Post by Seth Iser on Apr 3, 2015 1:40:31 GMT -6
The world of professional wrestling has this innate ability to blur what’s right and wrong to the human mind once you enter it. The heinous nature of the profession has the ability to taint those who are right minded and corrupt even those unsavable to such a degree that they’re unrecognizable from what they were when they entered the profession. Whether it’s pressures, the fans, your support group or other wrestlers...it is impossible to walk through the curtain forever changed...tainted by this sport because of many of their heinous tendencies.
I’ve experienced it far too many times in my decade long stint in the profession. The physical punishment that my body has endured going through barbed wire, glass tables, light tubes and just about every object that can be used to mutilate your flesh and blood pales in comparison to the mental anguish that you have to cope with. Far too often in the sport I’ve seen or been involved with personal matters drawn in...forcing you to fight whatever insecurities you’ve ever had to deal with.
There are also many instances where disdain for another human being in this profession goes beyond the larger sport itself. You almost start to be connected to that name for one reason or another whether you want to or not. Again...this is something that’s followed me every step of my career...and it used to infuriate me. It enraged me going side by side with Mike Park. It disgusted me when I was compared to Kintaru five years ago often once we’d engage in our...disputes. And now...even in this company it looks like it’s happened for me and Roger now in some respects.
And I’m not even angry about it at this point...it’s the way it works.
It’s in our very nature as human beings to compare and contrast two similar or different minded people and lump them together. You see this throughout history if you know where to dig. The sadistic comparisons Hitler and Stalin made and the similar disregard for others lives when in the matter of disagreement...and the differences in the steps they took in order to stay secure in power. It’s all relative...and all too real. Part of the hatred that the two sadistic men had for each other was their similarities. A similarity along with a jarring fact.
The fact that they can see their own flaws in their opposite number.
It’s funny looking back in retrospect now...with my hair a little thinner, maybe a touch of grey sneaking in and my body no longer near its physical peak...that I can see these things with a different mental clarity. Now more than ever...when I look back...I can see the jarring similarities I had with Kintaru...the very same drive for wrestling I had with Matthew Slater...and even the same take no prisoners determination that linked me with that son of a bitch Mike Park starting a decade ago. But with Roger and yours truly...I see much more in common than the mere surface and the air we breathe.
It’s the realization of what it does mean to be older...along with that same drive that linked me with Park all those years ago. In the normal mind...twenty-nine and thirty-four respectively aren’t considered old ages but with the climate of how wrestling generally is...we’re ancient. To many of these young kids busting in wide eyed and hopeful...they look at the two of us and many other veterans as relics. Nothing more...nothing less...and with that same tone of disrespect that’s often followed me.
But alas Roger...you and I both have the demon of alcoholism and the families that have been splintered as well now don’t we?
As I alluded to on Ignite...you should feel more of a sense of joy because of your reunion...but there’s still something eating away at you. The fear that it could be ripped away...and might trigger you back into drinking. But this is where you and I differ golden boy...because I have no false sense of hope that things can ever be reconciled with my own family. My parents are deceased...worm food and my sister’s also six feet under when she fucked with the wrong drug cartel years ago. And whatever afterlife won’t lead to any sort of happy reunion with my own family.
And deep down...even with this joy you still feel this way don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.
But you don’t have to worry about hiding that for too much longer because you and I are locked in with all our demons inside a steel cage. A place where primal instincts are unleashed...and you have to let everything that ticks deep inside of you out just to survive what the other man will do to you. We’re trapped with our deepest fears...trapped with our demons...our insecurities.
And once again trapped with one another.
You might think it’s merely about revenge for a specific defeat two years ago...but the truth beneath the surface is far deeper than that. It’s showing how much you and I are the same whether you want to admit it or not. We’re jaded veterans of the wrestling industry, Roger...cynical, paranoid...even at times cruel when we have to be to others. People talk about how cruel I am but someone who doesn’t have a cruel bone in their body wouldn’t do what you did to Blair now would you?
But you and I both know the reality of our careers, too. We both have more total matches behind us than ahead of us because of the nature of the beast and what we’ve done to our bodies and other human beings. And the road, if I have anything to do with it, ends for you once and for all inside that steel cage because worse than the alcoholism...you’re denying the fact that you’re a damned sinister human being capable of as much inhumane treatment of others as I am.
I just want you to learn one thing as your tendons shatter and your bones crunch...that after they wheel you out of that ring...you and I, Roger Wright...are compared because we are...the same.
The same...as the thin veil from right...and wrong.
The familiar humidity in the state of Arizona is never a good place to be at. The wind seldom blows as the intensity of the sun brings in a melted utopia even in the early spring month of April. There’s a handful of clouds and if you head out of town you can probably see cacti populating this wretched area. Just to the west there’s certainly the worry of the drought of historical proportions in the state of California of spreading here...and it just feels like a different type of warning shot.
“I have a bad feeling about this…” I mutter coldly, “The right wing of our own government is killing people by denying climate change in a far more cruel way than I ever was...and people still call me the crazy one.”
A couple beads of sweat drips down my brow while I glance at the fairly rare outside presence in this afternoon in Glendale, Arizona. The chill from my spine just thinking of how increasingly damp the future is no matter where I look is getting damned heavy to carry. The first gust of wind I’ve felt in a while swoops through with my black hair swaying everywhere. The semblance of some sort of slight relief from the damn heat in this god damned area of the world.
The sun going down, while a semblance of hope for a new day, can also mean horrible things. I just calmly straighten my blue tie before reaching into my pocket and putting on a pair of sunglasses over my unmasked face. Right behind me though is also the sight of the relatively new Phoenix Stadium that was built by the NFL’s Arizona Cardinals. With my arms crossed I’m just waiting for my ride to travel the last portion of this...trip to Courtland, Arizona. My acquaintance, Vincent Moretti, and I had to travel separately. He wanted to gather some information and I came here a little later. He said Roger was up to something...and he’s right. I can feel it in my bones.
The sound of burning rubber shrieks behind me and as soon as I turn to the source of that sound...a yellow corvette has parked near me and inside the vehicle I can see the look of an unfriendly face...just staring down at me. With my arms crossed I just stare down the man who has come to greet me and through the brown eyes in this man I can see all the hatred that he has in his heart...and how he’s wearing that on his face. I wonder if he’s...masking some sort of fear. Wonder if I’ll get a chance to probe this man’s mind.
“You’re looking for me I presume, boy. You vigilantes who damn me for what I do are no different than I…” I sneer.
“Save your preaching.” the man starkly replies, “You’ve caused far too much pain. Especially when you were hiding behind that mask of yours, Seth. You’ve already hurt Roger...why cause so much more pain to him and maybe others?”
I calmly glance at the hostile human being that exits his vehicle. He’s trembling in absolute fury. He’s dressed in blue jeans with brown stallions on...and a matching leather vest over a plain blue t-shirt. I don’t see the familiar shine of a gun in any of the potential holders for one but I can’t make assumptions. He’s frothing at rage in particular when he spat the word mask out though...and I just calmly reach into my pocket and pull out the black mask I have worn recently...not the infamous silver one that had followed me for years. Soon that gleam over my eye hits...I’ve figured out where to probe.
“You’re too literal, my boy…” I bark up with a chuckle, “You’re the victim of a hero complex aren’t you? You think taking down a guy who you think is a bad...bad man can give you more of a purpose. Just if you take my life...you cross a line you can’t skip back over. You’d be as tainted as I am. Perhaps worse because you wouldn’t be aware of it.”
“I’m NOTHING like you!” he twitches his eye.
“Strike a chord, boy?” I offer with a faint smile, “While people are different...there’s far more similarities that are between us all than there ever will be differences. Just unlike you…”
I just calmly put the mask back into my coat jacket and he’s just anticipating my next move. Without ever losing control of my emotions...I just peel off the sunglasses and show him my cold blue eyes...the same stare that has ment the end to too many people. I can hear a second sound of wheels roaring into the distance and it gets louder. The moment he glances back in his own paranoia is where I charge in and the moment he turns his attention back to me it’s a little too late.
The sound of human bones breaking with a well timed blow to the jaw...it never changes.
The man soon crumbles down onto his knees and his consciousness fading and that’s where I glance down and see he did have a knife in his possession but through the layers he put on to try this macho facade wasn’t enough and after shaking my right hand after that rush of adrenaline rushes off...the amount of force I had to put into that punch he finally drops down onto the pavement unconscious...but not dead. With a sigh as I hear the second vehicle coming I lift the dead weighted groan man with a little trepidation to send him to his car. The car screeches to a stop that was approaching and a familiar yell is heard.
“What the HELL! Seth!” Moretti’s voice booms.
“Another day in the office where another kid tries to pick a fight while he thinks I’m vulnerable,” I dryly reply.
“We need to talk. Now,” Moretti commands, his voice stern.
“Let’s at least get this body in the vehicle so he can wake up from this experience with little memory and one less pursuer,” I counter.
Vincent raises his eyebrow skeptical as his flaming red suit sticks out like a sore thumb in Tokyo, Japan yet alone the state of Arizona as he straightens the black and red striped tie for a second to observe the average sized human being I had just knocked out with a well timed blow when they least expected it. I hold him up by his arms and Moretti goes over and grabs his legs and we hoist the man back into his vehicle, a job made easier that he doesn’t have a roof over his specific vehicle. With that deed out of the way, Vincent just eyeballs him further.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” Vincent raises his eyebrow.
“I don’t want to go to court with a murder charge pressing and even if he makes a bigger deal of it...I can easily say this was out of self defense…” I calmly reply, “We already have two people in an insane asylum obviously...why add a third especially when you work for a company that’s scrutinized for heinous activity from its competitors?”
“It’d still be more entertaining to let his brains splatter on the floor thanks to a bullet…” Moretti scowls, “But speaking of court…”
“Oh God…” I sigh, “Do I really want to know?”
“I’ll explain in the car…” Moretti lowers his eyes, serious, “But let’s just say we need to devise a plan of attack. It’s nothing to panic about but it isn’t something to ignore, either.”
The black vehicle, a limo that Moretti rented, gleams that familiar light as I put my sunglasses back on to shield my eyes from the damn sun...and to help with my preference of some layer of darkness and we start walking toward the black vehicle. Vincent’s silver hair is neatly combed back though it makes it look ridiculous with that flamboyant red hat that could burn the eyes as well. He offers up half of a smile knowing this as he opens the door and sits on the left side. With one last glance at the unconscious man I laid out, I take my seat and shut the door.
“Driver!” Moretti orders as he reaches into the chilled ice bucket on the floor and pulls out a bottle of red wine, “You know where we’re driving now aren’t we? Let’s get going.”
As Vincent grabs a glass and pours himself a good old glass of red wine, he gives a gesture to me to look at the chilled drinks in said bucket and I notice he left in some water for me for a change. With a smirk I just calmly accept it and gulp it down...and it’s this moment where I realize I was far more dehydrated than I thought thanks to this damned heat. Vincent takes his moment to savor his red wine before his face turns serious.
“Let’s not dance around it Seth.” Vincent coldly begins, “I’ve gotten wind that Roger filed a Cease and Desist order on you wearing the black mask you’ve been donning the last couple of weeks. He might still have possession of your original mask, the mask you’re contractually not allowed to wear, but we might have a different type of battle if you want to pursue. I don’t think this has very many legs to stand out however...since nothing was said about you wearing an entirely different mask.”
“Heheh…” I let out a light chuckle, “He’s getting desperate. Maybe he feels a little vulnerable knowing what could happen.”
“I think we’d hold an advantage in the court systems if you look at things letter by letter. It’s not that hard, really. It wouldn’t take much to get Jesse to look at the original contracts. But judging by this logic...if Roger is pushing for this, wouldn’t you have the same rights if you shaved Roger’s head two years ago if you had won that match?” Moretti raises his eyebrow.
“You don’t.” I grunt, annoyed that Vincent brought up that particular, painful defeat, “Besides, we can go into detail on how the match itself was concluded against the rules which can nullify the whole ordeal if you really want to get technical. But out of respect for wrestling, I never once went against my word. I unmasked as promised. Never wore the grey and silver designed masks that I had worn for years. But Vincent...you know what?”
“Hm?” Moretti raises his eyebrow as he takes a sip.
“The truth of the matter...is that I did lose my identity in that defeat. This new mask has nothing to do with what I’ve become. Merely a representation of what others hide. It has minimal effect on who I am if there is any, now. The scarier thing is what is behind the mask…” I glance at the open road as we’re traveling, pausing slightly while pulling out the black mask once again, “He’s desperate to try to get at me, man. I get it. It’s what happens when you’re desperate. He just picked the wrong way to attack it.”
“I’d be interested in seeing how he’d make an absolute ass out of himself in the court rooms and how much of an unheroic act this really is...taking matters to the court over something so damned trivial in the grand scheme of things.” Moretti chuckles, “It’d be one of the few times I’d be interested in going to a court. That’s for sure.”
“It’d be interesting but there’s different ways to make him feel this cold hard vengence…” I roll down the window to my right for fresh air and get a better view of the traveling road we’re on, “I lost my identity two years ago...and yes I want revenge for that. But now more than ever the more I’ve thought on it...the more I just want the truth and his demons to torment him worse than they ever tormented me. And that one mask, a symbol of our pasts now, more than served its purpose. You know what’s next right?”
“I believe I do…” Moretti calmly nods his head.
“Roger’s going to have the worst beating in his professional career...without wearing that mask” I let out my smile, “And...he’ll look at the scarred, bloodied face by the end of it all and realize that I’m the better wrestler, better man, and superior human being to the legendary Roger Wright. And my actual face...will be burned into his face forever.”
While Moretti and I share a laugh at this...as much as I hid this from Moretti...a part of me is very agitated that Roger took the route of a coward, the route of the sheep, by going to our corrupt, biased court system to try to remove something that he thinks has more meaning to me than it has in actuality. I can just see in his brain...with his ego wounded about the supposed draft that his desperation is starting to creep in. The desperation that makes us take actions we normally don’t take.
The type of actions that behind the mask of who we are...that blurs the lines between what’s right and wrong.
He takes too much value, like many of us, in specific possessions and certain vein accomplishments. It’s a mistake many of us make throughout life...and if you don’t break that pattern...it follows you to the grave. But the more I think on this lawsuit...and how desperate it feels...the more I think to how I used to react whenever things got desperate. You’d lose your line of thinking...your deduction, your logic. Everything. It consumes you.
And what joy he should have in being tag champions with his brother is being replaced with doubt.
But make no mistake...I said you and I would be doing this until one of us can’t get going...and you’re legendary for your ability to get up from the worst ass kickings the sport of wrestling has ever seen. The resilience and resourcefulness you have is legendary...and it burns me to admit this but I made your legend greater because of it.
Just like all legends and heroes...you show me one...and I will write you a tragedy.
The cage match is the last one you’ll ever have inside that squared circle. The desperation that’s in your soul will be all for naught when, for lack of a better term, I unmask your own demons inside that cage and unleash the anger that I’ve been hiding from my own to leave you in the mangled state that I’ve been fantasizing about for so long. It’ll feel so damn good to finally accomplish that.
And also make you realize...the sad truth that you’re not much different than me.
And accept that after this match...there will be nothing you can do about it.
I’ve experienced it far too many times in my decade long stint in the profession. The physical punishment that my body has endured going through barbed wire, glass tables, light tubes and just about every object that can be used to mutilate your flesh and blood pales in comparison to the mental anguish that you have to cope with. Far too often in the sport I’ve seen or been involved with personal matters drawn in...forcing you to fight whatever insecurities you’ve ever had to deal with.
There are also many instances where disdain for another human being in this profession goes beyond the larger sport itself. You almost start to be connected to that name for one reason or another whether you want to or not. Again...this is something that’s followed me every step of my career...and it used to infuriate me. It enraged me going side by side with Mike Park. It disgusted me when I was compared to Kintaru five years ago often once we’d engage in our...disputes. And now...even in this company it looks like it’s happened for me and Roger now in some respects.
And I’m not even angry about it at this point...it’s the way it works.
It’s in our very nature as human beings to compare and contrast two similar or different minded people and lump them together. You see this throughout history if you know where to dig. The sadistic comparisons Hitler and Stalin made and the similar disregard for others lives when in the matter of disagreement...and the differences in the steps they took in order to stay secure in power. It’s all relative...and all too real. Part of the hatred that the two sadistic men had for each other was their similarities. A similarity along with a jarring fact.
The fact that they can see their own flaws in their opposite number.
It’s funny looking back in retrospect now...with my hair a little thinner, maybe a touch of grey sneaking in and my body no longer near its physical peak...that I can see these things with a different mental clarity. Now more than ever...when I look back...I can see the jarring similarities I had with Kintaru...the very same drive for wrestling I had with Matthew Slater...and even the same take no prisoners determination that linked me with that son of a bitch Mike Park starting a decade ago. But with Roger and yours truly...I see much more in common than the mere surface and the air we breathe.
It’s the realization of what it does mean to be older...along with that same drive that linked me with Park all those years ago. In the normal mind...twenty-nine and thirty-four respectively aren’t considered old ages but with the climate of how wrestling generally is...we’re ancient. To many of these young kids busting in wide eyed and hopeful...they look at the two of us and many other veterans as relics. Nothing more...nothing less...and with that same tone of disrespect that’s often followed me.
But alas Roger...you and I both have the demon of alcoholism and the families that have been splintered as well now don’t we?
As I alluded to on Ignite...you should feel more of a sense of joy because of your reunion...but there’s still something eating away at you. The fear that it could be ripped away...and might trigger you back into drinking. But this is where you and I differ golden boy...because I have no false sense of hope that things can ever be reconciled with my own family. My parents are deceased...worm food and my sister’s also six feet under when she fucked with the wrong drug cartel years ago. And whatever afterlife won’t lead to any sort of happy reunion with my own family.
And deep down...even with this joy you still feel this way don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.
But you don’t have to worry about hiding that for too much longer because you and I are locked in with all our demons inside a steel cage. A place where primal instincts are unleashed...and you have to let everything that ticks deep inside of you out just to survive what the other man will do to you. We’re trapped with our deepest fears...trapped with our demons...our insecurities.
And once again trapped with one another.
You might think it’s merely about revenge for a specific defeat two years ago...but the truth beneath the surface is far deeper than that. It’s showing how much you and I are the same whether you want to admit it or not. We’re jaded veterans of the wrestling industry, Roger...cynical, paranoid...even at times cruel when we have to be to others. People talk about how cruel I am but someone who doesn’t have a cruel bone in their body wouldn’t do what you did to Blair now would you?
But you and I both know the reality of our careers, too. We both have more total matches behind us than ahead of us because of the nature of the beast and what we’ve done to our bodies and other human beings. And the road, if I have anything to do with it, ends for you once and for all inside that steel cage because worse than the alcoholism...you’re denying the fact that you’re a damned sinister human being capable of as much inhumane treatment of others as I am.
I just want you to learn one thing as your tendons shatter and your bones crunch...that after they wheel you out of that ring...you and I, Roger Wright...are compared because we are...the same.
The same...as the thin veil from right...and wrong.
The familiar humidity in the state of Arizona is never a good place to be at. The wind seldom blows as the intensity of the sun brings in a melted utopia even in the early spring month of April. There’s a handful of clouds and if you head out of town you can probably see cacti populating this wretched area. Just to the west there’s certainly the worry of the drought of historical proportions in the state of California of spreading here...and it just feels like a different type of warning shot.
“I have a bad feeling about this…” I mutter coldly, “The right wing of our own government is killing people by denying climate change in a far more cruel way than I ever was...and people still call me the crazy one.”
A couple beads of sweat drips down my brow while I glance at the fairly rare outside presence in this afternoon in Glendale, Arizona. The chill from my spine just thinking of how increasingly damp the future is no matter where I look is getting damned heavy to carry. The first gust of wind I’ve felt in a while swoops through with my black hair swaying everywhere. The semblance of some sort of slight relief from the damn heat in this god damned area of the world.
The sun going down, while a semblance of hope for a new day, can also mean horrible things. I just calmly straighten my blue tie before reaching into my pocket and putting on a pair of sunglasses over my unmasked face. Right behind me though is also the sight of the relatively new Phoenix Stadium that was built by the NFL’s Arizona Cardinals. With my arms crossed I’m just waiting for my ride to travel the last portion of this...trip to Courtland, Arizona. My acquaintance, Vincent Moretti, and I had to travel separately. He wanted to gather some information and I came here a little later. He said Roger was up to something...and he’s right. I can feel it in my bones.
The sound of burning rubber shrieks behind me and as soon as I turn to the source of that sound...a yellow corvette has parked near me and inside the vehicle I can see the look of an unfriendly face...just staring down at me. With my arms crossed I just stare down the man who has come to greet me and through the brown eyes in this man I can see all the hatred that he has in his heart...and how he’s wearing that on his face. I wonder if he’s...masking some sort of fear. Wonder if I’ll get a chance to probe this man’s mind.
“You’re looking for me I presume, boy. You vigilantes who damn me for what I do are no different than I…” I sneer.
“Save your preaching.” the man starkly replies, “You’ve caused far too much pain. Especially when you were hiding behind that mask of yours, Seth. You’ve already hurt Roger...why cause so much more pain to him and maybe others?”
I calmly glance at the hostile human being that exits his vehicle. He’s trembling in absolute fury. He’s dressed in blue jeans with brown stallions on...and a matching leather vest over a plain blue t-shirt. I don’t see the familiar shine of a gun in any of the potential holders for one but I can’t make assumptions. He’s frothing at rage in particular when he spat the word mask out though...and I just calmly reach into my pocket and pull out the black mask I have worn recently...not the infamous silver one that had followed me for years. Soon that gleam over my eye hits...I’ve figured out where to probe.
“You’re too literal, my boy…” I bark up with a chuckle, “You’re the victim of a hero complex aren’t you? You think taking down a guy who you think is a bad...bad man can give you more of a purpose. Just if you take my life...you cross a line you can’t skip back over. You’d be as tainted as I am. Perhaps worse because you wouldn’t be aware of it.”
“I’m NOTHING like you!” he twitches his eye.
“Strike a chord, boy?” I offer with a faint smile, “While people are different...there’s far more similarities that are between us all than there ever will be differences. Just unlike you…”
I just calmly put the mask back into my coat jacket and he’s just anticipating my next move. Without ever losing control of my emotions...I just peel off the sunglasses and show him my cold blue eyes...the same stare that has ment the end to too many people. I can hear a second sound of wheels roaring into the distance and it gets louder. The moment he glances back in his own paranoia is where I charge in and the moment he turns his attention back to me it’s a little too late.
The sound of human bones breaking with a well timed blow to the jaw...it never changes.
The man soon crumbles down onto his knees and his consciousness fading and that’s where I glance down and see he did have a knife in his possession but through the layers he put on to try this macho facade wasn’t enough and after shaking my right hand after that rush of adrenaline rushes off...the amount of force I had to put into that punch he finally drops down onto the pavement unconscious...but not dead. With a sigh as I hear the second vehicle coming I lift the dead weighted groan man with a little trepidation to send him to his car. The car screeches to a stop that was approaching and a familiar yell is heard.
“What the HELL! Seth!” Moretti’s voice booms.
“Another day in the office where another kid tries to pick a fight while he thinks I’m vulnerable,” I dryly reply.
“We need to talk. Now,” Moretti commands, his voice stern.
“Let’s at least get this body in the vehicle so he can wake up from this experience with little memory and one less pursuer,” I counter.
Vincent raises his eyebrow skeptical as his flaming red suit sticks out like a sore thumb in Tokyo, Japan yet alone the state of Arizona as he straightens the black and red striped tie for a second to observe the average sized human being I had just knocked out with a well timed blow when they least expected it. I hold him up by his arms and Moretti goes over and grabs his legs and we hoist the man back into his vehicle, a job made easier that he doesn’t have a roof over his specific vehicle. With that deed out of the way, Vincent just eyeballs him further.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” Vincent raises his eyebrow.
“I don’t want to go to court with a murder charge pressing and even if he makes a bigger deal of it...I can easily say this was out of self defense…” I calmly reply, “We already have two people in an insane asylum obviously...why add a third especially when you work for a company that’s scrutinized for heinous activity from its competitors?”
“It’d still be more entertaining to let his brains splatter on the floor thanks to a bullet…” Moretti scowls, “But speaking of court…”
“Oh God…” I sigh, “Do I really want to know?”
“I’ll explain in the car…” Moretti lowers his eyes, serious, “But let’s just say we need to devise a plan of attack. It’s nothing to panic about but it isn’t something to ignore, either.”
The black vehicle, a limo that Moretti rented, gleams that familiar light as I put my sunglasses back on to shield my eyes from the damn sun...and to help with my preference of some layer of darkness and we start walking toward the black vehicle. Vincent’s silver hair is neatly combed back though it makes it look ridiculous with that flamboyant red hat that could burn the eyes as well. He offers up half of a smile knowing this as he opens the door and sits on the left side. With one last glance at the unconscious man I laid out, I take my seat and shut the door.
“Driver!” Moretti orders as he reaches into the chilled ice bucket on the floor and pulls out a bottle of red wine, “You know where we’re driving now aren’t we? Let’s get going.”
As Vincent grabs a glass and pours himself a good old glass of red wine, he gives a gesture to me to look at the chilled drinks in said bucket and I notice he left in some water for me for a change. With a smirk I just calmly accept it and gulp it down...and it’s this moment where I realize I was far more dehydrated than I thought thanks to this damned heat. Vincent takes his moment to savor his red wine before his face turns serious.
“Let’s not dance around it Seth.” Vincent coldly begins, “I’ve gotten wind that Roger filed a Cease and Desist order on you wearing the black mask you’ve been donning the last couple of weeks. He might still have possession of your original mask, the mask you’re contractually not allowed to wear, but we might have a different type of battle if you want to pursue. I don’t think this has very many legs to stand out however...since nothing was said about you wearing an entirely different mask.”
“Heheh…” I let out a light chuckle, “He’s getting desperate. Maybe he feels a little vulnerable knowing what could happen.”
“I think we’d hold an advantage in the court systems if you look at things letter by letter. It’s not that hard, really. It wouldn’t take much to get Jesse to look at the original contracts. But judging by this logic...if Roger is pushing for this, wouldn’t you have the same rights if you shaved Roger’s head two years ago if you had won that match?” Moretti raises his eyebrow.
“You don’t.” I grunt, annoyed that Vincent brought up that particular, painful defeat, “Besides, we can go into detail on how the match itself was concluded against the rules which can nullify the whole ordeal if you really want to get technical. But out of respect for wrestling, I never once went against my word. I unmasked as promised. Never wore the grey and silver designed masks that I had worn for years. But Vincent...you know what?”
“Hm?” Moretti raises his eyebrow as he takes a sip.
“The truth of the matter...is that I did lose my identity in that defeat. This new mask has nothing to do with what I’ve become. Merely a representation of what others hide. It has minimal effect on who I am if there is any, now. The scarier thing is what is behind the mask…” I glance at the open road as we’re traveling, pausing slightly while pulling out the black mask once again, “He’s desperate to try to get at me, man. I get it. It’s what happens when you’re desperate. He just picked the wrong way to attack it.”
“I’d be interested in seeing how he’d make an absolute ass out of himself in the court rooms and how much of an unheroic act this really is...taking matters to the court over something so damned trivial in the grand scheme of things.” Moretti chuckles, “It’d be one of the few times I’d be interested in going to a court. That’s for sure.”
“It’d be interesting but there’s different ways to make him feel this cold hard vengence…” I roll down the window to my right for fresh air and get a better view of the traveling road we’re on, “I lost my identity two years ago...and yes I want revenge for that. But now more than ever the more I’ve thought on it...the more I just want the truth and his demons to torment him worse than they ever tormented me. And that one mask, a symbol of our pasts now, more than served its purpose. You know what’s next right?”
“I believe I do…” Moretti calmly nods his head.
“Roger’s going to have the worst beating in his professional career...without wearing that mask” I let out my smile, “And...he’ll look at the scarred, bloodied face by the end of it all and realize that I’m the better wrestler, better man, and superior human being to the legendary Roger Wright. And my actual face...will be burned into his face forever.”
While Moretti and I share a laugh at this...as much as I hid this from Moretti...a part of me is very agitated that Roger took the route of a coward, the route of the sheep, by going to our corrupt, biased court system to try to remove something that he thinks has more meaning to me than it has in actuality. I can just see in his brain...with his ego wounded about the supposed draft that his desperation is starting to creep in. The desperation that makes us take actions we normally don’t take.
The type of actions that behind the mask of who we are...that blurs the lines between what’s right and wrong.
He takes too much value, like many of us, in specific possessions and certain vein accomplishments. It’s a mistake many of us make throughout life...and if you don’t break that pattern...it follows you to the grave. But the more I think on this lawsuit...and how desperate it feels...the more I think to how I used to react whenever things got desperate. You’d lose your line of thinking...your deduction, your logic. Everything. It consumes you.
And what joy he should have in being tag champions with his brother is being replaced with doubt.
But make no mistake...I said you and I would be doing this until one of us can’t get going...and you’re legendary for your ability to get up from the worst ass kickings the sport of wrestling has ever seen. The resilience and resourcefulness you have is legendary...and it burns me to admit this but I made your legend greater because of it.
Just like all legends and heroes...you show me one...and I will write you a tragedy.
The cage match is the last one you’ll ever have inside that squared circle. The desperation that’s in your soul will be all for naught when, for lack of a better term, I unmask your own demons inside that cage and unleash the anger that I’ve been hiding from my own to leave you in the mangled state that I’ve been fantasizing about for so long. It’ll feel so damn good to finally accomplish that.
And also make you realize...the sad truth that you’re not much different than me.
And accept that after this match...there will be nothing you can do about it.