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| "Anagnorisis"; 7,001 - 0 | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 10 2012, 04:39 PM (118 Views) | |
| xShanex | Oct 10 2012, 04:39 PM Post #1 |
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Stay Down
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Journal Entry: “How They’ve Lived” 10/9/2012 The definition of the word anagnorisis reads as the moment in a piece of writing, more specifically a Greek tragedy where a character makes a critical discovery. It is the discovery of one’s true identity and character, the finding of one’s worth. With this knowledge, the conclusion is reached. Whether the end that they are destined to meet is deemed happy or sorrowful is up to the reader, and in that the story continues. We are all just characters being written out of our own existence every day, defined by the discoveries we make. Just as Pinocchio found that he was a real boy all along, like Oedipus found that one cannot escape destiny, and like Frodo found that materials corrupt and only lead to pain and suffering, I too have made a discovery in this chapter of Ryan Shane. I’ve stated that I can see the world failing around me like the heart of a four-hundred pound man gasping for his final breath, but I’ve never given up hope for it. For the failing heart, I was to be the defibrillator. The jolt of life back into heaving, convulsing body. Yet, nothing I’ve done, no matter how powerful has seemed to work, and in this very moment I now see the truth. I’ve met the anagnorisis of my being, and this prompts me to write so that others may one day carry on the fight should I fail. This world is not a sinking ship. It’s already well below sea-level. I chose to ignore the signs at first but I can’t stay in denial any further. These people fall off the assembly line and into their recliners. They surrender their self to reality television and their celebrity obsession. There’s no concern for their own diminishing lives, no, they just care about what mask with a media is dating the other. Still, break through is possible. I’ve seen it myself. It’s then that they shove pills down your throat. The drugs they peddle, and believe you me they have a hand in the distribution, whether you can see it or not, keep them doped up and pacified………..and they like this. They brag about this sensation. Frat boys compete at parties to see who can consume the most indoctrination in a single sitting. It all goes back to them, but you know better than that, right? Well, maybe you do have that one edge in your otherwise dull wit? Maybe that joint isn’t making you susceptible to their control? Or maybe you’re just full of shit? I’ve racked my brain time and time again on how I could reach down a hand and pull society back over the edge, I’ve made countless campaigns in the world’s most popular media outlet to display the peak of human conditioning and bring the world back to the renaissance age, back to when the ideal man was measured by skill and intelligence, not by how much "swag" they have or how many likes they get on their facebook page. I can’t, however, pull the world to safety if they refuse to take my hand. I’ve meditated on a solution, I’ve discussed it with my brothers and sisters in the new world, and I’ve found a truth that is heart breaking, but unavoidable. This world can’t be saved. There was a time where the damage could be reversed, but that time has come and gone like a stranger on a city bus.........and we never even got to introduce ourselves. The kids who think anti-social nature is cool will call the suits cattle, say they're walking into the slaughterhouse. I call those kids assholes. No, today people are akin to the zombie plague. They shuffle here, and shuffle there, moaning, groaning meaningless nonsense. They only live to feast, spreading the virus further, but you think you're safe because they're fenced in by skyscraper walls. Nobody is safe. It just gets worse because we're too afraid to pull the trigger on our loved ones. We come up with excuses in the form of peaceful solutions. "We can find a cure! We can bring the dead back to their normal lives and just rebuild!" Who are you to say this can be cured? What kind of happy ending would that be? How can you tell your Father that he's been decaying for weeks, months even, and he's consumed an entire football team? The tragedy isn't in how they've died. It's how they've lived. So what do you do with something that cannot be reborn? Well, you let it die. In fact, you speed up the process, ending the cycle so that a second, hopefully better one will begin. There was a time where the awe of men was drawn from philosophers, poets, playwrights, artists. That time is long past, but just like myself there are still those who refuse to bend to the norm. They refuse to swallow that blue pill and wake up back in their beds with MTV streamed into their brains. These people are men, women, children, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, homeless, upper class, from the lowest depths of the social curve......to the top of the mountain. Those people see the world for what it is now, and they've seen it for years. They've been begging, pleading for the change to come and for the day where hard work lead to value in life, but fear is a human trait not easily overcome. A change that size doesn't form without an army, and an army will not form, without a leader. I am that leader. The catalyst of the new world. With my eyes as the aim, the uprising has marched right up to the doors of complacency, and we're now in the process of tearing down the gate.......and we do this as one being. We are many faces, brought together on the battlefield for one purpose that takes many forms. We're here for freedom. Our freedom, defined in our eyes only. Each man and woman that chooses to place their faith in my ability to guide them, and who choose to raise their sword in the name of my revolution have been suffocating for so many years, and I help them fight back the hands of the media. We are many, yet the select few who set their example week after week, whose dedication is immeasurable, are the reason that this war will be won. I carry these select soldiers on my back as a Father would for his children, offering my strength so that one day they will do the same, and so far they have returned the favor with interest. You have men like Matt Covey, who may only be interested in the spoils of victory, but at least he fights for a cause. He removed the poison from his veins, and despite whatever message was received from his refusal to strike last week, we are still on the same page. Covey has morals and he stood by them. I can respect that, but morals….may get you killed. Then you have Brian Blaze and Johnny Kerosene, The Spectacle. Rockstars in their own fashion! They don’t need to be here with me. They don’t need to fight for a change, because in that world they used to live in they were gods. They met with me and despite our past, we began to speak about how nothing we do for the purpose of t-shirt sales will amount of anything. You cheered their antics once, but they don’t act for you anymore. They fight, because in their craft they are the best there is. You have Gregory Grantham, a man who sees the underbelly of the world everyday as part of the legal system, and with this exposure he’s become disgusted. He could’ve just sit back with his fat paycheck in his penthouse suite, but he removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and he gets down in the dirt with us. He fights for a change. He bears the chains of the corrupt and wears those bindings proudly as he storms the field at our side. Allyson Thorn joins us after so many years away because she’s sick of what the world of women’s professional wrestling has become. A woman’s value in this day isn’t defined by her ability; it’s defined by her cup size. Allyson Thorn is the greatest woman’s wrestler in CZW’s history, and when she states that it’s time for a change, you fucking listen. Sadly, Thorn’s mental state has blockaded her capabilities. What she has gone through is a hell truly unimaginable by those who claim to know what hell is, but for I read it as non-fiction. With my help, Allyson will either rise to heights she has never reached, or fall to depths she will never return from. I’ve removed Bryan McNally once, I can do it again. Whether she survives is her choice. Now our family has brought in a new brother, a lost soul given shelter in our ranks. Mason Kaid. Mason Kaid has walked the same line I have, but while our paths may part and fork in the road, they always come back to meet again. I hear people talking when he walks by. They show fear. They have the nerve to be afraid of him, and why is that? Mason Kaid is born from their broken homes. He was bred behind your television screens and baptized in the blood of innocents that your government eliminates for “your safety”. Kaid is your creation. He’s your fault, and you shun him for it? Well I won’t. I will embrace what he is because I am of the same cloth. Brothers in blood, but none of it is our own. These are the people who fight with me and who I fight for in return. With their voices in my ear I lead the charge into Toronto, and into Horrorcore, to strike a blow into the wind pipe of the corporate machine when I massacre an idol in the form of Alan Fiscus. They say Alan's the man who can finally do me in. He's chaotic, he's out of control! He's the same man I've beaten over and over and over again, and yet we've never really introduced ourselves. I need no introduction. We’ve met seven thousand times before, and the result never changes. The names change, the faces change, but the man remains the same. A glorified dick measuring contest is not a meaning to life. You find no identity in fool's gold, only the mirror that reflects back to you just how faceless you really are. You call yourself a warrior, they call this match and the movement waiting for my final blow to strike so that they can wash over the bloated, rotting corpse of CZW like a flood a war...... Horrorcore won't be a war. It'll be an occupation, because there will be no struggle. You'll die just as you lived, ignorant, yet blissful, because you haven't been able to feel any real sensation since you were young. We are the work of art the brush of Uncle Sam has created. We are colorless, yet we are full spectrum. We are black, red, white, blue, grey....... We're whatever color you choose to paint us, and that may be no color at all. But even when we're invisible, we're always there. We'll always haunt you, rattling chains and slamming doors, because in the end, we're your punishment for a life wasted. We're the closest thing to hell you'll ever really experience. We're the ghost you've fabricated yourself. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A chill tickles the nose as a ribbon of air flutters by, the sun just peaking over the trees in the distance in the hopes of greeting the men and women who prepare their brow for the sweat of another long work day. The location is different, but the struggle remains the same. We’ve climbed out of the fire that is the United States and back into the frying pan. Welcome to the great white north. Welcome to Niagara Falls, Ontario. While the early morning isn’t exactly bustling as one would expect, there are those who choose to walk in the dim light. People like Ryan Shane and in tow, Cassidy Fontaine. Their footsteps clap onto the sidewalk as they push along, Ryan focused directly ahead as he always was, the bags under his eyes indicating another restless night added to the notches on his belt. Cassidy finds much safer passage by looking to the ground, her soft hazel eyes trailing over every crack in the concrete as she moved to avoid them. If her Mother’s back broke, she would never forgive herself. They never once spoke, never once making eye contact even though they had been walking for what would have been within thirty minutes. Ryan had kept his hands in his pockets for most of the time as was the norm. Had it not been for the occasional glance out from the corner of his hood, Cassidy would’ve sworn that he didn’t even know she was there. But know he did. There was nothing Ryan couldn’t see, and nothing that he didn’t see. She could feel him infiltrating her mind right now. He had noticed her following him the moment he had left the hotel lobby. While a very private man, Ryan had no intention of telling her to leave him be. He just let her trail along, not caring enough to say anything against it. Cassidy, too afraid of breaking Ryan’s concentration, passed the time by darting glances around her. Her sheepish nature was only amplified by the new country, being her first time out of the states her nerves were raised just as her shoulders were. He wanted to let her keep shaking, but Ryan couldn’t stand to see someone actually take this city seriously while he was standing at their side. "If you were so scared to walk down here this early, you shouldn't have followed me." The sudden voice caused Cassidy to jump like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She stumbled on her words, a few syllables spoken before she was able to actually respond. “I……I thought you’d be lonely out here by yourself.” Ryan laughed under his breath a single time. "I'm always lonely. You get used to it." "Oh...." Cass looked away, her eyes dropping just as her heavy heart had to another aspect of Ryan’s solemn life. She found it quite hard not to feel just a portion of Ryan’s pain or anyone else she spoke with. Her empathy was one of her greatest strengths, and right now, her greatest weakness. "Not like I can't handle any of these chumps myself." He was satisfied with his response, but when looking over to Cassidy, her depression only served to irritate him more. He wanted to leave her be, let the sadness leave on its own accord. Pain is just weakness leaving the body, after all, but with a sighed from behind closed lips and a roll of his eyes he knew what he had to do. He shook his head in a fashion barely visible. "But....I guess this walk would be boring alone......" Cassidy's spirit was slightly lifted, a small grin sneaking onto her face. It wasn’t much, but she knew that was how Ryan showed that he had any care at all. Any would be enough for her. They walked for another block without saying a word, Ryan's face like stone. Cass tried to read what he was thinking, but again she came up short. She would give up on just trying to break him and would attempt to use words. Questions never really work before, but it was all she had. "So......are we going to meet a friend of yours?" Ryan’s eyebrow cocked up, sarcasm poisoning his voice. "What friend?" A pause passed between the two. "We're going where it all started." Cass ran her hand over the chain link fence that ran alongside to her, the wind dancing by in a gentle breeze, rustling the leaves on the tree line and teasing a strand of hair into her face. She brushed it away as she was lost in the feeling of grating steel and bramble that scratched her palm. Her trance-like state rendered her unable to see Ryan as he stopped, but as his shadow passed over her, she came too, turning to face what he was at the sound of affirmation. "We're here." Ryan was frozen in place, only able to take the sight in. Every concrete step, every broken down terminal, but the most gripping aspect was that old sign that used to light up reading “Niagara Transit”, ever since gone dark. It had been twenty-six years since he last stepped foot onto this property. He hadn’t planned on doing it again, but he took the coincidence of passing through as a sign. This was his pilgrimage, and he had just arrived in mecca. Cassidy titled her head to the side. An old, run down bus station seemed like an awfully strange place to walk to at any time of the day, especially right now but she just went with it. Ryan could find a lifetime's worth of meaning within a grain of rice, to the point it actually disturbed her when he would just stare ahead, kind of like how he was now. Ryan locked eyes on the sign, not blinking for a span of time that seemed to last forever in Cass' eyes. Ryan's head began to tremble in a violent fashion, his eyes widening, his nostrils flaring. He broke the latch on the words, charging off without warning and disappearing behind the station. Cass followed quickly behind him, worried for his safety. Nothing good ever happened after that look. She found him standing on the loading docks, just…..motionless. He stared down at one spot on the ledge he stood on right at his feet, a slightly darkened stain in the center of his view, even after all the time that had gone by. "I was born right here." It hit her in the chest like a javelin piercing the heart. The impact would have been enough to floor her, but the sudden surge of concern kept her on her feet. Cass placed her fingertips to her lips. She had known that this world had never taken in Ryan Shane with open arms, but even in his first seconds he had been met with darkness, concrete, and the chill of the late winter air, that same chill that had frozen his compassion. "I wasn't supposed to survive, Cass. Nobody even knew I was alive until a week later, I'm sure my parents even forgot. My sister convinced them to go to the hospital and get me registered and all that.........but I shouldn't have made it." He kneeled down, getting closer to the stain now identified as his mother's blood, even in the faintness form. The last remnant of her existence in this world, and in this strange way, the son had come home for one more moment with her. He sat down to the side of the blotch. "I didn't really care about it back then. It never really mattered, you know? Now, though, I just keep questioning why. I know there's no god out there keeping me around for some mystical purpose. I've pretty much tried to kill myself in the ring multiple times.....and here I am. I just don't get it. Without purpose, life is meaningless......and I don't know my purpose right now." She looked down on him with pity as she had done before. That pity would normally be followed by an awkward silence, trying to avoid any bipolar backlash from the curse, but this time would be different. She wouldn’t allow this man to lose his way. "Ryan......." She walked over to him, crouching down at his side and placing her hand on his shoulder. Though he did not answer her, the lack of a railroad spike in her lip served as a good sign. "You are one of the most..........I can't even describe what you are. Influential, philosophical, so many things. You're just one of the most amazing people I've ever met. It's thanks to you that I'm even here right now. I get to see the world. I'm on a professional wrestling show, I've wanted that since I was a little girl, and you let me have that. I'd still be serving tables in that cafe if you didn't hire me. Look at what you're doing now! You're the start of a change that people will remember for the rest of their lives and past that. Ryan, if there was anyone to ever have a purpose in their life, it's you." Ryan looked up to Cass, a softness to his gaze that hadn't been there in years, He found disbelief in her actions. Never before had someone showed concern for his ramblings and breakdowns, and when they pretended to care it was only for a gain. Yet, here this woman sat at his side, willing to not only hear him, but comfort him as well. It was then that revelation washed over him. "You're right. My purpose....is to give purpose. I'm the one that will give worth back to this world, one fragment at a time." He rose without the use of his hands in what could only be described as in a possessed manner. "This world has gone off on a course which it cannot come back from. In order to bring value back to a human life, I have to destroy what it means to be a human in the current day. I have to walk up to the face of this demon that is the social norm, whether it is alone or with an army at my back, and spit right in its eye!" Ryan looked up to the sky, searching for the eyes of whatever god that could exist up there. He saw nothing, and turned his head to the dirt, spitting upon that exact spot that he was brought into the world. "and that begins with CZW. CZW must die, there's no other way. You get that, I've drilled it into your skull so many times.........but they don't. Those people don't get it, and if they do they don't care. They can't be helped..........so they have to be erased with the rest. Only then will they have purpose. They will be reborn as building blocks for our new CZW...." He collects his thoughts, trying to grasp at a single piece of stability within the swarm of locust that was his mind. He folded his hands, placing his chin on them to try and fold up in his best turtle impression, shutting off the world. He then broke position, turning to face Cassidy. There was something new trying to escape from him when Cassidy stared in his eyes. It was a passion, not to destroy, but to create. “We’ll tear the establishment to the ground and lay a foundation where it once stood. Right there we’ll build a home where you, I, and the rest of our new family will live…….and we’ll raise the new CZW as our own. It’ll be our child…..” Ryan had looked away, unable to see the stunned look on Cassidy’s face. If it were possible, her heart would have ceased to beat and her lungs would have been silenced. Everything that she had used to define her life in the current situation became useless. Rewritten. Ryan sensed the change in her sudden lack of response, looking over his shoulder to see what had gone wrong. She just looked at the ground, the awe of a mortal who had looked upon the holy etched into her façade. “Our…….child?” Her bottom lip quivered, looking up to her employer. She looked as if she wanted to cry, and Ryan couldn’t put his finger on it. Tears from something positive? Emotions confused him. "Of course. This is our creation, we're going to give it life together." Cass struggles with a smile, it appears and disappears a couple of times. She looks up to him but doesn't raise her head. "R-.....Really?" Ryan had run out of responses. There were only so many ways of saying “Yes” before he wanted to blow his brains out on the ground. Maybe a pat on the back would do? He stepped forward to Cassidy, but was stopped in his tracks as she lunged forward, suddenly embracing him. Ryan’s arms shot up as Cass locked on the hug, his eyes wide in confusion. He looks in all directions, looking for a means of escape. When he realized there was no way out, he gave in, letting himself return the hug. He ran his hand over the top and back of her head, and she smiled. He began to whisper. "We need to protect the child. Do what we can to feed it, and to raise it. It needs a home....." Cassidy looked up to Ryan, who smiled down to her. "You leave that to me." Happy with the oath Ryan had taken, Cassidy continued to hug the self-proclaimed Father of the new CZW. She closed her eyes, just enjoying the moment; glad it could all come down to this. Ryan shared in the smile…..at first, before wrenching and turning into the devilish smirk that only came before the pain of others. The seeds had been planted. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A soft light resonates just of the side of the screen, giving an orange glow to the remaining pitch black that covered the rest of view. It appears then disappears, then appears again as a few stray bits of ember fly across our field, joined soon by more as a crackling spikes up into the sounds of city air, the camera move just slightly down at an angle to find the source. A moderate fire is housed within a metallic trash can in the same fashion that the homeless had used to survive the winter for generations. The shadows bow to the fire’s rule, pulsing in and away as if the night were alive and taking in heavy breaths. The camera zooms back from the flame, finding that we are not the only eyes admiring the flickering fire. The shadows cloak him, and yet the weight of his presence crushed the air like no one else. The right half of the word “RISE” could be seen across the chest of the black hoody he wore, hands housed in the pockets. While the light of the fire revealed some of his features, his eyes remained cloaked in a solid layer of darkness………and yet his stare could be felt. The stare of Ryan Shane. Ryan leaned back against the brick wall behind him, not looking at the camera. "Everything burns." Ryan took in a deep breath through his nostrils, his lungs filling up with the cool night air of autumn. He let the breath out through his lips, the visible haze forming from heat meeting cold, and fading away like a specter of the past. "Every stronghold will be breached, every empire will waste away and crumble into the dust, every company will go bankrupt, and every man, no matter how big or small......they'll all die." He adjusted his shoulder, stretching out the muscles in his back. He took in the heat from the flames for just another passing second, choosing now to turn and address the audience directly. The dark over his eyes still remained, one expecting burning eyes of red and gold to pierce through the veil at any moment. "My Dad would always say that, man, 'Everything Burns', and I never really got it. Obviously there are things in this world that don't. Water doesn't burn, space doesn't burn, time doesn't burn.......but you know, you hear it enough times and it really intrigues you, and I'd spend night after night sitting in my room talking to myself, asking myself that question....." Ryan’s right hand slipped out from the pocket in the fashion of the serpent to the snake charmer, the fangs that were his fingertips pressing against his temple. "And one day.....I answered back, and I came to realize that my Father never meant any material thing, not to the full extent, anyway. He said it to make himself feel better, HE SAID IT........to try and glorify the mediocre existence he lived. He chanted that shit like a mantra to the point that he had convinced himself that his life would just improve, and that all those big, bad business men and politicians would all get theirs. It's like it was his religion, and if you gave the prayer enough of your time, by lie, you know, neglecting your family to the point they don't remember your face, and taking in enough of the spirits os that this reality just kind of swims past you.....that you'd be rewarded with all the riches you desire." Ryan moved his hand to his back pocket, slipping something out and into his grasp. He moved his wallet into the light. It was a basic brown design. Nothing too much, nothing too little. “That being said, I've come to realize that these materialistic pleasures my Dad built his life around, they don't mean a damn to me......but that saying.....defines me." He unfolded the wallet with a flick of his wrist, opening it up to find the payment for his bloodshed from all this time. He plunged a tattooed hand into the container, removing four hundred dollar bills. He took both ends of the bills in his hands, pulling on them until the bills were tight in his hands, and the Benjamin Franklins were ready to scream in pain. The torture was enough for him, and he seemed ready to end the pain for good. He removed one hand, turning the bills down and placing the edge into the fire at his side. Ryan removed them, watching with intrigue as the currency was slowly eaten by the flame. He stood apathetic to the loss of cash, tossing the remainder of the dollars into the fire to be fully consumed. He half expected one of the mindless that surrounded him to jump in after them. "Everything burns." He placed the wallet back in his pocket and returned his focus to the camera set up before him. "But people don't want to admit it to themselves. You all just want to live in this world where the wicked are punished naturally, and you can always get what you want, what you 'deserve'. Mankind has become a race of lazy, self-entitled talkers. Nobody acts. People just talk too much, never thinking about the consequences their mouth will get them in. Sounds familiar, right Alan?" He laughed lightly at the ignorance of the common man. Even more humorous were the delusions of grandeur of a common man who thought himself a god. He would enjoy showing him the contrary. "There used to be a time where if anybody ever accused the man they call the "sadistic solution" of being a coward, or of being a guy who's all talk like I just did, you'd get kicked through a mother fucking cross. That Alan Fiscus back then would've popped up behind me like Freddy Krueger and dug his finger into my eye and tried to rip my tongue out, but you spend enough time working as a glorified clown for the big wigs in Connecticut and I guess it's natural that you lose your edge." Ryan shrugged, his bottom lip ring moving slightly as his tongue played with it from inside his mouth. There was just this look of displeasure to his countenance. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t experiencing that bad taste in his mouth. He just seemed very uncaring. "I feel like that kid who just opened his Christmas present and found socks........well, at least I think I do, I never got any presents, outside of my old man dropping dead. I've been waiting forever to get that match with Alan Fiscus, because that's what we all wanted. The drugged-up, maniacal, "One Man Riot" against the merciless, straight-edge killing machine. The greatest to hold a title in the Combat Zone against the very best this world has to offer. This was going to be a match that ends companies. We were all just going to pack up and leave, nothing left to see!.......Then you fast forward to this very second right now......we get our match, and....nobody really cares. The only people even slightly invested in this match are the investors, Alan, and barely myself. I was promised the vile, won't stop until your heart does Alan Fiscus, and what I got was some schoolyard bully boasting about how he was going to steal my lunch money. Let me tell you what happened to the last guy who tried to steal from me. They found him in the dumpster on prom night with twenty bucks shoved down his throat. Good thing they found him, though. It's sad that's all you are now, man. Just a bunch of words and chest heaves. That's WCWF for ya, putting the drama before the fight. I'm disgusted to see what you really are, no, no, I'm insulted that Derek Damage, even after all the shit we've put each other through, thought that this fucking poser shell with acid trip tattoos in a hope to make him look tough would even be worth my time!" Another deep breath through the nose emphasized the apathy forming into rage in the bull that was Ryan. He exhaled out from the corner of his mouth, looking for the proverbial china shop to destroy. "I'm the Rodney Dangerfield of professional wrestling, man. I'm at the top of my game, the top of the world, and I still ain't gettin' no respect. I still don't get the change this company needs, I don't get my title match I earned and never got, I don't even get a challenge in my own damn province. I get stuck with the asshole tryin' to relive his glory days by taking cheap shots and talking shit at me. Well, whatever, definitely ain't the first or last time I've had to put someone down for their own good, but this time ain't even fun. Least I got excited when Buzzsaw punched me in the face, because I could feel that he meant it. If I didn't give it my all, I was going to die. Every time Alan Fiscus has hit me from behind........." Ryan clenched a fist and brought it to his face, tapping himself in the cheek a handful of times. It was playful in fashion, but in reality that’s all he saw his clashes with Fiscus as. A couple of love taps. How disappointed he was when he found out Fiscus had been trying. "I don't know, it's just the way his knuckles bend, that drooping in his eyes, it just feels like he's egging me on. It don't know if he's just too old, or if he's just too injured, or if he's just gone soft but those weren't Fiscus punches. Those weren't the punches of a man trying to reach my brain so he can eat it. Those were nudges closer to the edge so I can grant him that end he wants, but whether he wants it or not, I have to give it to him now. Alan, what you're trying to do right now is take something from me. You want to steal my revolution, you want to steal my spot, and you want to steal my status. See, I don't know how they do things on the meant streets of frickin' Wichita in nice part of town, but where I'm from when someone tries to steal from you, you drop that bastard. Like I said, it's called consequence. You set off the spark, Alan. This was all your idea, and now you're on fire and you're just going to act like it doesn't burn. Naw man, you’re the big, bad Alan Fiscus! You’ve made that perfectly clear. Everytime you open your mouth it’s just another attempt to pat yourself on the back for these ‘horrible, malicious matches’ you’ve been in. You’re showing off all of those scars hoping someone, anyone will think they’re cool so you can sleep at night. That’s your proof that you’re bad ass, right?" Ryan’s smirk could not be held back. He arched an eyebrow, having seen this all before. The hot air was starting to annoy him anyway. Needless to say, Ryan Shane was not impressed. “Are you really that stupid? Well obviously you are, because you wouldn’t have said it if you weren’t, but Alan you really have to ask yourself this question. Do you really think your dexterity gives you an advantage? Are you that dull? Alan, the more punishment that you can take only leads to more punishment that I can inflict. It's motivation! It adds to my enjoyment! The more times you get back up, the more times I get to knock you down. I don’t back down from anyone, especially if their biggest weapon is being able to be punched in the face more than others. I don’t stop, I don’t quit. I don’t get tired and I don’t make mistakes. Fiscus, for every ounce of durability you have in your body, my destructive nature grows tenfold. You talk about the malicious matches you've been placed in, but you tend to leave out the fact that I've been through worse, and I've inflicted worse, and I’ve walked out with a grin on my blood-soaked face and by my own power every time. You leave out that, while you survive these matches, I destroy. I maim, I kill, I annihilate with extreme prejudice.” Ryan licked his lips, looking off to the right at something that had caught his attention. “And yet you question my drive. You insult my nature, well that's fine. Anyone dumb enough to look over his opponent's strengths deserves to be crushed by them. Just as you will be. You can say whatever you wish to, and these people might eat it up, but your eyes give it away. You don't believe what you say, it's just expected of you to say it. I made it clear already, Alan Fiscus is a politician. He says what you want to hear to try and make his opponent look weak, but the lengths I am willing to go to destroy a man are not only documented, but they're of legend! I will burn the Ted Reeve Arena to the ground with all of us inside, men, women, children, uprising, CZW, MYSELF, It doesn't matter, just as long as Alan Fiscus burns along with us all! After Horrorcore's over, there won't be any doubt left. There is no physical amount of defense that will prevent what I have in store………” Ryan formed his hand into a chop-like state, running it across the air in a small angle. “And what I have in store is a plan to leave a festering scar across somewhere Fiscus can’t show off, yet somewhere he can’t hide. Somewhere he can’t look away from. I’m going to scar his legacy. I’m going to scar everything you’ve ever done, ever believed in, ever loved, everything you’ve ever thought of and I’m going to parade them around the world as my prize from victory. Then, when I’m done dragging you through the mud and the rain, I’m going to set fire to everything that is Alan Fiscus, because I don’t just take thrones, I demolish kingdoms.” A nervous shudder ran through Ryan’s body as his head turned in an odd angle, eyes fluttering and rolling into the back of his head. He scratched his neck as he came back down from the episode, now just lost in a trail of thought. "and the thing is......" He rolled his neck and head, letting out a couple of groans as he did so. "You say all this stuff about my being a pussy, and boy, and a narcissist and all that, and people just kind of shrug and roll their eyes. Even if you weren't such a letdown since you came back, they still wouldn't believe you. How can you deny what I am when the proof is right there? The barely defeated, merciless, hardest hitting man in professional wrestling is a scared boy? Yeah, I'm sure you got people to believe that." Ryan pushed off of the wall, the fire that still burned in the trash can soon gaining a brother as a hellish blaze erupted under the gray of his eyes. He could already faintly taste the bitter iron of Fiscus’ blood. It was intoxicating. "But the thing is, Al, when I tell the world that I am going to beat you into a bloody fucking pulp until you, Sam, your lumbering cousin Garrett and the miserable form in which your failure of a "legend" Father exists all begging for the sweet release of death, and that I'm going to burn the name Alan Fiscus out of the existence of professional wrestling, people listen because everything I've said I was going to do, I've done. I say things, then I back them up, and I've been eating you washed up, punk ass "icons" of a broken, poisoned age since my first day in a ring!" Ryan turned to the ground, groaning again before turning it into a full-blown growl, turning back to the brick wall behind him and slamming his fists on it, quickly turning back to the camera and pointing directly into it! "And it comes down to this! This Sunday we're walking into your match, but you're walking into my country! My turf, your rules! Greatest World Champion of all time.....versus the very best in the world today. You bring whatever you got, man, because it's just going to make my legacy in the business that much greater when I kill you.........and I move on my way to taking your spot as the greatest champion in the game." Ryan plunged his hands back into his hoody pockets, bouncing a couple times on his heels to let loose held up energy, then slumped back down. "Listen to my voice, Alan, because I don't want you to say a damn word when this is over. I just want this phrase to ring in your ear, over and over and over, driving you crazy just like it's done for me. When you're lying there on the mat, or on the concrete or where ever I choose to drop you on your head, when you're in the hospital later that night, and that week, and that month, and even when you're at home losing sleep over what went wrong and why nobody wants to see Alan Fiscus anymore, just remember......" Ryan turned back to the trash can fire, observing it consume the contents again for a couple more seconds before turning to the camera and leaning in closer so that his face took over a large portion of the feed. For the first time, we see his eyes, and the animalistic need to tear and destroy behind them. “Everything burns.” Ryan tucked his head down, disappearing off-screen to the left. The camera panned down to the fire, zooming in close to the burning red, yellow, and orange before everything was reduced to a wild, uncontrollable static. Edited by xShanex, Nov 27 2012, 12:35 AM.
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