WAKE LOW

Black screen.

White text appears.

“Fate whispers to the warrior, ‘You cannot withstand the storm.’
“The warrior whispers back, ‘I am the storm.’”
–Unknown

 

The letters disappear. Diagetic sound begins.Gusts of wind. A downpour of rain. Distant thunder.

A voiceover. Smooth as velvet and as stern as steel.

“All my life, I was told I was destined for great things.”

Infrequent flashes of light reveal the unsettling outline of a monstrous cumulonimbus, revealing the “black” to be a light-obscuring cloud of destruction encompassing the entire screen.

“I used to believe that.”

Flecks of rain hit the screen. A smattering at first, but in a moment’s time, it escalates into a full shower, drenching the screen as though it were a pane of glass.

“After all, I had all the advantages going for me. The pedigree. The training. The connections…”

Slow zoom out. The camera actually is fixed on a pane of glass, as revealed by the reflection of a man’s face.

“And perhaps arguably most important of all… the drive.”

The owner of the face comes into view, head and shoulders turned from the camera’s view. But the expression we see reflecting off the window is one of silent and angry stoicism.

Fearless in the face of the heavenly wrath bearing down on him.

“Yet even with all that, ‘greatness’ has always felt just beyond my fingertips.”

Dark eyes, pondering ruefully. Darker hair, slicked back (iykyk). Even darker designer suit, fitting him like a king.

“It took a lot of years of strife, struggle, and pain to learn a valuable lesson.”

Suddenly, a magnificent bolt of lighting shatters the sky, accompanied by a crashing peal of thunder.

Everything in view is lost in the light.

“Destiny is just a pipe dream.”

When the light subsides, the location and the man’s appearance have suddenly changed.

“And I’m now living wide awake.”

He stands on a stage in a sports arena, gazing into a different kind of storm. Thousands of screaming fans, surrounding a majestically-lit squared circle waiting at the end of the aisleway before him.

“I owe it to myself to defy whatever ‘destiny’ has in store for me, and claim greatness on my own terms.”

His suit is gone. His bare back displays an elaborate irezumi piece spanning his well sculpted shoulders to his lower back.

A grinning green storm dragon riding through clouds of black.

“A storm is coming, PRIME…”

Thunder CLAPS again.

The rumble segues into the thumping beginning of “Blouses Blue” by Konrad OldMoney feat. Sleep Steady. The man strides down the rampway.

Ready to claim what’s his.

“…and its name is Kerry Kuroyama.”

Lightning flashes across the screen once more, sending everything back to black.

We then fade to the backstage area.