Post by joeycrash on Oct 31, 2021 16:36:19 GMT -5
Immediately following the Six-Person Multiplayer Match at EXP 15
Hollywood, California
Crash tenderly rolled out of the ring as Mr Rad belted out the result of his loss. Keeping a hand attached to his surgically repaired jaw, he walked to the back without so much as a second glance at Crawford - the woman who pinned him, or anyone else in the ring. With every defeated step to the back, the knot in his stomach turned over with frustration and embarrassment. As soon as he got to the back, he quickened his step and tried to control his breathing.
"Crash! Crash do you have a second for—"
"OUTTA MY WAY!" Crash shrieked at the stagehand and shoved him away forcefully. He stared daggers at the other runners and interns backstage and he was given a wide berth. He strode straight past the interview area, completely ignoring the guys in headsets frantically trying to usher him to his scheduled talking spot. Crash felt the veins pulsing in his neck and temple and knew he didn't have the patience to get on the stick straight after losing his first match in almost a decade.
He grabbed his bag from the shared locker room, beelining it to his rented car without trying to let on he was angry. He knew that ship had sailed but he didn't gain a reputation as a sore loser. As he barged through the doors leading to the car park, he paused for a moment. Breathing heavily and methodically, he awaited the loud clang of the door locking shut behind him. He tilted his head up towards the heavens and they started to weep.
Crash flung his gear into the back seat, slammed the door behind him and soaked in the muffled pitter-patter of rain drops on the windshield. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and continued to breathe slowly as he heard the engine come alive. The GPS then made it's monotone announcement:
"Turn right onto the main road and then take the second left. Traffic is normal. You should reach your destination of - Plymouth, Michigan - in approximately - thirty three - hours."
Crash stared daggers at the monitor on his dashboard which was attempting to route him back to the hospital his old manager, Mick, was slowly dying in. Mick would've had a lot to gloat about, *"I told you so this, I told you so that" -* at least he would if he didn't have tubes stuck in his mouth all the time. **Crash ripped the small monitor from the dashboard and threw it in the glove compartment, slamming it shut.
"Get fucked."
Four days after EXP 15
At a gym in Pasadena, California
"Excuse me?"
It feels like I've gone one step forward and two steps back. How was Crawford able to make such a quick comeback after getting launched into the turnbuckle? How was I not able to kickout? And fucksake, why can I not stop thinking about this even after three full days?!
His mind raced in between rattled breaths under the 300lb. weight which was just above his chest. With his face contorted and a sharp exhale, he continued to press the bar up and down. The rumbling in his ears was building as he was approaching his tenth rep.
"Um, sorry to bother you but I just wanted to ask if..."
And to think I was just going to slot myself directly into the title picture with Duncan Shepard? Hah, I guess I've been gone longer than I thought. Could I still beat Duncan one-on-one? Definitely. Am I going to get that chance anytime soon? How can I? I lost in my debut after giving it the big one. At least now I've got a real shot in a singles match. Problem is, this bastard is enormous.
"Look! I need to ask you a question!"
His eyes darted towards the person hovering next to him and begrudgingly, he exerted his strength to press the bar back up to the holder where it dropped with a loud clang. Crash sat up with a sigh and turned towards the woman who interrupted his workout.
"Oh well this must be important! So? What the bloody hell is it then?"
The woman just stood there, looking at him. She had mousey brown hair and freckles carelessly splattered across her cheeks. She wasn't dressed for the gym, Crash noticed. She was wearing jeans and a button up blouse with a black handbag over her shoulder. Her phone was in her hand, clutched tightly with her fingers in the palm of her hand as if she had been staring at the screen moments ago.
"Listen lady, I don't do selfies and I certainly don't like being stalked while I'm trying to work out so either ask your stupid question or just leave."
She stuttered for a second and looked back at her phone for a second, looking back at Crash as if he was an equation she couldn't quite figure out. He studied her closer. She looked like she was in her early 20's. She couldn't have been an active wrestler, she didn't have the muscle definition. She couldn't have been more than 125 lbs soaking wet.
"Listen, I— uh, I mean. I need to know if you're Joey Crash."
"You really needed to ask that?" Crash scoffed. "I'm gonna get some more reps in. I'm going to politely ask you to fuck off and have a nice day now." Crash lay back down, squinting his eyes as he ran his closed fists around the bar, finding his grip.
"My name is Sophie, Sophie Smyth?"
"Listen—" Joey Crash interrupted his routine and shot straight up, "You're on a one way street to getting on my last fucking nerve. So I'm going to ask you one time, as nicely as I can muster. What could you possibly need to chat with me about... That you need to interrupt me during the ONLY time I get any peace at all, while I'm preparing to face a big fucker whose got an inch and 150lbs. on me. What could you POSSIBLY have to share that is more important than avenging the loss of my failed debut after eight MISERABLE years?!" Sophie was backed against the wall, Crash had backed her up there while on his tirade. She continued to look anywhere but in his eyes. "Well?!" Crash prodded further, craning his neck down to get his face closer to hers.
"I— Well, I mean... You must have known Mick? I'm his daughter."
Crash felt his blood boiling. As if it wasn't bad enough that Mick was at the back of his mind, now his spawn had begun stalking him.
"Well whoop-di-fucking-do. How did you find me? Why have you taken it upon yourself to track down where I am and introduce yourself as if you're the fucking Pope?"
Sophie again half-stammered as she looked anywhere but in Crash's face, attempting to grab her composure.
"Well it's just that, uh... He's dead."
Dead. It was so blunt and sudden that it punched Crash in the chest. Just like that? His eyes dropped down to the floor and he turned away with a long sigh. He fell back on the workout bench and let his elbows rest on his knees, wrists limp and his head weighing his neck down. He took a couple more deep breaths and looked back up. Sophie had inched closer and crouched slightly to stay at eye-level.
"You uh... You want a tea? Coffee?"
"Oh, I've actually got a thing now... I can't really miss it. But maybe I'll hold you to that, maybe next week?"
Crash stood up and dusted himself off as if the emotional debris from the news of Mick's demise could be abated so simply.
"Keep a day free. I'll still be in LA but depending on what happens after Halloween, I might be in a hospital. It's a long story."
"I understand. Dad used to say stuff like that all the time. I get if you don't actually want to meet with me."
Crash reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, making her gasp.
"When I say I mean something, I fucking mean it. Don't lump me in with your dad. Alright? I'll still be here in a week's time or so. DM me and we'll sort something out."
Sophie nodded weakly and left without another word. Crash kept his eyes on Sophie as she exited and begun to walk out of view. Crash turned to the bar he'd been pressing before and again at the water bottle on the floor, picking it up with a sigh and headed towards the locker room.
The night before Tri-Force Heroes
Pacific Park, Santa Monica, California
The video fades opens to a packed fairground with colourful tents, flashing lights, rigged games and merry-go-rounds. The workers are dressed in all manner of Halloween costumes, drab and clearly second-hand, dusty, stretched and ripped. There are old couples, families with kids and groups of teenagers walking in and out of each other towards their next attraction. The camera floats forwards, darting in between the maze of guests towards a giant, unlit attraction. A drifting spotlight illuminates the banner at the top:
The front double doors swing open and the makeshift building bursts into life, with multi-coloured bulbs flashing and terrible circus music squeaking it's way out of the giant speakers. A man dressed sharply in a red blazer and top hat and cane saunters forward and leans in each direction like a drunkard about to lose balance. With a spin and throwing away the blazer, the debonair gentleman is revealed to be Joey Crash.
"Welcome one and all! Inside this structure behind me lies your deepest, darkest fears! Who dares enter the dreaded doors and face what haunts you most? Beware! Those who enter may never leave!"
With another dramatic spin, Crash flaunts himself to the ground with maniacal laughter and slowly returns to his feet, like a zombie rising from the grave. He inhales sharply, his hollow chest letting out it's own whine as his lungs inflate.
"Now... What do you say, you and I, that we take a walk on the wild side... And see what monsters we might encounter? Follow me..."
Crash steps triumphantly over the threshold of the doors into the darkness inside. The camera follows in until pitch black covers the entire screen and we hear the echoey slam of the doors behind. The lights inside slowly flicker on, revealing one long corridor painted in depth illusions and lined with different mirrors on either side. Crash strides out into the middle of the screen seemingly from one of the mirrors themselves, opening his arms out wide.
"I've spent a lot of time in here. I've had to take a long hard look at myself. We always think we're the hero of our own story... That you'll always pull through despite insurmountable odds. Everyone else is an NPC in our own tale. But that's not true. Just look at the WaLuigi's. Despite having an extra man, you dispatched of them with ease. Whereas I, on even teams in a 6-person multiplayer match, had my shoulders pressed to the mat for a count of three. I lost that match for my team in my first bout back in the better part of a decade. And now, they want to feed me to a monster... HIS MONSTER."
Crash turned to a mirror on his left and the camera hovered over to see his distorted reflection. His legs appeared thin and short while his torso and arms were as wide as the mirror itself. Crash pulled cheesy, tough guy faces as he examined his bolstered image.
"Maybe if the WaLuigi's had this kind of physique things might have ended differently? Surely with the added strength they could have stood a fighting chance? Of course, some might say. A more even match up would have affected the outcome. But we both know that's not entirely true is it? Because being a monster isn't just about what's out here..."
Crash taps his temple.
"It's also about what's up here."
Crash turns away from the camera again, walking down the corridor with a stride.
"Because that's the difference in this matchup, sunshine! Being a monster isn't just destroying Tokyo or kidnapping white women at the top of the Empire State Building! It's about what makes you tick. It's the voice in your head that tells you that you need to see them cry, hear them beg for mercy, feel their bones... snap. Whether or not you like it, we're one and the same. I look at you and I see my own reflection."
Crash picks up a basket of baseballs that look stolen from a nearby stall. Turning to the camera he rolls one up his arm, launching it off the crook of his elbow and catching it like an apple. He winds up and pelts it off screen and there's a loud shatter as one the the mirrors breaks. We hear Crash laugh under his breath muttering, "Bah gawd!" as he breaks another mirror.
"Oops, that's fourteen years of bad luck!"
The camera catches up to Crash as he turns to face a mirror on the opposite site, which doesn't seem distorted at all. He's a healthy distance away, maybe around 8ft or so. We're facing the mirror directly, watching his reflection as he smiles menacingly at himself. His voice is unusually monotone as he takes very small, considered steps towards the mirror.
"You're not just any monster though, no no no. You're HIS MONSTER. I know that for everything I have to give you can give it right back twice as hard. And that's what I need right now, buddy! I've been pretty pissed off lately. I've been really, proper angry and I've not had the good fortune to get rid of this frustration and anger I've got right now. I can feel everything just shuddering through my blood, ricocheting off every vein and artery, making a horrible fucking racket. This can't just be about winning. I'm too far passed that now to be satisfied with a victory, no sir. I'm going to kill you or I'm going to die trying and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Hell, I'm sure that's what you're hoping for. But you should really understand this—"
Crash breaks into a sprint towards the mirror and his reflection distorts upside down as he approaches and jumps through the glass! As the glass shatters, Crash re-enters the screen in the opposite direction, landing in the middle of the screen. The camera pans towards the mirror and back, as we understand we were never looking at his reflection in the first place. Crash is heaving on the floor, as if he'd been underwater for far too long. He staggers to his feet with shards and chunks of glass all around him. He smiles back towards the camera, with small cuts forming above his eye.
"You're right when you said this ain't a game. And this isn't MMA where you were so dominant before. We can turn this into a boxing match if you want but either way it's going to end with you slumped in the corner and me, with my foot on your chest and your blood on the canvas. Have we ever seen anyone as big or as vicious as you? You're a dime a dozen! There's ten other fat guys waiting to take your place the moment you fuck up and that's going to start when you fall short of the toughest bastard in the game, Joey Crash."
Crash walks again towards the doors at the end of the hall, turning back to the camera and walking backwards to the exit. He shouts as the blood slowly begins to trickle down his face.
"This win is going to start my glorious path to the Power Championship. That path is illuminated in light and littered with bodies. I'm building a bridge to get there and on your corpse, I will build the foundations of greatness!"
Crash wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood on his mouth and wrist. The doors at the end open and Crash takes a step outside.
"You want to talk about monsters? Fucking grow up."
The doors slam shut as the remaining mirrors begin to explode and warped circus music wails once again. The lights go out and we hear the laughter from the beginning of Joey Crash's music ring out as we fade to black.
Hollywood, California
Crash tenderly rolled out of the ring as Mr Rad belted out the result of his loss. Keeping a hand attached to his surgically repaired jaw, he walked to the back without so much as a second glance at Crawford - the woman who pinned him, or anyone else in the ring. With every defeated step to the back, the knot in his stomach turned over with frustration and embarrassment. As soon as he got to the back, he quickened his step and tried to control his breathing.
"Crash! Crash do you have a second for—"
"OUTTA MY WAY!" Crash shrieked at the stagehand and shoved him away forcefully. He stared daggers at the other runners and interns backstage and he was given a wide berth. He strode straight past the interview area, completely ignoring the guys in headsets frantically trying to usher him to his scheduled talking spot. Crash felt the veins pulsing in his neck and temple and knew he didn't have the patience to get on the stick straight after losing his first match in almost a decade.
He grabbed his bag from the shared locker room, beelining it to his rented car without trying to let on he was angry. He knew that ship had sailed but he didn't gain a reputation as a sore loser. As he barged through the doors leading to the car park, he paused for a moment. Breathing heavily and methodically, he awaited the loud clang of the door locking shut behind him. He tilted his head up towards the heavens and they started to weep.
CLUNK
The arena doors closed behind him. The sound was like a flipped switch and Crash immediately yelled out with all his anger and relentlessly slammed his fists into a parking ticket machine. After four reckless blows the screen was cracked and there was a low whirring noise emitting from the speaker. With a long sigh, he dropped his bag on the damp concrete, and leaned forward, his head coming to rest with a thump against the machine. This isn't how he envisioned his return to professional wrestling.
Crash flung his gear into the back seat, slammed the door behind him and soaked in the muffled pitter-patter of rain drops on the windshield. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and continued to breathe slowly as he heard the engine come alive. The GPS then made it's monotone announcement:
"Turn right onto the main road and then take the second left. Traffic is normal. You should reach your destination of - Plymouth, Michigan - in approximately - thirty three - hours."
Crash stared daggers at the monitor on his dashboard which was attempting to route him back to the hospital his old manager, Mick, was slowly dying in. Mick would've had a lot to gloat about, *"I told you so this, I told you so that" -* at least he would if he didn't have tubes stuck in his mouth all the time. **Crash ripped the small monitor from the dashboard and threw it in the glove compartment, slamming it shut.
"Get fucked."
Four days after EXP 15
At a gym in Pasadena, California
"Excuse me?"
It feels like I've gone one step forward and two steps back. How was Crawford able to make such a quick comeback after getting launched into the turnbuckle? How was I not able to kickout? And fucksake, why can I not stop thinking about this even after three full days?!
His mind raced in between rattled breaths under the 300lb. weight which was just above his chest. With his face contorted and a sharp exhale, he continued to press the bar up and down. The rumbling in his ears was building as he was approaching his tenth rep.
"Um, sorry to bother you but I just wanted to ask if..."
And to think I was just going to slot myself directly into the title picture with Duncan Shepard? Hah, I guess I've been gone longer than I thought. Could I still beat Duncan one-on-one? Definitely. Am I going to get that chance anytime soon? How can I? I lost in my debut after giving it the big one. At least now I've got a real shot in a singles match. Problem is, this bastard is enormous.
"Look! I need to ask you a question!"
His eyes darted towards the person hovering next to him and begrudgingly, he exerted his strength to press the bar back up to the holder where it dropped with a loud clang. Crash sat up with a sigh and turned towards the woman who interrupted his workout.
"Oh well this must be important! So? What the bloody hell is it then?"
The woman just stood there, looking at him. She had mousey brown hair and freckles carelessly splattered across her cheeks. She wasn't dressed for the gym, Crash noticed. She was wearing jeans and a button up blouse with a black handbag over her shoulder. Her phone was in her hand, clutched tightly with her fingers in the palm of her hand as if she had been staring at the screen moments ago.
"Listen lady, I don't do selfies and I certainly don't like being stalked while I'm trying to work out so either ask your stupid question or just leave."
She stuttered for a second and looked back at her phone for a second, looking back at Crash as if he was an equation she couldn't quite figure out. He studied her closer. She looked like she was in her early 20's. She couldn't have been an active wrestler, she didn't have the muscle definition. She couldn't have been more than 125 lbs soaking wet.
"Listen, I— uh, I mean. I need to know if you're Joey Crash."
"You really needed to ask that?" Crash scoffed. "I'm gonna get some more reps in. I'm going to politely ask you to fuck off and have a nice day now." Crash lay back down, squinting his eyes as he ran his closed fists around the bar, finding his grip.
"My name is Sophie, Sophie Smyth?"
"Listen—" Joey Crash interrupted his routine and shot straight up, "You're on a one way street to getting on my last fucking nerve. So I'm going to ask you one time, as nicely as I can muster. What could you possibly need to chat with me about... That you need to interrupt me during the ONLY time I get any peace at all, while I'm preparing to face a big fucker whose got an inch and 150lbs. on me. What could you POSSIBLY have to share that is more important than avenging the loss of my failed debut after eight MISERABLE years?!" Sophie was backed against the wall, Crash had backed her up there while on his tirade. She continued to look anywhere but in his eyes. "Well?!" Crash prodded further, craning his neck down to get his face closer to hers.
"I— Well, I mean... You must have known Mick? I'm his daughter."
Crash felt his blood boiling. As if it wasn't bad enough that Mick was at the back of his mind, now his spawn had begun stalking him.
"Well whoop-di-fucking-do. How did you find me? Why have you taken it upon yourself to track down where I am and introduce yourself as if you're the fucking Pope?"
Sophie again half-stammered as she looked anywhere but in Crash's face, attempting to grab her composure.
"Well it's just that, uh... He's dead."
Dead. It was so blunt and sudden that it punched Crash in the chest. Just like that? His eyes dropped down to the floor and he turned away with a long sigh. He fell back on the workout bench and let his elbows rest on his knees, wrists limp and his head weighing his neck down. He took a couple more deep breaths and looked back up. Sophie had inched closer and crouched slightly to stay at eye-level.
"You uh... You want a tea? Coffee?"
"Oh, I've actually got a thing now... I can't really miss it. But maybe I'll hold you to that, maybe next week?"
Crash stood up and dusted himself off as if the emotional debris from the news of Mick's demise could be abated so simply.
"Keep a day free. I'll still be in LA but depending on what happens after Halloween, I might be in a hospital. It's a long story."
"I understand. Dad used to say stuff like that all the time. I get if you don't actually want to meet with me."
Crash reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, making her gasp.
"When I say I mean something, I fucking mean it. Don't lump me in with your dad. Alright? I'll still be here in a week's time or so. DM me and we'll sort something out."
Sophie nodded weakly and left without another word. Crash kept his eyes on Sophie as she exited and begun to walk out of view. Crash turned to the bar he'd been pressing before and again at the water bottle on the floor, picking it up with a sigh and headed towards the locker room.
The night before Tri-Force Heroes
Pacific Park, Santa Monica, California
The video fades opens to a packed fairground with colourful tents, flashing lights, rigged games and merry-go-rounds. The workers are dressed in all manner of Halloween costumes, drab and clearly second-hand, dusty, stretched and ripped. There are old couples, families with kids and groups of teenagers walking in and out of each other towards their next attraction. The camera floats forwards, darting in between the maze of guests towards a giant, unlit attraction. A drifting spotlight illuminates the banner at the top:
WELCOME TO THE HOUSE OF MIRRORS
The front double doors swing open and the makeshift building bursts into life, with multi-coloured bulbs flashing and terrible circus music squeaking it's way out of the giant speakers. A man dressed sharply in a red blazer and top hat and cane saunters forward and leans in each direction like a drunkard about to lose balance. With a spin and throwing away the blazer, the debonair gentleman is revealed to be Joey Crash.
"Welcome one and all! Inside this structure behind me lies your deepest, darkest fears! Who dares enter the dreaded doors and face what haunts you most? Beware! Those who enter may never leave!"
With another dramatic spin, Crash flaunts himself to the ground with maniacal laughter and slowly returns to his feet, like a zombie rising from the grave. He inhales sharply, his hollow chest letting out it's own whine as his lungs inflate.
"Now... What do you say, you and I, that we take a walk on the wild side... And see what monsters we might encounter? Follow me..."
Crash steps triumphantly over the threshold of the doors into the darkness inside. The camera follows in until pitch black covers the entire screen and we hear the echoey slam of the doors behind. The lights inside slowly flicker on, revealing one long corridor painted in depth illusions and lined with different mirrors on either side. Crash strides out into the middle of the screen seemingly from one of the mirrors themselves, opening his arms out wide.
"I've spent a lot of time in here. I've had to take a long hard look at myself. We always think we're the hero of our own story... That you'll always pull through despite insurmountable odds. Everyone else is an NPC in our own tale. But that's not true. Just look at the WaLuigi's. Despite having an extra man, you dispatched of them with ease. Whereas I, on even teams in a 6-person multiplayer match, had my shoulders pressed to the mat for a count of three. I lost that match for my team in my first bout back in the better part of a decade. And now, they want to feed me to a monster... HIS MONSTER."
Crash turned to a mirror on his left and the camera hovered over to see his distorted reflection. His legs appeared thin and short while his torso and arms were as wide as the mirror itself. Crash pulled cheesy, tough guy faces as he examined his bolstered image.
"Maybe if the WaLuigi's had this kind of physique things might have ended differently? Surely with the added strength they could have stood a fighting chance? Of course, some might say. A more even match up would have affected the outcome. But we both know that's not entirely true is it? Because being a monster isn't just about what's out here..."
Crash taps his temple.
"It's also about what's up here."
Crash turns away from the camera again, walking down the corridor with a stride.
"Because that's the difference in this matchup, sunshine! Being a monster isn't just destroying Tokyo or kidnapping white women at the top of the Empire State Building! It's about what makes you tick. It's the voice in your head that tells you that you need to see them cry, hear them beg for mercy, feel their bones... snap. Whether or not you like it, we're one and the same. I look at you and I see my own reflection."
Crash picks up a basket of baseballs that look stolen from a nearby stall. Turning to the camera he rolls one up his arm, launching it off the crook of his elbow and catching it like an apple. He winds up and pelts it off screen and there's a loud shatter as one the the mirrors breaks. We hear Crash laugh under his breath muttering, "Bah gawd!" as he breaks another mirror.
"Oops, that's fourteen years of bad luck!"
The camera catches up to Crash as he turns to face a mirror on the opposite site, which doesn't seem distorted at all. He's a healthy distance away, maybe around 8ft or so. We're facing the mirror directly, watching his reflection as he smiles menacingly at himself. His voice is unusually monotone as he takes very small, considered steps towards the mirror.
"You're not just any monster though, no no no. You're HIS MONSTER. I know that for everything I have to give you can give it right back twice as hard. And that's what I need right now, buddy! I've been pretty pissed off lately. I've been really, proper angry and I've not had the good fortune to get rid of this frustration and anger I've got right now. I can feel everything just shuddering through my blood, ricocheting off every vein and artery, making a horrible fucking racket. This can't just be about winning. I'm too far passed that now to be satisfied with a victory, no sir. I'm going to kill you or I'm going to die trying and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Hell, I'm sure that's what you're hoping for. But you should really understand this—"
Crash breaks into a sprint towards the mirror and his reflection distorts upside down as he approaches and jumps through the glass! As the glass shatters, Crash re-enters the screen in the opposite direction, landing in the middle of the screen. The camera pans towards the mirror and back, as we understand we were never looking at his reflection in the first place. Crash is heaving on the floor, as if he'd been underwater for far too long. He staggers to his feet with shards and chunks of glass all around him. He smiles back towards the camera, with small cuts forming above his eye.
"You're right when you said this ain't a game. And this isn't MMA where you were so dominant before. We can turn this into a boxing match if you want but either way it's going to end with you slumped in the corner and me, with my foot on your chest and your blood on the canvas. Have we ever seen anyone as big or as vicious as you? You're a dime a dozen! There's ten other fat guys waiting to take your place the moment you fuck up and that's going to start when you fall short of the toughest bastard in the game, Joey Crash."
Crash walks again towards the doors at the end of the hall, turning back to the camera and walking backwards to the exit. He shouts as the blood slowly begins to trickle down his face.
"This win is going to start my glorious path to the Power Championship. That path is illuminated in light and littered with bodies. I'm building a bridge to get there and on your corpse, I will build the foundations of greatness!"
Crash wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing blood on his mouth and wrist. The doors at the end open and Crash takes a step outside.
"You want to talk about monsters? Fucking grow up."
The doors slam shut as the remaining mirrors begin to explode and warped circus music wails once again. The lights go out and we hear the laughter from the beginning of Joey Crash's music ring out as we fade to black.
