Post by Fallen One on Sept 11, 2008 19:48:30 GMT -5
It is human nature to enjoy playing games. Everybody, regardless of their age likes to play little games here and there. Games are played for entertainment - a round of poker perhaps, but I am not referring to these games at the moment. Games are also played for competition, for the feel of competeting against someone, developing yourself and in ways, helping the other plays develop themselves. A little football or basketball is enjoyed by most people, but again, these are not the games that are referred to here.
Then there are more technological forms of entertainment, games played on screens large and small, games just about everything one could think about. Games played purely for
the sake of entertainment. No, tonight, its not about these games.
Tonight is about different kinds of games. Pathetic games that human beings enjoy playing on each other. Games that have no benefit, that have no defined rules and no real goals besides occupying time and attention. These are the little games played among employees in busy cubicles and games played between politicians and lobbyists.
Pathetic, truly, yet these games are also the most powerful. These are the games that can ruin lives, these are the games that can ruin companies, cities, whole nations. These are the games that can ruin the world and that bring ruin to our species as a whole. Perhaps they are a fault of our intellect.
A miscalculation of our design.
The REW is no different. It's players, whether it be owner Scotty Raven or commisioner Caius Turner, they play games of their own, but for whose entertainment are these games? Surely not for their own for you never see them pleased at
it. Not for the fans either, they couldn't care less. These are once again self defeating games that are simply a defect of the mind.
Let us examine one of these games. A simple one, playing on the accepted ideas of the works of the average human mind.
Trash, an REW wrestler doesn't show up for his match. Bad? Yes. A rare sight in the REW? Not at all. Scotty Raven, concerned for his business hires another meaningless, faceless so called "Fixer" to come on in and get his company to the next level.
Let's call him Caius Turner but he could also be Sandy McTitty for all it matters. Now, this gentleman plays his game. He decides that the best way to get the fed moving is to levy punishment on those who hold it back.
So, he, in his infinite wisdom, goes ahead and punishes Trash by leaving him off the next event. What exactly does this accomplish? Well, for one, it makes sure that Trash indeed doesn't show at the next event, for even if he wanted to, he has no match.
"But!" you say. "Surely this will lead to that punished superstar returning with more vehemence at the next event and attacking the very opponent he spared earlier?"
You'd be wrong my dear reader. Very wrong.
Trash's gears do not spin around in his head as it is expected. He has made a career out of others being unable to figure out what he is thinking and what he is planning. If anything, one could expect Trash to do the opposite of their expectations.
"What? You mean he's just not gonna show up again?" you ask.
No. Not all. Watch...and learn.
* * *
Boxer, beaming with confidence and excited for his upcoming match with Cloudstrife is walking backstage following his promo when something odd happens. He suddenly feels a cool chill behind him, but since he is so pumped up on adrenaline he ignores it.
"Damn cool here" he mumbles under his breath.
He walks on in the direction of his lockeroom when suddenly a dark shadow
pops before him. He bumps into the shadow.
"Hey!" he cries.
"Watch where you're going!" responds a confused voice.
Boxer grins and looks at the man he just bumped into, none other than REW camerman Harvey Madison.
Boxer shrugs his shoulders, giving no response as he pushes him aside and continues on. It seems that the way to the lockeroom is taking an especially long time? Did he make the right turn? He cant possibly get lost in this small-ish arena, now could he?
Suddenly the cool chill gets stronger.
"Feeling a bit...lost, champ?" says a cool voice that sweeps
in from behind.
Boxer suddenly turns around on instinct, the coldness now turning to warmth as he senses danger.
"Who the F*** are y...?" he tries to respond, but his response is cut off as the shadowed man behind him stifles his throat with what seems to be an old rag of some sort. Fumes, very strong fumes from the rag fill Boxer's nostrils and he soon fades into a dreamless sleep.
The shadow behind him steps into the light and looks at the camera. The pale face grins as he lifts the rag to the camera, a chemical dripping from it on the floor and onto the seemingly now unconscious Boxer.
"Chloroform" he mouths with a wide grin.
Chloroform. A harmless chemical thats best known for its effect of knocking people out if forced to inhale it.
Trash drops the rag onto Boxer's prone figure as he speaks.
"Sorry Mr. Turner, but Boxer here doesn't want to show up for your main event either. I guess you just might have to "punish" him too."
He lets out an odd sort of laughter as the camera shuts off.
