Post by Robert "The Omega" Main on Aug 10, 2023 9:15:27 GMT -5
"Chris, what are we doing here?"
Page tilted his head as he gazed into the sky, observing the clouds and how they were arrhythmically placed in the sky like children's toys, dispersed over cobalt, content to flutter where they may. The morning sun had the ambition to bring a gorgeous summer day, but those extraordinary chalk-white marshmallow puffs beamed the sun's fantastical rays back into the heavens above. The air was brisk, the colors less picturesque, and all without a solitary drop of rain. Page brings his attention back to Robert placing a hand on his right shoulder as his eyebrows raise and his cherry-red lips smack with satisfaction.
"Teambuilding Robert, anyone who competes in the WGWF has to do a team building exercise with a member of management, and seeing how we are a team and I own the company, I thought who better than to do this teambuilding exercise than me."
Robert scoffs as his jaw clenches and nostrils flare in tension, pointing to the airplane while folding his arms across his chest...
"Okay, what's the plane for."
"That's just it; we are jumping out of the plane, Robert; I'm a certified skydiver; I even took the liberty of packing your parachute."
Robert instantaneously shakes his head with a hell-no, then broadens his stance while biting his bottom lip.
"Have you been smoking those funny cigarettes? That's not happening. The devil's lettuce is rotting your brain, man, and I'm not getting on a perfect plane and jumping out. If I were meant to fly, I'd have wings. Packing my parachute doesn't give me a warm and fuzzy feeling about this situation either. Did you ever see the cartoons where an anvil comes out instead? Jesus, I feel like Wile E. Coyote."
Page removes his aviator sunglasses and cleans them with his shirt underneath his leather jacket.
"Robert, if you want to wrestle in the WGWF, you must. It's part of the contract clause that I know you still need to read. Somethings never change."
Robert stepped backward with his hands clasped behind his back and began pacing. As he strides over the pavement, his eyes dart everywhere and stop on the distant mountain peaks. He reaches into his pocket, putting a cigar between his white snow teeth. Robert always appeared to find himself at a crossroads between adventure and absolute death; at times like these, the cigar is a levelheaded choice to boost his adventurous self.
"So, let me get this right; you pay for a teambuilding exercise with every new wrestler that walks through the door? That's expensive. You write it off, don't you?"
Page shakes his head no as Robert blows a cloud of smoke over his head and watches it twirl heavenward as if it is taking the soul of the flora home.
"So, you pay for it outright?"
Again, Page shakes his head.
"So, who pays for it..."
"Robert, I used your AMEX card to book the plane and pay for the parachutes?"
"How in the hell do you have my AMEX card, Chris?"
"That's not important right now, Robert..."
"To hell, it isn’t; you are paying me back, and I'm getting a new card."
"Why so dramatic?"
"Uh... I don't know... Theft... And the fact that I just paid for my death."
"Regardless, we've got to do this, or you cannot wrestle. Do you want those two lowlifes to be privileged to say they circumvented Robert Main?"
Page strikes a deep-rooted nerve in Robert.
"Damn it... Let's get this over with and suit up. I can't stand you, by the way."
Page grins.
"Everything is inside the plane..."
Robert rubbed his eyes and took one last puff of his cigar as the two headed towards the plane.
"Are you excited..."
Robert flicked his cigar onto the runway.
"To skydive? No... To kick teeth down throats... Absolutely."
Robert looks at the camera.
"Fellas, what's in a name?"
Robert hesitates for a nanosecond with a nefarious smirk before continuing…
"Inception, recognition, heritage… Those things are admirable, but what about history, omnipotence, and pride? So, I'll ask again what's in a name?"
Robert procrastinates briefly, running his fingers over the icy cool aluminum airplane, then peers over his left shoulder as Chris Page steps forward and exclaims.
"Everything!"
"Correct… Chris Page and Robert Main have forged a coat of arms inside the squared circle and manufactured kingdoms made of gold, our lineage. In comparison, most of you are pursuing leather-bound trinkets to drape over your shoulder or around your waist. We've been there. We smell like smoke because we've been through the fire. I look at you two and see younger versions of Chris and myself, but the key difference is we understood where we wanted to go. The two of you have myriad irons in the fire, and it's comical; you are nothing more than dogs chasing cars. Anyone can acquire a championship, but not everyone can conquer Cataclysm. That masterstroke has only been executed once, and in that expedition, a blind squirrel found a nut, and I know that the past doesn't ordinarily mean anything here in the WGWF. That's water under the bridge in a what have you done for me lately industry. So, what are we offering you?"
"Our names!"
"Now, you two might be asking yourselves what Cataclysm's economic value could be worth at this phase in the game. Two old dried-up icons who have blazed trails all over the planet are dropping bodies on record-setting runs. What is truly left of Cataclysm? Are we still capable of striking terror into the hearts of man? Or have the hands of time finally ripped us apart?"
Page and Main both snicker under their breaths.
"You know what we're worth, and it's weighed in gold, or neither of you would have responded to the call. Unlike everyone else backstage who tucked their tails firmly between their legs and hid, you two stepped forward. Because you understand what shooting down, Cataclysm bestows upon you, and it's the keys to the city. I appreciate and admire you both for all the piss and vinegar; it shows you have the intestinal fortitude to go after your dreams. Putting our heads on your mantle furnishes you with future championship matches for whatever title you'd like…"
"But what happens when dreams become nightmares?"
"This might be your holy grail, gentlemen, but make no mistake; we are everyone's pipe dream. This is the moment you've sought for years on end and has unequivocally arrived, the limelight is here, and you can either take the road less traveled or get run over by the Cataclysm train. The two of you aspire to become the WGWF tag team champions; hell, you've already subjugated the paper-thin champions right in the middle of the ring, dropping them like bad habits. You've walked over their broken bodies and taken their throne. Hombres, you caught lightning in a bottle. Here's the unvarnished validity of this predicament, Cataclysm is not them; if we found it necessary, we could waltz into any federation on this planet and procure the tag team championships."
Page snaps his fingers as Cataclysm climbs into the airplane, grabs their jumpsuits, and casually puts them on.
"Just like that!"
"Once that bell rings, I'm not settling on an inch; I'm taking a foot and putting it in your asses. Our band will continue to play while your ship sinks to the bottom of the WGWF abyss, where your two mid-card talent catastrophes belong."
"Titanic reference, I like that!"
"You two seem to believe that you are on the same level as Chris Page and Robert Main; here's the deal, not only are you two not on our level, you're not even on the level below us."
Page nudges Robert, who has an opened bag of peanuts, tossing them back individually.
"Where did you get those, Robert?"
Robert shrugs his shoulders, tossing back another peanut.
"I always carry a snack, Chris; today, it just happens to be peanuts."
Robert tosses another peanut as Page snatches the bag from Robert's hand.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Page tosses the bag of peanuts out the door on the plane as they start to take off.
"Robert, some people on board might have a peanut allergy..."
Robert's eyes narrowed as he saw three people aboard the plane...
"There are three people on this plane, Chris, you, me, and the pilot."
"Yeah, and how do you know he isn't allergic to peanuts?"
Robert raises his deep, grave voice, which is his way of igniting his internal engine. As he pulled his goggles down over his eyes.
"Hey, hoss, are you allergic to peanuts?"
The pilot rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a definite no...
"Now you owe me a bag of peanuts too."
From the plane window, the wing engine is semi-illuminated, the lower half shining around the rim, the upper half several shades darker. As the plane dips, the line between shadow and light moves while Robert and Page listen to the hum of the engines. The plane continued its assent like it rode through the sky on an elegant and immaculate pair of tracks.
"We are getting close. Are you ready, Robert?"
Robert nods... It would be abnormal to not have concerns in a situation such as this. What Robert is facing is legitimately problematic. It shows he can capture the problem or take the bull by the horns and power through. Though his eyes are open, Robert can't gather why his heart is throbbing out of his chest, his mind uninhabited, and his palms clammy. He gazes into utter darkness as his breathing becomes more erratic. Swiftly Page emerges before Robert; he says something Robert cannot comprehend while the corners of Page's mouth raise, revealing a joker-like grin. Page's blood awakens his brain, though he thinks he is already open-eyed.
Pilot: The two of you need to get into position.
"Robert's ready to go!"
Robert shoots Page a dirty look, followed by the bird, as Page abruptly opens the door with a deafening buzz. A light in the far back of the plane turns red to green as the pilot unexpectedly climbs from the cockpit, motioning Robert & Page towards the door as piercing air whisked into the plane, freezing each man to their bones.
"Ready, Robert?"
Robert leers down at the parachute Page packed for him, then reaches out, grabbing onto the plane white knuckle tight. For both men, it became a moment of fight or flight. Adrenaline plus excitement equals enjoyment. Adrenaline plus fear equals despair. It's all about getting the recipe right, and at this moment, we had two chefs creating two different dishes.
"I'm going to throw up."
Page chuckles as Robert motions for a time-out with his hands.
"This isn't happening. I don't care what happens. Baby Jesus can come back. I won't jump. They can land this mother fucker right now."
The green light began flashing as the pilot tapped Page and Robert on each of their shoulders, motioning for the pair to move forward. Robert shakes his head vigorously, absolutely refusing. Page begins nudging Robert forward, shuffling their feet, and comes to a halt staring out into the plane door. Robert points at Page, demanding he doesn't push him. Page grins, reaching out and shaking Robert's hand. The clouds move constantly, flowing as sheets hundreds of feet apart, yet giving the appearance of one layer below.
"It'll all be over in a few seconds, Robert!"
Page locks onto Robert's forearm like a bulldog and leaps out of the plane, pulling Robert out along with him, and just like that, the two of them are gone.
"Wooooooo..."
"Ahhhhhhh..."
The frigid air hit Robert and Page's goggles and they instantly fogged. For a few seconds, they were blind as a bat; they could not see a thing, and their bodies twirled and jerked as they plummeted towards the Earth at breakneck speed. The wind assaulting their faces made it nearly impossible to breathe. Robert felt like he was suffocating. The cold air rushed past as Page and Main accelerated faster and faster. There was a moment of dizzying confusion as the wind again hit Robert. They could now see through their goggles, but Robert didn't want to as he closed his eyes, forced himself to focus, and counted to three. Pull too early, and the parachute might snag on the plane's tail.
"One... Two... Three..."
Robert's hand was clenched on the ripcord. The trees on the ground were getting larger and closer by the second; as he checked his altimeter one last time, it was time to pull the ripcord. He had barely reached three before he pulled with all his strength. The parachute flourished openly and quickly above Robert jerking him back into the sky; the harness instantly began cutting into his armpits and sides. He then sighed with relief. He could see it had opened as a full canopy, now reducing his speed to a more leisurely descent. Robert was now floating, not falling. Robert notices Page just below him.
"I should kill you... Or piss on your head on the way down..."
"Oh, come on, Robert, you have to admit that was a rush, and look, your parachute deployed, and we are going to land safely... I told you that you could trust me."
"I know I can trust you; we buried that hatchet long ago... What most people have not seen is behind the curtain and that you and I honestly talk all the time and hang out. But I'm sure we will hear all about how you can't be trusted and how you'll stab me in the back."
"Right... If they go there, they are just wasting airtime and showing their stupidity, but then again, look at who we are dealing with."
As the two touchdown, serenity rushes over Robert and Page...
"We understand that the two of you will be a little hard-headed, so actions will speak louder than any deliberation ever could."
"I've seen a little bit from each of them. Isn't John the cretin that gets butt-hurt when someone calls themself a "beast" like he cobbled up the term? My man, our monsters are real."
Chris nonchalantly, giving the camera a wink.
"Isn't he the same guy that stakes claims at the WGWF World Title when the combined run didn't last two weeks? Pathetic."
Chris nods again, this time with a Cheshire grin. From that Cheshire grin came a magnificent sense of expectation. The visualization of grinding Cable and Spencer into a fine powder had made him very happy. Very happy indeed. When he was ready, we'd all hear about it. These occasions were our "Christmas" - for what he had to say was always a gift to everyone.
"He's going to be the flunky that indulges in accomplishments from a decade ago to camouflage himself from reality? Yesteryear isn't going to rack up style points inside that squared circle and won't help you one bit in this endeavor. Face the facts, brother; you are a washed-up, underachieving disappointment who has been nonperforming for over a decade."
Chris nods again as Robert begins taking off his parachute.
"It sounds like this schmuck drinks his Kool-Aid; then again, most egotistical clowns do."
Chris chimes in.
"Every village has an idiot, John's ours. I wish that I had to resort to dwelling on my past to try and brainwash anyone into acknowledging I'm the real deal. All I have to do is leer over at my mantle to see a World Title still being defended. Or roll over and answer the phone to headline yet another Super Show. In layman’s terms, I sell tickets and put assess in seats."
Chris intently looks into the camera as Robert bends over and begins blowing chunks.
"Gross... John, allow me to say this lethargically enough so you can completely assimilate the vernacular leaving my mouth… And I mean this with all sincerity. When Spencer showed up a few weeks back to accept our open challenge, I was intrigued… Until you walked out after him, and it has nothing to do with your record, it has nothing to do with anything other than YOU not belonging in the same ring as Main Event level talents. It took everything in my being not to laugh my ass off."
Robert wipes his mouth with his arm.
"Spit whatever bullshit you'd like and talk yourself into circles, but the sooner you realize that Page isn't to be trifled with solo, and me, well, those days gone by speak for themselves. Now conceptualize this: just a smattering of you have witnessed the path of destruction we left in our wake. We've exterminated team after team, and this match will be remembered as your annihilation. The band is back together, and if only Spencer had brought CJ to the dance, this might be more captivating."
Chris plants a layer of sarcasm in his statement.
"At least it would carry a level of significance."
"John, let me bottom line this when it comes to anything your name is attached to in the wrestling business. If you fell over dead tomorrow, nobody would remember you ever existed the day after. You're the epitome of a clout chaser desperately looking to leach onto anyone, Spencer, or anything that gives you insignificant purpose or relevancy. What did you do when the WGWF closed several years ago?"
Page belly laughs.
"Survey says…"
Main finishes the sentence.
"Nothing. Jack shit."
"Do yourself and the world a favor and keep doing that because it seems that's all you're good at."
"I'd hate to be the BADMON right about now. I know they're riding a high after knocking off the Tag Champions; unfortunately, they accomplished that before five new teams showed their faces. If they were as gung-ho as they want us to believe, why didn't they elect to participate in Turmoil? Oh yeah, because we're more formidable than anyone else in Turmoil and one of the most prominent teams walking God's green Earth. As we hammer you into the canvas repeatedly, you'll know what the limelight tastes like, even if you only got to run your tongue across the sugar cube for fifteen minutes."
Robert turns his attention to Page and asks.
"Why didn't we sign up for Turmoil?"
"Uh, I own the fucking company, and I'm not like ninety-five percent of owners who challenge for their titles. That's why I have a roster."
"You should sell the company."
Chris rolls his eyes before directing all his energy toward the camera like a loaded firearm.
"Spencer, you and I have a history that has finally come around full circle. There will come a time and a place for us to settle as singles; however, I'll start wiping that bitter evolutionary taste out of my mouth by serving you a receipt here and now. The man standing beside me is one of the few I would walk into the seventh realm of hell to fight Satan himself because we WOULD live to tell the tale. We aren't fast friends, and we aren't just thrown together for the sake of being thrown together. We think inclusively, work collectively, and take you to the deepest, darkest places you didn't know existed within your mind.
"Our inner demons love to come out and play."
Robert says with a slick smirk finding its way across his face.
"Please, Robert, you're giving them too much credit if you think they can push us to be more than Cataclysm because not even Spencer's back is strong enough to carry the anchor that is John Cable. Don't get me wrong; I can respect Spencer because he's tearing it up all over the place as we speak, while John's lucky if anyone else would even talk to him. I can appreciate Spencer following my roadmap to success because before traveling around was the "cool" thing to do, I am the guy that made it an art form… I'm the measuring stick. Let that sink in. Now, Robert and I haven't teamed together in over two years. Call this our reunion. Do you think we will allow you to rain on our parade? Please, I'll throw one that trumps a Fuck Raziel Parade any day of the week.
Robert runs his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, confused.
"Ummm, what's a Fuck Raziel Parade?"
"Long story short, it flopped."
"Must have been a Cable experiment."
Chris nods.
"Since the formation of Cataclysm, we as a unit have had one universal goal in mind, a singular purpose, prevail, triumph, conquer, and we've done just that. Much like the ever-changing waves in the ocean, we have had our ups and downs. Our ebbs and flows. However, one thing has remained crystal clear: we don't suffer defeat in that ring. Once the bell tolls that will continue to exist, we will carry on while the two of you break down, showing the world you were nothing more than a flash in the pan."
"We are the kind of people wrestling with a purpose. Our blood, sweat, and tears went into what we constructed, and we have done so together. We used the blood and sweat, and tears of our adversaries to build our flag, a flag that still, to this very day, flies at the top of the mountain unchallenged. When a team decides to try us, whether it is the big fish in the pond or two curtain jerkers like yourselves, we don't and won't take it lightly. Welcome to the buzz saw, boys and girls; it will only hurt for a few seconds, then lights out. This demolition and eradication will make your very lives tailspin professionally and personally. This obliteration will keep the two of you awake at night while envy will continue to eat you alive."
"Why dwell in the negative when we can look at the positive? You and I, Main and Page, REUNITED for the first time in years, are walking into the most famous arena in the heart of Manhattan to rock the faces of New York City! We get to walk down that aisle inside the hallowed halls of MSG and put on a show that might never be seen again. It doesn't matter what formidable team is standing across the ring from us, and it doesn't matter what thrown-together pairings because they all share the same common denominator.
Robert finishes the statement emphatically.
"You're fucked!"
Robert continues.
"We don't have to tell you we're going to beat you…"
"We just beat YOU."
"We aren't trying to punch up to higher standards. Or shatter the glass ceiling."
"We just knock YOU back down."
"We don't require straps of gold to validate our validity."
"YOU do it for us."
"We are just here for a good time…"
"At YOUR expense."
"Playtime is over. Put the women and children to bed because Sunday Night, August 13th, Cataclysm is riding into the Big Apple on a chariot of fire… but we aren't riding alone.
"We're bringing hell with us."
Robert then states.
"Do you remember how I said you're fucked?"
Chris concluded the statement.
"That feeling in the pit of your stomach right now is EXACTLY how it feels."
BVZZZT BVZZZT BVZZZT BVZZZT BVZZZT.
"Robert, did you jump from a plane with your smartphone?"
"Jump? You dickhead, you pulled me out of the plane. By the way, that was an asshole move. Oh look, it's Jim."
Robert hits the speaker phone button.
"Jimmy, what's up, brother?"
"Mainaic, I'm all good. Would you like to catch up over dinner and drinks before the pay-per-view?
"Name the time and the place... Hey, I had a question?"
"Shoot, bro."
"When you started wrestling in WGWF, did you do a teambuilding exercise?"
Page suddenly appears nervous.
"Huh? I have no clue what you are talking about."
"Page, you rotten son of a bitch!"
***STATIC***