ENGY Recap.... Joachim Bright, part-time XWF athlete, also just so happens to be the Engineer's son. Joachim used to try to help his father overcome his baser desires, leading him down the path towards being a decent human being. But he soon learned that there is not much decency left in The Engineer. The Engineer has also claimed in the past that Joachim was conceived during an occult ritual, a horrific accusation the boy has naturally tried to run from. But with his father up to something ominous and dark forces seeming to gather, Joachim can't resist making one last run at trying to understand his father's role in all of this....

QUOTATIONS
(Verb)
1. The lazy man's way to make a point or establish a theme
2. The lamest promo technique
3. Eat turd, Pest

Oh, was that sufficiently entertaining?

Engy posits this question as he sits at an unknown bar. The glass in front of him is half drained, clearly he's been nursing it for a short while. He looks down at it, revolving it on the coaster absent mindedly, before returning his attention to the camera.

”Real talk”. Thanks for verifying my hood 'cred. I'll be expecting my membership card in the mail anytime now.

He picks the glass up and drains the rest without batting an eye. Planting the glass back down on the coaster gently, he clears his throat and motions to the bartender for another before continuing.

So, let me preface this by saying that what I'm about to do is known in the biz as “verbal castration”. Allow me to explain. I'm going to systematically break down everything you said, open numerous bleeding wounds in your words, shit in them, seal them back up, drag them into the woods and allow them to die agonizingly of infection. But this is what you wanted right? Right.

He splays his hands out in front of him, cracking his knuckles. He then takes another shot of the drink that was just delivered to him. He gargles it, spits it out onto the floor, clears his throat again, and finally looks like he's ready to begin.

First off, a profound “thank you” for that walk down the “inspirational sports story Hall of Fame.” Truly inspiring. Too bad it has fuck all to do with me, or our unique circumstances for that matter. Because in each and every one of those cases, all of those guys who overcame “doubt”, beat the odds and John Cena RAAAAAPPPYYYY-DOOOO'ed their way to a big win weren't facing ME. Moreover, all of those “odds-overcomers” no doubt had a plethora of existing feathers in their cap, or a number of preexisting wins against a litany of talent that brought them to the dance, so to speak. You, on the other hand, have an entirely unremarkable record aside from the night where you managed to outlast a bunch of also-rans. You are entirely unproven and your track record is pretty goddamn unimpressive. A fact you are naturally loathe to admit....

Quote:I haven’t beaten any of the champions in this company; I’m not too proud to own up to that. But, I’ve never made a single excuse since day one. I’ve owned every loss I’ve earned (key word earned); but also, I’ve embraced those losses.

Oh.

Engy scratches the back of his head and mouths “awkwaaaaard”.

Let's continue. You said I've given you “nothing”? Huh. Well, I'm gonna go ahead and assume you meant to say“nothing aside from two definitive promos that I readily admitted I wasn't able to refute.” I'm sorry bitch, were you expecting a minstrel show? Some celebrity guest stars? I mean, Kevin Spacey's been blowing up my voicemail desperate for work, and that's AFTER I superkicked him in the face. You wanted me to “creatively” tell you you suck? Okay, I'll oblige.

A sparkly pony graphic appears on screen. It glides over a rainbow, leaving a trail of runny pink shits in it's wake. The shit spells out “Pestalance blows ass.”

That get you wet? I'll let you in on a little tactic of mine Pesty. I save the good shit for when it matters. When I really need to get in somebody's head and force them to question which way is up, that's when I bust out all the tricks of the trade. I don't need to do that with you because speaking the plain truth of the matter, a truth (once again), you COULD NOT refute, is sufficient and decisive.

Also, that whole “your promos suck because I said so” chestnut? That in it of itself, sucks ass. It's like the Inception of sucking ass. A dream within a dream within a dream of nonstop ass sucking so prolific Bilbo Brommer Blumpkinz has an erection hundreds of miles away and he has no idea why. And all these accusations coming from the guy who spent half his promo summarizing what all the main event competitors at the PPV had to say. Huh.

Engy pretends to pass out and starts snoring. Suddenly, he darts awake and chuckles.

And then Finn Kuhn. Let's talk about Finn Kuhn. The last guy I supposedly busted out my A-game promo material on. I for one thought the shit I did against Jackie Peppers was pretty funny, but I might be a tad biased. Plus, unlike you, Jackie's a bit more fun than watching paint dry on top of growing grass.

But let's discuss the match where Finn Kuhn was “kicking my ass”. Yes, Finn got in some good offense. He usually does. Right before that twiggy Kraut body of his starts getting gassed and his brain turns to mush and he inevitably fucks it all up and disappoints everyone. IE. WHAT HE DOES EVERY TIME.

You DO understand that wrestling isn't graded like figure skating, right? That one's performance during the match doesn't make a damn bit of difference if they didn't get the dubya? A lot of people got some good licks on me, but it doesn't fucking matter if they couldn't BEAT me. You know what kind of people need to hang their hats on “boy I sure put up a good fight” and “gee, I took so and so the limit”?

Fucking LOSERS, Pest. Guys like you who can't seal the deal against the best so you play up fighting the good fight like it's something to be proud of. It's not. No matter what some of the more bitch ass members of the XWF may tell you to try to console you and keep mediocre guys like you around so you can keep making them look good by comparison, I'm gonna give it to you straight. If it ain't a win, it ain't shit. Finn Kuhn ain't shit and you ain't shit. And you know what else ain't shit?

Your “journey”.

Engy spits these last two words out with derision. He downs the rest of this drink too and puts the glass down none too gently this time.

Let's talk about “journey's”, huh? You spent a year in Grand Nippon honing your craft? Bully. But you should probably get your money back from whatever bunk ass dojo was training you. You know what my “journey” was?

Years of mental illness.

Years of playing the fool.

Years of eating literal garbage out of dumpsters and earning bus fare fighting for Youtube videos.

Years of being unable and unwilling to acknowledge the trauma that was inflicted on me.

Years of clawing my way through this business to finally reach the XWF.

And then on top of that, once I reached the XWF, MONTHS of being told I still wasn't good enough by people like the guy who runs the show, Vinnie fucking Lane, even as I slaughtered their sacred cows week in and week out.

So you know what, fuck your “journey” college boy! Flying around the world, learning from the “best” like some jet setting Bruce Wayne motherfucker. You ever eat food with mold on it? Huh? You ever shit water for a month after that? Fuck no you haven't. You bitch ass.

And then you said that this is the hardest you've ever worked, this last 6 months? Son, if this is the hardest you've ever worked you are just so incredibly fucked it's beyond belief. Because in the hardest I ever worked in 6 months, I won the Xtreme championship, King of the Ring, and the Universal championship. I started establishing a legacy. You stuck your toe in the water, I dove in the deep end. You spun your wheels, while I roared past the starting line. Insert “me doing great and you sucking balls” metaphor here.

One last turd nugget in the festering open sore that was your boring as shit promo: don't ever conflate an accurate threat assessment with me not giving a shit. I'm not looking as this as just a contractual obligation (though it IS that). Make no mistake, I'm FULLY aware of what this match is for. But the thing you still don't seem to get is that part of what has made me so successful is my ability to know EXACTLY what I'm stepping in the ring with. To look deep down inside an opponent and ascertain what I need to do to keep myself alive and ticking. I've only failed to do that twice in the last 14 months I've been here, so I'd say I'm pretty fucking good at it.

The truth is, that in order to look PAST you I had to look AT you first. And the cold hard fact is that what I saw when I looked AT you didn't even give me pause. You're just not that good. And there's a reason that everybody else in the Leap of Faith match is focusing on me. It's because they see that too. I ain't ignoring the battle Pesty, it's just that all my intel is telling me it's gonna be a rout.

But hey you keep looking at me Pest. You keep your eyes locked right on me. Because quite frankly, you need to. You need that focus, that laser precision if you're going to have a prayer in hell of surviving me. Fuck your strength, fuck your size. I've beaten bigger and stronger many times over. Caedus was a goddamn beast of a man and I beat him twice. What you got that he doesn't? Heh. Get a good long look. Burn that image of me with the Universal Championship into your mind. Because that image? It ain't goin' nowhere. 'Least, not against you.

The Engineer's attention is drawn to the door, where a slim youth in a windbreaker over khaki shorts walks in looking all sorts of out of place. The boy scans the room, finally settling on the Engineer. Engy smirks and waves the boy over, pulling out a stool for him to sit on as he glances back at the camera. Time for some character development now, something you don't know anything about either.

The Engineer's son takes the stool next to his father, but he looks annoyed by the comment. This isn't some storyline bullshit! He hisses, clearly taking offense.

The Engineer splays his hands out defensively. Sorry, sorry. You know what an attention whore I am. Can't help playing to the cameras. He turns to give his son his full attention.

Joachim points out the camera. I want it off.

Anything you want to say can be said in front of the world. I have nothing to hide. Hmmmm.... He peers down at Joachim's midsection. But maybe you do.... The Engineer's hand shoots out and grabs hold of something in Joachim's pocket, but he doesn't remove it.

Joachim starts, grasping the Engineer's wrist. Don't...don't you....!

Shhhhh...shhhhh. No untoward attention. But that needs to stay right where it is. Really Jo, what were you thinking? That's so unlike you. The Engineer pulls forward towards Jo, and hisses in his ear. Who taught you how to shoot straight?

Joachim pulls his head back from his father's breath, looking equal parts angry and ashamed. You're gonna hurt people....I know it....

I'm gonna hurt people? You're the one walking around with a piece. Which, word to the wise, the jacket in 75 degree weather is one hell of a tell. So what was your end game here kiddo? Shooting me, or just scaring me?

Joachim finally returns his father's gaze, looking steely. It was for protection. I can't trust you.

It's Engy's turn to look taken aback now. He scoffs a bit, but then his features soften abruptly. You really thought I'd......? Jesus, if I wanted to get at you I coulda done it already. He looks around to make sure they still aren't drawing attention. So what exactly is this horrible thing you think I'm gonna do?

Joachim's gaze wavers again. His lip quivers and his body tenses. I don't know. I just have this...this awful feeling...I....

The Engineer nods his head. You can't explain it, can you? But you know. You can feel it. The Black Star. Makes sense. You were made that night.

What are you talking about?

The ritual that bonded me to Aiwass. Made me his Engineer. You were conceived. It's imprinted on you.

Joachim can't betray his horror. He looks at his father like he's trying to contemplate something awful and alien and beyond human ken. Jesus, you're insane. You need help. This...this...I can't help you.... Joachim dismounts his stool, his face growing ashen. The Engineer's hand leaps out and grasps his wrist. Joachim starts to pull but quickly finds he can't escape.

You're the back-up Jo. If I fail, you become The Engineer. If you destroy me you BECOME me.

Joachim pulls desperately now, flush with fear. You're even further gone than I thought. Let me GO!

His shout draws the attention of the other patrons now. The Engineer turns to consider them, smiles discretely, and releases his son. I love you, Jo. It took me a long time to accept that. Which is why I'm going to tell you this now. You're not built for this shit. You're decent and good and kind. I want you to leave this alone.

Joachim, against each and every instinct screaming at him to do otherwise, fails to run. What are you going to do?

What I should have done a long time ago. Accept myself for who and what I'm meant to be.

You don't have to! He says plaintively but quietly.

See, and that's the pisser. I know that. I know I don't HAVE to. He leans forward ever so slightly again. But I WANT to. The Engineer speaks these last words with utter conviction.

Joachim rocks back on his heels, shaking his head with shock and disappointment. Finally, he turns on his father, his face looking almost sorrowful in those last parting moments. Joachim makes his way to the front of the bar and the Engineer watches him go. But he feels something curious now. He instinctively grabs for the napkin in front of him, dabbing at his face to stop the flow of the black bead of liquid that escaped the corner of his eye and fell down his cheek.



Et venit stella tenebris