Post by The Gangsta on Feb 18, 2017 12:05:06 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
Shadow Theory
I woke up to hear knocking on glass. At first, I thought it was the window until I heard it come from the mirror again.
Why does this happen to me?
The fever, the rage, all it took was one simple push to make me fall head over my heels. In one instant, I am inhaling the positive outlook on life, keeping my head high for whatever is to come and deeming myself as Samael Ahriman’s successor. The next moment, the world around me turns gray, built on rage. And a father is lifeless near a steel barricade.
For months, I’ve constructed myself a cocoon where I am one with the consciousness I’ve learned to follow. I’ve grown, I’ve matured. But, something pushed me over the edge, something that gave me the balls to tear down the only creation I ever gave effort to. And a father is lifeless being placed on a stretcher.
I shrugged and played it off in that moment as the classic egotistical Ante Whitner, forged in war torn silver from the backwash of New York. I couldn’t even function in the form I had taken up as of late; no one was home. As I moved to the locker room in my maniacally and deranged state, I began to pick up the pieces of my broken cocoon. And a father is lifeless on a stretcher being rolled around backstage.
Do I feel satisfied? No, hell no.
In a sense, it reminds me of the win over Michael Kyzer. I beat both men to a bloody pulp, sure. But, there was always something there that took the win away from the picture. With Kyzer, it was Sam completely pulverizing him with his katana blade. With Josh, it was the combination of count-out and realizing the magnitude of my destruction. I can get all the gratitude of beating these great champions, but is there really any gratitude to begin with?
The victory over Josh may give me a point on the league standings, but it completely removes a father away from his family. Does a single, fictional point in a tournament even compare to that? Where the hell do all those points go after this tournament? Josh Dean’s injury will have been for nothing.
I feel like vomitting thinking about the situation ahead of me. Lila Sleater is out to kill me, Frank Lynn is out to kill me, Philip Schneider is possibly out to kill me, and soon enough, Josh Dean will be out to kill me. It’s an endless game of my name appearing on hit contracts with the hitman never charging extra. It's a f*ckin’ firesale of dealing violence and vengeance. No one is ever happy until they see me away from the big picture or bloodied and beaten in a ditch in Seattle. Is this what my career has been reduced to?
I’ve been a target for God knows how long. I can end a feud in one action and it opens the doors to a new one. Do I deserve this after everything I’ve done to prevent it further? I questioned it every single day when I was an assh*le, but it got less frequent once I assured myself that what I was doing was for the good of my future.
And in one moment, I’m suddenly a new breed of a demonic creature, alone in the world. It’s as if I had never changed and the deformed and ugly shell that I’ve been absorbed into never left. Now a new question arises:
Will I ever be an innately good human? Is there even an innately good human in this world?
At this moment, with the isolation and solitude suffocating me, I don’t think so. I’ve been attempting this entire time to engage others into understanding who I am and the pain I suffer through, only to have wasted my time and retreat back to my cave from the barbarity of mankind.
So much time wasted, all to be alone. Again.
“Hook and Bait”
New York, New York
2/10/17
A letter, from the satanic crotch of Lila Sleater arrives at my apartment. I slowly open it, knowing the contents of what’s inside.
“From the office of Lila Sleater,
Hello, Ante Whitner. As you may know, the extent of Josh Dean’s injuries from your match at Supreme Gauntlet Night 2 has forced him out of the Supreme Gauntlet tournament. I hope you feel ashamed for the damage you have caused to the Dean family and this tournament.
As a result of your actions, you have been dealt with consequences. No points will be removed from your tally in the tournament, but another aspect of your defining character will be on the line. Your newly won Golden Opportunity title mandates one required title defense, one that Brandon Bison has earned in his match. However, due to your actions, I have decided to inflict a secondary title defense that will be enacted on Night 3 of the Supreme Gauntlet.
Your opponent will be Frank Lynn, someone you should definitely keep your eye out for. Although your Golden Opportunity is on the line, any points gained from this match will count toward the Supreme Gauntlet.
I sincerely hope you learn from this experience and be more careful with your opponents in the future.
-Lila Sleater
WFWF Head Booker
I feel nothing. I don’t feel responsible for anything. And I f*ckin’ hate it. It f*cking reminds me of how I used to be, how brainless and dead I was. I never truly learned how to survive in this business until I realized I was becoming a washed up has been not even two years deep into my career. And now I’m falling into that trap again. The only thing keeping me afloat is my fire.
Feeding me Frank Lynn is only fueling that fire, my burning passion to be recognized. I’m not narcissistic or whoring for attention, I just want people to remember my name and what I had done for them to remember it. Beating Josh Dean and Michael Kyzer gave me only false recognition because of the ways in which both matches turned out. I want true recognition, true fulfillment in beating someone given unsurpassable odds.
Beating Frank Lynn would be fulfilling enough, giving Lila a nice middle finger to the face and a true apology to the fans who really think I deliberately hurt Josh. Josh will recover, Kyzer can somehow return and wreak havoc upon the business, and I can continue carrying my Golden Opportunity around like I deserve it. I just gotta have faith.
A knock lands on my door. I signal for the person to come in. As much as I thought it’d be Ben, it isn’t.
James: Hola amigo.
My eyes widen.
Ante: James?
James: Been a while, hasn’t it?
Ante: What are you doing here?
He looks at my Golden Opportunity briefcase and shows his cocky smile.
Ante: No…
James: Ant’, if I wanted to take your briefcase, I would’ve pulled my strings already. C’mon, I’m better than that.
He casually strolls in, no bodyguards this time. He opens my liquor cabinet, as if he had lived here years prior.
Ante: How the hell do-
James: I have a keen smell for good booze. *pours glass of scotch* Want some?
Ante: No.
James sees my letter from Lila. As he tries to take it to read it, I swipe it away from him viciously.
James: Jeez, calm down.
Ante: I don’t want you to read it.
James: What? That Ante Whitner is the biggest jackass in the WFWF right now? Ant’, I saw the title of your letter the moment I started pouring my glass. It’s on the damn website too.
I slam the paper down on the coffee table.
Ante: Why are you here?
James: Quit being all vicious Ant’, you already put on a great show a couple of nights ago.
I take him by his white collar and blue blazer and slam him to the wall. Pieces of drywall chip off and fall to the floor.
Ante: I’m going to ask you a third time, why the f*ck are you here?
James: You’re cute when you’re like this Ant’.
I tighten the grip around his throat with my teeth gritting.
James: Alright, alright, chill.
I let go of him as he falls to the floor.
James: I thought *cough* you were going for *cough* a more positive outlook on life, a little less violent one too. *cough*
Ante: And who told you that?
James: Haha, does it really matter?
Ante: I asked you a question.
James: Alright..alright, Sherlock. I have a friend named Carla, who is kind of like an insider, the Doris Burke of wrestling.
Ante: And?
James: And, she has some good scoops that she always reports to me, one of them being your little turn to the light side of the Force.
I ponder on how someone would even gain the knowledge coming from only my own mind. But, I realize how destructive I could be from my mind, a la the complete chaos against Josh Dean. Maybe I’m not as secretive or secluded as I thought.
James: I like to be involved, what can I say?
Ante: If involving yourself in my work includes your girlfriend getting-
James: Oh, she’s not my girlfriend, haha. I have dozens of-
Ante: Whatever. You’re getting yourself involved in my career that I don’t want you to be apart of.
James: Why not, haha?
He pours himself another glass of scotch as he removes some of the drywall chips from his sleek black dress shoes.
Ante: Because I have an agent who is balls deep enough as it is.
James: And what’s wrong with being balls deep, isn’t that the best feeling in the world?
I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. I’m losing my patience.
James: Remember how I told you ‘I’m a merchant of death and I’m willing to sell you my product’, huh?
Ante: Yes?
James: Well, that’s why I’m here in the Big Apple on this lovely day, simply to just reiterate my statement.
I get up and sigh in frustration.
Ante: Why? I gave you an answer last time.
James: Because Carla can do wonderful things besides give the best head in the world.
He hands me a sheet of paper. A mission report, very similar to the ones Donnie ordered from his top generals in his goddamn army. Knowing James, this could be a roose. He signals me to read the paper, to which I first see:
Ante: Philip Schneider?
James: Yup, the man Issac Cray put into the ground two years ago. Much like your ol’ friend Kyzer, he’s back from the dead.
Ante: And how does this pertain to me?
James bursts out in hysterical laughter, spilling the scotch on my floor. I grow angry again.
James: How, haha, do you not remember, hahaha?
Then, it hits me. Schneider walked out on the stage at SuperBrawl, giving me a slow clap as I approached the backstage area.
Ante: Yeah, I remember, firecrotch.
James: Woo, you’re hilarious Ant’, y’know that?... Anyways, Schneider has taken an interest on you, don’t know how and don’t know why yet.
Interested? The stipulation between him and Drakz at End Game was career vs. title, how the hell could Schneider possibly return to his former glory with me?
Ante: What could the man do, he’s washed up, retired, and only looked for some cheap pop on WFWF’s biggest stage? He’s just like every other has-been.
James: Ah, but here’s the thing. There are loopholes in this business, ones you can’t understand, ones you probably won’t ever understand. I told you, Carla is a wonderful woman, married though.
I put the paper on the coffee table, refusing to read it.
James: C’mon Ant’. This is vital information.
He’s teasing me at this point, trying to throw the hook and bait me in. I just broke his line.
Ante: No, no James.
He swiftly takes my Golden Opportunity briefcase.
James: Ah, I never take ‘no’ for an answer bud.
Ante: Don’t you dare.
James: Sorry Ant’, never really knew that an empty briefcase could mean so much to you…
He opens the briefcase where only one sheet of paper falls out. As it gently falls to the ground, I fall with it too, preparing to catch all of the contents inside. But.. James was right. He was f*ckin’ right.
James: Just as I thought, falling head over your heels is a real knack for you. I mean, if you and Josh weren’t fighting for a f*cking point in a tournament, would he be in ICU right now, huh?
As I lay there, broken and lied to by the company, I realize I’m bowing to him, again. He leans down to me so we’re face to face.
James: You can light a cig, strum a guitar, and call yourself the next Kurt Cobain Ant’, but you can’t take this piece of sh*t, “win” phony matches, and call yourself a champion. That’s what happened last time.
I look down at the ground, ashamed to look him in the eye. The mess of drywall, spilt scotch, and soaked blank paper. Defeated, yet again. James stands up again.
James: I told you that I am your most vital ally, probably over a million times.
Ante: I… I…
James: You what? Finally realized that you’re not half as important as anyone else in this business? Realized that I was right this entire time? You don’t have to admit it.
I stand up and sit on the couch.
James: You just have to own it.
Ante: I’m not owning sh*t.
James: God, you stubborn little sh*t. I am saving you from falling down a dark path again, one that you won’t escape from this time, one that could end your career.
I look up at him.
James: I am helping you, just like I’ve always wanted to.
Ante: I… never realized… how alone I am.
He grins.
James: Yeah, you are a big loner pal. But, hey, sipping a drink called “Loneliness” is better than drinking alone, right?
As I’m about to answer..
James: Don’t answer that, it’s a poorly placed Billy Joel reference.
I genuinely laugh. A man whom I’ve loathed for almost a year now is suddenly making me laugh at his corny joke. One minute, I beat him bloody in an alleyway in front of his beefed up employees. Next minute, I kneel before him like Superman and General Zod. The last minute, I laugh and share a drink with him. Then, he makes an interesting point to me.
James: All this time Ant’, you’ve been so hesitant and stubborn. You’ve been so reluctant to give a rich ginger man a chance. You gave a f*ckin’ bald dwarf drug dealer a chance, but not a man of wealth who actually has a brain.
Ante: You’ve made me an enemy since day one though James, ever since I f*cked your sister.
James: Ante..
First time he’s referred to me as Ante in a while.
James: You’ve been living your life through a peephole in the shadow, relying on pure instinct to survive. In that regard, I’m very much like you. I’ve been given everything from my father’s bar to this nice Kohl’s suit. But, the moment I usurped my company from someone else’s power, I never felt more alive.
I drink the scotch, keeping my eye on James in case he pulls more bullsh*t. Trust is a hard thing for me to build, especially with this ginger f*ck.
James: We yearn for the heroic, yet we are also inherently suspicious of it Ant’. In moments where we feel powerful and heroic, we are truly powerless and full of villainy. I am unemployed right now, living off of the minimum wage my father pays me in the bar. My power was taken away from me from some goddamn court case with me sexually harassing my secretary, which, believe it or not, wasn’t even true.
I start to make the connections.
Ante: So, you’re saying…
James: What I’m saying is that you need me, someone with experience. Schneider is an opportunist and a psychopath, much like you. He senses your loss of control and he’s taken an interest in you because of how quick you can snap. What happens when he comes for you and finally makes his move.?
Ante: I’ll be ready to fight him.
James: Will you?
I look at my Golden Opportunity briefcase.
Ante: Yes.
James: Will you take me in then, friend?
I have a cocky grin on my face and an instilled hope in me. I open my mouth..
Ante: No.
James looks defeated, sighs, and just laughs.
James: Still a stubborn little f*ck, even after the bullsh*t story I made up.
Ante: You little..
James: Nuh, nuh. No need for name calling Ant’.
I clench my fist. James starts to get heated.
James: You wanna be heroic, you wanna be a champion? Then do you. Just remember the last time that happened, a slut from the Dean household kicked your ass.
Ante: And now I’m-
James: A what? Golden opportunist? Do you not see what’s f*cking in that briefcase? Oh wait, there’s f*cking nothing!
He kicks the briefcase in response and laughs.
James: Clean up your act bud, Schneider will eat you up like a f*cking shark. I hope the last image you see before Schneider devours you alive is me, smiling, telling you I told you so...
I turn away.
James: ...because you know I’m right. Good luck with Frank Lynn, with Schneider, and whatever else comes your way.
And the door closes. I grip my face, sweat and frustration pouring down it. I kick the empty briefcase and wonder how I could believe in such a mysterious thing, thinking it’s contents held the key to all of my greatest desires. So stubborn, so reluctant, so oblivious.
Like Ben had said before, I’m just blind. Blind to everything my career has thrown at me, taking it’s appearance for what it is when it’s heart is what truly stabs the deepest. I can blame it on my disorder and the process the WFWF runs in, but…
Since when did progress mean process? Since when did disobedience mean disorder?
Trick question: never.
I’m always the one to blame, never to own up to it, even when James made it blatantly obvious to me what my problem is. Instead, a little push is all what drives me over, a shadow. I guess you psychology nerds out there can say Carl Jung was right.
Or you could just say I’m desolate, lost in between the past and future with no footing in the present. If that’s the case, then is there even an Ante Whitner?
Frank Lynn, good to see you again pal.
Against all odds, with Brandon Bison winning his number one contendership, with Philip Schneider lurking, and with David Brennan ready for judgement day, you’re the one to find your way to me first. Who’s d*ck did you have to suck to come here?
But, I gotta admit it Frankie, you got fight in you. Underneath your egocentric and superficial demeanor that absolutely makes everyone sick, you have a burning passion to beat me for a fictional title that holds no substance. I could go on a tirade and explain to you how insignificant the Golden Opportunity is to the whole picture you’re in, but close minded people close the opportunities for themselves. No wonder why you’re here trying to exact “revenge”.
Before I describe to you what a champion is and how your definition is just plain bullsh*t, what “revenge” are you looking to exact? The last time we encountered, you sh*t your pants after seeing me, the washed up has-been, smile and take a black briefcase off of it’s hooks. But... that match wasn’t just between you and I. Did you forget the other men who fought braver and more valiantly than you did, the ones who actually had a shot at winning the Golden Opportunity? Probably not.
If anyone deserves revenge for me winning the damn briefcase, it’s Brandon Bison, a guy who actually proved it by earning his right to fight me. Skipping the line is a Class A felony here bud, just ask Devilkiller. No one probably remembered how he was the longest reigning National Champion until I beat him in defense of it when he tried to skip the line. Ask yourself, where’s Devilkiller now?
Exactly. Didn’t think you could answer.
That night on SuperBrawl, y’know the day your warped fantasy started? That night is not what defined me; it was a turning point in my career. I can say the National Championship or the victory over the God of F*ck defined me, but nothing opened my eyes more than the Golden Opportunity, the one title you could never win. I can blame it on the moniker, but it showed me how broken you could be and how an opportunity is always knocking. The fever and all of the vengeful passion inside to be back on top again suddenly goes away when you realize what you’re capable of.
As omnipotent as you think you are, you’re just like me, just like Drakz, just like Josh Dean, and every other conehead in this company. We’re all fighting for some leather strap, or in this case, a sleazy plain briefcase. We don’t realize how ridiculous it sounds from the outside looking in, but it’s f*ckin’ true. What exactly does a leather belt with brass plates on it do for us?
Of course you wouldn’t know because you haven’t achieved that privilege, but I’ll give you a hint: basically, nothing. Nothing, but false hope and powerlessness when we think we are untouchable. Can you imagine the emotion of losing a leather strap you had held for almost two-hundred days when it gave you “power” to rule a “kingdom”? It’s worse than getting kicked in the balls and getting stabbed in the gut, combined times ten.
You can claim you’re “righting my wrongs”, but I know this prize is what catches your eye. Name one thing that makes me a liar, a hypocrite, and a disastrous foe. You can’t Frankie.
To you, the Golden Opportunity is a stepping stone to be the top guy in this place. I can go onto say that the feeling you’re longing for is either nonexistent or phony, at least from my experience. Go ahead and claim that you’ll be a better champion than I ever was, but ask Drakz first what his historic World title run did for him. With the World title, it’s prestigious and honorable. This “Golden” Opportunity title is equivalent to employee of the week at Burger King. What will it do for you if you win, a little raise, a possibility of a promotion, a feeling of power?
Righting my wrongs is wasting your time, Frank. If you’re attempting to right the sins I committed years ago, you’re full of sh*t. Time warps everything and teaches everyone about it, no wonder why I won this damn briefcase. To you, time is your b*tch and you don’t need to be teached, going back to my point about close-minded people closing the opportunities for them. You “have” a feeling of powerlessness and in an attempt to counter that, you blame me for being a hypocrite where I’ve been the most truthful my entire life. Sure, you can say Josh Dean’s fate at my hands was what revealed me to be a liar, but take a look.
I haven’t been able to sleep, I haven’t been able to eat, knowing that my actions tore a family apart with expensive medical bills and complete bullsh*t they didn’t need. I’m in the process of owning it, using it as a metaphorical scarlet letter to further whatever my career has left of me. Hester Prynne did it, so why don’t I? Why don’t I be cocky and act like Josh Dean’s injury was only a figment of my advance in this tournament?
Because Josh Dean didn’t deserve the punishment I dealt him. You, however, deserve it the most out of everyone. You can corrupt yourself and make every aspect of this world apart of your fantasy, but don’t blame someone for your loss. That’s the number one unspoken rule in this place because judging from your little path of vengeance, you’re still a f*ckin’ rookie getting a hard on when an opportunity knocks on your door. When that happens, you desolate yourself, not be the big mouth. Ask me why Nikki Dean whooped my ass at End Game and I’ll give you that answer.
It only takes a little push to drive you overboard, Frank. I don’t care to know what that push is, but you’re falling head over heels for something you could get past. Instead, you choose to become the line leader of your kindergarten class and upset every other kid. You’re f*ckin’ blind, making more enemies and surrounding yourself in an aroma of blood that sharks will sense and devour. By chasing me for righting my wrongs, you’re making yourself more vulnerable than ever. What do you think Drakz thinks of when he hears your name? Do you think he actually gives a sh*t about you? Does he think you’re a danger to his reign?
It’s the same thing with me. You remind me so much of myself that it’s comical. You have the same douchey appearance as me, the same close-minded and ignorant attitude, and a desire for fictional prizes that are on the same level as toys in a claw machine. But, do you think Philip Schneider thinks I’m a danger to his legacy? Do you think Drakz thinks of me as a supreme threat?
No, they don’t. I can chase this fairytale of trying to be recognized in the world, but it keeps landing me here, the top guy in the rookie card. Compare me to 2015 Ante Whitner and 2017 Ante Whitner and you’ll see what your aspirations entail. You’ll have one good reign, a good win over a feared opponent, and then you’ll just stagnate. You can say I’m preaching existentialist rhetoric, but I’m being more down to the Earth right now than I have been for the past couple of months.
Have I won a championship since the National title like the International title or World title? Have I beaten anyone significant to this company since Michael f*ckin’ Kyzer?
No wonder we’re alike Frankie. Open your eyes, see this company from the outside looking in instead of being the leg of the table everyone bangs their pinky toe on. I want you to succeed and I want everyone to not make the same mistakes as I did. That’s not yearning to be heroic or a people’s champion, that’s being called an essentially good man which is all I’m trying to be.
Whether I win or lose this Golden Opportunity, I can safely say that I’ll continue to be the good man I’ve desired to be. If you win, I hope you follow a different path, one that isn’t eerily similar to mine. All you have to do is open your eyes and take your position for granted because there are a hella lot more people who’d wanna fill your shoes. Don’t crave the power, don’t succumb to that disease. Don’t claim you’re attempting to prove me a hypocritical sack of sh*t, don’t deny your passion for championship gold.
Be human, Frank. Be rational, be something other than falsely omnipotent. Be something greater than the ego you’ve been consuming yourself in.
Come hell or high water, I’m defending what I have, defending the key to opening all of my desires. Maybe I’ll get pushed over again and you’ll end up like Josh Dean, maybe not. Just know that if I win, don’t skip the line again to try and instill “revenge” for a title you never won. Justice comes sporadically, injustice always remains. Don’t confuse them.
Hopefully you won’t end up like me, picking up the pieces and trying to build a perfect creation out of them. Just save yourself the time.
Do you get it? Do you understand?
Are you with me now motherf*cker?
Good.