Post by W A L T E R on May 1, 2020 22:59:02 GMT -5
15 MINUTES FROM NOW
Alyssa Payton sits unmoving but roiling with rage and fear, nose bloodied and likely broken. This fear was different than even what she felt in that shipping container with him; now there was shrieking not her own. The panic vibrating her heart wasn’t just for her own life, but for that of her newborn child.NOW
The Evolved Man stands outside under a bright early morning moon, darkness yet the canvas. He’s lit by a single, buzzing light mounted unceremoniously to the concrete wall behind him. He tosses a small mountain of garbage bags, one by one, into a dumpster.I was so proud, Action Wrestling. I was so proud of what I’d brought out of Frank and Odin. I sat there in the back, watching the match again. I brought out of Odin what Torture called “his best in years.” Next, Frank began the most successful title reign of his rather long and unstoried career. These men had been pushed to places most thought them no longer capable of. They gave the performances of their careers.
Not just against me but because of me.
Because I brought what I had promised to bring to Action Wrestling: EVOLUTION. After leaving bodies in my wake at the Glory Tournament and proving myself Monster of the Year, Action Wrestling began to transform. Frank realized that his effort at Turmoil--valiant as it was--wasn’t enough. He had to evolve. Upon the tragic loss of his father, Odin realized there were still new depths of anger and hatred yet unplumbed. Even at his advanced age, he could evolve.
From the moment I planted Franklin on his back in the middle of that ring and the entire Action Universe saw their Great Right Hope crumble at the feet of the Evolved Man...This entire place grew.
You’re welcome, Action Wrestling.
And now?
I’m sorry.
DAYS AGO
He stands over a prone woman as he has dozens--hundreds?--of times. She strains to breath, every muscle in her body tensed, struggling, fighting for life. A strong, proud woman, air is hissed through gritted teeth; she denies the impulse to scream. Walter leans in close to her ear.Go ahead my dear, let it out.
Her jaw seems to unhinge and a caterwaul erupts from deep within her stomach, tearing through her pride. The hair on his arms reach up to meet the guttural sound, his pupils dilate, adrenaline and dopamine course through his massive body. Walter...is excited.
NOW
Walter reaches down to the now-dwindled pile of garbage bags. He clutches one in his giant hand, palming the fairly large, slightly oblong piece of trash obscured within the bag. A cantaloupe maybe? No...a bowling ball?I’m sorry that I must come back to demand proper evolution again. I’m sorry that you’ve allowed a parade of so-called legends to walk through that Action Wrestling curtain, a curtain that I had steeled against lesser men from lesser times at lesser places. But now I am aghast at the steady stream of these alleged competitors whose laurels are flattened into near non-existence having been rested on for so long.
Action Wrestling is an Evolution. Do you all think I was brought to this place by accident? Are you blind to the divine hand of Evolution that plucked me up out of my town-to-town meanders--enacting Its will so slowly, so inefficiently--and brought me here? To this place? A place whose banner event shares the name with my own true purpose, a place that grew from the ashes of others before it. That outgrew and outpaced and out-Evolved those places to such an extent that nostalgia for AW’s ancestor cannot power even one single night of competition?
There are no accidents, my friends. Evolution is the cause and my presence here is its effect.
So when I see a parade of forgotten once-hallowed names trudging loudly through the halls of a place that Evolution sent ME to help shape, a place free from and superior to all those that came before…..When I see all those alleged “legends” turning Action Wrestling’s “stars” into quivering piles of unearned deference and pathetic lionization…
Walter sighs and drops his head a moment, his enormous hand suddenly a vice around that round object in the trash bag. A sudden roar escapes him and he batters the object against the brick wall. Unlike a cantaloupe, it doesn’t break. The sound isn’t that solid thud of a bowling ball on the brick. Walter smashes the object again. And again. The bag tears and crimson peaks out, he tosses the object headlong into the dumpster.
As...upset...as the returns of these lesser men and the treatment they’ve received have made me, my reasons are not so straightforward. Recent events in my life have left me reconsidering and re-evaluating. My priorities have...shifted. Evolution does indeed require us to burn it all down but that is not the end. No, that is the beginning. Once you have removed the weak links, discarded the chaff, CULLED the herd then it is time not to salt the earth…
It is time to be reborn.
DAYS AGO
Though the environment was sterile and the lights overhead hummed a harsh luminescence onto a prone woman, the excitement this shriek brought was not familiar to Walter. A shriek usually begged to be silenced, to be swallowed effortlessly whole by The Great Mystery.This shriek did the opposite. It didn’t call out in fear of its own light being extinguished but instead it was a declaration of life. It was a war cry that emanated from the bowels of the amazonian shape of Alyssa Payton laying on her back, legs akimbo. Most women laying prone under harsh light with Walter’s warm breath on their neck never made it here. And he would certainly never bring them.
But this woman was different. This was the one he spared all those months ago when he realized she was Evolution’s Chosen One. The Universe had seen fit to fruit her with Walter’s offspring; Evolution had deemed her worthy to carry Walter’s mission forward. He had spent his time burning down everything he touched but here in this moment, hearing that scream, he realized that he too had Evolved.
She screamed again and the Heir pressed closer to life.
NOW
“To progress again, man must remake himself. And he cannot remake himself without suffering. For he is both the marble and the sculptor. In order to uncover his true visage he must shatter his own substance with heavy blows of his hammer.”
I saw most men failing to progress, unwilling to suffer for growth so I did what they were unwilling to. My hands replaced their hammer and I shattered their very substance with heavy blows. They would emerge new, a truer visage than before or they would crumble. This was the code.
Never did I realize how rarely I turned the hammer unto myself, how blind I’d become to my own stagnancy. And then that woman changed it. She bore my fruit and I was born anew. My purpose was renewed and refreshed...I wasn’t simply burning The World to the ground but I was here to reshape, to rebuild, to sculpt it so that when my Heir looks out unto The World, she is proud. She sees beauty, she sees strength, truth, intellect. She sees all the values that I have instilled in her and the values that I exhort all of you toward.
She was the hammer I needed to uncover my true visage again. So instead of lurking under the guise of night to satisfy certain...desires...I return to you, Action Wrestling. I return to the Bright Lights to shatter your false perceptions of self and expose to you all once more...The Great Mystery.
Walter flings a door that opens with a creak and the camera follows him to the bottom of a decrepit, concrete stairwell. The lights buzz and flicker and Walter addresses the camera again.
A return at Havoc had a certain appeal for me. Usually, one would be expected to start here, at the bottom. Despite my prior dominance, wrestling is a business and I know Torture and Gravediger were unhappy with how quickly I absconded. Nikki Venus told me as such in between punitive screams and relentlessly shrill diatribes about how I “have to” return. And then suddenly, all her phone calls and unannounced visits to my apartment just stopped...It was almost as if she disappeared.
But today I start at the bottom as I will at Havoc. And I will climb effortlessly as I will at Havoc.
I will start with a familiar name: Derrick Vayden. Did that excite you, Derrick? To hear your name escape my lips? That’s how I know you are still not ready; I can feel you leaning forward, beaming with pride just to be mentioned by the Monster of the Year. I will admit you have continued to evolve, attempted to grow and become something better than your past pathetic self. You’ve traded in your pokemon cards for beer bottles but you have nothing to trade in for actual talent. But I’m here in part to ensure you continue to try. It would make me so happy to see you reach your full and final potential: two week tag team champion with some semen-drunk whore can barely put together three sentences. Congratulations in advance.
RJ Collins. I know that is no longer your chosen moniker but you have earned no such respect from me. You came into this place and made a mockery of it, interested more in kraft services than servicing the craft. And now because you spent some blink of time in Japan buying new tights and falling gracelessly on top of men half your size I am to call you by a new name? You are wasted potential, RJ. You are the pet project that should have been put down. You are a drain on that stable, on this federation, on society itself. Stand toe to toe to me for a moment and I will wipe the Collins stain from the face of this earth.
I’m inclined to mention other, newer souls here. Those that believe Havoc will be their moment to shine. Men like Grayson Ward who has every tic of Tyler Durden except the ones where he actually wins the fights. Men like Carter Shaw for whose mother I wish the best. I truly do hope she survives long enough to open her yellowed, quivering eyes to the television to watch me bash your pathetic skull in at Havoc. And then Mother Shaw can breathe her last breath, reassured in something she always knew: Carter is a failure.
A smirk from Walter and he begins up the staircase.
Taking a few steps up from those hordes of insignificance we reach Jason O’Neal. Welcome to Action Wrestling, Jason, your stay will be short and unwelcoming. You are a dangerous man, ruthless and willing to do whatever it takes right? Or are you aloof and resistant to even being here? Are you a cold-blooded killer, a relentless savage of a capitalist? Or are you a pathetic drone buzzing about, doing the bidding of a vagina you once enjoyed the taste of? The reluctant savant is a tired, empty trope and is not welcome here. You can not resurrect a career here, Jason. Lift your head up out of your career's grave and I'll shove it back under once more.
I’d be remiss to mention resurrections and not speak the name Crow. If the legends are true I say it a few more times and you appear in front of me in whatever type of flesh covers the blood of a McMorris. I do not believe in legends. And I do not believe in you, I do not believe your motivations are pure as you paint them. I do not believe that you set eyes on me for the purpose of retribution in the name of Balfore. I believe you see a being doing what you wish you could, being what you once claimed to be: a Murder Machine. A moniker fit for a Beast, truly. Let the people cheer you, Crow, but make it known that who you were is who you are. You are another tool of Buddy Roman, a wandering psychopath of the highest order, given to fits of rage and whose violence is a flight of fancy. Your past is not prologue, it is written in the same ink that every action you take now is. I am a Murder Machine...evolved.
It pains me now that as I stop here on the second tier I must already place the name Joseph Malignaggi. When you entered the Action Wrestling Universe, it was as though people had seen an asteroid bound for their planet, equal parts awe and panic. But the asteroid has landed and here we all stand, barely scathed. Now we see that you were nothing more than space trash hurtling toward us at such speeds and velocity that no one could get a look at you until you were right here, at our feet a helpless bit of rubble fading into a landscape already set in stone. I am not entertained by this version of Joseph. When your name struck fear into champions I sought out footage from that other place and I saw why. You have a raw talent, a great power. That you now waste. That you are unable to evolve into relevance here in Action Wrestling. I would have looked forward to punishing you when you meant The World but now your career is nigh meaningless. Congratulations, now you've allowed your wrestling legacy to die just like your familial one.
DAYS AGO
Alyssa Payton summons strength known only to a woman as her right hand clutches Walter’s and her left cracks the bed rail she has it clamped upon. Another roar from wherever most people believe the soul is kept and she expels life from her person.The Heir is born.
The child is purple and silent a moment. Born weeks early but still oversized, the doctors said something was likely wrong, no child should be this large this early.
The moment stretches.
Alyssa’s hand no longer clutches Walter’s but his begins crushing hers. He stares at the silent Heir. The moment has been minutes now. Hours? How long had it been since the Heir escaped the too-small womb and still doesn’t fill its lungs with air?
He spared her for this? For this...failure?
He closed his hand around hers and there was a crack. Alyssa accepts the punishment for her failure.
A wail.
Not from Alyssa but from the tiny, purple Heir. A mighty wail from the Heir and life flooded the being. The cord is cut, the Heir is whisked away briefly and cleaned. The nurse brings her to Alyssa who looks to Walter. He stretches out one massive hand and the child--oversized as it was at 22 inches--nearly disappears in Walter’s massive mandible. A daughter.
NOW
I suppose it is best to comment on Wesley, the man who holds a United States belt I was forced to abdicate during my first ascension to the top of this federation. To be frank, I’d prefer to avoid this man altogether. I do not fear Wesley. No, I loathe him. I loathe that a man with a moniker as childish as “Illumidaddy” holds something as once-distinguished as The United States Title. Your demeanor changed mightily since your days or dragging the shell of Ariel Shadows around, a comedy trio along with Slimboi. I hope you’re ashamed of that, Wesley. I know you’re now “untethered” but it makes no difference to me. You are the same man-child who made those choices and danced like a monkey for the Action Wrestling universe. I do not dance, Wesley. I make it so embarrassments like you never dance again.KOS, on the other hand, has shown that he shall dance forever. No matter how many times Spencer is squashed by better men, no matter how many times he is left battered and broken, he comes back. Not better. Different, of course, as every man is after suffering the physical and emotional trauma of the myriad failures that this King of Slabs has. Your broken bones may heal stronger, Spencer, but the fragility of your spirit bleeds through your words. You will never reach the heights of this place that you once soared to. Hold close and speak often--as you already do--of that victory over Wade. There are no more accolades for you until you change something more than just your name.
The word “broken spirit” shall never be uttered in great distance from the name “Lissie Hope.” Elizabeth I am sorry that you cannot see yourself. I am sorry that you refuse to accept your place here just outside greatness with Spencer. I am sorry that you are good enough to climb the mountain but never good enough to find sure footing. I am not sorry for what I will do to you at Havoc. No, actually I expect a thank you. Your loss at Glory haunted you. You had your spotlight stolen by an Evolved Man who wanted no part of a spotlight other than to bring it crashing down upon your skull. That failure drove you all the way to an All-In Briefcase and eventually to TWO absolutely meaningless World Title victories. Allow me to do you that service again. Just when you believe it is your moment at Havoc I will grab you by your throat and expel you from the ring. Perhaps that will motivate you enough to achieve another grand failure.
Last on this landing just outside the top is the King Corey Black. The record-breaking Hardcore Champion. The Great Man of that other place. The man whose skull I cracked. The man whose former manager saw a fire and talent in me that Corey has not had in years. The man who spoke my name for WEEKS and then hid behind CIVILIANS at his own event? You are no King, Corey. I kicked you from your throne once, it will be easy to do again. The sea of people between us at Havoc will not be bystanders, they will be other competitors that I will not hesitate to behead for their loyalty to a false King. Corey I do not come for your eye this time--I come for your throat.
Walter ascends to the highest level of the stairs.
Frank, I am sure that it spites Corey for me to have put your name above his. He has more World Title reigns, more respect, more status, and--to be honest--more talent. But you? You have what only three men in this business can claim: a victory over me. So for that, I give you part of my respect, the minimum amount. The rest of my respect I will save for men who can do it every week. Who do not peak and valley at whiplash inducing speeds like Frank Patrick. A man who I thought I saw evolve after I pushed him past his breaking point…But he could not hold onto the Evolution. He would instead fall back into familiar patterns of failure and inconsistency. And now you will fall back into a familiar bludgeoning at the hands of a Mongrel that you will NEVER put down.
Odin Balfore, do I keep you up at night? I know you are not satisfied with our last meetings. I know you want to turn me to “dust.” So I implore you, Odin: do it. Bring to me the great War Balfore. Show me that the Villain of the Story has returned in full and not in part, not in a fleeting moment where he can vanquish a man that he blames for his father’s death only to lose his prize to a lowly Venable. You’re better than that, aren’t you Odin? We’re better than that, aren’t we Odin? I cannot say that I did what you hold me accountable for, Odin. But I will admit I had words with your father before he passed. Do you know what he admitted to me? That you were a disappointment. He wanted nothing more than his boy Odin to become a man, to truly wield the power he has, to become a righteous and vengeful god forsaking all the Poon and Kush and Titles. I have to believe he would thank me for what I brought out in you--however brief it was. If only he were here to be proud of his boy.
Dandy Divito is nearly an impressive man. That is the best I can say for him. He fights with the fervor and resilience and tenacity of a great. He’s relentless and ruthless and will do anything to win. It is why he has won and will continue to do so. Against the men who--like him--forgo the mental part of this violent delight of ours. Dandy is pure id and that is frequently enough here. When he believes he’s outsmarted the masses, earning himself a “main event” at Evolution, his plans are upended with the stroke of a pen. But my carnal desires are honed and sharpened by a patience and intellect that has evolved to a place that Dandy does not and will never know. A gutter punk crossed with a rottweiler, all snarls and bite. I can bear the bite, Dandy. Sink your yellowed teeth deep into my forearm and let me pull your close enough so that I can introduce you to the Great Mystery. As you close your eyes, the World will thank me for their momentary reprieve from the word vomit affectations you spout.
Finally I must mention the returned GOAT, Ryan Lockhart. I found the story of your return fitting: an amalgamation of all those others, allegedly taking the best and creating better. It’s so fitting Ryan; you’ve never been more than some jumbled-together facsimile of men who came before you. Strange that a GOAT feels the need to return like this, at Havoc, still something to prove. Why is that Ryan? You conquered your great and mighty blueprint Joseph but still you left the taste of RC Cola in everyone’s mouth. Even if Coca-Cola is off the market, we all know the taste and yours...was just never quite right. You broke the curse of your family, Ryan, you broke the world title reign record, that should have been enough for you. But here you stand. Still fighting to rid yourself of those insecurities. Still fighting to be greater than the sum of your parts. I will help you, Ryan. At Havoc, let me separate all those parts for you. Let me paint the canvas with your innards and we’ll have a look at them to see if it makes a prettier picture than what you’ve offered us with this great return. Or perhaps you--an alleged GOAT made up of the DNA from men you should be touting your superiority to--can just shoot another “How To” promo and send the royalty check to Alessandra Malignaggi for doing a watered down, bastardized version of something men have done half a dozen times before and half a dozen times better than you.
I have returned to you, Action Wrestling.
BURN IT DOWN
BE REBORN
EVOLUTION COMES
The camera cuts and Walter heads down the hallway to his apartment. He presses open the door and there sits Alyssa Payton, bloodied nose cradled in her hands. The Heir is wailing in a stranger's arms. Walter freezes in the doorway, a gun trained him as soon as he entered.
Nice to see you, cocksucker.
ETTA BENNETT sees his nostrils flare, blind with rage, about to charge her and rescue his child. She turns her gun from the Evolved Man to the Heir. Walter freezes.
Now sit down, I want to have a fucking discussion.