Post by "Iron Heart" Ethan King on Dec 27, 2016 4:39:48 GMT -5
A Shark, A Psychologist, And A 'Dead' Man.
The man wears a double breasted grey suit, complemented by a black shirt with a maroon tie and a cordial smile spread over his face, hands clasped together, fingers intertwined with one another as he rests them on his desk. A desk covered with typical staples of a personal office, a desktop monitor present to his left side, crisp white papers organized into separate piles, each with either sharp typed out text or handwritten notes upon them. A steaming cup of coffee at his side, as well as a plate of various biscuits, he sits with a content, patient look over him, as he awaits for the shuffling of feet behind his office door to subside and for said door to open â revealing his next patient.
As if on cue, the door swings open to reveal two youthful men, one clearly disheveled, blonde hair strewn about in a messy that hangs over his forehead as fringe, the other with an eerily similar style, but far more maintained. The first with an indifferent, stoic expression littered over him, his tired eyes analyzing the man seated at the desk, as well as the humble office upon which he had been brought to. The other however, seemed far more self-assured, far more aware and confident, a shark-toothed grin coupled with eyes that made the seated psychologist uneasy, causing him to unknowingly shuffle in his seat. The Shark caught this movement, his smile only grew wider. The Psychologist, brought into a short moment of uncertainty, quickly recomposed himself, bringing the welcoming smile back over his otherwise tense face.
The Psychologist: Welcome! I assume you are the one who booked early in the morning, correct?
He addressed the question to Ethan King, who with a hint of disinterest, glanced over toward The Shark, who shook his head.
The Shark: No, I did. But, my friend here will be the one youâll be talking to today.
He placed heavy emphasis on the word âfriendâ, which caused Ethanâs eyes to avert his gaze for the merest of moments, before returning to the suited Shark, whose smile remained, as if a permanent feature of his youthful, devilish features. The psychologist seemed taken aback for a moment, but caught himself before he slipped up in front of The Shark again. With one hand, he grabbed the mug by his side, bringing up to his lips and taking a delicate sip of the warm, dark liquid that filled the porcelain. With the other hand, he beckoned for the man who hadnât spoken to have a seat, before bringing the mug down to his wooden desk.
The Psychologist: Well, have a seat, my friend. We can get started in a moment.
His gaze swung from Ethan, and then to The Shark, who had already made himself at home in the corner of the office, resting himself on a plush leather seat by a towering bookshelf, one he had already started filing through with his hands, his right leg crossed over his left as he inspected the shelf. The Psychologist cleared his throat, trying to draw the young manâs attention.
The Psychologist: Iâm⊠Iâm sure youâre aware of my policy here? Confidentiality of those that come into my office is of the utmost importance, sir. It would be much appreciated if you could-
The Shark: Stop, stop right there. I booked the appointment, I will be the one paying you for your services, which I can almost assure you are going to be sub-par in comparison to the more professional help I could acquire if I so chose to go to that effort. But no, I decided to grace you with my presence, decided to give a payday that you wouldnât get with any other patient. So no, Iâm going to stay here and observe how my friend responds to your questions.
He paused, devilish grin growing wider with every word.
The Shark: After all, I am quite worried about him. It would be a shame if I didnât learn of some information that I could help him with.
Stunned, the man in the grey suit adjusted his tie, brushing away at the woolen material of the suit as he did so, feeling uncomfortable at the mere thought of being watched by The Shark and his two hollow eyes. However, he knew by now he had no hope of convincing the man otherwise â and the other youth didnât seem interested in intervening in this either. With another half-hearted smile, he once again beckoned for the still-standing individual to have a seat.
The Psychologist: Alright then, I can respect that, I suppose. Have a seat, why donât you? I donât believe I caught your name.
Ethanâs eyes locked onto him for a moment.
âEthan, Ethan Atticio.â
The Shark: King, you mean.
âWhat did I say?â
The Shark: Atticio.
âMy mistake. Ethan King, Iâm Ethan King. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.â
His words flowed off the tongue without pause â like a script had been handed to him and he had been forced to read off of it without the merest hint of emotion present in his voice, a voice that was matched by a dead expression. He was still standing, the psychologist had noticed, he gave a brief nod, subtly gesturing toward the seat.
The Psychologist: Lovely to meet you, if you would just take a seat, we could get startedâŠ
It was the third time he had made a point of asking the young man to sit; he still stood. Only when he looked toward The Shark, whom gave him a curt nod, did he move closer toward the desk, dropping down onto the chair and resting his arms on the wooden rests, his earlier frantic movements of his eyes which had been taking in the room before him, put to rest by the look The Shark had given him.
âWell, Iâm ready.â
The Psychologist: Excellent⊠now, I have a few of your records and whatnot with me today, allow me to just pull them up. One momentâŠ
He turned to his desktop, punching away at a few keys whilst simultaneously swirling the mouse around with sharp, deliberate movements, within a minute he had found what he had been looking for, turning his attention back to Ethan.
The Psychologist: Your given name is Ethan Atticio, you are twenty-two years of age and formerly resided with your parents and your younger sister, Kylie, in Los Angeles California. Prior to your disappearance, you studied at a local college along with your best friends, Eddie Felt and Gabriel Torres, and were in a relationship with Cara Segreti, you have been in minimal contact with these people since your disappearance, except for Eddie Felt whom you have seen on rare occasion.
He checked for confirmation with Ethan, who nodded, although he couldnât help but notice the young man had turned his attention to The Shark in the corner, a quizzical expression formed over his tired features, one that almost came across as suspicious. Of course, it had been The Shark who had clued him in on much of this information, previously sending him all the information required that would be necessary to create a breakthrough with Ethan King, who already was growing flustered as he heard the words ring through his ears. The Psychologist took a breath, before continuing.
The Psychologist: Although a student, you were a full-time wrestler for just over two months as a member of the Wrestling Championship Federation, your goal to help pay for your college fees as well as support your family â although wrestling itself had been one of your ambitions from a young age. You joined the roster alongside your aforementioned friends, but were the only one to ever gain real success or acknowledgement out of your trio, as you captured the United States Championship, substantially increasing your popularity and stock within the wrestling world and your personal life.
Spotting no disagreement from the younger man, the psychologist shot a hand out toward a drawer that had been fitted into his desk, latching his hand onto the metal handle and pulling it out swiftly, bringing from out of the drawer an untouched notepad, followed by a black pen. He wrote a few brief notes at the top of the page, before bringing his eyes back toward Ethan King.
The Psychologist: If you donât mind, I just have a few questions that will help me gain a better understanding of both you, and your predicament. That will be all Iâll need from you in our first session. Is that alright?
Ethan gulped, before nodding.
The Psychologist: Brilliant. First off, what happened to Gabriel Torres, why havenât either you or Eddie been in contact with him?
How the fuck do you know that?
âIâm⊠I donât know. Everything happened quickly, one minute we were on top of The World. The next, he got the fear put into him after a match that went horribly wrong for him, he got hit with something he didnât expect and⊠he split.â
He paused, considering his words.
âWe went into the dorm one day, he came in and said he wanted to have an early night. We didnât pressure him to talk about anything, even though he really didnât seem like his usual self. We woke up the next morning, and he was gone. We didnât suspect anything at first. It was typical Gabriel, you know? Always doing something, always out and about, always trying to make good on some hunch he had. A few hours went by, then a day, then a week, and everyone was asking the question.â
With a pained look, his voice ascended into a higher, mocking tone.
âWhereâs Gabriel? What happened to Gabriel? Whenâs he going to be coming back?â
He chuckled, although it held no emotion within it, a bitter sound.
âI wanted to tell them that I didnât give a fuck, that I had struck gold and that whatever happened to Gabriel didnât mean shit to me. But that wouldnât have sat well with anyone, wouldnât it?â
The Shark in the background, smiled deviously. Itâs working.
The Psychologist however, sat with a concerned look on his face, he leaned in, propping himself up with his elbows.
The Psychologist: You mean to tell me you actually didnât have any care for you friend, or his disappearance?
âWell, I donât fucking know. That was a long time ago, a lot has happened since then. My eyes are opened now, you donât have any true friends out there, everyone wants a piece, everyone wants some type of material gain, donât they? It was a blessing in disguise that Gabriel ended up dipping â he wouldâve just latched onto me and road my coattails to the top, just like he always destined to as long as he remained with Eddie and I. Thatâs just how shit worked then man â I would be the first to achieve something, and then the other two would follow suit. I was the leader, everyone knew it, everyone saw it, just no-one wanted to say it, least of all me. I was too afraid of what theyâd think if I ever brought it up, I was weak, so I never mentioned it, never got my fair share, my cut of what belonged to me. We all bathed in the adulation and admiration of the masses, Eddie could hold his own, sure. He played his part. But all of that success? All that glory? It belonged to me. Me and me only. I understand that now.â
The Psychologist at this point is been running rampant with notes, creating near illegible scrawls along the notepad, he had already flipped passed two pages, each filled with disorganized sentences scattered across the page in a mess of words and insights. He considered the young man again, pen at the ready.
The Psychologist: And what of your family⊠you havenât spoken to them either? I believed you had quite a good relationship with your sister, the two of you were close, were you not?
Ethan shrugged.
âYou could say that, I havenât spoken to them; havenât had the chance.â
The Psychologist appeared distraught, as if he couldnât make sense of the uncaring nature that he was presented with by Ethan, whose eyes were now lingering over the office once more, his focus drawn away from the matter at hand. A pained note in his voice, The Psychologist continued.
The Psychologist: Whatâs stopped you? Do you want to be more of an individual? What you said about your former friends would suggest that perhaps youâre purposely looking to make this disconnect from everyone, is this accurate?
âIt wasnât by choice at first. But yeah, I guess you could say that now. I donât care anymore, they donât matter, I have to make my own path, and it all starts with my return.â
The Psychologist: Your return?
âTo wrestling, to the WCF.â
The Psychologist: Do you think thatâs healthy right now? With the current state youâre in? Maybe youâd be better off with some form of treatment⊠perhaps reconnecting with those you have separated yourself with?
âNo.â
The Psychologist: Youâre aware this isnât a solution?
âI know itâs not; Iâm not looking for solutions.â
Defeated, The Psychologist sighs, penning down more notes for him to file away later, amongst all the other paperwork present in his office. As his gaze filters across the office once more, he notices The Shark, who now appears elated almost, enthralled by Ethanâs answers, he now leans forward instinctively, his smile unwavering. A shiver passes through The Psychologist, his body unwillingly shuddering at the sight of the youth, the young manâs cologne now a faint, near intoxicating aroma within The Psychologistâs own office, he frowned, tearing his eyes away from The Shark.
The Psychologist: You⊠you said it wasnât your choice? What do you mean by that?
âWell, I didnât exactly WANT to quit wrestling, I had a good thing going. I wouldâve been World Champion within a month or two had I not been taken away.â
The Psychologist: Taken? By who?
For the first time in their session, The Psychologist witnessed something in the hazel eyes of Ethan King, something that he had not quite expected.
Fear.
His voice shaky, he spoke.
âJared Holmes.â
At the mere mention of the name, the deadly scent of Blood and Cologne filled his nostrils, causing his muscles to tense, his hands clutching at the arm rests of the chair he sat upon. The Psychologist said nothing â he continued to look down at his notepad, trying to make sense of all he had been told, as he wrote the name of the perpetrator who had taken Ethan King, the last man who wouldâve seen him before this change in persona had commenced.
And at the back of the roomâŠ
The Shark sat back in his chair, a look of satisfaction over him, the smile never leaving his face.
Yes, Ethan. Fear me.
He stood, drawing the attention of both The Psychologist, and Ethan, who now subconsciously leaned away from the standing figure. He walked over to him, trying to ease his worries with two raised hands, hushing him.
The Shark: Donât be scared⊠itâs alright.
The soothing tones of his voice seemed to calm the previously frantic Ethan, who never took his eyes of the approaching figure. The Shark placed his hand on Ethanâs forehead, a cold look developing in his eyes.
The Shark: Itâs time for you to wake up.
Youâre hallucinating.
Youâre dreaming.
Youâre crying.
But even in this dream world⊠itâs all real.
Itâs all a part of REALity, little one.
Time for you to awaken.
Wake The Fuck Up
Ethan King is stood atop a balcony at The Ocean Resort Inn, located in Montauk, New York. The said video being recorded can be assumed to have taken place after the wedding of Jared Holmes and Thursday Kerrigan, Ethan is wearing his trademark grin, accompanied by a dark red button-up shirt and grey trousers, he is facing toward the camera with a near-mocking expression, as his back is turned to the beach and ocean spread behind him.
âDamian Kaine â you are already dead on your feet, and there is absolutely nothing you can do this week that will save you from that inevitable fate.
âBefore we get started, I want to thank you man. I really wanted to thank you for making my return so much more easier than it needed to be, for being the first useless cunt that Iâm going to make an example of to set the rest of the roster on notice.
âDonât worry, my dude. Dag and Sebastian are going to get it too, but you? You just got thrown into the ring with a fucking Shark, and youâd be kidding yourself if you thought youâd be walking out of this one alive.
âYou, Damian? You are the most bland, generic, vapid cunt Iâve ever had the displeasure of having to step into the ring with. They call this shit the âcharacter dissectionâ part of the promotion, but believe me â itâs going to get a lot deeper than that.
âSince weâre all obsessed with checklists, letâs get this shit popping for your weak ass, give you some of that recognition and acknowledgement youâve been longing for all along.â
Promptly, Ethan pulls out a folded out piece of paper from within his trouser pocket, unfolding it and tugging at it in a professional manner, making sure to narrow his eyes carefully as he proceeds to read through the list.
âLost your Father at a young age? Check.
âProclaimed themselves to be the ânewest faceâ of the WCF, yet has done absolutely nothing of value or worth since arriving (unless you count beating that false bravado flexing cunt Adrian Archer as doing something worthwhile, lmao)? Check.
âStarted career with a shitty catchphrase? Check.
âStarted backyard wrestling at a young age, all to chase the dream? You fucking bet.
âYou, my friend, are the epitome of an uninteresting and underwhelming wrestler in the WCF, a market that has been overly saturated with âcharactersâ that have virtually the same, if not entirely identical backstories to the one you yourself own. You do nothing to set yourself apart from these same people, ninety-five percent of which have amounted to washed-up competitors who proceeded to fade away into obscurity the moment they realized they werenât cut out for this sort of shit. The only thing youâve done to establish yourself is join The Brotherhood, which has only lead to you becoming overshadowed by superior talent that has dug your self-prepared grave even further into that hole youâre never going to climb out from.â
Ethan King smiles, scrunching up the âchecklistâ into a paper ball, tossing it up into the air and catching it.
âYour development is nowhere to be found, much like your level of ability which has been seemingly non-existent, as evident by your lack of both results and meaningful performances since you arrived here. You have been thrown into a match featuring a former United States Champion, and one of the premier talents left on a roster that had recently been dwindling in that category until Pantheon made their arrival a few months ago. This only spells disaster for you, Damian. I am currently at the top of my game, I am only twenty-two years of age and I am nowhere near my prime, the last time I was present in a WCF ring I carried a title on my shoulder and had thoroughly embarrassed three of the federationâs most hyped up, overrated set of legends, not only murdering them verbally, but single-handedly carrying my team to ensure we were not eliminated from the Trios Cup Tournament earlier this year.
âMeanwhile, all youâve done is managed to beat up a weak sauce Adrian Archer, and get yourself eliminated second in a Helloweenmatch where YOU were one of the co-captains for your team. You? You have no chance here, in a World that is based off of logistics and statistics â you donât measure up in the slightest â you arenât even a factor worth considering or a number worth being looked at. And that? That sums up your entire career here. Everything you do is inconsequential, because you donât have the power nor talent to impact the results that matter.â
Ethan sighs, glancing out to the golden dune of the beach behind him, before looking back over to the camera.
âIf you werenât so fucking trash, Iâd almost be kind enough to compare you to me when I first stepped into these WCF ropes. Your sole motivation for wrestling boils down to almost nothing, you are yet to explain why you belong here or why you do what you do â you just expect the audience to follow along and get behind you because youâve turned yourself into a spinning cog in The Brotherhood, a faction that has caused you to become even further overshadowed by the talent that surrounds you, while other members of your faction are clearly of championship-calibre, or are nearing that level, you are still stuck at the lower end of the card fighting to make your name worth mentioning in the discussion. And thatâs the thing, you STILL arenât there yet, youâre still being thrown into matches that you have no chance of winning, like this one. You still havenât given anyone a reason to actually get behind you besides the fact that youâre a âmorally good guy thatâll do whatever it takes to achieve success.â
âYour promo work is subpar, you are too inept to plant seeds of doubt into the minds of your opponents, which leaves your ring work on an island, stranded, only able to fend for itself. That? That is why you continuously fail, your wrestling ability, ring awareness and move variety is underwhelming at best, the amount of results you have brought in for your faction are almost non-existent, your only reason for remaining in the WCF now is to act as a cannon fodder for the vastly superior, more motivated members of your team.
âYou have no âclutch factorâ, no âheat of the momentâ instincts that are going to get you anywhere in this business, you have hardly experienced stepping into the ring with main-event talent such as me, and the few times you have? Those few pitiful times youâve stepped into the limelight, looking to cement yourself as a legitimate threat in a federation that currently has so few, this may as well be a mass-murder waiting to happen? You choke. You plateau before youâve even make an ascent into the mid-card, you step into the biggest match of your young WCF career at Hellimination and walk away with no result, not even a decent fight put up against the overwhelming opposition you were up against. No, in one fateful moment you were exposed to the world for the phony that you are, for all your big words and abrupt challenges, you were cut down by your superiors, and what have you done since?
âNothing.
âYou headed Team WCF, you put yourself in the lead and led them to an annihilation, a crushing defeat at the hands of Pantheon, and ever since then you have been irrelevant in comparison to your Brotherhood brethren, even newer members have had more of the spotlight placed on them while you had your little grudge match against Adrian Archer, a talent of comparable skill that dragged you into one of the most low-profile matches of a stacked ONE Card.
âTime after time, youâve had your chances to break out from the glass ceiling that has been hung over you. Helloween was your first chance, in a match where you couldâve had a stand out performance amongst your team which was filled to the brim with mediocrity and washed-up talents that couldâve supported you to at least a somewhat respectable performance. But no, you arenât capable of that, and your ineptitude caused you to become a footnote in history, just an elimination on the way to a dominating Pantheon victory.
âWhat does all this evidence point to, you may ask? Simple.
âDamian Kaine lacks everything it takes to be a substantial player in the WCF, and he will be the first to fall come Sunday. I am going to make it transparent for you, Damian. I am going to make it crystal clear as to the difference between our levels when we step into that ring together, you will be unceremoniously dumped over the top rope mere minutes after the bell is rung. I am going to show you and the rest of your Brotherhood that you never stood a chance coming into this match, and that whenever they are unfortunate enough to be pitted against me? They will meet the exact same fate.
âYouâre too raw, you donât have the tools yet, you donât have the experience nor the killer mentality required to match up against someone of my calibre, even against lesser talents in Sebastian Knight and Dag Riddik, you still donât match up. How then, do you propose you will win come Sunday?
âHint: You wonât.
âAccept reality, Damian. You were thrown into this match without a hope of winning, and you will be thrown OUT of this match without a chance to even realized whatâs happen. Let this sink in now, so that when you inevitably get disappointed, youâll understand that this wasnât a matter of âchance.â
âThis is what was going to happen no matter what you tried, no matter how hard you trained, no matter what went your way, you were going to lose.â
He pauses, a pondering look coming over him, he leans forward â closer to the camera. His voice rendered down into a lowered tone, one that is almost a whisper.
âAlso⊠youâve had two different twitter handles? Fuck, youâre the first guy Iâve ever met thatâs had more twitter handles than relevant wins. You might want to get that sorted, you useless cunt.
âCatch you at your loss, donât take any of this personally, I just want to make sure you know where you standâŠ
âThis was always how it was going to go.â
PUPPET MASTER
Ethanâs stay in Montauk, New York, had been uneventful, even for someone who had been relegated to extended periods of both sitting and thinking for much of his recent memory. He had been posted there in preparation for the wedding of Jared Holmes and Thursday Kerrigan, Ethan himself having arrived earlier largely due to the fact he had not been required to compete at ONE, nor even make an appearance at the event itself. He had booked himself a room at The Ocean Inn Resort, which left him the odd one out from the rest of the group, who were either leaving shortly after the wedding or had booked in separate accommodation entirely. He was alerted of Jaredâs arrival in the area via a very abrupt, direct text message earlier that morning, and since then he had been waiting patiently on the L-shaped leather couch that sat in front of a glass coffee table and flat-screen television, feet kicked up comfortably on the table before him. Awaiting the moment when Jared Holmes would barge through his apartment door, carrying with him both luggage and personal belongings of both he and Thursday that he would leave with Ethan, expecting him to bring them to him at a later time that day and unpack.
They can afford someone to do it for them, but that wouldnât be fun forThe Shark Jared, now would it?
The thought was with little malice â King cared little anymore for the trivial happenings that took place in his life, much in relation to Jared Holmes and his little entourage. He saw the looks he got from certain members of both Pantheon, and from Thursday. Did they see him as a threat? Did they not see him as a fit? It beared no weight upon him, he had a purpose, he had a direction, what they thought mattered little. At the end of the day, he would be getting what he deserved through his own actions, and they would come to respect that â or come to hate him because of it.
A knock at the door, followed by a sharp pulling of the handle and a push by Jared Holmes himself, accompanied by Thursday who had linked her arm with his. Jaredâs face had a look of disinterest, as he surveyed the unimpressive apartment Ethan had secured himself, his eyes almost asking the question âcould you not have picked out something better, you fucking imbecile?â.
Ethan noted the look and smiled, the smile growing even wider as he saw the look of contempt upon Thursdayâs face, as Jared pulled away from her and made his way over to Ethan.
Jared Holmes: I shouldâve expected this.
He gestures towards the apartment, Ethan shrugs, turning his attention back to the television, which was playing an image without audio - something he had taken a liking to as of late.
Jared Holmes: Did you do what I asked?
Ethan nodded.
âNothing to worry about, I checked the venue, Iâve hung around some of the local areas. Havenât found anything of interest⊠or suspicion come up yet, itâs all just idiotic tourists and equally annoying teenagers rolling around on hoverboards and shit. Like donât they know that shit is already out by now? If youâre getting on this shit now you may as well be admitting you have no fucking clue what the trends are.â
Jared shot him a look of disapproval, shaking his head meekly.
âWhat?â
He received no answer, he considered pushing the topic, but left it. Jared had by now, swung his attention over to his soon to be wife, pulling away the two luggage bags she had come into the room with, rolling them diligently behind her, their weight clear just by the size of the two items.
Jared Holmes: Thursday, go out for a moment; I got some shit I need to take care of.
Thursday Kerrigan: Why? And what about the-
Jared Holmes: Ethan will take care of the luggage.
He glanced over at Ethan with a smirk on his face, who had heard him, but chose to say nothing.
Jared Holmes: âŠand nothing, we wonât be long, just need to talk about something. Go buy yourself something nice, or chill at our apartment. Iâll be with you in thirty, wherever you are. Alright?
Showing clear reluctance to leave the two of them alone, Thursday smiles weakly and nods, giving her partner a quick kiss before making a swift departure from the room, closing the door. Ethan chuckles, loud enough for the other man to hear.
âSurprised she left you alone that easily, thinking it takes a little more than that usually. Especially considering she doesnât like me.â
Jared Holmes: Youâve noticed it too?
âNot hard to.â
Jared Holmes: Well, she was already a nervous wreck before coming here. She doesnât want to fuck this up â sheâll do whatever I ask her.
A short silence ensued between the two, Ethanâs attention drawn back to the image playing out on the television before him, a snarling wolf creeping its way through a snowy landscape, blood dripping from its mouth, tainting the pure white of the snow beneath it. Agitated, Jared walks passed him and grabs the remote, switching off the television, causing Ethan to turn his eyes upon him.
Jared Holmes: Youâre certain then? No surprises that are going to pop up and fuck this whole thing over, right?
âIâve been here for most of the week. Heard nothing that would suggest anyoneâs trying to fuck up your day, havenât seen anything either. The only way something will go down is if they arrive specifically on that day â you may want to hire some help then, if thatâs your fear.
Jared Holmes: Iâm leaving that to you.
Ethan contemplates arguing against this, but shrugs his shoulders and nods, identifying that this was not a battle worth fighting. He tilts his head to the side, curiosity getting the better of him.
âYou didnât just come here to see how I was doing.â
He sees Jared intake a sharp breath â but then exhale and nod his head.
âSo what is it?â
Jared Holmes: Youâve got a match this week.
ââŠand?â
Jared Holmes: Itâs happening. It all starts now.
âOne set of murders in a long line of many.â
Jared nods, while moving away from Ethan and placing the remote far out of his reach on a plain dinner table, he makes his way over to the bending marble kitchen island of the apartment, located right by the front door, he walks around the island and checks the fridge, looking for some kind of drink. As he peers into fridge, he speaks.
Jared Holmes: You know whatâs at stake. That canât be an easy burden to deal with.
For the first time in their interaction today, Ethan hesitates, clicking his tongue as he pulls himself up to his feet, just as Jared closes the fridge and turns to face him. He sees the warm expression on his face, trying to lure him in, trying to convince him that just for this one, important moment, Jared Holmes actually has some concern for his careerâŠ
But then he looks into his eyes, the eyes devoid of any of the emotion expressed through the rest of his being, and seeâs nothing. A brief chill runs through him, but he avoids showing worry, leaning absent-mindedly against the wall, propped up by his shoulder, one foot crossed over the other as he stands.
âIâll be fine, like I said; this shit is routine.â
Jared Holmes: A routine youâve yet to experience. I just need to know youâre not going to dip the moment you get up in there. Youâre good, good enough to go with anyone here currently, but if you have another mental slipâŠ
Ethanâs mind flashed to a time of the passed at the mention of his breakdown, he immediately began shaking his head, as if he were attempting to expel the bad memory through sheer force of will.
Jared Holmes: âŠthen shit might not go the way we planned. And we donât want that, now do we?
He forces a smile, swallowing heavily to rid himself of the heavy lump that had formulated in his throat.
âLook⊠Iâd be lying if I said Iâm at my best right now mentally, but once I step up in there? Iâll be good, itâll all come back, I just need time.â
Jared steps closer toward him, even with the kitchen island separating the two of them, Ethan can feel his breath â yet now itâs eerily calming, his voice and words creating a calming symphony that ease the rising bile in his throat, the anxieties that were now eating away at his stomach.
Jared Holmes: Youâve got me in your corner, youâve got my backing and the approval of Pantheon, we all know youâre destined for big things. Thereâs a body of work there that most are lakcing at this stage, but youâve already got it. We just need to fine tune it, we just need you toâŠ
Accept Reality, Replicate My Design.
Jared Holmes: âŠfollow our guidance, follow MY guidance. Weâll get you the top, youâre there already, just one more step and youâre up there with the rest of us in the upper-echelon, you got it?
With a nod, Ethan smiles, his uprising fear being calmed, like the smooth waves of the ocean gently guiding him forward, releasing all thought from his mind and turning it into a blank slate. Without even realizing it, Jared Holmes was now standing right next to him, embracing him with a light hug.
Jared Holmes: Youâre going to do excellent, exactly what we expected from you right from the very beginning, right?
He leans in closer, whispering the question again.
Jared Holmes: Right?
âRight.â
Jared laughs kindly, as if to say âSee? Nothing to worry about!â before slapping him heartily on the back, breaking his hold with him and pacing backward, making his way to the door.
Jared Holmes: Iâm going to bounce, just bring up that shit when youâre ready.
He points over towards the luggage bags, before opening up the door, he goes to wave his goodbyes, but prevents himself from doing though. With the ghost of a smile working its way over his lips, he saysâŠ
Jared Holmes: I checked in with your psychologist by the way, he told me your best form of recovery right now would be to just write down your frustrations.
âLike⊠a letter, or some shit?â
Jared Holmes: Yeah, thatâll work. He said youâve been making good progress, keep it up.
Ethan considers this, before understanding dawns on him, his eyebrows furrowed as an inquisitive note enters his voice.
âWait, but the psychologist isnât rea-â
Jared has already left, but he can still hear the voice ringing through his head.
Itâs all REAL.
Itâs all REALity, Ethan.
And I can see it all.
Ethan slumps to the floor, both hands raised towards his temples, clutching onto his skull as the voice ravages his mind once more, leaving him a frantic mess on the cold floor of his apartment. As he sat there, watching the haunting visions develop in his vision once more, the dark thoughts consuming his mind once more, he could only thinkâŠ
Where is he to help me now?
Where isThe Shark Jared?
PARALLELS
âDag â you too are dead on your feet, but unlike Damian Kaine, you were finished before you even got out the starting blocks, as you doomed yourself by making an insignificant return that will only stand to hurt your already poor reputation.
âBut wait, you donât care what anybody thinks, correct? Thatâs what you ran with the last time you were here â what you ran with when you were getting hit with that pure ether from me and the rest of The Pride â the bane of your existence. How does that feel, by the way? Knowing that in our first week of ever being on the WCF Roster, YOU of all people were chosen as the small stepping stone that would make us the biggest talking point of the entire wrestling world for an entire month. Your biggest achievement, your shining moment in a career full of tragic failure and mediocrity that never failed to disappoint anyone who wouldâve thought that you werenât a complete joke â something that most would believe thoroughly if they were to only watch your promos and read your internet rants.
âBut yes, you donât care what anyone things. Not at all, itâs not like you spend the majority of your time throwing up your typical defense mechanisms on twitter, itâs not like you spent hours on end trying to bring relevancy to a title that was nothing more than a placeholder invented for the lower card talents such as yourself to cling onto, a consolation prize in a federation already filled to the brim with title opportunities. But that, that is where you succeed most, is it not?
âYou know, for all your talk man? I believe not one person ever bought into the hype you and The Family surrounded yourself in, the same hype you decided to try generate when you came back with that huge ONE return, exactly how Gravedigger did.
âAnd there it is already, one difference between the two of us in our careers, which have been filled with parallels that Iâll get to in a bit â you needed to make a big deal about your return just to get some interest surrounding your name, I just throw up a few tweets and the whole world stops to read and watch, to see when Iâm resigning, to see when Iâll make my return and pick back up where I left off â as a champion.
âBut you donât care about what people think, is that it? Is that why youâre still all caught up on your Internet Title loss to ZMAC? Youâve got those insecurities showing through again my dude, and let me tell you, that shit ainât a good look. Then again, itâs better than ninety percent of what youâve run with through your career, from telling me that I was latching onto YOU for success, to beating scrubs like Caliban and treating it as a legitimate title victory, your career thus far has been tarnished with moments like these.
âBut Iâm getting side-tracked, you make this grand return, with your message in mind⊠but tell me, how do you plan to get out a message when you never had the platform or the relevancy for it to ever reach the intended audience? You have no place here in the WCF anymore, Dag. Actually, allow me to rephrase that in more honest terms, you NEVER had a place here. A war still rages here, the dynamics between the varying groups and their vying for power is yet to cease⊠and where do you stand within that?
âOn the sidelines, like you always have. Even at your peak, you were never at the forefront of anything but talk referencing The Family, for once in your life you were considered as a role-player on your team, rather than the reserve player coming off at the end of the bench that we all know you to be.
âBut now, youâre back! Youâve been pulled up from that bench and youâre ready to leave your mark, youâre ready to get off to a great start and pick up some momentum-
âOh shit, youâre coming up against Ethan King, arenât you?
âR-I-P my dude, it looks like it just was never meant to be.
âDonât get it twisted, thereâs levels to this shit, and unfortunately for you, just like Kaine, you donât quite match up, and itâs been proven throughout our careers. Just like I said, thereâs been an odd similarity, yet striking difference between our successes and failures here (spoiler: youâre the one that experiences most of the failures, LOL).
âWe were both in our own stables, but I was always the certified number one in that group, always considered the top dog and the leader of my group. When shit went down, I was the one bringing the squad into battle, even when Tiffany White, a talented wrestler who already had championship experience under her belt joined up with the squad, I was still front and centre. When someone needed to come through in the clutch? I was there. When someone was talking shit and needed to get the taste slapped out of their mouth (Jeff Purse, Iâm looking at you)? I was the one to do it.
âMeanwhile, you werenât even considered to be the clear-cut second best member of your team, Sarah Twilight arguably held that position when she was messing around with you guys. Even though YOU were the guy carrying some gold around with you, you were still deferring to your betters, as you do so well, as youâve proven time and time again. You arenât capable of calling the shots, when youâre given the chance at individual glory you fuck it up, you choke in the big time, thatâs why you had to relegate yourself to challenging for a lower-card title just to build yourself up a little bit, and even then you were still ducking challengers left, right and centre.
âThis is the Dag Riddik mentality, people. Talk yourself up, then fail to string any meaningful results together to actually back up that talk.
âLike when you were confident you were going to dominate that Internet Title Division, that was your goal, was it not? But in typical Dag fashion, you managed to fuck that up to. Granted, you were coming up against a monster in that area in ZMAC, but weâve seen it already, have we not? Even he is not insurmountable in that area â you just werenât good enough to do it.
âPeople said that shit to me about Mikey eXtreme and Steve Orbit too, you know? True dominators that were capable of running rampant over competition in the upper-card and main-event levels were they motivated enough to do so, and do you remember what I did to them?
âMikey eXtreme was hailed as the King of the United States Title division, a belt that helped cement past and future legends as potential competitors for the World Title, and I left him kneeling before The One True King. I looked at that challenge, and I conquered a division, are you able to do the same?
âSteve Orbit, a multiple World Champion, one of the all-time greats, is yet to pick up a victory over me in three tries. And you know what people were saying about him? That he was a big-time performer, a prime-time player, that when it came down to it, in a big-match situation like the one we were in together, heâd elevate his game to another level and show me what it meant to be a Champion. He too ended up as just another footnote, as I picked up my first championship win, defeating him cleanly by pinfall.
âYou couldnât even do that, you couldnât win without it being cheap in some way or another. A winâs a win, right? Good on you, congratulations, but who is going to remember that shit? Nobody.
âAnd sure, you could say the same about mine, but the fact remains â I have stepped up face to face against people who have been hailed as Kings and Legends, and I have executed them, I have left them without their Gold, without their Dignity, without their Pride.
âAnd Iâm going to do the same to you, Dag.
âLook into my eyes, and prepare to die.
âYou had aspirations, you had dreams, you set yourself the goal of putting yourself into the mix as a legitimate threat, and you planned on doing so by taking over an entire division. You hatch all these plans, you assure yourself that you will reach the end result that you long for so desperately, but what you dream and wish for? I make reality.
âI conquer divisions.
âI can defeat main-event talent.
âI donât need cheap tricks and pointless gimmicks to bring relevancy to my name, I do that myself by being the showstopper, by putting on performances that are near unrivalled by anyone else in the game today. Do you not see why Iâm already being talked about more than over three quarters of the current roster? I didnât last three months in the WCF during my first run before the shit in Mexico started, and people were already calling me the ânext big thingâ, the next in line to make something great happen, to shoot into a stratosphere that you would never be able to reach, even when you maxed yourself out, hitting your ceiling. Even at your best â you still fall painfully short to me on my C-Game, and itâs sad, I admit, it really is. That even through all your harsh words and perfectly formulated internet posts, even though you tediously think about the placement of every word and every argument and counter-argument you bring up, you still pale in comparison to me, regardless of what the subject matter is.
âIn two months, I generated more interest and put on more A-Grade performances than most people do in their entire lives, and I bet youâre still sitting there with that petulant look on your face, in full belief that you stand a chance this week.
âAnd you would, you would if it was against anyone else, but this is where you next chapter abruptly ends, thatâs just how this shit works, after all.
âYou werenât on my level when I first came here, and now that weâre both here? I can guarantee you youâre still lagging behind, dragging your feet, continuing to be a detriment as you were to The Family, as you were to the WCF in its whole.
âYour greatest moment, the one thing that couldâve brought you up into relevancy all that time ago in Mexico â wasnât even of your own creation. The Dag Riddik Gang was an invention that couldâve rose your stock, something that you couldâve made a brand, fooling at least a few of the people who had no idea what you were about, your one chance for greatness? A joke, a play on a completely separate entity that bore no relevance to yourself, and even when you were handed such an opportunity, something to take credit for, something to revel in for even the shortest of moments⊠you failed to do so.
âAnd that? That one innocent joke in a way manages to some up your whole career thus far, missed opportunities. Everything youâve âachievedâ or been recognized for has been the product of someone elseâs success or creation (i.e The Family, The Dag Riddik Gang), or as a product of circumstance (your International Title).
âOn your own? You achieve nothing. You are nothing. Go add another syllable to your first name and join The Brotherhood or some shit, you pathetic fuck, go find another concept to add to your flawed, contradictory personality and maybe then weâll actually start to feel sorry for you when these losses inevitably start piling up.
âI promise you, I am going to expose you for the below average talent that you truly are this Sunday. Most people donât know, most people canât see passed your confident words and the manner in which you conduct yourself; but it wonât take much. Within a few minutes of standing across from me, of being thoroughly picked apart and then subsequently eliminated from our match, they will all come to realize what you are.
âA scared, talentless little scrub, with the weight of his own expectations crushing his will and spirit, turning him into an overly-exaggerated caricature praying for some type of success by spitting words and making claims of greatness, claims that he'll never be able to prove, greatness he will never be able to reach.
âWhen Iâm done embarrassing you, when Iâm done revealing what you really are to both The World and yourself, I want to look back on this, I want you seek out improvement, I want you see where you went wrong, I want you to train and re-evaluate, to make sure youâre at your absolute best the next time you happen to be lucky enough to share the ring with me again. I will look you in the eye, give you a nod and a welcoming smile, as I realize you have finally reached the potential you were meant toâŠ
âAnd then I will watch you perish, as I bend you to my will, as I stomp you into the ground and watch the light die in your eyes. That will be when I show you that this well and truly is my World.
âStomp your heart, blow you away, you could never stand up to a test such as this.
âLearn your place.â
Unknown
âKnight, I almost feel sorry for you. In another world, at another time and place, I may have even managed to scrounge up respect for someone like yourself â but this isnât that World. In this World? You rise up to the challenge, and you fall like all the rest, and that is the fate you will be meeting this Sunday.
âBut anyway, when are you cunts going to start getting some originality going? Seriously? First I had to put with Damian Kaine and shit, and now I see youâre coming up in here with the moniker of âThe Mimicâ?
âLet me get this straight. Youâre this egomaniac (weâll get to that later, donât worry) who in a way almost spends an entire promotional video whining about the fact that he isnât known by the fans, and that there are other superstars that currently receive more recognition than he does, but then one of the biggest dynamics of yourself as a wrestler is based around you copying other people? Even if it is something you do unknowingly, thatâs unforgivable.
âDonât you dare ever set foot into my ring again before going on a spiel and using that as the basis of your entire fucking promo, you have single-handedly in less than a month proven yourself to be more contradictory than literally every other person on the roster, and this is a roster that includes men such as Thomas Uriel Bates and Dag Riddik. Do you realize how fucking stupid you sounded, talking about how youâre going to be âknownâ and shit when youâre going to be spending more time mimicking other peopleâs movements in the ring, rather than bringing your own brand and recognizable style into a federation that has been filled with people EXACTLY like you?
âIn a way, you and Damian Kaine are almost the same in this regard, the only difference is heâs got this stupid confidence about him that is entirely unwarranted, and you on the other hand have no self-assurance whatsoever (on the inside, that is) but are just better at crafting words and putting them together to make yourself sound like you have a reasonable idea of what youâre talking about.
âOn the inside though, youâre bothered by all this shit, arenât you? You show a complete lack of care and disinterest towards the idea that people donât know who you are, but this shit rocks you to the core, doesnât it? It eats away at you every night that even though you have all this supposed talent and intelligence to make it as a respectable superstar in this industry, you have to start from the very bottom, have to prove yourself. Because⊠you know, isnât success just meant to be handed to you?
âIâm sure it is, for someone like you at least. Getting your own fucking Father to get this shit all lined up for you, you self-entitled fuck, damn if I was your Dad Iâd rather have met the same fate Damian Kaineâs did so I wouldnât have to put up with your petulant ass requesting the World and complaining when he only receives an entire continent instead.
âBecause youâre that type of guy, arenât you, Knight? I can see it already, you think too highly of yourself (and thatâs coming from me, LMAO), and you try to assert that over everyone that crosses your path, but on the inside? Youâre a mess, a mind filled with so many unanswered questions and fears relating to your future success, itâs so prevalent within people of todayâs world but you? You take it to another level.
âYouâre an intellectual, itâs evident in the way you pick apart everything, how you dissect the World and have an innate understanding of its workings and how society functions. But at the same time, this is exact trait is what leaves you trapped in a void â a disconnect that you wonât ever be able to break free from. You donât know how to relate to others, you understanding their thoughts and feelings but you yourself are too egotistical to see why theyâd have their own viewpoints, their own perspectives.
âTunnel vision is what youâre in possession of, with your sole goal currently being to earn the recognition of the masses, the people whom you despise so thoroughly but unknowingly need if you are to ever achieve satisfaction in this dreadful business. For the next few months, your life is going to be a nightmare. You will wake up, you will pick apart every nuance and quirk of the people you come up against each and every week, it will take a toll on your mind as you continuously do this, unknowingly linking back all your arguments and cruel words back to yourself, as every weakness in your opponent is something that relates back to you and your troubled past in some way or another.
âThe physical problems will soon amount too, bringing a wear on your body that you never wouldâve expected, and for all your imitation and trickery? Youâll still stumble at certain points in your career, youâll still taste the harsh reality of defeat, and you will struggle to accept it, you will struggle to believe that someone of your caliber could ever meet such a fate.
âBut I will be the one to lead you to the light.
âI will be the one to give you that experience first hand, because for all of your intellect and all of your proclaimed ability, you cannot stand against the challenge that awaits you on Sunday. I will be the one to give your awaken, one that you will need if you ever wish to amount to anything in this Federation.
âAs an imitator, you see small parts of yourself in everyone, just as you did with Lester Parish. And that? The fact scares you, it scares you that people can have what you have, and have it in more abundance or in better quality, you understand yourself and the way in which the World works too well, to the point you have frightened yourself by how much you know.
âBut all of this underlying fear? All of the rage and anger that you have as you acknowledge this fact, but canât possibly do anything about it? Itâs hidden, itâs hidden under the layers of smokescreen hazes and endlessly fog that you have placed over yourself, you have thrown yourself into the shadows and allowed your mind to continue its incessant ramblings, telling you over and over again that you are too good for this World, for the people that are in it.
âYour Father has already confirmed it, what was the message he sent you when you had your ONE match all ready to go?"
âYouâll have the stage you want.â
âThis isnât just a throwaway for you, this isnât something youâre doing without a purpose, you arenât looking to find yourself or challenge what you already know. You have arrived with the intent of becoming known by the World, of being given the acknowledgement and attention that you have craved for an eternity â but have never received.
âMaybe thatâs why youâre listed as having a troubled past, hmm? Maybe thatâs why you yourself have called it a shrouded past, one that you hide behind a smile and your plethora of words, words that you will use to cut down your enemies and build yourself up with, to remove yourself from the doubts, the dubious thoughts and feelings that cut away at you, that have forced you into this way of thinking. Youâre broken, dead on the inside â youâre just especially good at hiding it.
âBut I can see through you, I can see through everyone now.
âThe World has been Revealed to me.
âThe same World that you are now challenging, the one you are rebelling against furiously, in an attempt to repair your fractured pride, to piece together the fragments that made up your ego. You now have the stage you want, you have all the tools necessary to make whatever you want to become a realityâŠ
âIn a World that isnât mine.
âAnd THAT is the REALity of the situation you now find yourself in. There is nothing you can do in this situation, nothing you have prepared yourself for in your mind amounts to what Iâll be bringing to the ring on Sunday, even in a match of such small meaning as the one we will be participating in, you will feel almost powerless as I in one night bring myself straight back up to the pedestal I stood upon when I first began to tear through the WCF.
âThis is how the tale goes for you, Sebastian. Perhaps not forever, but for this one night in history, I am the author of this story, and I will be the one that writes its ending.
âYou want to be known?
âYou can try.
âBut at what cost?
âAll will fall, all will kneel, it is but a foregone conclusion, it is what I was shown the moment I opened my eyes and Revealed myself to The World.
âWhere does that leave you?
âRight back where you started...
âUnknown.â
The man wears a double breasted grey suit, complemented by a black shirt with a maroon tie and a cordial smile spread over his face, hands clasped together, fingers intertwined with one another as he rests them on his desk. A desk covered with typical staples of a personal office, a desktop monitor present to his left side, crisp white papers organized into separate piles, each with either sharp typed out text or handwritten notes upon them. A steaming cup of coffee at his side, as well as a plate of various biscuits, he sits with a content, patient look over him, as he awaits for the shuffling of feet behind his office door to subside and for said door to open â revealing his next patient.
As if on cue, the door swings open to reveal two youthful men, one clearly disheveled, blonde hair strewn about in a messy that hangs over his forehead as fringe, the other with an eerily similar style, but far more maintained. The first with an indifferent, stoic expression littered over him, his tired eyes analyzing the man seated at the desk, as well as the humble office upon which he had been brought to. The other however, seemed far more self-assured, far more aware and confident, a shark-toothed grin coupled with eyes that made the seated psychologist uneasy, causing him to unknowingly shuffle in his seat. The Shark caught this movement, his smile only grew wider. The Psychologist, brought into a short moment of uncertainty, quickly recomposed himself, bringing the welcoming smile back over his otherwise tense face.
The Psychologist: Welcome! I assume you are the one who booked early in the morning, correct?
He addressed the question to Ethan King, who with a hint of disinterest, glanced over toward The Shark, who shook his head.
The Shark: No, I did. But, my friend here will be the one youâll be talking to today.
He placed heavy emphasis on the word âfriendâ, which caused Ethanâs eyes to avert his gaze for the merest of moments, before returning to the suited Shark, whose smile remained, as if a permanent feature of his youthful, devilish features. The psychologist seemed taken aback for a moment, but caught himself before he slipped up in front of The Shark again. With one hand, he grabbed the mug by his side, bringing up to his lips and taking a delicate sip of the warm, dark liquid that filled the porcelain. With the other hand, he beckoned for the man who hadnât spoken to have a seat, before bringing the mug down to his wooden desk.
The Psychologist: Well, have a seat, my friend. We can get started in a moment.
His gaze swung from Ethan, and then to The Shark, who had already made himself at home in the corner of the office, resting himself on a plush leather seat by a towering bookshelf, one he had already started filing through with his hands, his right leg crossed over his left as he inspected the shelf. The Psychologist cleared his throat, trying to draw the young manâs attention.
The Psychologist: Iâm⊠Iâm sure youâre aware of my policy here? Confidentiality of those that come into my office is of the utmost importance, sir. It would be much appreciated if you could-
The Shark: Stop, stop right there. I booked the appointment, I will be the one paying you for your services, which I can almost assure you are going to be sub-par in comparison to the more professional help I could acquire if I so chose to go to that effort. But no, I decided to grace you with my presence, decided to give a payday that you wouldnât get with any other patient. So no, Iâm going to stay here and observe how my friend responds to your questions.
He paused, devilish grin growing wider with every word.
The Shark: After all, I am quite worried about him. It would be a shame if I didnât learn of some information that I could help him with.
Stunned, the man in the grey suit adjusted his tie, brushing away at the woolen material of the suit as he did so, feeling uncomfortable at the mere thought of being watched by The Shark and his two hollow eyes. However, he knew by now he had no hope of convincing the man otherwise â and the other youth didnât seem interested in intervening in this either. With another half-hearted smile, he once again beckoned for the still-standing individual to have a seat.
The Psychologist: Alright then, I can respect that, I suppose. Have a seat, why donât you? I donât believe I caught your name.
Ethanâs eyes locked onto him for a moment.
âEthan, Ethan Atticio.â
The Shark: King, you mean.
âWhat did I say?â
The Shark: Atticio.
âMy mistake. Ethan King, Iâm Ethan King. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.â
His words flowed off the tongue without pause â like a script had been handed to him and he had been forced to read off of it without the merest hint of emotion present in his voice, a voice that was matched by a dead expression. He was still standing, the psychologist had noticed, he gave a brief nod, subtly gesturing toward the seat.
The Psychologist: Lovely to meet you, if you would just take a seat, we could get startedâŠ
It was the third time he had made a point of asking the young man to sit; he still stood. Only when he looked toward The Shark, whom gave him a curt nod, did he move closer toward the desk, dropping down onto the chair and resting his arms on the wooden rests, his earlier frantic movements of his eyes which had been taking in the room before him, put to rest by the look The Shark had given him.
âWell, Iâm ready.â
The Psychologist: Excellent⊠now, I have a few of your records and whatnot with me today, allow me to just pull them up. One momentâŠ
He turned to his desktop, punching away at a few keys whilst simultaneously swirling the mouse around with sharp, deliberate movements, within a minute he had found what he had been looking for, turning his attention back to Ethan.
The Psychologist: Your given name is Ethan Atticio, you are twenty-two years of age and formerly resided with your parents and your younger sister, Kylie, in Los Angeles California. Prior to your disappearance, you studied at a local college along with your best friends, Eddie Felt and Gabriel Torres, and were in a relationship with Cara Segreti, you have been in minimal contact with these people since your disappearance, except for Eddie Felt whom you have seen on rare occasion.
He checked for confirmation with Ethan, who nodded, although he couldnât help but notice the young man had turned his attention to The Shark in the corner, a quizzical expression formed over his tired features, one that almost came across as suspicious. Of course, it had been The Shark who had clued him in on much of this information, previously sending him all the information required that would be necessary to create a breakthrough with Ethan King, who already was growing flustered as he heard the words ring through his ears. The Psychologist took a breath, before continuing.
The Psychologist: Although a student, you were a full-time wrestler for just over two months as a member of the Wrestling Championship Federation, your goal to help pay for your college fees as well as support your family â although wrestling itself had been one of your ambitions from a young age. You joined the roster alongside your aforementioned friends, but were the only one to ever gain real success or acknowledgement out of your trio, as you captured the United States Championship, substantially increasing your popularity and stock within the wrestling world and your personal life.
Spotting no disagreement from the younger man, the psychologist shot a hand out toward a drawer that had been fitted into his desk, latching his hand onto the metal handle and pulling it out swiftly, bringing from out of the drawer an untouched notepad, followed by a black pen. He wrote a few brief notes at the top of the page, before bringing his eyes back toward Ethan King.
The Psychologist: If you donât mind, I just have a few questions that will help me gain a better understanding of both you, and your predicament. That will be all Iâll need from you in our first session. Is that alright?
Ethan gulped, before nodding.
The Psychologist: Brilliant. First off, what happened to Gabriel Torres, why havenât either you or Eddie been in contact with him?
How the fuck do you know that?
âIâm⊠I donât know. Everything happened quickly, one minute we were on top of The World. The next, he got the fear put into him after a match that went horribly wrong for him, he got hit with something he didnât expect and⊠he split.â
He paused, considering his words.
âWe went into the dorm one day, he came in and said he wanted to have an early night. We didnât pressure him to talk about anything, even though he really didnât seem like his usual self. We woke up the next morning, and he was gone. We didnât suspect anything at first. It was typical Gabriel, you know? Always doing something, always out and about, always trying to make good on some hunch he had. A few hours went by, then a day, then a week, and everyone was asking the question.â
With a pained look, his voice ascended into a higher, mocking tone.
âWhereâs Gabriel? What happened to Gabriel? Whenâs he going to be coming back?â
He chuckled, although it held no emotion within it, a bitter sound.
âI wanted to tell them that I didnât give a fuck, that I had struck gold and that whatever happened to Gabriel didnât mean shit to me. But that wouldnât have sat well with anyone, wouldnât it?â
The Shark in the background, smiled deviously. Itâs working.
The Psychologist however, sat with a concerned look on his face, he leaned in, propping himself up with his elbows.
The Psychologist: You mean to tell me you actually didnât have any care for you friend, or his disappearance?
âWell, I donât fucking know. That was a long time ago, a lot has happened since then. My eyes are opened now, you donât have any true friends out there, everyone wants a piece, everyone wants some type of material gain, donât they? It was a blessing in disguise that Gabriel ended up dipping â he wouldâve just latched onto me and road my coattails to the top, just like he always destined to as long as he remained with Eddie and I. Thatâs just how shit worked then man â I would be the first to achieve something, and then the other two would follow suit. I was the leader, everyone knew it, everyone saw it, just no-one wanted to say it, least of all me. I was too afraid of what theyâd think if I ever brought it up, I was weak, so I never mentioned it, never got my fair share, my cut of what belonged to me. We all bathed in the adulation and admiration of the masses, Eddie could hold his own, sure. He played his part. But all of that success? All that glory? It belonged to me. Me and me only. I understand that now.â
The Psychologist at this point is been running rampant with notes, creating near illegible scrawls along the notepad, he had already flipped passed two pages, each filled with disorganized sentences scattered across the page in a mess of words and insights. He considered the young man again, pen at the ready.
The Psychologist: And what of your family⊠you havenât spoken to them either? I believed you had quite a good relationship with your sister, the two of you were close, were you not?
Ethan shrugged.
âYou could say that, I havenât spoken to them; havenât had the chance.â
The Psychologist appeared distraught, as if he couldnât make sense of the uncaring nature that he was presented with by Ethan, whose eyes were now lingering over the office once more, his focus drawn away from the matter at hand. A pained note in his voice, The Psychologist continued.
The Psychologist: Whatâs stopped you? Do you want to be more of an individual? What you said about your former friends would suggest that perhaps youâre purposely looking to make this disconnect from everyone, is this accurate?
âIt wasnât by choice at first. But yeah, I guess you could say that now. I donât care anymore, they donât matter, I have to make my own path, and it all starts with my return.â
The Psychologist: Your return?
âTo wrestling, to the WCF.â
The Psychologist: Do you think thatâs healthy right now? With the current state youâre in? Maybe youâd be better off with some form of treatment⊠perhaps reconnecting with those you have separated yourself with?
âNo.â
The Psychologist: Youâre aware this isnât a solution?
âI know itâs not; Iâm not looking for solutions.â
Defeated, The Psychologist sighs, penning down more notes for him to file away later, amongst all the other paperwork present in his office. As his gaze filters across the office once more, he notices The Shark, who now appears elated almost, enthralled by Ethanâs answers, he now leans forward instinctively, his smile unwavering. A shiver passes through The Psychologist, his body unwillingly shuddering at the sight of the youth, the young manâs cologne now a faint, near intoxicating aroma within The Psychologistâs own office, he frowned, tearing his eyes away from The Shark.
The Psychologist: You⊠you said it wasnât your choice? What do you mean by that?
âWell, I didnât exactly WANT to quit wrestling, I had a good thing going. I wouldâve been World Champion within a month or two had I not been taken away.â
The Psychologist: Taken? By who?
For the first time in their session, The Psychologist witnessed something in the hazel eyes of Ethan King, something that he had not quite expected.
Fear.
His voice shaky, he spoke.
âJared Holmes.â
At the mere mention of the name, the deadly scent of Blood and Cologne filled his nostrils, causing his muscles to tense, his hands clutching at the arm rests of the chair he sat upon. The Psychologist said nothing â he continued to look down at his notepad, trying to make sense of all he had been told, as he wrote the name of the perpetrator who had taken Ethan King, the last man who wouldâve seen him before this change in persona had commenced.
And at the back of the roomâŠ
The Shark sat back in his chair, a look of satisfaction over him, the smile never leaving his face.
Yes, Ethan. Fear me.
He stood, drawing the attention of both The Psychologist, and Ethan, who now subconsciously leaned away from the standing figure. He walked over to him, trying to ease his worries with two raised hands, hushing him.
The Shark: Donât be scared⊠itâs alright.
The soothing tones of his voice seemed to calm the previously frantic Ethan, who never took his eyes of the approaching figure. The Shark placed his hand on Ethanâs forehead, a cold look developing in his eyes.
The Shark: Itâs time for you to wake up.
Youâre hallucinating.
Youâre dreaming.
Youâre crying.
But even in this dream world⊠itâs all real.
Itâs all a part of REALity, little one.
Time for you to awaken.
Wake The Fuck Up
Ethan King is stood atop a balcony at The Ocean Resort Inn, located in Montauk, New York. The said video being recorded can be assumed to have taken place after the wedding of Jared Holmes and Thursday Kerrigan, Ethan is wearing his trademark grin, accompanied by a dark red button-up shirt and grey trousers, he is facing toward the camera with a near-mocking expression, as his back is turned to the beach and ocean spread behind him.
âDamian Kaine â you are already dead on your feet, and there is absolutely nothing you can do this week that will save you from that inevitable fate.
âBefore we get started, I want to thank you man. I really wanted to thank you for making my return so much more easier than it needed to be, for being the first useless cunt that Iâm going to make an example of to set the rest of the roster on notice.
âDonât worry, my dude. Dag and Sebastian are going to get it too, but you? You just got thrown into the ring with a fucking Shark, and youâd be kidding yourself if you thought youâd be walking out of this one alive.
âYou, Damian? You are the most bland, generic, vapid cunt Iâve ever had the displeasure of having to step into the ring with. They call this shit the âcharacter dissectionâ part of the promotion, but believe me â itâs going to get a lot deeper than that.
âSince weâre all obsessed with checklists, letâs get this shit popping for your weak ass, give you some of that recognition and acknowledgement youâve been longing for all along.â
Promptly, Ethan pulls out a folded out piece of paper from within his trouser pocket, unfolding it and tugging at it in a professional manner, making sure to narrow his eyes carefully as he proceeds to read through the list.
âLost your Father at a young age? Check.
âProclaimed themselves to be the ânewest faceâ of the WCF, yet has done absolutely nothing of value or worth since arriving (unless you count beating that false bravado flexing cunt Adrian Archer as doing something worthwhile, lmao)? Check.
âStarted career with a shitty catchphrase? Check.
âStarted backyard wrestling at a young age, all to chase the dream? You fucking bet.
âYou, my friend, are the epitome of an uninteresting and underwhelming wrestler in the WCF, a market that has been overly saturated with âcharactersâ that have virtually the same, if not entirely identical backstories to the one you yourself own. You do nothing to set yourself apart from these same people, ninety-five percent of which have amounted to washed-up competitors who proceeded to fade away into obscurity the moment they realized they werenât cut out for this sort of shit. The only thing youâve done to establish yourself is join The Brotherhood, which has only lead to you becoming overshadowed by superior talent that has dug your self-prepared grave even further into that hole youâre never going to climb out from.â
Ethan King smiles, scrunching up the âchecklistâ into a paper ball, tossing it up into the air and catching it.
âYour development is nowhere to be found, much like your level of ability which has been seemingly non-existent, as evident by your lack of both results and meaningful performances since you arrived here. You have been thrown into a match featuring a former United States Champion, and one of the premier talents left on a roster that had recently been dwindling in that category until Pantheon made their arrival a few months ago. This only spells disaster for you, Damian. I am currently at the top of my game, I am only twenty-two years of age and I am nowhere near my prime, the last time I was present in a WCF ring I carried a title on my shoulder and had thoroughly embarrassed three of the federationâs most hyped up, overrated set of legends, not only murdering them verbally, but single-handedly carrying my team to ensure we were not eliminated from the Trios Cup Tournament earlier this year.
âMeanwhile, all youâve done is managed to beat up a weak sauce Adrian Archer, and get yourself eliminated second in a Helloweenmatch where YOU were one of the co-captains for your team. You? You have no chance here, in a World that is based off of logistics and statistics â you donât measure up in the slightest â you arenât even a factor worth considering or a number worth being looked at. And that? That sums up your entire career here. Everything you do is inconsequential, because you donât have the power nor talent to impact the results that matter.â
Ethan sighs, glancing out to the golden dune of the beach behind him, before looking back over to the camera.
âIf you werenât so fucking trash, Iâd almost be kind enough to compare you to me when I first stepped into these WCF ropes. Your sole motivation for wrestling boils down to almost nothing, you are yet to explain why you belong here or why you do what you do â you just expect the audience to follow along and get behind you because youâve turned yourself into a spinning cog in The Brotherhood, a faction that has caused you to become even further overshadowed by the talent that surrounds you, while other members of your faction are clearly of championship-calibre, or are nearing that level, you are still stuck at the lower end of the card fighting to make your name worth mentioning in the discussion. And thatâs the thing, you STILL arenât there yet, youâre still being thrown into matches that you have no chance of winning, like this one. You still havenât given anyone a reason to actually get behind you besides the fact that youâre a âmorally good guy thatâll do whatever it takes to achieve success.â
âYour promo work is subpar, you are too inept to plant seeds of doubt into the minds of your opponents, which leaves your ring work on an island, stranded, only able to fend for itself. That? That is why you continuously fail, your wrestling ability, ring awareness and move variety is underwhelming at best, the amount of results you have brought in for your faction are almost non-existent, your only reason for remaining in the WCF now is to act as a cannon fodder for the vastly superior, more motivated members of your team.
âYou have no âclutch factorâ, no âheat of the momentâ instincts that are going to get you anywhere in this business, you have hardly experienced stepping into the ring with main-event talent such as me, and the few times you have? Those few pitiful times youâve stepped into the limelight, looking to cement yourself as a legitimate threat in a federation that currently has so few, this may as well be a mass-murder waiting to happen? You choke. You plateau before youâve even make an ascent into the mid-card, you step into the biggest match of your young WCF career at Hellimination and walk away with no result, not even a decent fight put up against the overwhelming opposition you were up against. No, in one fateful moment you were exposed to the world for the phony that you are, for all your big words and abrupt challenges, you were cut down by your superiors, and what have you done since?
âNothing.
âYou headed Team WCF, you put yourself in the lead and led them to an annihilation, a crushing defeat at the hands of Pantheon, and ever since then you have been irrelevant in comparison to your Brotherhood brethren, even newer members have had more of the spotlight placed on them while you had your little grudge match against Adrian Archer, a talent of comparable skill that dragged you into one of the most low-profile matches of a stacked ONE Card.
âTime after time, youâve had your chances to break out from the glass ceiling that has been hung over you. Helloween was your first chance, in a match where you couldâve had a stand out performance amongst your team which was filled to the brim with mediocrity and washed-up talents that couldâve supported you to at least a somewhat respectable performance. But no, you arenât capable of that, and your ineptitude caused you to become a footnote in history, just an elimination on the way to a dominating Pantheon victory.
âWhat does all this evidence point to, you may ask? Simple.
âDamian Kaine lacks everything it takes to be a substantial player in the WCF, and he will be the first to fall come Sunday. I am going to make it transparent for you, Damian. I am going to make it crystal clear as to the difference between our levels when we step into that ring together, you will be unceremoniously dumped over the top rope mere minutes after the bell is rung. I am going to show you and the rest of your Brotherhood that you never stood a chance coming into this match, and that whenever they are unfortunate enough to be pitted against me? They will meet the exact same fate.
âYouâre too raw, you donât have the tools yet, you donât have the experience nor the killer mentality required to match up against someone of my calibre, even against lesser talents in Sebastian Knight and Dag Riddik, you still donât match up. How then, do you propose you will win come Sunday?
âHint: You wonât.
âAccept reality, Damian. You were thrown into this match without a hope of winning, and you will be thrown OUT of this match without a chance to even realized whatâs happen. Let this sink in now, so that when you inevitably get disappointed, youâll understand that this wasnât a matter of âchance.â
âThis is what was going to happen no matter what you tried, no matter how hard you trained, no matter what went your way, you were going to lose.â
He pauses, a pondering look coming over him, he leans forward â closer to the camera. His voice rendered down into a lowered tone, one that is almost a whisper.
âAlso⊠youâve had two different twitter handles? Fuck, youâre the first guy Iâve ever met thatâs had more twitter handles than relevant wins. You might want to get that sorted, you useless cunt.
âCatch you at your loss, donât take any of this personally, I just want to make sure you know where you standâŠ
âThis was always how it was going to go.â
PUPPET MASTER
Ethanâs stay in Montauk, New York, had been uneventful, even for someone who had been relegated to extended periods of both sitting and thinking for much of his recent memory. He had been posted there in preparation for the wedding of Jared Holmes and Thursday Kerrigan, Ethan himself having arrived earlier largely due to the fact he had not been required to compete at ONE, nor even make an appearance at the event itself. He had booked himself a room at The Ocean Inn Resort, which left him the odd one out from the rest of the group, who were either leaving shortly after the wedding or had booked in separate accommodation entirely. He was alerted of Jaredâs arrival in the area via a very abrupt, direct text message earlier that morning, and since then he had been waiting patiently on the L-shaped leather couch that sat in front of a glass coffee table and flat-screen television, feet kicked up comfortably on the table before him. Awaiting the moment when Jared Holmes would barge through his apartment door, carrying with him both luggage and personal belongings of both he and Thursday that he would leave with Ethan, expecting him to bring them to him at a later time that day and unpack.
They can afford someone to do it for them, but that wouldnât be fun for
The thought was with little malice â King cared little anymore for the trivial happenings that took place in his life, much in relation to Jared Holmes and his little entourage. He saw the looks he got from certain members of both Pantheon, and from Thursday. Did they see him as a threat? Did they not see him as a fit? It beared no weight upon him, he had a purpose, he had a direction, what they thought mattered little. At the end of the day, he would be getting what he deserved through his own actions, and they would come to respect that â or come to hate him because of it.
A knock at the door, followed by a sharp pulling of the handle and a push by Jared Holmes himself, accompanied by Thursday who had linked her arm with his. Jaredâs face had a look of disinterest, as he surveyed the unimpressive apartment Ethan had secured himself, his eyes almost asking the question âcould you not have picked out something better, you fucking imbecile?â.
Ethan noted the look and smiled, the smile growing even wider as he saw the look of contempt upon Thursdayâs face, as Jared pulled away from her and made his way over to Ethan.
Jared Holmes: I shouldâve expected this.
He gestures towards the apartment, Ethan shrugs, turning his attention back to the television, which was playing an image without audio - something he had taken a liking to as of late.
Jared Holmes: Did you do what I asked?
Ethan nodded.
âNothing to worry about, I checked the venue, Iâve hung around some of the local areas. Havenât found anything of interest⊠or suspicion come up yet, itâs all just idiotic tourists and equally annoying teenagers rolling around on hoverboards and shit. Like donât they know that shit is already out by now? If youâre getting on this shit now you may as well be admitting you have no fucking clue what the trends are.â
Jared shot him a look of disapproval, shaking his head meekly.
âWhat?â
He received no answer, he considered pushing the topic, but left it. Jared had by now, swung his attention over to his soon to be wife, pulling away the two luggage bags she had come into the room with, rolling them diligently behind her, their weight clear just by the size of the two items.
Jared Holmes: Thursday, go out for a moment; I got some shit I need to take care of.
Thursday Kerrigan: Why? And what about the-
Jared Holmes: Ethan will take care of the luggage.
He glanced over at Ethan with a smirk on his face, who had heard him, but chose to say nothing.
Jared Holmes: âŠand nothing, we wonât be long, just need to talk about something. Go buy yourself something nice, or chill at our apartment. Iâll be with you in thirty, wherever you are. Alright?
Showing clear reluctance to leave the two of them alone, Thursday smiles weakly and nods, giving her partner a quick kiss before making a swift departure from the room, closing the door. Ethan chuckles, loud enough for the other man to hear.
âSurprised she left you alone that easily, thinking it takes a little more than that usually. Especially considering she doesnât like me.â
Jared Holmes: Youâve noticed it too?
âNot hard to.â
Jared Holmes: Well, she was already a nervous wreck before coming here. She doesnât want to fuck this up â sheâll do whatever I ask her.
A short silence ensued between the two, Ethanâs attention drawn back to the image playing out on the television before him, a snarling wolf creeping its way through a snowy landscape, blood dripping from its mouth, tainting the pure white of the snow beneath it. Agitated, Jared walks passed him and grabs the remote, switching off the television, causing Ethan to turn his eyes upon him.
Jared Holmes: Youâre certain then? No surprises that are going to pop up and fuck this whole thing over, right?
âIâve been here for most of the week. Heard nothing that would suggest anyoneâs trying to fuck up your day, havenât seen anything either. The only way something will go down is if they arrive specifically on that day â you may want to hire some help then, if thatâs your fear.
Jared Holmes: Iâm leaving that to you.
Ethan contemplates arguing against this, but shrugs his shoulders and nods, identifying that this was not a battle worth fighting. He tilts his head to the side, curiosity getting the better of him.
âYou didnât just come here to see how I was doing.â
He sees Jared intake a sharp breath â but then exhale and nod his head.
âSo what is it?â
Jared Holmes: Youâve got a match this week.
ââŠand?â
Jared Holmes: Itâs happening. It all starts now.
âOne set of murders in a long line of many.â
Jared nods, while moving away from Ethan and placing the remote far out of his reach on a plain dinner table, he makes his way over to the bending marble kitchen island of the apartment, located right by the front door, he walks around the island and checks the fridge, looking for some kind of drink. As he peers into fridge, he speaks.
Jared Holmes: You know whatâs at stake. That canât be an easy burden to deal with.
For the first time in their interaction today, Ethan hesitates, clicking his tongue as he pulls himself up to his feet, just as Jared closes the fridge and turns to face him. He sees the warm expression on his face, trying to lure him in, trying to convince him that just for this one, important moment, Jared Holmes actually has some concern for his careerâŠ
But then he looks into his eyes, the eyes devoid of any of the emotion expressed through the rest of his being, and seeâs nothing. A brief chill runs through him, but he avoids showing worry, leaning absent-mindedly against the wall, propped up by his shoulder, one foot crossed over the other as he stands.
âIâll be fine, like I said; this shit is routine.â
Jared Holmes: A routine youâve yet to experience. I just need to know youâre not going to dip the moment you get up in there. Youâre good, good enough to go with anyone here currently, but if you have another mental slipâŠ
Ethanâs mind flashed to a time of the passed at the mention of his breakdown, he immediately began shaking his head, as if he were attempting to expel the bad memory through sheer force of will.
Jared Holmes: âŠthen shit might not go the way we planned. And we donât want that, now do we?
He forces a smile, swallowing heavily to rid himself of the heavy lump that had formulated in his throat.
âLook⊠Iâd be lying if I said Iâm at my best right now mentally, but once I step up in there? Iâll be good, itâll all come back, I just need time.â
Jared steps closer toward him, even with the kitchen island separating the two of them, Ethan can feel his breath â yet now itâs eerily calming, his voice and words creating a calming symphony that ease the rising bile in his throat, the anxieties that were now eating away at his stomach.
Jared Holmes: Youâve got me in your corner, youâve got my backing and the approval of Pantheon, we all know youâre destined for big things. Thereâs a body of work there that most are lakcing at this stage, but youâve already got it. We just need to fine tune it, we just need you toâŠ
Accept Reality, Replicate My Design.
Jared Holmes: âŠfollow our guidance, follow MY guidance. Weâll get you the top, youâre there already, just one more step and youâre up there with the rest of us in the upper-echelon, you got it?
With a nod, Ethan smiles, his uprising fear being calmed, like the smooth waves of the ocean gently guiding him forward, releasing all thought from his mind and turning it into a blank slate. Without even realizing it, Jared Holmes was now standing right next to him, embracing him with a light hug.
Jared Holmes: Youâre going to do excellent, exactly what we expected from you right from the very beginning, right?
He leans in closer, whispering the question again.
Jared Holmes: Right?
âRight.â
Jared laughs kindly, as if to say âSee? Nothing to worry about!â before slapping him heartily on the back, breaking his hold with him and pacing backward, making his way to the door.
Jared Holmes: Iâm going to bounce, just bring up that shit when youâre ready.
He points over towards the luggage bags, before opening up the door, he goes to wave his goodbyes, but prevents himself from doing though. With the ghost of a smile working its way over his lips, he saysâŠ
Jared Holmes: I checked in with your psychologist by the way, he told me your best form of recovery right now would be to just write down your frustrations.
âLike⊠a letter, or some shit?â
Jared Holmes: Yeah, thatâll work. He said youâve been making good progress, keep it up.
Ethan considers this, before understanding dawns on him, his eyebrows furrowed as an inquisitive note enters his voice.
âWait, but the psychologist isnât rea-â
Jared has already left, but he can still hear the voice ringing through his head.
Itâs all REAL.
Itâs all REALity, Ethan.
And I can see it all.
Ethan slumps to the floor, both hands raised towards his temples, clutching onto his skull as the voice ravages his mind once more, leaving him a frantic mess on the cold floor of his apartment. As he sat there, watching the haunting visions develop in his vision once more, the dark thoughts consuming his mind once more, he could only thinkâŠ
Where is he to help me now?
Where is
PARALLELS
âDag â you too are dead on your feet, but unlike Damian Kaine, you were finished before you even got out the starting blocks, as you doomed yourself by making an insignificant return that will only stand to hurt your already poor reputation.
âBut wait, you donât care what anybody thinks, correct? Thatâs what you ran with the last time you were here â what you ran with when you were getting hit with that pure ether from me and the rest of The Pride â the bane of your existence. How does that feel, by the way? Knowing that in our first week of ever being on the WCF Roster, YOU of all people were chosen as the small stepping stone that would make us the biggest talking point of the entire wrestling world for an entire month. Your biggest achievement, your shining moment in a career full of tragic failure and mediocrity that never failed to disappoint anyone who wouldâve thought that you werenât a complete joke â something that most would believe thoroughly if they were to only watch your promos and read your internet rants.
âBut yes, you donât care what anyone things. Not at all, itâs not like you spend the majority of your time throwing up your typical defense mechanisms on twitter, itâs not like you spent hours on end trying to bring relevancy to a title that was nothing more than a placeholder invented for the lower card talents such as yourself to cling onto, a consolation prize in a federation already filled to the brim with title opportunities. But that, that is where you succeed most, is it not?
âYou know, for all your talk man? I believe not one person ever bought into the hype you and The Family surrounded yourself in, the same hype you decided to try generate when you came back with that huge ONE return, exactly how Gravedigger did.
âAnd there it is already, one difference between the two of us in our careers, which have been filled with parallels that Iâll get to in a bit â you needed to make a big deal about your return just to get some interest surrounding your name, I just throw up a few tweets and the whole world stops to read and watch, to see when Iâm resigning, to see when Iâll make my return and pick back up where I left off â as a champion.
âBut you donât care about what people think, is that it? Is that why youâre still all caught up on your Internet Title loss to ZMAC? Youâve got those insecurities showing through again my dude, and let me tell you, that shit ainât a good look. Then again, itâs better than ninety percent of what youâve run with through your career, from telling me that I was latching onto YOU for success, to beating scrubs like Caliban and treating it as a legitimate title victory, your career thus far has been tarnished with moments like these.
âBut Iâm getting side-tracked, you make this grand return, with your message in mind⊠but tell me, how do you plan to get out a message when you never had the platform or the relevancy for it to ever reach the intended audience? You have no place here in the WCF anymore, Dag. Actually, allow me to rephrase that in more honest terms, you NEVER had a place here. A war still rages here, the dynamics between the varying groups and their vying for power is yet to cease⊠and where do you stand within that?
âOn the sidelines, like you always have. Even at your peak, you were never at the forefront of anything but talk referencing The Family, for once in your life you were considered as a role-player on your team, rather than the reserve player coming off at the end of the bench that we all know you to be.
âBut now, youâre back! Youâve been pulled up from that bench and youâre ready to leave your mark, youâre ready to get off to a great start and pick up some momentum-
âOh shit, youâre coming up against Ethan King, arenât you?
âR-I-P my dude, it looks like it just was never meant to be.
âDonât get it twisted, thereâs levels to this shit, and unfortunately for you, just like Kaine, you donât quite match up, and itâs been proven throughout our careers. Just like I said, thereâs been an odd similarity, yet striking difference between our successes and failures here (spoiler: youâre the one that experiences most of the failures, LOL).
âWe were both in our own stables, but I was always the certified number one in that group, always considered the top dog and the leader of my group. When shit went down, I was the one bringing the squad into battle, even when Tiffany White, a talented wrestler who already had championship experience under her belt joined up with the squad, I was still front and centre. When someone needed to come through in the clutch? I was there. When someone was talking shit and needed to get the taste slapped out of their mouth (Jeff Purse, Iâm looking at you)? I was the one to do it.
âMeanwhile, you werenât even considered to be the clear-cut second best member of your team, Sarah Twilight arguably held that position when she was messing around with you guys. Even though YOU were the guy carrying some gold around with you, you were still deferring to your betters, as you do so well, as youâve proven time and time again. You arenât capable of calling the shots, when youâre given the chance at individual glory you fuck it up, you choke in the big time, thatâs why you had to relegate yourself to challenging for a lower-card title just to build yourself up a little bit, and even then you were still ducking challengers left, right and centre.
âThis is the Dag Riddik mentality, people. Talk yourself up, then fail to string any meaningful results together to actually back up that talk.
âLike when you were confident you were going to dominate that Internet Title Division, that was your goal, was it not? But in typical Dag fashion, you managed to fuck that up to. Granted, you were coming up against a monster in that area in ZMAC, but weâve seen it already, have we not? Even he is not insurmountable in that area â you just werenât good enough to do it.
âPeople said that shit to me about Mikey eXtreme and Steve Orbit too, you know? True dominators that were capable of running rampant over competition in the upper-card and main-event levels were they motivated enough to do so, and do you remember what I did to them?
âMikey eXtreme was hailed as the King of the United States Title division, a belt that helped cement past and future legends as potential competitors for the World Title, and I left him kneeling before The One True King. I looked at that challenge, and I conquered a division, are you able to do the same?
âSteve Orbit, a multiple World Champion, one of the all-time greats, is yet to pick up a victory over me in three tries. And you know what people were saying about him? That he was a big-time performer, a prime-time player, that when it came down to it, in a big-match situation like the one we were in together, heâd elevate his game to another level and show me what it meant to be a Champion. He too ended up as just another footnote, as I picked up my first championship win, defeating him cleanly by pinfall.
âYou couldnât even do that, you couldnât win without it being cheap in some way or another. A winâs a win, right? Good on you, congratulations, but who is going to remember that shit? Nobody.
âAnd sure, you could say the same about mine, but the fact remains â I have stepped up face to face against people who have been hailed as Kings and Legends, and I have executed them, I have left them without their Gold, without their Dignity, without their Pride.
âAnd Iâm going to do the same to you, Dag.
âLook into my eyes, and prepare to die.
âYou had aspirations, you had dreams, you set yourself the goal of putting yourself into the mix as a legitimate threat, and you planned on doing so by taking over an entire division. You hatch all these plans, you assure yourself that you will reach the end result that you long for so desperately, but what you dream and wish for? I make reality.
âI conquer divisions.
âI can defeat main-event talent.
âI donât need cheap tricks and pointless gimmicks to bring relevancy to my name, I do that myself by being the showstopper, by putting on performances that are near unrivalled by anyone else in the game today. Do you not see why Iâm already being talked about more than over three quarters of the current roster? I didnât last three months in the WCF during my first run before the shit in Mexico started, and people were already calling me the ânext big thingâ, the next in line to make something great happen, to shoot into a stratosphere that you would never be able to reach, even when you maxed yourself out, hitting your ceiling. Even at your best â you still fall painfully short to me on my C-Game, and itâs sad, I admit, it really is. That even through all your harsh words and perfectly formulated internet posts, even though you tediously think about the placement of every word and every argument and counter-argument you bring up, you still pale in comparison to me, regardless of what the subject matter is.
âIn two months, I generated more interest and put on more A-Grade performances than most people do in their entire lives, and I bet youâre still sitting there with that petulant look on your face, in full belief that you stand a chance this week.
âAnd you would, you would if it was against anyone else, but this is where you next chapter abruptly ends, thatâs just how this shit works, after all.
âYou werenât on my level when I first came here, and now that weâre both here? I can guarantee you youâre still lagging behind, dragging your feet, continuing to be a detriment as you were to The Family, as you were to the WCF in its whole.
âYour greatest moment, the one thing that couldâve brought you up into relevancy all that time ago in Mexico â wasnât even of your own creation. The Dag Riddik Gang was an invention that couldâve rose your stock, something that you couldâve made a brand, fooling at least a few of the people who had no idea what you were about, your one chance for greatness? A joke, a play on a completely separate entity that bore no relevance to yourself, and even when you were handed such an opportunity, something to take credit for, something to revel in for even the shortest of moments⊠you failed to do so.
âAnd that? That one innocent joke in a way manages to some up your whole career thus far, missed opportunities. Everything youâve âachievedâ or been recognized for has been the product of someone elseâs success or creation (i.e The Family, The Dag Riddik Gang), or as a product of circumstance (your International Title).
âOn your own? You achieve nothing. You are nothing. Go add another syllable to your first name and join The Brotherhood or some shit, you pathetic fuck, go find another concept to add to your flawed, contradictory personality and maybe then weâll actually start to feel sorry for you when these losses inevitably start piling up.
âI promise you, I am going to expose you for the below average talent that you truly are this Sunday. Most people donât know, most people canât see passed your confident words and the manner in which you conduct yourself; but it wonât take much. Within a few minutes of standing across from me, of being thoroughly picked apart and then subsequently eliminated from our match, they will all come to realize what you are.
âA scared, talentless little scrub, with the weight of his own expectations crushing his will and spirit, turning him into an overly-exaggerated caricature praying for some type of success by spitting words and making claims of greatness, claims that he'll never be able to prove, greatness he will never be able to reach.
âWhen Iâm done embarrassing you, when Iâm done revealing what you really are to both The World and yourself, I want to look back on this, I want you seek out improvement, I want you see where you went wrong, I want you to train and re-evaluate, to make sure youâre at your absolute best the next time you happen to be lucky enough to share the ring with me again. I will look you in the eye, give you a nod and a welcoming smile, as I realize you have finally reached the potential you were meant toâŠ
âAnd then I will watch you perish, as I bend you to my will, as I stomp you into the ground and watch the light die in your eyes. That will be when I show you that this well and truly is my World.
âStomp your heart, blow you away, you could never stand up to a test such as this.
âLearn your place.â
Unknown
âKnight, I almost feel sorry for you. In another world, at another time and place, I may have even managed to scrounge up respect for someone like yourself â but this isnât that World. In this World? You rise up to the challenge, and you fall like all the rest, and that is the fate you will be meeting this Sunday.
âBut anyway, when are you cunts going to start getting some originality going? Seriously? First I had to put with Damian Kaine and shit, and now I see youâre coming up in here with the moniker of âThe Mimicâ?
âLet me get this straight. Youâre this egomaniac (weâll get to that later, donât worry) who in a way almost spends an entire promotional video whining about the fact that he isnât known by the fans, and that there are other superstars that currently receive more recognition than he does, but then one of the biggest dynamics of yourself as a wrestler is based around you copying other people? Even if it is something you do unknowingly, thatâs unforgivable.
âDonât you dare ever set foot into my ring again before going on a spiel and using that as the basis of your entire fucking promo, you have single-handedly in less than a month proven yourself to be more contradictory than literally every other person on the roster, and this is a roster that includes men such as Thomas Uriel Bates and Dag Riddik. Do you realize how fucking stupid you sounded, talking about how youâre going to be âknownâ and shit when youâre going to be spending more time mimicking other peopleâs movements in the ring, rather than bringing your own brand and recognizable style into a federation that has been filled with people EXACTLY like you?
âIn a way, you and Damian Kaine are almost the same in this regard, the only difference is heâs got this stupid confidence about him that is entirely unwarranted, and you on the other hand have no self-assurance whatsoever (on the inside, that is) but are just better at crafting words and putting them together to make yourself sound like you have a reasonable idea of what youâre talking about.
âOn the inside though, youâre bothered by all this shit, arenât you? You show a complete lack of care and disinterest towards the idea that people donât know who you are, but this shit rocks you to the core, doesnât it? It eats away at you every night that even though you have all this supposed talent and intelligence to make it as a respectable superstar in this industry, you have to start from the very bottom, have to prove yourself. Because⊠you know, isnât success just meant to be handed to you?
âIâm sure it is, for someone like you at least. Getting your own fucking Father to get this shit all lined up for you, you self-entitled fuck, damn if I was your Dad Iâd rather have met the same fate Damian Kaineâs did so I wouldnât have to put up with your petulant ass requesting the World and complaining when he only receives an entire continent instead.
âBecause youâre that type of guy, arenât you, Knight? I can see it already, you think too highly of yourself (and thatâs coming from me, LMAO), and you try to assert that over everyone that crosses your path, but on the inside? Youâre a mess, a mind filled with so many unanswered questions and fears relating to your future success, itâs so prevalent within people of todayâs world but you? You take it to another level.
âYouâre an intellectual, itâs evident in the way you pick apart everything, how you dissect the World and have an innate understanding of its workings and how society functions. But at the same time, this is exact trait is what leaves you trapped in a void â a disconnect that you wonât ever be able to break free from. You donât know how to relate to others, you understanding their thoughts and feelings but you yourself are too egotistical to see why theyâd have their own viewpoints, their own perspectives.
âTunnel vision is what youâre in possession of, with your sole goal currently being to earn the recognition of the masses, the people whom you despise so thoroughly but unknowingly need if you are to ever achieve satisfaction in this dreadful business. For the next few months, your life is going to be a nightmare. You will wake up, you will pick apart every nuance and quirk of the people you come up against each and every week, it will take a toll on your mind as you continuously do this, unknowingly linking back all your arguments and cruel words back to yourself, as every weakness in your opponent is something that relates back to you and your troubled past in some way or another.
âThe physical problems will soon amount too, bringing a wear on your body that you never wouldâve expected, and for all your imitation and trickery? Youâll still stumble at certain points in your career, youâll still taste the harsh reality of defeat, and you will struggle to accept it, you will struggle to believe that someone of your caliber could ever meet such a fate.
âBut I will be the one to lead you to the light.
âI will be the one to give you that experience first hand, because for all of your intellect and all of your proclaimed ability, you cannot stand against the challenge that awaits you on Sunday. I will be the one to give your awaken, one that you will need if you ever wish to amount to anything in this Federation.
âAs an imitator, you see small parts of yourself in everyone, just as you did with Lester Parish. And that? The fact scares you, it scares you that people can have what you have, and have it in more abundance or in better quality, you understand yourself and the way in which the World works too well, to the point you have frightened yourself by how much you know.
âBut all of this underlying fear? All of the rage and anger that you have as you acknowledge this fact, but canât possibly do anything about it? Itâs hidden, itâs hidden under the layers of smokescreen hazes and endlessly fog that you have placed over yourself, you have thrown yourself into the shadows and allowed your mind to continue its incessant ramblings, telling you over and over again that you are too good for this World, for the people that are in it.
âYour Father has already confirmed it, what was the message he sent you when you had your ONE match all ready to go?"
âYouâll have the stage you want.â
âThis isnât just a throwaway for you, this isnât something youâre doing without a purpose, you arenât looking to find yourself or challenge what you already know. You have arrived with the intent of becoming known by the World, of being given the acknowledgement and attention that you have craved for an eternity â but have never received.
âMaybe thatâs why youâre listed as having a troubled past, hmm? Maybe thatâs why you yourself have called it a shrouded past, one that you hide behind a smile and your plethora of words, words that you will use to cut down your enemies and build yourself up with, to remove yourself from the doubts, the dubious thoughts and feelings that cut away at you, that have forced you into this way of thinking. Youâre broken, dead on the inside â youâre just especially good at hiding it.
âBut I can see through you, I can see through everyone now.
âThe World has been Revealed to me.
âThe same World that you are now challenging, the one you are rebelling against furiously, in an attempt to repair your fractured pride, to piece together the fragments that made up your ego. You now have the stage you want, you have all the tools necessary to make whatever you want to become a realityâŠ
âIn a World that isnât mine.
âAnd THAT is the REALity of the situation you now find yourself in. There is nothing you can do in this situation, nothing you have prepared yourself for in your mind amounts to what Iâll be bringing to the ring on Sunday, even in a match of such small meaning as the one we will be participating in, you will feel almost powerless as I in one night bring myself straight back up to the pedestal I stood upon when I first began to tear through the WCF.
âThis is how the tale goes for you, Sebastian. Perhaps not forever, but for this one night in history, I am the author of this story, and I will be the one that writes its ending.
âYou want to be known?
âYou can try.
âBut at what cost?
âAll will fall, all will kneel, it is but a foregone conclusion, it is what I was shown the moment I opened my eyes and Revealed myself to The World.
âWhere does that leave you?
âRight back where you started...
âUnknown.â