Post by zaigon on Jul 19, 2020 22:21:15 GMT -5
It’s January 4th, 2014
The tall towers of the Chicago business district gleam with a rare winter sunlight, glaring off the manmade attempts at reaching Heaven in every direction. In this particular building we see Zaigon Carter, lounging in a brown leather chair in front of a giant ornate desk. The light gleams off a small silver cross around his neck, partially obscured by his tieless suit.
The door opens, and in walks a generic looking bald white man. He’s got a navy suit, white shirt, red tie, a look meant to obscure any personality. He sits down across from Zaigon, without a smile. Businessmen don’t smile.
“Zaigon, it’s been too…”
“Mr. Carter.” comes the response, snappy and forceful.
“My apologies, the first time we met you told me that was your father and you…” the man tried to continue.
“Things have changed. My father is dead, has been dead, and now I have purpose. Purpose in part to restore my family’s name,” Mr. Carter said. “So you will now refer to me as such.”
“Fair enough Mr. Carter. Now I assume you’ve come to check on your family’s fortune? Your mother and sister were here just a couple…”
“No, I’m not here to check on it. I pay you good money to keep it correct. The second you don’t is the second you become replaceable for someone that will,” Mr. Carter spat. “But you did mention those two, and that is why I’m here.”
“Well they did mention you hadn’t reached out to them in a few…”
“Cut them off,” Mr. Carter said.
The man pauses, casting a confused look at Mr. Carter who is fiddling with the jewelry hanging from his neck.
“I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“You did, you just don’t want to listen,” Mr. Carter said. “When my father died, he gave me control of the fortune. I let those leeches take from what is mine, charity in the name of pity. Well the bank is full but my sympathy is over. Take their names off the accounts, remove all electronic access. The only person who has claim to this is me now.”
“Sir are you sure you don’t want to think about…”
Mr. Carter stands up, putting his palms on the man’s desk with a scowl. The man instinctively slides back in his chair a couple of inches.
“Your job isn’t to question what I want,” Zaigon said. “You serve me, you do as I say, or you’re out of the equation. All that money lost because a pencil pushing asshole asked questions when it wasn’t his turn. Gave a fuck when it wasn’t his turn to give a fuck. Is that you? Is it?”
A gulp from the man, as the wheels in his brain are spinning out of control. He puts his hands up, which causes Mr. Carter to sit down in his chair.
“I will start doing the paperwork required to make you the sole owner on the accounts,” the man said. “It will take a little while to process since I’m assuming you want to have confirmation before leaving. Can I get you anything?”
“Vodka if you have it,” Mr. Carter said.
The man stands up, walking to a before now unnoticed floor standing globe in the corner of the office. He pulls back the top, revealing an assortment of bottles and glasses underneath.
“Help yourself, I’ll be back shortly,” the man said before heading for the door.
As he closes the door behind him, Mr. Carter takes a stride or two over to the hidden bar. Grabbing a clear bottle, he uncaps it with a sniff. Satisfied, he pours it into a glass before adding a pair of ice cubes. Lifting it to his lips, the satisfactory burn goes down his throat.
Then comes the smile across his face. One of satisfaction.
A malicious satisfaction, but satisfaction nevertheless.
========
It’s the day after Bulletproof
The private jet home was rocking, with America holding court drinking everything on the plane he could get his fists around. It was going to be the most expensive plane ride of Mr. Carter’s life, but it didn’t matter. He had money, and the boy was a champion.
It just made things easier.
In his private quarters, the APW World Championship sat on a table gleaming. Save for the small red spots staining the faceplate. Mr. Carter refused to have them cleaned. Leave them, he barked at a couple of backstage hands when he came through holding it.
As a message for the rest.
Now though he sat in his captain’s chair sipping a glass of wine; white this time. The flight was long, getting drunk on a plane was an amateur’s game.
America would learn that, but that’s his job. Learn and dominate.
Mr. Carter sat with a quiet warmness to him, as just beyond his door unmitigated energy bounced all over the aircraft. He liked the symmetry, he sitting in complete control while just beyond him order was lacking.
Because he knew one step, a few words, and it would all stop.
Or it would get even stronger.
All on his whims, his command.
Control, his natural contentment state.
Power, his pure natural state.
Alone, his preferred social state.
It’s good to be at the top.
Another sip of the glass. Another observation of the jet screaming back towards the United States, towing inside the newest and greatest leader baptised in others’ bloods.
It was only the beginning.
========
This feels right.
I knew it would, because despite all this happening at my hands it wasn't fully controlled by me. My faith, and my power as a result brought me to the top of APW.
I am the champion, I am the leader, I am the one true power in this company now.
Let the blood of Jason Ryan and Masuda Jubei be a warning to all those who cross me in the name of petty advancement, without knowing my greater cause.
I’m doing the work of a higher power, through me all good things come.
Except for those who stand against me, those who obfuscate what I’m here to achieve.
For that way leads to pain, suffering, and ultimately obedience.
In case you weren’t sure, that means you Corey Black.
“Do not invoke the names of other gods; do not let them be heard on your lips” Exodus tells us.
Yet all you’ve done since you arrived is declare you something you’re not.
You and your partner have denigrated the entire concept of that most important person.
Me.
After all with the Spirit within me I am your only God. Now with this title in my possession, all things before me recognize this. There is no denying it. No longer can you be blind.
Which makes it fitting that my first test, my first challenge post ascension is to smite before me one the false idols that brings shame to me and this place.
Not just because of what you are, what you call yourselves, because that’s filthy enough.
But because of what you won’t do.
You have the audacity to call yourself champions of any kind, yet you’ve ducked your betters in America and myself since we arrived here.
You’ve run from the light, run from this true power leaving your fellow champions to fall in your place. Jason Ryan and Steven Osbourne’s blood is on your hands, because of your cowardice.
Don’t try that whole “We don’t make the matches” shit either. The last mere mortal that tried that on me ended up flying all the way to Japan only to lose his title.
Not that he had much of a choice, he dug his own grave.
I just threw him in.
So now it’s up to you, because I am benevolent and kind despite all the violence that follows me when people don’t take advantage of such. You have two choices.
At Metal when I vanquish you just like I have every single other soul in front of me, you can gather up the tag team titles and leave them in the ring. America and I will accept that as your surrender, atonement for your previous sins. I’m nice like that.
Or, if you get a taste for my fists in your mouth you can continue your two man rebellion via concealment. You can continue to be an affront to my presence, ignoring my omnipotence.
Which just means we’ll keep coming after you. The beatings will continue until your titles are ours and your existence is ended.
I will not tolerate your insolence, especially when it directly contradicts my sworn journey. One way or another it will end. I’m giving you the choice on whether it ends with some form of peace
Or an all out war.
Rest assured Mr. Black, you may think the world is one way but I assure it isn’t.
You are not a God.
I am THE God.
Come Metal, you’re going to realize that fire and brimstone aren’t just words in the greatest story ever told.
They’ll rain down upon you, ending your story while mine continues.
You’ll be a battered man, reduced to your true form. On your knees in front of your King.
In front of your everything.
In that moment of forced humility, when you look up at the face of God.
You’ll know true peace, because you’ll be at your end. The end of everything.
My grace through fury will deliver that to you.
It is my gift, given to you without charge.
You can thank me or don’t, it doesn’t matter.
It’s what you deserve.
The tall towers of the Chicago business district gleam with a rare winter sunlight, glaring off the manmade attempts at reaching Heaven in every direction. In this particular building we see Zaigon Carter, lounging in a brown leather chair in front of a giant ornate desk. The light gleams off a small silver cross around his neck, partially obscured by his tieless suit.
The door opens, and in walks a generic looking bald white man. He’s got a navy suit, white shirt, red tie, a look meant to obscure any personality. He sits down across from Zaigon, without a smile. Businessmen don’t smile.
“Zaigon, it’s been too…”
“Mr. Carter.” comes the response, snappy and forceful.
“My apologies, the first time we met you told me that was your father and you…” the man tried to continue.
“Things have changed. My father is dead, has been dead, and now I have purpose. Purpose in part to restore my family’s name,” Mr. Carter said. “So you will now refer to me as such.”
“Fair enough Mr. Carter. Now I assume you’ve come to check on your family’s fortune? Your mother and sister were here just a couple…”
“No, I’m not here to check on it. I pay you good money to keep it correct. The second you don’t is the second you become replaceable for someone that will,” Mr. Carter spat. “But you did mention those two, and that is why I’m here.”
“Well they did mention you hadn’t reached out to them in a few…”
“Cut them off,” Mr. Carter said.
The man pauses, casting a confused look at Mr. Carter who is fiddling with the jewelry hanging from his neck.
“I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
“You did, you just don’t want to listen,” Mr. Carter said. “When my father died, he gave me control of the fortune. I let those leeches take from what is mine, charity in the name of pity. Well the bank is full but my sympathy is over. Take their names off the accounts, remove all electronic access. The only person who has claim to this is me now.”
“Sir are you sure you don’t want to think about…”
Mr. Carter stands up, putting his palms on the man’s desk with a scowl. The man instinctively slides back in his chair a couple of inches.
“Your job isn’t to question what I want,” Zaigon said. “You serve me, you do as I say, or you’re out of the equation. All that money lost because a pencil pushing asshole asked questions when it wasn’t his turn. Gave a fuck when it wasn’t his turn to give a fuck. Is that you? Is it?”
A gulp from the man, as the wheels in his brain are spinning out of control. He puts his hands up, which causes Mr. Carter to sit down in his chair.
“I will start doing the paperwork required to make you the sole owner on the accounts,” the man said. “It will take a little while to process since I’m assuming you want to have confirmation before leaving. Can I get you anything?”
“Vodka if you have it,” Mr. Carter said.
The man stands up, walking to a before now unnoticed floor standing globe in the corner of the office. He pulls back the top, revealing an assortment of bottles and glasses underneath.
“Help yourself, I’ll be back shortly,” the man said before heading for the door.
As he closes the door behind him, Mr. Carter takes a stride or two over to the hidden bar. Grabbing a clear bottle, he uncaps it with a sniff. Satisfied, he pours it into a glass before adding a pair of ice cubes. Lifting it to his lips, the satisfactory burn goes down his throat.
Then comes the smile across his face. One of satisfaction.
A malicious satisfaction, but satisfaction nevertheless.
========
It’s the day after Bulletproof
The private jet home was rocking, with America holding court drinking everything on the plane he could get his fists around. It was going to be the most expensive plane ride of Mr. Carter’s life, but it didn’t matter. He had money, and the boy was a champion.
It just made things easier.
In his private quarters, the APW World Championship sat on a table gleaming. Save for the small red spots staining the faceplate. Mr. Carter refused to have them cleaned. Leave them, he barked at a couple of backstage hands when he came through holding it.
As a message for the rest.
Now though he sat in his captain’s chair sipping a glass of wine; white this time. The flight was long, getting drunk on a plane was an amateur’s game.
America would learn that, but that’s his job. Learn and dominate.
Mr. Carter sat with a quiet warmness to him, as just beyond his door unmitigated energy bounced all over the aircraft. He liked the symmetry, he sitting in complete control while just beyond him order was lacking.
Because he knew one step, a few words, and it would all stop.
Or it would get even stronger.
All on his whims, his command.
Control, his natural contentment state.
Power, his pure natural state.
Alone, his preferred social state.
It’s good to be at the top.
Another sip of the glass. Another observation of the jet screaming back towards the United States, towing inside the newest and greatest leader baptised in others’ bloods.
It was only the beginning.
========
This feels right.
I knew it would, because despite all this happening at my hands it wasn't fully controlled by me. My faith, and my power as a result brought me to the top of APW.
I am the champion, I am the leader, I am the one true power in this company now.
Let the blood of Jason Ryan and Masuda Jubei be a warning to all those who cross me in the name of petty advancement, without knowing my greater cause.
I’m doing the work of a higher power, through me all good things come.
Except for those who stand against me, those who obfuscate what I’m here to achieve.
For that way leads to pain, suffering, and ultimately obedience.
In case you weren’t sure, that means you Corey Black.
“Do not invoke the names of other gods; do not let them be heard on your lips” Exodus tells us.
Yet all you’ve done since you arrived is declare you something you’re not.
You and your partner have denigrated the entire concept of that most important person.
Me.
After all with the Spirit within me I am your only God. Now with this title in my possession, all things before me recognize this. There is no denying it. No longer can you be blind.
Which makes it fitting that my first test, my first challenge post ascension is to smite before me one the false idols that brings shame to me and this place.
Not just because of what you are, what you call yourselves, because that’s filthy enough.
But because of what you won’t do.
You have the audacity to call yourself champions of any kind, yet you’ve ducked your betters in America and myself since we arrived here.
You’ve run from the light, run from this true power leaving your fellow champions to fall in your place. Jason Ryan and Steven Osbourne’s blood is on your hands, because of your cowardice.
Don’t try that whole “We don’t make the matches” shit either. The last mere mortal that tried that on me ended up flying all the way to Japan only to lose his title.
Not that he had much of a choice, he dug his own grave.
I just threw him in.
So now it’s up to you, because I am benevolent and kind despite all the violence that follows me when people don’t take advantage of such. You have two choices.
At Metal when I vanquish you just like I have every single other soul in front of me, you can gather up the tag team titles and leave them in the ring. America and I will accept that as your surrender, atonement for your previous sins. I’m nice like that.
Or, if you get a taste for my fists in your mouth you can continue your two man rebellion via concealment. You can continue to be an affront to my presence, ignoring my omnipotence.
Which just means we’ll keep coming after you. The beatings will continue until your titles are ours and your existence is ended.
I will not tolerate your insolence, especially when it directly contradicts my sworn journey. One way or another it will end. I’m giving you the choice on whether it ends with some form of peace
Or an all out war.
Rest assured Mr. Black, you may think the world is one way but I assure it isn’t.
You are not a God.
I am THE God.
Come Metal, you’re going to realize that fire and brimstone aren’t just words in the greatest story ever told.
They’ll rain down upon you, ending your story while mine continues.
You’ll be a battered man, reduced to your true form. On your knees in front of your King.
In front of your everything.
In that moment of forced humility, when you look up at the face of God.
You’ll know true peace, because you’ll be at your end. The end of everything.
My grace through fury will deliver that to you.
It is my gift, given to you without charge.
You can thank me or don’t, it doesn’t matter.
It’s what you deserve.
