Post by The Gangsta on Feb 6, 2015 23:38:55 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
The Konspiracy Theory
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An eagle sits in his nest. A nest he built the moment he entered the area. There, is where he houses and feeds his young chicks. This nest is made of leaves, twigs, and straw. It seems as if it is unbreakable.
But it isn’t. It’s far from unbreakable. His house may blow away in a gust of a wind. His house may be struck by a bolt of lightning. The nest is gone, but what about the eagle’s chicks?
The chicks flee. Some are able to fly away and learn how to adapt on their own. The others fall to their doom and perish. The eagle is left with nothing. Absolutely nothing.
This eagle finds new materials and leaves to a new, unknown land. A land where other birds roam. Hawks, falcons, and ravens all inhabit this land. However, an eagle is unknown to them.
This eagle is far different from any other birds. The other birds have their chicks. This eagle does not. He doesn’t look like any eagle they know of. He has Mohawk and a deranged look to him.
The smell of blood blinds the other birds. They all fall to the ground, revealing a gold object in the background. It has red, white, and blue stripes engraved in it with a blank nameplate.
The eagle scratches his name in the plate. He grabs it and builds a new nest. A nest made of the colored feathers of his fallen foes. His blood diffuses into the feathers of the nest.
This eagle is alone. Alone in a sea of deceased falcons and hawks. Three other birds remain. One with a dragon’s breath. One as short as pea with the mind of a giant. And the other with a mysterious look to it.
What shall this eagle do? Try and fight them? No, he is outnumbered. He has the brains, why doesn’t he use them? He would and he will. Who are they? What are they here for?
It’s written in the bold font. They are here to redeem him. They are here to destroy his solitude. And the eagle has his choice of joining them or not.
Ante is a complicated man. A man with the will to outlast everyone until he obtains his rightful crown. A crown bestowed upon him by the people of the United States of America.
The KoKaine Konspiracy is not looking to corrupt Ante. They are simply looking to join him in his historic rule over America. Together, Donnie Monty Kent, Tugarin Zmey, Samael Ahriman, and Ante Whitner are absolutely unstoppable.
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The Eagle’s Nest
Ante Whitner’s Household, Miami, Florida
December 16th, 2014
Ben: Alright, the bills are up to date. Any phone calls lately?
Ante: No, I don’t think so.
Ben: Okay, you took your pills this morning, right?
Ante: Yup. Can’t forget ‘em.
Ben: Okay, good. I guess I’ll be on my way then.
Ante: I’ll talk to you if anything comes up. I might go out into the city later.
Ben: Okay, be careful.
Ever since moving to Miami and hiring Ben as my agent, I always had the feeling of insecurity. You know, I have a prized National Title on top of my dresser, waiting to be stolen. I almost feel bad for anyone who would try to rob my house. It’s basically a ticket to hell.
With my tenure in the WFWF reaching about five months in a couple of days, I’ve started to become familiar with the crazed-world of the Internet. My procrastination takes ahold of me at times after I search for hours and end up on the back page of a strip club website.
I later found out that it was Donnie Monty Kent’s strip club in Seattle. I recall him calling me about a month ago, reminding me of his presence at Black Friday, in which I lost to Daniel Kirkbride. That thought of a little, yet intimidating, figure lurking at ringside, calling your every move with another one of his associates, made me overthink the moves I looked to pull off. Joe Bishop had beaten Daniel at the last event, leaving Daniel a bit furious and out for blood.
I sit down on the couch and browse the Internet once more. Just a couple of years ago, I barely knew how to use the Internet. Of course, we were taught it in school, where I was never even there most of the time because of the messed-up sh*t I’ve been through. I stumble upon WFWF.com and look at my profile and look at the others. My names is at the top of the list. Ironic, isn’t it?
“The Bloodied Eagle” Ante Whitner
Debut: 2014
Debut: 2014
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 215 lbs.
Hometown: Yonkers, New York
Accomplishments: National Champion (x1)
Beautiful. I’m constantly reminded of how far I’ve come in life. Reeling from the tragedy involving Frankie, Charlie, and I, I’ve would have never thought that I would go above and beyond their heads and hold a title that Drakz, Joe Bishop, Trace Demon, and the other legends have once held. After everything transpired a few years back, I glued this motto in my head:
The task is not to just understand the world, but to change it as well.
No matter who likes me or not, I will always be above Charlie. I saw it as an ultimate goal a few years back, but now, I just look at it like a “pssht, next,” moment.
I keep scrolling down the roster.
Axel Thornstowe…Ha.
Daniel Kirkbride…Nope.
Dex…Didn’t Schneider kill him?
Until I find good ‘ol Donnie Monty Kent. Although he isn’t listed as an active competitor, DMK stands out the most with his head barely reaching the photo and the grudging look on his face that is half-covered on the screen.
Associate of Michael Kyzer, owner of several businesses in Seattle and along the West Coast, he’s a f*ckin’ midget…
His accolades went on and on. Tugarin and Samael were last on the list with the vague title of:
Samael Ahriman & Tugarin Zmey [KoKaine Konspiracy]
As I saw the other names, such as Josh Dean and Trace Demon, it made me realized that I was one of the few fighters in the WFWF who were lone wolves. There was the SOS, the Final Revolution, and lastly, the KKK.
Based on my past with the SOS, I would rather not affiliate myself with their weird sob stories and bunghole attitudes. I would not join the Final Revolution because well, they’re the corporate jackasses that came out of Lila Sleater’s womb. That leaves the KKK. They consist of the same sh*t I went through in childhood and young adulthood. I’m about to read into it when I hear the phone ring.
Ante: God damn it.
I walk over to the phone and see the caller I.D.
Francis Pulitzi
Yonkers, NY
(555) 555-5555
I smile a bit and answer the phone.
Ante: Well, hey there Fran…
Frankie: Ante, what the hell is going on?
Ante: Um, what do you mean?
Frankie: The Internet says DMK and the KKK are looking into you.
Ante: Bullsh*t. Where did you find this?
Frankie: I don’t know.
Ante: Well, they haven’t contacted me yet.
Frankie: That doesn’t matter. I’m worried about your safety and your title.
Ante: Why the title?
Frankie: Samael Ahriman has got a thing going. He wants that title along with the tag-team title with Tugarin Zmey.
Ante: Okay, well, calm down Frankie. I’m sure everything’s fine.
Frankie: Seriously, tell me if anything happens.
Ante: I have to worry about Ben first. He’s all up my ass for what I do and sh*t.
Frankie: Just, tell me. I don’t care if Ben is that overly-anxious agent everybody has. Your friends come first.
Ante: I thought family came first Frankie.
Frankie: Ben isn’t your family, I am. Charlie’s gone and so is your dad, which leaves me to fill that spot.
Ante: Okay, look, Frankie. I’ve got to go. A few errands I gotta do. You know, rich guy sh*t.
Frankie: Ha. Ante don’t get consumed in that sh*t. You ain’t rich yet and I don’t think it’ll happen soon.
Ante: Bye, Frankie.
Frankie: Ante, don’t…
I hang up on him. Despite the fact that I was frustrated with Ben before, I was heading out to the pub. Maybe grab myself a few drinks, talk to a couple of people. You know, adult stuff.
I drive off to O’Malley’s Irish Pub in downtown Miami. I know the owner and a couple of people there. The owner’s name is Jeff and he has a hot daughter named Ivy. I’ve gotten very close to them recently with nothing else to do besides browse the idiotic Internet and pay bills all day.
Ivy: Hey, Ante!
Ante: Oh, sh*t, didn’t see ya there. How’ve you been?
Ivy: I’ve been good. So, what can I get you today? The usual?
Ante: Yup.
My “usual” consisted of rum, Coca-Cola, lemon, and a hint of Red Bull. It’s a handful, but it keeps me going. I’m not an alcoholic like my father was.
Ivy: So, anything happening in your life?
Ante: Nah, same old, same old.
Ivy: Gotcha. When are you fighting again?
Ante: Um, the Clash, I believe. It's in a couple of weeks. It's in England.
Ivy: Neat. Who are you fighting?
Ante: I don’t know. Lila probably has me up against Shapiro again.
Ivy: That sucks. Listen, I’ll be right back. I gotta get some coke in the back.
Ante: Okay, that’s fine.
As Ivy leaves I get a text from Frankie.
Frankie: Don’t hang up on me!
I just send back a little winky face and grin to myself. Ivy returns with my drink.
Ivy: Here ya go Ante. So, you haven’t talked much about your childhood have you?
Ante: Well, lots of sh*t happened then. It’ll take three more drinks to explain it all.
We both chuckle a little.
Ante: Alright, I’ll start off with my dad. My dad was a bit of an alcoholic, if you know…
I hear shrieks and gasps coming from the front of the room. I get up and check what happened. There I see the towering Tugarin Zmey enter with a little DMK pop out from beside him.
Ante: Holy sh*t…
DMK: Holy sh*t is right. Hey, Ante. I would like to talk to you, in private.
As I walk outside, I look back at the red-haired Ivy, who is in utter disbelief.
What does he want with me? The Clash is only a few weeks away, what is he doing in Miami? We’ve got a plane to catch in a couple of days to the United Kingdom.
Long story short, DMK convinced me to become a part of the KKK regime that night. He explained their objectives and plans for the future. They were going to take over the WFWF, and they were gonna do it fast. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to be the apple that would sprout from their enormous apple tree. Well, it would probably be laced with cocaine first.
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Time was ticking. Devilkiller was sitting in the infirmary following his match at Battle at the Garden with Penny Shannon. He wanted to stay in the lower card division, despite his strong talent to take him above and beyond to a larger scene. He targeted the National Title, won by newly crowned champion, Ante Whitner. Devilkiller would have to face the Bloodied Eagle. Jeez. Harsh, right?
Time still was ticking. The little arrow was making an annoying noise every time Devilkiller looked up at the clock. Newsflash, Devilkiller. Time doesn’t exist. Clocks do.
There is a theory behind the origins of space and time. The genesis of the Universe is explained through the Big Bang theory. Sounds like something DMK would advertise at his strip club. Anyways, the Universe is still expanding on this very day. The red light in the various galaxies indicates that they move farther away from Earth at a constant rate and the blue light indicates that it moves closer. Kind of ironic if you think about it, with the colors of the American flag and all.
The way I see the Universe is another void that Ante Whitner must enter in order to achieve immortality. All of the planets and their respective stars will enlarge and burst with enigmatic and violent fury. The spews of nuclear material and various colors, ranging from red to green, stretch across the Universe. And all of it lands on your face. Hey, everybody, Devilkiller paints his face because he was in an intergalactic space bukkake party!
I’m no childhood bully Devilkiller. I’m not some horny astronomer either. I’m a king, who reigns over his country with a beautiful red, white, and blue title, and an iron fist. My people respect me, whether they think I’m a piece of trash or a god amongst men. Either way, you are just one of my targets on a long road through space and time to accomplish my ultimate goal. So, I suggest moving before my sixteen-wheeler pummels you back in time.
Oh yeah. Forgot to mention the emphasis on my recent inclusion into the KoKaine Konspiracy. Well, like I said before, you may get past me and rule over your dimwitted fanbase with the title, but a ferocious dragon, his midget mastermind, and his mysterious tag-team partner will lurk in your presence, laced with the ecstasy and cocaine they so worship. You truly did f*ck with the wrong man at the wrong time.
Oh wait, time doesn’t exist, right?
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The Rembrandt Hotel
London, England
December 29th, 2014
The year was coming to a close. In just a matter of five months, I grew up out of the slums the city of Yonkers provided me to the prestigious, WFWF National title. I have been to places I’ve never been to before. I moved to Miami, I traveled across the United States flaunting my title and observing the historic aspects of each city. It made me realize that this title wasn’t a label for the lower-card division of the WFWF. It was indeed a title that was born from the abolishment of British involvement in America. A title that contained all fifty states and their individual characteristics.
The other titles may represent other countries in the world, but my title is an example of hard work, dedication, and loyalty to those who embellish it.
I arrived at the Rembrandt early in the morning along with a few of the other fighters and staff in the commercial jet we flew in. Malaysian and AirAsia got nothing on us!
I threw my bags on the ground and just plopped onto the very soft bed I was accustomed to. I remember the awkward vignette I produced to hype my debut on the WFWF. I remember when I beat Axel Thornstowe for the National Title at Men & Monsters. And most recently, I remember when DMK suddenly took a profound interest in me. Ah, the beauty of it all.
This was my first time entering a different country. The passport struggles were as real as they depicted it on social media. Ha, funny how something so stupid could actually be that realistic.
I then sat up and heard a knock on the door.
Ben: Hey, you forgot about me asswipe.
Ante: Funny, Ben. Look, I’m reaaalllyyy tired, so I don’t have time to talk.
Ben: Or actually give me a ride from the airport, right?
Ante: I’m sorry about that. But, I didn’t take my pills this morning.
Ben: God damn it Ante. Are you gonna lash out at me or something?
Ante: No, I’m too tired to do that, hahaha.
Ben: Are you ok?
Ante: Yeah, why?
Ben: Those mimosas they gave you on the plane, were they laced by any chance?
Ante: I don’t know. I feel fine.
Ben: You’re acting weird. Something’s up and I wanna know what it is.
Ante: I’m fine. You’re overreacting. DMK and all of them are on the other plane.
Ben: Okay. Ever since that encounter with them, I’ve been worried that they would trick you and just use you to their own advantage.
Ante: Bye Ben. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
I close the door and plop on my bed again. Can a man get any sleep around here?
Ever since winning the National Title, my bipolar issues have kinda worn off. I would be on and off taking the pills each morning and I began to create some resistance to it. The shadow of them damn Ghosts may finally leave after all.
As I begin to close my eyes, I hear another knock on my door.
Ante: Not again, Ben.
I open the door and see a woman.
Ante: Yes, may I help you?
??: Hi Ante. It’s been a long time.
Ante: What are you…
I look closely into the eyes and flicker mine. My god-like mental powers search for the familiarity I see in her eyes. I then suddenly remember.
Ante: Holy sh*t. No, it can’t be.
Christa: I know. It’s been a while.
It was Christa. Christa f*cking Willow out of all people who would knock on my door.
Ante: Oh god.
Christa: Listen, I understand it’s late and you need sleep, so I’ll come back tomorrow. Okay?
I just stare at her with a blank expression. All of those memories were quickly flowing back into my decaying head. I couldn’t answer.
Christa: I forgot you’re bipolar. See ya tomorrow.
I didn’t know what just happened. I passed out on the couch as I slammed the door. Everything, the monster inside me was returning. I begin to remember the Ghosts and all of the guys who caused harm to me. I remember Charlie’s betrayal and disappearance. I remember my dad in the hospital in his final moments. All of these memories in which I erased after I got my new dosage of Adderall, which was when I first debuted in the WFWF.
How is this gonna affect my attitude towards the future? Will I morph into a monster in the ring? Will I finally join forces with the KKK? 2015 is gonna be one hell of a year. The year of Ante Whitner.
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As I recollect on the many people I’ve encountered over my indie years and my beginnings in the WFWF, there is something unique about you that I’ve never seen before. It’s not the facepaint, it’s not the charismatic and friendly attitude, and it’s not your adoring fans.
It’s the fact that you label yourself as a servant. Everybody wants to be a king one day, and with the attitude you bring in and out of the ring indicates you aren’t serious about yourself. Sometimes, you just can’t rely on others’ thoughts and expect good things out of it.
As I’ve mentioned before, the valley of lost kings is currently conquered by me. Drakz and Joe Bishop have other thrones to take care of, but for now, mine will do. With the season of winter upon this valley, the blood thickens and turns into red ice. It’s quite a beauty to see in person Devilkiller.
As my iron throne gets colder and the clocks freeze at one moment in time, a challenger steps in the way of the king’s path to immortality. Devilkiller, you are that obstacle covering the doorway to the next phase of the Whitner Process.
I like to think of the Whitner Process as an assembly line. Each person in society makes a contribution to the entire project and after everyone chips in, it’s furnished and complete. You are the one bunghole who takes the parts from the project and uses them for his own, unknown, good.
This process will take a little while, but my satisfaction will far exceed the expectations. Everyone would expect the end result to be a statue of Ante in a beautiful, gold coating. Ew, gross. I don’t want public displays of affection yet. I want the end result to be an invincible supreme ruler with the ability to become a god and wreak havoc across all unchartered territories.
If you aren’t getting the hint yet Devilkiller, then I don’t know what you are thinking. I will go after the International title once I complete my historic reign as National Champion. Whether I lose it or not in Seattle, it just furthers the phases along the Whitner Process. Maybe even a bit faster.
Kings eventually die and a new king is crowned. I am not ready to hand that crown to you. Despite the fact that I have never fought you or never took interest in you, you are the better man going into this fight. You have more experience under your hand, especially with the title of longest reigning National Champion of all-time. In fact, that is the only thing I respect about you. The fact that you brought the National title scene into prominence cemented you as a top competitor in the WFWF. Yet, you still had to lose it one day and let everybody down.
I don’t let anybody down. Whoever believes in me sticks to it. My rule as king if far from over and if I pass your mark as the longest reigning National Champion of all-time, then I will take over your spot while you fade into the background.
The KoKaine Konspiracy has allowed for my potential to be finally revealed. My presence now haunts my competitors, especially with the lack of moderation in regards to my bipolar issues.
Prepare for a battle you will never forget Devilkiller. In the rainy city of Seattle, Kyzer’s city, I will not only cement myself as one of the best competitors today, but I will be one step closer to achieving god status.
Let the rain pour onto you and melt your paint. The scars will be revealed and your past will consume you. The future for me is near, but for you, it is not.
Hail to your savior and true National Champion, King Ante Whitner.
Good luck Devilkiller. You are definitely gonna need it.