Post by Zane on Sept 5, 2013 11:28:20 GMT -5
The meeting is over and Eden has departed from Chicago. Colin, Spyder and Damarest remain within the club, awaiting Zane’s return at one of the VIP tables. All three men have drinks in hand; Colin and Spyder have their beers while Damarest as a dark, rich liquid in his glass. He is the first to speak.
"This is a most intriguing turn of events."
Colin takes a drink from his beer and sets it back on the coaster that sits between the bottom of the bottle and the dark red tablecloth. His expression is thoughtful.
"Yes." He replies. "It’s unexpected. It could also turn into a tremendous boon in the long run."
Damarest nods in agreement but says nothing. Spyder gives no perceptible reaction; he just remains silent and apparently lost in thought with his beer engulfed by his massive hand. Damarest looks across the table to him and then to Colin. Colin catches the cue.
"Your thoughts, Jim ?" he says.
The enigmatic mountain of a man sits silently for a few more moments, his eyes seemingly devoid of focus in the “looking at everything and nothing” way that he’s known and feared for. When he finally does speak, he does so without looking at either man. His expression remains unchanged.
"I sensed no deception in her." He replies tonelessly.
He pauses, creating an odd silence in the room that most would find to be unnerving. Colin just lifts his beer from the table and leans back against the expensive red cushioning of the seat back. Damarest looks from Spyder to Colin and back to Spyder again, but says nothing. When Spyder finally answers he does so with a single word.
"Sorrow."
Damarest and Colin both look at each other before looking back at Spyder. Colin is smirking while Damarest looks intrigued, his expression quizzical.
"Sorrow ?" Damarest replies. "That's an interesting observation. I only sensed fear and trepidation. Perhaps a bit of self doubt as well."
This time Colin replies and his tone is amused and slightly chiding.
"In fairness David," he answers. "You are more finely attuned to fear and its many manifestations than you are to most other emotions."
Damarest nods his head and smiles at the observation.
"This is true." He states. "Still, though...sorrow ? I hadn’t considered that. She's normally so defiant. I could sense when she departed that something had deeply upset her, with that said, I saw no indication of sorrow in her eyes."
Spyder finally turns his head and looks at Damarest. His eyes are back in focus, in spite of the fact that he never appeared to blink.
"Yes, sorrow." He states. “She had the look in her eyes as if something had deeply shaken her foundational understanding of the universe. She had been forced to feel something that she was unprepared to feel and that realization had shaken her to the core of her being. That something was sorrow. I can only deduce that she felt it towards Zane. Consider how it would make you feel, how it would change you, if you suddenly felt as if you reason for hating your most despised enemy was suddenly no longer there.”
Colin lifts up his beer and tilts it towards Spyder before he takes a drink and swallows.
“Been there, done that.”
“Indeed.” Spyder replies. "And look where that has lead. We’ve been as close as brothers for nearly twenty years. It started at the moment that we both realized that we had far more in common as friends than we had differences as enemies. Feeling sympathy, let alone sorrow for one’s enemy is a nearly impossible emotion to reorient one’s self from, especially for one as young, inexperienced and naïve as Miss Morgan is."
Colin nods his head in agreement while Damarest lifts his hand up, placing it against his chin thoughtfully.
"Most perceptive, James." He replies.
Spyder declines his head slightly before looking at Damarest.
"We will see Miss Morgan change in the next few weeks," he explains. "I believe that she already has and is aware of this. I saw a different type of resolve in her face when she walked out. There’s been a seed planted in her head and it will grow whether she wishes for it to or not."
He pauses and takes a drink from his beer before he swallows it and sets it down on the table.
"Consider this as well," he continues. "She allowed herself to fall for the ruse that Chaos set for her. Think about what that implies. Deep down, she is still a child who needs to be accepted. She wanted so badly to believe that the violent, alcoholic misanthrope Chaos could suddenly have so staggering of a personality swing that he became the soft, effeminate and laughable "Chadwick T. Chaos", that she never accepted the obvious even though it was practically sitting on her face."
Colin replies to the last statement with a smirk and Damarest replies with a chuckle.
"There's an interesting visual metaphor," Colin replies with a short laugh.
"I presume that you mean the "obvious" to be that he was deceiving her the entire time." Damarest says.
Spyder slowly nods his head once before looking back at Damarest.
"Chadwick T. Chaos," Spyder answers. "He hid his duplicitous nature right out in plain sight for her to see and yet fooled her by tolling her the narrative that she wanted to hear. In the end, she was so desperate to hear and see what she wanted to, that she allowed herself to believe his "best friend" nonsense. It was a brilliant, if basic application of rudimentary human psychology."
Damarest replies with an evil smile and raises his glass in respect.
"You sir," he replies. "Are not a very nice man."
Spyder replies with a shrug before lifting up his beer and tipping it in return.
"I never claimed to be." He answers with a knowing smile.
Damarest looks at Colin, posing his next query to him.
"What do you think ?" he asks.
"I think that Jim is absolutely right." Colin replies. "If there is one thing about him that you should know by now, it’s that he understands how the human mind works and has a gift for reading their natures and making use of them when he wants to."
"So it would seem." He answers. "I..."
He’s interrupted as Zane emerges from the hallway and walks out to their table.
"So, Zane," Damarest asks, looking up at his charge. "What of your meeting with Miss Morgan ?"
Zane smiles darkly and nods his head towards Damarest’s office.
"We have much to discuss." Is his satisfied reply.
LATER
"I’m coming to Outlast to take the World Heavyweight Championship," Zane proclaims with a malicious grin. "I’m not taking just because I deserve it. No. There’s far more to it than that for me."
He stands next to a table and picks a small controller up from it, rolling it back and forth in his massive right hand.
"For the last two years you fucks have booed me, and for the last two years I’ve wanted you to do just that. I’ve wanted you to boo me so loudly that your lungs bled and you went home hoarse. For two years that’s how this is how things have been and I’ve been happy with that."
He holds up a single finger, his expression icy.
"There's one gigantic problem with that though."
He pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing with apparent ire.
"You cheer people who are far, far worse than I am."
The statement is uttered as an unargubale fact. There is no anger or malice in it. It's just a statement of truth.
"Your heroes are nothing more than bullshit myths."
"There are no heroes here." He says derisively. "Only pacifying and deluding lies that are dressed up as heroes."
"No heroes here. None." He spits. "End of discussion."
"For those who aren’t convinced though, let’s go through your supposed heroes, one by one." He says. "You’ve built them up."
He makes a ripping gesture with his hands.
"I’m going to tear them down."
"When I’m finished I’m going to leave the little kids wailing. They’re going to be clutching and clawing at their mothers because I’ve destroyed their precious innocence."
An evil smile spreads across his face.
"Welcome to the real world, you little pricks."
He says it with great pleasure in his voice and on his face.
"You’re welcome."
He laughs sardonically before walking over to table and lifting a small hand held control up. He presses a button and a large projection screen slowly drops from the ceiling before settling in place. He picks up another controller and presses a button, then places it back onto the table. A moment later the lights go back down and he retrieves the other controller, pressing a button.
"Before I begin," he rumbles. "You won’t hear me saying much about Erika Langford, Gian Jones, Ryan Hanneman, Lucky, Mark Reznik, Victoria Jensen or Forewell Boding. I’m not going to say much about them because they aren’t worth the effort of discussing."
He pauses for a moment.
"Don’t get me wrong, sacrificial lambs have their places in matches like Outlast has.” He says with an evil grin. “I just never saw the point in throwing away a spot that could have been filled by someone capable."
"Mark Reznik is not special as wrestlers go, but he is determined."
He pauses for long enough to chuckle in amusement.
"I can use that."
He grins a mirthless and chilling grin.
"Langford, Jensen and Jones have little experience in a wrestling ring and Jones is too obsessed with getting white women to take their panties off."
He shakes his head and chuckles.
"I support Jones in his life goal," he says with another smirk. "It just isn’t going to win him many wrestling matches."
He continues speaking, moving the hand with the controller around as he does. It’s impossible to tell if the mannerism is intentional or sub-conscious.
"Hanneman and Lucky are DMW, so they can obviously throw down when the time comes." He explains. "The problem is that Hanneman has spent the last few months in jail and Lucky has never been in a wrestling ring before. Wrestling and bar fighting are nowhere near the same. I wouldn’t mind having either back me up in a brawl, but they’re both liabilities in a wrestling ring."
He shakes his head and momentarily puts the controller down.
"Forewell Boding." He says rather matter of factly. "When a genuine psychotic that thrives on getting his ass kicked and talks like a Marvel Comics anti-hero tells you that you need “psychological help”, it might just be time to re-evaluate your life a bit."
He laughs, shaking his head in genuine amusement.
"Not everyone is a part of some gigantic conspiracy, pal." He says with another laugh. "Some people are just dicks."
A low, rumbling and evil chuckle emanates from within him.
"Right now The Natural Born Killer might be feeling that way about you."
He chuckles again and pulls a plate out from behind the projector. It has a very large chunk of what looks like double chocolate chunk cake.
"You did promise him cake after all."
He picks the chunk up with his hand and bites a large chunk out of it, putting the rest back on the plate. He chews and swallows, finishing with a wide and satisfied grin.
"That’s really good."
He picks the controller back up and points it at the screen.
"Now, onto the “Main Event”, as it were."
He clicks the button and the smiling visage of “The Blessed One” Travis Roberts.
"Here’s your first “hero”, the “Blessed One” Travis Roberts."
He puts the controller down and shakes his head.
"Obviously this guy is a great wrestling talent and entertainer. No one would deny that, not even me." He says in a measured and almost clinical tone.
"He is no hero though."
He folds his massive arms across his chest and continues.
"What he is; is a self aggrandizing, egotistical and delusional ego maniac."
He lifts up his right hand and starts to gesture with it as he speaks.
"I don’t have an issue with that." He says. "I’m as much of an asshole as he is, if not far more of one and it really isn’t his doing that he’s back. Ooley and Vines are behind this. Travis is just here to profit from their stupidity."
He grins.
"Travis may be a delusional egomaniac, but he’s far from stupid."
He continues, once again waving his hand around for emphasis.
"The problem is that while Ooley and Vines, more likely Ooley, brought him back, they did it for the wrong reasons." He pauses for a moment to pick up a glass and take a large swig out of it.
"You can’t have chocolate cake without milk." He says with a smile. "It just doesn’t work."
He puts the glass down and resumes speaking.
"They two idiots brought him back so that they could try and put the World Title back on him and thereby in Ooley’s mind at least have a “Corporate Champion”."
He shakes his head in a gesture of both disgust and apparent amazement.
"To anyone with a brain, that has zero chance of working."
He picks the controller back up and points it towards the screen. The image changes to one of Roberts and Hastings standing side by side with their arms over their heads.
"Remember these two, “Blessed Immortality” ?" He says. "Remember “TWiSTeD” ? Travis is here for Travis and no one else. The idiot fans will cheer him and cheer him loudly. In the end though, he’s no hero. He’s just another selfish veteran who can’t let go."
He clicks a button on the controller and the image changes to a split screen of Phrixus Deimos and The Natural Born Killer.
"Our two masked men." He says. "Deimos and Killer."
"Obviously neither of these men is a hero." He explains. "Deimos a compulsive manipulator who cares about one thing and one things only, his legacy with the Cross-Hemisphere Championship. He doesn’t care how he gets it, how he keeps it or what his actions do to the legacy of it. As long as it’s his, that’s all that he cares about."
The left corner of his mouth curls up in disgust.
"What’s so “heroic” about that ?"
"The simple fact is that you are all easily lead sheep." He states. "I play head games and screw with Eden and other people and you hate me. Deimos does the exact same thing and you cheer him madly. As I said, I don’t want your cheers and your fake adulation. Just think about what cheering him while booing me says about you idiots though."
He puts the controller back down.
"Deimos is a lie that you fools are happy to keep telling yourselves." He sneers. "He can lie to himself about the honor of his intentions and you can keep lying to yourselves about how great a man he is. It’s a match made in some kind of delusional heaven."
He picks the cake up and bites another huge chuck out of it before placing it back on the table.
"This really is great cake."
He licks the frosting off of his fingers and pulls something out of his pocket. A red dot suddenly appears in the middle of the forehead of the Natural Born Killer.
"The Natural Born Killer." He says with a smirk. "Doesn’t the name say it all ?"
He lifts the cake back up and points at it.
"Listen “Killer”." He says with a sly grin. "If you want all of the cake that you can eat and access to all of the violence that you could ever possibly get off on, I’m the guy that you want to help."
He takes another chunk from the cake and puts the plate back down. He chews for a few moments and swallows with a smile.
"I get all of the violence that I could ever need." He states with a crooked smile. "The world is my whore."
"If you want access to all of the violence that you can get and all of the cake that you can eat, just help me get to the Main Event against Eden. I’ll hook you up afterward and you can even beat up on Eden for a little while for keeping me away from you."
He clicks again and the picture changes to that of Jordan King.
"This one’s a joke." Zane explains with obvious disgust. "How is this little bastard a “hero” to anyone ?"
His antipathy for “The Cyclone” is obvious and palpable.
"You’ve already showed everyone what you are made of when you tried to kill Jet Somers." He explains. "I don’t have a problem with the fact that you tried to end his career, it’s part of the sport after all. The fact that you claim to be a hero after trying to kill another man is just disgusting though."
He pauses briefly and rolls his eyes.
"Never mind the fact that you’re a liar." He continues. "This entire “ACL” story is a gigantic con. It’s a means of getting sympathy from those idiotic fans. It's a cheap play for even cheaper drama."
"It's cheaper than your little whore you call your wife," He says with a malicious grin." And that's saying something."
He follows up the insult with a vicious laugh.
"Step into the ring against me and I’ll make sure that you never walk again." He says. "I’ll rip that ACL out and choke you with it. For once you'll actually be honest about something."
He clicks the button again and it changes to show “Team Vain”.
"Vain..." He says. "Whether you can see it or not, our teams have mutual interests. Even if you don’t want to be rid of PMN, two of your teammates do. The other one, the additive, I already addressed."
"Let’s face it." He says. "Vain” is an arrogant ass. He cares about himself and only himself. I don’t personally find this offensive. I happen to find “Vain” very entertaining. Calling him a “hero” is asinine."
"That is unless your definition of “hero” is one who is only out for himself."
He shakes his head and smirks.
“If that’s your definition of the word,” Zane smirks. “Then I’m a Superman.”
He uses the pointer and aims it at >V<.
"He may tell you that he’s “Your Mother’s Favorite Wrestler” and all of that useless, clichéd shit," Zane grunts. "That doesn’t make him a hero."
"That doesn't mean that I wouldn't trust him to throw an insane, week long bender that no one would ever forget." He says. "THAT would be "heroic"."
He shakes his head and chuckles again.
"I wouldn’t trust him to do anything “heroic” in the normal use of the word though." He says, shrugging. "Unless your definition of “hero” involves worshiping a violent, anti-social misanthrope who drinks like alcohol is going to be banned again tomorrow."
He moves the pointer over to Jezebel Saint.
"As I said," He explains. "I’d love to party with the guy, but I wouldn’t trust him to save my life if it came down to it. I’d take my chances getting it done on my own."
He moves the pointer around, momentarily halting it over Jezebel’s chest with a lascivious grin before he moves it back to her face.
"Mrs. Cypress Morgan." He says with a smile. "Remember Jezebel, we have a deal going into Outlast."
"Need I say more ?"
He clicks the button again and it changes to Cypress Morgan and Chaos.
"It’s just business guys." He says with an evil smile. "We work well together. If I have to beat one or both of you into the canvas to claim the Championship that should be mine, understand that it’s just business. I don’t say this about too many people, but I like you guys. Where you go, violence and destruction follow in your wake. That’s my kind of party."
He clicks the button again and this time the image settles on the three members of “The Piercing Media Network.”
"If these three are your heroes," He says with a disgusted sneer. "Then your definition of the term is completely fucked up."
He lifts up the cake and tears another chunk out with his teeth, downing it in two massive chomps.
"This team is nothing more than betrayal waiting to happen." He explains. "In it you have a mentally unstable borderline psychotic who will eventually turn on his “friends” because he wants the World Championship. In the meantime he’s going to continue to see things, talk to people who aren’t there and get increasingly more violent and manipulative as he descends further and further into the throes of his own guilt driven madness."
Zane smiles darkly at the thought of it, drawing obvious pleasure from the thought of Jet’s ever increasing misery.
"Be ready sports fans," He says with a smirk. "It’s going to happen. I guarantee it."
He chuckles again and moves the pointer over to Travis Pierce.
"Hero number two," he says. "Travis Pierce."
He rolls his eyes and exhales loudly.
"Come on folks." Zane says with obvious disgust. "If this guy is your idea of a “hero”, than you’re setting the bar really, really low...lower than a midget's dick in fact."
He shakes his head again.
"Travis is nothing more than Jet’s willing stooge and the “good cop” to Jet’s “bad cop” bullshit with Eden." He says as shakes his head again. "Why does anyone take him seriously ? What has Travis done lately other than show that he is a spineless sycophant to Jet and the “big brother” replacement for Eden ?"
"Give me a break." He practically spits. "If Travis were any more pathetic he’d be JK or Forewell Boding, minus the paranoia."
A gigantic smile suddenly spreads across his face.
"Add another hundred pounds and a motorized wheel chair and he’s the new “Tate Levine”."
He moves the pointer over to Eden.
"Eden dear." He says. "You and I are going to dance in the Main Event."
He puts his arms out as if he's holding someone and starts to move in a slow circle.
"People have seen us talking a lot more lately and I’m sure that they’re dying to know what’s been said."
He chuckles with evil amusement.
"They’ll find out in due time."
He stops dancing and clicks the clicker again. The image changes from PMN to one of the World Championship.
"You have two things that belongs to me." He says with a devious chuckle. "The World Championship is one of them, and I know that you don’t want the stress of it anymore. I can see it in your face. I can see how much the growing suspicion of an impending betrayal by Jet and Travis is eating at you."
A sick smirk sets itself on the corner of his mouth.
"You can leave this all behind." He explains. "Drop the World Championship to me and leave Outlast at my side. I can make this all go away. You can have anything that you want and I can make sure that no one will ever bother you."
"Jet is too caught up in his own spiraling madness to give a damn about you." He says. "He wants the Championship. I can see it in his eyes."
He makes a stabbing and twisting gesture wit his free hand.
"I know that you hate me." He says with a grin. "The difference is that I’ve never lied to you. It’s all that Jet does and it’s what he’ll continue to do until he gets what he wants..."
"The Championship that you currently hold."
"Don’t think that he honestly trusts you Eden." Zane explains. "Don’t think that he really has your back. As far as he’s concerned, you’re a “Morgan” and that’s all you’ll ever really be to him. Eventually he’ll drop this asinine act and show you just how much he really gives a damn about you."
He rolls his shoulders and pops his jaw.
"I may not be “prince charming” to you." He says. "But at least when I tear out your heart, I’ll have the balls to do it with you looking me in the eyes."
"Think about that."
He turns the projector off and the lights come back up.
"In the end it really is this simple," Zane says. "This ridiculous hero worship cult that’s developed here shows just how out of whack things are."
"The mindless fans continually loudly cheer these insipid fools who do nothing but lie to them and to each other." He says with great animus and derision in his voice.
"They should be worshiping me, the members of the “Devil’s Most Wanted”, Ichabod and Raenius." He says with a smirk. "Sure, we’re violent, largely evil scum. At least we’re honest about who and what we are."
"In the end it is we, your villains who are the only honest people around here."
He puts the controller down and picks up the plate and glass. He downs the rest of the cake, shotguns the remaining milk and puts them both down on the table.
"I’m coming for my[/b] Championship." He states flatly.
"No one is going to stop me."
He puts the projector back on and stands in front of it with a sideways grin.
"In the meantime, enjoy this song that I picked out for all of you."
He turns and presses a button on the DVD player and a moment later a screen drops down from the ceiling and starts to play a video.
"This is a most intriguing turn of events."
Colin takes a drink from his beer and sets it back on the coaster that sits between the bottom of the bottle and the dark red tablecloth. His expression is thoughtful.
"Yes." He replies. "It’s unexpected. It could also turn into a tremendous boon in the long run."
Damarest nods in agreement but says nothing. Spyder gives no perceptible reaction; he just remains silent and apparently lost in thought with his beer engulfed by his massive hand. Damarest looks across the table to him and then to Colin. Colin catches the cue.
"Your thoughts, Jim ?" he says.
The enigmatic mountain of a man sits silently for a few more moments, his eyes seemingly devoid of focus in the “looking at everything and nothing” way that he’s known and feared for. When he finally does speak, he does so without looking at either man. His expression remains unchanged.
"I sensed no deception in her." He replies tonelessly.
He pauses, creating an odd silence in the room that most would find to be unnerving. Colin just lifts his beer from the table and leans back against the expensive red cushioning of the seat back. Damarest looks from Spyder to Colin and back to Spyder again, but says nothing. When Spyder finally answers he does so with a single word.
"Sorrow."
Damarest and Colin both look at each other before looking back at Spyder. Colin is smirking while Damarest looks intrigued, his expression quizzical.
"Sorrow ?" Damarest replies. "That's an interesting observation. I only sensed fear and trepidation. Perhaps a bit of self doubt as well."
This time Colin replies and his tone is amused and slightly chiding.
"In fairness David," he answers. "You are more finely attuned to fear and its many manifestations than you are to most other emotions."
Damarest nods his head and smiles at the observation.
"This is true." He states. "Still, though...sorrow ? I hadn’t considered that. She's normally so defiant. I could sense when she departed that something had deeply upset her, with that said, I saw no indication of sorrow in her eyes."
Spyder finally turns his head and looks at Damarest. His eyes are back in focus, in spite of the fact that he never appeared to blink.
"Yes, sorrow." He states. “She had the look in her eyes as if something had deeply shaken her foundational understanding of the universe. She had been forced to feel something that she was unprepared to feel and that realization had shaken her to the core of her being. That something was sorrow. I can only deduce that she felt it towards Zane. Consider how it would make you feel, how it would change you, if you suddenly felt as if you reason for hating your most despised enemy was suddenly no longer there.”
Colin lifts up his beer and tilts it towards Spyder before he takes a drink and swallows.
“Been there, done that.”
“Indeed.” Spyder replies. "And look where that has lead. We’ve been as close as brothers for nearly twenty years. It started at the moment that we both realized that we had far more in common as friends than we had differences as enemies. Feeling sympathy, let alone sorrow for one’s enemy is a nearly impossible emotion to reorient one’s self from, especially for one as young, inexperienced and naïve as Miss Morgan is."
Colin nods his head in agreement while Damarest lifts his hand up, placing it against his chin thoughtfully.
"Most perceptive, James." He replies.
Spyder declines his head slightly before looking at Damarest.
"We will see Miss Morgan change in the next few weeks," he explains. "I believe that she already has and is aware of this. I saw a different type of resolve in her face when she walked out. There’s been a seed planted in her head and it will grow whether she wishes for it to or not."
He pauses and takes a drink from his beer before he swallows it and sets it down on the table.
"Consider this as well," he continues. "She allowed herself to fall for the ruse that Chaos set for her. Think about what that implies. Deep down, she is still a child who needs to be accepted. She wanted so badly to believe that the violent, alcoholic misanthrope Chaos could suddenly have so staggering of a personality swing that he became the soft, effeminate and laughable "Chadwick T. Chaos", that she never accepted the obvious even though it was practically sitting on her face."
Colin replies to the last statement with a smirk and Damarest replies with a chuckle.
"There's an interesting visual metaphor," Colin replies with a short laugh.
"I presume that you mean the "obvious" to be that he was deceiving her the entire time." Damarest says.
Spyder slowly nods his head once before looking back at Damarest.
"Chadwick T. Chaos," Spyder answers. "He hid his duplicitous nature right out in plain sight for her to see and yet fooled her by tolling her the narrative that she wanted to hear. In the end, she was so desperate to hear and see what she wanted to, that she allowed herself to believe his "best friend" nonsense. It was a brilliant, if basic application of rudimentary human psychology."
Damarest replies with an evil smile and raises his glass in respect.
"You sir," he replies. "Are not a very nice man."
Spyder replies with a shrug before lifting up his beer and tipping it in return.
"I never claimed to be." He answers with a knowing smile.
Damarest looks at Colin, posing his next query to him.
"What do you think ?" he asks.
"I think that Jim is absolutely right." Colin replies. "If there is one thing about him that you should know by now, it’s that he understands how the human mind works and has a gift for reading their natures and making use of them when he wants to."
"So it would seem." He answers. "I..."
He’s interrupted as Zane emerges from the hallway and walks out to their table.
"So, Zane," Damarest asks, looking up at his charge. "What of your meeting with Miss Morgan ?"
Zane smiles darkly and nods his head towards Damarest’s office.
"We have much to discuss." Is his satisfied reply.
LATER
"I’m coming to Outlast to take the World Heavyweight Championship," Zane proclaims with a malicious grin. "I’m not taking just because I deserve it. No. There’s far more to it than that for me."
He stands next to a table and picks a small controller up from it, rolling it back and forth in his massive right hand.
"For the last two years you fucks have booed me, and for the last two years I’ve wanted you to do just that. I’ve wanted you to boo me so loudly that your lungs bled and you went home hoarse. For two years that’s how this is how things have been and I’ve been happy with that."
He holds up a single finger, his expression icy.
"There's one gigantic problem with that though."
He pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing with apparent ire.
"You cheer people who are far, far worse than I am."
The statement is uttered as an unargubale fact. There is no anger or malice in it. It's just a statement of truth.
"Your heroes are nothing more than bullshit myths."
"There are no heroes here." He says derisively. "Only pacifying and deluding lies that are dressed up as heroes."
"No heroes here. None." He spits. "End of discussion."
"For those who aren’t convinced though, let’s go through your supposed heroes, one by one." He says. "You’ve built them up."
He makes a ripping gesture with his hands.
"I’m going to tear them down."
"When I’m finished I’m going to leave the little kids wailing. They’re going to be clutching and clawing at their mothers because I’ve destroyed their precious innocence."
An evil smile spreads across his face.
"Welcome to the real world, you little pricks."
He says it with great pleasure in his voice and on his face.
"You’re welcome."
He laughs sardonically before walking over to table and lifting a small hand held control up. He presses a button and a large projection screen slowly drops from the ceiling before settling in place. He picks up another controller and presses a button, then places it back onto the table. A moment later the lights go back down and he retrieves the other controller, pressing a button.
"Before I begin," he rumbles. "You won’t hear me saying much about Erika Langford, Gian Jones, Ryan Hanneman, Lucky, Mark Reznik, Victoria Jensen or Forewell Boding. I’m not going to say much about them because they aren’t worth the effort of discussing."
He pauses for a moment.
"Don’t get me wrong, sacrificial lambs have their places in matches like Outlast has.” He says with an evil grin. “I just never saw the point in throwing away a spot that could have been filled by someone capable."
"Mark Reznik is not special as wrestlers go, but he is determined."
He pauses for long enough to chuckle in amusement.
"I can use that."
He grins a mirthless and chilling grin.
"Langford, Jensen and Jones have little experience in a wrestling ring and Jones is too obsessed with getting white women to take their panties off."
He shakes his head and chuckles.
"I support Jones in his life goal," he says with another smirk. "It just isn’t going to win him many wrestling matches."
He continues speaking, moving the hand with the controller around as he does. It’s impossible to tell if the mannerism is intentional or sub-conscious.
"Hanneman and Lucky are DMW, so they can obviously throw down when the time comes." He explains. "The problem is that Hanneman has spent the last few months in jail and Lucky has never been in a wrestling ring before. Wrestling and bar fighting are nowhere near the same. I wouldn’t mind having either back me up in a brawl, but they’re both liabilities in a wrestling ring."
He shakes his head and momentarily puts the controller down.
"Forewell Boding." He says rather matter of factly. "When a genuine psychotic that thrives on getting his ass kicked and talks like a Marvel Comics anti-hero tells you that you need “psychological help”, it might just be time to re-evaluate your life a bit."
He laughs, shaking his head in genuine amusement.
"Not everyone is a part of some gigantic conspiracy, pal." He says with another laugh. "Some people are just dicks."
A low, rumbling and evil chuckle emanates from within him.
"Right now The Natural Born Killer might be feeling that way about you."
He chuckles again and pulls a plate out from behind the projector. It has a very large chunk of what looks like double chocolate chunk cake.
"You did promise him cake after all."
He picks the chunk up with his hand and bites a large chunk out of it, putting the rest back on the plate. He chews and swallows, finishing with a wide and satisfied grin.
"That’s really good."
He picks the controller back up and points it at the screen.
"Now, onto the “Main Event”, as it were."
He clicks the button and the smiling visage of “The Blessed One” Travis Roberts.
"Here’s your first “hero”, the “Blessed One” Travis Roberts."
He puts the controller down and shakes his head.
"Obviously this guy is a great wrestling talent and entertainer. No one would deny that, not even me." He says in a measured and almost clinical tone.
"He is no hero though."
He folds his massive arms across his chest and continues.
"What he is; is a self aggrandizing, egotistical and delusional ego maniac."
He lifts up his right hand and starts to gesture with it as he speaks.
"I don’t have an issue with that." He says. "I’m as much of an asshole as he is, if not far more of one and it really isn’t his doing that he’s back. Ooley and Vines are behind this. Travis is just here to profit from their stupidity."
He grins.
"Travis may be a delusional egomaniac, but he’s far from stupid."
He continues, once again waving his hand around for emphasis.
"The problem is that while Ooley and Vines, more likely Ooley, brought him back, they did it for the wrong reasons." He pauses for a moment to pick up a glass and take a large swig out of it.
"You can’t have chocolate cake without milk." He says with a smile. "It just doesn’t work."
He puts the glass down and resumes speaking.
"They two idiots brought him back so that they could try and put the World Title back on him and thereby in Ooley’s mind at least have a “Corporate Champion”."
He shakes his head in a gesture of both disgust and apparent amazement.
"To anyone with a brain, that has zero chance of working."
He picks the controller back up and points it towards the screen. The image changes to one of Roberts and Hastings standing side by side with their arms over their heads.
"Remember these two, “Blessed Immortality” ?" He says. "Remember “TWiSTeD” ? Travis is here for Travis and no one else. The idiot fans will cheer him and cheer him loudly. In the end though, he’s no hero. He’s just another selfish veteran who can’t let go."
He clicks a button on the controller and the image changes to a split screen of Phrixus Deimos and The Natural Born Killer.
"Our two masked men." He says. "Deimos and Killer."
"Obviously neither of these men is a hero." He explains. "Deimos a compulsive manipulator who cares about one thing and one things only, his legacy with the Cross-Hemisphere Championship. He doesn’t care how he gets it, how he keeps it or what his actions do to the legacy of it. As long as it’s his, that’s all that he cares about."
The left corner of his mouth curls up in disgust.
"What’s so “heroic” about that ?"
"The simple fact is that you are all easily lead sheep." He states. "I play head games and screw with Eden and other people and you hate me. Deimos does the exact same thing and you cheer him madly. As I said, I don’t want your cheers and your fake adulation. Just think about what cheering him while booing me says about you idiots though."
He puts the controller back down.
"Deimos is a lie that you fools are happy to keep telling yourselves." He sneers. "He can lie to himself about the honor of his intentions and you can keep lying to yourselves about how great a man he is. It’s a match made in some kind of delusional heaven."
He picks the cake up and bites another huge chuck out of it before placing it back on the table.
"This really is great cake."
He licks the frosting off of his fingers and pulls something out of his pocket. A red dot suddenly appears in the middle of the forehead of the Natural Born Killer.
"The Natural Born Killer." He says with a smirk. "Doesn’t the name say it all ?"
He lifts the cake back up and points at it.
"Listen “Killer”." He says with a sly grin. "If you want all of the cake that you can eat and access to all of the violence that you could ever possibly get off on, I’m the guy that you want to help."
He takes another chunk from the cake and puts the plate back down. He chews for a few moments and swallows with a smile.
"I get all of the violence that I could ever need." He states with a crooked smile. "The world is my whore."
"If you want access to all of the violence that you can get and all of the cake that you can eat, just help me get to the Main Event against Eden. I’ll hook you up afterward and you can even beat up on Eden for a little while for keeping me away from you."
He clicks again and the picture changes to that of Jordan King.
"This one’s a joke." Zane explains with obvious disgust. "How is this little bastard a “hero” to anyone ?"
His antipathy for “The Cyclone” is obvious and palpable.
"You’ve already showed everyone what you are made of when you tried to kill Jet Somers." He explains. "I don’t have a problem with the fact that you tried to end his career, it’s part of the sport after all. The fact that you claim to be a hero after trying to kill another man is just disgusting though."
He pauses briefly and rolls his eyes.
"Never mind the fact that you’re a liar." He continues. "This entire “ACL” story is a gigantic con. It’s a means of getting sympathy from those idiotic fans. It's a cheap play for even cheaper drama."
"It's cheaper than your little whore you call your wife," He says with a malicious grin." And that's saying something."
He follows up the insult with a vicious laugh.
"Step into the ring against me and I’ll make sure that you never walk again." He says. "I’ll rip that ACL out and choke you with it. For once you'll actually be honest about something."
He clicks the button again and it changes to show “Team Vain”.
"Vain..." He says. "Whether you can see it or not, our teams have mutual interests. Even if you don’t want to be rid of PMN, two of your teammates do. The other one, the additive, I already addressed."
"Let’s face it." He says. "Vain” is an arrogant ass. He cares about himself and only himself. I don’t personally find this offensive. I happen to find “Vain” very entertaining. Calling him a “hero” is asinine."
"That is unless your definition of “hero” is one who is only out for himself."
He shakes his head and smirks.
“If that’s your definition of the word,” Zane smirks. “Then I’m a Superman.”
He uses the pointer and aims it at >V<.
"He may tell you that he’s “Your Mother’s Favorite Wrestler” and all of that useless, clichéd shit," Zane grunts. "That doesn’t make him a hero."
"That doesn't mean that I wouldn't trust him to throw an insane, week long bender that no one would ever forget." He says. "THAT would be "heroic"."
He shakes his head and chuckles again.
"I wouldn’t trust him to do anything “heroic” in the normal use of the word though." He says, shrugging. "Unless your definition of “hero” involves worshiping a violent, anti-social misanthrope who drinks like alcohol is going to be banned again tomorrow."
He moves the pointer over to Jezebel Saint.
"As I said," He explains. "I’d love to party with the guy, but I wouldn’t trust him to save my life if it came down to it. I’d take my chances getting it done on my own."
He moves the pointer around, momentarily halting it over Jezebel’s chest with a lascivious grin before he moves it back to her face.
"Mrs. Cypress Morgan." He says with a smile. "Remember Jezebel, we have a deal going into Outlast."
"Need I say more ?"
He clicks the button again and it changes to Cypress Morgan and Chaos.
"It’s just business guys." He says with an evil smile. "We work well together. If I have to beat one or both of you into the canvas to claim the Championship that should be mine, understand that it’s just business. I don’t say this about too many people, but I like you guys. Where you go, violence and destruction follow in your wake. That’s my kind of party."
He clicks the button again and this time the image settles on the three members of “The Piercing Media Network.”
"If these three are your heroes," He says with a disgusted sneer. "Then your definition of the term is completely fucked up."
He lifts up the cake and tears another chunk out with his teeth, downing it in two massive chomps.
"This team is nothing more than betrayal waiting to happen." He explains. "In it you have a mentally unstable borderline psychotic who will eventually turn on his “friends” because he wants the World Championship. In the meantime he’s going to continue to see things, talk to people who aren’t there and get increasingly more violent and manipulative as he descends further and further into the throes of his own guilt driven madness."
Zane smiles darkly at the thought of it, drawing obvious pleasure from the thought of Jet’s ever increasing misery.
"Be ready sports fans," He says with a smirk. "It’s going to happen. I guarantee it."
He chuckles again and moves the pointer over to Travis Pierce.
"Hero number two," he says. "Travis Pierce."
He rolls his eyes and exhales loudly.
"Come on folks." Zane says with obvious disgust. "If this guy is your idea of a “hero”, than you’re setting the bar really, really low...lower than a midget's dick in fact."
He shakes his head again.
"Travis is nothing more than Jet’s willing stooge and the “good cop” to Jet’s “bad cop” bullshit with Eden." He says as shakes his head again. "Why does anyone take him seriously ? What has Travis done lately other than show that he is a spineless sycophant to Jet and the “big brother” replacement for Eden ?"
"Give me a break." He practically spits. "If Travis were any more pathetic he’d be JK or Forewell Boding, minus the paranoia."
A gigantic smile suddenly spreads across his face.
"Add another hundred pounds and a motorized wheel chair and he’s the new “Tate Levine”."
He moves the pointer over to Eden.
"Eden dear." He says. "You and I are going to dance in the Main Event."
He puts his arms out as if he's holding someone and starts to move in a slow circle.
"People have seen us talking a lot more lately and I’m sure that they’re dying to know what’s been said."
He chuckles with evil amusement.
"They’ll find out in due time."
He stops dancing and clicks the clicker again. The image changes from PMN to one of the World Championship.
"You have two things that belongs to me." He says with a devious chuckle. "The World Championship is one of them, and I know that you don’t want the stress of it anymore. I can see it in your face. I can see how much the growing suspicion of an impending betrayal by Jet and Travis is eating at you."
A sick smirk sets itself on the corner of his mouth.
"You can leave this all behind." He explains. "Drop the World Championship to me and leave Outlast at my side. I can make this all go away. You can have anything that you want and I can make sure that no one will ever bother you."
"Jet is too caught up in his own spiraling madness to give a damn about you." He says. "He wants the Championship. I can see it in his eyes."
He makes a stabbing and twisting gesture wit his free hand.
"I know that you hate me." He says with a grin. "The difference is that I’ve never lied to you. It’s all that Jet does and it’s what he’ll continue to do until he gets what he wants..."
"The Championship that you currently hold."
"Don’t think that he honestly trusts you Eden." Zane explains. "Don’t think that he really has your back. As far as he’s concerned, you’re a “Morgan” and that’s all you’ll ever really be to him. Eventually he’ll drop this asinine act and show you just how much he really gives a damn about you."
He rolls his shoulders and pops his jaw.
"I may not be “prince charming” to you." He says. "But at least when I tear out your heart, I’ll have the balls to do it with you looking me in the eyes."
"Think about that."
He turns the projector off and the lights come back up.
"In the end it really is this simple," Zane says. "This ridiculous hero worship cult that’s developed here shows just how out of whack things are."
"The mindless fans continually loudly cheer these insipid fools who do nothing but lie to them and to each other." He says with great animus and derision in his voice.
"They should be worshiping me, the members of the “Devil’s Most Wanted”, Ichabod and Raenius." He says with a smirk. "Sure, we’re violent, largely evil scum. At least we’re honest about who and what we are."
"In the end it is we, your villains who are the only honest people around here."
He puts the controller down and picks up the plate and glass. He downs the rest of the cake, shotguns the remaining milk and puts them both down on the table.
"I’m coming for my[/b] Championship." He states flatly.
"No one is going to stop me."
He puts the projector back on and stands in front of it with a sideways grin.
"In the meantime, enjoy this song that I picked out for all of you."
He turns and presses a button on the DVD player and a moment later a screen drops down from the ceiling and starts to play a video.