Post by Odin Balfore on Feb 13, 2021 12:29:28 GMT -5
______________________
Techo Neon. New York.
In an underground Techno-Rave was where my first mission for the US government led me. Searching for a Black Market kingpin named Jin Yao Ping. He pushed synthetic designer drugs that slipped unnoticed with Covid Deaths but the Government was finally onto him - which means that I was finally on to him. The club bumped and moved with a hypnotic wave of lights, colors, and endorphins. The music made me want to put my head through a concrete pillar. Part of me hoped that this was the worst of my night and the other part of me itched for action. Decked out in a kevlar composite suit with platinum stitched volk knot on the collar I pushed through the throng and pulsing crowd of young bloods with hormones raging high. Jin was somewhere in this building, I just had to case it out some more and get a feel for it. The was hot and loud. It brought me back to my younger days, even if the music wasn't up to my taste. I used to run contracts from a place like this in ‘96. Back then I was called a splitter - a freelance contractor; back when I was ignorant and the world was still fresh and exciting. Now it’s just stale and dry.
The bartender comes up to me and I order a tall vodka and cranberry. Give me the house swill. That Popov. Make it burn. I used to pound Popov back in the day when I was Thrillin’ and Killin’ it. Little did I know that the good times would find me once again. A young woman came up to me, tapping me on the shoulder and drawing my attention away from the bar, and pulled me away before I could get her name. Before I knew it, some Molly blitzed chick was dancing all up on me, all up against my twenty-five grand suit. There's the problem. A forty-something, seven-foot tall man in a nice suit in the middle of a rave. Smart, Balfore. Very smart. We dance a few songs before she disappears into the crowd. Looking around, it's as if she vanished into thin air. I couldn't locate her but the heat was getting to me so I made my way to the bathroom.
The water ran that classic New York brown, tainted by the East River. The splashing of water on my face distracted me from the two men that entered over my right shoulder. Looking up in the mirror, vision blurred by that sewer tap water - they spoke.
“Thought you could run, could you? You have a lot of balls to come back to New York. Us, we guess it's our lucky day.”
The insignias on their collars were Bronze Clubs. They were made in that sect but low ranking.
“ They sent two Bronze Clubs to get me; do I mean that little?”
“Don’t make any sudden moves. There's no running. You came back around that's your mistake and quite frankly, that's your problem.”
“Look, you boys are young. You could walk away right now and this never happened. Be like you never found me.”
“But we did find you. And there's no changing that.”
“That's where you’re wrong because I’m the one that found you.”
“What are you, insane? It's two on one.”
“And yet you’re the ones outnumbered.”
“You’re insane. You’re fuggin’ tapped if you think you’re walking out here still breathing.”
They draw their silenced pistols.
“Any last words, Maverick?”
“It’s Regulator.”
“What?”
“My name. Its Regulator. And don’t you forget it.”
I turn from the sink, palming the smaller one's face and throwing him into the taller one. Their guns go off. Pinning the taller one up against the wall, I begin to crush his face in with my callous and scared up knuckles. The smaller one gets up and jumps on my back with piano wire around my throat. He’s able to drag me to the ground while his buddy Tee’d off on my face before I mustered the strength to get to my feet. Fish hooking him I pried his jaw apart with my bare hands until it broke apart like a cheap toy. The smaller one crawled back to the wall in horror as I picked up his gun and put it in his mouth.
“This is it.” a said in a hushed and serious tone. “Don’t get scared. You were never safe.”
You were never safe. I want you to remember that, Charles. There is no running, there is no hiding and there is nothing that your alter ego can say or do to comfort itself or you from what's going to happen. I’ve spent a year running and hiding and being lost but in truth, I am right where I need to be. It’s not glamorous or pretty. There is no honor in this. It's dirty, gritty, and I would not have it any other way. You must be something special that the brass sees in you - to put you against me. To place you in the US title division. While I cannot empathize with your juggalo bullshit, I can appreciate your style and sense of self. You’ll need that because this business erodes that away. It eats at it till you conform. I want you to know that because even though we are different, our paths to prove something to ourselves are strikingly similar. The difference is that I know how guys like you think in the ring. I know how guys like you think in life. I’m fully aware of some tragic backstory that leads you to form some dissociative personality under all those perverted fucked up layers you call grey matter. I have that too, except it's splattered all over that wall on the other side of the bathroom.
I’ve met fought and tagged with genuine psychos in the world. Ask them about Greenfever and Oblivion. So your little clown show on the CW ain't something that's gonna spin me into a circle. There is no getting by me. There is no overcoming me, no matter what the records say - no matter what any of these young fuccbois in this company would fill your head with. You’re not gonna run from me - that ain't your way and I’m not going to run from any of this.
I know that you’re with Devil's Gate but your story is about as tasteful and deep as a Faygo shower and I’m not gonna put up with it. I want you to take a message back to your friends at Devils Gate. Tell Der Metzger something for me. Tell him what I told that folded up trash heap on the ground. Tell him that he and you ain't safe. That ain't nowhere safe. See, you only exist in my way. You Metzger and Devil's Gate. It’s not as easy as you think it’s going to be. So go and get all the fucked up head cannon friends you can think of because your chances, just like them are fuckin imaginary. I’m in the business of cleaning up messes and it looks like I got a whole pile of shit in the Devil's Gate to get rid of before I get my US title back. Remember, just like those two dead clubs on the ground, someone bigger than you is throwing you at me - for me to crush. You’re not a warning shot. You’re a welcome mat. You’re something for me to wipe my feet and whet my thirst. Metzger thinks he’s riding high. Royce thinks he’s pulling the strings. Twenty-two years in wrestling has told me a few things.
One: This will not end well for you, Metzer, Royce, or Devil's Gate.
Two: You’ll all burn out after then you rise to the midcard and I’ll still here after you’re gone.
And Three: No one will remember you, what you’ve done - or what any of you have done.
Keep that in mind as you try to egg on the sickest parts of your pathetic grey matter to fight the biggest man in the company. Work up that courage. You’ll need it. You’ll need it to say you stepped in the ring with it. You’ll need it to face Metzger and tell him that you failed. You’ll need to apologize to Royce that you couldn't stop me - that there is no stopping me. All you had to do was ask anyone around here. I’m a runaway tank and sure, sometimes you get lucky and people move out of the way but more often than not in my career, good and honest people get hurt. People like you, Charles. They get hurt for causes that they find themselves no longer believing in. It's only a matter of time before that happens. Before you get your arms torn from the sockets and they - they don’t come out to rescue you. You’re so low on the pole all they have to tell you is that there is a plan - that you should trust that plan. That when the time is right - all shall be revealed.
In truth, there is no right time. There is nothing to be revealed. Just two puppets being controlled by a man who can barely manipulate the string. Maybe you’ll get wise, your grey matter will fizz with synapsis and it can end here.
But maybe you like pain and violence. Blood and torment. These guys on the floor did too. However, only one of us has been hardened by it.
Go get a mop Charles, and clean this mess. We’re only getting started.