THE HYPERION DANCE

[John Rabid]

T H E  H Y P E R I O N  D A N C E

“Jared Holmes: So. Here we are. Come together, right now, over me.”

Jared Holmes was back: #beachkrew’s leader incumbent was in full command of the room down inside the dank bowels of the House of Balloons as Kyle Kemp sat back in his leather bound chair and studied his tag partner’s reactions; searching for moments of descent from Johnny Rabid in case they materialised.

Rabid was dressed in more casual attire than Kyle been accustomed to seeing him. Shirt and tie was still there. No coat though, replaced this time by a waistcoat that was, as always; tailored. And that color scheme, odd, far more than business charcoal. Deep reds, blues and purples. You could even say flambloyant; which is unheard of in conjunction with a Jonathan Rabid.

But something was familiar to Kyle, as Jared continued his speech; just out of line of sight for the rest of the table was Rabid’s left hand movements; he was conducting a silent Allegretto. Beethoven’s glorious seventh as the ripper adopted a stance of inner peace. Holding back the monster within that wanted nothing more than to rip and tear the world to pieces.

This was Thuggin's greatest worry. He pulled Kyle aside before the gathering and warned him to remain ever vigilant. Would the presence of a returning Jared trigger a bitter outburst? After all, it was Rabid that ran the day to day operations of #beachkrew in Jared’s absence, and yet Rabid’s “selfless accomplishments” appeared to have received the credit they deserved. Was that why Rabid never visited Jared in hospital? Choosing instead to skype a thrift get well soon message, his argument being that his duties to the WseaF made a personal appearance somewhat, “awkward”. Even at the behest of Kemp and Thuggin?

Perhaps Rabid was just being Rabid; Kyle had come to realise that for the ripper; basic human pleasantries are an elusive commodity to express. Even with that million dollars a year in his contract in his back pocket, some luxuries remained out of Rabid’s price range. Still, the orders from Thuggin remained clear. If any sign of a fracture emerged between the 6ix god and Rabid during Jared’s “hail the conquering hero” speech, Kemp was to get Rabid out of the room as quickly as possible. This was not the time for two opposing forces to be vying for power; the ship needed a steady helm. One voice leading the charge in times of war. And war, was exactly the situation they all now found themselves in.

Kyle Kemp: You mean the Family, Jared?

Jared Holmes: I mean the Team of Torture.

Then Rabid’s hand stopped. The ripper’s attention peaked as Jared mentioned Logan. Team of Torture. Formally Team of Treachery. Now the so-called Family. A diluted threat, but still one to contain. Kyle could sense the wondrous horrors Rabid wished to inflict. But, as always, Rabid managed to repackage all that seething hate with an innocuous sense of quite menace. That smile, practiced, but never perfected; yet just strange enough to be terrifyingly different.

Johnny Rabid: Undermine their unity. Interesting.

Unity. When #beachkrew first arrived on the scene they where an odd joke to some; too meta to be a genuine threat; too smart for their own good some said. It was almost as if they where a concept too far, an ideal that had zero chance of connecting. Vaporwave nihilists that decided to resurrect a dying scene. “Nothing is scared, everything is permitted.” They made this their mantra as they flaunted their ubiquitous view on a vacious, self absorbed world; whilst tapping into a landscape of conspiracy theories and aliens and the whole sea punk aesthetic.

It would prove to be an ironic base for a new, all powerful stable. Pantheon shrugged and laughed off their arrival at first. They didn’t get it and looked past them. After all, what had these newbies accomplished? Who where these people and their juvenile sea gimmicks? And what the fuck was a vaporwave anyway?

What #beachkrew where, and are, is a carefully orchestrated pyramid of goals with specifically assigned talent to each singular target. It is structured and ordered; they move as one with a common goal. And while to the outside world they appear petty and transient, #beachkrew are infact fanatically committed to a common cause. And to accomplishing the following goals as one to fulfill that cause.

To dominate.

To be the best.

To expose the hypocrisy of a business that they are reinventing...day by day. To cull when required; to deal out #fuccboigenocide in the blessed name of those Celestial Sharks.

To bleach the halls clean.

#Beachkrew. They toy with you, you are their fuccbois, their playthings. They tease you with ideas of Aliens and Prophecies: while beneath the surface, they’re as serious as cancer. Listen to a Grayson Pierce this week as he prattles on about the “A word”; the man still doesn’t get it. And quite frankly, he never will.

Wrestling has an odd habit of regurgitating the same lesson and teaching it over and over again. Six months ago it was Pantheon’s turn, they scoffed and paid the price. They turned their entitled noses up at the new Hyperion. And soon after, they crumbled before it’s might. A Hyperion that emerged from the sea to decimate the old guard without mercy. Gaia’s revenge upon the entitled and the embittered within the wrestling business. Now the dance would be played again it seemed; the fates reset. Only this time, #Beachkrew would be the titans to beat, while a new crop would assume the roles of the avenging Hyperion. The Family and Rebellution. One was a joke that would be dissolved and forgotten within a month. The other had a higher threat assessment; that Rebellution would require swift and decisive action. Terror, without remorse.

Rabid, Jared Holmes, Wade Moor, Kyle Kemp and Dustin Beaver would make sure that these latest Hyperion's would falter. No titans would be overthrown this day. No Olympians would surface to steal their crown. What is, shall remain so: long after this latest storm of pretenders has subsided. This Family of fools, this rebellion spelt wrong.

Angels of Death where the first, they will not be the last. The dance goes on. The floor, as always..belongs to #beachkrew.

Back in that demolished room coated with cocaine rocks and inflated ego’s: tensions remained while talk turned to the Dank May-Mays. Kyle kept his eye firmly on Rabid, a simple class of water in front of the ripper. Untouched. A gesture, and nothing more, to a world Rabid controlled, but did not truly belong in. The man Kyle would partner with this week on Slam against Grayson Pierce and Andre Holmes.

Kemp and Rabid’s adversaries where two damaged men wandering around in the dark; searching for their lost pride, only to find that they had stumbled into the path of the tag team champions. The men that had dragged those titles back into the light and made them whole again. Nurtured them back to health and given them an injection of pure, undiluted class.

Sandy laid out her plans for those Dank May-Mays; well, at least the genesis of what it was all about. A ZMAC celebration by all accounts. Kyle laughed to himself as he though about the Honey Badger as a May Queen, it would prove the precursor to a full on riot as Jared dropped the Dag Baldrick bombshell. It was met with a suitable amount of this:



Kyle eyes ran red; tears streaming. He lost sight of Rabid for a moment. Just a second in real time but it soon felt like forever. Kyle only heard the chair as it was pulled back. A sudden sense of panic arose within his gut as Kemp caught Thuggin’s face scowl. Rabid began to rise as Jared stood over him; now they met eye to eye.

Kyle’s mouth opened to say something but his voice betrayed the moment. No words formed. Instead:

A handshake.

Kemp exhaled.

And just like that. Jared Holmes and Johnny Rabid where on the same page. #Beachkrew was finally a whole and complete force. They sang of terrible justice. They ignited primordial fires that made peace weep. It was perfect. It was beautiful. It carried the very word of God.

Johnny Rabid: We systematically break them. From now on, we deal with this. Matches, run-ins, doesn’t matter. We snuff these motherfuckers out.

And Jared agreed.

Pride swelled in Thuggin’s nonexistent heart. That learning grin of his threatened to engulf the world. He saw Kyle do just about the same and nodded an “all clear.” to Rabid’s Sunday night cohort. Defcon four had been averted within the Balloon Room. Now it was time for the rest of the world to get down on their knees and prey.

Jared Holmes: You want the floor, John?

Rabid nodded, he motioned to the head of the table as Jared sat down. As he worked his away around he placed his hands on the back of Kyle’s chair and smiled at his tag partner. This was the signel to lower the lights with a remote as giant plasma screen hummed into life.

Johnny Rabid: Before I start I want to say that I’m not here to bore you with powerpoint presentations and multi national corporate bullshit. I am a professional wrestler; just as many of you here are. My job is to inflict pain. Others can coat it anyway they want. They can spin it and twist it with jargon no one understands, but the truth cannot be sold as something it’s not. Not when the truth is what our lives depend upon.

I ran the WseaF in Jared’s absence; I took control of the day to day operations while Wade became the face that the people saw front and centre. This was always the plan in Jared’s absence. There’s been talk, as there always is, that I was not a good leader. That I didn’t assert my authority. Wrong. I made my voice heard where it needed to be. I sat in an office and made the calls and booked the talent and made sure everyone got paid. I am the only WCF owner IN HISTORY to offer a bonus. Sixty thousand dollars to each and every employee that is currently under contract. Such was the success of the #beachkrew regime.

And when the bell rang and the match began? I did my part AGAIN. I destroyed all those sent before me. I booked the best talent outthere to face us. No easy rides. And yet, myself and Kyle STILL annihilated allcomers at ONE. The fluke, became the norm, became the standard to beat. This week we have two more stepping up. Grayson Pierce and Andre Holmes. Two more with dreams of gold, OUR GOLD. Two more hearts to break and leave shattered at our feet as we move on and decimate, and create for this stable an enduring legacy that shall never be matched or equalled!

Jimpohy Thuggin: Hallelujah, my earth children! We should sing their names now!

Jared’s eyes rolled as Rabid amped up the chest beating.

Johnny Rabid: Name one other faction in history that could do this? Name it! It’s impossble. I ran my own company for years; I sold it on at a profit. I walked through these doors a rich man searching to prove himself on the most violent stage of them all and that’s exactly what I’ve done. And I did it, In #beachkrew’s name. I did it, for the team that this man now leads.

Johnny points at Jared, the 6ix God simply nods.

Johnny Rabid: Only a concept as perfect as #beachkrew could sway me to give up my own company and come here. I knew if I was going to make it, I had to be surrounded by the best. That, and the fact that this WseaF “galaxy” was ripe for the taking.

Upon the TV screen we see a Pantheon group gathering; Black, Crow, Richards, Price (looking pissed off as usual) and Armstrong. Their eyes have been masked by black ink. Each face disfigured, as if they where some disavowed government platoon of soldiers. The legend PANTHEON: K.I.A written beneath.

Johnny Rabid: Six months ago; Pantheon sat in their geocities babylon; stewing in their own self absorbed juices, all the while ignoring the rising tide that was about to engulf them. Six months on, and where are Pantheon? Dissected and contained in amber. An ideology destroyed by it’s intellectual and physical superiors. At Hellimination, we where the Hyperion; we inflicted punishment upon the gods that deemed us all small and unworthy. We smashed their illusion and listened to the laughter of the world as our foes scurried back into the dark. Last week at Fifteen; the final two pillars of their once mighty group fell; one, tearing the other apart. Black, banishing Fly forever. Both their meaningless lives broken under the shadow of the new colossus. A colossus named, #Beachkrew.

Jimophy Thuggin: Yes, YES!

A flare of light from a cigar illuminated the still beaming face of Jimophy Thuggin.

Johnny Rabid: Fifteen was not a failure for us. But the contrary; it was simply the final stage of a chrysalis. What emerges now is a new and refocused force. Those losses we suffered are history; we will regain what has been taken. Wade Moor, the swagrid, will destroy this hagged nostalgia trip that is the doomed Jayson Price reign. Logan will crumble, as he always does, when faced by the week to week toil of a merciless schedule that’s quick to punish the frail. And once the so called leadership of the Family has eloped with the money the rest will squabble and fall back into the dephs where they belong. Either by their own hands, or own own. We will hold them under the water; until their faces are cold and their hearts are still.

Wade Moor: Amen, my brothers! Amen!

Johnny Rabid: Six months ago, Pantheon was a bloated, complacent mess. Six months on, and we sit here as the rest of the WCF galaxy sees us as Pantheon elect. They think us no better than the dinosaurs we made extinct. They think our gaze does not fall upon them. That we are not aware of their plans as they move against us. They think that the world simply turns and that we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of Pantheon. How little they know us. How little they have listened to our wisdom. They must be re-educated. Speaking of re-education: Kyle?

Kemp smiled. A new sense of confidence filled the room as Kyle stood and pressed the search button on the remote; finding new footage that rolled over the scene:

G E M I N I   P I E R C E:  K N O W I N G  Y O U R   T A G   T E A M   P A R T N E R

(AN ORIENTATION FILM.)

Two men in full Klu Klux Klan regalia stand now in front of the camera. Behind them we see the flag of a certain grand dragon of the south named Pierce snr. The father of the former Gemini Battle.

KKK on the left speaks first: the white hooded man has a familiar voice, it belongs to Kyle Kemp!

Kyle KKKemp: Isn’t it strange how you can wear a certain uniform, and suddenly, the world sees you differently?

KKK on the right chimes in: this one seems...British, as if he’s...

Johnny Rabid: Yeah, that’s very odd. I don’t get it at all. Imagine how damaged you’d become in a world that saw your parents differently, just because of how they appeared. Why, that’s surely racist, right?

Kyle KKKemp: Isn’t it just? There would definitely be emotional scares. And who would get punished for all that hate? Would it be the cowardly men who perpetrated those crimes? Or is it the sins of the father...

Kemp and Rabid remove their hood’s. Beneath there wearing Gemini Battle face paint.

Johnny Rabid: Passed down to their wayward son. Hello, Andre. I know, this is a little weird. Isn’t it? But where else are we going to begin an orientation film on your tag team partner this week than at the very beginning? The genesis of where all of the problems for your heroic leader began.

Kyle KKKemp: Some people in life are simply born better. They are. Case in point: myself. My sense of justified entitlement however has never been defined by skin color. I am just better: period. While some find this fact difficult to adjust to. It’s true nonetheless. I am better. Not because I am white. But because I am Kyle Kemp.

Johnny Rabid: Now; Grayson’s father had a very skewed view of the world. He didn’t have the same insight into excellence that Kyle here has. He never understood where true greatness originated from. Basically he was a hick, a racist piece of shit that wore these uniforms and preached hate. And while Grayson might tell you that his problems come from a bite delivered by a Hyena man (no, really), they really begin here. Here with masks that hide identities and conceal monsters from the world.

Kyle KKKemp: What is Gemini Battle? What is he exactly? A bisexual fever dream that never happened is what Grayson will tell you.

Johnny Rabid: That’s a thing you can do now? Just "turn gay" then not again? Ridiculous. What’s Grayson now, a right wing exponent of anti gay propaganda? This really isn’t the image we should be promoting here in the WseaF!

Kyle and Rabid take a moment to look at each other in their KKK outfits.

Johnny Rabid: Ahem.

Kyle quickly brings back into focus.

Kyle KKKemp: But Gemini Battle never happened, John! It’s all just a delusion contained inside Grayson’s fractured mind! You never saw it!

Johnny Rabid: Really? I seem to remember seeing that fractured mind turn up in WseaF promos. How VERY strange. Can Pierce explain how his opponents saw the same thing? How they commented on his criminal empire and underwater base while not actually seeing any of it because it was all just inside Grayson Pierce’s skull? Can that be explained away? This case doesn’t hold much water.

Kyle KKKemp: Are you making bad puns on purpose?

Johnny rabid: I’m just reading from the autocue. This really isn’t my thing.

Kyle KKKemp: Ahem. Let’s give Gemini Pierce the benefit of the doubt. We’ll skip over the fact that Grayson is clearly schizophrenic and a paranoid delusional wreck and move on. After all; if Grayson snaps in the middle of the ring this Sunday and mistakes Andre for one of his former henchmen or his dead cyborg boyfriend it’s only Andre’s career that's on the line. Not ours.

Johnny Rabid: How true. Yeah Andre, don’t be thinking this film has something to do with keeping you safe. That’s stuff and nonsense!

Kyle KKKemp: Clearly. We’re only here to gloat and laugh at the potential for actual bodily harm that now awaits you. Beside you might be safe. There’s at least a fifty fifty chance you’ll make it out alive. After all, Grayson is trying. Really trying to put the past behind him. It’s an embarrassment he wishes to forget. A family man that lost his way, turned gay (in a dream, so he says) only to find his way back home for a son that needed him. A son who tragically passed on and left a gaping wound in his heart.

Johnny Rabid: It’s the kind of story that seems too sacred to dissect when you think about it, doesn’t it? Personally, If I lost my son, the last thing I would want to hear is some opponent, bringing it up as a stick to beat me with. That would be beyond the boundaries of good taste. And I think, I’d probably want to tear that opponents throat out.
....

Kyle KKKemp: SO LET’S DO IT!
.....

Johnny Rabid: Wait up, Kyle! Let’s stay on point here. We’re better than that. We’re supposed to be educating Andre here on his Tag Team partner! And there’s A LOT Andre needs to hear. Because the man you think is Grayson Pierce? The man you THINK is your tag team partner? He is not what he seems. Not by a long chalk.

THE SCENE CHANGES

Lights flicker on as the world around us gains dimension and shape. The camera sweeps over a scene of corporate dessolation. We’re inside a HUGE WAREHOUSE. Stacked high are Gemini Battle attire. Shirts, hats, masks they all have the same signature white face paint carved into their plastic visages.

They’re here: rotting away. Packed tens of feet high and ready to be shipped across the world. But that's a dream that will never come to pass. A huge tragic waste of WseaF money. Sitting around and waiting to die on a bonfire. Nothing but landfill for environmentalists to ponder over and ask why.

We hear two sets of feet walk into view; the camera swings over to greet them as Kyle Kemp and Johnny Rabid stand in front of us; dressed in casual clothes, admiring the “Gemigeddon”.

Johnny Rabid: Grayson Pierce, he needs money, so he says. He needs that fat check from his WseaF match at ONE to clear. And yet, he could be a rich man today. If only he had been smart. If only he hadn’t allowed his ego to get in the way of WseaF merchandise sales. Look around us, Andre. What do you see? Its an ocean of Battle. A gemigeddon of rotting merchandise that will NEVER be sold because dear old Grayson has an injunction in place on all things “Battle related” because his psychiatrist says that to have it out there on the streets will disrupt his healing process.

Kyle Kemp: This is the kind of man that wants to take our tag team titles away, Andre. A man that can't stand the sight of his own face. A flop, a mary sue that hides behind a name no one cares for nor acknowledges. As ZMAC might say, Grayson Pierce is a stale cracker, topped with government cheese. Grayson’s a vanity project that falters and fails to connect on every conceivable level with the public.

Johnny Rabid: Andre Holmes, you’re partnered this week with a man who is jealous of his own accomplishments. What kind of unity is that in battle? No pun intended.

Kyle Kemp: But certainly acknowledged. Bad Pun, Homerun for the ripper.

Johnny Rabid: From the very moment I signed my contract I wanted to destroy your tag partner, Andre. Right from the very beginning, Grayson was always my first target in the WseaF; I saw what he had accomplished, and threw away, and that angered me. It infuriated me; that sense of frustration in me has only grown over the past few months. And while I’ve beaten your partner before, this time I want to completely burn away this fallacy of Grayson Pierce; this lie of humanity he wears like a cheap suit.

Rabid knocks over a stack of cheap merch on the floor with a casual swipe of the hand.

Johnny Rabid: After everything that’s happened to me over these past few weeks; the fiasco of final destination. Match after match on Slam ending up as no contests. The odd thing is: I finally get my reward this week. Your partner. In Front of me. On a silver platter. A wounded man, caught between moments; wondering which path to take. I can sense his concealed confusion now; it reeks across the company. It stinks of cheap cigarettes and bad booze. He lies to you, Andre and says he’s over the worst of it. That Gemini is in remission. But I can sense otherwise. It’s understandable, he has his reasons for his demons, as do you, Andre. But what he doesn’t have now however, is an excuse for how he’s allowing these demons to haunt you; to manifest and crush your chances this week on Slam. Your shot at our belts is already six feet under, rotting in a grave marked Rebellution, Andre. And it’s all your partner’s fault.

Kyle Kemp: Grayson Battle: the janus clown; boots too big for his feet, tripping over the expectations of a WCF Galaxy. He never did stand a chance against Joey Flash, did he? Few do of course; the man is a phenom when motivated. But, Gemini Battle? He had a very real shot at defeating Malignaggi. If only he had the stomach to wear his true face.

Johnny Rabid: I’m a man that's privy to answers to questions. Your partner wants to know why he’ll NEVER see that check? It’s here; in this warehouse. It’s here; all around us. It’s the emails Seth sent to Katherine Phoenix; telling her that as long as Grayson stays Grayson; that check of his will NEVER materialize. Six months ago in Mexico, Gemini Battle stole the show night after night. He was becoming a sensation. A leading light on the Wrestling stage. Meltzer sang his praises. The crowd LOVED him. Gemini Battle had it all in the palm of his hand. Now, answer me this. Why throw all that away? All of the merchandise. All that love, for what? So he can be a nothing? A Dustin Rhodes without his Golddust gimmick? What’s that, exactly? It’s a hole where a champion should be.

Kyle Kemp: Cue graphic on screen to make the point clear:

URBAN DICTIONARY:

“Gem”

A term made popular on the social media website: “Shit 4chan says” The term refers to something or someone that used to be good. But is now considered bland and ordinary . It relates specifically to a wrestler who used to work under the guise of Gemini Battle, a man named Grayson Pierce. Grayson is currently crying over a paycheck made out by his boss, Seth Lerch, to his former alter ego that he now hates. LOL.

Kyle Kemp: You know you’re in trouble when you give shit 4chan says a reason to exist. That's a new low for poor old Gemwire, that's so gem’ man. That’s yesteryear. Remember when you used to be good? But now you’re gem? That’s a thing now. That resides at your partner’s door, Andre. I wonder what he’ll say when you finally gather the courage to ask Pierce why. Why has his name become internet slang for “used to be good?”; is it because he doesn’t understand what it means to be a whole human being anymore? That he can’t stand to go to work and make the company (and you by the way) money as the creation that made him popular? What do you think his answer will be? Think he’s stable enough to say?

Johnny Rabid: Grayson Pierce has no character or substance. His entire persona is a minus on every conceivable level. And it’s a dangerous man to be around, Andre. Because what you’re partnered with this week. Is fifty percent of a man that can’t stand the sight of the other fifty per cent. It’s a man; at war with himself.

Kyle Kemp: Your condition began a long time ago, Grayson: it began the day Gemini Battle was “born”; because at that moment, you began to see yourself as two separate personalities existing within the same body, when in fact you’re both the same man.

But here’s the kicker.

Grayson Pierce is as fake and as plastic as Gemini Battle was. I know, you don’t get it, do you? Let Rabid here explain it in terms I know your partner understands.

SCENE CHANGE:

THE STARSHIP ENTERPRISE.

Stock footage from one of the movies plays: the ship is the NC1701-A to be exact. The massive pre galaxy class behemoth skims through the universe defying every known conceivable law of psychics there is. It passes planets and supernovas without a care in the world. On a personal note, as starships go? The Millennium Falcon is lightyears better. Yeah, go cry. I don’t fucking care.

Inside, we see Rabid and Kemp: the transporter room set is spacious if a little worse for ware. This is an original from “The Undiscovered Country” and time has not been too gracious to the decor. Kemp is dressed now in a red starfleet uniform, while Rabid remains in his usual smart attire. Kemp has a communicator in his hand that he flips open with wild abandon.

Kyle Kemp: Captain’s log, stardate--who cares? I’m better than stardates. We’re here inside--

SMACK!

Rabid knocks the communicator out from Kemp’s hand, it flies across the set and crashes into the plywood wall beyond with a wobble and a THUD!

Johnny Rabid: I just want to say that I officially hate science fiction. It’s nonsensical rubbish. It’s speculative trash. That said; many of our roster appears to be clinically obsessed with science fiction. So, as a learning tool; I suppose this once I will concede to it’s feature within our promo.

Kyle Kemp: That was an original man. You just made ebay cry.

Johnny Rabid: Let it cry. The only thing that concerns me now is teaching Andre Holmes the truth.

Kyke Kemp: Look around you, Andre. Know what I see? I see a question. Now Grayson, he’s a science fiction nerd, right? Grayson and Gonzo where both brought up on Star Trek. So, simple question for your partner to answer. Ask him to name the second captain of the starship Enterprise?

BACK AT THE BALLOON ROOM

Jimophy Thuggin: Jean Luc Piccard!

Sandy Coconuts: It’s Kirk.

BACK ON THE ENTERPRISE SET

Kyle Kemp: That’s right. Captain Kirk. That’s a trick question by the way. I’d say why, but I’m no longer a virgin so the answer is boring and irrelevant. What matters now is that once upon a time, in the original show, there was a transporter accident.

Johnny Rabid: That week, to save money on guest stars, they had William Shatner double up. It as a cheese fest. The plot, such as it was, concerned the aforementioned transporter accident. Kirk was split in two. Dissected and broken apart.

Kyle Kemp: One was a whiny bitch; the other a twisted psychopath. Sound familiar?

Johnny Rabid: But NETHER of them where Captain Kirk. Just percentages of the whole. Fractions without true cohesion. In the end, the crew realised that one could not survive without the other. So they merged them back into one. And sanity (supposedly) returned to the good Captain Kirk so he could arrive on planets, rip his shirt and fuck whatever moved. A good life for that Captain Kirk. Point being: If Grayson Pierce knows that Gemini Battle, and not vacuous, boring Grayson Pierce is his true meal ticket. Why dump him? Why is he so afraid of wearing the makeup and playing a role to earn that check he’s crying over? Vengeance can do it. He isn’t afraid of make up and a suit, why should Grayson be any different?

Kyle Kemp: Because your partner, Andre, is not a whole man. He’s fifty percent. Your tag team this week is One and a Half men. Grayson is day without the night. He’s a man unable to make peace with his past. With himself. A half man, incapable of stepping out of the shadow of his father. So there he’ll stay, attempting to convince himself that he’s not Gemini because that’s what’s right, while the truth is, he wont wear the makeup because that the mask has a better win/loss ratio at this game than Grayson has. And for someone who grew up around monsters that wore masks, that is a truth he can never reconcile with.

Johnny Rabid: Basically: your partner is fucked up, and he’s going to get you killed because all this shit is floating around in his head. Wait, is this my line?

Kyle Kemp: Grayson Pierce is Gemini Battle, and always will be. Until he makes peace with this and learns how to turn up to work as Battle, then and go home and play father as Grayson. He’ll never be the partner you need him to be. Just as you’ll never be the partner he needs you to be.

Johnny Rabid: What, did you think this was one way traffic? Your turn now, Andre.

A NATIVITY PLAY

Footage appears of Rabid’s son, Dorian; the seven year old is dressed as one of the three wise men, walking on the spot under a plastic star. He has the fake frankincense at the ready; eventually, Dorian stops and points at a cardboard barn; supposedly off in the distance. The scene FREEZE FRAMES.

The camera pulls back to reveal that Rabid is at home. He turns away from his lounge room TV screen and faces us. Confident. Assured.

Johnny Rabid: I wanted Dorian to play the inn keeper myself. That’s a role with some real heat. But Misses Abernathy, my son’s drama teacher - who stinks of mothballs and cheap gin by the way, she had other ideas. So, my son gets to be the babyface. Personally, I don’t approve. This is not a good life lesson to be teaching children. Giving away wealth with no reward is a road to nowhere. Which reminds me.

Andre Holmes. So, what of the hyperbolic universe you inhabit? What can we make of this soft focus tragedy of a man whose home life is dissolving around his ears: what lesson can be learned as Andre’s relentless quest to be the most melodramatic bad actor ever to grace the network reaches fruition? What nugget of gold can be plucked from this unfolding bad soap opera? Is it that grown up’s should only play husbands? Should children like poor little Andre stay away from the dress up box? Maybe they’re only fit for nativity plays.

Actually, the lesson to be learned here is to never underestimate the WseaF. This place will destroy you if you don’t tame it. It will demolish your senses and ground your spirit into the dirt. Andre, you have been here for three months; in that short space of time you’ve gone from a cocky, self assured man of infinite promise: to a drunk and a home wrecker. You snapped because you’re not built to carry the burden of an endless trek across the globe. Of fighting week in and out for titles and recognition.

Your body is soft, weak. Each match has left you in an increased state of shock as the endless schedule has drained you of both spirt and self respect. What remains now is a shell shocked husk of a man that once walked through the WseaF doors, only a few short weeks ago, and screamed that age old battle cry; that broken, cliched claim to be the best.

The WseaF Ocean laughed, as it always does. It raised an eyebrow and smirked. Your task, Andre was the same as mine. To wipe that smerk off the face of a knowing universe that has your odds for survival firmly planted in it’s pocket. You came to the dance ill prepared, Andre. While I studied form and readied a plan, you just waded in and hoped for the best. And now? You’re suffering for your ineptitude. And this broken down ghost of a man is supposed to be my nemesis for the week? Oh Seth, this is bad comedy.

What does Andre want in life? He says he wants normality, yet he joined the WseaF; the most brutal fraternity of bastards and psychopaths this side of a lunatic asylum. Andre announces to the world that he is a phenom; and to prove this unattainable goal he pushes the boundaries of his body and mind every week; he overclocks his ability, and guess what? It pays off..for a while. Andre wins matches...against mid card jokes such as the I.Q barren imbecile, Dag Baldrick and the street magician cum criss angel urchin, Lucious Starr. Fools the lot of them, but still. A win is a win.

But while these obstacles are indeed slender, you have at least notched up wins; but those wins, as you have already acknowledged, came at a price. Your family has fallen apart, because to attain those minor wins over lower tier bottom feeders, you had to give it your all. Each week another win, but the road never got easier for you Andre as you hoped. The work schedule never plateaued, instead it just got worse and worse and poor Andre, well, you just snapped.

Andre Holmes fractured because he’s given it his all and that WseaF Ocean still wants more. So, what does a man like Andre do to steady his cracked psyche? He seeks out mirror images of himself; the broken and the outcast. Those that have faltered and stumbled. Those that have lost their way in the past. A strangely familiar looking dynamic emerges from the mist; it’s almost as if they should be riding on the backs of hogs and ganging up on defenseless scarecrows.

Johnny hits a remote on his TV and a DRG promo from last year plays. Scarecrow surrounded by Bates and his Bully boys. Mikey eXtreme and Freakshow, attacking a defenseless woman.

Johnny Rabid: Rebellution: it’s DRG with a new skin. And you, Andre, you’re the next Mikey eXreme; Grayson wants you to snap. He wants to be his toy nightmare because that's what Thomas Urial Bates taught him. He taught him to seek out a terroriser; a pet monster he could let off the leash when playing nice was no longer an option. That’s you, Andre. That’s your future if you stay with Grayson Pierce. A frankenstein’s monster in the making. He’ll strip you of your humanity and allow, just for a little while, that Gemiini inside of him to have him some fun.

You only want the best for your family, Andre. I can see that when you hug your wife and child. Sammantha and Kerry love you dearly. That's the kind of love that should nurtured and cherished and protected. Think Grayson after all his been through will be able to stand by you in your pursuitto regain your happiness? Think again. He wants you to suffer. It makes for a better attack dog.

What you really need is to take time off and reevaluate your approach to this business. I know, you’ll say otherwise. But what If I where to say that I insist? That I insist that you leave the arena on Sunday with a hyperextended arm. That say, your on the shelf for a few month as you rehabilitate. I’ll have a word with Seth; you’ll be recompensed. Money will not be an issue. And in that time of healing you and your family and reconnect. You can get help for the drink. You can out the demons back in the bottle and move on. Come back stronger and ready to pick up the torch once again; a little older, a little more wiser.

Back in the day this was par of the course. I used to have to deal with guys like you all the time.They said they didn’t need time off, then I’d visit their families and see the bruises and the broken furniture and I knew what to do. So, on the shelf they went. Just a few tendons need to snap here and there and a family life is saved. In the long run you’ll thank me. They all did. It's better than waking up one morning with cracked knuckles and a loved one in a coma. You want that? I didn’t think so.

I’m going to help you, Andre. Me and Kyle both.

- You have the right to remain silent after we fucking destroy you.

- You have the right to a phone call if you wish to cry and plead for a second chance from your familes after this latest humiliating failure.

- If you don’t have a doctor or psychiatrist assigned to cope with your mental and psychical scares after this Sunday’s loss: those will be assigned to you. Courtosy of your friends @ #beachkrew.

Any questions?

Good.

BACK IN THE BALLOON ROOM

Johnny Rabid: What where these titles before us? Nothing. What are they now? The hottest ticket in the WseaF. I've said from the very beginning, the very moment I walked through these WseaF doors for the first time. The tag titles are the fulcrum of the Federation. You can build an empire on these belts. We have, imperium tried to, The vapour kings fought to. You can reach all the way back to The Thickness and beyond. The tag titles are the centrepoint of any dominant group that strives to achieve within the WseaF. My first project was to attain these titles. I did so faster than any newcomer in WseaF history. And we retained those belts at One because their importance has never been lost on me. Unlike a Grayson Pierce who couldn't give a damn about these straps when they where lounging in a toilet bowl next to Joey Flash's arse. Where was he then? Standing next to the rest of the roster, laughing at these straps and bleating like all the other sheep. I care for nothing, Grayson? How little you know me.

Who rehabilitated these titles? Who saved them from obscurity? There was talk, very real talk, of disbanding these belts. They had become a pariah; they carried the mark of cain. Nobody wanted to be saddled with a title that had been so vehemently disrespected; so utterly downtrodden after the reign of the poondocks that it had become nothing more than a joke; an accessory for a Fly/Flash reign that never happened. The effigy of an aborted project. By the way..that's the correct use of the term, effigy. In case a certain former clown is listening.

Applause.

It rises; it gathers intensity and roars from the table. Thuggin on his feet now; his head nodding. A well of pride at this statement of intent. Rabid and Kemp had brought the entertainment factor. They made some jokes. Had some fun. But at the center of it all was intent. Dangerous, focused intent. And the room loved it.