Post by The Vanguard on Jan 8, 2022 21:33:22 GMT -5
Good to see you back on your feet, Dangerous Gentlemen. Glad to see that you took the initiative and became contenders once again for our tag titles. Must be nice to let someone else do all the talking for you, although I think he’s got a few things misconstrued. See, you probably should have told him how Downfall and I have managed to maintain both a successful singles and tag run all through 2021, and that we had just beaten you at the last-
…Wait, you’re NOT the Dangerous Gentlemen?
…Oh, silly me; I guess this is what happens when you order the Dangerous Gentlemen off of Wish.com; slightly off from the original and somehow still reeking of the wharf you were vacuum sealed in. I think its pretty adorable, though; that mouthpiece of yours is definitely more mouth than piece. But who even cares about that try-hard and his rapidly receding hairline? I’m much more interested in what the two of you have to say. Yes, I’m looking at you, Scott and Mike. Is there really nothing you want to add, to contribute, or are you simply content allowing your aging manager who thinks he understands what world he’s walking into to speak higher than your actual paygrade? Hell, maybe it doesn’t even matter to you one way or another; you’re part of his brand, after all. Why should you have any other thoughts in your pretty little heads while Papa Bentley takes care of everything? Truth be told, though, I feel bad for you guys. Here you were, ready to chomp at the bit to go team to team against The Vanguard, but now you’re having to share that spotlight with Aflluenza, two women who have it out for Downfall for some reason, and Carter and whoever the fuck he bribed to team up with him.
…Okay, its probably less that you’re sharing the spotlight and more that you’re being shoved unceremoniously out of the way.
See, the truth here is that you guys are getting cucked, big time. You see it as a greater challenge and to prove you can sit at the top of the tag team table, but you’re also just being treated as the extra “anything can happen!” factor that Action Wrestling seems to love to employ in matches like this. It isn’t anything new, I can assure you; hell, I still think half the reason I was part of Team Bacchus was because no one else was available or even wanted to deal with the problem. And yet, I still carried myself well there. As I have done in damn near every match I’ve been in in this company. Because despite everything that I have done, for some reason, people decide to assign my success attached to someone else.
That’s the thing I really don’t understand, the idea of the second fiddle. Why is second fiddle such a bad place to be? Not to say that I am; after all, Downfall and I both agree that we put in a shared effort of the work. But even to assume I’m the second fiddle in this mix, does that not mean that someone took the time to actually consider putting me to use? What, are we going to say whoever Carter’s mystery partner is is a second fiddle? Is that really doing Kyle Kemp any justice? Or what about you, Jill? You seem awful quick to call me second banana, yet decide to follow in-step with a woman who goes through associations like a pig in one of her slaughterhouses; sure, there’s plenty of meat and noise that goes into the partnership, but eventually those ties that bind are severed and you end up vacuum-sealed and abandoned, yet another piece of meat to be discarded.
I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m Action Wrestling’s greatest success story. I have struggled. I have had opportunity after opportunity time and time again, and each and every time I’ve had those opportunities, I have fallen short. Even last week, at the beginning of the year where I turn it all around, it didn’t go the way I had expected it to. Now, you may see this as whining, but the truth is much simpler than that; unlike most of the people in this match, I am willing to accept where my shortcomings are, where I need to improve. I’m my own biggest critic, and nothing anyone has said nor will ever say will take away any drive I have to achieve the goals I want. And its through that self-reflection and self-awareness that has allowed me to get to where I am today; at the top of the tag division with one of my good friends, and holding that down all the while being able to improve on my solo work. So take a note of this, Jill and whoever teams up with Carter; as soon as Regan and Carter decide you are no longer useful to them, you’ll be cast aside, discarded and left to rot while they continue on their way. You’ll end up a stepping stone.
This is how I’m looking at this match-up. As far as I’m concerned, Bentley Unlimited is the only group here that actually has a fair stake in this fight against us. Meanwhile, everyone else is going to be scrambling to try and fuck over the whole match. So do me a favor, will you? When you end up losing to us, remember that we operated on a unified front.
As first fiddle.
He exited the Corvette with a slam, and as he righted himself the million pins-and-needles of his injuries tingled against his consciousness. He was used to pain; took it, and sat with it, letting the ache sharpen his senses.
And Dionysus exited the car with him. Dion regarded his partner over the roof of the car, silently. The ride had had it's tension, for sure.
There was a part of him that had meant it very vehemently when he'd said "To hell with you," the week before, and yet when he had shown up here, and informed Dion of this rendezvous, there was no hesitation from Dion's side; He had cancelled his morning meetings, and stood up, straightening his collar.
"Before we go, a word," Dion said, clasping a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Danny tried shaking him off, but Dion tightened his grip, saying, “No, really, you need to listen. Everything I said before the new year, its still true. I’m not going to let anything, not even a non-compete stipulation, keep me from the world title. Our partnership…hell, our whole relationship, has been built on mutual respect and trust while also driving to push ourselves to be better. You had that last year, and that’s awesome. I’m looking to have just as good, if not a better year. We’re a team, but I also need to look out for me too. You understand, right?
He didn't think of anything to add to that, but Dion walked around his desk. "With that said, there isn't a case where if you needed help, I wouldn't back you up. We stood together against Dandy and his clan, and we'll stand together for this. Hell, I wouldn’t have tried pulling you away from The Lost Breed if I didn’t think there was a chance of redemption, right? We’re friends, but we’re also competitors and rivals. Its just how the business goes. I’m not going to steal your spotlight from you; I’m just telling you I won’t hold back should we cross paths again."
Danny looked up into Dion's eyes, and had nodded.
Dion smiled, the usual friendly, sometimes shit grin he usually gave. “Glad you understand. Now lets get going.
Now, he looked across the hood to Dion, and tilted his head to the side. Dion's eyebrows ratcheted up at the old building. They didn't say anything else until Dion finally spoke up, facetiously, "So, this is where the magic happened?"
"Show some respect," Danny replied tersely, looking at the brownstone. True, the neighborhood had given it's way to either dilapidation or gentrification, and in time this edifice would be eaten one way or another; bulldozed and given over to a bougie strip-mall or a bakery that made sweets for dogs, such was the way of the world.
But for Danny, this crumbling old warehouse in a low-rent neighborhood was all that was left of his first lasting legacy, his rise in the mid-2000's with a gang of mercenaries by his side; their training camp being this clubhouse. For him, it was akin to returning the machine to zero it home.
Dion looked sidelong at him, "It reminds me a lot of my old days. Crumbling gym, trying to keep it afloat, owing money to bad lenders…just didn’t think I’d come back to something like this for a while.”
As Danny stepped through the threshold, the ghosts came with him. Redd... he wondered where he was and if he was still holding his thin thread of sobriety. Scott. Sicko. And...
"- Jason," mused Dion. Danny's head snapped over to look at him. "This is where you started your club, correct?"
"Jason and I met..." he frowned, "Twenty years ago, this year... he came up to me, and shook my hand."
"Michelle has told me stories, but I can't believe it. Truthfully, I don't believe this now. When you met him, you made some pact to sell your soul? But he was just some wrestler you'd never met before?"
"It... was never really clear," he frowned, although, that was bullshit. He always harkened to Jas's caveat about multiple choice, perhaps some element of any of the conflicting stories he told were true, or perhaps none. But it couldn't be... Jason never had any definable magic about him when he was strictly the enforcer, the legbreaker of the team. And his devil's bargain couldn't have been true... until it was.
Danny turned his eyes to Dion, suddenly brazen. "I can feel you judging, and it's a simple ask, really. Here's a hypothetical for you: what would you give if you wanted to be really great, even if for a short period of time? Would you give your soul if it meant five years of success? And what would you do it for, for pride, for ego, for love?"
Dion turned to face him, arms folded. "My answer to that is simple. I’d find my own way. Nothing that powerful is ever worth the toll it takes."
From off to the side, a voice came, soft and femme, yet sneering with delicious relish. "Then they said, 'Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves; otherwise we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth.'"
Rebecca Meyers stepped from the darkness of the warehouse. Her always-teased and immaculate hair was matted with sweat and effort, and her eyes shone in the darkness.
And her grin widened, enigmatically. "Fascinating time, the construction of the Tower of Babel... I was there, and I could tell you stories..."
Rebecca was wearing an uncharacteristic leather jacket ensemble that resembled the mail Jason would normally wear. Danny snatched her by the lapels. "You!! You can't be- how are you doing this?"
Jason-as-Rebecca smiled. Dion watched, fascinated, "Interesting…either she’s just as good at fucking with you as I can…or this is a straight up puppet.”
Rebecca examined the sleeves of her jacket, and admired her body. "Truth, it made giving you your... last gift a bit intimate... we've always been close, but making a puppet out of a grieving widow was just step one... Speaking through her, and wearing her shell, now that's something else again."
“Kinky?” Dionysus questioned rhetorically.
Danny seethed. "You are a thug from Pittsburgh. You were taking part in parking-lot fight clubs when I found you, earning pittance money. You never - "
"Oh, that's right," Jason-as-Rebecca laughed. "There was no magic. There never was any magic. Until there was." He looked, intently, at Dion. "Until you passed over the crossroads; Until you made a wish. What was your wish, Danny?"
From Rebecca's own mouth, Danny's words from just a minute ago echoed. "What would you give if you wanted to be really great, even if for a short period of time? Would you give your soul if it meant five years of success?"
"Let me guess; he’ll drink this potion to gain the strength of a lion, but become as weak as a lamb after five years?" Dion said archly. "Come on, with all the riddles this woman is throwing out here, its pretty obvious you won't gain anything from this."
"But he wanted to," said the body-snatcher, "Realistically, your boy Danny is finally now opening himself up to the possibility that I made him better. That everything he had that defined him as successful when he was younger, all of it came from embracing the fact that he is made in this image. That he thinks he did this all for the love of Michelle, but he only ever thought about himself."
"You keep her name out of your GODdamn mouth," Danny spat.
"No? You think you did this because you love Michelle, and your main-event status meant paying for a good life with her. Yes?"
"I'm not talking about this with you. Specifically not while you're... using Rebecca, like this. It's obscene."
"I'm sorry, Daniel, are you seriously saying that, even for a minute, you were considering any kind of deal with this dollar store magic bean salesman?" Dion looked at him.
Jason-as-Rebecca grinned, "Maybe he already has. Maybe everything good that's happened to you this year has been because I pushed him to this. Maybe he's already lost."
Dion grew serious. "I’ve heard the shaping destiny line many times over, and I’ll respond to you the same I did with them; we shape our path, we shape our destiny. Anything we’ve done in the last year has been a result of our cooperation together."
"And you'll fracture once the slightest pressure is on you," the body-snatcher laughed, as if this were the most delectable irony. "Whatever you have won't last."
Dionysus shrugged. “If it doesn’t last, it doesn’t last. Nothing was ever meant to last forever.”
Rebecca's lips curled shrewdly, wearing that evil look. "That was the secret of the Tower of Babel, kids. They built themselves up so well, a community... and then, when their hubris proved too much, and the Tower fell, they lost their brotherhood. What better parable is there for the "Downfall" of man, and the central principle at it's heart, than that."
"And... what principle might that be?"
Rebecca's body bowed, deeply, from the waist, in a theatrical motion. "Entropy. Chaos. The ends falling apart, due to unbridled hubris of wanting to be better, to be more. Your boy here worshipped this concept, called it Anarchy."
Danny shook his head. "When you sent Serenity... when I saw her for the first time... when she said you wanted to meet, and offer a deal... it shocked me at first."
Rebecca's eyebrow raised. "Yes... but you know what... I think it's interesting that you brought Dionysus here, tonight. After all, he is your moral support, is he not."
Dion stood forward, bravely. "Think of it more as a partner and friend who is skeptical, yet willing to still hear what you have to say. Any decision I make are my own."
Jason's eyes glowed from behind Rebecca's, but he looked intrigued. "Interesting... you're made of different stuff, then... but you must want something, Dionysus. C'mon, walk with me... tell me what you really desire."
There was a pause, and Dion and Danny stood side by side. But, incredibly, Dion broke ranks first, walking over to follow Rebecca's body. Jason-as-Rebecca laughed.
"Dion, don't - you don't have to do this - " Danny started, reaching after his partner.
Dion's eyes met his. "You’re right. But I’m going to. Nothing to worry about; we have trust, no?" And he walked outside, leaving Danny, alone, in the ruins of the old Inner Circle warehouse.
As Danny watched them walk outside, he heaved a heavy sigh, thinking about the central parable of a tower that had grown so big that it crumbled under it's own weight.
"Trust, right," he said to himself.
For someone who allowed their arrogance to outstrip their self-awareness, reaching the pinnacle I did last Clash would be dangerous.
Not just finishing strong by closing the loop with Dandy and overcoming his kin, but holding up two titles and, fleetingly, standing in the sun, validated. All of the hard work of twenty long years. The long stretches of bottom, where I toiled just to get by, finally and sweetly justified in one beautiful, cathartic moment.
Moments don't last forever. I didn't need some amateur-hour chair beatdown from two bitter, spiteful harpies to remind me of that.
Regardless of the sour grapes inherent in the birth of Affluenza, that win, and the run I embarked on leading up to it, stacked expectations higher with every single week.
Every week throughout Turmoil, there were those, I'm sure, who were betting against me sticking the landing, and yet I continued to defy expectation.
For someone who allowed this to overstuff their ego, a streak like mine would be priming, ready for the structure to collapse.
I don't look down from other people's towers. I'll be comfortable perched atop rubble.
And that's where I'm built different from every one else in this match for mine and Dion's Tag Titles, because, first of all, not a one of them has shown that they could have the fortitude I've shown in the last three months and remain standing, but if they had; If Jill Park had been where I'm at right now, this fatal fourway would be where she fell short.
Because the secret ingredient that makes any successful team run isn't just combining two random elements.
It took Dion and I months to get here. We developed the communication, the chemistry and the shared desire to build up the Tag division.
What do any of the rest of these fair-weather factions that think they're blowing with the full force of a Biblical disaster have in common?
If you think back, Carter has burned his bridges with everyone who considered him their blue-eyed white hope. How many people would even return Carter's calls after he's outed himself as a snake in the grass so many times? Ash Blake wouldn't. Garvey wouldn't.
Even Lissie would wanna keep her distance, despite the fact that she and Carter walked out of their match arm-in-arm, she's yet to keep Carter's name at the top of her speed-dial.
The likeliest scenario's that the only person Carter has to turn to in the world, the crumbled remains of the rival faction he openly strung along and marked like a conman.
And Kyle Kemp teaming with Carter Shaw would be just pathetic enough to land as a convincing team.
But I'm just guessing, because it doesn't overly matter enough to me who your partner is, Carter...
Remember how when you and Kemp did team up against Dion and I, a year ago in Battlebowl, and were getting beaten handily until you snuck out a win with the most cowardly, chickenshit countout strategy possible?
Do you also remember how Jill Park humbled you and put you in your place a few weeks ago?
Reality is Carter, whoever you picked to be your backup, isn't gonna make a bit of difference... because you aren't teaming to win the Tag belts.
You're teaming to keep your name in the conversation... much like the way you shrieked to everyone listening that it didn't matter you went down in the first round of WOTY, that because you were competing for the World Title you were still undeclared Wrestler Of The Year.
How'd that work out for you?
And with that question fresh in our minds, we turn to Affluenza... and I pose the same query, asking them to ruminate on it as the gnawing fear of the reckoning they've brought down upon their heads draws closer.
Oh, Jill and Regan had a banner Clash too, don't get me wrong. Jill picked up a tainted, sloppy win over Dion... They beat me down and ended the show posing over my bloodied body...
And yet despite everything, despite the piqued envy and the pedantic, shallow worthlessness that went into their wasted arrow of an attack I am still fucking standing. Actually, worse for them, I'm standing back up, and turning in their direction.
It'd be laughable, if I hadn't predicted this whole outcome from the moment Regan disdained to shake my hand.
Right down to Regan selecting Jill as her second, thereby cementing Jill into the new Joey Bunga slot.
How blind do you have to be, Jill? To see stars in your eyes, to think that a united, hashtag-girlboss femme-fatale team with Regan's going to pay dividends for you? That you're equals?
Regan's a user, a pathologically callous rich girl who makes no secret of throwing around cash just to get what she wants.
She hired someone she had the utmost distaste for personally just so she could have him absorb the beatings and take the losses for her in a tag-team scenario...
And yet, here you are, someone she cannot possibly care about, placed as the meat-shield to take punishment in this match.
And, the kicker is, Jill, you have the built-in reputation for being the one that takes the loss, because you've already been there.
You've outpaced people's expectations when you're set against an FPV or a Kyle Kemp and you've managed to tap out some impressive people.
But every time you're asked to step up in a big multiplayer match like this, you can't even get off the ground.
That's why Regan and you are perfect for each other.
Regan Voorhees, the fan-voted multiple award winner, the one who had the whole world in her hands going into Turmoil and came out of it with such a groundswell of support that she could write her ticket anywhere... went into Cruiserhavoc and didn't even make the final four.
Regan read my bio perfectly, she quoted chapter and verse. She talked about my father. She talked about my past as if it were something I was ashamed of... but she completely missed the subtext of my story. She saw me as just a faded star, facing obsoletion.
She thought I was weak.
You're all waiting for a moment like this, predicting a million different outcomes; that I'd betray Dion, that building friendship and trust with Dion made me soft, that I don't have the fire inside me that I did at any given point before; that I was going to build this tower to the heavens until it swayed and a single push could knock it over.
But I'm not ready to give either one of these titles up, and you're going to have to tear me down to the last brick if you wanted to take what I've worked so hard for.
Every single one, secure in the hubris that your ascension drawing near and you're reaching for the pinnacle, touching the face of the sun.
What you don't realize... especially thanks to our brilliant and enterprising Affluenz'tas... there is a disaster coming your way that's going to shake you all to your foundations. I am the Biblical disaster that hits that tower. I AM that flood. I AM a raging inferno.
I'm the hand of fucking god that comes to slap you down and scatter you like a child's blocks.
You all have just consigned yourselves to be the confused, disoriented and broken people left wailing in torment at the base of the fallen tower.
…Wait, you’re NOT the Dangerous Gentlemen?
…Oh, silly me; I guess this is what happens when you order the Dangerous Gentlemen off of Wish.com; slightly off from the original and somehow still reeking of the wharf you were vacuum sealed in. I think its pretty adorable, though; that mouthpiece of yours is definitely more mouth than piece. But who even cares about that try-hard and his rapidly receding hairline? I’m much more interested in what the two of you have to say. Yes, I’m looking at you, Scott and Mike. Is there really nothing you want to add, to contribute, or are you simply content allowing your aging manager who thinks he understands what world he’s walking into to speak higher than your actual paygrade? Hell, maybe it doesn’t even matter to you one way or another; you’re part of his brand, after all. Why should you have any other thoughts in your pretty little heads while Papa Bentley takes care of everything? Truth be told, though, I feel bad for you guys. Here you were, ready to chomp at the bit to go team to team against The Vanguard, but now you’re having to share that spotlight with Aflluenza, two women who have it out for Downfall for some reason, and Carter and whoever the fuck he bribed to team up with him.
…Okay, its probably less that you’re sharing the spotlight and more that you’re being shoved unceremoniously out of the way.
See, the truth here is that you guys are getting cucked, big time. You see it as a greater challenge and to prove you can sit at the top of the tag team table, but you’re also just being treated as the extra “anything can happen!” factor that Action Wrestling seems to love to employ in matches like this. It isn’t anything new, I can assure you; hell, I still think half the reason I was part of Team Bacchus was because no one else was available or even wanted to deal with the problem. And yet, I still carried myself well there. As I have done in damn near every match I’ve been in in this company. Because despite everything that I have done, for some reason, people decide to assign my success attached to someone else.
That’s the thing I really don’t understand, the idea of the second fiddle. Why is second fiddle such a bad place to be? Not to say that I am; after all, Downfall and I both agree that we put in a shared effort of the work. But even to assume I’m the second fiddle in this mix, does that not mean that someone took the time to actually consider putting me to use? What, are we going to say whoever Carter’s mystery partner is is a second fiddle? Is that really doing Kyle Kemp any justice? Or what about you, Jill? You seem awful quick to call me second banana, yet decide to follow in-step with a woman who goes through associations like a pig in one of her slaughterhouses; sure, there’s plenty of meat and noise that goes into the partnership, but eventually those ties that bind are severed and you end up vacuum-sealed and abandoned, yet another piece of meat to be discarded.
I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m Action Wrestling’s greatest success story. I have struggled. I have had opportunity after opportunity time and time again, and each and every time I’ve had those opportunities, I have fallen short. Even last week, at the beginning of the year where I turn it all around, it didn’t go the way I had expected it to. Now, you may see this as whining, but the truth is much simpler than that; unlike most of the people in this match, I am willing to accept where my shortcomings are, where I need to improve. I’m my own biggest critic, and nothing anyone has said nor will ever say will take away any drive I have to achieve the goals I want. And its through that self-reflection and self-awareness that has allowed me to get to where I am today; at the top of the tag division with one of my good friends, and holding that down all the while being able to improve on my solo work. So take a note of this, Jill and whoever teams up with Carter; as soon as Regan and Carter decide you are no longer useful to them, you’ll be cast aside, discarded and left to rot while they continue on their way. You’ll end up a stepping stone.
This is how I’m looking at this match-up. As far as I’m concerned, Bentley Unlimited is the only group here that actually has a fair stake in this fight against us. Meanwhile, everyone else is going to be scrambling to try and fuck over the whole match. So do me a favor, will you? When you end up losing to us, remember that we operated on a unified front.
As first fiddle.
He exited the Corvette with a slam, and as he righted himself the million pins-and-needles of his injuries tingled against his consciousness. He was used to pain; took it, and sat with it, letting the ache sharpen his senses.
And Dionysus exited the car with him. Dion regarded his partner over the roof of the car, silently. The ride had had it's tension, for sure.
There was a part of him that had meant it very vehemently when he'd said "To hell with you," the week before, and yet when he had shown up here, and informed Dion of this rendezvous, there was no hesitation from Dion's side; He had cancelled his morning meetings, and stood up, straightening his collar.
"Before we go, a word," Dion said, clasping a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Danny tried shaking him off, but Dion tightened his grip, saying, “No, really, you need to listen. Everything I said before the new year, its still true. I’m not going to let anything, not even a non-compete stipulation, keep me from the world title. Our partnership…hell, our whole relationship, has been built on mutual respect and trust while also driving to push ourselves to be better. You had that last year, and that’s awesome. I’m looking to have just as good, if not a better year. We’re a team, but I also need to look out for me too. You understand, right?
He didn't think of anything to add to that, but Dion walked around his desk. "With that said, there isn't a case where if you needed help, I wouldn't back you up. We stood together against Dandy and his clan, and we'll stand together for this. Hell, I wouldn’t have tried pulling you away from The Lost Breed if I didn’t think there was a chance of redemption, right? We’re friends, but we’re also competitors and rivals. Its just how the business goes. I’m not going to steal your spotlight from you; I’m just telling you I won’t hold back should we cross paths again."
Danny looked up into Dion's eyes, and had nodded.
Dion smiled, the usual friendly, sometimes shit grin he usually gave. “Glad you understand. Now lets get going.
Now, he looked across the hood to Dion, and tilted his head to the side. Dion's eyebrows ratcheted up at the old building. They didn't say anything else until Dion finally spoke up, facetiously, "So, this is where the magic happened?"
"Show some respect," Danny replied tersely, looking at the brownstone. True, the neighborhood had given it's way to either dilapidation or gentrification, and in time this edifice would be eaten one way or another; bulldozed and given over to a bougie strip-mall or a bakery that made sweets for dogs, such was the way of the world.
But for Danny, this crumbling old warehouse in a low-rent neighborhood was all that was left of his first lasting legacy, his rise in the mid-2000's with a gang of mercenaries by his side; their training camp being this clubhouse. For him, it was akin to returning the machine to zero it home.
Dion looked sidelong at him, "It reminds me a lot of my old days. Crumbling gym, trying to keep it afloat, owing money to bad lenders…just didn’t think I’d come back to something like this for a while.”
As Danny stepped through the threshold, the ghosts came with him. Redd... he wondered where he was and if he was still holding his thin thread of sobriety. Scott. Sicko. And...
"- Jason," mused Dion. Danny's head snapped over to look at him. "This is where you started your club, correct?"
"Jason and I met..." he frowned, "Twenty years ago, this year... he came up to me, and shook my hand."
"Michelle has told me stories, but I can't believe it. Truthfully, I don't believe this now. When you met him, you made some pact to sell your soul? But he was just some wrestler you'd never met before?"
"It... was never really clear," he frowned, although, that was bullshit. He always harkened to Jas's caveat about multiple choice, perhaps some element of any of the conflicting stories he told were true, or perhaps none. But it couldn't be... Jason never had any definable magic about him when he was strictly the enforcer, the legbreaker of the team. And his devil's bargain couldn't have been true... until it was.
Danny turned his eyes to Dion, suddenly brazen. "I can feel you judging, and it's a simple ask, really. Here's a hypothetical for you: what would you give if you wanted to be really great, even if for a short period of time? Would you give your soul if it meant five years of success? And what would you do it for, for pride, for ego, for love?"
Dion turned to face him, arms folded. "My answer to that is simple. I’d find my own way. Nothing that powerful is ever worth the toll it takes."
From off to the side, a voice came, soft and femme, yet sneering with delicious relish. "Then they said, 'Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens, so that we may make a name for ourselves; otherwise we will be scattered over the face of the whole earth.'"
Rebecca Meyers stepped from the darkness of the warehouse. Her always-teased and immaculate hair was matted with sweat and effort, and her eyes shone in the darkness.
And her grin widened, enigmatically. "Fascinating time, the construction of the Tower of Babel... I was there, and I could tell you stories..."
Rebecca was wearing an uncharacteristic leather jacket ensemble that resembled the mail Jason would normally wear. Danny snatched her by the lapels. "You!! You can't be- how are you doing this?"
Jason-as-Rebecca smiled. Dion watched, fascinated, "Interesting…either she’s just as good at fucking with you as I can…or this is a straight up puppet.”
Rebecca examined the sleeves of her jacket, and admired her body. "Truth, it made giving you your... last gift a bit intimate... we've always been close, but making a puppet out of a grieving widow was just step one... Speaking through her, and wearing her shell, now that's something else again."
“Kinky?” Dionysus questioned rhetorically.
Danny seethed. "You are a thug from Pittsburgh. You were taking part in parking-lot fight clubs when I found you, earning pittance money. You never - "
"Oh, that's right," Jason-as-Rebecca laughed. "There was no magic. There never was any magic. Until there was." He looked, intently, at Dion. "Until you passed over the crossroads; Until you made a wish. What was your wish, Danny?"
From Rebecca's own mouth, Danny's words from just a minute ago echoed. "What would you give if you wanted to be really great, even if for a short period of time? Would you give your soul if it meant five years of success?"
"Let me guess; he’ll drink this potion to gain the strength of a lion, but become as weak as a lamb after five years?" Dion said archly. "Come on, with all the riddles this woman is throwing out here, its pretty obvious you won't gain anything from this."
"But he wanted to," said the body-snatcher, "Realistically, your boy Danny is finally now opening himself up to the possibility that I made him better. That everything he had that defined him as successful when he was younger, all of it came from embracing the fact that he is made in this image. That he thinks he did this all for the love of Michelle, but he only ever thought about himself."
"You keep her name out of your GODdamn mouth," Danny spat.
"No? You think you did this because you love Michelle, and your main-event status meant paying for a good life with her. Yes?"
"I'm not talking about this with you. Specifically not while you're... using Rebecca, like this. It's obscene."
"I'm sorry, Daniel, are you seriously saying that, even for a minute, you were considering any kind of deal with this dollar store magic bean salesman?" Dion looked at him.
Jason-as-Rebecca grinned, "Maybe he already has. Maybe everything good that's happened to you this year has been because I pushed him to this. Maybe he's already lost."
Dion grew serious. "I’ve heard the shaping destiny line many times over, and I’ll respond to you the same I did with them; we shape our path, we shape our destiny. Anything we’ve done in the last year has been a result of our cooperation together."
"And you'll fracture once the slightest pressure is on you," the body-snatcher laughed, as if this were the most delectable irony. "Whatever you have won't last."
Dionysus shrugged. “If it doesn’t last, it doesn’t last. Nothing was ever meant to last forever.”
Rebecca's lips curled shrewdly, wearing that evil look. "That was the secret of the Tower of Babel, kids. They built themselves up so well, a community... and then, when their hubris proved too much, and the Tower fell, they lost their brotherhood. What better parable is there for the "Downfall" of man, and the central principle at it's heart, than that."
"And... what principle might that be?"
Rebecca's body bowed, deeply, from the waist, in a theatrical motion. "Entropy. Chaos. The ends falling apart, due to unbridled hubris of wanting to be better, to be more. Your boy here worshipped this concept, called it Anarchy."
Danny shook his head. "When you sent Serenity... when I saw her for the first time... when she said you wanted to meet, and offer a deal... it shocked me at first."
Rebecca's eyebrow raised. "Yes... but you know what... I think it's interesting that you brought Dionysus here, tonight. After all, he is your moral support, is he not."
Dion stood forward, bravely. "Think of it more as a partner and friend who is skeptical, yet willing to still hear what you have to say. Any decision I make are my own."
Jason's eyes glowed from behind Rebecca's, but he looked intrigued. "Interesting... you're made of different stuff, then... but you must want something, Dionysus. C'mon, walk with me... tell me what you really desire."
There was a pause, and Dion and Danny stood side by side. But, incredibly, Dion broke ranks first, walking over to follow Rebecca's body. Jason-as-Rebecca laughed.
"Dion, don't - you don't have to do this - " Danny started, reaching after his partner.
Dion's eyes met his. "You’re right. But I’m going to. Nothing to worry about; we have trust, no?" And he walked outside, leaving Danny, alone, in the ruins of the old Inner Circle warehouse.
As Danny watched them walk outside, he heaved a heavy sigh, thinking about the central parable of a tower that had grown so big that it crumbled under it's own weight.
"Trust, right," he said to himself.
For someone who allowed their arrogance to outstrip their self-awareness, reaching the pinnacle I did last Clash would be dangerous.
Not just finishing strong by closing the loop with Dandy and overcoming his kin, but holding up two titles and, fleetingly, standing in the sun, validated. All of the hard work of twenty long years. The long stretches of bottom, where I toiled just to get by, finally and sweetly justified in one beautiful, cathartic moment.
Moments don't last forever. I didn't need some amateur-hour chair beatdown from two bitter, spiteful harpies to remind me of that.
Regardless of the sour grapes inherent in the birth of Affluenza, that win, and the run I embarked on leading up to it, stacked expectations higher with every single week.
Every week throughout Turmoil, there were those, I'm sure, who were betting against me sticking the landing, and yet I continued to defy expectation.
For someone who allowed this to overstuff their ego, a streak like mine would be priming, ready for the structure to collapse.
I don't look down from other people's towers. I'll be comfortable perched atop rubble.
And that's where I'm built different from every one else in this match for mine and Dion's Tag Titles, because, first of all, not a one of them has shown that they could have the fortitude I've shown in the last three months and remain standing, but if they had; If Jill Park had been where I'm at right now, this fatal fourway would be where she fell short.
Because the secret ingredient that makes any successful team run isn't just combining two random elements.
It took Dion and I months to get here. We developed the communication, the chemistry and the shared desire to build up the Tag division.
What do any of the rest of these fair-weather factions that think they're blowing with the full force of a Biblical disaster have in common?
If you think back, Carter has burned his bridges with everyone who considered him their blue-eyed white hope. How many people would even return Carter's calls after he's outed himself as a snake in the grass so many times? Ash Blake wouldn't. Garvey wouldn't.
Even Lissie would wanna keep her distance, despite the fact that she and Carter walked out of their match arm-in-arm, she's yet to keep Carter's name at the top of her speed-dial.
The likeliest scenario's that the only person Carter has to turn to in the world, the crumbled remains of the rival faction he openly strung along and marked like a conman.
And Kyle Kemp teaming with Carter Shaw would be just pathetic enough to land as a convincing team.
But I'm just guessing, because it doesn't overly matter enough to me who your partner is, Carter...
Remember how when you and Kemp did team up against Dion and I, a year ago in Battlebowl, and were getting beaten handily until you snuck out a win with the most cowardly, chickenshit countout strategy possible?
Do you also remember how Jill Park humbled you and put you in your place a few weeks ago?
Reality is Carter, whoever you picked to be your backup, isn't gonna make a bit of difference... because you aren't teaming to win the Tag belts.
You're teaming to keep your name in the conversation... much like the way you shrieked to everyone listening that it didn't matter you went down in the first round of WOTY, that because you were competing for the World Title you were still undeclared Wrestler Of The Year.
How'd that work out for you?
And with that question fresh in our minds, we turn to Affluenza... and I pose the same query, asking them to ruminate on it as the gnawing fear of the reckoning they've brought down upon their heads draws closer.
Oh, Jill and Regan had a banner Clash too, don't get me wrong. Jill picked up a tainted, sloppy win over Dion... They beat me down and ended the show posing over my bloodied body...
And yet despite everything, despite the piqued envy and the pedantic, shallow worthlessness that went into their wasted arrow of an attack I am still fucking standing. Actually, worse for them, I'm standing back up, and turning in their direction.
It'd be laughable, if I hadn't predicted this whole outcome from the moment Regan disdained to shake my hand.
Right down to Regan selecting Jill as her second, thereby cementing Jill into the new Joey Bunga slot.
How blind do you have to be, Jill? To see stars in your eyes, to think that a united, hashtag-girlboss femme-fatale team with Regan's going to pay dividends for you? That you're equals?
Regan's a user, a pathologically callous rich girl who makes no secret of throwing around cash just to get what she wants.
She hired someone she had the utmost distaste for personally just so she could have him absorb the beatings and take the losses for her in a tag-team scenario...
And yet, here you are, someone she cannot possibly care about, placed as the meat-shield to take punishment in this match.
And, the kicker is, Jill, you have the built-in reputation for being the one that takes the loss, because you've already been there.
You've outpaced people's expectations when you're set against an FPV or a Kyle Kemp and you've managed to tap out some impressive people.
But every time you're asked to step up in a big multiplayer match like this, you can't even get off the ground.
That's why Regan and you are perfect for each other.
Regan Voorhees, the fan-voted multiple award winner, the one who had the whole world in her hands going into Turmoil and came out of it with such a groundswell of support that she could write her ticket anywhere... went into Cruiserhavoc and didn't even make the final four.
Regan read my bio perfectly, she quoted chapter and verse. She talked about my father. She talked about my past as if it were something I was ashamed of... but she completely missed the subtext of my story. She saw me as just a faded star, facing obsoletion.
She thought I was weak.
You're all waiting for a moment like this, predicting a million different outcomes; that I'd betray Dion, that building friendship and trust with Dion made me soft, that I don't have the fire inside me that I did at any given point before; that I was going to build this tower to the heavens until it swayed and a single push could knock it over.
But I'm not ready to give either one of these titles up, and you're going to have to tear me down to the last brick if you wanted to take what I've worked so hard for.
Every single one, secure in the hubris that your ascension drawing near and you're reaching for the pinnacle, touching the face of the sun.
What you don't realize... especially thanks to our brilliant and enterprising Affluenz'tas... there is a disaster coming your way that's going to shake you all to your foundations. I am the Biblical disaster that hits that tower. I AM that flood. I AM a raging inferno.
I'm the hand of fucking god that comes to slap you down and scatter you like a child's blocks.
You all have just consigned yourselves to be the confused, disoriented and broken people left wailing in torment at the base of the fallen tower.
