Hunter's greatest pleasure in life was in his work. Most of it was a tedious routine, but included in it there were also jobs so difficult and intricate that you could lose yourself in them as in the depths of a mathematical problem — delicate pieces of forgery in which you had nothing to guide you except your knowledge of the principles of Sports Entertainment and your estimate of what The Chairman wanted you to say. Hunter was good at this kind of thing. On occasion he had even been entrusted with the rectification of WWE.com leading articles, which were written entirely in Newspeak. He unrolled the message that he had set aside earlier. It ran:
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. In 1996 on Survivor Series, the WWE presented a special tribute show, recognizing the career of WWE Hall of Famer Jimmy Snuka. However, now some 19 years later, the facts of a horrific tragedy are now apparent. Therefore, other than my comments, there will be no mention of Mr. Snuka's name tonight. On the contrary, tonight's show will be dedicated to everyone who has been affected by this terrible incident. This evening marks the first step of the healing process. Tonight, WWE performers will do what they do better than anyone else in the world: entertain you."
In Oldspeak (or standard English) this might be rendered:
"Not this shit again! Helmsley! Patterson! Styles! I want every mention of that fucker stricken from the record! Get Soviet on this shit or your ass is Zack Ryder!"
Hunter read through the offending text. The 1996 WWE Survivor Series, it seemed, had been chiefly devoted to praising the work of an organization known as the Ablano Group, which supplied cocaine and other comforts to the boys in the back. A certain Superstar Jimmy Snuka, a prominent member of the Inner Circle, had been singled out for special mention and awarded a decoration, induction into the WWE Hall of Fame Class of 1996.
Thirteen years earlier, the Ablano Group had become entangled in an unspecified ugly matter in Lehigh County, Pennsylvania. One could assume that Snuka and his associates were now in disgrace, but there had been no report of the matter in the Press or on the telescreen. That was to be expected, since it was unusual for entertainers to be put on trial or even publicly denounced. The great purges involving thousands of people, with public trials of traitors and thought-criminals who made abject confession of their crimes and were afterwards executed, were special show-pieces not occurring oftener than once in a couple of years. More commonly, people who had incurred the displeasure of The Chairman simply disappeared and were never heard of again. One never had the smallest clue as to what had happened to them. In some cases they might not even be dead. Perhaps thirty people personally known to Hunter, not counting his parents, had disappeared at one time or another.
Hunter stroked his nose gently with a paper-clip. In the cubicle across the way WWE Superstar Billy Gunn was still crouching secretively over his speakwrite. He raised his head for a moment: again the hostile spectacle-flash. Hunter wondered whether Superstar Gunn was engaged on the same job as himself. It was perfectly possible. So tricky a piece of work would never be entrusted to a single person: on the other hand, to turn it over to a committee would be to admit openly that an act of fabrication was taking place. Very likely as many as a dozen people were now working away on rival versions of what The Chairman had actually said. And presently some master brain in the Board of Directors would select this version or that, would re-edit it and set in motion the complex processes of cross-referencing that would be required, and then the chosen lie would pass into the permanent records and become truth.
Hunter did not know why Snuka had been disgraced. Perhaps it was for domestic violence or a sex tape. Perhaps The Chairman was merely getting rid of a too-popular subordinate. Perhaps Snuka or someone close to him had been suspected of heretical tendencies. Or perhaps — what was likeliest of all — the institution of social media finally uncovered a particularly nasty matter and refused to shut up about it. The only real clue lay in the words ‘refs unpersons’, which indicated that Snuka was already dead. You could not invariably assume this to be the case when people were arrested. Sometimes they were released and allowed to remain at liberty for as much as a year or two years before being executed. Very occasionally some person whom you had believed dead long since would make a ghostly reappearance at some public trial where he would implicate hundreds of others by his testimony before vanishing, this time for ever. Sunk, however, was already an unperson. He did not exist: he had never existed. Hunter decided that it would not be enough simply to reverse the tendency of The Chairman's speech. It was better to make it deal with something totally unconnected with its original subject.
He might turn the speech into the usual denunciation of traitors and thought-criminals, but that was a little too obvious, while to invent a victory at the front, or some triumph of over-production in the Tenth Annual Sports Entertainment Extravaganza, might complicate the records too much. What was needed was a piece of pure fantasy. Suddenly there sprang into his mind, ready made as it were, the image of former Fantastics star Tommy Rogers, who had recently died battling PCS, in heroic circumstances. There were occasions when The Chairman devoted his Hall of Fame to commemorating some humble, rank-and-file entertainers whose life and death he held up as an example worthy to be followed. Today he should commemorate Superstar Rogers. It was true that Rogers had not actually wrestled for WWE until 1997, but a few lines of print and a couple of faked photographs would soon bring him into existence.
Hunter thought for a moment, then pulled the speakwrite towards him and began dictating in The Chairman's familiar style: a style at once military and pedantic, and, because of a trick of asking questions and then promptly answering them (‘What lessons do we learn from this fact, fellow Superstars? The lesson — which is also one of the fundamental principles of Sports Entertainment — that,’ etc., etc.), easy to imitate.
At the age of three Superstar Rogers had refused all toys except a weight set, a steel chair, and a syringe. At six — a year early, by a special relaxation of the rules — he had won his first barfight, at nine he could beat up every criminal in the state of Florida. At eleven he had dropped out of school to begin training under Future WWE Hall of Famer Lou Ablano. At seventeen he snorted his first line off a pair of fake boobs. At nineteen he had designed a foreign object which has been banned by over three dozen state athletic commissions and which, at its first trial, had killed thirty-one jobbers with only one use. At twenty-two he became a legend in a Steel Cage Match with Don Muraco when he performed his famous Superbly Splash off the top of the Cage — a moment, said The Chairman, which it was impossible to contemplate without feelings of envy. The Chairman added a few remarks on the purity and single-mindedness of Superstar Rogers' life. He could drink any local under the table, never let his "recreations" get in the way of giving the WWE Universe everything he had, and ran through truckstop hookers like shit through a goose, believing marriage and the care of a family to be incompatible with a twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion to duty. He had no subjects of conversation except the principles of Sports Entertainment, and no aim in life except to prove himself among the very best to the thousands in the arena and the millions watching at home.
Hunter debated with himself whether to induct Superstar Rogers into the WWE Hall of Fame: in the end he decided against it because of the unnecessary cross-referencing that it would entail.
Once again he glanced at his rival in the opposite cubicle. Something seemed to tell him with certainty that Gunn was busy on the same job as himself. There was no way of knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a profound conviction that it would be his own. WWE Superstar Tommy Rogers, unimagined an hour ago, was now a fact. It struck him as curious that you could put over dead men but not living ones. Superstar Rogers, who had never existed in the present, now existed in the past, and when once the act of forgery was forgotten, he would exist just as authentically, and upon the same evidence, as Charlemagne or Julius Caesar.
- Dave Meltzer, The Biography of Paul Levesque