SEIZING THE MEANS OF DESTRUCTION
“UP!”
“UP!”
A blurry view fades in from black, as though someone is coming out of sleep. When the vision comes into focus, there’s a profoundly hideous face occupying the view.
Rezin: I said, UP! C’mon, WAKE UP, goddamb ya!
The camera operator dreamily rubs his lenses as he’s unexpectedly dredged up from his slumber. It’s likely he was just trying to nap for a few hours before he got packed into the trailer with the rest of the production equipment and crew (logistics ain’t cheap in the wrestling business, people!) when the Goat Bastard regrettably stumbled upon him snoozing on a cot in the back rooms.
Rezin: What, thought you could catch some ZEE’s? GET REAL! You’re a CAMERAMAN! And right now, I need ya to do your job and CAMERA ME, ME! Now C’MON, MOVE YOUR ASS!! We got Simon waitin’! That Tom Selleck-lookin’ SUM’BISH is supposedly gettin’ with that ditz BROOKS here in a few minutes, but I’ll be DOUBLE DAWG DAMMB’D if he thinks HE is gettin’ the last word here!
Rezin collars the poor camera operator onto his feet and begins hastily dragging him through the backstage area. The Goat Bastard is clearly still seething from his previous encounter with both the Universal and Five Star Champions, ranting incoherently as he kicks his way through various rooms and passages with the audience unwittingly along for the ride.
Rezin: Fuckin’ Nate Colton… why the hell’d he have to drop that name?! What’s his ANGLE, huh?! You think he’s trynna say something? What, that it’s somehow MY fault that some KNUCKLE-DRAGGER fucked up his whole career?! Like I’m just s’posed to ROLL OVER and LET THAT SCUM HAVE HIS WAY WITH ME?! Is THAT WHAT NATE COLTON IS TRYNNA SAY?! BAH! That’s the most pathetic excuse of MIND GAMES I’ve ever seen! BUSH LEAGUE shit! He wants me to get all up in my HEAD! Lose my FOCUS! Get CHOKE-BOMBED, and LOSE! Cause if win that Universal Championship, then the jealous lil bastard can’t call himself the BEST WRESTLER outta the STATE of INDIANA! Well, HATE TO DISAPPOINT YA, Little PIg!! TONIGHT… I am CHAOS! I am the VOID INCARNATE! I am…
After passing through the kitchen, the laundry room, the boiler room, the PRIMEporium, and a men’s room full of confused fans, the Escape Artist abruptly skids to a halt, turns, and glares incredulously into the camera.
Rezin: …waitaminnit, why the fuck am I tellin’ YOU all this?! You’re just the CAMERA MAN!! It’s SIMON that should be hearin’ this!
He kicks through the final door, leading to the interview location.
Rezin: Okay, we’re here in the forebodingly dark alley behind the arena, away from fans and security where literally nobody can see us, which is exactly where I was told I’d find him! Now just where the hell IS that nerd?!
He scans the length of the aptly described shady alley, seemingly unaware or apathetic to the fact that it’s the most conspicuous location ever for someone to conduct an ambush. Finally, just past a jet of steam, he spies the form of a person.
Rezin: AHA! THERE he is!
Rezin scrambles upon the man in the customary speed blue suit with a microphone in hand, standing with his back to the camera and the Goat Bastard.
Rezin: HA-HAA!! HERE I AM, Simon! And HERE WE ARE! The BEGINNIN’ of the END! Are ya EXCITED?! It’s the moment I’ve been preachin’ about since the day I arrived in PRIME a lil over a year ago! The pro wrestling A-PUNK-ALYPSE! The Unholy Day of SLUDGMENT! The PUNK ROCK INDUCED MASS EXTINCTION of PRIME as we know it! OHHH MAN I can’t wait to see the look on the stupid face of stupid HAAYYEESS HAANNLAAWWNN, the moment he realizes the promotion he grew up watching… the VERY THING he spent his whole life aspirin’ to be… everyone… EVERYTHING… NOW in the hands of this small, unassuming, but UNDENIABLY DEADY… DAMBIT SIMON! Look, I KNOW I warned you about lookin’ me in the eye if ya didn’t want me to eat your face, but ya can at least give me the courtesy of FACIN’ ME while I yell uncontrollably at ya!
Slowly, the “interviewer” turns around to face the raving lunatic, but Rezin is taken aback. Right suit. Right glasses. Wrong face.
Rezin: …gee, Si. You’re lookin’ kinda, umm… perestroika tonight.
It’s not an entirely inaccurate observation, as “Simon” is really Alexei Ruslan dressed in the junior reporter’s regular get-up. Ruslan grins a big, toothy grin as he looks at Rezin. But Ruslan then looks over Rezin’s head. Way over Rezin’s head.
It’s at this point when a DARK RED SHADOW falls over the Goat Bastard, and a massive hand clutches his shoulder from behind.
Ivan Stanislav: We do not find many goats wandering around this area, do we Alexei?
Ruslan smiles and adjusts his fake glasses.
Alexei Ruslan: Nyet, Praporshchik…
Ivan Stanislav: I have proposition for you, Rezin.
Rezin: I figured ya guys learned your lesson after Chernobyl… ‘bout touchin’ things that might be on radioactive side.
Rezin brushes Ivan’s hand off and comes around to face the Russian giant, arms folded over his chest.
Rezin: Arright, comrade… let’s hear it.
Stanislav stares down at Rezin but gives him the slightest bit of space by taking a step backwards. Ruslan looks down at his blue speed suit and flicks some fuzz that hangs from it.
Ivan Stanislav: I could have snapped your tiny body in half just now, Rezin. But out of goodness of my heart, I have decided to leave you in one piece. I decide there is no reason to annihilate you. I decide that instead, I appeal to this chaotic, anti-establishment nature you have for yourself.
Ivan does look down at his hand, after having touched Rezin, and he shakes it out to the side.
Ivan Stanislav: Hayes Hanlon is mine, Rezin. His fate was sealed the moment I walked into UltraViolence. I will not be denied the satisfaction of destroying him, and my Universal Title shot is the sure-fire way to get my hands around him. So it is simple: You need to lose your match.
Ruslan pushes the glasses back up on his face and sneers behind Rezin.
Alexei Ruslan: I am sure you understand.
The Escape Artist hoarsely gargles the air with a dry and ancient groan of bemoaned annoyance. He calmly pulls a J out of his pants and lights it up.
Rezin: …lemme show ya something, pal. See this?
Rezin holds up his left arm, pointing at the nondescript black sickle tattooed there.
Rezin: THIS here is proof of my devotion to the CAUSE, comrade! Thankfully, ya ain’t seen who’s got the Hammer… but I show it to ya now to show ya that I’ve been fightin’ for that Cause from the very beginnin’ of my career!
Rezin is a good foot shorter than the towering Stanislav, but is nevertheless defiant in glaring UP at the Russian giant and breathing dopesmoke into his face. Stanislav pulls his head back in a recoil as he growls with discomfort, huffing loudly as he tries to prevent the smoke from sucking up into his nostrils.
Rezin: But ya know, from the perspective of a real member of the proletariat, out there fightin’ the real fight, it sometimes feels as though the people who think they’re callin’ the shots have forgotten ‘bout the people they claim to serve. The people caught up in that struggle of existence…
The Escape Artist bares his teeth into a threatening snarl. Clearly, this goat still has its horns.
Rezin: And ya don’t know SHIT about MY struggle, Prapor-SHIT! Until a few weeks ago, ya probably NEVER EVEN HEARD MY GODDAMB NAME! And now ya presume to tell a crazy, chaos-worshippin’ muthafugga like ME to just up and TAKE THE FALL?!
Rezin snorts and heads for the door back into the arena. The face of Stanislav is as angry red as the Soviet flag.
Rezin: To quote a famous American socialist… “Fuck you… I won’t do what ya tell me!”
With a salute, Rezin disappears back into the building. Ruslan frowns and moves to stand next to Stanislav, who simply watches him go.
Alexei Ruslan: The man is disturbed, Ivan. Whatever great communist ideology that gave him that sickle has long rotted away in his drug-addled brain.
Yet Stanislav, with an angry frown still across his face which still radiates redness, shakes his head.
Ivan Stanislav: Nyet. There is more to this man than one lets on. Nevertheless, if HE will not do it our way?
Ivan scoffs and looks down at Alexei.
Ivan Stanislav: Then WE do it our way.
Ruslan rubs his hands together and grins maniacally in this strange juxtaposition of a faux Simon Tillier and himself.
Alexei Ruslan: This is best news I have heard all evening, Praporshchik.