Leviathan Complex Finale

“Welcome to Woodhaven Gun Range,” said the man behind the counter. His name tag read Buck. Buck could best be described as a burly man. He was large in stature; Raiden Himura guessed he stood about six-foot-three, two hundred and thirty pounds. He wasn’t chunky either. His arms were toned and muscular; he must have worked out. He also sported a large, thick red beard. “How can I help you two today?”

Based upon his accent, Raiden assumed that Buck wasn’t from New York either. He was from a southern state―Texas perhaps?

“How’s it going?” Raiden nonchalantly asked. “We’d like to test out a few of your handguns, if possible. I’m trying to get my daughter comfortable with using them.” Raiden shifted his eyes over to Myung, who stood at his right hand side. “New York is a dangerous place, you know? I just want to make sure she knows how to protect herself.”

“I can respect that.” Buck nodded his head. “I taught my daughter how to shoot at a younger age; but, it’s never too late to learn.”

“True indeed.”

Buck rested his arms on top of the counter and leaned over a bit. A light smile appeared on his face as he peered at Myung. “So, what kind of gun do you think would suit you, sweet pea?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” she replied. Myung didn’t know much about guns or weapons. Hell, she didn’t even know she and Raiden were headed to the gun range in the first place. “I guess, I guess something lightweight and powerful?”

“Haha, I like your thinking.” Buck squatted down and dug into some drawers. A few moments later, he stood up and gently placed three guns on the counter. “Alright, I think these three might work for you.” He pointed to the chrome and black matte handgun on the far right. “This is a Kahr CT380. It’s about eleven pounds, medium recoil. It’s a good choice for someone of your size and frame.” He pointed to middle one. “This black beauty is a Kimber micro pistol. It’s smaller than a regular handgun, and can fit in a purse or bag without being easily detected.” The gun on the far left was the last. “This is a Ruger LCP Pistol. Most customers really enjoy this.” Buck stood up straight and folded his arms over one another. “But, all three are really good. Test them all and see if any of them suits you.”

Myung nodded her head. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem.” Buck turned towards Raiden. “Are you shooting today too?”

“A Springfield XD(M), and a SIG Sauer Centerfire 226―you know, if you have them.” Instinctively, he reached for his wallet. “And, how much do we owe you for range time and rental?”

“Yeah, we’ve got those.” Buck smiled. “$65 for an hour of range time, $15 per gun. But, we can handle all that when you’ve finished.” He pointed to a hallway to his left. “Head down that way and then take a left. Range number three is open. I’ll be right behind you with your weapons and ear protection.”

“Thank you,” Raiden said.

With that, Myung and Raiden began down the hallway. About halfway through, Myung spoke up. “What are we doing here Raiden, really?”

“Like I told Buck, I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself. I wasn’t joking about that.” His eyes shifted towards her.

“I can handle myself,” she said with confidence. “You’ve seen me fight countless times.”

“You’re a lethal weapon in your own right; I know that.” He let out a sigh. “However, this is New York City. And while we do live in a safe area, you never know what could happen. Plus, the circle we hang around isn’t the most savory, if you know what I mean?”

The two exchanged a look. A name instantly came to both of their minds—Yano. They didn’t speak, but they both knew.

Raiden placed a hand on her shoulder. “This is just an extra precaution, an extra step to keep you safe.” He let out a small laugh. “Think of it as special training; because that’s what it is really.”

“Very well,” Myung replied. “Who taught you? To shoot, I mean.”

“My father taught me, when I was younger. Of course, semiautomatic pistols are illegal over in Japan, I learned using a snub-nose revolver.”

“I see, you’re an expert then,” she said with a small smile.

Her comments made Raiden laugh a bit. “Yeah, at least in this area.”

They reached range three’s sound-proof glass door. Raiden opened up the door and let Myung step in before he entered. A couple a of chairs and small table rested in the booth; Myung took a seat as they waited for Buck.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Raiden quickly reached into his back pocket. He pulled out two cards and handed them to Myung. “It’s our shooting permits. Here in New York, you can’t even really touch a gun without one.”

Myung took ahold of them. Her eyes instantly fixated on the image plastered on the card. It was a photo of her of course. The photo was taken after one of her fights, meaning she had a pissed off on her face. “Why did you chose this photo?”

“Because it makes you look like a gun-toting NRA member,” Raiden said in a joking manner.

“You know, NRA members get discounts here,” Buck said as he entered the room. Raiden must have heard him coming in. “You might think about signing up, if you are going to visit often.” He sat the guns down on the table, along with some ammunition.

“Yeah, might be something we’d like to look into.”

“I’ve the got a couple of application laying around. We can fill them out and get them sent off for you before you leave.” Buck took a step back from the table. “Now, only thing I need to see is your permits, and then you’ll be all set.” Myung reached out and handed them to him. Buck quickly scanned the vitals stats before he handed both cards back to Myung. “Everything looks in order.” Buck shifted his body and turned to leave. “Happy shooting.”

“Thanks,” Raiden said as the man left the room.

Once they were alone, Raiden spread the three guns out in front of her, in the order that Buck had presented them to her previously. “Myung, what’s the most important part of choosing a weapon?” Raiden asked as he took a seat in the other chair.

“I...I’m not sure.”

“Very well then, I’ll elaborate.” Raiden held up his right index finger. “A weapon is an augmentation of one’s natural body; it’s a simple enhancement of the skills and abilities that one already has.” He nodded his head. “A weapon, even a gun, is not just a tool. No, it’s an extension of one’s body. Therefore, you must wield a weapon that compliments you, and one that feels natural.” Raiden leaned back in his chair a bit. “The accident Japanese elders have always stated that the weapon that calls out to a warrior first is normally that warrior’s perfect match. This is why I’ve laid all three guns out before you. Trust your heart, trust your mind, and pick the one that speaks out to you.”

Myung nodded as she peered down at the pistols. As stated before, she wasn’t a weapons expert. In fact, this was the first time that she had been in close proximity to a firearm (so she thought, at least). And because of Japan’s strict gun laws, she’d never seen an automatic pistol up close.

Her eyes gravitated the names on the weapons: Kahr, Kimber, Ruger. Out of the three, her brain recognized the name Ruger. However, in the grand scheme of things, those names her simply that to Myung―names.

“This is difficult,” she said under her breath.

“Take your time.”

Myung took a long, deep breath; those always helped her focus. She then stared down at the Kimber micro pistol. It was all black, with a shortened and compacted frame. It almost resembled a plastic dollar store toy gun. “Not that one,” she said out loud. Next, she glanced at the Ruger. It was all black as well; and yet, it was vastly different than the Kimber. It’s rounded curves and contours made it look like some futuristic space laser.

“Not that one either,” she said with a sigh. That means the only one left was the Kahr. “Hmm.” For some reason, she was drawn towards it. Perhaps it was its chrome and black color pallet. Or maybe it was because it seemed the most normal out of the three. Myung wasn’t sure if the Kahr was “calling” her or not, but at least it hadn’t pushed her away like the other two had.

“This one,” Myung said as she pointed to the gun on the far right. “The Kahr.”

Silently, Raiden picked up the pistol. Similar to Myung, his eyes picked up on the shape of the weapon. It’s sides and edges weren’t rounded. No, they were uniform and rectangular. If it hadn’t been so lightweight, it might have been something that Raiden would have used himself. “What a wonderful choice,” He said as he checked safety, ejected the magazine, and sat the gun down on the table. “It’s a beautiful weapon, it truly is.” His left hand reached for the box of ammunition. Raiden opened the box and began feeding the bullets into the clip. “I suppose a person of your elegance would choose this one out of the three―I did say that a weapon is an extension of one’s self, didn’t I?”

Raiden threw out a friendly smile, which Myung responded to with a small one of her own. “Now my dear, here’s the second most important thing you must learn. By nature, humans are visual creatures; we are stimulated by things are pleasing to the eye. This means that we are aesthetically driven, even when it comes to things such as guns and the like.

“Your Kahr here, it’s a splendid pistol. It’s graceful, it’s alluring―and yet, it’s deadly.”

Myung looked on and listened in silence.

“That’s the kicker, can’t you see? The ornate aesthetics that we chase after are the very ones that can end our lives.” Raiden paused for a few seconds. “Sorry, that was more of a life lesson. But, the basic concepts still apply.

“Myung, when you hold this in your hands, you’ve got to remember its true intentions. It’s not a toy, or plaything―it’s meant to end a life. It’s not something to be trifled with...do you understand.”

“Yes, I understand. I will not play around.”

“I know that you won’t. You’re wiser than most of our colleagues, even in your youth.” Raiden rose to his feet. A couple moments later, he let out a small chuckle.

“What’s the matter?”

It was ironic; the theory of Beauty and Death had always applied to Myung. Raiden saw it every time they hung out together, and every time he walked her to the ring. He’d known her since she was fourteen; he knew how people perceived her. Her Korean features were distinct and glaring over in Japan; ignorant fools saw her as being exotic. The less ignorant simply as her as an attractive woman. There were flaws in both thoughts of logic, however. Those ideologies marginalized her; they belittled her.

She wasn’t a piece of arm-candy, or a piece of meat...she was so much more―

“Raiden?”

“Hmm?” He said as he snapped to. As he shook his head, Raiden realized that he hadn’t replaced the magazine. “I’m sorry, Myung. My mind wandered off a bit.” Raiden picked the pistol up off the table. “Come on. I’ll give you some basic training in how to use one of these. And if the Kahr is truly to your liking, we’ll pick one up in a couple of days.”

“Okay.”

II

Warning: the following Visionaries of Wrestling audio log is likely to contain high levels of knowledge, profanity, and other expletives. View discretion is advised for sensitive or weak-minded people. Thank you.

Good evening, my name is Raiden Himura. And for once, I sincerely wish this were not a mere aduio long. It would bring my tiny little heart great joy if you all could see the smile on my face that’s beaming from ear to ear. Now of course, you fans are chomping at the bit to ask me that fateful inquiry of the tip of your tongues, “why are you so happy?”

At Breakthrough Fifty-Five, I was able to witness a phenomenal showcase; I was able to watch self-righteous woman get her just due. I got the chance to see Valerie Beasley kneel at the feet of the great and mighty .PAAK—Visionary of Wrestling’s last great warrior.

Believe it or not, it’s taking every single living fiber of my being not to gloat, not to rub salt into the wound. We don’t show mercy over here in .PAAK’s camp; she made that painfully obviously to you a few weeks ago. However, I cannot prematurely blow my load, not just yet—we’ve only just begun this audio log.

Although, it doesn't make too much sense for us to dilly-dally about. My time is oh so very valuable, and so is the listeners. So, how about we begin to dig into the meat and potatoes of this luscious course, shall we? As a lead in, I’d like to talk about one Sir Charles Darwin. Simply put, the man was a genius. He was pioneer of his time, and his scientific and behavior studies have shaped our modern society.

The man was amazing.

Admittedly Ms. Beasley, the topic that I’m about bring up shall up be mentally stimulating to some, and exceedingly dense to others. Datura and Kincade had their moments of foolishness, but overall they were still bright and perceptive. Nonetheless, based on my up-close and personal observation of you, I’m not entirely certain I can lump you in with them.

You see, before your first match with my girl .PAAK, I’d merely watched videos of your matches and looked at data sheets full of your statistics. I hadn’t gone back and viewed any of your promotional videos—how silly of me.

When I did, I was a bit perplexed, to say the least. Ms. Beasley, in a combat scenario you move and act with the IQ of a warrior saboteur (look it up, it’s positive). And yet, beyond the gaze of that ominous red light, you appear to be nothing more than big brute of a woman—you may take all of the offense from that comment.

Therefore, we’re going to take it nice and steady. I’m going to explain things precisely and slow so that a brute of a woman such as yourself will be able to understand. And at the end of this whole shebang, we’ll all have enlightenment. Cool? Cool, let’s proceed.

Hmmm. You know, before we embarked on this grand adventure Valerie, my heart is telling me that I need to ask a very crucial question. And so, I’m going to offer up said question, right now—

What do you see when you look at .PAAK? Do you see a fearless, valiant gladiator; or, do you see a devious, dishonorable scoundrel in need of a beating? Is .PAAK worthy of praise, or is she someone worth loathing?

My name is not Nostradamus, however, I’m certain that all of your responses fall on the latter end of each inquiry. Me? I’m going to side with the former, of course.

If anything, you are a proud woman, Ms. Beasley—that’s a noble trait to have.

Nevertheless, I want to remind you of two very important aspects about this Business; you’re still a fledgling rook, so maybe you’ve overlooked them. Or, perhaps you were never aware to begin with—fortunately, I always take advantage of a teachable moment:

Number one, professional wrestling is not a child’s game. It’s not a slumber party, where everyone is close and loving on one another. It’s not a social event where people gather to make friends.

No no, Valerie—professional wrestling is a combat sport, one in which two opponents attempt to maim each other in the center of that ring. In a combat situation, one can’t show benevolence, one can’t show kindness—that would spell defeat. No mercy, that’s the best policy when you step in between those ropes—.PAAK has ingrained that into her inner most being, and coming from a MMA background, you should have as well.

And number two, professional wrestling is a dog eat dog world, my dear. In this industry, friends and fans alike are fickle. There is no such thing as loyalty (regardless of what these promotions out here will tell you). Everyone is a means to an end; everyone is someone to be used by another. That is exactly why you need to be strong, and use them, or get them, before it happens to you!

Survival of the fucking fittest—and this is where our lesson on Mr. Darwin begins.

Darwin’s theory of natural selection was prevalent in the 19th and 20th centuries. The theory has been used to explain why certain species and creatures survive and thrive, while others fall to the wayside and become extinct. The animals that have survived have adapted according to their environments, they’ve evolved in order to fend off threatening stimuli and dangers.

This leads to the term survival of the fittest, which was actually coined by a man named Herbert Spencer. Originally, the phrase dealt with reproduction; however, it’s taken on a different meaning in modern lexicon. Today, survival of the fittest deals with the dichotomy between strong and weak creatures. When pitted against each other, it the creatures who know how to adapt and evolve who come out the victors. The animals who can’t adjust, or who are too prideful to see the need to further develop, they are the ones who get stomped out!

I’ve got some news, Valerie—you are on the verge of getting stomped out, extinguished.

It’s easy to see which side of the spectrum .PAAK falls into. My girl has had three matches here in VoW, and none of them have been the same. In each and every encounter, .PAAK has discerned and dissected the situation at hand, and then come up with a plan of attack to vanquish her opponent. And while she does prepare thoroughly before each match, many of those late-game audibles that you’ve witnessed—she made on the fly. .PAAK really is a wizard inside that ring, isn't she?

Can you say the same about yourself, Valerie?

Actually, let me phrase that question in another manner. Most wrestling fans know of you due to your bouts with Kelsey Spencer. Those matches, particular the one at Nothing Else Matters “put you on the map,” so to speak. Sure, you faced crushing defeat, but you are a “warrior,” right? You claim to be driven and to be focused; if that were truly the case, then you would have picked yourself up and taken VoW by the balls.

And yet, that hasn’t happened.

You’ve picked up a couple more wins these days, but by and large, you appear to be the same being that Ms. Spencer defeated months ago. No adaptation, no evolution—very little growth. Hell, at the last Breakthrough, .PAAK proved herself to be a greater test than anyone you’ve ever met here in VoW. And still, you refused to change!

Even after you’ve suffered defeat at her hands, you refuse to acknowledge my client’s talent. Even after she’s laid you on your fucking back, you’ve refused to see the monster loaming at the door. You aren’t going to sit back and reflect upon why you got your ass kicked by .PAAK, you’re just going to stick to your tired, dusty, and played out ideologies, aren’t you, Valerie?

And that’s what’s going to get you killed.

Valerie, you can say or think anything about me that you wish. My skin is a thick as an armadillo’s; I can take your disgruntled abuse and disrespect all day long. But what you will never do, is downplay and discredit .PAAK and what she’s done in her short time in this company. She has proven how great she is every single time she’s graced VoW with her presence. She hasn’t backed down from any of the challenges this company has thrown at her; she’s stood tall, and she’s endured. Her expertise, knowledge, and iron will have allowed her to knock off two former world champions.

And let us not forget the all important fact—she’s already beaten you.

Valerie, allow me to let you in on a tiny secret—in your first match, .PAAK was holding back. My girl hasn’t even revealed her final form yet. However, you’ll going to see it at Fate of The Gods.

.PAAK studies more tape than you, she trains harder than you, and on a daily basis she’s been able to consult the best wrestlers than Japan has ever produced. She’s always growing, always evolving, always thriving. You see, I like to mention Datura and Kincaid in these little logs because their demise brings me joy. But .PAAK? She doesn’t even think about them; they are but mere afterthoughts to her. She’s always focused on the next match, the next conquest.

Now, my dearest Valerie, it’s probably become apparent that I enjoy speaking; and, I love speaking about .PAAK. However, only a fool blabbers without a purpose. Every single thing I’ve said about .PAAK here in VoW has come to pass thus far. I’ve had the honor and pleasure of watching this young woman mature, inside the ring and out. I know her demeanor, I know what she is capable of; and she has all of my confidence.

Ms. Beasley, in her first promotional video I made it abundantly very clear that .PAAK is a killer, despite her outward appearance. She’s a strong animal, and she’s hungry, given the fact she’s alway devoured a chunk of you. She’s tasted your blood—the only thing left is your complete slaughter!

At Fate of The Gods, two animals will meet face to face for the second time. After a considerable time has elapsed, after that bell tolled for the final time, one of those animals will have been snuffed out. I have no doubt that the battle that shall ensue will be ghastly, grisly, and gruesome.

I also have no doubt that the person standing tall at the end of that bout will be my .PAAK. Now Valerie, I implore you to fight back with all your might. I want the entire world to see what it looks like when a pride filled creature puts up a scrap—but still isn’t tough enough to endure extinction.

Survival of the fucking fittest, my dear Valerie.

III Epilogue

Before I embarked on this journey to the U.S., I was apprehensive and nervous. I was deathly afraid that I might find out things about myself that weren’t pleasing—and I was correct.

Who Am I?

That’s the question I kept asking myself, as you might recall. At the time, I couldn’t really put my finger one who I was. I outlined how the answer to my crucial question seemed to change and shift, depending on who I was around.

Nevertheless, based on observation, it seems that everyone hone in on three specific aspects. And, it is clear to me now that this is who I truly am:

1. Beautiful

2. Deadily

3. A Monster

My looks came from my genetics. They were infused into my very being; I cannot alter them. I was bred to be deadly; it’s been a way for life for so long that I couldn’t change it even if I desired to. And, that lifestyle has turned me into a monster—although Raiden prefers the term Levithan; he says it sounds more intimidating.

Maybe...maybe I knew this all along. Maybe I was just hiding from the truth from myself.

In the past, I’ve always tried to separate my outside life from my persona in the ring. When I was removed from wrestling, I was the sweet, innocent, soft spoken woman named Myung Pak. Inside the ring, I was murderous, passionate, uncontrollable—I was .PAAK.

That times, it was almost like I was living a double life; it was as if I were two separate entities at once. I believe the medical term would be dissociative identity, but please don’t quote me.

Although, I’m not worthy enough to fit into that category. Dissociative identity is a dark disease, a terrible disorder that plagues and haunts people. Those people deserve sympathy; often times, they know not what they do. They can’t control their personas; majority of the time, they don’t even know they have alternate personas.

Me? I’ve got no excuse.

I’ve been cognizant of everything that I’ve done in that ring. The aggression, the viciousness, the attack of Kincaid—all of it. I can’t necessarily say that I enjoyed putting him on the shelf, or dominating Valerie in that first bout. However, I will say that in each and every situation, I did what I thought I had to. I acted to survive, I acted prosper—I acted to succeed.

And I did so at the expense of others.

I cannot go back and change what I’ve done. And given the choice, I’m not sure if I would change it even if I could.

.PAAK is not a separate entity; she is not a being of her own. .PAAK is Myung, and Myung is .PAAK—the very embodiment of Yin and Yang.

Hmm, perhaps this was the enlightenment that I was supposed to find. Perhaps it was partially the real reason why the Kumichō sent me out here.

I, I think I’m beginning to understand.

At the end of the day, I am a monster indeed, whether you refer to me by my birth name or my ring name. I never asked to be one; I never asked for this life at all. However, it was the one I was given.

So maybe I should just embrace it.

END