- Event: War Games 22
The preparaZIONs are almost completed and the Great LiberaZION takes foot soon. It feels so picturesque to watch my fellow citizens act with due diligence. Everywhere you go, next to the HOW banners, you’ll find a 4Z one slapped right next to it.
But while we could admire the framework that I’ve accomplished; today we take a moment of silence. The toils and turmoils of World War Z hit the soul differently. All the blood lost and all the body counts weigh down a person. While the sacrifice leading up to this moment is great; June 12th will see the single most bloodshed in WWZ. The events will rock Zi-ev, Zi-Kraine to its core. Especially since the Vi-Zion-ary will spill pints of blood to win the World Championship.
Whether you’re a believer or not, The Children of Zion still fall on edge. Everyone from town takes their moments to pay their respects. Both to the fallen freedom fighters or War Games participants. It’s only the right thing to do.
Every time a patreon goes up to light a candle, their footsteps echo throughout the vast chapel. Drooping my head towards the ground, I make the journey to the front. The Zeitgeist of NFZ’s fears what he’s about to do. With Chives in tow with a handful of candles, we step up towards the altar. Both my manservant and I gaze at one another before our hands come together. Both of us mutter prayers under our breaths. My words…the Vi-Zion-ary’s words still echo through my brain while I utter them.
Darin Zion: Guide my thoughts, words, and actions as I enter the most bloodthirsty, calloused, inhuman War Games match in history. I may have all the viZIONs and aspiraZIONs. But my heart’s softened these past few years. Please give me a bloodlust the likes of which no mortal has seen. Guide me into delivering YOUR VENGEANCE! Oh Greater Good! Please give me the power to make all my doubters SUFFER PESTILENCE AND ANGUISH!!
Taking a deep breath in, I close my eyes to continue the prayer.
Darin Zion: It’s gonna take a lot more than positive vibes and prayers to pull this one off; I know. I’ve put in more work than ever. I’ve run myself dry compared to previous events. Hell, I’m going above my limits to do things I’ve sworn I wouldn’t do. All because I want to end this War. I’m tired of all the ceaseless fire. The burden grows when senseless violence continues with this family. It grinds my gears the suffering Lee Best imposes on the world and its people.
My hands tremble as my heart guides my whispers.
Darin Zion: Let everything fall into place, my GREATER GOOD. Let your Vi-Zion-ary upset the delicate balance. Your Ze-Lightful Servant will act as YOUR 5 Star General to End World War Z. You’ve heard me yammering about this all week. Give me YOUR strength and YOUR power for execuZION. I am YOUR VESSEL to cast a percepZION of YOUR HOPE into the world.”
Bowing my head, both Chives and my own prayers echo in tandem.
Both: E nomine patri, et Fili et spiritu sancti!
The Zenith of GenZ and my manservant both kneel for a moment before exiting. In the back of my mind, I hate the constant clopping from these annoying dress shoes. While we both pass down the corridor, I pull Chives’ ear closer to mine.
Darin Zion: Only a few more days until the big day. The pressure’s weighing on me, right now, man! I know exactly what I have to say. But it’s taking the courage to increase my douchebaggery to epic levels.
Chives: Oh trust me, sir. I know a thing or two about holding punches. Every time you save them for later, you regret it. There’s a lot of old, dead hags I served over the years. Some of them deserved…pardon me stealing your phrase…evisceraZION.
A small grin appears on my face. I pat my good chum on the back while giving him a swift thumbs up.
Darin Zion: I’ll give you credit, you nailed that reference.
Chives: Yes! But I still have a point. The longer you wait to get something off your chest. The worse that pressure feels. If you continue to bottle it all up; you’re only hurting yourself. Hell, you could hold yourself back from reaching your greatest epiphany.
Darin Zion: Simon’s told me that a lot this last quarter. You’d think it’d stick sooner. But I feel like I’m about to ruffle some feathers in the wrong way.
As we enter the cool, refreshing air of the Kyiv afternoon, Chives halts me at the top of the stairs. His glistening, blue eyes stare straight into my own. A fire burns in his eyes.
Chives: Then apply SparrowDynamics Lesson 1 right now.
Perplexed, my eyebrows raise up while my brain questions his actions. Chives takes a moment to jolt me back to reality.
Chives: Random Acts of Douchebaggery! Commit it right now. Don’t fucking think about the ramfications. DO IT! DON’T WASTE TIME.
The eyes of your Vi-Zion-Ary glow with intense hatred. All those pent up frustrations surface from the first time Simon gave me no choice. I’d rather steal from the cart owner than hurt the old man. Now I had no other choice. Standing up 100 steps tall, only Chives and I stood there. A fierce, burning rage fires up in my gut before I heave with all the force in the world. A loud grunt erupts from my belly.
Darin Zion: TAKE THAT YOU WORTHLESS OLD MAN!! I can replace your ass with ANY random ass bum off the street. Fuck you and your pathetic British accent. The emotional ties between Simon and your existence in my life mean NOTHING to me. I hope you fuckin’ die!!!
The blood curdling screams of this Chives reflect off the clouds in the sky. He bounces, bumps, and crumples on each one of the 100 stairs to the ground below. A pool of blood pours out from his head while he crumples near innocent bystanders. I take a quick moment to check, the bastard is breathing. THANK GOD!
Passing the poor soul on my descent down the stairs, I look down on my shoes. I’d step into some idiot child’s gum! THE HEATHEN!!! Stopping, I take a moment to polish my good loafers with his tux coat. I tip my fedora to him while I skip away with haste.
Darin Zion: FUCK OFF WORTHLESS MEATSACK!
While I get down the street before anyone recognizes, I turn a corner and smirk. Whispering under my breath, I give him one last ounce of praise.
Darin Zion: Thank you for making the hardest part of my job easy again. Now I can say what’s on my mind.
Wasting no time, I scoop another bum off the side of the road. I scold him into submission while I christen him my newest Chives.
Darin Zion: Come along, chap! I said FUCKING COME, CHIVES! CHOP! CHOP! We must get preparaZIONs going for my final feast before the coronation!
==========
We’re welcomed into a dark and dreamy room with an elongated table. It’s a medieval piece of furniture, made from the finest oak. Hung from the stony walls are #97Red silk curtains. The candlelight burns intensely from the dangling chandeliers. At the table below, only a first-class meal fit for a king. You can see the pleasant scents of this meal wafting into the air above. The feast consists of a turkey, fixings, mashed potatoes, and the whole 9 yards.
Seated next to the marble plates, golden goblets are filled to the brim with the best Ukrainian wine. Soon druids wearing dulled #97Red robes fill the lower caste seats at the table. Each one of them grabbed a chalice, raising it into the air. Emerging from the shadows, a man comes out wearing the finest silk robes. Their golden outlines glisten amongst the flames. The Shadowed Figure takes his seat at the table. You can tell he’s a benevolent man as he motions for his subjects to indulge in his banquet. Folding his hands, the man pulls down his hood. It’s revealed to be Darin Zion.
A snide smirk lights up the corrupt look glowing from his eyes. The Vi-Zion-Ary motions for the camera person to come to his table.
“Welcome one and all to the final feast before the Great World War Z comes to its end. Take your seat at the footstool of my table. Please!”
Pausing, Zion throws his hand up before clenching his fist. The Zenith of Generation Z places a harsh emphasis on his next words.
“ESPECIALLY YOU, Christopher America. How dare you besmirch the name of a revoluZIONary like myself in my court. It’s that typical fuckin’ hypocritical behavior I expect from Michael Lee Best’s family. But from the Fortress of Freedom, your insubstantial indignant gestures sadden me. This is something I’d expect from a communist regime, not from someone with your accolades. You’re damn lucky I’m a benevolent man and don’t feed you from the trash bins like you deserve. It’s no wonder why Steve Solex won the Great American Award. Solex represents this country better than you have done the past few years. It’s probably because you exerted too much White American Priviledges. You’re the epitome of that. Always feeling the need to comment on something that doesn’t concern you. What a fragile, American ego you have, there! ”
The 4Z Network Zeitgeist shows a superficial laugh. His face deadpans before brushing off The False American Icon. Shaking his head in disappointment, Darin gives America a thumbs down gesture. Continuing his point, Zion’s optimism shines through his tone.
“Since you erased my HOW accomplishments to take a pot shot, let’s erase yours too! It’s only fair we don’t apply your Hall of Fame accolades to this era of HOW too. What the fuck have you accomplished outside a tainted victory over Joe Bergman? I don’t fuckin’ see any championship wins. Hell you’ve barely made it to 3 years worth of tapings. And you have one segment where you can’t even win an award that’s named after you? Shut the fuck up, you communist bastard.
I’ve spent the last 3 years busting my ass here on a weekly basis. I won 2 HOW Tag Team Championships. If you count my MVW accolades reppin’ HOW; it’s 4 belts total. I’ve main evented Refueled and wrestled at numerous PPVs. I’m the first HOW wrestler to win a 3 on 1 handicap match. And to add the cherry on top; I retired John Sektor, the most dominant LSD Champion of this era. Made that punta tap out and ended him in NYZ. I’d much rather have that wrap sheet than yours.
Your only accomplishment is, well, a pathetic one. You’re the worst Captain Freedom parody to ever hit the wrestling world. Someone please call 1987 and get us Jesse Ventura. I’d rather see him represent the Best Team. At least his hot takes won him an actual fuckin’ office. You’re just a walking, talking hypocrite like the rest of your God forsaken team. Why don’t you take your worthless rendition of the Running Man aerobics scene to a no-name coffee shop? Those smug hippie fucks appreciate nunanced garbage anyways!”
For a moment, The Z-Gangsta leans back in his chair. Sipping on his Ukrainian wine, 4Z recollects his 10 year career in HOW. With each moment replaying in his head, the vein protrudes ever so slightly. Cocking back his fist, you can tell America’s words hit him hard. Instead of launching himself into a frenzy, Zion freezes. He rubs the stubble across his newly grown beard. As his eyes gleam, The Z-IONIC one leaps to his feet.
“But over the past 3 years; I guess it’s this blatant hypocrisy I’ve tapered myself from speaking up against. It’s taken 10 years, but the lessons finally stuck with the 4Z Network. He’s seen it with his own two fucking eyes. It crosses the 12 Zi-Mensions and now everyone will see it 1080z like me. Let’s get to the elephant in the room and discuss this Toxic Best Privilege we see play out on a weekly basis. Of course, Christopher America is the byproduct of this shit. It’s clearly his American Imperialism that makes him ‘better’ than the rest of us. But if you’re not latched onto a Best Peen, well, who gives two shits build YOUR brand.
I said when I started this; I’m either in it to win this damn thing; or committing career suicide. So I am going there. LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!!!!!!
Wasting no time, The Zephyr of NFZs cracks his neck. He’s pumped and ready for battle. Charging his hooded troops, he hoists his dinner knife as proud as he can into the air. His defiant, inspiraZIONal look charges everyone in his presence.
“It’s funny to see how the Best team commits so many wrestling crimes they call others out for committing. It’s fuckin’ hilarious. Every time Stevens breathes, they think it’s racist. But call the Best Team out for abusing women in the promos; you’re a fuckin’ mark. Try me! Go watch Tyler Best strangling out his mother and tell me how ‘edgy’ that feels. It’s a true testament to the bankruptcy their moral banks have. Hell, it’s terrible when Stevens utters a racist thing. And let’s ban Zion for giving out directions on Google. But when Jace Parker Davidson womanizes in the Discord, it’s fair game? Let’s ignore it! Oh Scottywood’s drunk again? BANISH HIM AND RECALL CECILWORTH’S CORPSE’S GREATEST VICTORY!! That’s Fisher Price levels of bullshit. Rub salt in the wounds of a man who gives us this hellacious playground. Yet when we call out their hypocrisy and lies; we’re the bad guys. FUCK THAT SHIT!
I’m taking this fight where it needed to go a long time ago. I’ll get it out of the way. I’m proud I’ve never needed the Best Seal of Approval to ever make it here. I’ve won all my championships off merit. I don’t need that Best Badge of Honor pinned on my breast like the grandson of a Best does. Literally, that little rat bastard does jack shit and gets handed a War Games spot. Many would argue David Noble did the same. But the bastard at least beat Hollywood to enter the fray. Hell, most of us had to wrestle for it twice. Some pompous jackass orphan gets a lucky draw in the gene pool. And the poor bastard child gets whisked into War Games. What’s funny is Tyler Best is the antithesis to what his father wanted. That poor prep school brat taunts he’s a fucking best. All that kid’s done is wrestled in tag team action.
Who gives a shit if the bastard child between Mike Best and Syndrome from the Incredibles wins War Games? Talk about the same old, mundane fuckin’ story. Might as well keep going to the bank like Vin Diesel does. The Best Family thinks 42,000 retreads of the same fuckin’ story sells. If that’s what HOW’s gonna turn into this next era, fuck me. I don’t wanna repackage as Darin Best. I don’t have any interest in wrestling Clay Best and Steve Best. And I certainly don’t need Conor Best as my tag team partner. GTFOH!!!!”
The hungered Zion reaches for the turkey leg off camera to take a bite. In his fierce, primal state; the man rips a shred of meat off the bone. After taking time to chew it, he wipes his mouth to continue his point.
“I’ll tell you why I’ve sided with that Conor kid since the beginning. He’s the epitome of the representation of every person outside this locker room. Conor busts his ass 24/7 in and outside that ring. Never once did that man beg for a hand out. The moment Krampus Best resurrects himself; he buries the only talent who hasn’t leeched off his nutsack in the past 3 years. Between all the rapid dream signings and constant child support the owner has. He’s lucky to have a champion like Conor. He’s the only saving grace in that locker room that inspires everyone of us assholes. Without him, most of us would have walked years ago. He’s spent various nights inspiring us.
Yet you fucks had to stamp the life out of him. You felt the need to dig your claws into him and leech off his success and make it your own. It’s that typical, shameless self-promotion the HOW machine creates. It’s the one that bastardized hard-work and makes it a heartless machine. Between the Bests’ egos and JPD; you constantly get drilled about how great THEY are. They take time to only promote themselves.”
The 4Z Network beats his chest while his face grows red. Each pounding grows more energetic, while he beats his chest.
“With JPD’s added self-promotion, I’m sure some feckless charities are begging for him to join up. Never has someone bragged so much and done so little in this era. It feels like JPD became the very thing he hated–Scott Stevens. You could feel him begging like Keith Sweat for his Hall of Fame spot. The undertones in all his promos made it obvious. Sure the man had one of the most dominant HOTV Championship reigns this era. But why couldn’t he duplicate his epic World Title or LSD Title reign this era. The poor bastard became the epitome of the big fish in the small pond. Any time he’d venture out of the shallow end; the fool would drown. The machine must have gotten tired of budgeting arm floaties for Jace. Unless it’s a big event; no one gives that man any more handouts.
To think I used to fear that man. It’s embarrassing for me to admit that. JPD used to deliver the sickest burns to the roster. It took anyone who crossed his path days to recover. Now the worst burns he’s got are the one’s Hall of Famer Ray McVay gave his last year at War Games. So what does this guy do when he’s irrelevant. He becomes the most brash, loudmouthed, prevert in the fucking company. Hell, half the roster can hear his PornHub account blaring 100 feet down the locker room. Lazy cunt doesn’t have to even talk anymore to get people to hate him. It’s so bad that his gaudy, yammering valet Madison sounds more sympathetic than him. You want to feel for JPD so much…until you know…he pulls an Amber Heard and shits the bed.”
The 5 Star Actor for AMZ starts to rip his hair out of its roots. His brilliant, white teeth show while his fists flail around in the air.
“Yet no one puts that man child in time out. Everyone’s quick to defend Captain Dickweed so fast it’s hilarious. Where’s he gonna head? 4CW went outta business long ago. Hell no one wants to go to UTAH either. It’s a fuckin’ ghost town. And we all know Tara…
Too far…fuckin’ sue me!
At least I have the balls to be the douchebag rebel. Unlike the so-called Hardcore Artist. Scotty it pains me to call you out on this shit too. It’s funny to see you act like a cantankerous old man. Every single time you throw down a verbal slaughtering; it’s golden. Until you see your fuckin’ track record. You steal the Tag Belts, but threaten to quit. You gain the most momentum with Carey at your side. She stabs you in the back. And instead of throwing her off the USS Octane like you should have done; you attach yourself to her hip. It’s almost like you enjoy getting gaslit. You love the pain and abuse you put yourself through. Hell, I a’int see you fuckin’ perform. Once again your goal is to become The Choke Artist.
Let’s face it Scooter. You’re an expert. Everyone picks you for War Games because you make a great meat shield. You’ll take the bomb for the team. You like to pick and win battles. But you’ll never win the goddamn war. Unless everyone stays at home. But I’m sure if that scenario would ever play out; your precious Frankie would find a way to outsmart you. Bet that kid could build a bomb out of legos and still murder you faster than Mike Best could do.”
Zion crosses his arms before shaking his head in disgust.
“Is this what the best of the Best Team fuckin’ looks like anymore? We don’t need to dive into David Noble’s flaws again. He’s happy to be here, let alone mentioned in a fuckin’ star’s promos. And unless you want your World Champion to sound like Stonky Stronk Godson The Weeble, well fuck. I think I’d rather take steroids to go deaf than listen to his coronation as World Champion. Because it shows Lee Best really scraped the bottom barrel to assemble his team of losers. My Gawd! That man had John Sektor, Rhys Townsend, and Kostoff to call up. Hell, I’m sure he could have grabbed Sutler Kael to pull off the repeat.
But no, he puts together the worst combination of idiots with a track record as a team. Every last one of them is bound and determined to end the hopeful glimmer of our team. Yet none of those fools could even make me sweat this year.”
Cracking his knuckles, The Vi-Zion-ary glares straight into the camera. Every last one of his troops surround him in the background.
“Everyone of these Best fools thinks the 4Z network is here to erase his past. They’re banking on a butt hurt Zion who gives two shits about their opinions. The Best Team prays the Simpy Simp comes out to this War Games looking to make friends. That’s gotta be his true prize. HIS FRIENDS ALONG THE WAY.
And every last one of those idiots need to pull out a time machine and get unstuck from 2021. If you think for one minute, I’m here for a participation ribbon, get the fuck out of my War Games. I’m aiming for the jugulars. I’m hoping every last one of you sends me death threats. My intentions are to crawl underneath your fucking skin and to annoy you into submission. Because if there’s one thing The 4Z Network Darin Zion’s good at; it’s turning the intensity up to 1,000 and blowing everything the fuck up. It’s the one thing Simon Sparrow taught me this cycle.. I can sit in the back trying to become the next Mike. I could emulate Cecilworth and JPD to the best of my abilities.
But at the core, there’s no changing who the fuck I am. Like it or not, I’m here to fuckin’ stay. I’ll be that fuckin’ douche who plays the thorn in your side. And mark my words, in Zi-ev, Zi-Kraine; I’m gonna give them a show.”
Removing a pen from his pocket, Zion boastfully raises it into the sky. The Zeitgeist of World War Z points the pen straight to his eye.
“Mark my words, I’ll bottomline all you bitches to get that World Championship this year. After 10 years, it’s about time I pull my head out of my ass and give it my all. I’ll shank my own teammates if I must to get that belt. World War Z ends on this hallowed ground with my people. I’m out to create as much chaos as humanly possible heading into the Chaos Era. What better way to do that than embracing the inner Zion I’ve left off the table for the last 3 years.”
Zion closes his eyes while a somber look forms on his face. Off into the distance, Mr. 4Z himself looks out the window into the night sky.
“Nearly 10 years ago, I won my first War Games match. Sure, people like to write it off as the scrimmage games against Boardwalk. Easy to do when you didn’t have to survive through two separate War Games in one show. But I powered on through, I led my team to victory. I came through, wasted all my energy, and fell to the knee of Jace Parker Davidson.
That memory still haunts me to this day. It eats at me because back then; the locker room rallied behind me. I showed a lot more moxie and gumption. I didn’t fear anything nor did anyone else’s opinions weigh on my heart. Once I was a lot like Conor Fuse; living the dream. Until the Best sank their teeth into me. They sucked me dry. They beat me into submission. But I laid that pathetic soft-hearted Zion to rest here in Zi-Kraine. These last few years, World War Z took place inside my head. All my doubt and fear held me back from achieving the one goal I set out to do.
Win War Games, Win the World Championship in the match that matters the most. For the last 8 years I’ve obsessed, dug my claws, and did everything to get back here. And now, I can safely say; I’m that Zion again.
Come the fuck at me, bros. I’m on a sucide mission, bound and determined more than ever to get that win. I’m sick and tired of everyone and everything holding me back. At the sickest, most vile World War Z games; I’m coming out on top over the Best Team ever.
I’ll take out the son of a 2 time War Games winner. I’ll obliterate the American, Tried and True War Games winner. And finally, I’ll take out the War Games winner who ended my dreams. Who started World War Z. Whatever comes, I’m leaving a helluva lot out on that battlefield to make sure I return stateside with gold draped around my waist.”
The Vi-Zion-ary lifts three fingers to the sky to salute. His last 3 words stick out with pride.
“Viva La RevoluZION!