Post by zaigon on May 31, 2020 21:21:48 GMT -5
Scene: It’s a misty morning in Billings. Deep inside a remote wooded area, surrounded by bluffs and terrain, flies an eagle with wings spread wide. Soaring over the branches, piercing the early dawn clouds, we finally see its target: An immense house on a hill, stylized in wood, comes into view. The eagle flies through a large open window on the third floor, landing inside an expansive study. Standing in the room, clearly awaiting the bird’s return, is Zaigon Carter with a cup of coffee. Striding across the room, he takes an envelope from the bird’s beak before stroking it lightly.
“I knew I could trust you Prosperity.”
Moving to the desk, Mr. Carter bears a silver letter opener slicing through the envelope to reveal several sheets of paper. He picks up the top one and begins reading to himself.
Dear Mr. Carter
Thank you for your interest in joining Alpha Pro Wrestling. After reviewing your previous history in wrestling…
A shudder runs down the spine of Mr. Carter. Flashes of a young, slight woman celebrating over his fallen figure run through this mind. That fades to memories of a younger, unkempt man walking up a ramp as thousands taunted him.
Mocked him.
Embarrassed him.
A shake of the head. A sip of coffee. Continue.
We think you’d be a wonderful addition to our roster. While we do take issue with your...method of contact…
A slight chuckle leads to another look at Prosperity, who had his head buried in his wing.
“Guess they’re not used to seeing a majestic creature like yourself. Better you than the last bird I had.”
A pang in the soul. Not of remorse, not quite of loneliness. Just, a pang.
We are excited to offer you a contract. Enclosed in this letter is the deal, along with details on your start date. As requested, we’ve also reviewed the information of your associate America Jackson. We’re more than happy to bring him on as well.
This brings a smile to the face, but one tinged less with happiness and more with a malicious affirmation.
Please return the contract as soon as possible through CONVENTIONAL MEANS. We accept mail, email, and faxes.
Thank you and welcome to Alpha Pro Wrest…
Carter crumples the paper and tosses it into a nearby trash can. He leans over the desk, picking up a pen. Rifling through the other papers looking, he finds the final page and signs it. The cursive shines in a bright red ink, slightly dripping down the edge of the page. Stuffing it unceremoniously back into the envelope, Mr. Carter places the bundle on the desk before smashing it with a wax seal. Again blood red, with “ZC” prominent in the middle.
Examining it with satisfaction, Mr. Carter walks back over to Prosperity. Offering the envelope in one hand, the bird seizes it.
“Take it back from where it came, make sure they accept it.”
A silent acknowledgement between master and pet passes, before Prosperity spreads its mighty wings and takes off out the window from which it came. Mr. Carter watches him leave, before picking up his coffee to take another drink.
“And so it begins.”
==========
This is a moment seven years in the making.
For seven arduous years I’ve waited, sat in the darkness, let the world change around me. One day I knew that everything would align in a place where my return would be possible. Where I could put into motion plans that are days, weeks, months, and years old.
And yet, fate’s blade still cuts those so ambitious to seize it for themselves.
My grand return, my glorious revival, happens in a shit hole country.
England.
The same nation that drove out great patriots, and then sluaghtered them when they came across the ocean to object to their freedom. The same nation that just under 200 year later crawled to our doorstep because they couldn’t handle the German air strikes. The oppressor became the oppressed.
Just like America helped then, once again America will save a situation that would result in utter ruin without its intervention.
Not that the gang of socialists or monarchs will ever thank America. They’ll take advantage of America just like they have for decades. They’ll gaze at America with wonderment, adoration, even worship. Then like the ungrateful dog biting its owner's hand, they’ll go right back to hating America because they’re too god damn stupid to know better.
Speaking of not knowing better, hello there Very Big Supervillains.
Or should I say, aloha?
Because it’s not only the beginning of myself and my associate come Sunday in London, it’s the end of this boyhood fantasy you two overgrown children are parading around and about. This little experiment where we trot out the two lowbrow simpletons, as fellow lame brains across the world rejoice! Two of their own have made it to the big time!
No more. Not one minute longer.
People like you will always stand in opposition of people like me, like my associate, and good hard working Americans everywhere. You’re slovenly but expect to be loved, you speak and conduct yourselves like shaven gorillas lost from the zoo and think we should accept that. You are nothing but the lowered bar of society personified in tubby sacks of fat.
You are indeed the villains of this story, even if the only super thing about you is the identifier on your fast food portions.
Sunday lads. Sunday, just like the Storm, is coming.
When that Storm arrives, it will bring about all the things that you fear. It will bring pain, it will bring suffering, but most of all it will bring something you have no way in which to prepare.
Superiority.
We are better than you in every way, and there’s no way to escape that fact. Tell yourself any lie you need, but deep within those gelatinous rolls you know it’s true. At Kingdom Come you’ll be in the ring with two thoroughbreds; we’ll be in the ring against a pair of filthy swine.
This is the natural order of things though. This is the purpose of our movement, the true reason for the existence of The Storm. We will liberate you from those false dreams, take away all those foolish things filling your massive heads, and leave you cleansed of what you can’t be.
In fact, after we’re done I expect you to, slowly, rise to those troll-like feet of yours and grunt out a thank you. Because we will have done you the favor that nobody else was brave enough to accomplish. You’ll say “Thank you Mr. Carter, thank you America Jackson, for giving us the sobering reality check we needed.
For showing us how utterly pathetic we are, so now we can stop embarrassing ourselves in public.
For helping re-establish the natural order of the world, where people like us are beneath people like you.
For putting us in our place.”
And because I’m such a benevolent man, before you grovel at our feet and bestow upon us that appreciation, let me give you the answer you’ll deserve.
You’re welcome.
==========
Mr. Carter turns away from the desk, admiring once again the wild Montana landscape. It’s interrupted by a pair of buzzes from the phone, followed by a woman’s voice puncturing the silence.
“Mr. Jackson and his Troops are on the line Mr. Carter.”
Nodding to no one in particular, Mr. Carter takes a seat at the desk before pressing “Speaker.”
“God Bless America, how are we this morning?”
The beginning of the conversation fades, as does the rest of the scene.
==========
2013
It’s New Year’s Eve in New York City.
Revelers all around the city are celebrating new beginnings, casting out the bad of the old year while longing for what they think will be the next great year.
At Madison Square Garden the crowd is loud enough to hear outside the building, as “Divine Destiny” rounds in form towards its main event matches. Inside the World’s Most Famous Arena is the place to be, the hottest ticket and crowd in town.
Except for one man.
His long brown hair unkempt, his bags haphazardly packed under the eye of security before they escorted him out of the building. After all, the general manager made it clear when the contracts were signed a week ago. “Loser Leaves Town” didn’t mean a goodbye tour. It meant get out, and don’t come back.
Which is where Zaigon Carter found himself, out of a job and the building. Forced with every step to hear the crowd. The crowd that loved so much seeing that...woman ruin everything he had created.
He wasn’t happy.
He didn’t know when he’d be happy again.
That lack of happiness wasn’t filled with sadness or self pity, as Carter maneuvered his bags into a cab. His ears still full of the fans who sang THAT song as he was taken away from the ring, taken away from all his dreams.
No, the only emotion he had was white hot anger.
“Where to?” the cabby asked, oblivious to any of this.
Zaigon cut him a glare, before somehow spitting out like he was trying to rid his mouth of a razor blade.
“Airport.”
The cab puttered away from MSG, taking with it one passenger and the last day of his then life.
And yet, history would show it would be the first of his new.
A day many people would wish never happened.
