Post by Sicko on May 12, 2024 12:39:03 GMT -5
His bald head is slumped, his massive shoulders are hunched. He sits upon a comedically tiny stool, bellied up to a bar in the common area. His eyes are as dull as a cow's.
He barely even seems to comprehend how to hold a spoon, digging the tool in with a hamfisted grip, mining down into a mound of ice cream.
Unknown, behind his back, two sets of eyes are watching him.
They walked from the kitchen, to the living room area of the new Inner Circle clubhouse, the outfitted raiders warehouse;
"This was your get, Jason. You told me that getting Ephrain Ortiz out of that hole was going to be worth it."
"It will... look. Danny. This guy tested top of the charts when he was a firefighter and he was peak human potential..."
They looked back at the wasted, dead-eyed human, slopping ice cream into his mouth from the bowl.
"...At one time."
"I'm confident that if I get the right balance of medication on him, and talk to him and teach him, I can get his mind functioning in a way that benefits us."
What then...?, Jason had a momentary flash of insight. Suppose he did his job too well.
Suppose he built Ephrain into a creature of unimaginable strength, despite his limitations.
Suppose Ephrain surpassed the chains he would have to put in place, developed a will strong enough to push through the mind games, ignore the obligations of loyalty.
Suppose Ephrain Ortiz, deep down in the nub of what remained of his heart, was stronger than anyone ever could imagine?
Hmmm.
Nahh.
He discarded that as soon as the thoughts flickered through his head.
He had a dragon by the tail. A beast that he could turn on whoever he wanted.
Danny sighed, looked unhappily over at Jason. "Okay... but. Look. Just this guy, he isn't going to strike terror in anybody."
"True," Jason mused, "But, think about it, Danny. He can be whatever we want. We can shape him into something that strikes real, primal terror into anyone he faces"
"Hey, dudes, is someone gonna get the sicko? He's drooling over there..."
"Oh, don't worry, Redd.
I'll take care of him."
-
Lest we never forget where we came from... Some lessons I've been relearning, as I emerge from the depths of Ephrain's mind, are all-too-cutting. Yet, week by week, I reshape this company's perception of me, just as Jason Twisted reformed me from a burnout into an enforcer.
What struck a chord of fear in him, was the same tickle of unease that should be hitting deep inside of your intestines right now, because you should be looking at the gauntlet match I ran with a keenly-dawning awe.
Perhaps I didn't smash through every opponent like shit through a canebreak. I struggled, I got my bell rung, I had my precious mask ripped from my face.
But one by one, I fought through a murderers' row of hungry, opportunistic, and stupid little pieces of detritus that were salivating for a bit of shine, and I put them all down.
What I see in you, is the same, eager to please yearning for a spotlight that marks every other sidekick and secondary figure I've ever known. Your place in the sun, your own identity.
Hell, Jacob, I was once the fourth man in a stable, too, I know what it's like to yearn for a chance to speak and showcase some personality...
But then you look at you, little Jacob, a Xerox of a Xerox, and oh, quelle surprise, now it's unveiled that Backbreaker Fight Club were subsidiaries all along, you're but a bit player in someone else's story and, no matter how much you growl and snark for me to bring you "YOUR" belt rn... you're still secondary to someone else.
Now you win precisely ONE match, and NOW, you're snarling that this is YOUR Championship? To proclaim with pride that YOU were the one who made this belt?
You're still trying to create the projection that you ARE a real boy, that you can have the temerity to write your own story;
Incorrectly, however.
Jacob Koenig's stamp on the Omega Championship was that it was there, but not defended or even recognized by AW.
Roman Gunn's stamp was that it was on AW cards, but subject to Roman's light schedule. Madrox, Green, what they did with the title was keep it at low expectations.
But you place Sicko in a gauntlet match, and watch him tear through five competitors, and you see that it's more important than Jacob Koenig ever was.
That Sicko, on his own, has pushed his limits to be more of a man than Jacob Koenig, ever was. Because Jacob Koenig, just can't help but entangle himself and get bogged down with convoluted webs of lore that are impossible to understand or care about.
That at the bottom of it all, even divested from BFC, Jacob still will never be his own man, with his own goals and aspirations.
You aren't someone to be taken seriously Jacob because your desires, even your shrieking desire to win back "your" championship, aren't ultimately your idea.
What happens to a puppet when he cuts strings, removes himself from lore, writes himself out of other people's narratives and make his future?
That's what frightened Jason, and should scare you all along... because even when I was mindless, even when I had no thought in my head there was still the concern of what would happen the day I broke my chains.
The day I decided I wanted to take what was mine.
That day is here, and Ephrain is all the better for it. I've actualized our potential, I've breathed a puppet into real and terrifying life.
This fairytale comeup, this realization of a dream, is a nightmare for you, Jacob.
That I'm more than you ever dreamed of becoming.
And come Clash, you aren't going to stop me from continuing to grow.