Post by Wade Moor on Feb 4, 2018 12:09:10 GMT -5
Wade sported the top selling shirt available on WCFshop.com at present time, that “I Only Bought The Stupid Mask To Shut My Fuckin’ Kid Up” piece. Over that, over that though? He wore - what appeared to be - a jet black leather coat, but when the setting sunlight hit it just right? Shit turned a scaly green hue, stripped from the flesh of a beast most unimaginable, given to him by some massive broad with an Adam’s apple the size of Dune’s mushroom tip. Yeah, those WMD men went about sharin’ the size of their dicks. Not a thing gay about it, his mans, and iffin’ ya think there is? Then you’re definitely on some straight up homophobic trip in 2k18.
The jacket flapped in the rapid breeze as Wade cut a path on his custom speedster down a desolate rural road. Though Slam was emanating from Baltimore this week, he had personal business that took him in the opposite direction, down a quaint road. It offered very little in the way of flora and fauna, but the time alone afforded him time to ponder on many queries that entered his person in the last month, starting with his match against Dune at One where The Jackal had ensnared his soul.
They say that one fight can age a man, and if somebody had told Wade Moor that particular One had occurred a little over twenty years, he would have spouted very little in the form of protest. That match felt a lifetime ago, yet it just happened. Crazy shit, right? Imagine how Wade must’ve been feeling before, during, and right afterwards. Stuff that would send most men on a cosmic downward spiral was just another Sunday for Moor. Just another Sunday crushing an ass, mainly in the form of Teo Del Sol.
But we’ll be getting to that soon. In due time, for now you gotta ponder upon Wade’s many meandering thoughts.
He was definitely in his feels, a scape he dared not tread in many a moon. He dared not because it unlocked the door to his humanity and that was what he feared above all else. With humanity came...other humans. Others that would come to depend on him in emotional turmoil and physical strife. This simple, human thought filled his black heart with dread as he kicked up the speed on his bike and a cloud of dust kicked up in its wake.
He now had a tag partner. Probably more than that though. Their bond had been forged in fire. Some shit you just don’t walk away from without some form of mutual respect and having a bloodthirsty, heathen God have your mortal coil clinched in its clawed fingers is just one of them, my nillas. Facts, straight up. Together, they had already managed to take WCF by storm. A couple of nuclear warheads inbound on the bikini atoll that Godnilla had built with his own damn hands. Fitting, actually. And with the Badman from the Badlands at his side he felt the mission not only feasible, but damn near already accomplished.
That’s when she crept through his mind, like some ballerina doing a pirouette on the frontal lobe of his brain. That fuckin’ Bonnie Blue. Something about her made his stomach do backflips, his heart beat rapidly, and his loins swell something fierce. With her, everything seemed different.
“It’s because you love her”, the vroom-vroom of the motorcycle bellowed.
“Yeah, but everyone I attempt to love always ends up dead, or worse”, Wade replied.
“What’s worse than dead?” The bike asked.
“They end up loving me too.”
Wade choked on the throttle, slowing down just a little bit as something shone in the distance. A small light, fighting against the ever setting sun, illuminated a gas station. Wade checked his tank and decided it was time for a gas up, slowed his roaring bike down, and pulled into the station. A bell jingled as Wade walked through the single glass door, where an attendant stood inside, flicking his cigarette into an ashtray next to the register. His eyes widened as Moor made his way through the aisles, obviously suspicious of the massive interloper with the great beard and beady blue eyes intentions.
“Can I help you find somethin’, sir?” the cashier asked, fidgeting with his lapel, cigarette clenched in his teeth, as his hand reached for the .30 caliber under the counter.
Wade frowned. The obvious fear from the other man would normally goad feelings of dominance over weaker entities...but something, somehow, had become different ever since his encounter with The Jackal. Something buried deep inside of him had finally crept to the surface, emerging in these moments of legitimate humanity.
“Just lookin’ for something for the road”, Wade replied, “Kind of bare in here, isn’t it?”
“Waitin’ on a delivery”, he sneered.
Wade laughed, though he had a suspicion this place hadn’t had a delivery in quite a while. He grabbed a few pieces of jerky, a six pack, and moved towards the counter. The mans finger never eased off the magnum under the counter, but he managed to ring Wade up for his gas and bag his items with one hand. Wade smiled as he paid and walked out to fill up his bike.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised that’s how people see me. I’ve been through it all, seen it all, done it all. Some truly deplorable shit. I’m not going to lie about any of it. Lying or twisting the truth to better serve how other people view me is a cowards game. I’ve been called a lot of horrible shit in my time on this planet, but a coward will never be one of them. It’s not my character being called into question though, is it?
“Really wish I could say the same for you, Teo. Since day one in the WCF, you’ve been nothing but a moldable piece of clay. A changeling who shape shifts at any given failure or shortcoming. You put entirely too much stock into what others think of you and it affects your drive and determination unlike anyone I have ever seen step between those ropes. This isn’t just what separates me from you, Teo, among being an all around better wrestler than you.
“Teo, I want you to think about something; this week will be the last that Dune and I are on the outside lookin’ in at those Tag Team championship belts. It’ll be the last time we’re goin’ through this dog and pony tirade of earning a title shot and provin’ were just as bad as we say we are. We’ve been runnin’ this rat race for about a month now of proving our contendership status. You claimed that WMD has not yet proven ourselves worthy of bein’ number one contenders for the Tag Team Championships, and why would that be? Didn’t we beat the brakes off of SJW and viciously escort him from this wrestling business? Did we not defeat the current World Champion, Stephen Singh as well? How about Very British Security? Did The Rosen not tuck tail and run when they heard WMD had thrown their names in the hat? We solidified ourselves in this stank ass WCF Tag Team division just by planting our fuckin’ feet in the ring at Slam.
“We heard what ya had to say Teo, and I’ll be Godnilla Damned if we didn’t prove ourselves. Now we got the chance to take it to you fake ass Tag Team Champions this week, albeit in individual matches. No matter. The outcome will be the same as it is when WMD meets Chaos Theory for the Tag Team Championship belts...Wade Moor and Dune’s hands raised in victory. I want that half of the gold. You think Dune doesn’t want a taste? You’re trippin’ if you think he doesn’t. We want that thirty pounds of gold and leather and we’ll stop at nothin’ until it’s in our grasp. We’re jonesin’ for our property and no sun or moon you pray to can stop this from happenin’. Oh can’t you feel it Teo? I’m gonna paint the the ring crimson on that Moonlit Sonata Del Sol piece, make no mistake about it.
“I’m gonna send some of that voodoo you’re fiending for on Sunday. You think you’re a little B R O K E N, my man? I’m going to put that theory to the test as I crack you out from corner to corner of that ring. I’ve never met a man before that I couldn’t destroy, and I won’t even hesitate to do it. The WCF used to like you, Teo, used to think you were somethin’, but you went and finessed yourself on this Sun and Moon power trip you’re on. But if you really think about it? You haven’t done shit in the last few years, let alone months, that merits any credibility to allow you to dictate the terms of anything involving Dune and I. Ya should’ve just laid down for us and handed them belts over because what you’re about to face instead is going to be ten time worse, probably a thousand times worse than your own career.
“You talk so loud and proud about it but it ain’t nothin’ to be proud of. Any tangible victory you’ve amassed is immediately overshadowed by your inability to capitalize on it. Need examples? You defeated Johnny Fly for the Television Championship, immediately lost it to Jared, took it back from Jared, and then immediately lost that shit again. You beat Torture for the People’s Championship, a man I took to school just ONE week prior, with my WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP on the line, and then carried that belt through jobberfuck matches with some of the most green competitors I’ve ever seen in the WCF. Nearly a year as People’s Champion, if I’m not mistaken? That strap isn’t shit, Teddy, and don’t kid yourself about it. It isn’t worth the gold it’s etched in, my man. It ain’t a workers belt, barely hold your pants up in the WCF with that.
“In my first three months in the WCF, I was already World Champion. In your first three months, you were moving onto your ninth gimmick, so let me put this shit into perspective for you. When a Chaos Theory can’t even begin to hope to stand as TALL and claim equal footing with WMD? We laugh. We laugh because Chaos Theory are now our own personal punching bags. Dune and I look at these fake tag Team Champions and we see an injustice that must be righted. Teo Del Sol and Kyle Kempward were beneficiaries of a soft tag team division in the WCF of 2k17 that could barely sustain monthly title defenses. We see this and we ask ourselves; what the fuck is going on around here? How did y’all let it get so bad around here?
“The answer lies within ya’ Teo, and I believe you already know what it is. It’s somethin’ that WMD has known since the beginning, since before we were WMD, and it’s the simple fact of the matter, my mans. The belt doesn’t make the man, the man makes the belt. Tag Teams should be formulatin’ from SEA to shinin’ SEA to attempt to dethrone ya, but if ya can’t make it worth their while, then ya done goofed. Ya done goofed harder than SJW on that Worlds Championship run, fam. Ya done goofed harder than tellin’ a Wade Moor and a Dune that they had to earn that shit fair and square, though we did with ease and aplomb.
“Teo, you are not, not will you ever be, on the same level as Wade Moor. I look at you and I see a clown. I see a clown decked out in a Halloween costume trying his Godnilla Damnedest to look hard. What’s it got you so far? Pain? Humiliation? Defeat? Failure? I look at ya and I continue to laugh, Teo. You’re the hot shit double Champion in the WCF right now? This man who waxes metaphysical as if it’s something tangible? You’re not a God. You’re damn sure not THE GODNILLA. Your last great win was the Omega Championship at One, and even then you needed your ward Kyle in the match to even afford you a chance at the belt. I remember when I was Kemp’s babysitter. Good kid. Stupid, but at least he could change his own diaper, you know?
“That’s what I’m looking for you know, a partner who can handle his own shit, and Dunes more than capable of beating the ever living hell out of Kemp this week, but it’s gonna pale in comparison to the beating I’m gonna lay on you. You and your partner and gonna get GOT by WMD this week. Gonna get nuked by the best punch in the business, that Broseidon work. That will be a good accomplishment, yes? LOOK AT ME WHEN IM SPEAKING TO YOU!!!
“When you come at me, you come at me as a man, Teo. Not a child playin’ games. The fuck you think this is? This is the WCF, my mans. This is Wade Moor you’re talking about. You come at me, you come hard, or I ship you out in a box real quick like. You think Swagrid is just gonna lay down for ya at Slam? Just so ya can sell some noobish version of B R I L L I A N C E to the public? Nah. Godnilla don’t play that shit.
“I suppose when it gets down to it Teo, I don’t actually hate you. I disdain the fact that you refuse to accept your own destiny into your hands and seize fate by the throat. Your simple proffering of making us earn this championship opportunity tells me everything I need to know about a Teo in this day and age and form. Your inability to assert your own dominance as a Champion makes me sick to my stomach. Do you think Dune and I would have backed down from a challenge? Especially if those belts have been treading hot water? They were well on their way to being nixed like the Trios and United States Championship before it until WMD inserted their name in the division.
“You say these things because you think it’s what other people wish you would say, but that runs contrary to the superior intellect you’re attempting to display. I will not - now or ever - subscribe to others telling me how to think or feel. That’s another thing that separates me from riff raff like you. Ain’t no ‘honor’ to be found in this line of thinking. Dune and I would defend those belts every week, every damn day in the parking lot, wreck a couple of fools on the airplane to the next show if we have to. THATS how a REAL champion carries himself, Teo. Not this fake shit I’ve been witnessing since we threw down the gauntlet. Got me ten kinds of fucked up on that shit. You are not a man. You are not a God. So what does that make you?
“I’m just about to join a long laundry list of those that have soundly defeated Teo Del Sol, but when I take special interest in these matters? Well, I eradicate them from existence. I don’t do it out of hate, malice...any of these extraneous reasonings I used to cling to when eradication was needed. Now I do it to be the best, to give the WCF something to aspire to. I do it simply because it’s what the WCF NEEDS. They don’t need these fake little children Champions like you and Kemp and SJW, or any of these other jibber-jabberin’ fools runnin’ amok in this version of the Dub! They need real men like Dune and Wade Moor. You hear me when I speak to you Teo?
“I’m in your ear like straight up GAWDNILLA, my nilla. You’ll be goin’ to sleep tonight - and in the ring Sunday - listening to me wax violent on you, then wake up the next morning listening to me all over again. I’ll leave ya in the ring, legs akimbo to the fuckin’ moon you’re so on about right now. These are the type of days where I live and love what I do, Teo, when I get to straight up expose ‘Champions’ like you for the frauds that they are. I’m not droppin’ pipebombs on ya fam, just warheads. No weakness in this shit. That’s what speaks to the worlds ears in this day and age. Get ready to get dropped by that
“That’s that good shit, indeed.”
The diatribe was complete and uploaded to the WCF cloud lowjacked inside of Wade Moor’s brain. He finished gassing up his bike…just as the roar of a group of motorcycles was heard in the distance. They closed in on the gas station, about three bikes, one with a sidecar, all sporting some pretty gnarly lookin’ Maryland migrant workers or some such shit. Bucktoothed, the lot of them. Wade cracked open one of the beers as they rolled into the station and parked their squad of bikes. Wade watched as two of them walked into the gas station, taking a few sips of the luke warm beer as he did. The other two got off the bike and side car, approaching The Leviathan.
“Can I help you?” Wade asked, taking another drink of his dry ass lager.
The biker reached behind his person and whipped out a nin mil that made Wade laugh in his throat.
“You can start by givin’ me every thang ya got”, the biker insisted, “Wallet. Bike. And that fuckin’ jacket.”
Wade laughed aloud this time as the other man rounded his side.
“You kiddin’ me pal? You approach me and face certain death?” Wade asked.
“Is that shit worth dyin’ for?” the man with the gun asked.
“Is it?” Wade asked, as the other biker grabbed him around his broad shoulders…but immediately pulled back as his skin began to welt and sizzle.
“What the fuck?!” he screamed, “What’s happenin’ Drew?!”
“Quit bitchin’ and grab him!” Drew shouted, but the other man fell to the ground in convulsions, his skin turning beat red as blisters appeared and burst in spouts of gore.
“What did you do to him?” Drew quipped, quivering in fear as Wade approached.
“Don’t know, but I say he got roughly what he deserved, right?” Wade asked.
Drew backed away as Wade moved ever closer. He popped off a few rounds from the nin mil that missed Wade by inches a piece. Wade grabbed the man by the wrist and drove his head into directly into Drew’s face, feeling his nose shatter from the force. He fell backwards and hit the ground with a solid plop. Wade’s eyes surveyed the scene, both of his attackers now splayed out on the concrete. Wade hopped on his motorcycle and revved the engine to life.
“There’s still two inside”, the bike vroomed.
“Yeah…but that guy was kind of a dick”, Wade replied.
“That doesn’t matter!”, it shouted, “That’s not who YOU are anymore!”
“What do you know about who I am?” Wade asked.
“What would Bonnie do? Or Dune?” It asked, “Its all about humanity.”
“What do you know about humanity?” Wade asked, “You’re a motorcycle!”
“Just get in there and save that man before I knock you upside your noggin ya fuckin’ halfwit!”, the motorcycle roared.
“Fuck! Fine!” Wade replied as he stepped off the bike and made his way towards the door.
Inside, the cashier had his back up against the wall behind him, his arms raised towards the sky. His nose was bloody from the vicious whopping one of the bikers had landed on his plebeian face. They unloaded the register and took things from the shelves, cartons of cigarettes, and the like. One of them put his gun in the cashiers face and asked him to open the safe.
“Please…I don’t have the safe code!” he pleaded.
“Bullshit! You own the fuckin’ joint. Don’t think we ain’t been casin’ ya for a right said minute”, the biker shouted, “Now!”
He accentuated his demand with a punch to the gut that sent the man lurching to the floor. The biker grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and moved him towards the floor safe, putting his sawed off to the back of the owners head to get that old amygdala churning, governing his senses, muscles, and hormones and guiding him towards that floor safe. He started to turn the knob as the bell on the door chimed and the action inside halted.
“Drew? Is that you?!” the biker shouted, “Better have dealt with that chump outside or so help me Imma shove this sawed off right up your fuckin’ ass instead!”
They turned towards the door…but nobody stood there.
“Drew?” the lead biker asked, his voice beginning to waver a little, “Max! Get your ass up here and keep an eye out!”
The leader waited a moment but no response came from his cohort.
“Max?” he asked again, his own amygdala now workin’ on double overtime.
The owner attempted to move, but the leader shoved his sawed off against his head again to reassert dominance…just as Max came flying over the counter, courtesy of that GAWDNILLA strength. He crashed into the leader and they both fell backwards into a series of shelves, all of it came crashing down to the ground as they did. Wade leapt over the counter and snatched the gun off the ground. The leader tried to get to his feet, but a well placed shot with the butt end of the gun changed his mind pretty quick like. His eyes fluttered before his head fell backwards.
Wade looked around once more. Damage was pretty minimal, no casualties. Just some routine shit in the week of Swagrid.
“You alright?” Wade asked the owner.
He nodded his head in response.
“I thought…they were friends…of yours”, he said through shaky breaths.
Wade held out his hand to help the man to his feet.
“Call the police”, Wade instructed, “Wait until I’m gone though. I ain’t got time for an investigation, to be honest.”
Wade leapt over the counter and walked towards the door. The owner called out from behind the counter before he could open the door.
“Wait…”, he said and Wade turned around, “…thank you.”
Wade nodded as he left the store once more and headed towards his bike.
“That’s just the kind of shit I’m talking about Teo. Chaos isn’t a theory. For me? It’s a way of life. Gassin’ up my bike and I get in a fight for my life. You think it’s going to be any different come Sunday night? I wouldn’t have it any other way, my man. Come correct, Teo. Come hard. Because we COMIN FOR THEM TAG TEAM BELTS, MOTHAFUCKA! COME N GET DEEZ HANDS, BOI!”
Wade gets on his bike, revs the engine again, and blazes his trail on down the highway towards his aforementioned BIDNESS he is yet to attend to.