MD 93: Drake Callahan vs. David Whitman

[Richard Blonoff]

Drake Callahan made a bold statement after his match with Sandy Desserts on Ascension. He singled out a person, or persons, as a form of cancer in the company. He said that he would put a stop to it before it got any worse. Meanwhile, David Whitman shared the sorrow of his stablemates as TSA stumbled out of a huge War Games victory and an overall successful Kingdom Come V weekend. He will have to do his part so that his stable can regain what they lost so quickly. Callahan and Whitman, two men with very different goals, but are their paths more connected than we think?

Deadline is Wednesday, September 4th, 11:59 PM Central Time. Extensions via request.​

 

[Slice]

-Prologue-

*fzzzzsht*

"Yeah I think you're clear again- ok yes we can hear you. Go ahead, you were saying..."

"Someone I know... Knew... Once told me... 'I love it when people look at my writing and say it's too complicated, too heavy. Good. I'm not writing for those people.' That's kind of how I feel about promos. I'm just here to wrestle."

"But don't you think there's a chance the fans won't like you? I mean, aside from how you're supposed to be perceived, what if people start thinking you really don't want to be there? That you actually, truly don't care that they're there to see you?"

"If the fans don't like me because of what I don't say, I can't control that. And to be perfectly honest, at this juncture I doubt that matters much. Used to be the fans drove me, gave me strength. But now? They've given me absolutely nothing. I owe everything to Grand Mystique. "

click.​

People like Callahan, who have spent years with this company, growing with it, learning with it, and in turn becoming it, not just partially but from within its very core; these people will buckle before you. They will crumble and fall and you will step on their remains as you attain your true design. And if they, representing WZCW's core, buckle before you...

Yes.

You... You are not here for some selfish, personal goal. Take Drake Callahan, for example. A fool lusting after gold. In the ring, he moves selfishly; a mule chasing the carrot of victory, eyes fixated on the mouth of lowly hired official, salivating at the one two three, the call for the hollow bell. For a ...person... like that, victory means all. Glory. A way to prove to himself that maybe his beliefs are correct, maybe he's doing the right thing, maybe, maybe...


Stop. Stop fighting- I can understand you trying to disagree. Your biggest fault is that all you see in people is the good. Even if the bad overwhelms that. Once you overcome this weakness, the careless Callahans of the wrestling world will know their place. They will see you for what you truly are.

They will see you as...​

---

When David woke up, he still remembered some of the words, bits of the sentences. But what he remembered the most was the voice that spoke them, and the fact that it was not the Grand Mystique's.

"W-"

"Rest."

The room felt different. It was the same as when he had first entered; clean, serene and empty. Aside from the chairs, one of which Grand Mystique was sitting on, and the table on which David was lying, the space screamed vacancy and whispered iniquity; this was no change.

The difference must have been in the vibe it gave off. The feeling that almost confirmed David's suspicions that...

David: "Someone else was here."

Mystique calmly waited for David to finish.

Shaken, David closed his eyes again, trying to make sense of the situation.

David: "Who was here? ...I'm sure that wasn't you. You were talking as I... As everything became fuzzy. You were talking, then everything went black. Then, I could hear a voice, and it wasn't yours. But... Who was it?"

Still somewhat disoriented, David grew quiet. Lately, Mystique had become less forthcoming, almost forcing David to come up with his own answers. The previously empty room that now felt the presence of more souls than were in it contrasted sharply with David's past overly full mind and current precise, methodical, and singular thought patterns. Even in this state of confusion, he clung to his goal. He let the silence speak, somewhat certain that Mystique would follow.

GM: "You're right. That wasn't me. That voice you heard... Well, all I can say is he will be joining us, in a manner of speaking."

David: "New recruit...?"

GM: "In a way. But his presence... His role is more of a guiding one."

For a second, the Grand Mystique's voice seemed to waver, something that never happened. This caught David off-guard. He sat up and stared at the leader.

GM: "I have been leading you on a path that at some point you were supposed to continue walking alone. We've reached that point... I can no longer guide you. I have... More pressing matters to focus on. But you are still not fully ready to fulfill your destiny."

David: "..."

GM: "This person will help you. At first, it may not seem so. But in the end you will understand his ways, and his goals. He will be instrumental in your recovery, your transformation, and, ultimately, the Altar's reaching of the pinnacle."

David pushed himself off the oval wooden table, and looked back at where he was lying.

The outline of his body almost seemed to be dented into the wood, but this would be impossible. Without looking back at Mystique, he asked, not really expecting an answer...

David: "You're not gonna tell me who it is, are you? And what our... Pinnacle... actually is?"

Finally looking at his leader, David noticed the chairs were placed in an odd pattern. It was just his imagination, probably.

Mystique seemingly ignored him.

GM: "I need to know... are you planning on staying?"

David walked over to the Sacrificial Altar's driving force, and sat on one of the chairs behind him. He was now watching Mystique's back, literally.

David: "We were just in Phoenix. We were less than half an hour away from where I grew up, and maybe fifteen minutes away from a meeting that would have probably brought my entire family back together. I could have made James very happy, and thanked him for sticking with me and all my troubles throughout the years, all simply by fixing things with her. All I had to do was meet Tiff, and talk. Waste less than ten minutes of my life."

The Grand Mystique seemed to be fixated on the table David was on mere minutes ago. David was not, and continued.

David: "I threw all that away, because I know how much I owe you, and I know that if you hadn't pulled me back I might not be here right now."

David looked at the empty chair next to him as he kept talking.

David: "So yes, to answer your roundabout answer to my question, I am going to shut up and trust you, because my doubts haven't amounted to anything but unfounded suspicions."

Mystique simply nodded as he slowly got up. David sighed and did the same.

David: "Well, as always, it seems you've got the long term covered. What about the short term?"

Without a second of hesitation, Mystique answered confidently, having seemingly foreseen the question.

GM: "Callahan."

David nodded.

David: "Callahan. He believes we're a cancer to this company."

Mystique began walking to the battered old door.

GM: "Callahan is a shortsighted man. And you want to know the thing about shortsightedness?"

Grand Mystique stopped in front of the door, emphasizing his point.

GM: "It leads to unnecessary mistakes. Like confusing cancer with death. Cancer is something you can fight, even defeat. But death, David?"

He finally pushed the door open, letting the soft, uninviting glow of the evening light in.

"Death is everything."

 

[Harthan]

The same old place, the same old time. No matter how much I tried to break free of the usual power structure of WZCW, they always did find a way to get you in front of a microphone with a pretty girl or a well dressed man next you. Maybe it was the contractual obligation - that was Stoya's argument, anyway. I was beginning to feel differently. The more and more I looked at it, the more I realized exactly how the powers that be were manipulating everything. It started with a little bit of what you want, and they turned it into everything they wanted. That was how this worked. We all wanted to be in front of the camera. We all wanted to be heard around the world. But what they wanted was for us to trash each other, spit on each other, insult each other until we were like rabid dogs, ready to lash at each others' throats. And to build a horde of willing viewers ready to shill out for the ticket, the popcorn, and the souvenir cup when the time came.

I stood next to Becky Serra, holding a microphone in my face, babbling something about the WZCW app. I tuned back in after hearing my name.

"Drake," she was saying. "You announced to the WZCW Universe that there was someone - or something - you were...watching. Who - or what - is that?"

"Becky..." I started. How much to say now? How much could I even say now? "I've finally, finally begun to see the connections that I was only glimpsing when Ty Burna returned to this company. You see, back then, I thought it was Ty poisoning WZCW. Only now do I realize it worked the other way; WZCW poisoned Ty and built him into the epitome of what they want. They want a bloodthirsty monster with no morals. But what they didn't count on was him being smarter than all of them; they created a monster so perfect it nearly destroyed them. You think it's a coincidence that as soon as he revealed himself, he was out of this company, flat on his back? Wake up, Becky. I'll tell you who I'm watching. I'm watching Big Dave. I'm watching Chuck Myles. I'm watching Vance Bateman. I'm watching the triumvirate pull the strings, and I'm watching their puppets, too. There's an old saying - once burned, twice shy. I thought maybe, maybe, that after realizing what they'd done with Ty Burna they'd back away, they'd stop trying to shape events to build more and more monsters. But I was wrong. I see it now, and I see who they're guiding. Subtly - so subtly, the puppet doesn't even know that strings are being pulled. Trust me, I didn't either. I didn't know there were strings until I ripped them out of my back."

I wasn't making a lot of sense, I knew it. How could I? There was nothing to make sense of in this...chaos. I almost laughed out loud as the word came to my mind. Ty Burna thrived off of chaos; of course he did. It was the controlled chaos that had been created here that made him who he was. No wonder he had tried to drown WZCW in a deeper sea of it.

"Who is the puppet, Drake?"

"Who's the puppet, Becky? Look around. Open up your eyes. All of you, if you would just open your eyes once in a while, you'd have seen it ages ago. It's the people feeding off weakness. It's the people who incite rage, and anger, and hate. The souls who are already lost and are doing everything they can to drag the rest of this company down with them. It was so unbelievably subtle, how they got here; but that's how this game works. You don't just throw dogs into the pit. You condition them, slowly, you teach them, you guide them. Same with the rest of us. A push here, a nudge here, at the right time, at the right place, you start thinking a certain way. And a couple like minded individuals get together, and there's the spark that starts the wildfire. Look around. They shine like a beacon. The successors to Ty Burna. Ty Burna's legacy, even."

Becky was shaking her head. "I don't understand. Are you saying the Apostles of Chaos are back?"

"The people you thought were the Apostles of Chaos were just a few lost souls dragged along by Ty Burna and given titles. No, Becky. The Apostles of Chaos aren't back. The Apostles of Chaos have been born for the first time, and they walk among us. No one can see them yet; no one wants to see them yet. But I see them. I know them. And I'm watching."

-----


"You really believe this?"

I looked sideways at Stoya as she drove.

"Are we really going down this road again?" I asked. Strangely, I felt little when she questioned me. Did I care that she believed me? I wasn't sure. It felt...wrong. Wrong that she didn't believe me, or wrong that I didn't care?

"That's not what I meant," she said. "Sorry. I mean...I just mean, I don't see how the puzzle pieces fit together, you know?"

"I know. I understand. It's not as obvious as it was with Ty."

She snorted. It could have been a laugh. It could have been a sneeze. I did my best to ignore it.

"Excuse me," she said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "You haven't really explained it in order to me."


"I don't mean to insinuate that they're being led by Ty, or ever were. My point is that Ty's leaving left a void, and they're his natural claimants. And if someone doesn't do something, they're going to rip this company apart as sure as he nearly did. I mean, literally, they walked into the company - the new church, they called themselves - and started immediately doing the same work. Look at what they've left behind them. A man with a broken neck, and for what? Tag team championships? They drove Derek Jacobs out of this company and into a depression so deep he could barely stand a month back in the ring. They're doing just what Ty did; breaking people, hurting people, chasing people off. How long is it until they realize they can exploit the same loopholes he did? How long until they find their way into some money, and some power, and try to burn this place down?"

"I can't imagine Dave and the rest of them will let that happen again," Stoya said, shaking her head.

"So suppose they don't. What's worse than Ty Burna, rabid and doing whatever he wants? Ty Burna on a leash, doing the bidding of three people trying to sell a bloodsport. A nuclear bomb in anyone's hands is still a nuclear bomb. I - "

I was cut off by her phone buzzing. She glanced at it. "A text," she said. "Can you check it?"

I grabbed her phone and slid off the security lock. The message was from WZCW. I read it aloud. "Drake has Whitman, like you asked."

She sighed, as if relieved. "Good. I wasn't sure I pushed the right buttons in that meeting, but...well, I guess it worked. Powers Talent Agency still means something, I guess."

I raised my eyebrow at her comment before I saw the next message in her phone. From Max Powers. It read:

We need to talk re: Drake ASAP

I almost said something before she cut me off and I pushed that message to the back of my mind.

"So what's your plan?"

I took a minute, my brain still caught between Max's text and Whitman. I settled on Whitman for now. Easier.

"My plan is to hope that I bought some time with what I told Becky. You know I've been trying to put everyone on edge and get the message out, trying to make people wonder. It's harder than I thought it would be to straddle the line between that and outright revealing who I'm talking about here. I can only hope that they're not watching too closely...that I can make a strike here before it begins in earnest. Whitman is the newest, but he's hardly the least of them. Honestly? I might be more scared of him than anyone. They all remind me of Ty, in some ways...Mystique with the theatrics, Westhoff with the self-worship...D.C., so slick and cool, just like he used to be...but in a lot of ways, all of that was a smokescreen for Ty. Deep down, Ty was simple. Deep down, Ty wanted to hurt someone. Deep down, Ty just didn't...feel like normal men do. That's what Whitman has inside of him. He's not right inside. That's more Ty Burna than anything else."

I sighed and leaned back in the seat, looking out the window at the rainy city passing us by.

"But I'm doing this. I'm doing this because no one else is. I fought Ty once, as hard as I could. I just wish that I knew then who I was really fighting. Maybe we wouldn't be here now if I had. But it starts with Whitman."

"And where does it end?" she asked.

"It ends with someone losing. One way or another. Someone loses."