Post by Kevin Evel on Sept 26, 2014 2:14:46 GMT
Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. -William S. Burroughs.
So it is done.
Like the snapping of a bone – like a gunshot to the head – it is done. So quickly it was done and there is very little that can be reversed now. A disease has now invaded Imperial Wrestling. A black cloud now plagues this company, choking the very life from it. We are all sick now – sick with a cancer and dying without a cure. We are fatally wounded and falling weaker with each passing moment. Our immune systems are in complete collapse. We gag on the air we breathe now...
We now have rabies.
It's so fitting Patient Zero is none other than that no-name low-life everyone in this place has been so dismissive of for the past couple months. Zero? Yeah, that's exactly it. This guy, who came from nothing, became nothing, and accomplished nothing, now looks to tear down everything just to that. Nothing. Nothing at all, safe from distant screams and cries – sobbing, whimpering, cries.
The funniest thing is I am often accused for such evil and violent acts. I bring all the pointing fingers when there is blame to be placed. I have the name muttered in the town squares outside the gallows. I am the public enemy everyone wished was locked away and put down. What's so hilarious, though, is I cannot be blamed for this, this time. If Imperial Wrestling has a pistol in it's mouth now, it's not my doing. I didn't force it between rows of teeth. Sure, I may have offered the weapon, but I gently placed it in your responsible hands. I did nothing but suggestion. You put yourself in harm – not me. The gun would have fit just fine in my mouth, but luck would have it, Imperial Wrestling saw it a different way...
I can't say it doesn't please me though.
It's like a said some weeks ago, some really special things happen when your goals correspond with others, even temporarily. It's been something of my trademark lately, being something of a hired mercenary. Some use the term thug, but I'm not sure that's completely accurate. Maybe because I always seem to be getting more than my share out of these trade-offs, people assume I am performing some sort of strong-arm tactic, but rest assured, none of that is happening. Again, maybe I have all the guns, but I am not forcing them turned on anyone. Blame yourselves if you can't handle the pressure.
Was it pressure? Desperation? Maybe that's what has everyone's panties in knots. I seem to always be in the right places at the right times, and I have no issue taking advantage of a poor sap with a dirty deed that needs to be done cheap. They come to me. They come to me because they know, with me in the picture, it can be done. Cheap, on the other hand, is a relative term. What is cheap for someone is a treasure for another. I go to no one with lofty plans to rip anyone off. They come to me, asking me to rip them off. They beg me, pleading, offering everything under the sun, anything for my help. Am I a monster because I accept?
Verona knew there was only one way he could make damn sure Cross was going down at Sacrifice, and that was to include me. Adding the most vicious and violent force in Imperial Wrestling would surely get you the results you want, if people getting hurt is the result you need. I followed his train of thought. I understood where he came from, but he had me wrong. I am no mindless beast. I'm no senseless slaughter. I have a rhyme. I have a reason. I have a need. I have a necessity. There is always motives to my actions. That's the most frightening part...
No one has it pegged.
Is it not the scariest part of serial killers? When bodies of all sorts and shapes start turning up, is it not the worst when there is seemingly no pattern or design? There are no clear answers, just piling corpses, and just as you think you have a lead, another floater bubbles to the surface and shatters your whole investigation.
Verona needed me and we both knew it. He needed Cross taken down a peg or hundred, and he was willing to put yours truly in title contention if I could perform such a task. Maybe he should have never offered anything. Is that the problem, he stained the waters with blood first and asked the sharks for favors after? Should he have kept quiet, thrown the rabid animal in the cage and just let nature sort itself out? In retrospect, maybe that would have been better for business, because I knew, if he was going to give me a title shot of my choosing, he would would give me anything, and what I wanted was something far more dangerous – something no one should ever have – leverage.
I'm a free man.
I'm a free-moving radical now. I have infiltrated all defenses and now I'm in the very blood-stream of this company. I serve under no one now. I follow no one else's rules but my own. I am solely constricted to limits of my own imagination. For three hundred and sixty five days, I am without questioning. I answer to no one. I do what I want, when I want, to who I want, and until this time next year, we all drop to a knee and pray Kevin Evel drops dead before that day comes around. Surely, by then, there will be nothing left. There will be no survivors. Under that rain cloud, choking on all this smoke, for that long, who will remain? Who will be around to pick through the ashes and cinders?
All because Xavier Cross had to be put down.
Now this 'sick fucking dog' has no leash. The foaming maw now bites the hands the feed. It's madness is contagious and the panic will feel more and more like Armageddon with every passing day. No one is safe and eventually all will feel the weight of doom. Do we call to arms? Do the townspeople hold their pitchforks and torches and take to the woods? Do we hunt now? Are we at the point that this now becomes Kevin Evel versus Imperial Wrestling? Trust me when I tell you, if it's not now, it will in time. I am an evil presence, believe that, and I have nothing but bad intentions. I am, if nothing else, an enemy here, but rest easy, Imperial Wresting will have their beast pelt in all due time.
When I say no survivors, I'm not naive enough to believe I am excluded. I'll be defeated eventually. Everything I do will come to a stop. What I am doing – what I plan to do – are matters for madmen. Only the most careless souls take up my job. Those that hold such value in their place here, those like Mike Lazslo, don't pick up my work. They stay clear. It's too reckless, suicidal, they'll say. Oh, how I wish I was them. I envy them and their lives. They were given choices. They were presented with forking paths and options. I was born into none of that. I was forged exactly how I was intended, and I have no other alternative. I just create pain and destruction. That's all I do. It's like what the old man said...
From the very moment you were born, I knew all my hopes and dreams were dead.
Ask me. Fucking ask me, why I only bring up the old man? Ask me why him, and him alone? Catching my fucking drift? No? Well, let me clear it up. It takes two to make a fucking snot-nosed brat. Then why, oh why, don't I bring up anyone else but the shitty old ma? Connect the dots. Imagine a hospital room. Picture the pain and tears in your head. Feel the world melt around you, just outside the sterile walls of an emergency room. For a second, conceive of birthdays unhappy. Depressed and suffering, you're a constant reminder of tragic pasts. You're a face that looks back with cold eyes. You're a mouth that replies. You're a picture book of nightmares that doesn't stop flipping through it's pages. Do that for me, just for a fucking second, and you'll only scratch the surface of what it is was like to be born little Kevin Evengelos and become Kevin Evel...
That's it. That's all you need to know. I'll never speak of it again.
I've made no friends, no allies, and I wish death upon the house that covers me. No one understands the levity of their actions around here better than me. I know what I am dealing with. I know what I am causing. I know how little time I have before I am also caught in the fire I caused. I know I will have no lasting impression or legacy. I am an arsonist to this library. All records of us will go down with our corpses. It's a thankless job, for sure, so I'm sure a lot of people wonder why. Why even bother? Why be so destructive? I'm not sure I have one clear answer to that. Instead, I have fragmented puzzle pieces that resemble something of a picture under the right light...
Maybe I just want to make the old man proud.
Don't we all? Don't we all have parents somewhere, tuning in every week? All the families sit around the television screen and hope to see their prized son or daughter see victory between Imperial ropes. Am I really all that different? Don't I have an old bastard watching me, wondering how awful his little slug-spawn is doing, now that it's outgrew the cesspool it was hatched in? Surely I must. Does he watch on and what does he think? Has his little ball of hatred and discontent made him proud? Has all the suffering I cause onto others quell the sadness in his heart? Does it repent for the sins I have caused? Have I spilled enough blood to fill the void? Have I poured enough onto the apron to satisfy all the anger? Have I shared our pain with enough of the world? Or is should there be more? When does it end and who is safe?
Never and no one.
Dreams – what silly things. We are born into this world with our heads chalk-full of dreams. At the very starting line, we have hopes and aspirations for the future. We want to create something great. We want to become something great. What about those different? What about those with no dreams? What about those who hope for no future? What about those who want to see it all fall apart and disappear? Our heads are not filled with silly dreams and fantasies. We are filled with a burning desire and want to watch things collapse. We are driven by necessity...
We need it to end.
There is no off-switch or no time card to stop the urge. Nothing stops it but absolute nothingness. Only then can we escape, if you can call that escaping at all. We are always on, always hunting, and always dangerous, which is far more than I can say about others around here.
In fact, I am curious. I wonder what does it take to push someone into an uncontrollable blind rage? Simple antagonizing or something more? The thing is: I know KLB has it. I know he has it deep down, stuck firmly inside that twiggy, nerdy body of his. He has it guarded, hidden, and under lock and key. It's as if he is frightened by it, like some sort of Mr. Hyde that comes over him. He must feel he should only use it in the more dire situations.
Why, I wonder? What's the harm to always be violent? Is there anything here worth keeping? Just let go, I say. Let go of everything. Friends, family, personal belongings, and all aspiration: let it go. Maybe that's why. Maybe that's why his cute nerd rage is so reserved, he has others in his life that would suffer. Maybe that's why his switch is rarely flipped...
I wonder what would it take to break it, permanently on.
What poetic ruination that would cause! There's just something so delightful about self-destruction. We're such horrible creatures, and we have such poor control of our emotions. It's a wonder we all don't go mad and become cannibal, but it's always a treat when it does happen. I wonder, what sort of man would KLB be, broken and blind with rage? Who will he lash out on? How great would the pain his chest be? How long will he last before the black hole in his heart collapses and swallows everything he cared about? How long until his head is full of the visions I see?
Because, you know, we're really not much different.
No, KLB, we're quite alike. You see, we were like twins. You today and I just born, so long ago, were exactly the same. We both had dreams, hopes, and things to protect. We had a future to enjoy and a world to discover. We were both so stupid and ignorant of the cruel hands of nature. Neither of our switches were broken then, but then I, the unlucky one, changed. My umbilical switch was cut and the afterbirth was tossed in a body bag. Now, I am the dark one without dreams. I am what the smudged mirror reflects, when you can't control yourself. I am the KLB without the comfort of turning off.
Let me tell you: your brothers, sisters, loving parents, uncles and aunts, kiss them all good-bye. Take a moment to understand everything you protect by being such a good, moral, person, and imagine it dashed to the ground. You'll hate them, everything in fact. When you're without the comfort of choice, you have very little tolerance for anything. The people around you will turn your stomach, and if they don't, rest assured, you'll turn theirs. Every fiber of your life will be something you truly detest, and everyday you'll curse the blood that runs in your veins. Without choice, you'll look to drain it all. Every match you go in, you'll look to empty you arteries, just to put an end to it all, but it won't do any good. You're cursed...
You're cursed, just like me.
We're cursed to be different – different without choice. We were unlucky, because with luck, some have to be the necessary unfortunate ones. Those are we. We are the ones not born, but forged, created with a counter-intent and purpose. We're cursed exist purely to weight the lucky majority in a balance of privilege and choice. That is our purpose. We have no say. We are hostages to our own bodies. We are slaves to necessity, because someone must.
Someone must keep order. Someone must maintain the balance between good and evil. Someone must keep the blades sharp and the muscles strong. Someone must challenge the living. We are those who must...
We are the walking plague.
Laugh and call me a madman, Bates. That's fine, but you know, deep down, what I speak has the potential of becoming reality. Even the smallest. You know I've pegged that tiny spark of brutality inside you. You know you can't fully deny your darker side, no matter how much you try, and you can say I'm a fool for suggesting you can't control it, but what if you can't? Imagine the possibility. In this case, would everything I say true? Would that be a only difference between a foolish madman and psychological genius? Just chance. That's all.
Laugh, but laugh with me. Laugh at this world and it's pathetic squawking masses. Laugh as they try to control their fates. Share this with me, as tragedy strikes them. When they fall, be with me. Watch as I see, when the cold heart of nature crumbles their fabricated sense of control. Witness as their plans, their hopes, and dreams fall apart in their hands. Breathe in their hatred and frustration, and help me me beat them into bloody submission when they decide to fight back – when they haven't given up. Help me break their bones. Help me tear their muscles. Help me haunt their minds...
Help me because I feel so alone here. I need you.
We're a rarity, KLB. Not every kid has a monster under the bed. Not every city has a serial killer to pluck away at the cheering squad. We are a rare gift onto the world. We're an endangered species. We are the few and far between, and thus, we should be closer, don't you think? I've let go. My switch has been broken a long time ago. I'm without choice. Let go too. Let go of everything and turn off the switch. Break it and turn it off forever. Then we can unite the brothers.
Because I'll tell you, the alternative is much worse. You know, I'm sort of the obsessive-type. If I see something I want, you know I'll go to any length to get it. Don't fight me. You won't want that. Don't do it the hard way. Just let the darkness fill you, like it wants to. Just let it happen, like nature intends. I know you feel it. I know you battle everyday to keep it under control. Stop. Don't struggle. Don't fight. Let it consume, because resisting doesn't end well.
I'm sure you're doing your homework. On the surface, you'll notice Kevin Evel sees his losses and defeats in almost equal share. Don't be blinded by the numbers, Bates. You won't want to fight me. You won't want to be in a steel cage with me. You see, under the surface, I have a staggering rate of getting everything I want inside Imperial rings. Nearly every time I exit the ring, I leave making the point I came with. The ones with their hands lifted in the air come out bigger losers to bigger situations. Ask Mike. Ask John. Ask Verona. They'll tell you.
They'll say how dangerous I am. They will say not to be too focused on numbers, because where the numbers fell is more valuable information. You see, Bates, while I've been here, I've never been pinned or submitted, ever, and I don't plan on being anytime soon. I've gone silently untouched, while we all watch others like Alioth Starre dissolve into nothingness right before our eyes. I've been quietly smiling, knowing and weekly assured, no one can stop me.
They'll tell you how the numbers fell. They'll inform you, if you haven't figured it out yourself, being in a cage or a cell is a very, very, bad idea. I've not only gone without being pinned or being submitted, I have never loss within walls of steel. Being pitted against this rabid animal in a normal match is one thing. You'll have a choice to run away. Locked in a cage with me, and there is no choice...
It's certain death.
And for a second, if you think Imperial Wrestling is going to protect you, you'll regret making that mistake. Imperial Wrestling protects me now. This company hold Kevin Evel's interests over yours or anyone else. I have the immunity. I have the power, which is all too funny. It's as if this company put the wolf in charge to watch over the chicken coop. So wonder that. Wonder if this match is all about us being locked in a cage together, or you locked in a cage with me.
I'm a monster. I told you that. I don't have a lot of goodwill to share with a lot of people, but then again, it's not my choice. I don't get to choose when I want to be a monster. I don't get the comfort of turning off my violent side. I don't get to take the Halloween mask off. I was never as privileged as you. I was never as lucky as you, Bates, but I'm not complaining.
Can't you see? I'm making the world shake. I make this company tremble. I make this audience take notice, and every day pressure and tension rises. I become less and less able to be ignored. More and more eyes divert away and scan the ground. More stomachs are turned and heart rates rise. I can't wish nor do I wish to be anything different than what I am. Everything I have ever wanted to break is breaking or broken, all because of what I am. I have everything to thank for the poison coursing my veins. I am indebted to the black mass where my heart should be. I may not have chosen what I am, but I have embraced it. I see I am different. I am a counter to the world, that's all, and I accept it. I am at least something – something very powerful – and in a world of a lot of wasted space, I would rather be that than nothing at all.
So, Bates, it's all up to you. As always, I have no choice in the matter – it's all you. You get to come Extreme Endurance with options. You can enjoy the nervousness backstage, wondering, flirting the outcomes of all alternatives. You get to enjoy the company of a man in the mirror, when you need to hear a voice and a mouth move. You can swell in indignation when you come to a conclusion and march to the ring looking for my skull. You can enter the ring and show me what path you pick.
Will you cave-in to your hatred and rage? Will the venom finally reach your blood-stream? Will you accept chaos and let go? Will you let go of all your infantile notions of control and embrace the cruel hands of nature? Will you lash back at the world... or will you lash back at me?
It'll be your choice and yours alone. I'm nothing but a rabid beast locked in a cage. I am without owner or pack. I merely look to revel in my madness, spread my pain, and pour my sickness and hatred onto the rest of the world. You can join me, but I cannot make you. I don't get choices. I get evil...
And I get necessary.
So it is done.
Like the snapping of a bone – like a gunshot to the head – it is done. So quickly it was done and there is very little that can be reversed now. A disease has now invaded Imperial Wrestling. A black cloud now plagues this company, choking the very life from it. We are all sick now – sick with a cancer and dying without a cure. We are fatally wounded and falling weaker with each passing moment. Our immune systems are in complete collapse. We gag on the air we breathe now...
We now have rabies.
It's so fitting Patient Zero is none other than that no-name low-life everyone in this place has been so dismissive of for the past couple months. Zero? Yeah, that's exactly it. This guy, who came from nothing, became nothing, and accomplished nothing, now looks to tear down everything just to that. Nothing. Nothing at all, safe from distant screams and cries – sobbing, whimpering, cries.
The funniest thing is I am often accused for such evil and violent acts. I bring all the pointing fingers when there is blame to be placed. I have the name muttered in the town squares outside the gallows. I am the public enemy everyone wished was locked away and put down. What's so hilarious, though, is I cannot be blamed for this, this time. If Imperial Wrestling has a pistol in it's mouth now, it's not my doing. I didn't force it between rows of teeth. Sure, I may have offered the weapon, but I gently placed it in your responsible hands. I did nothing but suggestion. You put yourself in harm – not me. The gun would have fit just fine in my mouth, but luck would have it, Imperial Wrestling saw it a different way...
I can't say it doesn't please me though.
It's like a said some weeks ago, some really special things happen when your goals correspond with others, even temporarily. It's been something of my trademark lately, being something of a hired mercenary. Some use the term thug, but I'm not sure that's completely accurate. Maybe because I always seem to be getting more than my share out of these trade-offs, people assume I am performing some sort of strong-arm tactic, but rest assured, none of that is happening. Again, maybe I have all the guns, but I am not forcing them turned on anyone. Blame yourselves if you can't handle the pressure.
Was it pressure? Desperation? Maybe that's what has everyone's panties in knots. I seem to always be in the right places at the right times, and I have no issue taking advantage of a poor sap with a dirty deed that needs to be done cheap. They come to me. They come to me because they know, with me in the picture, it can be done. Cheap, on the other hand, is a relative term. What is cheap for someone is a treasure for another. I go to no one with lofty plans to rip anyone off. They come to me, asking me to rip them off. They beg me, pleading, offering everything under the sun, anything for my help. Am I a monster because I accept?
Verona knew there was only one way he could make damn sure Cross was going down at Sacrifice, and that was to include me. Adding the most vicious and violent force in Imperial Wrestling would surely get you the results you want, if people getting hurt is the result you need. I followed his train of thought. I understood where he came from, but he had me wrong. I am no mindless beast. I'm no senseless slaughter. I have a rhyme. I have a reason. I have a need. I have a necessity. There is always motives to my actions. That's the most frightening part...
No one has it pegged.
Is it not the scariest part of serial killers? When bodies of all sorts and shapes start turning up, is it not the worst when there is seemingly no pattern or design? There are no clear answers, just piling corpses, and just as you think you have a lead, another floater bubbles to the surface and shatters your whole investigation.
Verona needed me and we both knew it. He needed Cross taken down a peg or hundred, and he was willing to put yours truly in title contention if I could perform such a task. Maybe he should have never offered anything. Is that the problem, he stained the waters with blood first and asked the sharks for favors after? Should he have kept quiet, thrown the rabid animal in the cage and just let nature sort itself out? In retrospect, maybe that would have been better for business, because I knew, if he was going to give me a title shot of my choosing, he would would give me anything, and what I wanted was something far more dangerous – something no one should ever have – leverage.
I'm a free man.
I'm a free-moving radical now. I have infiltrated all defenses and now I'm in the very blood-stream of this company. I serve under no one now. I follow no one else's rules but my own. I am solely constricted to limits of my own imagination. For three hundred and sixty five days, I am without questioning. I answer to no one. I do what I want, when I want, to who I want, and until this time next year, we all drop to a knee and pray Kevin Evel drops dead before that day comes around. Surely, by then, there will be nothing left. There will be no survivors. Under that rain cloud, choking on all this smoke, for that long, who will remain? Who will be around to pick through the ashes and cinders?
All because Xavier Cross had to be put down.
Now this 'sick fucking dog' has no leash. The foaming maw now bites the hands the feed. It's madness is contagious and the panic will feel more and more like Armageddon with every passing day. No one is safe and eventually all will feel the weight of doom. Do we call to arms? Do the townspeople hold their pitchforks and torches and take to the woods? Do we hunt now? Are we at the point that this now becomes Kevin Evel versus Imperial Wrestling? Trust me when I tell you, if it's not now, it will in time. I am an evil presence, believe that, and I have nothing but bad intentions. I am, if nothing else, an enemy here, but rest easy, Imperial Wresting will have their beast pelt in all due time.
When I say no survivors, I'm not naive enough to believe I am excluded. I'll be defeated eventually. Everything I do will come to a stop. What I am doing – what I plan to do – are matters for madmen. Only the most careless souls take up my job. Those that hold such value in their place here, those like Mike Lazslo, don't pick up my work. They stay clear. It's too reckless, suicidal, they'll say. Oh, how I wish I was them. I envy them and their lives. They were given choices. They were presented with forking paths and options. I was born into none of that. I was forged exactly how I was intended, and I have no other alternative. I just create pain and destruction. That's all I do. It's like what the old man said...
From the very moment you were born, I knew all my hopes and dreams were dead.
Ask me. Fucking ask me, why I only bring up the old man? Ask me why him, and him alone? Catching my fucking drift? No? Well, let me clear it up. It takes two to make a fucking snot-nosed brat. Then why, oh why, don't I bring up anyone else but the shitty old ma? Connect the dots. Imagine a hospital room. Picture the pain and tears in your head. Feel the world melt around you, just outside the sterile walls of an emergency room. For a second, conceive of birthdays unhappy. Depressed and suffering, you're a constant reminder of tragic pasts. You're a face that looks back with cold eyes. You're a mouth that replies. You're a picture book of nightmares that doesn't stop flipping through it's pages. Do that for me, just for a fucking second, and you'll only scratch the surface of what it is was like to be born little Kevin Evengelos and become Kevin Evel...
That's it. That's all you need to know. I'll never speak of it again.
I've made no friends, no allies, and I wish death upon the house that covers me. No one understands the levity of their actions around here better than me. I know what I am dealing with. I know what I am causing. I know how little time I have before I am also caught in the fire I caused. I know I will have no lasting impression or legacy. I am an arsonist to this library. All records of us will go down with our corpses. It's a thankless job, for sure, so I'm sure a lot of people wonder why. Why even bother? Why be so destructive? I'm not sure I have one clear answer to that. Instead, I have fragmented puzzle pieces that resemble something of a picture under the right light...
Maybe I just want to make the old man proud.
Don't we all? Don't we all have parents somewhere, tuning in every week? All the families sit around the television screen and hope to see their prized son or daughter see victory between Imperial ropes. Am I really all that different? Don't I have an old bastard watching me, wondering how awful his little slug-spawn is doing, now that it's outgrew the cesspool it was hatched in? Surely I must. Does he watch on and what does he think? Has his little ball of hatred and discontent made him proud? Has all the suffering I cause onto others quell the sadness in his heart? Does it repent for the sins I have caused? Have I spilled enough blood to fill the void? Have I poured enough onto the apron to satisfy all the anger? Have I shared our pain with enough of the world? Or is should there be more? When does it end and who is safe?
Never and no one.
Dreams – what silly things. We are born into this world with our heads chalk-full of dreams. At the very starting line, we have hopes and aspirations for the future. We want to create something great. We want to become something great. What about those different? What about those with no dreams? What about those who hope for no future? What about those who want to see it all fall apart and disappear? Our heads are not filled with silly dreams and fantasies. We are filled with a burning desire and want to watch things collapse. We are driven by necessity...
We need it to end.
There is no off-switch or no time card to stop the urge. Nothing stops it but absolute nothingness. Only then can we escape, if you can call that escaping at all. We are always on, always hunting, and always dangerous, which is far more than I can say about others around here.
In fact, I am curious. I wonder what does it take to push someone into an uncontrollable blind rage? Simple antagonizing or something more? The thing is: I know KLB has it. I know he has it deep down, stuck firmly inside that twiggy, nerdy body of his. He has it guarded, hidden, and under lock and key. It's as if he is frightened by it, like some sort of Mr. Hyde that comes over him. He must feel he should only use it in the more dire situations.
Why, I wonder? What's the harm to always be violent? Is there anything here worth keeping? Just let go, I say. Let go of everything. Friends, family, personal belongings, and all aspiration: let it go. Maybe that's why. Maybe that's why his cute nerd rage is so reserved, he has others in his life that would suffer. Maybe that's why his switch is rarely flipped...
I wonder what would it take to break it, permanently on.
What poetic ruination that would cause! There's just something so delightful about self-destruction. We're such horrible creatures, and we have such poor control of our emotions. It's a wonder we all don't go mad and become cannibal, but it's always a treat when it does happen. I wonder, what sort of man would KLB be, broken and blind with rage? Who will he lash out on? How great would the pain his chest be? How long will he last before the black hole in his heart collapses and swallows everything he cared about? How long until his head is full of the visions I see?
Because, you know, we're really not much different.
No, KLB, we're quite alike. You see, we were like twins. You today and I just born, so long ago, were exactly the same. We both had dreams, hopes, and things to protect. We had a future to enjoy and a world to discover. We were both so stupid and ignorant of the cruel hands of nature. Neither of our switches were broken then, but then I, the unlucky one, changed. My umbilical switch was cut and the afterbirth was tossed in a body bag. Now, I am the dark one without dreams. I am what the smudged mirror reflects, when you can't control yourself. I am the KLB without the comfort of turning off.
Let me tell you: your brothers, sisters, loving parents, uncles and aunts, kiss them all good-bye. Take a moment to understand everything you protect by being such a good, moral, person, and imagine it dashed to the ground. You'll hate them, everything in fact. When you're without the comfort of choice, you have very little tolerance for anything. The people around you will turn your stomach, and if they don't, rest assured, you'll turn theirs. Every fiber of your life will be something you truly detest, and everyday you'll curse the blood that runs in your veins. Without choice, you'll look to drain it all. Every match you go in, you'll look to empty you arteries, just to put an end to it all, but it won't do any good. You're cursed...
You're cursed, just like me.
We're cursed to be different – different without choice. We were unlucky, because with luck, some have to be the necessary unfortunate ones. Those are we. We are the ones not born, but forged, created with a counter-intent and purpose. We're cursed exist purely to weight the lucky majority in a balance of privilege and choice. That is our purpose. We have no say. We are hostages to our own bodies. We are slaves to necessity, because someone must.
Someone must keep order. Someone must maintain the balance between good and evil. Someone must keep the blades sharp and the muscles strong. Someone must challenge the living. We are those who must...
We are the walking plague.
Laugh and call me a madman, Bates. That's fine, but you know, deep down, what I speak has the potential of becoming reality. Even the smallest. You know I've pegged that tiny spark of brutality inside you. You know you can't fully deny your darker side, no matter how much you try, and you can say I'm a fool for suggesting you can't control it, but what if you can't? Imagine the possibility. In this case, would everything I say true? Would that be a only difference between a foolish madman and psychological genius? Just chance. That's all.
Laugh, but laugh with me. Laugh at this world and it's pathetic squawking masses. Laugh as they try to control their fates. Share this with me, as tragedy strikes them. When they fall, be with me. Watch as I see, when the cold heart of nature crumbles their fabricated sense of control. Witness as their plans, their hopes, and dreams fall apart in their hands. Breathe in their hatred and frustration, and help me me beat them into bloody submission when they decide to fight back – when they haven't given up. Help me break their bones. Help me tear their muscles. Help me haunt their minds...
Help me because I feel so alone here. I need you.
We're a rarity, KLB. Not every kid has a monster under the bed. Not every city has a serial killer to pluck away at the cheering squad. We are a rare gift onto the world. We're an endangered species. We are the few and far between, and thus, we should be closer, don't you think? I've let go. My switch has been broken a long time ago. I'm without choice. Let go too. Let go of everything and turn off the switch. Break it and turn it off forever. Then we can unite the brothers.
Because I'll tell you, the alternative is much worse. You know, I'm sort of the obsessive-type. If I see something I want, you know I'll go to any length to get it. Don't fight me. You won't want that. Don't do it the hard way. Just let the darkness fill you, like it wants to. Just let it happen, like nature intends. I know you feel it. I know you battle everyday to keep it under control. Stop. Don't struggle. Don't fight. Let it consume, because resisting doesn't end well.
I'm sure you're doing your homework. On the surface, you'll notice Kevin Evel sees his losses and defeats in almost equal share. Don't be blinded by the numbers, Bates. You won't want to fight me. You won't want to be in a steel cage with me. You see, under the surface, I have a staggering rate of getting everything I want inside Imperial rings. Nearly every time I exit the ring, I leave making the point I came with. The ones with their hands lifted in the air come out bigger losers to bigger situations. Ask Mike. Ask John. Ask Verona. They'll tell you.
They'll say how dangerous I am. They will say not to be too focused on numbers, because where the numbers fell is more valuable information. You see, Bates, while I've been here, I've never been pinned or submitted, ever, and I don't plan on being anytime soon. I've gone silently untouched, while we all watch others like Alioth Starre dissolve into nothingness right before our eyes. I've been quietly smiling, knowing and weekly assured, no one can stop me.
They'll tell you how the numbers fell. They'll inform you, if you haven't figured it out yourself, being in a cage or a cell is a very, very, bad idea. I've not only gone without being pinned or being submitted, I have never loss within walls of steel. Being pitted against this rabid animal in a normal match is one thing. You'll have a choice to run away. Locked in a cage with me, and there is no choice...
It's certain death.
And for a second, if you think Imperial Wrestling is going to protect you, you'll regret making that mistake. Imperial Wrestling protects me now. This company hold Kevin Evel's interests over yours or anyone else. I have the immunity. I have the power, which is all too funny. It's as if this company put the wolf in charge to watch over the chicken coop. So wonder that. Wonder if this match is all about us being locked in a cage together, or you locked in a cage with me.
I'm a monster. I told you that. I don't have a lot of goodwill to share with a lot of people, but then again, it's not my choice. I don't get to choose when I want to be a monster. I don't get the comfort of turning off my violent side. I don't get to take the Halloween mask off. I was never as privileged as you. I was never as lucky as you, Bates, but I'm not complaining.
Can't you see? I'm making the world shake. I make this company tremble. I make this audience take notice, and every day pressure and tension rises. I become less and less able to be ignored. More and more eyes divert away and scan the ground. More stomachs are turned and heart rates rise. I can't wish nor do I wish to be anything different than what I am. Everything I have ever wanted to break is breaking or broken, all because of what I am. I have everything to thank for the poison coursing my veins. I am indebted to the black mass where my heart should be. I may not have chosen what I am, but I have embraced it. I see I am different. I am a counter to the world, that's all, and I accept it. I am at least something – something very powerful – and in a world of a lot of wasted space, I would rather be that than nothing at all.
So, Bates, it's all up to you. As always, I have no choice in the matter – it's all you. You get to come Extreme Endurance with options. You can enjoy the nervousness backstage, wondering, flirting the outcomes of all alternatives. You get to enjoy the company of a man in the mirror, when you need to hear a voice and a mouth move. You can swell in indignation when you come to a conclusion and march to the ring looking for my skull. You can enter the ring and show me what path you pick.
Will you cave-in to your hatred and rage? Will the venom finally reach your blood-stream? Will you accept chaos and let go? Will you let go of all your infantile notions of control and embrace the cruel hands of nature? Will you lash back at the world... or will you lash back at me?
It'll be your choice and yours alone. I'm nothing but a rabid beast locked in a cage. I am without owner or pack. I merely look to revel in my madness, spread my pain, and pour my sickness and hatred onto the rest of the world. You can join me, but I cannot make you. I don't get choices. I get evil...
And I get necessary.
Well howdy there pardner.