Post by Slayne on Jan 2, 2022 13:28:34 GMT -5
“People enter this den of debauchery, this 'business' as it's called, with grand designs. At some point in their childhood, they saw someone win a competition and then saw that winner hold up the reward for their efforts as if it were the pinnacle of human achievement. From blue ribbons to golden belts, they’ve spent their lives measuring their own value by trying to collect these baubles for their display cases. They’ve bought into the societal belief that if they’re not first, they’re last.”
Somewhere within the 2300 Arena, away from prying eyes and ears, Kurtis Slayne sits in a metal folding chair in front of the camera, his elbows resting on his knees as he absent-mindedly rolls his thumb against the calloused flesh at the tip of his middle finger.
“These shallow beliefs are a fallacy perpetrated by the puppet masters who prop up professional wrestling with their own investments. They do this to get the most out of their cattle before ultimately sending them to slaughter. This makes your average wrestler little more than an animated sack of meat, dancing on strings to win prizes that only hasten their inevitable processing and consumption. Continue to feed the machine boys and girls, and you too can be remembered as one of the few who wore this gaudy piece of metal and leather.”
He doesn’t bother looking at the camera when he speaks, nor does he acknowledge his hired attorney who operates it. Those things would require effort, a display of passion for professional wrestling that Kurtis Slayne simply does not have or want.
“Everyone knows the name Muhammad Ali, a colorful man who could dazzle people with his flowery words one minute, and mercilessly batter his fellow man the next. He held many championships in his day, enough to build a shrine in his own honor. You might assume that when the days of competition were behind him, that he could sit and gaze upon those trophies of his youth, reliving his accomplishments with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Only that’s not how his story ended, is it? When his mind was decomposing faster than his body and he had the intelligence of your average toddler, this great champion was left to drool all over himself as he looked at his own reflection in those trophies and wondered who in the hell was staring back at him.”
Kurtis slowly rolls his neck to the side, achieving an audible crack in the process. He allows himself a light sigh of pleasure, but with his thoughts focused elsewhere, we can’t know for certain if he takes that pleasure from the feeling of released pressure or the unnatural snapping sound within his joints.
“Maybe a man like Glum, a literal clown within the circus of professional wrestling, needs a lesson that hits a little closer to home. Consider my brother, Indy Darling, as the kind of man who believed in the false symbols you all strive to win. He earned a couple of those grand prizes and what did it get him in the end? He was a broken man long before my sledge caressed the protruding discs in his back. Better yet, take a look at Mark Hunter. This is a man who had the kind of career that many of my peers in Project: Underground would one day like to have for themselves. Championship titles, awards and accolades; these are the kind of things Mark Hunter strived for and earned in spades. Now, as he struggles to remember the names of his infant sons while his wife spoon feeds him his dinner, I’m sure all of those hard-fought battles for championships seem worthwhile.”
At first glance, one might assume that a man like Gideon Marx has it easy. After all, he’s not the one putting his body on the line, competing against others in physical contests week after week, pushing himself and testing his pain threshold against the strong and prideful. Pouring over legal documents, making travel arrangements, and recording the occasional soundbite on behalf of his client may not seem like worthwhile endeavors to most within the business of professional wrestling. Yet those who undervalue a man like Gideon Marx rarely consider what it’s like to stand behind a camera and remain silent while their client openly denounces the things that others would consider a measure of success.
“Are you getting the point yet? I don’t want your trophies. I don’t want your praise. To do so would mean that I’ve fallen into line with the rest of you, that I’ve bought into the fantasy your championship titles represent. I’m not here to win matches and raise titles above my head. I’ll leave that to the rest of you. I’d rather be the one making sure you regret winning them in the first place. That’s what your titles mean to me, and those of you fighting for them, the clowns like Glum, mean even less.”
Gideon Marx is a man with hopes and dreams, just like anyone else. As an agent, he expects to reap the rewards of his client’s success. So, when that client mocks the most visible measure of that success, why does he silently abide by those beliefs and hope that his own fortunes will not suffer in the process? What other choice does he have? Find another client? Try to convince Kurtis Slayne that championship gold is something worth putting value in? Anyone who suggests those things doesn’t know Slayne at all, but Gideon Marx knows him. He knows that his compliance keeps him employed, and more importantly, it keeps him safe. He knows that rewards will inevitably come whether Kurtis wants them or not. Patience is a virtue that Gideon Marx holds dear, and while it may not come easy, no one ever said that being a devil’s advocate wouldn’t be challenging.
Somewhere within the 2300 Arena, away from prying eyes and ears, Kurtis Slayne sits in a metal folding chair in front of the camera, his elbows resting on his knees as he absent-mindedly rolls his thumb against the calloused flesh at the tip of his middle finger.
“These shallow beliefs are a fallacy perpetrated by the puppet masters who prop up professional wrestling with their own investments. They do this to get the most out of their cattle before ultimately sending them to slaughter. This makes your average wrestler little more than an animated sack of meat, dancing on strings to win prizes that only hasten their inevitable processing and consumption. Continue to feed the machine boys and girls, and you too can be remembered as one of the few who wore this gaudy piece of metal and leather.”
He doesn’t bother looking at the camera when he speaks, nor does he acknowledge his hired attorney who operates it. Those things would require effort, a display of passion for professional wrestling that Kurtis Slayne simply does not have or want.
“Everyone knows the name Muhammad Ali, a colorful man who could dazzle people with his flowery words one minute, and mercilessly batter his fellow man the next. He held many championships in his day, enough to build a shrine in his own honor. You might assume that when the days of competition were behind him, that he could sit and gaze upon those trophies of his youth, reliving his accomplishments with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Only that’s not how his story ended, is it? When his mind was decomposing faster than his body and he had the intelligence of your average toddler, this great champion was left to drool all over himself as he looked at his own reflection in those trophies and wondered who in the hell was staring back at him.”
Kurtis slowly rolls his neck to the side, achieving an audible crack in the process. He allows himself a light sigh of pleasure, but with his thoughts focused elsewhere, we can’t know for certain if he takes that pleasure from the feeling of released pressure or the unnatural snapping sound within his joints.
“Maybe a man like Glum, a literal clown within the circus of professional wrestling, needs a lesson that hits a little closer to home. Consider my brother, Indy Darling, as the kind of man who believed in the false symbols you all strive to win. He earned a couple of those grand prizes and what did it get him in the end? He was a broken man long before my sledge caressed the protruding discs in his back. Better yet, take a look at Mark Hunter. This is a man who had the kind of career that many of my peers in Project: Underground would one day like to have for themselves. Championship titles, awards and accolades; these are the kind of things Mark Hunter strived for and earned in spades. Now, as he struggles to remember the names of his infant sons while his wife spoon feeds him his dinner, I’m sure all of those hard-fought battles for championships seem worthwhile.”
At first glance, one might assume that a man like Gideon Marx has it easy. After all, he’s not the one putting his body on the line, competing against others in physical contests week after week, pushing himself and testing his pain threshold against the strong and prideful. Pouring over legal documents, making travel arrangements, and recording the occasional soundbite on behalf of his client may not seem like worthwhile endeavors to most within the business of professional wrestling. Yet those who undervalue a man like Gideon Marx rarely consider what it’s like to stand behind a camera and remain silent while their client openly denounces the things that others would consider a measure of success.
“Are you getting the point yet? I don’t want your trophies. I don’t want your praise. To do so would mean that I’ve fallen into line with the rest of you, that I’ve bought into the fantasy your championship titles represent. I’m not here to win matches and raise titles above my head. I’ll leave that to the rest of you. I’d rather be the one making sure you regret winning them in the first place. That’s what your titles mean to me, and those of you fighting for them, the clowns like Glum, mean even less.”
Gideon Marx is a man with hopes and dreams, just like anyone else. As an agent, he expects to reap the rewards of his client’s success. So, when that client mocks the most visible measure of that success, why does he silently abide by those beliefs and hope that his own fortunes will not suffer in the process? What other choice does he have? Find another client? Try to convince Kurtis Slayne that championship gold is something worth putting value in? Anyone who suggests those things doesn’t know Slayne at all, but Gideon Marx knows him. He knows that his compliance keeps him employed, and more importantly, it keeps him safe. He knows that rewards will inevitably come whether Kurtis wants them or not. Patience is a virtue that Gideon Marx holds dear, and while it may not come easy, no one ever said that being a devil’s advocate wouldn’t be challenging.