Post by TheNewBreed on Jun 24, 2018 23:44:32 GMT -5
The pale neon pink logo of “Ladies Night with Denise Essex” flickers into life before glowing brightly on the monitor over the simple tan modern styled desk sitting alone on the stage. The shuffle of feet can be heard not far off, in the darkness surrounding the neon light of the monitor. The pink stain on the tan desk cast a rose colored glow about, but does little to fight back the shadows.
A loud thus is heard, and another before a cry erupts from the darkness.
“Damnit, Doug! I told you to lift it from the bottom! Shit!” an angry, deeper voiced man shouts.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Donovan. It just slipped out of my hands. Are you OK?” a young male responds, fear and anxiety high in his tone.
“I'm fine you idiot! Now.. get that chair out on to the stage, and get it set on spot for position three, got it? Position Number Three!” Mr. Donovan screams at the young man before we see a a brown hired man in his early twenties wearing a tan colored polo and black slacks struggling to drag an over-sized pillow sided chair out onto the stage.
The size of the chair seemed to be the only problem, as it was overly large and awkward for the smaller framed man to move by himself, but eventually, he managed to get it onto the Dias and fairly close to position.
Pleased with himself for his small achievement, he wandered across the stage to look at the set up from the cameras position, whistling a bumbled tune as he walked.
“You sure you got it in just the right place, kid?” the voice of Denise Essex cuts through the shadows and freezes him in place, momentarily terrified.
Spinning to see Denise making her way out to the stage from behind her desk wall, he gulps down a huge breath of air before sighing in relief.
“Oh... Ms. Essex. I didn't hear you back there. Um... how can I help you? Did you need anything?” Doug stammers, embarrassed and skittish.
“Oh, Doug... I need a great many things. Away from these god awful producers who don't know good TV when it smacks them in the face... a big fat raise... someone to realize just how good I am at this job... just to name a few things. From you? Nothing you could give me, really. Why do you let him talk to you that way, anyway?” she asks, genuinely interested in his response.
“He's... he's my boss. I really need this job, Ms. Essex.” he squeaks in the pale pink light of the logo glowing in the dark.
“OK, but why do you let him talk to you like he does? Just because you need this job doesn't mean you have to take that kind of abuse from a sad sack of shit like him.” Denise says candidly, to the surprise of the young man.
“I uh... um...” he stammers.
“Let's face it kid... in life there are Alphas... and everyone else out there scratching at the balls of those in charge. That's not to say that all of them are the same... but they fall into one of those two groups, for sure. If you want anything out of life, you have to have the guts to stand up and take it, and that counts double for respect. If you don't make someone like him show you some respect, you don't have any for yourself, so you'll never get it from him. He'll never respect you until you make him... ever.” she sneers, staring far off in her own thoughts and memories.
“That's easier said than done, Ma'am. Honestly. For someone like me... no power, no pull, no influence... completely expendable and replaceable... it isn't quite that simple. No offense.” Doug mutters as he goes to leave the stage into the darkness once more, but she stops him.
“Doug... people who have power, pull, influence... they have that because they had the balls to stand up and take it. They have made themselves non expendable, and irreplaceable by becoming something that no one else can be... them. They have made themselves skilled, knowledgeable and , impactful in their fields, and most importantly, trusted to be right, and daring enough to say it. That... that is how you become a man your looking to be, from the sound of it, anyway. You'll never find that guy inside of yourself licking the boots of men like Curtis Donovan. He's a pig and a sorry son of a bitch to boot. Be better than that. Figure it out, Doug, or you'll hate yourself in thirty years, OK?” she says sadly before disappearing behind the desk and back into the darkness beyond, leaving Doug standing in the pale pink light of the Logo glowing on the monitor overhead.
“No problem Doctor James. I can be there in two days to meet with you, and we can have that conference then, OK? Make the arrangements, and I'll have Darina iron out the details with your office and make sure we're all on the same page. Thanks again, Doc. I'll see you then.” John says into the phone before putting it back in his pinstriped suit-pants pocket.
So... Tristan...
Let me clue you in on something real quick, OK?
I know that the ring is your forte. Hell... we all do. You aren't the GOAT, or even the Best There Was... Brother... WOOOOO... but you're damned good. You are. You are tough a nails and smart inside that ring. Your body has been honed as a dangerous weapon of instinct inside those ropes.
It's no lie.
That's true talk.
The fact is though, there is more to wrestling than the ability to take the punishment that we do on a nightly basis and still come out on top... the victor... the Champion... the King of the World.
Some men are great in the ring, but fall short on the long game for a few reasons, but mainly because they lack the patience to take dire actions at just the precise moment in time that leaves the world in ashes around them as people stare in shock at the arrogance and gall it took to even fathom the guts it took to pull it off.
Kyle Shane... MDK... those are men who take their time to pick their moments and truly grasp the impact they can have on others.
Kyle Shane ripped men apart by the hundreds during his career by finding just the right weaknesses in each and every one of them to such an exacting degree that he grew bored with the whole idea of it all... not once, or twice, but over and over again. He became so good at dismantling his opponents mentally that it wasn't even fun trying anymore.
MDK played us both right into handing the damned World Heavyweight Championship directly to him on a silver platter, and he didn't just play us like fiddles... he played the entire company like a maestro, and took the Belt for his troubles with no sweat off his brow at all.
Me?
Oh... Slater... you know me.
I'm the guy who wrecked Kyle Shane from the inside with the best mental game this company has ever seen. I'm the guy who drove MDK to the very edge, and drove him to focus on nothing other than me... and now... I've done the same thing to you.
You're unarmed and alone in an empty field in a war of mental acuity here, Tristan, and you don't even know it.
You think I didn't see the footage after I won?
I may not have known at the moment how I came to become the World Heavyweight Champion... but really... in hindsight... does it really matter?
You scream and shout about how you earned all your wins and you're going to make me earn mine... but in the same breath you tell the world some of your wins were planned out behind the scenes either for or against you, and you assure the fans out there that there won't be any set-ups with our little deal we have going... at least that's what you've said over the last few months, anyway.
But honestly Tristan... I gotta tell you... if you have arranged wins in the past, with anyone at any time... how do we know that you haven't always gotten your wins that way to earn your shots around here anyway?
I mean, you were pretty buddy buddy with Adam Barker and the Board of Directors after your war with Page brought you over to the WGWF, and pretty soon after all that blew over, you constantly found yourself running thick as thieves with the bosses men, whoever those happened to be at the time.
I mean, it wasn't until you called me up to bring me back to the WGWF and fight the Rotten Kind of Guys with you that you turned on the ownership of the WGWF and struck out as a good guy to separate yourself from the pack and keep your face relevant and fresh since the bore-fest of you being 'THE best there ever was' was getting as old as Page's first bong.
So... really... who's to say you earned anything you've ever gotten handed here in the WGWF, huh? We saw when you stooped to having me kidnapped that you're willing to do whatever you have to to get that WGWWF World Title back around your waist...either in the ring or out of it... so who's to say you ever earned it, huh Tristan?
Maybe your whole career has just been one big fat lie, and you're just scrambling to keep it all a big secret, huh?
I mean... what kind of a guy with a record like yours lets Alyce Starchylde knock him out and a man like me crawl out of a cage to take away the Belt you hold so dear, anyway?
Yeah... a man like me... whom you seem to forget has not only fought more Hall of Famers than you have this year, but has beaten more than you have this year too. A man who happens to hold a legit win over you, and Famine of the Vile, and Kyle Shane, not to mention of slew of others who have fallen at my feet as well... so watch yourself Tristan.
You're letting me get into your head, and if you do that... I can't promise how much of you is left when I'm done with you... so watch yourself... for here in the darkness... the demons are very real... and they are hungry, Slater.
The door to Katy's hospital room opened quietly as Johnathan Cable slipped in and closed the door behind himself.
Dorling's friend's condition had improved some in the last few days and the team of Doctor's John had assembled had high hopes she would recover sooner rather than later with a few modifications to her treatment and a move to a better facility in England.
Tomorrow, the transport would fly her to the new hospital where everything was arranged and waiting her arrival. Special precautions had been taken to ensure her safety, and the resources Darina had been able to put her hands on were impressive to say the least.
She was really proving her worth to John, not only as a business manager with LockDown Securities, but as a soldier and a person as well. She was highly resourceful, calm under pressure and mindful of those who were following her orders with a compassion rare among people in her line of work or from backgrounds like hers. John was happy to have her in his service, and glad that her men seemed to trust her with their lives.
John looked across the room to the girl on the bed, and made his way over to the window. It was a nice day out, warm already as summer crept onto the scene, and the flowers were blooming in the gardens below.
“The Doctors say they have a lot of hope for your condition. They told me a little while ago that the hospital in England they want to take you to is one of the best in the world, and they can make sure you're well taken care of there.” he said to her across the room, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.
“I... I just wish Chris would stop worrying about what I want back from him for helping you, you know? I get that with a life like his, he expects that kind of shit from people... but he doesn't know me. He doesn't even have anything I need... so I don't know what he could think I want from him anyway... but he hates that I even offered to help. I know he does.” John says a little sadly as he turns towards Katy and makes his way to the side of her bed.
“Well... I'm here now anyway, and for now at least, it looks like he's going to swallow some of his pride and let me help. Katy... people here need you to get better. They do. Dorling needs you to get better. He's worried about you, and he needs you to get better so he can focus on staying alive himself, OK? so... for Chris... I'm gonna need you to fight this Katy. We're all here for you, just waiting... so wake up... alright?” John pleads softly as he squeezes her hand before turning to leave the quiet room and Katy to her rest.
He had high hopes... and he hoped the doctors were right.
Dorling needed her to wake up. Dorling needed to know she was alright if for no other reason than to make sure he stayed alive long enough to find out who was trying to kill him.
A loud thus is heard, and another before a cry erupts from the darkness.
“Damnit, Doug! I told you to lift it from the bottom! Shit!” an angry, deeper voiced man shouts.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Donovan. It just slipped out of my hands. Are you OK?” a young male responds, fear and anxiety high in his tone.
“I'm fine you idiot! Now.. get that chair out on to the stage, and get it set on spot for position three, got it? Position Number Three!” Mr. Donovan screams at the young man before we see a a brown hired man in his early twenties wearing a tan colored polo and black slacks struggling to drag an over-sized pillow sided chair out onto the stage.
The size of the chair seemed to be the only problem, as it was overly large and awkward for the smaller framed man to move by himself, but eventually, he managed to get it onto the Dias and fairly close to position.
Pleased with himself for his small achievement, he wandered across the stage to look at the set up from the cameras position, whistling a bumbled tune as he walked.
“You sure you got it in just the right place, kid?” the voice of Denise Essex cuts through the shadows and freezes him in place, momentarily terrified.
Spinning to see Denise making her way out to the stage from behind her desk wall, he gulps down a huge breath of air before sighing in relief.
“Oh... Ms. Essex. I didn't hear you back there. Um... how can I help you? Did you need anything?” Doug stammers, embarrassed and skittish.
“Oh, Doug... I need a great many things. Away from these god awful producers who don't know good TV when it smacks them in the face... a big fat raise... someone to realize just how good I am at this job... just to name a few things. From you? Nothing you could give me, really. Why do you let him talk to you that way, anyway?” she asks, genuinely interested in his response.
“He's... he's my boss. I really need this job, Ms. Essex.” he squeaks in the pale pink light of the logo glowing in the dark.
“OK, but why do you let him talk to you like he does? Just because you need this job doesn't mean you have to take that kind of abuse from a sad sack of shit like him.” Denise says candidly, to the surprise of the young man.
“I uh... um...” he stammers.
“Let's face it kid... in life there are Alphas... and everyone else out there scratching at the balls of those in charge. That's not to say that all of them are the same... but they fall into one of those two groups, for sure. If you want anything out of life, you have to have the guts to stand up and take it, and that counts double for respect. If you don't make someone like him show you some respect, you don't have any for yourself, so you'll never get it from him. He'll never respect you until you make him... ever.” she sneers, staring far off in her own thoughts and memories.
“That's easier said than done, Ma'am. Honestly. For someone like me... no power, no pull, no influence... completely expendable and replaceable... it isn't quite that simple. No offense.” Doug mutters as he goes to leave the stage into the darkness once more, but she stops him.
“Doug... people who have power, pull, influence... they have that because they had the balls to stand up and take it. They have made themselves non expendable, and irreplaceable by becoming something that no one else can be... them. They have made themselves skilled, knowledgeable and , impactful in their fields, and most importantly, trusted to be right, and daring enough to say it. That... that is how you become a man your looking to be, from the sound of it, anyway. You'll never find that guy inside of yourself licking the boots of men like Curtis Donovan. He's a pig and a sorry son of a bitch to boot. Be better than that. Figure it out, Doug, or you'll hate yourself in thirty years, OK?” she says sadly before disappearing behind the desk and back into the darkness beyond, leaving Doug standing in the pale pink light of the Logo glowing on the monitor overhead.
* * *
“No problem Doctor James. I can be there in two days to meet with you, and we can have that conference then, OK? Make the arrangements, and I'll have Darina iron out the details with your office and make sure we're all on the same page. Thanks again, Doc. I'll see you then.” John says into the phone before putting it back in his pinstriped suit-pants pocket.
* * *
So... Tristan...
Let me clue you in on something real quick, OK?
I know that the ring is your forte. Hell... we all do. You aren't the GOAT, or even the Best There Was... Brother... WOOOOO... but you're damned good. You are. You are tough a nails and smart inside that ring. Your body has been honed as a dangerous weapon of instinct inside those ropes.
It's no lie.
That's true talk.
The fact is though, there is more to wrestling than the ability to take the punishment that we do on a nightly basis and still come out on top... the victor... the Champion... the King of the World.
Some men are great in the ring, but fall short on the long game for a few reasons, but mainly because they lack the patience to take dire actions at just the precise moment in time that leaves the world in ashes around them as people stare in shock at the arrogance and gall it took to even fathom the guts it took to pull it off.
Kyle Shane... MDK... those are men who take their time to pick their moments and truly grasp the impact they can have on others.
Kyle Shane ripped men apart by the hundreds during his career by finding just the right weaknesses in each and every one of them to such an exacting degree that he grew bored with the whole idea of it all... not once, or twice, but over and over again. He became so good at dismantling his opponents mentally that it wasn't even fun trying anymore.
MDK played us both right into handing the damned World Heavyweight Championship directly to him on a silver platter, and he didn't just play us like fiddles... he played the entire company like a maestro, and took the Belt for his troubles with no sweat off his brow at all.
Me?
Oh... Slater... you know me.
I'm the guy who wrecked Kyle Shane from the inside with the best mental game this company has ever seen. I'm the guy who drove MDK to the very edge, and drove him to focus on nothing other than me... and now... I've done the same thing to you.
You're unarmed and alone in an empty field in a war of mental acuity here, Tristan, and you don't even know it.
You think I didn't see the footage after I won?
I may not have known at the moment how I came to become the World Heavyweight Champion... but really... in hindsight... does it really matter?
You scream and shout about how you earned all your wins and you're going to make me earn mine... but in the same breath you tell the world some of your wins were planned out behind the scenes either for or against you, and you assure the fans out there that there won't be any set-ups with our little deal we have going... at least that's what you've said over the last few months, anyway.
But honestly Tristan... I gotta tell you... if you have arranged wins in the past, with anyone at any time... how do we know that you haven't always gotten your wins that way to earn your shots around here anyway?
I mean, you were pretty buddy buddy with Adam Barker and the Board of Directors after your war with Page brought you over to the WGWF, and pretty soon after all that blew over, you constantly found yourself running thick as thieves with the bosses men, whoever those happened to be at the time.
I mean, it wasn't until you called me up to bring me back to the WGWF and fight the Rotten Kind of Guys with you that you turned on the ownership of the WGWF and struck out as a good guy to separate yourself from the pack and keep your face relevant and fresh since the bore-fest of you being 'THE best there ever was' was getting as old as Page's first bong.
So... really... who's to say you earned anything you've ever gotten handed here in the WGWF, huh? We saw when you stooped to having me kidnapped that you're willing to do whatever you have to to get that WGWWF World Title back around your waist...either in the ring or out of it... so who's to say you ever earned it, huh Tristan?
Maybe your whole career has just been one big fat lie, and you're just scrambling to keep it all a big secret, huh?
I mean... what kind of a guy with a record like yours lets Alyce Starchylde knock him out and a man like me crawl out of a cage to take away the Belt you hold so dear, anyway?
Yeah... a man like me... whom you seem to forget has not only fought more Hall of Famers than you have this year, but has beaten more than you have this year too. A man who happens to hold a legit win over you, and Famine of the Vile, and Kyle Shane, not to mention of slew of others who have fallen at my feet as well... so watch yourself Tristan.
You're letting me get into your head, and if you do that... I can't promise how much of you is left when I'm done with you... so watch yourself... for here in the darkness... the demons are very real... and they are hungry, Slater.
* * *
The door to Katy's hospital room opened quietly as Johnathan Cable slipped in and closed the door behind himself.
Dorling's friend's condition had improved some in the last few days and the team of Doctor's John had assembled had high hopes she would recover sooner rather than later with a few modifications to her treatment and a move to a better facility in England.
Tomorrow, the transport would fly her to the new hospital where everything was arranged and waiting her arrival. Special precautions had been taken to ensure her safety, and the resources Darina had been able to put her hands on were impressive to say the least.
She was really proving her worth to John, not only as a business manager with LockDown Securities, but as a soldier and a person as well. She was highly resourceful, calm under pressure and mindful of those who were following her orders with a compassion rare among people in her line of work or from backgrounds like hers. John was happy to have her in his service, and glad that her men seemed to trust her with their lives.
John looked across the room to the girl on the bed, and made his way over to the window. It was a nice day out, warm already as summer crept onto the scene, and the flowers were blooming in the gardens below.
“The Doctors say they have a lot of hope for your condition. They told me a little while ago that the hospital in England they want to take you to is one of the best in the world, and they can make sure you're well taken care of there.” he said to her across the room, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.
“I... I just wish Chris would stop worrying about what I want back from him for helping you, you know? I get that with a life like his, he expects that kind of shit from people... but he doesn't know me. He doesn't even have anything I need... so I don't know what he could think I want from him anyway... but he hates that I even offered to help. I know he does.” John says a little sadly as he turns towards Katy and makes his way to the side of her bed.
“Well... I'm here now anyway, and for now at least, it looks like he's going to swallow some of his pride and let me help. Katy... people here need you to get better. They do. Dorling needs you to get better. He's worried about you, and he needs you to get better so he can focus on staying alive himself, OK? so... for Chris... I'm gonna need you to fight this Katy. We're all here for you, just waiting... so wake up... alright?” John pleads softly as he squeezes her hand before turning to leave the quiet room and Katy to her rest.
He had high hopes... and he hoped the doctors were right.
Dorling needed her to wake up. Dorling needed to know she was alright if for no other reason than to make sure he stayed alive long enough to find out who was trying to kill him.