Post by Church on Apr 27, 2021 19:54:54 GMT -6
The lounge heard its last song.
The slot machine rang its last bells.
The well whiskey poured its last drop.
Hair tied back, Church stood alone in the middle of the large game room. What was left seemingly called out for more gameplay, but the time had come. No dealers sat at the tables; no players awaiting cards or a spin of the wheel. For 5 months, Church and his remaining staff managed to keep a portion of Aria going. What was a 5-star luxury Casino and Hotel had become nothing more than a dignified basement casino.
But the moment the rich were given the heads up to leave town and leave their business to rot and collect future insurance payments, Church knew this slice of normalcy was going to be necessary.
For as long as its incoming cash could circulate with strength.
For as long as it would all hold out on its own inventory.
And for as long as Church could keep the environment safe. Turns out even a city in chaos wouldn’t penetrate walls built by him.
Another notch in his Vegas reputation.
He grabbed hold of another 2x4 at his feet, collecting a hammer and group of nails, as he went over to the main door that had been used. Half-covered already with secure and strong wood, Church nailed another board into the wall across the door.
With a heavy sigh, he finished the job with 2 more boards, stepping back and looking to the far wall where he had already boarded up the windows as well. The big man stood in the middle of it all, one last time, before walking past the last remaining slot machines, the poker table and the bar with its baron shelves.
It was quiet. Peaceful. One of the last places
Church made a long walk through the building, sliding his keycard to unlock a door that brought him into the 70 degree sun outside. An ‘employee area’ stashed away beside the building, there Amanda Porter stood, sipping a bottle of Bud Light as her eyes roamed the side of the building.
“And that’s that, huh?” She asked with a heartfelt finality. Church turned around, grabbing a cigarette from the side pocket of his leather vest. He lit it and let it rest in his lips as his eyes also roamed the Aria’s exterior.
“That’s that.”
Church and Amanda, side by side, start walking down the large alleyway between buildings. Just up the way, 5 other men await them; staff members that had stuck with Aria throughout. 3 members of Church’s security team, 1 dealer and 1 bartender. They all share determined glances at one another as Church keeps walking, now with 6 people alongside and behind him. He breathes deep, reaching back and pulling the tie from his hair to let it loose.
A little further down the alley, Luther King stands tall, dressed in a sharp black and purple suit. Church approaches him and while the two share uncertain expression, their fists bump in a show of unity.
6 of Luther’s crew come from the far brick wall, as Church examines them through squinted eyes.
“6 black guys ‘nuff to diversify your little white posse?” Luther speaks slyly, harsh but genuine.
“Diversifying goes both ways,” Church retorts with the same sarcasm.
He nods assuringly at Luther’s group of men, as he continues walking, a drag of his cigarette accompanied the growing confidence. Reaching the far side of the Aria building, Church stops at another door with a keycard swipe entry. He turns to face the 13 bodies now amassed in a group.
“There’s no turnin’ back from this point. This ends 1 of 3 ways…” His baritone voice, as always, commanded undivided attention.
“One. We get the fuck out of Las Vegas on April 29th and you all get a fair cut of my million. A Plan B? We regroup here. We’ve only got two keycards to this door, this leads to the hotel rooms y’all stayin’ in tonight. I’ve got one. Amanda has one. And if escape isn’t actually an option? Then we form a new plan to take back our fuckin’ city.”
All heads nod, as Luther King steps forward.
“Don’t be writin’ us checks or some shit. That cut’s in cash, homie.”
“Do I look like the IRS?” They share a respectful nod. “I know you’re all here for the money. But don’t forget the personal reasons that have you standin’ right where you are. I’ve got my reasons to fight, you’ve got yours. Thank you all for bein’ here.” He shares eye contact with every last person before him as he turns to swipe the card.
“‘Ey, what’s Plan C?” A man from Luther’s gang asks from the back. Church slowly turns back around to face them all, keycard out. He takes a final drag of the cigarette, tossing the butt to the side.
“Get rich or die tryin’, right?” He turns back around, swiping the card and unlocking the steel door. He holds it open as, one by one, the gathering enter. Luther King nods at him, Amanda rubs his arm quickly, a couple of his Aria staff members slap him on the arm. Not once did anybody question whether or not he would win the prize money; that faith was strong.
Then, Church stood alone once again.
He looked down both ways of the alley. His motorcycle parked a little further down the alley, he eyes its safety. All 6’8” of his frame stood like stone. His eyes ignited with a serene craze. His teeth gritted, his fist clenched.
In the moment, he was bulletproof.
He just hoped he wouldn’t actually have to be.
But he knew for a fact it would take 1,000 bullets to stop him.
The camera cuts on, a cold cement room filling view. Slate grey walls, dimly lit from the sun fighting its way through a drawn shade. The large frame of Church walks into view from behind the camera, turning to face the lens. He stands, almost a shadow within the room, as the sun only catches his face and his steel chains well.
"Tomorrow night, it all ends. I know Black Pyramid looks at this as a beginning. Crowning a BPW Champion alongside the million dollar prize insinuates such a thing, don’t it? But all of us that have fought tooth and nail to entertain those entitled enough to take a seat at these shows...we were brought in to fight in a tournament. Whether from right here in Vegas, from other parts of the world or, fuck, from out of this world, we fought for one thing and one thing only.
The
Million
Dollars.
But I’ve said one thing this entire time, and that’s that the money is mine. Not an original claim, not one that wins you the prize either. But a belief that, when truer than true, will make you defend something with your life...whether or not it’s yours to defend.
I’ve had my reasons for every punch thrown in this tournament. And they weigh heavier than any ‘madman’ targetless arrow or any “warlord” fantasy come-to-life. That’s why I stand here before you unscathed. Undefeated. I don’t give a fuck about Block A or Block B. That gets put fully to bed when leather meets leather; my boot to Ransack’s fuckin’ mask. I don’t give a fuck about Jabberwock Security trying to silence my microphone after I earned my spot in these finals. I’ll say what I want to say, when I want to say it. I see what Black Pyramid is doing...and I see what it’s going to keep doing.
There is only one more tomorrow for Ransack Manson before his fractured reality is given a new measurement split. You will only have two realities, Manson, when these Finals come to pass.
One before Church.
And one after Church.
Call it B.C. and A.D.; After Defeat
You’ll have to continue on with the struggle of knowing that you escaped Devil’s Gate and you came to Vegas for one thing and one thing only. To find your superior in violence.
You will not get to burn one million dollars, Ransack. Not here. Not this prize. Not through Black Pyramid. Because I will burn...you...first.
And for a man who probably already doesn’t experience them? For Ransack, there are no more good days."
Church walks forward and the camera freezes frame at his outward reach.
Dear Mr. Church,
This letter is to notify you that you have been labelled a ‘flight risk’. All of your movements within the contained confines of Las Vegas will be monitored and any attempt to defy your obligations to Black Pyramid Wrestling will be punishable if necessary. We do not seek this resolution, but when force is required, force will be used.
Have a good day,
Black Pyramid Wrestling Operations
*Credit to J.C./McManus for the banner*