Betrayal of the Beast [VIDEO PACKAGE FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE]
Jan 20, 2021 19:59:44 GMT -5
mystifyingoracle likes this
Post by Lab Rat King on Jan 20, 2021 19:59:44 GMT -5
“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”
William Blake
The room is dark, but for the vermillion glow of blood-red candles set on the coffee table; they illuminate a lone figure, sitting on the sofa. Hunched over, gargoyle-like and massive, is the Lab Rat King. He wears his full ring gear. Boots, pads, trunks, even his muzzle, all gleam red and black in the low light. His waist is bare--noticeably missing something--leaving his frighteningly angular and bruised musculature open to the eye.
Something else is missing, too. There’s no animalistic hunger in his eyes. No unbridled bloodlust. Those amber eyes, complemented by the flickering flame, are steady. Intelligent.
Angry.
“Hey.”
The voice that comes from him isn’t the usual growling, snarling, ranting and raving madman. It’s low and husky, yes, but marked with consideration not yet displayed before the Legion. He curls his fingers against his kneepads, the rest of his body only moving subtly with the swell of his breath.
“Maybe you’re surprised to see me like this. Hell, so am I. It hasn’t been a walk in the park, gathering up the pieces of myself, pulling them back together… slowly but surely, the Mutant Monster remembers he was once a man. They say a new year is always a time of revelations. This year, I rediscovered my better half, my family... and started to understand where I’ve come from and why I’m here. Why the ring sings to me. Why I followed the call of violence like a siren from the hell pit that held me, into the cage where I make myself King.”
One can hear the smirk in his voice, even under the muzzle.
“Don’t worry your pretty little skulls,” he growls, a low chuckle in his voice. Something of that predatory snarl is back. “The Lab Rat King is sssstill here. Just a little more whole. Just a little more hungry.”
He sighs, letting the tone fade as he cocks his head, cracking his neck this way and that.
“Still your Ultraviolent Champion… like it or not.”
His eyes take on a sudden focus, glaring into the lens as though intending to burn through it.
“See… something was taken from me. Taken, as so many things have been. My previous life. My memories. My body and mind. All taken by force, by bestial bastards wearing the skins of men. My enemies… my tormentors, as I’m sure you’ve heard my wilder side say. I’ve fought tooth and nail and blood and sinew to take it all back--everything that was mine. I never stopped or slowed down… and now I’ve grasped it, dug my claws into it, and I’m dragging it home. All of it. Now, something new has been taken. Something I earned. Something I won, because I was willing to tear down anyone, give up everything to get my hands on it. But there’s a big difference this time.”
King touches his bare waist, his shoulders curling as a subtle tremor of rage runs through him.
“This time it wasn’t taken by my enemies. This time it was taken by a friend.”
He spits out the last word as though the taste of acid on his tongue is revolting to him.
“Mitch Heart, you disgust me. You sour, selfish sack of shit.”
The Lab Rat King lifts his chin, pulling his muzzle down around his neck to reveal a snarl through stained teeth.
“I used to trust you. When I first came here, you were the one who understood me; you were the one who spoke to my wild side, deciphered my intent as I struggled to speak the words in my head. You were willing to communicate with me in a way that no one else could. You cared for me when I was suffering. You filled an empty place in my heart; while I was lost, you became my brother. Every day I wished I could speak to you just like this--using my own words, not the broken poetry of a madman who knew nothing but trading blows and the kick of adrenaline brought on by the will to survive. I felt that kinship with you. We had the same blood pounding in our ears. The same drive to live. I promised myself that when I was better--if I ever got better--I would return the favour. Whatever you needed, I would find a way to provide it. No lifetime would be long enough for me to ever pay you back in full, but I would try. And we would keep fighting, chasing the joy and exhilaration it brought both of us. We had something special that no one else could parallel.
“But something changed after Ultimate Carnage.”
King squinted, licking his cracked lower lip.
“Something changed after I won the belt. After my risk paid off, and I finally found a link back to my past. My blood brother left, and I didn’t find out until later that he was in the hospital… refusing visitors. For days I didn’t know how you were. For days I heard nothing. For days I was afraid that my monstrous other had gone too far, but I respected your wishes. I wanted nothing more than to talk to you--finally. To really talk to you. To share not just the melody of violence, but to add the harmony of humanity. To introduce you to my wife and my daughter… to let them meet the man who I felt indebted to. But the Mitch Heart who I spoke to that night… he wasn’t my brother anymore.”
The mutant inhaled sharply, as though recalling a wound.
“You looked at me like I was a stranger… like you couldn’t wait to get away from me. You spoke to me as though I had… wronged you, somehow. That trust I thought was forged from steel turned out to be as fragile as glass. And after you left, after you went back to Detroit, I realized what the truth was.”
His eyes hold the lens, barely blinking. The candlelight dances in the amber.
“You never cared about me. You never saw me as a whole person. You only cared about him.”
Kane… snarls.
“You kept me around because I was a mindless machine; a beast you could trade blows with, that you could pummel and hurt without feeling guilty. I was wrong--the smile on your face wasn’t joy, it wasn’t kinship. It was sadism. I was your favourite punching bag; whenever things were going wrong for you, you could bruise me and beat me and get the same damage back and feel better. The second you realized that I wasn’t just an animal--that the monster carried a man inside--then you faltered. Everything changed. The illusion broke.
“You couldn’t bear the fact that, just like you, I had hopes and aspirations, pain and struggle, resolve and willpower. Like you, I had a family I was trying to take care of. Like you, I had reasons for wanting that belt beyond power and glory. You couldn’t feel that singular rage over losing the match because you hadn’t lost to a monster; you lost to a human being.”
Kane pauses, reaching for a glass of water. He takes a long drink, letting the thought breathe for a moment, setting the glass down next to one of the candles. The light flickers across the curved surface, casting bolts of gold through the contents.
“And here’s one of your biggest fucking problems, Mitch. It’s something I told you in front of your kid sister, because I respected her maturity. You’re so absorbed in your own misery--in your own suffering--that you assume everyone around you is better off. Not only that, when you’re told directly the reality of someone’s situation--that maybe they’re not fine, actually--it offends you. You’re offended that anyone could be struggling as much as you are. You take it as a challenge; as though that person is trying to belittle your pain. Trying to one-up you.
“But here’s the thing--life is fucking hard, and it hurts, and we all take losses and falls. No one’s pain is more important than anyone else’s--it’s just different. But you’ve built your entire identity, your entire life around your suffering. You refuse help and push people away because it literally threatens who you are--if you weren’t in pain, who would you even be? In fact, you’ll deliberately sabotage yourself so you can keep up this ‘loner’ bullshit, even with a circle of friends and colleagues offering their hands and their hearts. You’ll reject your brother when he opens his door to you; tries to welcome you into his family.”
Kane snorts, taking another drink of water.
“And then you’ll steal his fucking belt.”
The mutant draws in a breath, leaning toward the lens. The candles cast deep shadows across his face, highlighting the scars on his mouth and jaw.
“I told you what condition my body was in… I told you about the challenges ahead of me, that night, before you got on your fucking bike and drove back to Detroit. After I introduced you to my wife and my baby, because I trusted you… and then I heard nothing. Nothing, for weeks--not a text, not a message, not a call. And when you finally came back… you hit me over the back of the head with a steel chair, in the dark, and stole my personal property. You miserable little clicking insect.”
The word is struck harshly, with a hint of his monstrous side underneath it.
“I’m a monster, Mitch. I always have been, and I always will be; I live and breathe the violence of the ring. I love crushing the would-be hunters who come for me, who think themselves bold enough to hold my jaws open. I thought I’d found kin in you… I thought you were on my level, that you could match me. I told you as much, in person. But it turns out you’re not even close.”
The beast grins, though the humour doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re not a monster. You’re not even a man, Mitch. You’re a boy.”
He hisses, leaning forward further. His face is cast into shadow.
“You’re a boy, throwing a temper tantrum because you didn’t win the prize you wanted. You’re a boy, seeking validation from daddy at the age of thirty-five. You’re a boy, stealing what he hasn’t earned because he’s too impatient to fight honourably for it when the time comes. You’re no Heart-Pounder. You’re so small, Mitch Heart. You’re so small and pathetic… and I love crushing the bones of small, pathetic things. But even a wolf needs to worry about fleas.”
His voice takes on a growl.
“I trusted you… and you betrayed me. You took what was mine; what else would you take, if I let you stay close? Would you tell the hunting dogs where I am? Offer them my scent and set them after me? If it meant that my place would vacate and improve your chances, maybe you would… who knows. So I’m warning you now, you biting little flea. You liar. You thief. You stay the hell away from my wife. You stay the hell away from my daughter. Because you know full well what happens to me when I feel threatened. And the Big Guy?”
His teeth gleam in the candlelight in a carnivorous grin.
“He’s not your friend anymore.”
The room is dark, but for the vermillion glow of blood-red candles set on the coffee table; they illuminate a lone figure, sitting on the sofa. Hunched over, gargoyle-like and massive, is the Lab Rat King. He wears his full ring gear. Boots, pads, trunks, even his muzzle, all gleam red and black in the low light. His waist is bare--noticeably missing something--leaving his frighteningly angular and bruised musculature open to the eye.
Something else is missing, too. There’s no animalistic hunger in his eyes. No unbridled bloodlust. Those amber eyes, complemented by the flickering flame, are steady. Intelligent.
Angry.
“Hey.”
The voice that comes from him isn’t the usual growling, snarling, ranting and raving madman. It’s low and husky, yes, but marked with consideration not yet displayed before the Legion. He curls his fingers against his kneepads, the rest of his body only moving subtly with the swell of his breath.
“Maybe you’re surprised to see me like this. Hell, so am I. It hasn’t been a walk in the park, gathering up the pieces of myself, pulling them back together… slowly but surely, the Mutant Monster remembers he was once a man. They say a new year is always a time of revelations. This year, I rediscovered my better half, my family... and started to understand where I’ve come from and why I’m here. Why the ring sings to me. Why I followed the call of violence like a siren from the hell pit that held me, into the cage where I make myself King.”
One can hear the smirk in his voice, even under the muzzle.
“Don’t worry your pretty little skulls,” he growls, a low chuckle in his voice. Something of that predatory snarl is back. “The Lab Rat King is sssstill here. Just a little more whole. Just a little more hungry.”
He sighs, letting the tone fade as he cocks his head, cracking his neck this way and that.
“Still your Ultraviolent Champion… like it or not.”
His eyes take on a sudden focus, glaring into the lens as though intending to burn through it.
“See… something was taken from me. Taken, as so many things have been. My previous life. My memories. My body and mind. All taken by force, by bestial bastards wearing the skins of men. My enemies… my tormentors, as I’m sure you’ve heard my wilder side say. I’ve fought tooth and nail and blood and sinew to take it all back--everything that was mine. I never stopped or slowed down… and now I’ve grasped it, dug my claws into it, and I’m dragging it home. All of it. Now, something new has been taken. Something I earned. Something I won, because I was willing to tear down anyone, give up everything to get my hands on it. But there’s a big difference this time.”
King touches his bare waist, his shoulders curling as a subtle tremor of rage runs through him.
“This time it wasn’t taken by my enemies. This time it was taken by a friend.”
He spits out the last word as though the taste of acid on his tongue is revolting to him.
“Mitch Heart, you disgust me. You sour, selfish sack of shit.”
The Lab Rat King lifts his chin, pulling his muzzle down around his neck to reveal a snarl through stained teeth.
“I used to trust you. When I first came here, you were the one who understood me; you were the one who spoke to my wild side, deciphered my intent as I struggled to speak the words in my head. You were willing to communicate with me in a way that no one else could. You cared for me when I was suffering. You filled an empty place in my heart; while I was lost, you became my brother. Every day I wished I could speak to you just like this--using my own words, not the broken poetry of a madman who knew nothing but trading blows and the kick of adrenaline brought on by the will to survive. I felt that kinship with you. We had the same blood pounding in our ears. The same drive to live. I promised myself that when I was better--if I ever got better--I would return the favour. Whatever you needed, I would find a way to provide it. No lifetime would be long enough for me to ever pay you back in full, but I would try. And we would keep fighting, chasing the joy and exhilaration it brought both of us. We had something special that no one else could parallel.
“But something changed after Ultimate Carnage.”
King squinted, licking his cracked lower lip.
“Something changed after I won the belt. After my risk paid off, and I finally found a link back to my past. My blood brother left, and I didn’t find out until later that he was in the hospital… refusing visitors. For days I didn’t know how you were. For days I heard nothing. For days I was afraid that my monstrous other had gone too far, but I respected your wishes. I wanted nothing more than to talk to you--finally. To really talk to you. To share not just the melody of violence, but to add the harmony of humanity. To introduce you to my wife and my daughter… to let them meet the man who I felt indebted to. But the Mitch Heart who I spoke to that night… he wasn’t my brother anymore.”
The mutant inhaled sharply, as though recalling a wound.
“You looked at me like I was a stranger… like you couldn’t wait to get away from me. You spoke to me as though I had… wronged you, somehow. That trust I thought was forged from steel turned out to be as fragile as glass. And after you left, after you went back to Detroit, I realized what the truth was.”
His eyes hold the lens, barely blinking. The candlelight dances in the amber.
“You never cared about me. You never saw me as a whole person. You only cared about him.”
Kane… snarls.
“You kept me around because I was a mindless machine; a beast you could trade blows with, that you could pummel and hurt without feeling guilty. I was wrong--the smile on your face wasn’t joy, it wasn’t kinship. It was sadism. I was your favourite punching bag; whenever things were going wrong for you, you could bruise me and beat me and get the same damage back and feel better. The second you realized that I wasn’t just an animal--that the monster carried a man inside--then you faltered. Everything changed. The illusion broke.
“You couldn’t bear the fact that, just like you, I had hopes and aspirations, pain and struggle, resolve and willpower. Like you, I had a family I was trying to take care of. Like you, I had reasons for wanting that belt beyond power and glory. You couldn’t feel that singular rage over losing the match because you hadn’t lost to a monster; you lost to a human being.”
Kane pauses, reaching for a glass of water. He takes a long drink, letting the thought breathe for a moment, setting the glass down next to one of the candles. The light flickers across the curved surface, casting bolts of gold through the contents.
“And here’s one of your biggest fucking problems, Mitch. It’s something I told you in front of your kid sister, because I respected her maturity. You’re so absorbed in your own misery--in your own suffering--that you assume everyone around you is better off. Not only that, when you’re told directly the reality of someone’s situation--that maybe they’re not fine, actually--it offends you. You’re offended that anyone could be struggling as much as you are. You take it as a challenge; as though that person is trying to belittle your pain. Trying to one-up you.
“But here’s the thing--life is fucking hard, and it hurts, and we all take losses and falls. No one’s pain is more important than anyone else’s--it’s just different. But you’ve built your entire identity, your entire life around your suffering. You refuse help and push people away because it literally threatens who you are--if you weren’t in pain, who would you even be? In fact, you’ll deliberately sabotage yourself so you can keep up this ‘loner’ bullshit, even with a circle of friends and colleagues offering their hands and their hearts. You’ll reject your brother when he opens his door to you; tries to welcome you into his family.”
Kane snorts, taking another drink of water.
“And then you’ll steal his fucking belt.”
The mutant draws in a breath, leaning toward the lens. The candles cast deep shadows across his face, highlighting the scars on his mouth and jaw.
“I told you what condition my body was in… I told you about the challenges ahead of me, that night, before you got on your fucking bike and drove back to Detroit. After I introduced you to my wife and my baby, because I trusted you… and then I heard nothing. Nothing, for weeks--not a text, not a message, not a call. And when you finally came back… you hit me over the back of the head with a steel chair, in the dark, and stole my personal property. You miserable little clicking insect.”
The word is struck harshly, with a hint of his monstrous side underneath it.
“I’m a monster, Mitch. I always have been, and I always will be; I live and breathe the violence of the ring. I love crushing the would-be hunters who come for me, who think themselves bold enough to hold my jaws open. I thought I’d found kin in you… I thought you were on my level, that you could match me. I told you as much, in person. But it turns out you’re not even close.”
The beast grins, though the humour doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re not a monster. You’re not even a man, Mitch. You’re a boy.”
He hisses, leaning forward further. His face is cast into shadow.
“You’re a boy, throwing a temper tantrum because you didn’t win the prize you wanted. You’re a boy, seeking validation from daddy at the age of thirty-five. You’re a boy, stealing what he hasn’t earned because he’s too impatient to fight honourably for it when the time comes. You’re no Heart-Pounder. You’re so small, Mitch Heart. You’re so small and pathetic… and I love crushing the bones of small, pathetic things. But even a wolf needs to worry about fleas.”
His voice takes on a growl.
“I trusted you… and you betrayed me. You took what was mine; what else would you take, if I let you stay close? Would you tell the hunting dogs where I am? Offer them my scent and set them after me? If it meant that my place would vacate and improve your chances, maybe you would… who knows. So I’m warning you now, you biting little flea. You liar. You thief. You stay the hell away from my wife. You stay the hell away from my daughter. Because you know full well what happens to me when I feel threatened. And the Big Guy?”
His teeth gleam in the candlelight in a carnivorous grin.
“He’s not your friend anymore.”