|
|
Post by PWXonline on Apr 4, 2014 20:04:42 GMT -5
Grudge Match
John Ojeda vs Darin Zion
Deadline: 4-8-14 at Midnight CST
John Ojeda and Darin Zion have held a history with one another since PWX Season 2. Darin Zion led the Resistance against Ojeda, a member of the Cartel. Both men crossed paths in the 2010 King of Deathmatch, in which, Ojeda inevitably won. However, while the second season of PWX ended, Ojeda and Zion have always found themselves against one another. Ojeda cracked Zion in the ribs before eventually taking a forced exit out of PWX due to behavioral issues during the third season. Most times: Ojeda played the heel (bad guy) and Zion played the face (good guy). As time changed, both men changed. And now, more violent than ever, both men will come out swinging this Wednesday night on ADR. The question is: who will win this ultimate fight of fights between the two men?
|
|
|
|
Post by wrath on Apr 8, 2014 20:40:16 GMT -5
Podcast 048: Pride
Oh this is going to be fun.
Shit this is like coming out on Christmas morning and finding a huge mountain of presents waiting for me to tear open. That’s what it felt like when I looked across the line up sheet and saw that I’d be getting something that I’ve desperately wanted since, well… since I came back to PWX. It’s no surprise that I’m not a big fan of Brian Hollywood. It’s even less of a surprise that I’m not a huge fan of you Darin Zion. And this is where I start getting into that whole… Christmas morning thing. Because I don’t know what I should pick first, so lets start with your dumb shit at the Pay-per-view Darin. First off, how the hell can I be a hypocrite when absolutely nothing changed. It would be one thing to call me a hypocrite if I started talking the bullshit you’ve been talking. More on that later though, Jesus boy. How am I a hypocrite? What’ because I’ve been kicking the crap out of you, your boy, and your lackeys at every turn? From where I sit, I’ve been straight up with everyone from the word go. I like money. I like beating people’s asses. I’m an asshole, and I don’t fucking like you or Brian. You see… any other time in this company’s history and I’m probably the guy that everyone boos Darin. But you two have been such gigantic vapid douche bags that people would rather cheer for me than to put you two schmucks over for half a second.
And why is that Darin? It’s because people are sick of the preachy bullshit. They’re sick of you talking like you’re better than them. You’re not. You’re half retarded. How they let you leave the house without wearing a football helmet is beyond me. Let me guess, we’re going to get some random string of profanity trying to prove that you’re amusing or tough? Well, cockbreath, it doesn’t work that way. You’re not clever just because you say jizz guzzling knob slobber lack wit. You just sound like you’re twelve and being profane for the sake of it. At least when I call you a cock breath… I mean it. I don’t mean that as a metaphor or as something that’s sic. I mean your breath really smells like bigfoot’s dick. I mean that you’ve had a lot of firm suction on Hollywood’s penis; to the point where you’ve been sucking it so much that you got strep throat. But we were all aware that you were a homo. We were all aware that this whole thing was just one big hypocrite ass act, huh Jesus boy?
Wait, about to get upset because I’m talking about your religious beliefs… if that isn’t hypocritical enough. Shit, your faith is completely hypocritical. Gods commandments say to worship him and only him; cuz he’s jealous and vengeful… so what’s with Jesus? Why you talking about him? Why are you running around acting like an arrogant, deceitful son of a bitch when you’ve claimed to be this high and mighty bible thumping Christian Darin? Why is it that it’s okay for you to lie when the commandment clearly says not too. Why is it okay for you to steal away one of the greatest matches these fans have ever seen? Why is it that your hypocritical ass can’t seem to figure out that your greed and corruption is a hindrance to PWX achieving true greatness? Why is it that you have allowed the sin of your arrogant pride to over take everything you do. Let’s get some things straight that people need to say to you, but most people are too afraid to say. Which for the record, I’m not afraid of shit you have to say or do. I beat your boyfriend’s ass like he stole something when he got into the ring with me. Just because you’re the catcher doesn’t mean I won’t beat your gay ass and get a hate crime charge for you too.
Everyone hates seeing you on television so much. The fans moan and groan every time you come on screen. The common sentiment is that the only reason you’re on television all the time is because you’re half owner and you can’t give up the spotlight. Hell, there’s even talk of you coming back to active competition. If that isn’t the biggest fucking joke I’ve ever heard. You, as an active competitor. That’s got to just about be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say Darin. There you go again with that foolish pride of yours again. Instead of standing back and letting the real workers, the people that pay the bills in this fucking company, go to work and do their thing; you have to stick your nose into every single fucking thing that goes on here. Adam Stryker can’t just be a fucking worker and make his own star. You have to try and manipulate him and make yourself the star by leaching off of him. And when you can’t accomplish it, you cast him aside and start on the next project… ala Troy Stone. The House of Stone was the Establishment mouth piece until he dropped the ball and couldn’t get it done against me… but now he’s yesterdays news.
And now you’re going to find someone new to back. Because you think they’re the next Darin Zion or some dumb shit like that. Well, why the fuck would I want to be the next Darin Zion? Why would anyone want to be the next half retarded, delusional, ego maniacal, douche bag of the century? The long and short of it is the fact that you can’t see two feet in front of your own face. You’re so worried about the things you want and the things you think you’re going to be doing; that you can’t see that you’re walking yourself into a death trap. You don’t see that you’re being played every step of the way. Your pride would never allow you to believe that someone could out smart you. Well, the sad fact is, I know twelve year olds that could outsmart you and leave you looking like the jibbering idiot that you really are. The only place where you are truly a legend is in your own mind, Darin. So you go ahead, keep thinking I’m some joke. Keep thinking all of your talking is going to change something. Keep fucking saying that you’re going to beat me and you’ve found the formula to pull it off; because we both know that isnt’ the case. We both know that’s your shameful and sinful pride coming up and rearing it’s ugly head again. Well, Darin… I will beat the pride out of you, even as you cling to.
My hands around your neck… yeah that has a nice ring to it.
Chapter 1: New Beginnings
The deluge of worries and concerns seemed to start the instant that John’s icy blue eyes popped open in the morning. The hum of the air conditioner in the background was the first thing he noticed as he shifted onto his side. A thick and meaty paw reached around the cherry wood nightstand for his cell phone. He picked it up and looked at the clock on it. Letting out a groan, he knew that going back to sleep wasn’t going to be an option. Swinging his legs off the bed, he pulled himself out of bed and started towards the bathroom. People were creatures of habit, and John was unfortunately no exception. He silently chided himself as he walked into the bathroom; knowing full well that he should think about changing some things up. It had been too long since he’d switched his patterns.
Most people thought in a very linear way. They worried about their jobs, their meals, and their friends, family, and entertainment; almost primarily in that order most of the time. John was a creature of different habit. Too much time spent in a warzone had left him a man that had little patience for bullshit; and even less patience dissent. Each and every person was treated as a potential hostile combatant, each situation was dissected like it were life and death. It had kept him alive thus far, and it was serving him well where the club was concerned. When things didn’t feel right, he wouldn’t allow things to proceed. And more than once, they’d backed off from an ambush, only to find out that they were about to walk into the trap.
John went about his morning routine, and finally found the thing that he loved the most in the world. The leather was beaten and soft. Several rips had been sewn shut, and the bullet holes in the vest were worn with pride. They were combat wounds that the jacket had suffered. He’d tried to never soil it, he’d tried to keep it as pristine and beautiful as it had been the day he’d taken the patches from his brother in the vicious rumble they all went through to get their patches. He looked at the cut and ran his hands over it, and then looked back at Madison and her pregnant belly sticking up under the blanket. John looked at the child in her stomach and then back to the cut.
It was hard for him to believe that he could love something more than his cut, but he’d managed to find that in the kick of his son. Something had stirred within him when he felt the little pulse of a life he’d created with the woman that was carrying it. He smiled at her belly and then picks up his cut and threw it on over his shoulders. He knew that Markham hated him wearing it when he showed up to one of their meetings; but that piece of leather had become a part of him. Much the same way that the dog tags had become a part of him when he was on the battlefield; the cut had just as much became a part of his physical being.
Marching out the door, he found his way into his SUV and took the cage out of the garage. If he were in a different club, he’d have had to take his cut off when he climbed into the truck; but their club was somewhat more relaxed about the rules. His grandfather had the foresight to know that people would inevitably break the rules if there were too many, and he’d rather not have to discipline them for something small, or worse, look weak for not levying a punishment for a small infraction. So less rules had been the order of the day. As he worked his way through the neighborhood, John turned off and into Washington’s Crossing park. It was a place he’d been too so many times he could shut his eyes and walk the street and not wander from it’s path.
He parked his car off in the parking lot and started hoofing it down the paved path. Oaks and birches lined the path and gave off shade as the hot July sun beat down from over head. Houses to his left seemed small, but that was the way things were in the colonial period. All of the buildings he was walking past had been standing longer than he was probably even aware of. Staring out over the waters of the Delaware river, he let out a sigh. The irony of what he was doing and where he was, wasn’t lost on him. As John approached the Blacksmith’s shop, he could see David Markham leaning against the wall of the yellow building.
“You’re late.” Markham said.
“I had to make sure no one followed me.” John responded.
“You know how punctual things need to be.” Markham said tensely.
“Yes, I do. David, I haven’t let you down yet, have I?” John said.
“No, you haven’t. That’s why I picked you boys and your club. You’re Recon boys, you’ve been sheep dipped, you know what we do.” Markham said as he shoved John towards the water front.
“Yeah, I know. And the only reason I agreed to it was to cover my ass and make my boys some cash. There’s going to come a day David, where I want out of this.” John said, knowing full well that it wasn’t what Markham wanted to hear.
“We’ll talk about that when the day comes.” Markham said dismissively.
“So what do you need?” John asked.
“Things are running very smoothly. I’m quite pleased with your boys work. You’ve been moving things along quite nicely and there are no questions with the cash.” Markham said. “But I do have a problem I could use your help with.”
“I’m listening.” John said, clearly skeptical.
“There is someone that may need to be taken care of.” Markham said.
“Taken care of?” John asked, mostly rhetorically.
“He’s got a big mouth.” Markham said. “Talks too much to his girlfriend. His Russian girlfriend.”
“Someone we all need to worry about?” John asked.
“Not for Operation Air Mail. But, he’s a problem for the Clandestine Service.” Markham said.
“Then why don’t you guys do it. Doesn’t seem like something the club needs to be involved in.” John responded.
“The directior and the Ops boss think it’s best to have some insulation and plausible deniability.” Markham said.
“And being gunned down by thugs in a motorcycle gang gives you all the deniability you need.” John said, connecting the dots and not liking the conclusion of the puzzle.
“You got it.” Markham said.
“Well, fuck you buddy. You’re not getting that.” John said bluntly.
“Excuse me?” Markham said, clearly taken back by the balls John had just displayed.
“I didn’t survive in the suck and the sandbox and in this club by being a fucking moron David.” John said.
“Are you refusing the extra job?” Markham asked.
“No, I’m just refusing to be dog fucking dumb about it.” John said. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to walk me and the club into something… but we’re still useful to you, so I doubt that’s the case. What’s the real play?”
“You…” Markham said, laughing and wagging his finger at John. “… are one smart son of a bitch. The boss wants this problem to go away, and doesn’t have the tangible evidence to put it to bed.”
“So we need to do the dirty work to cover the tracks because no one knows for sure if this guy really needs to meet Jack Kennedy.” John said. “And if someone from Clandestine does it, everyone will know and it will make all of your working environments a nightmare.”
“See, you are a smart son of a bitch.” Markham said. “So I take it you’re in.”
“Would I still be here talking to you if I wasn’t interested?” John asked in response.
“I’ll send you over everything you need.” Markham said.
“Recon, recon, recon, HO!” John said smacking Markham in the chest with a hard hand. “Cyanide.”
“What?” Markham asked.
“You heard me. I watched a thing on the Ice Man the other night. It’s quiet.” John said, referring to Richard Kuklinski.
Markham smiled, nodded, and the two men walked in opposite directions. Markham was headed to speak to the people he needed to speak to and start getting things together. John was off to go talk to the members of his club, because this was a big job and it needed to be handled in a way that most people couldn’t handle it. They were Recon Marines though and there wasn’t a job too big or too difficult for them to tackle. After all, they were there when it absolutely, positively, had to be blown up and destroyed over night. John looked backwards over his shoulder and shivered as Markham had disappeared from sight. The one thing he couldn’t deny was the fact that the spooks had done a good job of creeping him out. John hopped back in his truck and headed out; to handle more business and get things together to handle this new set of problems.
Podcast 049: History
You know, Zion, you’re a pretty predictable guy.
I know you’re going to go back to 2012 and try to drag up every piece of old debt I’ve got. You’re going to go back and find everything you can to say that I’m not who I claim to be. That I’m some kind of hypocrite. The thing about that is? Nothing changed. I still stand by the I like money thing. I still stand by the fact that I’m fucking better than you. They just decided to start cheering for me because you and your boy fucked with me and got yourself on the wrong side of my fence. They’re cheering for me because they actually respect me. And that’s what this has been about the whole time Darin. It’s been about respect. It’s been about being treated with the proper respect this entire time. And it’s clear that you have very little respect for me. Which is a lesson you should have already learned Darin.
But no, you haven’t really learned it have you. You’re still willing to stick your nose in my business, despite knowing what I do to people for doing that. You’re still willing to run your mouth and proclaim that you’re better than me, after you tried that shit once before and it cost you dearly. Eight man Darin! Six other men said the same things you said Darin… and none of them managed to do what they said they do. You didn’t do it either. I did what I said I was going to do. I splayed and flayed flesh like it was fucking judgment day. I ripped people apart and put more than one career to rest. Why I didn’t end your career in the King of the Death Matches… is something that I question every night. But I did end your chances to win it. I did end your ability to walk away with it. And that’s something you’ll never be able to say Darin.
You had your crack at me, and you failed. You had your crack at Stryker and you failed. You had your crack at being the big shot around here, and you got played and used by Hollywood for his own financial and power grabbing gain. But your dumb ass doesn’t see it. You don’t see just how stupid you are, when you babble on and on. You don’t see how stupid you are when you go after people that are putting food on your plate. You can go ahead and try to take me out; because you can’t pull it off. Brian couldn’t pull it off, Pariah couldn’t pull it off, The WhirlyTurds, the Belcunts, the Calibitch’s, and the Graves’ of the world have all tried to take me out, and no one has managed it. Shit, the entire insurgency in Iraq couldn’t do it, and damn it if they didn’t try! So go ahead bitch boy, bravado up, talk like you’re tough shit. We both know you’re not tough shit. We both know you go and hide behind other people to do your dirty work.
Not me pussy. I may have been an asshole, but I didn’t run and hide behind mommy’s skirt. I didn’t run and get lackeys to do my work. When I wanted to intimidate someone and ruin their life, I didn’t send my friends or cohorts to do the job. I went out and punched people in the face and got my results for myself. That’s what I did to you, isn’t it Darin? And that’s what I’m going to do to you again. I’m going to kick the shit out of you and walk out of Adrenaline victorious. Did it once, will do it again, and if you try me after this… I’ll beat your dumb ass again. That’s how it goes. You smaller than me, not as good as me, less intelligent than me… you end up with my fist in your face and on your back at the end of the night. Zion, I’m not fucking around with you. Maybe you didn’t get the message that Brian got. I’m not going away. I’m not giving up. You can’t break me. You never could. This is a war, and you’re on the wrong side from me. And that means I’m going to knock the top of your fucking head off. You want to play this game Zion, you’re going to find out what happens when you jump into the front line of the fight. You’re a fool, and your pride has walked you into the warzone. Well, I will beat that pride out of you… even as you cling to it.
My hands around your neck… yeah… that has a nice ring to it.
|
|
|
|
Post by Darin Zion on Apr 8, 2014 23:30:10 GMT -5
So we meet again old “friend” yet again at opposite sides of this ring. It’s not a surprise that we’re about to once again have the clash of the titans here in PWX. We know the history of our stories. I’m the hero, the savior of PWX. You’re the man who breaks apart people and the destroyer of dreams. This time we have different stories, but in the end, it comes down to the same ending every wrestling fan wants to see. The hero WILL conquer the destroyer. Just in case you haven’t figured out who the hero of PWX is; it’s Darin Zion…and don’t you forget it.
Ojeda, I haven’t forgotten our last encounter. You left me with a bad present. I wanted to give you a little taste of how it went on this past Adrenaline with your old friend the lead pipe. I never got the revenge I deserved for this:
I ended up having a few cracked ribs and BEGGED to face you again. I PLEADED to get the revenge I so rightfully deserved after you broke me down. But it went upon the ears of the idiots in power the last time you found yourself in PWX. In fact, shortly after our encounter, you left PWX because you had attitude issues. I guess you got lucky because had we crossed paths, I would end you in a heartbeat. Funny thing, you got fired because you failed to listen to the authorities and took a few undeserved liberties and you got released. Not shocking with your history Ojeda. Especially after you have a reputation of destroy PWX’s mighty. I’m sure you have fond memories of what you did to my good friend Brian Hollywood.
See Brian and I still hold those grudges Ojeda because unlike you and your brand of poisonous fans that smark out about our reign of “burying” talents, we remember the past. We don’t continue to live in the past, but we grow from it. We know people learn from their mistakes and grow. But if you want to break it down from our history Ojeda, we NEVER change. No one ever truly changes. The things that continue to drive us regardless if we play the “good guys” or the “bad guys” still drive us. I don’t step out of this curtain every week thinking, “Hmmm…I wonder how I can fuck with this week’s PWX audience with my ‘faggatory’ comments and childish antics.” I step out into the arena giving the fans what they NEED now instead of what they want. But ultimately, I still care about these fans regardless if they hate me. You still forget that no matter where I stand, I care about the PWX faithful night in and night out. I coined the phrase “PWX 4 Life” before you even had that thought in the front of your barbaric mind. And yet, you still fail to understand that I’m driven nightly by PWX fans and giving them the product of wrestling they deserve. That’s why I returned! They want to see me get my ass beaten, but what they need is their HERO winning to prove that the entire roster is a bunch of lazy pieces of shit that demand their spots. Funny thing Ojeda, you fit that description to a T when you returned. You demanded your spot back. You begged to get a World Title shot because you never lost. But what you failed to realize is we have an incredible crop of talent that comes before your selfish needs. But here comes Ojeda, running through the curtain just like all the other PWX jackoff that want their spots back. He demands his world title back and thus proves he’s poisonous to our company and our talent.
And that’s EXACTLY what we counted on when we signed you back to your new contract Ojeda. We counted on you getting motivated on the same things that motivated you the last time: money, fame, lust, creed. We knew you took pride in your work and you wanted to rejoin PWX to become its face. And we gave you it! Grant it, you still had to fight Hollywood, who’s still a little pissed about getting his ass whipped, but that’s in the past. But we wanted you to become PWX’s face and weed out its poison and so far you’ve done your job great. Grant it, you’re against us, but you’re still accomplishing what we hoped you would accomplish. You’ve destroyed Jordan Caliban with your mouth and you’ll destroy Adam Stryker. Now, you’ll say you respect PWX, you care about it, and that we’re truly the poison, but Ojeda…let’s bring out the proof:
Still not convinced?
Your actions may say you’re PWX all the way, but your heart says you still want to secretly destroy PWX. We know your past Ojeda and you cannot erase the past. I know I made my mistakes teaming up with Brian, a man who brought down PWX, but ultimately, we stopped looking at the money and the glory and fame. Brian sat down and told me truly about how the Cartel should have conquered PWX, and I honestly saw the light. Brian sat down and told me he used your greed to conquer PWX because he cared about the product. He wanted to turn PWX into a mega company to benefit all our great talents and give them the exposure they deserved. He wanted to take PWX into the golden ages, creating stars that rivaled Hogan, Savage, Cena, Punk, etc. When I knew my vision was his vision, he and I reunited and conquered PWX, aiming to conquer the world. But you Ojeda, you never saw Brian’s true vision. You basically fell asleep at the wheel. The money, pain, and destruction still motivated you when we tasked you to “do what you do best” when you signed. We proved it, you’re poison. You destroyed Brian, Troy, and now Adam Stryker. But unlike the poisonous people like Adam Stryker, John Pariah, and Jordan Caliban, you somehow motivate our roster to shape up their acts and get their asses into gear. You’ll cut through anyone standing in your way to do it, bury them, and kill all their momentum. It’s because of your hard life of drugs, biking, pimping, all that illegal bullshit you support that drives you to poison yourself, people, and the companies you work for.
Yes, Ojeda, I respect you for living the hard life, overcoming the bullshit, and coming to PWX and making a better name for yourself. Not many talents can say all the accomplishments you’ve done AFTER they get caught up in all of that shit. But Ojeda, you’re not the only person who experienced pain in his life. You think I’ve never experienced anything in life like you had to experience. I know, you’ve fought real wars with guns and thugs and I’ve fought in a fake sport war. But don’t discount me for not dodging bullets. I fell off of cages, been thrown off ladders and my body’s about to fall apart, but my spirit still continues on. But honestly Ojeda, you’ve never walked a mile in my shoes. You want to discredit me constantly for how far I’ve come in this sport to make yourself look better. But Ojeda, you never grew up in my house. You never had an alcoholic father who physically and mentally abused any of your family before. You’ve never had your mother just sit and watch and not step up and fill your dad’s shoes and just watch you and your brother get beat. You’ve never had to lose anyone that you loved in gun fire or get murdered while in a comma. And I’ll admit, my family issues are low on the totem pole, but Ojeda, you’ve not seen the world’s I’ve seen. You’ve not seen me slit throats of people and watched them bleed for your own revenge for your family. You just do it for business. I do it PASSIONATELY! I feel the hatred, anger, and destitution for EVERYONE I’ve ever murdered to find the answers to why Clara got murdered. I’ve killed people just so I could rescue people because of my love for them. But you are void of emotions or passion Ojeda. And that’s always held you back. You don’t have a soul.
And that’s where we will always differ. People think caring opens the door for weakness, but it’s what’s driven me to where I stand today: one of the owners of PWX. I didn’t get here because I didn’t care. And that’s what makes me better than you! I do care and I’ll do whatever it takes to conquer ANYTHING that stands in my way. I’ll shit on these fans to get PWX to the next level if I must. I’ll throw you into the morgue…hell I’d go back and shit on my dead brother’s legacy if it puts PWX at the greatest wrestling federation of all time. What would you do Ojeda? You won’t sell your morals short! You’ll won’t join the Establishment and sell your ‘morals’ short. But Ojeda, we stand for the same things: work ethic, money, and pride. We want to destroy the poisons that obliterate PWX. But yet, your stupidity sells yourself short of becoming the greatest PWX wrestler of all time. You may call me emotional, but I call my emotion my weapon of mass destruction. I’ve won championships, destroyed legends, and conquered PWX with my dedication and my emotion. Sure I’ve broken hearts, acted like a douche bag, and mocked myself through the process, but at the end of the day, I sold my soul for success Ojeda. I didn’t sell it for a hooker and a lead pipe like you did. And I’m proud what I’ve become. And your words won’t stop me. Neither will your actions!
Ojeda, you cracked me in the ribs, destroyed my body in Cage of Death, beaten me down with many weapons to try to crack my spirit all these years, and now look who’s better than who. At Adrenaline, I will end you and your mediocre rip off of the Sons of Anarchy storyline. I may run your bitch ass with your own Harley. I will use weapons to break your skull, arms, and legs just to make sure I get my point across: you signed OUR contract and you are OUR bitch. You apparently think that you aren’t owned, acting like some bitch without a leash. You won’t soil MY yard. And you won’t take my yard away from me either. You’ll have to cart me to the morgue to even get me to leave PWX and give up the reigns. And don’t get any ideas because Brian will slap your happy ass with a lawsuit that’ll make you, your girlfriend, your bike ganger, and all of the collective people mention’s great great grandchildren tons of money, you know, the idol you worship?!
Now if that’s not ruthless, I don’t know what is to you, you heartless piece of crap. I don’t need to play drug cartel games, I don’t need to play politics, nor do I need to slit your throat. I end you in the middle of that ring, and I show the world that there’s truly no challenge that will stand in our way. I’ll shut up all these delusional people that tell you I don’t belong by delivering the head of their people’s champion: Ojeda on a silver fucking platter. And that's because I won't stop until I end you Ojeda. You're the one guy I haven't beaten and I won't rest until I knock your head off, spill your blood, and kill you, you fucking dragon. I won't go away, and Ojeda I'm not about to just let you win because you want to win. I may run my mouth now, but when I step into the ring on Adrenaline, mark my words you're stepping into the ring with the legendary Darin Zion, not the start up idiot kid who continually hit the glass ceiling. And there's not a damn word you can say that'll piss me off to lose my game, and there's definitely not a damn fucking thing you can do to get me too focused. I'm in the zone, and rest assured, there won't be faggatory insults or flaming insults. It's my fists and mark my words, I will SLAY YOU! After all, it's truly what's best for business.
=======================================================================
"Who's there?!"
[The night wind whisked violently against the open windows of the dimly lit room. A storm brewed on the previously nice and warm night in the San Diego area. The wind continued to flap the windows violently against the siding of the house. The room, so warmly up kept, had many different Christian knick knacks stacked against the shelves of the quaint room. Lightning flashed as the candle light warmed up the room around. As the whistling continued, we see an old man, about 5 foot in height kneeling down beside the bed. Oh too perfect...he'd stayed there right enough for me to strike. He focused back on his prayers after he heard me enter. He didn't know what laid for him as I walked quietly in the shadows. I had too many questions on my mind from the last few days since the dream. Too many things swirled in my head...I needed to find my mother's killer...I desperately NEEDED it. Every time my brain would turn, it kept throbbing, causing me pain. But I knew this man had what I needed. But I hadn't talked to him in years. Tonight was the night. I immediately walked up to the bed, completely in garb. I wanted to scare him shitless. As he continued to pray quietly on the small, old, wooden bed post, I crept up behind him, almost stalking him. I quietly whip out my sword. I slide right next to him and I immediately unsheathe it. I whisk it quickly to his neck, and he let out a blood piercing scream heard over into the next county. I immediately slap my hand against his mouth and glare at him from under my mask.]
Me: Do you still have it?
[The man slowly stutters.]
Man: What are you talking about?! I know nothing.
Me: I know he keeps it here. After all, the man calls you his dearest friend after all these years. Especially since you helped him escape the pain and misery of his father. I want that fucking book right now.
[The book....I hadn't mentioned it in quite a while. I remember the day I'd came up with the book in the priesthood covenant back in 2008. My father had quite the growing number of enemies looking for a Matthews. I wrote down the names of the men, just in case they attacked my mother. Each of them swore vengeance to my family after my father constantly picketed gay marriages, soldier funerals, just like that bastard from Westboro Baptist Church. While my faith stayed strong, I couldn't bear to see my father ruining it for others. I wanted to sift through the black leather bindings of it, find a name, and slit the fucker's throat. I knew his name sits in that book and I had to hide it from myself to never look upon it again. I wanted the memory locked up...just like....this....
Terry, the man I grabbed, continued to struggle as I threw him stiffly towards the ground. He struggled with me trying to "fight back" like an old man would. He threw his elbows into my body as I slowly brought him down towards the ground and started to cut his circulation off. He didn't respond, and I would force his hand....the mask took over me. Fury, anger, hatred unraveled within my being almost immediately. The only thing I was: red. The world around me tuned out as Terry started turning purple around his face.]
Me: I'll say it again since your retarded old ass didn't respond...where...the...FUCK is that book?!
Terry: I...can't...I just....can't tell you...if it falls into the wrong hands....
Me: Then tell him VALENCIO will kill you dead in cold blood.
Terry: Valencio?!
[My heart paused for a moment...I'd forgotten he'd knew. Back before I returned to PWX in 2009, I didn't want to take off the mask. Terry received a phone call that day when I returned state side. I couldn't resist rejoining PWX back then: especially since I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. When Clara passed away and I returned to PWX, Terry begged me to take off the mask. But for all my sins and all the sins I caused Clara; I just couldn't remove that mask. I felt ugly, tortured...like a weight held me down. But Terry never knew the face. Immediately, I snapped out of the cold blooded killer mode the mask puts me in many times. I released the hold and Terry struggles to his feet while getting to the floor. As he put his weight on the floor from his fat pudgy body, the floor slowly creaked. As I came to and sheathed my sword. He stood there, completely in awe. He hadn't seen this face of me...cold, heartless, ruthless, and calculating. Traits that a true wrestler turned vigilante hitman displays. Terry slowly walks towards me and slowly unmasks me. My eyes couldn't hide the lies: murder lied on the eyes. He paced back slowly and cautiously as he walked towards the bed. He reached underneath it to retrieve a 5 year old dusty shoe box, no locks on it. How typical of a World War II survivor. Terry pulled the box out of the bed and grabbed the little black book. It's black leather shined in the flashing of the lightning. As Terry reached out to hand it to me, he pulled back, hesitating.]
Terry: It's been a long time since you mentioned this book. Are you completely sure you want it right now?
Darin: Yes! I know it may seem like eons ago, but something came up. And I need the book immediately.
Terry: I understand, but come downstairs, let's have tea like the good ole' times. I feel you're going to do something God will not forgive you for my son.
Darin: Not unless God appointed me as a hitman. I'm sure He'll forgive me for this.
[Terry shook his head and immediately pointed to his old creaky stairwell. I immediately remove the cape and set it on his bed. Terry yawns as he starts walking the old spiral staircase down to his small as hell kitchen. But Terry always remained a simple man. Even though I covered his expenses for health and gave him wealth for preaching the good word for Zion, he always enjoyed the simple life. He could never part with his small wooden furniture passed down between all the generations of his family. He always drank tea out of his white glass tea pot with the purple lily on it. He kept his 'treasures' to remember the past by. He reached into his rotting white wooden cabinets and pulled out a couple of packages of tea. And sure enough, he went to his old rusty white stove, grabbed the historical teapot, and pour water into and started to heat it up. I stood there lost in my thoughts for a while.
Terry never got a chance to see me in a killer mode. He didn't know my hatred for my mother's killer, but then again, he knew almost everything about me. He followed my career, my life, my everything. I didn't need to call him, he always figured it out through one of his friends. As the pot steamed, he walked over towards the table and pulled my chair down. But I motioned to him I was fine. Terry immediately pulled out his chair and looked over at me. He looked down rather disappointed.]
Terry: Look, I know someone got your mother, but how can you be positively certain it's...him.
[My eyes lit up, my face glowed almost with a bright light. My voice raised as I began to speak.]
Darin: Because of what he told me all those years ago. You remember...he said he'd fucking burn my family to the fucking ground. He'd make us suffer for the pain church caused him. For all the rapes that the "church" of my father committed. And you tell me I wouldn't immediately believe that HE isn't a suspect? That's like telling a person who can clearly see they're blind.
Terry: But what about Acts 2:38, " Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit". See while you learned of Jesus through the last few years, you need to show that man mercy for what he did to your family. I know you still haven't understood that by all your fancy wrestling talk and your hitman life style, but son, you're passions may not always lead to the same path of forgiveness for yourself. I know what's going on with you...you....
[Immediately I stand up and glare him directly in the eyes. My body grows intensely with hatred. My fists quiver and I want to drive my fists immediately through his table, but I restrict myself. I take a couple of breaths after I cut Terry off and start remembering Clara in my vision...she is my focus, my rock....]
Darin: Terry, I know the spiel about forgiveness, but I need to find this out. I don't want the religion in this. I just want the information. I want to go to the police...I want...
Terry: Justice? Right! That's why you come barging in here with the mask and the sword threatening to kill me with your alter egos and bull crap like that. You're possessed my son, and with a demon too! Look, I'm not trying to give you this spiel for my health. It's because I believe in Jesus who raised up for my sins and He forgives everyone.
Darin: But the man who killed my mother's a demon! He haunts my dreams every night. The shadow continually plagues me. I keep getting the visions, Terry, of him....KILLLING HER. It doesn't end well. I see blood spewing from her neck all over the walls, all over my dream, and it rips me apart every night. I want the damned book. I want closure to my night terrors. I cannot sleep and I need solace!
[Terry immediately goes silent and starts to pray. You can tell he struggles with making the right decision. He looks down at the book and he continues to struggle with regret. Typical practice my dad did and I still do before making a huge decision I regret. I continue to pray to make sure I don't lose it, but here lately, I continue to lose it. Something just doesn't set well with my soul. My soul feels more dark and demented as usual. Maybe from all the death I've witnessed in the last few years...I don't know. I just want it to go away and it keeps sucking me in. As I close my eyes to pray for my will to be done, I immediately flash into the dream again. Suddenly, a shadowy cloud emerges right in front of me. His eyes beaming crimson. His hunger for blood continued to grow and grow exponentially. As the shadow approached me, I could hear him saying to me.]
Shadow: That's it continue to play my game. Spill more blood! It's exactly what I want. After all, you want my head...let's just give it to you.
[The shadow immediately rips his head off and I immediately flash back to real life screaming. Terry immediately sees me screaming and grabs me. He puts his arm around my back to comfort me. He whispers in my ear quietly as he puts his hands on me. As I turn and look at him, I see the book sitting in his hands, unprotected while he prayed over me. I wanted to grab it, but I respected his wishes. As I came to consciousness a bit more he smiled, warmingly. He looks towards the tea and grabs two cups. You could tell he was ready. As he reached for the two cups, he grabbed one with a yin and one with a yang on it. He grabs two saucers and sets them both in front of our spots. He struggled with pouring the first cup, so I immediately grabbed the cup and helped him dump it out. As the cups filled with warm water, I felt a sense of peace over me for the first time in a while. Kindly, I glance over at him with a loving smile.]
Darin: Thanks, I appreciate that. I've needed a little prayer. It's been a while.
Terry: I could tell with all the uneasiness in your life. I now know you've sinned a lot too. But it's none of my business. While the demon came out, I heard you screaming your prayers of forgiveness. You know you've gotten yourself into some heavy stuff. What's keeping you going with all this regret, especially with your bloodlust for murder.
Darin: Well, honestly, I couldn't tell you. It's just something this time tells me it's time to kill this guy. Maybe it's because he's so evil. Maybe it's my gut feeling. Or maybe just maybe my hatred flares up or a combination of all three. But I've never understood it. I feel like the hatred and revenge part's gone, but I still feel like...it's....
Terry: Righteous even though you want to do it. That's how I felt entering the priesthood son. But honestly, I at least understand what you're going through.
[After he takes a sip from the Yin cup, he immediately slides the book over towards me. I immediately reach in and place the book into my back pocket. My eyes light up completely in shock. I didn't think Terry would give me the book. But you can tell he did so begrudgingly. His eyes immediately drop in disappointment. He shakes his head for a moment, but knows the deed that's about to take place. He immediately reaches up his cup and smiles at me as I take another sip of tea.]
Terry: Look, I may not like what you're doing, but honestly, I'm still proud of you and love being your mentor. But be careful, Darin. I understand that you've gotten the call from God to do this task, but you're still walking a fine line. You always hide behind your different masks that gets you hurt. You've always hid behind your different masks: Valencio, Muerte Dios, Darin Zion. But you've never found out who Darin Matthews truly is from all this experiences. And I feel that's going to be the one thing that gets you killed, my son. You don't know who's out there ready to kill you. And I want to protect you. That's why I struggled with giving you this book. And grant it, I know you're troubles, but know I forgive you.
Darin: Thank you, Terry. I appreciate you for taking me under your wing as a surrogate son. Not many people did that for me over the years. I just want to say I love you and appreciate everything you've done for me. And honestly if anything ever were to happen to you....
*BANG!!!!! CRACK!!!!!*
[You know those scenes from movies that go in slow motion and play the classical music the gangster's play? That's how the next five minutes passed for me. I watched the Yin cup shatter as Terry took his last sip. The bullet immediately passed through his head at a million miles an hour and my heart stopped instantly. I immediately unsheathed my sword and dawned the mask: they wanted this book. I knew immediately HE didn't want me to find out his name. But it was time for war. Terry's word's echoed through my head and it was time to find out who Darin Matthews was...but tonight just wasn't that night. Tonight would end with bloodshed, war, and death. And I was not about to drop my masks just yet. Tonight: vengeance would be served with a sword. Tonight: the night was a fire fight.]
*BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!! BAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!
{To Be Continued}
|
|
