The Conspiracy is Here
Scene Two | On-Camera | 26th May 2023
“So they want to see us burn? Fall and collapse? Silenced for speaking out against the tyranny of the lies? We will not let them.”
“Love above all else, they will learn to understand. Understand the peace that we offer, in accepting the truth. In accepting the future, as The Conspiracy deems it.”
A small table under a spotlight. Wooden, four legs, no larger than a metre by a metre. The world around it swathed in darkness. There is a steady beat, the bang of a bass drum. Boom… Boom… Boom… Over and over, steady in its rhythm. Two sets of hands extend from the darkness and rest their palms on the table. Heavily tattooed, one set far more slender than the other. Both with palms down and pressing lightly on the wooden surface.
“Battered and bruised, but not beaten. They hope to see us collapse under the unending pressure put upon us. A pace unlike that of any other.”
“Recovery is held for those in the accepted lies. Recovery is held for those who wish to be forgiven for their collapse. Recovery is held for those who are seen in the bright lights, as the golden child of incestuous filth. Not held for the rebellious scum who wish nothing more than to pull all from the depths of the sewers.”
Both persons turn their palms over and face them upwards. Pointed towards the light. In the male’s left hand, a small red crown is painted. In the lady’s right hand, a mirroring crown painted in white. Their unpainted hands slip into the veil of darkness beyond the table. Leaning down, their heads enter the spotlight. Alexander Raven and Luna Vanity.
“A victim of abuse, slogged against those who pull the train of experience, expertise and feigned mockery forward. Arrogant, selfish and insipid creatures without an out. They bathe the Queen in a crimson veil, to hope she bleeds out for their very sins. Yet beaten, bruised and battered. She stands tall.”
“Baptised in pain, the Queen is forced to walk a path that her King already paved. Fate, the unforgiving mistress. Unforgiving and unrelenting. The wheel turns away from them, and they are left to wallow in the dark once more. Yet refusing to give in, they pay their debts of blood. A King reduced to baying like a dog, battering the very representative of canine influence with the shackles of the agony.”
“Though opinions differ, she strove to be better than she was before. She strove to show the world that experience isn’t everything. No back down, no fear. The Queen would take the barbwire crown and wear it proudly, sheathed in the crimson waterfall that would paint her. Unforgiving is the steel that splits the flesh, and yet into the lion’s den she does crawl. They do not back down in fear. They do not leave in far of themselves.
“And now. Dual crowns, to seat themselves upon the apex. Dual crowns to appease blood debts still unpaid. Methods of appeasing the failures of the past, to lay the foundations of the Kingdom to come. And in our path, the very pair of mutts that would seek to turn the hands of fate against us, time and time again.”
Their other hands now returning to the light. In Raven’s hand, a dog collar, his hand wrapped in chain. In Luna’s hand, a wreath of barbwire, the barbs pulled upwards, emulating the crown of thorns. Their painted palms now slip from the table and disappear into the darkness. They straighten up, and their faces plunge back into the veil of dark.
“But fate has a funny way of ensuring our debts are paid. For before us, lay The Barnharts. Yet opportunity lays in the path of progress. For the stalwarts of resistance lay before us. Bulldog, Miles, Carter. Men who have stood against the path of progress and sought to end it. All three men who have victimised my very own self for their own benefit. Respect is given to all who can take it, but in this. In this a failure of progress. For Bulldog fell down, and has failed to stand again. Miles took the crown of fate, and failed to act. Carter insult us both, yet now wallows in the shadow of the very man who failed to act upon fate. Failure is the tale of this tape, and in this, we the greatest. The greatest of failures, for we never seem to live up to the expectations laid. Nay, the success is forever forgotten in the face of failure. But when the time calls. When it is demanded of us, to the plate, we step. King and Queen of Fate. The most dominant Internet Champion of recent time, and the woman who is taking the experience of the former, and making them work for every step forward they now attempt to make. Calaway fell. Salco refuses to acknowledge how close to failure she has come each time, but understandably. Success is founded in the blindness to the short-comings. A heartbeat of difference in reaction, and Jessie fails. A heartbeat of difference in reaction, and before you are the Internet and Roulette rulers once more. But fate, fate is not always in the hands of they who would seek to change.
“But laying before me, also a journey through possibility. A chance to show that Vanity, is all powerful. A chance to show that Vanity, is all encompassing. That Vanity does not fall short of the lies. That Vanity does not collapse when things are made hard. For they wish nothing more than to see us collapse. It is not a measure of chance that they put us up in the first qualifier. No, they could have placed anyone in front of the path. Calaway, Richards, Angelos. Any of them would have been fine, but no. The powers that be wish nothing more than to see failure befall those who would seek success. So success must be wrenched from their grimy mitts. Success must be painted in the path of The Conspiracy, for The Conspiracy is the only ones seeking to illuminate the path to truth. Calaway, Richards, Angelos, Eiley and Barnhart. They stand before us, and yet. They believe that The Conspiracy must be the ones to start it all. Charming, though it may be. The regret of leaving this path before us, will surely be their undoing. None can stand in the path of truth, and we will show them that one fundamental truth.”
Raven’s hands slide from the table, and disappear into the darkness. Luna rounds the table, and places the wreath of barbwire in the centre of the table. She steps closer, her face shadowed by the overhanging light. A highneck crop top, a black harness with clips over the chest and belly. A black leather skirt, a different look for the normally white clad lady. Hair pulled back tightly, cascading down her back in a long waterfall of hair.
“Acceptance. Acceptance is a requisite of progress. Acceptance that things are not always in our hands. That the cruel matron of fate, does not always play into our hands. Salco took fate into her hands, and denied me my future. Not once, but twice. Stole the matron mantle, and swindles it with lies, deceit and buffoonery. Molly-coddling and manipulative gas-lighting of the ignorant youth. Poor Harper, who must be treated like the ever child she will be in the eyes of the perfect and progressive Salco. Yet before me, lay another victim of success. Another victim of experience. Another victim of enduring legacy, that is tainted by their associations. Though Bea does not pretend to exceed herself, complacency is an insidious killer. Happy to remain in her lane, as the Barnharts are prone to do. Complacent and happy to remain lesser than. Happy to remain devoid of their possibility, for the sake of adequacy. Contentedness. Yet the world lay at their feet and they refuse to do anything with it. They refuse to step forward into the light. Self-love is within their grasp, yet they are battering rams for those who would take their vanity to their own essence. Bea, are you listening to me? I want you to listen deeply. To put aside the overbearing shadow that is your husband, your partner, the chain of repression. To put Bill behind you, and raise to the peak of success that is guaranteed to you. The success that you need only reach up and take. The brass ring that hangs from the stained glass lies. Pull free the shackles, and be bathed in the light of truth. Free from the mockery and delusion. Free from the cesspool of filth that they have us squabble and squirm in. Begging for acknowledgement. Begging for the progress that is our damned right. Our damned right, Bea.”
“The crown they have us baying for is not the first time it’s been in your sights. Former tandem rulers, however short of a term it was. I know all about having success ripped from you Bea. Salco put a boot to my growth, and I will not let her slip away into the future so easily. No, for I am one for blood grudges. Blood debts to be paid. My own vanity dictates that I cannot allow failures to simply slip away. Traumatised by those who would up and leave, I refuse to simply let those who wrong me, move on. It may be next week, it may be next month, it may be next year. It may be in the next life, Bea. But I will always pay the debts owed to me. And for the moment, Bea. This journey of recovery. This journey paved in the path of blood, sheathed in the veil of crimson ruin. You stand in my way. The Barnharts, in the way of progress. In the way of truth. I am, lesser than I should be. Broken, and beaten down. I have gone to hell, back, to back, to back, to back. But that is who we are. That is who The Conspiracy is. We are not content to lay back Bea. We are not content to wither and shy away from pain. Bruised, beaten and damaged. Blood flowing, cuts unhealed and muscles aching from the beatings. We continue to step up and forward, for that is who The Conspiracy is. That is what we deem as necessary for success. That is what we deem as the requisite part of peace. The King and Queen, the tandem rulers. They should not step away from any challenge. They should not shy away from any danger. We have our path in front of us, Bea. And whilst I may not be at one hundred percent. On our worst day, we are better than The Barnharts. Let that be known.”
Luna reaches forward and takes the wreath in both hands, wrapping her fingers gingerly around the barbs. The barbs digging into the flesh, threatening to cut through it. She grimaces slightly, lifting it slowly, placing it slowly upon her head. A set of hands coming over and grabbing her shoulders lightly.
“But I want to tell you something special Bea. Something that we’ve come to agree upon. Desperation paves a very dangerous path, and in that. A chance for immeasurable success. Happy and content with past success, we stand by and allow the world to continue to barrel past us. Content with failure, we allow others to think themselves superior. Better. No longer. No for we, The Conspiracy, have decided. That when we win the Mixed Tag Team Championships of the World. We will take on any and all-comers. Every single week, an open challenge. For that, Bea. That is our confidence in success. That is our confidence in growth. So fear not, Barnharts. You can smash your face against the barrel of failure, over and over. For when we win, the crowns will be forever out of your grasp. Forever out of your reach, and we will stand atop the mountain. Gazing down and pushing forward for an unending level of success. We will be the first of the new era, and the only. And we just know, they will find some people for us. Every single week. The authority, the purveyors and perpetrators of filth and manipulation. They will push their will on us, to see us collapse. To see us fall, to see us perish. For they do not want The Conspiracy to succeed. They wish to see you take us out, Bea. Don’t you see? You’re being manipulated by powers far beyond yourself. Denied of your own vanity, they lead you to think that you have a choice. That you matter. None of us matter. They wish nothing more than to keep things under their thumb.”
“No longer, Bea. No longer will be suffer at their whims. We will show them that there is nothing that they can do slow us down. So talk to Bill. Work it out. Understand that his respect for Raven will be your undoing, for he knows. He knows now that the path to truth lays through us. And in your acceptance of the inevitable, a path of opportunity. For the tandem rulers, will be benevolent. You can smash your face against the brick of the kingdom, over and over. Week after week, and the result will never change. Success belongs to The Conspiracy. And we will show them all, why that is the case.”
A smile spreads across her face, before the hands on her shoulder slide upwards to her throat, and then either side of her face. She closes her eyes, and then falls backwards. Plunging into the darkness, and disappearing from sight. The hands that were on her face, also disappearing into the dark beyond.
“Unforgivable are the failures of the successful.”
Alexander Raven steps forward, replacing himself where Luna had been. Around his neck, the dog collar, the held taut off to the left, someone holding the chain in the distance. He leans forward slightly, the collar straining against the chain.
“Fate puts us before each other once again, Bill. It seems we are destined to face each other over and over. Does that lower me, or raise you? I do not know. For it seems that regardless of each other’s success and failures. They deem us equal and necessary to repeat the past, over and over. One of few men that I can honestly appreciate. One of few who despite the settlings of the muck and filth. Despite the settlings of the foundation that holds the lies on this incestuous and filthy scum filled city. Despite it all, Bill is one of few with his eyes firmly in his own head. Fate, as it were. Fate deems to pus before each other once more, and in that. Revelation. Revelations of truth and power. Revelations, Bill. For we both know this fundamental truth. At the end of days, we will still be locking horns. Still be bashing heads, and the one truth. The one truth is Bill Barnhart is the only honest person in this god forsaken hellhole. Bill Barnhart is the only person that will step to the plate, and acknowledge his failures. Acknowledge that on the best days, the worst can still be better. Can acknowledge that the turns cogs of fate will chose their own champions for the sake of success. But Bill is a representative of the system I intend to tear down. The obsession of the elite, the authority, the ever-looming threat. Chris and Mark, if face and name must be given. They deem to keep the status quo. Keep us from reaching the summit that we need be. The Conspiracy, my own little kingdom. My pack of followers, and those who would listen to the words of this Broken Messiah. They bring the napalm, so that I may slay all the kings before me. Again and again, I will take the former shells of fallen kings and lay them to waste in the flames of retribution, freedom and cleansing. Bill, I will strip you clean, bathe in you flame and blood once more. Bathe you in a freeing wash of cleansing fire. And in that, you will tell all. You will be my own prophet. You will tell the world the truth, my truth.”
“For you see, Bill. I respect you because you are honest. You are true, you are blind. Blinded to the filth that keeps you in place. That shackles you, and returns you to their assumed place of content. No longer Bill. No longer should we stand in the shadows of their oppression and their control. No longer shall we stand for the failures of those with grandeur far outweighing their own insignificant lives. You stand in the pathway of eternal grace, and I cannot forgive that. I cannot forgive that they do not wish us to recover. I cannot forgive that they continue to push the broken and the battered. Wondering how long it will be until they break us. How long it will be, before we fall apart. But she speaks the truth Bill. You are stepping stone to the eternal truth. That the tandem rulers are not to be overlooked. That when we take the crown, we will stand at the apex of the mountain. That we will stand and defend against all-comers. That all who would deign themselves worthy of standing in the light and life of The Conspiracy, will be turned back into the filth that they so willingly relish in. You are a stepping stone, Bill. You and your precious wife, Bea. Stepping stones for our pathway to greatness. That once we take the tandem crowns, they will follow us to our grave. For we will give them what they want. An unrelenting, trundling path forward. An open challenge for greatness, each and every fucking week. Each week Bill. You can smash yourselves against the walls of our world, over and over. And only when you accept the greater truth. Only when you stand to shake and rattle the foundations of the lies. Only when you shatter the stained glass lies, will you see. Fate holds all, and we are the masters of it. For everything is a carefully laid out plan. I stand free. Able to journey to where I wish to. Able to take the path to greater success, and in that. A freedom unlike any other. A truth, free of the delusions and distortions of reality.”
Raven slowly kneels down, resting his head on the table. The chain slacks slightly, as the person holding it moves forward. They reach a hand out from the world beyond, and gently stroke Raven’s hair. Gently touching and caressing his head, fingers trickling down onto his face.
“But I leave you with this Bill, Bea. I leave you with a question. A question of your importance in my journey. A question with your importance for anyone’s journey. Is there a Alexander Raven in this place, right now, without Bulldog Bill Barnhart? Is there a rage boiling and bubbling in Bea Barnhart, were it not for Luna Vanity’s appearance in her match against Alexandra Calaway? I think not. I think that this before us, despite the machinations of the greater. Despite the ideas of those who wish to subjugate and control. We stand tall. We stand free. We stand above the control and manipulation. For it was in failure to Bulldog Bill Barnhart, that Alexander Raven’s blood debts began. Failure sits poorly with us, and we are not ones to accept it lightly. Blood for blood, and if not our own, than the others will flow. Two and three, Bill. Two and three, is the tale of our tape. Thumbtacks, submissions, dog collars. Agonies shared, and yet. Bonding too. I appreciate that we get to start this journey together, Bill. But I resent that they think it appropriate. A world of people to chose, and they slog us together once more. They ignore the weakening of the body, in place of pushing their own uninterrupted path. I will take the force, if I must. For Luna, she should not have been forced here. She should have been giving the grace of recovery. The grace of equality. But, they wish to see us burn in the flames we wish to start. And so, Bill. I must apologise for what must be done. Such as the apology for the dog collar, I must apologise here once more. For dashing your cute, committed little dreams before they even start. Before they even begin, Bill.”
“It is unfortunate, that we will not repeat the past on that wonderous cruise liner this year. Though I have no desire for it, another round of the speedo, another round of showing everyone that Alexander Raven is a king to be expected. It would have poetic, don’t you think? Alas, that is not what they hold for us. Not this time. Not this year. I will however, be crowned once again. I put Finn Whelan down, twice, to win that championship. I stepped through you and Miles, to do so. I will do that again, if I have to. I will step through every mirror of my past, and emerge the Napalm Kingslayer that I am becoming. The man who will cleanse this filth in the flames of righteous retribution. And so, when the tandem rulers stand at the apex of the mountain, none can deny. None can refute. None can escape the truth. That we are, what we are. The Conspiracy has arrived Bill. And we cannot be stopped.”
The hand stroking his hair, slowly slides away. There is a rough yank of the chain, and Alexander Raven is pulled from the table and into the dark beyond. Silence, the lone table standing by itself. The drumming had long since dissipated. Eerie.
Then Luna and Raven once more, step into the light. Opposite sides of the table. In her hands the dog collar and chain. In his, the barbwire crown. They outstretch their hands, palms pointed upwards. In the hands once painted with crowns, small visages of bulldogs, with large x shaped crosses through them.
“The hour draws near, and we will be ready. None shall escape the wrath of The Conspiracy. Barnharts, you are but the start. The start of a journey of ultimate truth. We will not be denied, and in our truth. Love. A love for yourself, for all others. Vanity beyond all vanity, for achievement should be recognised. And we will recognise every person’s achievement who throws themselves worthlessly at the walls of our kingdom.”
“The unforgiving steel. Chains and barbwire. Blood for blood, and napalm death. We stand ready, to take whatever is given to us. Do not fret, Barnharts. We will be merciful, for you are the only ones that have the opportunity to see the truth. My prophets and priests to be. Though you may not know it, you are guided by this humble shepherd. And all will be guided to my greater tomorrow. Free of the lies. Free of the distortions. Come, Bill. Come, Bea. All are welcome in The Conspiracy.”
The lift their hands slowly, pressing the barbwire against her open palm, and the collar and chain against his. Their fingers link awkwardly over the objects. Nods of affirmation, smiles, that flicker of anger and rage in Alexander Raven’s eyes. Luna’s with that ice cold cut, soulless and deep. Then the break, and step into the shadows.
“The Conspiracy is here.” “The Conspiracy is here.”
And then…
Darkness.
Silence.
Nothing.
