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Charlie Nickles · (02-24-2021)

"My God is none other than the people. Only the popular masses are omniscient and omnipotent and almighty on earth. Therefore my lifetime motto is: "The people are my God.”
-Kim Il Sung

“The true ethical test is not only the readiness to save the victims, but also - even more, perhaps - the ruthless dedication to annihilating those who made them victims.”
― Slavoj Žižek

The beautiful souls of the disposable have long called out for a hero. For years Charlie Nickles could not hear them.….no…..he did not want to hear them. He was one among the many, but still he could not see the chains that bind us. He clung to the values of his ruling class: depravity, greed, and selfishness. He never gave the ways of the world a second thought. All he knew about the world was what he saw: the strong devouring the weak….and he ontologized that fact. Made it part of his being. Tried to become one of the creatures he saw at the top of the chain. He would do anything to become powerful. To become wealthy. To be the very thing that had impoverished him for so long.

Charlie’s story is a tale far too often told on this land. The deluded worker, brainwashed into thinking one day the world may be his if he just works hard enough. If he simply beats, brutalizes, and destroys enough men their wealth will soon amass inside his own pockets. Charlie Nickles was a sick man...but he was conditioned to turn into the foul creature he became. Charlie Nickles did not become the man he was through chance. A man like Charlie Nickles could only come into being as a creature of circumstance.

And the circumstances are dire.

Millions suffer every day on this ever warming earth. From the starving children of the colonized to the frostbitten transients in the urban core, each and every morsel of this land has been stained with the blood of the disposable. Fancy leather shoes step over the sickly bodies of the dying while plump lips admonish those with the gall to beg for table scraps. Housing projects and trailer parks have become graveyards for the dreams of the underclass. Can you not hear them screaming for mercy, Thaddeus Duke?

I wager not. But how can they blame you? How could you possibly hear their cries for help from inside the walls of your mansion? You’re not callous, oh no, merely unconcerned. At best, unaware. But are they really all that different?

You’re a man who has it all, Thaddeus Duke. Who. Literally. Has. It. All. While children starve to death inside their frozen homes, millions upon millions of hard earned dollars sit inside of this one man’s stock portfolio. He deserves it all, doesn’t he? Don’t they all? All the rich men? All the millionaires and billionaires? Don’t they deserve to live above us? Shouldn’t they live lavish lives of luxury earned through our hard work, our blood, our sweat, and our tears? Well at least that’s what they want us to believe. What they tell us through their extravagant stories.

Thaddeus Duke has done a lot in this world. He’s won championship after championship, won all the accolades, had praise showered upon him like piss upon a urinal. But what has he done FOR the world? He has all the connections. All the top politicians know him by name. He has all the right friends in all the high places. And what does he call on them for? When he picks up his cellphone and presses that speed dial to the oval office, what’s he pushing for?

He doesn’t call his friends in the suits and ties for a minimum wage increase. He doesn’t call them to advocate for police reform. He doesn’t ask them to bring our sons and daughters back from the middle east. He doesn’t ask them to make healthcare a right for all. Oh no.

He only calls them to beg and plead for authorization to launch military strikes in the United States. That’s it. That’s the end of this rich boy’s political advocacy. He wants his Illuminatus faction to have the right to murder American citizens at will, under his own discretion, with absolutely no oversight from the government.

That’s what good guys do, right? At least that’s what Vinnie Lane and Theo Pryce want us to believe good men do when they’re not in the ring.

But the truth is Thaddeus Duke is not a good man. The Duke klan has long rubbed elbows with the most vile prostitutes in our puppeteered congress. Despicable war criminals like John McCain were always welcomed with open arms in the Duke home. The very same man who was bombing residential neighborhoods in Vietnam was hailed as a true American hero by the Duke klan. Is that heroic? To travel halfway across the world just to drop bombs on innocent families? Or ‘gooks’, as Duke’s late friend John would call them.

You’re a capitalist parasite, Thaddeus. It’s evident in everything you do. You leech off of the labor of others. Not only the children in Asia that make your merchandise and the maids and butlers that stock your home, oh no. You even leech off of the labor of your own tag team faction. Ducking out on title defenses and reaping what others sow is so quintessentially Thaddeus Duke, but no one should have expected any better from the boy who needed another man to win him his universal championship in the first place.

Thaddeus Duke doesn’t care about the world. He doesn’t care about other people, he doesn’t care about the beautiful creatures that swim in our rivers and soar in our skies. In his life, he’s the center of the universe. Everything he does is for his own joy and convenience, with no regard for the other beings that roam this planet alongside him. He’s a knowledgeable man with infinite resources at his disposal. Do you expect the people to believe that Duke just doesn’t know that mile for mile, flying is the most damaging way to travel for the climate? Does he not know we’re in the middle of a global extinction crisis resulting from the mass dumping of greenhouse gasses into our atmosphere?

Of course he knows! He just doesn’t care!

Thaddeus needs to fly his own private jet! You can’t just expect him to use public transportation to get where he needs to go! He’s more important than you and I! You can’t just expect him to hop aboard a train, a bus, or take his personal vehicle: his time is more valuable than the lives of the doves, eagles, and hawks he’s suffocating with his emissions. Each and every bird that drops from the sky, well, that’s just a necessary sacrifice that needed to be made for Thaddeus to reach his destination just a little bit quicker.

Maybe the Ares Project is right to seek Thaddeus’s execution. To coldly horde your wealth while our planet dies and children starve is a crime of the highest order. The kind of crime that our system can’t do without. The kind of crime that we’ve been brainwashed to accept, to strive for, to adore. Thaddeus Duke is the perfect symbol for the capitalism of the 21st century. The young diverse upstart who just can’t be defeated. His hard work has made his fantasies a reality. He is the living proof of the American dream, is he not?

Thaddeus is the perfect citizen. He works hard, keeps his head down, and doesn’t question the ways of the world. He doesn’t ask why so many have to go without. He knows why. They have to go without so that he can have it all. The American Dream is fueled by the nightmares of the disposable.

But at the end of the day we’re all disposable to Thaddeus Duke, aren’t we? Even his own teammates are nothing more than interchangeable parts to him. Yeah yeah, he’s only going to make love with Corey, not the Doctor. But isn’t that just because Corey is younger? More cut? A better pillow biter? At the end of the day, both Corey and Doc are just pawns for Thaddeus to move across the chessboard. Just side characters in the Duke saga.

Can’t you hear the music, Corey? Can’t you see what’s staring in your eyes while you lay in bed at night? Can’t you feel the snake slithering beneath the sheets with you?

You’re just a hole for him to fuck. You’re just another working stiff, like the rest of us. Don’t think you’re special to him just because he calls you his baby when you’re going down on him. But Corey, what if you know all this to be true? You’re a bright kid. You’ve had more life experiences than some of the nearly retired midcarders around here. You’re not some naive castaway that Thaddeus found walking out on the side of the road late at night. You know a thing or two about a thing or two.

Well, Corey, if you know what you’re getting into….you’re just as culpable for Thaddeus Duke’s reckless disregard as he is. And you will be judged alongside him as one in the same.

Why would you do it, Corey? Why would you align yourself with a man whose wealth has blinded him to the suffering of so many? What would be in it for you?

I don’t believe you’re a man with money on the mind. You don’t wish to struggle like the common filth, of course, but money isn’t your main drive. Unlike Duke, money isn’t the end-all-be-all of your ontology and relationship to others. You’re here on earth for the glory, aren’t you?

It’s a shame you’ve never been able to find it on your own. Your name only appears once in the title history of the XWF….next to a title you never earned. If you weren’t attached to Duke at the hip, your name might never appear in the XWF halls of history. Lux? Sure, they won championships. The Engineer? They too excelled in this business. But Corey Smith? Well, that’s just not the same story, is it?

Corey Smith is no engineer. Core Smith is no Lux. The Engineer was a badass who didn’t take no shit from anybody. Lux was a dangerous professional no one would want to see inside that ring. But Corey Smith? He’s just a sassy twink. That’s it. His whole persona, gimmick, modus operandi distilled into one cliche.

Jim Jimson has held eight championship belts in this federation. Corey Smith can’t say the same. Corey Smith is proof of the Hegelian absolute: of the difference between the abstract and the concrete. He demonstrates the tension between FORM and CONTENT. The body of Corey Smith is the FORM that many great wrestling legends have taken. But the CONTENT of Corey Smith? Well, that’s worth a win over Savannah Knightley and one third of an illegitimate belt.

But enough about the main character’s love interest. Corey, I don’t mean to shaft you: your bussy is the property of that rotten capitalist, after all. But you’re not why I’m here. You’re not who the people have sent the Demos to judge. You have a chance to flee. To break it off with your Sugar Daddy Thaddy. I don’t want to bring unto you the wrath of the people. You haven’t earned it in the way that Duke has. You don’t deserve the Romanov fate. You’re just a servant boy, doing what you can to make a name for yourself in this industry. I had hoped to spare you this fate, have the justice system spare you from the bloody realities of what this championship match will be. But the courts may just work too slowly.

I give you this once chance, Corey. Hop aboard a midnight train going anywhere, and never look back. You haven’t lost your right to life, not yet.

Thaddeus Duke.

The judgement of the Demos is upon you.

You have committed grave crimes against the people. You have broken bread with the murderers of a million of our Vietnamese siblings. You have polluted our skies. You have caused the loss of innumerable avian souls. You have hoarded your grain while children went hungry in our streets.
Will you atone for your crimes?

Do not cry, Thaddeus Duke, for the Demos is just.

The Demos will give you a chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of the disposable.

Show us why you deserve to live, Thaddeus Duke.

The Demos is waiting.

[Image: lucia-pinto-0.jpg?1537802560]

“If you don’t kill him, he WILL kill you. He’s a cruel and malicious devil of the foulest order.”

“I’LL BEAT OSAWLD TO THE FUCKING PUNCH!”

Demos lifts the desert eagle and presses the cold steel against what used to be his right ear. His right index finger slips onto the trigger. The dark bags underneath the man’s eyes run deep. Stress and anger runs through the visible creases on the man’s forehead. His dirty leather mask is drenched in precipitate.

“Cease this nonsense, you shriveling yelp!”

Ramesses swats the desert eagle out of Demos’ grasp. The loaded firearm falls harmlessly to the stained carpet on Charlie’s bedroom floor. Demos rose to his feet in a fury. His gaze fixated on the giant like figure before him. Ramesses’ black trench coat shimmered in the light. The apparition stared Demos down before pointing back to the perfectly made bed.

“Sit.”

Ramesses treated Demos like a dog. A dog with a job, a mission, a necessary function; but nonetheless a dog.

“I did not save Charlie Nickles from the forest fae only for you to put a bullet through his brain!”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t ask to be like this! WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME?!”

Ramesses cracked a smile as his pointed hand returned to its resting position aside his waist.

“Inside every man there are two wolves....”

“FUCK YOU!”

A right fist swung right through the apparition’s mohawked head. Ramesses narrowed his eyes at the insubordination.

“SILENCE!”

Ramesses’s hand shot out towards the man’s face. The apparition’s claws firmly grabbed the man’s mask and hair. Ramesses forced the large man back onto the bed with ease. As soon as the man was subdued, Ramesses exclaimed his commands. As the apparition spoke a few strands of blue anima were expelled from his claws.

“sunjonghala! dangsin-eun salamdeul-i dangsin-ui sin-in geoscheoleom seomgil geos-ibnida. mumohan gaeinjuuileul meomchul geos-ibnida!”

The ghastly strands slithered like snakes in the air before burrowing into the exposed facial orifices of the man. The man on the bed struggled for a few seconds before the strands of anima disappeared from view. Then, he relaxed. Ramesses dissipated for a moment before quickly appearing in a seated position alongside Demos.

Ramesses waited a few moments for the enchantment to take hold. Sure enough, Demos soon rose to a seated position atop the bed. The two looked at each other as Ramesses spoke softly but authoritatively to Demos, like a teacher would to a pupil.

“I know life must be hard for you now, confusing even. Your entire world has been torn asunder. But do not worry, my progeny. You have been embraced into a higher purpose. Given a new life, a new arc of redemption. The devils in the brotherhood will be put to rest by your hand. Oswald’s library of souls will be freed….if you can hold it together. Your mind is at war with itself, I know. Of course I know.

I saved you from Charlie Nickles. From the content of your soul. You see, Demos, every soul is a living vessel. Then, as the years roll by and the experiences trickle in, that soul is filled with the content of the world. The content of the decisions that have been made, of the life that has been lived.

The content of your soul was wretched.

I have done my best to purify your vessel, and to allow a new seed to be planted within the dying carcass of the old.

It is up to you to water this seed and let it grow to it’s true potential. Each decision you make will determine what roots take hold. Who you become will only be determined by who you are, in this present. Act with virtue and watch yourself become a beacon of humanity. Act unjustly and watch the man that once was become the man of tomorrow.

I’m sure you can still feel his rage. I’m sure it pounds inside of your heart like a bloody drum. Harness it. Use Charlie’s anger as your soil, your fuel. Use the lingering fury of the man who once inhabited this body to bring hellfire and brimstone to the devils of the world! Dethrone Oswald, and all of his cronies!”

“Yes….yes…..I will kill him for you. For all of us.”

Demos plays with the desert eagle, aiming it around the room as he stares down the steel crosshair. Ramesses cracks a smile.

“Good, good.”

Ramesses nods at Demos. Demos tucks the loaded desert eagle underneath his mattress before turning back to face his ghostly visitor.

“But what of the mask? Why must I wear it?”

“The mask is an a-”

Suddenly Jim drops down from the ceiling. Both Ramesses and Demos immediately turn their heads. A clear look of annoyance flashes across the apparition’s face.

“I will explain more to you in time, Demos. I see you have scrunches nose company. Go on, play with your friend Jim Jimson. When you are ready to delve into the occult with the seriousness it deserves I will visit you again.”

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