As the sun begins rising over the skyscraper dotted horizon of Wrestleworld Capital, a white Cadillac follows the shadow of night. It crosses city limits just as the sun reaches the edge of town, picks up speed, and flies down a neglected scenic shortcut forking off at the outskirts.
"Fairness is a word that lacks any gravity or meaning to me. It's antiquated like the gods and monsters dotted across maps of the old world. It falls in line with other passe terms like 'justice' or 'earned' or 'deserved'. It hits worldly ears with the same gauche severity of a primate's grunt. It reminds us of our past failures as a lower species, a less evolved form."
The white Caddy reaches a dead end. Before it, the glistening shores of Wrestleworld. The car stalls, as if taking in the sights, before driving forward and kicking up a cloud of white sand in it's wake.
"Is justice walking down the wrong alley in Mexico City and getting your nostril slit by some gang banger because you weren't wearing the right shade of orange? Is cutting a plea bargain and relocating after selling out a common cartel thug with a family to support and no way out in sight earning one's freedom? Is getting blood on your white ring gear after beating two self-proclaimed crimson perras bloody enough to justify their names a deserved outcome for a dapper gaucho like myself? It all depends on perspective. When something depends on perspective it means it's subjective. If something's subjective, then it's a lie. I am not a liar so I do not invest any energy in believing in campfire stories of a righteous world. Considering what you've seen, done to others, and accomplished through any means necessary I figured we'd be on the same page of the ledger book.
This does not seem to be the case and it saddens me, girls. It saddens me that after years of being exploited by others that Violet has resorted to exploiting her own illness to get any sort of advantage in a fight. It brings me no joy to see a young and promising talent like Lillie Saint going grey over a war where she, a child of chaos, has been thrown onto the front lines as the first barrier of defense. World's Finest has led you astray, like lambs to the slaughter on Mars's maroon shrine. They did the same to Sweet Melody and now they are with us. They put their rigid thumbs on the alter and let us bend them with the hammer and tongs of progress until they were opposable enough to sentence their former ranks to death with one singular downward turn.
And what did World's Finest do? They pushed the next shield of human meat up front in their place. That's you, Crimson Bouquet. Your madness, your anger, your loss of individuality? Ghost Organization did not inflict that upon you. That's part and parcel with being in league with rebel scum. We only want to shape you into the best version of yourselves. We wish to treat and rectify Violet's violent mood swings and subside the voices in her head. We aim to shape a promising young girl into a career woman that her brother's kids can look up to as a role model worthy of carrying the family name. We want to correct your wavering course and make you worthy of being future champions of our Parejas division. We do not wish to carry it on our backs forever, and with Sweet Melody and Crimson Bouquet in our ranks there will certainly be a fiscally bright future for our division."
The caddy turns off onto a dock, driving straight forward onto a waiting ferry that immediately sets sail upon the pristine machine's boarding.
"We will get our way one way or the other ladies. Either we get Crimson Bouquet lock, stock, and barrel, or we get half, or we make sure that no one gets them at all. I already see the seeds of descension planted among you. Violet keeps making rash decisions and pulling triggers in her brain without Lillie's knowing in advance, and we can't help but notice how easily the red is coming out of your hair lately Miss Saint. Maybe the crimson doesn't run so deep in the bouquet after all, no? We're idealists, however we are not fatalists. We know that one or both of you will fight kicking and screaming through the correction process. We know that your trust wont be so easily won over once we've beaten you into submission, but if our rise to power should be evidence of anything it's that we are patient when it comes to procuring what we view as ours. While others whelped, we were out there winning. While others wanted, we were taking the world in front of them and pulling it just out of their reach. While others waged war over the politics of Wrestleworld, we waited. We'll wait for you too, Crimson Bouquet. We'll sit patiently with you, clutching your soft crinkled hands in our calloused palms of progress until the scales fall from your eyes and see what we already know."
The ferry travels a short distance to the former Drake & Jones Island, stops at it's docks, and deploys the white Cadillac. Without missing a beat, it drives off of the barely stalled boat, onto the pier,and then off to the shore. It speeds up climbing a sand dune to a newly paved road. It winds and weaves it's way up, up,up, until it pulls up at the pearly gates of a vast stately Hacienda.
"You believe in justice at the expense of perfection. Us? We believe in perfection at the expense of your fairy tale fables. We believe because we've achieved. What has chasing justice gotten you? What have you attained in paving paradise to put up handicap parking? I can tell you what we've achieved by helping nature reclaim it's own: sharp suits, slick rides, a house the size of a village that was carried stone by precious stone across the ocean and rebuilt in our image. It's given us dominion over your beloved company and it's sought after championships. We've achieved shangri-la, constructed mecca from the ground floor of a wild island rain forest, cast out the sinners that you couldn't vanquish on your own, and stuck our flag in what we've conquered. Soon your eyes will open to the heaven on earth that we've built in the name of Mars. But before we open them, we must close them in damnation for looking upon our heaven on earth and committing the grievous sacrilege of calling it hell. We must break your jaws for biting the hand that tried to guide you into the promised land. We must plant our flag into your still beating hearts to both claim them in the name of Ghost Organization and see if they're still there to cleanse with our vibrant flag.
After a barely audible buzz, the gates open wide and the car drives up the cobblestone driveway and into a dark carport at the side of the chateau.
"We will correct you, for it is your destino to FEAR, EMBRACE, OBEY. Just as it's our destino to welcome you to the neo nature of Wrestleworld where the strong thrive and only relent long enough for their prey to clean their own blood from their predator's mane before succumbing to an unavoidable fate. Crimson Bouquet, you've been given the unique opportunity to chose your links in the food chain. Continue being bottom feeders catching World's Finest crumbs, or latch on to the top while it's allowing you to. This is My Era. This is Mars's Empire. This is Mecca Embodied. No matter how you paint it, it's all about M.E., me, Manuel Estrella, but I'm willing to give you a cut of the action. This could be our Merger Extraordinaire if you gratefully take what we give you from the top of the deck and play the cards we've dealt you, for we are the cheaters of fate and we are the writers of destino. But that promising tomorrow has to have the lubricant of sweat equity to coat the quill's tip before future plans can be written. That lock on the pearly gates needs to be slicked with blood before we can turn the keys of prosperity and kick open the entrance to paradise. That budding partnership needs to be watered with tears of anguish before we can branch off into the direction of a dawning horizon. Before dissolving you into Ghost Organization, we've got to liquidate your assets."
A ghostly white figure emerges from the darkness of the carport. An indistinguishable object rests on it's shoulder, glinting as the sun hits it's surface. It stares up into the sky, past the sun and the stars to a barely visible Mars rising.
"I'm sure you'll feel the phantom pains of severing ties long after we've replaced what's left of you after we scrape you off of World's Finest with the advanced appendages of cold logic and glib nihilism. We'll correct that too when the time comes to do so, and someday as frightening as it may sound to you right now, you'll thank ME for it. We are your alpha and omega, your Ares and Scorpio, your fate written in the stars long before you even had a hand in it. And just as Mars is your first breath and last, we shall be your first again as you are born under the new sign. Not of the slain lamb, stubborn ram, or fickle scorpion; but of the ever looming ghost of a fate that you can't even escape in death. Obey or defy isn't just some catchy tagline, amigas. They're your only option. Not plural. Singular, because you will do one and then the other. Dyad Esculara is just another false dichotomy that we've expertly locked you into with the subliminal whisper of destiny that's consumed your every waking thought. You say you do your best work with your backs against the wall? I say you've just talked yourselves into lining up for the firing squad. No more passive manipulation going forward though. Going forward you'll be aggressively pushed to FEAR, EMBRACE, OBEY."
The golden glint seems to reflect into the sky, as if trying to signal to Mars, before the white spectral figure turns and returns to the dark from whence it came.
Sat Dec 03, 2022 4:36 pm by 
Subject: Crescendo 
