Post by TheNewBreed on May 28, 2018 1:08:32 GMT -5
The glass doors of the New Breed Foundation Headquarters swing open before the Citizen as he makes his way into the building from the wide sidewalk lined in palm trees and ornate benches. He nods his masked head at the security officer behind the main desk as he makes his way across the marble floor and towards John's private office on the first floor. He had made this place as much his home as John had in the last few years, and he felt good being here, even if it wasn't going to be a long stay.
The flight back overseas was a long one, and they had to make sure to get to Beijing in time for the show on Monday night.
John had insisted that they come back to the States after the show in Moscow. He persisted that he had some important business to attend to in Jacksonville that could not wait, and with everything going on in the last few months, important business usually had something to do with Slater, or the Lock Down Crew.
It had been a long few months, for sure... and John had a lot on his plate.
Citizen stops short as he makes his way almost to the door of John's office, and instead of the normal plain black lettering reading PRIVATE that had been there for years, the door was bare, and smooth, devoid of the comforting presence of the normal word printed on it. As small as it was, it was odd, and it made him pause.
Instead of just walking in, for the first time in forever, he knocked... loudly, three times.
“Come in.” John's voice called out from behind the door before Citizen pushed the door open easily, and stepped into the office.
“Since when do you knock to come in here?” John asks him as he puts a picture in a box on his desk and Citizen looks around the room, seeing piles of boxes in most of the corners, and a few on the desk... the walls now bare, and the furniture, save for the lone squared wooden desk near the window, had all been removed. The matching ficus that had stood sentinel near the doors for ages were gone, and so too was the matching chair set from the corner where he and John had spent many a night going over plans and just talking about their lives.
His steps slowed as he made his way into the office, and he gawked at the emptiness of the room that had sat unchanged for as long as he could remember.
“What the hell is going on, John?” the Citizen asks, bewildered at the state of his office.
“Well, I decided to let the contract you signed with the mimic stand. The company is going to stay in your control until such a time as you decide you don't want it anymore. The office is yours... you know... perk of the position? So.. I'm clearing my stuff out.” John says over his shoulder nonchalantly as he puts a couple of books into a box from his desk and finally turns to look at him, a slight grin on his face.
“No... John! We talked about this. It's your company... Seriously.” Citizen sputters at him before John cuts him off.
“Aaron... I thought about it. It's a good move, and it frees me up to do some other things for the company and for myself, too. Besides... I already know what you're going to do as your first act as controlling officer of the New Breed Foundation.” John says with a wide smile.
“Oh... is that how this works now? I'm in charge, but I do what you say, huh?” Citizen jokes with him.
“You know that isn't it. You have helped run this company for years, and you know exactly what it takes to make this work. I have too much going on right now with the WGWF to put as much time and effort as we both know this company takes to run. If I'm going to focus on winning the World Heavyweight Title and making this my last hurrah as a wrestler to finally solidify my legacy and make a name for myself that will last through the ages... I can't divert my focus to making sure this company runs the way it has to to help the people that it can help. You can do that, and have been for a long time now.” John explains with a smile.
“But who's going to watch your back out there? It isn't like the new Breed has a slew of new members, and after the Tag Match, Terry hasn't exactly been close, you know? You need someone you can trust in your corner, John...” Citizen expounds at length about his concerns.
“I do not disagree. I have that all figured too. Matter of fact, it's your first act.” John says flatly.
“I don't get it. What are you talking about?” Citizen asks.
“Your first act as Officer of the New Breed Foundation. You're going to spend 2.7 million dollars, and sign a contract worth a whole lot more than that.” John says as the smile fades, and a stoic look sets solidly on his face.
“What the hell did you say?” Citizen sputters as he picks his jaw up from the floor, shocked at the declaration.
“The New Breed Foundation is going to acquire the private security company, Lock Down Securities, and all of it's assets and expand the company to outreach the entire network of clients and properties controlled by it's umbrella of influence. It will give the Foundation it's own private security company for not only our facilities around the world, but for our clients and events without having to afford outsourcing the work anymore. It's a win/win, and it will allow us to ensure everyone will be safe from now on. Also... the number of jobs it will create inside the company portfolio is pretty amazing alone, not to mention the revenue generated by the branch off and subsequent income increase will only benefit the Foundation.” John points out one reason after another why the acquisition is a smart one.
“But... I... damn. So... who is going to run the Lock down branch while You're being Mr. Wrestler Man?” Citizen asks, hoping the answer wasn't also going to be himself.
“Owen and Darina have proven themselves both resourceful and hyper-capable of not only running the business end of the firm, but in their ability to gather info and Intel and execute tactically sound military techniques. I see no reason that they wouldn't continue to run the larger operations of the brand while heading my personal security detail with me as director of operations for the Lock down crew, do you?” John asks him, already knowing his response.
“Ah... now I see. Owen and Darina get to basically retire from a life of literal warfare while making me feel better about leaving you to traipse around the world alone, all the while I get to sit in a nice comfy office chair and make the company even better?” Citizen exclaims as he wanders around behind the desk and looks out the windows to the river nearby.
“Basically.” John answers simply as he pulls a stack of paper from under a box and hands it to him near the window.
Citizen looks at the front page and then rifles through a few more before looking back up at John.
You are a hot mess, you know that?” he asks with a chuckle.
The door of the limo opens and the tanned leg of Dawn Astor steps through the light of the glaring Floridian sun before she flops into the seat with a loud sigh and the driver closes the door behind her. Her light yellow flowered sun dress flows across the seat and almost to the floor as she feigns falling over from exhaustion and drapes herself across the seat next to her as John laughs across the car.
“If you keep throwing yourself across my seat there, you're likely to lose control of a couple of your assets.” John remarks at her ample cleavage nearly spilling from the top of her dress.
“Would that be sooooo bad... a couple of my assets... out of control in the back of your fancy limousine?” she jokes with him as he chuckles and pulls her across the car towards him.
For a guy who says he's going to steer clear of the past... you spent a lot of time harping on it. You now that, Tristan?
Fact is... you always do.
Every single time.
I can almost count on you to do the same contrived shit and proclaim it as groundbreaking, original, unique, and new... and then to tell us how grateful we should be to have it spoon-fed to us against our will.
This time... shocker... same shit... different day... new spiffy suit to dress it up in.
You spent the entire time you were on camera talking shit about how 'in the past' things were a certain way, and how you win and I win and belts and accomplishments... yadda yadda yadda... and you tack on to the very core of it how none of it matter for one reason or another, and you hang your asterisk on the way I won a match to invalidate the big fat 'L' in your column against me, pointing your asshole flavored finger at every single person who has ever claimed a win or a technical victory or a screw job on you as bullshit, but when the tables are reversed, you pin anyone but the champ to win a belt, and use all the loopholes you can to make sure things come out smelling like a fucking rose for THE Tristan Slater... then call everyone else a hypocrite for the same shit you pull week in and week out.
BUT OHHHHHHH... it's different because it's YOU... right?
Fuck you.
You smug little cock gargler.
Let's be honest here... and I mean right down to brass tacks... 'Mr. I don't have to resort to bullshit tactics to win'... you fucking liar.
Wilson Baldwin facilitated my abduction on your orders... imprisoned me for months... and the whole time you had a guy who looked like me acting like me all so you could ensure a win for the World Heavyweight Championship... but you don't have to resort to bullshit and underhanded tactics to pull a win?
Are you even hearing your own shit here?
When was the last time you pinned a Champion to win that belt you're carrying around for me, Tristan? No seriously? You pinned Paul Frost to get it once... then pinned a fresh out of a stone cell 'me' when MDK was the Champ to get it back, and then pinned some loser from Anarchy to retain it against Alyce Fucking Starchylde... no seriously... where the fuck do you even get a soap box to stand on to talk shit at anyone with a track record like that in your recent history?
And to top it all off... for all the shit you talk about being better than anyone and everyone else on the planet... your best material is rehashed from others...
I have heard the word Potato come out of every mouth in the south now since MDK started it... and your uninspired drivel was just the re-fried beans of an asshole that hates himself so much he willingly fucks Alyce for fun.
Congrats.
You are right about one thing though... there is one fundamental difference between us.
See... I am Johnathan Cable... the Beast.
I am the man who has forged a living in this ring over two decades long... who has become a household name... who sells millions of dollars of merchandise every year... and puts asses in those seats.
I am a man who has headlined Madison Square Garden against some of the biggest names in the industry... and I have done all of that without ever once winning the World Title.
I have accomplished all of the things I have done in my career without having to hang my hat on a Championship or worry if my identity was nothing more than a shiny gold belt the fans followed because it was what made me famous.
I have done all of the amazing things I have done, and had the amazing matches I have had throughout my entire life to date... against nobodies and Legends alike... all without a World Title.
I have laid down Hall of Famers and Icons... and even you too, Tristan... all without a World Title to my name.
In the end of the day... I know who I am Tristan.
With or without the World Heavyweight Championship... I know who I am.
You...?
Without that belt...
You're just a whiny backstabber with no one left in your life to share your glory with.
You're just a sad sack of shit dressed up in a shiny box holding a mirror telling yourself you're the prettiest princess at the ball.
You're just a guy who happens to have a bunch of talent and all the inherent social skills of a King Cobra.
And...
You're the guy who goes home on Monday night to your empty house filled with trophies after I take away the only thing you have left in your life that matters and tries figure out how to tell yourself that you're still the greatest.
Yes... I killed Wilson Baldwin. I did it with my bare hands, Tristan.
I killed him after being locked away for months in a prison cell... to escape with my life and not rot away to nothing inside those stone walls behind that iron door... and if I had proof you had anything to do with it all short of anything more than a whisper from a guy who was acting as me and is just as dead as your boyfriend Baldwin... you'd be buried under the biggest prison I could find to shove you in... but I don't... so instead... I'm just going to find my own justice... by taking away that belt of yours, and shutting your pretty fucking mouth once and for all.
Maybe you just don't get it yet... because you and MDK seem to have this weird understand of what it is that I am, really.
You say I have this hidden face behind the curtain, and MDK and you keep echoing the hypocrite call between the two of you, but in the real world... I am a man with things he cares about... things he cares about so deeply that he is willing to do whatever it takes to protect them.
Nothing more, nothing less.
I don't expect either of you two to understand what it is to care like that for anything other than yourselves, so I will chalk this up to failure to understand the words coming out of my mouth, and stop wasting my time explaining it to you.
You won't get it, and neither will he because neither one of you know what it is to care like that for anyone else. You don't share compassion like other people... because you aren't fucking people.
He's a damn hedonistic animal, and your a narcissistic son of bitch with a god complex to blot out the very pulpit of Paul Frost.
You could never understand what it feels like to love anyone at all and have them be in danger... or what that will make you do to keep them safe... so you keep telling yourself that you know me... and that I'm whatever it is you're convinced I am. You sound more and more like MDK every day with your wild accusations and your bullshit pandering to your own over inflated self image.
Oh but... you're original... and the best.
I forgot.
How could you ever sound like anyone else, especially Kyle Shane, or James Raven, or MDK...?
Frost forbid.
You stupid son of a bitch.
You're walking into the most dangerous match of your Title reign, and not only do you underestimate me so much that you honestly have convinced yourself that I don't belong there, but you're looking past me to MDK to boot.
With so little left to look forward to on Tuesday morning with your miserable ramshackle life, I would have thought you would take this a lot more seriously than you did.
Emotions most have made yous sloppy this time around though, not me... because this time... it's the Beast who's got your number... and Monday night... after I take your Title away... I'm going to make sure you get every bit of the justice you deserve!
One week ago...
“And you're sure?” Johns voice carries from the speaker on Darina's phone.
“Positive, John. We picked up the tip from a contact in Russia while we were there. Apparently, phone calls in Russia are tracked even more stringently than they are in the States... and with the right contacts, anyone can know anything in Mother Russia.” Darina says.
“Yeah... the intercept wasn't even really that hard once the right people knew what we were looking for. They started looking into it a month ago, and when the WGWF booked in Moscow... they had him.” Owen chimes in.
“OK. I'll take care of it from here then. Good work guys. Keep me up to date on anything new. I'll talk to you soon.” John says as the call ends.
“Shut the fuck up!” Owen screams at the shouting man in the chair with a black bag on his head as he punches him in the gut with a massive right hand that slumps the now moaning man over against the ropes that hold him in place.
“You have two options at this point. You can cooperate... make the phone call and make sure he believes you did your job and serve out your years in prison.... or... you can fuck with me and I can add your body to the pile of people who have crossed me recently and got caught up in bullshit that's bigger than your budget! It's up to you asshole!” John shouts at the whimpering man in the chair as Darina pulls him up by his covered face as he sobs.
“I don't know anything... I swear to god! I don't know anything!” the man screams in the bag.
“I know better than that... I know you know who called you for the job... and I know you can call him to tell him the job is done. He is sure to have already expected your call... and if you don't do it soon... he's going to find out that it didn't go down quite like he planned. Now... you're either going to make the call right now, or I swear to god I will choke the life out of you right now... in this very warehouse... with a dirty bag on your fucking head! You're call!” John screams at him again.
“OK! OK... OK... I'll make the call. Jesus fucking Christ... I'll call.. just don't kill me!” the man laments, pleading for his life.
Darina takes the bag off of his head, and holds the phone up to his face.
“How do I call him?” she asks bluntly, not in the mood to screw around with this guy and his bullshit.
“It's under 'contract' in the address book. It's a throw away phone though... so it won't prove anything.” the man begs some more.
“You just let us worry about that part, and you get your part right, OK? He's got to buy it, lock stock and barrel... or my friend here is going to choke you to death. You get that?” Darina warns the man as she rolls through the contacts on the phone.
The moments after she dials the number are tense... as the phone rings several times before Slater's voice can be heard.
“It’s about time!” Slater's voice answers.
“Yeah... I had to lay low for a bit after, you know? Things were pretty hot there for a bit...”he says trying to keep his shit together with Owen holding a pistol to his head and Darina staring daggers into his eyes.
“Is it done?” Slater asks.
“Yeah... Like I said... it got a little hot there for a minute... but it's all wrapped up.” the man explains nervously.
“I’ll contact you.” Slater says as the call ends.
“Good boy... now get the fuck up and let's get you off to the nearest precinct to give your statement and get your brand new set of silver bracelets, shall we?” Owen says as he cuts the ropes behind the man and dumps him in a pile on the floor.
Two days ago
“Mr. Johnson... I know this seems like a fairly odd request, but I need you to understand the importance of the role you and your airline will play in this investigation going off without a hitch, and justice to finally being served against a vile criminal. None of your staff will be in danger at any time, and air marshals will be on hand if the need arises.” Darina tries to explain to the head of the Board of Directors for Miami International Airport.
“Well, I understand all of that, Miss, but I don't quite think I understand what you need me to do.” the man, sounding befuddled at the situation, tries to explain.
“I just need to make sure that a private flight to Beijing gets delayed a bit, and your pilot can follow an official script to explain the delay. I will email the details over now, and schedule a meeting with your pilot tomorrow to go over the plan with him directly, OK?” Darina asks as the scene fades to black.
The flight back overseas was a long one, and they had to make sure to get to Beijing in time for the show on Monday night.
John had insisted that they come back to the States after the show in Moscow. He persisted that he had some important business to attend to in Jacksonville that could not wait, and with everything going on in the last few months, important business usually had something to do with Slater, or the Lock Down Crew.
It had been a long few months, for sure... and John had a lot on his plate.
Citizen stops short as he makes his way almost to the door of John's office, and instead of the normal plain black lettering reading PRIVATE that had been there for years, the door was bare, and smooth, devoid of the comforting presence of the normal word printed on it. As small as it was, it was odd, and it made him pause.
Instead of just walking in, for the first time in forever, he knocked... loudly, three times.
“Come in.” John's voice called out from behind the door before Citizen pushed the door open easily, and stepped into the office.
“Since when do you knock to come in here?” John asks him as he puts a picture in a box on his desk and Citizen looks around the room, seeing piles of boxes in most of the corners, and a few on the desk... the walls now bare, and the furniture, save for the lone squared wooden desk near the window, had all been removed. The matching ficus that had stood sentinel near the doors for ages were gone, and so too was the matching chair set from the corner where he and John had spent many a night going over plans and just talking about their lives.
His steps slowed as he made his way into the office, and he gawked at the emptiness of the room that had sat unchanged for as long as he could remember.
“What the hell is going on, John?” the Citizen asks, bewildered at the state of his office.
“Well, I decided to let the contract you signed with the mimic stand. The company is going to stay in your control until such a time as you decide you don't want it anymore. The office is yours... you know... perk of the position? So.. I'm clearing my stuff out.” John says over his shoulder nonchalantly as he puts a couple of books into a box from his desk and finally turns to look at him, a slight grin on his face.
“No... John! We talked about this. It's your company... Seriously.” Citizen sputters at him before John cuts him off.
“Aaron... I thought about it. It's a good move, and it frees me up to do some other things for the company and for myself, too. Besides... I already know what you're going to do as your first act as controlling officer of the New Breed Foundation.” John says with a wide smile.
“Oh... is that how this works now? I'm in charge, but I do what you say, huh?” Citizen jokes with him.
“You know that isn't it. You have helped run this company for years, and you know exactly what it takes to make this work. I have too much going on right now with the WGWF to put as much time and effort as we both know this company takes to run. If I'm going to focus on winning the World Heavyweight Title and making this my last hurrah as a wrestler to finally solidify my legacy and make a name for myself that will last through the ages... I can't divert my focus to making sure this company runs the way it has to to help the people that it can help. You can do that, and have been for a long time now.” John explains with a smile.
“But who's going to watch your back out there? It isn't like the new Breed has a slew of new members, and after the Tag Match, Terry hasn't exactly been close, you know? You need someone you can trust in your corner, John...” Citizen expounds at length about his concerns.
“I do not disagree. I have that all figured too. Matter of fact, it's your first act.” John says flatly.
“I don't get it. What are you talking about?” Citizen asks.
“Your first act as Officer of the New Breed Foundation. You're going to spend 2.7 million dollars, and sign a contract worth a whole lot more than that.” John says as the smile fades, and a stoic look sets solidly on his face.
“What the hell did you say?” Citizen sputters as he picks his jaw up from the floor, shocked at the declaration.
“The New Breed Foundation is going to acquire the private security company, Lock Down Securities, and all of it's assets and expand the company to outreach the entire network of clients and properties controlled by it's umbrella of influence. It will give the Foundation it's own private security company for not only our facilities around the world, but for our clients and events without having to afford outsourcing the work anymore. It's a win/win, and it will allow us to ensure everyone will be safe from now on. Also... the number of jobs it will create inside the company portfolio is pretty amazing alone, not to mention the revenue generated by the branch off and subsequent income increase will only benefit the Foundation.” John points out one reason after another why the acquisition is a smart one.
“But... I... damn. So... who is going to run the Lock down branch while You're being Mr. Wrestler Man?” Citizen asks, hoping the answer wasn't also going to be himself.
“Owen and Darina have proven themselves both resourceful and hyper-capable of not only running the business end of the firm, but in their ability to gather info and Intel and execute tactically sound military techniques. I see no reason that they wouldn't continue to run the larger operations of the brand while heading my personal security detail with me as director of operations for the Lock down crew, do you?” John asks him, already knowing his response.
“Ah... now I see. Owen and Darina get to basically retire from a life of literal warfare while making me feel better about leaving you to traipse around the world alone, all the while I get to sit in a nice comfy office chair and make the company even better?” Citizen exclaims as he wanders around behind the desk and looks out the windows to the river nearby.
“Basically.” John answers simply as he pulls a stack of paper from under a box and hands it to him near the window.
Citizen looks at the front page and then rifles through a few more before looking back up at John.
You are a hot mess, you know that?” he asks with a chuckle.
* * *
The door of the limo opens and the tanned leg of Dawn Astor steps through the light of the glaring Floridian sun before she flops into the seat with a loud sigh and the driver closes the door behind her. Her light yellow flowered sun dress flows across the seat and almost to the floor as she feigns falling over from exhaustion and drapes herself across the seat next to her as John laughs across the car.
“If you keep throwing yourself across my seat there, you're likely to lose control of a couple of your assets.” John remarks at her ample cleavage nearly spilling from the top of her dress.
“Would that be sooooo bad... a couple of my assets... out of control in the back of your fancy limousine?” she jokes with him as he chuckles and pulls her across the car towards him.
* * *
For a guy who says he's going to steer clear of the past... you spent a lot of time harping on it. You now that, Tristan?
Fact is... you always do.
Every single time.
I can almost count on you to do the same contrived shit and proclaim it as groundbreaking, original, unique, and new... and then to tell us how grateful we should be to have it spoon-fed to us against our will.
This time... shocker... same shit... different day... new spiffy suit to dress it up in.
You spent the entire time you were on camera talking shit about how 'in the past' things were a certain way, and how you win and I win and belts and accomplishments... yadda yadda yadda... and you tack on to the very core of it how none of it matter for one reason or another, and you hang your asterisk on the way I won a match to invalidate the big fat 'L' in your column against me, pointing your asshole flavored finger at every single person who has ever claimed a win or a technical victory or a screw job on you as bullshit, but when the tables are reversed, you pin anyone but the champ to win a belt, and use all the loopholes you can to make sure things come out smelling like a fucking rose for THE Tristan Slater... then call everyone else a hypocrite for the same shit you pull week in and week out.
BUT OHHHHHHH... it's different because it's YOU... right?
Fuck you.
You smug little cock gargler.
Let's be honest here... and I mean right down to brass tacks... 'Mr. I don't have to resort to bullshit tactics to win'... you fucking liar.
Wilson Baldwin facilitated my abduction on your orders... imprisoned me for months... and the whole time you had a guy who looked like me acting like me all so you could ensure a win for the World Heavyweight Championship... but you don't have to resort to bullshit and underhanded tactics to pull a win?
Are you even hearing your own shit here?
When was the last time you pinned a Champion to win that belt you're carrying around for me, Tristan? No seriously? You pinned Paul Frost to get it once... then pinned a fresh out of a stone cell 'me' when MDK was the Champ to get it back, and then pinned some loser from Anarchy to retain it against Alyce Fucking Starchylde... no seriously... where the fuck do you even get a soap box to stand on to talk shit at anyone with a track record like that in your recent history?
And to top it all off... for all the shit you talk about being better than anyone and everyone else on the planet... your best material is rehashed from others...
I have heard the word Potato come out of every mouth in the south now since MDK started it... and your uninspired drivel was just the re-fried beans of an asshole that hates himself so much he willingly fucks Alyce for fun.
Congrats.
You are right about one thing though... there is one fundamental difference between us.
See... I am Johnathan Cable... the Beast.
I am the man who has forged a living in this ring over two decades long... who has become a household name... who sells millions of dollars of merchandise every year... and puts asses in those seats.
I am a man who has headlined Madison Square Garden against some of the biggest names in the industry... and I have done all of that without ever once winning the World Title.
I have accomplished all of the things I have done in my career without having to hang my hat on a Championship or worry if my identity was nothing more than a shiny gold belt the fans followed because it was what made me famous.
I have done all of the amazing things I have done, and had the amazing matches I have had throughout my entire life to date... against nobodies and Legends alike... all without a World Title.
I have laid down Hall of Famers and Icons... and even you too, Tristan... all without a World Title to my name.
In the end of the day... I know who I am Tristan.
With or without the World Heavyweight Championship... I know who I am.
You...?
Without that belt...
You're just a whiny backstabber with no one left in your life to share your glory with.
You're just a sad sack of shit dressed up in a shiny box holding a mirror telling yourself you're the prettiest princess at the ball.
You're just a guy who happens to have a bunch of talent and all the inherent social skills of a King Cobra.
And...
You're the guy who goes home on Monday night to your empty house filled with trophies after I take away the only thing you have left in your life that matters and tries figure out how to tell yourself that you're still the greatest.
Yes... I killed Wilson Baldwin. I did it with my bare hands, Tristan.
I killed him after being locked away for months in a prison cell... to escape with my life and not rot away to nothing inside those stone walls behind that iron door... and if I had proof you had anything to do with it all short of anything more than a whisper from a guy who was acting as me and is just as dead as your boyfriend Baldwin... you'd be buried under the biggest prison I could find to shove you in... but I don't... so instead... I'm just going to find my own justice... by taking away that belt of yours, and shutting your pretty fucking mouth once and for all.
Maybe you just don't get it yet... because you and MDK seem to have this weird understand of what it is that I am, really.
You say I have this hidden face behind the curtain, and MDK and you keep echoing the hypocrite call between the two of you, but in the real world... I am a man with things he cares about... things he cares about so deeply that he is willing to do whatever it takes to protect them.
Nothing more, nothing less.
I don't expect either of you two to understand what it is to care like that for anything other than yourselves, so I will chalk this up to failure to understand the words coming out of my mouth, and stop wasting my time explaining it to you.
You won't get it, and neither will he because neither one of you know what it is to care like that for anyone else. You don't share compassion like other people... because you aren't fucking people.
He's a damn hedonistic animal, and your a narcissistic son of bitch with a god complex to blot out the very pulpit of Paul Frost.
You could never understand what it feels like to love anyone at all and have them be in danger... or what that will make you do to keep them safe... so you keep telling yourself that you know me... and that I'm whatever it is you're convinced I am. You sound more and more like MDK every day with your wild accusations and your bullshit pandering to your own over inflated self image.
Oh but... you're original... and the best.
I forgot.
How could you ever sound like anyone else, especially Kyle Shane, or James Raven, or MDK...?
Frost forbid.
You stupid son of a bitch.
You're walking into the most dangerous match of your Title reign, and not only do you underestimate me so much that you honestly have convinced yourself that I don't belong there, but you're looking past me to MDK to boot.
With so little left to look forward to on Tuesday morning with your miserable ramshackle life, I would have thought you would take this a lot more seriously than you did.
Emotions most have made yous sloppy this time around though, not me... because this time... it's the Beast who's got your number... and Monday night... after I take your Title away... I'm going to make sure you get every bit of the justice you deserve!
* * *
One week ago...
“And you're sure?” Johns voice carries from the speaker on Darina's phone.
“Positive, John. We picked up the tip from a contact in Russia while we were there. Apparently, phone calls in Russia are tracked even more stringently than they are in the States... and with the right contacts, anyone can know anything in Mother Russia.” Darina says.
“Yeah... the intercept wasn't even really that hard once the right people knew what we were looking for. They started looking into it a month ago, and when the WGWF booked in Moscow... they had him.” Owen chimes in.
“OK. I'll take care of it from here then. Good work guys. Keep me up to date on anything new. I'll talk to you soon.” John says as the call ends.
* * *
“Shut the fuck up!” Owen screams at the shouting man in the chair with a black bag on his head as he punches him in the gut with a massive right hand that slumps the now moaning man over against the ropes that hold him in place.
“You have two options at this point. You can cooperate... make the phone call and make sure he believes you did your job and serve out your years in prison.... or... you can fuck with me and I can add your body to the pile of people who have crossed me recently and got caught up in bullshit that's bigger than your budget! It's up to you asshole!” John shouts at the whimpering man in the chair as Darina pulls him up by his covered face as he sobs.
“I don't know anything... I swear to god! I don't know anything!” the man screams in the bag.
“I know better than that... I know you know who called you for the job... and I know you can call him to tell him the job is done. He is sure to have already expected your call... and if you don't do it soon... he's going to find out that it didn't go down quite like he planned. Now... you're either going to make the call right now, or I swear to god I will choke the life out of you right now... in this very warehouse... with a dirty bag on your fucking head! You're call!” John screams at him again.
“OK! OK... OK... I'll make the call. Jesus fucking Christ... I'll call.. just don't kill me!” the man laments, pleading for his life.
Darina takes the bag off of his head, and holds the phone up to his face.
“How do I call him?” she asks bluntly, not in the mood to screw around with this guy and his bullshit.
“It's under 'contract' in the address book. It's a throw away phone though... so it won't prove anything.” the man begs some more.
“You just let us worry about that part, and you get your part right, OK? He's got to buy it, lock stock and barrel... or my friend here is going to choke you to death. You get that?” Darina warns the man as she rolls through the contacts on the phone.
The moments after she dials the number are tense... as the phone rings several times before Slater's voice can be heard.
“It’s about time!” Slater's voice answers.
“Yeah... I had to lay low for a bit after, you know? Things were pretty hot there for a bit...”he says trying to keep his shit together with Owen holding a pistol to his head and Darina staring daggers into his eyes.
“Is it done?” Slater asks.
“Yeah... Like I said... it got a little hot there for a minute... but it's all wrapped up.” the man explains nervously.
“I’ll contact you.” Slater says as the call ends.
“Good boy... now get the fuck up and let's get you off to the nearest precinct to give your statement and get your brand new set of silver bracelets, shall we?” Owen says as he cuts the ropes behind the man and dumps him in a pile on the floor.
* * *
Two days ago
“Mr. Johnson... I know this seems like a fairly odd request, but I need you to understand the importance of the role you and your airline will play in this investigation going off without a hitch, and justice to finally being served against a vile criminal. None of your staff will be in danger at any time, and air marshals will be on hand if the need arises.” Darina tries to explain to the head of the Board of Directors for Miami International Airport.
“Well, I understand all of that, Miss, but I don't quite think I understand what you need me to do.” the man, sounding befuddled at the situation, tries to explain.
“I just need to make sure that a private flight to Beijing gets delayed a bit, and your pilot can follow an official script to explain the delay. I will email the details over now, and schedule a meeting with your pilot tomorrow to go over the plan with him directly, OK?” Darina asks as the scene fades to black.