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Thaddeus Duke · (09-10-2021)

Illuminatus Compound || Old Saybrook, Connecticut || 1:11 PM

Frankie hasn’t been back to the site of the horrors of a military assault on his house since the night it took place. Some of that is by design. Some of it, because we’ve just been too damn busy. When he first came to live with me last year, he had free reign. He could come and go into any room in the house as he pleased, even the Situation Room. As time went on and as the Ares Project ramped up their attacks on me, I cut off that room from his free reign.

Some things, he just didn’t need to hear.

While I realize that maybe that was obvious to many who view these stories I show you, you need to keep in mind I’m 22 and learning this fatherhood stuff as I go. I’m not reminding you of that fact to absolve myself from my mistakes, I remind you because its true. I’m pretty good at being a dad, but I’m not perfect. There’s still a lot of things I’m figuring out. What to do about my residence is one of them. Personally, I’m happy to live in New York City, happy to call the top of Woolworth Tower my home. But I know downtown Manhattan is not a place to raise an already problematic ten year old. It’s also no place to raise a family at all. Many do it, but most of them don’t have my assets. They don’t have the same choices and advantages that I have.

I could easily build a brand new house right here on the grounds of the Compound. Frankie would be happy. He’d have his free reign over the dozen plus acres of ocean front property. He’d have his dirt bike track back. But at the same time, it’s still a target for destruction. If I rebuilt, it’d only be a matter of time before the Ares Project would attack it again.

”Thad?” Frankie calls out from the passenger seat of my Audi Spyder as I navigate up the long drive. Before the house fell, you could see the large flag waving above it the entire length of the drive but now, it just seems like you’re driving a long stretch of blacktop road to nowhere.

”Yeah?”

”Can I ride my dirt bike while we’re here?” he asks. I wish I could tell him yes. But we’re not gonna be here very long. I have some thinking to do and a lot of that thinking happens when I’m driving.

”I’m sorry Bub, we’re not gonna be here more than a few minutes,” I gently break the news to the increasingly emotional Francis Robert. ”We’re not even getting out of the car.”

”Then why are we here?” he asks with a dejected sigh.

”Because this place is becoming a training ground and I just want to check on the progress,” I offer as my valid explanation.

Truth is, as far as my different properties are concerned, whether in America or abroad, each of them have their addresses publicly available to anyone that wants to have them. It’s a rather huge drawback when everything you own is technically part of the Illuminatus Nation, when everything you own is designated by the nations in which they sit as sovereign territory occupied by a foreign power, privacy is non-existant.

Steering the car onto the newly minted dirt road, I slow it to a crawl as we make our way through the grounds. Barracks are going up. Boot Camp style courses are being built. Brand new military vehicles: tanks, humvees, transport trucks and the like, are parked where the house once stood.

Rounding the dirt road around the ‘parking lot’ back toward the main driveway, I notice a nondescript box truck backing up to a makeshift loading dock dug into the earth. Slowing the car to a stop in front of the truck, I exit and make my way to the driver side door of the truck.

”What do you got for me?” I ask the driver as he finishes backing and kills the trucks engine.

”I don’t have the slightest idea,” he answers as he steps out. Following him to the back of the truck, he opens the roll up door as one of my men steers a forklift toward us. Inside the truck, dozens of wooden crates.

Weapons crates to be precise.

Grabbing a pry bar nearby as the first crate is lifted and pulled out on the forks, I signal my man to stop. Prying the top off the crate, Frankie appears beside me.

”What’s in there?” he asks, being too short to see over the edge.

”The game changer,” I answer him with a smile as I reach inside and move aside some protective shipping fibers and reveal the first of many. Pulling the launcher from the crate, I eyeball it with a smile. ”It’s called ‘WarHammer’,” I tell him of the deadly contraption.

”What’s it do?” he asks.

For all intents and purposes, despite being only ten years old, Frankie is second in command. Aside from me, no one outranks him. Not even Talon who is a natural born heir. While Frankie has no power of any kind, I feel its best to let him know certain things that pique his interest.

”Well,” I begin with a pause. ”You know how it took those assholes all night and dozens of bombs and hundreds of missiles to take down our house?”

He nods.

”Just one shot with this would have done the job.”

”That… that kind of sounds scary,” Frankie admits with a look in my direction.

”It is scary,” I admit right back. ”But they’re in the right hands, not the wrong ones.”

There are many that think I’m a dishonorable person. Maybe it appears that way on the surface, but so many refuse to scratch below the surface to see the roots of the trees that I never planted. Did I have Ares Project survivors executed? Did I have a dozen Ares Project soldiers shot in the back and killed under a flag of peace? Did I just accept shipment of the deadliest, most destructive hand-held weapon on the planet?

Yes the fuck I did.

And I’m not sorry for it.

In today’s world, most wars and armed conflicts are fought under the guise of protecting freedom. What they really are, are fights for mineral rights. What goods or resources does country B have that country A wants? In our case, Country A – the Illuminatus Nation just wants the right to live. Country B – in this case, the Ares Project, wants the Illuminatus Nation exterminated. With that in mind, is it really so wrong to get a little dirty to ensure our survival? To ensure my children grow up in peace with love and security? Put yourselves in my shoes for a second. If it was your people and your children with prices on their heads… would you be so honorable?

I don’t mind the judgments. But the truth is more complicated than simply black or white. More complicated than what’s visible on the surface. This isn’t a Hollywood blockbuster. This isn’t a television show. These problems dropped in my lap the moment my forces won the Civil War can’t be solved like a one hour drama or a three hour epic war film.

This isn’t Game of Thrones.

I’m not Ned Stark.

I’m not so honorable to risk the lives of the people I love, the people that depend on me, in order to win in a particular way.

By any means necessary.

That’s my mantra.

If this was Game of Thrones, I’m more like Tywin Lannister than anyone else. Survival matters. Survival is the only thing that matters. Ever.

No sooner do we make it back to the car, a call from a ‘Restricted’ number comes through. Normally, I would send such a call to voicemail. I send most calls to voicemail, honestly. The timing of this one though seemed… different.

”Hello?”

”Thaddeus Duke?”

”John Caedus.”

”The shipment should arrive momentarily, if it hasn’t already.”

”John Caedus? Is he related to Uncle Jim?” Frankie asks. I only nod confirmation.

”Oh it’s here John, thank you,” I reply as we enter the car.

”No, thank you Thaddeus.”

”John the WarHammer is gonna end this fuckin’ war bro,” I tell the less interesting Caedus. ”I’ve been beaten down and beaten down repeatedly because those mother fuckers don’t care about the rules of warfare… and this… this is a major shift.”

”If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Caedus says.

”I’m over the moon, happy.”

”Good. I’ll be in touch.”

John Caedus hangs up as I start the car. A noise though, averts my attention. Rather, a commotion or disturbance, than just a noise. Killing the cars engine, Frankie and I exit the car again.

”You said we were leaving,” he says as he rushes to catch up to me.

”We are,” I insist as I head toward the far side of the throne room where a large gathering of men have collected.

”I could’ve rode my dirt bike...” interrupting him, I clasp my hand over his mouth.

”Go ride Bub,” I tell him and excitedly he runs off to the garage. No, we really don’t have time. Yet at the same time, its important to make time for the things we’re passionate about. Approaching the gaggle of men, still hooting and hollering, laughing and having a grand ol’ time, I notice Dick, my new chief of staff is among them. Wading through the boys, I stand beside Dick.

”So the...” he holds his hand up hushing me while pointing across the way a bit. Seated at a table is a man. Across from him, are two other men simultaneously trying to beat him in arm wrestling. They’ve failed.

Here come the hoots.

The hollers.

The cheers, and the laughter.

The man with all that arm strength, I’ve never met.

”Arm wrestling?” Again, Richard urges me to keep watching. This time, three men try their luck against the long curly blond haired man with a ridiculous jaw.

”Who is this guy?” I ask Rich and once more he hushes me. ”One of yours?” I ask and he nods.

The men cheer wildly as the three man combination nearly has the strong mans hand down to the table. The large man laughs maniacally for a quick moment before overpowering all three men and winning the contest. Approaching the table, I sit across from this formidable foe. Giving him a once over, I notice he’s not just a big guy, he’s also built like a fucking tank.

I’ll beat him though.

Guys like him?

All they got is their power, their brawn.

You’d think that’s all it’d take in a simple arm wrestling contest but… like Chris Page… I always got a plan.

Clasping our hands together, his stare burns a figurative hole through me. It’s cold, it’s empty, yet full of fire. If I was the type to be intimidated by mortal men, it’d scare the shit out me. But I’m not and he doesn’t.

The one acting as an official steadies our hands and prepares to release. Just as he does, I send my right foot into my opponents groin and slam his arm down against the table. In a fit of rage, with his face beet red, he flips the table sideways and comes at me. Standing quickly, I kick my chair out from beneath me. He grabs me by my shirt and looks like he wants to pound the shit out of me. If this was a fight, he’d do it.

Dick though, steps in.

”Cyrus!” he says as he wedges between us with his arm across the big mans arms. The giant looks down at Dick. ”This is Thaddeus Duke,” he informs the man.

Standing a full head taller than me he eyeballs me up and down, then unhands me and kneels.

”Look at me,” I instruct the man and he looks up into my eyes. It’s only now that I notice the scar running across the breadth of his thick neck.

”By any means necessary,” I tell him. ”That’s how we win.”

He nods slowly.

”Thaddeus Duke,” Dick says as he pats me on my shoulder. ”Cyrus Braddock.”

”Cyrus, stand up,” I tell him and at once he stands to his feet. God he’d have really fucked me up. He’s every bit as big as my father. ”What are your strengths?”

”Thad, he...”

”Dick, I’m getting to know the man,” I interrupt him. ”I need to know where he’ll fit.”

”No, Thad… he doesn’t talk.”

”Vocal cords?” I ask, referring to the wide scar.

”No, he can talk… he just chooses not to. He’s a loyal son of a bitch, though. He does what he’s told. He’s got almost superhuman strength...”

”Cyrus, you like to fight?” I ask the giant and he nods.

”You like getting your hands dirty?”

Eyeballing Dick for a moment and back to me, he nods.

”If I asked you to do something for me out of the norm...”

He quickly nods, before I even finish the question. Slowly I make my way around the Redwood standing before me. He follows me with his head and his eyes.

”So if I were to… say, ask you to be my bodyguard in wrestling, you’d do that?”

Again, he nods his consent.

”You really need a bodyguard?” Dick interjects.

”The traitors have been a lively bunch lately,” I answer him, referring to the fans of the XWF.

”You can’t handle a few unruly fans?” he asks with a smile.

”Oh I can, and I have… the first time I ever punched a fan in the mouth was a really satisfying moment… but I run my mouth. My mouth earns me a lot of enemies.

“Call it paranoia if you like… but why not cover all my bases?” I pose rhetorically. Returning my attention to the monster before me, ”Be at JFK in New York, Wednesday at noon,” I tell him before ushering Frankie off his dirt bike and back to the car.

It’s another day in the world of professional shoot wrestling so that means I’ve probably ruffled someone’s feathers. I don’t mind. I enjoy pissing people off. I enjoy making people wish they could finally stop the freight train that has been Thaddeus Duke for more than a year. I enjoy making people want to shut me up.

Even for those lucky few that have been able to get the better of me, even their celebration is very short lived because I just keep getting up, I just keep talking, I just keep on fuckin’ tickin’ people off left and right... And the train keeps rollin.

Ciela Luiz has it in her mind that I was off my game against Reggie Estrada but she clearly hasn’t studied. I’ve use this metaphor once or twice before Ciela, but this is an open book test and you really should open up and take a look.

Now that I’ve given you that warning, pause this promo and take a look at the promos I released against Estrada. When you’ve done that, push play again because you’re missing a major piece of the puzzle: the fact that I told Reggie that I’d make him look like a million bucks and Celia, I’ll be doin’ the same thing for you.

Because I can.

Yes, I strung Reggie along just like I have so many others in the past. Reggie isn’t in my league and neither are you. That sounds offensive, I know, but I don’t really give a fuck about you or your feelings. The fact is, very few competitors actually are in my league.

Just like Reggie, I’ll string you along. I’ll let you think you’re getting somewhere. During the course of the match Ciela, I’ll let you think you actually do have what it takes and then I’ll hit that extra gear that sets me apart from most everyone else and I’ll slam the door in your pretty little face… simply…

...because I can.

^^^Recurring theme.

There’s a lot of things I do simply because I can. Making inferior talent like you look like gold… is one of them.

Looked lost?

No darling.

I’m never lost in the ring. Everything I do inside the ropes has a purpose.

You claim I think I can’t be beaten. You claim I fear you. You claim I fear what I don’t understand. People have beat me, Ciela. One thing you need to know, is I don’t make excuses. When I fail, it’s my failure. There isn’t a mortal man, woman or child on this planet that I fear. I’ve seen and been through too much in my short life that, mortal beings don’t scare me.

It’s not that I don’t understand you Ciela. It’s that I don’t care to. I don’t give two shits if you’re human or not human, if you time travel, if you shit out of your mouth and talk out of your ass. You simply do not hold my interest as competitor, much less as a human being.

I don’t act like anything. Nothing I do is an act. I’m me. 100%. If I come off as a tough guy, it’s because I am a tough guy. If I come off acting like I’m the shit, it’s because I am the shit. If I come off as if I think I’m the best, it’s because I am the best.

Being the ‘keyboard warrior’ that you call me, gave me the opportunity to beat Robert Main’s ass in the middle of the fuckin’ ring.

I don’t want you in XWF?

I don’t want you in OCW?

Ciela, let’s get one thing perfectly clear… I don’t care what ring you enter. You have nothing I want. You’re not a competitor I want to face because you just don’t pose a big enough challenge. And this feud as you call it? It’s a one way street. It’s a big match for you, but for me? It’s just a tune up to get me to Relentless and Mark Flynn.

All I never wanted was to face you and it has nothing to do with your delusional thoughts of me fearing you.

You.

Are.

Not.

A.

Challenge.

Not to me.

You’re not ready.

I didn’t warn you against coming for me out of fear, little girl. I warned you against coming for me, because all those things you’re trying to paint as false- are true. I am every bit as good as I think I am. I’m every bit as good as I say I am.

History 101: Sebastian Duke was never cast aside. It was he that chose to put his full time wrestling career on the shelf after having won every major XWF title sans the one I currently carry. It was he that refused the Universal title opportunity that he earned in 2019 before stepping away. It was also he that was inducted into the Hall of Legends last summer.

Not bad for a guy that was cast aside.

Here’s the flaw in your argument that I’ll be cast aside just like your family was: I’m not willing to be cast aside. Your family gets cast aside because not a single one of you have the real true honest to god talent that it takes to be the face of any company. Not one of you had what it took to be that guy. I do. I have been that guy since the day I stepped foot back into this industry last year.

Snow Job? Poster boy.

March Madness? Poster boy.

War Games? Poster boy.

Relentless?

Poster boy.

These things happen, because I make them happen. I have transcended and transformed this business for over a year. No matter what I do or where I go, success follows… ratings follow… buy rates follow… merchandise revenue follows.

Because I’m that guy.

Movies.

Television series.

Commercials.

Endorsements.

Thaddeus Duke is reputable.

Thaddeus Duke is marketable.

Thaddeus Duke… is bank.

It is that way, because I work my ass off to make it that way.

Before I forget, you can thank me for your OCW contract because if it wasn’t for stipulation I had put into my own OCW contract, that roster would still be capped. I dictated that because I don’t do small time. The goal was to make OCW bigger than some south Florida regional circus act.

You’re welcome, but I guess they got their clown anyway when they hired you.

If you really knew the future Ciela, you’ll know how this match is gonna end: yet another Thaddeus Duke victory.

Here’s another pretty little idiot that couldn’t get a sniff of the Universal title, yet talks shit on my title reign. I couldn’t handle the pressure? You can’t even handle the pressure of challenging for the Hart title. You know how if you drop a frog into a pot of boiling water he’ll jump right out, but if you drop a frog into the water and then slowly turn up the heat it’ll let you boil it alive?

That’s what happening right now.

I’m turning up the heat and you have no idea that you’re about to be cooked.

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