“There’s an old saying: ‘All power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ The more I’ve learned, the less I believe it. Power doesn’t always corrupt. What power always does is reveal. When a guy gets into a position where he doesn’t have to worry anymore, then you see what he wanted to do all along.”
-Robert Caro
“Can you believe there are promotions operating today where this match wouldn’t be possible?”
Silvio is laying down on his back on his tattoo chair, hands folded behind his head, looking up at the camera positioned on the ceiling. He’s dressed in jeans, red Converse, and a black shirt with the words: “THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE,” printed across it in white.
“When I was looking for a promotion to join, it was important to me that they had intergender matches. I wanted to fight the best, regardless of gender. When I was doing my research, watching matches, reading up on peoples’ experiences, something I noticed was that there was a stark difference between the treatment of men and women in the business.”
He spreads his arms.
“Many have been conditioned to think that violence is inherently male and peace is inherently female. Therefore, when women aren’t permitted into violent spaces, plenty of folks think this is right and just.”
He gives a theatrical shrug, a sarcastic note coloring his words.
“However, for some reason, women and people who support them just keep on insisting on access! The problem is, most of these spaces are controlled by men, and if they’re going to let the girls into the boy’s club…they’re going to have to follow some extra rules.
“Sometimes this extends to segregating off the genders entirely. Men only fight men, and women only fight women. If you’re intersex or non-binary? Well, that’s a whole other can of worms most of these folks are terrified of opening. If you want access?”
Tapping his chin, the Oracle raises a brow.
“…Well, okay, but it’s only acceptable if you do it while playing a certain role that won’t threaten the status quo too much. Funnily enough, I’ve found a lot of the same roles emerging in video games. I bet you’ve noticed too, Cat. Let’s start with the obvious.”
Silvio snaps, and in an instant, the World Champ’s attire changes. Instead of his t-shirt and jeans, he’s wearing the pink gown, ovular turquoise brooch, and dainty golden crown of Princess Peach. He spins a parasol in one hand, still looking up at the camera.
“The damsel, the innocent, the princess in need of rescue. She exists in these violent spaces not to fight, but to give the men around her a reason to. She reminds us of all that is soft and gentle and worth preserving. Sure, she might get in a shot or two now and then to show she’s got a little moxy, but that’s not the main reason for her being there. Not up to being the damsel? You could be…”
Snapping again, Silvio’s voluminous gown changes to a sleek, black catsuit with a chest window in the shape of a crescent moon, white opera gloves, and a pair of what appear to be stilettos with guns attached to the heels. He twirls a tiny lollipop between his fingers, giving the camera a come-hither look.
“…The seductress…the sex pot…the dominatrix…”
He writhes suggestively, his Bayonetta cosplay gleaming in the light, running a hand up his chest before sticking the lollipop in his mouth. Drawing it out again free of candy, he makes a face.
“Huh. Not much staying power with this one.”
Tossing the stick aside, he touches his lower lip.
“Sex and violence! Two great tastes that taste great together! A woman can be permitted into the realm of combat without much complaint from the fellas’ as long as they’re being…titillated.”
Waving a hand, he raises a brow.
“But maybe you’re not comfortable with that. In fact, you could always go the complete opposite direction.”
Snapping again, his cosplay changes into shining orange and yellow power armor, one arm sheathed within a space-age looking cannon, head obscured by a green-visored helmet. When he speaks, his voice is modulated, as if coming through an electronic filter.
“You could just be one of the guys! If femininity is associated with peace and, ‘weakness,’ then just get rid of it. Sometimes it’s physical – cutting your hair, cultivating a more ‘masculine,’ body shape, wearing specific clothes. Sometimes, it’s behavioral – drinking hard, smoking hard, and swearing hard. Disavow your feminine signifiers and you, too, can play with the boys!”
Samus Silvio hums thoughtfully, his cannon arm raising to scratch the side of his head, grating against the helmet.
“No dice? Well, we gotta get people buy into this somehow, so…”
This time when he snaps, Silvio is wearing jeans, and a ragged, blue-grey button down over a grey shirt. His face is speckled with blood, a backpack laden with supplies sits off to the side, and in his hands he holds a recurve bow. He glances at his right arm before looking back at the camera, shrugging helplessly.
“Look, I tried putting Ellie’s tattoos there, but the real-estate’s already occupied. This one’s a little harder. You’re going to have to suffer. A lot. You’re going to have to experience loss, degradation, humiliation, maybe even mutilation. You’re going to have to suffer enough for everyone watching to be cheering for you to beat the daylights out of those who inflicted that pain upon you in the first place, regardless of gender.”
He makes a face.
“Honestly? Not really hungry for anything on the menu right up until now. All of these start with the assumption that to engage in violence, women must be convinced to go against their fundamental, ‘peaceful,’ nature. These are all ways to contend with that assumption and while they’re by no means the only ones, we don’t have all day. But Cat? You’re not any of these.”
Snapping once more, Silvio’s outfit changes into an orange jumpsuit whose unzipped upper half he’s tied around his waist, revealing layered tank tops of blue and white, one of which is emblazoned with a logo that reads, ‘APERTURE LABORATORIES.’ His footwear is a complex affair of white plastic and black shock absorbers, and a strange, gun-like contraption with spindly black pincers at one end glows blue where it rests in his hands.
“You reject the notion that violence isn’t yours to access because of who you are. If anything, your heritage encourages you to seize it as your birthright. You do not allow yourself to be objectified sexually, but you don’t deny yourself your own expressions of sexuality.”
He grins.
“I think the fan fic is proof enough of that. You don’t believe that disavowing your femininity is part of the path to power. Your skill with putting together costumes, your slick nailpolish, and sweet hairstyle all exude what most would consider traditionally feminine qualities. You don’t put an excess of suffering on display for a cheap shot of pathos. If anything, you’re always out there to entertain, making people happy. You reject the idea that violence is the domain of men that women can only enter under exceptional circumstances. Hell, the thought’s probably never even crossed your mind.”
Spreading his arms, still holding the Portal gun, Silvio raises his brows.
“We work in an environment where violence is the tool used to get results. In our world, violence is synonymous with power. At Carnage, violence is egalitarian. We could break things down to ‘violence good or violence bad,’ but that’s too simplistic. The better question is – what is our violence in service to?”
Looking at a little wheeled tray on which sits some tattoo supplies and a card. Stretching his hand toward it, his frowns as it’s just out of reach before looking at his gun. Looking off screen, he aims the gun, and pulls the trigger, a strange, warping sound emanates from it as it fires. As he switches the color to glow orange, he fires again at the floor beside him, creating a swirling vortex. He reaches through the orange portal and his hand is seen groping for the card on the table through the wall beside it before he draws it back out again and closes both vortexes with a satisfied little grin. He winks at the camera.
“Ax has some cool SFX friends from Hollywood he loaned to me.”
He flicks the card between his fingers.
“Does your violence consolidate power or share it? Is it possessive or protective? Does it foster a vertical or lateral power structure?”
He looks thoughtful as the hand playing with the card becomes still.
“Let’s put a pin in that. This is my first title defense. It’s one thing to win a belt. It’s another to keep it.”
His expression shifts, eyes momentarily distant.
“If it wasn’t for you, Cat, I don’t think I would be where I am right now.
“You reminded me of how strong you have to be to get back up after you’ve been knocked down. You reminded me of how strong I am.”
Raising a brow, he gives a sardonic smile.
“Considering how unlucky my past was, I honestly wonder if I unknowingly shattered a store full of mirrors while walking under a corridor of 13 ladders with an entire herd of black cats breakdancing across my path. You’d think I’d remember that occurring, but being stabbed to death is a helluva drug.
“Among my, ‘get back up,’ moments, that ranks pretty high, though it shockingly isn’t number one. It did, however, leave me different from the others, because for a moment, I became nothing.”
He snorts.
“I know you could say I already was socially speaking, but I mean it in the literal sense. For a short time, I wasn’t here anymore. I was gone. Whatever electricity animates my mind and body fizzled out and I. Was. Nothing.”
He purses his lips for a moment.
“You don’t consciously remember being nothing. That’s kinda part of the whole deal. But there’s something in you that knows it happened, and you carry that piece of knowledge with you in your bones. In your soul. In the shape of your name. In the reverberation of your voice. In the color of your dreams. There is always that hollow spot that’s no longer innocent to the mystery of what happens to you after everything is over. That’s traumatic. It can infect your concept of yourself in insidious ways and lead you to sink deep into the cold, pillowy comfort of nihilism. I mean…”
Shaking his head, he shrugs.
“…I walked away from a loving relationship without saying a word on my way out because why wouldn’t I? A significant other, a boyfriend, a husband? They wouldn’t do that. But nothing? Nothing steps right out the door without a backward glance. And it’s taken me a long time to realize that infection was still there and doing damage. It took having to get back up again after being knocked down to recognize it for what it was. It took needing to re-engage in the mechanics of rising to see part of what had made me fall in the first place.”
He looks up at the camera.
“It took you, Cat.”
He exhales.
“And I wouldn’t have known if we weren’t allowed to fight. I wouldn’t have known if Carnage wasn’t egalitarian in its access to violence. To power. Once I realized I was strong enough to survive the fall, I lost any inhibitions I had about climbing as high as I wanted. And the first thing I did was test that new resolve against the best competitor this promotion has to offer.”
Finally, he turns over the tarot card to reveal a knight astride a rearing brown warhorse arrayed in armor and yellow robes patterned with salamanders. In one hand, he holds the reins of the horse, and in the other he grasps a leafy, wooden baton, the desert stretching out behind him.
“The Knight of Wands. He is life and fire. He represents passion, inspired action, impulsiveness. He’s adventurous and always finds fun in his endeavors. He wants to accomplish important things and be recognized for his skill.”
He grins, the card flickering between his fingers.
“That’s you all over. It’s part of why I’m excited about this match. You don’t do anything in half measures. When you commit yourself to something, you put everything you are into it. Considering your pedigree, your entire life and career up until this point? I know you’re going to come at me with everything you’ve got; do everything you can to win. Family matters and I know yours has their eyes on you. That’s not a small amount of pressure to contend with, and I know you’ve got moral baggage that comes along with it. I know you’re trying to be a better version of yourself, and there’s significant friction with your perception of what that is and your family’s reputation. Which makes it really important to watch for personal flaws that may get in your way if you’re not careful.”
With a twist of his hand, he holds the card in the reversed position.
“Because the Knight of Wands can also represent impatience, a loss of power, stagnancy, and unstable relationships.”
He tucks the card away and looks back at the camera.
“It’s funny how our experiences have been reflections of each other since we first crossed paths.”
He begins ticking the points off on his fingers.
“…I had a tag team championship match after losing my original partner, I lost, I had a rematch against you, half of the tag team champions at the time, I won, and then I cut a swath through every competitor they put in front of me before getting a shot at the World Title the following PPV and coming out the victor.”
He shrugs and continues.
“Just recently, you had a tag team championship match after your partner had been gone. After you lost, he left you here on your own. You had a rematch with half of the tag team champions, you won, and you’ve been cutting a swath through every competitor they put in front of you before your shot at the World Title the following PPV…”
He stops before ticking off another finger.
“Now the question is,” the Oracle intones, “are you going to keep following in my footsteps?”
Exhaling, he raises his brows.
“The last time we fought, I pointed out a fundamental difference between us. Being the Chosen One versus the One Who Chooses. I know which of the two I am and strive to continue being. But you?
“At our contract signing, you made it clear that you aren’t ready to take responsibility for your own aspirations and motivations. You aren’t ready to answer your own questions about yourself. When you said you still needed an external voice reassuring you of your capabilities, that was all I needed to hear to know you aren’t ready for this. You aren’t ready to be World Champion.”
He holds up a finger.
“Yet.”
He snaps again. This time, his clothes change to his ring gear, the World Title around his waist.
“If violence in this place equals power, then what is your violence in service of? What would you use your power for?
“I’ve been pretty explicit about what I want out of any run I have at Carnage. I want to promote our talent. I want to prioritize people who haven’t had opportunity. I want to lateralize and share power with those who haven’t had it before, because I want to see what they do with it. I want to hear the stories they have to tell when their voices are amplified so we can all listen. I want to protect those who have had to stand alone. I will always be on the side of the marginalized. The cryptid. The underground. The monsters under the bed and the terrors hiding in the closet. Those who have been denied.
“I am very interested in seeing what happens when those people are given access to violence as a tool to change their world. I have no patience for those who would try to limit them for any reason.”
Silvio drums his fingertips briefly against the main plate of the title belt.
“If you still need an external force dictating what you’re able to do, then your power – your violence – and whatever you do with it will always have the potential to be subverted.
“That is the danger of being the Chosen One; of having someone else tell you what and who you are. Because any power granted to you? Any access or permission? It can be revoked. I tried to help you see that the last time you and I tangled, but apparently the message didn’t get through. But practice makes perfect, so it looks like we’re going to be doing a little review.”
He laces his fingers together and stretches his arms out, cracking his knuckles.
“You’re on your own now, Cat. This comes down to you and me; nobody else. No Marlowe. No Zed. No title. You might ask for help, but you have to be brave enough to reach out. No matter what, when you get up again, the strength you’ll have to tap into will be only yours.
“You are not ready for gold again. This will not be your moment, but if you want one in the future, you will have to get up after I knock. You. Down.
“I am going to take you where I have been. I am going to reiterate the message until you finally take it to heart. I am going to make sure it’s necessary for you to find the same strength I did to rise again.
“The world will not shed a tear for your failed ambitions, or your deferred dreams, Cat. So stop waiting for someone to tell you who you are and what you can do and get off the floor!
“If you need me to say what is possible for you, then whether or not you win at this show is my decision to make.
He extends a hand as if inviting the viewer to dance.
“I won’t make you a champion at Act of Defiance,” he says in his sugared smoke voice. “But come into that ring with me and I swear, I will make you a phoenix.”
He snaps one final time, and the scene goes black.
“You know I’m proud of you, right, kiddo?”
“Yeah, Leslie. I know. I’m…hey, if it’s inconvenient to come out for the show just…let me know what I can do to help, yeah? My offer to pay your airfare still stands.”
Silvio paced around the living room of his apartment, phone held to his ear. His laptop was opened on the coffee table, a number of empty Dr. Pepper cans and cup noodles strewn about its surface. He’d been marathoning tapes of Catalina, watching and re-watching their previous two fights. Cat had lit something inside of him he’d never felt before or since, which made the prospect of getting into the ring again with her gloriously tantalizing.
There was a part of him that was both nervous and elated about a possible repeat of what had happened with King at 106. The manic energy, the electrifyingly scrambled senses, the hunger.
He could feel it flickering along his skin as if it were about to ignite, moving through his blood with greater urgency each passing day. A need whose identity he knew, but whose intensity paradoxically brought him to his knees while compelling him onward. It was something he could mistake as a desire for conquest, but that wasn’t quite right upon closer introspection. King had implied a crush, but he wasn’t sure about that, either.
No. What he wanted wasn’t to conquer, but to commune. They’d both taken something vital from each other, but all that meant was that together, they could give the Legion a fight no one else could. She had a spark of his just as he had a spark of hers.
What happened when fire in the shape of human beings went to war?
The Oracle didn’t know yet, but God have mercy on any soul who tried to stop him from finding out.
Silvio wanted to share this with someone important. His mom had passed away and his father had been long gone. It felt a little silly at 25, but he thought it would be nice if…well…one of the closest people he’d ever had to a parent after he lost his mom and his dad left…
“Oh, for goodness sake, don’t worry about that,” Silvio’s tattoo mentor scoffed. “This is important to you and I want to see it. It’s just that…well, like I said, I’m proud of what you’re doing right now, but I’m a little confused.”
“About the abs and muscles and stuff? I know, everybody who knew me back when keeps talking about how I filled out. The secret? Chicken, rice, broccoli, and a lot of work. Just…so much goddamn chicken, rice and broccoli. And my sugar-addicted ass has to work twice as hard. Do you know how many sit-ups you gotta do to burn off one Jolly Rancher?”
“Stop deflecting, kid. I’m immune to the charm.”
Silvio flopped back into his sofa with a little sigh.
“Yeah, okay, what’s got you worried, Leslie?”
“Not worried, just…curious. You’re old enough to apply for financial aid on your own. I thought you’d be trying to get into schools by now. Did you change your mind about being a teacher?”
He picked up a soda can tab off the table and began flicking it along his knuckles, eyes moving along the spines of the test prep books on his shelves.
“Nah, I…it’s not that I changed my mind it’s just…you know, I’ve waited this long, right? What’s a little longer? I feel like I’m doing a lot of good at Carnage right now.”
She sighed, and he could just feel her frowning through the line.
“You’re putting a lot of yourself into it. I can see you trying to take a lot of peoples’ cares into your heart. I just want you to remember there’s only so much of you to go around.”
He made a face, rubbing his forehead.
“Yeah, I know. I just…I’m finally in a place where I can help other people in a tangible way and I don’t want to take that for granted.” Getting to his feet and coming to the living room window, he looked out into the street below just outside of his parlor, people moving about their day-to-day lives. “We know how hard it is. Money doesn’t matter until it does…people say, ‘high school education,’ like it’s an insult…no one in power has your background or understands your problems. Those are things I want to make better. Maybe the world outside isn’t fair, but things can be different here. And I guess I just want to…to stop losing people.”
There was a pause on the line.
“Silvio, why do you think it’s your job to save them?”
He blinked, quiet for a moment.
“…’cuz I don’t…”
His hand moved unconsciously to the scar just above his heart.
“…I don’t know how to save myself.”
Silvio turned back to look at the title belt settled on an armchair, brow furrowed.
“But maybe this is how I figure it out.”
oracularmysteries 