The Compound…
The Blob’s Antechamber
Yesterday….
Dr. Summeroff, not a man known for his cheery disposition was positively beaming.
He was in the Blob’s Antechamber, sitting in his great chair by the control console that maintained the master’s environment in his tank.
“Your plan is working just as you said it would master!” The old man says jubilantly to the floating Biomass in the tank. As if in response, some of the gelatinous folds of the Blob almost seemed to reach out and touch the glass from the inside.
“Come Simon. Look at this”, Summeroff says to his newfound dog. The odd looking Boston Hybrid jumps onto his lap.
The dog doesn’t look like it weighs all that much but what weight it has causes Summeroff’s aging limbs some discomfort. “You see this Simon…my ICO for BlobCoin is a success!! While that fool President McStrump has made a mess of traditional equities, look at how the masses pour their hard earned dollars into BlobCoin!”
Indeed, the numbers were truly staggering. They were in the millions of dollars.
“At some point, you are going to have to give more details on the real world use case for the coin”, Buzi says, not believing how many fools and their money are being parted from one another.
“Real world nothing!” Summeroff shouts. “It will be like any other coin. A leap of faith! The word of Blob is eternal my friend. The Master said he would provide and he has!...and I’ve already been approached by TWO exchanges to list the coin. The word is getting out. It is the Blob who will make America Great AGAIN! Not McStrump…and these shrewd investors know it! These people are visionaries – people who have seen the future!”
One of the cleaning staff who is wiping down the Blob’s tank chimes in with his unsolicited opinion, “More like lazy millennials, slack jawed losers who think the world owes them a living. They can’t bother to work for their money so they latch onto this get rich quick scheme in the hopes of making You Tube videos showing them in front of fancy sports cars.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was asking you anything! Much less for your opinion. Abishag, deal with this dross!”
Abishag - to this point not paying attention as his mind was fixed on his upcoming UOW title defense - looks up surprised to hear his name. “What?” He says.
“I said remove this flotsam from my sight!!” Summeroff roars, the tendons in his neck straining, his face turning a dark shade of red, the eyes flaring, “He dares to speak in the presence of the Blob…this cleaning man…he has committed sacrilege! Speaking out of turn and insulting my investors!”
Abishag sighs.
When was the Doctor going to get back to business? They were not in the business of Digital Currency. The world was falling apart all around them, America in particular. It was wilting under the ineptness of McStrump.
UOW, was of course, on par with the Superbowl. The influence of its athletes was staggering…and yet nothing had happened. Summeroff was wasting his and Vastrix’s title run. Instead of making moves against Rupert Mudcock and McStrump, he was staring at the values of his coins all day.
“I see doubt in your eyes Abishag!” Summeroff yells accusingly. “I’ve seen this before, in this life and the others! THIS…IS…the work of Blob! Do not question me! Take this man and deal with him! Now! YOU know what to do!”
Abishag did.
He walked over the now contrite cleaning man.
“Please sir…this isn’t necessary…my comments were just the comments of an old man, nothing more…Please….”
Abishag grasps the man by the throat, cutting off his air.
Summeroff nods to Abaddon who presses a button on the console in front of him and the top of the Blob’s tank opens.
“NO! PLEASE GOD NO!!!” The cleaning man screams.
“GOD? GOD!!! THIS IS YOUR GOD!!!” Summeroff shouts as he drops to his knees, his arms raised to his gelatinous master.
Abishag drops the cleaning man into the tank and then joins Abaddon and Buzi, kneeling before their watery master.
The man in the tank thrashes about as the Blob’s bio-mass surrounds him and envelopes him.
“PRAISE BLOB!” Summeroff shouts, even as one eye is still fixed on the computer screen to his left, watching the Value of BlobCoin grow.
Buzi and Abishag both look at one another. Could it be? Has Summeroff been corrupted? Would they need to put the old man himself into the tank someday?
A sickness was taking hold.
Greed.
The original plan was to subvert society, creating a utopia of Blob Cult Worshippers. Glory to BLOB! Now, it seemed Summeroff was being consumed by a lust for the almighty dollar, like everyone else.
Like Rupert Mudcock and Robert Elitistios for instance?
It was rumoured Kim Jon Un had offered 20 Million Dollars for the next UOW PPV to be held in the Democratic People's Republic of Korea.
It was as outlandish a proposal as one might expect.
Yet where there was smoke, there was fire.
Could UOW seriously be considering putting an event on under the watchful eyes of the little rocket man?
Greed. Unadulterated Greed.
Abishag excuses himself from the Blob’s Antechamber and returns to his own quarters to reflect and study the great scrolls of the Blob.
There was an uneasy feeling in the air.
The future – once a promising vision where the Order ruled America – now seemed in doubt. It was like Animal farm all over again.
Soon, Summeroff would be eating with the Pigs.
Abishag would speak with Abaddon and Buzi. If things continued as they were, changes might need to be made.
Some might call it Mutiny.
At that very moment, Abishag hears a growl. He turns towards the door to his chambers and there, standing in the archway, his shadow cast against the wall behind him was Simon. The hideous looking spawn growled again, as if it could read his very thoughts…and then it moved on.
PRESENT:
“Your dog growled at me last night in my room”, Abishag says as the high ranking members of the Order sit at the great dining table eating their breakfast. It was truly a feast – Eggs cooked in butter and seasoned with salt and pepper, premium breakfast sausages, ham, Canadian back bacon and thick sliced hickory smoked bacon, pancakes, waffles…some fruit.
At the head of the Table was Summeroff and beside him, in a small custom built chair – Simon. The beast was busy gobbling up sausage links and bacon at the same time.
“That’s it Simon”, Summeroff says quietly, “Eat well…and don’t listen to Abishag and his lies.”
Abishag sighs. He’s grown tired of the Summeroff and his foolish attachment to this ugly mutt. Tired to the point he’d begun contemplating whether to toss him into the Blob’s tank as an offering. The blob, of course, would probably be offended by such a foul gift.
“So this match at Clash 6…Vastrix and I against Sato and Dresden…” Abishag says.
“What about it?” Summeroff replies in between mouthfuls of scrambled eggs.
From across the table, Buzi belches.
“Praise Blob!” Summeroff says.
Buzi nods.
“Who makes these matches?” Abishag continues. “Dresden isn’t fit to be in the ring with me. How many times must I demonstrate that before she and the match maker get that through their skulls?”
“What does it matter?” Abaddon says.
“It matters!!!” Abishag roars. “Perhaps you forget what it is like in the ring brother – the thrill of combat. The glory we bring to the master? Where is the Glory in this? Beating Salinas’ pupil to a pulp? I thought perhaps last week with Salinas herself things would be different…but she was like the rest…weak.”
“She got a few licks in on you! Look at your face”, Buzi says laughing.
Indeed Abishag’s face did bear the telltale signs of trauma. Swelling, bruising.
“I let her do that. Wanted to see what she had.”
“Sure”, Buzi says dismissively.
“If I were you brother, I’d watch your tongue!” Abishag says loudly and thumps the table.
“OR WHAT!” Buzi says and stands, the tendrils from what passed for his face twitching in agitation.
“ALL RIGHT, that’s ENOUGH!” Summeroff hollers, “You two are disturbing Simon’s meal!!”
Buzi and Abishag both look at each other incredulously.
“Are we?” Abishag says, his eyes widening. He picks up a piece of thick cut back bacon and hurls it across the table. It slaps into the side of Simon’s face, almost concealing one of the dog’s massive, bulging eyes. The beast jumps from the chair to the table, expressing its displeasure...and then it turns and eats the bacon it was hit with.
“How dare you!” Summeroff exclaims.
“How dare I? How dare you! You have lost sight of what matters Doctor! You are so busy with your crypto coins and that….that THING!” Abishag looks at Simon with disgust. “You don’t even see the opportunity here…it’s supposed to be about two things. Glory to Blob…and using our influence to take over America. While you pander to that demon there, Both of those things are neglected. I’ve been doing my part, carrying Vastrix for months now as I lay waste to every combination of tag team Mudcock tries to throw at us. There’s no glory in this anymore. The Blob doesn’t want me to obliterate Dresdon or beat up on a cripple…”
Abaddon and Buzi both nod. The cripple was Takuma Sato. The master of the heart punch. When healthy, a worthy challenge….but in his present state – it would be like taking candy from a baby. There was no honor to be had…that said, Sato could be an obstacle in the greater plan. So maybe now was the time to take him out.
For strategic reasons.
“So there’s that…and then there’s the other thing you are missing. Apparently there is going to be a secret meeting between President McStrump and Mudcock about Kim’s offer to Host the next Pay per View. Originally Mudcock was going to travel to Washington for this…but now I hear the meeting might occur at Friday Night Clash itself. If we could intercept them, we could make a move! Perhaps McStrump would see the world more clearly through the Blob’s eyes.”
“That’s not a bad idea…” Summeroff conceded. “Not a bad idea at all. I’ll get the intelligence acolytes on this right away…I think it’s finally time that man and I met…what do you think Simon?”
The dog growls intensely.
“Yes….it’s about that time.”
23:28 – The Blob’s Antechamber
“Do you see it?” A voice asks, a voice distant and soft.
“Yes….” Summeroff says.
The doctor is connected to the Blob’s tank by way of electrodes. He often finds himself communing with his watery master in these troubled times.
“Look now at the world as it was…the other world. Look at how it will be again, should McStrump continue on his present course…Look there now Doctor. Do you see it? Detroit? See how the Arena burns? There was a battle royal there. An ROW staple. But look…the troops have been sent in…and look there…heading to the sewars…do you see HIM?”
Summeroff squints.
Abishag?
“Yes, that’s him. He escaped this catastrophe…but Buzi…look.”
The scene changes and now we see the Compound itself!
“THAT’S RIGHT HERE!” Summeroff says, in terror.
He watches as Tanks and Troops lay siege to the Compound…watches as Brother Buzi is shot and dies from his wounds on the field of battle. Brother Janus is too late with the Blob’s essence. Unlike the tales of the Christian God – a being who will raise the dead – the Blob makes no such promises.
“Why are you showing me this?” Summeroff cries out.
“This is the path this world is on…you must bring McStrumps before me. Do as your acolytes say. Listen to them for in this they are wise. Bring him before me and I will show him the light!”
There is a quick image of Abishag in a tank enveloped by the Blob – not being consumed through but having terrible burns healed…and then a last image of the Tiny Lister Arena – what is now the Order’s mighty tabernacle in the West - going up in flames – and Abaddon is in the arena when this happens and screams as flames grind away at his flesh, cooking it and charring it…
There is a pulse…and then Summeroff sees no more. The Blob has ceased his transmissions – the visions of that other alternate world are gone.
The communion is over.
The message is clear. These images are the things that were and shall be again – the things that will come to pass once more, should current events progress as they are.
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