Post by Deleted on Feb 16, 2015 10:03:28 GMT -6
TWO DAYS AFTER TENSION IN TEXAS.
There were times when it was possible to enjoy a pleasant view, and the serenity of a calm room. This was certainly one of those. The windows were tall and wide, allowing an influx of nice, clean daylight into the room and giving it an airy feel. The colours were calm and neutral, and the air conditioning made the place feel safe and cool, if a little sterile. There was a lot to be said about feng shui, and the knowledge of how an environment can relax a soul if specifically designed to do so. This room had it all. Comfortable seats - albet more ‘recliners’ than seats, plenty of space to avoid the feeling of being confined or claustrophobic, and a warm smile on the face of the person there to speak to you. Anybody who was in this room to talk should feel able to do so without even the slightest modicum of pressure or concern.
But then, that’s exactly how a psychiatrist’s room is supposed to be laid out, and if you’re aware that all of this has been done by design rather than happy coincidence, the effect is rather ruined.
What was ruining it further for Rob Riot was that despite Miss Natasha P. Charles - a charming and, judging by the certificates on the wall, exceptionally well qualified doctor - assuring him that everything said within the room was confidential, and that the whole exercise was taking place for his benefit, the presence of two large New Edge Wrestling security goons sat in the corner in case he misbehaved or objected in any way. And if that weren’t enough, the light coming through those windows hurt his eyes. He had another concussion, without a shadow of a doubt. That was fine, it could go with all the others, but they were certainly starting to hurt a lot more than they used to. His back and neck were agony, and he had raised lumps on his head where a whole smorgasbord of punches, kicks and unexpected weaponry had been forcefully hammered into his skull by one Hunter Valentyne.
Despite his misgivings, Riot was doing his best to appear collected, rational and unconcerned, reasoning that this was the best way to get through any psyche evaluation. Even though his being here was clearly bullshit. Valentyne was a homicidal maniac, all Rob had done was defend himself and his company. It seemed lately there was no corner he could turn without Valentyne appearing in his path. The prick had even somehow managed to find his way into RSW’s latest show by way of a stray video feed. And when he found out who was responsible for allowing the feed to be hijacked, there was going to be trouble. Very violent trouble. The nagging feeling at the back of Rob’s subconscious was that Hunter had been outsmarting him. Setting little traps and then laughing as Rob fell into them. Making him look a fool. Not a state he welcomed, or experienced very often. Well, today, all of that was going to change. Jesse had assured him that both he and Hunter would be taking the psyche exam. Good. No way was Hunter passing anyone’s psyche check. He was insane. Rob, on the other hand - clean, sober and straight as an arrow. Get this done and get back to work. Maybe even send Hunter some flowers after he’s committed. That’s bound to annoy the little fucker.
Rob folded his arms behind his head and relaxed deeper into the couch, putting his feet up and crossing his ankles as he did so.
NATASHA:
You’re not going to sleep on me, are you? I need you to focus. Your answers to my questions will be the only thing that I’m basing my assessment on. And I do need to remind you that my assessment report will be key to your continued employment in New Edge Wrestling....
RIOT:
My dear, my employment in New Edge Wrestling is a complete non concern to me. I wouldn’t need to be there at all if it didn’t just happen to be the only place in the world that Hunter Valentyne is allowed to appear without being muzzled or chained up somehow. I trust your professional judgement will ensure that after this is over, even that liberty will be taken away from him and I can go back to living my life. So please, do fire away. I’m all ears. You’ll find that my mind is in complete working order.
NATASHA:
I do hope so. Shall we start with some basic interpretation questions? I have some cards here. I want you to look at them and tell me what you see.
RIOT:
The Rorscach Test? Really? I thought that was a film and television thing, I didn’t realise that you guys actually.....never mind. You’re the professional. Show me a card, I’ll do my best.
Reaching into the pocket of his pleated corduroy jacket, Riot produced some glasses, brushing them down with a soft cloth and putting them on as he leaned forward in his seat to get a better look. He didn’t always need them, but two days after a match he often found his vision wasn’t at its best. He probably had a detached retina. Best not to tell a doctor, though - that’s the sort of thing they force you to take time off for, and he frankly didn’t have the time to spare.
Natasha smiled encouragingly, and held up the large, white-backed cards in sequence, one after the other, pausing after each answer to make a note of Rob’s response. Her brow furrowed a little deeper each time, as Rob seemed to stick to a certain theme.
RIOT: [peering at the cards]
That’s....a vagina. Yep, definitely.
....
That’s also a vagina, but a little closer up.
...
Lopsided vagina?
....
Vagina with a baby’s head poking out.
...
Two people dancing outside a large cave entrance. Which looks like a vagina.
...
A vagina between two slices of bread.
NATASHA:
Rob, do all of these honestly look like female reproductive organs to you?
RIOT:
Sure they do. That’s the point isn’t it? You show me a series of things that look like vaginas, then you ask me what my relationship with my mother is like. That’s how I’ve always understood it.
Natasha sighed, putting the cards face down on the desk and muttering under her breath to herself, before putting her professional face back on and trying her best to offer Riot an engaging smile.
NATASHA:
Perhaps...you’re right. Maybe this test is a little outdated. Let’s try a general conversation instead. How do you feel you are, in terms of your mental health?
RIOT:
Fresh as a daisy. Rational, thoughtful, considerate, open minded...I’m pretty much a model of lateral thinking. I have a plan for every day, I have goals and ambitions, and I do my best to achieve them. I’m in a pretty good place right now.
NATASHA:
And how does striking wrestling fans fit into that self diagnosis? Or, for example, getting into a fracas backstage at a wrestling event that could only be stopped when your employer threatened to shoot you. A fracas which, may I remind you, involved you stabbing one of your colleagues with a syringe, giving no consideration to what the contents of that syringe may be?
RIOT: [frowning]
But you can’t pin that on me! Hunter Valentyne went out of his way to upset me - assaulting my staff, insulting my company, denigrating my record in the sport - anything he can do to justify his own tawdry little legacy, he’s done! No reasonable man could allow such an action to go unpunished. Surely someone as learned as you can see that. And as for Jesse....why was he carrying a gun in the first place? Now there’s a guy who has anger issues! Are you seeing him later?
NATASHA:
But if you were thinking rationally, wouldn’t you accept that in a civilised society, there are boundaries, and that those who go outside those boundaries will be punished by those who enforce them? Hunter’s actions would have been punished by Jesse in the long run. What made you believe you have the right to seek punishment and retribution yourself? If what you’re saying is true, shouldn’t the law be allowed to act in response to unprovoked attacks?
RIOT:
The law is an ass. Assault cases take months and a good defence lawyer would have allowed him off with a slap on the wrist. That’s not enough for Chloe Logan’s family. I promised them more than that. They agreed not to pursue a civil case and allowed me to go and get my measure of revenge on their behalf.
NATASHA:
So, then, you put yourself into a position where you’re above the law; a vigilante of sorts, free to exact retribution on those who violate your own moral code. And the fans you injured in the process?
RIOT:
This is a war, Natasha. All wars have civilian casualties. Sometimes the end justifies the means. There are people out there in the world who are built on a foundation of pure evil. They hide behind innocents, and normal souls, to protect themselves. That’s their cowardice. That’s all Hunter is. Evil must be fought, and defeated. Defeating evil is an act of kindness to the world. Collateral damage must be accepted in these cases. Stopping Hunter is for the greater good. On balance, if a few people are harmed during my act of stamping him out, that’s still a victory. The longer evil is allowed to prevail, the more people will be harmed. That’s why your people dropped an atomic bomb in Japan. And speaking of violating things, I understand Hunter will be in here later. I’d beef up your security. He’s likely to try to rape you. That’s his standard methodology.
NATASHA:
....you honestly believe that a fellow wrestler, a man who’s won world titles and travelled the globe in pursuit of his sport, would walk into a medical facility and attempt to rape me, expecting no retribution.
RIOT:
That’s exactly what I’m telling you.
NATASHA:
....I see. And going back to your comments - correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you believe in the concept of an absolute evil and an absolute good. And that you, as presumably a force for good, should be given the freedom to pursue and eliminate anybody who in your mind represents an absolute evil. Not only that, but that anyone caught up in the conflict is an acceptable casualty?
RIOT:
That’s about the shape and size of it, yes, although I’m not sure I’d agree with some of your phrasing.
NATASHA:
Absolute good and absolute evil are very old concepts, Rob. Almost Biblical concepts. Are you a man of God, or a man of some kind of religion?
RIOT:
Absolutely not. We all have power over our own actions. We all control our own destiny. My actions aren’t governed by, or accountable to, some fairy in the sky. Religion is a method of control and nothing more. Evil is something we have to take responsibility for ourselves, and deal with ourselves. Most people don’t have the stomach for it. That’s what makes me different.
NATASHA:
So in the absence of any religious belief....doesn’t that mean, put simplistically, you’re appointing yourself into the role of a God?
RIOT:
I am my own God. I judge myself. And in eliminating evil, I provide salvation for others. I’d be too modest to say it normally, but given the description you’ve provided, I suppose you could look at me as a kind of “living God”.
Natasha stares at him, blankly, and drums her fingers on the table as she replays his last sentence in her head. In a hesitant voice, she enquires...
NATASHA:
Rob, did you just describe yourself as a living God?
RIOT:
Yes, I did. What’s your problem?
Without another word, Natasha sighs, shakes her head and offers a sad nod to the two large security men in the corner. Before Riot has time to react, he finds himself pinned to the sofa, with his arms twisted up and being inserted into a straight jacket. He’s hauled up and dragged backwards, one man around his arms and another around his legs. Denied the use of his limbs to protest, he struggles around frantically.
RIOT:
What the fuck? Get off me! What the Hell do you think you’re doing? I have rights! I have duties to attend to! You can’t do this to me!
Natasha, with her arms folded, follows him across the room as he’s pulled through the door.
NATASHA:
Whilst you may give the appearance of somebody who can function within a normal society, Rob, you have extremely inflated perceptions of your rights and responsibilities within that society. You are a very evident case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. You might even be a borderline sociopath, I’d have to do more research in other to diagnose you properly. And I will. But until then, the best place for you is a controlled environment where we can study you more closely and decide on an appropriate method of treatment. I’ll inform Jesse Styles of my decision. Please try to understand.
Riot opens his mouth to protest further, but Natasha’s office door is slammed firmly shut. And no sooner is that done, he hears a very familiar, very hideous laugh somewhere to his right hand side. Craning his neck as far as his shackles allow, Riot sees Hunter Valentyne and Alisa in the waiting room, pointing and laughing at him.
RIOT:
VALENTYNE I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! AS SOON AS I’M OUT OF HERE I’M GOING TO HUNT YOU DOWN LIKE A DOG AND KILL YOU IN THE STREET!
HUNTER:
Wow, you’re doing a great job of sounding sane there, Rob. I can see why they’ve locked you up. See you in six months, or a year, or however long they keep you locked up in there. Don’t worry, I’ll be busy making sure your shitty wrestling company goes down the toilet in the meantime.
Riot lets out a primal, furious howl and kicks and twists, trying to break free of his confinement, but is struck in the face by Hunter - a shot he was completely unable to protect himself from. Subdued by this, he’s dragged out of the room and, presumably, towards a vehicle to take him elsewhere.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
FOUR DAYS LATER.
Rob was bored. Very bored. They had at least been kind enough not to insist he stayed in a padded room, but what was permitted to him was little better. A small table. Some paper, and a pencil (no pen, lest he tried to stab himself). One chair. A single bed. A toilet. A television set which was bolted to the wall, and had most of the channels restricted other than news broadcasts, and, for some reason, religious programming. He’d managed to watch it for an hour before switching it off, and it had been off ever since. He’d written letters and then immediately screwed them up, figuring anything he did write would go in front of the eyes of a doctor before it was sent away, and probably wouldn’t help his case. And then, having screwed them up, he realised that they’d probably go through his waste.
So he ate them instead.
By now, he mostly just sat in front of the tiny, barred window, staring out into a nondescript garden full of dead trees and winter flowers. He slipped away inside his thoughts, living in an imaginary world. It was easier than focusing on the here and now. Too much time spent on that would surely leave him mad for real.
There was a knock on the door - which was a completely redundant gesture, as he had no means of opening it. He could reply, but he didn’t see the point, as whoever wanted to come in was going to come in anyway. So he didn’t move at all.
The door opened, and there were footsteps behind him. A nurse. Judging by the sound of the footsteps and the pattern of movement, a female nurse. Probably the exceptionally dull, sexless, condescending one who brought him his bland meals three times a day.
NURSE:
Mr. Hill?
RIOT:
Riot. My name is Riot.
NURSE:
Not in here it isn’t, Mr. Hill. You have a phone call.
RIOT:
Excellent. Tell them to fuck off. I’m not feeling talkative.
NURSE:
It’s from Jesse Styles.
There was an uncomfortably long pause.
RIOT:
Give it here, then. And get out.
NURSE:
I can’t leave you with the phone. I have to stay here until you’re done with it and take it back off you.
RIOT:
What the fuck do you think I’m doing to do with it, eat it or shove it up my arse?
NURSE:
I’ve seen both done before, so possibly, yes.
Riot sighed and motioned for the phone to be passed to him, raising it up and speaking into it very bluntly.
RIOT:
And what the fuck do you want?
There is a pause whilst Jesse responds.
RIOT:
I have every reason to “be like that”. I’m currently incarcerated in a private medical facility at your behest. And not even a very good one, which I’m blaming on the fact that you’re as good as bankrupt. This is an excellent way of thanking me for giving you the best viewing figures you’ve had in years, by the way. I really appreciate it. Now what the fuck do you want?
Another pause, a longer one this time. And at the end of the pause, Riot laughs a mirthless, hollow laugh.
RIOT.
Ha ha ha. Oh very good. That’s very funny. And how do you expect me do that from where I am? I don’t have a release date yet. I’m told I won’t get one until I start co-operating with their attempts to treat me. Which, by the way, is likely to be ‘never’.
NURSE: [interrupting]
Actually it’s Mr Styles who can decide when you come and go. You’re a private patient. He pays to keep you in here, he can also decide to discontinue the treatment at any time.
Riot processes this information....which only serves to make him even more angry than he already was.
RIOT:
So let me get this straight. You have me locked up. You don’t get in touch with me. You could have had me released at any point but haven’t done so. And now you’re offering to get me out of here so I can come and referee.....not fucking wrestle, I might add, which is my job, but REFEREE...a World Title match which, based on the level of talent on your roster, I should be competing in? And why the fuck would I want to do that?
Another pause. A short one.
RIOT:
Oh, you really do know how to take the piss. HUNTER FUCKING VALENTYNE gets a World Title match. Hunter gets a world title match, and you want me to come and share a ring with him to referee it, despite the fact that it was sharing a ring with him that got me locked up in here in the first place. Does that sound sensible to you? Does that in any way seem like a good idea? Let me tell you something about Hunter. I was approaching the point where I felt....in a tiny, trivial way....sorry for him. He assaulted my staff, and that was unforgivable, but I at least thought the man was out of his mind with grief. He was coming from a place that was his own personal Hell. I got that. I understood it. I didn’t agree with it, but I understood it. If I’d been married and my wife had been killed, I don’t know how I’d react. So I could accept that he might just need slapping them fuck down to save him from himself. But then I find out that he made the whole damn thing up just to get inside my head? That’s the sort of guy Hunter is, Jesse. He’s a man who will go to someone else’s place of business and sexually assault somebody just to make a point. And you reward him for it, over and over again. So no. You can shove your offer up your arse. I’ll stay here, thankyou. Find another referee.
Riot goes to hang up the phone, but a burst of noise from it as he goes to hang it up stops him. The nurse could hear it just as clearly as Rob could.
Jesse said “but Valora is in the match, too”.
Very slowly, Rob returns the phone to his ear.
RIOT:
Did you really just try to use my relationship with Valora against me?
Jesse talks some more.
RIOT:
Val is more than capable of looking after herself. She’ll win that match on her own. She does not, in any way, need me there to protect her. And she wouldn’t thank you for the insinuation. But your tone suggests to me that someone - perhaps someone who is enjoying this little ratings spike they have going on - has told Hunter about me and Val. Which means you’ve put her at risk when she’s not in the ring. Which means she has to watch her back 24/7, and doesn’t even know that the threat is coming. And that’s why I need to be there. You son of a bitch. I’ll tell you what, Jesse. You admit to me that you’ve done this for the ratings, and I’ll be there. And don’t dare deny you haven’t.
A short pause. Long enough for Riot to get the answer he wants.
RIOT:
You sick bastard. I came here to help you, and now you’re just using me and my life as a marketing tool. You’re no better than him. Well, you get your wish, Jesse. I’ll be there. I’ll wear the stripes. And don’t you worry your little bald head for one single second. I’ll call this match exactly how it needs to be called. With the long term interests of New Edge Wrestling at heart.
Riot hangs up the phone, and for the first time, looks at the nurse. There is an unpleasant, vacant smile on his face.
RIOT:
There you are, my dear. All done. Neither eaten nor anally inserted. Because, you see, I’m not insane. And it would seem that Mr Styles wants me to spend a little time outside of this facility. So go and fetch my things, would you? I need to pack. I have a very important job to attend to....
There were times when it was possible to enjoy a pleasant view, and the serenity of a calm room. This was certainly one of those. The windows were tall and wide, allowing an influx of nice, clean daylight into the room and giving it an airy feel. The colours were calm and neutral, and the air conditioning made the place feel safe and cool, if a little sterile. There was a lot to be said about feng shui, and the knowledge of how an environment can relax a soul if specifically designed to do so. This room had it all. Comfortable seats - albet more ‘recliners’ than seats, plenty of space to avoid the feeling of being confined or claustrophobic, and a warm smile on the face of the person there to speak to you. Anybody who was in this room to talk should feel able to do so without even the slightest modicum of pressure or concern.
But then, that’s exactly how a psychiatrist’s room is supposed to be laid out, and if you’re aware that all of this has been done by design rather than happy coincidence, the effect is rather ruined.
What was ruining it further for Rob Riot was that despite Miss Natasha P. Charles - a charming and, judging by the certificates on the wall, exceptionally well qualified doctor - assuring him that everything said within the room was confidential, and that the whole exercise was taking place for his benefit, the presence of two large New Edge Wrestling security goons sat in the corner in case he misbehaved or objected in any way. And if that weren’t enough, the light coming through those windows hurt his eyes. He had another concussion, without a shadow of a doubt. That was fine, it could go with all the others, but they were certainly starting to hurt a lot more than they used to. His back and neck were agony, and he had raised lumps on his head where a whole smorgasbord of punches, kicks and unexpected weaponry had been forcefully hammered into his skull by one Hunter Valentyne.
Despite his misgivings, Riot was doing his best to appear collected, rational and unconcerned, reasoning that this was the best way to get through any psyche evaluation. Even though his being here was clearly bullshit. Valentyne was a homicidal maniac, all Rob had done was defend himself and his company. It seemed lately there was no corner he could turn without Valentyne appearing in his path. The prick had even somehow managed to find his way into RSW’s latest show by way of a stray video feed. And when he found out who was responsible for allowing the feed to be hijacked, there was going to be trouble. Very violent trouble. The nagging feeling at the back of Rob’s subconscious was that Hunter had been outsmarting him. Setting little traps and then laughing as Rob fell into them. Making him look a fool. Not a state he welcomed, or experienced very often. Well, today, all of that was going to change. Jesse had assured him that both he and Hunter would be taking the psyche exam. Good. No way was Hunter passing anyone’s psyche check. He was insane. Rob, on the other hand - clean, sober and straight as an arrow. Get this done and get back to work. Maybe even send Hunter some flowers after he’s committed. That’s bound to annoy the little fucker.
Rob folded his arms behind his head and relaxed deeper into the couch, putting his feet up and crossing his ankles as he did so.
NATASHA:
You’re not going to sleep on me, are you? I need you to focus. Your answers to my questions will be the only thing that I’m basing my assessment on. And I do need to remind you that my assessment report will be key to your continued employment in New Edge Wrestling....
RIOT:
My dear, my employment in New Edge Wrestling is a complete non concern to me. I wouldn’t need to be there at all if it didn’t just happen to be the only place in the world that Hunter Valentyne is allowed to appear without being muzzled or chained up somehow. I trust your professional judgement will ensure that after this is over, even that liberty will be taken away from him and I can go back to living my life. So please, do fire away. I’m all ears. You’ll find that my mind is in complete working order.
NATASHA:
I do hope so. Shall we start with some basic interpretation questions? I have some cards here. I want you to look at them and tell me what you see.
RIOT:
The Rorscach Test? Really? I thought that was a film and television thing, I didn’t realise that you guys actually.....never mind. You’re the professional. Show me a card, I’ll do my best.
Reaching into the pocket of his pleated corduroy jacket, Riot produced some glasses, brushing them down with a soft cloth and putting them on as he leaned forward in his seat to get a better look. He didn’t always need them, but two days after a match he often found his vision wasn’t at its best. He probably had a detached retina. Best not to tell a doctor, though - that’s the sort of thing they force you to take time off for, and he frankly didn’t have the time to spare.
Natasha smiled encouragingly, and held up the large, white-backed cards in sequence, one after the other, pausing after each answer to make a note of Rob’s response. Her brow furrowed a little deeper each time, as Rob seemed to stick to a certain theme.
RIOT: [peering at the cards]
That’s....a vagina. Yep, definitely.
....
That’s also a vagina, but a little closer up.
...
Lopsided vagina?
....
Vagina with a baby’s head poking out.
...
Two people dancing outside a large cave entrance. Which looks like a vagina.
...
A vagina between two slices of bread.
NATASHA:
Rob, do all of these honestly look like female reproductive organs to you?
RIOT:
Sure they do. That’s the point isn’t it? You show me a series of things that look like vaginas, then you ask me what my relationship with my mother is like. That’s how I’ve always understood it.
Natasha sighed, putting the cards face down on the desk and muttering under her breath to herself, before putting her professional face back on and trying her best to offer Riot an engaging smile.
NATASHA:
Perhaps...you’re right. Maybe this test is a little outdated. Let’s try a general conversation instead. How do you feel you are, in terms of your mental health?
RIOT:
Fresh as a daisy. Rational, thoughtful, considerate, open minded...I’m pretty much a model of lateral thinking. I have a plan for every day, I have goals and ambitions, and I do my best to achieve them. I’m in a pretty good place right now.
NATASHA:
And how does striking wrestling fans fit into that self diagnosis? Or, for example, getting into a fracas backstage at a wrestling event that could only be stopped when your employer threatened to shoot you. A fracas which, may I remind you, involved you stabbing one of your colleagues with a syringe, giving no consideration to what the contents of that syringe may be?
RIOT: [frowning]
But you can’t pin that on me! Hunter Valentyne went out of his way to upset me - assaulting my staff, insulting my company, denigrating my record in the sport - anything he can do to justify his own tawdry little legacy, he’s done! No reasonable man could allow such an action to go unpunished. Surely someone as learned as you can see that. And as for Jesse....why was he carrying a gun in the first place? Now there’s a guy who has anger issues! Are you seeing him later?
NATASHA:
But if you were thinking rationally, wouldn’t you accept that in a civilised society, there are boundaries, and that those who go outside those boundaries will be punished by those who enforce them? Hunter’s actions would have been punished by Jesse in the long run. What made you believe you have the right to seek punishment and retribution yourself? If what you’re saying is true, shouldn’t the law be allowed to act in response to unprovoked attacks?
RIOT:
The law is an ass. Assault cases take months and a good defence lawyer would have allowed him off with a slap on the wrist. That’s not enough for Chloe Logan’s family. I promised them more than that. They agreed not to pursue a civil case and allowed me to go and get my measure of revenge on their behalf.
NATASHA:
So, then, you put yourself into a position where you’re above the law; a vigilante of sorts, free to exact retribution on those who violate your own moral code. And the fans you injured in the process?
RIOT:
This is a war, Natasha. All wars have civilian casualties. Sometimes the end justifies the means. There are people out there in the world who are built on a foundation of pure evil. They hide behind innocents, and normal souls, to protect themselves. That’s their cowardice. That’s all Hunter is. Evil must be fought, and defeated. Defeating evil is an act of kindness to the world. Collateral damage must be accepted in these cases. Stopping Hunter is for the greater good. On balance, if a few people are harmed during my act of stamping him out, that’s still a victory. The longer evil is allowed to prevail, the more people will be harmed. That’s why your people dropped an atomic bomb in Japan. And speaking of violating things, I understand Hunter will be in here later. I’d beef up your security. He’s likely to try to rape you. That’s his standard methodology.
NATASHA:
....you honestly believe that a fellow wrestler, a man who’s won world titles and travelled the globe in pursuit of his sport, would walk into a medical facility and attempt to rape me, expecting no retribution.
RIOT:
That’s exactly what I’m telling you.
NATASHA:
....I see. And going back to your comments - correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you believe in the concept of an absolute evil and an absolute good. And that you, as presumably a force for good, should be given the freedom to pursue and eliminate anybody who in your mind represents an absolute evil. Not only that, but that anyone caught up in the conflict is an acceptable casualty?
RIOT:
That’s about the shape and size of it, yes, although I’m not sure I’d agree with some of your phrasing.
NATASHA:
Absolute good and absolute evil are very old concepts, Rob. Almost Biblical concepts. Are you a man of God, or a man of some kind of religion?
RIOT:
Absolutely not. We all have power over our own actions. We all control our own destiny. My actions aren’t governed by, or accountable to, some fairy in the sky. Religion is a method of control and nothing more. Evil is something we have to take responsibility for ourselves, and deal with ourselves. Most people don’t have the stomach for it. That’s what makes me different.
NATASHA:
So in the absence of any religious belief....doesn’t that mean, put simplistically, you’re appointing yourself into the role of a God?
RIOT:
I am my own God. I judge myself. And in eliminating evil, I provide salvation for others. I’d be too modest to say it normally, but given the description you’ve provided, I suppose you could look at me as a kind of “living God”.
Natasha stares at him, blankly, and drums her fingers on the table as she replays his last sentence in her head. In a hesitant voice, she enquires...
NATASHA:
Rob, did you just describe yourself as a living God?
RIOT:
Yes, I did. What’s your problem?
Without another word, Natasha sighs, shakes her head and offers a sad nod to the two large security men in the corner. Before Riot has time to react, he finds himself pinned to the sofa, with his arms twisted up and being inserted into a straight jacket. He’s hauled up and dragged backwards, one man around his arms and another around his legs. Denied the use of his limbs to protest, he struggles around frantically.
RIOT:
What the fuck? Get off me! What the Hell do you think you’re doing? I have rights! I have duties to attend to! You can’t do this to me!
Natasha, with her arms folded, follows him across the room as he’s pulled through the door.
NATASHA:
Whilst you may give the appearance of somebody who can function within a normal society, Rob, you have extremely inflated perceptions of your rights and responsibilities within that society. You are a very evident case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. You might even be a borderline sociopath, I’d have to do more research in other to diagnose you properly. And I will. But until then, the best place for you is a controlled environment where we can study you more closely and decide on an appropriate method of treatment. I’ll inform Jesse Styles of my decision. Please try to understand.
Riot opens his mouth to protest further, but Natasha’s office door is slammed firmly shut. And no sooner is that done, he hears a very familiar, very hideous laugh somewhere to his right hand side. Craning his neck as far as his shackles allow, Riot sees Hunter Valentyne and Alisa in the waiting room, pointing and laughing at him.
RIOT:
VALENTYNE I WILL KILL YOU! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! AS SOON AS I’M OUT OF HERE I’M GOING TO HUNT YOU DOWN LIKE A DOG AND KILL YOU IN THE STREET!
HUNTER:
Wow, you’re doing a great job of sounding sane there, Rob. I can see why they’ve locked you up. See you in six months, or a year, or however long they keep you locked up in there. Don’t worry, I’ll be busy making sure your shitty wrestling company goes down the toilet in the meantime.
Riot lets out a primal, furious howl and kicks and twists, trying to break free of his confinement, but is struck in the face by Hunter - a shot he was completely unable to protect himself from. Subdued by this, he’s dragged out of the room and, presumably, towards a vehicle to take him elsewhere.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
FOUR DAYS LATER.
Rob was bored. Very bored. They had at least been kind enough not to insist he stayed in a padded room, but what was permitted to him was little better. A small table. Some paper, and a pencil (no pen, lest he tried to stab himself). One chair. A single bed. A toilet. A television set which was bolted to the wall, and had most of the channels restricted other than news broadcasts, and, for some reason, religious programming. He’d managed to watch it for an hour before switching it off, and it had been off ever since. He’d written letters and then immediately screwed them up, figuring anything he did write would go in front of the eyes of a doctor before it was sent away, and probably wouldn’t help his case. And then, having screwed them up, he realised that they’d probably go through his waste.
So he ate them instead.
By now, he mostly just sat in front of the tiny, barred window, staring out into a nondescript garden full of dead trees and winter flowers. He slipped away inside his thoughts, living in an imaginary world. It was easier than focusing on the here and now. Too much time spent on that would surely leave him mad for real.
There was a knock on the door - which was a completely redundant gesture, as he had no means of opening it. He could reply, but he didn’t see the point, as whoever wanted to come in was going to come in anyway. So he didn’t move at all.
The door opened, and there were footsteps behind him. A nurse. Judging by the sound of the footsteps and the pattern of movement, a female nurse. Probably the exceptionally dull, sexless, condescending one who brought him his bland meals three times a day.
NURSE:
Mr. Hill?
RIOT:
Riot. My name is Riot.
NURSE:
Not in here it isn’t, Mr. Hill. You have a phone call.
RIOT:
Excellent. Tell them to fuck off. I’m not feeling talkative.
NURSE:
It’s from Jesse Styles.
There was an uncomfortably long pause.
RIOT:
Give it here, then. And get out.
NURSE:
I can’t leave you with the phone. I have to stay here until you’re done with it and take it back off you.
RIOT:
What the fuck do you think I’m doing to do with it, eat it or shove it up my arse?
NURSE:
I’ve seen both done before, so possibly, yes.
Riot sighed and motioned for the phone to be passed to him, raising it up and speaking into it very bluntly.
RIOT:
And what the fuck do you want?
There is a pause whilst Jesse responds.
RIOT:
I have every reason to “be like that”. I’m currently incarcerated in a private medical facility at your behest. And not even a very good one, which I’m blaming on the fact that you’re as good as bankrupt. This is an excellent way of thanking me for giving you the best viewing figures you’ve had in years, by the way. I really appreciate it. Now what the fuck do you want?
Another pause, a longer one this time. And at the end of the pause, Riot laughs a mirthless, hollow laugh.
RIOT.
Ha ha ha. Oh very good. That’s very funny. And how do you expect me do that from where I am? I don’t have a release date yet. I’m told I won’t get one until I start co-operating with their attempts to treat me. Which, by the way, is likely to be ‘never’.
NURSE: [interrupting]
Actually it’s Mr Styles who can decide when you come and go. You’re a private patient. He pays to keep you in here, he can also decide to discontinue the treatment at any time.
Riot processes this information....which only serves to make him even more angry than he already was.
RIOT:
So let me get this straight. You have me locked up. You don’t get in touch with me. You could have had me released at any point but haven’t done so. And now you’re offering to get me out of here so I can come and referee.....not fucking wrestle, I might add, which is my job, but REFEREE...a World Title match which, based on the level of talent on your roster, I should be competing in? And why the fuck would I want to do that?
Another pause. A short one.
RIOT:
Oh, you really do know how to take the piss. HUNTER FUCKING VALENTYNE gets a World Title match. Hunter gets a world title match, and you want me to come and share a ring with him to referee it, despite the fact that it was sharing a ring with him that got me locked up in here in the first place. Does that sound sensible to you? Does that in any way seem like a good idea? Let me tell you something about Hunter. I was approaching the point where I felt....in a tiny, trivial way....sorry for him. He assaulted my staff, and that was unforgivable, but I at least thought the man was out of his mind with grief. He was coming from a place that was his own personal Hell. I got that. I understood it. I didn’t agree with it, but I understood it. If I’d been married and my wife had been killed, I don’t know how I’d react. So I could accept that he might just need slapping them fuck down to save him from himself. But then I find out that he made the whole damn thing up just to get inside my head? That’s the sort of guy Hunter is, Jesse. He’s a man who will go to someone else’s place of business and sexually assault somebody just to make a point. And you reward him for it, over and over again. So no. You can shove your offer up your arse. I’ll stay here, thankyou. Find another referee.
Riot goes to hang up the phone, but a burst of noise from it as he goes to hang it up stops him. The nurse could hear it just as clearly as Rob could.
Jesse said “but Valora is in the match, too”.
Very slowly, Rob returns the phone to his ear.
RIOT:
Did you really just try to use my relationship with Valora against me?
Jesse talks some more.
RIOT:
Val is more than capable of looking after herself. She’ll win that match on her own. She does not, in any way, need me there to protect her. And she wouldn’t thank you for the insinuation. But your tone suggests to me that someone - perhaps someone who is enjoying this little ratings spike they have going on - has told Hunter about me and Val. Which means you’ve put her at risk when she’s not in the ring. Which means she has to watch her back 24/7, and doesn’t even know that the threat is coming. And that’s why I need to be there. You son of a bitch. I’ll tell you what, Jesse. You admit to me that you’ve done this for the ratings, and I’ll be there. And don’t dare deny you haven’t.
A short pause. Long enough for Riot to get the answer he wants.
RIOT:
You sick bastard. I came here to help you, and now you’re just using me and my life as a marketing tool. You’re no better than him. Well, you get your wish, Jesse. I’ll be there. I’ll wear the stripes. And don’t you worry your little bald head for one single second. I’ll call this match exactly how it needs to be called. With the long term interests of New Edge Wrestling at heart.
Riot hangs up the phone, and for the first time, looks at the nurse. There is an unpleasant, vacant smile on his face.
RIOT:
There you are, my dear. All done. Neither eaten nor anally inserted. Because, you see, I’m not insane. And it would seem that Mr Styles wants me to spend a little time outside of this facility. So go and fetch my things, would you? I need to pack. I have a very important job to attend to....