Post by Odin Balfore on Jan 29, 2021 20:19:49 GMT -5
THE REGULATOR
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Post Clash.
Odin Balfore heads down the hall on the way back to his locker room as he is approached by an unfamiliar face with a microphone.
“Odin, it was complete mayhem out there.”
The All-Father looks down at the young, short blonde woman and sniffs.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Hazel Aubrey. I’m new here with Action Wrestling. How do you feel about your odds at Revolution now that you’ve seen Der Metzger up close?”
“Der Metzger is unseasoned, undisciplined and easy to rile.”
The All-Father starts to laugh to himself.
“What's so funny?” Asks Aubrey.
“I’m going to fucking MURDER this man at Revolution. He wants my belt. He thinks he can name check out there in the middle of that ring - my ring. Alright, son. Alright, Metzger. Name check me. Fuck around and find the fuck out. You want roll up and bare your goofy ass out there, we can do that. Next week at Revolution, I’m going to snap you in half and floss my teeth with your bones. I know you think you know me - you watched some tape and you got me all figured out. But when we’re out there at the White House you’ll have no fucking idea who you’re fighting. Cuz I’m not the man on the tape that you’ve been studying. Pouring over like some Droog with your eyes wide shut. I hope you paid attention. I hope I’m seared into your fucking brain because after next week, that shits going to haunt you forever. Cuz I’m Odin fuckin’ Balfore. And I’ll make damn sure you never- ever forget it."
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White House - The Oval Office.
Joe Biden, straw dog killah - the White House thriller. Sat at the seat of the world. Commanding the greatest forces, the world have ever seen, flanked by his secret service as Odin Balfore sits in front of him, right foot over knee. All black suit. Greying hair tied back. US Championship slung over the back of the chair next to him.
“Odin,” Says Biden with a rasp, “I know the work that you have done with Barry Oak. I was there, I have seen it. He called upon you to solve problems that the US Government could not. Now, we call upon you again. And here you are sitting before me, ready to take up that call. As I understand it, you have run aground in your former line of work. A shadow from a past life haunts you.”
“Indeed, I can no longer take up favors for you. If you know of my troubles, why is it that you call me here?”
“You did favors for us and you continue to do so. Your services are well met but those that haunt you care not for your position so I propose that we make them care. There is a sect of the CIA, so black it couldn't find a welfare check in a pair of work boots. You have the full might of the United States of America at your back; God Willing anything were to happen. In return, you do shadow ops for us and good will with that United States Championship. Do you need a moment?”
The All Father shakes his knee, biting his lip as his mind flips through the possibilities. However, it does not take the All-Father long to come to his answer.
“I will honor my commitments to America and my friendship with Barry Oak - to you. I just ask to keep my call sign?” Asks the All-Father with a crack of his neck.
“I think I have a better one in mind - Regulator.”
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Black Gate Correctional - Maine.
9PM
10F. Feels like -2F with the Wind Chill. The All-Father stands before the gates of the Black Gate Correctional Facility. He stands shirtless, dark blue jeans and black cowboy boots. He’s draped in streaks of shadows and light cast upon him by the headlights of his Beamer. US Championship on his shoulder. The All-Father spits on the ground, showing his contempt and disrespect.
“Is this you, Metzger, back up there plotting little paper dolls of blood lust and revenge? You about to take this belt on my shoulder with your little heroic act of Patriotism; that's what them pills tell you, I bet. You fuckin weak sauce punk bitch. I know what you and everyone thinks of me and I couldn’t care less about that. Its burns you up as it always burns everyone up for whatever pathetic reason they dribble from their lips. I also know the circles and knots you gotta tie yourself up in to put yourself on equal footing with me. You have six fucking matches in this company and you want to step to twenty-two fucking years of putting serial nobodies like you in their place - buried under that fucking prison. I’m sure you went back and caught up a shitty year and you feel like this is your bag.”
The All-Father spits again as he takes for a moment before re-adjusting in the headlights.
“And you’d be right. It is your bag. Fucking body bag on deck, and you’ll be stuck holding it when the All-Father takes your scrawny German ass and beats you like a dog. You’ve talked about who’ve you beaten and who you fight for - I can tell you that none of them need you to fight for them. You fight for America. Like Howie, I dunno what kind of America that is. Prolly some Wishy-washy Norman Rockwell that you can hang on your wall and beat sorry loads to. Shit makes me sick. I’m the home wrecker. Destroyer of families and American dreams. I want you to know that when you step in the ring with me. I’ve fought a bunch of crazy institutional types. I’m not impressed with what you bring and if you actually went and done your homework you would know that you’re right fucked.”
The All-Father looks behind him and sees a light on in a spire of the facility.
“That you up there in that tower with the light on, cowering under your Superman sheets, hiding behind your Captain America poster, praying that the All-Father don’t stomp his ass up there and stomp your ass clean out. Nah, Nah, not you. Dr. Royce prolly holding you back as your froth from the mouth like the fucking mongoloid that you are. I put mongrels down, or haven’t you heard. The America that you fight for, it doesn’t exist. Odin Balfore killed it.
I killed it years ago making orphans and widows from better men than you. Putin good brothers and good soldiers in the dirt and no one wept for them because they ain’t found the bodies. What I do is for money. I bring down the American dream for cold hard cash. While you rot in that fucking hospital as they fill your head with bullshit and lies. You out on work release. I want you to remember that. You fight for freedom and yet you’re never free. I know that's gotta eat you up inside as I walk around this country putting’ dudes in the ground.
I hear you were no stranger to that, yourself. You must be so proud and you must think I’m so scared. I put a bullet in my friend the other week but you do you. You and your six matches of dominance. Bah, who the fuck you dominating in six matches except your own ego. Royce got you thinking you hot shit, but Odin Balfore is about to put another mongrel down. You tried to stand toe to toe with me last week and I fucking laughed at you. But you a killah, right; why didn’t you kill me then? Because you fucking can’t. In Twenty-two years, aint nobody done what you think you’re gonna do this week.
I dunno who put you up to this, if it was Royce or Harper. Who put these ideas in your head but there is a reality and a reckoning that you’ll have to face? This isn’t work release- What you call the American Dream, it aint. Let’s just be real. Call it what it really is- Suicide.”
Odin clenches his fists and holds them up to the light in front of him.
“These paws, these hands, they ended careers and they got me this far. I’ve strangled men to death with these hands. I’ve betrayed friends. I betrayed my family. I’ve got blood on my hands, forever brown under my nails from all the blood I’ve spilt in these streets. And you think you can just walk up and un-do all of that. I am selfish, I am prideful. I am the villain of many stories. Many homes. Revenge is a dish they want to serve with my head. And I’ve fucking crushed everyone that's come to my door but you don’t know that because they are no longer here to tell the tale. Let's be realistic. You come to my door now because you are running from your past and trying to find some sort of redemption.
I am beyond redemption. I am beyond some sort of soul saving. I have no ‘come to Jesus' moment’. I am a Jotun. I am Asgardian. I have no need for your pussy God. Your ancestors used to worship my namesake. My family. My kin. They dreamt of dining and drinking by my side but you Metzger- you’ll just die by my hands. As I told you - suicide. Them up there treat you like the business end of the gun. I AM the business end of the gun and I’m going to completely fuck you up, spit you out and send you back to this shit hole so you can dream a few more dreams but not before I put you out of your fucking misery. And you can spend the rest of your days up in that tower, a quadriplegic, eating soup through a tube and shitting in a bag attached to your hip.
The American dream did that.
You did that.
Odin Balfore did that.