Post by Wentworth Updegraff Jr. on Jul 17, 2016 14:06:42 GMT -6
Jenkins:I must say, I’m surprised you came to me.
Wentworth sits across a giant mahogany desk from a man whose very presence has disgusted him since the day they met. Jenkins was a spineless, ass kissing, sycophant in a bad toupee from day one. Wentworth’s eyes run over the man, disgust welling up in his throat when he sees the man’s suit hanging off his frame like he bought it from a second hand store. He tries not to visibly wince at the tacky red bird tipping up and down next to a cup of water. His mind is filled with irrational hate, but his voice is nothing but kindness.
Wentworth:Why should you be surprised? You were my father’s top R & D man.
The portly old man smiles too wide at the false compliment, as Wentworth pulls back one of the five hanging metal balls on the cliched office decoration, and lets it go. It hits the other four, sending the one on the other end swinging with a tiny clack.
Jenkins:Yes, well, it’s just curious you would be interested in us. As a matter of fact, you’ve never seemed all that interested in any of the company’s business.
Wentworth’s eyes come up from the desk, and stare into the dull gray retinas of the man in front of him. An insincere smile crosses his lips.
Wentworth:Things have changed, Arthur. Do you mind if I call you Arthur?
Jenkins:Well, I mean my first name is Douglas, but I suppose-
Wentworth:Arthur, I have a whole new vision for this company, nay, this country. When people think of war they think of death, destruction, airplanes, and missiles. It’s ugly, and the only place you can even bother to air the footage is the 24 hour new networks, none of which we own. Think about this, Arthur. What if people didn’t think of that stuff? What if, when people thought of war, they thought of awesome robot battles? Think about it. Giant robot versus giant robot, and we televise it on every channel. The people would love it, we would make kabillions, and we could finally put an end to those fucking hippies constantly protesting and petitioning us.
Jenkins stares at Wentworth, his mouth agape.
Jenkins:I uh… I guess I don’t follow.
Wentworth moves in close, and lowers his voice to a whisper.
Wentworth:I heard a rumor that one of your younger engineers had presented plans for a mechanized war suit that were rejected?
Jenkins face turns sour, and interlaces his fingers on the desk in front of him.
Jenkins:Harper… Harper is… young. Still has lots of big ideas. Doesn’t quite understand-
Wentworth:Bring me this… Harper. I wanna talk some shop.
Jenkins looks flustered and confused, as he stands up without a word, and walks out of his office. This gives Wentworth time to look around, and the more he does, the more disgusted he gets. Everything from the motivational poster in the corner, to the diploma from Rutgers, to the picture of the dog on his desk tells the story of a life of unbearable mediocrity. Wentworth’s attention turns to the door when he sees him walk in with a small, red-headed woman in tow.
Jenkins:Mr. Updegraff, this is-
The woman steps around Jenkins, confident look in her eyes as she extends her hand out for Wentworth to shake.
Harper:Melanie Harper, junior engineer. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Updegraff.
Wentworth:The pleasure is all mine, Melanie. May I call you Melanie?
Harper:Being that this is a professional setting, I believe Ms. Harper would be more appropriate.
Wentworth is caught off guard, but doesn’t show it as he shakes her hand.
Wentworth:Ms. Harper it is then. I hear a rumor that you’ve developed plans for a mechanized war suit of some kind?
She gives a knowing glare to Jenkins, who returns it immediately.
Harper:I apologize, but it’s not as if I’ve been bringing it up over and over. I brought it up once, and when it was rejected I made no trouble. I don’t see why-
Wentworth:I’d like to see the plans. If you don’t mind, of course.
She stares at him in stunned silence for a moment, as does Jenkins.
Wentworth:Is that a problem?
Harper:No… not at all. I would be happy to show them to you.
They turn and begin to leave the office, Jenkins following them. Wentworth stops at the doorway and turns around.
Wentworth:Arthur, I’m sure you have some work to do. I can handle this. That is, unless Ms. Harper wants you along?
Melanie answers immediately, almost as if she didn’t think about it at all.
Harper:He can stay here. I’m sure he has a lot of incredibly important work to do.
The subtle sarcasm in her voice is not lost on Wentworth. He doesn’t bother to look at Jenkins to see if he got it, before walking out the door and following Melanie down the hall. They move past windows and workers, Wentworth noticing none of them. His entire attention is turned to the woman in front of him.
Wentworth:You and Mr. Jenkins don’t seem to get along.
Harper:He hit on me at the office Christmas party. I wasn’t interested. He’s a fragile man baby who couldn’t handle it. He’s been trying to figure out a way to fire me ever since.
Wentworth:Well good.
Harper:I’m sorry, but I fail to see how that’s good.
Wentworth:It’s good because now I won’t feel even the slightest bit guilty when I fire him tomorrow.
Melanie gives him a quizzical look as they step into the sterile steel elevator.
Harper:Are you being serious right now?
Wentworth:Jenkins is a tool. A lemming with no vision. Plus he has eczema. Disgusting.
Wentworth visibly shudders, as Melanie tries her best to stifle a laugh.
Wentworth:Of course, that means there will be a big position open.
Harper:Is that why you want to see my blueprints?
Wentworth:I’m looking for someone with imagination. Someone who understands the big picture. I’m hoping it might be you. It all depends on what you show me today.
The elevator doors open to a long, white hallway with several doors on either side. They make their way to the end, and Melanie open the door to her office. Inside is the most immaculate work space Wentworth has ever seen. Everything is perfectly organized and displayed, almost to a worrying degree. Binders of research and plans line the shelves on the wall, which take up most of the space. In the center is a small desk with a long out of date computer on top of it. She begins looking at the labels on the binders, not taking long to find the one she wants. She sets it down on the desk, and opens to a page in the middle. What Wentworth sees causes his jaw to drop.
Wentworth:How big is it?
Harper:Not much taller than the person inside. It will be a bit clunkier, obviously, but it can still get inside relatively small spaces that other equipment can’t. It can also be built entirely out of parts we already use on a number of different vehicles.
Wentworth:Astounding…
A wide smile spreads across Melanie’s face despite herself.
Harper:It’s based on the technology for the forklift mechs you see over in Asia.
Wentworth:Oh! Like the thing from Alien!
Melanie cocks her head to the side, almost laughing again.
Harper:Yeah… like the thing from alien. Anyway, I showed it to Jenkins, and he loved it… until the Christmas party of course.
Wentworth:If I can get you everything you need and a couple of our best mechanics, how long would it take you to build a working prototype?
No words come from her mouth. She gives Wentworth an incredibly confused look.
Wentworth:Is something wrong?
Harper:Yeah, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t hallucinate that.
Wentworth:I assure you, this is happening. I want to see a prototype in… how does two weeks sound?
She’s slow to answer, almost as if she still doesn’t believe it.
Harper:Uh, yeah. Yes, two weeks should be perfectly fine Mr. Updegraff.
Wentworth:Fantastic. After tomorrow, you will report to your interim head of R & D… me. Do what I think you can do, and I won’t be in that office very long. Do we have an understanding?
Harper:Y-yes sir.
Wentworth gives her one last charming smile, before turning and heading back to the elevator.
Wentworth:I sure hope Jay Omega likes surprises.
_______________
An unseasonably cool breeze blows through the streets, rustling the freshly cut grass that sits on the sidewalk. Hunter Updegraff struts down the street, the hem of his neon green fur coat bouncing at his ankles. It covers a light blue tank top and a pair of orange cut off jean shorts. He winks at a group of women, who roll their eyes as he walks past. After a few blocks, he turns a corner, and makes his way down an alley too narrow to drive through. He stands about halfway down, and shoots off a quick text message, keeping his head on a swivel. He waits for a few minutes, until the silhouette of a tall, gangly young man comes waltzing awkwardly down the alley. The young man is nervous, his voice cracking a few times.
Customer:H-hey man. How’s it goin’?
Hunter:Fuck the how’s it goin’ ‘nilla! The fuck you want?
Customer:Lookin’ for some H.
Hunter immediately grabs him by the collar, and tosses him up against the red brick wall. He gets close enough to whisper, but doesn’t.
Hunter:You fuckin’ playin’ with me? I don’t fuck with junkies, shit stain. You lose my number, and tell all your needle jockey homies to do the same, feel me? King Koopa Bloopa don’t play that game.
Without waiting for an answer, he tosses the young man to the ground, and starts walking off the other way.
Hunter:Little bitch waste MY fuckin’ time. Lucky I don’t cut yo dick off man.
When he reaches the end of the alley, a large black van screeches to a halt in front of him. The door flies open, and two masked men pop out. They throw a bag over Hunter’s head, and drag him inside, slamming the door shut and taking off. They leave the bag on Hunter’s head, so all he can hear is their voice.
Kidnapper 1:You sure this is him?
Kidnapper 2:Of course it’s him. Look at that stupid coat. Yeah, this is definitely him. Go ahead and give his brother a call. I think tonight’s gonna be a good night for us.
__________
Wentworth sits in a high backed leather chair, glass of amber liquid sitting forgotten in his hand. He stares into the camera, setting his hair in place before speaking.
Wentworth:Hello UCI faithful. I wish I could say it was good to see you again. It rarely is though. Anyway, I come to you mildly humbled, and no longer in possession of the Television title. I want to start by wishing the lovely Jessica Buck all the best going forward. The target’s on your back now, but I won’t be one of those firing. No, I have found a higher purpose. The total destruction of Jay Omega. A task I am happy to undertake for the sake of the UCI fans. He is a liar, a charlatan and a horrible role model, and he has no place on your screens every single week. Of course, before him, there lies an opponent I have been salivating over since I heard he was signed. A true master of the canvas. Howard Black.
Wentworth takes an absent minded sip of his drink, staring off into nothing.
Wentworth:Now I know I’m supposed to spend this time speaking ill of my opponent. Telling you all how I’m clearly superior, and they’re just a joke, blah blah blah, typical wrestling clap trap. Normally I would be happy to go on with the charade to make you mongoloids happy, but this week I can not. My opponent is the sort of man I’ve been dreaming of wrestling since the day I started. He is a technical wizard who might actually have what it takes to match me hold for hold. I bristle with excitement at the thought of the opportunity. Good to see the company was smart, and put this match in the main event where it belongs. Pay attention fans. You’re about to watch two of the greatest wrestlers of the modern era go head to head, and it will be a work of beautiful violence. Of that, I can assure you.
He tilts his head back, finishing his drink and tossing the glass behind him. It shatters on the hardwood floor, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Wentworth:Howard, allow me to just say that it is nothing short of an honor to meet you in the ring on Sunday. You are one of the greatest technicians of our generation, and to test myself against you will be the ultimate thrill. Here’s the thing… you simply must bring your absolute best. If you fail to do that, I’ll be insulted, and when I am insulted, I get angry. My wrath is not one you want to incur, Mr. Black. If you are not at your absolute best on Sunday, I will destroy you for the entire world to see. I will break you down piece by piece until there is nothing left but a bloody, quivering mass of wasted potential. That’s a promise, and Wentworth Updegraff Jr. always keeps his promises.
Wentworth rises to his feet, and makes his way across the floor and out the door to the patio. He takes a moment to look over a city, a faint grin sitting on his face.
Wentworth:Howie… I look at you, and I see something beautiful. I see a work of art. Something so rare, you could consider it precious. You are a man who saw a goal, and beat it into submission. You are the all too rare story of a man who became exactly what he set out to become. You are a flawless masterpiece in motion, and I am dying with all of my heart to see that up close. It is a life’s dream. You wouldn’t deny me my dream, would you? You wouldn’t be so stupid as to bring me anything less than your best, right? I couldn’t imagine that was the case. No, not you, my little lost boy. You’re going to bring me everything you have and more… and it will be glorious. A rhapsody of blood and bone, painted upon a stage older than anyone who will look upon our masterwork.
Wentworth inhales deeply, smiling wide to himself as he keeps his eyes closed.
Wentworth:I simply can not wait. This is going to-
Wentworth is interrupted mid sentence by his phone going off. He rolls his eyes, and answers it.
Wentworth:What?
Hunter’s voice comes over the line filled with panic.
Hunter:Went! Went, they kidnapped me! You gotta help me man!
Wentworth:Hunter?! Hunter, who kidnapped you? Where are you?
There is a moment of silence, and then a voice he’s never heard returns.
Kidnapper 2:Hello Wentworth. As I’m sure you’ve heard, we have your brother. Bring three million dollars to the pier tonight at midnight, or Hunter here is going for a swim. By the way…. Jay Omega says hi.
Wentworth:Who the hell are you?! I’ll fucking kill you!
No answer comes. Only silence. Wentworth smashes his phone against the brick wall, and storms back into his condo.
Wentworth:Reginald! Get me my suitcase!
________________________
A cool wind blows in from the water, as Wentworth stands under a small streetlight. The suitcase dangles in his hands, as he checks his watch. Five more minutes. He leans against the pole, watching as the waves roll in and out, creating a white foam at the water’s edge. His gaze moves up to the stars, twinkling in the cloudless sky. After a few more minutes, a pair of headlights turn the corner, and move slowly toward Wentworth. It stops about a hundred yards away, and after a few minutes, three masked men crawl out, holding a battered Hunter Updegraff. They drag him to Wentworth, and set him on the ground, stepping on his back to keep him from running off.
Kidnapper 2:The money then.
Wentworth steps halfway to the men, and sets the suitcase down, before walking back to where he was. One of the masked men starts to move forward.
Wentworth:Uh uh. Let my brother go first.
Kidnapper 2:Whatever. We got what we wanted, and so did Omega.
The men pick their boots up off of Hunter, allowing him to scramble across the dock to Wentworth’s side.
Wentworth:Cut the crap. I know you’re not Omega’s boys. Omega doesn’t need my money, and his boys wouldn’t have been this sloppy. Enjoy you money anyway, you leeches.
With a smile, the man brings the suitcase back, and all three of them get in close as he opens it. As soon as he does so, an explosion rings out, sending metal ball bearing and shrapnel flying from the suitcase. The kidnapper’s heads explode in a burst of brain and skull that splatter across the dock. Wentworth turns his back and makes his way to the limo.
Wentworth:And Omega’s men would’ve seen that coming. Don’t fuck with my brother.
Wentworth sits across a giant mahogany desk from a man whose very presence has disgusted him since the day they met. Jenkins was a spineless, ass kissing, sycophant in a bad toupee from day one. Wentworth’s eyes run over the man, disgust welling up in his throat when he sees the man’s suit hanging off his frame like he bought it from a second hand store. He tries not to visibly wince at the tacky red bird tipping up and down next to a cup of water. His mind is filled with irrational hate, but his voice is nothing but kindness.
Wentworth:Why should you be surprised? You were my father’s top R & D man.
The portly old man smiles too wide at the false compliment, as Wentworth pulls back one of the five hanging metal balls on the cliched office decoration, and lets it go. It hits the other four, sending the one on the other end swinging with a tiny clack.
Jenkins:Yes, well, it’s just curious you would be interested in us. As a matter of fact, you’ve never seemed all that interested in any of the company’s business.
Wentworth’s eyes come up from the desk, and stare into the dull gray retinas of the man in front of him. An insincere smile crosses his lips.
Wentworth:Things have changed, Arthur. Do you mind if I call you Arthur?
Jenkins:Well, I mean my first name is Douglas, but I suppose-
Wentworth:Arthur, I have a whole new vision for this company, nay, this country. When people think of war they think of death, destruction, airplanes, and missiles. It’s ugly, and the only place you can even bother to air the footage is the 24 hour new networks, none of which we own. Think about this, Arthur. What if people didn’t think of that stuff? What if, when people thought of war, they thought of awesome robot battles? Think about it. Giant robot versus giant robot, and we televise it on every channel. The people would love it, we would make kabillions, and we could finally put an end to those fucking hippies constantly protesting and petitioning us.
Jenkins stares at Wentworth, his mouth agape.
Jenkins:I uh… I guess I don’t follow.
Wentworth moves in close, and lowers his voice to a whisper.
Wentworth:I heard a rumor that one of your younger engineers had presented plans for a mechanized war suit that were rejected?
Jenkins face turns sour, and interlaces his fingers on the desk in front of him.
Jenkins:Harper… Harper is… young. Still has lots of big ideas. Doesn’t quite understand-
Wentworth:Bring me this… Harper. I wanna talk some shop.
Jenkins looks flustered and confused, as he stands up without a word, and walks out of his office. This gives Wentworth time to look around, and the more he does, the more disgusted he gets. Everything from the motivational poster in the corner, to the diploma from Rutgers, to the picture of the dog on his desk tells the story of a life of unbearable mediocrity. Wentworth’s attention turns to the door when he sees him walk in with a small, red-headed woman in tow.
Jenkins:Mr. Updegraff, this is-
The woman steps around Jenkins, confident look in her eyes as she extends her hand out for Wentworth to shake.
Harper:Melanie Harper, junior engineer. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Updegraff.
Wentworth:The pleasure is all mine, Melanie. May I call you Melanie?
Harper:Being that this is a professional setting, I believe Ms. Harper would be more appropriate.
Wentworth is caught off guard, but doesn’t show it as he shakes her hand.
Wentworth:Ms. Harper it is then. I hear a rumor that you’ve developed plans for a mechanized war suit of some kind?
She gives a knowing glare to Jenkins, who returns it immediately.
Harper:I apologize, but it’s not as if I’ve been bringing it up over and over. I brought it up once, and when it was rejected I made no trouble. I don’t see why-
Wentworth:I’d like to see the plans. If you don’t mind, of course.
She stares at him in stunned silence for a moment, as does Jenkins.
Wentworth:Is that a problem?
Harper:No… not at all. I would be happy to show them to you.
They turn and begin to leave the office, Jenkins following them. Wentworth stops at the doorway and turns around.
Wentworth:Arthur, I’m sure you have some work to do. I can handle this. That is, unless Ms. Harper wants you along?
Melanie answers immediately, almost as if she didn’t think about it at all.
Harper:He can stay here. I’m sure he has a lot of incredibly important work to do.
The subtle sarcasm in her voice is not lost on Wentworth. He doesn’t bother to look at Jenkins to see if he got it, before walking out the door and following Melanie down the hall. They move past windows and workers, Wentworth noticing none of them. His entire attention is turned to the woman in front of him.
Wentworth:You and Mr. Jenkins don’t seem to get along.
Harper:He hit on me at the office Christmas party. I wasn’t interested. He’s a fragile man baby who couldn’t handle it. He’s been trying to figure out a way to fire me ever since.
Wentworth:Well good.
Harper:I’m sorry, but I fail to see how that’s good.
Wentworth:It’s good because now I won’t feel even the slightest bit guilty when I fire him tomorrow.
Melanie gives him a quizzical look as they step into the sterile steel elevator.
Harper:Are you being serious right now?
Wentworth:Jenkins is a tool. A lemming with no vision. Plus he has eczema. Disgusting.
Wentworth visibly shudders, as Melanie tries her best to stifle a laugh.
Wentworth:Of course, that means there will be a big position open.
Harper:Is that why you want to see my blueprints?
Wentworth:I’m looking for someone with imagination. Someone who understands the big picture. I’m hoping it might be you. It all depends on what you show me today.
The elevator doors open to a long, white hallway with several doors on either side. They make their way to the end, and Melanie open the door to her office. Inside is the most immaculate work space Wentworth has ever seen. Everything is perfectly organized and displayed, almost to a worrying degree. Binders of research and plans line the shelves on the wall, which take up most of the space. In the center is a small desk with a long out of date computer on top of it. She begins looking at the labels on the binders, not taking long to find the one she wants. She sets it down on the desk, and opens to a page in the middle. What Wentworth sees causes his jaw to drop.
Wentworth:How big is it?
Harper:Not much taller than the person inside. It will be a bit clunkier, obviously, but it can still get inside relatively small spaces that other equipment can’t. It can also be built entirely out of parts we already use on a number of different vehicles.
Wentworth:Astounding…
A wide smile spreads across Melanie’s face despite herself.
Harper:It’s based on the technology for the forklift mechs you see over in Asia.
Wentworth:Oh! Like the thing from Alien!
Melanie cocks her head to the side, almost laughing again.
Harper:Yeah… like the thing from alien. Anyway, I showed it to Jenkins, and he loved it… until the Christmas party of course.
Wentworth:If I can get you everything you need and a couple of our best mechanics, how long would it take you to build a working prototype?
No words come from her mouth. She gives Wentworth an incredibly confused look.
Wentworth:Is something wrong?
Harper:Yeah, I just wanted to make sure I didn’t hallucinate that.
Wentworth:I assure you, this is happening. I want to see a prototype in… how does two weeks sound?
She’s slow to answer, almost as if she still doesn’t believe it.
Harper:Uh, yeah. Yes, two weeks should be perfectly fine Mr. Updegraff.
Wentworth:Fantastic. After tomorrow, you will report to your interim head of R & D… me. Do what I think you can do, and I won’t be in that office very long. Do we have an understanding?
Harper:Y-yes sir.
Wentworth gives her one last charming smile, before turning and heading back to the elevator.
Wentworth:I sure hope Jay Omega likes surprises.
_______________
An unseasonably cool breeze blows through the streets, rustling the freshly cut grass that sits on the sidewalk. Hunter Updegraff struts down the street, the hem of his neon green fur coat bouncing at his ankles. It covers a light blue tank top and a pair of orange cut off jean shorts. He winks at a group of women, who roll their eyes as he walks past. After a few blocks, he turns a corner, and makes his way down an alley too narrow to drive through. He stands about halfway down, and shoots off a quick text message, keeping his head on a swivel. He waits for a few minutes, until the silhouette of a tall, gangly young man comes waltzing awkwardly down the alley. The young man is nervous, his voice cracking a few times.
Customer:H-hey man. How’s it goin’?
Hunter:Fuck the how’s it goin’ ‘nilla! The fuck you want?
Customer:Lookin’ for some H.
Hunter immediately grabs him by the collar, and tosses him up against the red brick wall. He gets close enough to whisper, but doesn’t.
Hunter:You fuckin’ playin’ with me? I don’t fuck with junkies, shit stain. You lose my number, and tell all your needle jockey homies to do the same, feel me? King Koopa Bloopa don’t play that game.
Without waiting for an answer, he tosses the young man to the ground, and starts walking off the other way.
Hunter:Little bitch waste MY fuckin’ time. Lucky I don’t cut yo dick off man.
When he reaches the end of the alley, a large black van screeches to a halt in front of him. The door flies open, and two masked men pop out. They throw a bag over Hunter’s head, and drag him inside, slamming the door shut and taking off. They leave the bag on Hunter’s head, so all he can hear is their voice.
Kidnapper 1:You sure this is him?
Kidnapper 2:Of course it’s him. Look at that stupid coat. Yeah, this is definitely him. Go ahead and give his brother a call. I think tonight’s gonna be a good night for us.
__________
Wentworth sits in a high backed leather chair, glass of amber liquid sitting forgotten in his hand. He stares into the camera, setting his hair in place before speaking.
Wentworth:Hello UCI faithful. I wish I could say it was good to see you again. It rarely is though. Anyway, I come to you mildly humbled, and no longer in possession of the Television title. I want to start by wishing the lovely Jessica Buck all the best going forward. The target’s on your back now, but I won’t be one of those firing. No, I have found a higher purpose. The total destruction of Jay Omega. A task I am happy to undertake for the sake of the UCI fans. He is a liar, a charlatan and a horrible role model, and he has no place on your screens every single week. Of course, before him, there lies an opponent I have been salivating over since I heard he was signed. A true master of the canvas. Howard Black.
Wentworth takes an absent minded sip of his drink, staring off into nothing.
Wentworth:Now I know I’m supposed to spend this time speaking ill of my opponent. Telling you all how I’m clearly superior, and they’re just a joke, blah blah blah, typical wrestling clap trap. Normally I would be happy to go on with the charade to make you mongoloids happy, but this week I can not. My opponent is the sort of man I’ve been dreaming of wrestling since the day I started. He is a technical wizard who might actually have what it takes to match me hold for hold. I bristle with excitement at the thought of the opportunity. Good to see the company was smart, and put this match in the main event where it belongs. Pay attention fans. You’re about to watch two of the greatest wrestlers of the modern era go head to head, and it will be a work of beautiful violence. Of that, I can assure you.
He tilts his head back, finishing his drink and tossing the glass behind him. It shatters on the hardwood floor, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Wentworth:Howard, allow me to just say that it is nothing short of an honor to meet you in the ring on Sunday. You are one of the greatest technicians of our generation, and to test myself against you will be the ultimate thrill. Here’s the thing… you simply must bring your absolute best. If you fail to do that, I’ll be insulted, and when I am insulted, I get angry. My wrath is not one you want to incur, Mr. Black. If you are not at your absolute best on Sunday, I will destroy you for the entire world to see. I will break you down piece by piece until there is nothing left but a bloody, quivering mass of wasted potential. That’s a promise, and Wentworth Updegraff Jr. always keeps his promises.
Wentworth rises to his feet, and makes his way across the floor and out the door to the patio. He takes a moment to look over a city, a faint grin sitting on his face.
Wentworth:Howie… I look at you, and I see something beautiful. I see a work of art. Something so rare, you could consider it precious. You are a man who saw a goal, and beat it into submission. You are the all too rare story of a man who became exactly what he set out to become. You are a flawless masterpiece in motion, and I am dying with all of my heart to see that up close. It is a life’s dream. You wouldn’t deny me my dream, would you? You wouldn’t be so stupid as to bring me anything less than your best, right? I couldn’t imagine that was the case. No, not you, my little lost boy. You’re going to bring me everything you have and more… and it will be glorious. A rhapsody of blood and bone, painted upon a stage older than anyone who will look upon our masterwork.
Wentworth inhales deeply, smiling wide to himself as he keeps his eyes closed.
Wentworth:I simply can not wait. This is going to-
Wentworth is interrupted mid sentence by his phone going off. He rolls his eyes, and answers it.
Wentworth:What?
Hunter’s voice comes over the line filled with panic.
Hunter:Went! Went, they kidnapped me! You gotta help me man!
Wentworth:Hunter?! Hunter, who kidnapped you? Where are you?
There is a moment of silence, and then a voice he’s never heard returns.
Kidnapper 2:Hello Wentworth. As I’m sure you’ve heard, we have your brother. Bring three million dollars to the pier tonight at midnight, or Hunter here is going for a swim. By the way…. Jay Omega says hi.
Wentworth:Who the hell are you?! I’ll fucking kill you!
No answer comes. Only silence. Wentworth smashes his phone against the brick wall, and storms back into his condo.
Wentworth:Reginald! Get me my suitcase!
________________________
A cool wind blows in from the water, as Wentworth stands under a small streetlight. The suitcase dangles in his hands, as he checks his watch. Five more minutes. He leans against the pole, watching as the waves roll in and out, creating a white foam at the water’s edge. His gaze moves up to the stars, twinkling in the cloudless sky. After a few more minutes, a pair of headlights turn the corner, and move slowly toward Wentworth. It stops about a hundred yards away, and after a few minutes, three masked men crawl out, holding a battered Hunter Updegraff. They drag him to Wentworth, and set him on the ground, stepping on his back to keep him from running off.
Kidnapper 2:The money then.
Wentworth steps halfway to the men, and sets the suitcase down, before walking back to where he was. One of the masked men starts to move forward.
Wentworth:Uh uh. Let my brother go first.
Kidnapper 2:Whatever. We got what we wanted, and so did Omega.
The men pick their boots up off of Hunter, allowing him to scramble across the dock to Wentworth’s side.
Wentworth:Cut the crap. I know you’re not Omega’s boys. Omega doesn’t need my money, and his boys wouldn’t have been this sloppy. Enjoy you money anyway, you leeches.
With a smile, the man brings the suitcase back, and all three of them get in close as he opens it. As soon as he does so, an explosion rings out, sending metal ball bearing and shrapnel flying from the suitcase. The kidnapper’s heads explode in a burst of brain and skull that splatter across the dock. Wentworth turns his back and makes his way to the limo.
Wentworth:And Omega’s men would’ve seen that coming. Don’t fuck with my brother.
