Post by "Iron Heart" Ethan King on Jan 14, 2017 22:53:16 GMT -5
Apathy, Disgust, Indifference.
The club was overly loud and obnoxious, filled with screaming women and intoxicated posers. It stunk of both sweat and spilled alcohol, with a lit-up dance floor and an overpopulated bar that seemed more akin to a pack of desperate hounds lapping at the last drops of water left available to them, rather than a group of supposedly upper-class males and females receiving their drinks and then carrying on with their movie-like night. They could all feel the cameras on them, as they danced and strutted, whilst carrying on with their meaningless interactions with one another that would all but be forgotten in the next morning, as they all were in places such as this.
Those that had taken an interest with a particular man seated in the far corner of the club that night were left with less than satisfying experiences; most of them petite women with glazed over looks in their eyes, as they attempted to strike up a conversation with The Future King. Their nervousness was visible in the uncomfortable shifts and fidgets in position they made, no doubt made all the worse by the groups of friends that would watch each of these women try – and inevitably fail – to garner the attention of the man in question.
After all, none could quite capture the attention of Ethan like the one whom he left behind upon accepting his new life.
The sad realization of it all became apparent to him very quickly, as he sat there with a frown on his face, drink in hand and tipped carefully towards his lips as he allowed the bitterness of the beverage to envelop over his tongue before sliding down his throat.
Some of these people knew him, some of them did not.
Some of these people were attractive to him, some of them were not.
In what felt like a past life at this point, some of these people would’ve engaged him – brought him into what he felt was a powerful, intriguing conversation that could shine down a new light of understanding upon him.
On a night like this, in a time that in all candidness, was not so long ago, Ethan King would’ve been having the time of his life. But now?
There was nothing left.
Only the repeated cycle, the routine of rising in the morning and falling back into the beloved state of quasi-death that was sleep. A cycle that saw fit to put him on the road of searching for a solution to the emptiness that now filled both mind and heart. Ambitions were no longer set goals or aspirations for him – they were simply tasks on a to-do list that he would fulfill, a moment that would give him fleeting feelings of gratification and ‘joy’, only to be ripped away once more by the devious smile and aroma of The Shark.
By now, he had come into acceptance of this single fact. He was not a broken man, he was not devoid of emotion nor did he not have goals of his own. He still maintained his longing for success, the drive and the charisma that had seen him become a popular, well-respected figure in a recent past. But now, it was all hidden behind the mask. Everything he was, was now recessive to everything he had now become. Everything he had been taught to be in his time while he was away? He was now a physical and mental embodiment of. The Shark never destroyed him, The Shark never weakened him, The Shark had only taken him, and made him Replicate His Design.
Ethan King was a changed man, but The World still didn’t know it yet.
He knew though, his thoughts were different, his demeanor bearing only the tiniest of fragments from the one of the past. Above all though, he knew one thing.
There were no solutions.
Audio Recording, Part 1. (14th of January, 2017.)
“Before we get started, I’d like to get something out of the way. Adam Burnett, I will not be filming a proper promotional video to hype up this foregone conclusion of a match. I am currently somewhat hungover and dead to the world as I am speaking to you now, and having to go through the effort of calling a cameraman over just to dig you an even deeper hole than the one you’ve already dug yourself would probably cause me to commit suicide.
“Even in that event though, I have faith in the fact that Jared Holmes would bring my limp carcass out to the ring, said carcass would then proceed to embarrass you and your shitty gimmick. You and your shitty move-set, you and your shitty level of wrestling, you and your shitty life- okay, you get where I’m heading, right?
“Now, I don’t want you to get ahead of yourself Adam. I suspect sooner or later I’m going to be seeing you on an interview being conducted by Hank Brown or Freddy Whoa (shit, we’re already getting started with the generic bullshit, and we haven’t even really gotten started yet?) and you’re going to be talking about how this will be such a great match. How I’m a competitor that you respect and know can give you trouble in the ring, but that you’re going to come out with determination and grit like you always do, and hopefully walk away with a W.
“And while that’s all well and good – I’m not here to cut a horrible fucking interview with people that are almost as bland as you yourself are. I’m here to eviscerate – and here is where I begin.
“Adam Burnett, who the fuck have you beaten that means anything in this ring? Everyone you have come up against has not even hit mediocrity, or is currently on the backburner (Gable, come on man. You can’t be getting upstaged by guys like this. It’s not good for your image.), each of your victories have come by the way of submission, except for your one tag team match where you partner picked up the win for your team. Each person you have made tapped out does not even come close to the level of ability present in those of the upper-echelon of the WCF, including myself.
“Biff Mustache.
“Psychopomp.
“Anonymous.
“Each of these guys are straight up fucking garbage, they too are people who are either irrelevant or have never picked up a meaningful win within the federation. You have without a doubt had the easiest stretch of matches of any WCF superstar in recent months, but yet you still have to resort to being opportunistic and at times, even lucky to come away with victories in your matches. You took advantage of the unpredictability in a fatal four way match to submit Anonymous, same with Biff Mustache. Your win over Psychopomp was uninspired, which is sad to say considering it came at the biggest event of the Year.
“For someone with prior experience in wrestling, going all over the ‘indy-circuit’ trying to prove his worth and make his dream become a reality, you have the most lacklustre variety of both moves and interesting promotion work that I have ever seen in a wrestler before. Your most commonly used move is a simple chop-block, followed by a calf-crusher.
“Both of these move, from a technical standpoint, are easily countered. When you attempt to go for that pitiful chop block, I am going to turn around and kick your fucking head in. After I’m done caving it into the mat, I may even take the time to set up my own submission and make you tap like the fucking bitch that you are. You’re yet to be exposed in the technical game, you are yet to be exposed in the stand-up game – I am better than you at both of these things. The outcome of this match? It’s questionable, but not in terms of the result. The only thing in question is whether you’re going to walk out with a broken jaw, or with a broken elbow/dislocated shoulder.
“You take pride in a win-streak that other men who are more established and withhold more ability would consider shameful. Your gameplan is one-dimensional, you have no variance. The same can be said for your attitude and gimmick. What will happen once you realize you cannot attack the leg and get your patented submission hold? What do you have to fall back on? That is already one fundamental difference between the two of us.
“I am adaptable, I have a second and third gear I can change into, I am not simply stuck to one style or have one win condition that I need to achieve. Everything you plan to do on Sunday, I can already see, I know exactly what you’re going to go for and how you’re going to set it up.
“When I hit you with my overhand right, and knock your teeth straight down the back of your throat, how do you plan on adjusting to that, tell me?
“Your motivation and determination cannot stand against an opponent of my level. This is objective, not subjective.
“Unlike you, my entire existence in the WCF doesn’t come down to just being determined and having a ‘great passion for the industry.’ Such common motivators are lost upon someone with as much talent as me, they are universal within ninety percent of talent that walks through the door into the big leagues of this – and these same people are the ones who get thoroughly embarrassed on a week by week basis. The difference between you and them? You’ve had an easier run of it than most of them had.
“I too, at one point, considered wrestling my ultimate goal. Just like you did. I planned to reach it through grit and hard work, to push through the proverbial glass ceiling and prove my worth to The World. The difference between you and I thought?
“When I achieved success, when I placed myself up onto a pedestal above a majority of the federation, it was never surreal to me. It was never a surprise or shock that I had reached the level that I did in such a short time. It is not a surprise to me that I am still considered one of the hottest young talents on the market right now. Meanwhile? You don’t have even half the ability or potential I did when I first stepped into these ropes, and yet you already have your head up in the clouds. You have picked up a few measly wins against uninspiring competition, and the whole experience is already a surreal one for you. A dream world.
“You’re yet to be pulled back down by the harsh grasp of REALity, but that is to be expected. You’re too naïve, you don’t have the instinct nor innate ability to truly understand what you’re dealing with here. And that’s okay, not everyone is destined for Greatness.
“And I will prove that to you on Sunday, when I show you the light.”
Greatness
Greatness was a word that often went without meaning to Ethan King – especially as of late. It had dawned on him that in the grand scheme of things, this life he had been given was one that was destined for some type of achievement, some type of gratification that would eventually pull itself together and lay itself out for him. It had always been his belief that he was in possession of something of a higher caliber than those that had surrounded him, even when he was but a humble student, a loving brother and son to a family that was not deserving of him. Confidence was innate, he was not meant to be castaway into a life of mediocrity, he was meant for something Greater.
But what was Greatness?
Was it what he saw before him right now? The masses of people huddled together in a cramped up club, dancing and drinking the night away – along with the never-ending pile of fears and insecurities that riddled the lives and minds of The World’s People?
Was it the fact that he had been recommended this club by Jared Holmes of all people, for its exclusiveness and the fact that it was one of the few clubs in Ethan’s old residence of Los Angeles that had three stories? The third itself being set aside specifically for people such as him, for B-List celebrities. Could he use that term on himself? Why not? This was his life, after all. This was his movie, his story. No-one else was in control of it, unless you counted the looming eye of The Shark that kept him in check. But even that wasn’t a factor, at least not at this very moment. The Shark had been in search of his Goddess, and that left him, The Future King, to do as he pleased.
And Greatness, was what he wished to have.
It occurred to him, finally, that Greatness was not something that could be defined by one phrase, or through one example. It was up to him to determine his own Greatness, Greatness that would be looked upon by generations to come, by younger and less successful up and coming talents that would see him as the prototype for success.
But this? This was just a vision. He had no need to make it a realization yet.
So, with a detached look upon his face, he placed his drink ever so carefully upon the table beneath him, he stood up and made certain to check his pockets for his valuables. For an allegedly exclusive bar, he noted with distaste that he seemed the only one dressed up for any sort of special occasion. A white button-up, a burgundy silk tie, black wool trousers and a pair of brown leather shoes, all by Armani.
Even The 6ix God would be proud of the attire, even more so by the fact he had brought the small plastic bag that carried white powder within it. Ethan’s lips spread into a thin smile as he felt into his trouser pocket and located the bag, keeping it held within his hand tightly as he smoothly worked his way through the crowd, all the way to the bathroom.
As he navigated toward the destination, he offered cordial smiles, flirtatious winks, confident nods and at times, even offering greetings to those he thought looked familiar, but it was all perfunctory.
There is no meaning withheld in his cold stare, or the movements he does or does not make. It is all predetermined, it is all premeditated, it is all destiny.
And with the small smile still playing at his lips, Ethan for the first time in months began to have a breakthrough as to what Greatness was. As he walked into the empty bathroom, polished and surprisingly clean. Maybe this place wasn’t a shamble after all – he would need to come here more often.
Greatness was this.
Greatness was looking into the mirror and preparing the white, powdery line.
Greatness was forgetting about his overall existence – and that of everyone else, and living in this moment.
The temporary feeling, the fleeting feeling.
The only feelings worth a damn anymore.
Audio Recording, Part 2. (14th of January, 2017.)
“I want you to know something, Adam – I don’t consider you a lesser talent simply because of the colour of your skin. I’m sure that’s a thing that has been brought up by you and your competitors, or your critics at least, a few times over. Don’t worry, I’m not that kind of guy. I’m sure if I were to do something like that, you’d get all heated and your determination levels would be through the roof. And even then, I’d still get the pleasure of ruining that face of yours, and possibly even enjoy it more – but that’s not how I do things.
“Your skin colour doesn’t impact how I treat you in the ring as a competitor, nor will it ever change how I treat you outside of the ring. I am going to treat you exactly how you deserved to be treated, as an overly bland, uninteresting and somewhat repellent talent in a federation that is already suffering from having a bunch of similar characters walk through the door and take their place as perennial mid-carders.
“Derek Moreno, like you, was determined and persevering.
“Damian Kaine is determined and persevering.
“Spencer Adams was determined and persevering.
“Teo Del Sol was determined and persevering. (Who is Teddy Blaze? Idk).
“Howard Black was determined and persevering.
“Those two traits you have, are ones that have been found within these few men, and countless others around The World who have wanted to make their presence felt within this federation. But, do you want to know the one thing that is universally recognized amongst all of them, by the outside World?
“They would never reach the pinnacle of success, they would never hit the top like they dreamed of doing their entire lives. They would never amount to anything other than being eternally destined to linger in the lower to mid-card scene of the federation for the majority of their careers. The only outlier to this cruel fact is Howard Black, and even his meteoric rise was cut tragically short in the WCF. How do you, Adam, propose you stand any chance of success when all the previously mentioned wrestlers are either around your level (Damian Kaine), or infinitely better than you in every way imaginable?
“You have no traits or abilities that set yourself apart from these names, and even with your likeable persona, you will never amass the levels of popularity that most of these names achieved. You will be liked, you will be loved, you will even be adored. You will be respected by many in the locker room that share your views on the wrestling business and take a liking to your hard-working attitude, but you will never, ever, be anything more than “The Man” amongst the cannon-fodder of the federation.
“You will be the perpetual prince of the lower divisions, this being a direct product of your inability to bring anything new or interesting to the table. Everything you’ve done, we’ve seen before, and we’ve seen it done better, with more emotion and with more skill.
“This, this is why I don’t need to bring up the colour of your skin, or whatever tragic backstory you may have within your family, such as your adamant behaviour when it comes to not speaking with your Mother. I don’t need to do any of this.
“Instead, I can tear you apart simply by pointing to the awful stench of blandness and vanilla that follows you around everywhere you go. Like all those similar personalities that have come before you, you will be the next in a long line to peak out far before you were predicted to, far below the levels of the people that actually matter in this industry. And then?
“And then you’ll dip into the realms of obscurity, right where you truly belonged in the first place. As you have acknowledged previously, your welcoming into this federation was almost entirely out of circumstance, you are lucky to be here.
“And you are lucky that you are facing me this week, to expose the truth to you. To show you where you truly stand, to show you that we here in the WCF don’t need you.
“This place is your platform, this is the best place for you to ever gain some relevance within The World of Wrestling, this is your biggest, and quite possibly your last chance to make something of yourself within this business. The stakes are high, every match counts, the losses may not mean anything immediately, but they will wear on you. Your mind and body, they will inevitably weaken, and your plummet back into reality will then take place.
“This is your platform, Adam.
“And I’m about to send you crashing down from it.”
The Future King
He had crossed all lines, he had done everything that had been required from him. He had seen the future that had been laid out for him and accepted it wholeheartedly. This was not a brash decision, this was not an uncalculated choice by a young man without factoring in the importance of variables and outside influences.
Ethan King had made his decision. In his previous life, he would have never forgiven himself for performing such an atrocity, he would’ve considered himself a Monster, a mere shell of a long forgotten man.
He had lingered in the bathroom for a few minutes after performing the deed, the white substance that had quarter-filled the palm sized bag now nowhere to be found. He glared into the mirror with a wide smile exposing his flawless teeth – they were flawless, weren’t they? (After pondering this for a moment, he spread his lips even further apart, but at this point he could no longer tell if his teeth were actually the bright white that he saw, or if that was just a side-effect of the substance.) He turned away from the mirror, his footsteps making a hollow echo throughout the rest of the bathroom. As he pushed open the doorway with a solid palm, forcing it forward and causing it to swing unhindered into the wall, causing a dint where the metal handle protruded from, he pondered the question.
Was he a Monster, by his former standards?
He felt nothing, his needs and his desires could now be lumped into the same category, he experienced no sympathy for those that he came across, nor did he ever find himself growing any sense of attachment for people in general. He had said it himself – he had no want to contact those he had been close within the past.
The past was a dream, one that he was no longer living in. This was REALity, this was what made sense.
“Name, please?”
The thoughts were broken, now indistinguishable from one another as they swam within his mind, muddling each other up and causing him to break down into a furious sweat. He ran a hand through his gelled hair, attempting to comb it with his hand even further to the side, he could not look uncertain of himself in this moment. He adjusted his tie, making certain to straighten his shirt as he did so – before flashing a brilliant smile towards the man in the shirt. The only man in the entire complex that was also wearing a formal shirt. This made him feel uncomfortable, as he assessed the rest of the man’s outfit, speaking absentmindedly as he did so.
“Ethan Atticio.”
“Ethan King? Yeah, you’re good to go.”
“That’s not what I said, I said Ethan-“
“King, Ethan King. Yeah, I know. You wrestle, right? Just got back in your hometown after your first match? Visiting the family and all that good stuff I imagine? That’s nice. Good thing you came up here also, the crowd down there can be a bit overwhelming at times, don’t you think?”
“Listen, I really don’t give a fuck. I just want a nice quiet place to sit down, have a drink, and then I can go film the promo I’m contractually obliged to cut on Adam Burns. Then I can sleep and forget all this shit ever happened, okay?”
He looked back up, expecting to see the stunned face, but instead saw nothing but the open doorway at the top of the stairwell, where the man had been standing in front of just moments ago. Incensed, he paces up the stairs, taking them two at a time, reaching the top within seconds as he surveys the room.
The man is standing over at the back of the bar, preparing what looks to be a drink as he stands behind a wooden bar, landscape paintings that he has never seen before take up space upon all of the walls which are painted in maroon. The carpet beneath his feet is black, which helps the two circular glass tables and gold-framed chairs positioned underneath said tables stand out. Along with this, there are dark red leather sofas, situated near smaller wood tables that are already covered with finger foods and unoccupied red wine in glasses.
In a split-second, the unimportance of the man at the bar now dawns on him, he’s just like everyone else.
Just. Like. Everyone. Else.
Another door.
He opens the door, and there it is. The balcony. Jared had been telling him about this, what other club could lay claim to having three stories AND a balcony with its own seating and drinks area? A whole party could be hosted up here if one wished, this place was a social heaven in comparison to the ground floor. In the corner, a man sat in a black suit, with a matching black fedora over his head.
Inexplicably drawn to the man, he takes a seat by him.
“Ethan King, right?”
“No, it’s actually-“
“Wonderful. Tell Eric I said thank you for bringing you up here.”
“I… I came up on my own.”
“No, you didn’t. You were escorted from the ground floor by my beloved henchmen, Eric. Okay?”
The wave of calm that had come over Ethan dissipates, replaced by a sudden annoyance.
“That’s not what happened.”
He points an accusing finger back into the room he had arrived from.
“I took the last of the cocaine Jared gave me, and then I left the bathroom, and then I ended up on the stairwell. That guy left me, and now here I am.”
“And now here you are.” the man agreed.
“Look, can you help me out? I’m trying to find someone.”
“Name, please.” the man said, in the same tone as the man that had come before him.
“Cara Atticio.”
“Cara Segreti? Why? She should be messaging you in just a few hours.”
“No, I said-“
“Cara Segreti, your ex-girlfriend.”
“We’re not together anymore?”
The man laughs, a sad, bitter chuckle.
“Ethan, you haven’t seen her in months. Even after you got out, you didn’t even try to talk to her again.”
Months.
Months.
Months.
Ethan King could feel The World falling apart, he clutched at his hair, pulling at it, trying to rip it out from his scalp, tears now stinging his eyes. He blinked rapidly to remove them, some of them dripping down onto his shirt and dampening the luxury material. No, he couldn’t be seen like this, he couldn’t be-
“You finished your drink? Good on you! Keep it going, my man.”
As his vision came back into focus, lifting away from his now eternally ruined shirt, he saw the man that he had been talking to earlier, the one who had gone to the bar on the second story of the nightclub… or was it the third?
When had he taken the drink?
Soothing waves now radiated throughout his muscles, he felt himself weaken as the feeling of relaxation took over him, his dilated pupils now looked up toward the night sky, the stars appearing brighter than they ever had before. He sagged into the chair, the face of the second man present in his peripheral version.
“What can I call you?”
“The Man of Glass.”
Audio Recording, Part 3. (14th of January. 2017.)
“It wasn’t too long ago Adam, when you said you didn’t want to be labelled by others. You didn’t want to be someone that would be pinpointed into a certain category, into a predetermined location before you were even given a chance to show what you were made out of. You wanted to be given the equal opportunities, just like everyone else were given. You would fight your way through the ranks, get given matches against progressively better opponents (though to be fair, this is a huge fucking jump from Psychopomp LMAO) and continue to prove yourself. Prove why you belonged here, prove why you spent all your life working hard, why you spent so much time working passed all the trials and tribulations that filled your life. These are just some of your motives, are they not?
“You don’t want to be labelled by others.
“And in a twisted turn of events, it appears you forgot to tell yourself just that, Adam.
“You don’t want to be labelled, yet you come out every week as the typical smiling hero, the clichéd good guy with a heart of gold and an optimistic attitude.
“You don’t want to be labelled, yet you tell us all your great tales of coming from a small town, of making a living along with the rest of your family.
“You don’t want to be labelled, yet you bring up all the hard work you did back in the lower leagues of wrestling, how you and your precious friend struggled, attempting to get noticed and bring relevancy to your names.
“All of that, and you still have the audacity to say aloud that you don’t want to be labelled by these fans, by upper-management, by the critics and by your peers and foes. You are a fucking imbecile of the highest order, in one fell swoop you not only managed to make a complete fool of yourself, but you somehow managed to make yourself even less credible and kill your career, all in one line.
“I don’t want to be labelled.”
“Well guess what, you fucking loser – you’re getting labelled. You are forever going to be labelled as the perpetual mid-card non-threat, you are going to be labelled as the hero without any credit to his name – for he never defeats the vastly superior ‘villains’ that he comes up against.
“You’re a hero, Adam. And like every hero, your story always manages to end in the same, tragic way. You fall, and you never rise again. There are no happy endings for people like you, all you want is to rid yourself of your own problems, and help others get rid of theirs. You aim to be content – but you are never satisfied. You are always hungry, always aiming for something higher and better, always looking to prove yourself in a bigger and better way than you did the last time. This will be your downfall, you couldn’t accept that you simply were never good enough to compete on the main stage, to compete against people such as me. And now? You’ve made your final error.
“You believed in the word of one scout, one man who thought he saw something in you, and where has he been since to support you? He knows just as well as everyone else that you are not cut out for this, that making it big in wrestling for you is just a pipe dream. One that is still yet to be crushed.
“Everything you are going to experience in the next few months, all the pain and suffering, all the disappointment and lots hope, all of it is what you have brought down upon yourself. You want to avoid being stereotyped, you want to avoid being considered as typical, but you have done everything in your power to prove that you truly are just another man with a dream that will soon be rendered unreachable.
“I hope you’re prepared for this loss, Adam. I hope you know what a loss on the biggest stage in The World can do to your mentality, to your entire approach. You have taken your fair share of losses throughout the entirety of your career – that I am sure of am. Everyone experiences defeat at one point or another, but you’re yet to experience it on a level such as this, in a place such as this one.
“This is yet another defining difference between the two of us. I know the feeling of bitterness the envelops you after a loss at the highest of levels. Although I have never been pinned, although I have never tapped out, I have experienced failure and adversity – and I have only gotten better each time at pushing through it.
“I have felt the emptiness after a loss.
“I have felt the emptiness after fighting for what felt like an eternity, after putting in all the work imaginable; only to walk away with a measly, unsatisfying draw, a consolation prize that will never be respected or mentioned again unless it is being insulted or riddled by the masses.
“You don’t know what defeat does to you yet, all your losses are meaningless. When you put on your little showcases with your best friend, you don’t think about the result as much as you think about how grateful you are to be doing what you love. You don’t think about the result as much as you think about how great a showing you put on for the small section of fans that watched you that night.
“This is why I have the killer instinct, this is why I can now step up and perform when it matters most. This is why every time I step into that ring – the result matters, every moment that occurs in that ring will play throughout my mind for the next few days. Every mistake, every error I make, it plays through my head over and over again.
“Every failure is remembered, and that is why I have achieved success here, and that is why I am destined for more of it to come in the future.
“You? You lack that instinct. You don’t have the correct approach, you are already behind me in physical and technical ability, and for all your determination and will to succeed, you will still never have the iron-like mentality that I possess.
“In that ring, I am a killer. When you look into my cold eyes and see fists showering down over you, causing you to fall deeper and deeper into the void of unconsciousness, you will begin to understand why this was always a foregone conclusion.
“This is your learning experience, this is when I give you that hollow feeling, and afterwards you will be left with the opportunity to thrive, or die like all the rest. This story has played out so many times, in so many different ways, and the result has always been the same.
“The hero never wins in the end, Adam.
“You will fight valiantly, you will show courage and bravery in the face of the adversity that awaits you on Sunday, but you don’t stand a chance. You never did, and you never will. This will be your one shining moment, after this? There is hardly anything left, You will face Jason O’Neal for the Alpha Title and you will fail miserably, you will be shook to the very core by this defeat and you will never be the same again.
“This is how it was always going to go down.
“But, a word of advice, before I end you and your illusions of grandeur.
“Your friendship with Stephen Anderson – cut it loose.
“Like your career, this is just another lost cause that will only cause you to sink even further into the ocean of failure that you are already waist deep in.
“The chances of your career being a successful one has almost flatlined, and you’ve barely gotten started. You have tipped the odds against you in every way imaginable, this is just one more thing that is pointing against you, another point of vulnerability that will be exploited by others at every twist and turn.
“Believe me, I know how this works.
“For two months, I carried the weight of friendship on my shoulders, I dealt with the stress and struggles of having to help along two lesser talents on the road to glory and success.
“I faced the odds, and I overcame them, just as I always do, and as I will continue to do for the rest of my existence. But you? You’re not in my league, Adam. You cannot carry this burden forever, you can hardly lift it now.
“That ocean of failure you’re in? It’s rising. All these variables are causing the water level to rise, you’re flailing, you’re doing everything you can to escape from your predetermined fate. The destiny that I have laid out for you.
“I am giving you one last chance, to fix your fatal mistake.
“But realistically? There’s only one ending for you.
“You drown.”
Transparent
The World feels dead to me now, this is a higher sensation than anything I have felt before. This is no contradiction, this is reality, this is how The World works now.
The Man of Glass was right, what he said was the truth. On Monday, the fourteenth of January, at 2am, I opened my eyes. What had happened the previous night was a distant memory, all I remember is the bathroom and the powder.
The bathroom and the powder.
And The Man of Glass.
He was right, she would message me in a few hours.
At 2am, Monday, the fourteenth of January, the message was received. Sent by: Cara Segreti.
But whatever thought, or feeling that had worked its way into my system about her?
It was fleeting. It was no longer there; it was gone.
This is no contradiction.
She is not a solution.
There Are No Solutions.
Audio Recording, Part 1. (14th of January, 2017.)
“Before we get started, I’d like to get something out of the way. Adam Burnett, I will not be filming a proper promotional video to hype up this foregone conclusion of a match. I am currently somewhat hungover and dead to the world as I am speaking to you now, and having to go through the effort of calling a cameraman over just to dig you an even deeper hole than the one you’ve already dug yourself would probably cause me to commit suicide.
“Even in that event though, I have faith in the fact that Jared Holmes would bring my limp carcass out to the ring, said carcass would then proceed to embarrass you and your shitty gimmick. You and your shitty move-set, you and your shitty level of wrestling, you and your shitty life- okay, you get where I’m heading, right?
“Now, I don’t want you to get ahead of yourself Adam. I suspect sooner or later I’m going to be seeing you on an interview being conducted by Hank Brown or Freddy Whoa (shit, we’re already getting started with the generic bullshit, and we haven’t even really gotten started yet?) and you’re going to be talking about how this will be such a great match. How I’m a competitor that you respect and know can give you trouble in the ring, but that you’re going to come out with determination and grit like you always do, and hopefully walk away with a W.
“And while that’s all well and good – I’m not here to cut a horrible fucking interview with people that are almost as bland as you yourself are. I’m here to eviscerate – and here is where I begin.
“Adam Burnett, who the fuck have you beaten that means anything in this ring? Everyone you have come up against has not even hit mediocrity, or is currently on the backburner (Gable, come on man. You can’t be getting upstaged by guys like this. It’s not good for your image.), each of your victories have come by the way of submission, except for your one tag team match where you partner picked up the win for your team. Each person you have made tapped out does not even come close to the level of ability present in those of the upper-echelon of the WCF, including myself.
“Biff Mustache.
“Psychopomp.
“Anonymous.
“Each of these guys are straight up fucking garbage, they too are people who are either irrelevant or have never picked up a meaningful win within the federation. You have without a doubt had the easiest stretch of matches of any WCF superstar in recent months, but yet you still have to resort to being opportunistic and at times, even lucky to come away with victories in your matches. You took advantage of the unpredictability in a fatal four way match to submit Anonymous, same with Biff Mustache. Your win over Psychopomp was uninspired, which is sad to say considering it came at the biggest event of the Year.
“For someone with prior experience in wrestling, going all over the ‘indy-circuit’ trying to prove his worth and make his dream become a reality, you have the most lacklustre variety of both moves and interesting promotion work that I have ever seen in a wrestler before. Your most commonly used move is a simple chop-block, followed by a calf-crusher.
“Both of these move, from a technical standpoint, are easily countered. When you attempt to go for that pitiful chop block, I am going to turn around and kick your fucking head in. After I’m done caving it into the mat, I may even take the time to set up my own submission and make you tap like the fucking bitch that you are. You’re yet to be exposed in the technical game, you are yet to be exposed in the stand-up game – I am better than you at both of these things. The outcome of this match? It’s questionable, but not in terms of the result. The only thing in question is whether you’re going to walk out with a broken jaw, or with a broken elbow/dislocated shoulder.
“You take pride in a win-streak that other men who are more established and withhold more ability would consider shameful. Your gameplan is one-dimensional, you have no variance. The same can be said for your attitude and gimmick. What will happen once you realize you cannot attack the leg and get your patented submission hold? What do you have to fall back on? That is already one fundamental difference between the two of us.
“I am adaptable, I have a second and third gear I can change into, I am not simply stuck to one style or have one win condition that I need to achieve. Everything you plan to do on Sunday, I can already see, I know exactly what you’re going to go for and how you’re going to set it up.
“When I hit you with my overhand right, and knock your teeth straight down the back of your throat, how do you plan on adjusting to that, tell me?
“Your motivation and determination cannot stand against an opponent of my level. This is objective, not subjective.
“Unlike you, my entire existence in the WCF doesn’t come down to just being determined and having a ‘great passion for the industry.’ Such common motivators are lost upon someone with as much talent as me, they are universal within ninety percent of talent that walks through the door into the big leagues of this – and these same people are the ones who get thoroughly embarrassed on a week by week basis. The difference between you and them? You’ve had an easier run of it than most of them had.
“I too, at one point, considered wrestling my ultimate goal. Just like you did. I planned to reach it through grit and hard work, to push through the proverbial glass ceiling and prove my worth to The World. The difference between you and I thought?
“When I achieved success, when I placed myself up onto a pedestal above a majority of the federation, it was never surreal to me. It was never a surprise or shock that I had reached the level that I did in such a short time. It is not a surprise to me that I am still considered one of the hottest young talents on the market right now. Meanwhile? You don’t have even half the ability or potential I did when I first stepped into these ropes, and yet you already have your head up in the clouds. You have picked up a few measly wins against uninspiring competition, and the whole experience is already a surreal one for you. A dream world.
“You’re yet to be pulled back down by the harsh grasp of REALity, but that is to be expected. You’re too naïve, you don’t have the instinct nor innate ability to truly understand what you’re dealing with here. And that’s okay, not everyone is destined for Greatness.
“And I will prove that to you on Sunday, when I show you the light.”
Greatness
Greatness was a word that often went without meaning to Ethan King – especially as of late. It had dawned on him that in the grand scheme of things, this life he had been given was one that was destined for some type of achievement, some type of gratification that would eventually pull itself together and lay itself out for him. It had always been his belief that he was in possession of something of a higher caliber than those that had surrounded him, even when he was but a humble student, a loving brother and son to a family that was not deserving of him. Confidence was innate, he was not meant to be castaway into a life of mediocrity, he was meant for something Greater.
But what was Greatness?
Was it what he saw before him right now? The masses of people huddled together in a cramped up club, dancing and drinking the night away – along with the never-ending pile of fears and insecurities that riddled the lives and minds of The World’s People?
Was it the fact that he had been recommended this club by Jared Holmes of all people, for its exclusiveness and the fact that it was one of the few clubs in Ethan’s old residence of Los Angeles that had three stories? The third itself being set aside specifically for people such as him, for B-List celebrities. Could he use that term on himself? Why not? This was his life, after all. This was his movie, his story. No-one else was in control of it, unless you counted the looming eye of The Shark that kept him in check. But even that wasn’t a factor, at least not at this very moment. The Shark had been in search of his Goddess, and that left him, The Future King, to do as he pleased.
And Greatness, was what he wished to have.
It occurred to him, finally, that Greatness was not something that could be defined by one phrase, or through one example. It was up to him to determine his own Greatness, Greatness that would be looked upon by generations to come, by younger and less successful up and coming talents that would see him as the prototype for success.
But this? This was just a vision. He had no need to make it a realization yet.
So, with a detached look upon his face, he placed his drink ever so carefully upon the table beneath him, he stood up and made certain to check his pockets for his valuables. For an allegedly exclusive bar, he noted with distaste that he seemed the only one dressed up for any sort of special occasion. A white button-up, a burgundy silk tie, black wool trousers and a pair of brown leather shoes, all by Armani.
Even The 6ix God would be proud of the attire, even more so by the fact he had brought the small plastic bag that carried white powder within it. Ethan’s lips spread into a thin smile as he felt into his trouser pocket and located the bag, keeping it held within his hand tightly as he smoothly worked his way through the crowd, all the way to the bathroom.
As he navigated toward the destination, he offered cordial smiles, flirtatious winks, confident nods and at times, even offering greetings to those he thought looked familiar, but it was all perfunctory.
There is no meaning withheld in his cold stare, or the movements he does or does not make. It is all predetermined, it is all premeditated, it is all destiny.
And with the small smile still playing at his lips, Ethan for the first time in months began to have a breakthrough as to what Greatness was. As he walked into the empty bathroom, polished and surprisingly clean. Maybe this place wasn’t a shamble after all – he would need to come here more often.
Greatness was this.
Greatness was looking into the mirror and preparing the white, powdery line.
Greatness was forgetting about his overall existence – and that of everyone else, and living in this moment.
The temporary feeling, the fleeting feeling.
The only feelings worth a damn anymore.
Audio Recording, Part 2. (14th of January, 2017.)
“I want you to know something, Adam – I don’t consider you a lesser talent simply because of the colour of your skin. I’m sure that’s a thing that has been brought up by you and your competitors, or your critics at least, a few times over. Don’t worry, I’m not that kind of guy. I’m sure if I were to do something like that, you’d get all heated and your determination levels would be through the roof. And even then, I’d still get the pleasure of ruining that face of yours, and possibly even enjoy it more – but that’s not how I do things.
“Your skin colour doesn’t impact how I treat you in the ring as a competitor, nor will it ever change how I treat you outside of the ring. I am going to treat you exactly how you deserved to be treated, as an overly bland, uninteresting and somewhat repellent talent in a federation that is already suffering from having a bunch of similar characters walk through the door and take their place as perennial mid-carders.
“Derek Moreno, like you, was determined and persevering.
“Damian Kaine is determined and persevering.
“Spencer Adams was determined and persevering.
“Teo Del Sol was determined and persevering. (Who is Teddy Blaze? Idk).
“Howard Black was determined and persevering.
“Those two traits you have, are ones that have been found within these few men, and countless others around The World who have wanted to make their presence felt within this federation. But, do you want to know the one thing that is universally recognized amongst all of them, by the outside World?
“They would never reach the pinnacle of success, they would never hit the top like they dreamed of doing their entire lives. They would never amount to anything other than being eternally destined to linger in the lower to mid-card scene of the federation for the majority of their careers. The only outlier to this cruel fact is Howard Black, and even his meteoric rise was cut tragically short in the WCF. How do you, Adam, propose you stand any chance of success when all the previously mentioned wrestlers are either around your level (Damian Kaine), or infinitely better than you in every way imaginable?
“You have no traits or abilities that set yourself apart from these names, and even with your likeable persona, you will never amass the levels of popularity that most of these names achieved. You will be liked, you will be loved, you will even be adored. You will be respected by many in the locker room that share your views on the wrestling business and take a liking to your hard-working attitude, but you will never, ever, be anything more than “The Man” amongst the cannon-fodder of the federation.
“You will be the perpetual prince of the lower divisions, this being a direct product of your inability to bring anything new or interesting to the table. Everything you’ve done, we’ve seen before, and we’ve seen it done better, with more emotion and with more skill.
“This, this is why I don’t need to bring up the colour of your skin, or whatever tragic backstory you may have within your family, such as your adamant behaviour when it comes to not speaking with your Mother. I don’t need to do any of this.
“Instead, I can tear you apart simply by pointing to the awful stench of blandness and vanilla that follows you around everywhere you go. Like all those similar personalities that have come before you, you will be the next in a long line to peak out far before you were predicted to, far below the levels of the people that actually matter in this industry. And then?
“And then you’ll dip into the realms of obscurity, right where you truly belonged in the first place. As you have acknowledged previously, your welcoming into this federation was almost entirely out of circumstance, you are lucky to be here.
“And you are lucky that you are facing me this week, to expose the truth to you. To show you where you truly stand, to show you that we here in the WCF don’t need you.
“This place is your platform, this is the best place for you to ever gain some relevance within The World of Wrestling, this is your biggest, and quite possibly your last chance to make something of yourself within this business. The stakes are high, every match counts, the losses may not mean anything immediately, but they will wear on you. Your mind and body, they will inevitably weaken, and your plummet back into reality will then take place.
“This is your platform, Adam.
“And I’m about to send you crashing down from it.”
The Future King
He had crossed all lines, he had done everything that had been required from him. He had seen the future that had been laid out for him and accepted it wholeheartedly. This was not a brash decision, this was not an uncalculated choice by a young man without factoring in the importance of variables and outside influences.
Ethan King had made his decision. In his previous life, he would have never forgiven himself for performing such an atrocity, he would’ve considered himself a Monster, a mere shell of a long forgotten man.
He had lingered in the bathroom for a few minutes after performing the deed, the white substance that had quarter-filled the palm sized bag now nowhere to be found. He glared into the mirror with a wide smile exposing his flawless teeth – they were flawless, weren’t they? (After pondering this for a moment, he spread his lips even further apart, but at this point he could no longer tell if his teeth were actually the bright white that he saw, or if that was just a side-effect of the substance.) He turned away from the mirror, his footsteps making a hollow echo throughout the rest of the bathroom. As he pushed open the doorway with a solid palm, forcing it forward and causing it to swing unhindered into the wall, causing a dint where the metal handle protruded from, he pondered the question.
Was he a Monster, by his former standards?
He felt nothing, his needs and his desires could now be lumped into the same category, he experienced no sympathy for those that he came across, nor did he ever find himself growing any sense of attachment for people in general. He had said it himself – he had no want to contact those he had been close within the past.
The past was a dream, one that he was no longer living in. This was REALity, this was what made sense.
“Name, please?”
The thoughts were broken, now indistinguishable from one another as they swam within his mind, muddling each other up and causing him to break down into a furious sweat. He ran a hand through his gelled hair, attempting to comb it with his hand even further to the side, he could not look uncertain of himself in this moment. He adjusted his tie, making certain to straighten his shirt as he did so – before flashing a brilliant smile towards the man in the shirt. The only man in the entire complex that was also wearing a formal shirt. This made him feel uncomfortable, as he assessed the rest of the man’s outfit, speaking absentmindedly as he did so.
“Ethan Atticio.”
“Ethan King? Yeah, you’re good to go.”
“That’s not what I said, I said Ethan-“
“King, Ethan King. Yeah, I know. You wrestle, right? Just got back in your hometown after your first match? Visiting the family and all that good stuff I imagine? That’s nice. Good thing you came up here also, the crowd down there can be a bit overwhelming at times, don’t you think?”
“Listen, I really don’t give a fuck. I just want a nice quiet place to sit down, have a drink, and then I can go film the promo I’m contractually obliged to cut on Adam Burns. Then I can sleep and forget all this shit ever happened, okay?”
He looked back up, expecting to see the stunned face, but instead saw nothing but the open doorway at the top of the stairwell, where the man had been standing in front of just moments ago. Incensed, he paces up the stairs, taking them two at a time, reaching the top within seconds as he surveys the room.
The man is standing over at the back of the bar, preparing what looks to be a drink as he stands behind a wooden bar, landscape paintings that he has never seen before take up space upon all of the walls which are painted in maroon. The carpet beneath his feet is black, which helps the two circular glass tables and gold-framed chairs positioned underneath said tables stand out. Along with this, there are dark red leather sofas, situated near smaller wood tables that are already covered with finger foods and unoccupied red wine in glasses.
In a split-second, the unimportance of the man at the bar now dawns on him, he’s just like everyone else.
Just. Like. Everyone. Else.
Another door.
He opens the door, and there it is. The balcony. Jared had been telling him about this, what other club could lay claim to having three stories AND a balcony with its own seating and drinks area? A whole party could be hosted up here if one wished, this place was a social heaven in comparison to the ground floor. In the corner, a man sat in a black suit, with a matching black fedora over his head.
Inexplicably drawn to the man, he takes a seat by him.
“Ethan King, right?”
“No, it’s actually-“
“Wonderful. Tell Eric I said thank you for bringing you up here.”
“I… I came up on my own.”
“No, you didn’t. You were escorted from the ground floor by my beloved henchmen, Eric. Okay?”
The wave of calm that had come over Ethan dissipates, replaced by a sudden annoyance.
“That’s not what happened.”
He points an accusing finger back into the room he had arrived from.
“I took the last of the cocaine Jared gave me, and then I left the bathroom, and then I ended up on the stairwell. That guy left me, and now here I am.”
“And now here you are.” the man agreed.
“Look, can you help me out? I’m trying to find someone.”
“Name, please.” the man said, in the same tone as the man that had come before him.
“Cara Atticio.”
“Cara Segreti? Why? She should be messaging you in just a few hours.”
“No, I said-“
“Cara Segreti, your ex-girlfriend.”
“We’re not together anymore?”
The man laughs, a sad, bitter chuckle.
“Ethan, you haven’t seen her in months. Even after you got out, you didn’t even try to talk to her again.”
Months.
Months.
Months.
Ethan King could feel The World falling apart, he clutched at his hair, pulling at it, trying to rip it out from his scalp, tears now stinging his eyes. He blinked rapidly to remove them, some of them dripping down onto his shirt and dampening the luxury material. No, he couldn’t be seen like this, he couldn’t be-
“You finished your drink? Good on you! Keep it going, my man.”
As his vision came back into focus, lifting away from his now eternally ruined shirt, he saw the man that he had been talking to earlier, the one who had gone to the bar on the second story of the nightclub… or was it the third?
When had he taken the drink?
Soothing waves now radiated throughout his muscles, he felt himself weaken as the feeling of relaxation took over him, his dilated pupils now looked up toward the night sky, the stars appearing brighter than they ever had before. He sagged into the chair, the face of the second man present in his peripheral version.
“What can I call you?”
“The Man of Glass.”
Audio Recording, Part 3. (14th of January. 2017.)
“It wasn’t too long ago Adam, when you said you didn’t want to be labelled by others. You didn’t want to be someone that would be pinpointed into a certain category, into a predetermined location before you were even given a chance to show what you were made out of. You wanted to be given the equal opportunities, just like everyone else were given. You would fight your way through the ranks, get given matches against progressively better opponents (though to be fair, this is a huge fucking jump from Psychopomp LMAO) and continue to prove yourself. Prove why you belonged here, prove why you spent all your life working hard, why you spent so much time working passed all the trials and tribulations that filled your life. These are just some of your motives, are they not?
“You don’t want to be labelled by others.
“And in a twisted turn of events, it appears you forgot to tell yourself just that, Adam.
“You don’t want to be labelled, yet you come out every week as the typical smiling hero, the clichéd good guy with a heart of gold and an optimistic attitude.
“You don’t want to be labelled, yet you tell us all your great tales of coming from a small town, of making a living along with the rest of your family.
“You don’t want to be labelled, yet you bring up all the hard work you did back in the lower leagues of wrestling, how you and your precious friend struggled, attempting to get noticed and bring relevancy to your names.
“All of that, and you still have the audacity to say aloud that you don’t want to be labelled by these fans, by upper-management, by the critics and by your peers and foes. You are a fucking imbecile of the highest order, in one fell swoop you not only managed to make a complete fool of yourself, but you somehow managed to make yourself even less credible and kill your career, all in one line.
“I don’t want to be labelled.”
“Well guess what, you fucking loser – you’re getting labelled. You are forever going to be labelled as the perpetual mid-card non-threat, you are going to be labelled as the hero without any credit to his name – for he never defeats the vastly superior ‘villains’ that he comes up against.
“You’re a hero, Adam. And like every hero, your story always manages to end in the same, tragic way. You fall, and you never rise again. There are no happy endings for people like you, all you want is to rid yourself of your own problems, and help others get rid of theirs. You aim to be content – but you are never satisfied. You are always hungry, always aiming for something higher and better, always looking to prove yourself in a bigger and better way than you did the last time. This will be your downfall, you couldn’t accept that you simply were never good enough to compete on the main stage, to compete against people such as me. And now? You’ve made your final error.
“You believed in the word of one scout, one man who thought he saw something in you, and where has he been since to support you? He knows just as well as everyone else that you are not cut out for this, that making it big in wrestling for you is just a pipe dream. One that is still yet to be crushed.
“Everything you are going to experience in the next few months, all the pain and suffering, all the disappointment and lots hope, all of it is what you have brought down upon yourself. You want to avoid being stereotyped, you want to avoid being considered as typical, but you have done everything in your power to prove that you truly are just another man with a dream that will soon be rendered unreachable.
“I hope you’re prepared for this loss, Adam. I hope you know what a loss on the biggest stage in The World can do to your mentality, to your entire approach. You have taken your fair share of losses throughout the entirety of your career – that I am sure of am. Everyone experiences defeat at one point or another, but you’re yet to experience it on a level such as this, in a place such as this one.
“This is yet another defining difference between the two of us. I know the feeling of bitterness the envelops you after a loss at the highest of levels. Although I have never been pinned, although I have never tapped out, I have experienced failure and adversity – and I have only gotten better each time at pushing through it.
“I have felt the emptiness after a loss.
“I have felt the emptiness after fighting for what felt like an eternity, after putting in all the work imaginable; only to walk away with a measly, unsatisfying draw, a consolation prize that will never be respected or mentioned again unless it is being insulted or riddled by the masses.
“You don’t know what defeat does to you yet, all your losses are meaningless. When you put on your little showcases with your best friend, you don’t think about the result as much as you think about how grateful you are to be doing what you love. You don’t think about the result as much as you think about how great a showing you put on for the small section of fans that watched you that night.
“This is why I have the killer instinct, this is why I can now step up and perform when it matters most. This is why every time I step into that ring – the result matters, every moment that occurs in that ring will play throughout my mind for the next few days. Every mistake, every error I make, it plays through my head over and over again.
“Every failure is remembered, and that is why I have achieved success here, and that is why I am destined for more of it to come in the future.
“You? You lack that instinct. You don’t have the correct approach, you are already behind me in physical and technical ability, and for all your determination and will to succeed, you will still never have the iron-like mentality that I possess.
“In that ring, I am a killer. When you look into my cold eyes and see fists showering down over you, causing you to fall deeper and deeper into the void of unconsciousness, you will begin to understand why this was always a foregone conclusion.
“This is your learning experience, this is when I give you that hollow feeling, and afterwards you will be left with the opportunity to thrive, or die like all the rest. This story has played out so many times, in so many different ways, and the result has always been the same.
“The hero never wins in the end, Adam.
“You will fight valiantly, you will show courage and bravery in the face of the adversity that awaits you on Sunday, but you don’t stand a chance. You never did, and you never will. This will be your one shining moment, after this? There is hardly anything left, You will face Jason O’Neal for the Alpha Title and you will fail miserably, you will be shook to the very core by this defeat and you will never be the same again.
“This is how it was always going to go down.
“But, a word of advice, before I end you and your illusions of grandeur.
“Your friendship with Stephen Anderson – cut it loose.
“Like your career, this is just another lost cause that will only cause you to sink even further into the ocean of failure that you are already waist deep in.
“The chances of your career being a successful one has almost flatlined, and you’ve barely gotten started. You have tipped the odds against you in every way imaginable, this is just one more thing that is pointing against you, another point of vulnerability that will be exploited by others at every twist and turn.
“Believe me, I know how this works.
“For two months, I carried the weight of friendship on my shoulders, I dealt with the stress and struggles of having to help along two lesser talents on the road to glory and success.
“I faced the odds, and I overcame them, just as I always do, and as I will continue to do for the rest of my existence. But you? You’re not in my league, Adam. You cannot carry this burden forever, you can hardly lift it now.
“That ocean of failure you’re in? It’s rising. All these variables are causing the water level to rise, you’re flailing, you’re doing everything you can to escape from your predetermined fate. The destiny that I have laid out for you.
“I am giving you one last chance, to fix your fatal mistake.
“But realistically? There’s only one ending for you.
“You drown.”
Transparent
The World feels dead to me now, this is a higher sensation than anything I have felt before. This is no contradiction, this is reality, this is how The World works now.
The Man of Glass was right, what he said was the truth. On Monday, the fourteenth of January, at 2am, I opened my eyes. What had happened the previous night was a distant memory, all I remember is the bathroom and the powder.
The bathroom and the powder.
And The Man of Glass.
He was right, she would message me in a few hours.
At 2am, Monday, the fourteenth of January, the message was received. Sent by: Cara Segreti.
But whatever thought, or feeling that had worked its way into my system about her?
It was fleeting. It was no longer there; it was gone.
This is no contradiction.
She is not a solution.
There Are No Solutions.