Coffee with Stephanie was fine and dandy, but not enough to ease the mind of the man meant to suffer inside a cursed steel cell. Of all the years Hunter had been in the business, he'd witnessed just how horrifying and gruesome matches were inside Satan's structure. Especially with The Undertaker who's legend included fatal tales of how the cell was his playground. What belonged to the Devil belonged to the Deadman, as well. They practically went hand-in-hand like they would in a few minutes. Hunter held his head high regardless, refusing to let others see his anxiety of the night's events. Vince was on his mind, as well. The sick bastard set him up to this, no doubt. And was so cowardly as to send his son Shane to deliver the news to The Game instead of doing it face to face himself. Because he knew Hunter wouldn't hesitate to fuse a sledge hammer to the bitch's skull. The evil mastermind's daughter walked next to him upon entering the arena. Both were silent until Hunter felt inclined to say, "I bet you're wondering why I go through so much just to be with you."
Stephanie's hands were tucked into her coat pockets, the thick black and white fur collar blocking almost every part of her face except her deep green eyes which soon shifted toward Hunter, glittering under the ceiling light. Hunter smiled at her, somewhat comforted by her gaze, but at the same time, he was hiding his wariness from her. She knew him long enough to be able to identify it, however. "I used to." She replied in a gentle tone. "But the answer is evident everytime I look into your eyes, Hunter."
Hunter took a deep breath and reached out for her hand, not knowing that they were actually being watched from afar. Shane stood next to his limousine in the parking garage and while the duo made their way toward the entrance of the backstage area, he watched them intently. Making himself invisible by engaging himself in conversation with one of the referees that would be inside the cell during the main event. The referee was obviously scared, but half of Shane's heart was similar to his father's. He couldn't care less about the referee as long as Hunter got what he deserved. He could feel his blood boiling underneath his skin the second he saw Stephanie take Hunter's hand and her entire countenance lit up like a damn Christmas tree. Love struck, bitch, he thought to himself, wanting to shake his head in disgust but didn't want to divert the ref's attention in the same direction.
"We probably shouldn't be seen together like this." Stephanie mentioned cautiously, looking around. She didn't even notice Shane. "I don't know how many spies my father has staked around here."
Hunter sighed and shook his head. "Sooner or later that man'll warm up to me. Until that time...he can kiss my ass. No offense."
"None taken. I just don't want you to have to go through so much because of me. I know my dad's not gonna listen to me if I tell him to stop fooling around with you. Feels like its all my fault why you're doing this."
"I'll be fine, Steph." Hunter nodded to her, but by the look on her face, he could tell she wasn't all that convinced. "I just need a plan."
They reached his locker room within a matter of minutes and were met by an ecstatic Shawn Michaels dressed in a pair of jeans and a white polo shirt. "Hunter! We gotta talk!" He grabbed Hunter and Stephanie by their hands and yanked them inside, racing behind them to slam the door shut. "Vince's gone fucking insane! You're gonna be in a Hell in a Cell match with the Undertaker!"
"I know, Shawn." Hunter replied.
"Just keep Chyna on your mind and I know you'll bust heads up in that bitch!"
At the mention of her name, Stephanie's head tilted in thought. She remembered Chyna and Sable's kidnap and realized that it'd happened for a reason. In fact that reason would be on its way to the arena at any moment. He wants a trade more than anything. No...he wants her more than anything.
...
The cab pulled up in front of the arena just moments after the show actually started and out stepped Persia Winchester, her hair weaved into a neat bun. She was dressed casually in a pair of denim jeans and a white sweater, her make up and accessories done and applied perfectly just for the occasion. She didn't plan on going backstage that night. Her presence wasn't exactly needed. She simply wanted to support her friend Hunter. She turned in her tickets upon entering and made her way to the seating area. There were thousands of people arriving around the same time she was, getting food, drinks, and their seats. There was a lot of noise as usual. Nothing Persia wasn't used to. Thank goodness she'd remembered to take her pills before she came or the socialization would've made her hysterical by now.
She was lucky to have purchased floor seats. Although people had stated several times that that particular area was dangerous when the wrestlers got carried away. There had been stories of unplanned fan attacks, furniture flying over the barricade to hit some members of the audience, and other interesting tales. Not that any of them changed Persia's mind evidently. She sat quietly in her seat close to the end of the row, a man seated beside her sending her a polite smile. She smiled back before focusing her attention on the two men in the ring. One dressed in yellow, the other dressed in blue spandex. They both looked very much alike for opponents and could have been brothers if they weren't already. Their names were unknown since Persia came after their announced entrances.
Tonight, she carried a rather calm demeanor. She wasn't fidgety or childishly shy like she usually would have been in a large crowd filled with loud noise. In fact, the noise didn't bother her. Not a single tip of her nerves were on edge, no breath left her lips out of rhythm or shakenly. She felt like the Persia from the past before her mental insanity had settled in and before she had to retreat to a mental institution. That Persia who loved to socialize and hang out with several people at one time just for the bloody hell of it. It felt great. No paranoia. No unexpected coniptions. No panic attacks. I'm just here to enjoy the show, she told herself with a relaxing sigh, ever so slightly slumping down into her seat while crossing one leg over the other.
After the young wrestlers' match was over and the young man in the yellow spandex had won, the announcer's voice echoed from his microphone. "And the winner of this match as a result of one fall...Jeff Hardy!" There was an untimely collision of cheers and boos from the crowd while the young man staggered out of the ring, celebrating his victory by raising his right fist in the air. He was panting so hard and his face was so red it wouldn't have surprised anyone if he had passed out right then and there, but he was up the ramp in no time.
Soon after, the defeated young man left, as well, dragging himself along like a dead weight. He recieved a lot more boos than his opponent, obviously caring only about getting to a medic. He appeared a bit faint and drained and was holding the back of his head as if trying to keep it together. Once he disappeared, the man next to Persia spoke casually, "Jobbers' matches always suck. They might as well have cock fights out there in that ring."
Persia simply cast him a glance and faked a smile to try and seem polite. But ended up making eye contact a bit longer than she had intended. His facial structure made a bell go off in her head, the familiarity striking her almost instantly. Her smile somewhat faded until she was almost squinting at him, trying to take in all that she was seeing. He was undoubtedly young with a mostly shaved face, save for a bit of stubble. Brown eyes shown with character in Persia's direction and he returned her smile right after flipping his long, wavy dirty-blonde hair over his shoulder. From the looks of his build, he was an athletic man. Perhaps no older if not younger than Persia and quite charming. He was dressed in a black, leather trench coat, hands tucked into his pockets in a layed back manner. "Have we met before?" Persia asked him, her voice a bit soft.
The man tilted his head slightly. "I don't believe we have." He replied and something about the way his voice resonated in the air was suspicious. The notes seemed so Count Dracula-fashioned. "Care to tell me your name?"
"It's Persia." Persia was hesitant to respond.
"That's pretty." The man nodded once. Then stuck out his hand. "You can call me Adam. That's not what most people call me, but since you don't know me like that, I'll settle for Adam."
Persia shook his hand slowly, noting how cold his skin was in contrast to her comfortably warm flesh. "Nice meeting you, Adam." She spoke in a polite tone, keeping any hint of suspicion out of her voice. She could have sworn she'd seen this man someplace before, but despite her effort, she just couldn't recall where exactly. Something was telling her that it hadn't been too long ago...
No chance...That's what you got.
No chance.
Music blared throughout the arena so loudly it instantly snapped Persia out of her process of thought. Her head whipped around toward the ramp entrance where two new figures were now walking toward the ring. Both were dressed formally in different gray suits, appearing to look alike in facial features. Persia squinted at them, then the titantron hanging above the entrance now behind them where she saw, shinning in bright white letters, the names: Vince and Shane McMahon.
"I've heard of them before." She said aloud, more so to herself than anyone around her.
Adam responded anyhow. "Haven't we all? They're both the biggest jackasses on earth. Like father like son, is what they always say but its more than just them. Bull shit just runs through the family."
"You must really hate them." Persia almost chuckled, watching as the two men made their way into the ring. The man who stood much taller and appeared to have more matured features wore a smug grin on his face like he'd just gotten laid five minutes before his ring time. The younger man didn't appear to be too comfortable out there, however. He was probably disturbed by all the boos they were receiving.
"I'm not gonna lie to you." Adam agreed, leaning close to Persia as if to tell her something secretive. His next statement came out in a low tone, "Several murder attempts have been made on them, but it's like they're fucking immortal or something. They just don't go away. Do you think Heaven would reject them?"
Persia forced herself to laugh softly to keep from giving Adam a strange look. On the inside, she was halfway regretting sitting next to him. Then again, he was probably making a simple joke. Even still...what kind of joke was that?
"I bet they both taste just how they smell." Adam continued, making a face at the ring. "Like bull shit."
Persia began to feel a bit uncomfortable and wished with all she had for her bladder to feel at least a small inkling of a hint that it needed release or something to get her away from this strange blonde. She almost scooted away, but figured it would be rude and would offend him. So she simply tried to ignore him. Wondering how long that would work...
"I bet snake venom pumps through their veins instead of regular blood. Those guys just seethe with jackassness."
"Ladies and gentlemen, may we have your attention please." Vince McMahon's deep, slightly rough voice echoed from a microphone a nearby tech man had given him. "We're not here to tell you just how disgusting and unintelligent you are...nor are we here to tell you that you're only worth the money you pay us to see this show." Plenty of boos came in response to his crude statements, but he continued on with that smirk as if he could hear none of it. "In fact, we have great news to share with you all. As you can see right above me, we have ourselves a 20-foot, 1500 pound steel cage which means that tonight, you all are gonna witness an astounding, spectacular, unforgettable Hell in a Cell match right here in this ring! Right here in this arena! Get your cameras ready because this one's going down in history. For our main event tonight, fighting in this steel cell, we will have the Cerebral Assassin, Triple H-" An explosion of cheers broke him off unexpectedly. He waited patiently for the crowd to quiet down a bit before he continued. "Against one of my personal favorites...the Demon of Death Valley, the Minister of Darkness, the Deadman himself..." He paused very briefly to chuckle. It was a sinister chuckle that resonated over the audience like a ghost, devilish in nature as if what he was about to say next would shock the audience beyond words. His brows lifted tauntingly as he inclined his head forward and with a haughty spirit in evident in his demeanor and a proud tone, he finished his sentence, "The Undertaker!" The way the name came clawing up his throat and out of his mouth sent chills throughout the audience.
But when Persia heard that name, she felt more than just chills. She felt something rush through her entire body that almost made her jump from her seat, her throat running dry like an old well, her face feeling as though all the blood had been drained down to her feet. Her fingers instinctively clutched at the arms of her seat, the movement so swift it halfway startled Adam who simply chortled at her and frowned. "You alright there, jumpy?" His voice was only a buzz in her ears as her eyes widened ever so slightly and she could hear her heart thrumming in her chest like propellers on a helicopter. Nearly melting to her seat like heated metal, she swallowed hard. So hard even Adam could hear the liquidy noise it made in her throat from all the saliva she attempted to moisten the cracked velvet tunnel with. And all she could say to herself in just barely a hushed whisper were the words, "Sweet Jesus, Shepherd of Judaea..."
…...
"Hurry up, you fucking maggots." The Undertaker barked to his working entourage who had just pulled up behind the arena in a lengthy, black hearse, rushing out under their leader's command. A harsh gust of wind sent his hair jostling away from his agitated face, leading plenty of attention to the daunting tilt of his brows and the angry curve of his mouth.
The Ministry rushed to the back of the hearse where a leather-clad Viscera popped open the trunk, mentally cursing himself when he saw Taker's eyes shift toward him with a murderous glare. Noises immediately rose from the back of the hearse. Voices to be precise. Strangled voices which grew louder and louder the higher the lid of the trunk rose above the vehicle. Faarooq and Bradshaw bent over into the trunk with their arms outstretched, grabbing at two large items sprawled across the empty space. As they began dragging the objects out, they appeared to be having a bit of struggle like they were wrestling two fierce animals. In fact, what they were dragging out were quite equivalent to animals. Two women bound by chains around their wrists and shackles around their ankles. One brunette and one blonde. Both just barely clothed except for torn black gowns which hardly stretched down past their knees. They would have been screaming at the tops of their lungs were it not for the large, red ball gags stuffed nearly down their throats. Scars and bloodstains littered their once flawless skin, leaving them flawless no more but perhaps permanently marked. While tears poured down both of their faces, Faarooq and Bradshaw roughly tossed them over their shoulders, prepared to carry them to their doom.
"Don't be afraid, ladies." The Undertaker's deep voice drawled in the night. "Your survival depends on one soul. You'd better pray that soul takes up the opportunity or your end won't be pretty."
Exchanging glances, Chyna and Debra kicked and squirmed for dear life as the Ministry began toward the building.
Mideon pushed past the others to walk beside The Undertaker, his breath heaving slightly. Taker heard him and slowly glanced down at him, narrowing his eyes a bit only to add to the intimidation he already created. "She is here, Dark One." Mideon informed him quietly, his thin, wet hair swishing side to side against his slightly-chubby face. "I've seen her through Adam's eyes."
Taker drew in a breath through his nostrils, facing forward again. His expression showed no signs of amusement, but on the inside he was joyous. Adam, a.k.a. Edge had followed his instructions, after all. Becoming a spy to sit among the crowd and watch for the Minister's prize. Taker was lucky to have someone of Mideon's talent as a member of his unusual coven. He possessed what people liked to call a third eye. Once he was telepathically linked to someone, he could see what that person was seeing in that present moment. At times, Taker found himself being covetous toward this power, but he had to often remind himself that despite Mideon's gift, he was still the superior being. His link to the supernatural world was far greater than any man he'd ever met. He was proud of him, however. Proud of him and Edge for locating his prize. His pretty little culprit. His cold, dead hands were practically itching to get around her skinny, little neck and tear her throat out for her heinous crimes. The world will never forget this night, he told himself confidently. "Has Vince announced tonight's main event?" He asked Mideon, remembering his task.
Mideon nodded quickly, his head bouncing almost like a vibration. The man was just as sick as the rest of the cold-blooded killers of the Ministry. "Yes, sir." He replied with a bit of a hiss. "And may I say he is a lot more excited than we are."
"Of course he is." Taker snorted. "That evil bastard. He should know by now that I am doing this because I know I'll enjoy ripping Triple H apart limb by fucking limb."
Mideon nodded his head again. "And we will enjoy watching you, Dark One." He smiled wickedly.
Christian frowned a bit as he leaned toward Gangrel who was walking beside him, whispering in his ear, "There's something we aren't being told."
"I agree." Gangrel nodded once, referring to the first part of the conversation between Taker and Mideon. "If I had a third eye like that guy, I'd be willing to tell you what it is."
"But we don't." Christian sighed softly. "We're only so-called gifted because we aren't exactly 'human.' He pursed his lips together for a moment and stood up straight, shaking his head. "But I don't consider that a gift anyway."
Both young men glanced up just in time to see The Undertaker's shaded, green eye dart over his bulky, tattooed shoulder, resting heavily upon them. He was still walking forward while his head was turned, entering through the back door which was held open by his faithful favorite, Mideon. They were momentarily afraid that he had heard them, that they were not quiet enough and that they should have kept their words to themselves. But it wasn't exactly their fault. They just didn't see themselves as worthy enough to hear about all of the Deadman's plans. Neither did he.
Inside the building, many parted to let the Ministry pass and it was as if the very evil that hovered about them stained the atmosphere and caused lights to dim and cold air to rise on arrival. Like a dark cloud, they moved at one accord and were silent. The only sounds anyone could hear were the struggling, gagged voices of Chyna and Debra flopped over the shoulders of Faarooq and Bradshaw.
The Undertaker scanned the garage area, taking note of the eyes following him and his entourage. He couldn't help but notice a familiar group gathered a distance away, one of the largest in the group catching his attention the quickest. He was known as The Big Show, mainly because he stood well over seven feet tall and weighed a solid five-hundred pounds. Taker had had his feuds with the man, not that they would ever come to an end, but he was someone to keep an eye on. Someone who had the balls enough to come at the Ministry with his two partners in crime, Mankind and The Rock, with two-by-fours and attempt to crack open every single one of their skulls. Unfortunately for them, The Undertaker made sure he had the victory each time they had conflict.
They passed right by them with no words and it was a surprise that neither man in the group had attempted to come at them simply because they were holding two important women hostage. In fact, as they approached the backstage area, Taker wondered where Austin was to give him a good showdown for Debra.
"This just end!" A familiar voice rang in The Undertaker's eardrum, causing his head to turn swiftly. Vince McMahon with his bobble-headed son were walking briskly in their direction and, of course, Vince had a smile of wicked excitement on his face. "I just announced to the crowd tonight's main event. I hope you're ready to whoop some ass in that ring tonight!"
"I'm always ready." Taker growled lowly, cutting his eyes at him. He still didn't get the point of showing so much excitement. It wasn't like he was doing this to please Vince or Shane at all. "But let me remind you that I'm not following your orders tonight, Vincent."
Vince frowned at that, a bit confused. "What do you mean?" He asked.
"I'm only doing this for my pleasure." Taker stated gruffly. "All you've given me is opportunity to have my way with Triple H without being interrupted. I'm not doing any of this under your command."
"Oh..."Vince scratched the back of his neck, no longer smiling. "Well, I mean...that's fine." He swallowed and shook his head, returning the smile, but this time it was a bit weaker. "Just as long as Triple H gets what he damn well deserves tonight."
Taker snorted, giving Vince an intimidating once-over before walking past him, the rest of the Ministry following.
Minutes passed faster than the moon could fully rise, it seemed. The Ministry stood in their locker room congregated in a circle like a brotherhood having a sacred meeting. In the center of the circle sat Chyna and Debra, back to back and still bound like tamed animals, panting out of exhaustion from all the fighting. The Undertaker stooped down in front of the world's most dangerous woman, looking into her ferocious gaze, listening to her breath as it left her nostrils. "You both should be happy." He stated, reaching out to brush the back of his index finger against her cheek, but she instantly pulled away from him, her eyes never leaving his. She was practically glaring daggers through his skull. "The reason you both are under my grasp is in this very building tonight. But there's a catch. I can't go to her. She has to come to me. That's just the way it is, unfortunately. I'll be busy, though. Beating the living hell out of your precious Hunter Hearst Helmsley. I'm sure you've heard by now if the rest of these dickholes I call my minions haven't told you already." He chuckled a bit, a low, deep chuckle that rumbled within his throat, sending chills through Chyna's body. Chills of fear and anxiety. Her face went red as blood as she listened to the Deadman. That demonic sound sticking to her head like thumb tacks.
"I would tell you what I'm planning on doing to him tonight." Taker continued after a deep breath, resting his elbows on his bulging thighs. "But I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. Hopefully you both have a good imagination. Oh, I know I can expect that from you, Chyna. According to Viscera, you're a pretty naughty girl."
Behind him, Viscera laughed a bit, his tongue tracing a line over his black upper lip. Chyna almost immediately lunged at Taker out of pure rage, but only to have her hair nearly snatched out of her scalp by Faarooq, her personal escort. He had caught her the second he detected movement, allowing her to come only within about an inch or half of that of Taker's proximity. "Ooh." Taker tsked, narrowing his eyes at her. "Naughty and feisty. I'm sure he's begging me to keep you around."
"It's almost time, Dark One." Mideon spoke up, not intending to interrupt but only to be informative. "However, I received word not too long ago that the rest of us are banned from ringside."
"What?" Taker shot to his full height and whirled on Mideon so fast it nearly knocked the shorter man over. "Was that Vince's idea?"
"I believe so, sir. He says he doesn't want any of us hurting anyone except Triple H. And with us standing around the cell, we'll eventually get bored and take our anger out on the extra refs and officials and tech crew and maybe the announcers. You know how we get when we're all in violent moods. Especially while we're watching our outstanding leader dominate his victims in the ring."
Taker looked around at the rest of his crew. "Fine." He snarled. "If they don't want to see our true power combined tonight, I'll give them something much worse inside the cell. This night will go down in history, boys. It'll be the last time Triple H sees a cell."
…...