Post by bad guy™ on Dec 22, 2014 14:24:44 GMT -5
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The Ecstasy Paradox Part 1: When a Good Man Goes to War
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Walking around this place, it always gives Samael a sense of guilt. Not so much for coming here to continue his betrayal of the KoKaine Konspiracy, but because of the business that takes place here.
In the dredges of Seattle lies one of the dinkiest strip clubs you will ever see. Now, not that there are too many classy strip clubs, but this one feels dirtier than normal. It is not even the drug deals that are run out of the back room that Samael is about to make his way towards. There is just something about it.
Every person has their own unique story. Their goal is to make it a good one. These kinds of details can…lessen the stories integrity. Put trust in this.
Samael is, for the first time as far as he can remember, about to approach anyone related to the WFWF other than Malakai in plain street clothes. One thing Samael has always taken upon himself over his years in the WFWF is to continuously wear one of his Judo outfits. It has been expounded upon a plethora of times that Samael is a Judo master, and a rather well respected master at that. Not quite Chuck Norris level respect, and not well known enough to have his own brand of martial arts like Shaqfu.
"Samaelfu. That does have a ring to it."
Still, everything he is wearing is baggy and long, and he still has the leather glove over his right hand. But as he nears the strip club, his blood pressure starts to spike to a painful level.
His scar is hurting.
It is painful what Samael has to do, but if he has any hope at achieving his goals, both the one set for him by Malakai and the one he set upon himself, he has to do this.
He pulls a smoke out from the pack and places his thumb upon the rivet of the golden lighter, a flame appearing at the touch of his hand, lighting the mixture of nicotine, paper, shrapnel, rat poison and tobacco up and placing the filter to his lips. He takes a big drag from the smoke, his eyes widening, almost ready to start choking on the smoke, but he closes his eyes, swallows and exhales slowly, the rush of the smoke and the nicotine hitting his throat hard causing both an instant headache and instant stress relief. This is going to be one hell of a conversation.
Sam happens upon the front of the club and turns the corner to the alley, his usual smoking chair still in the same spot but instead of sitting down he leans against the brick wall, one sole of his shoe against the wall, his plant leg firm in the cement below. He allows the nicotine to continue to do his job and lower his blood pressure and stress level. He ponders how much work the nicotine actually does in all of this. Id, Ego and Superego have been in a slumber the last few minutes, allowing Samael to have his own thoughts without anyone else’s interruption. No time for a conscience. Just survival instinct, and the knowledge that this lie he has built in front of everyone has to continue to grow in order for him to survive.
Samael takes the last drag of the cigarette and stomps the butt into the ground. He exhales, smoke pouring from his nose and his mouth like that of the mythical Minotaur.
"How much of that was from the cigarette, and how much of it was just my blowing hot air?"
Sam pulls himself from his wallflower position and walks all the way to the back of the strip club and kicks on the lower of the back door with his boot. A voice, a small voice, comes from behind the steel door.
??: WHO THE F*CK IS IT?
Samael: Did Donnie not tell you I was coming for a chat?
??: YOU STILL HAVEN’T SAID WHO THE F*CK YOU ARE.
Samael: It’s Samael you little piece of sh*t now open the goddamn door before I have Donnie cut off your crack supply.
Never has a steel door been opened so fast, one of the members of the MDS standing on the inside of the backroom. Samael gives him a cocky smirk, walking in and patting the midget on his head. Steaming, the midget starts towards Samael who shoves him out of the door into the cold and closes the door behind him.
"Little f*ck."
Midget: HEY. LET ME THE F*CK IN.
Sam smiles, walking through another door and looking to another member of the MDS.
Samael: Your idiot doorman locked himself out. Go let him in.
The midget does as he is told as Samael makes his way to the back office, his Satan Senses tingling, chills going up his spine. This place really is grungy, even for Seattle standards. He finds the door to the back office and knocks. Sam waits for a second, and the door creeks open to show MusclesGlasses behind the knob.
MusclesGlasses: What up?
Samael: Jack and rainbow pigs.
MusclesGlasses: I dig it.
Samael: Donnie and Ryan here?
Donnie: Let’m in.
Muscles opens the wooden door all the way and Samael slaps hands with him as he comes in and the door closes behind him. Sam surveys the room.
"Someone’s missing. The question’s who?"
Samael: Where’s that Jew with that ridiculous nose that was running with you, Don?
A strong silence covers the room. Donnie, behind the desk in his high chair and Ryan, in a much nicer chair, both go stone faced.
"Donnie is never speechless. That’s probably not a good sign."
Donnie: Ryan told me you wanted to talk, but wouldn’t tell me what about. What’s with the crypticism?
Samael: I’m pretty sure that’s not actually a word, but you get an A for trying.
Donnie: What. Do. You. Want?
"Go time."
Samael: You get ahold of the new recruit? And about the whole championship matter I nagged you about?
Donnie: It’s in progress.
"Peeeeerrrrfffffeeeeecccccccctttttt."
Samael: Good. Would like to have him on our side rather than theirs.
Donnie: No sh*t. Was that all you wanted?
Samael very flamboyantly walks towards the couch in The Lair, practically elbow dropping it as he lays down, kicking his feet up on the couch end.
Samael: Nope.
Donnie: You’re acting like a fruit.
Samael: I’ve decided to just be me around you guys now. I trust you, so I can just kick it with the cool kids. Maybe shake someone down for their lunch money…oh wait you are an adult. Shake down one of your hookers that got something larger than ones in her strings.
Donnie: You’re annoying me.
Samael: I tend to do that a lot with a lot of people.
Donnie: I’ve noticed.
Samael: So grant me one wish, and I’ll start acting like one of your mindless drones again.
Donnie: A wish? You think I’m a f*cking genie or something.
Samael: I know the difference between a genie and a leprechaun.
Ryan: And something tells me he won’t be rubbing your bottle, sorry to disappoint.
DMK’s face is red with tiny little anger.
Donnie: Since when have you two become the best of friends? From what I could tell, neither of you trusted the other.
Samael: He didn’t get pissed at me when I fell asleep on his shoulder on our redeye from a couple of weeks ago. It strengthens bonds.
Ryan: Man speaks the truth.
"Ryan playing along…I like it."
Donnie: If you don’t spit out what you want I’m going to feed you to Zmey.
Samael: Then I guess I better keep beating around the bush.
MusclesGlasses: You wanna be cannibalized? I mean maybe soaked in Jack and slow roasted.
Donnie: You’re disgusting, Muscles.
"Pot, meet kettle."
Donnie: You’re not getting it, Sam.
Ahriman sits up from his lain position, his eyes now fixated on the midget.
Samael: You don’t have much of a choice, Donnie.
Donnie: The hell I don’t. I run this organization.
Ryan: Well if you don’t give him what he wants peacefully, I’ll take him there by force myself.
"Ok, Donnie’s right, this conversation is getting too many unintended innuendos."
Donnie: Et Tu, Ryan?
Ryan: Hear Sam out.
Samael: And stop acting book smart, it does you no favors.
Ryan: You’re not helping your cause here, Sam.
Sam shrugs. This charade can, admittedly, get entertaining at times.
Samael: Donnie. When you brought Tugarin to the WFWF, what did you say your goal was?
Donnie: Ultimate domination. The KKK will reign supreme.
Samael: What made you so sure Tugarin could survive in the wrestling world, Don?
Donnie: He’s a mindless, giant weapon of mass destruction to which only I have the detonation key.
Sam sits spine straight and points to Donnie.
Samael: That’s exactly it! You knew what to do!
Donnie: Your point?
Samael stands up and starts using his hands to help the Midget visualize his point. At eye level, of course.
Samael: You know this business, Donnie. You know this business arguably better than anyone. You know what it takes to take someone to the top. Whether they’re someone who’s accomplished things prior to your involvement like Michael, or Zmey being undefeated here in the WFWF to this day. You know how to get what you want when you want. But there’s one aspect about the wrestling business that you do not get.
Donnie: Oh yeah? What’s that?
Samael: Wrestling. You don’t understand in the ring wrestling.
DMK tilts his head sideways.
Donnie: What are you trying to say, Sam?
Samael: In ring intricacies, especially amongst tag teams…cohesion is a must. Zmey and I must be on the same page in order to win those titles at Clash.
Donnie: Hardly. Just let Tugarin smash the Golden Child and the Freak and the tag team titles are ours.
Samael: Donnie…I’ve learned that at times it is perfectly logical to overestimate an opponents ability. I knew Jayson would fall at my feet last week, and he did just that. I knew Landon would fall to Tugarin. But you can never….EVER….underestimate a champion when the title is in danger.
Pause.
Samael: I have been champion, Donnie. I have physically had a WFWF title around my waist. I know what it takes to win the title, but I also know what it does mentally when your championship is in trouble. You will resort to any possible measure to ensure the title stays around your waist.
Donnie: I will go to any length to make sure Tugarin gets what is rightfully his.
Samael: That’s all well and good, but YOU HAVE NEVER BEEN IN THE RING. You do not know what it is like to have to fight in the moment…the constant chess game going on in your head with your opponent, making sure you checkmate them before they catch you and it’s too late. In ring IQ. For all of the flack I give you, you are street smart. You’re business smart. But you haven’t the f*cking slightest clue what in ring chemistry and cohesion can do for a tag team. You may think you know what to do because you direct Zmey to smash and crush as necessary. But if we get into a desperation moment and I go right and you call Tugarin to go left, we will NOT win those titles. Everything you and I have worked for will go Cheech and Chong. Garrett and Landon may be scrubs, but they have cohesion and the champions advantage going for them.
Sam slams his hands down on the desk and stares Donnie in his beady little eyes.
Samael: You let me talk to Tugarin. Alone. Build that cohesion. Work out a plan. For as mindless as you claim that man to be, he is soulless but has at least one portion of his mind. And that is the one portion he and I share. We know what it’s like in that ring, what to do and when to do it. You can have all of the control over him you want. But in one sense, he’s smarter than you.
Ryan: The whole point of the KoKaine Konspiracy is to fulfill selfish desires.
Samael: And there is nothing I desire more than to see Zmey succeed and win those titles with me.
"And to take you down with your own weapon."
Donnie sits his elbows on his desk, his tiny head in his tiny thumbs. Clearly the tiny gears are tumbling in that tiny bald head.
Donnie: So you want to what. Go and talk to a brick wall for a few minutes?
Samael: I want to have a conversation with Tugarin Zmey without any interruptions.
Donnie: So a brick wall for a few minutes?
Samael: Your callousness for someone you should consider your ward is disheartening.
Donnie: And that’s the difference between you and me. Heart.
Samael: For once, I agree with you.
Donnie sits back in his chair, clearly deep in thought. Samael backs away from the table as Donnie gets a sadistic grin on his face.
Donnie: You know, you’re not as dumb as you look, kid. I’ll give you that. You’re not as smart as me, but your idea isn’t as dumb as it sounds.
Sam and Ryan share an almost aghast glance.
Donnie: Here’s the only problem with your little scenario. There are only two people who know where Zmey is. I can’t really afford a third person knowing where he gets stashed.
"He is not property you prick."
Donnie: I’ll let you have your conversation. But at a price.
Samael suppresses the urge to jump in victory.
Samael: Name it.
Donnie: I was hoping you would be more energetic about this. You smoke, right?
Donnie starts fumbling around in his desk and pulls out a blindfold and a cigarette.
Donnie: Have a smoke of this and put on the blindfold. Ryan will take you to Zmey.
Ryan: I will?
Donnie: You will.
Samael: Is there a reason you keep a blindfold in your desk?
Donnie: My base of operations is a strip club. Maybe someday you’ll understand. Light the cigarette to calm yourself down, put on the blindfold, and Ryan will take you to see Tugarin. Don’t be afraid.
Samael cocks his head a little bit, hesitantly grabbing the blindfold and tying it around his head. He feels around like a blind man for the cigarette and places it to his lips. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lighter and makes fire appear with a slight touch.
Samael: Ryan, guide the flame?
Ryan grabs Sam’s hand and directs it towards the cigarette between his lips.
Ryan: Lit.
Samael puts the lighter back into his pocket and starts taking a couple of puffs of the cigarette. Suddenly, Sam’s throat starts to seize and he can feel his heart palpitating at a mile and a half a minute. Sam starts to stumble, reaching out, blinded by the blindfold, someone grabbing ahold of him and wrapping his arm over their neck.
Samael: W…wh…what did you giv….give me?
Donnie: A cigarette…that was rolled with crushed up crack rocks instead of tobacco but that part’s not important.
Samael: Y..YOU…DruUgged me?
Donnie: It was that or you get a ruffy. But hey, you’re one of us now. Feeling what all of my fiends feel. Just a small taste of DMK. Don’t worry. You’ll live.
Samael feels himself being dragged/walked out of the room. The sounds of shuffling can faintly be heard behind Sam and presumably Ryan. He heard someone say ‘oh sh*t’ clear as day though.
Donnie: I appear to have given him the one with crack AND a crushed ruffy for my whore. Maybe he won’t die…
Ryan: That wouldn’t be good for your PR guy.
Donnie: Get him to Tugarin.
The sound of the metal door opening is apparent to Sam as he completely blacks out after being tossed into a leather seat.
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Somewhere, Someday
Samael: M…my he.e…ead…
??: You’re dehydrated. Drink.
Samael: W…whaaat?
Samael opens his eyes slowly to reveal a very dim room, a giant mass sitting in the corner. He rubs his eyes and puts his hands down to his side, as he’s clearly on the floor, and his one hand falls into something wet. A glass of something. Sam slowly pulls the glass to his lips and takes a sip and then chugs the glass of water. He falls to his side, the glass hitting the floor but not shattering.
Samael: W…where a.am I?
??: No where important.
Samael tries to focus on the figure.
Samael: Tugarin?
Zmey: Yes.
Samael: Good. At least D….onni did’t lie to me. I wanttttted to talk.
Zmey: That is what I was told by Mr. Brockie. You were granted permission by Him.
Samael: Chromedome came through…f..or me. How long h.a…ve I….
Zmey: You have been here roughly two hours.
Samael: Damn.
He pulls himself back to a seated position, but leans his head against the wall.
Samael: Bloody hell…
Zmey: What did you wish to speak to me about?
Samael: Frankly I’m not sure I even know if I am me right now. Where’s the suit?
Zmey: Mr. Brockie is waiting for this conversation to end to take you back to your hotel.
"So they’re actually leaving me alone with him?"
Samael: W…what do you know about Unhinged, Zmey?
Zmey: They are the champions. They are my opponents.
Samael: Can I ask you something else?
Zmey: Yes.
Samael: Do you trust me?
Zmey: I trust no one but Him.
Samael: In the ring two shows ago. You and I were able to tackle Demento’s group of goons. You entrusted me in securing the win. Did you not?
Zmey: I tagged you in and you got the pinfall.
Samael: That means you trusted me. Tugarin, you trusted me to have your back and your best interest. I wouldn’t ‘ve put myself in harm’s way twice in one night, re-break my scar and smoke whatever the hell that f*cking Midget gave me just to spend some time with my tag team partner just because I had nothing better to do.
Zmey: You just did as you were told, as do I.
"I feel like I just walked into the Argument Clinic."
Samael: Use your mind, Tugarin.
Zmey: I don’t th…
Samael: Don’t give me that sh*t. I don’t know anything about your past, bloke. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I don’t know where you’re from. I don’t know how you and Donnie linked up. I just know that at some point, that head of yours got filled with nonsense propaganda that’s clouding the real Tugarin Zmey.
Zmey: My conscience is naught, my mind is clear.
Samael: Bullsh*t. We all have our demons.
Zmey: Do you not trust in Little Master’s plan?
Samael: I have a higher power than your master that I answer to. And in my words with him, he has told me to trust no one but you.
Zmey: Who is your master if not my master?
Samael: Someone you’re set to see when you age to the end. Something tells me the concept of good and evil is broken within you, so the idea of a God and Satan are above your knowledge. You are smarter than Donnie knows. You’re smarter than you know. But an obscure idea of something out of this world being in control may be too much for you to understand with your current frame of mind.
Zmey: My mind is clear. I have already said this.
Samael: Never said it wasn’t, Tugs. But if you and I are going to work together, you’re going to have to open up to your third eye and have as much understanding of me as I am willing to have with you. And if we’re going to be any kind of successful team, and make sure you break through the glass ceiling Donnie has placed above you, you’re going to tell me your demons.
Samael stands on his feet, leaning against the wall.
Samael: You have more of a mind than Donnie will ever want to admit, and more than maybe you even know. I am going to make sure you remember that because you and I will be remembered as a team. You and I will be the champions. History is written by the victors of wars, and I will make sure our names…and yours specifically, is the most widely regarded throughout the land. I don’t know where you came from, but I know where you’re going. And I’m going there with you. We all have our scars. The sooner you’re open about them, the better off you will be. Take the throbbing scar on my face, for example…
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A paradox is defined as a statement or idea that, despite sound reasoning from acceptable premises, leads to a conclusion that seems senseless, pointless, logically unacceptable or self-contradictory. The idea of an ecstasy induced paradox is even harder to wrap your brain around. To tell you the truth, I very…smally…no that isn’t a word. I am having a hard time remembering…yeah, that works. I’m having a hard time remembering the events that transpired a few days ago. I remember I was locking a midget out of his house, there was talk about rainbow pigs again, and then I was in a dark room with Zmey.
I frankly don’t even remember the full conversation I had with Tugarin, and yet I remember every word of it. It’s weird. Because I know it verbatim but I couldn’t speak a word of it if I was asked to. I went to see Tugarin because I wanted some alone time to work him over. Try to find weaknesses beyond his mindless dog on a leash attachment to The Midget.
HE DRUGGED ME. I think. That would make sense. Yes, now it all seems to be coming together in a very cloudy form of incoherence within the confines of my mind. I remember telling Zmey something about little creatures that live in my head. Or I think I told him that. I don’t remember exactly. Christ did I even bring up my scar? That was the point I wanted to nail home! I remember! But I don’t.
Tugarin is nothing more to Donnie than a weapon for destruction. That much I knew even before I started forgetting everything about that day. But tell me, how wonderful would it be for a soldier in the foxholes of a battlefield to see the weapons of his enemy turned around and fired against him? I see Tugarin as a lost soul who will never be truly rehabilitated, no matter the expense unspared. No…that isn’t a word either. Whatever. Point it made.
I do remember a conversation I had with Shawn a few weeks back. We talked about me trusting Tugarin, and trusting him because it is not in him to do anything without the order of The Midget, so until I royally piss off the Midget, I’m safe.
But what if I could flip the tables? My penultimate goal above all others is to get Michael Kyzer out of hiding and bring him to his knees in front of the entire world. The man who’s spent his life trying to steal my king’s crown down on his knees begging for safety, fore he has nowhere else to run, no one to turn to. How grand would it be if in the process the same could be done to Donnie Monty King and Ryan Brockie? Two heads of the three headed behemoth of Kyzer and company. And what if that Hydra was unable to grow more heads to avenge the death of the others?
Now I’m speaking in Greek, or Roman…some kind of wild hyperbole here, but why can’t I do the same thing Donnie is doing? Since I joined the KoKaine Konspiracy as a favor for Malakai, my goal has been to flush Kyzer out of hiding. But I made a personal choice to get the least amount of blood on my hands as possible. But sitting here now I realize the bloodiest body will have to be spilt by my hands. Or at least, my words.
I fully intend on making Tugarin a star in the WFWF. That much I have told to Donnie. And he believes that, which he should, because it’s the truth. But the amount of compassion and sympathy I feel for Tugarin far exceeds that of which I ever thought a little Satanist like me was capable of. And yet, I must do the unthinkable. The selfish desire aspect of the KoKaine Konspiracy is beginning to really make me desire its downfall, and the only way I can cause its downfall is to make Zmey into a monster Donnie simply cannot control. I need to turn Tugarin into someone like me. A man. A good man. A good man who goes to war.
Make Donnie feel even smaller than he is. Make Brockie appreciate his suave suits for just a little longer, then turn their ultimate weapon around on them and pull the mother*cking trigger on that entire organization. If Kyzer will grovel on his knees before me, as shall Donnie and Ryan, and it will all be because of the weapon they created, but I modified to destroy its creators. What a glorious day that will be.
But before that, these good men must go to war against an evil of a different kind. The kind of evil you only read about in books, or see on the television screen. The evil of immense greed, and the evil of a man with sociopathic tendencies. Which one is Garrett and which one is Landon?
That’s the beauty of it. The analogy fits for both freaks.
Jayson Garrett has fallen to my knees before. And the feeling of the champion who touts himself as The Golden Boy on his knees in front of me was a breathtaking sight, a feeling that can only be described as overjoyness…wait, that isn’t a word either. A feeling of being overjoyed at the sight…it was like rush of cocaine and alcohol and nicotine and whatever drug on the planet someone could concoct rushing through my veins all at once.
And I want it again.
And I want more.
I want that freak on his knees in front of me too. He and Jayson are impeding on my master plan that has gone off without a hitch thusfar. The freak is a horse of a different color though. He marches to his own drum.
Ba da da ba. Ba da da ba.
The beat of Chase Landon’s psychotic drum. Do you hear it? No? Because I do. I swore I would never want a deeper look into the mind of The Midget, but I have a feeling the mind of Chase Landon might be more dangerous, and I would need more than a rubber suit for protection from whatever resides in there. He wins my tag team title, only to go AWOL and leave his partner in the dust. And he carries around a pet rock. I’m also hearing rumors from the Washington area that the suits I’ve spotted at the arena with Garrett are prodding him for information on Landon. Whatever that freak did, it’s gotta be bad for suits to be on him. At least he didn’t kill anyone. Yet. I don’t think. I don’t know. I really am turning into Tugarin, but whatever Donnie gave me isn’t helping my concentration. But Landon. Yes, Landon. Talk about a freak who actually needs a leash. But then again, who’s to say he wouldn’t enjoy the straightjacket and chains look? He might find that fashionable and a turn on. Kinky. I feel sorry for those rats of his.
Chains. Straightjackets. Rats. Cocaine. Dirty minds. Mindless. I really am in a multisided war with sickos.
But just below Michael Kyzer at my knees, there is a selfish desire that, of all people, Donnie is helping me achieve. Or at least I think he is. I think he said it’s in the works. F*ck all if I remember anything from that day. Maybe the rest of my conversation with Tugarin will come back to me later.
Oh, yes. My desire. Is it not obvious? I’ve made it as plain as day! Beyond Kyzer, I desire power! Not the kind of power Trace Demon has, and not the kind of power Donnie thinks he has, or Ryan Brockie thinks he has when in reality I’m running that freak show…but I desire the power Chase Landon and Jayson Garrett possess. I desire the power Ante Whitner possesses. I yearn the power Dave Demento possesses. I crave the power Drakz possesses.
Thank you, Donnie, for setting up these series of matches for me. You shall not be spared, but you will get a footnote. We all have stories, and mine will be the greatest of them all. I will attain all of this power. I will become champion. I will become champion of all.
Bottom of the ninth, two out, bases loaded down by three. I will hit the Grand Slam.
I want the Grand Slam. And I want to hit the WFWF Grand Slam in the quickest time anyone has ever achieved in this companies tainted history. And I WILL hit that Slam, by whatever means necessary. I will use Tugarin, Donnie, Malakai and anyone else I have to in order to achieve this.
I’m really losing it.
But I will do it. I will achieve my selfish desire.
This is The Ecstasy Paradox.
And this is what happens when a good man goes to war.
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