El Viejo [ZS NYE Special 02]
Dec 28, 2022 23:28:33 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer and Cross Recoba like this
Post by mosler on Dec 28, 2022 23:28:33 GMT -5
Night.
A 1968 Pontiac Grand Prix speeds down Sunflower Road, eventually abandoning the beaten path for the rougher terrain of Meadow Valley. Headlights offer glimpses of larger rocks, as the vehicle plunges into darkness. In the shadow of the city that never sleeps, there is just enough light pollution from the mass of casinos to dull the surrounding starlight. Further out in the desert, the sky provides, but this stretch relies on the Pontiac’s high beams.
Too dark to even see the explosions of orange petals created as the car ploughs through the areas titular flower - one starts to wonder why anyone would be off-roading at this hour. Braving the wilderness at night, even the tamer aspects so close to civilization – seems foolhardy. As though the driver was doing something unsavoury that required the cover of darkness. Viewers might even be reminded of the organized crime films that a certain TAP OUT promoter likes to pretend represent his life. A regular Corky Romano.
Hold that thought of Cross Recoba having less Sicilian credibility than disgraced SNL alumnus, Chris Kattan. The red glow of break lights sees the Pontiac come to a stop. In the middle of nowhere... it certainly looks like a body drop.
Front door opening, a figure climbs out from behind the wheel. Walking around back, the man is illuminated by the taillights to reveal... Pepe Morales.
Niño Huracán pops the hood of the trunk.
The image moves in for a closer look at the contents. Luggage. Road flares. Tire iron. What appears to be the corpse of an adult male wrapped in a black garbage bag. The usual.
Reaching in, the Puerto Rican teenager grabs the neck of his passenger. Rigor mortis must have already set in, as the body is stiff enough to make pulling it upright a chore. Brushing against the opening, part of the bag tears against a metal groove, revealing the head of the cadaver.
...The waxy features of Zoran Sainovic are undeniable.
Face to face.
In such close proximity, it is easy to understand why so many people mistook the Latin teen for the X*Crown champion. The resemblance is uncanny. From the superior bone structure, breathtaking eyes, and movie star looks, right down to matching scars where Death Trap almost broke Zoran’s statuesque jaw. ...That must be a birthmark. Yes, there are enough genetic similarities that mistakes were bound to happen. The Final Boss could easily pass for the youth’s slightly older brother.
No one will ever mix up Morales and Sainovic again.
The worms will see to that.
No wait. With the minimalistic lighting, it is perfectly reasonable for viewers to mistake this dashing figure for that of the Puerto Rican teenager who captured their hearts and dreams. On closer inspection, however, this striking youth is actually a man of mature years.
Amongst the multitude of injures that Zoran has experienced since the End of Days; a recent defence has harmed his nose. Swollen, bandaged up, and obscured by gauze – this feature is the one aspect of the XHF Devil that clearly distinguishes him from the celebrated teenager. Wrapped up, the similarities are uncanny. Yet if Zoran looms over the trunk, then the corpse must be...
...An effigy of an old man, whose cardboard skin is mockingly close to the champion’s ash grey hue.
Zoran Sainovic:
El Viejo.
Spanish. You are so confused right now.
Zoran Sainovic:
...A unique tradition of ze New Year, El Viejo is found in a number of Latin American countries. Burning ze (waves hand at the elderly dummy) old year, to make way for ze new. Not simply content with filing ze regrets of ze previous period away from hopes for a brighter future – zis ritual takes it to task. Embodying ze passage of time, representing ze months spent, and roasting it with a purifying fire. Setting entropy ablaze. From ze ashes, another year emerges like a phoenix. Another old man springs forth to be punished ze exact same way, but in his infancy? A chance to do better zan last time...
Sore eyes turn back to the crudely drawn facsimiles.
Zoran Sainovic:
In ze last quarter of twenty-two, I have endeavoured to better myself. ......Defined by ze dates of a calendar, however, and zis year can be found wanting. I am capable of so much more. So ze zought of BURNING it – I see ze appeal.
With his one working arm, the champion lifts the old man effigy out of the trunk.
Zoran Sainovic:
I’m in Vegas running point on ze GUNS program. Zis evening, I was dropping some co-workers off on Eastern Avenue when I came across a shop selling zese unique cultural objects. Zough familiar with ze practice, zis was my first time actually laying eyes on one...
Flinch. The Final Boss sizes up the old man again.
Zoran Sainovic:
Something about it spoke to me...
Regrets.
Starring at the dummy, memories come flooding back. Glimpses of previous lives burnt away. Decades committed to cinders. Perhaps its all the blows he’s recently taken to the head fracturing his mind more than usual, but Zoran has one foot in the past, and ghosts on his heels. Taking in the doomed graven image of himself, gives Sainovic pause for thought. None of the past swirling around in his damaged brain is pleasant.
Soon all that remains of this old man will be smoking.
An exploding coffin. End of Days 2020. Pepe Morales remembers the first time he died. ...I mean Zoran. Coming back to reality, the champion places his inanimate doppelganger on the ground.
Zoran Sainovic:
I won End of Days zis year. My first time being involved in it. Over ze course of ze tournament, I buried a great number of hatchets. Given how many of my opponents had past history with me, you might zink zat I have a preposterous number of enemies. I don’t. Zat list has really been cut down to size. It’s incredibly freeing to drain bad blood, enforce understandings, and cast aside grudges with clinical precision. I no longer have to worry about ze feuds of yesteryear encroaching on my horizons. A few more misunderstandings put down, and I can stop worrying about uncalled for reprisals, and look forward – to a brighter future for everyone.
...Well, everyone but Cross...
Kneeling next to the old man, Sainovic pulls out a lighter.
Zoran Sainovic:
See Cross you recently accused me of bearing some ill will towards Dakota Jennings. I can’t for ze ...life of me... recall crossing her path. Who could dislike Dakota Jennings? It’s ridiculous. Zis is clearly some fantastical stretch by you in a pathetic attempt to be sadly relevant to my title picture. Besides, even in a world where I have some reason to wish zat poor sweet woman harm? Cashing in an End of Days X*Crown shot, and actually pulling off ze victory? Ze delicious vindication of succeeding, where someone - who had ze benefit of taking a year long breather after ze tournament – had spectacularly failed? Zat would certain balance ze ledger. So, I have no axe to grind against Jennings. She isn’t a part of zis.
Sorry to hear you’re still so hung up on her. I guess every gangster ...cosplay... needs a mole.
El Viejo. Flicking open his lighter, Sainovic holds it against a number of appendages that look like kindling. It pains Zoran setting fire to the arm, clearly seeing more of himself in this figure than the year it is supposed to represent.
Zoran Sainovic:
Cross. When I beat you, know zat zere are no hard feelings. As far as I’m concerned, ze moment I’m on top, our grudge was simply a silly misunderstanding. I understand ze allure of ze athletic accomplishment zat drove you to becoming a quadriplegic at my hands. Ze need to prove yourself as a capable wrestler, and something more zan just a regional promoter. Go easy on yourself. Not everyone can be me.
So don’t get down, just focus on business. Be ze best Cross Recoba you can be. I hear zere’s an award show zat needs fixing...
2023 could be great for Cross, ze promoter! ...But as a wrestler... with ze ability to walk...
...zere is no place for you in my New Year.
As the fire takes hold, The Final Boss turns his back on the past year. Leaving the old man of 2022 to burn himself out, Sainovic climbs back behind the wheel of his Grand Prix. The car speeds off, leaving only the flaming waste of culturally misappropriated merriment.
As the headlights disappear over a hill, all that remains is the dying light of the burning rags. Flames lick the button eyes of the Sainovic doll. As its mouth curls in on itself before belching fire, the message is clear.
Cross Recoba is part of old business.
...And Zoran is going to roast him.