Post by "Iron Heart" Ethan King on Jul 28, 2017 9:17:07 GMT -5
CHANGE
21st of July, 2017.
Unspecified Location.
“So, Ethan. I’ve been told this isn’t the first time you’ve tried to help your situation by speaking to a professional like myself.”
A man wearing a white shirt with black suspenders, and similarly coloured trousers, stares at a files marked with the name ‘Ethan Atticio’ in bold writing at the top of them. Below, there is a list of compiled information formatted into neat blocks of writing, showing some of his personal information, history, and so on. He nods while looking at the papers, as he reaches over onto his desk and fumbles around for his glasses. His hand latches onto them, pulling them up off the desk that is filled with an assortment of other files, mugs that appear stained with coffee, and a desktop with a decent-sized monitor to back it all up.
“Who told you that?”
The man glances up, away from his papers, which he places down lightly upon the desk, taking care to separate them from all the other objects that contaminate the cleanliness of the desk.
“You did, actually. You don’t remember that?”
“Not really.”
“That’s odd. How did you remember to come here then?”
“My agent told me. He said I should probably see someone and get into the right mental frame. Something about being in a ‘big match’ and that I should be at my absolute best, both physically and mentally.”
Ethan folds his arms and leans back in his seat, looking rather unimpressed with the small space he had been confined to. The office wasn’t as lavishly furnished as what he was used to, and it seemed to be having an impact on him. He raised his head, locking eyes with the man who sat across from him, who began to nod absent-mindedly as he put on his glasses, blinking his eyes a few times before speaking.
“I’m taking it you don’t want to be here, then?”
“Not in particular. But then again, I can see where he’s coming from. I guess people would say I don’t have the clearest of minds, even at the best of times.”
“Well, I’ll do my best to help you out with that, Ethan. But anyway, back to the question… you were seeing someone, yes? Before you came to me?”
“Not anymore, that was quite a while ago.”
Curious, the man tilts his head to the side, leaning slightly inward, as if it would help him hear a man who wasn’t even a few metres away from where he was currently sitting.
“How long ago, would you say?”
Ethan shrugs, appearing mostly disinterested.
“Probably six months ago.”
“And what happened to him?”
Now, Ethan’s eyes narrow, as if he is attempting to remember something. He takes a moment to think, and upon remembering the fate of his previous psychologist, his eyes return back to their normal state. He points a finger gun towards the man that sits in front of him, a small smile playing at his lips.
“Oh, yes. I killed him, with a handgun.”
To emphasise the point, he ‘pulls the trigger’ on his finger gun, simulating a shot directly into the chest of his new psychologist. While it seemed to be an attempt at a joke, the man sitting across from his is deadly serious, his wrinkles from older age creasing deeper as he watched his client.
“That’s odd. I checked to see if you had a criminal record, and nothing came up. Did you hide the evidence?”
Ethan shakes his head in a deliberate manner, and points towards the doorway leading out of the office.
“Nope, I had been standing by that door, and then I had the gun, and I killed him with it. He was sitting in a chair pretty similar to yours, actually. I didn’t remove any of the evidence or anything, I had a lucky feeling.”
“…and was there anybody else with you? Anybody else that may have heard this gunshot, or at least your departure from the scene?”
“Well, there was one guy. I offed him as well though, he was kind of getting on my nerves.”
Ethan’s new psychologist reaches over to his desktop monitor, pulling it closer towards him. He does the same with the black mechanical keyboard, he opens up one of Ethan’s various files and begins to punch in keys. Letters begin to appear on the screen, a new set of information being added to the several articles that had already been written on The Eminent One that sat before him.
“Who was this man?”
Without hesitation, Ethan responds, lips still curved in a smile.
“The Shark.”
The older man furrows his eyebrows.
“Sorry, who?”
Suddenly, Ethan’s smile disappears. He shakes his head, pushing himself further backward into his seat, as if to avoid the questions that were being thrown his way.
“Jared Holmes, sorry. Forget what I said.”
Now truly confused, the older man begins to type more, whilst continuing to speak.
“Mister Atticio, Jared Holmes is still alive and well. You of all people should be very aware of this fact.”
Ethan makes certain to avert the older man’s gaze, his eyes cast downward.
“Yes… so he is.”
“So who was it that you killed then? After you murdered your previous psychologist?”
“I’m… I’m not too sure, honestly.”
The man assesses him with his keen gaze, his grey eyes taking in the young man that sat before him. He brings a wrinkled, frail hand to his jaw, tapping steadily on his cheek with a lone finger.
“Do you think that perhaps you just conjured these scenarios up in your own mind? There’s a lot of evidence pointing that way. With Jared Holmes still alive, and you having no criminal convictions or records of murder, it’s a hard tale to believe, Mister Atticio.”
“You’re telling me things that I already know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I know I had dreams… nightmares, whatever you want to call them. I figured out pretty quickly that all of that was just an illusion. But you asked me what happened to my last psychologist, so I answered. Did I answer incorrectly, sir?”
The ‘sir’ came out in a tone that was condescending, as if Ethan was treating this session as nothing but a game. The psychologist side, propping his head up by placing his elbow on the table, as he looked at Ethan with a smile that looked as though he were pitying the young man.
“No, you answered just fine, Ethan. Now, we’ve established that what happened was just a dream. But dreams can often be helpful in identifying and producing solutions for problems that you may be going through. Do you want to tell me some of the things the psychologist from your dreams said? Or perhaps even this ‘Shark’ that you speak of?”
“Well, the psychologist was pretty cut and dry, to say the least. He asked me about my friends and family, and why I had cut off all contact with them after the Mexico Incident-“
“And have you still avoided speaking to them?”
He cut in swiftly, he did so to make certain Ethan’s responses were as honest and accurate as possible. Not allowing him to think meant he was more likely to say something that was truthful.
“Yes. Well, not exactly… I’ve tried to.”
“Explain.”
“I mean, I’ve left some messages for my ex-girlfriend and stuff. But my Mom’s dead, and she was the only one I was ever really close with-“
“Does this still happen to affect you in any type of way?”
“No, not anymore. It’s just that I’ve never really gotten along with my Dad. I wouldn’t say it’s a bad relationship, it’s just that we kind of have different views on The World, and all of that shit. You know what I mean?”
The man nods, although it seems to be more perfunctory than anything else, as though he was simply doing it to satisfy the young man and make him feel as though he could relate to someone – anyone – at this point in time.
“And what of your siblings? Do you have any?”
“I have a sister, yes. Her name’s Kylie, we were… we were close.”
“And yet you haven’t spoken to her since recovering from The Mexico Incident?”
“No.”
The psychologist clicks his tongue, as his fingers start gliding over the keyboard once more, adding in another dot point to the already large list that had been compiled prior to this session. When he looks back up and away from the screen, he notices that Ethan has started to drift off, seemingly interested by the length of his nails. To garner his attention, the old man clears his throat, causing Ethan to swing his gaze back up towards him.
“Where there any other questions he asked?”
“Nothing important, really. He just asked if I thought returning back to wrestling would actually be a solution.”
“A solution for what?”
Ethan shrugs.
“I don’t know. Whatever it is that I’ve turned into, I suppose? He didn’t exactly diagnose me, but he seemed to think I had turned into a sociopath, or something of that nature. Maybe he’s right, who knows? From what I gathered, he just thought wrestling would cause me more problems, rather than help me.”
“And do you think he turned out to be right? Do you think wrestling has helped you, or hurt you?”
Ethan glances away for a moment, as if to contemplate his thoughts. He bites on his lip lightly, but then manages to gather himself.
“I think that… it has helped me, in some ways. I don’t think things would’ve turned out well if I didn’t have a release, you know? Like something to fall back on, something to let out whatever pent up emotion or energy that I had. Sometimes, I felt as though one false word or move by another person would’ve agitated me to the point I’d do something I regret. It’s as though I was forever on-edge from some sort of unseen threat, and it made me feel… all-powerful, lethal even.”
“What’s something you could’ve seen yourself doing, had you not had this ‘release’ in the form of wrestling?”
With a cold and cruel look ever-present in his eyes, Ethan spoke without a moment’s thought.
“I would’ve killed someone.”
The psychologist makes a mental note of this, as he realizes that perhaps this could be a potential key to assisting Ethan in the future.
“Okay. So that’s what the psychologist did. Now, what about The Shark? Did he perhaps say anything to you that may have caused these feelings? Could he have played a role in any of this?”
“He said a lot. Most of it was bullshit that I eventually ended up seeing through. I always had a suspicion he wasn’t much of the ‘friend’ that he made himself out to be, even in the real world. But I think there was one thing he said that would often cut through to me, even when I was having my doubts about him.”
“And what was that?”
“He’d look at me with eyes that were almost murderous. You know, the look you see from actual, real-life, cold-blooded killers? Yeah, that’s what I’d see in those eyes. And then he’d say: Accept Reality, Replicate My Design.”
There was a pause, before the psychologist spoke.
“By the sounds of that, it’d seem as though he were trying to turn you into something. What do you think that was, Ethan?”
“Into exactly what he was; a monster.”
“And do you think he succeeded in doing that?”
Ethan purses his lips together, taking his time to consider the question. He waits a moment, before confidently nodding his head up and down.
“Yes, I do.”
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THE ULTIMATE ONE
"And this skeletal mask brings a demon of the day."
Unspecified Date.Unspecified Location.
The scene cuts away from Ethan’s face, to Ethan in an entirely different location. This place is nothing but an empty white room, and in this room is a raised pedestal, which has atop of it a mask that isn’t coloured, but instead is a simple pure white. To give some much needed personality to the mask, a few thick streaks of red paint protrude from one of the eye-holds, one stripe going diagonal, another horizontal, and another perfectly downward. Ethan brings a hand to the mask, fingers caressing it gently, as he glances up to the camera and smiles.
“Hello everyone, are we all prepared for the events that are set to take place soon? For the landscape that’s about to be shook beneath our feet? The times are changing, and there are titles that are desperately in need of being traded in for something far more prestigious and fitting for the men that make up Everest.
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen. The time is quickly approaching. You’re all sitting there and pondering, questioning who will be the one to come out on top. But that? That’s a ridiculous question. Something more appropriate would be to ask which ‘ideology’ will be coming out on top, come the end of Ultimate Showdown?
“Will it be that of the veterans in this match, consisting of Gravedigger and Jayson Price? The men who are so convinced that their large resumes and previous legacies will give them all the needed advantage to impose their wills on this match, and give them that much needed push back into the forefront of the federation that they so desperately desire? These men are like addicts, and Everest are the people who give them what they want, and then take it away so briskly, so ferociously, that they are left hungry and longing for more. We teased Digger and Price by bringing them on the verge of achieving ultimate glory by winning the Trios Tournament. And then we swept the rug out from underneath their feet, and they went toppling down, crashing back to the large pile of irrelevancy that has been recently filled with the likes of Zero Tolerance, the new-look Pantheon who are slowly and slowly crumbling underneath the pressure of Everest, and the plethora of fucking losers who are stuck in eternal mid-card hell. This is where Everest as a collective dumped the legacies of Jayson Price and Gravedigger, and now here they are once again, in a match that they have literally no chance of winning. At this point, they’re both just name and face value, they’ve been given the honorary role of being the ‘veteran presence’ that always seem to be present in an Ultimate Showdown match. Last year, it was Stuart Slane. The year before that, it was Jonny Fly. Both men are of immense talent, especially the latter in Fly, but guess what? Neither of them walked out on top. In fact, Fly himself ended up eating a pin from a Thomas Uriel Bates who proved to be uninspiring and ineffective as a World Champion later on in his career. And Stuart Slane? He walked away with nothing but a tag-team championship unbefitting of his talents.
“So tell me, where exactly does that leave the two of you? Neither of you are quite at the level of Jonny Fly. And even he couldn’t take on the talent of this generation and walk away with the World Championship. Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s no shame in that. The talent here is growing by the day, and winning Ultimate Showdown back in the day wasn’t even close to being an easy feat, and now? It’s even harder. So if he couldn’t do it, what gives either of you the idea that you’re going to break the mould, and be the veteran that finds himself beating out the younger, more hungry, fired-up competition that are nipping away at your heels, or should I say… your legacies. Which are impressive, to be sure, but in reality are nothing but high expectations that the two of you both have to live up to on a daily basis. Every failure, every moment of hesitation, every doubt that shows on your faces whenever you fail to put newer talent down to the mat for good… it shows. It can be nitpicked. And it will be nitpicked. You were the men that at one point in time, would set the bar for everybody else.
“And now? That bar is about to come crashing right down atop of you, crushing you and choking you into non-existent. Ultimate Showdown is not the type of match that either of you will be able to walk out from unscathed. Your chances of winning are highly improbable. That’s just the odds with this type of match. You both have far more mileage than anybody else, except for maybe David Sanchez. The difference? He has help. He’s going to be able to get by on this match just through sheer numbers. So now, tell me… how exactly do you plan to prepare for this match? If you answer with anything, you’re fucking retarded. This is the type of match that you simply cannot prepare for. It’s unpredictable, and it takes the kind of adaptable mentality and skill-set to walk away with a victory. And while both Gravedigger and Jayson Price may have had these qualities at one point or another in their careers, it’s clear to see that they’re both lacking in it at this point in time. As former champions, neither of them have the hunger of winning the belt that those who have never obtained it do. And that’s not to say the former champions simply don’t have the hunger; they can. But these two? They’re simply here to shove their legacies and past glories down the throats of any people that will listen. You can hear it in Gravedigger’s whiny voice and furious typing every time he feels the need to remind us all that he’s a Hall of Famer, while he oddly accuses men that have previously beat him that they’re nothing and that he is still far better than them… even though, just like I said, they’ve proven they can defeat him before.
“You two are fucking pathetic, and epitomise everything that is wrong with this federation and wrestling in general. I’m going to take pleasure in watching the two of you be humbled by Everest in this match, as you slink down into the void of failure where you both belong, but have been lucky enough to avoid due to being afforded opportunities and being involved in weaker eras were the talent simply couldn’t keep up with you at that point in time. Sure, you both managed to be ahead of your time back when athletes still sounded as if they needed a fucking speak and spell to help them make their promotions seem coherent. But now? Athletes are smarter, more resourceful, and more physically gifted than what they once were. This changing in levels has started to show itself during the more recent runs of Price and Digger, but now? It’s about to be solidified for good.
“There should be a small amount of respect levied towards the two of you. You were the building blocks that have allowed more talented athletes such as myself to pave their way to glory and dominance. If it weren’t for you, I, Ethan King, would not have the platform to achieve the astounding amounts of success that I’m set to through what is sure to be a lengthy and accomplishment filled career.
“So for all of this, I extend my heartfelt thanks. Now lay down and die slow for me, will you?”
Ethan chuckles in a way that is almost maniacal to himself, as he looks away from the camera for a moment. His pupils dilate, and he seems to shake slightly, whether this is from excitement or something else cannot be determined.
“The next ideology stepping into this match? That of a new and eager spirit. Welcome, Sidney Warwick. Welcome to a match where you are going to get absolutely raped by the meaner, more refined talent that rounds out this match. A few weeks ago, you were introduced to your supreme overlords in Everest, and you were lucky enough to be on our side. But now? You’re nothing but a target. And no, before you start breathing all heavily and get all excited because you feel as though you’ve been noticed by men who will forever be infinitely more talented than someone of your calibre… the only reason you’re even remotely a target is because you just happen to have squeezed your way into this match. And honestly? No one should be even slightly impressed by this fact. When you take into account that your stiffest competition for your ‘championship’ have been Damian Kaine and Jaice Wilds, it becomes easy to see why you simply don’t match-up when it comes to a competition like this.
“And you, Sidney? You of all people should understand this the most. You are a man who understands what probability, chance, and likelihood all are. You’re walking into a match with a group of men who have all won more prestigious titles than you will ever hold during your career. You’re walking into a match with eight other men, which already makes your chances abysmal considering you have no experience in matches involving main-event tag matches except for the odd one-off where you actually get matched up against someone who isn’t complete fucking trash when it comes to in-ring ability.
“Besides that, let’s talk about that ideology I mentioned earlier. As I said, you’re the new guy, Sidney. And that makes you arguably the most eager and excited to be competing in this match. But unlike the rest of us that will be walking in, ready to capture the World Title if given even the merest hint of a chance… you? You’re just happy to be here. You aren’t motivated. You know that if you lose, or even if you are the first man to be eliminated, you’ll still keep your little belt, and you’ll still be put up against the paper-thin alpha division who aren’t any threat to you. You’re in a good place at the moment, Sidney. If you were in any other division, even a division that was at a mid-card level, you’d be getting stomped week in and week out. But where you stand now? You’re the King of the Rabble. You stand above a group of men who will never once in their lives see championship gold that isn’t the Alpha Championship itself. And that? That makes you feel good. That makes you feel confident and secure, as you know that for at least this short period of time, your career will actually be filled with limited amounts of success, rather than just constant failure that plagues you at every bend, corner and turn.
“As I’ve said many times before in my career… there’s a level to these things, Sidney. What you’re looking at right now, and what you’re going to be seeing staring directly into your eyes at Ultimate Showdown… is a main-event talent, with the aggression of a savage, the intellect of a wrestling savant, and the in-ring ability of a virtual God when it comes to anything in-between those ropes. In simpler terms, Sidney… your chances are non-existent. If you were to give it a number, it would be so miniscule and insignificant that the effort required to figure it out wouldn’t even be worth going through. Your role in this match is nothing more than filling in the designated amount of people that are required to make this match interesting. After all, nobody would want to see a match that didn’t have some lower-end talent. Why do you think guys like Mikey eXtreme always somehow manage to make it into matches filled to the brim with some of the best talent the WCF has to offer? It’s because they need to make people question if something insane could happen, if someone like you, Sidney, could overcome the odds and surpass all expectations that were given to them. But if I’m going to be honest? There is no magical tale to be told here. After just analysing your previous matches, it’s clear that this is going to be nothing but a learning experience for you. A match that will show you your true place within this federation.
“It’s similar to a medieval hierarchy, Sidney. Think about it this way… you’ve started as nothing but a commoner. And Everest? We’re the men set to reign as Kings one day. While we will one day (and that day is fast approaching) our places upon The Throne… you’re instead left to go through the motions, living out your humdrum ‘life’ or ‘career’ in this instance. Sure, as a peasant, you can somewhat work your way up. Let’s say you train to become a craftsman, then you will actually provide some value to your community, and become a slightly more respected individual. But, there are some levels you simply can never reach, such as becoming a Knight, or a Lord. Or anything more than the humble position that you eventually find yourself in.
“To put it plainly, Sidney. This is pretty much your peak. If you make some minor improvements, you will truly level out at your absolute best, and with that level? You’re capable of winning, oh I don’t know… maybe a television title, if you’re lucky and catch a weak champion holding the belt? Other than that, you’re destined to live in low-midcard purgatory for the duration of your existence.
“And that? That’s sad, that’s tragic, that’s…
“Fucking beautiful. It’s exactly where you belong.”
He smiles, one filled with a true happiness behind it, as if he finds this task of tearing apart his opposition to be one that brings about the utmost joy. Now, he clutches at the white mask, bringing it into the palm of his hands, he looks through the empty eye-holes and pauses momentarily, as though he were considering something of heavy importance. But the moment passes by briefly, and he returns to look toward the camera, a devious grin now beginning to poke at the edges of his lips once again.
“Then, we have the traditional ideology. There’s not much to say about you, now is there Dion? You’re the humblest of our little group of ‘Elite’ that will be stepping into this match with one another. You uphold the traditional values that would cause most men to hold you in the highest regard possible. You’re a family man, a respectful figure who is not egocentric and knows how to be a good little bitch and play his role when needed (oh, don’t worry little Dion, I still remember your time with The Brotherhood).
“But Dion, you’re something more than that, aren’t you? You’re the pinnacle of what every average man should seek to become. You took an opportunity that presented itself, and you happened to do just enough to squeak by and find yourself in a position that you are truly undeserving of.
“It’s bittersweet, really. Sure, you managed to give everyone that ‘feel good moment’ that they may have been longing for. After all, these people that you fight for, Dion? They had to watch months upon months of domination by the ‘bad guys’ of this federation. Everest, Pantheon, we’ve each had our moments of complete and utter annihilation that we’ve cast upon those beneath us.
“Think about these people, Dion. They’ve watched their heroes get batted around like flies for so long now. Men like Teo Del Sol, who went from fighting champions to meek bitches who would fall to even the lightest of assaults. Men like FPV, who fought valiantly to reach the pinnacle, only to be knocked off mere moments later by the devious bastards who sought to destroy all that was good.
“And you… you Dion, you have the chance to change this trend. You could do something that no-one else has managed to done in recent memory, and that’s fight back against the ‘evils’ that plague this federation. But what do you do instead?
“You accept your fate. You go around on twitter, telling men like Joey Flash that they’re free to come back and take your World Title away from you, should they feel the need to. You act like a coward, and perhaps that’s because you are a coward. After all, Dionysus was not a warrior god, even though he may have had the capabilities of being one.
“So what are you really, Dion? It was a bit of a struggle to figure out at first, but it just took me looking at the entire way your career has panned out, and then looking at your most recent acts since becoming Champion, to figure it all out…
“You’re a disappointment. And I will prove you so at Ultimate Showdown. You too shall be one of the many to fall at the foot of Everest and be humbled, just as you have before. You spat in the face of fate and destiny when you defeated David, but if he dare make the same mistake again and underestimate you? I will be there behind him, ready to behead you and ensure you never see the heights you have ever again.
“Because those heights belong to Everest, my friend.
“And Everest… Above… All.”
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A LIAR IN OUR MIDST
21st of July, 2017.
Unspecified Location.
“So, you believe you’re a monster then, Ethan? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Unspecified Location.
“So, you believe you’re a monster then, Ethan? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Well, more or less. I mean, I did help end the career of one Dustin Beaver. Most people who do that would usually feel remorse, or at least something, right?”
The psychologist nods in confirmation. Ethan takes this response with an indifferent expression, his eyes unwavering.
“I felt… nothing. I thought maybe I would’ve enjoyed it at first, but when I saw his body lying there, unmoving? Knowing that I had done something ‘terrible’? It held no effect upon me. I didn’t even feel angry at him for being so damn useless, he was just… there. Another person in my life who held no meaning, who in the grand scheme of things was wholly irrelevant to my future.”
“Are you sure you’re being completely honest in saying that, Ethan?”
“In saying what?”
The response came sharply, quickly. It was as though Ethan Atticio was offended that his integrity had been questioned, he leaned forward, as his cold, lifeless eyes began to bore through the psychologists.
“That you felt nothing. Are you telling me you didn’t feel not one little thing?”
“No matter what I may have ‘become’, according to you professionals, or those who consider themselves morally pure… I do not consider myself a liar. In fact, I would say that I detest those who lie.”
“Interesting.”
The old man takes a moment to brace himself. It’s clear that in his old age, certain movements are harder than others, he begins to gradually type out another sentence, most likely regarding Ethan’s statement about lying. After finishing pressing down on the keys, and the last sound of the mechanical keyboard rings throughout the office, he slowly raises his eyes to meet Ethan’s. The look that is returned by the young man is almost frightening, as though there was no soul that existed behind those blank pupils that glared back at him.
“Who do you consider a liar?”
“Men like John Rabid, Jayson Price and Gravedigger. Rabid? I kind of expect it from him. He’s the type of guy to do it, and in a way I guess it’s somewhat admirable. The way he can manipulate and deceive others into doing his bidding. But the other two? They’re just avoiding reality.”
“I understand that reasoning. But is there anyone else in particular? Anyone that you’d consider ‘closer’ to you, to the point where this ‘lying’ could perhaps impact you?”
“There is one person.”
This seems to garner the psychologist’s interest, as the question of who this person may be is right on his lips. The man doesn’t even need to ask this, Ethan can see it well from where he sits, right in the man’s eyes, which are far more lively and curious than his would probably ever be.
“He’s a friend, a talented friend at that. He’s helped me a lot, especially in recent times. That makes it a tad upsetting – well, more upsetting then things usually are to me. But, what makes it worse is that… he and I? We’re not so different.
“His name’s David Sanchez. Have you heard of him?”