Post by Mr. Wright on Aug 11, 2016 15:21:43 GMT -6
Meeting from the Dark
I sat in my living room nursing the bruises from the Wentworth Tournament, sparking a joint, and flipping through the channels on the tube. The only light in the room was the incandescent glow from the TV screen strobing across my bruised and beaten face.
“You won’t believe what the Republican Presidential Candidate said this time…” a beautiful dark haired news reporter said before I flipped to the next channel.
I flipped to the next channel and the current president stood at a podium.
“I, uh… don’t want to talk about the Republican Presidential Candidate…uh… anymore… My mama told me that if I don’t have anything…uh…nice to say then don’t say….uh…. anything at all.”
I flipped to the next channel where a rerun of Saturday Night Live was on. Darrel Hammond was on screen wearing a ridiculous hair piece and looking the color of Hulk Hogan but more orange if you can believe it.
“I wanna build a wall so high that it blocks out the sun, the sun is useless energy you know… we could TOTALLY live without the sun. You think I got to be this color from the sun?”
I continued flipping through the channels. I get it, the Presidential Election is coming up, and all the top analysts are saying how the Republican Candidate stands no chance, yet he’s the only thing they talk about. It’s disgusting. Instead of worrying about the real problems at hand, like the Intergalactic Threat that the Guardian’s pose to the world, they are worrying about who fucked who 20 years ago.
Finally I turned on PBS and Sesame Street was on. It’s not ideal, but I plan on tripping pretty hard on this shit rolled up in this EZ-Wider so it may actually be fun.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” I said out loud. Even this unassuming and unbiased children’s Television show is spouting its own agenda… despite how HILARIOUS it is, I still didn’t want it. So I flipped my Roku TV to Amazon prime and did something I never thought I would do. With all the free streaming shows and movies out there, there was one movie that I was dying to watch.
I BOUGHT The Dark Knight Batman movie. There’s something about that version of the Joker that really gets to me. So amazingly done, such a deep character even though on the outside he’s a lunatic, on the inside he’s fucking broken. But just because he’s broken doesn’t mean he doesn’t work.
So I put in my password…1…2…3…4…5 (What kind of asshole would make 1,2,3,4,5 their password?) And bought the SD version, fuck HD, I can’t tell the difference anyway. So I turned it on and the opening scene of the men dressed as clowns robbing the banks begins. I spark up, lift up my reclining chair and enjoy the movie.
I of course passed out midway. But I own it now, so I could pick it up whenever I wanted. So when I woke up I rewound and fast forwarded through the video until I found the right spot. My mind was having a hard time telling my thumb to press play at the right time. This shit was fucking dope, bro. So I ended up stopping like 5 minutes earlier than I had to and dealt with it because, fuck it, right.
“Why so serious?” The clown said on the TV as he explained how he got the scars on his face before showing a trick on how to make a pencil disappear.
“Pretty Sick Scene.” The clown said. I didn’t remember him breaking the fourth wall like deadpool, but I’ve only seen the move fucked up. It was even weirder as this clown seemed to emerge from the TV and then stand in the shadows in the room.
I rubbed my eyes and then looked at the TV. The joker was still in there, but I could swear that he, or a dude that looked just like him stood in the shadows of my studio apartment.
“Joker?” I said to the figure, half not expecting him to respond.
“Some people call me a space cowboy…” he said to me as he smiled this crimson smile that unnerved me greatly. “Some people call me clown boy; I prefer a little something less… subtle. You can call me Gula.”
“Like… like from the Ghostbusters?” I asked.
“Sure,” he responded, not seeming to care. “I’ve got a proposition for you.” He began. I couldn’t believe my eyes or my ears. I needed to stop doing drugs. The fucking Joker was in my living room right now. Shit is crazy. “I’m real, Taylor. I’m real and I’m telling you that I need your help. I need to speak to David Sanchez.” He went on.
“I don’t think I can get you in with him. He’s a busy dude.” I decided to remain defiant in the eyes of my confusion. It seemed like the best bet. But then suddenly the voice became deep and my sobriety strengthened. When faced in a position of peril it seemed like your fight or flight response worked. My feet remained cemented to the ground. Looked like I was gonna fight.
“YOU BETTER GET ME A METING WITH HIM…” His voice, though deep and threatening still seemed accommodating in some eerie way. Almost like he was going to tell me more. And like any evil villain he did just that. “Tell him that I have a plan to assist him and his post-religion Chicago. Tell him that I have a way to keep the peons in check and help him with his little Guardian problem at the same time. Tell him that I request a meeting from him and tell him that he knows who I am. Tell him that I took good care of the US title for him.”
There was a lot that this figure wanted me to tell him. I figured that by all these clues he didn’t want to tell me directly who he was and I didn’t push the point any longer. I simply nodded. My mouth didn’t seem to work, and as I tried to clench my fists all I felt was the clammy remains of what used to be my hands.
As quickly as he appeared he vanished, stepping back towards the moonlit window, and then escaping through it. I turned back to the TV where the Dark Knight finished again. It didn’t feel like an hour and a half had gone by.
“Damn, I gotta get me more of this shit…”
Meeting for the Dark
“You gotta believe me!” I said to Mayor Sanchez while he took me on his weekly sabbatical in him magical limousine.
“I don’t have to believe a goddamn thing you say to me, Wright.” He was pissed at me, and I couldn’t imagine why. He was coming off the high of winning 10G from the Wentworth Invitational Tournament, and I had even left Richards in a waste before I was done with him. Sure I know he expected me to win, but no one was expecting that tumble from the top of the cage. Richards didn’t even pin me, he happened to land with his arm draped over me.
“Look, bro,” I said defiantly, “I ain’t making this shit up. This fucking dude came up to me in my house and told me that you would want to meet him. He said something about 28 days of rain or some shit like that. I don’t know why that would interest you…”
“HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT OPERATION: NIMBUS?” Sanchez yelled at me.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Operation what? He was shouting nonsense almost as much as that clown that snuck into my house and didn’t rape me. The more I said it the more crazy I sounded. Sanchez seemed to see into my eyes and see the confusion of his words coupled with my own. “He said that he took the US Title form you or some shit like that!”
“Don’t You DARE speak to me of the US Title. IF that fuck who took the title from me wasn’t dead already I would fucking kill him myself!” He shouted with ferocity and fire of pent up frustration before using a menacingly calm tone… “Listen,” He continued, “You didn’t see what you think you saw. You were smoking some crazy shit, and trust me… I’ve been there. I’ve seen some shit, I’ve been through hell. The shit you’re taking and the hallucinations you’re having are nothing compared to the shit that I’ve gone through. But I need you here with me now, Wright. I believed in you. I sent you to UCI for a purpose, and I gotta say, you aren’t serving that purpose right now.”
“Are you threatening me?” I scolded before a massive hand came to my throat. He squeezed tighter and I felt the air slow to my brain as Sanchez’s face became as red as the hand gripping my throat.
“THIS, is a threat…” He let go, and a rush of oxygen returned to my brain in a state of euphoric release. “All I’m saying is that I need you with me. This week means more to me than you can possibly imagine. If I am to have the shitty fucking drug addled piece of shit that has been roaming the streets of Chicago, then I’m destined to fail. But if you bring the Taylor Wright that teed off against Julian Mercury, and those other jawbones that tried to get in your way when you started. .
Before I came into the UCI you were a fucking killer. You were focused. You had a goal. And then I came in. It seemed like you got used to riding my coattails. You got comfortable in your place in the world. You grew up a fighter, but now you’re having everything handed to you. Maybe it’s time I take that away, is all I’m saying.”
Fucking guy was right. I hated to admit it but I wasn’t on my game. I had spent the first month trying to make a name for myself and spent the last few months ruining that name. I was the hot young upstart now I’m the fucking jobber vet that doesn’t stand a chance. People wonder where my head is and fact of the matter is that I wonder where my head is too. I’m all sortsa fucked up and there ain’t nothing I can do about it.
First I gotta get off the sauce… except pot.
Pot is cool.
That should help me get my head back in the game. From there I can focus on winning again, because ain’t that all what this is about. Ain’t it about winning?
“Boss, I promise you that I’m in it. I’m all in for this match. Bonnie Blue, and Polar Phantasm, they ain’t got shit on us. We’re a team. You and me, we’ve been through a lot of shit together. We’ve got a bond that they can’t break.”
“Idiot, are you underestimating the Guardians. You realize that THEY are the tag team champions, do you realize what a win here would mean for the Syndicate. This isn’t just about keeping Chicago safe, anymore. This is about so much more than Chicago.
This is about ME and my legacy. Do you think that I’m satisfied with my position? Fuck, no. Even if I was in the same position as that cunt Howard Black I wouldn’t be satisfied with my position. That’s why I’m the fuccin’ mayor and you’re nothing but a fucking imbecile.
You want to get on my good side, you want to stay in the Syndicate and keep o living this lavish lifestyle that you’ve become accustomed to. We BETTER fucking win this week.”
And as dramatic as this statement was it became even darker as the limo pulled up to my apartment building and the door magically opened without anyone touching it.
“And Taylor,” He said, “I took the warrant for Alex Richard’s arrest off the table. You fucking idiot, there was no evidence that he did it. In fact the evidence reads something else completely, if you catch my drift… so if you thought winning was important before, take THAT as a threat.”
I stood outside the limo as he said this and the door closed.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” I screamed as the limo drove off into the horizon.
So all of my carefully calculated plans to have Richard’s framed for the Sloshed Pit burning down has gone to shit. I normally would have gone to my apartment, lit up and watched TV but I was pissed. Sanchez was doing me dirty and I had to fucking take matters into my own hands.
I walked down the desolate moonlit streets of Chicago and flicked a few keys on my iPhone. I walked towards my destination and counted the steps until I got there. I can’t believe that Sanchez had the fucking audacity to do this to me, but in the grand scheme of things I brought this upon myself.
If I was pulling my own weight, if I wasn’t becoming more and more obsolete then this would never have been an issue in the first place. Many people would have taken this as a cue to give up, but not me. A man like me takes adversity in stride and finds ways to make manners better for himself.
Still, this week held more bearing than it did before. If Polar Phantasm could somehow get out of his little fucking world and join us on Earth, and if bonnie could join this time and figure out how to not lose for once then I could be in trouble.
Sanchez wasn’t very subtle in that last threat. If we lose this week at Overload then the evidence against me in the Sloshed Pit Arson case would be brought to light. As well as my seeds were planted towards Richards a call from Sanchez could ruin all of that.
So I had to focus my aggression on Bonnie Blue. That bitch fucking killed it in the Wentworth Tournament… given, she lost in the first round, but that fire and that determination she sent forth would have beaten anyone else. She’s been that way as long as I’ve known her.
She’s right there, on the cusp of greatness. I’m not sure what it is about her that is keeping her form being the World Champion, except maybe lack of desire to do as such. She seems content where she is and like Sanchez said, complacency is the first step towards mediocrity.
He didn’t say that but I inferred it at least.
Then of course there’s Polar Phantasm. This guy is hit or fucking miss. One day he’s the fucking hottest prospect in the wrestling world, and the next he’s off in a ditch fighting Penguins in fire retardant tuxedos in abandoned steel mines. This guy doesn’t know whether to shit or wind his watch.
It’s this unpredictable quality about him that makes him so dangerous. At least with Bonnie you know what you’re going to get. You’re going to get a person who is going to put her all into the match, and sometimes she’s going to win and sometimes she’s going to lose but EVERYTIME she’s going to make a believer out of the person who she stepped into the ring with.
Polar, on the other hand can make you eat your own show, or will get fucked in the ass routinely. There is no rhyme and there is no reason. And the worst part is that when you’re expecting him to show and he doesn’t it’s equally as hard as when the opposite is true.
The best bet with regards to him is just fucking be ready because he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants to do it. Then there’s that fucking fat piece of shit Alex Richards roaming the outside… but I’ve got just the thing to prevent THAT from happening.
And I finally reached the abandoned steel mine that I was headed to…
No Polar Phantasm to be found…
Meeting in the Dark
Polar wasn’t there but the heads of the Crips, Bloods, Triads, Yakuza, Mafia, and IRA were there with pistols in their holsters ready for shit to go down. I stood atop my literal breadbox, the perfect target for an assassination if I hadn’t forged such a strong a viable relationship with all of these competing groups.
“Everyone… I’ve got a proposition for you. There is a man out there, Alex Richards, who is destined for DEATH. However, our PRECIOUS Mayor Sanchez has deemed him worthy of life. But I do NOT. I deem him worthy of nothing but a harsh and painful death. And THAT, my friends is where you come in.
YOU are the best of the worst. YOU all can make this happen, and I’ve got a $10,000 bounty on the man’s head.”
A series of jeers jolted through the small crowd. The paltry sum of 10K didn’t appeal to them, but my next offer would.
“AND, you gain control over Hope Valley!”
Then they cheered and started talking to each other wildly. Hope Valley was off limits due to Sanchez’s and Fausse’s involvement in the small territory. There was something nefarious going on there that I wasn’t completely aware of, but if Sanchez wants to play dirty I can play dirty too.
“The man who brings me Alex Richard’s head on a pike will gain control of Hope Valley and will be $10K richer. All bets are off. Until Richards is dead everyone can go to any territory and all safety’s are off. Shoot to kill, and if that means killing hundreds of others than THAT’s what it takes… I WANT ALEX RICHARDS DEAD!”
I walked off. They fought with each other, giving their own set of moralistic rules for this game. But my job was done. The seeds of destruction were planted and soon Alex Richards would no longer be a thorn in my side, he would be gone, forever.
“Well, played boy.” A familiar raspy voice said from the shadows. “Putting a man’s life on the line for a small piece of land. Good play. Hopefully it works out for you. Now, how about that meeting with David Sanchez?”
“He don’t think you exist, and dude, I gotta be honest, I don’t believe my own eyes right now either. I mean shit, dude. You look like a fucking killer clown. What the shit?”
“I may be a killer, but I’m not a clown, and I assure you that I’m as real as the kids that you left over on Long Island. I hope that you can make this work.” And he disappeared as mysteriously as he appeared in my apartment two nights earlier.
If I was a dog my ears would have perked up. Another threat, but this was something that NO ONE could have known about. There’s no way that this dude was real.
"I really must be tripping hard…"