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Supercard Archives / Re: THE CONSPIRACY v BEN JORDAN and SAMANTHA MARLOWE - STREETFIGHT
« on: April 12, 2024, 09:31:29 AM »A Conversation
Scene One | Off-Camera(ish)
Scene One | Off-Camera(ish)
He needed to have this conversation. He needed to sit there across from the man who was looking an absolute husk of what he once was. Alex needed to talk to Sullivan Pleasant about it all. About the shooting, the fake attempted murder, and the eventual self-surrender. Expedited court case meant that there was potential for Alex’s whole world to be upheaved in a moment. He needed to have this conversation.
It was a good way to prepare for the Street Fight, really. All the anger, all the hatred. Everything that was brewing up inside himself. He could take it all out on Ben Jordan and Sam Marlowe. The angrier he got here, the worse it would be for them.
So when he sat down facing across from him, he didn’t really know what to expect. Just that he needed this conversation. He needed to know what was coming, what was going on. What was expected. He needed to know what Sullivan Pleasant was going to do for the rest of his life.
“Never would’ve guessed that Pleasant was actually your last name.” Alex said, sitting across the table from Sullivan. It was strange, he looked ever worse than when he was being stalked by the man. A scraggly beard, his eyes were deeply sunken with heavy black bags under them. Looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His hair was a mess, and the jail uniform wasn’t doing much for his ridiculously slender frame.
“Wasn’t always that way. You'd be surprised what a little bit of money in the right pockets will do for your identity.” Sullivan said softly, the sound of a defeated man. If he was building to betraying Alex again, to outing him again, it didn’t seem like it at this moment. A man resigned to his very fate.
“So, why turn yourself in Sul? Doesn’t really seem like incarceration suits you.You just building to throwing me under the bus? Ruin some more lives whilst you're at it?” Alex said, leaning forward. He rested his elbows on the table, staring straight into the soul of the man across from him.
Sullivan just shook his head, and let out a long and heavy sigh. Defeated.
“I’m not young enough for this anymore, Alexander. That’s the long and short of it. I’m not healthy enough, I’m not good enough. I destroyed the last semblance of balance and happiness in my life, to ensure that man could move on without worrying about me.” Sullivan said, his voice soft. There wasn’t the arrogance and cock-sure bravado he once always had. He truly was a defeated man.
“So you kill one of the most important people in all of our lives, and then you decide you’re just a little too old for this? You’re fucking scum, you know that?” Alex said roughly, placing his balled up fists on the table. Leaning forward.
“I’d give anything to change that night, Alex. I’d give anything to be thinking a little clearer. To be a little more sober. To be happier with myself so that it never came about. I’d give my life right now, if I thought it’d bring James back. But it won’t, and I can’t. So all I can do is what I am doing right now. Be put away, be punished. There isn’t anything I can say that will fix things, and I don’t expect I’ll see any of you ever again. That’s what I’m doing for my penance, Alex.” Sullivan elaborated. Alex simply stared at him, staring into his eyes.
“You don’t deserve to simply rot out your days, Sul. You deserve all the fucking worst in the world for what you’ve done. But, if this is what we get. Then this is what we get.” Alex spat the words, a stern shushing coming from one of the nearby guards. Alex glowered in his seat, watching as Sullivan simply sunk further into his own.
“You’re right. I don’t deserve it, but this is the hand we are given. I do hope you and your lovely wife are okay after she saw you nearly paint the ground with my brains. I will say, I didn’t think you’d have it in you. I was wrong. Would have been a world of difference if that gun was loaded.” Sullivan said, just the slightest bit of cheek in it. Almost mocking. Even in his lowest the man couldn’t help but take jabs.
“But, there’s someone you should talk to. In fact, I’m sure they’ve already touched base with at least one of you. He’s actually coming to see me today too. Busy day before I’m forgotten forever, I suppose. One, Mr Ashton Mire. Representative of Mr Vita Mors. Reminds me a bit of myself actually. Just, a little more run-down. Good man. They might be able to help your mind, Alex. More than we ever were able to.” Sullivan went on, before one of the guards came over. Telling them to wrap it up.
“I don’t need the help of some fucking business slug and his magical Space Wizard of a boss. I hope you fucking rot, Sullivan.” Alex said, standing up quickly. Sullivan shrugged a little and nodded. If this was the last time he’d ever see the man, then he was thankful. Thankful he’d never have to deal with the weasel he once had called a friend. The weasel who had done everything to show his disdain for everything Alex had ever done.
Some small part of him was even going to miss Sullivan Pleasant. That was the worst part of it.
He didn’t even notice his feet taking him out of the visitor’s area. Back into the carpark. A cigarette hanging from his lips, absent-mindedly messaging Luna. Telling her he’d be home later. That he was going for a beer. That he was okay, and where to find him if she wanted to come for a drink too. She was busy attempting to prepare herself for the street fight. At the end of the day, he was always the scrapper. The one more akin to running people through and taking them whatever way he could.
Luna was… learning what it was like. She was a fighter, a brawler and a hard-ass motherfucker. But there’s a world of difference between what they had done, and what they were going to need to do. Animalistic didn’t even come close to describing it.
“Mr Rabenschwarz? A moment of your time, if I could?” A voice came through, breaking his fugue state. He snapped his head up, looking at a man who was standing just a few steps away. He knew instantly who the man was. Ashton Mire. The Head of Relations for Vita Mors Co.
“I don’t want none of your magic space dust, fuck off.” Alex said, spitting on the ground near his feet. A nervous laugh coming from the man. Considering how well tailored his suit was, it was surprising how slimy the man also came across. No sweat, but somehow shiny.
“I understand your reservations, Mr Rabenschwarz. Truly, I do. But I think it is fundamental that you give us a chance. Just a moment of your time, please.” Ashton said, his voice seemingly sincere. He was strangely soothing, in a way that Sullivan never was. Apparently a much better slimeball face than he ever had.
“What do you want, Mire? What could you possibly give me?” Alex asked, exacerbated with the situation. His eyes locked with Ashton who smiled, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a business card. He stepped forward and handed it to Alex. A simple black body business card, with a phone number in gold. Nothing else.
“We can help with a plethora of things. Mr Mors has a particular interest in helping you, not only dealing with these ‘ghosts’ of yours. But also help bring some closure to the loss of your friend, James. It’s something we… specialise in.” Ashton said, wringing his hands together. A somewhat nervous person.
“How do you know about the ghosts? And how the hell can you bring me any closure?” Alex asked, taking a long drag on his cigarette, before dropping it to the ground and crushing it under his shoe. He stepped towards Ashton Mire, visibly frustrated. Confused with the situation.
“We deal in… information that shouldn’t have. It’s hard to explain, but trust me. It is not a malicious thing. We just happen to be incredibly well-informed. Please, call that number when you can. We can help you, I promise.” Ashton smiled, nodding with a slight bow. He rapidly turned on his heel before Alex could ask any further questions.
He looked down at the card once more, shaking his head a little. Slipping it into his pocket.
“Surrounded by fucking maniacs, I swear.” Alex muttered under his breath as he turned to get into his car. Something flickering at the edge of his vision. Someone standing there. Not a ghost, but they definitely weren’t there when he turned to try and get a better look. Something flickering in his peripherals.
It was funny, how every time he thought things couldn’t get any stranger, the weirdness of the world was just waiting around the corner to get weirder.
Street Smarts
Scene Two | On-Camera
Scene Two | On-Camera
“So it comes down to this. A street fight. Ask me years ago, I’d tell you. There’s not a man in this world who can step to the plate with Alexander Raven in the streets. Ask me twelve months ago, I’d tell you. There ain’t a man alive that could go toe-to-toe with Alexander Raven in the ring. Ask me six months ago, and I’d tell you I don’t want this anymore. That’s a journey right there. That’s a fucking journey.
A street fight. Something beneath Benjamin Jordan and Samantha Marlowe. Ben’s made a big hoopla about trying to tear me down. To reduce what I do best, to something lesser than himself. That’s fine. I spend all my days being told how much better everyone is than me. I said it before, I’ll say it again. I know who the fuck I am. I’m the guy who people like to tear down. I’m the guy who people pretend it means nothing to beat, but they all scream and dance and holler at the world when they do it. Nothing and everything, all at once. Isn’t that right?
I’m still waiting on my thank you, Ben. Without me, you aren’t in this position, and that’s something to think about. This right here, Benjamin. This right here is us being the most important fucking match in all of Sin City outside of the world title matches. We’ve got that marquee spot when you think about it. And that doesn’t happen if I don’t push and poke and prod. That doesn’t happen if Luna doesn’t slam her arm right up between you. That doesn’t happen if I don’t get under your skin and beat your friends into unconsciousness. This doesn’t happen if Luna doesn’t punch your sweet friend square in the back of the head with some brass knuckles. Or take her out with a steel chair.”
“This doesn’t happen, if I don’t stab a god damn spike straight into your fucking skull.”
Alexander Raven is sitting on a dumpster. The lids closed, locked down with a padlock and chain. The dumpster is in a dingy little alley, walls covered in graffiti. Yellow lights line the walls and attempt to illuminate what little of the brickwork they can. The night sky is heavy, darkness enveloping all that exists beyond this little dingy haven of light.
“See the funny thing to me about all of this Benjamin, is that everytime I do anything. People want to see it. People want to see if I succeed or fail. It doesn’t matter who is in your spot, Ben. No, it only matters if Alexander Raven is there. And here’s something to think about. In all of this. Every week, every attack. Every match and every insult. Who are people talking about? It sure as hell ain’t Benjamin Jordan and Samantha Marlowe. No, the only names on everybody’s lips are Alexander Raven and Luna Pasilno. And because of that, you get the biggest match outside of our main events. You get to stand in my spotlight and attempt to be known for fucking anything more than being the guy who is as entertaining as dishwater. You might even get to be known as one of the people who beat Alexander Raven at his own game. Hurrah hoorah.”
“But what does that matter to you, Benjamin? You’ve already got it in your mind that I’m not worth the salt I eat, right? That I ain’t worth the water that I recycle. I’m not worth the money that they pay to keep me here, right? Because I hit my ceiling, and this ‘chair swinging nothing’ is beneath you. That it’s only through good ol’ fashioned catch-as-catch-can, real grappling that we are judged on. Our merit is only worth that, ain’t that right, Benjamin? It’s funny to me that people can say such negative things. But our current and last World Champions. They have only the best things to say about me. In fact, Finn has spoken at lengths about how I was far more deserving to be in the place of Goth. James himself had to go out of his way to train with a man he did not like, to learn a whole new style, to ensure that he could stand toe-to-toe with Alexander Raven.”
“So, it’s funny to me. That the pure technicians. That people like you, Benjamin. People like you try to belittle and insult me. Try and tear me down. Try to make what I do lesser because it is the only way you can justify your own existence. Stay with me here, I need you to listen to me. I may not be the best wrestler in the world, but I'm at least trying to be something. I’m at least out here drawing eyeballs. Being the chatter, being the talk. At least I’m the one that our World Champions have their fucking eyes on. I’m the one who people want to see, win or lose. It’s all about me, Ben.”
Sitting on that dumpster, Alex holds in his hands two objects. A staple gun and a metal spike. The two objects of pain that he had been threatening Ben with for weeks. A cigarette hanging from his lips, his wrists and hands taped up. Blue jeans, and a plain white tee. A man ready to scrap.
“But let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? It doesn’t matter that Alexander Raven is the man that everyone has their eyes on. The man everyone is expecting to just… snap. Who knows when it’ll happen, right Ben? Maybe this little street fight is all it’s going to take. Because I got to ask you something Ben. It took every little bit of you to try and put me out at My Bloody Valentine. It took every bit of you to even come close, and that was a stark disadvantage. I ran the field, and only just lost. Do you remember how it felt at the time, Benjamin? Feeling the blood pump from your head with every breath? Feeling yourself get woozier and lighter with every beat of your heart as your body threatens to shut down on you. Do you remember what it was like to be so out of your fucking depth? Chain wrapped around my throat, and the mousey bitch firmly in your corner.”
“I think you’ll find, Benjamin. That this time things don’t just go your way. See the difference between you and I. Between Luna and Sam. Between The Conspiracy and the ‘real grapplers’, is that this is the environment in which we fucking thrive. This is the environment that we excel in. The streets? They belong to us. The streets belong to The Conspiracy. This ain’t about just swinging around some chairs. This isn’t just putting on the beating until you're black and blue, with wounds pulsing red crimson all over. No, no. Ben, a Street Fight is more than that. This is about ensuring you understand what I’ve been trying to do. To show you that just because you got the ‘skills’ doesn’t mean you get to walk around like your shit doesn't stink. You don’t get to walk around taking our opportunities. You don’t get to be the big man in the tiny little village, when Alexander Raven is the King reaping your land for every bit of tax you can pay.”
“See, there’s a certain fucking art to brawling, Ben. An art I’ve tried my hardest to show you. Something you’ve done nothing but throw back in my face. Spit in the offering I make and then pretend like it doesn’t matter. No, Benjamin. No, you don’t get to simply pretend like this doesn’t matter. You don’t get to just walk away after the horseshit of a journey you’ve gone on and pretend that I’m not the saviour of your fucking career. One week it’s you doubt yourself. The next it’s confidence in being able to out-wrestle anyone. Then it’s admitting to me getting under your skin, denying the fact that you had already admitted to it. But oh, I’m the fucking delusional one, right?”
Alex shakes his head a little, laughing to himself. He pushes himself off the dumpster and steps into the alleyway, holding the staple gun and metal spike tightly. He raises the metal spike and taps the end against his temple, smiling to himself. A man lost in his own chaos.
“You’re hot and cold Benjamin. An erratic little bi-polar puppy who throws himself from the ends of the spectrum to try and keep pace. You might be a good wrestler Ben, but truthfully? You seem to be someone who is lost in their own short-comings. Your confidence is based on what is before you, and for the first time in who knows how long. You’ve finally got a little bit of vim and vigour. A bit of confidence, and you don’t even think to thank the man who has done everything to give that to you. I’ve been more than understanding Benjamin. I’ve been so fucking understanding. But now. Now I need to show you the error of your delusions.”
“See, this isn’t a wrestling match Ben. This isn’t a thing you can control. This isn’t a match where you get to pretend to be the better man. No, this is a match where we take you out the back, throw you around, hit you with everything including the kitchen sink, and then ask if you want to come back for a second helping. See, in this scenario, neither of you are safe. Are you going to be able to put your hands on Luna? Are you going to be willing to run the blades across her face? Are you going to be willing to choke her out with the steel chain? I’ll let you in on my gameplan a little here, Benjamin. I don’t care whether it’s you, or Sam that is stuck standing in front of me, oh ho ho. No, I don’t give a flying fucking damn. I’ll put this spike through her pretty little face too if I have to. I’ll staple pieces of paper, plastic bags and garbage to her if I need to. I’ll break your friend’s pretty little friend’s neck if I need to Ben. Because I want to see what happens when you are given no other choice but to fight.”
“Fight me Ben.”
He presses the staple gun up against the temple on the other side of his head. And then he clicks. Two small streams of blood began to flow down the side of his face. Adrenaline pumping causes it to flow a little thicker than normal. A smile plastered to his face.
“Oh, but don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Samantha. Oh no, no. I haven’t forgotten your pretty little head. See I think it’s sweet of you. Sweet of you to have gotten involved, stuck your nose in business that doesn’t involve you and then pretend like it was a sweet little gesture. Oh, Samantha. You don’t know what you’ve gone and done, do you? Charged headlong like a bull into a fight that doesn’t involve you, and then started demanding attention. A smart person would’ve seen that this was an attack on a man’s delusion. A bout of ensuring he was the best he could be, because I am a benevolent fucking man. You, you are clearly not a smart person, Samantha.”
“No, you see. You only felt the need to involve yourself because Luna made a choice. A choice to hurt Ben. A choice to help him see the futility of his actions. Luna made a choice, and that choice upset you. So you went to battle for your little friend. You went into action and what has it gotten you? Brass to the skull, steel to the skull. What’s next? A street fight where I get to drill this very spike straight into your head and make you wear the crimson mask. There ain’t no rules in a streetfight Samantha, and when it all comes down to it, there ain’t nobody protecting you. See I think. I think the biggest punishment for Ben’s transgressions will be to make him watch. Tie the boy up, handcuff him and keep him restrained whilst we beat his friend’s face in. Stomp and kick your pretty little head off and then make him watch as we pin you, one, two, three.”
“Your decision to get involved, is going to mean you get your head taken clean off. You’re going to wish Ben had never put you on our radar. You’re going to wish you had never stuck your nose in our business. You’re going to wish that when that bell rings, you could go back even five minutes, so that you could taste just a little less blood. Just hurt a little less. Your bones would ache just a little less. We are going to make you regret everything, Samantha. And then, you’ll only have yourself to blame. You can look Ben in the eyes, and apologise. Apologise for getting involved. Apologise for making us hurt him through you. It doesn’t matter who it is, but know this. Luna and I, we are going to break your damn face.”
He drops the staple gun to the ground, and suddenly the world shatters. Fragmented shards descend into darkness. Three spotlights illuminate the world that takes its place. An empty, black space. In one, Alexander Raven, in another Luna Pasilno. And in the centre, two body bags.
“I live in a world of my own destruction. A King who would be the slayer of all Kings. A man who is forever torn down, beaten up and belittled. Insulted and forgotten, I am more than the sum of my parts, and the sum of my parts is this, Benjamin. I will be King again, I will be the man who they all look at. I will continue to be the man who fights back against the corruption and bullshit of those who stand above us pulling the strings. I will fight against The Conspiracies that attempt to hold me down, and when I am finally free. When I am no longer bound here, you will all thank me. Thank me for making everything I touch the most must-see action that we have. You will all thank me for bringing prestige back to the Internet Champion. You’ll all thank me for being critical in the expansion of Mixed Tag Team wrestling.”
“You will all thank me, because I did everything to ensure that you had the best of the best. You will all thank me, because of that. That is what I deserve. I am the King of Sin City Wrestling. I am the fucking workhouse of Sin City Wrestling. I am the kingmaker and I am the kingslayer. And there is nothing you can do to stop that, Ben. There is nothing you can do to stop this. And you’re welcome. You’re welcome for me making you part of my journey. You’re welcome for me giving you everything you have right now. You’re fucking welcome, Ben. You’re fucking welcome, Sam.”
“You’re all fucking welcome.”
Alex and Luna turn to face each other, kneeling down in unison. Grabbing the body bags, and slowly dragging them into the darkness beyond the spotlights. Leaving just the three shining lights in a world of darkness. The screech and cry of ravens begin to echo and bounce around the space.
“Have you been listening? I need you to listen to me.”
“The Conspiracy is here.”
And then...
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.