11-06-2024, 12:34 AM
OOC: The political opinions (or rather, the disdain for politics in general) expressed by Dexter in this RP do not reflect my own political beliefs. I simply took an idea based on what today is and ran with it as best as I could so I had something to post, and I figured it made sense that Dexter would have a general apathy for politics similar to his apathy and disdain for social media and the current state of technology as a whole.
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The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Dexter was very familiar with that old line, and although he didn’t agree with it considering the state of the world he found himself fighting against day after day, he knew the unfortunate truth that some things truly hadn’t changed, only adapted to fit in with the digital trends of 2024. Politics was one such thing, and Dexter didn’t even need to taint his eyeballs with the toxic temptation of code building out an elaborate web page to know that politics and social media were essentially parasites feeding off one another, fueling their respective webs of misinformation and distrust because at the end of the day, a nation thoroughly divided was a nation that was easier to exploit for profit.
The very thought of this cyber-cancer being weaponized for political gain on top of every other reason Dexter already despised it had him wanting to vomit.
Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. No matter where he walked in Detroit, all he could see were campaign signs and banners littering every street corner, endorsing this candidate or begging him to vote for that one. Truth be told, Dexter never cared for politics in the first place. Even before he became the Digital Detoxer, he saw the whole thing for what it was: a sucker’s game that never truly benefited anybody at the end of the day and only served to stroke the egos of anybody desperate enough to suck up to the masses and say anything they thought would give them a taste of that delicious power…at least until the reality of their position and how powerless they truly were in the grand scheme of things crashed down over their heads like a tidal wave.
“I hate this time of year,” Dexter huffed to himself. Ever since he’d arrived in Detroit for what would be his in-ring debut on a pay-per-view or premium live event or however the hell SCW did their business, he’d found it impossible to enjoy his usual distraction of preaching his message to the masses from the comfort of his soapbox, and it was all the fault of the election being days away.
All anybody cared about was who was going to be the next President of the United States of America, and the moment Dexter took a stand on his soapbox, anyone around him immediately assumed he was going to campaign on behalf of one of the big two candidates and ran him off with threats of violence when it became clear what he had to say had absolutely nothing to do with the election at all.
At least he would have Under Attack to serve as a distraction.
Dexter wanted to hope that his machinations had become pretty clear as of the last Breakdown. After all, he had no reason to linger on Gavin Taylor deciding to snub him in favor of chasing after a more marketable match when the SCW roster was loaded with lost souls in desperate need of detoxing before their lives were brought to an end and their corpses were strung up to further feed the social media machine. That was the reason why he had ‘upset’ Marie Jones to unsurprisingly send her back to Twitter or X or whatever it went by now to lament her latest failure and garner pity points over something needing to change for her. It was the reason why he had decided to offer his help to another supposed veteran who was clearly obsessed with the image that had been crafted of himself and needed a dose of reality.
“It’s crazy seeing how different a place can look in the final stretch of election season,” Wendell remarked as he caught up to Dexter, who was just passing by the coffee shop he’d sent his flunky to for not only a coffee run but also to stealthily hop online and gather some more intel.
“Disgusting is more like it,” Dexter scoffed as he took his coffee from Wendell and took a nice, long drink of the bitter black substance.
“Have you put any thought towards who you’re voting for?” Wendell chanced asking. “Because I think our cause could be helped if-”
“I’m not voting.”
The stern refusal seemed to surprise Wendell, although Dexter just kept drinking his coffee and distracted his thoughts by pondering why the hell Detroit’s weather was in the 70s during mid-autumn.
“But…but…huh?” Wendell stammered out.
“You heard me,” Dexter reiterated. “It’s a waste of time, all of it. You put someone in office, they don’t do shit for a few years because they sorely underestimate how much they have to answer to not only each other but also the people who put them there in the first place, wash, rinse, repeat. It hasn’t worked yet, and it will never work if you ask me.”
“I don’t get it…” Wendell seemed confused as he looked around in a panic, almost as if Dexter’s words were going to draw attention to them that wasn’t going to turn out well.
“I’ll admit that democracy is a much better system than anything else in the world,” Dexter shrugged. “The problem is that we pioneered this revolutionary way to decide who leads us and decides the laws and so on, but then we fucked it up by basically allowing for money to go a long way in deciding who gets those positions to benefit people like the social media moguls who know they can spin all of this, no matter who wins, into press for themselves to sucker more people into their world wide web. After all, if social media and whatever ‘information’ it’s presenting and the platform it gives people to yell and scream the loudest about who they want to win can decide an election, imagine how easy it would be to keep shoving down people’s throats to try and connect with ‘their elected official.’”
Blasphemy? Perhaps, but it could also perhaps be true that the hints of the man Dexter Grant would become were already present in his disdain towards politics and the rise of social media simply gave him a more tangible enemy he felt he could fight, kill two birds with one stone maybe. He knew there was at least some truth to the words he’d just spoken, and he could see the gears turning in Wendell’s brain as the poor kid realized he was undergoing another impromptu detoxing session by hearing Dexter’s words. After all, how much would anybody really care about who was elected after November 5th anyway? And those that were would just tweet about it and entice more people to tweet about it until it all became a jumbled mass of nonsensical words that would make even the greatest wordsmiths of our time have the mother of all migraines.
Dexter briefly wondered what Chase Upshaw would have thought about any of this. Sure, the man had been a geography teacher, supposedly, instead of an english teacher, but that still meant he supposedly worked at an institution of learning that would’ve had to put up with any of this garbage.
“So…um…” Wendell fumbled, trying to figure out how to put this conversation back on some sort of track. “Election aside, I guess…what’s the plan?”
Dexter huffed before downing the rest of his coffee and slamming the empty cup into the trash bin they were passing by. “That’s the problem…this extended wait because of SCW’s schedule just so I can get back to work is infuriating. I understand because they want to promote a ‘bigger show’ and all that, but it just adds to the problem I’m trying to help this company detox from in the first place. And with everyone so addicted to rallies and voting and the Presidential race and all that nonsense, I can’t even get two words out from atop my soapbox before these digital dummies want my head because I’m refusing to throw gasoline on their fire in favor of trying to open their eyes to something far more important.”
Silence overtook their walk once more as Dexter continued leading them to where he’d parked his truck. As sturdy and reliable as the vehicle was, Dexter found comfort in distracting himself with thoughts of a potential upgrade. After all, the truck was already being pushed a lot harder than he’d ever had to before since he wasn’t particularly one for airports…mostly because his usual attire made him out to be some sort of lunatic that airport security would wrongfully assume had harmful intentions in mind for other passengers and he had a feeling he wouldn’t even be let beyond the checkpoint, much less onto a plane. That would be an issue to potentially deal with if he ever found himself with a truly international booking perhaps, but for now…maybe investing his hard-earned money into an RV wouldn’t be a bad idea. Certainly a far better use for his paycheck than a little blue checkmark that ‘verified’ him online, for all the use that would ever have in the grand scheme of things.
“You still hung up on how I feel about this election bullshit?” Dexter suddenly asked as he and Wendell climbed into the truck.
“I…well…maybe?” Wendell stammered. Dexter noted that the kid did that quite frequently whenever he seemed to rock the guy’s world with some sort of revelation. It almost reminded him of a malfunctioning robot, which was a good image in his mind if he could help pull Wendell away more and more from the toxic threads of the online world. “I guess there’s a lot of things I’ve been confused about.”
“It’s a natural response,” Dexter nodded as his truck roared to life and he began driving, mentally mapping out a path to the nearest forest that did exist in the Motor City just so he could unwind in a setting he had grown to feel comfortable in. “I know a lot of what I’ve told you over the years might seem controversial or bizarre, but that’s the trick. The deeper one falls into digital oblivion, the harder it becomes to put down the phone and see beyond the rosy tint it leaves in your vision.”
“Well…” Wendell interjected. “There’s also the fact that…for as much as you’ve let me in to prove I can trust you, I also feel like there’s a lot about you that I still don’t know.”
“I have my reasons, Wendell,” Dexter sighed. “I could sit here and say that it’s my own little safety precaution to keep from trying to have my personal information hanging out there for anyone to see and spread around for the bidder with the biggest wallet of whatever the hell this ‘bitcoin’ crypto bullshit is, which isn’t exactly a lie. The full truth, I think, would lie somewhere closer to the realm of any of that being relevant to the old Dexter Grant, the man who bought into all those lies and tweets and could have very easily ended up as just another cog in the machine. The moment I pierced the veil and severed my cables was the moment where all of that became irrelevant. The man I am now? Maybe still a work in progress, but that’s just part of my fight, to define who I truly am and show the world why they need to listen to me if they want to make that decision for themselves as well, not just be whoever Instagram or Tiktok or whatever dictates they should be to garner likes and reposts and all this other crap that has no real world value or relevance.”
Wendell took a moment to ponder this as Dexter embraced the silence once more, his mind wandering to places he didn’t want it to go right now. He was reminded of his father, of the confrontation they had in the streets of Boston prior to his leaving the city to go beat a Boston native in the ring on Breakdown in Ottawa…as stupid as it sounded, he couldn’t help but wonder who his father, his whole family for that matter, might vote for, maybe hoping that it turning out a certain way would prove they’re willing to support his message even if they weren’t as willing to commit or detox like he was.
“Maybe this will help clear things up,” Dexter suddenly said, startling Wendell a bit from the broken silence. “Who do you think Rayne Young would vote for in this election?”
“I…um…” Wendell thought hard for a moment. “I don’t think it matters?”
“Exactly,” Dexter nodded. “Because stuff like that is irrelevant as far as I need to be concerned with. People can distract themselves with this election all they want, Rayne Young included, but it doesn’t change the fact that he still has to submit himself to detoxing if he’s ever truly going to be someone worthwhile in this world. It’s all a convenient distraction, just like those chamber matches and everyone in them are SCW’s convenient distraction to bury my message and the example I’m going to make out of Mr. Young. Who cares about what I’m going to do to him, after all, when they can post and react to whatever insane thing happens in a match designed to be a deathtrap? Even if our match doesn’t matter, SCW won’t just kick it off the card now that a big deal has been made out of it being there. It’s the unfortunate cycle that people trap themselves in that these digital demons take advantage of.”
“So you just need to make the most out of getting into the ring and kicking Rayne’s butt!” Wendell realized.
“Of course,” Dexter laughed. “As long as I can find importance in it, I will pursue it. That’s the same thought that drives these politicians to their campaign trails and the billions of dollars they waste on ads defaming their opposition. It’s why anybody does anything. The only difference is that I’m trying to force the iron grip of social media to let go of their stranglehold over this cycle so people realize their place in it should be for what they want it to be, not what some trashy website of dubious quality suggests it should be.”
Wendell nodded, believing he could see exactly what Dexter was getting at, and Dexter was certain he did. He had more faith in Wendell and his place in this fight than he often let on, and that had actually been the reason why he’d been allowing his flunky more autonomy in trying to help spread their message on SCW television. Even if the results weren’t quite there yet, Dexter was hopeful they would be if the fight continued.
For now, he would have to content himself with walking right up to a highly touted wrestler of over 20 years worth of experience and exposing him for nothing more than a digitally generated front who had lost his way and needed the help of someone like Dexter Grant to prove there was any substance to match the style he wanted to present himself with. After all, Dexter had substance in spades, and a severe imbalance in experience didn’t counter the old adage that anyone could be anybody else on any given night.
Under Attack just wasn’t going to be Rayne Young’s night, not so long as Dexter was his living, breathing reality check.
We start with all the hallmarks of a recorded VHS tape. Blue screen with the occasional crackle of visual white noise, an audible mains hum, the little text in the corner that reads “PLAY” next to the play symbol. Once we move past this however, it becomes clear that we’re back to a lower quality recording similar to the first time we witnessed something like this from the man we’re here to see. It doesn’t take us long to find Dexter Grant, although it does take us a moment to realize where he’s at. Almost oddly fitting for the Motor City, which we can see the skyline of clearly in the distance, Dexter has made his way to the top level of one of those parking garages, sitting on his familiar soapbox as he scans his surroundings, taking in the various cars parked all around him, perhaps wondering what their owners are currently up to. After a moment of enjoying the wind in his face, Dexter reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a tape recorder, and the sound that greets our ears is clearly a live recording from perhaps the most recent Breakdown, given the otherwise poor sound quality and the sound of people reacting.
“Rayne Young wants to cut his head bald, then you want to cut your head bald.”
“If Rayne Young wore a bandana, you wanna wear a bandana.”
“If Rayne Young puts a cross on his back, you wanna put crosses on your back.”
“You ain’t Rayne Young, this is Rayne Young.”
Just as we hear what sounds like the start of pyro going off, Dexter stops the tape, shaking his head almost in disappointment. He takes one look at the tape recorder before he tosses it over his shoulder, letting it go soaring off the top of this parking garage and not caring about how far it’s going to fall before it inevitably smashes into the pavement below. Dexter merely scoffs before he finally speaks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a walking, talking trend to discuss today, and despite how highly he thinks of himself, the truth of the matter is that he is no different from any of you. That, however, does not make him any less dangerous…no, I do not refer to what he can do in the ring, but rather, how much he’s practically begging for you, for your children, for any impressionable minds out there to imitate him just to believe for a scant few seconds that they, too, can be Rayne Young. I mean, you heard his grand spiel that’s a part of his entrance each and every week like some hypnotic suggestion or pathetic attempt to get his name trending on social media like it’s the latest challenge to take over something like Tiktok, as if we haven’t had enough of those since that godforsaken app came into being.
I suppose I need to ask the question that should truly concern you all: if Rayne Young told you to eat Tide Pods because he claims to have done so without issue, would you proceed to eat Tide Pods just because he did?”
Dexter lets that thought hang in the air before snapping his fingers, and after a moment, we see Wendell walk into the shot and nervously stand right beside Dexter before he states some facts.
“Between 2012 and 2013, there were over 7000 cases of young children eating Tide Pods. Why, you ask? Because it was the social media craze of the time, a challenge that they felt they could not resist. Given that 57% of children have admitted they imitate their media heroes by copying what they do and following what they say, and these so-called ‘heroes’ have more and more often been influencers on sites like Youtube and Tiktok, it makes sense to be concerned that your child may watch Rayne Young compete and proceed to try and become just like him.”
Dexter spits on the ground at the sound of this.
“That is the kind of man we are dealing with, ladies and gentlemen. A so-called ‘legend’ and ‘hero’ who knowingly promotes himself as whatever SCW wants him to be because it gets his name trending and makes him appear to you all at this larger-than-life being with all the experience in the world…the perfect conqueror to end the threat of yours truly and save social media from the big bad Digital Detoxer who wants you to…put your phone down.
I’d ask if you all see the discrepancy here, but I know you’ll ignore it. After all, nothing online has told you that I’m to be trusted even though I’ve been operating with YOUR best interests in mind this entire time.
People like Rayne Young, like Gavin Taylor, like Marie Jones, they’re all a dime a dozen. These social media machines manufacture these junkies for fame and shove them down your throats, not caring if they burn out while chasing that precious online clout because they can always just mass produce more like them when that star burns out. Now, I’ve left Gavin alone because I’ve already shown him that his star is fading, and if he is insistent on ignoring my attempts to help him then he can die his slow and painful death already. Marie learned the hard way on Breakdown that she may call herself a phoenix, but she is struggling to continue rising from her ashes the less relevant she can become while begging and pleading for your support.
As for you, Rayne? Your detoxing begins at Under Attack, right here in Detroit.”
Dexter can’t resist spreading his arms, forcing Wendell to step aside a bit as he shows off the incredible city behind him.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? The Motor City, the home of some of America’s biggest automakers, the birthplace of at least 20% of all cars made in this country. But why enjoy the city when you can tweet about it? Why drive cars anymore when you can just look them up on Instagram and marvel at the impressive ride someone has and wish it could be yours? Hell, driving itself may soon become obsolete if these self-driving cars ever get their bugs worked out…if that thought doesn’t terrify you, then congrats, you’ve proven yourself to be enslaved by your screens, which makes you ripe for the picking of someone like Rayne Young to convince you to cheer him on and save you all from the real hero who’s been fighting for you this whole time, trying to save you.
But oh dear, how could I possibly be the real good guy in this situation? After all, I stole Rayne’s phone and could have risked the privacy of his entire family…never mind the fact that this company promotes a freak in a Halloween mask trying to haunt and set fire to one of its champions like we’re all living in some sort of slasher flick. Sounds to me like if a breach of privacy is your biggest concern, Mr. Young, then you set foot in the wrong fucking company. Besides, you need to get your facts straight: Wendell, my devoted disciple, is the one who took your phone, all to give you a chance to prove him wrong. If I laid a finger on your precious little smartphone, it would have immediately found itself a pile of scrap because, let’s be honest, no one actually uses those things to CALL anyone! If that’s all you needed a phone for, there’s older options that could have proven you weren’t someone to end up in my crosshairs.
Wendell acted on his own accord to help me spread my truth…you do not call me a hypocrite by making baseless claims and tying the crimes of someone devoted to the cause back to me.”
Wendell shoots a surprised look at Dexter, but one glare from him is enough to remind the kid that his presence is no longer needed, causing him to awkwardly shuffle back out of the shot.
“Mr. Young, you are aware that there exists more conventional methods to obtain information that have nothing to do with the internet, right? I mean, hang around the SCW locker room for long enough, and most will spill their life story to be put on file as public records somewhere along the line. But no, that doesn’t work with your narrative, does it? The one where there’s no coming back for me, where you’re going to rid SCW of me after you bleed me dry. After all, everyone online will just eat that shit up blindly because it’s the perfect way to promote a man who’s supposedly seen and done it all in 20 something years of being in this sport when compared to someone like me who doesn’t have anywhere close to that level of experience.
Again, ask Marie Jones how much experience ultimately mattered.
Allow me to tell you what’s actually going to happen, Rayne. No matter how much you make me bleed, no matter how much this so-called cobra you refer to yourself as tries to kill me by injecting your digital venom into my veins, I will get back up. I will hit you harder. I will rip your fangs from your mouth and give you a taste of your own medicine so that you can finally wake up and comprehend the poison that has long since infected you. You will be brought to your knees, begging for me to be your antidote, and I will not heed your request. On a night where our match is irrelevant when compared to the social media phenomenon that is three chamber matches, I will remember the wise words of never turning your back on a snake and I will cut off its head, revealing the true Rayne Young for the world to see…a Rayne Young who is nothing more than just another hollow shell bearing a supposedly big name that means nothing against my mission, my cause, the very hill I am willing to die on because someone has to save humanity from its own impending destruction, and we both know it’s not going to be you.
How can I possibly compete against the brutality of these chambers and everyone within fighting to be the trending story of the night, you ask?
Simple.
I disconnect Rayne Young from SCW…to reconnect all of you to reality.”
Dexter makes a very simple motion, that of running his thumb along his throat as though he were cutting it, before turning that thumb down as he glares into the camera with pure disdain. This, however, is when the video is lost to white noise that inevitably returns to the familiar blue screen, and from there, the whole thing cuts.
=================
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Dexter was very familiar with that old line, and although he didn’t agree with it considering the state of the world he found himself fighting against day after day, he knew the unfortunate truth that some things truly hadn’t changed, only adapted to fit in with the digital trends of 2024. Politics was one such thing, and Dexter didn’t even need to taint his eyeballs with the toxic temptation of code building out an elaborate web page to know that politics and social media were essentially parasites feeding off one another, fueling their respective webs of misinformation and distrust because at the end of the day, a nation thoroughly divided was a nation that was easier to exploit for profit.
The very thought of this cyber-cancer being weaponized for political gain on top of every other reason Dexter already despised it had him wanting to vomit.
Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it. No matter where he walked in Detroit, all he could see were campaign signs and banners littering every street corner, endorsing this candidate or begging him to vote for that one. Truth be told, Dexter never cared for politics in the first place. Even before he became the Digital Detoxer, he saw the whole thing for what it was: a sucker’s game that never truly benefited anybody at the end of the day and only served to stroke the egos of anybody desperate enough to suck up to the masses and say anything they thought would give them a taste of that delicious power…at least until the reality of their position and how powerless they truly were in the grand scheme of things crashed down over their heads like a tidal wave.
“I hate this time of year,” Dexter huffed to himself. Ever since he’d arrived in Detroit for what would be his in-ring debut on a pay-per-view or premium live event or however the hell SCW did their business, he’d found it impossible to enjoy his usual distraction of preaching his message to the masses from the comfort of his soapbox, and it was all the fault of the election being days away.
All anybody cared about was who was going to be the next President of the United States of America, and the moment Dexter took a stand on his soapbox, anyone around him immediately assumed he was going to campaign on behalf of one of the big two candidates and ran him off with threats of violence when it became clear what he had to say had absolutely nothing to do with the election at all.
At least he would have Under Attack to serve as a distraction.
Dexter wanted to hope that his machinations had become pretty clear as of the last Breakdown. After all, he had no reason to linger on Gavin Taylor deciding to snub him in favor of chasing after a more marketable match when the SCW roster was loaded with lost souls in desperate need of detoxing before their lives were brought to an end and their corpses were strung up to further feed the social media machine. That was the reason why he had ‘upset’ Marie Jones to unsurprisingly send her back to Twitter or X or whatever it went by now to lament her latest failure and garner pity points over something needing to change for her. It was the reason why he had decided to offer his help to another supposed veteran who was clearly obsessed with the image that had been crafted of himself and needed a dose of reality.
“It’s crazy seeing how different a place can look in the final stretch of election season,” Wendell remarked as he caught up to Dexter, who was just passing by the coffee shop he’d sent his flunky to for not only a coffee run but also to stealthily hop online and gather some more intel.
“Disgusting is more like it,” Dexter scoffed as he took his coffee from Wendell and took a nice, long drink of the bitter black substance.
“Have you put any thought towards who you’re voting for?” Wendell chanced asking. “Because I think our cause could be helped if-”
“I’m not voting.”
The stern refusal seemed to surprise Wendell, although Dexter just kept drinking his coffee and distracted his thoughts by pondering why the hell Detroit’s weather was in the 70s during mid-autumn.
“But…but…huh?” Wendell stammered out.
“You heard me,” Dexter reiterated. “It’s a waste of time, all of it. You put someone in office, they don’t do shit for a few years because they sorely underestimate how much they have to answer to not only each other but also the people who put them there in the first place, wash, rinse, repeat. It hasn’t worked yet, and it will never work if you ask me.”
“I don’t get it…” Wendell seemed confused as he looked around in a panic, almost as if Dexter’s words were going to draw attention to them that wasn’t going to turn out well.
“I’ll admit that democracy is a much better system than anything else in the world,” Dexter shrugged. “The problem is that we pioneered this revolutionary way to decide who leads us and decides the laws and so on, but then we fucked it up by basically allowing for money to go a long way in deciding who gets those positions to benefit people like the social media moguls who know they can spin all of this, no matter who wins, into press for themselves to sucker more people into their world wide web. After all, if social media and whatever ‘information’ it’s presenting and the platform it gives people to yell and scream the loudest about who they want to win can decide an election, imagine how easy it would be to keep shoving down people’s throats to try and connect with ‘their elected official.’”
Blasphemy? Perhaps, but it could also perhaps be true that the hints of the man Dexter Grant would become were already present in his disdain towards politics and the rise of social media simply gave him a more tangible enemy he felt he could fight, kill two birds with one stone maybe. He knew there was at least some truth to the words he’d just spoken, and he could see the gears turning in Wendell’s brain as the poor kid realized he was undergoing another impromptu detoxing session by hearing Dexter’s words. After all, how much would anybody really care about who was elected after November 5th anyway? And those that were would just tweet about it and entice more people to tweet about it until it all became a jumbled mass of nonsensical words that would make even the greatest wordsmiths of our time have the mother of all migraines.
Dexter briefly wondered what Chase Upshaw would have thought about any of this. Sure, the man had been a geography teacher, supposedly, instead of an english teacher, but that still meant he supposedly worked at an institution of learning that would’ve had to put up with any of this garbage.
“So…um…” Wendell fumbled, trying to figure out how to put this conversation back on some sort of track. “Election aside, I guess…what’s the plan?”
Dexter huffed before downing the rest of his coffee and slamming the empty cup into the trash bin they were passing by. “That’s the problem…this extended wait because of SCW’s schedule just so I can get back to work is infuriating. I understand because they want to promote a ‘bigger show’ and all that, but it just adds to the problem I’m trying to help this company detox from in the first place. And with everyone so addicted to rallies and voting and the Presidential race and all that nonsense, I can’t even get two words out from atop my soapbox before these digital dummies want my head because I’m refusing to throw gasoline on their fire in favor of trying to open their eyes to something far more important.”
Silence overtook their walk once more as Dexter continued leading them to where he’d parked his truck. As sturdy and reliable as the vehicle was, Dexter found comfort in distracting himself with thoughts of a potential upgrade. After all, the truck was already being pushed a lot harder than he’d ever had to before since he wasn’t particularly one for airports…mostly because his usual attire made him out to be some sort of lunatic that airport security would wrongfully assume had harmful intentions in mind for other passengers and he had a feeling he wouldn’t even be let beyond the checkpoint, much less onto a plane. That would be an issue to potentially deal with if he ever found himself with a truly international booking perhaps, but for now…maybe investing his hard-earned money into an RV wouldn’t be a bad idea. Certainly a far better use for his paycheck than a little blue checkmark that ‘verified’ him online, for all the use that would ever have in the grand scheme of things.
“You still hung up on how I feel about this election bullshit?” Dexter suddenly asked as he and Wendell climbed into the truck.
“I…well…maybe?” Wendell stammered. Dexter noted that the kid did that quite frequently whenever he seemed to rock the guy’s world with some sort of revelation. It almost reminded him of a malfunctioning robot, which was a good image in his mind if he could help pull Wendell away more and more from the toxic threads of the online world. “I guess there’s a lot of things I’ve been confused about.”
“It’s a natural response,” Dexter nodded as his truck roared to life and he began driving, mentally mapping out a path to the nearest forest that did exist in the Motor City just so he could unwind in a setting he had grown to feel comfortable in. “I know a lot of what I’ve told you over the years might seem controversial or bizarre, but that’s the trick. The deeper one falls into digital oblivion, the harder it becomes to put down the phone and see beyond the rosy tint it leaves in your vision.”
“Well…” Wendell interjected. “There’s also the fact that…for as much as you’ve let me in to prove I can trust you, I also feel like there’s a lot about you that I still don’t know.”
“I have my reasons, Wendell,” Dexter sighed. “I could sit here and say that it’s my own little safety precaution to keep from trying to have my personal information hanging out there for anyone to see and spread around for the bidder with the biggest wallet of whatever the hell this ‘bitcoin’ crypto bullshit is, which isn’t exactly a lie. The full truth, I think, would lie somewhere closer to the realm of any of that being relevant to the old Dexter Grant, the man who bought into all those lies and tweets and could have very easily ended up as just another cog in the machine. The moment I pierced the veil and severed my cables was the moment where all of that became irrelevant. The man I am now? Maybe still a work in progress, but that’s just part of my fight, to define who I truly am and show the world why they need to listen to me if they want to make that decision for themselves as well, not just be whoever Instagram or Tiktok or whatever dictates they should be to garner likes and reposts and all this other crap that has no real world value or relevance.”
Wendell took a moment to ponder this as Dexter embraced the silence once more, his mind wandering to places he didn’t want it to go right now. He was reminded of his father, of the confrontation they had in the streets of Boston prior to his leaving the city to go beat a Boston native in the ring on Breakdown in Ottawa…as stupid as it sounded, he couldn’t help but wonder who his father, his whole family for that matter, might vote for, maybe hoping that it turning out a certain way would prove they’re willing to support his message even if they weren’t as willing to commit or detox like he was.
“Maybe this will help clear things up,” Dexter suddenly said, startling Wendell a bit from the broken silence. “Who do you think Rayne Young would vote for in this election?”
“I…um…” Wendell thought hard for a moment. “I don’t think it matters?”
“Exactly,” Dexter nodded. “Because stuff like that is irrelevant as far as I need to be concerned with. People can distract themselves with this election all they want, Rayne Young included, but it doesn’t change the fact that he still has to submit himself to detoxing if he’s ever truly going to be someone worthwhile in this world. It’s all a convenient distraction, just like those chamber matches and everyone in them are SCW’s convenient distraction to bury my message and the example I’m going to make out of Mr. Young. Who cares about what I’m going to do to him, after all, when they can post and react to whatever insane thing happens in a match designed to be a deathtrap? Even if our match doesn’t matter, SCW won’t just kick it off the card now that a big deal has been made out of it being there. It’s the unfortunate cycle that people trap themselves in that these digital demons take advantage of.”
“So you just need to make the most out of getting into the ring and kicking Rayne’s butt!” Wendell realized.
“Of course,” Dexter laughed. “As long as I can find importance in it, I will pursue it. That’s the same thought that drives these politicians to their campaign trails and the billions of dollars they waste on ads defaming their opposition. It’s why anybody does anything. The only difference is that I’m trying to force the iron grip of social media to let go of their stranglehold over this cycle so people realize their place in it should be for what they want it to be, not what some trashy website of dubious quality suggests it should be.”
Wendell nodded, believing he could see exactly what Dexter was getting at, and Dexter was certain he did. He had more faith in Wendell and his place in this fight than he often let on, and that had actually been the reason why he’d been allowing his flunky more autonomy in trying to help spread their message on SCW television. Even if the results weren’t quite there yet, Dexter was hopeful they would be if the fight continued.
For now, he would have to content himself with walking right up to a highly touted wrestler of over 20 years worth of experience and exposing him for nothing more than a digitally generated front who had lost his way and needed the help of someone like Dexter Grant to prove there was any substance to match the style he wanted to present himself with. After all, Dexter had substance in spades, and a severe imbalance in experience didn’t counter the old adage that anyone could be anybody else on any given night.
Under Attack just wasn’t going to be Rayne Young’s night, not so long as Dexter was his living, breathing reality check.
~ ~ ~
The following VHS tape was delivered to SCW headquarters via mail, courtesy of Dexter Grant. Despite Dexter’s demands not to do so, the following video was extracted from the tape and converted into a digital format for general viewing.
We start with all the hallmarks of a recorded VHS tape. Blue screen with the occasional crackle of visual white noise, an audible mains hum, the little text in the corner that reads “PLAY” next to the play symbol. Once we move past this however, it becomes clear that we’re back to a lower quality recording similar to the first time we witnessed something like this from the man we’re here to see. It doesn’t take us long to find Dexter Grant, although it does take us a moment to realize where he’s at. Almost oddly fitting for the Motor City, which we can see the skyline of clearly in the distance, Dexter has made his way to the top level of one of those parking garages, sitting on his familiar soapbox as he scans his surroundings, taking in the various cars parked all around him, perhaps wondering what their owners are currently up to. After a moment of enjoying the wind in his face, Dexter reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a tape recorder, and the sound that greets our ears is clearly a live recording from perhaps the most recent Breakdown, given the otherwise poor sound quality and the sound of people reacting.
“Rayne Young wants to cut his head bald, then you want to cut your head bald.”
“If Rayne Young wore a bandana, you wanna wear a bandana.”
“If Rayne Young puts a cross on his back, you wanna put crosses on your back.”
“You ain’t Rayne Young, this is Rayne Young.”
Just as we hear what sounds like the start of pyro going off, Dexter stops the tape, shaking his head almost in disappointment. He takes one look at the tape recorder before he tosses it over his shoulder, letting it go soaring off the top of this parking garage and not caring about how far it’s going to fall before it inevitably smashes into the pavement below. Dexter merely scoffs before he finally speaks.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a walking, talking trend to discuss today, and despite how highly he thinks of himself, the truth of the matter is that he is no different from any of you. That, however, does not make him any less dangerous…no, I do not refer to what he can do in the ring, but rather, how much he’s practically begging for you, for your children, for any impressionable minds out there to imitate him just to believe for a scant few seconds that they, too, can be Rayne Young. I mean, you heard his grand spiel that’s a part of his entrance each and every week like some hypnotic suggestion or pathetic attempt to get his name trending on social media like it’s the latest challenge to take over something like Tiktok, as if we haven’t had enough of those since that godforsaken app came into being.
I suppose I need to ask the question that should truly concern you all: if Rayne Young told you to eat Tide Pods because he claims to have done so without issue, would you proceed to eat Tide Pods just because he did?”
Dexter lets that thought hang in the air before snapping his fingers, and after a moment, we see Wendell walk into the shot and nervously stand right beside Dexter before he states some facts.
“Between 2012 and 2013, there were over 7000 cases of young children eating Tide Pods. Why, you ask? Because it was the social media craze of the time, a challenge that they felt they could not resist. Given that 57% of children have admitted they imitate their media heroes by copying what they do and following what they say, and these so-called ‘heroes’ have more and more often been influencers on sites like Youtube and Tiktok, it makes sense to be concerned that your child may watch Rayne Young compete and proceed to try and become just like him.”
Dexter spits on the ground at the sound of this.
“That is the kind of man we are dealing with, ladies and gentlemen. A so-called ‘legend’ and ‘hero’ who knowingly promotes himself as whatever SCW wants him to be because it gets his name trending and makes him appear to you all at this larger-than-life being with all the experience in the world…the perfect conqueror to end the threat of yours truly and save social media from the big bad Digital Detoxer who wants you to…put your phone down.
I’d ask if you all see the discrepancy here, but I know you’ll ignore it. After all, nothing online has told you that I’m to be trusted even though I’ve been operating with YOUR best interests in mind this entire time.
People like Rayne Young, like Gavin Taylor, like Marie Jones, they’re all a dime a dozen. These social media machines manufacture these junkies for fame and shove them down your throats, not caring if they burn out while chasing that precious online clout because they can always just mass produce more like them when that star burns out. Now, I’ve left Gavin alone because I’ve already shown him that his star is fading, and if he is insistent on ignoring my attempts to help him then he can die his slow and painful death already. Marie learned the hard way on Breakdown that she may call herself a phoenix, but she is struggling to continue rising from her ashes the less relevant she can become while begging and pleading for your support.
As for you, Rayne? Your detoxing begins at Under Attack, right here in Detroit.”
Dexter can’t resist spreading his arms, forcing Wendell to step aside a bit as he shows off the incredible city behind him.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? The Motor City, the home of some of America’s biggest automakers, the birthplace of at least 20% of all cars made in this country. But why enjoy the city when you can tweet about it? Why drive cars anymore when you can just look them up on Instagram and marvel at the impressive ride someone has and wish it could be yours? Hell, driving itself may soon become obsolete if these self-driving cars ever get their bugs worked out…if that thought doesn’t terrify you, then congrats, you’ve proven yourself to be enslaved by your screens, which makes you ripe for the picking of someone like Rayne Young to convince you to cheer him on and save you all from the real hero who’s been fighting for you this whole time, trying to save you.
But oh dear, how could I possibly be the real good guy in this situation? After all, I stole Rayne’s phone and could have risked the privacy of his entire family…never mind the fact that this company promotes a freak in a Halloween mask trying to haunt and set fire to one of its champions like we’re all living in some sort of slasher flick. Sounds to me like if a breach of privacy is your biggest concern, Mr. Young, then you set foot in the wrong fucking company. Besides, you need to get your facts straight: Wendell, my devoted disciple, is the one who took your phone, all to give you a chance to prove him wrong. If I laid a finger on your precious little smartphone, it would have immediately found itself a pile of scrap because, let’s be honest, no one actually uses those things to CALL anyone! If that’s all you needed a phone for, there’s older options that could have proven you weren’t someone to end up in my crosshairs.
Wendell acted on his own accord to help me spread my truth…you do not call me a hypocrite by making baseless claims and tying the crimes of someone devoted to the cause back to me.”
Wendell shoots a surprised look at Dexter, but one glare from him is enough to remind the kid that his presence is no longer needed, causing him to awkwardly shuffle back out of the shot.
“Mr. Young, you are aware that there exists more conventional methods to obtain information that have nothing to do with the internet, right? I mean, hang around the SCW locker room for long enough, and most will spill their life story to be put on file as public records somewhere along the line. But no, that doesn’t work with your narrative, does it? The one where there’s no coming back for me, where you’re going to rid SCW of me after you bleed me dry. After all, everyone online will just eat that shit up blindly because it’s the perfect way to promote a man who’s supposedly seen and done it all in 20 something years of being in this sport when compared to someone like me who doesn’t have anywhere close to that level of experience.
Again, ask Marie Jones how much experience ultimately mattered.
Allow me to tell you what’s actually going to happen, Rayne. No matter how much you make me bleed, no matter how much this so-called cobra you refer to yourself as tries to kill me by injecting your digital venom into my veins, I will get back up. I will hit you harder. I will rip your fangs from your mouth and give you a taste of your own medicine so that you can finally wake up and comprehend the poison that has long since infected you. You will be brought to your knees, begging for me to be your antidote, and I will not heed your request. On a night where our match is irrelevant when compared to the social media phenomenon that is three chamber matches, I will remember the wise words of never turning your back on a snake and I will cut off its head, revealing the true Rayne Young for the world to see…a Rayne Young who is nothing more than just another hollow shell bearing a supposedly big name that means nothing against my mission, my cause, the very hill I am willing to die on because someone has to save humanity from its own impending destruction, and we both know it’s not going to be you.
How can I possibly compete against the brutality of these chambers and everyone within fighting to be the trending story of the night, you ask?
Simple.
I disconnect Rayne Young from SCW…to reconnect all of you to reality.”
Dexter makes a very simple motion, that of running his thumb along his throat as though he were cutting it, before turning that thumb down as he glares into the camera with pure disdain. This, however, is when the video is lost to white noise that inevitably returns to the familiar blue screen, and from there, the whole thing cuts.