R E D L E T T E R S
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Posts : 29
Join date : 2020-05-06
 |  Subject: DEATH OF A GRIFTER  Sun Dec 27, 2020 12:18 am | |
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I won’t beat around the bush. You haven’t read a book without pictures that pop up, and I expect subtext to be lost around you.
I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life.
I keep hearing that, over and over. Fans patting me on the back repping the names of whatever superstar on Chapters I likely have extreme disdain for, pat me on the back and adore me with compliments when they ask about how the surgeon’s going about his operation. Shall I get directly to tearing limb from limb and get the quick submission? Maybe something slower, a more sadistic surgical removal of the fingers? Maybe this, maybe that, it’s all talk and nobody really cares about what we say we’ll do in the ring, they only care about what we do.
As such, the Dominion representative will face off against the Chapters representative in a match for brand supremacy. Most scoffed the second they realized it was a match lower on the card with nothing on the line. Hell, I did. Then they started to notice all the lil appearances here and there, they watched me stand in Clyde’s face and tell him what I’d do while daring him to do something different, they watched you try to bring the fight to me the first second you could do so and now the Wrestleworld faithful are thirsty for blood! They want to see skulls get crushed, they want to see bodies get ruined, all in the name of brand supremacy. They want to see me beat you within an inch of your life and… so...
Jacob Striker.
Are you ready?
.
...
Whatever you say, okay, but I don’t know if I am.
Wake up, piss, eat, murder, repeat.
Wake up, piss, eat, murder, repeat.
It’s the part of my very long, very illustrious career I don’t think I am going to return. I have two decades in this business, and so many walls filled with titles I mindlessly won by taking apart the man across the ring without reflection of judgment. Meaningless win after meaningless win, brings me meaningless belt after meaningless belt, so I can have my name worshipped in meaningless fed after - fuck it, you see what I mean? Everything I do, from the moment this pretty lil’ head breaks from the pillow to when I’m crash landing back in bed, I do with purpose, intent, reason, something. It’s what my training taught me - we teach you to break arms so you may never have to break arms. It’s control, it’s patience, and it’s discipline honed in on a purpose.
My training was to become a disciplined man, not a murder machine.
That was a choice I made for myself.
Nonetheless, with you, I’m at a crossroads. What does a child tell his son when he throws his first football or shoots his first basket and absolutely whiffs it? Does he scorn him, does he make him grab a switch? Nah, he teaches him the proper way to do things. Jake, I see you. I see a man floundering to find a place to fit in, because he’s treating life like a speedrun. Get through the next obstacle and make it to sleep, that’s all that matters to you.
I’m jealous.
I wish life was a game. It’d be simple, right?
I wish we had the ability to stop, reset, go back, take what we learned, and get past the obstacle before us. When I take your arm into my hands at War of the Worlds, and I look you in the eye seconds before I put you on the shelf for six months, three months of physical therapy goes well, I wish you could go back. Fuck it, I know my own tone. You see me as this snarky, sarcastic guy trying to preach to you from Ivory Towers and preach platitudes that don’t stand up in your day-to-day, and you want to beat it out of me.
You want to beat it out of me to make a point.
You want to beat me.
JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE.
You want to beat me but can’t put in any of the work to get there.
You want to beat me but I put two decades into perfecting my style and I just reached enough experience where I am comfortable saying I am as much of a student as a teacher in this game, unlike you two years in acting like you know shit.
You want to beat me but I took every hit someone could send my way at TBG, BWB,NICW, AWF, AXW, DW, and now Rev1, Project Honor, and Wrestleworld because I sharpen my sword in combat. I am actively seeking to be the best version of myself by going from continent to continent, from ‘May I help you with your bag’ to ‘持ちましょうか’, while you brag about debuting two years ago on a developmental show….
And...
...and…
Two years later… you’re on the developmental show here in between the salsa dancer and the crab man. You can’t even put in the EFFORT, SO YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME ABOUT RESULTS?!
Every piece of my mind is dying for me to grab you on the shoulders, pin you down, and have you listen to me.
All of the mistakes I’ve made throughout my career are ones I wish I could hit stop, pause, menu, or whatever, and go back, load a file, and be able to use the knowledge I have now to avoid so much pain and anguish later. I've dotted all my Is and crossed all my Ts in this industry and at thirty six I can say I can see the entire board, not just the piece moving in front of me, and I want to make you see everything I see.
But I cannot.
The second closest thing, and I believe this in my heart of hearts, would be to protect you from yourself.
You take this tone with me as if we’re talking heads in a debate, or as if this is theatre to you. When Drago speaks, it’s the monologue before the boss battle in final fantasy or summat, right? This tunnel vision of yours, where you can’t see all the moving pieces around you and how important they are to the battle at hand, your cockiness, your very little experience in the ring and complete lack of skill or accomplishment to show for it…
I’m of two hearts.
Part of me sees this as a trip to the dentist. It isn’t ready for what I am going to do to you, because I have to do it.
I see a lost child who watched a prison movie and heard a whisper about ‘getting respect by taking on the biggest guy in the room’ and decided to try it in real life. You mock me, but I am the culmination of sitting in my sorrows, reflecting on my fuck ups, and growing from them. Your childishness bleeds through everything you do.
But the other part of me is going to win, because you aren’t a lost child. You aren’t a man lacking self-awareness so you can empathize with him when you realize he’s so far off the beaten path, because he just didn’t know any better.
You are aware.
You know what you’re doing, and yet you continue to do it.
You deserve everything I do to you, tenfold.
Your mouth seems to betray you because of how much nonsense you spew, so much so that you seem to stumble through your sentences. Jake, does your internal monologue also have a speech impediment, or is your stupidity the only pieces of your personality you'll display?
Many years ago while men like Maverick were just finished being an itch in his daddy’s sack, Nathaniel Santiago found the company of people who’d build him up. They’d worship him with compliments, they’d make him feel strong, and they’d feed into his ego because they saw how hard I was trying, even if I wasn’t getting results. First to the gym in the morning, last one carrying his ass out the door at night, show after show, week after week, with these people really giving me love, respect, and worship for the effort I put in…
And…
IT MEANT NOTHING. THESE PEOPLE WANTED TO APPRECIATE THE WORK I PUT IN BUT THEY WERE CODDLING ME. THEY STOPPED ME FROM GROWING, THEY JUST LOVED HOW HARD I TRIED AND THEY SET ME UP TO BE MEDIOCRE BECAUSE THEY NEEDED A MEDIOCRE MAN THEY COULD USE, LEAD AROUND, AND GET HIS ASS BEAT WEEK AFTER WEEK. AS SUCH, THEY WORSHIPPED MY EFFORTS.
But I left and I stopped with the fuckin’ efforts, I got results. I have more teeth kicked in than I care to imagine and I got a fuckin’ neurologists whose seen my skull on Xrays so many times he speaks to me on a first name basis. Drago Santiago learned to take men apart by being taken apart and having to pick himself up and put himself back together again, so you…?
So I MUST beat you within an inch of your life.
I have taken to repeating what others know I will do to you, not as a threat or something to sound really cool. For fucks sake, I came seconds away from choking Ozymandius out, so can you see why I don’t put on airs when it comes to talking about having a match with you?
I will beat you within an inch of your life.
I repeat those words as a promise to myself that I will be able to stop. There’s part of me wanting to prop you up, correct your mistakes, teach you and build you into the man you say you are… then there’s the side of me absolutely SEETHING as I know your career is filled with impotence and mediocrity, but tens of dozens of Dominion’s watchers will follow in your footsteps and THAT is what I CANNOT stand for.
You aren’t misinformed - you’re just a bullheaded man trying to get through life by hoping it’s the way he wishes it was.
You aren’t blinded - in between crab people and salsa dancers you managed to fight only one person with the resume of a fighter and he made you submit because you were afraid of a lil’ bruise on your ankle. You then stood up, dusted yourself off, and kept making the EXACT same mistakes he took advantage of to put you on your back and make you howl in pain.
MYOJIN taps you out? You chalk it up to luck because you think it makes you look strong, before stepping into a ring with someone that makes MYOJIN look like the karate kid. He’s got a wicked heel hook, but I’ve retained more knowledge in my twenty years about submissions than you’ve forgotten in two.
And yeah, Chapters has it’s weak points, but I am at the peak of my game because I’m looking to add names to the wall. I’m preparing myself to go to war with the Ozymandias’, and the Chris Sabertooths, and the Arata’s, so I can add their names next to Violet’s, Hana’s, Nobi, and Jay Jones’. You aren’t improving - you’re playing to the level of your competition. You don’t want to play ball with the best in the world, you want to go from OWA to Wrestleworld and play ball with people you know are worse than you. You can’t even do that right.
Jake.
Look into my eyes.
There is a part of me wanting to coddle you, wantng to play down for you, wanting to pull my punches and pretend like you belong in a ring with me, and it’s the part of me dying in the ring when I kill you. It'd be a disservice, as I'd continue the cycle of enabling you got in OWA, you got from Clyde Livingston, and you’re hoping you get from me. Lash out at me for my unwillingness to treat you as my equal, when you aren’t willing to work your way up to equal footing with me, whatever. Jaywalker chose me for this match because he thinks he wants a pet monster, as he sends the most accomplished and proven submission fighter on the Wrestleworld roster into battle.
Clyde is a coach whose main players are off the court and he’s trying to fit the waterboy for a jersey.
‘I’m a master of the industry’, he crows on, patting himself on the back, without a tournament, without an invitational, without a big win much less a title… but you get to go home during Christmas and tell Ma and Pa ‘hey, that’s me’ when an old episode of Dominion comes on and your face gets kicked in during the introduction. Do their awkward glances and hesitant pats on the back feel as good as Clyde’s compliments? Are you gonna’ brag about being the first man air-lifted off the island after I break your neck?
There aren’t any save points in this game.
You only get to do this once, and you choose your path.
You don’t get to go back, do it again, and learn how to fight properly so you don’t have to call yourself technical because others do it for you.
You don’t get to talk less and listen more in wrestling class before I give you your final exam, emphasis on final.
You can ruin your life. You can ruin your federation. You can run around for weeks and weeks declaring yourself king of whatever sandcastle you build on Wrestleworld beach - I’ve got ambitions and goals too grandiose to be bothered fucking around with each person I see on the street. I’m laissez faire about so many things until you start trying to mislead others into taking your threefold path to dying a famous death on television.
This isn’t a game. Your actions have very real, very immediate consequences, and for once in your life, you’re going to be the one paying them. You haven’t put the work in. You haven’t learned the lessons everyone else had to get here. The FIRST, the VERY LEAST I want you to do is look your fate in the eyes when you meet it.
Welcome to the end, welcome to the ‘final boss’, and welcome to your judgment. You won't learn a single thing from the moment the entrance music starts to when you wake up in a hospital bed, but I guarantee everyone else will. You get sentenced to the eighth circle of hell - and we’re just gonna get in that ring and work our way down, yeah? | |
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