Justin held out his tankard for a refill, then, "The stories where the wrongdoers get their just desserts are always the best ones. Odd topic this, but the most effective Disney villain, though they simplified his motivations quite a bit for a younger audience, was Claude Frollo. Think about it - he was a classic example of a fanatic who used his position to persecute the different - Rom, destitute, or disfigured - or anyone else who didn't lockstep with his world view. Well Scar too, but then "The Lion King" was based on "Kimba The White Lion" which was based on Hamlet."
Whatever the hell that meant. Justin leaned against the bar for a moment as he flipped through his mental rolodex, decided to pass on some gaming table "Let Me Tell You About My Character" anecdotes, figured that his snowboarding days weren't that interesting for a full-on subject, and decided that his being a trust fund kid and member of THE Kincaid family wasn't the best hook he could offer to his audience.
"All right, I'll tell you a story. It's the story of a kid who had everything, had it taken away from him, and ultimately became angry enough to do something about it.
This is a question, then, of what makes a monster, or a machine, and a man who fights every waking - and dreaming - moment to keep the distinctions clear.
This is a story of a devil's bargain and what came of it."
As he spoke, the Manikin's voice was clear, his words precise and practiced. It was a glimpse of the performer his Keeper had created.
"There was a young man who was born into a very good family, and could have anything he could possibly want because as everyone knows, money may not buy happiness but it can grease the skids a bit. He went to the best schools and was pretty much expected to follow in established family tradition of going into the law profession, and if lucky enough, politics."
Justin raised three fingers on his right hand, then, "This kid was something of an independent thinker. While he put in time at school, and attended college because that was what his parents expected and it made a more peaceful environment to go along with the program...somewhat. His real ambition, though, was to be a pro athlete and excel at snowboarding.
He did pretty good for a while, and eventually he was signed to go semi-pro. All he needed to do was catch the eye of a representative for a potential sponsor at a critical competition...." Justin's voice trailed off "....God he was so, no, I was so close to pulling it off."
Taking a swallow from the tankard, the Manikin was quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts and allowed his words to sink in.
"Ever hear those old stories of people selling their souls to the Devil? I think They know them too. And I was cocky....no, stupid...to think that a third-year law student could vet a contract against some...thing who had been playing that game for eons. Mea maxima culpa.
I paid for it. Anything that was real....wound up as waste products rinsed down a drain. Upgrades...got to keep the performance level up, because that brings in the ratings and product placement. Boy, you are a star! And think, you wouldn't have that adulation of millions if we didn't give you the ability to throw tanks, punch your way through armored vehicles, or perform acrobatic leaps that defy all sense of gravity. Give 'em flash, bread and circuses.
Well...my stardom didn't come from being the super-athlete I wanted to be. Any possible outcome winds up being tainted by Their intent...and every last one of this in this room can agree on that one...universal...point...that it deforms us into what They want. One form of slavery doesn't diminish anyone else's experiences under their own suffering. But seriously. How fucked is it to be made into the protagonist of some Arcadian version of a shitty Japanese cartoon?
Yeah. Nobody else has heard of that kind of a Durance either. I actually had this one moron of a Render laugh in my face when I told him that before I came to this Freehold, and I wound up showing him that yes, Cyborg 009 and Randel Oland had a lovechild, his name is Justin not Peckerhead, and fuck you very much as I threw him facefirst through a Taco Bell drivethrough menu. I guess I should thank him for that -- it was the first time that I felt a real emotion after my return from that...Place."
Justin paused for a moment, squinting down at the considerably lower level of tankard contents.
"So I guess I can end the story with this conclusion. You've been a good audience, and here's the payoff:
You want to know why I'm here, and what makes me angry and focused enough to want to join the Crimson and be a part of a greater family. Simple. When you have everything taken from you, your emotions recoded because they don't work with the body that was so much of an improvement over the original, that body making it impossible for you to compete in a sport you love ever again because it gives you too many unfair advantages, your own parents paying you to stay away because they don't have the first fucking clue as to how to fix things but they call it love anyway, and those recoded emotions and social cues making everything that much more complicated...then yes, once you stop crying it's time to get pissed. Every time I look in the mirror and notice that I don't blink like I'm supposed to, or lack the ability to tell you what Mrs. Rosemary's cooking tastes like, or only just know what warm skin feels like because I have a memory of it, and how I was dehumanized in the name of profit it's a source of pure damn anger at both myself for agreeing to let it happen and the fucker who took advantage of the situation because he could. I know that I'll probably never have the chance to go back There and kick the Talent Scout's head in...but in fair turnabout I've been given a chance to put that anger - and abilities I really didn't ask for but someone else thought they were a good idea - to a more immediate use, and that's to help prevent what's been done to all of us from happening to someone else."
Draft this Post
