Post by The Hannahverser on Oct 16, 2016 2:52:00 GMT
OMEGA
You misunderstand me, you giant fucknugget.
And I’m okay with that.
This was never about a message sent in order for you to understand it. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, in spite of “not giving a shit”, and for that you will be rewarded, once more, with more shit you don’t need to go with that useless belt I don’t want, that has come to define you.
In this generation invariably dumber than its parents there aren’t many who can watch an entire Wicked broadcast, let alone sit through an entire Press promo, and if I understand all that what makes you certain I give a fuck if anyone cares what’s behind this mask, or what I’m on about?
Sure as shit not hoping to be “sold” or “put over” by people who can’t even do that for themselves.
This isn’t miracle on 34th Street, motherfucker. I don’t need to hear a damn bell to score some wings, or actualize my next trick.
What’s gonna happen, is gonna happen whether you like it or not, whether you believe or don’t believe.
And maybe, if Calvin Harris is lucky, I’ll give him something else to bitch about before the week is over.
This is Deus speaking.
--Ω - - Ω--
Pain slipped her in and out of sleep. Her eyes would flutter awake and it was like she could feel her back bending awkwardly across those steel ring steps in slow motion all over again. In spite of the padded standard-issue Deus costume she’d been wearing, protection had been slight, and she’d taken the full brunt of the BombTrax’ wrath, and she’d done so willfully and blissfully.
The sound of the heart monitor beeping resonated in the single bed hospital room. Nurse Cunningham opened the door, the light from the hallway creating a slice of light into the darkened bedroom as she reached for the light switch.
“Okay, Jane, time for—“
“Leave it off,” came the hoarse bark of a whisper.
Nurse Cunnigham shook her head and chuckled thickly as she stepped inside the room and instantly felt a chill. She inhaled sharply and eyed the open window where thick, white gauzy curtains blew in the wind spilling in from outside.
She stepped to the window and peered out into the night as her fingers gripped the sill and readied to close it.
“Leave it open.”
Nurse Cunnigham glared over her shoulder at her patient in the darkness and somber moonlight.
“Girl, you are going to catch your death leaving this window open.”
“I'm waiting for someone.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nurse Cunningham resignedly let her fingers slip from the windowsill and turned to face her patient.
Severe abdominal strain, several impacted vertebrae, two broken ribs and a fractured wrist laying motionless in the bed. She hadn’t moved so far as Nurse Cunningham could tell for two weeks.
Understandable.
They’d brought her in donning a god-awful metal roman gladiator mask she refused to allow them to remove and a padded zip-up mechanics suit. Stage wear from the local wrestling promotion. She eerily peered out at them without a word as they pressed her for information and began treatment without consent.
Once the unpleasantness was over, the hospital gown taking the place of the get-up and the morphine had set in, they’d found it impossible to identify her and so had become Jane Doe.
“I’d say it’s lights out, honey, but you’re way ahead of me.”
She snickered as she stepped past the bed for the door.
“He’s coming for me, you know?”
Nurse Cunningham smiled unseen at her patient in the darkness. Statements of this nature were common utterance from this one she’d been told from other night nurses on duty.
“I’m sure he is, sweetie. Sleep well.”
She exited, and the chill settled in the room amidst the soft blow of the hinting early winter wind through the window.
“Deus.”
She grinned, and could see her breath as it sifted through the grit of her teeth like grating and plumed into the air and dissipated like vapor.
“Yes,” came the whisper from the curtains.
She smiled, her eyes closing tightly amidst the sudden tingling sensation in her spine forcing a wince.”
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough.”
She settled into comfort as the figure moved soundlessly into her room and stood next to her bed. In the darkness, only a metal mask reflected light as though it alone hung in mid air over like a guardian. She smiled again and lamely slid her taped arm along the bedspread toward where the hand must be.
“You did well.” the voice soothed out in a ghostly whisper to her.
“Thank you,” she sighed, unable to feel her feet. “You knew they would attack. You knew they’d come for blood.” Her hand balled onto the bedsheets when she couldn’t find the hand of Deus. She tilted her head sideways to regard the lifeless face of the mask staring down at her
“Yes.” The voice’s deep modulated timbre became a quiet growl. “It could’ve been anyone under that mask. It could’ve been his bartender friend. That could’ve been the Lady Munin hiding beneath. It could’ve even been Calvin Harris, though I doubt he lacks the talent to pull it off quite as well as you have, my dear.”
She cringes, wincing and hiding the momentary jolt of pain surging through her neck. The hiss of Deus appeared to notice, the anger welled up inside of the deep, dark voice.
“The BombTrax lay out a targeted assault on an opponent that was, by their own admission, not their actual target. They were aiming for ME, yet they willingly hit you. They have all the precision of a United States bombing campaign in Syria. So much for a self-described ‘code of honor’. They will pay for every moment you have suffered. Press will taste every tooth I personally knock down his throat on your account.”
“Be careful,” she winced, knowingly.
The mask tilted sideways and leant downward to her face.
“How much pain have they caused you?”
Her head shook without lifting from the pillow, a lovesick grin appearing on her lips.
“None. I did it for you. It was worth it. You don’t need to—“”
A growl set in slow and guttural from the chest of Deus.
“You would supplicate for mercy for a man who would willingly try to cripple you, a person he doesn’t even know?”
Fingers tightened around her jaw as the metallic mask drew closer, eye to eye. She whimpered softly.
“For you, what comes next will be all the sweeter when I knock that tall drink of dirty water right off his high horse. For you comes the sacrifice of a face. For you I will do what none have done. Karma’s a bitch and this one’s due. Three times the charm, dear. For your pain will become his.”
She grinned stupidly up at the mask hovering over her as the fingers let go and let the back of her head slump into the pillow. The room door opened and Nurse Cunningham poked her head inside.
“Are you still awake?”
Jane Doe fidgeted and glanced around as the slivers of light from the hallway pierced into the room, but no mask was there to reflect them. Nurse Cunningham stepped inside carrying a tray, her other hand forcing on the light switch.
“I’m sorry, but I forgot to give you your pain medicine.”
The light illuminated all four corners of the room, and her eyes stole in every direction laying sight on only the plainness of the room. Nurse Cunningham watched with a frown.
“Are you okay?”
“He came.”
She grinned at her nurse. Nurse Cunningham nodded good-naturedly and continued into the room with a shiver.
“Of course he did, dear.” The brightness of her smile betrayed no hint of her genuine, burgeoning concern over the mental state of her charge as she continued about her duty, setting the tray down containing a cup of water and a small cup of two pills. “It’s so cold in here. I don’t know how you can stand it.” She smiled at Jane Doe.
“You can close the window if you want.”
“Isn’t that how your friend comes to see you?”
Her head shook softly as Nurse Cunningham shrugged and strode across the floor to close the window.
-- Ω - - Ω --
And so the two made their way down to that ring after that match had finished. Two new additions to a roster who chose to attack the biggest, baddest target they could find.
Me:
Five foot five, weighing in at who the fuck cares. The same person who’d just lately been revealed to be some chick and stood the federation on its head.
The one who’d spent a month instilling fear and eliciting reactions from even the most ephemeral of roster members in a way you BombTrax never could.
You know me, the one everyone else dubbed a monster.
I never chose that moniker, by the way.
It was given to me.
I’d made a name by being better than all of them.
I’d made a name by being the baddest of them.
You made a name for yourselves that night at my expense, because what better way to establish a name and put yourselves over than to detract from another’s greatness?
My fight wasn’t with you two fucks.
But still, without a single…. Fucking… care in the world you said to yourselves: Let’s take our long curly pig-tail haired asses down to the ring and do the bidding of a woman we just met.
And it’s ME you call a coward.
Two. Against. One.
Two at the behest of one tiny, conniving, useless little woman whose hype has continued to overstate her utter lack of a presence.
A woman who’s level of investment in you two hasn’t genuinely garnered the reaction you’ve wanted.
They all claim to be the reason for Pure Amusement’s success if you care to listen. You just walk out and beat up on the problems when they get out of control. Backstage assaults that act on surprise.
The same shit you fault me for.
Harris is right, isn’t he? Munin coddles you two. She has from the beginning when she showed you into that first rag-tag carnival you joined and pointed you to me because I was a problem she couldn’t deal with on her own.
And I’m the coward?
Johnny Raike couldn’t cut it on his own, so he drew out the moo cow and let her take his lumps for him while he was learning a brand new lesson.
Then you two came out.
Again:
Two. Against. One.
See this time it’s different, big man.
This time I’ve chosen to make this a two against one in my favor.
There’s the mask… and the body that it sits atop of, and the mind it shrouds, and the face you could care less about.
I’m an army, Preston.
Legion.
I am purpose incarnate.
You?
You don’t give a fuck.
Me?
As you say, I’ve spent a year almost to the day waiting for the moment when I could stand across from you and do to you exactly what you did to me.
I have spent days, weeks, and months watching every single match this pathetic federation has pumped out. While you were giving it all on those nights, I was preparing to give it all on this night, Press.
And I have still so much more to show you.
--Ω - - Ω--
There in Nova Wonder’s living room with the lights turned off and presumably no one home,with the volume from the television blaring loud enough to reverberate through the house sat Deus basking in the glow of the screen playing back a rebroadcast of PAW’s last edition of Wicked. Its mud-encrusted boots up on the couch, diving a gloved hand into a bag of popcorn and coming up with some buttered popped kernels, spilling still more of the popcorn all over the floor, then attempting to jam the popcorn in through the mask.
“*Muffled, garbled failed attempt at feeding itself*”
The mangled popcorn spills onto the couch.
“Son of a bitch how the fuck do I eat?!”
Deus rises in an outrage and spills the remains of the popcorn in the process.
“See what you made me do?”
After an angry kick into the coffee table that topples it onto it’s side, the mask turns to face a stationary camera focused on it.
“This is all your fucking fault, Calvin. If you’d sold this shit like you NEVER FUCKING DO I wouldn’t have to go and make a damn mess in your girlfriend’s house.”
Deus angrily strides past the mess of popcorn and plucks the camera off it’s perch and brings the device along with it as it pounds up the steps, keeping the camera turned and facing the mask.
“I’ve been leaving floaters in your toilet, Calvin. What’s interesting if not entirely unsurprising is you and your girlfriend have been flushing my shit for me, and cleaning up my messes without a single complaint...
These tests for echo aren’t meaningless.
They prove a point.
The air you breathe is self-absorbed bullshit caught in a feedback loop going nowhere unless you do something about it.
And I’ve proven this in the span of a week, Press.
Nobody cares, sure.
But that’s the point, isn’t it?
Some shady fucking business going on for sure when some asshat talks all the shit and backs none of it up.
This is the same person you feuded with for a month, the gnat you have to keep swatting in spite of the fact that there’s no conceivable reason this person should deem himself talented other than demanding only sycophants praise him, and dissent be disavowed.
I’ve proven the uselessness of this individual without ever setting foot in a ring with the man.
What the fuck have you done other than win a belt and keep it, Press?
Do these people feel your absence, when you’re gone?
When you defeat them do they stay defeated?
Do these people mourn a show when Press or the other guy don’t come out?
I never claimed to be anything much, big guy.
But there you sit with a title belt you’ve held for many months, with all the rights and privileges conferred upon you that belt implies, and the most you can say you’ve done is beaten Calvin Harris.
Coba fucking Sunday beat Calvin Harris, Press.
Don’t ask. Harris will no-sell it, because that’s what true workers in this business do nowadays.”
The steps of Deus find their way to the top of the stairs and immediately, the masked enigma strides into the little girl’s bedroom where Deus settles down onto the bed and sets its muddy feet onto the bedsheets.
“Let the others fight for validation. This match isn’t about titles so much as it is about righting wrongs, Preston Jones. This match is retribution. A surprise. And the straw that broke the camel’s back all rolled into one.
It doesn’t fucking matter if no one cares.
I care.
I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, sonny.
It’s time to pay the debt you've earned.”
Fade to Black.
[/fon
