Indianapolis, Indiana
John J. Pershing Auditorium
Tempest stood at the podium on center stage at the auditorium. He was wearing army fatigues, complete with shiny, black boots and an army green helmet. He wasn't wearing a mask, which was bizarre. He gazed out into the audience like a general. His face was disfigured on the left side. It wasn't only his eye. His skin along his cheekbone, running down even to the corner of his mouth, looked like chewed bubblegum. It seemed he lost the ability to control his facial muscles on that side, too, as his mouth formed an involuntary frown on the left, while the right moved and twitched.
In the audience, only three people sat in the front row: Kosnar, Pisces, and Daedalus. And they watched attentively.
Tempest: A war has been a-brewin' hasn't there?
His audience nodded in agreement. The face of Daedalus remained as expressionless as the masks of Pisces and Kosnar.
Tempest: A war between the Astro Creeps and Sebastian Everett Bryce. Well... some of the Astro Creeps, anyway. And Seb, he's been bringing friends in to protect him anytime he anticipates an important confrontation.
He paused, looking down at the podium with a grim smile. He was leaning against it, hands clutching either side.
Tempest: Confrontation. Some people simply aren't built for them, are they? A confrontation is defined as a hostile or argumentative meeting or situation between opposing parties. When you go to war, you encounter a plethora of confrontations. Me? I'm always open to confrontation. I may pick and choose when or where or how I confront my enemies. But you'll never see me neglect it entirely. Confrontation produces... resolution. Resolution is necessary in war.
He paused again, eerily peering out into the nearly empty auditorium.
Tempest: It's what you're looking for, isn't it, Sebastian? You want resolve between us. You want closure. You want a definitive ending to this war.
He held up a defiant index finger and stood up straighter.
Tempest: But I'm not gonna give it to ya. Whether you beat me this week or I beat you, this war...?
The defiant finger curled with the rest of his fingers to form a defiant fist. He slammed the fist down on the podium.
Tempest: This war continues!
He paused again, looking back down. It was evident that he's bothered by something. And the mask wasn't there to conceal it. He looked back up, past his audience and his composure changed. When he spoke, he spoke softly, and as if Seb were standing right in front of him.
Tempest: You know... It's typical for me to be careless of winning or losing. As long as I'm sending the message that I intend to send out, I've never thought that winning traditionally was necessary to succeed. Success can be defined subjectively. People like Zane Scott and Rogan MacLean believe that if you're not here to hold the World Championship, that your existence in this company is meaningless. A lot of the High Societies believe that, but the Astro Creeps have always defined success in their own way. Other than my addiction for the Cross-Hemisphere Championship, I've never felt that I had to win for my message to be conveyed.
He cleared his throat. Daedalus tilted his head curiously in the front row, with his hands resting in his lap. Pisces and Kosnar gazed out at him, though their emotions or thoughts were nearly impossible to read.
Tempest: But you're different, Sebastian. If I don't beat you, I will be upset. I want to beat you. I want to stand over you, over... and over... and over again. I want to watch your spirit break in front of me. Forever. You took this away from me.
He pointed at the disfigured side of his face, directly at his foggy white eye.
Tempest: Do you understand the trauma that comes with losing your vision? ...that comes with losing your identity?
Pisces nodded slowly in agreement, reaching up and touching her own face.
Tempest: You don't. The trauma that you experience is that of being told 'No.' You spoiled fucking High Society. You cannot handle it when you get so close to something, and it's taken from you just before you can get your perfectly manicured fingertips on it. I just...
He trailed off and was silent for about ten seconds as he tried to arrange his thoughts.
Tempest: I have misspoken. You're not the High Society that I've defined some of the other people in this industry. I've seen a side of you that no one else has experienced. And, in my opinion, that no one else can draw out of you. You're something else when you step into the ring with me. You're not just Sebastian Everett Bryce. You're the Arsonist. You're a remorseless killer. And that's why you're so much fun to play with.
He spaced out, staring out past his audience.
Tempest: I have to beat you. If I don't? I've failed. This, between you and I... this is a war, Seb. I hate you so much that I love you. I can't live without you because you... you complete me. If you weren't here, who would I have to hate? There isn't anyone to fill that void. And no one understands it. I don't even think Montague understands how much you mean to me. And I believe... you and I? We're meant to do this... forever. You're the Batman to my Joker. Or... depending on your point of view, you're the Joker to my Batman.
He bowed his head, almost in defeat.
Tempest: I owe you my best, Sebastian. And if I don't give it to you? I expect you to make me pay for it. This is a war. And whether you like it or not, it will bleed beyond our match this week. We'll see each other as soon as Battleground. I hope you're listening, Seb.
The scene faded slowly as Kosnar and Pisces began to stand. Tempest stood silent at the podium, in his army fatigues and without his mask, gazing out almost lifelessly as the rest of the Creeps came alive.