A Question Of Scale

[Frozen Atlantic]

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"When asked how much educated men were superior to those uneducated, Aristotle answered, 'As much as the living are to the dead.'"
- Diogenes Laertius

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*A voice speaks from the darkness.*

Teresa:
Greetings, future lackeys. I must say... I tried to do things the right way.

*Cut : The scene is inside a cave. There's a small fire, slowly emanating smoke from the pile. We see our protagonist from behind the smoke, with some rudimentary camping equipment to the side.*

Teresa:
I wanted to show the roster here the courtesy the impudent newcomers of my old scratching post failed to show me, the basic respect of keeping my mouth shut until I could ascertain my surroundings, until I could understand what I was getting into. That I wouldn't disrespect the unknown. What a disappointment, then... when many of the people here made themselves so completely and depressingly known right away. Because now, I don't really feel like doing things "the right way". And that is going to have disastrous consequences for some of you.

*Slowly, deliberately, she moves, pulling out a package of hot dogs from a nearby bag. It's skewered slowly, symbolically, and placed along the flame.*

Teresa:
***** Boy? Biiitch Boy? Fee fi fo fum, you little victim, I smell the blood of a champion. I know, I know, it's been a long time since any rational human coveted anything that's ever been around your waist, but what can I say? I have a weakness for shiny things. I want to pay tribute to the Goddess, of course. I also want to ensure myself a nice, comfortable pile of bodies to climb on my way to more interesting competition.

But you just have to resist, don't you? You want to dodge me, prop Billy up a s a proper opponent. Save yourself an absolutely epic one sided beating. Fair enough. I thought self preservation would be a fad when they introduced it a few million years ago, but damned if humanity doesn't want to ride it and see where it goes. But... ***** Boy? I'm really not going to wait. I lack the patience to do things "the right way" this time around. Every week that I have to backhand poor, innocent Billy Lovemuscle to the point of tears. Every week that I have to obliterate some coked up clown like Maggot... their blood's on your hands, ***** Boy, and I'm going to throw so many bodies at your feet that you'll have no room to retreat, maneuver, or backpedal. Really, you're only making things worse for yourself.

*The hot dog is finished. It goes to the side. She speaks as the marshmallows go on in a much more casual manner.*

Teresa:
Which is as good a segue as any, I guess, for the match in front of me. It's myself and Felix Red... against the team of Maggot... and Billy Lovemuscle.

Dear Goddess, I thought Ihad a sadistic streak. I understand the logic, of course, but... this is a template for wholesale, unmitigated slaughter. I'm not sure who the two of you pissed off in the front office, but if I were you, I'd apologize. Or at least double check and make sure this wasn't intended to be some kind of handicap match.

As it is... Felix? You're a wise man. I think we're of like minds. Plus, being a former champion yourself, I certainly don't need to hold your hand through this one, which is... comforting. Feel free to save yourself for dismantling the Crown Prince Of Southwest Samoa or whatever. Or don't. Whatever pleases you... and that is the name of the game, isn't it?

As for you other two...gentlemen... do you know why mosquitoes are crushed at human hands? It isn't their size, or their fragility, or their relative stupidity. It's a question of scale.

They think they've landed in a field that stretches as far as their eyes can see... but they're on the back of a palm, existing within the space of a few inches. They think they're alone, and so close to the blood of life... but they're being watched by something infinitely more powerful, with a vantage point so high that it can't differentiate between individual members of the species, a being that could send its guts shooting through its eyesockets with a whim and a properly placed pinky finger.

They think they're so close to their purpose, to the blood that ensures their survival. But when the sun is blotted out overhead and they realize in horror that this field of life is a chamber of death, their burial ground... it's too late for them to alter their fate. Squish!

*Cold laughter ricochets off the walls of the cavern.*

Teresa:
I know what you're thinking. I have to. My mind contains yours, although naturally, you don't know it yet. What if I am the parasite in this analogy? Me and Felix, two gnats on a hairy, sweat slickened rednecks arm? Well, I suppose only an unmitigated idiot would think my sense of scale is smaller than yours. I've seen, future minions. Heard. Observed. Discovered. Thought. Taught. Fought. I've been praised by God. I've slept with the Devil. Those big ****ing horns? Like cruise control for cunnilingus.

That is to say, I've done. Everything. This lifetime is a victory lap. I've dismantled - slowly - my share of good ol' boys and ultra generic hard drinking badasses. Safe wager that Red has done the same. Guys like you are my job. You are what I do for a living. You are how I keep rainwater out of my hair. You're about as mysterious to me as a gas station porta-potty is to ***** Boy. Neither of you, however, have seen anything like me in your darkest nightmares or your wettest dreams. Scale defeats you. QED, kids.

*The marshmallows, once plump, have been shrunken by the theheat, dripping, fading.*

Teresa:
You're here for three counts. I'm here for body counts. You're here to collect victories, I'm here to collect minds. You two want to build a glorious future... I want to show you how a bright future... can dissolve to nothing in the blink of an eye.

Like I said before, it's a question of scale.

*Cut to black. A voice speaks from the darkness.*

Teresa:
Hail Discordia!​