Post by ethanking on Mar 29, 2018 13:51:43 GMT -5
The video package opens a large board room. All of the seats lining the table are empty, save the one at the head where Ethan King sits next to a stack of papers, with a pen in his hand. He smiles at the camera, waving it forward with a slight chuckle.
"Come in, come in! Don't by shy. I want meetings like this to feel nice and informal. Please... have a seat."
The camera bobs up and down as though nodding, and then tracks through the room to a seat close to where Ethan is sitting, lowering to be on Ethan's eye level.
"I suppose you were expecting the throne room," Ethan begins, leaning back in his chair. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider it, but in the end I decided that I should probably hold off on that until I have an actual position of tangible power and authority within Combat Wrestling. Wouldn't do to put on undeserved airs, would it? So instead I brought you here." He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the large room as he stands, walking over to the large picture windows overlooking the cityscape below, his back to the camera.
"Although I suppose it is a throne room, in a sense," he continues. "After all, it is from this room where I command my other empire. While I wouldn't dismiss my work in Combat to such a degree as to say that wrestling is a hobby, it is not the aspect of my life that maintains the whole of my focus. It is a violent world where I can do business in a much... blunter way than I can in other aspects of my life. But the King family name has always been attributed to power. Ours is a legacy of business excellence - Forbes, Fortune 500, and any paper or magazine you'd find in the demesne of any stockbroker worth their salt. I demand excellence of myself in all fields of my life - but if I had to say which one I'm better at, I'd probably say that I am most in my element within this room."
He turns back to the camera, his smile gone. "Some of you might think that makes me soft. Some of you might think that makes me weak. Some of you might think that because I am most at home in my towers of glass and steel that I am not a force to be reckoned with. A force to be feared."
He smirks. "Tell that you the companies I've conquered. Tell that to the lives and reputations I've destroyed with a single stroke of a pen. Killian Kold talks about power and dominance? I've overseen the toppling of business empires whose roots date back to the founding of this country, and done it with a smile - because it's just good business. I have left men and women without jobs or futures by grinding my competition into the dust because it's just good business. Killian Kold might break men - but I break lives. I break legacies."
He chuckles. "And what better legacy to break, to conquer... than the Legacy of Kane."
He tilts his head to the side and sits back down, leaning close to the camera. "You think I'm ruthless in the ring? You think that I'm willing to stoop to any level, no matter how dirty, to win what amounts to little more than an accolade backed up by leather and steel? You think you've seen Ethan King be cutthroat?"
His smile curls a little wider, revealing his teeth - but his eyes remain as cold and soulless as a shark. "You don't know the meaning of the word. Not yet. But now that you're here, in my world? You're about to learn."
"It was going to have to happen eventually."
Ethan sipped from a glass of dark amber liquid, glaring into the fireplace. "Of course it was," he acknowledged grimly. "But like that? To him? On that stage?"
Gwen stepped behind his chair and laid her hands on his shoulders, gently working out some of the tension. "I'll admit, the timing couldn't have been better. But you made him fight for it."
"Doesn't matter. This was supposed to be our empire. We were supposed to reign supreme, not... languish under the indignity of championships held by the manager's daughter and former protege." He sighs and closes his eyes as he presses his shoulders back into his wife's hands. "I haven't hated someone this much since that boy scout in Japan..."
Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Killian Kold, or...?"
"Kane," he corrected.
Gwen nodded. "Well, what did you do to the last person who pissed you off?"
Ethan arched an eyebrow. "Well, that would be your father. I set things up to destroy his political career while also working to ensure that his family could get away from the backlash so he wouldn't even be able to enjoy the pleasure of seeing others suffer alongside him. Why?"
"Well, why not do that to Spike?"
"Unfortunately I'm shackled to the ship, so I can't annihilate him entirely without suffering some personal injury. Besides, I'm not done with Combat Wrestling yet."
Gwen knelt behind him and rested her chin upon his shoulder.
"Then take it away from him. Stop thinking like a wrestler and think like a businessman. Take away his pet project and turn it into whatever you want. Rip the soul out of the company he built with is sweat and blood, and transform it into something he'll see as an abomination."
Ethan hummed and finished his drink. "It'd be tricky to do. He's not likely to sell out."
"He's an easy man to manipulate, surely. Insult him. Make him angry and careless. Make him put his company on the line just for the chance to punch you in the face, and then pull the rug out from underneath him."
Ethan began to smile. "I think I know how to do that."
Gwen grinned. "And then you can take your time. Crush him slowly. Painfully. Don't just break his body, but break his very soul. There are plenty of others who I'm sure are just desperate for an opportunity. A man like Spike Kane must have enemies. You can scour the world for your own little league of taking away everything he has. Turn Combat Wrestling into Spike Kane's personal torture rack."
Ethan chuckled. "You always did know what to say to put me in a good mood. God damn I love you, Gwen."
His wife smiled and chuckled in his ear. "You'd better."
"Michael... may I call you Michael? Even if the answer is no, I'm going to do it anyway, because it's just not as imposing as the name 'Spike', is it? It just takes the wind out of your sails. People think twice about picking a fight with a guy named Spike, but Michael's just that alcoholic tit who can't stop his family from falling apart around him no matter how hard he tries, desperately clinging to the idea of running a wrestling company to assert some level of control over his constantly-collapsing world as he tells himself over and over that it's not all his fault, but as time goes on he has more and more trouble hearing himself through the strangled choking of his own tears as the laughter of long-dead loved ones echoes in his memory, knowing that he'll never hear them again because he's not a good enough man to join them in heaven when he finally fucking dies."
He raises an eyebrow. "What an oddly specific yet clearly entirely random analogy."
He leans back in his chair, latticing his fingers together. "I make a point of finding the flawed man behind the facade, Michael. I've done it with every little wrestler you've thrown at me. The only reason it didn't work with Killian Kold is because - and I will admit this - I underestimated just how inhuman that wild beast really is. I made the mistake of treating him like a person, when I should have been regarding him as the rabid, unchained mutt that he is. You, on the other hand? You are much less of an enigma. You're much easier to pin down."
He shakes his head, grinning. "Of course I know the legacy of the Blood God, the God of Extreme, and every other little nickname you've picked up over the years. You've been a monster and a giant, a God in your own domain - and I'd be a fool to completely ignore the threat that you pose in the ring. Even more so given that you have much more to lose on this match than you've had... possibly in any other match of your storied career. I mean, a belt is one thing, but losing half of the company you must have fought and sacrificed to create? Those are some serious stakes to be putting on the line in a fight. Especially a fight against a man younger than you are, a man who has a lot of reasons to want you torn apart, piece by ragged piece."
He leans forward again, idly playing with his pen as he carefully stacks a few sheets of paper. "Of course, some people might be accusing me of stealing from Killy-Chilly's shtick by turning my hate on you, Michael. But while he just wants to break your body, I want to break your world. See, you called me out on that stage a few weeks ago. Insulted me. I presented my case very calmly and professionally, and you just had to come out and make it personal. Insinuated cowardice on my behalf. I came forward offering to help you, and not only did you smack my kind offer away and bite the hand that was trying to feed you, you took it a step further and tried to humiliate me. A simply no would have been sufficient, and I wouldn't have been insulted. I'd have continued with what I already said I was going to do, and nothing more would have come of it. But instead you went out of your way to antagonize me... and I can't leave that unanswered.
So I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece. You are going to be the architect of your own destruction, because despite your storied legacy you aren't even close to being on my level. While you might have the edge in a standard match, Michael, when you take the measure of both of us as men? I tower over you. I am your superior in every sense of the word. You think that you can come into MY world, and try to run a business in a way that makes me your subordinate, and then treat me as though I'm disposable? To insult me and to mock me as though you're better than I am?
No. Not here, not now, not ever. You're just a broken down, washed up man trying to punish the world around him because you can't keep your own life together. You've failed in every world you've stepped into save the ring, and you're feeling the marching of time ebb that away as well. You feel your relevance upon the world fading, and you're trying to cling to whatever piece of driftwood you can grasp to keep yourself from slipping into the oblivion of a world that you can't control. If you'd just let me help the company amicably, I could have made you great. I could have turned Combat Wrestling into the greatest company that ever existed, with you and I leading it into a glorious future. Your name would have been synonymous not just with hardcore wrestling, not just with the titles you've helped forge - but with the very concept of professional wrestling itself. But you were too blind, too inept to see the opportunity... and now you're going to watch as I take it away from you, burn your lifeboat, and laugh as you spiral back into your own self-hate - once again watching something you love die."
He takes a deep breath, calming himself down. "I could have helped you. You can't do this on your own. After all, Michael, if history has taught us anything it's that you - of all people - and your legacy needs help to make this company successful. You just capable of running it successfully on your own. It's not your fault, really, it's just an element of who you are.
He smirks cruelly. "After all - if the Irish were ever meant to have sole rule over anything, why did God put their country right next to history's most successful and enduring Monarchy? Just like the rest of your culture, Michael Kane... the only way that your business will ever have any real success is with a King making sure everything runs smoothly."
The camera backs away from Ethan just a bit. "Um... Mr. King... do you think maybe that was going a hair too far?"
Ethan's eyes narrow as he twirls the Pen in his hand and narrows his eyes for a brief moment before slamming the pen down point first onto the table. The camera falls, laying on its side as it shows the cameraman's hand impaled onto the table with the pen as Ethan leans forward. "Weren't you listening? There is no... such... thing... as too far. There is no level to which I won't go, nothing I won't say, nothing I won't do to bring his world crashing down around him. He does not get to have control over me. ME!"
He turns his attention back to the camera, sighing as he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the blood away from his hands. "I'm not playing around, Michael Kane. This isn't a hobby. This isn't a game. I am going to take your dream away from you, take away your delusion of running an entire wrestling company on your own. I am going to take Combat Wrestling out of your dirty little hands, and remind you that you were made to be ruled. Even with only half of Combat Wrestling under my control I can transform it into something you hate. I can transform it into my realm where everything you love suffers. You will be reminded of your place, and by year's end you will be begging to give me your share of the company just so you don't have to watch what I do to it anymore."
He sighs and straightens his tie. "Because I ruin lives. I tear down empires. I find enterprises that people have poured their hearts and souls into, and I seize them for myself and turn it into whatever I want. That's what I'm going to do to you, Michael. Not just because I can. Not just because you tried to humiliate me. Not just because watching you squirm will give me pleasure."
He reaches over and turns the camera the right way. "But because... it's just good business."
He slides some papers forward, wrenching the bloody pen out of the cameraman's hand and holding it forward. "Now would you kindly sign the dotted line?"
"Come in, come in! Don't by shy. I want meetings like this to feel nice and informal. Please... have a seat."
The camera bobs up and down as though nodding, and then tracks through the room to a seat close to where Ethan is sitting, lowering to be on Ethan's eye level.
"I suppose you were expecting the throne room," Ethan begins, leaning back in his chair. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider it, but in the end I decided that I should probably hold off on that until I have an actual position of tangible power and authority within Combat Wrestling. Wouldn't do to put on undeserved airs, would it? So instead I brought you here." He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the large room as he stands, walking over to the large picture windows overlooking the cityscape below, his back to the camera.
"Although I suppose it is a throne room, in a sense," he continues. "After all, it is from this room where I command my other empire. While I wouldn't dismiss my work in Combat to such a degree as to say that wrestling is a hobby, it is not the aspect of my life that maintains the whole of my focus. It is a violent world where I can do business in a much... blunter way than I can in other aspects of my life. But the King family name has always been attributed to power. Ours is a legacy of business excellence - Forbes, Fortune 500, and any paper or magazine you'd find in the demesne of any stockbroker worth their salt. I demand excellence of myself in all fields of my life - but if I had to say which one I'm better at, I'd probably say that I am most in my element within this room."
He turns back to the camera, his smile gone. "Some of you might think that makes me soft. Some of you might think that makes me weak. Some of you might think that because I am most at home in my towers of glass and steel that I am not a force to be reckoned with. A force to be feared."
He smirks. "Tell that you the companies I've conquered. Tell that to the lives and reputations I've destroyed with a single stroke of a pen. Killian Kold talks about power and dominance? I've overseen the toppling of business empires whose roots date back to the founding of this country, and done it with a smile - because it's just good business. I have left men and women without jobs or futures by grinding my competition into the dust because it's just good business. Killian Kold might break men - but I break lives. I break legacies."
He chuckles. "And what better legacy to break, to conquer... than the Legacy of Kane."
He tilts his head to the side and sits back down, leaning close to the camera. "You think I'm ruthless in the ring? You think that I'm willing to stoop to any level, no matter how dirty, to win what amounts to little more than an accolade backed up by leather and steel? You think you've seen Ethan King be cutthroat?"
His smile curls a little wider, revealing his teeth - but his eyes remain as cold and soulless as a shark. "You don't know the meaning of the word. Not yet. But now that you're here, in my world? You're about to learn."
"It was going to have to happen eventually."
Ethan sipped from a glass of dark amber liquid, glaring into the fireplace. "Of course it was," he acknowledged grimly. "But like that? To him? On that stage?"
Gwen stepped behind his chair and laid her hands on his shoulders, gently working out some of the tension. "I'll admit, the timing couldn't have been better. But you made him fight for it."
"Doesn't matter. This was supposed to be our empire. We were supposed to reign supreme, not... languish under the indignity of championships held by the manager's daughter and former protege." He sighs and closes his eyes as he presses his shoulders back into his wife's hands. "I haven't hated someone this much since that boy scout in Japan..."
Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Killian Kold, or...?"
"Kane," he corrected.
Gwen nodded. "Well, what did you do to the last person who pissed you off?"
Ethan arched an eyebrow. "Well, that would be your father. I set things up to destroy his political career while also working to ensure that his family could get away from the backlash so he wouldn't even be able to enjoy the pleasure of seeing others suffer alongside him. Why?"
"Well, why not do that to Spike?"
"Unfortunately I'm shackled to the ship, so I can't annihilate him entirely without suffering some personal injury. Besides, I'm not done with Combat Wrestling yet."
Gwen knelt behind him and rested her chin upon his shoulder.
"Then take it away from him. Stop thinking like a wrestler and think like a businessman. Take away his pet project and turn it into whatever you want. Rip the soul out of the company he built with is sweat and blood, and transform it into something he'll see as an abomination."
Ethan hummed and finished his drink. "It'd be tricky to do. He's not likely to sell out."
"He's an easy man to manipulate, surely. Insult him. Make him angry and careless. Make him put his company on the line just for the chance to punch you in the face, and then pull the rug out from underneath him."
Ethan began to smile. "I think I know how to do that."
Gwen grinned. "And then you can take your time. Crush him slowly. Painfully. Don't just break his body, but break his very soul. There are plenty of others who I'm sure are just desperate for an opportunity. A man like Spike Kane must have enemies. You can scour the world for your own little league of taking away everything he has. Turn Combat Wrestling into Spike Kane's personal torture rack."
Ethan chuckled. "You always did know what to say to put me in a good mood. God damn I love you, Gwen."
His wife smiled and chuckled in his ear. "You'd better."
"Michael... may I call you Michael? Even if the answer is no, I'm going to do it anyway, because it's just not as imposing as the name 'Spike', is it? It just takes the wind out of your sails. People think twice about picking a fight with a guy named Spike, but Michael's just that alcoholic tit who can't stop his family from falling apart around him no matter how hard he tries, desperately clinging to the idea of running a wrestling company to assert some level of control over his constantly-collapsing world as he tells himself over and over that it's not all his fault, but as time goes on he has more and more trouble hearing himself through the strangled choking of his own tears as the laughter of long-dead loved ones echoes in his memory, knowing that he'll never hear them again because he's not a good enough man to join them in heaven when he finally fucking dies."
He raises an eyebrow. "What an oddly specific yet clearly entirely random analogy."
He leans back in his chair, latticing his fingers together. "I make a point of finding the flawed man behind the facade, Michael. I've done it with every little wrestler you've thrown at me. The only reason it didn't work with Killian Kold is because - and I will admit this - I underestimated just how inhuman that wild beast really is. I made the mistake of treating him like a person, when I should have been regarding him as the rabid, unchained mutt that he is. You, on the other hand? You are much less of an enigma. You're much easier to pin down."
He shakes his head, grinning. "Of course I know the legacy of the Blood God, the God of Extreme, and every other little nickname you've picked up over the years. You've been a monster and a giant, a God in your own domain - and I'd be a fool to completely ignore the threat that you pose in the ring. Even more so given that you have much more to lose on this match than you've had... possibly in any other match of your storied career. I mean, a belt is one thing, but losing half of the company you must have fought and sacrificed to create? Those are some serious stakes to be putting on the line in a fight. Especially a fight against a man younger than you are, a man who has a lot of reasons to want you torn apart, piece by ragged piece."
He leans forward again, idly playing with his pen as he carefully stacks a few sheets of paper. "Of course, some people might be accusing me of stealing from Killy-Chilly's shtick by turning my hate on you, Michael. But while he just wants to break your body, I want to break your world. See, you called me out on that stage a few weeks ago. Insulted me. I presented my case very calmly and professionally, and you just had to come out and make it personal. Insinuated cowardice on my behalf. I came forward offering to help you, and not only did you smack my kind offer away and bite the hand that was trying to feed you, you took it a step further and tried to humiliate me. A simply no would have been sufficient, and I wouldn't have been insulted. I'd have continued with what I already said I was going to do, and nothing more would have come of it. But instead you went out of your way to antagonize me... and I can't leave that unanswered.
So I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece. You are going to be the architect of your own destruction, because despite your storied legacy you aren't even close to being on my level. While you might have the edge in a standard match, Michael, when you take the measure of both of us as men? I tower over you. I am your superior in every sense of the word. You think that you can come into MY world, and try to run a business in a way that makes me your subordinate, and then treat me as though I'm disposable? To insult me and to mock me as though you're better than I am?
No. Not here, not now, not ever. You're just a broken down, washed up man trying to punish the world around him because you can't keep your own life together. You've failed in every world you've stepped into save the ring, and you're feeling the marching of time ebb that away as well. You feel your relevance upon the world fading, and you're trying to cling to whatever piece of driftwood you can grasp to keep yourself from slipping into the oblivion of a world that you can't control. If you'd just let me help the company amicably, I could have made you great. I could have turned Combat Wrestling into the greatest company that ever existed, with you and I leading it into a glorious future. Your name would have been synonymous not just with hardcore wrestling, not just with the titles you've helped forge - but with the very concept of professional wrestling itself. But you were too blind, too inept to see the opportunity... and now you're going to watch as I take it away from you, burn your lifeboat, and laugh as you spiral back into your own self-hate - once again watching something you love die."
He takes a deep breath, calming himself down. "I could have helped you. You can't do this on your own. After all, Michael, if history has taught us anything it's that you - of all people - and your legacy needs help to make this company successful. You just capable of running it successfully on your own. It's not your fault, really, it's just an element of who you are.
He smirks cruelly. "After all - if the Irish were ever meant to have sole rule over anything, why did God put their country right next to history's most successful and enduring Monarchy? Just like the rest of your culture, Michael Kane... the only way that your business will ever have any real success is with a King making sure everything runs smoothly."
The camera backs away from Ethan just a bit. "Um... Mr. King... do you think maybe that was going a hair too far?"
Ethan's eyes narrow as he twirls the Pen in his hand and narrows his eyes for a brief moment before slamming the pen down point first onto the table. The camera falls, laying on its side as it shows the cameraman's hand impaled onto the table with the pen as Ethan leans forward. "Weren't you listening? There is no... such... thing... as too far. There is no level to which I won't go, nothing I won't say, nothing I won't do to bring his world crashing down around him. He does not get to have control over me. ME!"
He turns his attention back to the camera, sighing as he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the blood away from his hands. "I'm not playing around, Michael Kane. This isn't a hobby. This isn't a game. I am going to take your dream away from you, take away your delusion of running an entire wrestling company on your own. I am going to take Combat Wrestling out of your dirty little hands, and remind you that you were made to be ruled. Even with only half of Combat Wrestling under my control I can transform it into something you hate. I can transform it into my realm where everything you love suffers. You will be reminded of your place, and by year's end you will be begging to give me your share of the company just so you don't have to watch what I do to it anymore."
He sighs and straightens his tie. "Because I ruin lives. I tear down empires. I find enterprises that people have poured their hearts and souls into, and I seize them for myself and turn it into whatever I want. That's what I'm going to do to you, Michael. Not just because I can. Not just because you tried to humiliate me. Not just because watching you squirm will give me pleasure."
He reaches over and turns the camera the right way. "But because... it's just good business."
He slides some papers forward, wrenching the bloody pen out of the cameraman's hand and holding it forward. "Now would you kindly sign the dotted line?"