. The door opened…

Unknown Location. North Memphis. 1:45 A.M

It had been just three months since Jason Richards left behind his monastery work and returned to the unforgiving and harsh street life. Everyday he prayed for forgiveness and hoped that his lord would guide him and protect him from those who desired his downfall. Many of his peers of the cloth thought him foolish for his decision to go about the sinful world on his own personal crusade, but Jason could not deny what he felt was his destiny. Evil lurked amongst the dreadful lands of Memphis and he had taken it upon himself to hunt down and destroy those working as agents for the dark side.

As he diligently searched through every possible lead via his own collected evidence and various databases across the internet in his almost decrepit apartment, Jason Richards’s mind wandered back to the incident that was the catalyst for his and many others in this once proud city turned living cesspool. He was only sixteen years old when the catastrophe at the Pyramid took place. He and his backyard wrestler friends had been surprisingly invited to attend the convention and would be working with the ring crew as well as be able to train with some of the veterans. This was the break that they had all been waiting for and nothing could ruin it. Seemingly…

Following Congress’ ban on professional wrestling, Jason decided to travel the country, something that he hoped would give him some insight into how different peoples and their cultures worked. Every since the attack, he had been haunted by reoccurring dreams, visions that he was convinced were messages from a higher power. By leaving his hometown and the painful memories associated with it, he could further search for his true mission in life. After a couple of years, his journey landed him in a quant rural town in Northern Wyoming where he studied the origins of Christianity, Buddhism and any other religion that would give him the answers he so desperately sought.

A short time after settling in to his new lifestyle, Jason heard the horrific news about the attack on Senator Clinton near Memphis. He watched in shock when a former colleague of his, Dion Brown took responsibility and blasphemed to the nation. With great sorrow, he left behind his life and relocated back to Memphis where he planned to subtly track Dion down while continuing his studies at a local Catholic church.

He had found something. Jason Richards shut off his computer and prepared himself to venture into the night. He had located a former wrestler and bodybuilder that now made a living as an illegal gambler. Pokerface had just recently been released from prison and was a known associate of the satanic terrorist, Blalok The Blazer. He knew that the key to uncovering the whereabouts of the evil cult leader more than likely lied within the information Pokerface could provide. He would soon pay him a much needed visit.

The Church of The Morning Sun. 3:39 A.M.

The Blazer poured two glasses of wine before taking a seat next to his impromptu guest. Su Yung reclined on the plush couch and took a sip of her drink. For the last hour, she and the notorious villain had been enjoying conversations ranging from their respective backgrounds to their favorite old school wrestling matches. She felt relieved that Blalok had accepted her into his church and given her shelter. He had indeed received the letter she had sent him and anticipated the chance to meet her in person. Plans had been in the works to recruit her to “Hell’s Army” so her surprise arrival was greatly welcomed.

Hell’s Army was The Blazer’s elite group of assassins that he had personally scouted and organized following his reemergence on the national scene. The most sinister and cold-blooded killers were under the employ of Blalok and were extremely efficient at their jobs. Besides the acknowledged criminals that belonged to his church, there were also police officers, lawyers, judges and politicians who silently kept a safety blanket over him. He was virtually untouchable. Not to mention almost literally untouchable.

Just like most of the others effected by the mystery chemicals from the 9/13 attack, Dion Brown soon began to realize that his body was developing enhanced attributes. Six weeks after being released from the hospital, he accidentally cut his hand while cooking. Within seconds, the wound resealed itself. This happened time after time to the point that Dion would sometimes spend hours on end inflicting injuries on himself just to watch the healing process. Things were taken to a horrifying level, of course once he was placed in the government-run quarantine camp. He never let anyone there know at the time, but due to either some strange reaction from the experimental drugs or (as he believed and later based his new lifestyle off of) something more benevolent, Dion had acquired the ability to absorb heat then regenerate it from his body. He could manipulate fire at will. The Blazer was born.

Underground Gambling House. 2:15 A.M.

It was nothing unusual for Pokerface to win. That’s what he did. For two years he had been property of the state, isolated in solitary confinement for the majority of the time. The warden had deemed him and other pro wrestlers too dangerous to be apart of general population. He was absolutely right. Day and night, Pokerface exercised his body as well as mind. After twenty-four months, his frame had become as solid as a brick wall with a mental state as sharp as a needle. For two whole years, he had never cracked a smile, made a frown or shed a tear. His deadpan demeanor had become his trademark. He used this to his financial advantage once he was free. Hustling anyone stupid enough to play him in a game of poker.

The guy he was playing, some over-the-hill loser of car salesman suddenly jumped up from the table and ran out of the building. Something had frightened him but he didn’t know what. Until he heard the voice in his ear. He recognized it as that of a young wrestler that he used to work out with back in the legal days. Jason Richards. Rumor had been that he was dead, killed by a member of his now defunct street gang, The Movement. There had obviously been some exaggerations.

For whatever reason, “God’s Gift” (as he was jokingly referred as because of his spiritual revelation following the attack) inquired to the whereabouts of Pokerface’s old business partner, Blalok The Blazer. Back before he had his highly publicized psychological break, Dion worked as manager for Poker’s tag team “Naughty by Nature” during the last days of the original form of the profession. The two other members of the team and Poker’s best friends, Rude and Tully went AWOL following the ban. He hadn’t heard from either of them in nearly three years. He assumed that they had been murdered in the infancy of the death fighting era of pro wrestling. A tattoo on his shoulder was his way to pay his respects.

In Poker’s mind, Blalok, no matter how psychotic he had become, was the closest thing to a friend or family that remained after his life was essentially ruined by his felony illegal combating conviction. While everyone went on with their lives and let him rot away in his physical and mental confinement, Dion continued to support him by sending him letters of encouragement and passing on letters to his wife after she had ceased to visit him. Even though he never agreed with “The Blazer’s” religious views, Pokerface was indebted to the man who lived inside of the devil and nothing would make him betray him,. Especially not some punk, Bible-thumping vigilante. His elbow smashed into Jason Richards’ nose and he made a break for the door. The Church of The Morning Sun. 4:02 A.M.

Su was a bit taken back by Blalok’s hospitality and good nature. As they mingled and continued to drink from the nearly half empty red wine bottle, she wondered how someone capable of such mass destruction could be such a delightful person. On the other hand, not much had really changed since the old days. The wrestling industry had always thrived on its showmanship. Some of the most vile and despised performers usually turned out to be some of the nicest and well-mannered people behind the scenes.

Likewise, as became apparent during her time with Picture Perfect, some times those who portray the baby-faced, righteous heroes were in fact, the true monsters in disguise. Maybe that was why she admired The Blazer so. The were alike. They embraced their natures and didn’t try to hide behind fictional characters. They were the bad guys and they loved it.

Soon, a drunken young man would stumble into the room. He looked a bit shocked by Su’s presence and immediately attempted to straighten his posture. Blalok and Su shared a hearty chuckle at his expense before the leader of the dark congregation stood to introduce them.

“Dynamite” Seth Knight almost blushed like a school girl as he shook Su Yung’s hand. She humored his inebriated state and the two exchanged a few flirtatious remarks before Seth bid her and his general farewell. The Blazer’s explosives expert had earlier been assigned a rather uncomfortable mission. Knight was to travel north to Dyersburg to intercept the arrival of a brand new Southern Heavyweight Title being hand delivered to an unknown promoter by the goldsmith himself. Said goldsmith happened to be a former wrestler and Seth Knight’s best friend, “The Golden Boy” Greg Anthony. Though he was in a carefree mood at the time, it had taken several bottles of hard liquor ( and countless broken pieces of furniture) for him to accept what he had to do. Walking down the walkway outside the building en route to his car, Seth failed to notice the figure hiding near the building. A deadly female mercenary, Tasha Simone had stealthily followed Su Yung on her refuge back to Memphis. Every since the young fighter had arrived from Japan and quickly captured the Women’s Championship, Tasha had become obsessed with locating and dethroning her. Trained in an abundance of martial arts and weaponry by her husband and murderous bounty hunter, Motley Cruz, Tasha was one of the most proficient and respected killers in the area. She had one goal: kill Su Yung and anyone that stood in her path. She was well-aware of who Blalok the Blazer was and what he was capable of and to her it was irrelevant.

Underground Gambling House. 2:23 A.M.

Pokerface attempted to escape the clutches of Jason Richards, but was stopped by a right hook to this jaw. He could feel pieces of his mandible crack as well as a few of his teeth chip. After collapsing to the floor, Pokerface reached in his pocket for his six-inch blade…

The Church of the Morning Sun. 4:15 A.M.

The entrance door of the church was violently kicked open. Su Yung turned around and before she could react was struck twice in the chest with burning lead. Gun claps rang out through the building as bullets careened through the air. As she began to loose consciousness, Su heard the woman shooter yelling something that she could not understand. The room started to spin uncontrollably. Su’s head slammed against the table near the couch, knocking over the wine bottle. The last image visible to her was that of her new mentor’s body being riddled with shots. Then flames. Then darkness.

Underground Gambling House. 2:25 A.M

Jason was certain that the precisely placed shot to the face had subdued Pokerface enough for him to restrain him and begin interrogating him. He was gravely mistaken and he immediately realized such when Poker sprung to his feet and buried his steel knife blade into his stomach. Blood poured from God’s Gift as Poker grinded the sharp blade further into his midsection. He fell to his knees, rushed with pain. His strength quickly evaporated from his body. He tried to pull himself back up using Pokerface’s shirt but was shoved onto his back.

As he gasped for every last breath he could obtain, thousands of thoughts raced through his head. He prayed that his God had not forsaken him for his ambitious path. Jason could feel his heart rate slowing to almost a snail’s pace, the cold sweeping over his human form. He would not be a hero tonight. Just another casualty of a never-ending war fought by living abominations who once wore spandex and grappled to entertain children and fun-loving adults. My, how things had changed.

He didn’t want to do it, but in this cruel world he had been thrown back in to, he felt he had no choice. In all honesty, Pokerface thought the world of the young Richards kid. He respected how he chose to do the right thing in the face of a terrible situation instead of wasting his life trying to hold on to a dream like so many others including himself. The fact remained, though, that it was a new time and circumstances were a lot harsher than they used to be. Every man had to fight to survive and if he left Richards alive, then there was a chance for retaliation. That was a gamble that the man who made a name for himself by taking risk wasn’t will to partake in. It had been a good show. Richards was a hell of a worker. Now came the finish.

Pokerface viciously stomped the knife, driving it even deeper into Richards’ abdomen. Blood spurted from the downed man’s wound and mouth. Pokerface sighed and walked away.