A Midget, a Dragon and a Hun Walk Into a Strip Club
Jul 4, 2014 22:40:11 GMT -5
badteacher likes this
Post by Kyzer on Jul 4, 2014 22:40:11 GMT -5
“What do you see when you look at me? I don’t see a ‘little person’. I see the evil fucking clown from that movie. I am going to eat your fucking kids and rip your goddamn arm off.” – DMK
A Midget, a Dragon and a Hun Walk Into a Strip Club
Date: 7/1/2014
The gun toting psycho midget, DMK, is all business as he pulls his customized Denali into the parking lot of the Bada Bing II. He is the silent owner of the strip club. He purchased it and turned it into an ode to the one featured in the greatest show in the history of television, The Sopranos. So distraught with grief the day that James Gandolfini died, he acquired the place and turned it into the exact club from the show. Who wouldn’t do the same if they could? He hops out of his Denali, since he can’t just step out since he is, you know, tiny. The bright sunlight reflects off his sunglasses as he enters in the establishment. Of course the place is sparsely populated; no one likes daytime strippers except alcoholics and crack heads. He ignores everyone and walks up to his office on the second floor. The bartender says something but DMK is laser focused on the meeting coming up. He enters the office to find someone already waiting on him.
DMK: I see you are making yourself at home already.
The Hun stands in front of a window that overlooks the lower level of the club. A drink in his hand, he turns towards DMK.
The Hun: Well, I got a little bored waiting. I didn’t want to be around those ill mouth breathers you have working the poles down there.
DMK: They serve their purpose, who the fuck wants a lap dance from stripper on the lunch shift anyways?
The Hun: If you would take me up on the offer I presented, I could bring you several nice girls in here that might make you change your perception of daytime strippers.
DMK: I don’t want whatever Slav you brought over on a storage container. Slave trading is the one area I don’t mess with.
The Hun merely shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.
The Hun: At least you keep good rye up here.
DMK sits behind a desk in the room motioning for The Hun to take the seat across.
DMK: I try.
The Hun looks around as he sits.
The Hun: Where is my friend?
DMK: He is going to be here.
The Hun smiles and nods his head in approval. He downs the rest of the drink and places the glass on the desk.
The Hun: I guess he is working out well then? I do hope you are using his “unique” talents to their fullest potential.
DMK: Fucking right he is and of course. I may be short but my cock is full grown. I know how to get the most out of people. I was taught by the best.
The Hun: Ah yes, I remember. It is a pity he isn’t here right now.
DMK: Your friend has been helping me out on that front. But nothing has turned up yet.
The Hun laughs.
The Hun: He will turn up when he wants to if he hasn’t blown a vessel out in his nose and bled to death on some whore somewhere.
DMK: A lot has happened since you were last in this country. He isn’t the same person anymore.
The Hun: He will always be the same person. People don’t change. They can try but in the end, they always go back. They all have a specific purpose and that is it.
DMK stares at The Hun; he can feel his blood start to rise to the surface. He always walks away from meetings with The Hun with more anger problems than he did before the meeting. He looked down on everyone from his potato tower and little Donnie hated anyone who looked down him, no pun intended. If he didn’t have to do business with him, he wouldn’t. Of course everyone knows though that the best drugs always come via foreigners. DMK never understood why he couldn’t just find a George Jung these days. If only Americans would step up their game and become better traffickers. The Hun’s attention is directed towards the door to the office as heavy footsteps indicate someone approaching. The door opens and Tugarin Zmey ducks under the frame as he enters the room. The Hun stands with a giant sized grin on his face, again no pun intended. He opens his arms as he sees his former associate.
The Hun: Subutai!
DMK leans back in his chair as he watches the two men. The Hun, while tall, still stands nearly a foot shorter than the giant.
Tugarin:Tugarin.
The Hun: You will always be Subutai to me, my friend.
Tugarin doesn’t respond. He just stares at The Hun with his standard empty stare. The Hun turns where he can face DMK.
The Hun: I see you gave him a new name.
DMK: It sounded better for the new business venture we are in together.
The Hun: What new venture is this?
DMK: Professional wrestling.
The Hun laughs.
The Hun: So I suppose since you are a little too short to do it yourself, you take a cold blooded killer to do your dirty work?
The Hun laughs again, DMK however finds nothing funny about what he said. He contemplates how difficult his other business would be if he buried The Hun somewhere in the rainforest outside of the glorious city of Seattle.
The Hun: It figures you would get involved in that considering your missing comrade. I wonder though, how you will do if I suddenly took back the services of my friend, Subutai, here?
He puts emphasis on his name for The Dragon. The Hun and DMK stare at each without saying anything for a moment before The Hun breaks out into more laughter. Tugarin merely watches the exchange as if it wasn’t him that they were talking about. He knew his role though, he was a thrall that was meant to be used by shadiest of people. They were the ones who could best use the skill set he possessed; he had long ago accepted he had no other role in this sadistic world.
The Hun: I pity whoever you put this man against.
Tugarin didn’t think of himself as a man anymore. Those days were gone and a distant memory.
DMK: He is monster in the ring but that has nothing to do with now. I would like to get back to the business that we have so you will get the fuck out of my titty bar.
The Hun: Always about the business, Donald. It is the one of the things I respect about you.
DMK: Don’t ever fucking call me Donald. Donnie isn’t short for that.
The Hun laughs and pulls out a slip of paper and casually tosses it on the desk to the midget.
The Hun: That is where you can pick up your snow. It is the usual amount for the usual price. Also there is an address for that other venture we have together. He will be giving you your hardware from here on out.
DMK grabs the paper and unfolds it. He looks it over and looks back up at The Hun.
DMK: This doesn’t seem like something that you had to come stateside for, you have had one of your bitches just bring this.
The Hun: True, but then I wouldn’t get to see my good friend here.
He gestures to Tugarin. The Hun smiles as he examines the silent giant.
The Hun: Plus, I already knew about you taking him into the world of professional wrestling. I want to witness it myself.
DMK becomes displeased at that notion. He would rather put a bullet in this Irishman and dump the body in the ocean.
The Hun: I am coming to his next match.
DMK begins fuming.
DMK: You are not stepping into my fucking spotlight you slimy piece of shit.
The Hun howls with laughter as DMK’s anger is beginning to boil over.
The Hun: I have no intention of that. I just want to bear witness to a public execution on live television. I know better than you what he is capable of; I have seen the bodies he has laid at my feet in the past. It is fantastic television. I pity the soul that stands as a challenger to him. I will see you soon my little associate.
He walks over to Tugarin.
The Hun: I look forward to seeing what you do when you step into the ring.
He laughs and exits the room leaving The Dragon and The Midget in the room.
DMK: I fucking hate that shithead.
Tugarin:He is a dangerous enemy if you cross him though.
DMK: Fuck that. I am scared of no man.
Tugarin:I do not doubt that.
DMK: What would it take for you loyalty to be with me and not him?
Tugarin stares at the angry little midget for several moments before he answers.
Tugarin:I have no answer for that at the moment.
DMK gets out of his chair and walks over to the window of his office. He stares down at the dancers and few customers that he has at the moment.
DMK: At least you are honest. I don’t need you to lay bodies at my feet. I am not scared to get my hands dirty. I brought you into my world for two things. The first is to lay waste to everyone in the WFWF and the second is to find Michael Kyzer.
Tugarin:I found his brother.
DMK turns towards Zmey smiling for the first time since arriving at the club.
DMK: Sweet. We will check that out here soon.
A knock on the door distracts DMK, he looks to find a cracked out stripper standing in his doorway.
COS: Mr. DMK, there is a suit here to see you. He says he is consultant you hired.
DMK: Send him up.
The cracked out stripper vanishes from the doorway. DMK directs
DMK: I have decided to hire someone to help us out with our image in the WFWF.
Zmey says nothing in response. A smartly dressed man soon appears in the doorway. His suit is designer, the watch on his wrist probably costs more than DMK’s Denali, and his haircut definitely costs more than Zmey’s entire outfit. He walks in with an air of confidence. DMK smiles as the man walks up and offers his hand. DMK shakes it enthusiastically.
DMK: I am so happy you agreed to take the job, Ryan.
Ryan:I go where the money is, plus you are friends with Michael so that worked to your advantage.
Ryan Brockie turned towards Tugarin and offers his hand, but Tugarin only stares. Ryan shrugs and turns back towards DMK.
Ryan:You weren’t kidding when you said he doesn’t say much.
DMK: He doesn’t need to.
Ryan:But as I told Michael years ago, image matters. Back when Michael Kyzer was simply “Messiah”, he was the same. He has a one track mind and refused to look at the big picture. Eventually he opened his eyes to all the different aspects of the business and his career took off.
DMK gestures towards the chair that The Hun occupied only a few minutes ago as he goes back to behind his desk. Ryan takes a seat and continues.
Ryan:You are paying me to look at the big picture for you, to give you another perspective on all of this so you can be as successful as possible. I will help you, but I can’t force you to take the advice I give.
DMK: I want that spotlight, I want the fame. I want to see my man here standing atop of the WFWF.
Ryan:I will offer you all the help I can. Obviously it isn’t going to be cheap though.
DMK opens a drawer and pulls out a stack on cash banded together. He tosses it over into Ryan’s lap. Ryan picks it up and looks at it. He puts it in the inside pocket of his suit coat.
Ryan:Well then let’s begin I suppose. Do you know anything about ACM?
DMK: Who?
Ryan:I guess that answers my question. He is your guy’s next opponent.
DMK: Well I am a fan of anyone who goes by three letters.
DMK chuckles at his stupid joke. Neither Ryan nor Tugarin join him.
Ryan:Your man here may have size and strength on anyone in the WFWF but he lacks the professional wrestling experience that almost everyone else on the roster possesses.
DMK: How do you know that already? You just met him.
Tugarin looks at Ryan with a slight interest in his eyes now.
Ryan:I am good what I do and before I take on a client, I do my research to see if it is even worth my time. I don’t like to waste my time for nothing. I located Ian Clarke and talked to him to gather a better perspective on Tugarin.
DMK snorts at the comment.
DMK: Fuck him.
Ryan:Your obvious dislike aside, knowledge is power in every industry. I analyze the strengths and weaknesses of everything and I am good at it. I have analyzed yours too.
DMK laughs.
DMK: What do you see when you look at me? I don’t see a ‘little person’. I see the evil fucking clown from that movie. I am going to eat your fucking kids and rip your goddamn arm off. That is my strength. I am capable of anything.
Ryan:And you let emotions blind you and corrupt your decisions. You know what Kyzer’s greatest strength was, he was able to detach from everything. He wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t until he mastered his emotions that he was able to do that. You let your anger get the best of you on a regular basis. That has let you flourish in some of your other business ventures but not here. You need a cool head; you need to be able to look at everything objectively.
DMK: Fair enough.
Ryan:Now Tugarin’s opponent is experienced. Experience can overcome the physical attributes of nearly anyone. You have to ignore the fact that you are riding on the shoulders of a giant like Master Blaster and look at ACM as a legitimate threat to what you are trying to build.
DMK nods accepting Brockie’s advice.
DMK: Go ahead and continue.
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ACM…Your Stoned Messiah…That isn’t right…It is The Wrestling Messiah…
Ryan spoke at length about this man. He spoke at length about how the midget can’t dismiss him simply because I outsize him. He said I can’t just rely on my strength.
He’s right. But relying on my strength and size isn’t what I have always done. It is just what I have done up until this point.
DMK likes to call me The Dragon because I burn everything in my path, an architect of destruction. Maybe it is true…
It is definitely true but not always intentionally….
I have destroyed everything in my life. I destroyed those I cared about accidently; I destroyed my enemies on purpose. I destroyed the world I came up in, and destroyed the world I once ran in. Maybe the title of The Dragon is fitting. Even the name that DMK chose for me is based on a myth about a three headed dragon that burns everything in its path. I suppose it is fitting since I have burned everything I have loved and hated.
Now though, things are different. I have detached from this reality and accepted my fate as someone who is only around to be used. Everything I have tried to hold onto has been ripped from me. And now, I have just given up. I have become a mindless thrall, a slave to be ordered around. I am an emotionless husk of a person. A husk of raw strength and deadly skills, a husk that still has uses for people like DMK and The Hun.
Sometimes I wonder why I am still here, why I haven’t just let go of my soul, maybe it is because I still possess some glimmer of hope that I can still grab of something, anything with real meaning. I don’t know. I don’t have an answer why I let people use me. I just accept it.
ACM…The Wrestling Messiah…The next gladiator who will step into the arena with me. Nicknames mean nothing to me, even my own holds no value to me. Nothing does. I hear the claims that people make about me and my prowess and it doesn’t register in my mind. Talk, hype, ego, that is all it is. I have no ego, I don’t believe in hype and I am a man of few words. I just act. I am a man of pure action and pure destruction apparently.
I block out memories of my past because they pain me. I block out memories of the ones I love because I have lost them all. Even a giant was unable to protect them from the giant himself. I can’t promise that I can protect ACM from the giant. DMK wouldn’t want me to even try but he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t understand me. No one does, not even myself. I don’t have answers as to why I have set fire to my life but that fire burns. It consumes everything. Eventually it will even consume my small handler.
Ryan Brockie is being paid by DMK to further his KoKaine Konspiracy as he likes to call it. Ryan is trained to see all the angles. He thinks because he talked to Ian Clarke he has some idea of my capabilities. He has no clue like everyone else.
I destroyed my people…
I destroyed my way of life…
I killed Sarangerel…
Sarangerel…my love…dead because of me….
Delilah…my child…dead because of me…
Borchu…my brother…dead because of me…
My soul was eaten by The Death Worm and The Worm left only a weapon of mass destruction…
Subutai…the name that The Hun gave me…
Subutai Khagan is a killer, a murderer, a rapist of everything that sweet and innocent in this world. I have done horrible things in my life. I lived with those memories for a long time until finally I was able to detach.
That is what Ryan told DMK to do. He told him to detach from emotions. He said that is what made Michael Kyzer so successful.
DMK has me looking for his best friend, Michael Kyzer, “Your Stoned Messiah” and numerous other nicknames that I don’t understand the reasoning behind but maybe that is because I never met the man. I feel like DMK wants me to walk in Kyzer’s footsteps. I guess being detached as I am from this world; I have a farther head start than either he or Ryan Brockie thinks.
Tugarin Zmey…Subutai Khagan…The Dragon…The Mongolian Death Worm…
All these names and titles, they are meaningless when I step into the ring. I am going to do what I am told to do. I am going to decapitated ACM; I am going to thrash whoever is set in front of me because I am told to. I am going to publicly execute The Wrestling Messiah because I don’t know how to do anything else anymore.
Those names hold no meaning to me. None of them are my real name; none of them represent who I was once upon a time. They are only placeholders in this era of my life.
I am whatever you want to call me. I am a cold blooded killer. I am a giant, a monster, a heathen, a bastard, an assassin, a murderer, a thrall, a slave to bad people and their malicious intentions.
I am sorry ACM. I don’t hate you; I don’t have any emotional feelings towards you one way or another. But I have been commanded to defeat you, maim you, beat you, kill you, torture you, and whatever other horrible things that a person can think of. I am sorry ACM; you have to face a man who doesn’t possess a soul anymore. You face someone who has no reason to live but cannot let himself die and rest in peace…
The KoKaine Konspiracy will continue unabated after Twisted…
I am only a weapon to be used by evil people…
A Midget, a Dragon and a Hun Walk Into a Strip Club
Date: 7/1/2014
The gun toting psycho midget, DMK, is all business as he pulls his customized Denali into the parking lot of the Bada Bing II. He is the silent owner of the strip club. He purchased it and turned it into an ode to the one featured in the greatest show in the history of television, The Sopranos. So distraught with grief the day that James Gandolfini died, he acquired the place and turned it into the exact club from the show. Who wouldn’t do the same if they could? He hops out of his Denali, since he can’t just step out since he is, you know, tiny. The bright sunlight reflects off his sunglasses as he enters in the establishment. Of course the place is sparsely populated; no one likes daytime strippers except alcoholics and crack heads. He ignores everyone and walks up to his office on the second floor. The bartender says something but DMK is laser focused on the meeting coming up. He enters the office to find someone already waiting on him.
DMK: I see you are making yourself at home already.
The Hun stands in front of a window that overlooks the lower level of the club. A drink in his hand, he turns towards DMK.
The Hun: Well, I got a little bored waiting. I didn’t want to be around those ill mouth breathers you have working the poles down there.
DMK: They serve their purpose, who the fuck wants a lap dance from stripper on the lunch shift anyways?
The Hun: If you would take me up on the offer I presented, I could bring you several nice girls in here that might make you change your perception of daytime strippers.
DMK: I don’t want whatever Slav you brought over on a storage container. Slave trading is the one area I don’t mess with.
The Hun merely shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.
The Hun: At least you keep good rye up here.
DMK sits behind a desk in the room motioning for The Hun to take the seat across.
DMK: I try.
The Hun looks around as he sits.
The Hun: Where is my friend?
DMK: He is going to be here.
The Hun smiles and nods his head in approval. He downs the rest of the drink and places the glass on the desk.
The Hun: I guess he is working out well then? I do hope you are using his “unique” talents to their fullest potential.
DMK: Fucking right he is and of course. I may be short but my cock is full grown. I know how to get the most out of people. I was taught by the best.
The Hun: Ah yes, I remember. It is a pity he isn’t here right now.
DMK: Your friend has been helping me out on that front. But nothing has turned up yet.
The Hun laughs.
The Hun: He will turn up when he wants to if he hasn’t blown a vessel out in his nose and bled to death on some whore somewhere.
DMK: A lot has happened since you were last in this country. He isn’t the same person anymore.
The Hun: He will always be the same person. People don’t change. They can try but in the end, they always go back. They all have a specific purpose and that is it.
DMK stares at The Hun; he can feel his blood start to rise to the surface. He always walks away from meetings with The Hun with more anger problems than he did before the meeting. He looked down on everyone from his potato tower and little Donnie hated anyone who looked down him, no pun intended. If he didn’t have to do business with him, he wouldn’t. Of course everyone knows though that the best drugs always come via foreigners. DMK never understood why he couldn’t just find a George Jung these days. If only Americans would step up their game and become better traffickers. The Hun’s attention is directed towards the door to the office as heavy footsteps indicate someone approaching. The door opens and Tugarin Zmey ducks under the frame as he enters the room. The Hun stands with a giant sized grin on his face, again no pun intended. He opens his arms as he sees his former associate.
The Hun: Subutai!
DMK leans back in his chair as he watches the two men. The Hun, while tall, still stands nearly a foot shorter than the giant.
Tugarin:Tugarin.
The Hun: You will always be Subutai to me, my friend.
Tugarin doesn’t respond. He just stares at The Hun with his standard empty stare. The Hun turns where he can face DMK.
The Hun: I see you gave him a new name.
DMK: It sounded better for the new business venture we are in together.
The Hun: What new venture is this?
DMK: Professional wrestling.
The Hun laughs.
The Hun: So I suppose since you are a little too short to do it yourself, you take a cold blooded killer to do your dirty work?
The Hun laughs again, DMK however finds nothing funny about what he said. He contemplates how difficult his other business would be if he buried The Hun somewhere in the rainforest outside of the glorious city of Seattle.
The Hun: It figures you would get involved in that considering your missing comrade. I wonder though, how you will do if I suddenly took back the services of my friend, Subutai, here?
He puts emphasis on his name for The Dragon. The Hun and DMK stare at each without saying anything for a moment before The Hun breaks out into more laughter. Tugarin merely watches the exchange as if it wasn’t him that they were talking about. He knew his role though, he was a thrall that was meant to be used by shadiest of people. They were the ones who could best use the skill set he possessed; he had long ago accepted he had no other role in this sadistic world.
The Hun: I pity whoever you put this man against.
Tugarin didn’t think of himself as a man anymore. Those days were gone and a distant memory.
DMK: He is monster in the ring but that has nothing to do with now. I would like to get back to the business that we have so you will get the fuck out of my titty bar.
The Hun: Always about the business, Donald. It is the one of the things I respect about you.
DMK: Don’t ever fucking call me Donald. Donnie isn’t short for that.
The Hun laughs and pulls out a slip of paper and casually tosses it on the desk to the midget.
The Hun: That is where you can pick up your snow. It is the usual amount for the usual price. Also there is an address for that other venture we have together. He will be giving you your hardware from here on out.
DMK grabs the paper and unfolds it. He looks it over and looks back up at The Hun.
DMK: This doesn’t seem like something that you had to come stateside for, you have had one of your bitches just bring this.
The Hun: True, but then I wouldn’t get to see my good friend here.
He gestures to Tugarin. The Hun smiles as he examines the silent giant.
The Hun: Plus, I already knew about you taking him into the world of professional wrestling. I want to witness it myself.
DMK becomes displeased at that notion. He would rather put a bullet in this Irishman and dump the body in the ocean.
The Hun: I am coming to his next match.
DMK begins fuming.
DMK: You are not stepping into my fucking spotlight you slimy piece of shit.
The Hun howls with laughter as DMK’s anger is beginning to boil over.
The Hun: I have no intention of that. I just want to bear witness to a public execution on live television. I know better than you what he is capable of; I have seen the bodies he has laid at my feet in the past. It is fantastic television. I pity the soul that stands as a challenger to him. I will see you soon my little associate.
He walks over to Tugarin.
The Hun: I look forward to seeing what you do when you step into the ring.
He laughs and exits the room leaving The Dragon and The Midget in the room.
DMK: I fucking hate that shithead.
Tugarin:He is a dangerous enemy if you cross him though.
DMK: Fuck that. I am scared of no man.
Tugarin:I do not doubt that.
DMK: What would it take for you loyalty to be with me and not him?
Tugarin stares at the angry little midget for several moments before he answers.
Tugarin:I have no answer for that at the moment.
DMK gets out of his chair and walks over to the window of his office. He stares down at the dancers and few customers that he has at the moment.
DMK: At least you are honest. I don’t need you to lay bodies at my feet. I am not scared to get my hands dirty. I brought you into my world for two things. The first is to lay waste to everyone in the WFWF and the second is to find Michael Kyzer.
Tugarin:I found his brother.
DMK turns towards Zmey smiling for the first time since arriving at the club.
DMK: Sweet. We will check that out here soon.
A knock on the door distracts DMK, he looks to find a cracked out stripper standing in his doorway.
COS: Mr. DMK, there is a suit here to see you. He says he is consultant you hired.
DMK: Send him up.
The cracked out stripper vanishes from the doorway. DMK directs
DMK: I have decided to hire someone to help us out with our image in the WFWF.
Zmey says nothing in response. A smartly dressed man soon appears in the doorway. His suit is designer, the watch on his wrist probably costs more than DMK’s Denali, and his haircut definitely costs more than Zmey’s entire outfit. He walks in with an air of confidence. DMK smiles as the man walks up and offers his hand. DMK shakes it enthusiastically.
DMK: I am so happy you agreed to take the job, Ryan.
Ryan:I go where the money is, plus you are friends with Michael so that worked to your advantage.
Ryan Brockie turned towards Tugarin and offers his hand, but Tugarin only stares. Ryan shrugs and turns back towards DMK.
Ryan:You weren’t kidding when you said he doesn’t say much.
DMK: He doesn’t need to.
Ryan:But as I told Michael years ago, image matters. Back when Michael Kyzer was simply “Messiah”, he was the same. He has a one track mind and refused to look at the big picture. Eventually he opened his eyes to all the different aspects of the business and his career took off.
DMK gestures towards the chair that The Hun occupied only a few minutes ago as he goes back to behind his desk. Ryan takes a seat and continues.
Ryan:You are paying me to look at the big picture for you, to give you another perspective on all of this so you can be as successful as possible. I will help you, but I can’t force you to take the advice I give.
DMK: I want that spotlight, I want the fame. I want to see my man here standing atop of the WFWF.
Ryan:I will offer you all the help I can. Obviously it isn’t going to be cheap though.
DMK opens a drawer and pulls out a stack on cash banded together. He tosses it over into Ryan’s lap. Ryan picks it up and looks at it. He puts it in the inside pocket of his suit coat.
Ryan:Well then let’s begin I suppose. Do you know anything about ACM?
DMK: Who?
Ryan:I guess that answers my question. He is your guy’s next opponent.
DMK: Well I am a fan of anyone who goes by three letters.
DMK chuckles at his stupid joke. Neither Ryan nor Tugarin join him.
Ryan:Your man here may have size and strength on anyone in the WFWF but he lacks the professional wrestling experience that almost everyone else on the roster possesses.
DMK: How do you know that already? You just met him.
Tugarin looks at Ryan with a slight interest in his eyes now.
Ryan:I am good what I do and before I take on a client, I do my research to see if it is even worth my time. I don’t like to waste my time for nothing. I located Ian Clarke and talked to him to gather a better perspective on Tugarin.
DMK snorts at the comment.
DMK: Fuck him.
Ryan:Your obvious dislike aside, knowledge is power in every industry. I analyze the strengths and weaknesses of everything and I am good at it. I have analyzed yours too.
DMK laughs.
DMK: What do you see when you look at me? I don’t see a ‘little person’. I see the evil fucking clown from that movie. I am going to eat your fucking kids and rip your goddamn arm off. That is my strength. I am capable of anything.
Ryan:And you let emotions blind you and corrupt your decisions. You know what Kyzer’s greatest strength was, he was able to detach from everything. He wasn’t always like that. It wasn’t until he mastered his emotions that he was able to do that. You let your anger get the best of you on a regular basis. That has let you flourish in some of your other business ventures but not here. You need a cool head; you need to be able to look at everything objectively.
DMK: Fair enough.
Ryan:Now Tugarin’s opponent is experienced. Experience can overcome the physical attributes of nearly anyone. You have to ignore the fact that you are riding on the shoulders of a giant like Master Blaster and look at ACM as a legitimate threat to what you are trying to build.
DMK nods accepting Brockie’s advice.
DMK: Go ahead and continue.
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ACM…Your Stoned Messiah…That isn’t right…It is The Wrestling Messiah…
Ryan spoke at length about this man. He spoke at length about how the midget can’t dismiss him simply because I outsize him. He said I can’t just rely on my strength.
He’s right. But relying on my strength and size isn’t what I have always done. It is just what I have done up until this point.
DMK likes to call me The Dragon because I burn everything in my path, an architect of destruction. Maybe it is true…
It is definitely true but not always intentionally….
I have destroyed everything in my life. I destroyed those I cared about accidently; I destroyed my enemies on purpose. I destroyed the world I came up in, and destroyed the world I once ran in. Maybe the title of The Dragon is fitting. Even the name that DMK chose for me is based on a myth about a three headed dragon that burns everything in its path. I suppose it is fitting since I have burned everything I have loved and hated.
Now though, things are different. I have detached from this reality and accepted my fate as someone who is only around to be used. Everything I have tried to hold onto has been ripped from me. And now, I have just given up. I have become a mindless thrall, a slave to be ordered around. I am an emotionless husk of a person. A husk of raw strength and deadly skills, a husk that still has uses for people like DMK and The Hun.
Sometimes I wonder why I am still here, why I haven’t just let go of my soul, maybe it is because I still possess some glimmer of hope that I can still grab of something, anything with real meaning. I don’t know. I don’t have an answer why I let people use me. I just accept it.
ACM…The Wrestling Messiah…The next gladiator who will step into the arena with me. Nicknames mean nothing to me, even my own holds no value to me. Nothing does. I hear the claims that people make about me and my prowess and it doesn’t register in my mind. Talk, hype, ego, that is all it is. I have no ego, I don’t believe in hype and I am a man of few words. I just act. I am a man of pure action and pure destruction apparently.
I block out memories of my past because they pain me. I block out memories of the ones I love because I have lost them all. Even a giant was unable to protect them from the giant himself. I can’t promise that I can protect ACM from the giant. DMK wouldn’t want me to even try but he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t understand me. No one does, not even myself. I don’t have answers as to why I have set fire to my life but that fire burns. It consumes everything. Eventually it will even consume my small handler.
Ryan Brockie is being paid by DMK to further his KoKaine Konspiracy as he likes to call it. Ryan is trained to see all the angles. He thinks because he talked to Ian Clarke he has some idea of my capabilities. He has no clue like everyone else.
I destroyed my people…
I destroyed my way of life…
I killed Sarangerel…
Sarangerel…my love…dead because of me….
Delilah…my child…dead because of me…
Borchu…my brother…dead because of me…
My soul was eaten by The Death Worm and The Worm left only a weapon of mass destruction…
Subutai…the name that The Hun gave me…
Subutai Khagan is a killer, a murderer, a rapist of everything that sweet and innocent in this world. I have done horrible things in my life. I lived with those memories for a long time until finally I was able to detach.
That is what Ryan told DMK to do. He told him to detach from emotions. He said that is what made Michael Kyzer so successful.
DMK has me looking for his best friend, Michael Kyzer, “Your Stoned Messiah” and numerous other nicknames that I don’t understand the reasoning behind but maybe that is because I never met the man. I feel like DMK wants me to walk in Kyzer’s footsteps. I guess being detached as I am from this world; I have a farther head start than either he or Ryan Brockie thinks.
Tugarin Zmey…Subutai Khagan…The Dragon…The Mongolian Death Worm…
All these names and titles, they are meaningless when I step into the ring. I am going to do what I am told to do. I am going to decapitated ACM; I am going to thrash whoever is set in front of me because I am told to. I am going to publicly execute The Wrestling Messiah because I don’t know how to do anything else anymore.
Those names hold no meaning to me. None of them are my real name; none of them represent who I was once upon a time. They are only placeholders in this era of my life.
I am whatever you want to call me. I am a cold blooded killer. I am a giant, a monster, a heathen, a bastard, an assassin, a murderer, a thrall, a slave to bad people and their malicious intentions.
I am sorry ACM. I don’t hate you; I don’t have any emotional feelings towards you one way or another. But I have been commanded to defeat you, maim you, beat you, kill you, torture you, and whatever other horrible things that a person can think of. I am sorry ACM; you have to face a man who doesn’t possess a soul anymore. You face someone who has no reason to live but cannot let himself die and rest in peace…
The KoKaine Konspiracy will continue unabated after Twisted…
I am only a weapon to be used by evil people…