Post by zaigon on Jun 7, 2020 20:37:06 GMT -5
Scene: It’s post Kingdom Come, and the private plane of Zaigon Carter is a place of celebration. In the large cabin America Jackson and the Troops are blasting rock music while going over the match in great detail, even going so far as to act it out on each other. Scattered silver cans on the floor indicate that their passion may be somewhat doused.
In private quarters, Mr. Carter sits in a well furnished room with a bed and a luxurious armchair. As he sips a glass of wine, he looks across at the person sitting on the sofa against the wall. It’s a young white man, mid to late 20s with close cropped dark hair and black frame glasses. He bears a slight perplexed look, but isn’t uncomfortable.
“So my assistant tells me your name is Riley Denton.”
“That’s correct Mr. Carter. Though I must admit…”
Mr. Carter’s free hand goes up, stopping Riley. Another drink of wine, before the glass goes down on a table and the hands come together.
“Do you know why you’re here, why I brought you all the way across the ocean?”
No words from Riley, just a shake of the head.
“When I told my assistant to find me a writer, I only had one thing I wanted: someone who tells the truth. The Daily Flame, American Justice Network, Freedom Incorporated, all these places you’ve been. All these places you gave Americans the news nobody else would give them. You got pilloried for it too. ‘Racist’, ‘bigot,’ “bootlicker,’ and others, correct?”
“Yes.” Riley says with exasperation, but a touch of defiance paints the back of the word. At this point Mr. Carter gets up from his chair, crosses to the couch, and sits on the opposite end never taking his eyes off Riley.
“I don’t give a shit what they say about you.”
A pregnant pause, for the words to settle.
“You’re here because I see me in you. Someone not afraid to tell what is, not what should be. The truth doesn’t give a fuck about feelings Riley. You know it, I know it. There is no idealism in the truth. Only the reality that people don’t want to accept, yet deep down in even the most addled minds know is fact. You get that, it’s why you’re here. It’s why you’ll stay here if you accept.”
Silence as Riley adjusts his glasses, before refocusing on Mr. Carter.
“What am I accepting exactly?”
“Your previous career has been as a truth teller. I want you now to be MY truth teller. Last night in London was where my rise to my rightful place in wrestling... in the world, began. The only condition I have is loyalty. I have been betrayed in my past by people I trusted. It won’t happen again, and if it does... ”
Flashes again, this time of a missed tag and a loss. A chair shot to the back; another loss. The same slight woman from before appears, as Mr. Carter shakes it off returning to reality.
“...If you are loyal though, you’ll be at the forefront of the next great success story. Our revolution will be vast, unstoppable, and undeniably American. That’s not a guess, that’s the goddamn truth. So what’s it going to be?”
Another pause, as Mr. Carter’s dark eyes don’t break from Riley’s fresh face. It’s an intense yet honest glare, betraying no doubt in the words preceding it.
“I’m in. All the way.”
A half smile across the face of Mr. Carter, before an extended hand met by the smaller hand of Riley. The shake affirms the words, bonding the two together.
“My assistant has your contract and upfront payment ready in the next room. Go get settled with her, and introduce yourself to America. You’ll be around him a lot, and I want you to have a good rapport with him. For now though, I need privacy.”
Without much hesitation, Riley breaks the handshake and gives a nod at Mr. Carter before departing the room. Picking up the glass, Mr. Carter drains the rest of the wine. Placing it down with a slight *clink*, the smile grows on his face.
“It’s all falling into place.”
==========
That’s one.
Maybe London will be a lesson to all of you who doubted me, doubted us. When I tell you what’s going to happen, you better believe me. I’m not a weak minded snowflake who needs to lie about reality to make it fit my warped sense of belief. My words are gospel, they are the truth and they will remain so until I draw my last breath.
It’s not about London anymore though, thank God. The only thing worse than the food is the government; a sham relic from the time those wig-wearing infant worshipers actually had a sense of power in this world. Before true power stepped to the head of the line and took command; before those who knew what was right and true did what was necessary to tilt the balance in the proper direction.
America and I did that last week, and even when our allied forces are separated we will continue until such time we decide to stop.
Don’t count on it.
The next candidate for liberation is Jaice Wilds. A man who wows the crowd with flashy stunts, electric moves, and who from all accounts came from nothing to become a sensation. Titles all across the country and world, chasing a dream wherever that flourishing orb of hope leads.
Some call it inspiring, others idyllic.
I call it a goddamn disgrace.
After all the Jaice Wilds story is not one that’s unique in any way. He’s a parasite; a scourge that crawled out from his hole in the darkness where he belonged coming to a place where he’s unwanted. When he found the light, all he did was take. He’s a tick, nothing but a blood sucking abomination.
You’re a drain on the wrestling system, offering nothing for all the ill-gotten spoils you’ve been more than happy to take advantage of. Jobs, opportunities, title matches, all things you didn’t deserve yet you were handed anyway while hard working, earnest competitors were denied.
Look no further than last week. While my associate and I stood in glorious victory, one for freedom and righteousness, you had a tag team title match. Another undeserved opportunity and what did you do with it?
You choked.
That tag title match you lost should have been for me, for America. Instead I had to watch you, a leech on our industry and society, go out and waste it. You were embarrassing, squandering that opportunity that you didn’t even warrant. If you’re going to steal from people at least finish the job, you ungrateful street urchin.
Good news for everyone like me who sees your truth, sees your charade for the miscarriage of justice that it is: it ends this week.
In the heartland of America, God’s country, I snuff this wretched abomination of existence out under my boot. I put an end to this myth that you are what this company... this business...this world needs.
They don’t need your illicit brand of smoke and mirrors, what they need is true dominance and exceptionalism. That’s what you will face at Metal this week. No false prophets or idols, just unadulterated force that can’t be dodged or skirted. I will bring to you all the justice you’ve escaped due to the ignorance and abetting of people afraid to do what needs to be done.
People like you are why I’m wrestling again; to cleanse and purify that which has become plagued with undeserving filth.
To reclaim what is mine away from ungrateful parasites that only take but never give.
This is the natural order of things Mr. Wilds. You shouldn’t fear it but accept it, because this is how it was always meant to be.
You will clear the way for my reign of dominance, for my great resurrection that comes at the expense of those not worthy to be in my company.
You are not worthy, you are not deserving, and after this week you’ll be just another name on a long list of those who fell to Zaigon Carter.
Not even a person, just a collection of letters that represents failure and a past of which we should all be ashamed.
You’ll no longer have to masquerade as a great wrestler or an inspiration to people; you will be freed to be what you were destined to be:
An inconsequential sack of bones and fluid that should have been swallowed down your stupid mother’s throat all those many years ago.
Just like those gluttons in London, when all is said and done this Monday you’ll look up at me as I am in my rightful place:
Standing over you.
You’ll lay there in that puddle of pain, consumed by the fact that your life as you know it has ended. That all the suffering you’ve endured will be the basis on which you build that new existence. One free of treachery, yet stripped of expectations and hope.
When that happens though, that feeling of clarity will wash over you. You’ll feel relieved, no longer a fraud but now aware of your true existence. No longer burdened by what you were told by charlatans, but instead enlightened by the one truth teller in this company and this world.
And in that moment, there’s only one thing left you’ll want to do before going about the rest of your purposeless but honest life.
You’ll want to thank me.
I’ll see it in those pathetic eyes of yours, despite being too brutalized to actually say the words. Dead will be your hope, but alive will be your new truth. All the things that I already know you will too through my violence, through my liberation of your cursed existence.
And because I’ll know my work is done, because I’ll have continued my mission of cleansing and deliverance, I’ll give you for the first time two words you’ve earned and deserve:
You’re welcome.
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