Potential Victims

May 15, 2003

Match of a lifetime? It was definitely up there.

Sharc vs. KroW.

Hate was brewing between these two. Moreso on Sharc's end, since he was wronged by the Satanic God in the last days of Pinnacle of Insane Wrestling. Sharc was the most insane wrestler in the game today. There is no mind sicker than Sharc’s. There is nothing that cannot be topped. No foe that can’t be hurt, bloodied and eventually beaten. There is no superhuman. There are just bones, skin, ligaments, muscles and intestines to break, shred, sever or puncture.

KroW vs. Sharc, main event match, and because of that, for first time in a long time, Sharc felt good. He had never been challenged like KroW had challenged him. Over? Not by a long shot. Started? Indeed.

But for now, there are two people who have been nothing but annoying for Sharc of late. They are Kayden Paulton, mainly because he is so fucking happy all the time, and Fiend, because he is just another wrestler who wants to be like Sharc. There is hate developing. Things are going to get more extreme before the madness ends.

Sharc sat at the end of the bar, alone for the moment, thinking these thoughts while sipping on a bottle of beer. Thinking, what could he do to Fiend. What could he do to Paulton. What could he do to get noticed and get back to where he was going to be in PIW. Main event. The most hardcore wrestler on the roster. There’s only one way to get noticed, turn the volume of violence up until everyone is covering their ears.

He stared at a man sitting at the bar. In his 30s, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, trying to be a badass. Sharc imagined grabbing a bottle of vodka from behind the bar and smashing it over his skull, and then shoving a handful of glass into his face, cutting him. Scarring him for life.

He stared at a woman sitting at the bar. Wearing a tight gray and black striped sweater and tight black pants. He imagined grabbing her by the hair and slamming her face into her drink, shattering the glass on her flesh. And driving her face into the bar again and again until she didn’t have a nose anymore.

He stared at an older man, with a white moustache and graying temples. He imagined picking him up and running him to the nearest glass window and throwing him through it out onto the street. And then going outside and throwing him back into the bar through another window. And repeating until all six of the big windows were smashed and his entire body was lacerated.

And that fat bitch down at the end of the bar. He imagined standing up on top of the bar, ripping the wall-mounted television from its hinges and dropping it on her head. And then beating her with the stool until it broke.

That short guy? Tying him to a pool table and whacking him with every pool cue in the bar until they were all broken and his entire body was covered in welts. Hit him in the head with the pool balls. And then taking out his keys and making them the last thing he saw as he gouged out his eyes.

That would be fun.

"Hey, Rich," Amy greeted, taking her seat beside Rich at the bar. "What you thinking about?"

Sharc stared at all his victims.

"Nothing."

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