Every type of worker must play their role within my Clinic.
There’s so many moving parts with specific individual tasks that must work in conjunction with one another in order to make such a massive, and quintessential, undertaking thrive.
For example, our transporters are essential for ferrying patients to different areas within the Clinic whether it be for an emergent scan, or simply traveling to their destination like an inpatient unit.
Likewise, our security guards are essential for granting access to these personnel and patients, and filtering out any and all hostiles to the Clinic’s operations.
But the cornerstone of the Clinic is the one who diagnoses and treats the patients:
The doctor.
We run the operation. We do the important work. And we bring in the credits so the ancillary workers can feed off our backs.
Without the doctor, the clinic doesn’t run.
Period.
I’m flabbergasted the two of you are positioned at the top of the card alongside myself.
The Ferryman whose sole responsibility is to escort the deceased’s souls to their final destination. His refusal to simply perform his task directly led to a breakdown in the process between life and the afterlife.
Tortured souls were stuck in limbo apart from their destinations because of you.
And the police officer who pledged an oath to serve and protect the citizens of Arcadia. His negligence to protect those very people he promised to serve broke that oath and directly led to the breakdown of the justice system.
A serial killer was allowed to run roughshod in supposedly secure areas of Arcadia because of you.
Neither of you performed the tasks required of you.
You didn’t do your jobs, and the enterprises employing you ceased to function properly.
Why?
Because you desired to be more than what you’re destined to be. You both went rogue and shirked your duties by going into business for yourselves. And because you’re bad employees, you were checked back in line and demoted, respectively.
You’ve let that crown get to your head, Ferryman.
And you’ve let that championship puff out your chest, Perseus.
You both have incurable hubris, and it’s that hubris coupled with your insatiable desire to be more than what you’re capable of that led to your public humiliation.
And it’s that same hubris and desire that will lead to public humiliation once again at Hail To The King when you two step in my ring.
It’s my expertise and desire that affords me my pay grade above and beyond what ancillary workers like you could ever dream of achieving.
You’re both here to do your jobs for me, so earn your pay grade by representing that badge of honor, and living up to your namesake as the King of Destination, respectively.
Protect my operation from the mariachis.
Ferry me to my destiny.
Just do your jobs, ancillaries.
Without Dr. Death as OSW Champion, Old School Wrestling just doesn’t run.
Period.
Because the doctor’s orders must be followed and carried out by law…
And a couple of ancillary workers are just what the doctor ordered.
Tombstone and Jackson Cade, the doctor will see you now.