Post by strangler on Nov 26, 2011 0:05:00 GMT -5
The scene flickers into life, displaying a dimly lit room, but bright enough to show Caoran Lavery dressed in a black shirt, with what appears to be a long grey trench coat over the top. He cricks his neck from side to side, taking a slow, shallow breath before addressing the camera.
“It was all a little too convenient, wasn’t it?
That group of teenagers; they said almost exactly what I wanted them to say.
A bit too coincidental, wasn’t it? They thought you weren’t good enough; they couldn’t take you seriously. Fortunately, I can.
I can take you very seriously.
Yes, you’re no joke to me, Brandon Young. I don’t care for your goofy smile or stooge-like behaviour, but in the ring, I will take you as seriously as any opponent. In the ring, it’s all about business; it’s all about getting the job done, and getting it done right first time. There’s a certain degree of professionalism that I pride myself upon; even opponents that I have no respect for; opponents that I simply cannot respect… I will still take them seriously. I have been labelled as arrogant my entire career, maybe there is some truth to it, but to be so arrogant as to walk into each match assuming it won?
No.
That’s not how I do things.
I walk into each match expecting to win, yes, but I know that nothing in this sport is a given. Matches are won and lost in a single second; one mistake is all it takes to find yourself on the mat for three seconds too long. Two seconds, if the ring staff are biased against you and favour a quick count. I have seen your previous performances; I am well aware that you have an arsenal full of tricks, just waiting for an opportunity to use them. I know you surprised a lot of people by faring so well in the EUW’s Royal Rumble earlier this year, and I know that your record and HardKore title belt are proof that you have some skills.
I know all this; you know it too. It’s nothing unusual, I haven’t been digging too far into your personal life; I haven’t uncovered any dark secrets to use against you, nor have I bothered to trouble your girlfriend. I could have done, but I don’t see any reason to. For me, this isn’t personal; it’s just business. When I walk down to the ring at Prestige, it will still be just business, that won’t change and after this match, our paths will move apart once more and things will carry on as they did before because this is just business.
And yet, somehow, I seem to have gotten under your skin!
There must be something about me that just has that effect on people. It’s not the first time that I’ve annoyed someone without even trying; I must have something deep within me that causes some people to just plain hate me.
Not that I’m complaining; it tends to keep things interesting.
Maybe it was my little interview with the people of the world? That I found some casual fans that knew of you… And didn’t care for you. These were guys that were supposed to be your target fans, given their ages and attitudes, these guys should be cheering for you; not saying that you don’t have the skills to climb to the top of the ladder. These people are not my fans; but they should be your fans. Too young, perhaps, to appreciate the older stars of this industry, the names of Meltdown and Tom Roberts are simply flickering images from old DVDs and childhood memories. They identify with the new breed, people like you, Brandon, and your girlfriend, and the likes of Illidan Bane and The Cobra Viper.
And yet, they didn’t. They struggled to care about you at all; some of them didn’t even watch wrestling any more, and those that did saw you as that guy with all the flips. Not good enough to be ranked alongside any of the modern day greats now, and not seen to have the potential to ever make it alongside those greats. You’re the funny man; a bit of a one-trick pony. Two dimensional, even, is there more to you than just being funny and making daft jokes? Maybe we’ll find out at Prestige.
Perhaps that’s the reason why you’ve been so… Quiet of late. Where has your youthful exuberance gone? Why aren’t you running around, pumped full of excitement and love of life, threatening to tear down walls and re-paint the sky? Has it rocked you to the very core to know that the fans just don’t care about you? Or is this some child-like attempt at maturity and seriousness? Is it time to give up on “Raptor Jesus” and start living in the real world, with the rest of us? I know it’s not perfect, but at least it’s real.
So, maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was those kids, perhaps they’re what really got on your nerves? Of course, I suppose, I got lucky by finding them, and got even luckier because they said what I was hoping they might say. After all, they might have turned out to be the chairmen of your official fan club, and I could have found myself facing three hours of inane conversation about how great you are.
That kind of thing might well have inspired you to go on and win for your beloved fans. By trying to bring you down, I might have inadvertently pumped you up.
That didn’t happen though, did it? No, it all went according to plan.
It all went according to my plan.”
Caoran smirks, leaning back on his seat.
“Naturally.”
Caoran pauses briefly, before leaning in towards the camera.
“You see, I’m not the sort to leave things to chance.
Like this match; I will do all that I can to remove any element of chance from our encounter. I have studied recordings of your past matches; pausing and replaying moments to spot any sign of weakness, or an opportunity to counter your offence. Studying your match with Illidan Bane for that HardKore Title that you seem to prize so dearly, it occurs to me that your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness. You love to rush into things. You’re fast, possibly the fastest competitor here and it’s only logical to use that speed to your advantage. You make up for a lack of brute strength by hitting hard, even if your punches are the most pathetic around, enough of them will eventually do the job of one haymaker.
However, I saw enough to tell me that you leave yourself open by rushing in. Your speed allows you to strike fast, but you favour running in with dropkicks and the like, looking to knock your opponent down each time, or at least back. It’s a hit-and-run; you rush in, hit, rush out. It's sensible enough, just looking at you on a purely physical level it's apparent that you’re not geared to stand and fight. If your opponent doesn’t go down, you just back up and try again. Bane batted away your measly offence, and when you charged in a second time, he nailed you with a solid boot to the gut, doubling you over and allowing him to capitalise with a DDT.
I’m not Illidan Bane. I am bigger, stronger, more athletic and out-and-out meaner than Bane; I hope you understand this. If your offence did not move Bane, then it will surely not move me. By all means, rush in at me, I’ll stand up to your paltry assault and then retaliate with a blow more powerful than any you could hope to muster. I need only keep my wits about me enough to overcome your tendency to rush and this match will be mine. If you run in with a dropkick, or a clothesline, I need only to spread my feet a little and brace myself, a solid base will not fall so easily, and as you’re left fumbling and scurrying back to your feet, I can grab you and begin to squeeze the very life out of you.
I’m not as slow as you would like to believe. Even if I was, I would still be fast enough to grab a handful of hair, or an arm and take control of you.
What happens if you aim low? You decide that your best strategy is to remove my strong base early, with low dropkicks instead? A smart choice, Brandon, but is it really going to be successful? If you charge forwards, eyes down at the canvas, shaping for a low strike, I’ll see it. If you aim low, then all I need to do is jump over you, or, better yet, kneel down. If I drop to my knees, then what do you do? You can’t knock me down, and if you have rushed in, my physique can easily withstand your assault and I’ll have the advantage once more.
The same can be said for your aerial strikes; you seek simply to knock me down. Ground me; negate my strength by staying on top of me. If you launch yourself from the top rope, and I drop to the mat and roll aside, then what do you do? If I duck out of the way, do you crash and burn? Or do you roll with it, get to your feet and charge me down once more? Perhaps this is my best strategy. Avoid you; let your tire yourself out, resist offence and evade your aerial attacks, let your anger build.
I’m already inside your head, if I can further that rage, you’ll rush in blindly, leaving yourself even more open to counter-attacks than you already do. More speed; less haste, as the saying goes; if you let your anger blind you then this match is as good as mine.”
Caoran nods solemnly, reaching down with one hand to pull up a small plastic bottle, unscrewing the cap and guzzling down a few mouthfuls.
“Pay attention now, Brandon, I’m talking to you. You see, clearly, I am not above head games.”
Caoran quickly finishes off the rest of the bottle, hurling it over the top of the camera before looking directly into it.
“In fact, I favour them. I have made it abundantly clear that I want to enrage you for our encounter; it all makes the fight tip in my balance. I know how to do that, it’s easy enough, I’ve already begun and, from what I can tell, it’s working so far. A cheap shot at your girlfriend, that’s enough to annoy you; maybe I should imply that she is of easy virtue? If the stories are to be believed, the Southern Belle still has her virginity intact, so why should calling her a whore have any effect? Unless it’s true, of course, and all this Southern manners and politeness is simply an act to hide the truth. However, she might just be frigid, and perhaps that’s what’s got you the most annoyed. She finally admitted her feelings for you, now the two of you are dating and she still won’t put out. Terrible stuff, you have my sympathies.
A cheap shot! How dreadful. That I would take the easy attack and say something cruel to wind you up! What’s that, Brandon? It’s not true? Am I wrong?
Do you think I even care?
This isn’t about being right, or about being wrong. It’s about being better and I already am. I’ve gotten under your skin, into your head… I’ve already won. I just told you my strategy; why do you think I did that? Is it because I know it to be impossible to overcome? I can reveal my strategy, because the challenge is for you to find a way to beat it. Or, is it a bluff? Do I have another strategy in mind? Have I just told another lie to confuse you? No-one would ever reveal their strategy before a match, would they? That would be a mistake!
Which one was the lie? Have I told you my strategy or not?
I have!
Or have I?”
Caoran smirks, a menacing grin spreading across his cruel lips as the cogs in his mind tick over, processing his thoughts.
“Do you see it now, Brandon? Nothing is quite as it seems, can you trust your senses? If you are furious and enraged, can you trust your senses at all? Does your anger blind you? Do you see red? Do the shouts of those around you seem distant, as though speaking through water? Can you taste, or smell anything beyond the metallic feelings of anger and rage that wells up deep in your throat? Your senses; they deceive you.
Or do they?
Maybe your senses are finely honed, and the information that they give you is entirely correct. Your ears hear it all and filter out the important sounds; your eyes are focused on your target as they should be. What if all of your senses are working fine, and the information that they are giving you is entirely true? What if it’s your mind that’s broken? Deceptive. Your senses tell you the truth, but your mind can’t comprehend it. Have I managed to infest deep within your mind, so much so that it might cause you to doubt the very instincts that have brought you this far? Is there anything more terrifying than the thought that your mind has turned against you?
How can you concentrate on our match if you can’t get your own mind in order? How can you focus and produce the greatest performance of your career if you don’t know whether you are coming or going? Do you have any chance of beating me, when you’re currently fighting with yourself? How can you hold a plan in mind if you can’t even hold a thought?
Maybe this win will make the Southern Belle question her choice. I’m sure she doesn’t need protecting; if anything, she will more likely serve to protect you from harm, but maybe she needs a real man. One that actually behaves like a man and not a coward, or a frightened little boy; one that fights with strength and nobility, rather than cheap shots and opportunistic strikes in a desperate attempt to steal three seconds from a more deserving opponent. After all, the one that deserves to win the most doesn’t always win, and the one that wins doesn’t always end up looking, or feeling, like a winner. The match winner might be the one that has his arm raised, but the winner of a fight? He’s the one that is able to walk out under his own power. Two very different things; I’m sure you will agree.
Have I won yet?
No.
I won’t make the mistake of thinking I already have you beat; I’ve managed to get into your head and cause you some trouble, maybe I already have you beaten, but I can’t be sure. I’ve certainly given myself an edge here; your lacklustre eleventh hour preparations will not be enough to help you. They may have helped you to overcome the likes of Illidan Bane and Isamu Suzuki, but you will have to do more than that to defeat me. I am not like your previous opponents; in truth, I am unlike any other opponent.
I’m something of a contradiction. At the same time that I am strong, powerful and resilient, I am also reflexive and agile. At the same time that I am violent and brutal, I am still logical and manipulative. Do I have weaknesses? I am still human; of course I have my weaknesses, but I have plenty of strengths. You may wish to call me arrogant, but it would be nothing short of conceited for you to assume that you have me beat because you’ve come up against similar men of similar builds. I am truly… Different.”
At this, Caoran stands up and slides his arms out of the sleeves of his coat, letting it float to the floor, piling around his feet. In one swift action, he grabs either side of the front of his shirt and rips it off, revealing his bare chest beneath it, adorned with a variety of scars, and a few fresh cuts. Some of which appear to be very fresh. There is no visible pattern or mechanic to these scars; they do not appear to be a tally or a design, they appear to simply be scars. Scars, and lots of them. Caoran steps forwards, kicking the coat behind him and kneeling down in front of the camera.
“As I have already told you Brandon, I have no problem at all with head games, and it’s time to come clean and let you in on a secret.
The kids that I interviewed….
You know the ones I mean, they said that you weren’t good enough. Remember?
The ones that seemed to say… Exactly what I wanted them to say; your fans; that didn’t support you…
Those kids.
Well, they were reading from a script. You see, that’s the beauty of things. When I have the camera rolling, you assume that you see and hear everything that is going on, but if I turn the camera off and then piece the video back together so well that you don’t notice it? Then you’ll miss things. Yes, the deleted scene for that short movie was called “Caoran bribes some kids to badmouth Brandon Young”. Was it all lies? Maybe. Maybe not; the kids certainly had no problems accepting the money and playing along.
It did the job, too.
You seemed to get all worked up over it; you may not have said anything, but I can tell that it’s been lingering in your mind and like a cancer, it has slowly taken you over. It has forced your mind into dark places that you would rather not go. It caused you to change your approach, possibly even to question your own credentials… And now, just a few days before Prestige, you’re finding out that none of it was true. Do you have time to respond now? Is there anything left in you, other than sheer rage?
Have I done it now, Brandon?
Have I pushed you over the edge?
Have I poisoned your mind?
If I have, then this fight is as good as won. If not, then I’ll finish the job at Prestige in the traditional way of doing things.
Either way, you’ve fallen for my tricks, and I won’t fall for yours.”
At this, Caoran stands up and moments later the feed cuts out to static.
“It was all a little too convenient, wasn’t it?
That group of teenagers; they said almost exactly what I wanted them to say.
A bit too coincidental, wasn’t it? They thought you weren’t good enough; they couldn’t take you seriously. Fortunately, I can.
I can take you very seriously.
Yes, you’re no joke to me, Brandon Young. I don’t care for your goofy smile or stooge-like behaviour, but in the ring, I will take you as seriously as any opponent. In the ring, it’s all about business; it’s all about getting the job done, and getting it done right first time. There’s a certain degree of professionalism that I pride myself upon; even opponents that I have no respect for; opponents that I simply cannot respect… I will still take them seriously. I have been labelled as arrogant my entire career, maybe there is some truth to it, but to be so arrogant as to walk into each match assuming it won?
No.
That’s not how I do things.
I walk into each match expecting to win, yes, but I know that nothing in this sport is a given. Matches are won and lost in a single second; one mistake is all it takes to find yourself on the mat for three seconds too long. Two seconds, if the ring staff are biased against you and favour a quick count. I have seen your previous performances; I am well aware that you have an arsenal full of tricks, just waiting for an opportunity to use them. I know you surprised a lot of people by faring so well in the EUW’s Royal Rumble earlier this year, and I know that your record and HardKore title belt are proof that you have some skills.
I know all this; you know it too. It’s nothing unusual, I haven’t been digging too far into your personal life; I haven’t uncovered any dark secrets to use against you, nor have I bothered to trouble your girlfriend. I could have done, but I don’t see any reason to. For me, this isn’t personal; it’s just business. When I walk down to the ring at Prestige, it will still be just business, that won’t change and after this match, our paths will move apart once more and things will carry on as they did before because this is just business.
And yet, somehow, I seem to have gotten under your skin!
There must be something about me that just has that effect on people. It’s not the first time that I’ve annoyed someone without even trying; I must have something deep within me that causes some people to just plain hate me.
Not that I’m complaining; it tends to keep things interesting.
Maybe it was my little interview with the people of the world? That I found some casual fans that knew of you… And didn’t care for you. These were guys that were supposed to be your target fans, given their ages and attitudes, these guys should be cheering for you; not saying that you don’t have the skills to climb to the top of the ladder. These people are not my fans; but they should be your fans. Too young, perhaps, to appreciate the older stars of this industry, the names of Meltdown and Tom Roberts are simply flickering images from old DVDs and childhood memories. They identify with the new breed, people like you, Brandon, and your girlfriend, and the likes of Illidan Bane and The Cobra Viper.
And yet, they didn’t. They struggled to care about you at all; some of them didn’t even watch wrestling any more, and those that did saw you as that guy with all the flips. Not good enough to be ranked alongside any of the modern day greats now, and not seen to have the potential to ever make it alongside those greats. You’re the funny man; a bit of a one-trick pony. Two dimensional, even, is there more to you than just being funny and making daft jokes? Maybe we’ll find out at Prestige.
Perhaps that’s the reason why you’ve been so… Quiet of late. Where has your youthful exuberance gone? Why aren’t you running around, pumped full of excitement and love of life, threatening to tear down walls and re-paint the sky? Has it rocked you to the very core to know that the fans just don’t care about you? Or is this some child-like attempt at maturity and seriousness? Is it time to give up on “Raptor Jesus” and start living in the real world, with the rest of us? I know it’s not perfect, but at least it’s real.
So, maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe it was those kids, perhaps they’re what really got on your nerves? Of course, I suppose, I got lucky by finding them, and got even luckier because they said what I was hoping they might say. After all, they might have turned out to be the chairmen of your official fan club, and I could have found myself facing three hours of inane conversation about how great you are.
That kind of thing might well have inspired you to go on and win for your beloved fans. By trying to bring you down, I might have inadvertently pumped you up.
That didn’t happen though, did it? No, it all went according to plan.
It all went according to my plan.”
Caoran smirks, leaning back on his seat.
“Naturally.”
Caoran pauses briefly, before leaning in towards the camera.
“You see, I’m not the sort to leave things to chance.
Like this match; I will do all that I can to remove any element of chance from our encounter. I have studied recordings of your past matches; pausing and replaying moments to spot any sign of weakness, or an opportunity to counter your offence. Studying your match with Illidan Bane for that HardKore Title that you seem to prize so dearly, it occurs to me that your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness. You love to rush into things. You’re fast, possibly the fastest competitor here and it’s only logical to use that speed to your advantage. You make up for a lack of brute strength by hitting hard, even if your punches are the most pathetic around, enough of them will eventually do the job of one haymaker.
However, I saw enough to tell me that you leave yourself open by rushing in. Your speed allows you to strike fast, but you favour running in with dropkicks and the like, looking to knock your opponent down each time, or at least back. It’s a hit-and-run; you rush in, hit, rush out. It's sensible enough, just looking at you on a purely physical level it's apparent that you’re not geared to stand and fight. If your opponent doesn’t go down, you just back up and try again. Bane batted away your measly offence, and when you charged in a second time, he nailed you with a solid boot to the gut, doubling you over and allowing him to capitalise with a DDT.
I’m not Illidan Bane. I am bigger, stronger, more athletic and out-and-out meaner than Bane; I hope you understand this. If your offence did not move Bane, then it will surely not move me. By all means, rush in at me, I’ll stand up to your paltry assault and then retaliate with a blow more powerful than any you could hope to muster. I need only keep my wits about me enough to overcome your tendency to rush and this match will be mine. If you run in with a dropkick, or a clothesline, I need only to spread my feet a little and brace myself, a solid base will not fall so easily, and as you’re left fumbling and scurrying back to your feet, I can grab you and begin to squeeze the very life out of you.
I’m not as slow as you would like to believe. Even if I was, I would still be fast enough to grab a handful of hair, or an arm and take control of you.
What happens if you aim low? You decide that your best strategy is to remove my strong base early, with low dropkicks instead? A smart choice, Brandon, but is it really going to be successful? If you charge forwards, eyes down at the canvas, shaping for a low strike, I’ll see it. If you aim low, then all I need to do is jump over you, or, better yet, kneel down. If I drop to my knees, then what do you do? You can’t knock me down, and if you have rushed in, my physique can easily withstand your assault and I’ll have the advantage once more.
The same can be said for your aerial strikes; you seek simply to knock me down. Ground me; negate my strength by staying on top of me. If you launch yourself from the top rope, and I drop to the mat and roll aside, then what do you do? If I duck out of the way, do you crash and burn? Or do you roll with it, get to your feet and charge me down once more? Perhaps this is my best strategy. Avoid you; let your tire yourself out, resist offence and evade your aerial attacks, let your anger build.
I’m already inside your head, if I can further that rage, you’ll rush in blindly, leaving yourself even more open to counter-attacks than you already do. More speed; less haste, as the saying goes; if you let your anger blind you then this match is as good as mine.”
Caoran nods solemnly, reaching down with one hand to pull up a small plastic bottle, unscrewing the cap and guzzling down a few mouthfuls.
“Pay attention now, Brandon, I’m talking to you. You see, clearly, I am not above head games.”
Caoran quickly finishes off the rest of the bottle, hurling it over the top of the camera before looking directly into it.
“In fact, I favour them. I have made it abundantly clear that I want to enrage you for our encounter; it all makes the fight tip in my balance. I know how to do that, it’s easy enough, I’ve already begun and, from what I can tell, it’s working so far. A cheap shot at your girlfriend, that’s enough to annoy you; maybe I should imply that she is of easy virtue? If the stories are to be believed, the Southern Belle still has her virginity intact, so why should calling her a whore have any effect? Unless it’s true, of course, and all this Southern manners and politeness is simply an act to hide the truth. However, she might just be frigid, and perhaps that’s what’s got you the most annoyed. She finally admitted her feelings for you, now the two of you are dating and she still won’t put out. Terrible stuff, you have my sympathies.
A cheap shot! How dreadful. That I would take the easy attack and say something cruel to wind you up! What’s that, Brandon? It’s not true? Am I wrong?
Do you think I even care?
This isn’t about being right, or about being wrong. It’s about being better and I already am. I’ve gotten under your skin, into your head… I’ve already won. I just told you my strategy; why do you think I did that? Is it because I know it to be impossible to overcome? I can reveal my strategy, because the challenge is for you to find a way to beat it. Or, is it a bluff? Do I have another strategy in mind? Have I just told another lie to confuse you? No-one would ever reveal their strategy before a match, would they? That would be a mistake!
Which one was the lie? Have I told you my strategy or not?
I have!
Or have I?”
Caoran smirks, a menacing grin spreading across his cruel lips as the cogs in his mind tick over, processing his thoughts.
“Do you see it now, Brandon? Nothing is quite as it seems, can you trust your senses? If you are furious and enraged, can you trust your senses at all? Does your anger blind you? Do you see red? Do the shouts of those around you seem distant, as though speaking through water? Can you taste, or smell anything beyond the metallic feelings of anger and rage that wells up deep in your throat? Your senses; they deceive you.
Or do they?
Maybe your senses are finely honed, and the information that they give you is entirely correct. Your ears hear it all and filter out the important sounds; your eyes are focused on your target as they should be. What if all of your senses are working fine, and the information that they are giving you is entirely true? What if it’s your mind that’s broken? Deceptive. Your senses tell you the truth, but your mind can’t comprehend it. Have I managed to infest deep within your mind, so much so that it might cause you to doubt the very instincts that have brought you this far? Is there anything more terrifying than the thought that your mind has turned against you?
How can you concentrate on our match if you can’t get your own mind in order? How can you focus and produce the greatest performance of your career if you don’t know whether you are coming or going? Do you have any chance of beating me, when you’re currently fighting with yourself? How can you hold a plan in mind if you can’t even hold a thought?
Maybe this win will make the Southern Belle question her choice. I’m sure she doesn’t need protecting; if anything, she will more likely serve to protect you from harm, but maybe she needs a real man. One that actually behaves like a man and not a coward, or a frightened little boy; one that fights with strength and nobility, rather than cheap shots and opportunistic strikes in a desperate attempt to steal three seconds from a more deserving opponent. After all, the one that deserves to win the most doesn’t always win, and the one that wins doesn’t always end up looking, or feeling, like a winner. The match winner might be the one that has his arm raised, but the winner of a fight? He’s the one that is able to walk out under his own power. Two very different things; I’m sure you will agree.
Have I won yet?
No.
I won’t make the mistake of thinking I already have you beat; I’ve managed to get into your head and cause you some trouble, maybe I already have you beaten, but I can’t be sure. I’ve certainly given myself an edge here; your lacklustre eleventh hour preparations will not be enough to help you. They may have helped you to overcome the likes of Illidan Bane and Isamu Suzuki, but you will have to do more than that to defeat me. I am not like your previous opponents; in truth, I am unlike any other opponent.
I’m something of a contradiction. At the same time that I am strong, powerful and resilient, I am also reflexive and agile. At the same time that I am violent and brutal, I am still logical and manipulative. Do I have weaknesses? I am still human; of course I have my weaknesses, but I have plenty of strengths. You may wish to call me arrogant, but it would be nothing short of conceited for you to assume that you have me beat because you’ve come up against similar men of similar builds. I am truly… Different.”
At this, Caoran stands up and slides his arms out of the sleeves of his coat, letting it float to the floor, piling around his feet. In one swift action, he grabs either side of the front of his shirt and rips it off, revealing his bare chest beneath it, adorned with a variety of scars, and a few fresh cuts. Some of which appear to be very fresh. There is no visible pattern or mechanic to these scars; they do not appear to be a tally or a design, they appear to simply be scars. Scars, and lots of them. Caoran steps forwards, kicking the coat behind him and kneeling down in front of the camera.
“As I have already told you Brandon, I have no problem at all with head games, and it’s time to come clean and let you in on a secret.
The kids that I interviewed….
You know the ones I mean, they said that you weren’t good enough. Remember?
The ones that seemed to say… Exactly what I wanted them to say; your fans; that didn’t support you…
Those kids.
Well, they were reading from a script. You see, that’s the beauty of things. When I have the camera rolling, you assume that you see and hear everything that is going on, but if I turn the camera off and then piece the video back together so well that you don’t notice it? Then you’ll miss things. Yes, the deleted scene for that short movie was called “Caoran bribes some kids to badmouth Brandon Young”. Was it all lies? Maybe. Maybe not; the kids certainly had no problems accepting the money and playing along.
It did the job, too.
You seemed to get all worked up over it; you may not have said anything, but I can tell that it’s been lingering in your mind and like a cancer, it has slowly taken you over. It has forced your mind into dark places that you would rather not go. It caused you to change your approach, possibly even to question your own credentials… And now, just a few days before Prestige, you’re finding out that none of it was true. Do you have time to respond now? Is there anything left in you, other than sheer rage?
Have I done it now, Brandon?
Have I pushed you over the edge?
Have I poisoned your mind?
If I have, then this fight is as good as won. If not, then I’ll finish the job at Prestige in the traditional way of doing things.
Either way, you’ve fallen for my tricks, and I won’t fall for yours.”
At this, Caoran stands up and moments later the feed cuts out to static.