"Proclaim ye this among the Gentiles; Prepare war, wake up the mighty men, let all the men of war draw near; let them come up: Beat your plowshares into swords, and your pruninghooks into spears: let the weak say, I am strong." (Joel 3:9-10)
In his office Senester watches a video wall of dozens of monitors. Various events are unfolding or being revisited across each screen. He watches one reviewing the dialogue between Butch Parker and Freddie Styles.
(Senester): I couldn’t help but take note of things developing over the last few days, and this interesting little dialogue you have going on Butch. Naturally, I knew all about your little trip to Japan. It actually brought a smile to my face. I too reminisced of our time together sailing those months aboard the Lady Moura. To see you now, using some of the “resources” you acquired in my care is truly heartwarming. I knew you hadn’t discarded everything. I’m sure there are several Ace’s up your sleeve waiting for their call to action. We have quite a history I must say. You’ve wrestled hundreds of matches in your career Butch Parker, perhaps into the thousands. From your very first fight down to your last you’ve faced scores of men who have brought you to various levels both mentally and physically, but they we’re all men. I am God. I am the one who has brought out the best in you. I’ve taken you places you dare not tread on your own, and you’re not dead yet so I’m the one who has made you stronger.
Now you’re in a dangerous game with Michael James exchanging barbs, but ancient folklore Butch, is this what you’ve turned to now for the plebeians? They don’t know you as a scholar so surely you can’t be so desperate in you verbal sparring with Michael James as to resort to some paltry internet search for Japanese lore. I of course know you better. You’re a man of intelligence so you’ll permit me a bit of Japanese lore myself. Legend tells of a warrior named Yorozu. It was in the infamous last battle between the Sogas and Mononobes, that Yorozu, in the eyes of certain defeat fled towards the hills. Then, something happened. This warrior, this wounded lion, who had all but been defeated stopped dead in his tracks and turned around. He roared at his pursuers and drew his bow proceeding to pluck them off one by one. As you might imagine Yorozu eventually reached into his quiver and plucked from it his last arrow. In defeat and the tradition of the time Yorozu committed suicide. Yorozu was herald as hero. Flash forward 1,500 years and another warrior heads into battle. The “One Man Tartan Army” Butch Parker. You’ll charge into this with your moniker, then when you cross the battle line and look behind you… who will be there alongside you to stand against me? Who will willingly face certain defeat with you?
A screen shows the HWA roster, everyone from Deas to Santa to Price to Butch himself. He runs a finger across their faces as if placing pieces on a puzzle or plotting a move on a chess board.
(Senester): Perhaps someone who just wants to be called a hero like you. An opportunity for the unexcelled to raise their bar to a respectable or at least recognizable level. Someone when war is proclaimed, to attempt to go from weak to strong. Perhaps Bryan Deas will step from obscurity, perhaps Freddie Styles or Stu-E Price. Or perhaps there will be no one. Perhaps your ego will foul the air of would-be allies in the same manner you have responded to Freddie Styles. You’re not a man accustomed to relying on others. Even your closest friends like Hans were hardly ever called upon. People stood beside you because you were too proud to ask, to blind to see the horizon of defeat, and too obstinate not to turn around like Yorozu and try to swim upstream. I offered Freddie Styles exactly what he wants, a way out of this match, and some security for his future. You let your ego speak for you in careless disregard of your need for a partner at Havoc. You insinuate that he would be less of man accepting my offer. Because he isn’t as seasoned as you or his mentor… you imply that it’s perfectly acceptable to belittle him as if he should be privileged for this opportunity to work with you. Then what do you tell him after you’ve stepped on him like chewed gum and scraped him off the bottom of your boot? You tell him that you hope his choice is the right one.
On his desk touch-screen he brings up images of Butch and Freddie placing them face to face. It many ways it reminds him of Butch Parker ten years ago entering HWA and looking to make a name for himself against the more established stars. Butch Parker vs. Thane Givens. Butch Parker vs. Buff Bridges.
(Senester): You see Butch I’m trying to kill two birds with one stone so-to-speak. I’m providing a way for both Freddie Styles and yourself to be happy. I’m giving him a way out, and I’m giving you a large dose of that “Man-Up Juice” as you called it. It’s that death-defying Butch Parker scenario you secretly love. Butch Parker against the odds be it with a partner or himself against one, two or a hundred men. Butch Parker standing alone in yet another dark hour. Butch Parker the man his peers can’t stand, and he doesn’t care because he knows he can take them to the mat. I like that Butch Parker. I like the man who kills his sparring partners and doesn’t flinch as their body is dumped into the sea. I like the man who flies across the globe just to spite his enemy in a dangerous game of cat and mouse. I like the man who two years ago bludgeoned Anton and Davis one Havoc night and told the world how his stomach “somersaulted with excitement” just remembering the unbridled brutality he inflicted on them. Reminiscing of their mangled bodies being driven into the canvas “like an injection of morphine” you said. I like the man who after he did it said he felt “No shame, no guilt, no regret….nothing.” I like the man who slams a cop’s face into his desk for defying him. I even like the man who tells Freddie Styles that he doesn’t give a “flying fuk” essentially if he wrestles with him, against him, or not at all.
Senester smiles thinking of the Butch Parker he knows. The real and true Butch Parker. His own stomach somersaults with excitement thinking still of what could be. Then the smile fades, washed away by the reality of what is.
(Senester): What I don’t like is the Pity Party Parker routine that seems to follow some moments of greatness. I don’t like your pathetic regrets and moments of what you may call clarity. I don’t like your miserable attempts to make amends for your actions. When you snapped that man in half in training, somehow you assumed responsibility. Offering money to his greedy family for support and funeral expenses. When you leveled Alice with a Tartan Army Charge you offered to pay her medical bills. Donations to hospitals that you and I have left ravaged in our wake. Reparations to countless men, women and children because you find it the humane thing to do. Well it’s not. It’s the most inhuman thing you could possibly do. Inhumanity you are inflicting on yourself…not as quick as the fabled warrior Yorozu, but its suicide nonetheless. Your legacy is one built upon these things you’ve done and tried to make up for, when it could be, when it should be, when it can be made upon simply being the true Butch Parker I know, and never looking back. I know…I know…it’s me saying the same things again, the broken record. Call it my lament to the way we were, or what we could be yet. But it is like I said…as long as you persist…so shall I, and I have eternity on my side. And to you Mr. Styles…I await your answer.
He shuts the screens off and clasps his hands together in deep thought. He may not be at Havoc, but he will certainly be watching. The cards are all on the table, it’s just a matter now of seeing how they are going to be played.
Fade to black.
Message Thread
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