The Gray In Good.
Author's Notes; This one is going to be about as long as GreaterThan a Goddess, only better. It's basically present day, only with a good helping of the supernatural. It'll be really good! If I get lots of reviews, hint hint I'll update it sooner, and the next chapter is better than this one!
I don't own The Undertaker, or the WWE, or anything related to them, I'm not makiing any money off of this, so no sueing, yadda yadda.
With a wicked grin, a huge looming figure with green eyes that almost seemed to grow stalked a young couple through a dark city. Their yelps and whimpers as they ran through the streets, along with the other nearby humans, only seemed to goad him on faster. "Why are you running?" He taunted, catching up with them. His long fingers wrapped in the blonde's hair, and he caught the young man around the throat. Both of them struggled with all their might, but he just laughed. "Running from the Reaper is useless."
The blonde girl shrieked suddenly when the giant started tightening his grip on the man's neck. He stuttered out a whimper, and slowly started to slow his wild struggling. They stood in the middle of what looked like a town after it had been hit by a bomb. The buildings that were still standing burned. The streets were partially flooded, and humans were fleeing in any direction, away from the giant devil of a man, who seemed to so easily cast them all into a fright. But he ignored all that he had caused, for now focusing on crushing the young man's windpipe.
The big man pulled the blonde closer, his goatee brushing roughly against her soft face as he made her watch. "Look at that. Watch him."
With a burst of power, he squeezed harder, and bone cracking was audible. The young brown haired man went limp. The blonde girl started flailing wildly, crying out for help. There were others on the street, but no one made a move to help her. Some of them moved forward like they wanted to, but whenever they got close enough to the man, they paled and ran off.
"Cry for me," The red head demanded, his full attention now focused on the girl. But she was already crying. Urgent, hot tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara. "L-let me go," She pleaded in a high voice.
Suddenly Mark's fingers disentangled from her hair.. She lost her balance and almost fell since the man was no longer holding her up by her hair. With a shocked look on her face, she took one step away from him, then two, and then broke into a run, her long blonde hair flying out wildly behind her.
Strangely enough, the attacker didn't seem the least perturbed. The many tattoos on his body seemed almost alive as he let out a sadistic chuckle and started after the girl at an unnervingly calm pace, rapidly picking it up into a sprint. . He ran with almost in-human speed, and caught up with the girl who was still running as fast as she could. He caught her by the hair again, roughly jerking her to a painful stop. "Hello," he said in a cheery voice.
Her blue, tear filled eyes widened. But before she could scream, Mark had reached out and snapped her pale neck. She stiffened, let out a strangled yowl, and then she collapsed to the ground as her murderer stepped back. For the first time he seemed to notice the other people in the process of fleeing his presence. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a family with young children fleeing to the west. He grinned, and started toward them, his mind already devising how they would die, as he leaned down to sweep up a teenaged boy in his arms, snapping his neck with a crack, almost like he was warming up for another kill.
"NO!" The muscled red-head suddenly sat up straight in his bed with a yell. He had been sleeping horribly, tossing, turning, and moaning the whole night. For a second, he looked about his room with a lost look. Then he blinked. He always forgot where he was when he stayed in hotels. But he remembered now that he saw his piles of luggage stacked up carelessly against the wall. Yes, that was right. His flight had gotten in at midnight, he had checked into his hotel, and collapsed in bed.
He cast a bleary-eyed look at the night stand beside him. The glowing numbers of the clock said 4:26 AM. Mark scowled, and threw the covers off, revealing his long, sweat covered body. He swung his legs off of the side of the bed, and hobbled to the bathroom, favoring his left knee as he walked.
"Damn." Mark cursed as he looked at his pallid, sweaty complexion in the mirror. With a squeak, he turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water on his face. That done, he dried his face with a thin white towel, cast a glance back to the mirror, grunted, and made his way stiffly back to bed.
"First the episode at the airport, now all these dreams," He snarled irritably as he rolled over on his side, slipping a hand under his pillow as he moved into his favorite sleeping position. "Maybe I should see a shrink," He yawned out, before falling back into a fitful, dream-filled sleep. He had four hours before he had to get up. Four hours that he was determined would be spent sleeping.
Mark burst into his locker room with a growl, firey green eyes searching the room for something unknown. His locker roommate of the day, Kurt Angle, looked up from where he was doing some stretching floor exercises. "Mark," greeted the bald-headed man good naturedly, with a smile. He made no move to get up, as he was already half-way through with his stretching and didn't want to have to start all over. But his face fell when he noticed Mark's deep scowl. "Bad day?" He asked, moving into a straddle on the floor, grunting as his muscles stretched.
Mark sighed, and put a hand on his forehead. "You have no idea Kurt." He moved to sit on the only couch in the room, and began wrangling off his heavy boots, his bad temper making the task harder than it really was. He fought with the laces for a moment before giving up and yanking first one shoe, and then the other off his foot, still tied, and heaving them across the room, where they hit the wall with two resounding thuds, and fell to a pile on the floor.
Kurt looked at Mark, his head tilted at a weird angle as he was pressing his forehead against the side of his upper calves. "Guess not." His voice was quizzical, almost humourous. "Wanna talk about it, Big Guy?"
"No I don't want to talk about it Kurt." Mark snapped, regretting his harsh tone. He knew the other man was just trying to help, but this was something he couldn't tell ANYONE, let alone another wrestler. He would have to deal with his problems on his own; that was his way. He started again, voice softer. "I just want to have a good match, and go home and wallow."
"Wallow." Kurt repeated after him, sitting up once more and now beginning to twist his waist from side to side, still in a straddle. "Wallow, eh? That doesn't sound too productive." He raised one eyebrow and licked his lips, looking to the older man, not at all put off. He had known Mark for a while now, and he knew sometimes he got in one of his moods. "Whatever. You've never been one to share secrets." His voice was nonchalant. "We'll have a good fight." Kurt promised as he braced himself with his hands on the floor behind him. He brought both of his muscled legs together, flexing his toes and bending his knees a few times before standing with a slight groan. "I'll be going out in ten. See you after the match."
The redhead gave him a slight nod, and turned to the sink they had. There wasn't a bathroom in this particular dressing room, which was odd, but at least they had a sink. He watched the back of Kurt's head as he walked out the door. Even with thoughts weighing heavy on his mind, he couldn't resist a small smile at the phrase that had become a tradition for them. Of course he would see Kurt during the match, but not as himself. Kurt would be in character, and so would he, in more ways than one.