Post by TheNewBreed on Aug 11, 2023 22:59:13 GMT -5
Chris... Mr. Chaos... Anarchy Incarnate... as strange as it sounds... I feel like I already know you. Now... I know we've never met before... but I have known men like you my entire life. Many of them have disgraced these hallowed halls and tainted the WGWF Ring with their ilk before... and I laid waste to them then... as I do now.
“Oh, I'm not like those other Agents of Chaos! I'm my own man, and I do my own thing!”
you shout at the screen from your hotel room... I'm sure.
Win by any means necessary? Check.
Lie, Cheat, and Steal, to secure the victory? Check.
Betray anyone and everyone it takes to get to the next rung on the ladder? Check.
Betray your own ideals if it means winning in the end? Check.
Always wonder if you were good at what you do or just an opportunist with a lucky streak? Check.
Never admit that doubt you wondered about to anyone? Check.
Always plotting and scheming to get the next shock pop from the outlandish stunts you pull? Check.
Always trying to outdo the next guy so your spotlight shines just a little bit brighter? Check.
Never just relying on your talent in the ring to speak for you because you know it won't? Check.
Throw a hissy fit when you feel misunderstood and no one gets just how awesome you are? Check.
Scream to the world about all of your best moments, but skip the worst ones? Check.
Retire when you realize your attitude with upper management has ended your push to the top? Check.
Yeah... I know you Chris Chaos.
I have known men like you for my entire life, like I said.
Pompous.
Arrogant.
Insufferable.
Childish.
Spoiled.
Self Righteous.
Entitled.
Self Absorbed.
Narcissistic.
You're all the same. You scream at the world about why everyone out here should think and feel just like you do, and how we should all be thankful for your presence in our lives... and you get bent when the world doesn't share your vision of the twisted reality you try to force into existence all around you through manipulation and violence... all so you can have a little fun and forget how miserable you are all alone inside your mind. You gaslight those who might once have cared about you into thinking they had wronged you or betrayed you in a fit of paranoid overthinking that drives a wall between you and them and allows you to look yourself in the mirror and not vomit at your own disgust at yourself.
Oh... I know you.
I may even know you better than you allow yourself to know you. You lie to yourself... so often and so vehemently that you've bought into your own bullshit, and today... now... believe that you're this amazing talent that the world has been suffering without for these long long years since your hay-day in the XWF. You've convinced yourself that you're the answer to the age old question... who IS the next big thing? You've deceived yourself into thinking that the world of wrestling has been lacking... defunct... stale... all without you, and you alone are the savior returning to save us all from the mediocrity you see all around you.
See... it takes a strong man to realistically look at himself... and be honest with his own evaluation.
It's humbling... to stare at yourself... honestly... without tinting or embellishment... to stare into your own soul and look for the reality of the life you live and who you really are... to stare at your demons and smile at the fear and terror within... to truly know what sins reside within you... and to be at peace with the site before you.
That takes an unholy amount of grit and an unwavering will to pull off unscathed... but a man like you could never muster the effort required to sit before the mirror for long enough to see the truth in your soul. You can't spend the time in reflection... because you're afraid of the man in the mirror... of the sins within you and the pain you've caused... the values you wish you still clung to after ages of betrayal and repugnance... long gone now in practice... but they gnaw at you in the back of your mind. You try your best to ignore them... I know... but the words are there, whispers and titters in the shadows of your nightmares. They're the last remnants of your conscience screaming in vain to save you from yourself but drowning in the sorrow and loneliness all around you... but you tuned out the shrill cries ages ago.
To a man like me... a man who can't be intimidated by your loud and brash boasts or shows of power... a man who is unimpressed with your list of accolades and legends who have been laid low by your hands... a man who has seen the future and knows his place in it... you're nothing more than a speed bump on my road to the next match.
I understand your interest in returning to the ring... to test yourself once more and get another fix of the adrenaline rush that comes from the big win on the big stage... to see your name in lights just one more time and prove to the world... to the haters... to yourself... that you deserve to be there and you still have what it takes... to know... for yourself... that you still have what it takes...
It's all consuming isn't it?
That need to prove it to yourself...
I know.
I was so focused on it for a while it was all I could think about.
I needed to get back in the ring and fight the best of the best and get my Title back... and I was determined to walk through anyone who stood in my way to get there. This last year hasn't gone as well as I would have liked it to in fairness... and I still haven't reclaimed my Title... and for a while... that was a problem.
It consumed me... it drove me mad thinking about anyone else but me holding MY Title... and to be honest... it isn't ever far from my mind.
Even now... the fact that I was in the ring with Peter Vaughn and had my chance to grab the reins of destiny for myself and take back MY Title, and I failed... again... It eats away at me. It tears and picks at the hole inside... that pit in your stomach... the void the Championship once filled but has been cold and vacant now for far too long.
But I realized something after that match with the Mechanic... something I hope you realize too, and reconcile with yourself to accept it, one way or the other.
The Title doesn't make me worthy.
I do.
I do.
The honor I wear into battle like the shiniest of armor... the determination and grit I bring to bear in the face of insurmountable odds like the sturdiest of shields... the decades of skill and experience I wield like the sharpest of spears...
THOSE are what make me worthy...
Those virtues are what make me worthy in the eyes of the fans... in the eyes of the haters... in the eyes of my friends and family... and most importantly... in my own eyes.
My road to becoming the WGWF Champion for the third time is far from over, and until I wear that ten pounds of gold again... my focus will remain unchanged... and that too... makes me worthy... to me.
You have spent your entire career worried about what everyone thinks about you, what your image was with the fans, and how your gimmick came across with everyone but yourself, Chris. You've always been focused on being perceived as some bad-ass, unpredictable, unstoppable Angel of Chaos, but you haven't spent enough of your career on making yourself INTO the image of you that you see in the mirror, and instead have just fluffed yourself up until you believe you ARE the absolute pinnacle of your existence, and this is the best you can be.
Well you're wrong, Chris.
Our very existence is growth and betterment.
It's the fight for our lives... the survival we endure every day. It's the scratching and clawing our way up from the dirt floor to the lofty heights of success that IS the reason for our existence... it will never be better, and it will never be easier.
Existence is cruel and bloody... and it will never wait for you to be ready to face its trials as it tests you beyond your comfort zone... but test you it will. Survival makes you stronger by the day... tougher with each unexpected blow... harder with each betrayal... more determined with each missed opportunity... until eventually, you've become the weapon your journey required.
Honed in lifetimes of tragedy and betrayal... hardened time and time again by near fatal injuries at the hands of both my enemies and my loved ones... molded by the lessons learned by living this life and enduring thus far against a heavily stacked deck... Here I stand before you, the appointed Gate Keeper of your return.
I have made far more than a living inside those ropes, Chris... and finally... after all these decades... I've found myself worthy enough to deserve tomorrow again. For the first time in ages... I have a purpose. I have a reason to keep fighting... to keep moving forward... and to succeed.
It isn't just about my Title anymore, though...
It's about me...
With... or without my Belt.
I still have a long way to go to get where I'm headed, Chris... and while my record since Relaunch doesn't impress anyone... least of all you... don't let the numbers fool you. There isn't a more dangerous man in the locker room of the WGWF than I am, win, lose, or draw.
You're in for a fight... not a warm up. You've got a lot to prove to me... to the world... to yourself... and I may not be the most flashy superstar on the roster. I keep to myself and worry about my own. I don't throw fits in public or talk shit on network TV about politics or religion. I don't spend my nights making paper waterfalls flow across the stages of the Rabbit. I don't get into drunken brawls or have dramatic episodes over flowers... and I certainly don't hide from a fight but I prefer to keep 'em between the bells and when they count.
I'm well versed and well armed... time tested and combat approved. Inside those ropes... inside MY ring... come Summer Madness... your Vacation's over, son... and you... belong to the Beast.
* * * * *
The moonlight shone through the sparse clouds racing across the ebon sky. The grinding of gravel is heard as heavy footsteps approach the three marble stairs leading up to wrought iron gate set in a massive marble wall. A pair of black booted feet comes into view heading up the short staircase, as a massive figure makes his way towards the mausoleum ahead. As he makes his way towards the gate, he draws something from his dark suit pants pocket, and reaches towards a sconce next to the door fitted with a small hooded lamp. Using a thick gnarled finger, he slides the glass door to the side and brings the object in his hand to bare, striking once... twice... and a third time before a small flame erupts from the lighter in his grasp. The fire rushes across the wick within, and soon, a warm yellow glow of flickering light washed across the masked visage of the man in the darkness of the cemetery alone.
Filigree lines of silver form a frame of metal across the face of the Beast, shining brightly in the lamp light with its polished surface. Glints of the dancing flames flicker across the black acrylic of the face plate beneath the metal, and the pain filled eyes hidden beneath darts from the lamp to the gate nearby. Slowly, with a heavy sigh, John turns towards the doorway and reaches his massive hand to grab the ring and pull the gate open.
With a horrendous screech that tore through the quiet night, the metal hinges on the gate protested the use, but came free and swung open. After a long moment, John looked up into the portal, his shoulders sinking, and took a step inside. His boot thudded loudly on the marble floor and echoed through the small room. He paused, then took another step into the room with another echoing step, then another, before pausing to look at a plaque on the wall.
Jessica Winthrope
In Loving Memory
With another heavy sigh, John turns towards the back wall of the sacred room, and makes his way towards a large shadowy alcove. His footfalls are loud in the still night, ringing out against the swirled stone floor as he reaches into the darkness and lights another lamp affixed to the wall near a patina plagued brass plaque.
Hank Winthrope
Loving Father
Taken from us far too soon.
John slips the lighter back into his pocket, and rests his forehead against the smooth stone wall, running his rough fingertip across the plaque slowly.
“Well... I failed again. Seems like my MO at this point, right?” he says softly with a slight chuckle from within the mask.
He pushes off of the wall and takes a step away from the alcove, staring across the room at his ex wife's plaque.
“Yeah... I know, Dad.” John whispers. “You can't win 'em all. You take the good with the bad and you train harder so you do better next time. I know... I know.” he mutters gruffly as he closes his eyes behind the mask, and bows his head sadly.
“It's getting kinda hard to go out there in front of the cameras and claim a victory in the next match when I seem to keep coming up short, you know? I mean... it's been the ammo in the canon for ages already... John's a choke artist... when it really matters, the Least will always find a way to lose it in the end... Cable can't seal the deal when the chips are down...” he extols, each word filled with malice and sarcasm.
“And honestly... they aren't wrong, are they?” he asks in the silent room.
“If only they knew how many times I ask myself why I keep getting title shots...” John says as he laughs out loud, a booming cacophony of sarcastic mirth muffled by the mask.
“Hell... I ask myself that question almost as much as I ask myself why she couldn't love me.” John says softly as he hikes his finger over his shoulder in the direction of his ex's memorial not far away.
“I still ask myself that every day...” John mutters, almost under his breath.
“I still wonder every day why my best wasn't enough. I ask myself all the time why my love wasn’t enough to bring you back from your place of fear… why wasn't I enough to make you feel safe again? I always wonder if it all boils down to your kidnapping... if you blame me for what happened to you at the hands of the Royal Family.“ John says grimly as he takes a couple of steps towards her plaque.
“You never felt safe after that... I know that. You damned sure didn't look at me the same... and nothing was ever the way it used to be after that.” John says as he walks over to the plaque of his former wife and runs his fingers softly across the lettering there.
“You did... you blamed me for everything. I know it... deep down. Hell... for a long time I blamed myself too. Once I got you back, you were never the same happy go lucky girl you were before. You were... scared... of everything... and you had every right to be. You did. You felt like I left you to be devoured by demons because I wasn't there to stop them. You felt like every shadow was something that would send you back into that terrifying nightmare again... and I understood that. I understood the fear... I accepted it, and I tried my best to make you feel safe again... but I just couldn't. You were broken... WE were broken... and I wasn't the same either. They destroyed who we were... and neither of us came out without scars.' John says as he runs his fingers across the filigree face plate.
“What I never figured out... still to this day... is why you didn't just leave me... why you lied about everything that happened after the EWCL and why you tried to rip my life apart? For what? Why did you hate me so much you tried to ruin my life and take everything we had built and destroy it?” John asks, his voice filled with anguish, and anger, his tone rising as the words spill from his lips.
“I'm sorry I wasn't there! If I could have been, I would have been. If I could have traded my life for yours... I would have... but the betrayal... the lies... the manipulation... for what? To make me suffer? Trust me... I suffered! I suffered watching the love of my life slip away from me and become a woman I didn't know anymore. I watched our joyous life together get dashed against the cliff side of hatred and anger... and I was forced to gather up all the splinters of what we once were that I could find and try to glue them back together alone...” the words hissed from pursed lips as John clenched his jaw beneath the mask.
“Alone.” he said slowly.
“You plotted my downfall... the disillusion of our company... you faked your own death for fuck sake... all to make me suffer even more in a world that had already become nothing but anguish... and you felt justified! You felt your every move was nothing more than another fair play in the game of tit-for-tat you were playing by yourself... and you lied about everything the entire time! You hid your plans, you hid yourself, and you made moves against me because you thought... in your twisted version of reality... that I had already failed you. You felt like I could never be the man you needed... and you planned to destroy everything we had built together... just to ruin me.” he says, grief heavy in his words... regret weighing on him, as tears stream down from inside the mask and drip onto his light gray button up shirt.
“I suffered... and I still do... just like you did, at the hands of those mad men. Every day I look into the mirror and I see what they did to me... what others like them have done to me since... and I accept what I have become. I look into the mirror and I see this...” he shouts as he wrenches the mask from his face, revealing deep twisted scars running across his face from side to side. Older, purplish welts are crisscrossed with much newer, jagged pink lines of fresh scars that stretch across his entire face. Little of his eyebrows are left, with scars crossing where they had been across most of his brow, and deep grooves and pockmarks dot his face between the trenches of injuries marring his visage.
“I suffer every day without you... and I have since I watched you lose your love for me day after day. That hurt me worse than anything the Family had done... worse than anything that had ever happened to me... and worse than all of this ever did.” John says softly as he waves his hand in front of his face, indicating his scars.
“You chose that... You chose that for me... and I have suffered. I have suffered the lies... the loneliness... the struggle to endure after losing you... not once, but twice! Trust me... I have suffered.” John whispers as he lays his face on the pale marble wall, tears streaming down the craggy mass of scars across his cheeks.
“I have suffered enough...“ he whispers.
“I must accept that you chose what you chose. I must accept that the lies and deceit were a choice you made... a choice you made in malice, with intent. You intended to do harm to me in every way you could... and it was a choice you made willingly. I must accept that once... I loved you with all my heart... but I loved a version of you that didn't exist anymore. I have to accept that there is nothing I can do to fix that. I have to accept that you're gone... and have been for a long time now. The past is the past... and while I will always cherish the memories of the times we shared in love and joy... I can't cling to this idea of what you once were anymore. I have to accept that you weren't the woman I loved... and you chose that.” John says softly as he pushes himself off of the wall and runs his fingers across the plaque once more.
“You chose that... and just like everything else I've ever dealt with... it's up to me to choose what I do about it on my own.” he says as he makes his way back towards his father's plaque, his heavy boots thudding loudly once more in the quiet stone room.
“You raised me to survive, Dad. You taught me to fight the good fight... respect others... and protect those who needed it. It's time I figure this out and take control again. I can right this ship... and I can be a better John Cable than I am today. I know I can...” he says as he blows the lamp out in the alcove and his father's plaque disappears into the darkness once more.
“I miss you, Dad. I could really use you around these days. You just can't find a trainer like you anymore anywhere... but I'm glad you finally get to rest. You deserve it. I love you, Dad.” he whispers as he walks past Jessica's plaque and pauses again, looking over at it sadly.
“And you... Oh wife of mine... You taught me what it felt like to truly love something... with every fiber of my being and every thought I would ever have... and I'll never forget what it felt like to lose it... over and over again. I forgive you though... for everything... but I gotta go live my life again, and finally figure out where I'm headed in this crazy world without you in it anymore. I wish I could say it's been a pleasure... but... well... fuck you, Liar. Fuck you...” John sneers as he turns to walk out, wiping tears from his eyes, disappearing down the marble stairs into the night as the scene fades to black.