(CUE UP: “Armageddon” by Jucifer.)
(Our scene begins at Oak Hill Cemetery in Lebanon, Indiana, in the midst of a gray and rainy afternoon. A figure clad in BLACK sits on a dark plot of earth, his back slumped against a marble tombstone on a dark. He seems neither mindful of his surroundings nor the weather, passively holding up a forty ounce bottle of malt liquor and sticks it under the hood pulled up over the face for a swig, and raising it to the sky in a manner of toasting.)
Rezin
Here’s to you, ‘Nark... gone, but not forgotten... and certainly not forever.
(He pours one out... then remembers something else and holds it up again.)
Rezin
For that matter, here’s one for the cause of chaos the two of us stood for...
(Pours out another.)
Rezin
And here’s one to the erstwhile Television Anti-Championship of Empire Pro, it’s impact absolutely unnoticed...
(Pours out another.)
Rezin
Here’s one for all the others that have left us...
(Pours out another.)
Rezin
...and oh, what the hell, let’s give one more to all those that will leave us in time.
(Pours malt liquor to the ground for the fourth time, and then he brings the bottle back to his mouth for a swig... only to find it now empty. He upends it for a moment and bears a grimace as he watches the last few drops slip out and disappear in the rain. Then, muttering with indifference, he tosses the empty bottle haphazardly over his shoulder. We can hear it break elsewhere in the graveyard off-camera. Even though he’s taken no notice of us, the coarse and smoke-scarred voice of REZIN begins to address us.)
Rezin
Anarky is the lucky one. He won’t see what is to follow... the decay, and the doom. It’s a miserable sight, befit for miserable people like me.
But don’t get me wrong... it’s not like I’m not tempted to follow ‘Nark on his way out. It wouldn’t be hard... to just say fuck it, and move on with my life and my career. After all, it’s not like I’m finding my work in the indie’s a lot more satisfying. At least when I get kicked in the face while wearing a goat mask, people RESPECT the motherfucking work I do, and don’t treat me like some waste of time and money due to the fact that I don’t put a few pounds of leather and tin over everything else in my existence.
All that aside... I know that you ALL of you would love nothing more to see me gone. I know it would make things that much more pleasant for you and your business, to have this complete and utter failure, who is lazy, and cowardly, and smelly, and stupid, and all things bad, to stop mucking up all your affairs, and then you could get on with your five-star main event Pay Per View matches.
But maybe it’s that very fact that keeps me hanging on, like a pool of sludge stinking up your sunny picnic... stubbornly refusing to step aside and watch all of you RAPE this federation that I built on my sweat and blood and bones.
(He pulls back the hood, taking a moment to feel the rain on his face, and his shades find the camera.)
Rezin
It may have appeared that Unleashed has marked the welcomed demise of our alliance of destruction... but you’d be gravely mistaken if any of you thought you could now rest easy. All that has really been “unleashed” upon this federation is a virus of confusion, chaos, and catastrophe... and that virus is me.
After all, the greatest and most efficient killers on this planet are the ones you can’t see... that kill you slowly, piece by piece, over an extended period of time, so that you WATCH yourself die. Such is the case for this Empire...
(He rises up to his feet, using the headstone for support and burying his heels heedlessly into the mud.)
Rezin
You all probably think I bitched out on that Intercontinental Title match. Really, though... it was yet another one of those funny situations where I know I could have won, but strangely, had no desire to do so.
The element of chaos was on my side... you saw it yourself, when I clipped the wings of the Last Nighthawk... but, I guess you could say I found myself in a Boogie Smallz kind of moment. More specifically, I looked at the situation, realized I was pretty much being set up to fail, and opted to leave on my own terms rather than be yet another name for our current champion to brag about.
I wasn’t even originally picked to be in that match... my name was only brought up as a last minute replacement, which only goes to show you what Dan Ryan thinks of my abilities in the ring. Nothing substantial... just filler. Like black tar, filling the cracks and keeping the presentation smooth.
So I said fuck it... if I’m going to be tar, then I might as well BRING some tar to the ring.
(He chuckles, dry and hoarse, taking a few steps closer to the camera. It pans down as he reaches down to pick up his industrial-sized bucket... filled with a new concoction of black and vile scum. The lid is open, and level steadily rises as the rainwater fills it.)
Rezin
Some might say that an opportunity was given to me, and I whiffed on it... but you know something? I’ve never been “given” anything in my entire life. From the day I was conceived, the gods have seen fit to spit on me at every corner.
All my life, the muck’s been kicked in my face... I’ve been called a worthless bastard, and an absolute waste of life, by people who had no fucking idea what life was worth to begin with. Here I am, thirty years later, yet again completely alone on this cold and uncaring planet... and I’m tired of being the one rolling in filth.
It’s time I rolled some of YOU into that filth.
But where do I begin? Do I try to put some taint on any of Dan Ryan’s precious titles? Is there a legacy I can tarnish, or an out-of-control ego to stain?
For the all-consuming swarm of locusts... the dark skies are the limit.
You can’t kill me, Empire...
(He shakes his head.)
Rezin
Some people in this world just aren’t lucky enough to die...
(He pulls up the hood and turns around to face the headstone again, remaining silent for a moment of contemplation. The camera re-adjusts its position to read the epitaph
(Erik Black makes a half-assed salute.)
Rezin
Happy Mother’s Day and good-bye, you frigid bitch...
(He approaches the grave, sticking his hands into the mud and spreading the black earth across the engraved letters.)
Rezin
...until we become one again, in the Void.
(Grunting, Rezin makes his way through the rows of stones, bucket of black at his side, disappearing as the rainfall gets heavier. The camera finds the headstone again, where the word "Devoted" has been obscured behind a veil of black grime, identifying the deceased simply as "Mother". In the distance, a death knell sounds, heralding the fade to black.)
(Our scene begins at Oak Hill Cemetery in Lebanon, Indiana, in the midst of a gray and rainy afternoon. A figure clad in BLACK sits on a dark plot of earth, his back slumped against a marble tombstone on a dark. He seems neither mindful of his surroundings nor the weather, passively holding up a forty ounce bottle of malt liquor and sticks it under the hood pulled up over the face for a swig, and raising it to the sky in a manner of toasting.)
Rezin
Here’s to you, ‘Nark... gone, but not forgotten... and certainly not forever.
(He pours one out... then remembers something else and holds it up again.)
Rezin
For that matter, here’s one for the cause of chaos the two of us stood for...
(Pours out another.)
Rezin
And here’s one to the erstwhile Television Anti-Championship of Empire Pro, it’s impact absolutely unnoticed...
(Pours out another.)
Rezin
Here’s one for all the others that have left us...
(Pours out another.)
Rezin
...and oh, what the hell, let’s give one more to all those that will leave us in time.
(Pours malt liquor to the ground for the fourth time, and then he brings the bottle back to his mouth for a swig... only to find it now empty. He upends it for a moment and bears a grimace as he watches the last few drops slip out and disappear in the rain. Then, muttering with indifference, he tosses the empty bottle haphazardly over his shoulder. We can hear it break elsewhere in the graveyard off-camera. Even though he’s taken no notice of us, the coarse and smoke-scarred voice of REZIN begins to address us.)
Rezin
Anarky is the lucky one. He won’t see what is to follow... the decay, and the doom. It’s a miserable sight, befit for miserable people like me.
But don’t get me wrong... it’s not like I’m not tempted to follow ‘Nark on his way out. It wouldn’t be hard... to just say fuck it, and move on with my life and my career. After all, it’s not like I’m finding my work in the indie’s a lot more satisfying. At least when I get kicked in the face while wearing a goat mask, people RESPECT the motherfucking work I do, and don’t treat me like some waste of time and money due to the fact that I don’t put a few pounds of leather and tin over everything else in my existence.
All that aside... I know that you ALL of you would love nothing more to see me gone. I know it would make things that much more pleasant for you and your business, to have this complete and utter failure, who is lazy, and cowardly, and smelly, and stupid, and all things bad, to stop mucking up all your affairs, and then you could get on with your five-star main event Pay Per View matches.
But maybe it’s that very fact that keeps me hanging on, like a pool of sludge stinking up your sunny picnic... stubbornly refusing to step aside and watch all of you RAPE this federation that I built on my sweat and blood and bones.
(He pulls back the hood, taking a moment to feel the rain on his face, and his shades find the camera.)
Rezin
It may have appeared that Unleashed has marked the welcomed demise of our alliance of destruction... but you’d be gravely mistaken if any of you thought you could now rest easy. All that has really been “unleashed” upon this federation is a virus of confusion, chaos, and catastrophe... and that virus is me.
After all, the greatest and most efficient killers on this planet are the ones you can’t see... that kill you slowly, piece by piece, over an extended period of time, so that you WATCH yourself die. Such is the case for this Empire...
(He rises up to his feet, using the headstone for support and burying his heels heedlessly into the mud.)
Rezin
You all probably think I bitched out on that Intercontinental Title match. Really, though... it was yet another one of those funny situations where I know I could have won, but strangely, had no desire to do so.
The element of chaos was on my side... you saw it yourself, when I clipped the wings of the Last Nighthawk... but, I guess you could say I found myself in a Boogie Smallz kind of moment. More specifically, I looked at the situation, realized I was pretty much being set up to fail, and opted to leave on my own terms rather than be yet another name for our current champion to brag about.
I wasn’t even originally picked to be in that match... my name was only brought up as a last minute replacement, which only goes to show you what Dan Ryan thinks of my abilities in the ring. Nothing substantial... just filler. Like black tar, filling the cracks and keeping the presentation smooth.
So I said fuck it... if I’m going to be tar, then I might as well BRING some tar to the ring.
(He chuckles, dry and hoarse, taking a few steps closer to the camera. It pans down as he reaches down to pick up his industrial-sized bucket... filled with a new concoction of black and vile scum. The lid is open, and level steadily rises as the rainwater fills it.)
Rezin
Some might say that an opportunity was given to me, and I whiffed on it... but you know something? I’ve never been “given” anything in my entire life. From the day I was conceived, the gods have seen fit to spit on me at every corner.
All my life, the muck’s been kicked in my face... I’ve been called a worthless bastard, and an absolute waste of life, by people who had no fucking idea what life was worth to begin with. Here I am, thirty years later, yet again completely alone on this cold and uncaring planet... and I’m tired of being the one rolling in filth.
It’s time I rolled some of YOU into that filth.
But where do I begin? Do I try to put some taint on any of Dan Ryan’s precious titles? Is there a legacy I can tarnish, or an out-of-control ego to stain?
For the all-consuming swarm of locusts... the dark skies are the limit.
You can’t kill me, Empire...
(He shakes his head.)
Rezin
Some people in this world just aren’t lucky enough to die...
(He pulls up the hood and turns around to face the headstone again, remaining silent for a moment of contemplation. The camera re-adjusts its position to read the epitaph
Here Lies
LOUISE ELLEN BLACK
October 10, 1964 - April 27, 2013
Devoted Mother
LOUISE ELLEN BLACK
October 10, 1964 - April 27, 2013
Devoted Mother
(Erik Black makes a half-assed salute.)
Rezin
Happy Mother’s Day and good-bye, you frigid bitch...
(He approaches the grave, sticking his hands into the mud and spreading the black earth across the engraved letters.)
Rezin
...until we become one again, in the Void.
(Grunting, Rezin makes his way through the rows of stones, bucket of black at his side, disappearing as the rainfall gets heavier. The camera finds the headstone again, where the word "Devoted" has been obscured behind a veil of black grime, identifying the deceased simply as "Mother". In the distance, a death knell sounds, heralding the fade to black.)