Post by zaigon on Aug 30, 2020 22:57:01 GMT -5
It’s February 2014.
A convoy of moving trucks is chugging through the wilderness of Montana, a little outside Billings. The trucks all bounce as they combat the poorly marked roads and rural terrain, yet maintain their course. At the very back, a jet black luxury SUV with blacked out windows trails them like a musher to a dog team. Prompting them on, keeping them on course.
Leading yet not in the lead.
The convoy continues before a clearing appears, and into focus comes a large mansion. It’s a breathtaking sight, with meticulous design matched only by its seclusion from every day life. One by one the trucks slow down, forming a semi circle in front. One by one, men pile out and start their work. The sound of doors, dollies, and human exertion fill the fresh air as the SUV arrives in the center of them all and stops.
As people start to go into the house, a commotion begins. Low yells turn louder, as the workers one by one leave the house. Out last is a different person; this one is wearing a suit not work clothes. He’s quite bigger than the rest, which looks to be by design. A scowl on his face, he walks up to the SUV tapping on the back window.
“We got a problem,” he grunts towards the glass.
Out of the mansion’s front door comes a man, in his early fifties. He’s got on a t-shirt and pants, wearing an expression of outrage.
“YOU GOD DAMN COCKSUCKERS GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I’LL SHOOT YOU SONS A BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” The man yells in the general direction of everyone.
The back door of the SUV finally opens.
Out steps Zaigon Carter, looking different. He’s wearing a brand new three piece suit, adorned around his neck by a tiny silver cross. His previously long hair is now cropped close to his head, and his eyes are hidden by sunglasses even darker than the car windows. He slowly approaches the yelling man, not concerned nor pressed by the fact he’s threatening homicide by firearm.
“No, what are you doing?” Zaigon asks calmly, pulling off his sunglasses. “This is my house.”
The man turns toward Zaigon, giving him the look like he’s just told him aliens are real and they’re about to sodomize him. Just an incredulous look.
“Son you must be crazy,” the man said. “This has been my home for the last decade. I bought the land, built the house, and intend to live my final years here in peace and quiet. You’re over here disturbing that peace on my property, and I have all right to pull my gun on you.”
“Nah, you don’t,” Zaigon said, pressing on. “See I know you did all that. I know everything about this house, because it’s mine now. As you can see I’ve brought my things to move in today, taking ownership of my new abode. It’s a beautiful house, you did a good job.”
“Mister are you not listening, I said I..”
Before he can say anything more, the man finds his mouth full with a giant plug. Struggling to breath for the two seconds it takes to fish it out of his yapper, he looks down at the now slightly soggy mound in his hand.
It’s cash. A lot of cash
“What you’ll find that I stopped your yammering with,” Zaigon continued “Is about 3 million in cash. Count it, it’s all there. That’s a million over what this house, this land, and everything in there is worth. Property prices are cheap out here, better than where I came from. That’s enough to get you a nice place just about anywhere in the world. You’re welcome.”
The man looks down at the money, back at Zaigon, then at the money, then at Zaigon.
“You’re a loon,” the man exclaims. “You just handed me three million dollars for a house I own, IN CASH, and expect me to walk away? It’s my lucky day!”
A snap of the fingers from Zaigon, and the giant man from earlier reappears. Reaching into the confines of his bulging jacket, he pulls out a manilla folder. He hands it to Zaigon, who flips through it before finding it. He pulls out a sale contract, with the last page exposed.
Signed by Zaigon Carter and the man.
“You want to try again?” Zaigon asked with a smirk and a chuckle.
The man’s eyes get even bigger, his face even redder.
“I NEVER SIGNED THAT, YOU FORGED MY SIGNATURE YOU LITERAL BASTARD, THIS WILL NEVER HOLD UP IN COURT I’LL SUE YOU,” the man yells.
A chuckle from Zaigon, who returns the contract to the folder.
“You could. But you’d have to beat my lawyers, who you can probably guess by the amount of money that was just in your mouth are very good,” Zaigon said. “You can fight us through every court in this city, state, and country. You might even win, because again you said it yourself. You didn’t sign it. But do you know how long that will take?”
Zaigon takes a step towards the man, who looks unhappy he did that.
“Do you know how much money I will drain from you if you decided to do that?” Zaigon asked. “I will bleed you bone dry, so dry that by the time you even won the right to keep your house you’d have to sell it to exist. Then I’ll just buy it legally, for a lot less than you’ve gotten today.”
“But it’ll cost you a fortune to fight it,” the man said.
Another chuckle from Zaigon.
“Which means I’ll just tap into the several other fortunes worth I have,” Zaigon said. “However rich you think I am, I am at least double that. You can’t drain me, because there is no bottom.”
For the first time since the conversation started, the man goes quiet. His brains processes all the things he’s hearing, looking for the door that walks him to freedom. Searching desperately for the answer that he thinks is there.
Only to find…
“Why are you doing this to me?” the man asks, reduced from angry mess to sorrow filled loser.
A big smile comes across the face of Zaigon, who gets close enough to pat the man on the cheek.
“Who said this was about you?” Zaigon said. “This is about me. What I wanted, what I could afford. You? You don’t fucking matter at all. You’re just collateral damage, a name on paperwork in a drawer that nobody will ever open. You’re a nobody, and you’ll always be subject to whims of people like me. That’s how America works. It doesn’t belong to you.”
Another two taps to the cheek.
“It belongs to me.”
With a snap of Zaigon’s fingers, the workers spring back to action. They begin wheeling out things from the house while loading in Zaigon’s things as he watches on, beaming before returning to the back of the SUV.
As the door slams shut, echoing throughout the trees, the now former owner of the house is still standing on his own. The money has moved from his hands to a pocket, with a small wet stain forming where they press against his pants material. His expression has not changed, remaining the vacant empty look since he realized he was now homeless. Well, as homeless as one can be with three million dollars.
No, no he thought to himself. It’s not going to be this way.
That asshole doesn’t get to win.
Reaching into his waistband, he pulls out a small pistol. Marching over to the SUV, he goes right to the door Zaigon went back through. Leveling the barrel square in the center about two feet away, he cocks the hammer before yelling.
“FUCK YOU YOU RICH PIECE OF SHIT!”
He pulls the trigger, releasing both the bullet and a sequence of events.
The bullet leaves the chamber, hurtling towards the window as people exit the house hearing the gunshot. When the bullet strikes the window, something unexpected happens.
It bounces off.
The bulletproof glass sends the projectile back from which it came, in this case the man who just fired it. As soon as it left, it returned embedding itself between the eyes of the shooter. The thud as his body falls to the dirt, a small cloud of dust kicking up around it and the gun which fell on impact.
Again, the back door opens.
Zaigon gets back out, looking at the window which has a tiny chip where the bullet made impact. Striding over to the man’s lifeless corpse, Zaigon reaches into the slightly moist pocket.
Out comes his hand, clutching the large wad of bills previously exchanged. Slipping them into his own suit pocket, he gives out a slight sigh. The large muscle man walks over, seemingly unaffected by this.
“What should we do about this Mr. Carter?”
A small pause.
“Just take care of it. He doesn’t matter, nobody will miss him.”
With that, Zaigon bypassed the SUV instead heading straight into the house. The giant man beckons over a couple of workers, giving them instructions we can’t hear.
Because they didn’t matter.
========
It’s Alpha Showdown day.
The freshly risen sun is streaming through the large office windows of Mr. Carter, as he stands looking out them. He’s grown out a slight beard, and under his eyes dark circles have emerged. In his right hand he holds the APW World Title, touching the outside of his right thigh. The sound of the door opening is heard.
Mr. Carter turns to see Riley rushing in, looking a bit bewildered.
“Why are you still here,” Riley asks a bit bewildered. “The show is today, you were supposed to be there last night.”
“I’m in the main event, America is in the semi main,” Mr. Carter said calmly. “The private jet will leave in a few hours. We’ll get to Las Vegas, do what needs to be done, and then get back on. What else do we need?”
“Look, I’m not trying to raise concerns but…” Riley tries to soft peddle this. “The last time APW heard from you was two weeks ago. You lost then, and just kinda disappeared. That’s not very becoming of a champion.”
Zaigon’s eyebrows go up, before walking around the desk to Riley.
“And just what in the fuck do you know about being a champion Riley?” Mr. Carter said sternly and loudly. “You’re a pencil dick that I hired to write words, not to critique ME about how I handle MY championship or MY affairs. I don’t remember anywhere in the application where it said ‘Tell your boss he’s doing something wrong that you have no idea about.’ Was that on there? Did I write that by accident and just forget? Tell me, since you have all the god damn answers you little tightly wound shit.”
An uncomfortable silence permeates the room, as Mr. Carter does his best to glare a hole through his assistant, as his grip tightens on his title belt. There’s a jagged nature to his speech, an on edge nature that hasn’t been present before. After a moment, Riley speaks up.
“You’re right, I apologize,” Riley said. “All I was saying is it might be a good idea, MIGHT BE, to let APW know what’s going on. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“Oh no Riley, you didn’t imply shit,” Mr. Carter said. “You said it, you think I’m not doing my duty. You’re like all these other panty wastes who think I don’t deserve this”
Mr. Carter shoves the title right up against Riley’s face, scraping his white and probably sensitive skin against the belt’s features.
“You probably don’t even think I’m gonna win tonight. Is that it? Maybe you’re hoping your little buddy America…”
Again, an uncomfortable silence.
“I think you’re making a lot of assumptions into just a benign thing, with all due respect,” Riley said, clearly trying to quell his boss's anger. “If you think this is best then…”
“No no, we’ll do it your way Riley, since you know fucking best,” Mr. Carter spits at him. With his free hand, Mr. Carter fishes his phone out of his pocket whipping it at Riley who catches it with some effort. He’s a writer, he didn’t go outside much.
“You want me to make a statement, you want people to know where I am, what I’m thinking?” Mr. Carter asks with venom spewing from every word. “Hit record, because I’ll tell you and them.”
========
You’ve heard me talk a lot about other people lately. Offering charity to my opponents, worrying about potential conspiracies against me. It’s all been about them, them, them. My vision has been clouded by the actions, the intent of others.
It’s a distraction, a deviation from the reality of the situation that I’ve been blinded to until I took a step back. Losing to that jackshit whats his name a couple weeks ago forced me to take stock, to look at what I was doing.
It wasn’t working. I was putting everything in jeopardy over people like him, like all the others that have done their best to take their pound of flesh in this time of weakness.
That time is over.
You know why?
Because this isn’t about any of you other people. Not the Man Made Gods or Giggles or even my…
America Jackson.
Nobody else matters but me.
That’s the attitude I took that won me this title, that got me in position to win me this title, and that will keep this title against all comers tonight.
I am the best thing to ever come through this company. Nobody could stand up to my power, my skill my confidence that I am the long dick of the law around here and that’s why when nobody thought I could do it I became your world champion.
Well party’s over chumps, because that same sense of self belief is back. I’m coming to Las Vegas to leave whoever stands against me in the main event in a puddle of their own blood, a pile of their own limbs, and mangled beyond belief.
Anything to win. Anything to remain champion.
The odds are against me, but that’s the funny thing about someone like me. The odds don’t really matter. When you’re rich, handsome, talented, things just have a way of...working out.
It doesn’t hurt that you’re willing to do unspeakable things to your fellow man, but the other things are nice too.
This is judgement day for APW. Alpha Showdown is the return of the one true king, the only one that really matters.
Man Made Gods, you do not matter.
Giggles, you do not matter.
William the Behemoth, you do not matter.
America Jackson...you do...not…
Nobody else matters. Not the people holding the titles, not the people who might take them away in an attempt to take mine. Do you hear me?
NONE. OF. YOU. MATTER.
This belt will come into Las Vegas on my shoulder, and I do not care who or what it will leave in the same exact place. I do not expect it to be easy; the only expectation is victory.
At any cost.
I won this belt in Tokyo fighting two crazy, inferior yet tough men who wanted my throat cut and they fell. When I’m on my game, when I’m truly focused there’s nobody in this company or this world that can stop me.
That’s what you are all up against in the main event.
You’re up against the best who remembered he’s the best.
Who will spare no expense to remain the best.
Who NEEDS to be the best.
It’s not desperation, it’s confidence.
It’s not speaking into existence, it’s revealing God's honest truth.
Sunday the king stays on his throne. The conqueror keeps his land.
The champion keeps his title.
Enough said.
========
A convoy of moving trucks is chugging through the wilderness of Montana, a little outside Billings. The trucks all bounce as they combat the poorly marked roads and rural terrain, yet maintain their course. At the very back, a jet black luxury SUV with blacked out windows trails them like a musher to a dog team. Prompting them on, keeping them on course.
Leading yet not in the lead.
The convoy continues before a clearing appears, and into focus comes a large mansion. It’s a breathtaking sight, with meticulous design matched only by its seclusion from every day life. One by one the trucks slow down, forming a semi circle in front. One by one, men pile out and start their work. The sound of doors, dollies, and human exertion fill the fresh air as the SUV arrives in the center of them all and stops.
As people start to go into the house, a commotion begins. Low yells turn louder, as the workers one by one leave the house. Out last is a different person; this one is wearing a suit not work clothes. He’s quite bigger than the rest, which looks to be by design. A scowl on his face, he walks up to the SUV tapping on the back window.
“We got a problem,” he grunts towards the glass.
Out of the mansion’s front door comes a man, in his early fifties. He’s got on a t-shirt and pants, wearing an expression of outrage.
“YOU GOD DAMN COCKSUCKERS GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! I’LL SHOOT YOU SONS A BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” The man yells in the general direction of everyone.
The back door of the SUV finally opens.
Out steps Zaigon Carter, looking different. He’s wearing a brand new three piece suit, adorned around his neck by a tiny silver cross. His previously long hair is now cropped close to his head, and his eyes are hidden by sunglasses even darker than the car windows. He slowly approaches the yelling man, not concerned nor pressed by the fact he’s threatening homicide by firearm.
“No, what are you doing?” Zaigon asks calmly, pulling off his sunglasses. “This is my house.”
The man turns toward Zaigon, giving him the look like he’s just told him aliens are real and they’re about to sodomize him. Just an incredulous look.
“Son you must be crazy,” the man said. “This has been my home for the last decade. I bought the land, built the house, and intend to live my final years here in peace and quiet. You’re over here disturbing that peace on my property, and I have all right to pull my gun on you.”
“Nah, you don’t,” Zaigon said, pressing on. “See I know you did all that. I know everything about this house, because it’s mine now. As you can see I’ve brought my things to move in today, taking ownership of my new abode. It’s a beautiful house, you did a good job.”
“Mister are you not listening, I said I..”
Before he can say anything more, the man finds his mouth full with a giant plug. Struggling to breath for the two seconds it takes to fish it out of his yapper, he looks down at the now slightly soggy mound in his hand.
It’s cash. A lot of cash
“What you’ll find that I stopped your yammering with,” Zaigon continued “Is about 3 million in cash. Count it, it’s all there. That’s a million over what this house, this land, and everything in there is worth. Property prices are cheap out here, better than where I came from. That’s enough to get you a nice place just about anywhere in the world. You’re welcome.”
The man looks down at the money, back at Zaigon, then at the money, then at Zaigon.
“You’re a loon,” the man exclaims. “You just handed me three million dollars for a house I own, IN CASH, and expect me to walk away? It’s my lucky day!”
A snap of the fingers from Zaigon, and the giant man from earlier reappears. Reaching into the confines of his bulging jacket, he pulls out a manilla folder. He hands it to Zaigon, who flips through it before finding it. He pulls out a sale contract, with the last page exposed.
Signed by Zaigon Carter and the man.
“You want to try again?” Zaigon asked with a smirk and a chuckle.
The man’s eyes get even bigger, his face even redder.
“I NEVER SIGNED THAT, YOU FORGED MY SIGNATURE YOU LITERAL BASTARD, THIS WILL NEVER HOLD UP IN COURT I’LL SUE YOU,” the man yells.
A chuckle from Zaigon, who returns the contract to the folder.
“You could. But you’d have to beat my lawyers, who you can probably guess by the amount of money that was just in your mouth are very good,” Zaigon said. “You can fight us through every court in this city, state, and country. You might even win, because again you said it yourself. You didn’t sign it. But do you know how long that will take?”
Zaigon takes a step towards the man, who looks unhappy he did that.
“Do you know how much money I will drain from you if you decided to do that?” Zaigon asked. “I will bleed you bone dry, so dry that by the time you even won the right to keep your house you’d have to sell it to exist. Then I’ll just buy it legally, for a lot less than you’ve gotten today.”
“But it’ll cost you a fortune to fight it,” the man said.
Another chuckle from Zaigon.
“Which means I’ll just tap into the several other fortunes worth I have,” Zaigon said. “However rich you think I am, I am at least double that. You can’t drain me, because there is no bottom.”
For the first time since the conversation started, the man goes quiet. His brains processes all the things he’s hearing, looking for the door that walks him to freedom. Searching desperately for the answer that he thinks is there.
Only to find…
“Why are you doing this to me?” the man asks, reduced from angry mess to sorrow filled loser.
A big smile comes across the face of Zaigon, who gets close enough to pat the man on the cheek.
“Who said this was about you?” Zaigon said. “This is about me. What I wanted, what I could afford. You? You don’t fucking matter at all. You’re just collateral damage, a name on paperwork in a drawer that nobody will ever open. You’re a nobody, and you’ll always be subject to whims of people like me. That’s how America works. It doesn’t belong to you.”
Another two taps to the cheek.
“It belongs to me.”
With a snap of Zaigon’s fingers, the workers spring back to action. They begin wheeling out things from the house while loading in Zaigon’s things as he watches on, beaming before returning to the back of the SUV.
As the door slams shut, echoing throughout the trees, the now former owner of the house is still standing on his own. The money has moved from his hands to a pocket, with a small wet stain forming where they press against his pants material. His expression has not changed, remaining the vacant empty look since he realized he was now homeless. Well, as homeless as one can be with three million dollars.
No, no he thought to himself. It’s not going to be this way.
That asshole doesn’t get to win.
Reaching into his waistband, he pulls out a small pistol. Marching over to the SUV, he goes right to the door Zaigon went back through. Leveling the barrel square in the center about two feet away, he cocks the hammer before yelling.
“FUCK YOU YOU RICH PIECE OF SHIT!”
He pulls the trigger, releasing both the bullet and a sequence of events.
The bullet leaves the chamber, hurtling towards the window as people exit the house hearing the gunshot. When the bullet strikes the window, something unexpected happens.
It bounces off.
The bulletproof glass sends the projectile back from which it came, in this case the man who just fired it. As soon as it left, it returned embedding itself between the eyes of the shooter. The thud as his body falls to the dirt, a small cloud of dust kicking up around it and the gun which fell on impact.
Again, the back door opens.
Zaigon gets back out, looking at the window which has a tiny chip where the bullet made impact. Striding over to the man’s lifeless corpse, Zaigon reaches into the slightly moist pocket.
Out comes his hand, clutching the large wad of bills previously exchanged. Slipping them into his own suit pocket, he gives out a slight sigh. The large muscle man walks over, seemingly unaffected by this.
“What should we do about this Mr. Carter?”
A small pause.
“Just take care of it. He doesn’t matter, nobody will miss him.”
With that, Zaigon bypassed the SUV instead heading straight into the house. The giant man beckons over a couple of workers, giving them instructions we can’t hear.
Because they didn’t matter.
========
It’s Alpha Showdown day.
The freshly risen sun is streaming through the large office windows of Mr. Carter, as he stands looking out them. He’s grown out a slight beard, and under his eyes dark circles have emerged. In his right hand he holds the APW World Title, touching the outside of his right thigh. The sound of the door opening is heard.
Mr. Carter turns to see Riley rushing in, looking a bit bewildered.
“Why are you still here,” Riley asks a bit bewildered. “The show is today, you were supposed to be there last night.”
“I’m in the main event, America is in the semi main,” Mr. Carter said calmly. “The private jet will leave in a few hours. We’ll get to Las Vegas, do what needs to be done, and then get back on. What else do we need?”
“Look, I’m not trying to raise concerns but…” Riley tries to soft peddle this. “The last time APW heard from you was two weeks ago. You lost then, and just kinda disappeared. That’s not very becoming of a champion.”
Zaigon’s eyebrows go up, before walking around the desk to Riley.
“And just what in the fuck do you know about being a champion Riley?” Mr. Carter said sternly and loudly. “You’re a pencil dick that I hired to write words, not to critique ME about how I handle MY championship or MY affairs. I don’t remember anywhere in the application where it said ‘Tell your boss he’s doing something wrong that you have no idea about.’ Was that on there? Did I write that by accident and just forget? Tell me, since you have all the god damn answers you little tightly wound shit.”
An uncomfortable silence permeates the room, as Mr. Carter does his best to glare a hole through his assistant, as his grip tightens on his title belt. There’s a jagged nature to his speech, an on edge nature that hasn’t been present before. After a moment, Riley speaks up.
“You’re right, I apologize,” Riley said. “All I was saying is it might be a good idea, MIGHT BE, to let APW know what’s going on. I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
“Oh no Riley, you didn’t imply shit,” Mr. Carter said. “You said it, you think I’m not doing my duty. You’re like all these other panty wastes who think I don’t deserve this”
Mr. Carter shoves the title right up against Riley’s face, scraping his white and probably sensitive skin against the belt’s features.
“You probably don’t even think I’m gonna win tonight. Is that it? Maybe you’re hoping your little buddy America…”
Again, an uncomfortable silence.
“I think you’re making a lot of assumptions into just a benign thing, with all due respect,” Riley said, clearly trying to quell his boss's anger. “If you think this is best then…”
“No no, we’ll do it your way Riley, since you know fucking best,” Mr. Carter spits at him. With his free hand, Mr. Carter fishes his phone out of his pocket whipping it at Riley who catches it with some effort. He’s a writer, he didn’t go outside much.
“You want me to make a statement, you want people to know where I am, what I’m thinking?” Mr. Carter asks with venom spewing from every word. “Hit record, because I’ll tell you and them.”
========
You’ve heard me talk a lot about other people lately. Offering charity to my opponents, worrying about potential conspiracies against me. It’s all been about them, them, them. My vision has been clouded by the actions, the intent of others.
It’s a distraction, a deviation from the reality of the situation that I’ve been blinded to until I took a step back. Losing to that jackshit whats his name a couple weeks ago forced me to take stock, to look at what I was doing.
It wasn’t working. I was putting everything in jeopardy over people like him, like all the others that have done their best to take their pound of flesh in this time of weakness.
That time is over.
You know why?
Because this isn’t about any of you other people. Not the Man Made Gods or Giggles or even my…
America Jackson.
Nobody else matters but me.
That’s the attitude I took that won me this title, that got me in position to win me this title, and that will keep this title against all comers tonight.
I am the best thing to ever come through this company. Nobody could stand up to my power, my skill my confidence that I am the long dick of the law around here and that’s why when nobody thought I could do it I became your world champion.
Well party’s over chumps, because that same sense of self belief is back. I’m coming to Las Vegas to leave whoever stands against me in the main event in a puddle of their own blood, a pile of their own limbs, and mangled beyond belief.
Anything to win. Anything to remain champion.
The odds are against me, but that’s the funny thing about someone like me. The odds don’t really matter. When you’re rich, handsome, talented, things just have a way of...working out.
It doesn’t hurt that you’re willing to do unspeakable things to your fellow man, but the other things are nice too.
This is judgement day for APW. Alpha Showdown is the return of the one true king, the only one that really matters.
Man Made Gods, you do not matter.
Giggles, you do not matter.
William the Behemoth, you do not matter.
America Jackson...you do...not…
Nobody else matters. Not the people holding the titles, not the people who might take them away in an attempt to take mine. Do you hear me?
NONE. OF. YOU. MATTER.
This belt will come into Las Vegas on my shoulder, and I do not care who or what it will leave in the same exact place. I do not expect it to be easy; the only expectation is victory.
At any cost.
I won this belt in Tokyo fighting two crazy, inferior yet tough men who wanted my throat cut and they fell. When I’m on my game, when I’m truly focused there’s nobody in this company or this world that can stop me.
That’s what you are all up against in the main event.
You’re up against the best who remembered he’s the best.
Who will spare no expense to remain the best.
Who NEEDS to be the best.
It’s not desperation, it’s confidence.
It’s not speaking into existence, it’s revealing God's honest truth.
Sunday the king stays on his throne. The conqueror keeps his land.
The champion keeps his title.
Enough said.
========