...and Delusions! (Part 2 of 2)

[PIC]

“The human capacity for self-delusion is boundless, and the effects of belief are overpowering.” - Michael Shermer

—December 21, 1981 10:07 AM | Odessa, Texas—

~Amick Dogeron and his social worker, Regina Sanders, sit on the stoop of the Texas Baptist Home for Children, the group home Amick escaped from before being apprehended by a security guard at the bus terminal. Amick stares away from the African American woman with the hood of his sweatshirt covering his face. All of Regina’s pleas have fallen on deaf ears to this point. Amick is mad, he’s frustrated at the system that has failed him time and time again.~

Regina: Amick, since nothing else seems to be working, let me be straight up with you. If your behavior and attitude don’t change, you’re going to end up in prison or worse. Why do you think none of your foster placements have worked out?

~Amick grunts but doesn’t respond or look her way. He knows why they haven’t worked out. All but one of them was a family trying to cash in on the system who let their own kids treat him like dirt. He’d been beaten up and battered enough by “bio kids” to know he never wanted to step foot in another foster home again.~

Regina: You got something you wanna say?

Amick: What’s the point? No one believes anything I say. Almost every family I’ve been with have been total dicks. I can’t catch a break no matter what I do. Why won’t y’all just leave me the hell alone?

~Regina’s demeanor softens. She’s developed quite a fondness for the kid over the past seven years.~

Regina: You’ve been dealt a bad hand, Amick. There’s no doubt about it. It’s not fair what you’ve been through. But you can’t keep these delusions going that your mom is gonna come back for you or want to be part of your life. When she moved to Arizona she made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want you going with her. You’re 14 now and in a few years you’ll be old enough to make your own decisions. Until then you’re my responsibility.

~Amick softens a bit as well. He too has grown fond of Regina over the years. She’s never treated him with anything other than respect. He wishes he could say the same for how he’s treated her.~

Amick: This is all so stupid. I mean yeah, I done some bad stuff over the years, but nothing to deserve this. Every house I go to, every family that takes me in. You keep telling me this time it’ll be different, but it always ends the same. Why are you so delusional?

Regina: It’s not delusion, Amick. It’s hope. I want things to work out for you, but you’ve gotta get on board with the plan.

~Amick nods.~

Regina: Now, I have found a family willing to give you a shot. It’s just a husband and wife. Middle age, never had kids of their own. What do you say? Give ‘em a shot?

Amick: Fine.

~Regina reaches her arm around his back and pulls him close for a hug. His body language suggests he’s not interested but his face says otherwise. As the two embrace on the stoop, a police car pulls up to the curb in front of them. Two Texas Rangers emerge from the vehicle and approach.~

Officer: I’m looking for Amick Dogeron.

~Regina pulls away for a moment and gives Amick a “what now” look. He shrugs with a surprised look on his face.~

Regina: This is Amick.

Officer: Amick Dogeron, you’re under arrest.

~The other officer comes up from behind and lifts him by his arm. Amick doesn’t resist, but isn’t cooperative either. As the second officer protests, the first continues reading him his miranda rights.~

Officer: You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning…

Regina: What’s this all about? What’s the charge?

~The second officer leads Amick toward the vehicle with his hands cuffed behind his back. He puts his hand on top of Amick’s head and pushes it down to clear the door frame.~

Officer: First degree murder.

~The officer turns back toward his vehicle as the awestruck Regina stands in front of the group home. Her hopes, no… delusions that Amick would ever live a normal life disintegrating before her eyes.~

.::Mike, you know I love ya. You’ve been a good friend over the past six months and were someone I looked to for inspiration when I returned to wrestling. I had built up this delusion in my mind that if I just had the opportunity to work with you that I’d somehow become what I’ve always wanted to be in this sport. But we had our opportunity to work together against the Sons of Krayzie, and after that match, all of my delusions were permanently laid to rest.

But it’s your delusions of grandeur that you deserve to be world champion that are most alarming. It’s not that you’re a bad wrestler. Your record speaks for itself. It’s that, if I’m being honest, you’ve been less than present mentally ever since you parted ways with PTSD. When you actually have wrestled, and it hasn’t been often, it’s been against inferior opponents or in throwaway main events with zero build. Even then, you’ve been incapable of sustaining anything resembling a winning streak. Hell, you haven’t won anything since your big “retirement tour” began two months ago. You couldn’t get it done against Crash. You lost to ACF. You bombed at the Rumble and you met your Biff End earlier this month. Points for trying, I guess… but don’t take it personally that neither Bifford nor myself seem to be taking you seriously.

What are we supposed to do? Say that Mike Zybala is a huge threat that can take either of us out one-on-one? We all know that at this point in your career that’s not true. Your only shot is to steal a victory when Bifford and I are going at it and honestly, that is a bit of a concern. But that would require a cunning and cutthroat approach in the ring that you just don’t seem to possess. All that time spent with Kali and TLS taught you absolutely nothing about killer instinct… and it’s that lack of killer instinct that will lead to your demise.

It’s true we might all be close in age, but our trajectories couldn’t be further apart. Since August 22, the day we lost to the Sons of Krayzie, I’ve not been defeated in singles competition or pinned period. I won the Margarita Mix, successfully defended and retained the Savage Title. I defeated Outcast for the world title and have successfully defended it ever since. At 42 years of age, I’m still a rising star in this business. Your career is a sinking ship. But let’s be clear… unlike Bifford, I’ll take no pleasure in ending your career the way I ended Outcast’s. It’s been an honor to know you, Mike. An honor to call you friend… but at Hardwired to Self Destruct, if you’re true to your word… it will be my honor to end your delusions of becoming world champion once and for all. That you can count on… that is a promise!::.

—December 21, 2022 1:15PM | New York, NY—

~PIC finishes a slice of Famous Original Ray’s Pizza as he walks down the steps of the 47th-50th Street subway station. He downs the last bit of grease-laden ecstasy before tossing the paper plate into the trash bin at the bottom of the stairwell. After swiping his Metro card, he walks through the turnstile to enter the station. A few minutes later he’s standing on the platform next to the rails waiting for a train to arrive. He pops his air pods and decides people watching would be a welcomed distraction from someone trying to blackmail him with “evidence” he was responsible for Amick Dogeron’s death. A young mother tends to her crying son in a stroller to his left. To his right, two Romanian men engage in a heated conversation. The subject isn’t so clear. Most of the other people seem content going about their day. A few folks take selfies and are clearly doing the “tourist thing”. Others are just trying to get where they’re going without incident. With all this going on PIC is startled when a male’s voice is heard yelling from behind.~

Man: Have no fear, Superman is here!

~PIC turns, as do several others, to see a homeless black man standing with both arms on his hips in a classic Superman pose. The man, at least sixty years of age, has a ragged gray beard to go along with a ratty skull cap hanging off his head. His smile is missing several teeth. Most of the onlookers take a few steps away as he continues.~

Man: Don’t worry, fine people of Metropolis. I’m here. Faster than a speeding bullet. More powerful than a locomotive!

~Two young Asian girls get their phones out and snicker as they record the delusional ramblings of the homeless man. A voice comes across the loudspeakers announcing the arrival of the M Train in one minute. “Superman” sees the girls laughing and takes offense.~

Man: I said I’m more powerful than a locomotive! What’s so funny about that?

~He takes a step toward them and the laughter stops. PIC realizes it’s time to step in to diffuse the situation.~

PIC: Hey man, no one thinks what you’re saying is funny. They’re just tourists.

~Noises of the train getting close can be heard. A small crowd has gathered to see what this man will do.~

Man: I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you. I’m stronger than any train. Just watch! Up, up, and away!

~The man takes off running toward the rails as the train is barreling down the tracks. PIC’s instincts kick in and he drops down to sweep the man’s legs. He topples forward, his chin smacking the concrete just inches away from the train which speeds past until it finally stops. PIC lifts the man up off the platform and sits him on a nearby bench. Two MTA officers arrive as PIC attends to his wounds with some tissues from his pocket.~

MTA Officer: What’s the deal?

PIC: This guy’s gotta be on something. He’s completely delusional. He came in claiming to be Superman and was gonna prove it by jumping in front of that train.

MTA Officer: We’ve had at least two other run-ins with this guy. Thanks for stopping him. You have no idea what kind of paperwork that would make for us.

~PIC is disgusted that paperwork would be the worst thing about that scenario to these guys, but he’s got places to be. He bows out and hops on the train just as the doors are closing. He grabs the closest pole and takes a moment to breathe. The two Asian girls from before are standing nearby and both snicker and point at him as they look back at their phones.~

PIC: I hope you ladies are ok. There are a lot of crazies like that running around, especially this time of year.

~The girls continue to smirk and point to PIC and then back to their phones.~

PIC: What’s going on?

~One of the Asian girls walks over and turns the phone toward PIC. There on her phone is his face in connection with the same article the blackmailer had sent him a few days prior. Suddenly all of the screens inside the subway cart flicker. The maps are replaced with the same picture of PIC that is on the girl’s phone with the word MURDERER written above it in red. The cart comes to a stop and the doors pop open. The eyes of the people in the cart turn toward him and he backs out slowly trying to get away from the attention. He exits the train and hurries through the terminal and climbs the steps, exiting out into Times Square. There, plastered across one of the largest buildings in high definition is the same picture. The scene begins zooming out as PIC stands still in a sea of pedestrians before fading to black.~