PRAYERS ARE POINTLESS
From the everlasting VOID, a voice calls out…
Rezin: Hope…
Cut to the Universal ANTI-Champion of PRIME, seated at the edge of a steel folding chair in his personal room backstage.
Rezin: Hope is irrational.
Technically, it’s more of a glorified broom closet than an actual “room”. But then, the Escape Artist has never been one to require the finest of accommodations. Just a place to park his ass, and four walls to remain hidden from the outside world, while he waits for the one thing he’s there to do.
Rezin: Hope ain’t nothin’ but a safety net for the weak mind, to keep ya from thinkin’ ‘bout how the Universe around us all is absolutely cold and indifferent to our existence. And yet, ya keep clingin’ to it, like the scum that ya are. HOPIN’… for this nightmare to end. HOPIN’… for a champ ya can look up to. A champ that can make ya proud to call yourself a FAN… of PRIME Wrestling.
Unlike the champ we have at present, bearing the grimey, uncurated PRIME Universal Championship over his shoulder like a sacrilegious war trophy.
Rezin: A year and one day ago, at this very event, I told Simon that I was made to shock cultures…. and I’ll be DAMBED if I lied. Strippin’ that belt offa your anointed hero in Hayes Hanlon overturned erry expectation in this company. I didn’t just level the playin’ field… it fuggin’ TERRAFORMED that bish! In one night, I completely changed the narrative here in PRIME Wrestling… and the world over.
Rezin’s bloodshot eyes are unfocused and dilated. Practically shark-like.
Rezin: Now y’all are dealin’ with the product of twenty years of hardship, heartache, and HELL on that filthy canvas. A LOSER that refuses to lose, and has taken your Universal Title hostage.
His lips curl into a toothy grin. Also shark-like.
Rezin: Here in a few minutes, I’m walkin’ into that cell… knowin’ there will be no place for this Escape Artist to ESCAPE. But I ain’t sweatin’ that. In fact, if anybuddy should be sweatin’, it’s THEM… not knowin’ what I will inevitably do when I’m cornered and left with nowhere to run. When the SAVAGE inside of me has no choice but to ESCAPE this prison of flesh and bone, and be left to RUN WILD!
His chuckle is dry and raspy. Wet gravel sifting around at the bottom of a steel barrel.
Rezin: Like I said a year ago… the only doctrine I believe is survival of the fittest. And in that DAMBed cage, it ain’t gonna be any different. There will be no pesky fines to punish me for what I do. No Enemigos to stop me once I’ve begun. Ironically, that cage is the one place where I can forever and finally be my FREE self…
Knock. Knock.
Two raps at the door behind him. And a voice from the other side.
“We’re ready.”
So is the Goat Bastard, rising up to his feet and stowing away his championship belt into its sack before tying it off.
Rezin: Understand me, PRIME… I want to leave ya all disappointed tonight. I want to leave ya feelin’ uncertain about the future of this company. I want the blood-suckin’ suits back at the network to shit their pants when they realize how much they stand to lose offa me. I want this match to inspire all those deodorant-hatin’ High Octane neckbeards out there to haul their fat asses out of their computer chairs and jump a staggering two inches for joy, knowin’ the greatest competition to their dearly beloved franchise just signed its own death sentence by allowin’ a crusty ol’ fuck like ME to continue bein’ its Universal ANTI-Champion.
Behind him, the door swings open, and light pours into the dank confines of the room.
Rezin: Cause all I do is disappoint. It’s prolly the only thing I’m good at in this world. And the Universe is no doubt intendin’ to disappoint ya as well, by showin’ ya once more what happens when ya invest in something as frail and flimsy as hope.
He slings the sack over his shoulder.
Rezin: Prayers are pointless, scum. I’m your god now.
Rezin turns and steps through the doorway, leaving behind the VOID and disappearing into the light.