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Robert "The Omega" Main · (07-15-2019)

Robert sat at the table playing poker with the prince of darkness himself. The Devil deals with a grin from ear to ear, the founder of sin leers onward replying egoistically. “Boy,” he utters , “You cannot prevail.”Robert steadily picks his hand up from the table, seeing bad news. He gawks at two fours, an ace, and two eights. Robert struggles not to acknowledge his less than stellar hand, throwing down his two the eights; taking a gamble with his destiny. “Two, you son of a bitch Devil.”

He deals himself no cards as if he senses he’s already gained the victory. The Devil tosses Robert two cards, and once more, he reads Robert’s face like an open book. Again, Robert has nothing, a five and a three. Robert had better cards in mind hoping for something more. He unlatched his lips with his Devil sneer, “What’s your bet, Boy?” Robert refuses to fold. “How about your UNIVERSAL CHAMPIONSHIP?” Is he bluffing trying to misleading Robert?

“Okay, my Universal Championship! What will you bet?”

He mutters, “How about I let your pathetic friends live and I’ll leave you alone for a day.”

Robert seems bewildered when the Devil slowly transforms into “Chronic” Chris Page “You bastard I’ll kill you!” Robert throws a wild haymaker as Page dissolves into a charcoal cloud of dust. Without warning, blood pours from thin air on to Robert’s cards still in his hand. Robert leers around the room seeing Page who shouts, “Boy, Drew’s blood covers your sins.”

Robert jumps from his bed glancing around his bedroom fist balled up white knuckle tight.

Jesus Christ what the hell was that?

Robert drops his hands to his sides taking a seat on the edge of his bed eyeballing the wood floor while his thoughts began running ramped. War has been raging throughout XWF for many months now. While the gates of the XWF may be burning, enemies massing all around Robert sits alone atop his crumbling throne. Longing for sleep that will not come. Restless because he knows deep down in his omnipotent bones, that an extreme ending is near. The only question is for which side. Robert fumbles through the darkness grabbing a bottle of Makers Mark from his nightstand where the Universal Championship sits. He stares at the incandescence for only a moment before placing the bottle to his cherry-red lips as cocks his head back taking a few gulps.

Sigh……..

Any hunter will go for the unprotected spot of an animal, and Page did just that with Robert, his brothers. Drew, Raven and now Cent are Robert’s chink in his armor, his Achilles heel. It’s a well-known fact what happens to those that cross Robert’s family, you get incinerated, torn down and wiped off the face of the Earth. First, there will be a trigger to open the primitive drive, activate it as fully as possible, then will come the instinct or urge to cause suffering, one that hurts both others and you. Your only invulnerability is to be present in the moment. Question your own actions, then own them fully. Regardless of the diabolical force, except in the case of true insanity, they are yours. And long after we have forgiven you, you will struggle to forgive yourself.

Sigh……..

Chris Page gave sociopaths a bad name. He hid his true self like a snake covered in the grass, that is until he sank his teeth into your flesh injecting his deadly poison. Then the evil intent then became front and center, the self-deviant motives evident. Chris Page didn't care who he manipulates or hurt along the way because his passion is power. He hid behind a congenial mask of disdain he planned to control others. He never wasted a minute on anyone who was not in a position that helps propel himself forward. Page believes he has moved up into the powerplay position. He rose through the ranks by brutal attacks and force, while undercutting those around him. A cutthroat usually attacks from behind and Page did just that. Through the shadows. No one suspected how diabolical Page would become until it was way too late.

Sigh…….. Robert takes another long drink of Makers Mark

Wargames should have been the final resting place for Chris Page. Robert could have ended it all right there and then for everyone but choose to let Page walk away. In Robert’s mind, the point had been proven, Page had no leg to stand on. There was nothing he could demand, Robert pinned him to the canvas. This decision is one Robert has regretted ever since. Chris’s contempt of Robert is nothing but a transformation of his own degradation and insecurities. The shame of never becoming what he claimed, the uncertainty of his failing career, the vulnerability of one final shot in the limelight. It is all Chris’s instability, the lack the courage to face the truth. For Page, it has become far easier to lose himself in the theatrics of his mind, casting himself as the victim and leading lady, than it is to swallow even an ounce of validity. He tries to beat down a person who's already had more than their soul can take several times over. With each brutal attack, those who Page believed were casualties stood united.

Loathing, animosity, prejudice, those things are the Devil's sidewalk, its ashy surface filled with millions of the dammed footprints. Always the temptation to walk it is a course of logical and compelling reasons, ones that supplement the egotism and frame false-heroes. There is no trophy worth the corruption of one’s soul antipathy brings only pain and cycles of obliteration.

Robert points in the direction of the camera several times

If there is one thing that my time in the wrestling business has taught me, is expect the unexpected. Throughout the years I have come across several colorful characters, never once have I detested someone more than you Chris. My dislike for you runs all the way down to my core, I resent you, I hate you, and I’ll never apologize for saying so. You are the proverbial shit stain on this business. The time of the mighty Chris Page is about to cease, the threatening, oppressing and bullying will come to a stop. The strong-arm tactics will be no more. No longer will you victimize, now for the second time you’ll become the victim, and this time “Chronic” I’m putting you down for good.

Malice stains the spirit. Spreading throughout the comprehensive system, imprisoning all other feelings, becoming central to life and the purpose of the person. The aspiration of malevolence may or may not be present, but the imagined words and unsympathetic actions against the condemned can overpower at times. One turns his concern to other matters, trying to drive the mind in other directions, but then the wave of mischievous thoughts returns with a vengeance. Once again, the psyche is manipulated completely, and all the disavowing energy one can summon is heaved into the mind racing around frantically. Hatred becomes an illness of the mind and heart. Where spite has claimed possession, there is no room for anything else. Left unchecked, hate can completely poison the soul.

Forty-Eight years old and you wholeheartedly take stock in the fact you can run circles around anyone in the business?

Robert hesitates for a second as a beastly smirk forms revealing his pearly white teeth

WRONG!

He finishes the bottle of Makers Mark leaping from the side of his bed with the bottle still in hand.

Page, who taught you how all this works? Did Wargames scramble what little you had left upstairs? Or was it the oxycontin you stuffed up those nostrils finally rot that brain? How can a guy like yourself get his point across when he spends every night at Narcotics Anonymous? You’re the type of guy who can't have a single beer. Have a single drink and need to get some coke and probably suck a dick for a painkiller. Real party animal. You don’t scare me at all. Guys like you are a dime a dozen. Your nothing more than an afterthought at this point you’re here because of Robert Main, because of Apex Prophecy. The world forgot about “Chronic” Chris Page a long damn time ago. Your demographics are all old ladies, and you don't appeal to a younger crowd. Look at you, old and bitter and can’t hit where it hurts. This isn’t about devastating the XWF Chris it never was. It’s about rejuvenating a career that never was. The pursuit of greatness that never happened. Your career is nothing more than a joke, fucking washed up never was. You’ve been circling the shitter for a long time now, torpedoing towards the bottom of the bowl, right where you’ve always belonged. Tell me what’s there to be fearful of? A man who’s not moved a solitary inch in years. Especially knowing I buried once before? Old age? Maybe stroke face? I’m going to drive the final nails into that coffin once and for all.

SIGH….

Hell, I guess it’s that time of the year… Hi, My name’s Robert “The Omega” Main.. I’m here to revive your sinking career.

Robert clenched the bottle tighter and tighter after every word uttered as the ballooned up in his heart, ferocity began burning him up. Hostility seared his heart so deeply that it was now ingrained in the tissue. Hate can be compared to anger and treachery. Hate is a word that people use frivolously. In this case, though Robert indeed hates the double-dealing Chris Page and will make sure he pays for every single transgression. Hate is what makes the hero turn into the villain. Hate is overwhelming, overpowering and at times impressive. Hate can empower us, inspire, producing results unseen. Then Robert spoke with a callousness never heard before.

I don't just want to obliterate you, I want to put you in the deepest hole I can dig chucking shovels of dirt on top of you until your God damn mouth is full of grime. I want to hear the smothering asphyxiation of your cries. I want to know the very fucking second you don’t exist anymore, so I can relish it. I’ll rejoice in your death, cherishing it as my greatest accomplishment. “Chronic” I hope you're proud it's all your handiwork, because now. You’ll reap what you have sown. You’ve forced my hand in the matter. Now it means hearses.

Robert grinned showing his teeth amongst the thick beard, his eyes were broad and unblinking. He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, as his lips turned upwards into a smile staring into the camera. He suddenly felt an old sensation he hadn’t felt in some time. The feeling of a sick sense of joy began to rise within him.

This match is about different things for each of us. For you the key to the city, the crown, self-righteousness. For me this Championship that I tote around means nothing, Page you crossed a line in the sand. Drew has suffered because of it, he can’t even turn on a goddammed light without excruciating pain. This match is no longer about the crown.. It’s about getting even, and I’ll make damn sure I get retribution. All the hyping in the mirror before you make the walk won’t change the outcome, your fate was sealed on Saturday Night Savage. As you laid there in a pool of your own blood after I laid you out with a chair. How did it feel Chris? That feeling of no longer being the smartest guy in the room. You united us all. The amber you thought you extinguished is now a roaring inferno burning you up alive. When Raven tossed me that contract, and I dipped my index finger into your freshly spilt blood, the tide turned. Whether you’d admit to it or not. You were outplayed and at Leap Of Faith.. I don’t want to pin you to the canvas. I’m going to torture you until I see fit and then and only then I will pull the plug on the pathetic career of “Chronic” Chris Page!

Bad blood is such an atrocity, a plague, nuisance of what the world should not be. Robert’s never felt such a Herculean hatred. Yet in the desolate landscape of hatred, there are always paths back to understanding and enlightenment, though sometimes they are barely threading in a vast wilderness of contradictory emotion. Robert continues squeezing the bottle as it shatters in his hand. Before his brain can register the sound of the bottle breaking, his eyes shut tight and a million shards tumble softly over his exposed skin. He freezes in place as his brain processed the feeling of pain. He allows his eyelids to flutter for an instant seeing that the hardwood floor is stained red, the color creeping outward among the shards not sticking out of hands.

Chris I want to wind back to the clock to Wargames and go over a few things that you had to say. I never had the opportunity to respond then because honestly between you and me, I wasn’t listening to a thing you had to say. You said you discovered a few kinks in my game. Tell me, what were those kinks? What was my downfall during that main event at Wargames. You promised the world, you’d walk out as the victor at Wargames. You guaranteed my head would be placed on a silver platter by the end of the night. What happened was I made you my bitch just like everybody else before you. I stomped on your head until those cheeks were a beautiful shade of purple. Eating crow sound familiar? How about a steaming piece of humble pie? I made you eat every fucking word you uttered. I humiliated you. You can keep this charade going as long as you’d like. But I’ll let you in on a secret, Chris Page isn’t the greatest thing since sliced bread. Just remember this cheap imitation pinned you one, two, three! And we can split cunt hairs if you’d like to. I had some help. But the fact of the matter is this. I pinned your ass.

This time isn’t any different I'll take a piss in your mouth watching you wheeze and gurgle. Being a fucking loser's in your DNA. Dying for attention, that's why you started this little beef. I warned you before I told you to be careful where you were headed. You decided not to listen with those old ears. You didn’t heed the warning. I'm cemented as a legend and “Chronic” Chris Page’s severed head is destined to be the evidence. Every room that you ever enter I will always be your elephant. I can smell it, you are sweating. If I could make one wish. It’s that after I body you, you come back resurrected. So, I can slaughter you again.

Robert leers down at his shaking hand the crimson life fluid was concentrated in the folds of his knuckles making the usually pale creases a dark iron color. The coagulated brown fluid had become imprisoned in the webbing of his fingers. He brushed the glass off his hand continuing.

Page over the past few weeks, you’ve had quite a few things to say about me. Hell, at this point in the game I find it ironic you still don’t know my name. That’s just you being an oversized ass hole. Or “DICK”. I’ll let those watching or listening decide. You’ve repeatedly said that this roster is weak and I’m a big fish in a small pond. The dinosaurs of yester-year had to hang up their boots. That was until you and your band of misfits came charging the front door with walkers and Geritol in hand. You idiots are as broke down as the shit in my garage. No matter how you want to break this factoid down, Apex Prophecy measuring stick around here. Page other megastars before you swore the very same damn thing you have. They too proclaimed, certified, alleged and insured. In the end, they were flattened like a pancake. You fuck with us or this company we love, hoss you end up six feet deep, never heard from again. Do you desire my empire of dirt? Well, boss here’s the chance of a lifetime. You bitch and cried, demanded like a child. Now here’s the winning lottery numbers. You are the one with everything to lose here. This is a legacy-defining moment in time, one you wanted, and after shellacking’s you and short bus comrades handed out. This whole thing is going to go up in smoke. All the build-up and brainwashing and that’s what this is. Misinformation at its finest form. You’ve tried to shove a fairy tale down all our throats, the supposed phenomenon the prodigy will prove once again he is nothing more than a fabrication.

If intelligent enough and listening, Page, they can read through the bull shit. This whole damn thing is smoke blowing. You can’t do a damn thing unless you have a crew running with you. Point and case Savage. In this Deathmatch, I will pulverize you bulldozing everything your rickety dilapidated ass has been responsible for. I’m going to leave you just like I did at Savage face down dead center in a pool of your own blood. Another trouncing, another golden opportunity spent recklessly. But this time around Page there won’t be a scapegoat. You are the one that threw money down the drain. This burden will fall squarely upon your shoulders and yours alone. There will be no one to blame but you Chris. No finger-pointing and after I run through you like a hot knife through butter I’m going to move on to the rest of your slime ball associates. One by one you cowards will fall until there is none of you left. I’ll make sure of it with my boys right behind me. This company let in cancer now, the good guys cut it out once and for all. The poison in the water will be filtered out. The XWF will no longer be your playground. XWF doesn’t want you and we damn sure don’t need the demanding “Chronic” Chris Page. After this, you’ll demand nothing from me or anyone else in this company. Chris Page, you sowed these seeds of hate, seeds of war and now those seeds have grown. Now you’ll become entangled as each vine wraps around your throat strangling the life from your body. You have become confined in your very own deceitfulness.

Now there is nowhere to run and no place to hide, you have no way out of this. I’m right here front and center telling you firsthand what I’m going to do to you. There is no one protecting me, there is no going underground it’s me and you. How’s it feel, knowing you have no chance in hell taking the prize? Page, this match is about paying you back tenfold, and as far as I’m concerned slaughtering you just won’t be good enough. To watch you squirm as your catastrophic fate becomes crystal clear. Chris, as long as one man stands before you you’ll never claim victory for your own. Leap Of Faith or not. I will continue to come after you until either you or I don’t exist anymore.

Hatred impersonates, disguising its self as a lubricant to all the suffering when in truth it is no more than gasoline for the flames. More blood lust only warrants more enmity, more grievances, more death, never healing. It can be passed like a dark flame from one man to the next, blistering cold, biding its time for the next opportunity at war. Hatred, the twin of indignation, will never be our friend. Hatred makes us all frailer, an infection transmitted via actions and words.

Leap Of Faith I will come face to face with the horrendous as I clutch any ammunition I can find. I will remember all the heartache that brought me here fueling through this match. I want revenge. Page you will eat a grenade and go to sleep bitch. You should have run away when you had the chance. When shit hits the fan here in a few short weeks you’ll be pissing in those tights staring across the ring at your maker. I'm thirsty for blood and after the smoke settles, the blood stops flowing. I will be the one with my hand raised walking away mercilessly with the Universal Championship over my shoulder and reprisal in my pocket. This hatred between us Page is something that you created, it will bring me to cut you to pieces and you try to mow me down. I hate you so much I honestly believe that your unborn children should be neutralized, so vermin like you will be forever wiped from the face of this Earth. I am the servant of the modest, the commander of the formidable and the nemesis of the evil. Choose where you stand meticulously because when it comes to this game I always win. It’s what Champions do.

Robert notices his phone light up with an unknown number. He gingerly hits the speaker button

Hello?

Robert?

Yeah? Who’s this?

Uh….. Its Ned…

Robert takes a second scratching his head before speaking again

You there?

Yeah, I’m here. First, how did you get my number

……Raven

What’s up Ned?

We’ve got a problem..

What’s the problem?

It’s uh… Drew…

When it comes to Drew there’s always a problem. Listen kid.. Get me the biggest black coffee you can find and text me where you are, and I’ll be right there. And keep him from doing anything stupid. It’s an impossible task but try.

Robert, he keeps telling me to tell you to bring your AMEX card and bring chocolate almond milk?

Ned, I’ll be right there.

Robert grins looking at the camera

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode The deepest desires often come the deadliest hate.
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