Post by The Bastard Corey Bull on Oct 3, 2023 20:28:42 GMT -5
A different time, at a different place, 15 years ago
Two men sit outside a large home. It is built of wood. Imagine yourself in front of a mansion and the most extreme log cabin imaginable. Now, you understand the vision before you. From the side of the building rises a fireplace. It is wide and built with large, jagged pieces of travertine and marble. Someone, perhaps several people, built this fireplace piece by piece. The building is pieced together with massive logs and lumber, all cedar. It’s rich color stands out in the moonlight.
Two men lean ominously near a car. It is a 2005 Mercedes E320. The black car gleams in the moonlight, its posh interior protected from prying eyes by the black limo tint surrounding its windows. A window rolls down about two inches, and a billow of smoke curls out. The voice is older, rich, and filled with contempt.
“This is the one. I want you to break down the door and grab his fiancé. I then want you to burn the place to the ground.”
The men nod, but one stops and lowers himself to the window. His accent places him as Croatian or a similar area.
“And the woman?”
Another billow of smoke.
“This bastard deserves everything he gets. He took my son, so now I will return the favor. A plane waits at a runway five miles from here. From there, it is not your concern.”
A fog drifts in as the scene fade
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
-It’s funny how a memory can seem so far away. So distant…so untouchable. And yet they create tangible feelings. Memories are fueled by information, some becoming more after you learn truths. And truths are subjectable to the individuals viewing them. We know a lot about truths…for they set people free. And once they are free of their lies….then who and what they are rises to the surface. It was how we became…it is how we learned…and overcame everything.-
-It is our origin story. But we are not the hero those wastes believe they are. We are not some soft do-gooder. No…we are the ones you call when you need real change to occur. We are willing to do the things others will not…we will wade through the shit and wipe the blood from our lips, and we reign over all those stupid enough to oppose the will of the gods. Call us a merc…call us anything you want…but remember one thing.-
-We are the Bastard you need.-
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
**Down a long road, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Thick trees, mostly pine, sit on both sides. This is less road and more four-wheeler trail. The area starts to clear up, and we rise to a large warehouse over a fence. Sitting in the middle of nowhere, this is the last place anyone would expect to be regarding wrestling. And yet, to some, this is an old and familiar place. People are yelling at their TVs everywhere because they know where they are. We phase into the interior of this large structure. Inside is not what you would expect either. Large cages, the kind you see wrestlers in, are scattered across the large open warehouse. Pipes, fencing, and all sorts of other construction materials are seen everywhere. In a distant corner, we see several figures in a shrouded area. The shadows do not allow one to see what we are looking at, nor does the camera move any closer. A deep voice begins to speak. It is hypnotic and devious, dark and comforting. It’s resting on a soft blanket in the middle of a viper's pit. A lover’s caresses with the devil's conviction. The voice makes you want to come near it, to be in its presence. But you can also feel that pit in your stomach that you immediately associate with danger**
“The Pariah. There are many ways you can say pariah. Outsider. Vagabond. Undesirable. Most importantly…Bastard. For that is who we are. But that is only one piece of the puzzle. That is but a sample…a taste of who we are. For those who know…we can already feel the fear settling in the marrow of your bones. And you should respect that natural reaction to us. As we look across the federation...we see at least two people we have beaten for world titles. One of you in less than ten seconds.”
**A light comes on, a spotlight shining on one of the figures, a cardboard cutout of Spencer Adams. **
“We know that we have just told you who we are, Spencer. In fact…we know you are already afraid. Because we once walked onto a show you said was yours…with a title you proclaimed as yours…and beat you mercilessly with three consecutive choke slams…and made that title ours. We left you a broken man…and you were never the same afterwards. You retreated into the parts of this country that most ignore. With the ragged and the vagrants. And then you built yourself back up…became a man to be reckoned with. Except you could never grasp that brass ring…could only be content with being a part of the conversation…just not the thrilling part.”
“And now you are away from the place you made history. A past where you were once accused of being ‘too close’ to the top. And then suddenly…you were dropped like yesterdays laundry…left in a pile and forgotten for the new shiny things. And so, you left…your trust issues clearly on display. Good…because like you Spencer we can see the similarities that caused the rot over there. We can see it here as clear as day. And we intend to eliminate that same rot…necrotic piece by necrotic piece. But you Spencer…well it appears you will once again be a victim in our climb to the top. Pity…you seem to have so much potential now. Perhaps we will have to have a conversation and bring you into the fold.”
**A light pops on and an Edward Grado cutout is presented for our viewing…pleasure? **
“Edward Grado. A man that speaks a lot of and dances just as much. It doesn’t seem like wins are something you get a lot of. Though…to be fair…you understand your place in the world. You occasionally attempt to achieve beyond it…and that is a valiant proposal for a man that understands he is changing no person’s course. Individuals such as yourself...shouldn’t be underestimated. But you must be crushed under heel…or else you will attempt to become too far above your place. As you are going to find out Grado…we are able to reshape a man’s stars simply by existing. And your stars….well lets just say that are not going to change much more then they already have. You simple must be…removed from the equation. Quickly…efficiently…and with zero concern about you afterwards.”
**Another light and another cutout as we see the smiling face of Skylar Carsons**
“Your optimism is intoxicating…and entirely misplaced. You want to be the face and inspiration of a new group of wrestlers when you yourself are barely a wrestler. Because you have trained and walked into….you know what…this is ridiculous.”
**Suddenly all the lights come on and each of the competitors in the match are seen as cardboard cutouts of themselves. Adams, Grado, and Carsons are joined by Clyde Newton, Johnny Stylez, Brooke Blakely, Devlin Knight, and Xavier Lux**
“If this is how you expect anyone to talk about this match…then you are truly lost already and do not deserve to be here. You see…we could easily go on and on about each and every one of you. About how Stylez has a mouth that is loud and speaks often…or how Knight doesn’t think himself truly worthy of any opportunity he has. But why…we ask…why should we waste our breathe on each and every one of you. You all have the same problem…us. You are a pack of lions in the den of a monster…you are the warriors of Troy handling the Trojan Horse. You do not know the danger you invite in. All you see is a name…one that is false and there to give you falsehoods. We are sure some of you have figured it out and with each passing minute more and more of you understand the danger. But we know already that the doubters exist…they do not believe that which they can not see…they do not truly understand that which they can not touch. But we shall show them who we are…and we will definitely reach out and strike.”
**Deep laughter, something harmonic and distorted. It is filled with joy and promises of death**
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
-Has it really been fifteen years? Oh Abigail…we failed you. Our sister searched the globe with each mission she was sent on. Countless mercenaries and soldiers of fortune were paid hefty sums to go to the deepest corners of this miserable mudball and yet… nothing. We threatened and beat the man that took you from us…Zero suffered unimaginable pains under our guiding hands of torture. And what little he was able to provide before the gods took his last breath as an admission of surrender…we still hit walls.-
*sigh*
-It has been difficult being us…being this being that so many fear. Yes…we understood the risks of being who and what we are…of being true to ourselves. You loved that about us…how we never allowed anyone to change us. You molded with us…so happy to stand in the presence of power and glory…to revel in our bloodbaths and witness our victories as titles were raised above our head and strapped to our waist.-
-And yet…we have found the years to be much more difficult than we would like to admit to. The presence of a woman…someone that could match our intensity…someone that could be soft when needed and strong always. Someone exactly…like…you. We have tried to be strong Abagail. We have done the best we could…toppled mountains…destroyed the dreams of many…stopped entire movements because we simply wanted to. And for what? All we have to show for it is a legacy of destruction…of a history of domination.-
-Sometimes we just want to come home to someone that cared.-
-Sometimes we just want to be cared for.-
-We don’t want worship…we are much more then a god. We don’t need validation…we have proven our power time and time again.-
-We just want to find a way to be happy.-
-Besides being covered in the blood of our enemies.-
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
**The cutouts are all gone. The space remains…but now a large electric chair occupies the space. It sits under a lone light. We can see a figure in the darkness though, a large figure. Immense is definitely a word that one would use for this figure…though they manage to stay out of the light**
“How intimate is a loss? How much of it should you share with your opponent? Strange you say…but hear us out. You create this loss…you place your opponent in the position to lose…so how much of that loss should you share with them? All of it? None of it? Seems an impossibility to not share any of it…but it also seems pointless to share it all. There are men and women in this federation that will look at you and say when you beat someone…you share none of the loss. To them we have but a simple thing to say…."
"You are a bunch of idiots."
"We have been an intimate part of so many of our opponents losses. We once held a man close…our large arm wrapped around his head, our other wrapped around his chest…and we simply squeezed. Now anywhere else…that might be interpreted as something intimate…because it was. We could feel his breathe getting harder and harder to draw…every last fiber of his being wanted to fight against the strength of our limbs. But he was not a match and slowly…lovingly…his vertebrate started to make sounds that your backbone should not make.”
“And then...with a soft inhale...we tightened the grip.”
“His ribs crunched…his eyes contorted…he lost control of his bowels…and he fell to the mat with nothing left in him. We felt his loss…we had played an intricate role in it. But we also won. We survived and stood above his defeated corpse. We reveled in the intimacy of it….in the pure joy we felt when this man…this man who believed him our better…fell at our feet.”
“That is how it always goes.”
**The figure moves in the shadows with a grace that seems wrong compared to the size of the shadow,**
“None of you are on the same level as that…none of you can hope to reach that level of intimacy with anyone…at any point in your lives…ever. And we have done it time and time again…every foe we have driven to the mat...has been their downward spiral. Every person that believed they had the answer to the enigma that we are…we showed them that they were wrong. Many great people have fallen at our feet...some of them in this very federation. And we are not done…more will fall…more must fall. The final spot is ours. We are going to take it from you all. We are the bull and you are the China shop. And we will crack…chip…and break each and every person that stands in our way.”
“We know there is doubt…and that is ok. Your doubt can rock you to sleep after you have lost. Just watch Spencer Adams face when our anthem hits…the look of fear and loss in his eyes will be enough for all of you to know your doom is sealed on this night. On the ninth of October…the Pariah transforms and evolves into the true form we are.”
“And this is only the beginning. The Bastard has arrived!”
**The screen fades to black…and then a symbol appears on the screen…the final clue to the rest of the world**
Two men sit outside a large home. It is built of wood. Imagine yourself in front of a mansion and the most extreme log cabin imaginable. Now, you understand the vision before you. From the side of the building rises a fireplace. It is wide and built with large, jagged pieces of travertine and marble. Someone, perhaps several people, built this fireplace piece by piece. The building is pieced together with massive logs and lumber, all cedar. It’s rich color stands out in the moonlight.
Two men lean ominously near a car. It is a 2005 Mercedes E320. The black car gleams in the moonlight, its posh interior protected from prying eyes by the black limo tint surrounding its windows. A window rolls down about two inches, and a billow of smoke curls out. The voice is older, rich, and filled with contempt.
“This is the one. I want you to break down the door and grab his fiancé. I then want you to burn the place to the ground.”
The men nod, but one stops and lowers himself to the window. His accent places him as Croatian or a similar area.
“And the woman?”
Another billow of smoke.
“This bastard deserves everything he gets. He took my son, so now I will return the favor. A plane waits at a runway five miles from here. From there, it is not your concern.”
A fog drifts in as the scene fade
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
-It’s funny how a memory can seem so far away. So distant…so untouchable. And yet they create tangible feelings. Memories are fueled by information, some becoming more after you learn truths. And truths are subjectable to the individuals viewing them. We know a lot about truths…for they set people free. And once they are free of their lies….then who and what they are rises to the surface. It was how we became…it is how we learned…and overcame everything.-
-It is our origin story. But we are not the hero those wastes believe they are. We are not some soft do-gooder. No…we are the ones you call when you need real change to occur. We are willing to do the things others will not…we will wade through the shit and wipe the blood from our lips, and we reign over all those stupid enough to oppose the will of the gods. Call us a merc…call us anything you want…but remember one thing.-
-We are the Bastard you need.-
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
**Down a long road, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Thick trees, mostly pine, sit on both sides. This is less road and more four-wheeler trail. The area starts to clear up, and we rise to a large warehouse over a fence. Sitting in the middle of nowhere, this is the last place anyone would expect to be regarding wrestling. And yet, to some, this is an old and familiar place. People are yelling at their TVs everywhere because they know where they are. We phase into the interior of this large structure. Inside is not what you would expect either. Large cages, the kind you see wrestlers in, are scattered across the large open warehouse. Pipes, fencing, and all sorts of other construction materials are seen everywhere. In a distant corner, we see several figures in a shrouded area. The shadows do not allow one to see what we are looking at, nor does the camera move any closer. A deep voice begins to speak. It is hypnotic and devious, dark and comforting. It’s resting on a soft blanket in the middle of a viper's pit. A lover’s caresses with the devil's conviction. The voice makes you want to come near it, to be in its presence. But you can also feel that pit in your stomach that you immediately associate with danger**
“The Pariah. There are many ways you can say pariah. Outsider. Vagabond. Undesirable. Most importantly…Bastard. For that is who we are. But that is only one piece of the puzzle. That is but a sample…a taste of who we are. For those who know…we can already feel the fear settling in the marrow of your bones. And you should respect that natural reaction to us. As we look across the federation...we see at least two people we have beaten for world titles. One of you in less than ten seconds.”
**A light comes on, a spotlight shining on one of the figures, a cardboard cutout of Spencer Adams. **
“We know that we have just told you who we are, Spencer. In fact…we know you are already afraid. Because we once walked onto a show you said was yours…with a title you proclaimed as yours…and beat you mercilessly with three consecutive choke slams…and made that title ours. We left you a broken man…and you were never the same afterwards. You retreated into the parts of this country that most ignore. With the ragged and the vagrants. And then you built yourself back up…became a man to be reckoned with. Except you could never grasp that brass ring…could only be content with being a part of the conversation…just not the thrilling part.”
“And now you are away from the place you made history. A past where you were once accused of being ‘too close’ to the top. And then suddenly…you were dropped like yesterdays laundry…left in a pile and forgotten for the new shiny things. And so, you left…your trust issues clearly on display. Good…because like you Spencer we can see the similarities that caused the rot over there. We can see it here as clear as day. And we intend to eliminate that same rot…necrotic piece by necrotic piece. But you Spencer…well it appears you will once again be a victim in our climb to the top. Pity…you seem to have so much potential now. Perhaps we will have to have a conversation and bring you into the fold.”
**A light pops on and an Edward Grado cutout is presented for our viewing…pleasure? **
“Edward Grado. A man that speaks a lot of and dances just as much. It doesn’t seem like wins are something you get a lot of. Though…to be fair…you understand your place in the world. You occasionally attempt to achieve beyond it…and that is a valiant proposal for a man that understands he is changing no person’s course. Individuals such as yourself...shouldn’t be underestimated. But you must be crushed under heel…or else you will attempt to become too far above your place. As you are going to find out Grado…we are able to reshape a man’s stars simply by existing. And your stars….well lets just say that are not going to change much more then they already have. You simple must be…removed from the equation. Quickly…efficiently…and with zero concern about you afterwards.”
**Another light and another cutout as we see the smiling face of Skylar Carsons**
“Your optimism is intoxicating…and entirely misplaced. You want to be the face and inspiration of a new group of wrestlers when you yourself are barely a wrestler. Because you have trained and walked into….you know what…this is ridiculous.”
**Suddenly all the lights come on and each of the competitors in the match are seen as cardboard cutouts of themselves. Adams, Grado, and Carsons are joined by Clyde Newton, Johnny Stylez, Brooke Blakely, Devlin Knight, and Xavier Lux**
“If this is how you expect anyone to talk about this match…then you are truly lost already and do not deserve to be here. You see…we could easily go on and on about each and every one of you. About how Stylez has a mouth that is loud and speaks often…or how Knight doesn’t think himself truly worthy of any opportunity he has. But why…we ask…why should we waste our breathe on each and every one of you. You all have the same problem…us. You are a pack of lions in the den of a monster…you are the warriors of Troy handling the Trojan Horse. You do not know the danger you invite in. All you see is a name…one that is false and there to give you falsehoods. We are sure some of you have figured it out and with each passing minute more and more of you understand the danger. But we know already that the doubters exist…they do not believe that which they can not see…they do not truly understand that which they can not touch. But we shall show them who we are…and we will definitely reach out and strike.”
**Deep laughter, something harmonic and distorted. It is filled with joy and promises of death**
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
-Has it really been fifteen years? Oh Abigail…we failed you. Our sister searched the globe with each mission she was sent on. Countless mercenaries and soldiers of fortune were paid hefty sums to go to the deepest corners of this miserable mudball and yet… nothing. We threatened and beat the man that took you from us…Zero suffered unimaginable pains under our guiding hands of torture. And what little he was able to provide before the gods took his last breath as an admission of surrender…we still hit walls.-
*sigh*
-It has been difficult being us…being this being that so many fear. Yes…we understood the risks of being who and what we are…of being true to ourselves. You loved that about us…how we never allowed anyone to change us. You molded with us…so happy to stand in the presence of power and glory…to revel in our bloodbaths and witness our victories as titles were raised above our head and strapped to our waist.-
-And yet…we have found the years to be much more difficult than we would like to admit to. The presence of a woman…someone that could match our intensity…someone that could be soft when needed and strong always. Someone exactly…like…you. We have tried to be strong Abagail. We have done the best we could…toppled mountains…destroyed the dreams of many…stopped entire movements because we simply wanted to. And for what? All we have to show for it is a legacy of destruction…of a history of domination.-
-Sometimes we just want to come home to someone that cared.-
-Sometimes we just want to be cared for.-
-We don’t want worship…we are much more then a god. We don’t need validation…we have proven our power time and time again.-
-We just want to find a way to be happy.-
-Besides being covered in the blood of our enemies.-
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
**The cutouts are all gone. The space remains…but now a large electric chair occupies the space. It sits under a lone light. We can see a figure in the darkness though, a large figure. Immense is definitely a word that one would use for this figure…though they manage to stay out of the light**
“How intimate is a loss? How much of it should you share with your opponent? Strange you say…but hear us out. You create this loss…you place your opponent in the position to lose…so how much of that loss should you share with them? All of it? None of it? Seems an impossibility to not share any of it…but it also seems pointless to share it all. There are men and women in this federation that will look at you and say when you beat someone…you share none of the loss. To them we have but a simple thing to say…."
"You are a bunch of idiots."
"We have been an intimate part of so many of our opponents losses. We once held a man close…our large arm wrapped around his head, our other wrapped around his chest…and we simply squeezed. Now anywhere else…that might be interpreted as something intimate…because it was. We could feel his breathe getting harder and harder to draw…every last fiber of his being wanted to fight against the strength of our limbs. But he was not a match and slowly…lovingly…his vertebrate started to make sounds that your backbone should not make.”
“And then...with a soft inhale...we tightened the grip.”
“His ribs crunched…his eyes contorted…he lost control of his bowels…and he fell to the mat with nothing left in him. We felt his loss…we had played an intricate role in it. But we also won. We survived and stood above his defeated corpse. We reveled in the intimacy of it….in the pure joy we felt when this man…this man who believed him our better…fell at our feet.”
“That is how it always goes.”
**The figure moves in the shadows with a grace that seems wrong compared to the size of the shadow,**
“None of you are on the same level as that…none of you can hope to reach that level of intimacy with anyone…at any point in your lives…ever. And we have done it time and time again…every foe we have driven to the mat...has been their downward spiral. Every person that believed they had the answer to the enigma that we are…we showed them that they were wrong. Many great people have fallen at our feet...some of them in this very federation. And we are not done…more will fall…more must fall. The final spot is ours. We are going to take it from you all. We are the bull and you are the China shop. And we will crack…chip…and break each and every person that stands in our way.”
“We know there is doubt…and that is ok. Your doubt can rock you to sleep after you have lost. Just watch Spencer Adams face when our anthem hits…the look of fear and loss in his eyes will be enough for all of you to know your doom is sealed on this night. On the ninth of October…the Pariah transforms and evolves into the true form we are.”
“And this is only the beginning. The Bastard has arrived!”
**The screen fades to black…and then a symbol appears on the screen…the final clue to the rest of the world**
