Post by Cable Arcane on Sept 26, 2013 16:45:55 GMT
Father…
Such a peculiar word because a father can be many things, a blood relative who assists in the bringing of new life or just an adult who provides guidance, concern and support for a young one in their time of need…
A father can never be a phantom, a shapeless face in the void who has never known a single ounce of your sadness. A father cannot go unseen from those he’s fathered, those he’s supposed to care for without suffering some sort of repercussion for his inaction…
Yet the man who claims to be the father of Cable Arcane is all of those things and nothing at the same time. He’s seen and unseen, known and unknown, he’s phantom who loves the man his boy has become. A nothing in the void that is the subconscious mind of Cable Arcane…
A voice to the madness…
As Cable sleeps all these thoughts and more float through the mind of the one person he trusts more than his partner in Honorbound, Amber Richards. She gently stokes his shoulder as he sleeps, smiling to herself because this was everything she ever wanted since the moment she met him…
Slowly, without waking him, she rose from the bed. As quietly as she could she walked around to his side, taking only a moment to look at his face, obscured by shadow, a momentary frown taking hold before she turned her attention to what she had come to do. She reached down beside the night stand and picked up the small vile of pills…
For months she’d been changing his doses, attempting to slowly remove him from his medication all together. Abby had prescribed him anti-psychotics back when they were together, Amber never thought he needed them and now it was time to find out if she was right…
”My love…”
She whispered as she bent over to deliver a kiss to his forehead...
She hesitated for only moment before dropping the pills in the garbage, she was doing this for his own good…
She was doing this because she loved him.
There is no honor in weakness…
Wearing your weakness as a badge of honor is an even bigger disgrace…
Compassion is a weakness…
When I walk among the wrestlers in the back I see many forms of weakness. Many forms of compassion as one man cares for the well being on another. Gladiators who make their living inflicting pain checking on their fallen opponents, shaking their hands, congratulating them on their loss…
Disgusting…
I see men and women caring for those they deem less fortunate…
Appalling.
The compassionate ones always caring for those who are too WEAK to care for themselves. What honor is there in sacrificing all you have earned only to hand it off to some lowly, miserable insect too afraid to take a risk for success, to lazy to get off their couch long enough to remove the needle from their arm and see the great wide world out there…
The compassionate waste their time and ours giving praise to the struggle, the struggle of drug addicts, alcoholics and sycophants without the where withal to succeed on their own…
Compassionate men like Xavier Cross waste precious air time with the pleas of the forgotten, telling us it is our duty to help them up when they fall, yet never questioning why so few helped him when he fell time and time again to Xander Famularo. In the end it took the resolve of fighting for more than himself to best the giant because simply fighting for his honor wasn’t enough…
Because you have none.
You waste your time caring for the less fortunate at the expense of your career, your legacy, had you only embraced the fight sooner, the burning passion within you would have been enough to quench the fire that was Xander Famularo. Unfortunately you did not have the strength within, the honor to find the resolve to fight on. You latched on like a leech to an excuse, to a meaning, to your compassion and looked into the teary eyes of all the children you let down and used that to fuel your fire…
Despicable.
I have never need an excuse to embrace my passion, my burning need to fight men in the most hostile of environment. When I step into that ring it is with the one goal of putting you down for as long as I possibly can. The fans, the people you fight for, they represent a weakness to me because you do not have the personal resolve to fight for the only person who will ever have true compassion for your well being…
Yourself.
I know my words will fall on deaf ears, I know Xavier Cross will point to his newly won championship belt and ask me where mine is, I know of all the gloating and false bravado we are about to be exposed to this week and I merely laugh at it…
Your words will be filled with lies, your excuses for your inaction leading up to the final confrontation will be comical, the defense you will surely lay at my feet foryou’re your compassion is your greatest strength will be meaningless to me…
Like everything Cross, your words will be empty.
However, you are our new Heavy Weight Champion and for that reason alone I have to show you a modicum of respect, had you no ability at all you would not have been able to capitalize on the arrogance of our former champion. Congratulations Cross, you have earned your championship…
But do not lose yourself in the moment like you did before. You walked into your first match with Xander full of false bravado, believing your compassion to be the wind beneath your wings that would carry you to victory and you found yourself broken before the fans on multiple occasions. A word of warning, you are now the target once more, the man in the spot light with everything to lose and absolutely nothing to gain. You are the measuring stick for all of us who wish to surpass you…
And I do so very wish to surpass you.
I cannot deny your ability, your talent, I can question your brutality and your resolve. How much pain are you willing to endure for what I am sure you will personally feel is a throw away match?
How much blood are you willing to lose against a man who does not qualify to fight for your title? Losing to me isn’t all that big of a deal, after all, I’m just some cruiser weight tag team wrestler who choked out everyone’s hero Joe Everyman twice this passed Sunday.
Tell me Cross, how far are you willing to go for this match?
You are, like Everyman was, a beacon of hope for the helpless, someone for the derelicts and dregs of our society to look to for inspiration, the embodiment of everyman’s fantasy. A child born of wealth, raised in a ghetto, grown to become a great man, truly an American dream come true…
Now from your perch high above the troubles of the world you help the helpless while still finding time to entertain your adoring fans inside that ring, now tell me, are you willing to lose all that for a single match?
My name, my legacy in this promotion, in our business is not yet set in stone. With every match, every opponent, I get closer and closer to what I feel is my ultimate destiny and I will stop at nothing to get there. You’ve heard of manifest destiny? The mentality our young country used to rape and pillage the home lands of the native Americans who lived here for generations before us?
You stand between me and my manifest destiny.
Between me and my dreams and I wonder if you will do what it takes to end this match, if you’ve got the fortitude to put me away?
Before I discovered that Angel was full of lies he told me that the only way to truly succeed in this industry is to lose yourself to the monster we all carry within us, to leave ourselves open to the beauty of brutality. I think he’s only half right, there is beauty to be found in the blood we shed in that ring but I do not think we need to lose ourselves to anything, you need to control it, hone it, sharpen it like a blade and then insert it between the ribs…
Brutality is my Destiny.
A destiny where weakness of any kind will not be tolerated.
Where the helpless will not be helped but discard like the trash they are, where those without honor like yourself will be dealt with like the scum you associate yourself with, where champions will not be made from the weak but molded by the strong…
The brutal…
I look forward to showing you what true honor is.
Such a peculiar word because a father can be many things, a blood relative who assists in the bringing of new life or just an adult who provides guidance, concern and support for a young one in their time of need…
A father can never be a phantom, a shapeless face in the void who has never known a single ounce of your sadness. A father cannot go unseen from those he’s fathered, those he’s supposed to care for without suffering some sort of repercussion for his inaction…
Yet the man who claims to be the father of Cable Arcane is all of those things and nothing at the same time. He’s seen and unseen, known and unknown, he’s phantom who loves the man his boy has become. A nothing in the void that is the subconscious mind of Cable Arcane…
A voice to the madness…
As Cable sleeps all these thoughts and more float through the mind of the one person he trusts more than his partner in Honorbound, Amber Richards. She gently stokes his shoulder as he sleeps, smiling to herself because this was everything she ever wanted since the moment she met him…
Slowly, without waking him, she rose from the bed. As quietly as she could she walked around to his side, taking only a moment to look at his face, obscured by shadow, a momentary frown taking hold before she turned her attention to what she had come to do. She reached down beside the night stand and picked up the small vile of pills…
For months she’d been changing his doses, attempting to slowly remove him from his medication all together. Abby had prescribed him anti-psychotics back when they were together, Amber never thought he needed them and now it was time to find out if she was right…
”My love…”
She whispered as she bent over to deliver a kiss to his forehead...
She hesitated for only moment before dropping the pills in the garbage, she was doing this for his own good…
She was doing this because she loved him.
There is no honor in weakness…
Wearing your weakness as a badge of honor is an even bigger disgrace…
Compassion is a weakness…
When I walk among the wrestlers in the back I see many forms of weakness. Many forms of compassion as one man cares for the well being on another. Gladiators who make their living inflicting pain checking on their fallen opponents, shaking their hands, congratulating them on their loss…
Disgusting…
I see men and women caring for those they deem less fortunate…
Appalling.
The compassionate ones always caring for those who are too WEAK to care for themselves. What honor is there in sacrificing all you have earned only to hand it off to some lowly, miserable insect too afraid to take a risk for success, to lazy to get off their couch long enough to remove the needle from their arm and see the great wide world out there…
The compassionate waste their time and ours giving praise to the struggle, the struggle of drug addicts, alcoholics and sycophants without the where withal to succeed on their own…
Compassionate men like Xavier Cross waste precious air time with the pleas of the forgotten, telling us it is our duty to help them up when they fall, yet never questioning why so few helped him when he fell time and time again to Xander Famularo. In the end it took the resolve of fighting for more than himself to best the giant because simply fighting for his honor wasn’t enough…
Because you have none.
You waste your time caring for the less fortunate at the expense of your career, your legacy, had you only embraced the fight sooner, the burning passion within you would have been enough to quench the fire that was Xander Famularo. Unfortunately you did not have the strength within, the honor to find the resolve to fight on. You latched on like a leech to an excuse, to a meaning, to your compassion and looked into the teary eyes of all the children you let down and used that to fuel your fire…
Despicable.
I have never need an excuse to embrace my passion, my burning need to fight men in the most hostile of environment. When I step into that ring it is with the one goal of putting you down for as long as I possibly can. The fans, the people you fight for, they represent a weakness to me because you do not have the personal resolve to fight for the only person who will ever have true compassion for your well being…
Yourself.
I know my words will fall on deaf ears, I know Xavier Cross will point to his newly won championship belt and ask me where mine is, I know of all the gloating and false bravado we are about to be exposed to this week and I merely laugh at it…
Your words will be filled with lies, your excuses for your inaction leading up to the final confrontation will be comical, the defense you will surely lay at my feet foryou’re your compassion is your greatest strength will be meaningless to me…
Like everything Cross, your words will be empty.
However, you are our new Heavy Weight Champion and for that reason alone I have to show you a modicum of respect, had you no ability at all you would not have been able to capitalize on the arrogance of our former champion. Congratulations Cross, you have earned your championship…
But do not lose yourself in the moment like you did before. You walked into your first match with Xander full of false bravado, believing your compassion to be the wind beneath your wings that would carry you to victory and you found yourself broken before the fans on multiple occasions. A word of warning, you are now the target once more, the man in the spot light with everything to lose and absolutely nothing to gain. You are the measuring stick for all of us who wish to surpass you…
And I do so very wish to surpass you.
I cannot deny your ability, your talent, I can question your brutality and your resolve. How much pain are you willing to endure for what I am sure you will personally feel is a throw away match?
How much blood are you willing to lose against a man who does not qualify to fight for your title? Losing to me isn’t all that big of a deal, after all, I’m just some cruiser weight tag team wrestler who choked out everyone’s hero Joe Everyman twice this passed Sunday.
Tell me Cross, how far are you willing to go for this match?
You are, like Everyman was, a beacon of hope for the helpless, someone for the derelicts and dregs of our society to look to for inspiration, the embodiment of everyman’s fantasy. A child born of wealth, raised in a ghetto, grown to become a great man, truly an American dream come true…
Now from your perch high above the troubles of the world you help the helpless while still finding time to entertain your adoring fans inside that ring, now tell me, are you willing to lose all that for a single match?
My name, my legacy in this promotion, in our business is not yet set in stone. With every match, every opponent, I get closer and closer to what I feel is my ultimate destiny and I will stop at nothing to get there. You’ve heard of manifest destiny? The mentality our young country used to rape and pillage the home lands of the native Americans who lived here for generations before us?
You stand between me and my manifest destiny.
Between me and my dreams and I wonder if you will do what it takes to end this match, if you’ve got the fortitude to put me away?
Before I discovered that Angel was full of lies he told me that the only way to truly succeed in this industry is to lose yourself to the monster we all carry within us, to leave ourselves open to the beauty of brutality. I think he’s only half right, there is beauty to be found in the blood we shed in that ring but I do not think we need to lose ourselves to anything, you need to control it, hone it, sharpen it like a blade and then insert it between the ribs…
Brutality is my Destiny.
A destiny where weakness of any kind will not be tolerated.
Where the helpless will not be helped but discard like the trash they are, where those without honor like yourself will be dealt with like the scum you associate yourself with, where champions will not be made from the weak but molded by the strong…
The brutal…
I look forward to showing you what true honor is.
Cable sat, head bowed, his mask firmly strapped around his face…
Dr. Griffiths tapped his note pad gently with his pen, observing one of his many clients as he sate there quietly…
”How are you feeling, Cable?”
Cable’s head did not rise as a low sigh escaped from his mask…
”Delightful.”
His words were tinged with the slightest hints of pain, the scars he hides beneath that mask cannot be even close to healed and he has refused all pain medication. Very foolish of him, though the good Doctor…
”It’s ok to open up to me Cable, what you say here is strictly between us. I only want what’s best for you.”
What’s best for you…
His head rose as those words rung in his ears. What’s best for him had mattered so little for so long to so many people and now, all of a sudden it seemed that is all everyone has ever wanted…
He laughed.
”And how do you know what’s best for me?”
”Well that’s what we’re here to figure out.”
Cable’s eyes locked on to the Doctor’s and they shared a gaze for several nerve racking moments before Griffiths gave in and looked down to his bad…
”Ahem… Ah yes…”
He’s afraid of you…
”He should be.”
”Excuse me?”
Cable’s eyes move from the now confused Doctor to the shadow at the back of the room, the one that’s been there watching him his whole life, the one that has helped him to redirect his anger toward those more deserving…
”Cable, is there someone here with us right now?”
I’ve always been here…
”Is he the one who’s been telling you to refuse medical attention for your burns?”
I always will be…
”Does he tell you to hurt people? Yourself?”
His heart and soul are weak, not forged in fire like yourself. Leave this miserable speck of flesh to his notes and papers. You have a mission to complete, a destiny to fulfill. You, my son, the bringer of the New Age…
”Cable, can you hear?”
Suddenly Cable rises and the movement startles the Doctor as he had been still for suck a long time. He disregards the pleas to stay as he brushes past, grabbing his tattered leather coat as he goes…
”Until next time, Doctor…”
And without another word or glance, Cable is gone. Doctor Griffiths lets out a long sigh of relief until he looks down at his note pad that he’d been absent mindedly scribbling on this whole time and sees what he’s drawn…
”The hell???”
A large, black, nothing…
Well howdy there pardner.