Post by Miguel Guerrero on Dec 5, 2020 23:46:12 GMT -5
Miguel Guerrero ran through the overgrowth of a forest with a confident but frantic gate. The sound of gunfire in the near distance shattered the peacefulness of what would otherwise be a still, serene forest scene, and as he ran as hard as he could, sweat beaded on his brow and rolled down his forehead, into his eyes. He tried in vain to wipe it away before it blinded him, but he failed and knew he needed to stop for a moment. He propped himself up against a tree before tearing a bandana off his arm and retying it around his forehead.
He blinked several times to refocus his vision and recompose himself as he remained slumped against the tree. As he stood there sucking wind, a few bullets slammed into the trunk of a tree near his hiding spot.
*THWAP*
*THWAP*
*THWAP*
Guerrero looked up and saw exactly where the bullets impacted. He knew the opposing forces were onto his trail, and he took off like a wild animal who smelled approaching hunters down wind. This wasn’t the first time Guerrero had made a mad dash to avoid certain death, but damn was it getting old.
He blinked several times to refocus his vision and recompose himself as he remained slumped against the tree. As he stood there sucking wind, a few bullets slammed into the trunk of a tree near his hiding spot.
*THWAP*
*THWAP*
*THWAP*
Guerrero looked up and saw exactly where the bullets impacted. He knew the opposing forces were onto his trail, and he took off like a wild animal who smelled approaching hunters down wind. This wasn’t the first time Guerrero had made a mad dash to avoid certain death, but damn was it getting old.
Who the hell am I? Why the hell do I deserve a chance in a tournament like this one? Well, maybe I don’t, but I’ve got the spot, don’t I? Might as well make the most of any opportunity that comes my way, right?
My name is Miguel Guerrero, and I am what my father was and what his father before him was and what his father before him was: I’m a fucking fighter. For most of my life, I’ve been the kind of person who people look right past. It’s part of how I’ve managed to survive in the world I come from. If I don’t want to be noticed, I’m just not.
Well, it’s about time for me to been seen and for the world to learn exactly how the fuck Miguel Guerrero is. The place for me to make my name known is in the biggest fighting company in the world, so I’m coming to Action Wrestling to do work and establish my name in the light instead of the fucking shadows I’ve been living in for years.
Dandy DiVito stood outside of the door of his father’s study. It had been a long while since Dandy had come home, but his father had called saying he needed to see his son ASAP and in person. The urgency was unexpected, and as such, Dandy knocked on the study door with great trepidation.
“Come in.”
Dandy swung the door open and entered expecting to see his father alone. Given the man lording over a poorly lit corner of the study who was not his father, Dandy swiftly discovered he was wrong: with Dandy’s arrival, his father now had two guests, not just one.
“Who da hell’s that?”
“Sit. We’ll get to who he is. For now...just sit, Winston.”
Dandy kept his head on a swivel, shooting persistent looks back at the stranger in the corner while father started in on what he so urgently needed to say.
“I’ve stayed out of your business for a while now. Haven’t tried to talk you out of that wrestling bullshit in more than a year.”
He paused for a while.
“Right?”
Dandy nodded his head to confirm.
“Yeah, exactly. But I’ve been keeping an eye on you, son, and I think you need something you don’t have.”
Dandy smirked.
“Oh yeah? And what the fuck is that?”
Mr. DiVito’s eyes narrowed.
“This isn’t a damn joke, Winston. I’m as serious as a fucking heartattack.”
Dandy waved off his father’s sternness.
“What the fuck is it that I need then, old man?”
The man in the corner chimed in.
“He’s got quite a mouth on him, DiVito.”
Mr. DiVito’s attention turned from his son to his compatriot in the corner.
“Yeah. Well, the apple didn’t fall too far, right?”
The shadow man chuckled.
“Cut the bullshit! Tell me who the fuck that is!”
“Fine. That…”
Mr. DiVito gestured toward the man in the corner.
“...is Miguel Guerrero, and he is going to be your Director of Security.”
Dandy recoiled at the suggestion.
“The FUCK he is!”
Miguel stepped out of the shadow and approached the desk. Mr. DiVito motioned for him to speak.
“Your dad here brought me in to help you and your boys. I’m going to do that shit whether you like it or not, you get me?”
Dandy stood up angrily.
“An’ I’m just supp’sed ta roll ova and let you do whatever you fuckin’ wan’, Miguel Guerrero? Is that fuckin’ right?!”
Guerrero smirked disingenuously. Dandy had begun to annoy him.
“You don’t even know what kind of fucking talent you’re trying to turn away right now, boy.”
“BOY?! OH HELL NAH!”
“DANDY! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE!”
Dandy stopped in his tracks and stared at his father. It was a ridiculously rare occurrence for his father to call him Dandy.
“Did you call me Dandy?”
“Let’s not dwell on that unpleasantry, son. Sit. Please.”
Dandy did as was requested and took a seat. Mr. DiVito looked at Miguel and gestured toward the second chair where Miguel also moved to sit.
“Thank you. Now, Winston, The Guerrero Family and the DiVitos… we go way back. I knew Miguel’s father back before… well, let’s just say I knew him when he was a hell of a fighter. My work, our family business, has helped me develop some relationships in less-than-stable parts of the world, Winston, and Miguel here is my most trusted ally. Miguel and I have been discussing your recent actions, and it’s clear to me that if you’re going to continue running with that cult...”
Dandy aggressively butted in.
“It ain’t no fuckin’ cult.”
Mr. DiVito let out a sigh.
“Fine. That organization… If you’re going to stand with them, you need someone to guard what you have. It’s rare that a cu…”
Mr. DiVito caught himself and redirected his words.
“...an organization such as that one ends in any way that’s not catastrophic for those involved, either due to in-fighting or outside actors assaulting it. I want to protect you, and if in order to protect you, I have to protect your entire organization, then so be it.”
Dandy looked over at Miguel whose face wore a confident but ultimately blank expression. His was a poker face for the ages.
“And what makes this mo’fucka qualified to run our protection, huh?”
Miguel leaned forward in his chair, interlaced his hands, and rested his elbows on his thighs while he almost robotically recited his personal qualifications while staring blankly at the floor in front of his chair.
“I’m a fighter, Dandy. Always have been, always will be. My father was a fighter, too. At least until the day he just didn’t come home. Got snatched and killed by that pig fucker Noriega. The bastards just dumped his body in the middle of nowhere. But my dead dad isn’t my resume. No, what came after he died is. Since he died, I’ve been a guerrilla and a mercenary. If you’ve seen a dictator toppled in Central or South America, I’ve been there leading the fucking charge. I’ve been doing that shit since I was a goddamn kid at this point. So if you are sweating outside threats, I know what they are and how to stop them, because let’s be real, man… I’ve been every single one of those outside threats to somebody. I know how they’d be executed, so I know how to fucking stop them. If you decide you don’t want my help, fine. I don’t really care. I’m only here as a favor to your old man, because once mine was out of the picture, yours made sure my family had everything we needed to survive and he pushed all the right buttons to get your country to turn on that pig fucker who killed mi papa. So… if you want the best fucking help money can buy, here I am. If you don’t, I’m happy to fuck right back off to Panama but before I go, I’m going to win that World Cup your company’s putting on.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“You make a compelling fuckin’ argumen’, Manny, but what the fuck do you care about the World Cup?”
“I’m tired of fighting my battles under the cover of darkness or the shadows. I’m ready to make sure the world knows I exist. If The Following wants me to run security, I need the rest of your damn company to know what they’re running up against if they make the mistake of fucking with you. If you don’t want me, I’ll see what falls out of this tree when I fucking shake it. Either way? I win.”
Dandy’s attention turned toward his father again.
“Ol’ man, you swear this mo’fucka’s legit? E’rythin’ he jus’ fuckin’ said’s fo’ real?”
A smile spread across the face of the elder DiVito.
“Every single word, Winston. He’s as real as they come. He’s a ghost and a one-man SWAT team all in one. No one in the world is better than Miguel. No one can do what he does, son.”
Dandy turns his attention back toward Miguel and extends a hand.
“One thing I been learnin’ from Kemp an’ the rest of The Followin’ is to trust the wisdom of learned mo’fuckas. I’m trustin’ the ol’ man here, and Miguel, I’m trustin’ you. Welcome to The Followin’.”
Miguel slipped his hand into Dandy’s to seal the agreement as Mr. DiVito looked on pleased with the development.
“Come in.”
Dandy swung the door open and entered expecting to see his father alone. Given the man lording over a poorly lit corner of the study who was not his father, Dandy swiftly discovered he was wrong: with Dandy’s arrival, his father now had two guests, not just one.
“Who da hell’s that?”
“Sit. We’ll get to who he is. For now...just sit, Winston.”
Dandy kept his head on a swivel, shooting persistent looks back at the stranger in the corner while father started in on what he so urgently needed to say.
“I’ve stayed out of your business for a while now. Haven’t tried to talk you out of that wrestling bullshit in more than a year.”
He paused for a while.
“Right?”
Dandy nodded his head to confirm.
“Yeah, exactly. But I’ve been keeping an eye on you, son, and I think you need something you don’t have.”
Dandy smirked.
“Oh yeah? And what the fuck is that?”
Mr. DiVito’s eyes narrowed.
“This isn’t a damn joke, Winston. I’m as serious as a fucking heartattack.”
Dandy waved off his father’s sternness.
“What the fuck is it that I need then, old man?”
The man in the corner chimed in.
“He’s got quite a mouth on him, DiVito.”
Mr. DiVito’s attention turned from his son to his compatriot in the corner.
“Yeah. Well, the apple didn’t fall too far, right?”
The shadow man chuckled.
“Cut the bullshit! Tell me who the fuck that is!”
“Fine. That…”
Mr. DiVito gestured toward the man in the corner.
“...is Miguel Guerrero, and he is going to be your Director of Security.”
Dandy recoiled at the suggestion.
“The FUCK he is!”
Miguel stepped out of the shadow and approached the desk. Mr. DiVito motioned for him to speak.
“Your dad here brought me in to help you and your boys. I’m going to do that shit whether you like it or not, you get me?”
Dandy stood up angrily.
“An’ I’m just supp’sed ta roll ova and let you do whatever you fuckin’ wan’, Miguel Guerrero? Is that fuckin’ right?!”
Guerrero smirked disingenuously. Dandy had begun to annoy him.
“You don’t even know what kind of fucking talent you’re trying to turn away right now, boy.”
“BOY?! OH HELL NAH!”
“DANDY! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN FOR ONCE IN YOUR FUCKING LIFE!”
Dandy stopped in his tracks and stared at his father. It was a ridiculously rare occurrence for his father to call him Dandy.
“Did you call me Dandy?”
“Let’s not dwell on that unpleasantry, son. Sit. Please.”
Dandy did as was requested and took a seat. Mr. DiVito looked at Miguel and gestured toward the second chair where Miguel also moved to sit.
“Thank you. Now, Winston, The Guerrero Family and the DiVitos… we go way back. I knew Miguel’s father back before… well, let’s just say I knew him when he was a hell of a fighter. My work, our family business, has helped me develop some relationships in less-than-stable parts of the world, Winston, and Miguel here is my most trusted ally. Miguel and I have been discussing your recent actions, and it’s clear to me that if you’re going to continue running with that cult...”
Dandy aggressively butted in.
“It ain’t no fuckin’ cult.”
Mr. DiVito let out a sigh.
“Fine. That organization… If you’re going to stand with them, you need someone to guard what you have. It’s rare that a cu…”
Mr. DiVito caught himself and redirected his words.
“...an organization such as that one ends in any way that’s not catastrophic for those involved, either due to in-fighting or outside actors assaulting it. I want to protect you, and if in order to protect you, I have to protect your entire organization, then so be it.”
Dandy looked over at Miguel whose face wore a confident but ultimately blank expression. His was a poker face for the ages.
“And what makes this mo’fucka qualified to run our protection, huh?”
Miguel leaned forward in his chair, interlaced his hands, and rested his elbows on his thighs while he almost robotically recited his personal qualifications while staring blankly at the floor in front of his chair.
“I’m a fighter, Dandy. Always have been, always will be. My father was a fighter, too. At least until the day he just didn’t come home. Got snatched and killed by that pig fucker Noriega. The bastards just dumped his body in the middle of nowhere. But my dead dad isn’t my resume. No, what came after he died is. Since he died, I’ve been a guerrilla and a mercenary. If you’ve seen a dictator toppled in Central or South America, I’ve been there leading the fucking charge. I’ve been doing that shit since I was a goddamn kid at this point. So if you are sweating outside threats, I know what they are and how to stop them, because let’s be real, man… I’ve been every single one of those outside threats to somebody. I know how they’d be executed, so I know how to fucking stop them. If you decide you don’t want my help, fine. I don’t really care. I’m only here as a favor to your old man, because once mine was out of the picture, yours made sure my family had everything we needed to survive and he pushed all the right buttons to get your country to turn on that pig fucker who killed mi papa. So… if you want the best fucking help money can buy, here I am. If you don’t, I’m happy to fuck right back off to Panama but before I go, I’m going to win that World Cup your company’s putting on.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“You make a compelling fuckin’ argumen’, Manny, but what the fuck do you care about the World Cup?”
“I’m tired of fighting my battles under the cover of darkness or the shadows. I’m ready to make sure the world knows I exist. If The Following wants me to run security, I need the rest of your damn company to know what they’re running up against if they make the mistake of fucking with you. If you don’t want me, I’ll see what falls out of this tree when I fucking shake it. Either way? I win.”
Dandy’s attention turned toward his father again.
“Ol’ man, you swear this mo’fucka’s legit? E’rythin’ he jus’ fuckin’ said’s fo’ real?”
A smile spread across the face of the elder DiVito.
“Every single word, Winston. He’s as real as they come. He’s a ghost and a one-man SWAT team all in one. No one in the world is better than Miguel. No one can do what he does, son.”
Dandy turns his attention back toward Miguel and extends a hand.
“One thing I been learnin’ from Kemp an’ the rest of The Followin’ is to trust the wisdom of learned mo’fuckas. I’m trustin’ the ol’ man here, and Miguel, I’m trustin’ you. Welcome to The Followin’.”
Miguel slipped his hand into Dandy’s to seal the agreement as Mr. DiVito looked on pleased with the development.
“But I’m a pup in this world, right? I’m just the kind of person who exists in his world and bends it to his will. Dictators rise, and I make them fall. Governments abuse and ignore the people that have made them exist in the first place, I check their shit. Warlords, drug dealers, cartels… all of them treat the world like their playground but I pull their card. There isn’t a person alive right now that holds a candle to me on the battlefield, but here in a ring? I’ll be straight up: I’m out of my element. This is a new war.
But I’m not afraid. You see, the reality is simple: just like in battle, defying expectations is the best strategy anyone can have in a fight. You’ve got a roster of guys here who expect the same shit every time they step in the ring. They have expectations about how the referee will act and they prepare for that, they think they know what their opponent will do and they prepare for that. They’ve all done this shit time and time again. It’s old hat. They’ve gotten used to the motions. It’s all muscle memory when they step in a ring. Me? Nope. I’m no ring general, but I know what people do. How they act in crisis. How they perform under fire. How they look when they look a mortal threat in the eyes. There’s no muscle memory in a real battle. Sure, there’s strategy and expectation, but the man who falls into the ‘normal’ or ‘expected’ falls into a fucking casket next. Everyone is going to see me entered in this field and think I’m just another same-old, same-old scraper from some country that’s obscure to Americans. And they’re about to be disappointed in how many pieces I shatter their expectations into.
You see, I’m not a wrestler. I’m a fighter. I’m a guerrilla. I’m a goddamn mercenary. I’m not entering this World Cup to prove I’m the best wrestler in the world. Hell, I’m not even entering it to win necessarily. I’m in this thing to learn… You see, I’ve got shit to do. If I’m going to keep being the best damn soldier in the world, the best at defending my people, my culture, my world… Then I always need to be growing, learning. This World Cup? It’s a growth opportunity. And that means I’ll do some of the things you have to do as a wrestler. I’ve learned some moves from the best in the business, and I’ve figured out a little bit about how to sell a match and myself to the entertainment world. I’m not doing a single fucking thing in this World Cup because it’s supposed to be that way. I’m coming in fighting how I know how to fight. It’s not an if A then B flowchart of actions and reactions for me, but that’s unique to me. Everyone else? They’re going through the motions. They’re doing what they’ve always done. I’m the only man in this whole damn Cup that’s here to shake shit up and change something.”
Back in The Following’s compound, Kemp sat at his desk in the study. Miguel Guerrero stood before Kemp on the opposite side of his desk. Kemp reviewed some papers before looking up to make eye contact with Guerrero.
“This is quite the resume, Mr. Guerrero.”
“Please, call me Miguel.”
“Yes, of course, Miguel.”
Kemp looks back at the paperwork for a moment and then back to Guerrero.
“If Dandy vouches for you, that’s enough for me to sign off on you joining us as Director of Security, Miguel.”
Kemp stood from his desk and extended a hand to Guerrero. The pair shook hands and smiled.
“Now Wesley is waiting for you in the training ring to prepare you for the tournament. Go win the World Cup for The Following.”
Guerrero reached up and grabbed the knot on his tie. As he slowly loosed the knot, the door to Kemp’s study opened and a nameless member of the organization stepped inside to lead Guerrero to his training appointment.
“This is quite the resume, Mr. Guerrero.”
“Please, call me Miguel.”
“Yes, of course, Miguel.”
Kemp looks back at the paperwork for a moment and then back to Guerrero.
“If Dandy vouches for you, that’s enough for me to sign off on you joining us as Director of Security, Miguel.”
Kemp stood from his desk and extended a hand to Guerrero. The pair shook hands and smiled.
“Now Wesley is waiting for you in the training ring to prepare you for the tournament. Go win the World Cup for The Following.”
Guerrero reached up and grabbed the knot on his tie. As he slowly loosed the knot, the door to Kemp’s study opened and a nameless member of the organization stepped inside to lead Guerrero to his training appointment.
“While I’m learning in this new environment, I’m also bringing knowledge to a new audience and a new organization. You see, the Action Wrestling Universe is going to learn what happens to the men they’ve known so long when those men run with the best damn security professional in the history of Central America. And the World Cup is just a proving ground. It’s a chance for me to get a feel for the domain of my new compatriots. It’s a chance for me to improve upon what I always do and bring glory to the people of The Following.
When I invest in an organization, I throw everything I have into it. The Following will be no different. I know I said the World Cup isn’t about winning to me, but that was a bit of a misdirection, I suppose. You see, when the World Cup is hoisted high into the air, it’ll be in hands, but the winner won’t be Miguel Guerrero… The winner will be The Following. The same way Dandy, Kyle, and Wesley may have held up the honor of the Trios Championship, The Following was the winner.
I am no stranger to sharing glory with allies and friends and blending into the shadows off a success. That’s has been my whole life. I am poised for success in this event in large part, because being successful does not have to be about me. For these other guys? That’s all they know. Personal triumph. Personal Glories. They can’t escape themselves, and they spend their lives living only for themselves. It’s… shallow. It’s hollow. Winning for me is almost without meaning. Winning for others is special. I’m in this to win for my organization. I’m in this to bring The Following the first ever Action Wrestling World Cup.
I’m not a gimmick. I’m just one of the baddest men in the whole world, and the men who would be most qualified to vouch for that fact can’t vouch for shit anymore.
Now, I know supposed to tell you why my opponents are awful or losers or wasted tournament seeds. I’m supposed to run them down and talk shit about them, right? Well, I’m not going to, because I don’t need to do it. I’m not going to win this thing because I tell you they’re shitty or washed up or beached. I’m not going to win this thing by giving someone else some sort of bulletin board material that stokes the flames of their motivations and passions. All that shit is pointless. No man has ever toppled a dictator spewing mean words. Dictators have only toppled from rageful actions, from violence, from battle. We don’t fight with words. We fight with fists, bullets, bombs. I don’t care what failings these others have, what accomplishments - or lack of them - they have. I don’t care who they are. I just care about how I can drive them out of what they believe to be their position of power.
I am a freedom fighter. I am a liberator. I am Miguel Guerrero. I will be the first ever Action Wrestling World Cup victor… No. No. No.
The Following will be the first ever Action Wrestling World Cup victor.
It’s not a prediction. It’s a promise.”