“I’ll possess you but I don’t need you to be another one of my possessions.” -Marilyn Manson
Static…
…Click
The white noise fades into a late night set. You know the type. There’s a city skyline backdrop behind a stage with a desk and two couches next to it. Pisces sits on the couch furthest from the desk, with her hands folded in her lap and her legs crossed. She’s wearing a bright red and blue beret, and a soft yellow sweater over a blue and white pinstripe button-up shirt complete with a bright red bowtie. Even for her, it looks bizarre. A band plays a spooky little tune, fronted by Daedalus “Paul” Shaffer wearing a bald cap and some groovy sunglasses behind a keyboard. The cameraman, Kosnar, cuts to the studio audience briefly, revealing a sea of faces frozen in horror, before turning back to the stage. The UGWC World Championship sits across the desk, the shiny faceplate facing the audience and the camera. The band finishes their rendition of Marilyn Manson’s “Wight Spider” before Daedalus Shaffer cuts and winds up, pointing to the stage with enthusiasm, and Tempest steps out from behind a gigantic dark purple curtain and walks onto the stage.
The studio audience moans, a collective sound of a death rattle escaping their voice boxes. Tempest nods in approval as if he’s being met with a warm welcome. He stops at center stage and faces the studio audience, peering into Camera A. He’s wearing a pair of dust-covered blue jeans, and a dirty white t-shirt with a familiar, beautiful face in the center. Her pink hair gives her away, but the text above her winking face says, in big bold print:
Sloane Taylor Loves You
And in smaller print below that:
But I Don’t
And the text beneath her smiling face:
Go Fuck Yourself
The dreads of his mask are the color of marijuana buds, and his eyes can be seen beyond the shadows of the mask itself. The death rattles of his audience die down (pun intended) and Tempest grins behind his mask.
Tempest: Thank you. Thank you for joining us this evening. It is Spooky Season, as most of you know, and that opens the doors for everyone’s fears to join the party. For Konrad Raab, that means the Massive Melee has come like Michael Myers comes to Haddonfield on Halloween.
Monotonous, unsettling laughter ripples through the audience. Tempest turns to Camera B. Kosnar rushes from one side of the studio to the other to man that camera now.
Tempest: But let’s face the facts, Spooky Season is a year round lifestyle for some of us. Especially those who watch the Johncast and Danny Danger’s unbearable incoherent ramblings of nothingness. Who knew someone could speak for five hours straight, and have absolutely nothing to say? It’s almost as though Johnny Hitmaker himself coordinates these nonsensical wastes of time.
Another ripple of laughter rolls through the audience. Tempest holds his hands up defensively.
Tempest: Speaking of nothingness, Phrixus Deimos has retreated into his, as my reign has triggered his descent into nothingness, where the man called Fear belongs. He managed to capture his beloved Cross-Hemisphere Championship, which by the way, will be back home with me in the future anyway. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that treasure of mine. I know how you’re feeling right now, Fear. Because when I relinquished it, I felt that way too. The difference between me and you? No one was good enough to take it from me.
There’s silence across the studio now, as the audience only stares forward with those frozen, unsettling expressions. Tempest stares for a long time, before unfreezing and light-heartedly moving onto his next roast.
Tempest: ‘Tis the season for various creatures to crawl out of the woodwork. Spiders, cockroaches, and JC are among them. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten what you did to my farmhouse. Once you’re finished coming up short like you’ve done your entire career in The Coalition, you should know that I’m coming for you. And it won’t be you who is the boogeyman. It’ll be me.
The audience claps slowly, helped along by strings tied to their wrists and about fifty Creeps hidden in the rafters like menacing puppet masters. Tempest sighs on stage and turns back towards Camera A. Kosnar rushes over and mans it, the screen trembling as he takes control of it.
Tempest: Maybe comedy isn’t my thing. I don’t know how you do it, Travis. I guess it’s just you, isn’t it?
For about thirty seconds, Channel 13 is on dead air as Tempest simply stands there in silence. Well, not complete silence. He’s muttering something to himself under his breath. It seems to be getting heated when he snaps his neck up and glares into the camera with one icy blue eye and one hazy white eye.
Tempest: For almost three years now, I’ve spent my entire career being told that I can’t. In everything that I’ve fought through, the opposing voice is the same: You can’t. They told me, “You can’t succeed here, you’re too one dimensional.” When I did succeed, they said, “You can’t succeed long term here, you cannot maintain who you are.” When I held the Cross-Hemisphere Championship for as long as I did, I was told, “You can’t come back and hope to succeed, you’ve lost a step and you’re just the same old tired song and dance.”
He looks over his shoulder at the World Championship.
Tempest: Well, when will I get the proper respect that I’ve fought for? The respect that I’ve clawed for, that I’ve climbed mountains for? When will I be recognized for what I’ve accomplished? I’ve spent my entire life, not just my career, but my entire fucking life, contradicting every motherfucker that ever said that I can’t. You think I can’t succeed because you believe that I’m just some character that I’ve created in my head and I can’t hold up to it? One dimensional? You shortsighted bitch, I’m every dimensional. I’ve come to this company, and I’ve haunted every… fucking… person, who has come into contact with me. Whether you’re a friend or a foe, the Astro Creeps live inside your heads. You can compare me to the dark personalities in the past if you’d like, but there’s not one… not ONE who measures up to me. I am God and I am the devil in this company. I am the Charles Manson of the Coalition. You know, they talk about Travis Pierce is synonymous with this, and Travis Pierce is synonymous with that, but you know what you’re synonymous to, in my eyes, Travis? You’re synonymous with Rogan MacLean. You’ve always had all of this potential, but like Rogan, you don’t have the guts to live up to it. When the opportunity arises, you fall short. And you kneel. Because people like you, and people like Rogan MacLean… you’re haunted. And you’re haunted by yourselves. But me? I’m free.
Daedalus cues the band and they play another spooky tune, this one their version of White Zombie’s “Ratfinks, Suicide Tanks, and Cannibal Girls.” Tempest marches over to the desk in the meantime and sits behind it. The atmosphere on Channel 13 has always been that of discomfort and bizarre bends in reality. But this evening, Channel 13 seems to be more uncomfortable than ever. Daedalus cuts the song and, with a grin, points to Tempest as Camera B locks onto him.
Tempest: Our guest tonight is a good buddy of mine. In fact, you could call him a homie. Everyone, welcome, Dead Seb!
Daedalus Shaffer and the Late Night band play Insane Clown Posse’s “I Found A Body” as Dead Seb is carried out onto the stage by Pisces and a few other Creeps. They set him on the couch closest to Tempest’s desk. He stares lifelessly forward, and Pisces scurries back to her spot on the other couch. Flies are buzzing around his decaying corpse, and maggots are crawling out of the bullethole in his head.
Tempest: Wow, thanks for joining us, Dead Seb. What an honor this is. A lot of people don’t know exactly where you came from, can you enlighten our audience?
Dead Seb, of course, doesn’t respond. Instead, his faded eye gazes out into nothingness for several minutes. But, in Tempest’s head, this is what he says…
Dead Seb: Of course, my friend. You found me out in the woods next to your property, and dragged me back to your house. It was cool, you fed me pizza rolls and you gave me a place to stay. And then, in a fit of rage, you plucked one of my eyeballs out because you saw me as your great and worthy opponent: Seb. That’s who you named me after. But that’s okay, I don’t mind. I’m dead!
The studio audience laughs. Tempest seems uneasy behind his mask. Guilty conscience? Nah, probably not.
Dead Seb: When Daedalus told you to get rid of me, you said you would, but you didn’t want to. So you didn’t. Kosnar and Pisces did one morning while you were shooting birds from the roof of the farmhouse. And then you found me and unearthed me. Then you used me as a prop to get into the head of Lucy Wylde by making me look like Rogan MacLean, a trick that Montague Cervantes showed you. And now? Well, here I am, sitting next to you on this couch in front of who knows how many viewers. I’d say at least thirty-five! I guess you could say I’m a front runner for support character of the year… not to bump Daedalus out of the way, even though I’m the dark horse, my presence is undeniable.
Tempest nods. Daedalus Shaffer plays a tune of disapproval, but is grinning behind his groovy glasses anyway.
Tempest: It’s so true, homie. And here you are, still as alive as you were the first time I met you.
Dead Seb: Which is not at all! But I’m here!
The two share a laugh. On the television screen, though, it’s just Tempest throwing his head back and laughing, while the corpse remains still.
Tempest: So, tell me, Dead Seb… What do you think of my upcoming match against Travis Pierce? Do you think I have a chance? I mean, he’s so high society, right?
Dead Seb: I don’t like Travis. He’s a threat to your success. And that means he’s a threat to our friendship. You keep me around because I’m a talisman of your rejuvenated success. If you bring me along and you lose? You’ll cut the dead weight and move on. Just like you did with–
Tempest: Ah, ah, ah. We all know that’s not true. None of it. Annie Wilkes would describe that as “cockadoody” wouldn’t she? Even if she is your biggest fan.
Dead Seb nods, although somewhat doubtfully.
Dead Seb: Okay.
Tempest: Well, that’s all the time we have for Dead Seb and his Wylde stories, if you know what I mean. And I’m sure you don’t. We’ll be right back after this.
Creeps come to retrieve Dead Seb as Tempest’s Tonight Show goes to commercial break.
Your television screen fades to a picture of a 50 gallon barrel.
Commercial Narrator: Are you bored? Do you hate society? Do you live in Louisville, Kentucky? Well, we understand what you’re going through. We are your United States Government. And you can trust us to do everything in our power to make your life unbearable! For a special price of just 49.99, you can purchase a 50 gallon barrel filled with a mysterious gas to reanimate the corpses of everyone within a 25 mile radius! Listen, that’s less than one dollar per gallon, and one dollar per mile that this gas will be released! And then you just have to grab the popcorn and watch the dead do all the dirty work for you and me! Because, really, fuck all these people. This society has gone to hell in a handbasket anyway, amIright? So send in your check for 49.99 now, and we’ll deliver a 50 gallon drum of ******* on special delivery army jeeps for you to use however you’d like. Don’t want to use it at home? Take it down on vacation with you and release the dead in Florida if you see fit. Hell, we don’t care! We’re just filling our pockets anyway! Fuck this country, and fuck you too!
We fade back into the studio where Tempest is sitting by himself at the desk.
Tempest: I know what you’re going to do, Travis. I know you’re going to come at me with your best. You’re hungry for this opportunity to carry this again.
He reaches out and wraps his fingers around the UGWC World Championship.
Tempest: Your performances this year are undeniable. You’ve had a lot of success. Some may think that my hand choosing you as my opponent is unexpected for this championship. That’s not a knock on your abilities. But let’s face it. The Omen? The Arsonist? Even the Final Girl would all be more ideal opponents while I carry the flag of this company. A flag of which I burn on a regular basis, I might add.
One steel blue eye peers out of his mask at Camera A.
Tempest: The truth is, I can’t stand this company. I can’t stand the ass kissing that goes on in this company. I can’t stand the circle jerks and the popularity contests that go on in this company. But as I look around, I see that it’s everywhere. It’s not the company, it’s this industry. It’s this business. And I hate it.
He pauses and stares at his desk for a long time, before coming back to reality.
Tempest: But that's neither here nor there is it? Let’s get down to business, Mr. Pierce. I chose you because you took something from me that I can never get back. You took away my redemption. It was supposed to be me who dethroned Lucy Wylde of the most sought-after item in this company. At Run of the Mill, you were supposed to be eliminated first. It was supposed to come down to the Spider King and the Dark Lady. But your stupid ass took it upon yourself to take out Lucy Wylde. I would defeat you after, but you took my moment away from me. For a long time, she’s gotten the better of me. She’s been easily the most difficult person to figure out and to manipulate. And just as I began to figure her out? You did what you do best, didn’t you? You slithered your way into my moment and eliminated her yourself. Don’t you understand what that does to a man like me? To a monster like me? For me, it’s as if I were fucking her… and just before I achieved orgasm? She pulled away and let you fuck her instead. And I can see her, in my head, smiling that evil smile. She knows what she did. She did it on purpose. And she’ll pay for it. And so will you.
Unsettling silence in the studio. Tempest taps his fingers on the desk as a tear drops to the wood.
Tempest: I’m sure you look at this as an opportunity to finally get something you’ve been in search of for a long time. But, the fact is, Travis… this is my revenge on you. It won’t be a wrestling match. It won’t be to see who is competitively better than the other. It will be me, beating you and punishing you until I’m satisfied with what I’ve done. Your beautiful face will be unrecognizable when I’m done with you. And if you walk out of this match as the champion? You’ll walk out broken, anyway. Because I’m going to rip you apart. I’m not going to be satisfied with laying on top of you for three seconds. I want my orgasm, Travis. And my orgasm is achieved through violence. If that means taking your head instead of Lucy Wylde’s, then so be it. But I’ll get what I want.
The studio audience laughs unexpectedly, and they actually sound sincere. The camera pans to them and for a brief moment, their genuine smiles could be seen. Then, they quickly shift to neutral, with a bit of fear behind them. The screen flashes to Camera C, where Kosnar has taken the reins.
Tempest: At the end of the day, Mr. Pierce, you already start at a disadvantage. It’s like standing outside and you can feel a storm coming. The trees, the clouds, even the wind, all try to warn you as you stand, gazing out at the sky. The scent tells you the storm is coming. Even if it doesn’t seem like it. I’m the storm. I belong here. At the top of this company. Because I am better than everyone else in it. Every division I’ve stepped foot in, I’ve thrived in. I’ve adapted. I’ve evolved. And that’s why I’m better than you, Pierce. Because even in an unlikely situation where you beat me… if you’re the champion of this company? It’s just more of the same. A reign of boredom. For you, and everyone else who strives to hold the championship that I hold now? You have to evolve, you have to adapt. But people like you just stay the same, Travis. And to most people, I’m sure they associate your longevity as being a symbol of greatness. But greatness, in my eyes, has nothing to do with how long you’re around, and everything to do with what you achieve while you are around.
He grins behind his mask, then glances at Pisces.
Tempest: Do you have something to say?
Pisces nods, and scoots closer to Tempest shyly. She glances at Camera A, but then fixes her gaze correctly on Camera C.
Pisces: In the world I see… the moon is always high. And with the right kind of mind, can be reached in a… single leap. And beneath that moon, are fields, and fields of… pretty little ghost flowers. Ripped from the soils of history… Monster! Martyr! And brothers and sisters and mothers and lovers and… and daughters! Singing to the old gods that turn and burn within my head… We rise… the countless children… of death.
Camera C pans to Tempest, glaring from the depths of darkness in his mask.
Tempest: We are the countless children of death. And now that we’re in power, Travis, everyone wants to be the one to take us down. But you? You won’t be the one. The Astro Creeps will live on, and I won’t make you kneel for anyone... except me. I’m a generous god, Mr. Pierce. At Massive Melee, you’ll realize that’s what I am: a god.
For a long time, Tempest glares into the camera. And then Daedalus cues the tune for The Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” as the late night band plays the exit theme for the show. Your television screen fades with Tempest glaring at you through his mask and you can’t help but feel uneasy. You hope that Travis Pierce will beat him, but on the other hand… there’s a darkness within you that wants Tempest to retain, isn’t there? You want to see what happens next. You want to see if the Spider King can keep it going, because you know that, monster or not, he is the most intriguing person in The Coalition. And that’s just exactly what you’re afraid of.
The broadcast ends, leaving you sitting on your couch watching a television screen of white noise. And a sense of loneliness overcomes you. You realize, you need Tempest. You need the Spider King. And what a feeling of dread that is.
…Static
…Click