Post by John Rabid on Nov 1, 2015 17:43:06 GMT -5
Prologue
Location unknown: Now.
Our field of vision is entirely occupied by Kyle Kemp’s hand grasping a mobile phone. The phone’s touch screen is cracked, splintering a previously recorded video message into large shards of night vision menace. A green and black face leering out now from the darkness as the message unfolds. It’s Johnny Rabid, speaking directly into the phone’s camera. Canine like eyes blinking thought the zero visibility haze as they seemingly address us. Kyle’s grip on the phone, tightens.
Johnny Rabid: Poor, poor little Kyle. I take it you found your phone at last; too bad about the screen though. It was careless of you to drop it in such a hurry. I wonder what you saw that frightened you so? Was it shadows and fantasy, or cold, terrible truth? Perhaps you need to ask yourself this, is the truth really so terrifying? They say it sets you free, the truth. Is that how you feel now? Do you feel freedom as our match with Gemini Battle and Mikey Extreme looms on the horizon? Do you feel safe in the knowledge that there’s a friend in your corner with the abilities I posses? We are friends, aren’t we? Or has your mind been frozen to the spot by legends and superstition, unable to see all the advantages #Beachkrew now has at it’s disposal? Perhaps a demonstration is in order; similar to the one you witnessed tonight. Sunday sounds fitting; the Psychopath and the schizophrenic; Battle and eXtreme, dismantled by a force nether could match. Vivisected by a million years of choices humanity was never meant to be privy to. But maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves here; to be convinced of my intentions, I suppose I need to unravel this story from my side of the fence. It starts one week ago in a Iowa skybox; hanging precariously above a moment of unfolding history.
1.Transitions of Power
Hellimination: One Week Ago
The ants scurried and hurried across the square matchbox; tiny bodies of rage gripped by a frantic necessity to succeed. Those brave little bipedal ants, they fought and fell down. Only to rise once again and repeat the process. From the private heaven of Seth Lerch’s skybox it all seemed hopelessly trivial; but the match taking place far below was of immeasurable importance. This was #Beachkrew verses the People’s Choice. The might of fuccboi nihilism verses the self appointed “popular” guardians Beta’s of decency within the WseaF. Six months ago it would have been the DRG down there fighting the “good” fight; Gemini Battle, the man who hated the people, even while they embraced him; standing shoulder to shoulder with a confederate giant; a uni-footed war vet, and a freak-show psychopath with female empowerment issues. But ghosts don’t compete in wrestling matches, even on Halloween.
This was a moment of transition for the WseaF. Empires rise and fall; but the world of Seth Lerch just kept on turning, never standing still. And this was the trouble. For Seth was tired, his spirit weighed down with a pair of lead feet planted to the spot; while all around him an insane environment continued to rotate faster and faster towards Oblivion (not that one). Lerch was trapped; listening to the same plans, the same bold promises, with the same empty outcomes; rolling and returning to haunt him; over and over again. An endless tide that washed ashore the same old disappointments. For Seth, ghosts did indeed have their place here in the WCF, apparently to torment him. Apparitions to echo what might have been; Joey Flash, Imperium, Dune, the death of Christian Malignaggi, Jonny Fly’s fluctuating interest in the WCF, now in cold storage. All these problems arising from the depths to haunt him; with only a bottle of forty and Jayson Price’s stale porn collection by his bedside to exorcise the failures.
Hacksaw Jim Thuggin’: My Earth children; oh blessed Earth children! See how they run, Seth! See how they fight! The astral alignments are in perfect harmony. No one can stop the will of the universe now! #Beachkrew are about to ascend! The star tide will rise!
Somewhere among all the nonsensical hyper-boil that slithered from Hacksaw’s mouth into Seth’s resistant ears, Lerch could hear a child dying. He didn’t like the sound it made; it reminded him of losing. Everything did. Just a wall of white noise that bludgeoned his will.
Seth began looking for an escape route for his consciousness; he noticed an ugly burrito stain on his “And Justice for All” tee, this blotch displeased him. Seth picked at the scab but it was deeply embedded. Seth spat 48 per cent alcohol and 52 per cent saliva on his fingers and started to rub that motherfucker out. Over the years Seth had mastered at least a half dozen different ways to express his disinterest in others, tonight he couldn’t even be bothered to open the toy box and plunder one of them. Instead, he just found a minor excuse to be distracted and focused on that instead.
Seth Lerch: Fucking hell, I look like a bum with this stain!
The sentiment was easy to translate, Johnny Rabid could see the exasperation in Seth’s furrowed features as Thuggin’ tried to get through to him. It provided a wry, wicked smile to his lizard like chops, but Rabid was keen to hide it, instead he held his composure firmly in check and straightened his burgundy tie that completed his charcoal suit. Rabid nodded thoughtfully at a frustrated Hacksaw who sat back, tagging his charge in. The two #Beachkrew titans intently shadowing Seth on either side of a set of large leather chairs that where perched perfectly above the chaos. Johnny and Jimophy; all too keen to offer small, insightful anecdotes. A pair of well dressed, worm-tongued soothsayer's, eager to impress a nonplussed Seth with a perfect brainstorm of bold new era’s and cutting edge world building.
But Seth, he just didn’t seem to care.
ONE! TWO! THREEE! VIC VENABLE HAS BEEN EEEEEEE-LIMINATED!!!
Hacksaw Jim Thuggin’: They’re down to one now. One against the combined might of my children. So much for the People’s choice. That name by the way is a travesty. Who is the People’s Champion? Kyle Kemp! My third favorite Earth child has eliminated both Vic Venable and Teo Del Sol! There hopeless optimism sent back to the minors by a punt kick fueled with an injection of my endless guile and flawless savvy. That kick’s power and speed harnessed and enhanced through equations only a mind, born inside the black heart of a collapsing star, could possibly imagine!
Seth Lerch: This stain isn’t budging. Fuck! I think it’s ingrained.
An old and scratched sixpence fluttered between the fingers of Johnny’s left hand as he searched for a way to reach a distracted Seth. Then it occurred to him; Gemini Battle, how Rabid had managed to corral the situation with Billy and that U.S title shot earlier in the evening; all those pieces falling perfectly into place at his feet. Now Billy believed Johnny more than ever; considered Rabid a “Stand Up Guy”; for refereeing the match against a “mindless bully” like Gemini Battle. Rabid had “The whale child’s” ear for taking that God’s Paradox and still walking away from the ring under his own volition. Rabid had recast Gemini as the monster; the villain Battle once desperately wanted to be. It was the height of irony, Gemini Battle was impeachable to the crowds; but with one switcheroo curiosity of Thuggin’ and Rabid; Gemini had become, to one fan at least, the antagonist. It was, as with most diabolical schemes of scope, a start. Convince a Billy today; convince a world tomorrow. Billy possessed a power greater than his psychical might, his heart. Billy would never lie to the people, never cheat them or let them down; and with that strength in Rabid’s back pocket, he would sever Gemini’s connection to the people. And once severed, Greyson Pierce, the live-wire Battle became outside the ring, would fade inexorably back beneath the surface; and at that horrific moment, Gemini would be ready for “conversion”, transformed into a Rabid follower. Break, and convert. This was the Rabid way. Not just to attack his foes, but to control them. To own his enemies, body and spirit. In time, they would ALL bend the knee before him. Finally presented as “offerings” to the true ruler of this kingdom: Seth Tiberius Lerch; the God King of Professional Wrestling.
Seth Lerch: I don’t even like Mexican food. I don’t even like Mexicans. This stain is a Gravedigger curse, I can feel it in my tired loins.
Ahem. Yes well, the “God King” was still distracted. Time to amend that.
Johnny Rabid: Seth, these cardboard cutouts behind the couches; they appear to be Jonny Fly and Logan in a sitting position, right?
Seth stopped fidgeting with his shirt. Sighed.
Seth Lerch: I used them occasionally as a slight of hand; the crowds would think that Fly or Logan where sitting next to me, while in fact they were lying in wait to launch an attack backstage or beneath the ring. In fifteen years of running this place; the audience STILL hasn’t figured out how we pull off that magic trick. And people wonder why I have zero respect for the crowds.
Johnny Rabid: You miss them, don’t you?
Seth glanced over at those cardboard cutouts; yeah, he did miss those times. Missed them like hell.
Seth Lerch: Don’t be preposterous! Team of Treachery was a royal pain in the ass. And Fly had me thrown in prison! Fuck that guy! Fuck all of them! They’re all primadonna’s; butt aching for more screen time, for more money...for just plain more. Good riddance to the fucking lot! Even Torture’s pissing me off. Man Made Gods? Tort is a former World Champion, a man who I pushed to the moon and back. And how does he repay all my hard work? By pissing it all away with Jayson Price. Who I hear knows ALOT about piss!
Johnny Rabid: They were heroes to you, weren’t they?
Seth Lerch: Heroes? Fuck heroes! Sheep only ever follow two types of animal; dogs, trained to lead them to pens, and other sheep. Someone tell me again what a “Hero” does; they follow the sheep, the crowds and their cries. Like that jumped up schizo, Gemini Battle. I knew as soon as they cheered his name in Mexico that it would be the end of another fine talent; and sure enough, six months later, here we are; having to listen to him run around town preaching his new found normality. Insufferable twerp; I had hopes for him too, but they faded away. Just like they all do. Just like Joey...
An unused cardboard cutout of Joey sat next to Fly and Logan. Spencer had just kicked out of yet another pin. The crowd were on their feet; but Seth was a million miles away. Joey was the future. After months of planning; everything was in place, the trigger about to be pulled; a champion this company could be proud of again...now gone. His son, dead.
Seth felt very, very alone. Sitting in heaven with his laughing ghosts.
Seth Lerch: Somebody, finish this Spencer Adams off already. I want this over with.
Rabid looked out at a sea of small, little people living vicariously though the bravery of a hopeless cause. Spencer Adams was hanging on; but it was of little use, the odds were just too great, the task too insurmountable. Adams would succumb to #Beachkrew. This was the way of things. With such a backdrop at his disposable Rabid could waste little time. He leaned in and explained his “vision”.
Johnny Rabid: I can’t ask you, Seth; to place any faith in me; and neither would I. All I can say is this. That one day, I will earn your faith; and you’ll feel safe allowing me to carry it for you. Your faith will be protected; shielded behind a belt of gold. Don’t give up on this company; and don’t give up on the idea of heroes either. A man can be a hero to some, and a villain to others. It’s up to the man to choose whose cheers does he wants to hear; the sheep bleating his name; or the king, proclaiming him legend. Me?
Rabid snarled at the crowd as they booed #Beachkrew’s dominance.
Johnny Rabid: I choose the king.
Thuggin’ lit a cigar; even before Jared had pinned Spencer; the fight was over. Not the one below, but the one that would matter in the months to come. Seth officially became “interested” in Johnny Rabid. And the cries of a dead child didn’t seem so loud after all.
2.Party Politics
The Bimbo wiped a black line of mascara across her face as she burped a confession into the stoned eyes of Kemp.
Brainless Bimbo: They all laughed at me at the modeling studio because I said that Unicorn’s were extinct. But they must be, right? I mean; you only ever see them in moves now; and that shit is CGI for sure.
Kyle Kemp: These movies, what are they?
Brainless Bimbo: What?
Kyle Kemp: What genre?
The bimbo rolled her eyes as her one brain cell tried to dodge the question. Eventually it took a punt on an answer.
Brainless Bimbo: Fantasy, right?
Kyle nodded; he was glad that didn’t take long. At least she knew what “genre” meant.
Kyle Kemp: And that means?
Brainless Bimbo: I dunno; people really want unicorns back, so they fantasize about them?
.....
Fuck. Me.
Kyle Kemp: No, It means they ever existed in the first place. They’re a fantasy; like Dragons and Vampires and Zombies. Fantasy. Not reality. That’s why they can’t be extinct.
The Bimbo burst our crying again; the pills and booze had left her a real emotional wreck.
Brainless Bimbo: They’re right, aren’t they? I am stupid.
Kyle smiled; he admired her considerable trump cards.
Kyle Kemp: Trust me, with a set of tits like yours? There’s no red blooded male alive who will ever think you’re stupid; you’ll only ever be downgraded to endearing. Now; blow me the fuck off. It’s Halloween, and I want it horrorKore!
Of course, she complied.
#beachworldorder.exe
Later: The party had hit a different plateau. It was time to reflect; half drunk synopsis’s where laid out on the secrets of the universe as Wade Moor and Jared Holmes Joined Kyle on the balcony for a joint and a discussion.
Jared Holmes: Hey Kyle. Feet touching the ground yet?
Kyle Kemp: Fuck no, man. That’s an impossibility for a few day yet. We just brought the WseaF to it’s knees; and on Monday morning it’s gonna beg for more.
Wade Moor: Yeah BOI! This sky, this sea, this land; it’s all Beach property now! It’s a world we can plunder; drag beneath the waves. Let them hear the song of Brosideon. The cries of Atlantis. You understand, BOI? The waves, they can hear you now. They can hear you crash against the shore of history. You understand what that means?
Kyle guessed it probably meant that Wade was a whack job; but as answers go, it was hardly a prudent one.
Kyle Kemp: I understand.
Wade threw a vice like bear hug around the waste of Kemp and lifted him up into the air. Kissing Kemp on the cheek with a wet mark of saliva. Jared smiled.
Wade Moor: This BOI right here! This here’s my #beach brother! You hear that sky? You hear that stars? My brother is here!
Wade let Kyle go as Jared scowled at the night sky, the six god took a drag on his blunt and allowed the midnight air to clear his troubled thoughts.
Jared Holmes: Thuggin’ and Rabid; we have to discuss some business, Kyle. It’s all in the balance now; we have to keep this juggernaut tight. It’s ours; we earned it. I won’t let it slip from my hands; we’re the ones that bleed. That counts for something. Rabid and Thuggin’
Wade nodded.
Wade Moor: They walk in here like generals; but they’re not soldiers. Not like us Kyle. This is not their war to win. It’s not their spoils to own. It’s not their glory to take. That’s why we need you, Kyle. Like we did tonight. We need that Kemp magic.
Jared Holmes: The world wrote you off; Kyle. They stole your dream and they considered you dust. That’s not the #Beachkrew way. We saw the champion in you; even when you won that People’s title no one saw the true champion in you; not like us. That belt of yours; it’s just the beginning of the journey for you. The world can’t write you off anymore; not when you’re the man that holds the quill. The world dances when Kemp is up to bat. That’s why you’re #Beachkrew. That’s why I have to ask you this favor.
Of course; no one gets buttered up for nothing. There’s ALWAYS a favor.
Jared Holmes: It’s Rabid; I need you to find out who he is; what he’s about. I’ve been discussing this with Wade. We’re thinking you and Rabid verses Gemini Battle and Mikey Extreme. It’s going to be--
Kyle Kemp: Wait, what? The man that pinned Odin Balfore and the best friend of Freakshow the rapist? That’s my reward? We’ll excuse me, but I was expecting at least some ticker-tape first before the lions.
Jared launched an arm around the shoulder of Kemp. The six God was good at many things; however, sincerity was a real bump in the road.
Jared Holmes: Odin yawned and Gemini tripped him up; that win at Asesinato De Mayo was a fluke wrapped in a mirage of talent. Gemini Battle Is the latest in a long and not so illustrious line of delusional Betas that wander the corridor’s of our fair WseaF searching for lies to peddle. Listen to him now; how he claims to be some kind of man of the people; the self described “greatest living U.S. Champion”; while the man that once held that belt and called him friend is scurrying around the country like a rat. Tell me, Kyle. Why didn’t anyone try and prize Mikey away from Freakshow when it was plain to see what kind of insane psychopath he show’ was? Mikey had won them the U.S title, and yet they had little quarms about allowing a cancer like Freakshow to poison the mind of their “friend”; simple answer Kyle, because Mikey was weak; and the DRG was a band of vultures picking themselves apart for titles. Mikey was an easy target; he set himself up for a fall and Freakshow pushed. He pushed and Mikey fell; not as hard as Scarecrow, but he fell. Did the DRG try to catch him? Fuck no. Uriel Bates shrugged and didn’t believe the reports; even though the evidence was overwhelming, Bates didn’t even blink when Mikey imploded. Why? Because Bates wanted Mikey gone and Freakshow was the perfect bullet to load into the gun. That’s why the DRG are no more and #Beachkrew rule the WseaF. Togetherness. Solidarity and trust. These three traits come from friendship, Kyle. They’re born out of love. Out of brotherhood. Johnny Rabid is an interloper. He is a Freakshow waiting to happen, and we can’t have that, Kyle. We have to cauterize the wound. Mikey Extreme is a cautionary tale for each and every one of us. He is the prototypical bad egg, pontificating on about how he was going to change this county when all MIkey managed to do was change the FBI’s most wanted list. The worst part is that I see in MIkey’s face the refection of Johnny Rabid. That’s not a hammer I want to fall on us, Kemp. Not now, not while we have it all.
Wade Moor: Shadow him, Kyle. Thuggin’ knows me and Jared too well. But you, Kyle; we picked you. We choose you, not Jimophy. That means Rabid won’t be aware of your movements on the same scale as us. He won’t know what to expect; that will leave him exposed. And you’ll get a clear shot at discovering his secrets.
3.Observe. Study. Report.
Monday 6:34am: Rabid seen outside his hotel (The Carlton, downtown) he seems to do his cardiovascular training before sunrise. Runs about six to eight miles a night. Barely breaks a sweat either. Weird. I’ve hired a repo; a two door hatchback with one way glass. He can’t see me. I think.
Tuesday: Same as yesterday. This guy is a creature of habit. Very exact to be precise. His routine is down to the minute. Has a thing about his eyes. Wears thick aviator shades outdoors at all times. May suffer with a photosensitive condition. Or maybe he’s a goth. Looks the type.
Wednesday: 5:18am Tracked his route across town as he ran; strange incident involving a dog owner; an ex con in the park, his pit-bull went crazy around Rabid. Never seen a dog that big terrified before; this huge thing was thrashing against it’s lead, yelping. Interesting reaction from Rabid. He placed his hand on the pet’s forehead; it...well, it fell silent, as if it’s larynx had been cut. Rabid looked straight into the eyes of the owner. A moment later and that thug was as mute as the dog. The pair just walked away. Like in a trance. I head something about a suicide uptown. I’ll look into it.
Thursday: 17:17pm Rabid hanging out at a hipster steak house; didn’t even know these things existed in Salt Lake city. Rabid orders his steak bloody. Barely touches it; more interested in the smell. Licks the blood off the plate. A waitress bumps into him as he leaves; a moment later, and she’s gushing blood from a nose bleed. I hear she’s taken to hospital. That night I check the local new reports about that suicide and the dog owner had taken his life and the Dog’s. Both their throats slit. Took his time over it too by all accounts with a steak knife. Hell of a way to die.
Friday: Fuck. This. Shit. I don’t know what is going on, Jared; but you’re going to have to find out on your own. You understand? No more after today. You can rabbit on about brotherhood and friendship, but this guy? This Rabid? Look..I don’t believe in the supernatural. I barely have time for religion. But--
Kyle’s repo is parked outside Jerry’s Gym; its a rundown but respected institution in Salt lake. A boxers fraternity that has produced many of the emerging fighters from this particular region. Clouds overhead eclipse the sunlight as the revolving glass double doors to the gym rotate and Rabid steps out into the daylight. He checks his shades and lowers his head, a towel over his shoulder and crown. He’s walking towards his parked Porsche 911; stops.
Kyle is finishing off his forth coffee of the day out of view, relieving his bursting bladder against a stone wall. A moment later he hears a noise from inside the gym that triggers a hasty run back to the car. Kyle has a note pad and a Biro pen ready now on his slightly damp lap. He makes some casual notes on Rabid as he exits; he’s wearing sweat pants; he has a towel over his head he...he’s stopped.
Rabid tilts his head; looks DIRECTLY at the repo!
Kyle Kemp: Shit.
Kyle goes to start the engine; not fearing being seen; but not looking for a confrontation either. Better to be safe than sorry. Still, Rabid can’t see him through the one way glass; that would be...
As Kyle lowers the pen he notices that Rabid’s eyes FOLLOW IT. Johnny’s eyes impossibility glaring though the one way glass; he’s toying with Kemp without fully acknowledging his presence. A wry, evil smile creeping across those thin, lizard lips of his.
Kemp’s heart beats double time now; he raises the pen to be sure...Rabid’s eyes stay FIXED on the Biro. Johnny is emotionless, cold. Slowly, Kyle turns the key in the ignition as Rabid begins to walk towards the repro. Slow, purposeful steps as Rabid drops his gym bag; Kyle struggling now with the key; the engine isn’t turning over!
Rabid closing in as Kyle feels his nostrils on fire! Blood vessels welling up, ready to burst! His vision begins to blur; Kemp shakes it off as he finally turns the engine over, speeding away as the engine finally roars into life, Rabid slamming his hand down on the roof of the vehicle, it concave’s with a large, fist sized thud!
Kyle Kemp: The fuck!
Kyle checks his rear view view mirror; Rabid is NOWHERE to be seen as Rabid’s voice echoes over the escape.
“If I were you. I’d forget about the Dog walker; simply an unfortunate incident. But I wouldn’t forget about how it happened; that’s an important juncture in our friendship, Kyle. As was you dropping your phone in the gym carpark.”
4.The Monster at Your Door.
Johnny Rabid: You’ve become privy to a different side of me, Kyle. You’ve snooped into my private life and discovered pieces; but not the picture. If the day comes when you learn the full truth? Then I can only pity you. Because there are truths you can never be allowed to walk away from. But it’s not a time for threats; rather promises. This week we’re a tag you and I. And I will not fail in that task. I was born for this; just as you were born to be an athlete no matter what discipline you applied yourself to. You were always destined to succeed. Funny, isn’t it? Watching our enemies grasp at straws; they say I have a inferiority complex, that I’m letting my family down; that I’ll struggle and falter. All this from one bio that contains a paragraph of vague moments; an outline of who and what I am. And from this they have somehow managed to unlock to codex to my entire life; but what else would you expect from two plumbs who claim to be the “greatest” living U.S champion of all time; in an era of Steve Orbit and Gonzo Murdock. This is what we face this week the last dying embers of a decaying empire; the follow of Thomas Urel Bates, the head has been cut off; but the body still staggers one, unaware that it’s bleeding out. Dying before us. Gemini Battle and Mikey Extreme are a throwback to an era of heroes. And we all know what happens to heroes. All you have to do is watch the tapes of Dune and Joey Flash for the answer. Or the fall of the Scarecrow. There are no heroes for the people anymore, Kyle. Only for the king. Only for #Beachkrew. We have decreed it so; and long may we reign.
The message ends as Kyle looks upon his phone in his dressing room and ponders an uncertain future.