Post by Teo Blaze on Sept 22, 2019 22:30:27 GMT -5
The sound that fills the air is one of celebration, a lively, haunting melody, a tincture of bloodlust and excitement, the kind of electricity that can only come from a certain type of spectacle. It is the sound of raw, unfiltered emotion, an entire arena of voices coalescing into one chord of constant and pulsating ecstasy.
It is a constant, droning, white noise. A background filter to the countless other minute and otherwise insignificant noises that fill the long concrete corridor. The smaller sounds simply cannot compete with the roar of the crowd.
Much less the footsteps of a scarred, red-eyed man, slowly dragging himself towards escape, away from the sound that he wanted so badly to return to. But as Teo leaned on the wall, the sound was boring into his skull, at once a reinvigorating, life-giving thing and a dull reminder that once again, he had risked too much.
Sweat pooled upon his body, mixing with faint traces of red where the unforgiving steel of the chamber had cut into his body like a serrated blade. His face contorted visibly with every step, an agonizing effort simply to lift one foot in front of the other. To keep moving forward.
Yet that was what he did. No matter what sharp pain shocked through his nerves with every inch, he continued to force himself forward, to move towards an unknown destination, to carry on even as every cell in his body cried for him to simply give up, to collapse, to fall.
And that...that is when it happened.
A young man, he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, in an off-the-rack and ill-fitting suit, clutching a microphone in one hand, began storming down the hallway. He pointed the microphone forward like an olympic runner handing off a baton, and the moment he saw Teo’s form, his eyes lit up as though he’d just been handed a birthday cake. Teo tried desperately to turn away, to sink into the cold concrete of the hallway, but there was absolutely nowhere to go. And within a few seconds, the man was shoving the foam-covered sphere right under his nose, waving over a cameraman.
Teo tried to turn away, but the young man was relentless, holding the object right up to his mouth as his voice, a voice that he hadn’t yet grown into, formed what was no doubt the first of many insipid questions.
Young Reporter: Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here with Teo Blaze! Mr. Blaze, you must be shocked to have come up short in yet another title match!
Teo Blaze: I don’t-
YR: And in such spectacular fashion too! Throwing yourself off the top of that chamber only to have Alex Richards take advantage of the mistake!
Teo Blaze: Look, I-
YR: Tell me Teo, do you have an exclusive for our audience? They must be dying to know what is on your mind after such a disappointing outcome!
The sound is sudden, like a bolt of lightning slamming into the room. All at once, everything is silent, all sound being sucked from the room instantaneously, leaving only a haunting emptiness.
The young reporter is up against the concrete wall, clear on the other side of the hallway, his feet dangling below him off of the ground. Teo’s hands are on either one of the cheap suit’s lapels. Blaze’s face is twisted into an expression that is almost indescribable, a look that seems almost more dangerous than any action could be. Gone is the ever-present grin upon Teo’s face, replaced with a horrifying, snarling grimace. His breath practically shoots from his mouth and nostrils as his pupils narrow upon the young reporter’s face.
Teo Blaze: Don’t you even think about trying to twist this. So help me if I have to hear just one more spin job about what happened in that match, I’m going to take you to the top of this arena and throw you the fuck off, am I clear!?
As if to punctuate his words, Teo slams the young man against the concrete wall with another sickening thud.
Teo Blaze: Every week, without fail, it’s the same damn story. People trying to paint me as a choke artist, as a washout, as a goddamned failure.
People saying that I have been handed things in Action Wrestling, that I have had an easy road or been given opportunities that others haven’t.
I have been handed nothing!
Another thud punctuates the assertion.
Teo Blaze: In this company. From the day I walked in that door I have fought and clawed my way to every single opportunity, and everything I’ve been “handed”? It’s a goddamned slap in the face. An eight man tournament? A four-way title shot? An eight-way ladder match? A six-way chamber?
I have risked my health, my mind, and my fucking name. I have had the odds stacked against me every time, no exceptions, and I have still come within inches of victory. So...you tell me exactly what I have been handed.
There is no response from the young reporter. His friend the cameraman simply stares, silently filming without a word. Teo's voice pours out from deep inside him, falling out as cold as ice.
Teo Blaze: I am about six seconds from slamming your head into this wall if that’s what it takes for you to answer me. If I have to salvage a response from your cracked skull.
I like to think I’m a good guy, I like to think that I would never do anything rash.
But I have my limits.
And after watching Wade Moor, Sam Kidsgrove, and especially Lissie fucking Hope do everything in their power to torpedo the title shot that I earned? We’re damn close to finding out just how bad of a guy I can be.
Cameraman: Mr. Blaze!
Teo’s eyes dart back over his shoulder, he now looks directly into the camera with a wild expression on his face, his eyes bulging, veins showing on his forehead.
The cameraman simply returns the expression with a sheepish and embarrassed look, as though he isn’t sure what to say next, even though he is the one who interrupted.
Cameraman: He...he can’t hear you.
Teo’s eyes narrow as his head whips around to the young man, still held in his arms.
He is unconscious. Head tilted to one side, tongue sticking out. A small bump is forming on the back of his head.
Teo slowly exhales, letting the breath escape from his body in a deliberate way. The expression on his face remains, though his demeanor calms only slightly. Then, he loosens his grip. The boy falls to the floor like a pile of dirty laundry, landing in a heap as Blaze simply turns and begins walking down the hall.
The cameraman goes to check on his fallen comrade as the scene shifts towards Blaze, who now is much further down the passage.
What is most peculiar though, is that Teo's pace has improved. The pain that was bothering him seems almost to have been burned away.
===
Teo Blaze: How fucking conceited can one girl be?
The voice that now greets the viewer comes from an entirely new location. A busy urban area, that is at once familiar and yet extremely alien. The crowded streets and sounds of honking seem like they would not be out of place in any typical American city, and yet..certain details give away the facts. The signs are almost all written not in English, but in Chinese characters. Specialty shops display unique wares the likes of which are unlikely to ever be seen in an American storefront.
The travel office had sent them their tickets the night after Execution, and Teo had been on the earliest flight over. Truth be told that was likely not mere chance. Word of his altercation had spread rather quickly after the footage had been released. Viral would be a fitting way to describe the reaction.
But that was not what was on his mind, even as he passed a consumer electronics store where a replay of the “attack” was playing on a local sports recap. The entire flight over, all that he could think about was his opponent. They had handed him an envelope after he boarded the plane, special instructions.
And truth be told, the moment he saw the name, it had ruined the journey.
Lissie Hope. Benefactor of one of the biggest strokes of luck in recent memory. Bearer of a briefcase that allowed her to cash in her own destiny, and she had used it to fucking taunt them. To taunt him. To steal a little bit of the limelight for herself simply to show that she could.
Teo Blaze: Stuck up bitch.
The words came from Teo as he thought out loud. One of the benefits of being in Hong Kong was that he was able to speak freely and say whatever happened to be on his mind without fear of repercussion, given how few people were likely to speak the language in the first place.
Teo Blaze: I can’t believe that anyone would have the balls to pull a stunt like that. To march out and try to intimidate six challengers putting their bodies on the line.
If she had wanted into the match, all she’d have to do is ask. Truth be told it would have been worth it to grind that pretty little face against the steel mesh.
But no, she made it clear. She wasn’t after a fair fight. She just got off on the idea that maybe, just maybe she would steal the world championship out from under our noses. Fuck Kidsgrove for manipulating the situation, but at least he decided to get in the damn cage.
But no, not little Lissie. She treated the match like a fucking game, like it was American Idol. She stated, outright! That she would have been happy to pick up the pieces from someone who had actually earned that world championship.
And people have the fucking gall to tell me that I haven’t earned anything in this company.
Teo turns his head, loudly spitting on the ground with a disgusted sound.
Teo Blaze: I almost feel sorry for her. She probably believes the things that people say about me. She probably thinks I’m a washout, a choke artist.
And after I drive my knee through her fucking skull, grab her by the hair and pull until I rip it out of her head by the roots? After she’s lying in a puddle of her own blood, tears, and teeth?
Maybe I’ll take that briefcase, crack it open with a hammer if I need to, and put her hand in it. Look her in the eye as I place my foot down, as she feels the slow realization of what is about to happen.
Let her feel the crack of each individual fingerbone, let the sharp metal case slowly push down into the flesh of her outstretched hand…
As I hold up that precious world title contract, that meal ticket that she clings so desperately to. Her chance to take a World Championship that she never deserved.
And as I stomp down on that case, as that metal snaps shut like the jaws of a beartrap, I’ll take that contract and rip it in half, and throw what’s left into the crowd.
Then, finally, we can live in a world without Hope.
And we will be all the better for it.
Teo shakes his head suddenly, stopping in the street. He turns towards a storefront, looking at himself in the glass.
And the face staring back at him...is smiling.
The thought of violence, of slowly taking Lissie Hope apart piece by fucking piece...it fills him with an excitement, a feeling that he had long considered dormant.
A blaze that came from a place he thought had put behind him.
But the smiling face staring back at him in the window, the crooked and chipped teeth, the sharp eyes from behind cracked red lenses...the man in the mirror carries a knowing look.
No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, no matter what he did to reinvent himself.
There was a demon inside him.
And it wanted out.
===
“They don’t know who you are here. They’re expecting the noble luchador in the white and gold mask! Sure, you don’t have to put it back on, but maybe we can go back to that.”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“And after all, this is a fresh start! I mean, we did hold the Television Championship for a long time, but we had to hurt so many to make that reign real. We tore down man after man until we were the last one standing in the whole fucking company. Is that what you want now?”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“That mask, that nice heroic guy, people like him! That’s what they want. And after all, isn’t that what you always wanted to be? This is your chance to be the hero again. To be the good guy!”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“I mean sure, people would take advantage of Teo del Sol, they would twist him and beat him until he was bloody, and you had to watch as others got their hands raised by taking shortcuts. Sure you were made the fool of now and then, but...isn’t it worth it?”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“Look, just give it a chance. Play the good guy in Action Wrestling. Let them think you’re the good, noble hero that you once were. You might not get a chance like this again, after all. Once that genie’s out of the bottle...well, you saw what happened last time.”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“If you start to get frustrated, I don’t know, maybe take out your anger on something. Break a glass, drop a plate or two. Find an outlet. I promise you, if you keep on playing the hero, people will take notice. They like that kind of thing. Torture or Camila and more importantly the people will take care of you so long as you can play the good guy.
Trust me, Teo. After all, I’m you too! And don’t you know yourself better than anyone?
I can take care of you, no problem, and soon we’ll be the hero again. We’ll start over, just like we always wanted.
===
The scene has shifted now to what could only be described as a bleak setting. Sitting in the middle of a darkened room, his hands folded over his knees, is Teo Blaze. The location is darkened, so much so that only the faintest details manage to escape the otherwise consuming blackness.
Dust and cobwebs sit along rows of shelves and benches, tables and desks. In one corner sits a collection of discarded Television cameras, the lights still blinking, as though the people operating them had merely walked away mid-broadcast.
It is the studio Teo once used as the King of All Media. The same sets, the keyboard throne, the casino table, each and every prop lays thrown about.
And in the center of it all, he sits. Slowly turning his head up as he looks into the camera. A pale beam of moonlight shines through a distant window, catching the dark red lenses with a flash as he opens his mouth to speak.
Teo Blaze: Lissie dear...I didn’t realize you were suicidal.
The voice that echoes from Teo is strangely familiar, the same voice that has appeared on countless broadcasts. But there is something missing. At first, it seems as though the tone is completely devoid of emotion. But with each word, there is clearly something there. Something just beneath the surface, a roaring emotion, and it is everything he can do to keep it from surfacing.
Teo Blaze: That is the only possible reason I can think of why you would do what you did at Execution.
Forcefully inserting yourself somewhere you didn’t belong, complaining for all the world to hear that in a match for the World Championship, not one man or woman cared enough about you to give you the time of day, to consider that you just might be enough of a cowardly piece of shit to use that briefcase.
You insisted that we had overlooked you, that we were so caught up that we didn’t notice the looming threat right in front of our own noses.
Teo’s face curls upward, his eyebrows raising as he turns his head slowly forward. In the darkness, his features are almost completely hidden, yet the moonlight reflects still off of the bright red lenses, and a Cheshire smile.
Teo Blaze: You poor, simple, foolish girl. I now have no choice but to assume that you actually think that highly of yourself.
That you think owning that briefcase, a case that it is only by the slimmest of margins that I do not hold myself, entitles you to respect, entitles you to recognition. That we should hold always in the back of our mind as you can at any time seize control of the world.
Lissie...let me explain something to you.
You’re not a threat.
You’re not someone to be feared
You’re not worth the time it takes to say your fucking name.
And if anything, if anything! You should be thanking the sun, the stars, and everything you consider holy that six different competitors realize that even with that briefcase in your hand, you are nothing more than an afterthought.
Because you were safe. You were secure. You were able to quietly pick up a victory over Karlie fucking Nash because the real main eventers were risking our lives in that chamber.
But now..? Congratulations. You’ve got my attention.
And no matter what happens next, I give you my word. For the rest of your life, every time you look into the mirror, every time you lay down to sleep at night, every time you close your eyes! You will remember the exact moment when you made that mistake.
Lissie...there’s something that you need to understand.
I tried.
I tried to be the nice guy, I tried to be the bigger man, I tried to be patient and hold out hope that something would change, that so long as I kept pushing myself, kept training, kept forcing myself, that sooner or later it would pay off.
But now, thanks to you? That is off the table.
And Lissie...you need to understand...that I am not a nice guy.
Do you even realize just how lucky you are, Lissie? Does that empty head of yours even comprehend what it took to keep me from that briefcase you are clinging to so dearly? I was knocked off of ladders, through tables, off of the entrance ramp! I felt bones crack, I felt skin tear, I had doctors physically restraining me to keep me from coming back out to that ring! I was beaten within an inch of my life!
And even then! Even as I stood, a battered, broken shell of myself, barely able to fucking stand, even then you were barely. Barely! Able to get that briefcase away from me.
Even after all of that punishment, Lissie. Even after all of that pain, even after I was going into the light, it took all you had to keep me down.
I could look you in the eye and tell you I’m going to fight this week with all my heart and soul, to avenge the loss and return honor to Action Wrestling, to expose you to the world as the spoiled, egotistical, wart on the ass of professional wrestling that you truly are…
But Lissie, after last week, after what you did at Execution?
Let me make this perfectly clear. I am going to hurt you. I am going to bash your head against the ground and slam your face into the posts. I am going to dash you against the concrete like a broken doll and I am going to drag you by your hair around that ring.
I am going to take each and every one of your fingers and I am going to bend them backwards until I hear the snap, and then I am going to drive the whole mangled limb right into the turnbuckle.
And then, I’m going to take your face, and I am going to put you down with the Blazing knee, just like I did to Allison-Riggs Preston, another bitch who thought that I was just another nice guy.
I’m not going to do it out of sadism, I’m not even going to do it out of anger. I’m doing it as a reminder of just who you decided to fuck with.
I am a broken man, Lissie, but I am not weaker for it. I have sacrificed everything for this business, and I have put everything on the line for this company. I had to throw myself off the top of the chamber before Richards was able to put me away. What the fuck are you going to do to me, you spoiled bitch?
You will learn that there are consequences in this game, Lissie. That you do not get to anything you want.
If you are able to walk out of that ring under your own power, it is only because I let you.
If you still have that case by the end of the night, it is only because I let you.
The secret is out, Lissie. And after this week, People will know who I really am.
And who I’ve been all along.
I would say that you will be exposed, Lissie...but it’s not true. There’s nothing to expose.
Anyone with eyes can see who you really are.
As Teo finishes speaking, the moon becomes covered by a blanket of clouds. The sliver of moonlight that illuminated Teo’s face fades, leaving only the two red circles, shining in the darkness like a demon’s eyes as laughter begins to echo throughout the room.
It is a constant, droning, white noise. A background filter to the countless other minute and otherwise insignificant noises that fill the long concrete corridor. The smaller sounds simply cannot compete with the roar of the crowd.
Much less the footsteps of a scarred, red-eyed man, slowly dragging himself towards escape, away from the sound that he wanted so badly to return to. But as Teo leaned on the wall, the sound was boring into his skull, at once a reinvigorating, life-giving thing and a dull reminder that once again, he had risked too much.
Sweat pooled upon his body, mixing with faint traces of red where the unforgiving steel of the chamber had cut into his body like a serrated blade. His face contorted visibly with every step, an agonizing effort simply to lift one foot in front of the other. To keep moving forward.
Yet that was what he did. No matter what sharp pain shocked through his nerves with every inch, he continued to force himself forward, to move towards an unknown destination, to carry on even as every cell in his body cried for him to simply give up, to collapse, to fall.
And that...that is when it happened.
A young man, he couldn’t have been more than twenty years old, in an off-the-rack and ill-fitting suit, clutching a microphone in one hand, began storming down the hallway. He pointed the microphone forward like an olympic runner handing off a baton, and the moment he saw Teo’s form, his eyes lit up as though he’d just been handed a birthday cake. Teo tried desperately to turn away, to sink into the cold concrete of the hallway, but there was absolutely nowhere to go. And within a few seconds, the man was shoving the foam-covered sphere right under his nose, waving over a cameraman.
Teo tried to turn away, but the young man was relentless, holding the object right up to his mouth as his voice, a voice that he hadn’t yet grown into, formed what was no doubt the first of many insipid questions.
Young Reporter: Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here with Teo Blaze! Mr. Blaze, you must be shocked to have come up short in yet another title match!
Teo Blaze: I don’t-
YR: And in such spectacular fashion too! Throwing yourself off the top of that chamber only to have Alex Richards take advantage of the mistake!
Teo Blaze: Look, I-
YR: Tell me Teo, do you have an exclusive for our audience? They must be dying to know what is on your mind after such a disappointing outcome!
Crack!
The sound is sudden, like a bolt of lightning slamming into the room. All at once, everything is silent, all sound being sucked from the room instantaneously, leaving only a haunting emptiness.
The young reporter is up against the concrete wall, clear on the other side of the hallway, his feet dangling below him off of the ground. Teo’s hands are on either one of the cheap suit’s lapels. Blaze’s face is twisted into an expression that is almost indescribable, a look that seems almost more dangerous than any action could be. Gone is the ever-present grin upon Teo’s face, replaced with a horrifying, snarling grimace. His breath practically shoots from his mouth and nostrils as his pupils narrow upon the young reporter’s face.
Teo Blaze: Don’t you even think about trying to twist this. So help me if I have to hear just one more spin job about what happened in that match, I’m going to take you to the top of this arena and throw you the fuck off, am I clear!?
As if to punctuate his words, Teo slams the young man against the concrete wall with another sickening thud.
Teo Blaze: Every week, without fail, it’s the same damn story. People trying to paint me as a choke artist, as a washout, as a goddamned failure.
People saying that I have been handed things in Action Wrestling, that I have had an easy road or been given opportunities that others haven’t.
I have been handed nothing!
Another thud punctuates the assertion.
Teo Blaze: In this company. From the day I walked in that door I have fought and clawed my way to every single opportunity, and everything I’ve been “handed”? It’s a goddamned slap in the face. An eight man tournament? A four-way title shot? An eight-way ladder match? A six-way chamber?
I have risked my health, my mind, and my fucking name. I have had the odds stacked against me every time, no exceptions, and I have still come within inches of victory. So...you tell me exactly what I have been handed.
There is no response from the young reporter. His friend the cameraman simply stares, silently filming without a word. Teo's voice pours out from deep inside him, falling out as cold as ice.
Teo Blaze: I am about six seconds from slamming your head into this wall if that’s what it takes for you to answer me. If I have to salvage a response from your cracked skull.
I like to think I’m a good guy, I like to think that I would never do anything rash.
But I have my limits.
And after watching Wade Moor, Sam Kidsgrove, and especially Lissie fucking Hope do everything in their power to torpedo the title shot that I earned? We’re damn close to finding out just how bad of a guy I can be.
Cameraman: Mr. Blaze!
Teo’s eyes dart back over his shoulder, he now looks directly into the camera with a wild expression on his face, his eyes bulging, veins showing on his forehead.
The cameraman simply returns the expression with a sheepish and embarrassed look, as though he isn’t sure what to say next, even though he is the one who interrupted.
Cameraman: He...he can’t hear you.
Teo’s eyes narrow as his head whips around to the young man, still held in his arms.
He is unconscious. Head tilted to one side, tongue sticking out. A small bump is forming on the back of his head.
Teo slowly exhales, letting the breath escape from his body in a deliberate way. The expression on his face remains, though his demeanor calms only slightly. Then, he loosens his grip. The boy falls to the floor like a pile of dirty laundry, landing in a heap as Blaze simply turns and begins walking down the hall.
The cameraman goes to check on his fallen comrade as the scene shifts towards Blaze, who now is much further down the passage.
What is most peculiar though, is that Teo's pace has improved. The pain that was bothering him seems almost to have been burned away.
===
Teo Blaze: How fucking conceited can one girl be?
The voice that now greets the viewer comes from an entirely new location. A busy urban area, that is at once familiar and yet extremely alien. The crowded streets and sounds of honking seem like they would not be out of place in any typical American city, and yet..certain details give away the facts. The signs are almost all written not in English, but in Chinese characters. Specialty shops display unique wares the likes of which are unlikely to ever be seen in an American storefront.
The travel office had sent them their tickets the night after Execution, and Teo had been on the earliest flight over. Truth be told that was likely not mere chance. Word of his altercation had spread rather quickly after the footage had been released. Viral would be a fitting way to describe the reaction.
But that was not what was on his mind, even as he passed a consumer electronics store where a replay of the “attack” was playing on a local sports recap. The entire flight over, all that he could think about was his opponent. They had handed him an envelope after he boarded the plane, special instructions.
And truth be told, the moment he saw the name, it had ruined the journey.
Lissie Hope. Benefactor of one of the biggest strokes of luck in recent memory. Bearer of a briefcase that allowed her to cash in her own destiny, and she had used it to fucking taunt them. To taunt him. To steal a little bit of the limelight for herself simply to show that she could.
Teo Blaze: Stuck up bitch.
The words came from Teo as he thought out loud. One of the benefits of being in Hong Kong was that he was able to speak freely and say whatever happened to be on his mind without fear of repercussion, given how few people were likely to speak the language in the first place.
Teo Blaze: I can’t believe that anyone would have the balls to pull a stunt like that. To march out and try to intimidate six challengers putting their bodies on the line.
If she had wanted into the match, all she’d have to do is ask. Truth be told it would have been worth it to grind that pretty little face against the steel mesh.
But no, she made it clear. She wasn’t after a fair fight. She just got off on the idea that maybe, just maybe she would steal the world championship out from under our noses. Fuck Kidsgrove for manipulating the situation, but at least he decided to get in the damn cage.
But no, not little Lissie. She treated the match like a fucking game, like it was American Idol. She stated, outright! That she would have been happy to pick up the pieces from someone who had actually earned that world championship.
And people have the fucking gall to tell me that I haven’t earned anything in this company.
Teo turns his head, loudly spitting on the ground with a disgusted sound.
Teo Blaze: I almost feel sorry for her. She probably believes the things that people say about me. She probably thinks I’m a washout, a choke artist.
And after I drive my knee through her fucking skull, grab her by the hair and pull until I rip it out of her head by the roots? After she’s lying in a puddle of her own blood, tears, and teeth?
Maybe I’ll take that briefcase, crack it open with a hammer if I need to, and put her hand in it. Look her in the eye as I place my foot down, as she feels the slow realization of what is about to happen.
Let her feel the crack of each individual fingerbone, let the sharp metal case slowly push down into the flesh of her outstretched hand…
As I hold up that precious world title contract, that meal ticket that she clings so desperately to. Her chance to take a World Championship that she never deserved.
And as I stomp down on that case, as that metal snaps shut like the jaws of a beartrap, I’ll take that contract and rip it in half, and throw what’s left into the crowd.
Then, finally, we can live in a world without Hope.
And we will be all the better for it.
Teo shakes his head suddenly, stopping in the street. He turns towards a storefront, looking at himself in the glass.
And the face staring back at him...is smiling.
The thought of violence, of slowly taking Lissie Hope apart piece by fucking piece...it fills him with an excitement, a feeling that he had long considered dormant.
A blaze that came from a place he thought had put behind him.
But the smiling face staring back at him in the window, the crooked and chipped teeth, the sharp eyes from behind cracked red lenses...the man in the mirror carries a knowing look.
No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, no matter what he did to reinvent himself.
There was a demon inside him.
And it wanted out.
===
Burn.
Consume.
Destroy.
“They don’t know who you are here. They’re expecting the noble luchador in the white and gold mask! Sure, you don’t have to put it back on, but maybe we can go back to that.”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“And after all, this is a fresh start! I mean, we did hold the Television Championship for a long time, but we had to hurt so many to make that reign real. We tore down man after man until we were the last one standing in the whole fucking company. Is that what you want now?”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“That mask, that nice heroic guy, people like him! That’s what they want. And after all, isn’t that what you always wanted to be? This is your chance to be the hero again. To be the good guy!”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“I mean sure, people would take advantage of Teo del Sol, they would twist him and beat him until he was bloody, and you had to watch as others got their hands raised by taking shortcuts. Sure you were made the fool of now and then, but...isn’t it worth it?”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“Look, just give it a chance. Play the good guy in Action Wrestling. Let them think you’re the good, noble hero that you once were. You might not get a chance like this again, after all. Once that genie’s out of the bottle...well, you saw what happened last time.”
Burn. Consume. Destroy.
“If you start to get frustrated, I don’t know, maybe take out your anger on something. Break a glass, drop a plate or two. Find an outlet. I promise you, if you keep on playing the hero, people will take notice. They like that kind of thing. Torture or Camila and more importantly the people will take care of you so long as you can play the good guy.
Trust me, Teo. After all, I’m you too! And don’t you know yourself better than anyone?
I can take care of you, no problem, and soon we’ll be the hero again. We’ll start over, just like we always wanted.
I’ve got everything...
Under.
Control.”
The scene has shifted now to what could only be described as a bleak setting. Sitting in the middle of a darkened room, his hands folded over his knees, is Teo Blaze. The location is darkened, so much so that only the faintest details manage to escape the otherwise consuming blackness.
Dust and cobwebs sit along rows of shelves and benches, tables and desks. In one corner sits a collection of discarded Television cameras, the lights still blinking, as though the people operating them had merely walked away mid-broadcast.
It is the studio Teo once used as the King of All Media. The same sets, the keyboard throne, the casino table, each and every prop lays thrown about.
And in the center of it all, he sits. Slowly turning his head up as he looks into the camera. A pale beam of moonlight shines through a distant window, catching the dark red lenses with a flash as he opens his mouth to speak.
Teo Blaze: Lissie dear...I didn’t realize you were suicidal.
The voice that echoes from Teo is strangely familiar, the same voice that has appeared on countless broadcasts. But there is something missing. At first, it seems as though the tone is completely devoid of emotion. But with each word, there is clearly something there. Something just beneath the surface, a roaring emotion, and it is everything he can do to keep it from surfacing.
Teo Blaze: That is the only possible reason I can think of why you would do what you did at Execution.
Forcefully inserting yourself somewhere you didn’t belong, complaining for all the world to hear that in a match for the World Championship, not one man or woman cared enough about you to give you the time of day, to consider that you just might be enough of a cowardly piece of shit to use that briefcase.
You insisted that we had overlooked you, that we were so caught up that we didn’t notice the looming threat right in front of our own noses.
Teo’s face curls upward, his eyebrows raising as he turns his head slowly forward. In the darkness, his features are almost completely hidden, yet the moonlight reflects still off of the bright red lenses, and a Cheshire smile.
Teo Blaze: You poor, simple, foolish girl. I now have no choice but to assume that you actually think that highly of yourself.
That you think owning that briefcase, a case that it is only by the slimmest of margins that I do not hold myself, entitles you to respect, entitles you to recognition. That we should hold always in the back of our mind as you can at any time seize control of the world.
Lissie...let me explain something to you.
You’re not a threat.
You’re not someone to be feared
You’re not worth the time it takes to say your fucking name.
And if anything, if anything! You should be thanking the sun, the stars, and everything you consider holy that six different competitors realize that even with that briefcase in your hand, you are nothing more than an afterthought.
Because you were safe. You were secure. You were able to quietly pick up a victory over Karlie fucking Nash because the real main eventers were risking our lives in that chamber.
But now..? Congratulations. You’ve got my attention.
And no matter what happens next, I give you my word. For the rest of your life, every time you look into the mirror, every time you lay down to sleep at night, every time you close your eyes! You will remember the exact moment when you made that mistake.
Lissie...there’s something that you need to understand.
I tried.
I tried to be the nice guy, I tried to be the bigger man, I tried to be patient and hold out hope that something would change, that so long as I kept pushing myself, kept training, kept forcing myself, that sooner or later it would pay off.
But now, thanks to you? That is off the table.
And Lissie...you need to understand...that I am not a nice guy.
Do you even realize just how lucky you are, Lissie? Does that empty head of yours even comprehend what it took to keep me from that briefcase you are clinging to so dearly? I was knocked off of ladders, through tables, off of the entrance ramp! I felt bones crack, I felt skin tear, I had doctors physically restraining me to keep me from coming back out to that ring! I was beaten within an inch of my life!
And even then! Even as I stood, a battered, broken shell of myself, barely able to fucking stand, even then you were barely. Barely! Able to get that briefcase away from me.
Even after all of that punishment, Lissie. Even after all of that pain, even after I was going into the light, it took all you had to keep me down.
I could look you in the eye and tell you I’m going to fight this week with all my heart and soul, to avenge the loss and return honor to Action Wrestling, to expose you to the world as the spoiled, egotistical, wart on the ass of professional wrestling that you truly are…
But Lissie, after last week, after what you did at Execution?
Let me make this perfectly clear. I am going to hurt you. I am going to bash your head against the ground and slam your face into the posts. I am going to dash you against the concrete like a broken doll and I am going to drag you by your hair around that ring.
I am going to take each and every one of your fingers and I am going to bend them backwards until I hear the snap, and then I am going to drive the whole mangled limb right into the turnbuckle.
And then, I’m going to take your face, and I am going to put you down with the Blazing knee, just like I did to Allison-Riggs Preston, another bitch who thought that I was just another nice guy.
I’m not going to do it out of sadism, I’m not even going to do it out of anger. I’m doing it as a reminder of just who you decided to fuck with.
I am a broken man, Lissie, but I am not weaker for it. I have sacrificed everything for this business, and I have put everything on the line for this company. I had to throw myself off the top of the chamber before Richards was able to put me away. What the fuck are you going to do to me, you spoiled bitch?
You will learn that there are consequences in this game, Lissie. That you do not get to anything you want.
If you are able to walk out of that ring under your own power, it is only because I let you.
If you still have that case by the end of the night, it is only because I let you.
The secret is out, Lissie. And after this week, People will know who I really am.
And who I’ve been all along.
I would say that you will be exposed, Lissie...but it’s not true. There’s nothing to expose.
Anyone with eyes can see who you really are.
As Teo finishes speaking, the moon becomes covered by a blanket of clouds. The sliver of moonlight that illuminated Teo’s face fades, leaving only the two red circles, shining in the darkness like a demon’s eyes as laughter begins to echo throughout the room.