Post by zaigon on Aug 2, 2020 22:39:56 GMT -5
It’s a couple days after Metal, at the Carter compound. We’re in Mr. Carter’s spacious office, well known by now. On a perch in the corner sits Prosperity, taking a well earned rest with his head tucked in his wing. On the desk prominently displayed is the APW World Title, with the late July sun bouncing off the faceplate. We see Mr. Carter at his desk, phone in one hand pen in the other.
“...No it’s not going to be an issue. Recent events have not changed the situation, things are just fine. Our business is separate.”
Silence to the rest of us but not Mr. Carter.
“Look, this is America, the land of opportunity and freedom. As far as I am concerned, a man’s ability to take advantage of that freedom is his own. I am blessed with that freedom from creator and country, and you can take advantage of that if you agree to terms.”
Again, silence. This time more uncomfortable, more uncertain.
“...You don’t seem to understand. This isn’t up for debate, this isn’t a negotiation for you. These are the terms, you match the terms, you get better, I get better. If you don’t want to, and you want to continue being lesser because your bosses are communist liberal fucks who don’t know what’s good for them, well that’s up to you.”
An audible click. Not from Mr. Carter’s side.
In response, Mr. Carter slams the receiver down with a loud CLACK. The noise startles Prosperity, but within moments he’s able to settle back. Seconds, maybe even minutes pass with Mr. Carter sitting in his chair scowling and breathing like an angry bull before a buzzer goes off.
“Mr. Carter, Riley Denton is here to see you.”
A pronounced snort this time.
“Fine.”
The door opens, and in walks Riley looking confident yet wary. Approaching the desk as Mr. Carter stands up, grabbing his title and slinging it over his shoulder.
Grasping it especially tight, for no apparent reason.
“You’re on time, good.”
“Of course. I was just finishing up some stuff for America, I gotta say I think it’s some of…”
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing with America.”
Riley stops in his tracks, looking at his boss who has returned to normal breathing but has contorted his face into a look of great dissatisfaction.
“I’m sorry sir?”
“Look, what you two do together...that’s your business. It’s working, America is the American champion and that’s necessary. It helps. But if I call you here, it’s for me. Not for him, if I need him that’s who I’ll call. You got me?”
“Of course, my apologies.”
“And don’t fucking apologize either. You’re not some sort of beta bitch, you work for Zaigon Carter. That means no apologizing, no regrets, no fucking compromises.”
“You’re right, you’re right, I’m...what did you need from me sir?”
Mr. Carter steps from behind the desk, towering over the smaller Riley. His grip on the title belt has gotten tighter, clutching it closer to his chest.
Over his heart.
“These are complicated times Riley. The mission is obviously well in tact, with my holding the World title and surging towards the endgame. This Irina situation those, and other...things...have me a bit distracted. Originally you were going to be here for something different, but after that phone call...these walls feel small Riley.”
Riley cocks his head a little at Mr. Carter.
“Well, that’s not a problem though. See the walls were tight when that dumb bitch booked that loser Jubei into the match YOU earned. Far and away from YOUR home country, from YOUR people. In a match YOU didn’t get to decide the rules. Yet who won?”
A pause, as both men lock eyes and Riley continues.
“That title on your shoulder is the only damn thing you need. It’s the thing that proves just exactly who the fuck you are. Let them say what you are, what you aren’t. Their words are just words, they carry no weight because you hold the weight. You hold them, they don’t carry you. No matter what, it all comes back to you. You’re the answer, the question, anything you damn well want to be.”
Before Mr. Carter can say anything, the buzzer goes off again.
“Sir, they’ve called back. Line one.”
A pause. Shifting the title belt to his other shoulder, Mr. Carter picks up the phone again.
“Yes?”
Silence. A tense, unknowing silence.
“That’s the deal. No exceptions.”
More silence, more anticipation.
“Good. I’ll await the fax.”
A click, but this time from Mr. Carter haplessly dropping the receiver back onto the base. Riley looks perplexed.
“What was that?”
“That...was the next step. You were right Riley. I am the answer. The answer to everybody’s question.”
========
“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.” 1 Peter 4:12
Challenges have been at my doorstep since Tokyo, when this title came home. When my ascension began, so too did those who wanted to bear arms against me and my rule.
Instead of being under me, creating a realm of peace they created a theater of war with their overt aggressions.
Last week we saw what happens when that arena is fair and just, not occupied by snakes and thieves here only to work against me. An honest yet stupid man stepped to me, and as expected got dropped because his arms were too short to box with God.
His God at least, and that’s all that matters.
There’s still time Vonn, my offer is not one with an expiration date. If you want to find your salvation, it’s not too late. If you want more suffering though, please understand I will not hesitate to oblige.
I am a giving God after all, one who provides what is necessary. Even if that necessary might destroy those receiving.
His will, after all.
Vonn isn’t alone this week though, he comes with a helper. A steward to walk with him on the path towards failure. Someone who is like me, like us even but isn’t.
Separate, but not equal.
Hello Sarah Lacklan, I don’t think we’ve ever formally met. Let me fix that.
I am your world champion, your God, Zaigon Carter.
Mr. Carter to you though.
It appears that while you are a “champion” in the same class as myself and my associate America Jackson, you are not in the same league. You aren’t even in the same sport. Your world revolves around a bunch of sewer dwelling maggots using whatever they can find to harm each other. It’s nothing more than a human cock fight, with one person eventually defiling nature and wrestling enough to hold the title you currently do.
You’re the top scumbag, the top defiler at the moment.
There’s no pride in that, no honor in that.
It also makes you no match for The Storm.
See while your life is a giant scramble, wondering what makeshift weapon you’ll need to fend off any number of cretins we have no equals. We have no fears, because we don’t leave things up to the swing of a garbage can lid or the flick of a lighter.
No, that’s for common people.
And as you’ve learned if you’ve paid attention Sarah, I am the furthest thing from a common person.
No I am your world champion, I am the person that single handedly provides for this place with my own two hands. Without me as champion, this place will fall into ruin and darkness.
Without you as champion...nobody will notice. You’ll be just another footnote in history, replaced by the next hyperviolent moron that takes your place.
You’re not special, you’re nothing.
Because I am a loving God though, because your world champion believes in lifting up those who deserve it, you have the same choice as your partner did last week.
Don’t fight us, join us
That title on your shoulder? We can make it mean something, more than just bloodbaths and lowlifes. More than you can ever imagine.
You can be more than a champion, you can be someone that matters. Someone that makes a difference. Someone people will remember one day.
Or you can fight us.
You can break our olive branch and stab at our eyes with it if you choose, but you know how it will end. The same as it did for Vonn Richter.
For Jason Ryan. For Masuda Jubei. For Steven Osbourne.
For anyone that stands in our way.
There is no grey in this Sarah, there is only acceptance or agony.
That choice is yours.
Make no mistake though, there is no mercy waiting on the other end of our fists. There is no condolences when we’ve left you in a heap of your own defeat. Because it is not us that sets your fate.
It is you.
Your choices, your decisions are what bring forth whether you prosper or whether you suffer. We are just the chosen deliverers of fate, whatever that may be.
So you tell us Sarah what you want. You make the choice that will define your next weeks, months, years.
Choose wisely.
========
“...No it’s not going to be an issue. Recent events have not changed the situation, things are just fine. Our business is separate.”
Silence to the rest of us but not Mr. Carter.
“Look, this is America, the land of opportunity and freedom. As far as I am concerned, a man’s ability to take advantage of that freedom is his own. I am blessed with that freedom from creator and country, and you can take advantage of that if you agree to terms.”
Again, silence. This time more uncomfortable, more uncertain.
“...You don’t seem to understand. This isn’t up for debate, this isn’t a negotiation for you. These are the terms, you match the terms, you get better, I get better. If you don’t want to, and you want to continue being lesser because your bosses are communist liberal fucks who don’t know what’s good for them, well that’s up to you.”
An audible click. Not from Mr. Carter’s side.
In response, Mr. Carter slams the receiver down with a loud CLACK. The noise startles Prosperity, but within moments he’s able to settle back. Seconds, maybe even minutes pass with Mr. Carter sitting in his chair scowling and breathing like an angry bull before a buzzer goes off.
“Mr. Carter, Riley Denton is here to see you.”
A pronounced snort this time.
“Fine.”
The door opens, and in walks Riley looking confident yet wary. Approaching the desk as Mr. Carter stands up, grabbing his title and slinging it over his shoulder.
Grasping it especially tight, for no apparent reason.
“You’re on time, good.”
“Of course. I was just finishing up some stuff for America, I gotta say I think it’s some of…”
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing with America.”
Riley stops in his tracks, looking at his boss who has returned to normal breathing but has contorted his face into a look of great dissatisfaction.
“I’m sorry sir?”
“Look, what you two do together...that’s your business. It’s working, America is the American champion and that’s necessary. It helps. But if I call you here, it’s for me. Not for him, if I need him that’s who I’ll call. You got me?”
“Of course, my apologies.”
“And don’t fucking apologize either. You’re not some sort of beta bitch, you work for Zaigon Carter. That means no apologizing, no regrets, no fucking compromises.”
“You’re right, you’re right, I’m...what did you need from me sir?”
Mr. Carter steps from behind the desk, towering over the smaller Riley. His grip on the title belt has gotten tighter, clutching it closer to his chest.
Over his heart.
“These are complicated times Riley. The mission is obviously well in tact, with my holding the World title and surging towards the endgame. This Irina situation those, and other...things...have me a bit distracted. Originally you were going to be here for something different, but after that phone call...these walls feel small Riley.”
Riley cocks his head a little at Mr. Carter.
“Well, that’s not a problem though. See the walls were tight when that dumb bitch booked that loser Jubei into the match YOU earned. Far and away from YOUR home country, from YOUR people. In a match YOU didn’t get to decide the rules. Yet who won?”
A pause, as both men lock eyes and Riley continues.
“That title on your shoulder is the only damn thing you need. It’s the thing that proves just exactly who the fuck you are. Let them say what you are, what you aren’t. Their words are just words, they carry no weight because you hold the weight. You hold them, they don’t carry you. No matter what, it all comes back to you. You’re the answer, the question, anything you damn well want to be.”
Before Mr. Carter can say anything, the buzzer goes off again.
“Sir, they’ve called back. Line one.”
A pause. Shifting the title belt to his other shoulder, Mr. Carter picks up the phone again.
“Yes?”
Silence. A tense, unknowing silence.
“That’s the deal. No exceptions.”
More silence, more anticipation.
“Good. I’ll await the fax.”
A click, but this time from Mr. Carter haplessly dropping the receiver back onto the base. Riley looks perplexed.
“What was that?”
“That...was the next step. You were right Riley. I am the answer. The answer to everybody’s question.”
========
“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.” 1 Peter 4:12
Challenges have been at my doorstep since Tokyo, when this title came home. When my ascension began, so too did those who wanted to bear arms against me and my rule.
Instead of being under me, creating a realm of peace they created a theater of war with their overt aggressions.
Last week we saw what happens when that arena is fair and just, not occupied by snakes and thieves here only to work against me. An honest yet stupid man stepped to me, and as expected got dropped because his arms were too short to box with God.
His God at least, and that’s all that matters.
There’s still time Vonn, my offer is not one with an expiration date. If you want to find your salvation, it’s not too late. If you want more suffering though, please understand I will not hesitate to oblige.
I am a giving God after all, one who provides what is necessary. Even if that necessary might destroy those receiving.
His will, after all.
Vonn isn’t alone this week though, he comes with a helper. A steward to walk with him on the path towards failure. Someone who is like me, like us even but isn’t.
Separate, but not equal.
Hello Sarah Lacklan, I don’t think we’ve ever formally met. Let me fix that.
I am your world champion, your God, Zaigon Carter.
Mr. Carter to you though.
It appears that while you are a “champion” in the same class as myself and my associate America Jackson, you are not in the same league. You aren’t even in the same sport. Your world revolves around a bunch of sewer dwelling maggots using whatever they can find to harm each other. It’s nothing more than a human cock fight, with one person eventually defiling nature and wrestling enough to hold the title you currently do.
You’re the top scumbag, the top defiler at the moment.
There’s no pride in that, no honor in that.
It also makes you no match for The Storm.
See while your life is a giant scramble, wondering what makeshift weapon you’ll need to fend off any number of cretins we have no equals. We have no fears, because we don’t leave things up to the swing of a garbage can lid or the flick of a lighter.
No, that’s for common people.
And as you’ve learned if you’ve paid attention Sarah, I am the furthest thing from a common person.
No I am your world champion, I am the person that single handedly provides for this place with my own two hands. Without me as champion, this place will fall into ruin and darkness.
Without you as champion...nobody will notice. You’ll be just another footnote in history, replaced by the next hyperviolent moron that takes your place.
You’re not special, you’re nothing.
Because I am a loving God though, because your world champion believes in lifting up those who deserve it, you have the same choice as your partner did last week.
Don’t fight us, join us
That title on your shoulder? We can make it mean something, more than just bloodbaths and lowlifes. More than you can ever imagine.
You can be more than a champion, you can be someone that matters. Someone that makes a difference. Someone people will remember one day.
Or you can fight us.
You can break our olive branch and stab at our eyes with it if you choose, but you know how it will end. The same as it did for Vonn Richter.
For Jason Ryan. For Masuda Jubei. For Steven Osbourne.
For anyone that stands in our way.
There is no grey in this Sarah, there is only acceptance or agony.
That choice is yours.
Make no mistake though, there is no mercy waiting on the other end of our fists. There is no condolences when we’ve left you in a heap of your own defeat. Because it is not us that sets your fate.
It is you.
Your choices, your decisions are what bring forth whether you prosper or whether you suffer. We are just the chosen deliverers of fate, whatever that may be.
So you tell us Sarah what you want. You make the choice that will define your next weeks, months, years.
Choose wisely.
========
