Post by Mr. Showtime on Nov 29, 2014 14:55:08 GMT -5
In the rolling hills of southern California stand nine larger than life letters. Though they only spelled out a single word they mean so much more. It strays from person to person. From greed to the pinnacle of popularity. The city of Hollywood is a fickle bitch, and one of the Pure Class Superstars knows it all too well.
“Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght stood between the legs of the bottom half of the ‘H’ and took in the city he once thought of as a second home. For as many people that this place had ruined, Showtime was one of the fortunate few that it saved. Hollywood took him in and gave him purpose when he though his first passion was taken away.
Years ago, before his movie career, Showtime had been battling a man named Twice Nightly. Just a match like any other, but that night something went awry. Showtime destroyed his knee and was instructed by his physicians that it was time to find a new profession. The life of a professional wrestler is one of no rest. A boxer or any other type of fighter gets months to train for their next battle. They get to stay in their homes with their families and familiar surroundings. Not so with a wrestler. They are expected to be on the road three hundred and sixty-five days a year. They fight weekly bouts and put their lives in the hands of others. In more ways than a body can handle. But there is something that grabs a hold of you.
This sort of competition not only puts a strain on the body, but also the mind. Man was not made to take this type of punishment, but there are a few that would embrace it. It’s almost like a drug. There’s a feeling they receive from the call of the crowd or the adrenaline pumping through their veins. Not much can top it. The wrestling industry chews up a similar number of people that Hollywood does, but it’s not as mainstream. You won’t see wrestlers waiting tables at classy establishments with a script in their back pocket. Hoping they’re lucky enough to find someone to read it. Wrestlers are the ones sacrificing themselves at your local Elks Lodge in front of twelve people, for pay less than what gas cost them to get there.
They fight, bleed and are broken all with one goal in mind. Being a champion.
In Showtime’s case making the switch was not an easy one. Early retirement didn’t sit well with him until an old friend came with an idea. Showtime was always good with the microphone, so why shouldn’t that translate to acting? And it did. He became successful in Hollywood and put out movies that common folk dream to be a part of.
It wasn’t enough. It was all too fake for him. Not just the movies themselves, but also the people that went along with it. All entitle little pricks that only looked to use you or find a place in your back for the knife. Wrestling has their backstabbers and connivers. Those who would hoodwink or bamboozle. The difference is that everyone in the locker room had worked their ass off to get where they were. No amount of money or clout in the industry could keep you coming back for the punishment week after week.
Showtime couldn’t say he was happy in the glitz and glamour, but he was healthy. It was significantly easier for him to film a movie over three months then take the next six off. He didn’t hurt every night when he went to sleep or when he woke in the morning. Though when the time came that his doctors told him that his leg was actually better the first thing he did was contact Luis Malave. It didn’t even take him a second thought to know that this was where he was meant to be. That this was his life calling. Would he have changed his mind if he’d known what was in store for him? Would he have looked to the next movie producer and stayed with the spotlight rather than lose his own sense of self?
He knew he wouldn’t, because this was always where he was supposed to be.
He looked out over the city, the way that he always thought these letters did. They’re inanimate objects, and he knew it, but they seemed like much more. They had an omnipotence cast down upon Tinsel Town knowing that there was at least some power in this godless city. This was the first time he’d been back since everything that had happened. His mind may be trying to right it self, but this newer Showtime had an even deeper sense of loathe for it here.
Under his right arm he carried a book. It was wrapped in the dusk cover of T.H. White’s “Once and Future King.” As fitting as it might have seemed, the correlation was accidental. Showtime grabbed it in order to cover up the book he’d actually been reading. It was the one sent by Ruth Dillinger that provided a deeper understanding of The Black Hand. Showtime has already read it cover to cover a few times, getting sense of the history that they were accredited for, and thoughts of other acts in history that they may had committed.
He wasn’t convinced that he should be hiding the book from any public onlookers, but it was better to be safe then sorry. The one thing that no one else had been privy to was the card hanging out of the top. This card had fallen out of Billy Sadistic’s ledger. Whilst balancing those strange books the note fell out, and adorned the symbol of the Black Hand. Showtime was happy to leave it behind for William until he noticed it was addressed to him.
He didn’t need to carry it with him any longer, since he’d memorized it weeks ago. Though there was something comforting about keeping it close. It instructed him to come to this place at this very time, and for once Showtime wasn’t late. He got there with enough time to become relaxed and not being furious about everything that was taken away. As unsatisfying this portion actually was.
“You ever dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight?” came a voice from somewhere in the hills. Showtime wanted to turn around and face the man speaking, but something urged him to keep his attention on the city sprawl below. It was an interesting question, and one that didn’t hit too far from home.
“This wouldn’t be my first time,” Showtime replied, trying at least to add a little lightness to the situation. The man behind him rustled in the brush, and Showtime could swear that he heard at least the slightest of a laughs.
“We’re glad that you decided to accept our invitation.”
“Did I have much of a choice?”
“Of course you did,” replied the man, with the sense of true hurt behind his words. “We all have the right to make our own decisions. Nothing the Black Hand has ever done has taken that away. Sure we’ve put monumental actions into course correction, but afterwards it is the public that gets to steer it to the end. Sometimes the direction things are headed are not right for the greater good. Without chaos there can be no peace. Without evil there could be no good.”
“So which are we?” Showtime asked, truly unsure of what the answer was. He had been torn ever since he’d been recruited. Manipulated for one cause and trust into another.
“Who’s to say,” inquisitively retorted the man. “Do you really think that Hitler thought he was the bad guy? You don’t think that he was doing everything for his vision of the greater good?”
“Please don’t tell me you are comparing us to Hitler.”
“This isn’t some fiction novel where a power hungry super-villain is hell bent on taking over the world just to add it to his collection. People mold their opinions on the way they perceive the world and do what they think is best for it. And no, Hitler was a mass murdering fuckhead, but I was just using it for a point. We take a broader look at the world as a whole and when we see the need for an intervention we step in.”
“And we are here to just do your bidding without even knowing what we’re working towards?”
“See this is one of the reasons we like you so much Michael?” responded the man. Showtime could imagine a smile spreading across his face in his mind’s eye. It irked him and sent shivers down his spine, but still he refused to turn and face his conversationalist. “You see you happen to be one of the few that question what we are doing here, and that’s needed. Others in your ranks are loyal and embrace the destruction, but you haven’t been so apt to. Have you thought of why?”
Showtime sneered at this comment, but knew better to not let this man get a rise out of him. He needed to keep control of this conversation, before other elements of his psyche decided to intervene. “That’s because I’m not a monster, at least not the part that you didn’t have a hand in.”
“Sure, but also because you are a thinker. I’m not insinuating that the others aren’t smart, actually quite the opposite, but you think through all of this to the point of paranoia. You think that after your usefulness is through we will take you to the curb.”
“Don’t tell me what I think,” replied Showtime, but the man was accurate on his summation. He knew not to trust what was not forthcoming. They were hiding everything from Grimm, Sadistic and Showtime, and Showtime for one would not let himself become the victim. Not again.
“Have it your way,” whispered the man smugly. “Either way you came, so we know for the time being that you are one of the good guys.”
“I thought you wouldn’t admit that we were the good guys.”
“I only said that it’s all about perception. With perception, comes image and we need you and your compatriots to be look invincible.”
“I’m assuming that you are talking about the Deadly Rumble,” added Showtime, without waiting for the stranger to flat out say it.
“See, this isn’t your first dance,” mocked the man. Him bringing up the rumble didn’t surprise Showtime in the slightest. This match had layers to it that went beyond even the Black Hand. Twice before Showtime had watched as others just edged him out as the victor of this match. And though winning a silly match should be light years away from his mind at this moment, it mattered a great deal. This match signified everything that brought Showtime back to wrestling. There are no advantages here. No one has been excluded, unless they’ve requested it themselves. This is wrestling at its purest and now everyone had the same chance to be the top athlete in Pure Class wrestling.
“So it’s up to us to bring the title home for The Black Hand? If we don’t it weakens your cause, is that what you are getting at?”
“First off, don’t pretend that we don’t know how much this means to you. You have the chance to out wit and fight the entire Pure Class roster. Those doubters that have always been there, even after you felt that you proved them all wrong. Old Showtime or new, your image has always been something important to you. So the way we see this is that it’s a symbiotic relationship. We are empowered by the way you will help the others toss the likes of Ford, Andy or Murdoc out of contention. When the three of you stand victorious over the night.”
“Well Sadistic and I can’t both be victorious, can we?”
“It doesn’t really matter which of you are crowned the victor as long as you work together. A group with the same ideology can stand above any one man. A victory for you is a victory for him, and visa versa. While success from both of you is our success. You’ve already caused the ripples in the pond, which was the first step. Now it is us to you to show them all who really runs this world.”
Showtime had to admit that the man had a way with words. He knew just the right amount of ego one would need to stroke in order to get Showtime to at least fight for himself in a common cause. Showtime would to have liked to say that he was doing it for himself, but the man’s words did hit home. The rumble was something he wanted regardless, and now there was a higher purpose.
“That can’t be all you brought me out here for. Since you seem to know everything to begin with, you knew that I’d be giving it my all regardless.”
“See there’s that perceptiveness again. You really get it don’t you.”
“Stop with the empty compliments and come out with it wont you?”
“Fine, but I’ve never met anyone before that didn’t enjoy a few compliments. The main reason we brought you here is to accept a job.”
“What type of job, am I to assassinate Arch Duke Ferdinand?” The silence that this comment was met with made Showtime uneasy. This was the type of cold response that indicated that this was exactly his task. He took a deep breath and thanked that at least his next task couldn’t start World War II all over again. “I’m not the one you should be talking to. Massacre is Sadistic’s forte.”
“No but yours is the ability to gab. You’ve been astonishingly silent since accepting to become one amongst our ranks. We didn’t expect you to allow William to come out and speak for the group as you’ve done. You were once a man people couldn’t pay to shut his trap and is now oddly silent.”
“I’d have to blame you and yours for that turn in my style, but I’m sure that wont do much. It’s one of those unfortunate side effects when you decide to take it upon yourself to shatter a man’s mind.”
“Boo-Hoo,” mocked the man. “Your task is to destroy the list of men I have here. You do it in the shadows, or in an ambush. It doesn’t matter to us as long as you succeed. Like I mentioned, free will is yours and you get to decide how the executioner is called forth. We wont ask you to do no more than you are confortable with, but failure is not an option.”
“These men deserve the right to defend themselves. You can’t just sentence people to death like this. Like I said, if that was your intention then you chose the wrong member.” Showtime waited for a response, but none came. Finally he could wait no longer and turned to where the voice had been coming from. There was of course no one there, but in the dirt was a bright pop of white. Warily Showtime approached the envelope, Black Hand insignia and all, and popped it open. All it had was a list of names. All marked men.
“Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght stood between the legs of the bottom half of the ‘H’ and took in the city he once thought of as a second home. For as many people that this place had ruined, Showtime was one of the fortunate few that it saved. Hollywood took him in and gave him purpose when he though his first passion was taken away.
Years ago, before his movie career, Showtime had been battling a man named Twice Nightly. Just a match like any other, but that night something went awry. Showtime destroyed his knee and was instructed by his physicians that it was time to find a new profession. The life of a professional wrestler is one of no rest. A boxer or any other type of fighter gets months to train for their next battle. They get to stay in their homes with their families and familiar surroundings. Not so with a wrestler. They are expected to be on the road three hundred and sixty-five days a year. They fight weekly bouts and put their lives in the hands of others. In more ways than a body can handle. But there is something that grabs a hold of you.
This sort of competition not only puts a strain on the body, but also the mind. Man was not made to take this type of punishment, but there are a few that would embrace it. It’s almost like a drug. There’s a feeling they receive from the call of the crowd or the adrenaline pumping through their veins. Not much can top it. The wrestling industry chews up a similar number of people that Hollywood does, but it’s not as mainstream. You won’t see wrestlers waiting tables at classy establishments with a script in their back pocket. Hoping they’re lucky enough to find someone to read it. Wrestlers are the ones sacrificing themselves at your local Elks Lodge in front of twelve people, for pay less than what gas cost them to get there.
They fight, bleed and are broken all with one goal in mind. Being a champion.
In Showtime’s case making the switch was not an easy one. Early retirement didn’t sit well with him until an old friend came with an idea. Showtime was always good with the microphone, so why shouldn’t that translate to acting? And it did. He became successful in Hollywood and put out movies that common folk dream to be a part of.
It wasn’t enough. It was all too fake for him. Not just the movies themselves, but also the people that went along with it. All entitle little pricks that only looked to use you or find a place in your back for the knife. Wrestling has their backstabbers and connivers. Those who would hoodwink or bamboozle. The difference is that everyone in the locker room had worked their ass off to get where they were. No amount of money or clout in the industry could keep you coming back for the punishment week after week.
Showtime couldn’t say he was happy in the glitz and glamour, but he was healthy. It was significantly easier for him to film a movie over three months then take the next six off. He didn’t hurt every night when he went to sleep or when he woke in the morning. Though when the time came that his doctors told him that his leg was actually better the first thing he did was contact Luis Malave. It didn’t even take him a second thought to know that this was where he was meant to be. That this was his life calling. Would he have changed his mind if he’d known what was in store for him? Would he have looked to the next movie producer and stayed with the spotlight rather than lose his own sense of self?
He knew he wouldn’t, because this was always where he was supposed to be.
He looked out over the city, the way that he always thought these letters did. They’re inanimate objects, and he knew it, but they seemed like much more. They had an omnipotence cast down upon Tinsel Town knowing that there was at least some power in this godless city. This was the first time he’d been back since everything that had happened. His mind may be trying to right it self, but this newer Showtime had an even deeper sense of loathe for it here.
Under his right arm he carried a book. It was wrapped in the dusk cover of T.H. White’s “Once and Future King.” As fitting as it might have seemed, the correlation was accidental. Showtime grabbed it in order to cover up the book he’d actually been reading. It was the one sent by Ruth Dillinger that provided a deeper understanding of The Black Hand. Showtime has already read it cover to cover a few times, getting sense of the history that they were accredited for, and thoughts of other acts in history that they may had committed.
He wasn’t convinced that he should be hiding the book from any public onlookers, but it was better to be safe then sorry. The one thing that no one else had been privy to was the card hanging out of the top. This card had fallen out of Billy Sadistic’s ledger. Whilst balancing those strange books the note fell out, and adorned the symbol of the Black Hand. Showtime was happy to leave it behind for William until he noticed it was addressed to him.
He didn’t need to carry it with him any longer, since he’d memorized it weeks ago. Though there was something comforting about keeping it close. It instructed him to come to this place at this very time, and for once Showtime wasn’t late. He got there with enough time to become relaxed and not being furious about everything that was taken away. As unsatisfying this portion actually was.
“You ever dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight?” came a voice from somewhere in the hills. Showtime wanted to turn around and face the man speaking, but something urged him to keep his attention on the city sprawl below. It was an interesting question, and one that didn’t hit too far from home.
“This wouldn’t be my first time,” Showtime replied, trying at least to add a little lightness to the situation. The man behind him rustled in the brush, and Showtime could swear that he heard at least the slightest of a laughs.
“We’re glad that you decided to accept our invitation.”
“Did I have much of a choice?”
“Of course you did,” replied the man, with the sense of true hurt behind his words. “We all have the right to make our own decisions. Nothing the Black Hand has ever done has taken that away. Sure we’ve put monumental actions into course correction, but afterwards it is the public that gets to steer it to the end. Sometimes the direction things are headed are not right for the greater good. Without chaos there can be no peace. Without evil there could be no good.”
“So which are we?” Showtime asked, truly unsure of what the answer was. He had been torn ever since he’d been recruited. Manipulated for one cause and trust into another.
“Who’s to say,” inquisitively retorted the man. “Do you really think that Hitler thought he was the bad guy? You don’t think that he was doing everything for his vision of the greater good?”
“Please don’t tell me you are comparing us to Hitler.”
“This isn’t some fiction novel where a power hungry super-villain is hell bent on taking over the world just to add it to his collection. People mold their opinions on the way they perceive the world and do what they think is best for it. And no, Hitler was a mass murdering fuckhead, but I was just using it for a point. We take a broader look at the world as a whole and when we see the need for an intervention we step in.”
“And we are here to just do your bidding without even knowing what we’re working towards?”
“See this is one of the reasons we like you so much Michael?” responded the man. Showtime could imagine a smile spreading across his face in his mind’s eye. It irked him and sent shivers down his spine, but still he refused to turn and face his conversationalist. “You see you happen to be one of the few that question what we are doing here, and that’s needed. Others in your ranks are loyal and embrace the destruction, but you haven’t been so apt to. Have you thought of why?”
Showtime sneered at this comment, but knew better to not let this man get a rise out of him. He needed to keep control of this conversation, before other elements of his psyche decided to intervene. “That’s because I’m not a monster, at least not the part that you didn’t have a hand in.”
“Sure, but also because you are a thinker. I’m not insinuating that the others aren’t smart, actually quite the opposite, but you think through all of this to the point of paranoia. You think that after your usefulness is through we will take you to the curb.”
“Don’t tell me what I think,” replied Showtime, but the man was accurate on his summation. He knew not to trust what was not forthcoming. They were hiding everything from Grimm, Sadistic and Showtime, and Showtime for one would not let himself become the victim. Not again.
“Have it your way,” whispered the man smugly. “Either way you came, so we know for the time being that you are one of the good guys.”
“I thought you wouldn’t admit that we were the good guys.”
“I only said that it’s all about perception. With perception, comes image and we need you and your compatriots to be look invincible.”
“I’m assuming that you are talking about the Deadly Rumble,” added Showtime, without waiting for the stranger to flat out say it.
“See, this isn’t your first dance,” mocked the man. Him bringing up the rumble didn’t surprise Showtime in the slightest. This match had layers to it that went beyond even the Black Hand. Twice before Showtime had watched as others just edged him out as the victor of this match. And though winning a silly match should be light years away from his mind at this moment, it mattered a great deal. This match signified everything that brought Showtime back to wrestling. There are no advantages here. No one has been excluded, unless they’ve requested it themselves. This is wrestling at its purest and now everyone had the same chance to be the top athlete in Pure Class wrestling.
“So it’s up to us to bring the title home for The Black Hand? If we don’t it weakens your cause, is that what you are getting at?”
“First off, don’t pretend that we don’t know how much this means to you. You have the chance to out wit and fight the entire Pure Class roster. Those doubters that have always been there, even after you felt that you proved them all wrong. Old Showtime or new, your image has always been something important to you. So the way we see this is that it’s a symbiotic relationship. We are empowered by the way you will help the others toss the likes of Ford, Andy or Murdoc out of contention. When the three of you stand victorious over the night.”
“Well Sadistic and I can’t both be victorious, can we?”
“It doesn’t really matter which of you are crowned the victor as long as you work together. A group with the same ideology can stand above any one man. A victory for you is a victory for him, and visa versa. While success from both of you is our success. You’ve already caused the ripples in the pond, which was the first step. Now it is us to you to show them all who really runs this world.”
Showtime had to admit that the man had a way with words. He knew just the right amount of ego one would need to stroke in order to get Showtime to at least fight for himself in a common cause. Showtime would to have liked to say that he was doing it for himself, but the man’s words did hit home. The rumble was something he wanted regardless, and now there was a higher purpose.
“That can’t be all you brought me out here for. Since you seem to know everything to begin with, you knew that I’d be giving it my all regardless.”
“See there’s that perceptiveness again. You really get it don’t you.”
“Stop with the empty compliments and come out with it wont you?”
“Fine, but I’ve never met anyone before that didn’t enjoy a few compliments. The main reason we brought you here is to accept a job.”
“What type of job, am I to assassinate Arch Duke Ferdinand?” The silence that this comment was met with made Showtime uneasy. This was the type of cold response that indicated that this was exactly his task. He took a deep breath and thanked that at least his next task couldn’t start World War II all over again. “I’m not the one you should be talking to. Massacre is Sadistic’s forte.”
“No but yours is the ability to gab. You’ve been astonishingly silent since accepting to become one amongst our ranks. We didn’t expect you to allow William to come out and speak for the group as you’ve done. You were once a man people couldn’t pay to shut his trap and is now oddly silent.”
“I’d have to blame you and yours for that turn in my style, but I’m sure that wont do much. It’s one of those unfortunate side effects when you decide to take it upon yourself to shatter a man’s mind.”
“Boo-Hoo,” mocked the man. “Your task is to destroy the list of men I have here. You do it in the shadows, or in an ambush. It doesn’t matter to us as long as you succeed. Like I mentioned, free will is yours and you get to decide how the executioner is called forth. We wont ask you to do no more than you are confortable with, but failure is not an option.”
“These men deserve the right to defend themselves. You can’t just sentence people to death like this. Like I said, if that was your intention then you chose the wrong member.” Showtime waited for a response, but none came. Finally he could wait no longer and turned to where the voice had been coming from. There was of course no one there, but in the dirt was a bright pop of white. Warily Showtime approached the envelope, Black Hand insignia and all, and popped it open. All it had was a list of names. All marked men.
