Post by Zane on Dec 3, 2014 19:18:15 GMT -5
“I’m as good as a god here.” The image of Jet Somers says, eyes narrowing. “Make them worship me.”
The phrase is answered by a slow and sardonic chuckle. There’s no face to the laugh just yet, although it’s not hard to figure out who it is attached to. It stays quiet for a few seconds before the voice speaks again. His tone is calm, reflective and almost amused.
“It’s not every day that you wake up tied to a holiday icon.” He quips. “It would have been more appropriate had you tied me to it upside down.”
Another slow laugh emanates from him. The screen that had shown the face of Somers slowly fades out to black but remains on as small green light remains glowing in the bottom left corner of it.
“If I’m not mistaken the worse of the worst criminals were often crucified that way.” He says, his tone matter of fact. “If you think that I’m not still the worst of the worst, your ego is getting the better of you.”
The lights come up to focus on the wreath that Zane Scott had been suspended from dangling from the ceiling in the center of the room. The wreath looks slightly worse for wear with a few missing lights and some of the branches removed from it. A pair of wires hang from the outside edges of it on both sides and look as if they’ve been cut fairly recently.
“It gives you a different perspective on your life to wake up that way.” He continues. “I watched you stand down there in the ring and talk trash about PMN while talking up your boy. There’s a funny thing about that though, and I’ll get to that later.”
The screen comes flares to life to show Jet’s satisfied face.
“And I’ve realized, being a benevolent god, I should give something back.”
The screen freezes on his expression, drawing particular attention to the zeal and self-aggrandizing pride in his eyes. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, these windows look in on a house of wall to wall self-deification.
“It amuses me that you choose to continue evoking the bible.” Zane says from the darkness. “You’ve been quoting it quite a bit lately. You’ve been telling everyone for weeks, if not months, that you’re a god that we should be worshipping. I’m not a religious man and in fact I have no use for religion except as amusing fairytales. Since you’re running with that theme though, allow me to share one with you.”
The screen comes back on again, this time showing a still image of Somers with a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he sits atop his throne of World Championships.
“Let no one deceive you in any way; for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first and the lawless one is revealed, the one destined for destruction. He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God.”
The screen remains on, focused on the image of Jet sitting on the throne that he’d had made for himself.
“Now, while I think those biblical lines are cute little nod to a bunch of dusty old nonsense.” Zane says, briefly pausing. “You’ve chosen to embrace that nonsense as a way of life, and while you’ve done that, you’ve fallen into exactly what you’ve often criticized others for.”
He pauses for a moment.
“You’ve fallen victim to your own hype.”
He pauses for a moment, once again punctuating it with a chuckle.
“You claim that you’re doing this to “give something back” to your favorite lackey.” He continues.
He pauses for a moment.
“I don’t buy your bullshit for a second.” He says.
He continues speaking out of the darkness, as the image continues to focus on Jet’s smug visage.
“You’ve always hated me Jet, but you haven’t hated me because you have a good reason to.” He says. “You’ve always hated me because I see through your bull and call you on it as often and as loudly as I can.”
Zane laughs again, this one far more snide and mocking.
“You’re the lie made flesh.” He says. “You don’t give two shits about Trevor. He’s nothing more than the vulnerable puppy that you drag around for you so that you can beg for sympathy when it strays in front of the wrong foot and gets kicked.”
Another as yet unseen television comes on and shows juxtaposed videos of Trevor being felled by Eden with the “Fall of Eden” while the other one shows some unidentified person drop kicking a Golden Retriever puppy across a field. It disappears with a yelp as the image switches to the single image of Eden standing over the fallen Trevor Sharp.
“That’s all Trevor is to you.” Zane says snidely. “You can claim all that you want that he’s your brother and your best friend. The funny thing about that was that you refused to mention him until the very end.”
The image disappears from the screen, leaving it black again.
“You’re doing this for you.” Zane says. “And only you. Trevor is just your convenient cover so that your status with the mindless masses as their hero remains intact.”
The screen suddenly leaps to life with an image of Zane lifting Jet over his head by his throat before flattening him with the “Piercing Misery”. This image stays on the screen while Zane speaks.
“There’s one problem with your desired narrative.” Zane says.
There’s a long pause before he resumes speaking.
“You’re no god.” He flatly states. “However, if you want to continue seeing yourself and proclaiming yourself as not just “a” “god”, but “God”, with a capital “g”...”.
The light finally comes on to show Zane’s smiling face as the screen snuffs out and back into blackness.
“I’d be happy to partake in a time honored tradition of humanity.”
The image focuses on the wreath as Zane lifts something up to it, flicking it to life with a single finger.
“Deicide.”
The wreath suddenly bursts into flames. They start small at first, with a few small fingers of orange and yellow glow licking at the base of it. After a few moments the flames begin to slowly work their way up the sides of the wreath and grow in intensity. It’s not long before the entire circle is engulfed in flames. It’s at that moment that a small square of lights begin to flash in the center of the wreath, outlining the object that sits in the center. The image gets closer until the image is clear.
It’s a picture of a smiling Jet Somers holding the World Heavyweight Championship.
Soon, it too is engulfed in flames, rapidly burning away to the punctuating sound of exploding Christmas lights until it finally falls to the floor.
The phrase is answered by a slow and sardonic chuckle. There’s no face to the laugh just yet, although it’s not hard to figure out who it is attached to. It stays quiet for a few seconds before the voice speaks again. His tone is calm, reflective and almost amused.
“It’s not every day that you wake up tied to a holiday icon.” He quips. “It would have been more appropriate had you tied me to it upside down.”
Another slow laugh emanates from him. The screen that had shown the face of Somers slowly fades out to black but remains on as small green light remains glowing in the bottom left corner of it.
“If I’m not mistaken the worse of the worst criminals were often crucified that way.” He says, his tone matter of fact. “If you think that I’m not still the worst of the worst, your ego is getting the better of you.”
The lights come up to focus on the wreath that Zane Scott had been suspended from dangling from the ceiling in the center of the room. The wreath looks slightly worse for wear with a few missing lights and some of the branches removed from it. A pair of wires hang from the outside edges of it on both sides and look as if they’ve been cut fairly recently.
“It gives you a different perspective on your life to wake up that way.” He continues. “I watched you stand down there in the ring and talk trash about PMN while talking up your boy. There’s a funny thing about that though, and I’ll get to that later.”
The screen comes flares to life to show Jet’s satisfied face.
“And I’ve realized, being a benevolent god, I should give something back.”
The screen freezes on his expression, drawing particular attention to the zeal and self-aggrandizing pride in his eyes. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, these windows look in on a house of wall to wall self-deification.
“It amuses me that you choose to continue evoking the bible.” Zane says from the darkness. “You’ve been quoting it quite a bit lately. You’ve been telling everyone for weeks, if not months, that you’re a god that we should be worshipping. I’m not a religious man and in fact I have no use for religion except as amusing fairytales. Since you’re running with that theme though, allow me to share one with you.”
The screen comes back on again, this time showing a still image of Somers with a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he sits atop his throne of World Championships.
“Let no one deceive you in any way; for that day will not come unless the rebellion comes first and the lawless one is revealed, the one destined for destruction. He opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God.”
The screen remains on, focused on the image of Jet sitting on the throne that he’d had made for himself.
“Now, while I think those biblical lines are cute little nod to a bunch of dusty old nonsense.” Zane says, briefly pausing. “You’ve chosen to embrace that nonsense as a way of life, and while you’ve done that, you’ve fallen into exactly what you’ve often criticized others for.”
He pauses for a moment.
“You’ve fallen victim to your own hype.”
He pauses for a moment, once again punctuating it with a chuckle.
“You claim that you’re doing this to “give something back” to your favorite lackey.” He continues.
He pauses for a moment.
“I don’t buy your bullshit for a second.” He says.
He continues speaking out of the darkness, as the image continues to focus on Jet’s smug visage.
“You’ve always hated me Jet, but you haven’t hated me because you have a good reason to.” He says. “You’ve always hated me because I see through your bull and call you on it as often and as loudly as I can.”
Zane laughs again, this one far more snide and mocking.
“You’re the lie made flesh.” He says. “You don’t give two shits about Trevor. He’s nothing more than the vulnerable puppy that you drag around for you so that you can beg for sympathy when it strays in front of the wrong foot and gets kicked.”
Another as yet unseen television comes on and shows juxtaposed videos of Trevor being felled by Eden with the “Fall of Eden” while the other one shows some unidentified person drop kicking a Golden Retriever puppy across a field. It disappears with a yelp as the image switches to the single image of Eden standing over the fallen Trevor Sharp.
“That’s all Trevor is to you.” Zane says snidely. “You can claim all that you want that he’s your brother and your best friend. The funny thing about that was that you refused to mention him until the very end.”
The image disappears from the screen, leaving it black again.
“You’re doing this for you.” Zane says. “And only you. Trevor is just your convenient cover so that your status with the mindless masses as their hero remains intact.”
The screen suddenly leaps to life with an image of Zane lifting Jet over his head by his throat before flattening him with the “Piercing Misery”. This image stays on the screen while Zane speaks.
“There’s one problem with your desired narrative.” Zane says.
There’s a long pause before he resumes speaking.
“You’re no god.” He flatly states. “However, if you want to continue seeing yourself and proclaiming yourself as not just “a” “god”, but “God”, with a capital “g”...”.
The light finally comes on to show Zane’s smiling face as the screen snuffs out and back into blackness.
“I’d be happy to partake in a time honored tradition of humanity.”
The image focuses on the wreath as Zane lifts something up to it, flicking it to life with a single finger.
“Deicide.”
The wreath suddenly bursts into flames. They start small at first, with a few small fingers of orange and yellow glow licking at the base of it. After a few moments the flames begin to slowly work their way up the sides of the wreath and grow in intensity. It’s not long before the entire circle is engulfed in flames. It’s at that moment that a small square of lights begin to flash in the center of the wreath, outlining the object that sits in the center. The image gets closer until the image is clear.
It’s a picture of a smiling Jet Somers holding the World Heavyweight Championship.
Soon, it too is engulfed in flames, rapidly burning away to the punctuating sound of exploding Christmas lights until it finally falls to the floor.