The Tyranny of Evil Men: Part 2

“His name is Luther Franklin”


Indy’s expression was not one of shock or disbelief as the officer slid the mug shot photo across the table. His physical reaction remained unreadable as he looked down at the picture and saw the face of Julius Fairweather staring back up at him.


“Petty theft. Aggravated assault. Credit card fraud. Bribery. Forgery. Drug possession. These are just a few of your friend’s favorite things. Should I go on?”


Indy continued to stare at the photograph on the table, silently accepting the fact that he was looking at a stranger, and not a trusted friend and partner.


“Look, Mr. Darling, you need to understand how difficult it is for us to believe that you didn’t know anything about your friend’s real identity. You welcomed this man into your home, helped him gain employment, and have been closely associated with him in public, all of which came to pass rather quickly after Mr. Yamamoto’s hospitalization.”


Indy’s gaze slowly trailed up from the mug shot photo to the officer seated on the opposite side of the table, the serious nature of his situation leaving him at a loss for words.


“You’re the sole beneficiary in the old man’s will. His property and all of his personal effects are going to be transferred to you upon his death. So when the doctors tell us that his heart attack may have occurred due to unnatural causes, a lot of eyes started falling on you. Your closest friend has a rap sheet longer than my ex-wife’s list of boyfriends and no one had more to gain from poisoning the old man than the two of you. So help me out here, and tell me why in the hell I shouldn’t just charge you right now?”


It was a question he didn’t have an answer for. In his heart, Indy knew that he was fully to blame for Doc’s poisoning, for allowing a stranger into their midst, for being stupid enough to fall for such a blatant deception. He couldn’t summon an excuse for his naivete, for his trusting nature. As he looked across the table at the weary law officer who had tracked him across international borders just to have a one-on-one conversation, the only response Indy could give was one that came from the heart.


“You should charge me now. Because I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”





Along with the night of Doc’s heart attack, the previous night had been the longest of Indy’s life. While the officer prodded with one question after another, Indy took each one as a new revelation. By the time Detective Dixon was convinced that Indy was indeed oblivious to the true nature of the world around him, there was nothing else for him to do but catch a red-eye back to the states. No charges were pressed against him, no restrictions were leveled against his ability to travel or compete for Project: Honor, and Dixon assured him that they would not only be in touch, but that they would be watching.


As he waited to board his plane back to the states, Indy was not concerned with his own image after what seemed to be his televised arrest, nor was he worried about the rumors that were flying online. He ignored the mentions on Twitter, the voicemail messages on his phone, and the few Canadian fans that were lingering about the airport at 4 am. He turned his thoughts away from Julius and thought only about Meg, wondering if Doc’s daughter had seen or heard of the situation, and what she must have been thinking. It was a call he dreaded making, but as he tapped her name on his phone, he knew that it was one he had to go through with.


“Meg? It’s Nate. I’m sorry to be calling so late, but I needed to tell you…”


The voice he heard through his phone was cracked and weary, but not in the way that Meg had been woken from a deep sleep. It was the voice of someone who had been deprived of rest due to an endless stream of tears.


“Look, it’s not what it looks like. I swear I had no idea…”


She answered with concern in her voice, but Indy could also hear the growing tone of anger in her words.


“Yeah, mercury poisoning. I know. You know how much I love your dad, Meg. Do you really think I could do something like that?”


The anger in her voice was not the only thing rising, as her volume also began to increase.


“Julius wasn’t even around before your dad’s heart attack. He may have conned me into letting him in, but I don’t know how he could have been responsible…”


She had been his first girlfriend. He’d never admit it in public circles, but Indy had never had much luck when it came to relationships. He was prepared for the arguments that would stem from jealousy or frustration, arguments over glances from the opposite sex or toilet seats that were not put in the proper position. Those were the kind of disagreements one could expect in a relationship, but being an accessory to someone’s near-fatal poisoning was nothing anyone could prepare themselves for.


“Of course I’m not sticking up for him! It’s just that I don’t understand…”


In her rage and grief, Meg was making it clear that she was no longer his first girlfriend, but his first ex. He couldn’t find blame in her anger any easier than he could find a reasonable excuse for his blind acceptance of Julius Fairweather.


“Meg, please. Don’t do this. You know I love your dad. I would never take advantage of your feelings. Just give me the chance to make all of this right…”


She made it clear that she could not be involved with someone who was the slightest bit responsible for her father’s condition. She shouted about how she should have known better, about how her weakened emotional state had been messing with her head. She claimed that she needed comfort and had found it in Indy just as easily as she could have anyone else. She said he wasn’t special. She said she made a mistake. She said she never wanted to see him again before abruptly ending the call with a pained sob. Just like that, she left Indy alone, standing in the middle of an airport with a phone to his ear and no one listening on the other end. Like a soul lost at sea, he found himself clinging to one final thought like a floating piece of wreckage, even if he was the only one to hear it verbalized.


“...I love you.”





He had been home for a few days with little else to do but work-out and process his thoughts. He hadn’t been able to get Meg to answer her phone, no matter how often he tried. As for Julius...or Luther...he hadn’t even bothered. The issues they had to settle would be better off handled in person, and Indy was confident that the snake would show his face sooner or later. If not, Project: Honor had made it possible for them to eventually meet each other at The Crowning. All Indy had to do was make it past 7 of the top competitors on Proving Ground while Julius would need to do the same against some of Fallout’s finest.


Two simultaneous matches, sixteen competitors, and the final person standing from each brand would then face off for the right to be declared Project: Honor’s Tyrant. That kind of moniker wasn’t Indy’s style or the kind of thing he would normally strive to achieve, but it just so happened that the company had made the match at a time when the X-Factor Champion wasn’t looking at things the way he normally would. Under regular circumstances, lording over the roster would have felt out of character to Indy Darling, but the combination of heartbreak, anger, and embarrassment had him looking at things in a different light. The idea of taking out his aggressions on everyone else in the match to rule over a roster of liars, cheaters, and egomaniacs wasn’t just growing on him. It felt exactly like what he needed.


He had to get his mind off Meg and Doc and put his eventual confrontation with Fairweather on the back burner. Indy couldn’t think of a better way to do that than to cut his promo, to once again put his heart on his sleeve while letting the fans and competitors of Project: Honor know that his mind was focused exactly where it needed to be. On The Crowning. On Wargames. Not on becoming the Tyrant that Project: Honor deserved but the Tyrant that it needed.


“Somewhere in the unwritten rules of our business, it says that when you’re in a multi-person match it’s customary to go through your list of opponents and tear them down one-by-one. It’s in the rules, so we have to do it, right? Wrong. If there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time in this company, it’s that the rules don’t mean a goddamned thing. I’ve watched the rules be bent, broken, and blatantly ignored by everyone on this godforsaken roster. Up until now, I’ve prided myself on being one of the good guys in this business, but where has that gotten me? I played the name-calling game for a multi-person match before, and the only thing it got me was second place to some undeserving pretender named Sarah Roberts. I don't feel like letting that happen again.”


In less than an hour, after his promo was finished and Wednesday night would bleed into Thursday morning, Indy would hear the sound of Julius’ Cadillac pull up to the curb and all thoughts of Meg, Doc, and the upcoming challenge at The Crowning would fade from his mind. He would wait in the darkness, steel chair in hand, prepared to beat the truth out of a man that he had considered a friend only a few days before.


“Yeah, I’m The X-Factor Champion, I have a win over the nearly unbeatable Dickie Watson, and I have more fans than I deserve. Yet for every step I take forward, someone is waiting to push me two steps back. Whether it’s someone in management with their asinine booking, someone on the roster that doesn’t have a clue what honor really means, or some piece of garbage that wants to make things personal just so they can get ahead. Maybe that’s just what's become of this business, bringing out the worst in people to show everyone the true face of human nature. Now I have fifteen potential opponents at The Crowning, each of them full of plans and schemes to help them get ahead. So this is where I call them out and tear them down in alphabetical order, right?”


The chair will hit Julius with a resounding smack that echoes throughout the darkened gym, sending him tumbling over the ringside couch to the floor. It won’t be enough to keep him down, and he’ll try to think of some way to defuse the fight before it’s even started. Nothing he says will matter, because Indy will tell him exactly what his intentions are. After threatening to break Julius’ neck, the two men will stare at each other with fists clenched, neither of them willing to wait for The Crowning or to take the chance that the other will make it through their half of the match.


“Like I said, to hell with the rules. I can say everything that needs to be said about all of you without giving you the cheap thrill of mentioning you by name. This is the biggest collection of liars and cheaters that Project: Honor has ever collected in one match. Every single one of you is willing to do whatever it takes to win Wargames. You’ll sacrifice your self-professed morals to get ahead. You’ll stab people in the back. You’ll tell anyone who’s willing to listen that you are the strongest, the hungriest, and the most skilled competitor to enter the match. You’ll claim that you’ve paid your dues and in doing so you’ve become the best in the business. You’ll try to portray yourself as the coolest badass to ever step into a ring. You might even convince yourselves that what you’re saying is true, but deep down inside, in your insecure minds, you all know it’s nothing but bullshit.”


Indy will leap over the couch that separates him from Julius, intent on raining down a clenched fist upon his face. Instead, Julius will catch him around the waist, pulling him from the air and spinning him around so that his spine slams against the ring apron. Fairweather will waste no time in pressing his forearm against Indy’s throat, but as he tries to mutter another excuse, his former friend’s response will be to spit in his face.


“It doesn’t matter which brand you’re on, because for all the posturing and self-promotion, they’re no different. There is no ‘A Show’ or ‘B Show’, because they’ve both filled their rosters with the worst examples of humanity this world has to offer. This place that proudly displays the word ‘honor’ in its name has somehow managed to put together a roster of the most broken people in this business. Each of you is just as bad as the next, from the junkies to the ex-cons. You’re users and manipulators, because there’s something inside all of you that is so tragically scarred that it can never properly heal. So what does this ‘honorable’ place do with all of its broken toys? It throws them into their version of Wargames so that the toy soldier with the most battle damage can stand above the rest.”


When Julius takes a moment to wipe the spit from his eye, Indy will strike forward with an unforgiving headbutt, shattering the cartilage that makes up the bridge of his nose. Julius will stagger backwards, giving Indy the opportunity to hit him with a spear-like tackle that sends the couch toppling backwards and deposits both men on the cold concrete floor.


“There’s just one problem with the master plan behind this match. Despite all of their efforts, despite every set-back, I’m the one person in this match that isn’t broken. You all think I have daddy issues, but the only negative impact my dad had on my life was that he left it too early. Before he gave his life for the business he loved, he actually raised me the right way. He didn’t beat me, verbally abuse me, or spend his time getting wasted with a different whore every night. He was a good man, and he raised another good man even when the world was throwing every obstacle in his path. He taught me what it means to have honor, respect, and kindness. Not only that, but he taught me how to stand up for myself and fight against the evils of this world. He taught me to stand my ground and fight for what’s right, even if there’s fifteen people standing in my way.”


While Julius tries to shake off the effects of his broken nose, Indy will pounce on top of him, hurling a flurry of rights and lefts in a fit of uncontrollable rage. Desperate to escape, Julius will manage to kick Indy off of him and scurry away, his hands inadvertently landing upon Indy’s discarded steel chair. When Indy dives back at his target, Julius will swing his newfound weapon upwards, catching his attacker in the ribs.


“So what did your fathers teach all of you? Did you learn how to take another drink when you get knocked down? Did you learn how to shoot more poison into your veins when life got too hard? Maybe you’re one of the idiots that just lost their mind and started worshipping Satan or some other made-up authority figure just to justify your own lack of integrity. One thing is for certain, and that’s how you all deluded yourselves into thinking that you’re actually good at this. You know how to throw a punch or a kick so you entered this business to take everything you could from it. You didn’t enter the business to give something back, to make it a better place. You put your names on the dotted line to contribute to the rape and pillaging of professional wrestling.”


Indy will stagger backwards while clutching his ribs, coming to rest against the wooden staircase that leads up to his loft apartment. He won’t have time to rest however, as Julius will charge forward, fueled by the pain of his broken nose to slam his own body against Indy’s, sending both men through the splintered remains of the stairway’s wooden railing. Once again, they will roll to the concrete floor, and despite Julius’ demands for Indy to stay down, their struggle will continue.


“It’s been almost six months since I came into this company, and during my time here I’ve been content to sit back and watch everyone else self-destruct. I’ve seen self-proclaimed tough guys whine and bitch when something doesn’t go their way. I’ve seen countless people proclaiming themselves as the next big thing, only to sulk away with their tails between their legs after a couple of losses. I’ve seen every cliché this business has to offer, from people taking their ball and going home, to blaming their losses on anyone but themselves. Seeing all of it first hand has finally made me realize why being Indy Darling really is better than being anyone else. Because I’m the guy who can eat a loss and come back stronger the next week. I can get screwed over without complaining on social media or making snide, passive aggressive comments aimed at the person who beat me in a match. I don't need to have a perfect record to be a consistent challenger or have my name mentioned on The Edge to be the only champion that lives up to his title. I’m better than all of you, because despite being newer to mainstream professional wrestling than most, I actually know what it means to be an adult.”


Julius will hit a hard uppercut as Indy is getting back on his feet, and the blow will send him sprawling backwards into the small kitchen area on the main floor. When Julius rushes forward to press his advantage, Indy will swing the refrigerator door open to break his enemy’s charge, denting the door and leaving Julius stunned long enough for Indy to drop him with a DDT.


“Right now there’s a lot of people thinking that poor Indy has finally hit his breaking point. The pressure has finally gotten to be too much and the kid has snapped. Now that it’s finally happened, he’ll be unfocused and it will be even easier to beat him at The Crowning. Only that’s not it at all. I haven’t cracked, and there isn’t a piece of trash on either roster that can break me. Instead of giving in to the madness like everyone else, I’ve woken up to the reality of this toxic place. I’ve finally seen Project: Honor for what it is, and that’s nothing more than an asylum to give the sociopaths of this world an outlet and to keep them from mingling with the sane people of society. The sad truth is, Project: Honor really does need a Tyrant. It needs someone who isn’t afraid to speak the truth or to shut down the egomaniacs when they start to run out of control. Only it doesn’t need an inmate like one of my fifteen opponents running the asylum. It needs me.”


For Indy, the fight with the man calling himself Julius Fairweather will not be like some falls count anywhere match. He’ll prove that point when he grabs a knife from the kitchen counter, kneels over his target, and raises the weapon above his head.


“So bring your broken psyches into The Crowning along with all of your twisted plans and selfish goals. Fight like the animals you are, each of you desperate to brag about your accomplishment the second the match is over. Bring your addictions, your egos, and your delusional fantasies into the ring. Hurl your insults and boast about how great you are. Above all else, don’t forget your pathetic excuses, your childish complaints, and the deflated balls that you will inevitably take back home. You’ll need those more than anything else you could possibly bring into this match, because there is only one person involved that truly has nothing left to lose and everything to gain.”


The sharp point of the blade will plummet downwards, chipping into the concrete floor beside Julius’ head. The startled man known as Fairweather will stare up at his attacker in shock and horror, questioning what kind of monster he’s managed to unleash.


“Motherfucker, are you out of your damned mind?”


Indy will look back at him, eyes glazed over with hatred, taking a few precious seconds to think of the things he’s lost. The woman he loves, his mentor, his best friend, all as far out of reach as the one person who could potentially talk him down from the ledge. All as dead and gone as his father, Clive Darling.


“Did you try to kill him?!”


It will be all Indy has to ask of Luther Franklin, the conman behind the alias of Julius Fairweather.


“I don’t...I don’t even know what in the hell you’re talking about!”


Indy will raise the knife back into the air, this time holding it directly above Luther’s face.


“Doc! Did you poison him just so you could con your way into the fucking company?!”


Despite being known as a smooth-talking man who rarely gets flustered unless for comedic effect, Luther will stutter and stammer in response.


“No! No goddamn it! I may be a crooked motherfucker, but I ain’t no murderer!”


Indy will continue to hold the knife precariously over his former friend’s head, as unsure of his next action as the defenseless man at his mercy. After a few moments, Indy’s hand will begin to tremble, eventually turning into enough of an uncontrollable shake that he will lose his grip on the knife. It will drop harmlessly to the floor beside Luther before Indy rolls to his side and comes to rest with his back against one of the lower kitchen cabinets. As Indy rests his elbows upon his knees and lowers his head into his hands, Luther will shove the knife out of reach and then scramble away to his own seated position. The two men will sit in utter silence until a heavy sob of despair erupts from the face obscured by Indy’s hands. It will not be tears of weakness that roll from Indy’s eyes, but those of a young man who fights an intense battle with his own inner demons. Luther will realize that there’s nothing he can say to make things better, whether spoken from his own heart or in the joking manner of the fictional character known as Julius Fairweather. Still, that knowledge will not prevent him from speaking as he cautiously gets back on his feet and begins to make his exit.


“I didn’t try to kill the old man, but maybe I can find out who did. It ain’t gonna make shit right between us, but I guess it’s what a good man would do. So I’m gonna fix this, not because I’m a good man, but because I know you are.”


Luther will back out of the kitchen area, taking a brief glimpse at the destroyed staircase and overturned couch. Then, before making a hasty exit from the building, he will have one last thing to offer.


“No. You’re not just a good man. You’re better than the rest of us evil motherfuckers. And I ain’t about to let you become our tyranny.”


With that, Luther “Julius Fairweather” Franklin will leave Indy on his own once again. No one will be there to hear his cries or to witness his battle with soul-crushing despair and blood-red rage. There will be no witnesses as he tears the gym apart with his bare hands, oblivious to the skin-piercing splinters of wood in his back or the cracked ribs in his chest. While there will be thousands of onlookers to see the rise of The Tyrant at The Crowning, there are none to watch the unleashed tyranny of a man struggling with his own true nature.


“There’s only one competitor that has the integrity of character to call himself The Tyrant and rule over everyone else with some semblance of honor. There is one man who truly is not just good enough, but better than every other possible option. Without a doubt, there is one man who can stand the test of time and actually take this hellish company in the right direction. Then there’s everyone else. By now, even the most stubborn of you know that I’m that man. Because I am Indy Darling, and I’m better than all of you.”