Can There Be Redemption In A Rebirth?
Sept 24, 2022 18:18:31 GMT -5
markflynn and "Cholo" Giovanni Santana like this
Post by Peter Vaughn on Sept 24, 2022 18:18:31 GMT -5
~The camera comes into focus outside of a three-story building in an unknown city, likely somewhere in America since the street signs appear to be in English. It's late at night, with the midnight sky showing off a few stars from other galaxies above the building. The camera moves in, locking onto a security guard who has stepped out of the building. He clears the door with a swipe of his keycard, making sure it registers as it closes. The security guard then starts walking around the building, looking for anything out of the ordinary. As he does so, he gets out his radio.~
Guard #1: Mike, you there?
Guard #2: Copy. That you Francis?
Guard #1: It's Frank, you dumb son of a bitch.
Guard #2: Whatever you say, Francis. What's going on?
~The guard grumbles to himself as he continues to walk around the perimeter. He glances to his left for a second, seeming to catch a bit of movement, but nothing else happens, so he keeps going.~
Guard #1: Can you believe that my Cubs beat your Pirates again last night? That Esteban Quiroz, a hell of a player, if you ask me...
Guard #2: Yeah, yeah. You do know that both teams suck, right? Neither of them are going to be a factor in the playoffs.
Guard #1: Hey, my Cubs have won four in a row, Mike. Seven of their last ten. They're making a move!
Guard #2: Are you kidding me? They're like twenty games back at the end of September! They're eliminated already!
Guard #1: THIS year, yes, but next year? Oh, things are looking good, my man...
Guard #2: God help me from the eternal optimist. How are things seeming out there? Quiet as usual?
~The guard looks around again, shaking his head at the pointlessness of it.~
Guard #1: There ain't even dogs moving out here tonight. It's still too damn hot, even this late.
Guard #2: You coming back in, then?
Guard #1: Actually, I was thinking of taking my 15-minute break. Get myself something to drink.
Guard #2: Just don't get hammered on the job again. You almost got fired last time.
Guard #1: I was perfectly fucking sober when I got written up. Damn supervisor, acting like he could smell it on my breath. Just taught me to bring mints with me from now on.
Guard #2: Don't let him here you say that. Alright, I've got you clocked. Talk to you in 15.
Guard #1: Twenty would be better...
Guard #2: Goodbye, Francis.
~The guard puts away his walkie, grumbling to himself.~
Guard #1: Wonder if I started calling you Martha, you'd get my name right. I'm so tired of this lousy fucking...
~The guard suddenly straightens up and stops talking, with his eyes going wide. He slowly reaches behind his head, touching with his fingers until he finds what he's looking for... pulling out the tranquilizer dart. He brings it around, looking at it for a second.~
Guard #1: ... I'll be damned...
~The guard then collapses forward, landing face-first on the ground. Behind him, we can see a man stepping out of the shadows. It's Peter Vaughn, wearing all black and carrying a backpack over his shoulder. He puts away his tranquilizer gun, staring down at the man beneath him.~
Peter Vaughn: You're lucky I respect the working man...
~Vaughn grabs at the guard's legs, slowly dragging him backwards into the darkness.~
Sometimes, even when you feel like you're prepared, things can take you by surprise. And if you're like me, you really don't like surprises.
I still remember that night, Marky Mark, when you and I were facing off in the XWF for the first time. I had you on the ropes, giving you an extremely competitive match, and I was headed towards one of my biggest XWF victories to date. And yet, I let my eye off the ball. I got distracted by those deluded morons in Apex, and that allowed you to get the quick roll-up pin on me. It turned into a loss that would haunt me for quite a while, I must admit. Since then, the book on Vaughn has been that he's a great wrestler... who can't beat Mark Flynn.
I still don't blame you for taking the roll-up win. It was the right call. I left the opening, and you took advantage of it. But since then, all you've ever wanted to do was fight me in tag-team matches, usually putting me with a partner who just doesn't measure up. I mean, c'mon, Calypso? That was another match that haunted me, because for a month afterwards, I couldn't shake myself of that son of a bitch until I squashed him in that Last Man Rising match. And Elijah Martin? God, that guy came into that match so unprepared, it was maddening. That one also haunted me, I suppose, because I opted to low blow Ned Kaye to get out of it, and then I had to fight HIM at the next PPV.
The more I think about this, the more I realize that you've actually been a major cause of all my problems as of late. Strange.
I wouldn't say that I've had a feud with Marty this year. For it to be a feud, we would have needed to have had more than one singles match against each other. But I can definitely say that you have been a bit of a weight around my neck. You're one of the few that have gotten away, and what everyone points to as a sign that I'm not at the top. It doesn't even matter that I've redeemed myself with a strong Supercontinental Title run over the last few months. People still say, well, he's no Mark Flynn.
I'm not. I never will be. Because I'm Peter Fucking Vaughn.
And it's true, Marky Mark, that you've had your own strong run as of late. Winning the Cannabis Cup, getting to fight for the Universal Title, and now being a potential headliner with the WGWF. But I don't know about anyone else, but I think I've started to see some cracks. You shed yourself of one of the greatest tag-team partners around. You started trying to leave your comfort zone as the "King of the Midcarders". You began brushing with Extra Whitening toothpaste to hide your yellow teeth.
Okay, that last one's just a rumor, but if you are, stop trying to be so vain, okay?
But I do wonder if you're starting to feel the strain of being there at the top in multiple federations. I wonder if it's starting to affect you. And now, we're entering into a new era with the WGWF. A rebirth of sorts, you could call it. And you know, that seems to be the perfect time for me to begin to experience some changes for myself. What would happen if I came into the first Monday Night Brawl of the new run and smacked your ass down, maybe getting that roll-up to get some revenge? What would that do to the psyche of a man who's starting to think of himself as an immortal?
Because you know, Marker, I could be the man who brings you back to earth. I could earn some redemption for myself. And you know I'm willing to do whatever would need to be done to make that happen. After all, in my mind, you're unfinished business.
And I never forget about unfinished business.
~Vaughn moves quietly along the side of the building, making sure to avoid any video cameras that might catch him. He stops near the main entrance, bringing a finger up to his ear.~
Peter Vaughn: About to start infiltration. You ready?
~A split-screen comes up, showing a man typing away on a computer. He turns towards the camera, looking nervous.~
Bill Sykes: I think so. You sure about this, boss? This isn't really Custodial Coalition business.
Peter Vaughn: This involves MY business, and as Head Custodian, doesn't that then logically make it Coalition business?
Bill Sykes: But how far can that logic take us? What if you were buying yourself a new truck? Or if you decide to invade Panama? Does that become Coalition business? Where does it end, Mr. Vaughn??
~Vaughn looks out in amazement, before shaking his head.~
Peter Vaughn: It ends where I say it's going to end, Bill. And... Panama? Why the hell would I invade Panama?
Bill Sykes: I don't know... for the Canal?
Peter Vaughn: I... I don't... *sigh* Look, I'm going in. Just watch my back and have the squad on stand-by.
Bill Sykes: Okay, boss. They'll be ready.
~Vaughn pulls out a keycard, which previously belonged to a snoozing security guard. He triggers the door and steps through, once again keeping his head low to avoid the security cameras. He walks through the lobby, approaching the main desk, where the second guard appears to be watching another baseball game. He looks up as Vaughn approaches, looking confused.~
Guard #2: Excuse me, sir? How did you get in here?
~Vaughn immediately pulls out a set of credentials, showing them to the guard. He appears to have an 'official' janitorial ID for the building.~
Peter Vaughn: Good evening. I'm Mark Flynn, of the Cleaner's Union. I'm here to inspect the upper floors, make sure that everything is on the up and up here.
Guard #2: I... I'm sorry, sir, but no one has told me about an inspection this late...
Peter Vaughn: It wouldn't do much good if they knew I was coming, would it? And trust me, custodians have eyes and ears everywhere. It'll just take me a few minutes, and then I'll be out of there.
Guard #2: This is highly irregular. I'm really not allowed...
Peter Vaughn: Are you trying to hide something from me, son?
Guard #2: ... What?
Peter Vaughn: If you've got people up there right now, cleaning those floors, people who are NON-UNION, you'd better tell me right away. I will have this place picketed so fast, you'll be watching it on the morning news as you cry into your corn flakes after being fired!
Guard #2: I... I really don't know anything about that, sir. There's no one up there as far as I know...
Peter Vaughn: "As Far As You Know"...
~Vaughn slowly leans over the lobby desk, glaring daggers into the fidgeting security guard.~
Peter Vaughn: You need to let me go up there, son. Now.
Guard #2: I... I don't... yes, sir. Just a second, sir.
~The guard pushes a button, unlocking the security door that keeps most people out of the inner halls of the building. Vaughn straightens up, smiling at him again.~
Peter Vaughn: I'll note your support in my report, son.
~Vaughn moves towards the door, opening it. Behind him, the shaken security guard reaches for the phone, picking it up. Vaughn, hearing the noise, turns back.~
Peter Vaughn: And what are you doing now?
Guard #2: Just... just letting my superior know, sir.
Peter Vaughn: Ahhh. Good man.
~Vaughn then pulls a small device out of his pocket and throws it towards the desk. It lands in front of the startled security guard, who starts to rise just as a billowing green smoke floats out of it. The guard fails to hold his breath in time, taking in a good amount. After a second, he smiles back towards Vaughn with a look of a man going off on an adventurous high, before collapsing onto the desk.~
Peter Vaughn: Get some rest, son. You've earned it.
~Vaughn smirks and walks inside, closing the door behind him. He moves quickly to the elevator, again using the keycard, but this time he gets a loud "Denied" beep with a flashing red light.~
Peter Vaughn: Huh. Even the security guards don't have access to the upper floors. That going to be a problem, Bill?
Bill Sykes: No, sir. That elevator's on the grid, which means that it's perfectly open to us. Just a moment...
~Bill lands a few more keystrokes, before he slams down on the enter key. He then shakes his hand, having hurt his index finger with such a grand, pointless gesture. Inside the building, the elevator dings, and Vaughn steps through the opening doors.~
Peter Vaughn: Very nice, Bill.
Bill Sykes: Thanks, boss.
~The elevator doors slowly close, as Vaughn does what many of us do when we get in the elevator: he looks up.~
I always heard the Road To Hell was paved with good intentions. Maybe that's why I only do things for myself anymore, and not for others.
The road to sucess in the wrestling business, though, is paved with broken, bloody bodies, and I've left more than my share behind me during 2022. Names like Barney Green, Centurion, Corey Black, Matthew Knox, Supreme Machine, Leah Aguero, Mac Bane, and more. I've treasured each and every name I've been able to add to my list of the Conquered. And man, would I love to add Mark Flynn to the pile. It wasn't always that way, though, was it Flynt?
Back in the TPW days, you and I had formed one hell of a tag-team. We were destroying each group that stepped into our path, and it was only a matter of time before we became TPW Duos Champions. It really was a shame that the fed closed before you and I seized that opportunity. It almost felt like a curse, in a way, because since then, I've tried with several other teammates to find tag-team gold. Chris Page and I reached the finals of the Splat Tournament. Bam Miller and I had a run in Level Up. But I still haven't been able to get that particular monkey off my back by holding tag belts.
Wait, is that ANOTHER problem that I can trace back directly to you? Who knew you had such an effect on me!
So maybe the way to break that curse is to be partners again in the future. Maybe we could find a way to seal the deal on some WGWF gold together, as a truly phenomenal tag-team. But for now, that'll have to remain a pipe dream, as we have our courses set against each other. At Monday Night Brawl, you know this is going to have to end with one of us getting concussed in order to stay down. As of late, that hasn't been a problem for me. I've been getting victories left and right, especially in the XWF, and I'm looking forward to continuing that pace in the WGWF. After the closures of TPW and PW Valor, I needed a new place to dominate, and I'm not going to let this opportunity escape me.
I'm ready to become a FIVE-time World Champion, Fella, and I'm just not going to let you or anyone else stand in my way. Because the world will respect me when all this is said and done. The world will see that I'm one of the greatest of all time.
And I'm hoping, after that, we can go and get some drinks, for old times sake.
I'll provide you the straw for your broken jaw, don't worry.
~As the elevator doors open again, Vaughn slowly peeks his head out. Everything looks calm and quiet, but Vaughn doesn't seem to trust it. He reaches into another pocket, pulling out a bottle. He sprays the liquid outwards from the elevator, its blue tinge floating briefly in the air before the red lines shine inside of it. Vaughn nods, having expected such an outcome.~
Peter Vaughn: He's got a laser grid. Cute.
Bill Sykes: Do you have the RBG-90 compound ready?
Peter Vaughn: Getting it now.
~Vaughn checks his pockets, searching around, until he pulls out another small bottle. He considers it for a minute, looking back at the elevator, which will surely lock down if the alarms are triggered.~
Peter Vaughn: Are you sure about this one? I've never seen it in use.
~The camera briefly shows a nervous Bill, who takes a deep breath before putting a fake smile on his face and answering Vaughn.~
Bill Sykes: Oh, trust me... it's never failed us yet!
~He turns away from the mic, muttering under his breath.~
Bill Sykes: Not that we've ever had to try it in the field before...
~Having not heard this last bit, Vaughn prepares himself and pulls the trigger on the small bottle. A bubble begins to form at the end of the nozzle, spreading forward. As the bubble grows larger and larger, it begins to encompass the multiple lasers shining through the air. The lasers find themselves directed around the bubble, crisscrossing each other, yet somehow still staying connected. Vaughn smiles, pleased with the device's success, before he slides under the bubble and ends up on the other side.~
Peter Vaughn: You're right. I never should have doubted you.
Bill Sykes: Whew...
Peter Vaughn: I didn't quite catch that last part.
Bill Sykes: I... I said I KNEW... it would work...
Peter Vaughn: Uh huh...
~Suspicious but with no proof, Vaughn continues on down the hallway, heading into the main large room of the third floor. He looks around, taking in the bookshelves and the fancy artwork on the walls. One, in particular, catches his eye. He steps forward, studying it, the picture at the head of the main desk. We can't get a good look at it, but from our angle, we can see it's a painting of a large man, if only to judge by the legs and torso we can see. Vaughn grins to himself, then slips around the desk, turning to the computer. He presses the button, seeing a password screen come up.~
Peter Vaughn: Alright, I'm ready to lock-in the Betsy Buster.
Bill Sykes: I still want a better name for that.
Peter Vaughn: What's wrong with it? It's a great name!
Bill Sykes: But Betsy only had a small hand in designing it, why does she get the naming rights?
Peter Vaughn: Well, because Bill Buster gives a completely different vibe.
Bill Sykes: Fair enough...
~Vaughn clips the device, which has a flash drive connection, into the computer. For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, we begin to hear the sound of a computer running at full speed, with its fans struggling to keep up. All sorts of data begins flashing on the screen, coming and going before we can read any of it. Vaughn doesn't bother watching it. Instead, he's pulling out one more container from his dark coveralls, taking a moment to uncap it.~
Bill Sykes: Remember, once the data has been retrieved, the micro link will evolve, and there will be no stopping the inevitable.
Peter Vaughn: I'm ready for it, Bill. Setting up the second half of the operation now.
~Vaughn begins pouring a liquid out of the container onto the desk. He empties the container, sending the liquid dripping off the edges and to the floor. He then waits, before hearing a click from the Betsy Buster. He reaches down, popping the flash drive out, and tucks it away as he walks towards the doorway. The computer, however, is not slowing down. Sparks can be seen as the device tries to reach speeds it was never designed for. One of those sparks drops onto the liquid... and the desk is immediately set aflame, glowing brightly in the dark room. Vaughn turns back, his emotionless eyes nonetheless seeming to have a bit of enjoyment from the growing inferno. He takes a moment to nod to the picture above.~
Peter Vaughn: Be seeing you soon... old friend...
~Vaughn then turns and leaves the room, heading down the hall. The camera stays inside, though, slowly zooming upwards as we get a better look at the portrait before it goes up in flames. We can see the face of the man now, looking regal even as the fire begins to lick at the portrait, threatening to set it ablaze. It's a view of Andrew Logan, once a member of the Left Hand and one of Peter Vaughn's longest-known adversaries.~
~The portrait is soon engulfed in smoke and embers, disappearing from view, as a fire alarm belatedly goes off. We slowly fade out.~
Redemption begins on Monday, September 26th.
Redemption... and a coming Revolution.
I'll see you there, Mark. I just hope you're taking me seriously. I hope you're seeing this as a make-or-break moment, just as I am. Because if you come in there underestimating me in any way, allowing the billowing expansion of your massive ego make the decisions for you, you're going to find out that you're not ready at all.
The WGWF is my new playground. I don't care what's happened in the past. This is my territory now.
I hope everyone will be able to prepare themselves... because when I'm done, all of you... will take the Plunge.