Back in the 1970s, Hollywood was stifled by a motivated group of zealots.
The residents were conscientious of places they shouldn’t go, times they need not vacate the security of their own home, all because of a movement that promoted a weapon that didn’t require ammunition.
They controlled the movement of one of the busiest cities in America by making examples out of the less fortunate, only to justify their actions as necessity – roles and obligations handed down by their own Jesus Manifesto.
Because of the spontaneity of these manifestations, everyone felt like the next victim.
The uncontrollable fear hovered above them like mysterious lights in the sky – and the idea of looking away made them feel even more vulnerable than they already were.
The city was on their schedule.
They captured the free will of the surrounding citizens, securing it like lightning in a bottle, and grew their virus into a pandemic. They preached with the expectation that everyone would listen to them and if someone refused, a little bit of violence here and there solved the problem.
Then, something happened.
A completely different movement.
Someone stepped away from the blur of chaos and declared that he wasn’t afraid.
In fact, he was vengeful.
It didn’t matter how much blood of his own he would have to spill in order to cease their manifesto, there was a motivation unlike anything that had been seen since the dawn of their invasion.
They were going to feel the anguish of those that were smothered under their thumb.
That’s exactly what happened back in 1970’s Hollywood, and exactly what’s going to happen in modern-day OSW.
That motivated group of zealots? They were tossed into graves, with their manifesto filling the rest of the space. What they believed would be an entire re-awakening was ultimately reduced to an insignificant ink blot on the historic timeline.
Because that’s all you are, Bellator – you and the rest of the Sir clones; just a barely noticeable streak of excrement that’s waiting to be swiped away.
And you thought you could use the fear of others to harvest a power that was great enough to influence those ill-prepared for the dish you served – your Gables, your Vigours, The Generation Kid – but I’m different.
In fact, I’ve never been more prepared in my entire life.
You can’t bury me forever.
I’ve watched others give up what they consider to be holy to the dogs, with championship gold casted before swine, only for them to trample the meek under their dirty feet – and I’m tired of allowing you to pull a reaction out of me without suffering the repercussions of doing so.
This is, after all, the eleventh hour, Vayikra.
This is the moment when something happens.
When all of you disperse like the cockroaches that you are, in light of a new movement.
We’ll call it the Kingdom of SeeSaw – where I control the fear – where I become the oppressive thumb that hovers above you like the nightmare you never thought would appear –
Eager to smother your freewill, so that it may never escape again.