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The Chosen: House of Twelve Chapter One
Topic Started: Jun 7 2011, 01:24 AM (116 Views)
Bryce Kanyon
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A FanFiction made by Bryce "The Wrestlemaniac" Kanyon

Featuring the characters portrayed by Phantomspydj, Iyana Babeyy, The Phoenix, Jace1, Alexthesuperstar, WildcatV1, Erik Hex, Mr. Jamo, Efedfan, Walter Scott, Krishondaj, and Drew Teague

The Chosen: House of Twelve

Based on the "Choose the Superstar" Forum game

Chapter One

*Senmaida
Wajima, Ishikawa 9:02 am*

It was quiet along the rice fields of Senmaida, except for the gust of wind that happened to pass through the fields. A lone figure was walking through the fields that very evening. The figure was a Samurai with a straw hat on his head, he wore a green kimono and a long sword thrust through the belt (obi) worn wrapped around the waist and tied in front. His wooden sandals (waraji) stepped along the fields; he could feel the grass slide along his Caucasian feet. From his appearance, he would pass off as any samurai that passed through the fields what with his Asian like appearance.

The samurai paused for a moment; he heard a sound along the fields. He slowly scanned the fields for a moment, seeing nothing but grain whisking along the breeze of the wind. Underneath his straw hat, the Samurai frowned. He had heard something or someone along the fields and they were hiding… Waiting for him. The samurai brought his right hand to his sword, waiting for the right moment should he have to defend himself.

“I am not alone,” The samurai thought. “Someone’s there.”

For a brief moment, he heard nothing but the wind and still the samurai kept his position, as stiff as a statue. Just then, two figures burst from the fields and rushed toward him drawing blades of their own. The samurai lunged his sword out of his hilt and blocked the attacks. His opponents attacked swiftly but the Samurai was able to block each of their attacks. The Samurai was so busy with the two assassins; he failed to detect the third one waiting behind. The assassin stood up from behind and covered the Samurai’s face with a block cloth. He struggled trying to get loose, but the stranger was stronger. They took the Samurai and ducked back into the fields.

As quickly as they had arrived, the Samurai and his kidnappers were gone. All was quiet again, except for the wind passing along the fields.

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*Amity Regional High School
Woodbridge, Connecticut 3:30 pm*

The school bell rang one final time; school had just ended for the students at Amity Regional High. The students and faculty walked through the halls of the school, their voices echoing along the halls along with their footsteps on the floor. Among the group of people walking down the halls, there was one student who was walking out carrying some of his textbooks. A group of jocks came up from behind and knocked him down to the ground.

“Get out of my way, nerd!” One of the Jocks shouted.

The group laughed at the boy’s misfortune as he glared at the group. His name was Blake Steel, a white freshman in Amity Regional High. Blake had spiked blond hair, a black Anime Club T-shirt, blue jeans, and Nike sneakers. Blake was used to this type of treatment since the first day of school; to him, it seemed routine to get picked on by the higher class of students. Being the President of the Anime Club wasn’t exactly working well for Blake, considering he was always treated as much of an outcast as most of the new students. Blake sighed as he picked up his textbooks and stuffed them into his backpack.

After straightening himself out, Blake kept going down the hall. He decided to make a quick stop to the nearest rest room and turned to the men’s hall on the right hand side. Inside, the restrooms were gleaming with the reflection of the light. The tile and the walls were white and polished neatly, with the exception of some crude graffiti written in red on the mirrors. Blake turned on the faucet and washed his hands along the cold water coming down the faucet. The sound of the rushing water seemed to clear his mind from all the stress he had to put up with during the past eight and a half hours.

All of a sudden, one of the bathroom stalls slowly opened, the hinges creaking as the door turned. Blake turned around, as the door was wide open only to see that no one was there.

“Hello?” Blake asked. “Who’s there?

Another bathroom stall opened the same way and like the last time no one was there. Blake figured that one of the students were playing a prank on him, it was starting to creep him out.

“All right, knock it off guys! It’s not funny!”

Blake made way to the last stall, the one that hasn’t been opened yet. He slowly made his way to the door, his hand reaching cautiously toward it. With his fingertips anxiously toward the door, he pushed the door at full force hoping to catch one of the students in the act. But to his surprise, there was no one in there either. Blake sighed, clearly he was more stressed than he thought and now he was hearing things. When he got home, the first thing he would do was take his latest edition of “Naruto”, lie back in bed, and probably doze off for a few hours.

Blake turned around and stopped when he saw three men in black hoods standing before him He did not hear or even see anyone else enter the restroom and yet there they were standing in front of him. They stared down at the nervous student; their blank expressions staring them down like a fire burning through Blake’s skull. Blake took no more than a step when one of the goons rushed toward Blake, tackled him into the stall, and locked the door behind him. The other goons disappeared, as their third member was busy with Blake, a struggle was heard in the stall as Blake was gagged and bound. Several minutes later, Blake’s world went black and the struggle was over.

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*New York Hospital Queens
Queens, New York 7:18 pm*

It was near closing time at the hospital that evening. A few of the hospital staff members were just checking out and returning home. One of the hospital staff members, a secretary, was walking down the hall. The sound of her heels echoed along the marble floor as she passed from room to room. A nametag “Margaret” can be seen along her white coat covering her black shirt and skirt. Finally, she makes it to room 412 and quietly enters as a doctor was just examining his patient.

“Doctor Jamieson, your wife just called,” the secretary informed. “She wanted to make sure you were coming home.”

The doctor, Jamieson, turned around after hearing the news and simply replied,

“Ah yes Margaret, you can tell her that I was just finishing up with my patient and that I’ll be home shortly.”

“Very well Doctor. Good night sir.”

“Good night.”

The secretary left the room right away leaving Jamieson alone with the patient. The doctor was one of the most promising staff members in the hospital. Around his late thirties, he has been around the hospital since he was 26. His tan brown bowl-shaped haircut gleamed under the dim hospital light and his glasses slanted slightly as he pushed them up. Along his white coat, there was his nametag that said, “Dylan Jamieson”, Dylan being his first name. He wore black scrubs underneath the coat, one of the traditional attires around the hospital.

Dr. Jamieson took one last look at his patient; he then took the covers and tucked in the patient who was at piece on the hospital bed. The Doctor took his handbag, then walked out of the room and closed the door behind him so the patient could rest in peace. From what he had just observed from the X-Rays, the patient’s wounds were so great that he had to stay in bed.

“The night watch will keep a special eye on him,” Jamieson thought.

Soon Dr. Jamieson made his way to the parking garage, the sound of police sirens can be heard echoing along the streets. The night air left a chill as the Doctor walked by to his car. As Dr. Jamieson walked, he thought he heard someone else walking in the garage. Nervously, Doctor Jamieson turned around but the other footsteps stopped. He looked in that direction for a few seconds but then shrugged and moved on. He obviously had a busy night and figured he must’ve been hearing things.

All of a sudden, as Doctor Jamieson turned around a corner, a hooded figure tackled the doctor on the ground. Before the Doctor could react, the figure knocked him out with a stiff punch and his world went black.

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*The E.W. Scripps Company
Cleveland, Ohio 7:38 pm*

“Cleveland Fan Fouls Ball,” a woman reads. The latest edition of the Scripps’ newspaper had just been published earlier that morning, the story of the infamous game that turned one fan into the most hated man in the entire state. The woman reading the article was none other than Iyana Carroll, the newcomer who landed her big break by capturing the story that took place at the game.

Iyana Carroll had the image of every ambitious journalist in the whole building. Her long brown hair was tied into a pony tale. She wore a pink-buttoned shirt over a white tank top, along with a pair of blue jeans and wearing black shoes. Iyana was a woman who sought to capture the big story and that game sent her skyrocketing to the top of the company. It was Game Six as the Cleveland Indians went up against the Boston Red Sox; an event that took place nearly a week ago. Iyana was in attendance to catch all the action on this anticipated game., though it seemed like any other game she’s ever watched.

Until that play happened, during the sixth inning of the game with Boston ahead at 3-0 and holding a 3-2 lead in the best of 7 series. Several spectators attempted to catch a foul ball off the bat of Cleveland outfielder Matt Jacobson. One fan managed to catch the ball; however, it cost the Cleveland Indians the game, making him the most hated man in Cleveland. But that wasn’t all that the story was about. Shortly after that game, Matt Jacobson ran toward the fan and beat him to a bloody pulp. It had to take six security guards to separate Matt from the fan but the damage was done. Matt Jacobson was fired from the MLB league and banned from playing baseball. As for the fan, all she heard was that he had to be sent to the hospital after the attack. Soon the whole U.S. would be reading about this article for years to come.

“Mrs. Carroll!” someone called.

Iyana turned her attention off the paper as her boss arrived. He was a white man in his early sixties, with a white-buttoned shirt, black trousers, and round glasses. The man was a little overweight and he also wore brown shoes. He motioned for Iyana to come over as the tan woman walked over. From the looks of it, he meant business.

“Yes, Mr. Friedberg,” Iyana replied.

“I need you to come into my office, there’s something you need to see.”

Mr. Friedberg led Iyana back into his office, where his 50-inch television screen was on with the news channel featured on screen. He took the remote and turned the mute feature off so they could both hear what was going on while the News Anchor gave the latest in news updates.

“In other news, a string of mysterious disappearances has been reported along several parts of the world. Among the missing people reported, it has been confirmed that one of the captives is former Indians outfielder and hometown hero, Matt Jacobson. Jacobson who was fired by the MLB Board of Directors for assaulting a fan during Game 6 from the championship game against the Boston Red Sox has been reported to have…”

Mr. Friedberg had heard enough and so he put the news on mute once again.

“It’s unbelievable Mrs. Carroll, only a week since that foul play and now our old friend Matt has disappeared off the face of the earth. And now every newspaper company in the United States wants to get their hands on this story!”

“What do you want me to do?”

“We need leads on these mysterious disappearances, we’ve got to have something to go on and how these kidnappings are connected. This could very well be the crime of the century and if our company gets the story first we will make history as being the first newspaper company to have obtained this story,” Mr. Friedberg proclaimed. “Think about it Iyana, you always wanted the big story. Well this is your big chance!”

“Mr. Friedberg, I have not met a story that I could not cover.” Iyana replied. “Just one question: What’s in it for me?”

“You do this for me Iyana and I’ll make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. This is the story that we’ll put your name on the record books as the greatest journalist to cover it. Get that story and no one will be able to top it in years. You can retire a rich, wealthy woman… A millionaire! People will pay to read that story. What do you say?”

Iyana thought it over for a moment; a million dollars was a lot of money. No story could ever get as big as this: A kidnapping of multiple people and among them being one of the MLB’s former greats. If she were to capture that story, if what Mr. Friedberg said was true, who would ever be able to top it off?

“This is something that I will definitely think about Mr. Friedberg, thank you.”

After the meeting took place, Iyana Carroll made her way to her car, a 2012 Civic Si Coupe, parked in the employees’ section. She got into the car and proceeded to start the vehicle. With the engines running, Iyana looked down at her watch to check the time.

“Oh my god it’s eight o’clock,” Iyana thought. “I’m really going to be late for dinner; well, I’m sure I’ll make it up to him when I get home.”

Iyana turned to the mirror to adjust it. All of a sudden, the mirror caught the reflection of a hooded man in the backseat of her car. Before she could react, the stranger caught her head with a black bag and soon her world went black shortly after.

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The sound of a man’s gasp came echoed in the dark room; heavy breathing came soon after. He didn’t know where he was or what was going on, his mind seemed to be blocked by a hazy mess. All he can tell was that the room was hot and the environment felt wet. He tried to stand up, but then he realized that his arms and legs were tied to a chair. He struggled to loosen the bonds, the chair moving along to the man’s movements. Desperate, the man pushed himself over and ended up lying on his side along the floor. He crept around the floor, his hands feeling around for anything sharp to cut the bonds. Finally, he managed to grab a piece of clay and used the sharp end to cut the bonds off his wrists. Sure enough, he was able to loosen the bonds so he could free his hands. He gently rubbed his wrists to ease the tightness that the bonds did. After a while, he loosened the bonds off his legs until he was finally freed.

The stranger stood up and looked around the dark room for a light-switch. After searching around the room, he finally managed to find the light switch. Flicking the switch, lights along the ceiling start to turn on though the room is still faint. From what he can see around the room, he was obviously in a basement with a burner in one corner and pipes along the walls. As he looked around the room, he merged toward a mirror as he takes a good glimpse of himself.

He stood at a good 6 feet in height with the color of a black-and-white mix skin color. There was the name “Indians” written in front of his blue-buttoned shirt, in bold Red letters. On one sleeve, there is a grinning Red Indian with a matching feather. Around his waist was a black belt with a gold buckle, tied around the man’s white pants with blue stripes on the bottom and black sneakers with white stripes along the side. The man also wore a matching blue and red cap with the same Indian, covering his shaven haircut. As he turned around to look at his surroundings, the name “Jacobson” and the number 59 underneath were shown in the reflection on the mirror.

The first thing Jacobson had to do was see if there was a way out. The room itself looked like a workshop with a tool table by one wall and an opened drawer with stacks of paint inside. Other than that, most of the room was bare with hardly any other furniture. Jacobson saw a window above him and reached forward to it. He grabbed the ledge by the window and pulled himself up to the window. But to his shock, he found that it was completely blocked off with bricks from the outside.

“Dammit!” Jacobson cursed as he dropped back down to the floor.

“How the hell did this happen?” Jacobson thought. He barely remembered how he got in this room in the first place. It was bad enough that he gets the blame for what the fan did in his last game and now he finds himself completely blocked from the world in the confines of a dirty basement. Jacobson didn’t know if this was punishment for his actions. “As if my life hasn’t been screwed up enough!” He said under his breath.

Matt Jacobson then heard voices coming from upstairs. He followed up the stairs leading to a door and tried to open it. But the doorknob wouldn’t turn; it was as if the door was locked from the outside as well. He pressed his ear to the door trying to make out what was going on. But the noise was so faint; he couldn’t tell what they were up to. Matt got desperate; he banged on the door hoping to get their attention.

“OPEN UP! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!!” Matt shouted. “Let me out! Do you fucking know who I am!? I’m Matt Jacobson! I’M MATT JACOB…”

BONG! BONG! BONG!

A loud bell erupting from a clock of some sorts caught Matt Jacobson off guard and he fell down the stairs. After tumbling down the stairs, it was a struggle for Matt to get back up. His legs were bruised and he felt a trickle of warm blood flowing from his skull.

As Matt Jacobson struggled to get up, he saw something rose from the steam. As it rose higher and higher, Matt saw a dark hooded figure, wrapped in black cloth and his face hidden by a long dark hood. At the person’s full height, it stood no more than 6’4”, making the baseball player look small in front of him. It just stood in front of Matt, staring him down as he stood back up.

“Shit,” was the only word Matt could muster. He recognized the person and all of a sudden it came back to him. He was at the park, trying to reflect on himself when the same guy came in. The stranger took Matt before he could get away and now here he was again standing there, watching him. Matt looked around desperately, trying to find something to defend himself. And that’s when he saw it: Leaning right by the stairs, a wooden-baseball bat, and Matt grabbed it immediately. He held the bat in both hands as he stood his ground against the stranger.

“You see this?” Matt asked the stranger. “I’m going to stick this bat so far up your ass and make you look like a fucking Popsicle!”

The hooded figure did not seem phased by Matt’s threats and took a step toward the baseball star. Matt twirled the bat around in his hands, as he waited for the figure to make the first move. The hooded one lunged toward Matt, who swung his bat straight across the figure’s ribs. With the hooded one hunched over, Matt got behind the figure and choked the figure with his own bat. He pulled harder and harder trying to kill his kidnapper, but the later was putting up quite a struggle.

Little did Matt know, two more figures emerged from the floor and they grabbed Matt from behind, hurling him straight to the wall. The toss knocked some wind out of Matt as the impact loosened the bat from his grip. Matt found himself against the wall with the three figures standing in front. One figured gave a deep bellowing chuckle, it was creepy and it sounded like something from a horror film. This only made Matt frustrated.

“FUCK YOU!!!” Matt shouted.

Jacobson lunged toward the hooded figures, fists swinging and not one blow landing on either one. The hooded figures stepped back as Matt continued his attempts to make a hit. The hoods decided to fight back and with every punch they swung it felt like a sledgehammer was hitting Matt. He swung back at one figure only to receive a chop to the back of his neck and a sweep kick by the other one. All three of the figures attempted to stomp Matt, who was able to roll away before the impact. But he was unable to avoid their grips as they grabbed Matt by his shirt, lifting him into the air, and dropping him face-first on the concrete floor. Matt couldn’t take it any more, the pain hurt so badly that he started coughing blood and he could barely stand up. So the two hooded figures grabbed him by the throat, one with the left arm and the other with his right. They raised Matt as they had him on his knees gasping for air while the third one reached over to the dropped baseball bat. He examined the wooden bat carefully, then slowly turned his gaze on Matt, who responded by pitifully spitting blood at his feet.

“Go fuck yourself,” Matt gasped.

The last thing that Matt sees is the figure with the bat rushing toward him. In one hard swing, Matt could feel the hard wooden bat crush the side of his face as he saw his world spinning all around him. He felt himself hit a wall and finally landing on the floor. He saw the hoods looming over him; they seemed to grow taller than before. Then he saw his body collapse in front of him, only this time without a head. Matt Jacobson had been struck out… Only this time, it was for good.
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They're here Jason. Find them and get your revenge. Make them remember what fear tastes like! Be sure to give your vote for the Crystal Lakes killer!


Theme song: Original "Friday the 13th" theme
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#BROKEN Jamo
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As I said on the e-Fed forums. Really good
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Vote for Jason Voorhees to win CTS IX! Many different looks for Jason to adopt during his run in SCAW.
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Bryce Kanyon
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Thank you, I worked really hard on this chapter.
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They're here Jason. Find them and get your revenge. Make them remember what fear tastes like! Be sure to give your vote for the Crystal Lakes killer!


Theme song: Original "Friday the 13th" theme
Jason Voorhees Demolition

Finishers/Signatures: Crystal Lake Slam
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