Post by Princess on Feb 23, 2014 15:30:22 GMT
The contract lay before me, my mind wondering what to do. Do I rip it apart? Do I laugh? Do I sign? It allows me to freely come and go as I please, to fulfill as much of both careers as possible, but the catches...well.
"So what do you think about it, Kristoff?"
Tom sits across from me, there are executives here, huddled for their next big "PR icon". It's been years since they had the outrageous and catchy shadow people for the original iPod, now I'll be the face of a product, of a company. The face of two, to be exact. The sight in my eyes blurs, my tie is tight, and I feel my mouth dry. It is simply too TIGHT, but I have to focus. My hand reaches for the pen. I close my eyes, how I long to jab it into Tom's eyesocket. Perhaps I'd be able to stab them all with the pen?
"Yes, that's the option we want. This allows so much, Kristoff. Just think about being free, free of your conflicting schedules being a problem, all you have to do, is a few commercials, and photoshoots. Just a little advertising, nothing sinful. It brings money to all of us."
Money, how I hate the concept. People fight, die, kill for riches, for gold. For generations, for eons we've seen this. Pirates existed almost exclusively for it. Sell-swords, well...My hand is tight around the pen as I move toward the paper. The signature line is right there, and so is Tom. How easily I could "miss" and stab his hand. His blood would flow freely, I can smell the alcohol on his breath. He's been concerned I won't give him the credit. He's concerned, and rightfully so. I'm a dangerous man. I could bash his skull in, stab him, and it would all happen before he can react. The paper is rough, the ink flows in the first bits of my name.
"Tom, I'm glad you are being patient with me on this. Are all of these...executives necessary?"
"Of course, Kristoff. They all want to see our company succeed. They want to see you succeed, to share the wealth, as it were."
Silent nods, a bunch of robots stand around me, robots and a snake. How I'd love to strangle them all, to wrap myself around them like I do to my opponents and choke the life from them. The pen finishes my name, and I let loose a massive sigh before slinking down into my chair. I've just sold my soul, I just hope it's worth it.
___________________________________________________
"They say sometimes that Severity is necessary for Greatness. Look at the men around us, Mason. Spike, Angel, Verona; they can all be severe, be cruel, do terrible things to get what they want. And now, well, there's us. What will you do to me in the cage? You say you'll beat me until I'm sore, to choke me out with that move you learned in basic training, but...well, your training hasn't helped with the nightmares has it?"
My hands wrap around the back of a chair in the empty arena. It's hours before showtime, and the cage is high above me. The ring is set up, ready to go, and here I am, sitting backwards on a chair waiting. But patience is a virtue, and sometimes you have to be patient for what you want.
"You got the advantage on Battleground, I'll give you that. But see how well you do in a cage, with nowhere to run. When you have to admit that you lack the severity, the patience, the strength; to put me down. When I keep coming back for more, when I refuse to quit despite injuries you swear you'll give me. Threats are idle, Mason, we both know this. You had your chance to hold the Heavyweight Title, and now...it's my greatest desire. I fight for beautiful things, Mason, like the sell-swords of old, as much as I hate the idea. The money doesn't fill me, no, but the accomplishments do. The long list, the wins, the men I've bloodied, beaten, and made to submit to me. Again, Severity."
Slowly my body rises. I tug at the tie, and loose it from my body. The shackles of the business world are gone, folded on the mat, vacant of blood and sweat after a fresh cleaning. The top buttons fall from my white shirt, and I remove that as well. My body, scarred from the career, is still more fit than most men my age, most 30 year olds. I run my hands over the muscles. My eyes close and I think of your body, ripped and muscular. My hands move down my chest, toward my beltline, and a sick smile comes across my face.
"Dirty boy, you thought I would touch myself to you? oh, no...I'm not that kind of man. But the thought of loosing your demons on the world, well, that's a real turn on for me. You used to be a military man, but the honor has not been there for years. Women, children, elderly. Raping, killing, torturing. Which of these are your sins, Mason? Which are the ones you have nightmares about, that you wish to have removed from your soul? Severity, it's the price of removal, too. Perhaps the echoes of the briefcase on your skull have muted the screams of your innocent victims, gunned down by an elite squad in a foreign land. And maybe the sound of you choking in my hold, choking on your own blood, will drown out the screams of the fans as they try to get you to keep moving, to keep going. You can't fight fate, Mason. You're time as Heavyweight Champion is nearing it's finality. I claimed that belt when I smashed your skull in the first time. I had your number then, you never saw what was coming, and you won't see it this time either. Even in a cage, you're blind to the things right in front of you. You are tortured by the things you may or may not remember having done, the nightmares and the screams follow you everywhere. Yet you believe you are the hero, and I am the villain. If the fans knew, would they still love you? Would they still want you? In the end, history will look fondly only upon the winners, not on who the fans loved more. I do what I must, to win. I will utilize every move to weaken your body. I will throw you against the cage to daze you, to bloody you, and when you think you have the upper hand, it'll come. You'll be choking, you'll be screaming. The sleep will come, Mason, and so will the nightmares. The fans will finally see what you are, when you wake screaming at the dead as they scream at you. You'll be ruined, and my severity, my greatness, will surpass."
The chair is moved by my feet, kicked toward the corner. I stretch on the ropes, running across the ring. The thudding steps echo in the empty arena. Thudding like the marching feet of soldiers. The sound of the soldiers marching to war. Marching to kill the innocents. To spill the blood of their enemies and all who shelter them. Vietnam, Iraq, Korea, Afghanistan...the ghosts in the marching steps scream to all who will listen. Dead women, dead children. The severity of the United States. My severity. All mold into a single march.
"I want only one thing tonight, Mason. I want your title. How i get it, how I achieve the victory; it doesn't matter. I can choke you, I can wrench your limbs, I can claw your eyes until you scream. I can tell you things until you wish for me to shut up, things about your war-crimes. It doesn't matter how, all that matters is that after Danger Zone, you will not be walking out with the belt around your waist. You'll be lighter, in physical sense, and heavier with the weight of your sins. This game is growing old, and I'm done playing around. The cage is all that matters, and victory. Step into the Danger Zone, because inside live the nightmares in your head. When you come out, you'll never be the same. See you there. I hope the voices...never...SHUT UP!"
"So what do you think about it, Kristoff?"
Tom sits across from me, there are executives here, huddled for their next big "PR icon". It's been years since they had the outrageous and catchy shadow people for the original iPod, now I'll be the face of a product, of a company. The face of two, to be exact. The sight in my eyes blurs, my tie is tight, and I feel my mouth dry. It is simply too TIGHT, but I have to focus. My hand reaches for the pen. I close my eyes, how I long to jab it into Tom's eyesocket. Perhaps I'd be able to stab them all with the pen?
"Yes, that's the option we want. This allows so much, Kristoff. Just think about being free, free of your conflicting schedules being a problem, all you have to do, is a few commercials, and photoshoots. Just a little advertising, nothing sinful. It brings money to all of us."
Money, how I hate the concept. People fight, die, kill for riches, for gold. For generations, for eons we've seen this. Pirates existed almost exclusively for it. Sell-swords, well...My hand is tight around the pen as I move toward the paper. The signature line is right there, and so is Tom. How easily I could "miss" and stab his hand. His blood would flow freely, I can smell the alcohol on his breath. He's been concerned I won't give him the credit. He's concerned, and rightfully so. I'm a dangerous man. I could bash his skull in, stab him, and it would all happen before he can react. The paper is rough, the ink flows in the first bits of my name.
"Tom, I'm glad you are being patient with me on this. Are all of these...executives necessary?"
"Of course, Kristoff. They all want to see our company succeed. They want to see you succeed, to share the wealth, as it were."
Silent nods, a bunch of robots stand around me, robots and a snake. How I'd love to strangle them all, to wrap myself around them like I do to my opponents and choke the life from them. The pen finishes my name, and I let loose a massive sigh before slinking down into my chair. I've just sold my soul, I just hope it's worth it.
___________________________________________________
"They say sometimes that Severity is necessary for Greatness. Look at the men around us, Mason. Spike, Angel, Verona; they can all be severe, be cruel, do terrible things to get what they want. And now, well, there's us. What will you do to me in the cage? You say you'll beat me until I'm sore, to choke me out with that move you learned in basic training, but...well, your training hasn't helped with the nightmares has it?"
My hands wrap around the back of a chair in the empty arena. It's hours before showtime, and the cage is high above me. The ring is set up, ready to go, and here I am, sitting backwards on a chair waiting. But patience is a virtue, and sometimes you have to be patient for what you want.
"You got the advantage on Battleground, I'll give you that. But see how well you do in a cage, with nowhere to run. When you have to admit that you lack the severity, the patience, the strength; to put me down. When I keep coming back for more, when I refuse to quit despite injuries you swear you'll give me. Threats are idle, Mason, we both know this. You had your chance to hold the Heavyweight Title, and now...it's my greatest desire. I fight for beautiful things, Mason, like the sell-swords of old, as much as I hate the idea. The money doesn't fill me, no, but the accomplishments do. The long list, the wins, the men I've bloodied, beaten, and made to submit to me. Again, Severity."
Slowly my body rises. I tug at the tie, and loose it from my body. The shackles of the business world are gone, folded on the mat, vacant of blood and sweat after a fresh cleaning. The top buttons fall from my white shirt, and I remove that as well. My body, scarred from the career, is still more fit than most men my age, most 30 year olds. I run my hands over the muscles. My eyes close and I think of your body, ripped and muscular. My hands move down my chest, toward my beltline, and a sick smile comes across my face.
"Dirty boy, you thought I would touch myself to you? oh, no...I'm not that kind of man. But the thought of loosing your demons on the world, well, that's a real turn on for me. You used to be a military man, but the honor has not been there for years. Women, children, elderly. Raping, killing, torturing. Which of these are your sins, Mason? Which are the ones you have nightmares about, that you wish to have removed from your soul? Severity, it's the price of removal, too. Perhaps the echoes of the briefcase on your skull have muted the screams of your innocent victims, gunned down by an elite squad in a foreign land. And maybe the sound of you choking in my hold, choking on your own blood, will drown out the screams of the fans as they try to get you to keep moving, to keep going. You can't fight fate, Mason. You're time as Heavyweight Champion is nearing it's finality. I claimed that belt when I smashed your skull in the first time. I had your number then, you never saw what was coming, and you won't see it this time either. Even in a cage, you're blind to the things right in front of you. You are tortured by the things you may or may not remember having done, the nightmares and the screams follow you everywhere. Yet you believe you are the hero, and I am the villain. If the fans knew, would they still love you? Would they still want you? In the end, history will look fondly only upon the winners, not on who the fans loved more. I do what I must, to win. I will utilize every move to weaken your body. I will throw you against the cage to daze you, to bloody you, and when you think you have the upper hand, it'll come. You'll be choking, you'll be screaming. The sleep will come, Mason, and so will the nightmares. The fans will finally see what you are, when you wake screaming at the dead as they scream at you. You'll be ruined, and my severity, my greatness, will surpass."
The chair is moved by my feet, kicked toward the corner. I stretch on the ropes, running across the ring. The thudding steps echo in the empty arena. Thudding like the marching feet of soldiers. The sound of the soldiers marching to war. Marching to kill the innocents. To spill the blood of their enemies and all who shelter them. Vietnam, Iraq, Korea, Afghanistan...the ghosts in the marching steps scream to all who will listen. Dead women, dead children. The severity of the United States. My severity. All mold into a single march.
"I want only one thing tonight, Mason. I want your title. How i get it, how I achieve the victory; it doesn't matter. I can choke you, I can wrench your limbs, I can claw your eyes until you scream. I can tell you things until you wish for me to shut up, things about your war-crimes. It doesn't matter how, all that matters is that after Danger Zone, you will not be walking out with the belt around your waist. You'll be lighter, in physical sense, and heavier with the weight of your sins. This game is growing old, and I'm done playing around. The cage is all that matters, and victory. Step into the Danger Zone, because inside live the nightmares in your head. When you come out, you'll never be the same. See you there. I hope the voices...never...SHUT UP!"
March.
March.
March.
Well howdy there pardner.