Post by Cartier on Jan 18, 2021 23:37:50 GMT -5
An animalistic growl like an eight cylinder engine idling is the only sound in the darkness.
“Shush, Ammut… you gonna get your dinner soon.”
The light comes on in a flash, blinding and sudden. You blink from the exposure, the lens flares leaving you feeling like you’ve had a close encounter.
“Wake up… wake up, boy… it’s your time…”
Slowly a few details of the silhouetted face between you and the light source start to come into view. As the floaters and sunspots in your eyes fade away, things come into clarity. It’s a woman, kneeling over you. Brown skin. Almond eyes. Everything she wears looks like it was woven from pue gold.
“Ammut, no… no. Back up. That’s good. Good girl.”
A hulking dog is by her side. A drooling, muscular rottweiler with a spiked collar. A gold plated Eye of Horus dangles from the collar in place of a nametag. The dog presses its dripping maw up against you but the woman puts her arm, decorated with dozens of golden hoops and bracelets, between the animal and you just in time. The dog backs away, though it never takes its eyes off of you.
“You gonna stay down here on the floor wit’ the dog, or you gonna stand up like a man?”
She says, and then she laughs. It’s the laugh that clicks in your brain. You know that laugh. That cackling sound of pure mocking. You would recognize the sound of this woman finding everything about you amusing and non-threatening almost anywhere… including wherever the hell this is.
It’s Cartier. The Woman who took Revolution 1 by storm at the end of 2020. The woman who seemed to nourish herself by making enemies. She was crouching over you, her large breasts swaying just above your line of sight, and staring at you like you were a curiosity in a circus tent.
“Come on. Enough of this bullshit. It’s time. Now or never. An’ trust me… you don’t want it to be never.”
The dog, Ammut, growls in unison… a beastly clue to what kind of never might await.
Cartier backs up and turns away, tinkering with some items on a tabletop behind her. The dog stands dutifully at her side, still staring at you as you slowly get to your feet. Why were you on the ground? Are you hurt? You don’t feel hurt. You don’t feel anything, actually. You see, and you hear, but you don’t feel a thing.
“Attaboy. Good. Ain’t really a man if you can’t face your judgment on your own two feet. That’s for animals. Animals an’ cowards. You a coward? You afraid right now?”
You don’t know. All you are certain of is that you aren’t certain of a thing.
Cartier steps to the side and reveals the ornate table she stood before. Goblets encrusted with jewels surround a platter. A shining mirror of gold, the finest serving tray you’ve ever seen. But there is no food on it - only a massive, beautiful sculpture. The item stands several feet tall, and has a wingspan of equal size. Identical arms reaching out from a central fulcrum, each with a gleaming golden set of chains dangling from the end. Hung in those chains are a pair of concave saucers. It’s a balance. A set of scales, like the ones held by effigies of Lady Justice in courtrooms all over. This one, though, is carved in much finer detail. The craftsmanship is elite. The lettering, dozens of intricate hieroglyphs running up the central spire and across each arm, all sized and spaced perfectly.
Cartier lifts a tall headdress from the table, slowly settling it atop her own head, which is already scarfed by a silk nemes, its gold and black horizontal stripes emanating outward from her stoic face like waves of energy.
Placing the high crown on top of her head, Cartier reaches to her chest and plucks from the deep line of her cleavage, pulling the stalk of a feather out with her manicured thumb and forefinger. She pulls further and a long, white feather, twelve inches at least, comes forth like a sword being pulled from its scabbard.
“What do you think, hm? Are you worried yet? Are you nervous? Are you thinking back, memory by memory, trying to decide if you was a good person for most of your life or not? How many times did you make the right decision? How many times did you take the easy route? The selfish route? How many times did you put yourself at the front of the line when there was others who deserved it more? How many times was you the fault of innocent people sufferin’? How many people did you hurt? How many lives did you ruin? Do you think it was too many?”
Why is she speaking in past tense? Everything she says to you is “did you” or “were you” … nothing in the present. She’s clearly not interested in how you ARE. Only what you HAVE BEEN.
“Since way before your fathers fathers was ever born, there’s been one way to really, truly, measure a man. To weigh his life against the universe an’ figure out if he lived a life weighted down by selfishness, cruelty, evil, an’ discord. It’s a trial, with forty-two judges. A jury of the wisest of the wise. The gods of the Old Kingdom. The one’s who’s been here since the first time the sun was drawn across the sky. An’ they method’s been the same for millenia… whether it was for a prince or a pauper, a king or a commoner.”
Cartier walked to the scale and placed the long feather in one of the large golden cups. The scale barely moved. The cups swayed slightly on their chains, but only for a moment before falling still once more when Cartier laid a hand against them.
She steps back and places her hands on either side of the pschent. The Hedjet and Deshret, together known as Sekhemty by the ancients. Then she walks toward you, holding one hand straight ahead with the palm facing you right at the level of your breast.
“It won’t hurt, don’t worry about that at all… that time’s long gone. There’s no more pain left to be felt. Just a path to be determined. One way takes you through this room an’ out into an’ endless field of reeds… a paradise for the virtuous. The other… well…”
Ammut snarls again. She’s followed Cartier step by step and now stands staring upward, shifting her weight from paw to paw, ready at a moment’s notice.
Cartier stops directly in front of you. Her eyes are just an inch or so from your own. You can smell the sandalwood incense bouquet of her skin, but you can’t feel the breath on your face. She is calm. You are calm… you think.
“Take this moment to reflect, one more time. This is your definin’ moment, quite literally. This is what’s gonna determine, once an’ for all, the contents of your life. Was you worthy? Was you pure? Was you GOOD?”
You try to remember, but you can’t. The memories are gone. You stand there, an empty vessel, full of nothing at all. And finally, you feel something.
Cartier’s hand presses against your chest, and you feel its warmth. You feel it heating up, hotter and hotter, until your skin melts away like candle wax. Her hand disappears inside you,her wrist vanishing into a black hole where your torso was only seconds ago. The inferno builds in your chest, and you feel like you might supernova right then and there.
Then, you are nothing.
“Let’s find out…”
Cartier says with genuine wonder. She stares at the throbbing red mass in her hand with a quixotic grin.
She walks to the scale and carries your heart like a newborn. Taking a deep breath, she places it gently inside the empty cup on the other side of the scale from the pure white feather she withdrew from her own bosom. She sets your heart into the scale and then lets it go, stepping back.
The cup with the feather leaps upward, the red mess from within you thudding heavily to the tabletop. Juices and wetness ooze out from the cup as it tilts on its side, unable to contain the uneven mass within.
“Damn. That’s too bad, isn’t it? I bet you was really thinkin’ there for a second that maybe you was gonna get through all of this… that you was one of the lucky ones… but like I told you, the test never changes. The criteria’s always the same. You should have known better… deep down, you did know better…”
The light starts to fade, like a dying bulb in a fixture. Cartier scoops the wet redness from the scale and turns toward her companion, the dog Ammut. The animal is nearly bursting with anticipation for what comes next.
“The field of reeds is for the others, boy. It was never meant for anyone like you. For you… for the wrong ones… all you get is Never. Never… forever. Here you go, girl.”
She tosses the meat onto the floor, and before it can even fully slap against the stone the hound is on top of it, gnashing its teeth and devouring the tender flesh.
As Ammut eats your heart, Cartier laughs again. She laughs louder and louder as the room grows dim.
Soon, there is nothing but black.
Somewhere in an empty arena, long after the fans have gone home, Cartier sits in a metal folding chair in the front row surrounding a Revo1 wrestling ring.
She smirks in the dusk light that slides through the high arena windows, lighting up little floating dust bunnies like fireflies. A bright orange ember at the end of a brown cigarillo between her lips glows strong and then fades as she pulls it from her mouth, following it with a trail of smoke.
“Revolution 1… this place was supposed to be a opportunity for me to get back into the swing. After spendin’ so long in my career focused on takin’ teams to the peak of the mountain, it was long overdue for me to focus on ME. It’s why I entered myself in the GCWA Righteous Rumble, where I outlasted everyone else who anythin’ to do wit’ Revo1. I might not have won it, but look around at who got all the attention, all the buzz comin’ out that event. Did y’all sweat Betsy Granger, the winner of the Rumble, when she showed up here a couple weeks ago? Hell nah, I know you didn’t. But I show up an’ it’s another story. Shit gets real. It’s time for Cartier to set her sights on gold… alone. It’s why I renewed my focus in Mainstream, endin’ a championship tag team pairin’ wit’ a good friend of mine because I wanted to get my singles career front an’ center. Focused. Back on track. I looked at Revo an’ I seen the perfect place to get my groove back. I knew I could come here, be the best me I can be, an’ bring the star power that Revolution really, truly needed. Look around. There ain’t no one on this roster that scares anyone anywhere… except me.”
She takes a drag on the Black & Mild, letting the smoke rise out of her mouth and up into her nose before blowing it out of her nostrils again.
“I already made my mark from day one in this company. I showed up to work early an’ took out the trash in a battle royal not because I had to but because I wanted to. I went to Christmas Chaos an’ was the only reason anyone gave a damn about the Horrorcore Gauntlet. Took out two people on the way, somethin’ no one else in the match did. In fact, one of this company’s ‘hottest stars’ Ginger Snaps ended up gettin’ a pink slip an’ a boot out the fuckin’ door on account of her not even bein’ able to share a ring wit’ me wit’out bein’ a embarrassment. I got put out the match, sure, but Amelia Hearts was in no condition to go any further was she? She limped into the last match an’ got beat. Dorian Rhodes is only a champion today because of the order we entered in, that’s a fact.”
She nods, pausing long enough to take another smoke. The Black is nearly cashed… it seems she spent most of its lifespan simply letting it burn itself away.
“So how did Revo reward me, you wonder?”
She laughs, sucking her teeth in bemusement.
“Well they ain’t started off to well, to be honest. I made my intentions known. I put Anya Coyle in the ground at Christmas Chaos for a reason, y’all. That strap she got around her waist? That’s gonna be mine. Everyone in the front office knows it. Everyone in the bookers room knows it too. But you know what they went an’ did? They fuckin’ decided to pimp the title outside the company! They got title matches lined up for Anya not against Revo talent, not against the bitch who put her ass to sleep like Ice Cube’s jammy runnin’ deep, but instead against anyone who wants a title shot from GCWA. Instead, against a complete unknown from Five Boroughs. Amy somethin’. Is she a former champion there? Nope. Is her name on the roster anywhere? Nope. Is she even a real person? Who the fuck knows, I guess she must be, but whoever she is she got a title shot comin’ up while I sit here wastin’ my time wit’ little hacker boys off the 8chan boards. So nah, you could say Revolution 1 ain’t taken the proper steps to keep they number one talent satisfied.”
Cartier gives up on the smoke, crushing it out on the edge of the chair. She then drops the butt on the floor and looks back toward the ring.
“After makin’ this my home, after addin’ relevancy, addin’ name recognition, addin’ interest to this company just by showin’ up an’ bein’ me? After reppin’ Revo like no one else could in the GCWA? They decided to focus on a tag team tournament an’ give me a month off. You can’t make this shit up, for real. Why sell out arenas an’ make bank on advertisin’ dollars when you can give clout to chumps no one cares about like my opponent this week, LA Johnny Stylez. You know him? No? Don’t worry about it, no one knows him unless they was one of the few people who didn’t use his tag tournament loss as a piss break back in Dublin on the fifth. Or maybe you remember his bullshit seizure-inducin’ interruption from Christmas Chaos that I guess was supposed to show us all how chaotic an’ scary he is? Ain’t nobody got scared though, did they? Instead, all this joker really did was get a bunch of innocent epileptic ten year olds chokin’ on they tongues because Stylez apparently thinks flashy lights an’ sound effects is what gives you a Dub in the ring. Well good job Stylez, you 0-1. Next week at this time, you gonna be 0-2.”
She cackles, thinking of the shoddy “hacker” style promos from Christmas Chaos and Sin from the fifth of January. Was this kid for real?
“Because Stylez, what you probably don’t know is that while you was wit’ your other fur-wearin’ buddies from the involuntary celibate subreddit chargin’ up the Capitol steps a couple weeks back, I was already workin’ on beatin’ you. Not you, specifically, Stylez, because god damn, who the fuck woulda thought this company would be able to book the perfect main event by putin ya girl Cartier on the ticket an’ then at the same time flush it down the fuckin’ shitter by placin’ your name across from mine… no, not you specifically… but ANYone. Because every day of every week of every month of my life I am workin’ to improve. Fightin’ to reach the top. Hustlin’ to be the best that’s ever been. You? You just a walkin’ talkin’ YouTube comments section. You wanna act hard while at the same time lettin’ everyone an’ they mama know you ALL about them Jennifer Aniston romcoms, probably because you lost your virginity to a orthopedic sock while daydreamin’ about Ross an’ Rachel. Seriously bitch how many times you gonna mention Marley an’ Me? Fuckin’ movie was trash.”
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes.
“Fact is, Johnny, you ain’t got to the main event by bein’ worth a damn. You got here because they wanted me in it, but they didn’t want to sacrifice anyone they gave a shit about to me just yet. They protectin’ the Anya Coyles an’ the Miles A. Ways. You see That Frequent Flyer below us on the card, don’t you? The Revo1 World Champion? You think he’s down there because of YOU? Because of some punk ass jit who knows spent a day or two in a black hat forum an’ learned how to take over a television feed an’ fill it wit’ ASCII drawin’s of dick n’ balls or whatever the fuck? You think they was so impressed wit’ the way you got repeatedly dropped on your damn head back in Ireland that they decided you should be further up the card than former champs like Dream? Than the Horrorcore Titleholder Dorian Rhodes? Or do you think, maybe, just fuckin’ maybe, that they know CARTIER is the star… that CARTIER is the SAVIOR of Revolution 1… an’ that they jus’ needed a sacrificial lamb to lay at her altar?”
Looking directly into the camera lens, Cartier grins from ear to ear.
“Think about it, Johnny. You know the answer already.”
And then she's gone.