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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 16:52:09 GMT
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 16:52:34 GMT
F1 CLIMAXXX QUALIFICATION STANDINGS
As at 1st October 2022, post-XX/020
The six FWA champions will automatically qualify for the F1 Climaxxx, along with the top six highest ranked competitors based on average promo score throughout the qualification window (Anniversary Show to Lights Out). As a reminder, only wrestlers with at least two registered matches can qualify for the F1 Climaxxx.
The Connection hold their spots at the top from the previous update, but there’s a lot of change below them as a big chunk of characters become eligible for contention after posting their second promos of the qualification window. Whilst the scores themselves are not posted here, I can say that there is still a lot to play for heading into Lights Out given how close things stand.
AUTOMATIC QUALIFICATION (CHAMPIONS)
FWA WORLD CHAMPION
DANNY TONER
FWA WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPION
REAGAN COLE
FWA WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPION
AKA YUREI
FWA NORTH AMERICAN CHAMPION
LIZZIE ROSE
FWA WORLD X CHAMPION
ALYSTER BLACK
FWA TELEVISION CHAMPION
SHAWN SUMMERS
ELIGIBLE COMPETITORS (2 OR MORE MATCHES)
1. MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
2. GERALD GRAYSON
3. CHRIS PEACOCK
4. CORNELIUS AURELIUS CAESAR
5. MIKE PARR
6. JEREMY BEST
7. CYRUS TRUTH
8. GABRIELLE
9. KAYDEN KNOX
10. KONCHU HAO
11. TOMMY BEDLAM
12. PHILLIP A. JACKSON
13. JASON RANDALL
14. NATE SAVAGE
15. SAWYER XAVIER
16. DEVIN GOLDEN
17. XYZ
18. JOHNNY JOHNSON
INELIGIBLE COMPETITORS (LESS THAN 2 MATCHES)
BRYAN BAXTER, JACKSON FENIX, SAINT SULLEY, BULLET BROC, VAMPYRA, YUNA FUNANORI |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 16:53:05 GMT
Originally posted by Dubb.
The following is an FWA.com exclusive.
The setting is an extremely simple one - Cal Robinson sits behind a mahogany desk with a grim look on his face. He looks quite uncomfortable as he shifts in his chair.
Cal Robinson: “Followers of the FWA, it is with great sadness… but complete understanding… that I have to deliver some unfortunate news to you all. Due to the actions of the FWA World Champion Danny Toner, and his stablemates in Executive Excellence, Violet Dreyer has been admitted to the intensive care ward of Sunrise Hospital in Las Vegas, Nevada. As a result of this, the World X Champion Alyster Black, has informed me of…”
Cal gulps, clearly not happy about the news he is about to deliver.
Cal Robinson: “Alyster Black has informed me that he will not be taking up his obligation as number one contender to the FWA World Championship at Lights Out. He will not be facing Danny Toner for the championship and he will not be present at the event. It is with great regret that I inform you that Danny Toner versus Alyster Black at Lights Out… is officially cancelled. While we would usually try to find a suitable replacement for Mr. Black, due to the close proximity of the event, that is not a guarantee I can make as of right now. Rest assured, we will try to find a suitable challenger so that fans are not robbed of their main event and a World Championship match. However… this seems like it’ll be an uphill task and while we endeavor to try our best… it is looking extremely likely that the World Championship will not be defended at the upcoming Pay-Per-View. As a gesture of goodwill, we will be refunding 15 dollars to those that have already purchased the Pay-Per-View and the new price point for ordering the PPV will be reflective of this. On behalf of the FWA, I offer my most sincere apologies for what has transpired and while it may be too late to find a suitable defense for Danny Toner, rest assured: he will be punished for his actions.”
Cal fixes the camera's steely gaze before softening up just a touch.
Cal Robinson: “Finally, all of us here at FWA would like to wish Violet Dreyer a safe and speedy recovery. You are in our thoughts. Thank you.”
Black.
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 16:55:34 GMT
The Fantasy Wrestling Alliance proudly presents… 
Venue: Caesars Superdome in New Orleans, Louisiana.
Show date: Saturday 22nd October, 2022 at a time TBA.
MAIN EVENT - [1/60]
Danny Toner (c) vs. Alyster Black.
Singles match for the FWA World Championship.
RECORDS [since BiBXVI…]:
Danny Toner: 2-1-0.
Alyster Black: 2-1-0.
PREVIEW:
Perhaps the longest running rivalry in the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance today rolls on into New Orleans, where Alyster Black will once more challenge for the FWA World Championship and seek to pry the title out of the hands of Danny Toner and Executive Excellence. With the other three members preoccupied with what will no doubt be a brutal and barbaric chamber match for the Golden Opportunity, this may prove to be Black's best opportunity yet to tackle Toner without having to look over his shoulder.
Black's latest attempt at dethroning Toner came at the Anniversary Show, of course. That triple threat match, which also involved Devin Golden, saw Toner emerge triumphantly and Black not involved in the final pinfall. Jon Russnow announced via the commentary team that Black would get one more opportunity at Danny and the championship, and this time it would be one-on-one. Since then, we've seen Alyster Black return into the FWA told after his stint in the wilderness, first defending his X Championship against 'the Mad Wizard' Konchu Hao on Meltdown XIX before turning his attention to Toner.
The champion, meanwhile, tasted defeat on Fallout 019, when he was submitted by Jeremy Best's Friendship Bracelet finisher. If this has affected Toner's confidence he didn't let it show at the climax of Fallout 020, where he and Black exchanged words and then hands to finish the go-home show. These two men have been embroiled in some sort of rivalry - as singles stars or in a tag team, and both professionally and personally - for well over a year now, and it all comes to a head in our Lights Out main event.
The GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY Match - [6/–]
Cyrus Truth vs. Devin Golden vs. Chris Peacock vs. Gabrielle vs. Kayden Knox vs. Jeremy Best vs. Mike Parr.
Steel Roulette match for the Golden Opportunity briefcase.
RECORDS [since BiBXVI…]:
Cyrus Truth: 2-2-0.
Devin Golden: 1-4-0.
Chris Peacock: 1-1-0.
Gabrielle: 2-3-0.
Mike Parr: 2-1-0.
Kayden Knox: 3-3-0.
Jeremy Best: 5-1-0.
PREVIEW:
The Golden Opportunity match returns in a new slot at Lights Out, with seven competitors ready to step into the chamber this year as opposed to the standard six. This is due to the simultaneous eliminations of Devin Golden and Kayden Knox, who finished joint-seventh in the Carnal Contendership match. Usually, those in positions two through seven will earn their spot in this match, but due to the unique circumstances involved here, Jon Russnow announced that 2022's incarnation will see all seven of Golden, Knox, Gabrielle, Mike Parr, Cyrus Truth, Chris Peacock, and Jeremy Best enter this demonic structure.
Much of the build-up to this match has revolved around the fact that three members of Executive Excellence have earned their spot in the chamber, whilst the fourth holds the FWA World Championship. If Gabrielle, Mike Parr, and Kayden Knox can control this match-up, E.E. might find themselves in a dominant position within the FWA landscape come the end of Lights Out… so long as the holder of the briefcase and the holder of the championship continue seeing eye to eye. The four men in this match-up with no allegiance to Toner - Truth, Peacock, Golden, and Best - may end up forming a temporary and uneasy alliance should all three Executive Excellence members find themselves in this match-up at the same time.
The Golden Opportunity prize is one of the most sought after in professional wrestling: it gives its holder the right to challenge for the FWA World Championship at a time of their choosing over the next three hundred and sixty five days. Nova Diamond used the briefcase to win his sole FWA World Championship last year, and these seven competitors will look at Diamond’s success as a blueprint for their own path over the next twelve months…
[1/60]
The SPIRIT WALKERS [Aka Yurei and Reagan Cole] (c) vs. The CONNECTION [Gerald Grayson and Michelle von Horrowitz].
Tag Team match for the FWA World Tag Team Championships.
RECORDS [since BiBXVI…]:
THE SPIRIT WALKERS: 4-0-0 (4-0-0 as a pair).
Aka Yurei: 4-1-0, Reagan Cole: 6-0-0.
THE CONNECTION: 1-2-0 (1-0-0 as a pair).
Michelle von Horrowitz: 4-2-0, Gerald Grayson: 2-2-0.
PREVIEW:
The Spirit Walkers became the FWA World Tag Team Champions officially at the Anniversary Show, when they overcame Bad Reputation (Kayden Knox and Gabrielle) to merge their FWA World Tag Team Championships with the Fallout World’s Tag Team Championships. This was Aka Yurei’s first taste of gold within the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, and Reagan Cole’s first since his short reign with the FWA Gauntlet Championship last year. Cole in particular has been on something of a hot streak as of late, picking up six consecutive victories since (and including) Back in Business, when he overcame long-term rival Jeffry Mason in a brutal, uncompromising deathmatch.
The last person to have defeated Reagan Cole, though, is one of the two challengers standing across the ring from him in Michelle von Horrowitz, who triumphed over Cole before Back in Business on Meltdown XVI. She would go on to defeat Aka Yurei on the last Meltdown show, but those singles victories will mean nothing if her and Gerald Grayson can’t get on the same page ahead of this championship match-up. On both Meltdown XX and Fallout 020, we saw MvH target the Spirit Walkers for extra-curricular attacks, only for Gerald Grayson to talk her out of such actions. The Daredevil has made it clear that he wants to win this match-up - which the Connection earned once back in last year’s Tag Warz tournament, and then re-earned with a win over Bad Reputation on Meltdown XIX - ‘the right way’... will this honour come back to haunt both Grayson and von Horrowitz in New Orleans?
[3/60]
Lizzie Rose vs. Johnny Johnson.
Two out of three falls match.
RECORDS [since BiBXVI…]:
Lizzie Rose: 3-2-0.
Johnny Johnson: 1-4-0.
PREVIEW:
Despite the fact that Lizzie Rose became the newly-crowned FWA North American Champion at the climax of Fallout 020, she will be competing at Lights Out in a non-title grudge match against a man who has been a perennial thorn in her side over the past few months. That man is ‘the Legend’ Johnny Johnson, who has made his dislike for Lizzie Rose and his desire to once more become the FWA North American Championship clear over the past few weeks. Johnson secured that gold back on Meltdown XVII, overcoming Lizzie thanks to the help of his father, Logan Darwin, before falling to Mike Parr and losing the belt at the Anniversary Show. That led to 020’s triple threat match, with the belt again changing hands, and this time ending up in the possession of ‘The Rave’ for the first time.
If Johnny Johnson’s ambitions are to earn another shot at and then reclaim that FWA North American Championship eventually, he will first have to overcome Rose in this non-title match… and he’ll have to do it more than once. Given the issues that have gone on between this pair dating back to that match for the vacant championship back on Meltdown XVII, Jon Russnow has turned this singles match into a two-out-of-three falls, hoping that such a stipulation would introduce an element of finality to this rivalry… unless, of course, Johnson emerges triumphantly, and makes the case for a future championship opportunity.
[1/30]
Shawn Summers (c) vs. Phillip A. Jackson.
Singles match for the FWA Television Championship.
RECORDS [since BiBXVI…]:
Shawn Summers: 2-2-0.
Phillip A. Jackson: 1-5-0.
PREVIEW:
Shawn Summers successfully defended his Television Championship for the first time back on Meltdown XIX, when he dispatched Sawyer Xavier in that show’s main event. This victory prompted Phillip A. Jackson to appear from the back and lay down a challenge for the man known as ‘Der Basterd’. Summers was originally hesitant to give in to Jackson’s demands so quickly, citing the fact that Jackson’s form had been uneven since his return into the FWA fold at this year’s Carnal Contendership match. That may be true, but Jackson's ability and pedigree are unmistakable, and Summers relented in accepting Jackson as his next challenger during the Fallout 020 show from Austin, Texas.
Jackson and Summers were, of course, both involved in the six-pack challenge at Rough's Tower to decide the inaugural champion, as well as the Brand Warfare Jailhouse Blues match at Arlington's Anniversary Show. They will no doubt be well aware of what the other is capable of going into this climactic one-on-one showdown in Louisiana.
[1/30]
Tommy Bedlam vs. Jason Randall.
X Rules match.
RECORDS [since BiBXVI…]:
Tommy Bedlam: 2-0-0.
Jason Randall: 2-3-0.
PREVIEW:
Tommy Bedlam returned to much fanfare during the recent post brand split swathe of shows in the South of the USA, and has recorded two impressive victories in that time to pick up a head of steam. Those wins have come over Nate Savage as well as two-time world champion Phillip A. Jackson, showing that Bedlam has returned with renewed focus and a new lease on life. If the man from Texas keeps loading up the win-column, it surely won't be long before Bedlam re-joins the hunt for gold here in the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance…
Standing in his way, though, is a man that he knows very well in 'the Wildcard' Jason Randall. In fact, Tommy Bedlam holds Randall responsible for his lengthy absence from in-ring action, as per his own words on this week's Meltdown XX. He'll get his chance to get his hands on the Wildcard in New Orleans, and - in what is an exclusive announcement - Jon Russnow has upped the ante by turning this singles match into X Rules, meaning there will be no disqualifications, no countouts, and falls count anywhere. Given the track record of these two men, that is undoubtedly a recipe for chaos.
[1/30]
Uncle J.J. JAY! vs. Cornelius Aurelius Caesar.
Singles match.
RECORDS [since BiBXVI…]:
Uncle J.J. JAY!: 1-1-0.
Cornelius Aurelius Caesar: 2-2-0.
PREVIEW:
During the FWA's recent tour of the south of the States, it appeared that Uncle J.J. JAY! and Cornelius Aurelius Caesar were destined to become tag team partners. The pair bonded over mutual grief: Caesar for his tag team partner Stu Grimes, who was recently kicked off a tower into a watery grave by Gabrielle and Kayden Knox, and Uncle for several of his recently fallen Nephews. This culminated in the duo's first outing as a tandem, when they faced Jeremy Best and Bryan Baxter of the Buddy System in Las Vegas on Meltdown XIX.
The result of that match, though, wasn't exactly what Uncle and his prospective new Nephew would've hoped, with Best and Baxter emerging triumphantly. JAY! none-the-less pressed on with his plans to recruit Caesar on Fallout 020, only for the Roman to reveal that this was incompatible with his own philosophies on life and wrestling. That set up this show-down, with the one-time tag team partners preparing to duke it out in New Orleans and provide one more showcase of their skills ahead of the upcoming F1 Climaxxx tournament.
[-/20]
??? vs. ??? vs. ....
The Secular Spooktacular Match.
Last year's Mile High pay-per-view event saw the first ever Secular Spectacular match-up, and that contest will make a return at Lights Out… but with a twist towards the occult, as the second incarnation of that match will follow a Halloween theme. Four prizes will be housed at the top of poles on each corner, with their contents being guaranteed treats rather than tricks, as four championship opportunities are up for grabs!
The field of competitors remains unannounced, but many of the names not booked on the rest of the card have been floated as potential entrants. Sawyer Xavier was amongst the winners in last year's Secular, and is likely to throw his hat into the ring again this time out, along with both Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage of the Undisputed Alliance. Konchu Hao and XYZ could also be seen climbing those candy cane poles this year, along with the slew of new signings for the company. Vampyra was impressive in her debut against The Backstreet Boy on 020, whilst we also saw a hype segment for newcomer Akihiko Kawaguchi. Several internet sources are also suggesting that the FWA is close to securing the services of Anderson Vega, Roderick Vasyl, and MDC, and also that Kleio De Santos and The Coven may be close to making their returns. We'll find out on the 22nd who exactly will compete in the Secular Spooktacular… and who will come away with those all-important treats.
MOD NOTE:
The four highest graded entrants will win the prizes. The prizes are: a shot at the X Championship, the NA title, the Television Championship, or the tag team titles with a partner of your choice. The person who comes first has first choice of prize, and so on. If you wish to enter this match, you will need to privately message the mod team a list of the four prizes in priority order, so it can be determined who will walk away with what. These title shots will occur during the F1 tournaments as the champions' compulsory defenses, should they choose to enter that tournament. You may post your promo in the promo thread or private message it if you want to be a surprise entrant. Only characters not booked elsewhere on the card may enter this match.
PROMO DEADLINES:
The deadline for promos, to be posted in the promo thread, is Friday 14th October, 2022 at 23:59 Pacific Time (midnight, Friday into Saturday).
That is Saturday 15th October, 2022 at 03:00AM in New York City.
Or Saturday 15th October, 2022 at 08:00AM in London.
Or Saturday 15th October, 2022 at 10:00AM in Istanbul.
Or Saturday 15th October, 2022 at 15:00PM in Melbourne.
You may use one of your five annual extensions for this card, by requesting in this thread. This will give you an extra 24 hours from the above deadlines.
EXTENSIONS:
Kayden Knox (OMB).
Jeremy Best (Dubb).
Cyrus Truth (Cyrus T).
Devin Golden (TGO).
Mike Parr (The Prodigy).
Gabrielle (ETE).
Chris Peacock (Mandalorian).
Cornelius Aurelius Caesar (Oz).
Uncle J.J. JAY! (Commie Jobber).
Danny Toner (Tig).
Alyster Black (rawr).
Johnny Johnson (OldJay).
Lizzie Rose (AON).
The Spirit Walkers (Grim/Gip).
The Connection (SS/Jam). |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 16:56:42 GMT
Originally posted by Rosie. From Darkness -------------------------------------------------------------To Spotlight:October 4th, 2022
9:21 pm JSTAichi Prefectural Gymnasium in Nagoya, Japan
REC OFF
Behind the curtains and away from the live fans, we are in the backstage area of the Aichi Prefectural Gym in Nagoya, Japan. Supply crates are pushed to the walls of the hallway, the walls are predominantly white with wooden accents around and a hint of red from the local Nagoya Diamond Dolphins basketball team who play in the arena. The crates all have a matching logo on them, a white planet with a ring outlined in stars, written “COSMIC Joshi Wrestling” in between them. Down the hallway, an interview area is set up with media members, most of whom are wearing masks standing across from a backdrop which is predominantly pink with the company logo branded repeatedly on it mixed with sponsorship logos. Three ladies stand in front, one of whom looks to have just completed a match.
Wearing ring gear of long tights with an opening on the side, a black base with a mix of purple and a neon green trim. Her bra matches the colours and she has arm bands on her biceps with fingerless gloves. Her hair goes down to her shoulders and is predominately silver with a trim of black. Cali Hayama. The Sky Devil. The Slayer-Queen of MAYHEM and their main gaijin performer. Though having Japanese heritage, she was born and raised in British Columbia, Canada. Early in her career she was more known as a Twitch-streamer than a wrestler, she has found a new life in Japan while still making regular trips to her side of the Pacific.
To her left, standing taller than the others, is a Japanese woman with short black and red hair. She has a zip-up black hoodie branded with the MAYHEM logo and signature silver and rainbow trim. Ririko. The Crazy Ghost, Bad Apple, and young powerhouse of the team who is a bit hyper. Though she contrasts the other two greatly, with her very bubbly personality, it is a situation where opposites attract, or in this case, make a strong team. She has been the member of the team who has been in the group the longest, starting off at the same time as Vampyra. She had a competitive rivalry early on with their split into different units, but there was a respect. Upon Vampyra joining MAYHEM, the Bad Apple has proven to be a great friend and frequent tag partner of Vampyra.
Those two ladies are the predominant tag team partners of the third woman who just made her FWA debut back in America, Vampyra, who is also referred to as Vampiress in Japan. She wears her hoodie as well and keeps her signature mask on, a black and white colour scheme. The three are wrapping up a post-match interview and we overhear them speaking in Japanese. They are discussing some events which just happened. Vampyra’s voice carries as she speaks faster than we have seen in America, showing more confidence in her native language.
(Translation) “Tonight we created something special within MAYHEM! Yokai Death Squad. We will be the team to beat in all of professional-wrestling!” She shouts before patting Cali Hayama on the shoulder. “And Yokai Death Squad will be all over the world!”
The Canadian nods, taking off one of her gloves and speaking in Japanese, taking an extra moment or two between thoughts to make sure she has the right words. (Translation) “I got a measure of revenge tonight. I beat a former champion and the woman who took our Trio's Championships. This is not over. MAYHEM’s Yokai Death Squad will be champions again in one way or another.”
Excited at the thought of their trio having an identity within their main group, Ririko gives both her friends a hug. (Translation) “And whenever you two are busy in America, I will make you proud! But first, I should talk to management about making us some merchandise.”
Cali grins while Vampyra rolls her eyes, but can’t help but chuckle.
(Translation) “Should we really trust what you design?” She teases her larger friend who just grins. The three seem to be pretty close, trading barbs with each other and being able to laugh about it.
Looking at the camera, Cali tries to get their promo wrapped up. (Translation) “Keep watching us. We will shake up professional wrestling.” flashes up the MAYHEM “M” and both Ririko and Vampyra follow. Winking, Cali says, “System down,” before they walk off.
Going down the hallways of Aichi Prefectural Gymnasium, Ririko quickly splits off from the two of them to follow through on trying to get them some merchandise made. Someone hands Cali Hayama a bottle of water which she sips through as Vampyra follows. Looking at her masked friend, the Canadian speaks in English towards her.
“So, that was bold of you, declaring a sub-group within MAYHEM in front of the world with us part of it! Guessing appearing in America now has given you a little extra confidence, eh Vampiress-or should it be Vampyra now?” Cali has a sly smirk on her face, looking at Vampyra. The masked-wrestler glances to her side, looking away from her friend, and is perhaps a touch embarrassed.
“I think Vampyra may sound better. I might change it here soon.” She says in English, before trying to clarify with her friend. “But I guess with us having success as a trio, teaming before with Ririko, and now you more often, I wanted to make the team more…” Vampyra pauses to find the right word, “formal.”
Stopping in the hallway, Cali leans against the wall and motions for Vampyra to stop and chat. The Asian-Canadian folds her arms and continues to discuss her friend’s new exploits in America.
“I like it. It’s cool to give our trio a name.” Then, Cali shifts back to what she really wants to talk about. “I’m already seeing something change in you. Your English is improving. I honestly think you’re getting better at it than I am at Japanese. You’re also moving with more confidence in the ring. And don’t think I didn’t see you on FWA. Ya girl has two contracts, just like me? That’s awesome! I’m proud of you!”
Giving a small grin under her mask, Vampyra nods. “Thank you, Cali. You watched?”
Nodding, Cali responds, “Yep. I have a hint of history with one or two members in FWA so I keep up with them a bit and I saw you on Meltdown. Then you had your match on Fallout and I couldn’t help but smile the entire time. Badass new name, badass entrance, you sent that Boy Band reject back to the 90’s, you’re going to do great!”
Unsure of how to take the compliment, Vampyra grabs her left biceps with her right hand and looks down. Seeing this, Cali presses. “Hey, what’s up? How do you feel?”
Not looking at Cali yet, Vampyra explains. “My debut went fine, but I was disappointed at the competition. I know he was not ‘top-guy’ as you say, but just destroying an idiot like that isn’t rewarding-”
Butting in, Hayama adds, “But the guy deserved it.”
Vampyra can’t help but chuckle. “Yes, he did. His music was awful.” She continues, “-But I don’t think that beating someone terrible in two minutes does much for me. I need actual competition. I could have an unbeaten record but if it is all people who are wastes of space, then what does it really mean? I’d rather have some losses against good wrestlers who motivate me to beat them next time than walk over bad people.”
“Come on, wins are good,” Cali Hayama plays (Sky) Devil’s advocate.
“I want quality wins too.” Vampyra clarifies. “-In who I beat.”
“Well, do you know your next match for FWA?” Cali asks. “Maybe it can be a step up?”
“Yes… and no. It is a little complicated.”
Vampyra has a hard time describing what opportunity is next and instead searches in her hoodie pocket. She pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, looking to be a copy of an email. She hands it to Cali Hayama and tries to explain.
“There is an open invitation match for their next show and I can get a championship match, but I do not know who is in it, or even how to say the name. It is perhaps hard to show myself knowing how many people will be in it. It also has some strange rules. But getting a championship match early would be a way to lead to that showcase.”
Looking at the email paper, Cali reads it out, “Secular Spooktacular match…” She hums and looks through it. “Sounds familiar. Open invitation, seems to be a Halloween themed match, go figure, and you need to grab one of four “treats” on the corner poles. Each contains a title match for a different championship. Oh yeah, now I remember. Last year they called it the Secular Spectacular! I think a guy in AMA, Sawyer Xavier, won one of them last year?”
Speaking slowly, Vampyra tries to pronounce the match name correctly, “S-Se-Sec-u-lar Spook. Spook-tac-u-lar.” then she shrugs, “I’ll learn. But a match with poles? A ladder match is rare here already, but poles?! America is weird with their stipulations.”
Laughing, Cali hands back Vampyra’s paper. “I’ve seen what some of the Japanese Deathmatch scenes do. They have matches in saunas, rivers, exploding rings, and piranha pits.”
Thinking about those kinds of matches, Vampyra shutters, “I think I will settle for the ‘X’ rules match they do in FWA…”
Patting her friend on the shoulder, Cali Hayama once again snickers, “Hehe, yeah. I think weird match-types aren't exclusive to America. I get it, you have never done an ‘on a pole’ match before.”
“Well, you have been in a weird match in America before,” looking up, the YOKAI Queen tries to ask Cali for some advice. “You also wrestle similar to me. If there is anyone who can help, it is you. How do you approach them?”
“Are you talking about my AMA debut where they decided to bring the Bunkhouse Stampede back from the 80’s and I still won despite being 130 pounds and being in the ring with a 300+ pound guy?” Cali groans at the memory, “A match where rather than just throwing someone out of the ring they decide to be extra ‘hardcore’ about it and make it a huge-ass cage! Yeah, I think THAT is a bit more outrageous than grabbing something from a pole! But the biggest thing I learned from that is just despite whatever wacky rules you have to deal with, just wrestle your match as much as you can within them. I’ve competed with you long enough to know you’re the fastest girl around, you’re the smartest girl in the ring, and if they fuck with you, then you can give them a taste of their own medicine and THEN some!” Grinning, Cali adds, “You’re kind of where I picked that up from.” Before sticking her tongue out.
“You were too busy cosplaying beforehand. I think learning how to have a bite does one some good.” She points to the “fang” design on her mask, “It is a joke, Cali.”
There is a snicker from Cali before she just responds. “Exactly, you’ll do great!”
Tapping her cheek, Vampyra digests what her friend has said, and even her vote of confidence. After a moment, she nods her head, more sure of herself. “Thank you. I suppose I should announce my intent soon.”
“You have a way with that. I’m sure it’ll be great even in a second language.” The Japanese-Canadian encourages her friend more and Vampyra gives a small nod before continuing.
“People saw me in FWA. They know I will be part of it. There will be little doubt if I will compete in it or not, so why hide it?”
“Exactly. Maybe you watch from the sidelines during the match when needed, but show no fear, take the spotlight. You’re-” Cali continues her advice, but she looks down and Vampyra has a lightbulb go off in her head. She laughs, “Oh great, did I just inspire this mad woman in the mask… again?”
“Maybe you did,” Vampyra gives a sheepish look, “You will see,” Before giving one more statement. “I will not know others in this match unless they have courage to announce it like me, but it was what I wanted. I want to prove myself. If I can adapt to anyone who comes out and gets an opportunity to become champion, then FWA will take notice. Take notice of me, and the MAYHEM way. I can bring home gold to MAYHEM and Yokai Death Squad. Although we do have tag team prospects in your promotion, AMA, the more championships the better.”
“Agreed. That trophy case looks awfully empty right now…” Looking down the hallway, Cali motions for them to go. “Anyways, maybe we should head back to the locker room, maybe explain to Saori what you really meant by a ’subgroup’ so she doesn’t freak out.”
“And perhaps we can talk more about this match I have? I think you might be able to help?” Vampyra asks.
“I have no problem with that,” Cali says before leaning closer, “I’m sure I can help you get the dirt on a few names potentially in that match. Like I said, the guy who won it last year also wrestles in AMA, and I’m sure there are a couple people on the roster I have some experience or exposure to…” before she adds, “And if you want the book on one guy who’s a champion, I can talk to Alexis. Let’s just say she knows him better than anyone in FWA,” and she winks.
Laughing, Vampyra rolls her eyes. “You always talk about her! You’re going to drive me crazy with how much you talk about her! Let’s get going.”
Motioning with her hand, Vampyra leads her friend down the hallway and towards their locker room, getting their heads cleared before some big matches, confiding and talking to perhaps one of the few people who maybe understand Vampyra beyond the mask. Out of Vampyra’s hoodie pocket, the printed copy of the email flies out.
It gently floats before it sprawls out on the floor. The text is facing up.
“To whom it may concern,
Last year, we saw the first ever Secular Spectacular match-up, and that contest will make a return at Lights Out, but with a twist fitting to the Halloween season.. Four prizes will be housed at the top of poles on each corner, with their contents being guaranteed treats rather than tricks, as four championship opportunities are up for grabs! If a competitor is able to grab a briefcase, then they will receive a future championship opportunity for either the FWA North American Championship, the FWA Television Championship, the FWA X Championship, or the FWA Tag Team Championships with a partner of their choosing.
The field of competitors will not be announced, instead it will be open to those not otherwise scheduled for Lights Out in New Orleans. We are also anticipating potential new signees to participate, but nothing is confirmed as of this time. If interested, please message FWA management at the earliest possible convenience.
Sincerely,
FWA management”
October 6th, 2022
??:?? JST
???, Japan
REC ON
Fading in, we see a lone light in the darkness putting a spotlight on a familiar piece of paper. Another copy of the email which Vampyra referred to. The private information is blacked out, but the email is branded with the FWA logo at the bottom. The title reads “Secular Spooktacular Match” and the main body of the text reads the same message as before. Explaining the upcoming Secular Spooktacular match and how to enter.
The camera begins to zoom out slowly, showing a hint more of the room. It is dim, but we can see a light base colour on the floor along with dark lines intersecting to form a square. Small amounts of light outside of the one illuminating the page is starting to creep in. The light has a gentle and calming glow to it, not breaking the darkness entirely but merely enhancing the feeling of bliss. Then…
A mask is thrown into the main light with the email page. It is one of Vampyra’s masks. The signature V emblem on the forehead splitting both the holes for the eyes. The jagged “fangs” out of the mouth opening. The colours are a bit different than normal, with a half-black and white, a yin and yang like mirroring. Darkness and light exist together. Then we continue to zoom out to see the rest of the room.
It is a square room with shoji (paper windows) creating a divide in the room. Very little light shines through them, hinting that it is later in the day. Around the room is a collection of candles and some Halloween decorations. There are Jack-O-Lanterns with the all but iconic face with added fang designs. Cobwebs under some of the stands giving an appearance of age and adding to the festive and scary theme. Skeleton decorations are on the ground in a circle, laying limp. Scattered around are various parts of popular Halloween costumes. A witch’s broom and wand. There are false teeth, a sword (likely plastic), along with headbands of ears and more. On a mat in the middle of the room in front of the lone light shining from above, we see Vampyra sitting cross-legged, eyes closed.
In her proper ring gear, we can see her unique look has joined in on the festive colours, with a similar split to the mask she threw on the ground, except with a black and orange mix. Tied around her is a long cape which matches her general scheme. The presentation looks to be a bit more at home with how Vampyra sees herself rather than the last minute presentation we previously saw. This time, she has time to prepare. Showing a confident smirk, Vampyra speaks.“What?” She gives a cold snicker. Opening her eyes we see their purple glow from her contacts. “We knew I was going to be in it. Why hide it? I don't need to when you already know I'm waiting in the shadows. So why rely on the element of surprise when there is no surprise? I am not scared of whoever may enter that match. Nor do I want to just go through the formality of sending a message to management. Here, in a setting which I feel comfortable in, I, the Dark Huntress, the Wicked Spirit, Vampyra announce that I will throw my mask into the ring of…” Vampyra slows down so she can pronounce the title of the match properly, “The Secular Spooktacular.”
Glancing to her side, Vampyra continues on. “It is strange to have a match with… poles, but who am I to ignore an early chance to be champion? This is after I had a debut match that I best describe as a light jog. It is healthy, but you will not become stronger by only relying on a light jog. Afterwards I cried out ‘Test me, FWA,’ and who would I be to run from one? This match may be an early opportunity to strike, escape from the darkness and go into the spotlight and a good huntress does not miss her chances.”
Holding her hand up, she puts up four fingers. “Four options. Four paths to create. Four chances to step out into the light. Four championships I can compete for, and every option is exciting. Perhaps…”
Putting her hands together, Vampyra crosses her fingers together to form an “X.” She smirks, “The X Championship? A challenge against a champion who has been raising this championship up to the point where he is fighting to become FWA World Champion? I am not much of a hardcore wrestler, but maybe I’ll develop a taste for blood? Maybe after a long time fighting such a style, the champion is tired and broken? If he wins a second championship, would the burden of both championships on his shoulder weigh him down? Wouldn’t it be so easy to prey on the injured and weak and pick up the pieces? That is even considering how strong a champion has been for some time. To be the one to finally dethrone him would put my name in FWA history...”
Moving on, her choice of words gives another thought. She gives a wondering glance to the side and puts her finger up on her cheek.
“Now that I think about it, I could also go for a new champion? One who recently became champion in what can be described by some as a heart-warming moment. It was unexpected and yet it felt right. It was the culmination of a story. Wouldn’t it be satisfying to crush that feeling and become FWA North American Champion, making the championship international in a way? Being the champion of North America and taking the championship to a new continent to raise its legitimacy?”
She shrugs, before continuing, “Or if I am interested in building a championship up, how about one still young? The FWA Television championship. It has only had one champion. He is setting a standard, but it is always up to the next person to raise it. A championship can raise an individual too, but a championship only becomes appealing when the right champion comes to make it important. Television Champion Vampyra does have a nice ring to it and I would love my first singles championship-”
Holding that thought, Vampyra gets a devious grin on her face and holds down… the MAYHEM ‘M.’ “Because we all know how I compete as part of a team. Of course, even if I came to FWA to be a singles competitor, I am not picky. It would only take one call and the FWA Tag Team Championships would find a home in MAYHEM, perhaps the best faction of women in the world. It will not be held by partners thrown together, or are threatened to be pulled apart by ego. The tag team championships would be taken care of by a true team.”
Putting her hands together, Vampyra folds them and rests her chin on them. Her voice keeps calm, an eerie feeling through the air.
“Not knowing what championship opportunity I will get is exciting. Truly some of the best treats are a surprise. That is no different than my opponents. Unless they are so brave like myself to publicly announce their entry, it will be part of my treat. Unlimited surprises. Who will be fighting for fame? Who will try to fight through the shadows? What hurdles will I need to overcome? We will only learn when we enter the match, but I see two extremes.”
Holding out one hand to the side then the other when appropriate, Vampyra shows her scale. “The familiar, and the unknown. I know of multiple people who would love to enter this match who are not scheduled that night. Some of them are perhaps used to being champions, or are just one step away from turning their wrestling fantasy into a reality.”
Closing her eyes, the Wicked Spirit takes a deep breath, finding her Zen in a space in which she aims for peace, “And that is your blessing and curse. Whether it is years or months, you have worked to craft this myth about yourself, one you hope is positive. You have expectations once you enter this match. But with expectations comes pressure. With expectations comes a target. People know what you did last year, or yesterday, but does that mean it will happen today? Maybe this time, there is someone there who knows your strengths and weaknesses. Maybe…”
Reaching down, she grabs the hand of one of the skeletons around her and pulls it up. The decoration’s ‘bones’ rattle. “There are some skeletons in your closet. There are mistakes that weigh you down, keeping you from your true potential. You will fight with that challenge with all your might, but it will be hard.”
Looking up, Vampyra raises the skeleton’s hand up, “As you reach high above, you've been here before. You know what you need to do to win. But this time…” Pulling the skeleton hand down with her other hand, she continues, “A hand from the darkness pulls you down. You fight it as hard as you can. But sooner or later,”
She tosses the skeleton down, shaking upon impact. “It pulls you under and you drown in the darkness. Your myth becomes damaged and what you knew before shifts. People will remember, and it will happen again unless you learn from it.”
Then, Vampyra gives a small smile, “But that is not my problem. I will simply pull you into the darkness with pleasure. But what about those surprises? That is where things get interesting. There are rumours of who may show up, but for now they are just that: rumours. I am also not as obsessed about that as most Americans.”
Scratching the top of her head, the Dark Huntress ponders, “Still, I wonder, what other new signings are there? Is it some independent star? A young international star like myself? Is there a veteran looking for a big break? Has FWA made amends with someone and we have a returning name? Or someone from another company looking to step through the door into FWA?”
The young Japanese star gives a chilling laugh, seemingly amused by the prospect. “But of course, I am not the one in control. I do not have,” Reaching on the ground near her, she picks up the toy magic wand and waves it around. “A magic wand that can make my opponents disappear. But what I can control is how I react. There may be someone walking down the ramp that I do not know, but I learn fast. The spotlight as the world stands in shock, a new name in FWA and they will have an advantage, one I do not have, a surprise.”
There is a pause. Vampyra, has her usual Shaking the wand, she motions with it as she has a mischievous look on her face, with an odd confidence. She adds… “For five minutes. You only have one first impression…” She drops the wand on the floor. “Then what? You are on the same ground as anyone else. Maybe you get lucky and sneak a briefcase before then, but likely not. If your only plan is a surprise, you are not worthy to be a champion. You become a joke. You will not even get to your spotlight because you will get lost in the darkness and you will suffer!”
Her voice echoes through the room, the volume raising without her realising. Once again trying to keep relaxed in her place of tranquility, the YOKAI Queen takes a deep breath before refocusing.
“But what about me? Where do I fit in this? I made my debut and two minutes is not enough to show the world what Vampyra is.” She motions both her hands to her side, picturing a large canvas. “If I were a painting, I would be hanging in a museum after hours. No visitors, nothing. The lights go out, and you sneak in with a flashlight. You want to see this piece of art and you can’t wait. Maybe it is nothing? Or maybe it is a life changing piece of work? You have to find out. Go up to this work and as you shine your light onto it, the battery dies and the light goes out.”
Putting up her left hand, she moves her finger and thumb closely together. “Just one moment, you saw a tiny glimpse of what she can be before she returns to her home in the darkness. Maybe you remember some colours and the motion of the lines, but you are unable to put it together. Only when the time is right, the lights will go on again and then she will have her spotlight. That is me.”
Pointing towards herself, Vampyra continues. “FWA only has a small showcase of what I can do. This match, with how many people may be part of it, that vision of Vampyra will only be revealed a bit more. The only person who knows what that picture looks like is me. I know my beauty. I know that I have what it takes to one day be champion in America. The…” Once again she slows herself down to properly pronounce the match’s name, “Secular Spooktacular, is a chance to see if I am ready to take that step now.”
Standing up, Vampyra grabs a candle and holds it in one hand, letting the gentle glow shine on her mask.
“For those in this match wishing to go into the spotlight, be warned! First you must fight through the darkness where I will be waiting. I will be watching carefully. You will be judged. Your mistakes will be exploited! When the time is right, I will strike and it will be an experience you never felt before! This is your only warning!”
Holding the candle up to her face, she blows it out and any light in the room quickly fades, enveloping it in darkness.
Moments later, one more candle is lit. On the floor, its shine only goes a short distance, but we see the spot in which Vampyra’s mask was thrown down. The copy of the email is gone. Instead we have a collection of traditional Japanese papers (washi) sprawled out on the floor. Each of them have a different Japanese character written in black ink on them. Together, they spell the final message Vampyra is sending.
"死が待っている"
And the light goes out again. This time for good as the video cuts away. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 16:57:24 GMT
Originally posted by Dubb. [ATTACH type="full" width="366px"]31570[/ATTACH]
Chapter 7: Closure
"HELP!"
Jeremy could hear the cries.
He could hear the unsettling sounds of the water splashing. The once peaceful waters of Lake Quinta de Boa Vista were disturbed.
"JEREMY! HELP ME! JEREMY!"
Jeremy opened his eyes.
He found himself once again back at Back in Business XVI. He stood along the edge of the water on a bank of large rocks. He wanted to help. But his shoes were weighed down as if filled to the brim with cement. He was unable to move, he could only watch in terror.
In the waters, Krash and Randy Ramon's battle had come to its soggy conclusion. The two struggled amongst one another as Randy flailed in the water, caught in the grips of Krash. Jeremy can only watch as he witnessed his friend and hero going into the deep.
The splash haunted him. It was a moment he continued to see over and over again in his nightmares. Nightmares much like this one.
"HELP"
He kept hearing the cries from Krash.
"WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE! I NEED YOU, JEREMY!"
"I. NEED. YOU!"
Jeremy tried to reach out his arms toward the water, but he could only move in slow motion. He opened his mouth to call out to his friend, but no sound came from Jeremy. Instead, he produced just a muffled cough which increased in severity. It was as if Jeremy himself was drowning. He could feel the pressure building in his chest. In his lungs.
"HELP ME!"
"SAVE ME!"
"FIND ME!"
"FIND ME!"
"FIND ME!"
Jeremy dropped to his knees on the rocks, vomiting up the lake water from his own mouth.
And suddenly, it was silent. The murky waters were settled once again. Jeremy wiped the water away from his mouth, staring out into the darkness. I was empty. Completely empty.
But still, he could hear Krash's voice in the distance.
"FIND ME!"
= = = = = = = = = =
Three months.
It had been three months of that same nightmare.
Every single night.
But it was fueling the fire for Jeremy. Each night he heard those words from Krash. Each night he heard the pleas for Jeremy to find him motivated him to push forward another day. To keep his focus on what was most important. People continued to doubt his motives. Including some of the people who were closest to him.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Jeremy could still hear the frustration in Mr. Scorpane’s voice after the final Meltdown before Lights Out. “Give it up, Best. Krush is dead. You need to move on.”
Jeremy, not usually one to push the envelope with Mr. Scorpane, felt his frustration bubbling over. “Krash! IT’S KRASH DANG IT! You know that!”
Standing beside Jeremy was his faithful friend and tag partner, Big Bryan Baxter, who was doing his best to hide a laugh at just how unexpected it was for Jeremy to lash out at Mr. Scorpane like that. Mr. Scorpane’s face showed that he was not amused by Best’s exclamation, as he adjusted the suspenders on his brown leisure suit. “Growing a back bone, are we, boy?” Scorpane gave a stern stare at Jeremy, who began to regret his outburst.
“I…I’m sorry sir,” Jeremy stumbled, “it’s just that this means a lot to me.”
Scorpane’s serious face broke as he began to laugh and gave Jermey a hearty slap on the back. “Haha! No, don’t be sorry! I LIKE IT! That’s the kind of fire I’ve been wanting to see out of you for YEARS! THAT’S what I want to see out of you at the Golden Ticket match..”
“Golden Opportunity,” Jeremy corrected.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever it is…it’s a shot at that FWA Championship and THAT’S what you should be focused on. Not some dead friend of yours.”
“He’s NOT dead,” Jeremy said, once again with an unusual deepness in his voice.
“C’mon man,” Bryan Baxter finally chimed in, “it’s not like it’s hurtin’ anything for Jeremy to keep an eye out for the guy. It’s not affecting his matches…he’s still winnin’. He just pinned Uncle for the third time in a year…and goddamn man, he beat the fuckin’ champion in like five minutes!”
“Watch your mouth, Baxter…” Scorpane warned his other client, “let’s not forget who you are talking to and what I’ve done for you.” Bryan shook his head with some disgust but remained quiet. “That’s what I thought. And maybe you’re right. It hasn’t affected him…for the most part. But let’s not forget the match he lost because he thought he saw that little man..”
Mr. Scorpane was referring to the first Fallout after Back in Business when Jeremy was up against XYZ, a new friend of his who had also been very helpful in Jeremy’s quest. But on that night, Jeremy had lost to XYZ after Jeremy had mistaken a mustachioed cameraman on the apron as his friend Krash. Jeremy had taken his eyes off the ball ever so momentarily but XYZ had been able to take advantage and picked up the victory.
“And you also were on the losing side of that Jailhouse match…”
“Can’t hold that against him - that had nothing to do with Krash…or Jeremy for that matter. Jeremy could’ve beaten any of those guys one on one.”
“But, it was still a loss. And it was still a loss on the grand stage. Something Jeremy has not exactly had the best track record of…winning when it matters.”
“We won at Back in Business!”
“Yeah, against a couple of real tools. Not sure that’s anything to brag about.”
Baxter shrugged his shoulders, finding it hard to argue against Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage being complete tools.
“Look, fellas..I just want what’s best for Jeremy…and for you both. And not having your eyes on the prize is gonna hurt you when it matters most. Sure, Jeremy…you can win a non-title match with low stakes or you both are able to beat a pair of guys who were teaming together for the first time. But I want you to win when it truly matters. And, forgive me for the pun, but this is truly a golden opportunity for you. So stop fartin’ around with Krash and get you that briefcase!”
“Don’t you worry, Mr. Scorpane. I actually dedicated the match to Krash and I’m winnin’ it in his honor!”
“Uggghhhh, you gotta be kidding me! You’re not winnin’ it for him! WIN IT FOR YOU! Argh, I just can’t with you two.”
Frustrated, Mr. Scorpane stormed out his own office inside Big Bill’s Used Car Emporium. Baxter once again couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Don’t listen to him, man,” Baxter reassured his partner, “if there’s one thing you’ve taught me in the past year is to be true to yourself.”
Jeremy nodded his head, “I think Mr. Scorpane has a point, ya know. But I can’t give up on Krash. There’s still something I have to do before Lights Out.”
“You sure you don’t need me to come along?”
“No, I need to do this by myself.”
“Hey, I get it. Just know…you change your mind if you need anything…you know how to find me and I’ll be there lickedy split.”
Jeremy shared a laugh with his friend. “I know…” Jeremy paused for a moment.
“Everything okay?” Baxter questioned, noticing Jeremy had seemed to stop mid-sentence and was suddenly in deep thought.
Jeremy didn’t respond immediately, instead continued to think but then a smile crept on his face. “You still have that list of yours?”
Baxter’s face started to redden with some embarrassment. He wasn’t sure how Jeremy could’ve possibly known about his list. “W-w-what now? What list?”
“It’s okay,” Jeremy reassured his friend, “but we’ve all noticed you looking at it from time to time. Mr. Scorpane told me about what all you went through before we reunited…and…it’s okay, Bryan. I know there’s one name left on your list of amends.”
Reluctantly, Bryan reached into the pocket of his denim blue jeans and retrieved the folded up piece of composition paper. He had carried it with him for years since hitting the bottom of the barrel. He had gone through and apologized or made right with every person he had harmed, save for one. And the one name left on his list continued to be Jeremy, himself.
“Let me see that thing!” Jeremy reached over with uncharacteristic inhibition, snatching the list from Baxter’s hand.
“Hey man, what the fu-...”
Jeremy grabbed a marker from Mr. Scorpane’s desk. “You know, Bryan. Even I was doubtful when you showed back up in my life. I wasn’t sure if I could trust you. But over the last several months, you’ve been the picture of what a true friend should be. You’ve had my back at every turn and I’ve been able to count on you.”
Jeremy took the black marker and scratched his own name out on the paper.
“Consider me amended.”
Jeremy smiled as he handed the piece of paper back to Bryan, who was left speechless.
“There’s nothing you need to worry about anymore, my friend! Whatever happened in the past is just that. The past. You’re free now! You don’t need to devote all your time and effort to protect me. I want you to start worrying about yourself. You’re part of the FWA just as much as I am…and there’s a little match at Lights Out with your name all over it. Go make a name for yourself, too!”
Bryan was now the one acting uncharacteristically…as for once, the big lug was struggling to find the words to say. “Jeremy…I don’t…”
“It’s okay,” Jeremy interrupted with a kind smile, “you don’t have to say anything!”
“No…I just think that…I don’t think I can…” Baxter seemed to actually be protesting Jeremy’s actions, but Jeremy in turn misread the situation.
“Nope! It’s been decided! Don’t live your life by that list anymore! Now if you excuse me, I have a Lake to get to…”
Jeremy turned towards the door to Mr. Scorpane’s office. “Jeremy…” Bryan stopped Jeremy in his tracks. Best turning back around to face his friend.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“I…” Bryan was ready to get something off his chest, but it was his turn to stop in his tracks. He took a deep breath and then sighed, “just…be careful, okay?”
Jeremy smiled, “you don’t gotta worry about me!”
And with that, Jeremy was on his way for one last quest on his Krash Crusade.
A quest for closure.
= = = = = = = = =
“HELP!”
“JEREMY! PLEASE!”
“SAVE ME!”
Jeremy watched as the water of Lake Quinta de Boa Vista splashed up against the rocks he was standing. He could still hear those cries in his head from his nightmares. They weren’t really there and this wasn’t his recurring dream. No, this time, Jeremy was really standing there gazing into the dark, murky waters that many thought was the watery grave of Krash and Randy Ramon.
After three months, Jeremy had returned to the scene of the crime.
No body has ever been produced from the waters. Neither that of Krash nor that of Randy Ramon. But still, no body found means presumed dead.
Jeremy sat down on the rocks, his khaki pants now covered in a combination of dirt and mud that extended up to his torn yellow cardigan sweater. This had been a long and tenuous journey for Jeremy. Not just the journey he went on to get back to Lake Quinta de Boa Vista…but the whole three month long crusade to find his friend. His normally cleanly shaved baby face had been replaced with unstyled stubble. His eyes were read from a combination of stress and lack of sleep.
It would all be over soon.
Jeremy was convinced that he would find closure in the waters of the Quinta de Boa Vista.
Jeremy reached back to retrieve a backpack he had carried with him for the journey. He placed the backpack in his lap before unzipping it to retrieve a bottle of water. He gulped down the water with desperation to quince his thirst. He tossed the bottle aside once it was clearly empty. Jeremy then returned to the bag and brought out a Ziploc bag containing a turkey and cheese sandwich. Feeling the hunger hitting him, Jeremy gladly brought the sandwich out and took a couple of bites.
While chewing on his dinner, Jeremy spotted something else in his bag. Something that he hadn’t put there. He investigated, reaching down to find an item wrapped securely in tinfoil. The object was labeled by a sticky note.
“Dearest Jeremy Best,
I know you wanted to conclude your quest on your own. Quite the admirable request for such an admirable man. I thought this might be helpful for you to find the answers that you seek.
Best of luck to you, my friend.
I’ll see you on the other side.
-XYZ”
Jeremy smiled. What a guy that XYZ. A true superhero indeed. Still wanting to do what he could to fulfill his promise to help Jeremy.
He unwrapped the tinfoil to reveal a pack of three chocolate chip cookies. Jeremy was surprised, he didn’t take XYZ to be much of a baker but perhaps this was the work of his pal, Big Al, instead. He proceeded to take a bite.
A slight grimace crossed Jeremy’s face as these chocolate chip cookies didn’t taste like any cookie he had ever had before. Perhaps these were the work of XYZ after all. Big Al’s cookies would no doubt taste much better than this.
Ah well, Jeremy thought, it’s the thought that counts and XYZ was no doubt very thoughtful in his actions.
Despite the initial taste turning him off, Jeremy found himself compelled to complete that first cookie…and then before he knew it, he had finished all three. He couldn’t figure out why he just had to have more despite that odd flavor.
Jeremy felt himself suddenly at ease. He leaned all the way back until he was then lying down on the bed of rocks. While certainly not the most comfortable of sleeping surfaces, Jeremy found himself easily able to relax as he stared up into the clear night sky. He found himself amazed at the beauty of the stars.
He could have laid there staring at the stars for hours. All night even. Truth is, Jeremy wasn’t sure how long he had been on his back staring into the heavens…he had lost all track of time and for the first time in a while, he truly didn’t care.
“Beautiful aren’t they?”
Startled, Jeremy jerked back up into a seated position before turning his head to his left where the voice had come from.
It certainly came as a big surprise to him that his friend XYZ was sitting beside him on the rocks. “If you think they look good from down here, you should see them up close. I’ll have to take you one day.”
“X? I thought I told you you didn’t have to come.”
XYZ smiled, “you did, Jeremy Best, you did. And I obliged as I said I would. I’m not really here.”
“Pardon me?” Jeremy rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. After rubbing his eyes, XYZ was gone.
Jeremy let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going crazy after all.
“No, you’re not.”
Jeremy now darted his head to the right to find XYZ once again. Jeremy shook his head in disbelief.
“I’m…I’m not what?”
“Going crazy, of course. You silly goose!”
“I must be going crazy. I’m seeing you and you’re not here.”
“I see you enjoyed those cookies I packed you.”
Jeremy looked down to the ground where the balled-up tin foil that once contained XYZ’s cookies. “Wait a minute…did you…did you DRUG ME? Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God…X…I’ve never done drugs before…I’ve never even smoked a cigarette before. I don’t want to go to jail…”
A frantic Jeremy stood up and grabbed XYZ by the collar of his shiny green gape. “I CAN NOT GO TO JAIL, MAN!”
XYZ chuckled as he removed Jeremy’s hands from his cape. “Calm down, Jeremy Best. And please, hands off the cape.”
Jeremy moved backward, “Sorry…” he said sincerely.
“Besides, when you say it that way…you make me sound like a monster.”
Jeremy stumbled backward…the world around him started to spin. “So…you did?”
“Look at it this way. This journey you’re on, Jeremy Best, it’s not a physical one. Up to this point, we’ve only been looking for Krash in the physical form. That was the folly of our ways, my friend. That was why we could not find the answers we were looking for. For this is a spiritual journey. A mental journey. To find Krash, you’re going to look beyond the physical world. And those cookies…they were the nudge in the direction you need to do just that.”
“I don’t understand, I thought you believed Krash wasn’t dead. That he’s out there somewhere.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t. I’m not saying you’re going to be talking to a ghost…but there are forces in this universe that are hard to explain in words…and, well, you’ll just have to see them for yourself.”
The spinning was getting out of control, Jeremy could barely make out the last words from XYZ before he stumbled to the rocks. On his knees, Jeremy rubbed his head and eyes as the spinning came to a stop. But as he looked up from the ground, XYZ was nowhere to be found once again.
Jeremy got to his feet, looking in each direction.
“X?! X?!”
His friend had vanished just as quickly as he appeared.
The cold night air was starting to get to Jeremy. He could feel the chills running down his spine as the legs on his arms and legs stood up erect. Every sound in the wild was amplified.
Perhaps this was a mistake.
Coming here by himself.
Thinking he could finish this quest by himself.
Even beginning the crusade to begin with.
Perhaps it was all a mistake.
“SAVE ME!”
“FIND ME!”
The pleas from Krash once again echoed through the waters of the lake. Jeremy looked around the water and saw nothing. All was calm.
“Get it together, Jeremy,” he said to himself, trying to gather his composure. He thought back to some of the sessions he had with Dr. Dan Glitzer. He had mentioned breathing exercises. Jeremy racked his brain but couldn’t remember. Jeremy closed his eyes and just took in deep breaths one at a time.
Bubble.
Bubble.
Bubble.
Were Jeremy’s eyes deceiving him once again? From the middle of the lake, small bubbles began to appear at the surface of the water. Jeremy stood up with hope. Could it be? No, that wouldn’t make any sense…but nothing had made sense so far that night. Jeremy edged closer to the water.
The bubbles continued but they were getting larger and larger. “K-K-Krash? Is that…is that you?”
The bubbles, of course, did not respond. They just kept appearing and popping as fast as they had appeared.
Jeremy’s eyes focused on the center of the lake. He began to notice something starting to get closer to the top of the water. A shadowy figure was coming up toward the surface. While inconceivably hopeful, Jeremy quickly realized this was not the outline of a human’s shadow.
Breaking the surface of the water, a black slimy tentacle emerged.
The fear overtook Jeremy to the point he couldn’t even let out a scream. But unlike his nightmares, he was not frozen in place. He turned away from the lake and began to run as the tentacle seemed to be coming right for Jeremy. Running towards the tree line, the tentacle was too fast. It quickly caught up to Jeremy, wrapping itself around his left leg which sent Jeremy tripping to the ground.
“No! No!” Jeremy struggled against his captor, which began to drag him back toward the water. Jeremy used his right leg to kick at the tentacle. “Let go of me!” Jeremy continued kicking until he was able to break free!
Jeremy stumbled to his feet, but before he could start to run again, another tentacle had come up from the lake and blindsided Jeremy. It wrapped itself around his arms and waist, restricting Jeremy’s movement and effectively preventing him from breaking free.
“Nooo! Please! Let go!”
But the lake creature was not listening. Jeremy could only watch as the creature pulled him right back towards the lake. He first felt the water on his legs as his khakis became submerged with water that was soon up to his chest. The tentacles continued to pull Jeremy in and soon, much like his hero before him, Jeremy disappeared beneath the waters of the Lake Quinta de Boa Vista.
= = = = = = = = = =
Jeremy opened his eyes.
Darkness. All he could see was darkness.
The last thing he remembered was being dragged underwater. He remembered the water rushing into his mouth and his nose. He remembered struggling to breathe. He remembered the pain in his chest and lungs.
But now, wherever he was, was certainly not the bottom of the lake. There was no water in sight.
There was no color in sight either.
Just an endless black-and-white void.
“Well I’ll be damned.”
Jeremy recognized that voice. And he couldn’t believe his ears. Nor could he believe his eyes when he turned to face the source of the voice.
Jeremy was no longer alone in the void. Standing before him was the one…the only…
Former FWA Champion…
But it wasn’t Krash.
It was “Rockstar” Randy Ramon.
“Randy?”
“Congratulations. You found me. Oh wait, you weren’t even looking for me, now where you?”
“I mean…”
“Krash. Krash. Krash. God I’d rather be fucking dead than have to hear how much you are obsessed with that piece of shit.”
“Wait…are you? Does that mean…I am?”
“Dead? Hardly. Not you anyway. I’m just some manifestation of your guilt or something, probably. I don’t know. I want to get this over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“You want to find Krash, right? Well, it’s not that easy. Your journey is just beginning.”
“Are you…going to help me?”
“Why should I? You weren’t coming here for me, right?”
“We would’ve looked for you too. Krash would’ve helped us find you once we found him.”
“You mean the guy who, if I am dead, basically killed me and himself in the process? You think he’s going to want to help find me?”
“I mean…uhh…when you put it like that, I…” Jeremy stuttered over his words, genuinely at a loss in his guilt.
Randy Ramon burst out into laughter. “Hahaha - I’m just fuckin’ with ya, man. I don’t care! And if Randy Ramon isn’t dead, I’m sure he’s just fine not being found anyway! But anyway, that’s not what we’re here to learn now are we. I’m here to start you on your journey.”
“I thought I came here to conclude my journey…”
“Like I said, it’s just beginning. But first, let's explore this obsession you have with finding Krash. Take it from me, there’s not that much special about the guy…I certainly wouldn’t miss him if I was still around.”
“Because he’s my friend! Of course, I want to find him!”
“Cut the bullshit. There’s no one down here in the void that you need to impress with the ‘You’ve got a friend in me” song and dance. There’s more to it, isn’t there, Jeremy? The answer isn’t that simple. There’s always been a ‘Krash’ in your life, has there not? Someone you place on a pedestal. Someone you want nothing more than to be best friends with. And I’m guessing those feelings weren’t always reciprocated? Luckily for you, Krash was just too nice a guy himself to tell you to shove off.”
“If you’re asking have I always liked to have friends, I think everyone knows the answer to that question.”
“That’s not the question, Jeremy. The question is…WHY?”
The sound of lightning suddenly overpowered everything else in the void. Black and white flashes blinded Jeremy’s vision briefly but when he was able to focus once again, the void had turned into a hallway. Across the hall, an open door.
“Go ahead,” Randy instructed Jeremy.
Cautiously, Jeremy approached the door and peeked inside. The setting was very familiar to Jeremy.
He suddenly found himself in his childhood home. A small, single-wide trailer in rural North Carolina. A young seven-year-old Jeremy Best sat on the living room floor, mere inches away from a 32-inch box TV.
“Oh Mr. Best, you’re sitting way too close to the television. That’s very harmful to your eyes.”
The present-day Jeremy squinted in confusion. He turned to find that the vision of Randy Ramon had been replaced with the vision of another familiar face. Though one he actually had never met but spent much time with as a child.
Standing beside Jeremy was an older man, not dressed too similar to the way Jeremy would normally be dressed - light blue sweater with dress slacks. The familiar face was that of the wise old teacher from his favorite television program as a child, Boy Meets World - Mr. Feeny
“Mr. Feeny? I’m so confused right now…where’d Randy go?”
“The Spirit Guides take the form of what makes the most sense to you at the time. And my boy, given this current flashback, it would appear this is the form you’ve selected to be guided by.”
Of course, Jeremy Best would have loved to be spending time with the actual Mr. Feeny, this was all a bit more disconcerting. But he turned back towards the scene from his childhood as young Jeremy was in fact watching an episode of Boy Meets World on the TV.
“You spent a lot of time watching that television, didn’t you Mr. Best.”
“Sure,” Jeremy agreed, “but didn’t most kids back then?”
“Oh, sure, sure…to a certain extent. But they also spent time outdoors, playing with their friends. Where were you friends, Mr. Best?”
Jeremy was silent as he watched young Jeremy laughing at the antics of the main character Corey as he got into trouble alongside his best friend Shawn. “I had friends. Everyone was my friend. Sometimes they were just busy. So I’d watch TV.”
“Ahh, yes. Lots of friends can be made on the TV. Like Mr. Hunter and Mr. Matthews for example,” Mr. Feeny said as he referenced the aforementioned character’s surnames. “I suppose you also really enjoyed the show Friends, itself, am I right? A lot of people considered those characters their actual friends, or so I’ve heard.”
As the thunder rolled outside the trailer windows, Jeremy’s mother can now be seen walking out of the adjoining bedroom. The middle-aged woman has her brunette hair done up in a perm while wearing what is clearly the working outfit of a diner waitress.
“Alright hun, I gotta get to work,” Jeremy’s mother indicated as she grabbed her purse off the kitchen table. “You be good okay?”
“Yes, mother!” the young Jeremy cheerfully responds.
His mother looks back over at him with a smile, “now Jeremy, what have I told you about that television?”
Jeremy looks back, “Sorry, ma’am!” he said apologetically before scooting back away from the TV.
“Smart woman,” Mr. Feeny noted, referencing his own concern for young Jeremy’s eyesight earlier.
“You should really be getting outside and playing with your friends, anyway! How about tomorrow, you get out some. That Becky girl in particular always seems pretty fond of you and her parents are nice enough. Maybe I’ll give them a call.”
“That’s okay, Mom!” young Jeremy deflected, “besides, tomorrow is Saturday Morning cartoons!”
Shaking her head but also giving a chuckle, his mother walked over to him and kissed him on the forehead, “Whatever makes you happy. You stay inside tonight, it’s lookin’ like a rough night out there. I’ll see you after my shift in the mornin’.”
Another kiss from his mother and she was out the door. Jeremy paid no mind to the storm going on outside, he was too focused on what was happening on the television screen.
“So sad,” Mr. Feeny shook his head.
“Hey,” Jeremy began to get defensive, “don’t judge. My mother did the best she could with what little she had. And I was a good kid. She could trust me.”
“The television being your babysitter isn’t what was sad,” Mr. Feeny corrected.
Jeremy took a few more steps into the room, getting a closer look at his younger self. “Whatever XYZ gave me…has to be destroyed so that it can be never used by anyone ever again. This is too much.”
“You were always looking for the Shawn to your Cory, weren’t you?”
“What? I had friends. I told you this. Plenty of them.”
“Sure, sure, Mr. Best. You were a nice kid. People generally liked you, sure. But did you ever really find that one true friend?”
Jeremy remained silent as the thunder and lightning once again overwhelmed Jeremy, blinding his vision. When the light faded, Jeremy was no longer standing in his childhood home.
The new setting was the hustle and bustle of a high school hall. Eastwood High School to be exact. The place Jeremy spent his teenage years learning and building up his vast network of friends.
“This better not be the boy band story again,” Jeremy said to himself, recounting the time that he was tricked into performing a boy band routine by himself on the stage of a talent show.
No, this took place after that event. Present-day Jeremy watched on as teenage Jeremy opened up his immaculately organized locker and began to retrieve his Biology textbook, only to be interrupted by one of his so-called friends, Adam Stone. While Adam was one of the guys who pranked him, Jeremy had forgiven him and written it off as just some good-natured ribbing among friends.
“Heeeeyyyyy Jeremy, buddy! Pal!” Adam said as he leaned against the neighboring locker.
“Hiya Adam,” teenage Jeremy responded enthusiastically. “How’s it going?”
“Ugh,” a female voice responded, standing directly next to Jeremy. His Spirit Guide had now taken the form of a teenaged red-head in a sweater, skirt, and glasses. It was another one of Jeremy’s former close friends, Rebecca Vance. “I can’t believe you still even wanted to talk to that jerk after what he did to you.”
“Okay,” Jeremy admitted, “probably not my proudest moment, for sure.” Jeremy and Spirit Rebecca shared a laugh.
Back at the scene in front of them, Adam was coming to teenage Jeremy with a request. “Hey man, you’re still stayin’ with your rich, I mean…awesome uncle, right?”
“I am, yes” Jeremy confirmed.
“Cool. Cool. Cool. So like, me and the guys…we thought it’d be really awesome if like, we could come over and hangthis Friday night. I heard he has like a sweet indoor pool, right?”
Jeremy’s eyes grew wide. This was what he had been hoping for for so long! He nodded vigorously. “Yes!”
“Yes he has a pool or yes we can come over?”
“Yes! Double yes! Both! Absolutely!”
“Oh, dude, sweet! You are DA MAN, Jeremy Best.”
Teenage Jeremy couldn’t hide his braces from the fact that he couldn’t stop smiling. “So, who all is coming? You? Zack? Kimberly?”
“Oh yeah, definitely them. And probably like…oh, maybe all the senior class. Probably most of the juniors too, I bet.”
Realizing that this was more of an event than Jeremy was realizing, the smile started to fade. “Oh…so, like a party?”
“Yeah, of course! PAAARTAY!”
“Oh…I don’t know…I’m not sure my uncle will..”
“I mean, you’ll be there too! It’s gonna be legendary, Jeremy - and everyone will remember that you hosted the most kickass party of the year.”
Jeremy began to nod along with Adam, the smile now back on his face.
“So,” Rebecca said glancing over to present Jeremy, “how’d that work out for ya?”
Jeremy chuckled, “not great. Cops were called - my Uncle got home early and broke it up before 10 PM. The indoor pool wasn’t actually working at the time and the only thing they could use his big-screen TV for was watching Ken Burns documentaries. It went down in history as THE lamest party of the year.”
“That’s my Jeremy. Always seeking that validation. You find that person you want to be friends with more than anything in the world and you’ll literally do anything for them. And look at how it typically turns out. People end up using you and abusing you and then tossing you aside.”
Jeremy couldn’t respond and instead watched as Adam offered teenage Jeremy a high-five before walking off. As Jeremy shut his locker, he was approached by the actual Rebecca Vance from the past.
"What was that all about?" she asked.
“Well, actually…” Jeremy started but was quickly interrupted.
“Yeah, I don’t think I even want to know. That guy is bad news, Jeremy. How many times has he embarrassed you in front of the whole school?”
“It’s all for fun, Becky!”
“Yeeeaaahhh…real fun, I tell ya,” ‘Becky’ said with heavy sarcasm. “But hey, how about we catch a movie on Friday?”
“As fun as that sounds,” teenage Jeremy said regretfully, “that’s actually what me and Adam were talking about. I’m hosting a party on Friday now?”
“You? Jeremy Best? Hosting a party?”
“Don’t sound so shocked!”
“Just doesn’t sound like my Jeremy, that’s all.” Becky half smiled, trying her best to be happy for her friend while also trying to hide her disappointment.
“Well hey, you should come.”
“Thanks but naaah…not my scene. Just…watch yourself around Adam, ok? Ppplleeeease, for me.”
The scene before them started to get obscured by the darkness of the void.
“So oblivious.” Jeremy’s spirit guide version of Rebecca said with some frustration. “So much focus on one person.”
“Okay, so maybe my choice of friends wasn’t always great.”
“Again. Adam was NOT your friend, Jeremy! Do you not realize that by now? Sure he was super popular, and charismatic, Mr. High School Football Player Jock Guy…whatever, he was an asshole. But he had that particular charm that just drew you in as someone you just HAD to be friends with. And what did it cost you?”
“I like to think things turned out okay.”
Rebecca shook her head. “You have a funny way of remembering things.” She bit her lip, even as a spirit guide, still holding back. “But what about missed opportunities? Opportunities that may have been right there in front of you. People who you didn’t put all that attention on. People who maybe would’ve loved to be friends with you…or more.”
The present-day Jeremy leaned back against the row of lockers behind them with some surprise. He was finally starting to realize what she was getting at. Honestly, Jeremy had never really had much time in his life for anything beyond friendship. It’s the thing he valued most. But now, sitting here…looking into a vision from his past, he began to think about what else could be important besides friendship.
“Sure, things are okay for you now. You’re doing great in your career right? Mr. Golden Opportunity or whatever? Yeah, I have been following your career still. I’m a huge fan of yours. I always was.”
Rebecca leaned in and gave Jeremy a hug as the thunder once again began to grow louder and louder. The high school hallway became completely unrecognizable in the growing darkness. This Spirit Guide was starting to fade away, but not before he could hear her ask, “did you get my letters…”
The words echoed through Jeremy’s mind as the void lit up with white lightning once again, lighting things back up to reveal a third setting now.
Jeremy’s concentration moved toward the new scene before him. It was himself again…this time older but still in the past. He was sitting on a bench backstage at a wrestling show. Everyone had emptied out and it was just him, sitting in the darkness as a janitor turned off the lights. Past Jeremy reached up and wiped away some tears from his face.
This was a memorable night for Jeremy. One that he wished he could forget but would never be able to.
It was the night Bryan Baxter turned on him.
The night in question has been well documented in Jeremy Best lore to this point but in summary…Jeremy and Bryan were a successful team known as The Buddy System in the southern US independent circuit. That is until the two both ended up in the finals of a tournament to crown a number one contender to the World Championship, which ended with Bryan Baxter abandoning their friendship by cheating to win.
Jeremy wouldn’t hear from Bryan for years after this night. Of course, now they’ve become friends once again and mended their relationship including reforming their team in FWA.
But this was a painful night.
“God damn! I sure hate seeing a grown man cry!”
Jeremy shook his head knowing exactly who his new Spirit Guide was. To his right, present day Jeremy was standing next to his own agent, Mr. Bill Scorpane.
“Why am I having to see all this? What’s any of this have to do with Krash?”
“Open your eyes, boy! It has everything to do with Krunch! Look at that sad pathetic-lookin’ fella! That’s YOU!”
“Yeah…I know. I lived it.”
“No, I don’t mean that’s you as in that was you. THAT IS YOU!”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“Look, Jeremy. Let’s face it…you set yourself up for failure. You paint unrealistic pictures of people that no one could possibly ever live up to. You thought Bryan Baxter was a great friend - loyal and true, RIGHT? You’ve seen it time and again…with that Adam guy you just relived too…hell, we both know its only a matter of time before Baxter shows his true colors again…”
“But…” Jeremy tried to interrupt, wanting to point out that he knew Baxter was different this time. He had changed his ways. He had been a true friend since their reunion. But, this trip down memory lane had Jeremy doubting his own judgment for the first time in his life. Each of his Spirit Guides had made strong points about how blinded Jeremy becomes by his own desire for friendship.
“And then, of course, there’s this whole thing with Krash. You thought it was perfect. You think of him as a hero. But you ask around enough people in FWA and they’ll probably give you some different opinions on the man. I’m sure Randy Ramon isn’t too fond of him, huh?”
“It’s time you face the music…people…suck. And people are always going to let you down. And maybe I don’t say this much…but damn, boy…you got somethin’ special. You’re good at this wrestlin’ shit. If you want to go out there and win the Golden Opportunity match…I think you’ll do it. You can be FWA World Champion. Hell, you already beat him once. There’s nothing you can’t do…but people are gonna get in your way. Here it was Bryan Baxter….he literally got in your way to that title…but right now, it’s this quest for Krash.”
Jeremy let out a deep breath as he watched the sad and lonely Jeremy in front of him. He didn’t want to give any credit to Spirit Scorpane’s words…the real Scorpane would say this type of stuff for his own best interest. Jeremy’s success was his success after all.
“Don’t you want to let it all go? Don’t you want to tell those other guys in the Golden Opportunity what you really think about them?”
“They’re all strong competitors…worthy of the match…it’s an honor to really..”
“No! God…fuck, Jeremy. That can’t be what you really feel. Surely you can’t feel that way about those guys from Executive Excellence. Gabby…Knox…Parr…they kicked your ass a few weeks ago only because they were threatened by you. You had just beaten their fearless leader…”
“Actually, the EE are all equals…there is no leader..”
“Get the fuck outta here. Do any of the others have the FWA Championship?”
“Well..I mean…no, but..”
“Then whether they like it or not, there is a hierarchy. But that’s not the point. The point is, you had just beat the champ and they are worried. They know what you are capable of. Danny ‘FUCKING’ Toner sure as Hell knows what you’re capable of. So they come out and do a number on you because they want to protect themselves. But don’t you want to call them out on it? Call them out for being the pussies that they are?”
“I mean…I don’t think I’d quite use those words…but, I guess that wasn’t cool of them. So yeah, I’m not happy about that at all. And I do kinda look forward to getting some payback on them!”
“Thattaboy! And how about that Devin Golden? What a nutcase! Guy thinks we’re all just figments of his imagination or something? How is this guy allowed in the building every week and not put in some type of looney bin.”
“I’m literally having a conversation with a figment of my imagination right now.”
“Haha! Fair enough! And Cryus Truth and Chris Peacock…guys you’ve never beaten before but they’ve been you…I know you have to feel the motivation to prove yourself.”
“Definitely! But I have no ill will towards either…”
“And that’s okay. Not exactly my approach to things, but you’re never going to see things the Scorpane way…but I’m sure I’ll never see them the Best way either. But all that matters is that those are the guys you should be focusing on right now. You're in a winner take all match...those two guys aren't going to go easy on you. They aren't going to take pity on you because you lost a friend. So let’s finish this off and put this Krash business to rest once and for all.”
“But wait..”
It was too late. The locker room faded away as did this vision of Mr. Scorpane. The thunder crashed once again and now it began to rain inside the void. Jeremy awaited another scene like the times before, but nothing was coming. Just louder and louder thunder and heavier and heavier rain.
The void grew smaller and smaller until Jeremy felt like he was being packaged into a box. That box quickly filled up with water from the rain. The water was rapidly rising to the point Jeremy once again felt the feeling of water rushing into his mouth and he could fill his lungs starting to swell again…
He pushed against the walls of the void, to no avail. He was tripped. He couldn’t breathe…
Jeremy began to fade…
Darkness.
= = = = = = = = = =
Coughing.
Violently coughing.
Jeremy found himself washed back up on the shores of Lake Quinta de Boa Vista, coughing up water as he knelt on his knees and elbows, down on all four in the grass. His clothes soaked from being in the water, Jeremy rolled over onto his back trying to catch his breath. He once again found himself looking up at the night sky.
“Need a hand, mate?”
Jeremy saw a hand extending down towards him from a blurry figure. His eyes still somewhat water logged from his trip into the lake Jeremy struggled to make it out, but he certainly recognized the voice.
“K….K…Krash?”
“Aye, mate! In the flesh…well, no not flesh exactly. Whatever these spirit things are made out of? Maybe a mixture of gas, light, and those little white particle things that show up in your photos sometime?”
Jeremy accepted the hand, tugging firmly on Spirit Krash’s arm to pull himself up. “I can’t believe it’s you!” Jeremy then pulled Krash in for a giant hug, tears now rolling down his face. Jeremy had clearly forgotten all about the fact that he was soaking wet from the lake.
“Oh my…” Krash said, startled at first by the soggy hug but then accepted the hug, patting Jeremy on the back, “there, there. It’s good to see you too, Jeremy.”
Jeremy reluctantly finally broke away from the hug, wiping his nose and sniffling. “Sorry,” he apologized for being such an emotional mess.”
“No need to apologize!” Krash reassured him, “but…you do realize…I’m not actually Krash, right?”
Jeremy nodded, “I know…still…can’t help it.”
“Okay, just wanted to make sure!”
Jeremy stood silently, taking in the sight of his friend. Moments passed with neither of them speaking as they just looked at each other in awkward silence. Jeremy just took it in because he knew this moment would be fleeting.
“I really wanted to find you,” Jeremy finally broke the silence with heart breaking sincerity.
“I know you did. And it’s quite appreciated, believe me.”
“So…is the real Krash…dead?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that question either. But, what I can tell you…is that it’s okay to move on.”
“But if he is out there somewhere…if I could find him and save him…he probably needs help..”
“Let’s say Krash, err...me....uh, I am alive. What would I want? For you to be stressing yourself out? Living your life constantly worrying about him? Or would he want you to focus on Jeremy?”
“That. I’m guessing he’d want that.”
“Correct-a-mundo!”
“But, I just don’t know if I can just drop it. I’ve come this far…I just want to find out the truth. If he’s truly dead and gone…can’t I just get some type of sign?”
“Sadly that’s not the way these things work. But I’m not telling you to give up hope. Don’t you ever give up hope, Jeremy Best. Because you’re the one person I’ve met that I could count on for that. Don’t give up the belief that I’m out there somewhere. And if I am, you better believe we will see each other again one day. But it’s not your job to find me. I release you from any duty or obligation you feel like you had. So go…go be successful. Go win and don’t feel the guilt that you shouldn’t be out there wrestling right now. Go win yourself the Golden Opportunity…win yourself an FWA Championship…and then when I come back, we can have that dream match you always wanted and it can be for the belt.”
Jeremy wiped some more tears away from his eyes, “I’d like that.”
“Me too. Me too.”
“So what now? Can we just hang out for a bit?”
“Afraid not,” Krash said as his specter began to glow and fade. “Seems us Spirit Guides have very limited windows of life. Kinda sucks, huh?”
“Can I at least have one more hug before you go?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Bring it in!”
Krash extended his arms out and Jeremy needed no further invitation as he rushed in for another hug from his slowly fading away hero.
“See you again soon, my friend,” Krash said one final time before his vision completely disappeared into the night sky amid the hug with Jeremy. Jeremy closed his eyes, wanting to think that his friend was still there. That his friend had never left in the first place.
“Pardon me, señor?”
Jeremy was now standing by himself by the lake in the middle of the night, his arms wrapped around himself as if giving himself a hug.
“Señor?” A thick Spanish accent interrupted Jeremy’s apparent moment with himself.
“Sorry!” Jeremy said as he composed himself, turning around to wave to the man who had caught him in quite the unusual act. “Was just, uh, talking to an old friend.”
The man raised an eyebrow, noticing Jeremy was definitely by himself. “You on drugs, señor? I call cops!”
“No! No! Definitely don’t do that. Sorry, I should say...I was talking to a…deceased…friend of mine…” just saying those words brought a stabbing pain to Jeremy’s heart. “He loved this place and I just feel connected to him here, I suppose.”
The man seemed to somewhat understand Jeremy’s words. “You need leave,” the man said in broken English.
“Right, got it. Right away. Yes, sir!”
Jeremy grabbed his backpack and slung it back over his back. As he walked away from the lake, he gave a friendly wave to the groundskeeper that confronted him before picking up his pace, worried that the man may change his mind about calling the cops.
Deceased.
Jeremy used that word to get out of a tough situation. But he still didn’t believe it. He still knew Krash was out there. And one day…one day they will be reunited. But it wasn’t going to be today. And most likely it won’t be tomorrow or the day after that.
But one day.
For now, Jeremy’s future was clear. When Krash does come back…they would have the most epic match of all time.
And it needed to be for the FWA Title.
A journey that starts with Golden Opportunity.
And that journey was just beginning.
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:01:35 GMT
Originally posted by Dubb. Big Bryan Baxter in...
A Deal with the Devil
"Argh, I just can’t with you two.”
Frustrated, Mr. Scorpane stormed out of his own office inside Big Bill’s Used Car Emporium. Baxter once again couldn’t help but chuckle having witnessed an argument between Mr. Scorpane and Jeremy Best over the fact that Jeremy’s quest to find Krash continues while Scorpane wanted Jeremey to focus on the Golden Opportunity match. Jeremy didn’t often stand up for himself, but watching Jeremy show some backbone definitely brought a smile to Bryan’s face.
“Don’t listen to him, man,” Baxter reassured his partner, “if there’s one thing you’ve taught me in the past year is to be true to yourself.”
Jeremy nodded his head, “I think Mr. Scorpane has a point, ya know. But I can’t give up on Krash. There’s still something I have to do before Lights Out.”
“You sure you don’t need me to come along?”
“No, I need to do this by myself.”
“Hey, I get it. Just know…you change your mind if you need anything…you know how to find me and I’ll be there lickedy split.”
Jeremy shared a laugh with his friend. “I know…” Jeremy paused for a moment.
“Everything okay?” Baxter questioned, noticing Jeremy had seemed to stop mid-sentence and was suddenly in deep thought.
Jeremy didn’t respond immediately, instead continued to think but then a smile crept on his face. “You still have that list of yours?”
Baxter’s face started to redden with some embarrassment. He wasn’t sure how Jeremy could’ve possibly known about his list. “W-w-what now? What list?”
“It’s okay,” Jeremy reassured his friend, “but we’ve all noticed you looking at it from time to time. Mr. Scorpane told me about what all you went through before we reunited…and…it’s okay, Bryan. I know there’s one name left on your list of amends.”
Reluctantly, Bryan reached into the pocket of his denim blue jeans and retrieved the folded-up piece of composition paper. He had carried it with him for years since hitting the bottom of the barrel. He had gone through and apologized or made right with every person he had harmed, save for one. And the one name left on his list continued to be Jeremy, himself.
“Let me see that thing!” Jeremy reached over with uncharacteristic inhibition, snatching the list from Baxter’s hand.
“Hey man, what the fu-...”
Jeremy grabbed a marker from Mr. Scorpane’s desk. “You know, Bryan. Even I was doubtful when you showed back up in my life. I wasn’t sure if I could trust you. But over the last several months, you’ve been the picture of what a true friend should be. You’ve had my back at every turn and I’ve been able to count on you.”
Jeremy took the black marker and scratched his own name out on the paper.
“Consider me amended.”
Jeremy smiled as he handed the piece of paper back to Bryan, who was left speechless.
“There’s nothing you need to worry about anymore, my friend! Whatever happened in the past is just that. The past. You’re free now! You don’t need to devote all your time and effort to protect me. I want you to start worrying about yourself. You’re part of the FWA just as much as I am…and there’s a little match at Lights Out with your name all over it. Go make a name for yourself, too!”
Bryan was now the one acting uncharacteristically…as for once, the big lug was struggling to find the words to say. “Jeremy…I don’t…”
“It’s okay,” Jeremy interrupted with a kind smile, “you don’t have to say anything!”
“No…I just think that…I don’t think I can…” Baxter seemed to actually be protesting Jeremy’s actions, but Jeremy in turn misread the situation.
“Nope! It’s been decided! Don’t live your life by that list anymore! Now if you excuse me, I have a Lake to get to…”
Jeremy turned towards the door to Mr. Scorpane’s office. “Jeremy…” Bryan stopped Jeremy in his tracks. Best turning back around to face his friend.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“I…” Bryan was ready to get something off his chest, but it was his turn to stop in his tracks. He took a deep breath and then sighed, “just…be careful, okay?”
Jeremy smiled, “you don’t gotta worry about me!”
And with that, Jeremy was on his way for one last quest on his Krash Crusade. A quest for closure while one might think Jeremy’s actions had given Bryan himself closure…it really was just opening a whole other can of worms.
= = = = = = = = =
“Don’t just stare at me, what do you think?” Mr. Scorpane demanded an answer as he sat in his office, Bryan Baxter sitting directly across from him. It was October 2021, almost a year ago to the date. “Chances like this don’t just grow on trees, big boy. This could be your chance.”
“You know I want this,” Bryan confirmed, “more than anything in the world. A second chance and not just any second chance…a chance at an even bigger stage than before.”
“So what are you waiting for? You said it yourself, not many people get to fail upwards but this is your chance!”
Bryan looked over the papers in front of him on Scorpane’s desk. “I just don’t know if I understand the plan here. There’s no way Jeremy will agree to this. No way he’d ever trust me.”
“Uhhh, have you met Jeremy? Are we talking about the same guy?”
“I don’t think you realize how much I hurt him.”
“You let me worry about him. We’ll come up with something that will earn his trust. I mean the guy thinks he just happened to get an invitation to join FWA and be part of the Lights Out Battle Royal. Yeah, because they just go around handing out invitations to join! I’m not the best agent in wrestling for nothing.”
“I just don’t get what you need me for.”
“Jeremy has all the talent in the world to be a star. And for some reason those fans absolutely adore him and they will in FWA too, I’m sure. But he lacks that killer instinct. His moral fiber is too strong to ‘do whatever it takes' to win.”
“Oh, and if there’s one thing I don’t have, it’s moral fiber, right?”
“Hey, you said it, not me.”
“Hey, fuck you.”
“Watch your mouth! Don’t forget who took you in off the street when no one else would.”
“Probably because you knew you could use me at some point with Jeremy. Like I’m just some sort of chess piece in your quest for more money.”
“Hey, Big Bryan Baxter isn’t as dumb as he looks after all!”
“Hardy har har. Whatever, I’m going to get paid for all this right?”
“Of course. More than you ever have before. You’ll be able to move out of your parent’s basement for real this time!”
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Haha, I knew you would! So just sign right here,” Scorpane used his pen to mark the line on the contract in front of Baxter, “and then all you gotta do is sit back and wait for my call. We’ll give Jeremy a few months to settle in before he realizes he might could use an old friend watching his back.”
Baxter took the pen and inked his name to the contract. He could feel the butterflies in his stomach. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. He had hit rock bottom and pulled his way out but never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d get a second chance in wrestling, much less in the FWA.
But he couldn’t help shake the feeling that he had signed a deal with the devil.
|
= = = = = = = = =
For the next few weeks, Bryan began preparing for his return to the wrestling ring. Ever since getting sober, he had been returning to the gym in hopes of having this chance but now that was real, he had been hitting it even harder.
Bryan would get a call from Mr. Scorpane on Thanksgiving of 2021 letting him know the time was getting close.
“We’ll need to meet sometime soon to go over the plan. I have some very useful information that’ll definitely get you back in the good graces of ol’ Jeremy.”
It wasn’t until the end of the year that they finally met up, ahead of Jeremy’s Mile High Massacre Match.
Bryan arrived at Mr. Scorpane’s office.
“Mr. Baxter, I see you’re doing well. Someone’s ready for their big in ring return.”
Baxter smiled at the compliment as he took a seat.
“I’m not so sure what you need me for. Your boy is doing pretty well on his own. Three months into joining FWA and he’s already in the Main Event fighting for the championship. Seems like he doesn’t need me after all.”
Scorpane shook his head, “Jeremy’s in over his head. He got lucky these past couple of months. He’s not ready for what he’s walking into and honestly, I’m more worried about him being him surviving that match. He may need you as a nurse more than anything. You don’t have your nursing degree now do you?”
Baxter laughed, “That I do not. Maybe you’re right, but aren’t you at least a little proud of him for what he’s been able to do so far?”
Scorpane shrugged, “eh, I’m proud of all the money he’s making me. That’s for damn sure!”
“Guessing you are excited to make some off me too.”
“On the contract I’m getting you? Eh, I suppose it’ll be a nice little bonus…I’ll probably use it to up my kid’s allowance.”
“Isn’t your kid like 19?”
Scorpane doesn’t dignify Baxter with a response.
“So, you mentioned a plan? Something that would get Jeremy to trust me again?”
An evil grin across Mr. Scorpane’s face. “Cutting to the chase, eh? I like it.” Mr. Scorpane reached under his desk and retrieved a small brown box “And I think you’re gonna LOVE this…hahaha.”
|
= = = = = = = = =
Baxter took a seat in the leather seat facing opposite of Mr. Scorpane’s desk, still looking down at the now completely marked-off list thanks to Jeremy. He knew what he had to do but he also knew that it was going to threaten the status of their revived friendship.
“I can’t believe your little buddy decided to go it alone,” Mr. Scorpane re-entered his office with a cup of coffee in his hand. He walked across the office and took a seat at his desk. “Maybe you were right all along. Maybe he didn’t really need you, huh?”
“Maybe not. But I definitely need him.”
Mr. Scorpane placed his coffee down violently on his desk, some of it splashing out onto the mahogany. “No,” he said firmly, “YOU needed ME. Don’t you EVER forget that.”
“How could I?” Baxter snidely remarked, “you certainly bring it up enough.”
“For good reason!”
“Look, Jeremy’s holding his own…he’s gonna go into the Golden Opportunity match and he’s gonna win it. He thinks I should still be a part of the show, and I think he’s right. I want a shot myself…so, if you could make the call and get me a spot in that Secular Spooktacular, that’d be awesome.”
Mr. Scorpane leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and let out a hearty laugh. “Hahahahaha! That’s a good one!” Opening his eyes, Scorpane realized Baxter was not also laughing. “Oh, you’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve had my fair share of success since joining FWA…”
“Tag team success. With Jeremy. Because of Jeremy, in fact. He wins IN SPITE of you.”
Baxter dug his fingers into the armrests of his leather chair. He wanted to reach over the desk, grab this asshole by his throat and beat the ever-loving shit out of him. But unfortunately, when someone has damning information on you, you are forced to not do things like that. So, Baxter bit his tongue. “Whatever, man. Look - I beat Philip A. Jackson by myself, right?”
“You’re bringing up some washed-up old man as your one actual singles match success?”
“Undefeated is undefeated. Look, just make the damn call, it’s not that hard and whether I win or lose, you get a piece of my check so, like…do your fucking job?”
Scorpane once again laughed, “that’s fine. For Jeremy’s sake, I’ll let you have your little fun at Lights Out. Little birdy wants to try and fly by himself…we’ll see. Hell, maybe you’ll surprise even me.”
“Hey, all I want is a chance to show what I can do.”
“Spooktacular, huh?” Mr. Scorpane glanced over the info on his laptop, “interesting possibilities. I bet there’s a strong chance you get to run into Jerkoff Fenix and Fat Savage again.”
Baxter smirked, almost salivating at that chance. “I sure hope so. I’ll always enjoy whippin’ both their asses.”
“And…is there a vampire on the roster now?”
Baxter shrugged.
“I guess the freaks really are coming out just in time for Halloween. Alright, well, I’ll make the call.”
“Thanks,” Baxter said with only half sincerity as he stood up from his chair.
Before he could leave, Scorpane had one last warning for him. “I know you think you and Jeremy are better than ever. And you are starting to feel like maybe you have a real chance her at something special in FWA. But don’t forget how you got here. Don’t forget what you had to do to get to this point. I can end you, Bryan Baxter. I can have Jeremy Best hating you…and without him, I promise you…you’ll be nothing. Just like before. Just like last time you crushed him. You’ll be out of a job. You’ll be back in the gutter where you belong. So this little defiant bastard attitude you want to have with me better drop. You want to be a champion in FWA? Fine. I will be by your side and help you do it. But you’re gonna keep playing by my rules.”
“Do you understand?”
Baxter paused with his hand on the door. Just tell him to fuck off, he thought to himself. Go to Jeremy, explain everything…he’s forgiven you before and he will forgive you again.
“Yes, I got it,” was what came out of his mouth instead, glancing down at the list in front of him. The list with Jeremy’s name now marked off.
He couldn’t mess this up. Not again. He’d come too far.
= = = = = = = = =
“What the Hell is this?”
Baxter watched in awe and confusion as Mr. Scorpane dumped a box out onto his desk. There was a CD and several hand written letters on the desk that separated the two.
“This is your ticket in with Jeremy. This is how you win back his trust.”
Baxter picked shuffled through some of the papers. “With a bunch of notes? I don’t think I get it.”
“You dimwit, try to keep up. Jeremy has a bit of a secret admirer it seems. He mentioned receiving a CD before his first match from someone that helped fire him up for that match against the Backstreet Boy…but he’s been getting these letters ever since. Here, take a look at this most recent one he got before this upcoming match at Mile High.”
Baxter lifted an eyebrow as Scorpane found the one in question, handing it over to Baxter to read.
Dear Jeremy,
I hope this note finds you well.
It's certainly been a while, hasn't it? I hope you've been receiving my little "gifts"
lately. Maybe it's a little weird after all this time but I just wanted to let you know, I'm
still out here and I'm still thinking about you. There's so many people in this world
who may try to lead you astray or take advantage of your good nature - so I hope these little gifts can help keep you on the right path.
Oh, where does the time go? Oh, how I wish things could have been different.
But I suppose life has sent us on two completely different paths. I still hope that one
day our paths can once again cross again. And who knows? Crazier things have happened - for the both of us!
And, Jeremy, I really just want you to know how PROUD I am of you. No one would've
ever thought little scrawny ole Jeremy would ever make it as far as you have in
wrestling. But here you are...not only have you realized your dream of making it to
FWA but just two months into your time there and you've got a shot at the World
Championship! Jeremy F' N Best...you never fail to amaze me.
And that's the thing...you've had so many times over your life been told you couldn't
do something. And one of the things I've always loved the most about you is that you
never let that get you down. I really wish I could say I've been your biggest supporter
or the one who has believed in you the most...I can't. Because that's always been you.
You've believed in yourself when everyone else wouldn't dare to.
Which is why I want to make sure that you never forget that. Right now you're about
to take on one of the biggest moments of your life and I know I believe in you - but,
don't you dare...for one single, solitary second, stop believing in yourself.
You got this.
I'll see you soon.
-B
Baxter let out a deep sigh as he put it down on the table.
“What a psychopath, right?” Mr. Scorpane laughed.
“So Jeremy has someone who seems to care about him. I can’t really relate but good for him. What’s this have to do with me?”
“It has EVERYTHING to do with you, Bryan. These letters…these gifts…they are all signed by ‘B.’ YOU are B. Bryan. Baxter.”
Baxter still wasn’t understanding. “No, they definitely aren’t from me, dude. I haven’t sent Jeremy anything.”
Scorpane reached over and smacked Baxter across the head. In a rage, Baxter almost reached over and took a swing at Scorpane, but his agent stepped back and wagged his finger at the big man.
“Woooaahh there big fella! Easy boy. No, of course you didn’t. But Jeremy doesn’t know that.”
Baxter’s eyes grew wide as he was finally starting to piece together what Bill had in mind.
“From now on, I’m going to make sure I intercept these little letters before they make their way into his hands. Which is why I’m actually flying out to Mile High for the show…so that I can be there and make sure that he gets his next message. A message that WILL be written by you! And you’ll say you want to meet up with him, and I’ll encourage him to do so. From there, it’s on you to make him trust you.”
Looking over some of the other letters from ‘B,’ Baxter was hesitant. “I don’t know…”
“Do you want this or not? Do you want a second chance in this business? A chance at the big times?
“You know I do. That’s why I’m here.”
“Then, you know what to do.” Mr. Scorpane slapped a blank piece of paper along with an ink pen down in front of Baxter. “Get to writing.”
Nodding in agreement, Baxter took the pen and began to jot down the letter that would indeed be hand delivered to Jeremy after his brutal match at Mile High. The letter that would lead Jeremy back to that civic center in North Carolina where Bryan Baxter would be waiting for him. The place where the Buddy System’s reunion would begin.
|
= = = = = = = = =
Bryan Baxter walked in through the sliding doors of the Marriott hotel he was staying at for Meltdown. He just wanted a good night’s sleep before heading back out and preparing for Lights Out. He now knew he would have his chance at earning a shot at some gold here in FWA with the Spooktacular. But it wasn’t bringing him the joy he thought it would.
His deal with the devil weighed on his mind. Robbing him of any excitement.
Walking through the lobby, Baxter stopped in his tracks. He looked to his right in the direction of the hotel bar.
If ever there was a night he could use a drink.
It was this night.
Tonight should be a cause for celebration. The Buddy System won a big match against Uncle and Caesar. Bryan was heading for Lights Out with his own big match. Both he and Jeremy could walk out of Lights Out with guaranteed title shots. And Jeremy had officially forgiven him.
But it was all a lie.
He had spent all this time earning Jeremy’s trust. But it all started with one, terrible, very bad lie.
Bryan had battled his demons. Fought off the addiction and returned from being homeless to where he was now. But as he watched the bartender pour a shot of whiskey for another patron…he found himself slowly walking in that direction.
And so he had a seat at the bar.
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:02:19 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. The Funeral
“I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.”
“I mean, you did kill the guy.”
“It’s not like I was trying to kill him!”
Jason Randall and his girlfriend Penny are walking through a cemetery in the middle of the day. Randall is wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, while Penny is wearing a black dress, both opting to wear black for this occasion.
Penny: “Do you think anyone else is going to show up? Did he have a family?”
Jason Randall: “I don’t know if he had any family, but I think Marcus and Micah will be here to pay their respects on behalf of the Nephews.”
Penny: “I can’t believe you’re talking to Marcus again.”
Jason Randall: “It’s not like we ever had a falling out or anything; why is it a surprise?”
Penny: “It’s just that he showed up out of the blue one day and wanted to help you.”
Jason Randall: “In my defense, I don’t remember the first time he tried to help me. The second time felt like something out of a dream, but it did happen.”
Randall and Penny stop at a tombstone that reads:
There is no birth date or day of death, which Penny finds odd.
Penny: “That’s it? No birth date or day of death?”
“That’s all Uncle felt was necessary.”
The familiar voice of Marcus McClain walks up near them and behind him is his brother Micah.
Penny: “That seems a bit disrespectful, no?”
Marcus McClain: “Uncle felt like it wasn’t important enough to dwell on the past, whether he meant the date of birth or day of his death.”
Micah McClain: “It could be a case of no one caring about this fool in the first place.”
Jason Randall: “Are any of the other Nephews coming?”
Marcus McClain: “What do you think?”
Micah McClain: “I don’t even know why we bothered to show up.”
Marcus McClain: “To pay our respects to a fallen Nephew.”
Micah McClain: “As I said, it isn’t like anyone cared about him. He wasn’t even a Nephew for that long.”
Jason Randall: “To be fair, he was a part of the group of Nephews that was fighting against us in that match.”
Marcus McClain: “It doesn’t matter; yeah, he chose that side and paid the price, but the least we could do is show him the proper respect.”
Jason Randall: “It’s not like I was trying to kill him; it just sort of happened.”
Micah McClain: “You don’t have to make excuses; this fool knew what he was getting into.”
Jason Randall: “Where are the clones and Captain Fantasy?”
Marcus McClain: “The clones are off doing something for Uncle, and as for Cap? I don’t know.”
“I’m here.”
Captain Fantasy walks up to the group and looks down at the tombstone.
Captain Fantasy: “Marcus is right; the honorable thing to do is pay respects to the fallen. No matter what side he was on.”
Penny: “Do you wear that suit everywhere you go?”
Captain Fantasy: “What’s wrong with this suit?”
Penny: “Nothing, just curious.”
Penny is about to laugh but looks around at everyone else and does her best to stifle it.
Captain Fantasy: “Someone should say something; what about you, Marcus?”
Marcus McClain: “I don’t know what I would say; I hardly knew him.”
Micah McClain: “All of us here barely knew this man!”
Jason Randall: “I’ll say something; it’s the least I could do.”
The rest of the group nods in agreement as Randall steps a little closer to the tombstone.
Jason Randall: “Frodo, you weren’t long for this world, and for that, I apologize. I know it sounds strange, what with me being responsible for your death and all, but I genuinely feel bad about it. Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s been at the back of my mind ever since it happened. I’ve never been responsible for someone’s death, so it’s been a bit of a shock.”
“I think of it as a wrong place, wrong time situation for you. Your heart was right, and you just wanted to help. You wanted to be a Nephew more than anything, so you only did what felt right then. I have no ill will towards you, and I have ill will towards you trying to fight me. Again, you were just doing what you thought was right, and what I did was an act of self-defense. I did not expect you to pay the ultimate price when I did.”
“I know I should be focused on my next match with Tommy Bedlam, but I just wanted to come here and pay my respects. I will also dedicate my match with Bedlam at Lights Out in your honor because it’s the least I can do.”
“In the end, you made the ultimate sacrifice, and your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
A moment of silence falls over the group as Randall hangs his head low. Penny looks at Jason and notices how shaken up he is over this. She’s never seen this side of him before. She holds her hand towards him and returns the gesture to hold her hand.
Captain Fantasy: “Well said, Randall.”
Micah McClain: “Does anyone have a 40 we can pour out for him?”
Marcus looks at his brother and shakes his head while everyone else isn’t sure how to react.
===============
A few hours after the funeral, Jason Randall and Penny are at a local restaurant and joined by Marcus, Micah McClain, and Captain Fantasy.
Marcus McClain: “Jason, earlier, you mentioned that you’re facing Tommy Bedlam at Lights Out?”
Jason Randall: “Yeah, I am. I was responsible for taking him out about six months ago, and now he wants to settle the score.”
Marcus McClain: “Tommy and his boys are responsible for taking me about before you came back. After Chris Crowe beat me, he was joined by Tommy and James Douglas, and they left me broken and battered.”
Micah McClain: “Those are the fools that left your blood on that title. Maybe Jason should finish what he started with Bedlam and take that fool out for good.”
Jason Randall: “I don’t have anything personal against Bedlam, but who would I be to deny him the chance at some retribution?”
Captain Fantasy: “That’s a truly noble thing to do.”
Micah McClain: “Man, forget all that! Didn’t those guys take you out too?!”
Captain Fantasy: “It was only Chris Crowe that left me a bloodied mess if I remember correctly.”
Marcus McClain: “I’m saying that Jason should watch his back and be careful with Bedlam. Bedlam may have changed, but for all you know, it could be a ruse, and he could have one of his old running mates jump you, and it’s a two-on-one affair.”
Jason Randall: “It’s extreme rules match, so technically, it wouldn’t be against any set rules if that were to happen.”
Marcus McClain: “Yeah, but still, watch out for yourself. We’ll be watching if you need any backup, okay?”
Jason Randall: “I appreciate that, but I want to do this alone. There’s no real bad blood between us, but that doesn’t mean I like the guy, and I’m going to take it easy on him. I still want to beat his head in and win the match.”
“Bedlam wants a fight, and I’m going to give it to him, but it’s not going to be any ordinary fight, and he’s not going to be stepping in that ring with any ordinary man. He’s going to be in there with The Wildcard, and he’s going to learn why stepping inside that ring with me is bad for your health.”
Penny: “There he is, there’s that old Wildcard.”
Randall looks up at the ceiling and points at it.
Jason Randall: “This one's for you, Frodo.”
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:02:50 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. Secular Spooktacular
“Hey, do you guys want to hear a scary story?”
Jackson Fenix asks as he’s sitting near a campfire in the middle of the woods in an undisclosed location. Fenix is joined by Nate Savage, Hazel Knight, Kung-fu Karl, Jimmy Boom Boom, and Chase Green.
Nate Savage: “You don’t know any scary stories.”
Jackson Fenix: “I do, too, know scary stories. Well, okay, just one story.”
Hazel Knight: “As long as it’s nothing too scary.”
Hazel cozies up next to Jackson and clings to his arm. Jackson smirks and wraps his arm around her.
Hazel Knight: “Being out here in the middle of nowhere in these woods gives me the creeps!”
Jackson Fenix: “You don’t have to worry about a thing, babe!”
Nate Savage: “I’m surprised you agreed to join us, Hazel. Especially because Jax has been ignoring your calls and texts.”
Jackson Fenix: “Bro, really?!”
Hazel pushes herself away from Jackson and smacks him on the shoulder.
Hazel Knight: “That explains a lot!”
Jackson Fenix: “Come on, babe, I’ve been busy, that’s all!”
Hazel glares at Fenix and angrily crosses her arms.
Jackson Fenix: “Not cool, Nate, not cool, man.”
Jimmy Boom Boom: “When will we get to this scary story?”
Kung-fu Karl: “Yeah, let’s hear it!”
Jackson Fenix: “Calm down, keep your pants on!”
Fenix adjusts himself on the wooden log he’s sitting on while Nate begins to make himself a s’more as he roasts a chocolate bar and marshmallow over the campfire.
Jackson Fenix: “Okay, my story begins in a cabin in the woods….”
Hazel Knight: “Like that movie, Cabin in the Woods?”
Jackson Fenix: “Yeah, but this is not like that movie. We join a group of people in this story as they arrive at a cabin in the woods….”
Before Jackson can continue with his story, there’s a rustling noise in the woods that stops him.
Jackson Fenix: “What was that noise?”
Hazel Knight: “I don’t know; why don’t you go check it out.”
Jackson Fenix: “What? No way! I have a story to tell! Hey, Kung-fu goober, you go check it out!”
Kung-fu Karl: “Ah, come on, I want to hear the story!”
Jackson Fenix: “Do it!”
Chase Green: “I’m sure it’s just an animal of some sort roaming around, don’t worry, Karl, you’ll be fine!”
Karl doesn’t seem reassured but sighs as he reluctantly goes to search for the source of the noise.
Hazel Knight: “Are you going to continue with your story?”
Jackson Fenix: “Yeah, I was getting to it.”
Nate finishes building his colossal-looking s’more and happily begins to munch away at it when a scream in the distance startles him and the rest of the group.
Nate Savage: “What was that?”
Nate says through a mouthful of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows.
Jimmy Boom Boom: “It sounded like Karl; I sure hope he’s okay.”
Jackson Fenix: “Oh, he’s fine, don’t be such a baby!”
Jimmy Boom Boom: “I don’t know about that; he could be hurt.”
Jackson Fenix: “I’m sure he’s fine!”
Another scream comes from the distance where Karl had gone off to.
Jimmy Boom Boom: “I better see if he’s okay!”
Jackson Fenix: “Seriously? Fine, Chase, go with him, so he doesn’t do anything stupid!”
Chase Green: “I’m certain it’s just an animal, but it could be an animal attacking Karl.”
Jackson Fenix: “If that’s the case, then quit lollygagging around and see if he’s okay before an animal eats him up!”
Hazel Knight: “Why don’t you go?”
Jackson Fenix: “I have a story to tell, and I’m here to protect you.”
Nate Savage: “Plus, we have that Secular Spooktacular match at Lights Out, and Jackson doesn’t want to risk getting hurt before that.”
Jackson Fenix: “Yeah, that too. Who knows what other freaks we’ll have to deal with in that match? I can’t risk anything!”
Nate Savage: “There’s that vampire chick.”
Jackson Fenix: “Yeah, and all she’s done is beat up some boy band dweeb, big deal! Everyone has beaten them!”
Nate Savage: "I think Bryan Baxter is in it too. We definitely can't let that moron win!
There are more screams in the distance from where the others went off to.
Nate Savage: “I think there’s more than an animal out there.”
Jackson Fenix: “You’re right; we better get out of here!”
Hazel Knight: “What about the others?”
Jackson Fenix: “What about them? I don’t want to stay here and end up like them!”
Hazel Knight: “Some man you are!”
Hazel begins to storm off, but suddenly she’s grabbed by something and vanishes into the darkness without a peep.
Nate Savage: “Where’d she go? What happened? She disappeared into thin air!”
Jackson Fenix: “Screw this; let's get out of here!”
Before they can go, several ghoulish-looking creatures appear before them. The animals vaguely resemble other participants in the Secular Spooktacular, like Vampyra, Sawyer Xavier, Roderick Vasyl, Andersen Vega, MDC, Akihiko Kawaguchi, Bryan Baxter, and others. The ghouls begin to creep closer and closer to Fenix and Savage as Fenix cowers in fear while Nate stands his ground.
Nate Savage: “Come on, don’t be a wuss! Fight with me!”
Jackson Fenix: “What if only one of us wins and comes alive?”
Before Nate can answer, the two friends are shrouded in darkness as the ghouls creep in closer and closer until there’s nothing left of the two friends.
====================
“That’s it? That’s the story?”
Cut to the present day, and we find Nate, Jackson, and the others sitting around a campfire.
Jackson Fenix: “Yeah, man, that’s it.”
Nate Savage: “What happens to us?”
Jackson Fenix: “I don’t know.”
Hazel Knight: “Why did the rest of us die, though?”
Jackson Fenix: “No one died; it wasn’t real.”
Nate Savage: “What about the Spooktacular match? Who wins?”
Jackson Fenix: “I don’t know, but I hope it’s one of us.”
Nate Savage: “Does it matter who?”
Jackson Fenix: “Not really.” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:03:38 GMT
Originally posted by Tommy. Tommy Bedlam in:
8 Seconds > 3 Seconds
As Tommy climbed out of his truck at the 53rd Annual Sweetwater Rodeo, he had a noticeable limp. His match against Phillip Jackson had clearly left him a little banged up, but the fact that he had beaten the former FWA World Champion made the pain a bit more bearable. He stood by the truck for a moment, looking around the parking lot for his guest for the evening. Soon, his pocket buzzed, and he pulled out his cellphone.
“Hey, Rocco. You almost here?”
“Already here, kid. Walking your way.”
Tommy let out an audible laugh, as Rocco Sullivan made his way across the parking lot towards him. Rocco had apparently made the decision to really dedicate himself to the evening’s festivities. Gone was the designer suit and expensive dress shoes he typically wore. They had been replaced with blue jeans, a pair of shiny, rather loud ostrich-skin cowboy boots, a pearl snap shirt, and a cowboy hat that was clearly too large for the head that it rested on.
“What in the hell happened to you?!” Tommy’s laughter was obvious, but the target seemed to take it in stride.
“You told me we were coming to a rodeo. I thought I’d look like a dumbass if I dressed normal. Isn’t this normal for you people?”
“Well, we sure can’t have you looking like a dumbass, can we?”
Tommy tried his best to suppress his laughter, but it was obvious that he was much more comfortable in a cowboy hat and jeans than Rocco. At least Rocco got some points for trying.
As the pair made their way through the gate, it didn’t take long for some of the crowd to recognize Tommy. A little boy ran up to him, obviously excited to see his favorite FWA superstar.
“Tommy! Hey Tommy! Will you sign my hat?” Before Tommy had a chance to respond, the little boy had pulled his cowboy hat from his head, and held it out towards Tommy.
“I sure will, buddy. Wait, I don’t have anything to write with.”
Without missing a beat, Rocco reached into the pocket of his cowboy shirt and pulled out a pen. He handed it to Tommy, who bent over and signed the hat. In a matter of moments, Tommy was surrounded by kids, each of whom wanted him to sign something. His transition from one of the most hated men in FWA to a hometown hero had been sudden, and secretly, Tommy wondered if he was really capable of living up to their expectations.
After signing about two dozen autographs, the crowd dispersed, and Tommy handed Rocco his pen back.
“I’m really gonna have to get used to that.”
“You’ll be fine. Isn’t it better than people calling you an asshole when you walk into a restaurant?”
“Eh, by the end I had pretty much quit going anywhere. I started hitting up DoorDash in whatever city we were in and stayed in my room most of the time.”
“Don’t blame you. There were a lot of online rumors about you. Hell, I started some of them.”
Rocco slapped Tommy across the back, as they shared a bit of an awkward laugh. With their tickets in hand, they made their way into the arena. The smell of bulls and horses wasn’t something Rocco was used to. He let out an audible gasp and covered his nose.
“What? You ain’t never smelled real life bullshit before?”
“Most of the bullshit I’ve dealt with came from you.”
Damn, the old man was really on his toes this evening. Tommy punched in a quick text message and started looking around the arena.
“Who are you looking for?”
“Uncle Jimmy. He’s riding tonight. That’s why we’re here.”
After a few moments, Tommy’s phone buzzed. He pointed to the other side of the arena, as he and Rocco started making their way around the large, dirt-filled ring in the center. Some more fans who recognized Tommy shouted at him as he walked by, and a few of them even yelled for Rocco. While some wanted autographs, Tommy politely informed them that he had somewhere to be.
After a brisk walk around the ring, Rocco was complaining about the boots. Tommy informed him that it takes time to break those in.
“At these prices, these things should come broken in!”
Suddenly, a man in his early 40s let out a yell that drowned out the noise of the surrounding crowd.
“Well I’ll be damned! Looky here, boys! Future FWA Champion, Tommy Bedlam! What’d you do, son, come here to steal my spotlight?”
Tommy threw his arms around the man who was even larger than him.
“We both know nobody could steal your spotlight. Uncle Jimmy, this is Rocc-“
“I know who he is! Rocco Sullivan! The best manager you ever had. Whole lot better than that other sumbitch. Jimmy Bennet. Pleasure to meet ya.”
Uncle Jimmy threw a massive hand out toward Rocco, who went for a typical business-like handshake. He was clearly caught off guard when Jimmy pulled him in for a hug.
“You don’t shake your friend’s hand around here, buddy. This is the south! We hug!”
Rocco, clearly addled by the culture shock quickly pulled himself back together.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bennet.”
“Ain’t none of that Mr. shit, neither. I’m Jimmy. You’re Rocco. Say, Tommy ever tell you about the time I caught him dipping snuff out behind the barn?”
“No, I can’t say as he has.”
“Listen, he got scared half shitless. Tried to hurry up and swallow it ‘cause he thought I was gonna string him up. Got so sick, he blew chunks all over the back of the barn.”
“And yet, you still walk around with a dip in all the time.” Rocco gave Tommy a look of disbelief.
“He didn’t realize I wasn’t gonna do anything. Hell, I’m only 7 years older than him. I always considered myself more of an older brother than an uncle. I went straight out to the Grab-n-Go, and bought him a new can.”
“How old were you when all this happened?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Jimmy, how old was I? 12-13?”
“You was 12. I was 19, bout to turn 20.”
“So, you just bought a 12-year-old tobacco?”
“Hell, that don’t matter around these parts. He had bought the can he puked up himself. They don’t ID nobody at the Grab-n-Go. I got enough stories on this youngin’ to keep you up all night.”
“I’d love to hear them!”
“Fellas, we’re not here to talk about me. Say, Uncle Jimmy, what bull did you draw?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told ya. I got Cyclone.”
“Not the same Cyclone that…”
“The very same one! What are the odds of that?!”
“Jimmy, don’t try to ride that bull. You know what happened last time.”
“Damn straight I know what happened last time. He threw me off 2 seconds in, stepped on my ankle and crushed it.”
“And you’re not afraid that he might do that again?”
“Ain’t no way for him to do that again. My ankle is titanium now. Even Cyclone can’t break a titanium ankle.”
As he finished his statement, a woman a few years older than Tommy walked up behind Jimmy. She put her arm around his neck and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek.
“Tommy, I don’t think you’ve ever met Suzy.”
“I don’t believe I have.”
As Tommy took off his cowboy hat and extended a hand, he was immediately distracted by the tall, gorgeous blonde who emerged behind Suzy.
Suzy quickly threw her arms around Tommy’s neck, embracing him.
“I have heard so much about you! Your uncle sure is proud of the way that you came back from your injury. Said it gave him the inspiration he needed to get back on a bull.”
The words, which should have resonated with Tommy seemed to fall on deaf ears. Instead, he was completely distracted by the blonde in her late 20s standing behind Suzy. Upon realizing what was going on, Suzy turned around.
“Oh, Tommy! This is my little girl, Randi! Well, I guess she’s not really little.”
“Randi. Pleasure to meet you.”
Tommy extended a large hand toward the gorgeous woman with his hat in his other hand.
“Oh. My. God. Tommy Bedlam! Mom told me that she was seeing your uncle, but I figured he was just bullshitting. You know how cowboys are.”
“Yes. Yes I do.” Tommy couldn’t hide the goofy grin that was plastered onto his face.
Inside, Tommy’s mind was racing. There was no way that a woman who looked like Randi really knew who he was. Surely, her mom had told her that she was dating a pro wrester’s uncle, and she had just Googled him.
“Listen, I watched your match against Phillip Jackson last week. That was un-fucking-believable.”
The girl certainly cussed like a cowboy. Tommy tried to get himself to stop being so impressed. She was probably just another “buckle bunny.” Hell, her mom was probably a buckle bunny, too.
“So, Uncle Jimmy, how did you and Suzy meet?”
Tommy asked the question in part because he was happy to see his uncle with a woman. He had taken his divorce a few months ago rather hard. He was also trying to determine if Suzy (and her daughter) were just a couple of good-time girls who liked to pick up cowboys at the rodeo.
“You probably don’t remember Suzy, but me and her dated back in high school. After me and that bitch got a divorce, I found her on Facebook. She was dating some guy, I shot her a message, told her that she should dump him, and we’ve been together ever since.”
So, she wasn’t a buckle bunny. Maybe Randi wasn’t either.
“Couldn’t you talk him out of doing this?” Tommy asked as he nodded toward the pens that held the bulls that were to be ridden.
“You know how this stubborn SOB is. Once he gets his mind set on something, there’s no talking him out of it.”
“Hey, me being so damn stubborn got me you, didn’t it?” Jimmy threw one of his arms around Suzy’s waist, picked her up into the air, and kissed her. “Listen, Tommy. Why don’t you and Rocco go with Suzy and Randi to watch the show?”
“Uh, I’m not sure where are tickets have us sitting. We can just get with everybody after it’s over.”
“After it’s over?!” What the hell was Tommy thinking?! If he could have kicked himself in the ass, he would have. Fortunately, Rocco realized the mistake.
“If we’re with the people who are with the cowboys, it doesn’t really matter what our tickets say, does it?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” Tommy shot a smile at Randi, who quickly responded with a smile of her own.
“Alright, folks. I’ve gotta go get ready. I’m up third. You all be over there cheering me on. I gotta get some payback against that damn bull.”
Tommy and Rocco allowed Suzy and Randi to lead the way to their seats. Tommy certainly wasn’t upset about the idea of walking along behind Randi. Her long legs paired with her barely-there cut off jean shorts were complimented perfectly by her boots.
“See, Rocco. That is how you wear a pair of cowboy boots.”
As the four Jimmy Bennet supporters made their way to a group of seats near the edge of the ring, Tommy made it a point to position himself between Randi and Rocco.
“Can we take a selfie? My friends will die if I post a picture with Tommy Bedlam.”
Tommy was not one for selfies. He had never taken one and hadn’t planned on starting that night. But, there was no way that he was going to tell Randi no.
“Of course.”
Randi held her phone up and quickly snapped five quick pictures.
“Jesus. How many of those did you take?”
“Well, I had to take a few so one of them would be good.”
“I can’t imagine you’ve ever taken a bad picture.”
Randi smiled a little bigger before scooting closer to Tommy.
“What’s your phone number? I’ll text you that picture of us.”
“325-409-1021.”
Within seconds, Tommy’s phone buzzed, and there was a message from a number he had never seen along with a picture of him and Randi.
“There. Now you have my number. Use it,” she said with a wink.
The rodeo started as most rodeos do. Barrel racing is a rodeo tradition, and the pretty girls riding horses as they whipped between barrels quickly captivated the crowd. Just before the intermission, there were 6 kids signed up for mutton busting. Mutton busting is a rodeo tradition in which small children ride sheep. It’s not particularly enjoyable, but the wives of cowboys’ love seeing their little ones out there following in their fathers’ footsteps. Randi clearly wasn’t that impressed with the show.
“So, you’ve got a big match coming up. Jason Randall. You think it’s gonna go any better than the last time you fought him?”
“Well, I sure as hell hope so.”
“I saw where Russnow made it a no-holds-barred match. Doesn’t that worry you? I mean, after the chair thing…”
“Eh, it just means I can use a chair too.”
“Why not fight somebody else? I don’t get it. You’ve only been back for a few weeks. You beat Nate Savage, you beat Phillip Jackson. You had never faced either one of them before. What made you call out the guy who tried to end your career?”
“Jesus Christ, are you some kind of journalist?”
Tommy wasn’t nearly as annoyed as he was letting on. He was rather enjoying the line of questions.
“Sorry. You probably don’t wanna talk about work. I'm just a big wrestling fan. Mom raised me on her own, so she worked two jobs most of the time. I'd sneak and set up late so I could watch. I never really grew out of it.”
“Nah, you’re fine. The whole Jason Randall thing is about payback. I wasn’t lying when I said I was going on a revenge tour. I felt like I was making progress when I got there-“
“You won a championship in your second match. You were doing great.”
“Then I got into business with Russnow, Johnson, Logan, Douglas, and Crowe.”
“Yea, even I was booing you by that point.”
“I hear that a lot. Anyway, things were rolling along, and then BOOM. Jason Randall puts me out with those chair shots. The next week, I had the match against Burr that I had no business in. Fucked my back up even more, and wound up out for six months.”
“So, you don’t think your career can really progress until you settle the score with Randall.”
“Exactly. I don’t hate the guy, but I want to fight him. It being an X-Rules match is just an added bonus.”
“Don’t tell me Russnow did that as a favor to you. You’re not back in with him, are you?”
“Oh, hell no. I think he just did it because it would improve ratings. People will watch me and Randall try to beat each other senseless, and the bloodier and wilder it can get, the better the ratings will be.”
“And once this match is over?”
“Then it’s over.”
“What if he wins? You know he may kick your ass again,” she said with a hint of a smile. “Yea, he might. I don’t need to win the match to get revenge. I just need to hurt him. But hey, it only takes three seconds, right?”[ATTACH type="full"]31722[/ATTACH]
During the intermission, Tommy went and bought a round of beer for himself, Rocco, Suzy, and Randi. He got stopped a few times for pictures and autographs on his way back. He got in his seat and passed the drinks around just before the bull riding, the main attraction of the evening started.
The first bull rider of the evening, a man named Colt Johnson (a cowboy name if there had ever been one), didn’t put on much of a show. Within two seconds of the gate flying open, he had been thrown off his bull and crashed to the dirt. A group of rodeo clowns quickly sprang into action, doing what they could to distract the bull, a large white bull named Avalanche, so Colt could get to his feet and climb out of the ring. Women all around the arena swooned as Colt flashed a perfect smile to them, tipped his hat, and walked away.
The second competitor faired much better. Tommy vaguely remembered George Hawkins. The two had faced off in a couple high school football games, and both came from families who owned ranches. They were certainly never close, but it made Tommy feel a bit more at home to see another name that he knew. George had been riding in these rodeos since he was one of the kids doing mutton busting.
George came out of the chute on a massive brahma named Rocky. The beast lurched and jerked all over the ring as the timer that hung over the ring counted down. 8..7…6…5…George was going to do it. 4…3…2…suddenly, George was thrown to the ground with a violent thud. The crowd seemed to hold its collective breath as George laid motionless in the dirt. Seconds felt like hours before he finally pulled himself up from the ground. He was obviously a bit battered as he picked up his once-white cowboy hat. He looked up to the scoreboard, saw that he had come up a couple seconds shy of the 8-second mark, but was pleased with the points the judges award him.
Finally, it was time for Uncle Jimmy. Tommy was somewhere between wanting to watch and afraid to see what was going to happen. Cyclone was the same bull that had crushed his uncle’s ankle. Even though Tommy wasn’t around for the entire rehab process, he knew that the process of getting back into riding had been a tough one. At one point, there had been so much damage to the nerves in Jimmy’s foot and ankle, doctors feared that he may never walk again. What were the odds of him drawing the same bull 14 months later?
The chute flew open, and Jimmy emerged, seemingly completely in control. The crowd was raucous, but Tommy didn’t hear any of it. He was completely focused on what was happening. Seconds ticked by, but each one felt like an eternity. Tommy glanced up at the clock above the ring. 7. Damn. He waited for what seemed like an eternity before he looked up again. 5. Holy shit. Was that thing broken?
Cyclone was known as one of the most vicious bulls in the local rodeo, but Jimmy appeared to finally have the beast’s number. 3 seconds to go. Was he going to do it? Was Jimmy finally going to pull it off? 2 seconds left. Would Tommy’s uncle, who had always been some combination of a best friend and a hero, finally win a giant belt buckle that he would probably never wear? 1 second left. It was happening. It was really happening. The buzzer sounded, and the crowd erupted. Randi jumped up and threw her arms around Tommy. He was more than happy to return the hug.
Tommy turned around and was greeted by a beaming Rocco.
“Holy fuck, kid! That was insane!”
How bout that? A city slicker like Rocco getting that into a rodeo? Tommy happened to glance back into the ring just as it happened. Jimmy had rolled off Cyclone and quickly bounced back to his feet. Just as he got near the metal rails that surround the ring, the bull suddenly turned back and charged at him. Jimmy, always willing to embrace the attention of a crowd, never saw it coming. A sickening crash resonated across the arena, and Tommy could hear Jimmy scream.
More rodeo clowns and event staff ran into the ring to lure Cyclone back into one of the chutes as a small ambulance drove into the ring towards Jimmy’s lifeless body. Suzy was crying, Rocco had gone from impressed to mortified, and Tommy was scared shitless. He dropped his beer and made a break for the ring. A security guard tried to stop him, but the 130-pound teenager who was making some quick cash was obviously no match for Tommy. Instead of trying to stop him, he simply stepped out of the way when Tommy shot him a glare.
As Tommy jumped into the ring, the EMTs were loading Jimmy onto a stretcher. They had already put him in a neck brace. There was blood coming from his nose and mouth. Tommy was certainly no doctor, but he knew that it wasn’t a good sign. Without asking permission from anyone, Tommy jumped into the back of the ambulance. One of the good things about being a big name in a small town was the fact that most people knew who you were. No one dared say a word to Tommy. He nodded to the EMT, letting him know that he would stay out of the way.
As the ambulance made its way out of the arena, Rocco, Randi, and Suzy all ran out of the building. Rocco didn’t know where anything in town was, so Suzy told him to just ride with her and Randi. They pulled out of the parking lot right behind the ambulance, Suzy’s emergency flashers keeping rhythm with the Jon Pardi song on the radio that no one in the car was listening to.
Tommy ran into the emergency room alongside the gurney, with Rocco, Randi, and Suzy close behind. A nurse told him that someone would update them as soon as there was news, and Jimmy was wheeled through two large double doors. The four accompanying guests grabbed four seats in the corner of the waiting area, and they waited.
[ATTACH type="full"]31723[/ATTACH]
The only thing that takes longer than eight seconds in a rodeo is waiting for hours in a hospital. Tommy wasn’t sure the hands on the clock were moving at all. Roughly two hours into their wait, a nurse came out and told them that Jimmy was being taken to surgery on the third floor of the hospital. She politely gave them directions to the waiting room there, and the cycle of waiting continued.
It was nearly 1:00 in the morning, and Tommy had had enough. He finally found someone who worked at the hospital and demanded an update on his uncle.
“Someone will let you know something when there’s something to know,” came the reply.
“Of course, they will,” Tommy mumbled to himself.
An older man appeared in the waiting room, with a small box in his hands. Tommy recognized him from the rodeo.
“Any word yet?”
“Nope. Not a damn thing.”
“Well, listen. I know this may not be much consolation, but can you give this to Jimmy when you see him?”
The older man extended his hand, and Tommy took the box from him. He flipped the lid open, revealing a massive, golden belt buckle.
“He won?”
“Sure did. Hell, he was the only guy who went eight seconds all evenin’.”
“Well, thank you. I’ll be sure he gets this.”
The older man walked away, and as Tommy looked at the belt buckle, he allowed his emotions to overtake him for the first time. He wasn’t usually an emotional person, and he damn sure wasn’t going to let Randi see him cry. Hell, even if Rocco realized what was going on, Tommy would be mortified. He put his head down.
“I’m gonna run and get us some coffee.”
He pushed his way through the waiting room doors and into the hallway and was suddenly overcome with emotion. Jimmy was more than an uncle, and now, after waiting for more than four hours, that fact was becoming all too real.
“Tommy. Tommy. Wait. I’ll go with you to get the coffee.”
Shit. It was Randi. Tommy tried to act like he didn’t hear her, but she was gaining on him quickly. Suddenly, he felt an arm around his shoulder, as he turned his head away to try to hide the fact that he was breaking down. The beautiful blonde whipped around in front of him, took his face in her hands, and forced eye contact. How could someone so small have so much power?
“Listen, it’s fine. You don’t have to be a macho man in front of me.”
Tommy nodded, chewing a hole through his bottom lip to keep himself from showing any more emotion. Silently, the two made their way to the hospital cafeteria where they got four large coffees. As they made their way back into the waiting room, Randi asked if there had been any update. Suzy shook her head, and Rocco struggled to stay awake in his uncomfortable chair.
They drank their coffees in silence as another hour ticked by. Tommy was starting at his phone, and Randi was starting at Tommy. Suzy was answering text messages, undoubtedly from friends of hers and Jimmy’s. Rocco had finally taken off the ridiculous cowboy hat and had gone back for more coffee.
Suddenly, an older man in a long white lab coat walked into the waiting room. His nametag read “Dr. Beckett.” He had a clipboard in his hand that he was looking at over the frame of his glasses.
“Is there a Tommy Bennett here?”
Tommy Bennett. No one had used that name in years.
“Yes sir. Right here.”
“You’re the next of kin for Mr. Jimmy Bennett?”
Next of kin? That sounded bad.
“I’m his nephew.”
“Well, that’ll do. Your uncle is out of surgery, and overall, I would consider it a success. The trauma that he suffered broke five of his ribs, bruised his liver, and completely destroyed his spleen. I removed the spleen, and I believe that was the source of the internal bleeding. The next 24 hours are going to be very critical, and I’m still concerned about the liver, but his body couldn’t handle any exploratory surgeries.”
“Can I see him?”
“You should be able to go back in a few minutes. He was regaining consciousness when I came out to speak to you all. Does anybody have any questions?”
“If there’s more liver damage, how will you know?”
“We will continue to do lab work while he’s in the hospital. He’s not going to be going anywhere anytime soon.”
“What does his spleen being removed mean?”
“It means he will be on insulin for the rest of his life. The spleen is the body’s natural way of producing insulin, which manages the blood glucose level. As long as he stays compliant with the medicine I put him on, he should be fine without the spleen.”
The doctor looked around the room providing an opportunity for anyone else to ask questions. When no one did, he nodded to everyone and made his way out.
Tommy took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. The clock on the wall said it was 2:42 AM, but it felt like he had been at the hospital for days. Within moments, a nurse appeared and told him that he could go see Jimmy.
Tommy made his way down the long, sterile highway towards room 228. He prepared himself for things to look terrible, so he was mildly surprised when he walked in the room and Jimmy was awake and looking around. Tommy shut the door behind himself.
[ATTACH type="full"]31730[/ATTACH]
“They bring my goddamn buckle?”
Tommy chuckled as he pulled the buckle out of his pocket.
“Look at that thing! That was just about worth breaking myself in half, losing an organ, and dinging up my liver. Hell, not like my liver needs a lot more damage.”
Tommy pulled a chair from the corner of the room closer to Jimmy’s bed and sat down.
“Hey, before you get too comfortable, you got a chew a man could get off ya? I spit my Skoal out as soon as I got on ole Cyclone, and ain’t had one sense. No idea what they did with my pants. Had a brand-new can in my back pocket.”
Tommy reached into his back pocket, pulled out a Skoal can, and handed it to Jimmy. He grimaced as he reached for it, but quickly displayed a satisfied look once he had the chew in his bottom lip.
“Hand me that bed pan.”
“You need to use the bathroom?”
“No. I need to spit.”
“You can’t spit in the bedpan, Jimmy.”
“Why the hell not? They want me to piss and shit in that thing. A little backer spit ain’t gonna hurt nothing.”
He had a point. Tommy handed him the bedpan, and he immediately dropped a huge wad of spit into it.
“Well, looks like you ain’t the only Bedlam on a revenge tour, does it?”
“I guess not.”
“Couldn’t believe my luck when I got to pick my own bull.”
Tommy wasn’t sure what Jimmy meant. Riders draw what bull they’re going to ride before the rodeo. They don’t pick them.
“What do you mean you got to pick your own bull?”
“I drew a wildcard.”
“A wildcard…”
“Yea. New thing they started about six months ago. Whoever draws the wildcard gets to pick their own bull. Everybody thought I’d pick Festus. He’s the oldest bull in the show. When I saw that big WC on my card, I took Cyclone.”
“Jimmy, why the hell would you pick a bull that almost cost you your foot?!”
“Because I wanted my revenge. Why are you getting in the ring with Jason Randall?”
“That’s different."
“Like hell. Listen, I ain’t no wrestler, but I guess cowboys and wrestlers got a lot in common. Both of us go from one town to the next, try to get ourselves killed, and just hope that we’re better than what we’re up against. You’re going up against your Wildcard, and I went up against mine.”
“Yea, and your wildcard damn near killed you.”
“And yours broke your back.”
“He broke some bones in my back, but I didn’t almost die.”
“Since when did almost ever mean anything? Did I die? No. Did I beat Cyclone? Yea, I did. You ought to be thrilled.”
“Why the hell would I be happy that I just spent the last 6 hours sitting in a hospital waiting on somebody to tell me whether or not you were dead?!”
Jimmy got a sneaky grin on his face.
“Because boy. Eight seconds is a hell of a lot harder than three.”
Tommy returned the smile and shook his head.
“You stupid son of a bitch. I guess you’re right. It only takes three seconds, right?”
With that, Jimmy was sound asleep. There was a bit of tobacco spit oozing from the corner of his mouth, but Tommy decided to just let it be. He made his way out to the waiting room so he could update everyone else.
“Looks like he’s gonna be alright. He’s asleep again. That medicine has him higher than a Georgia pine. He’s gonna be here for a few more days. The nurse told me that they would have him in a regular room by tomorrow morning. Suzy, do you think you’d be able to come by and see him tomorrow? Me and Rocco will probably leave early tomorrow and head on to New Orleans.”
"Of course.”
“Thanks. One of you can text me and let me know what’s up with him. He has my number-“
“And so do I.” Randi shot him another smile. Damn that smile.
“Yea, she does too. So if one of you can just keep me updated, that’d be great.”
“Actually, I won’t be here either. I just ordered a ticket for Lights Out.”
This girl was good.
“I really wish you hadn’t done that.”
“What? I have to be there to see my new friend on his revenge tour. I don’t think watching you on TV would be good enough.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. Cancel that ticket and let me get you a better one than what you ordered online. Me and Rocco will make sure you have a front row seat.”
“For real?”
“Yea. And if you’d like, maybe you could just ride with us. I’ll handle your flight back to Texas after the show.”
“That sounds amazing!”
Tommy led the group out of the hospital, and they made their way towards Suzy’s car. She had already agreed to take Rocco and Tommy back to their vehicles at the arena. Tommy climbed in the backseat and expected Rocco to join him. He was quite surprised when Randi climbed in beside him.
Tommy knew it was important that he stay laser-focused on Jason Randall. Randall had certainly earned his reputation as “The Wildcard.” Russnow’s decision to make it an X Rules Match certainly wasn’t done as a favor to Tommy, and Tommy secretly believed it was done to make things more difficult on him. Giving someone like Randall access to weapons was Russnow’s way of letting Tommy know not to fuck with him.
None of that mattered to Tommy. If Randall, a man he respected, wanted to use chairs, tables, and whatever else he could get his hands on, Tommy would certainly go along with it. He had to make sure that he stayed focused on Randall. However, he wasn’t too upset about the idea of having Randi join him on the trip. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:04:31 GMT
Originally posted by SupineSnake. GERALD GRAYSON and MICHELLE von HORROWITZ are
[CTHULHU’S NEPHEWS]
in
”AFTERLIFE 1.0.” Raleigh, North Carolina. 2074.
There are only a few guarantees in life. Unfortunately for us, death is one of them.
‘The Daredevil’ Gerald Grayson lived a very fulfilling life. In his younger days, he was known for his love of extreme sports. That love brought him to his next and greatest passion, wrestling, where he enjoyed a rollercoaster ride of a ten-plus year career. He won his fair share of championships, battled against bitter enemies, made friends that turned into family, and learned a lot about himself along the way. It was here he found the woman that would become his wife. Together, they would have five beautiful kids, twelve equally beautiful grandkids, and four only slightly less beautiful great grandkids.
Everyone hopes to live a life they can be proud of and Gerald did just that, until the fateful day that his impressively long and risk-filled existence caught up with him. Knowing his time was near, the proper arrangements were made in regards to the Daredevil’s assets for when that sad but inevitable moment would eventually come.
It had been a hard time for everyone after finding out there was nothing else the medical team could do for Gerald. It was quite dark to think that a machine was the only thing keeping Gerald 'alive'. Even more dark was the fact that, with a shell lying in his bed, those quotation marks could just as easily fit around the word 'Gerald'. After a month, the decision was made to pull the plug on said machine. It was a rainy and solemn Wednesday evening. Gathered around his hospital bed was Gerald’s wife, Denise, and their five kids, Daniel, Marie, Alexa, Jacob, and Zach. A lot of emotions were in that room that night: sorrow, fear, anger, and a lingering but abstracted joy for the long and fulfilled life that Gerald had led. When the doctor came in, the room somehow grew even more silent. As he neared the tube that would disconnect Gerald from this world and send him blissfully into the next, the doctor glanced at Denise for the go ahead. With tears running down her face, she looked to her children, who consoled her, then back at the doctor, giving him a woeful nod.
The machine let out an almost ceremonious beeping noise before being shut down by the doctor and the medical team, who didn’t overstay their welcome. At exactly 9:23pm, the Daredevil left this world and passed on to the next. Just like that, Gerald’s life was over, or so he thought.
And then, a subtle pop.
Gerald's ghost left his body and hovered above the shell. He looked down at his wife, his children… the happy and hopeful family that had emerged out of his and Denise's shared love. He smiled to himself. This was it. Not the championships. Not the wins. They all meant something, too, but this was it.
’Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched in some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so as long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away.’
Gerald had read Fahrenheit 451 and a million other science fiction stories in his ninety and change years on the Earth, but now - looking down at his family from his ethereal perch - he really understood what the words meant.
“That took fucking ages.”
The voice came from above him, and, although thinner and more delicate than it once was, it was a tone that he recognised immediately. He turned around as best he could whilst still deciphering the physics of being a ghost to see Michelle glaring back at him with an air of impatience. She was also a spirit, and was also old, but maybe not as old as he was.
“What are you doing here?” Gerald asked, earnestly.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” Michelle replied. “Would’ve been handy for you to die first, tulip. My death sequence would’ve been more entertaining. Anyway, I’m here to fetch you.”
Gerald understood what she meant. He was to go with her now, as he had done so often as a young man. But, like Orpheus and Eurydice, he glanced back at his mourning family. They were still gathered around his shell… still clinging onto him. He found he didn’t want to leave.
“Can we not stay a little while longer?” he asked, hopefully.
"No," Michelle said, firmly. "I've waited a long time already."
Gerald sighed. Acquiesced.
"Where do we have to go?"
"I guess the concept is the same as your heaven," she began. "But I don't think they call it that here. Either way, it's up."
Gerald was no stranger to great heights, and nor was the sensation of flying as alien to him as it was to most other human beings. Still, he couldn't help but register awe as their spirits ascended through the stratosphere and looked down upon creation. To see the curvature of the Earth without so much as a parachute strapped onto him, and indeed to do so whilst experiencing true weightlessness for the first time, was a powerfully stirring thing that the old Daredevil breathed in readily. He wished to savour it. To remember it.
Michelle, on the other hand, had her eyes firmly closed and a pained grimace etched upon her face. It appeared that the lack of an aeroplane was not quite enough to alleviate her fear of flying.
Before long, they arrived at a single stratocumulus crowd that was perhaps a little whiter and a little fluffier than the others in the vicinity and hovered idly over the Horn of Africa. The Daredevil had expected to see the pearly gates, and was quite looking forward to observing their alleged magnificence, but was nonplussed to arrive at a single door that reminded him more of the entrance to a speakeasy. Michelle gave it three sharp knocks, and a few moments later it opened slightly ajar. A furrowed brow and a bristling moustache appeared through the gap.
"Ah, you're back!" the voice said, with warmth and kindness. "And you brought a friend!"
"Is that…?" Gerald began, but before he could finish asking the question it was answered for him. The Moustached Maverick himself stepped out of the doorframe, a broad smile on his somewhat pallid face. The first thing that Gerald noted was that, despite Michelle being how he remembered saying goodbye to her at the harbour when she was a little over sixty, and he himself being as he was when he passed at the age of ninety-something, Krash was still young. Pale and deathly, most certainly, but otherwise in his prime and precisely how he'd appeared on the night of Back in Business XVI.
"Yes, it's me!" the White Wolf started. As he spoke, he lifted both of his arms into the air and a few litres of lake-water spilled out of his sleeves. Only then did Gerald realise that the Maverick wasn't a ghost in the traditional translucent sense, and seemed reasonably solid even if a little gaunt. "Your good friend, Krash. And by your, I'm talking about both the royal you and you specifically all at the same time. They call me Saint Krash now. The guardsman on the door."
"Well, guardsman," Michelle interrupted. "I've done what you asked. I waited for him. Can I come in now?"
"You couldn't come in before?" Gerald queried.
"Something about dubious moral convictions," Michelle started, before shrugging her shoulders and trailing off.
"There's a separate place for the bad guys," St. Krash said. He whispered the last three words whilst pointing with an index finger towards the ground. Or he would've done, if cloud had ground. "But yes, everything appears to be in order. Now that the Connection has reconnected, I see no problem in welcoming you. If you'll please follow me, and close the door behind you."
The duo followed St. Krash up a long, narrow corridor, and as they ventured deeper and deeper into the stratocumulus they experienced yet another strange and new sensation: that of their weight returning to them. By the time they reached the other end of the corridor and another door not dissimilar to the first, their feet were planted firmly upon the ground again.
Heaven was much bigger on the inside. In fact, when St. Krash opened the interior door, revealed within was a large skyscape made up primarily of cumulus clouds, but with clusters of altocumulus and a floor of stratus. The three of them walked down a path signposted as Altostratus Street that snaked across the sky towards a great city of glass buildings that climbed up through the clouds.
"So, what do you want to do today?" St. Krash asked, as they reached the boundary of the sky city. "The Big Guy has assigned me to show you around, and we can do almost anything you'd like to. Maybe you'd like to go to the Nephew Compound? With the rate at which Nephews have been killed off and more created over the last fifty years, inhabitants of the Compound make up fifteen to twenty percent of our population. Lots of old faces to see there. Or maybe you'd like to see your brother, Gerald? Remember him? He lives on Nimbus Auxiliary with a bunch of other semi-familiar figures you may or may not recognise. Good pizza on Nimbus Auxiliary."
"Can we go and meet The Big Guy?" Michelle asked.
"Who's The Big Guy?" Gerald enquired, whilst craning his neck in a futile attempt to take in his surroundings. "Like, the Boulder? Or Stu Grimes?"
"I doubt it's literally a big guy," Michelle mused.
"You can't meet him yet," St. Krash interrupted. "You only just got here, and he won’t see visitors on their first day. But there's plenty of other things to see! How about Ollywood?"
Krash pointed to a series of large, pink, block letters that were mounted on a distant rolling cloud that resembled a snow-covered hill.
"That's sort of like our celebrity wing. Someone stole the H. You could hang out with Tom Jones or Julius Caesar or Eric Bana, if that's how you'd like to unwind."
"Eric isn't at the Nephew Compound?" Gerald asked.
"Only when he's cleaning it," the Wolf continued. "Or there's the Ryan Hall of Records. We've just finished archiving. Lots of stories that needed to be told in there."
"That sounds perfect," Gerald declared, all of a sudden. "I've wanted to relive the Fall of '22 for nearly five decades now. I knew it was important at the time, but… not until afterwards did the gravity of it all really hit me. What it all meant. Let's go there."
"Come on, Gerald," Michelle began, with a roll of her eyes. "You only died an hour ago, and already you want to start traipsing through the past? I didn't wait decades for you to get into heaven so that I could study tape. Strategy and analysis are earthly concepts, tulip. And so are the tag team championships."
"Tag team championships?" the Saintly Wolf interjected. "I could tell you a thing or two about the tag team championships…"
"Let's just go to the Compound. Quiet will know the score here by now."
"Considering you needed me to get here in the first place, I'd think you'd be more accommodating toward my wishes," Gerald said, whilst folding his arms stubbornly. "We're going to the Ryan Hall of Records."
They did just that. Standing next to the door was a huge guard in the regalia of a Roman Centurion, which - unbeknownst to our protagonists - was bequeathed upon to him by his best friend in a previous life. As the trio approached, the large man lifted the visor of his helmet, which allowed water from the North Sea that had pooled there to spill out and escape through the clouds.
"St. Krash!" he bellowed, as the Wolf reached him with a sturdy handshake. So much water was spilling out of their respective garments that a puddle was forming between them. "And you've brought the new arrivals! Come to see the Ryan Hall of Records? Maybe you'd like to rewatch Fallout 013? Always been one of my favourites."
St. Stu opened the door to the Hall, and he and Krash followed after the Connection as they made their way inside.
Before long, the pair were settled on an old but comfortable couch within the main chamber of the Hall, which had as its dominating feature a huge flat-screen television that hung from one of its walls. Everywhere else in the chamber, and indeed in the Ryan Hall of Records as a whole, the walls were lined with bookcases crammed full with betamax tapes. These tapes chronicled the long and storied histories of the organisation Gerald and Michelle had called home for a good portion of their lives. Gerald seemed to be comforted when surrounded by this tapestry of interwoven stories, and upon gaining entry into the Hall he’d spent some time reading the hand-written information on the spines of the cassettes. Michelle, on the other hand, looked upon the archive with dull and passive eyes, and yearned for the debauchery that she felt sure Quiet would be throwing himself into in the Nephew Compound.
But instead, the pair were settled on an old but comfortable couch within the main chamber of the Hall, as St. Stu prepared the first tape for the projector and Krash equipped them each with a tall glass of homemade lemonade.
“Ah yes, a confident Dreamer. I remember this well,” Gerald noted with a grin. Michelle looked in his direction as the two shared a nod.
The clip continued to play, Gerald’s demeanour shifting as their Lights Out ‘22 opponents came into greater focus.
“They tried to throw you off by bringing up your World Title aspirations? That’s an old line… and predictable,” Gerald said whilst looking at Michelle, holding his cheek in his hand. He turned back to the screen to observe the rest of the clip. “Can’t say I blame them… after what happened with Bell…”
“Again, Gerald?" Michelle rolled her eyes. “Still not over all that? Even with another half a century to process it all?”
“I’m just saying, it’s a good point. Even if a tired one. You can’t tell me Bell didn’t divide your attention between her and the tag team championship match we had against Golden Rock.”
The memory stung as if it happened not too long ago. It was difficult to believe it had been fifty four years, now.
"Tag team championships?" the Saintly Giant interjected. "I could tell you a thing or two about the tag team championships…"
On the screen, Reagan Cole summarised Dreamer's character and concluded that she only wanted to win the tag team titles so that she’d be a shoe-in for the F1 tournament. Gerald shot Michelle a questioning look: one that suggested he saw some truth in Reagan’s words. She returned his gaze with a glare of her own as the big screen fizzled out like the end of a home video.
“Well?” Gerald questioned.
“Well what?” Michelle instantly retorted.
“Was he right?
“Seriously Gerald? Even at this point in our lives you doubt me?” Dreamer said, flashes of annoyance in her tone.
“Everything they said in that clip is factual, Michelle. I’m afraid to say it, but Lights Out ‘22 was just… history repeating itself,” Gerald stood from his seat, putting his hands in his pockets, looking to Michelle to respond.
“Let me tell you about history, Gerald. For the longest time, I used to sit back and accept that history was destined to repeat itself. But I don’t think that anymore. History is meant to be changed. And if not us, who? That’s the attitude we should have had in ‘22. The way we should’ve looked on the Ghouls’ weak reign. I might be stubborn, but I’ll learn a lesson, eventually.”
“At least you know you’re stubborn,” Gerald said nonchalantly. Michelle stared a hole through him, which Gerald tried to hide from.
“You were never one to pick your battles, huh?”
“One rarely needs to pick battles at all, if things are set up separately from the start,” Gerald said, sitting back down, as St. Krash signalled for the next clip to be shown. St. Stu began to busy himself with the next betamax tape. “I’d like to think it was one of the things that made us work.”
Michelle said nothing, slouching into her seat, wanting to be anywhere but where she was at that exact moment.
“Reagan Cole better have thanked you at some point in your lifetime after you saved him from… whatever I was going to do to him,” Michelle suggested. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't quite remember what she had planned for Cole in Vegas.
“Now that I think about it, I don’t think he did. Ungrateful doesn’t even cover it.”
The two sat for a moment in stoney silence as the clip ended.
“We had a lot of issues back then, huh?” Gerald said eventually, smiling to himself after the memories they just watched. He proceeded to put his hands on his head, almost surprised that he put up with so much, before letting out a sigh. He turned to his right and met the eyes of Dreamer, who didn’t back down. He was smiling. “That was a lot of fun.”
“Which part?” Dreamer questioned.
“Well, seeing you hit Reagan Cole with a chair, first of all. I regret stopping you from carrying on now,” Gerald said, chuckling as the Connection shared a laugh. “But the whole thing we went through in FWA. Fun times. Really fun times…”
Gerald paused, reminiscing about the past. His smile turned into a frown as his eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s difficult to hear them talking to you that way,” Gerald said, looking at Michelle apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s no big deal –”
“No, it is,” Gerald cut her off. “People don’t see that you’re actually a good person. We wouldn’t have been a tag team for long if you weren’t.”
Michelle just shrugged.
“They don’t understand that not every tag team works the same way,” Gerald paused. “But when it came down to work, we worked our asses off in all aspects… and we did it together. We trained. We watched film. We talked strategy. These are just some of the things we did to prepare for our matches. But no one knows that.”
“It’s not a big deal, Gerald,” Michelle said. ”And we can probably stop doing all of those things now that we’re dead, you know?"
“It pisses me off so much that people discredit you for not being a team player.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve heard worse,” Michelle said. ”So have you.”
“No! You’re a good person, Michelle!” Gerald stood from his seat, startling everyone. “You were there for me EVERY TIME. Even when I didn’t know I needed someone, you were there. You weren’t just there for me, you were there for my family. From Daniel’s birth to Zach’s birth, all of my kids’ first days of school, even when Denise and I had problems… you were there.”
Dreamer gulped.
”Even with eternal life, I don’t have time for this, Gerald,” Michelle quipped, attempting to cut through her partner’s melodrama with humour. ”You’re in a minority of one, tulip. You said it yourself: nothing that Reagan or Aka said was untrue. It doesn’t really matter what you want to do. It only matters what you end up actually doing.”
Suddenly, the doors to the Ryan Hall of Records burst open. At the doorway, St. Stu fell to the marble ground with a withering groan. The culprits were clear as day: the Spirit Walkers, Aka Yurei and Reagan Cole, stood either side of St. Stu’s body.
“STUUU!!!” St. Krash exclaimed, falling to his knees in despair next to the felled giant. "Oh, it's just a flesh wound."
“Aka? Reagan?” Gerald squinted his eyes in question. Meanwhile, Michelle stood from her seat and balled her fists, ready to throw hands.
“Why are we here, St. Krash?” Aka questioned.
“We don’t belong here. We belong up there at The Big Guy's side. We didn’t use a chair as a weapon on a fellow competitor, who still to this day can feel the effects of the chair shot, like someone over there, standing next to Gerald Grayson,” Reagan said, his insinuation clear.
“Hey, fuck you!" Michelle began, with a healthy amount of indignation. "You want to come here and cause a fuss? Here of all places? I wasn’t the best person on earth, but even I’m smart enough to know not to start anything in the afterlife. But if that’s the route you want to go, Reagan, let’s go!"
“No, this is not the way,” Gerald said, looking at Michelle. “I was right before and I’m right this time. This isn't how I want to do this..."
A lengthy and uneasy silence descended, during which St. Stu climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. St. Krash, meanwhile, observed the situation and sensed that the tension might spill over if not for a timely and measured intervention.
“How about chess?” the Wolf suggested. “Chess is big here.”
“Fine, anything,” Michelle said, whilst folding her arms and shrugging her shoulders. “If you win, we’ll leave this place and head downstairs. Have a beer in the Banned Bar with the redacteds. See how many masks James Sync is wearing now. But… if we win, you’ll leave us the fuck alone. We’ve watched a fair bit of your tape today, and I’m sick of the pair of you.”
“We’re the white pieces,” Aka demanded. “Fetch the board, Stu.”
A few moments later, the quartet was seated around a table, Aka and Reagan behind the white pieces and the Connection across from them, commanding the black. Gerald wasn’t one for chess, really, and so hung back slightly and placed his faith in his tag team partner.
“Timed?” Michelle asked.
“What’s your rush?” Aka said. “You’re infinite now. Classical.”
"As you wish."
Aka was forthright in taking her opening move, and then sat still with a focussed look about her. Reagan seemed to be taking on the Gerald role in the partnership, sitting further away from the board but monitoring his teammate for any sudden changes in demeanour or countenance. Michelle carefully observed the aged Aka in front of her: her brow was wrinkled by years and furrowed further by focus. Michelle smiled at her useless endeavour.
"Gerald?" she said.
"Michelle?" he replied.
"You think they call Saint Sulley St. Saint Sulley here?"
"I doubt he's up here…"
"Well, I'm here. Don't rule it out."
“You’re barely even focussing,” Aka said, when Michelle had moved her piece and begun to stare about herself absently. “Same as ever. Death hasn’t changed you.”
“Just worry about your own game,” Michelle replied, with a slight smile. Aka wasn’t wrong, though: Dreamer’s focus had been drawn away from the game and onto St. Krash, who was whispering into a headset a few paces away from the action.
“It’s like everyone always tells you,” Reagan interjected, remaining aloof from the game with his arms folded. Despite this abstraction, he still felt his analysis worthy of voicing. “Your mind is too clouded. Too frantic. You can’t win this way.”
“Is that so?” Michelle asked, though she wasn’t really listening for a response. Instead, she watched St. Krash reapproach their board whilst absently groping for her bishop. She spoke to Aka without looking at her. “A knight on the rim is dim. Do you even know how to play?”
Aka only scowled as Dreamer slid her piece across the board.
“Who was that?” she queried of the moustached saint. The Wolf now loomed over them again as he re-examined the board.
“Barely even focussing…” Aka repeated. “She’s the black pieces and she’s barely even focussing…”
“That was The Big Guy,” Krash said, ignoring the Ghoul’s complaints and addressing Michelle’s question. “He said he’d be happy to meet the winner of this game in the treehouse. Unheard of, really, considering it’s your first day here. But who am I to argue with The Big Guy?”
“They’re not going to win,” Reagan argued.
“I think they’re probably going to win,” the Saintly Wolf offered, as von Horrowitz reached forward for her queen.
A bead of sweat formed on Aka’s forehead. Michelle yawned.
“Zero hubris,” Aka said. She sighed deeply whilst making her move. Defence was all she thought of, and it blinded her to the real attack.
“How far is it?” Michelle asked whilst standing from the board. Gerald reached over to make the final move. He didn’t really know the rules, but had seen Michelle play often enough to finish the sequence.
“Checkmate,” he said. Aka’s eyes scanned the board, her indignance taking a turn towards rage.
“Did you cheat?” Aka asked. The Connection were already following St. Krash out of the Ryan Hall of Records.
Gerald seemed to have an extra spring in his step as he and Dreamer followed the Saintly Wolf and the Saintly Giant up Altostratus Street. The cloud upon which they walked was perennially dampened by the two waterlogged guides that went before them, but the Daredevil still felt buoyed by the events in the Ryan Hall. Dreamer fancied that her partner found closure in their chess victory: closure that was denied to him five decades ago. She didn’t want to burst his bubble, and so let him continue in happy ignorance. Aka and Reagan were only the first obstacle, even if the road had already been a long one to even reach this point. More challengers would begin to circle soon enough.
Before long they arrived at the base of a great tree whose roots delved into a particularly sturdy cumulus at the end of Altostratus Street. Around its thick base wound a staircase, which the party promptly began to climb. Occasionally they would stop at a viewing platform to look down over the sky city as a whole: a sprawling metropolis, bustling with alumni. Dreamer sighed, and lamented the prospect of an eternity here. But, as was so often the case in life, she had dug her own grave.
At the top of the staircase they came to a large treehouse that had been built with glass in the highest branches. It wasn’t guarded, and a bright light emanated from within. Now that they were here, the Connection hesitated to go any further. The Saints turned towards them when they reached the door and noticed that their guests hadn’t followed.
They opened the door, white light spilling out and dancing amongst the tree’s golden leaves. It was Gerald who steeled himself first, marching through the doors and disappearing into the brightness. Only at the sight of her partner accomplishing this did Dreamer find the nerve to do the same.
Inside they found the light’s source. At the end of the room, seated in a meditative position on a raised platform, was a figure in a long, white robe. He looked as though He was deep in prayer, or at least in thought, and that He was blissfully unaware of the presence of the newcomers.
Michelle and Gerald waited, more out of awe than patience.
Eventually, when He was ready, the figure stood up, and as He did gallons of dirty lake-water spilled out of the folds of His long, white robe. Around His head - pale from His premature drowning - was a sodden red bandana, and when He turned to look at them He did so with sad and cold eyes.
"You?" Michelle asked, somewhat dismissively. "Why you?"
The Saintly Rockstar smiled.
"This place exists only in one of your consciousnesses, or perhaps an amalgamation of the two. I am here because I handed you one of your two defeats, and the bigger of the two by some degree of magnitude. The other came courtesy of St. Krash, here. Whilst St. Stu never faced you in the ring, you stood aside so that he and his Roman friend could address other concerns. The business with the Ghouls perhaps would never have happened if not for him. That is why I am here. Why each of us are here."
There was a pause as the duo bathed in this saintly figure and the bright light that sprung forth from him. It took Michelle’s voice to break the spell.
“You mean that all of this,” she began, whilst gesticulating in the general direction of the sky city below them. “Was to teach us a lesson about the tag team championships?”
"Tag team championships?" the Saintly Rockstar interjected, with a cunning smile. "I could tell you a thing or two about the tag team championships…"
“We all could,” the Wolf spoke up from behind them. He placed a hand on Gerald’s shoulder as he went on. “I was once like you were, Daredevil: constrained by my own sense of morality, but indebted to or enraptured by another without those same bonds. Only when I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb, so to speak, and gave myself up entirely to this other, did I achieve what you have now set out to accomplish. It is up to you whether it is worth this price.”
“I disagree,” the Giant said, whilst stepping out of the shadows to join the dialogue. He had his arms folded, and seemed to look at the Wolf reproachfully. “I know the sort of relationship you speak of, Krash, for the bond between Cornelius and myself was not dissimilar. But… you’re right to not sacrifice who you are and what you believe, Gerald. You shouldn’t throw yourself in, but rather continue to drag Dreamer from the darkness. This is the way to the gold and to the light.”
The Daredevil seemed conflicted, the contrasting advice weighing on him. He looked to Michelle for help. She reached out with her hand. The Rockstar spoke again before he could take it.
“How you conduct yourself in the ring,” He began, carefully. “Is irrelevant. The path to success can be paved by betrayal or by righteousness. But you must learn from the mistakes of your past. It is a shame that my partner cannot be here to tell you the same. Even if our own relationship is soured, he would agree with me on this point. But he is downstairs, with Alyster and Cornelius, where old rivalries no doubt still rear their ugly heads. You didn’t lose to us fifty four years ago because Michelle cheated too much. Nor did you lose because Gerald didn’t cheat enough.”
“Then why did we lose?” Dreamer asked, when the Rockstar paused and seemed to require prompting.
“You lost because of your obsession. With the sea, as you used to call her. And now you begin down the same road again, at the end of which lies only defeat. A different obsession, but an obsession nonetheless. History repeats itself. Time is a flat circle.”
The Connection remained silent for a few moments, processing His words. Gerald’s hand finally found Michelle’s.
“Isn’t all of this in the past anyway?” Michelle finally queried. “What’s the point in re-hashing it now, half a century later?”
“No,” the Saintly Rockstar said. “This is just a dream.”
Suddenly, the until now serene bright light flashed in anger, and lightning blinded Michelle and Gerald. The roar of thunder turned into a baying crowd. The bright lights now hung from the edge of a coliseum.
Across the ring were two figures. Not the Wolf and the Prodigy, nor Mile High's Bane. Just a couple of ghouls.
The opening bell rings. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:05:14 GMT
Originally posted by AON.
Ah, nature.
From the rich brown earthen hues of the forest grounds to the sweetness of the blue-white sky, the forest is a three-dimensional wonderland for those willing to absorb the lights. It is a place of ancient souls, of the creatures who dwell with the sweet sounds of moving water and bird songs. Somehow this is more home than our actual homes.
The camera zooms across one of these majestic landscapes; it's autumn, and the forest floor was absolutely coated with leaves, red. Orange. Browns. The seasons may be harsh, stripping away the bark and outer layers yet rendering them all the more beautiful. The trees surrounding us have the appearance of driftwood, twisting in patterns that might remind the viewer of gently lapping waves; even the moss colour is kelp-like. If you were to put your hand against the tree, it would feel soft and damp, yet your fingers would come away dry. The tree branches were several tall houses, reaching towards the golden rays of autumn where the bird song comes in lulls and bursts, the silence and singing working together as any improvised melody.
Tell you what; This is unconventional, but it's been a tough time for us all in a world where everyone seems to be increasingly insane or angry, so why don't we all just enjoy the lovely peaceful silence for a moment?
*Deep breath in*
........
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A harsh, grating, impossibly loud hum cut through the tranquillity like a knife as the giant oak tree began to shake and simmer noticeably before very slowly it began to tilt to the side and-
TIMMMMMMMBBBBBBBBER.
WHAM-!
With an all-encompassing THUD-! The mighty oak tree slams into the ground, the base of it staying where it is, but the vast majority of the tree is now lying in a useless heap.
And with the tree no longing blocking our collective view, we can now see exactly whose responsible, as we see standing behind the ex-tree two ....well...They are technically men, but with how tall and large they are, it would be more fitting to refer to them as monsters or even man mountains, their massive frames blocking out the sun, clad head to toe in matching flannel, and both looking totally identical to each other, the only difference between the two is the fact that the one on our left has a massive chainsaw slung over his shoulders like it was a toothpick. (It's worth pointing out that the one with the used chainsaw was busy taking off a pair of safety goggles because no matter how big and tough you happen to be, only a fool would ignore basic safety measures. A gosh darn fool!)
They both regard the fallen tree with no small amount of satisfaction, both seemingly out of breath but enjoying themselves nonetheless; they both share a fist bump with two fists bigger than most people's heads before the one with the chainsaw makes a move towards the discarded tree and the other finally making his way towards the camera, pointing at the man behind the camera, seemingly asking the person behind it if the camera is rolling before speaking in a low growl of a voice.
Dan Lupone: "As you probably guessed by now, me and my brother ain't ones for big introductions; you see, we ain't like other wrestlers; I guess you'd call us old school. We ain't got time for those Twitters, your youtubes, tik toks or whatever. We ain't got a "brand", or whatever the hell people are so obsessed with these days."
Doug Lupone:"I once got a tweeter, but it flew away...."
Dan freezes, blinking as if trying to maintain his grip on reality and trying to decide if his brother actually said that before eventually he turns around to his brother, working on the tree.
Dan Lupone: "Seriously, Doug?"
Doug Lupone:"What?!"
Dan Lupone:"You've never told a joke in your life, and you wait till we gotta introduce ourselves to the wrestling world to cut the goddamn lamest joke I've ever heard in my life?!"
Doug just shrugged.
Dan Lupone:"Guess, that's just why people like me better, because of comedic timing and supermodel good looks.
Dan briefly vanishes off-screen as he leans down to get a rock to hurl at his brother.
Doug Lupone: "Man, shut up!"
Doug smiles and shows his brother his favourite finger, not the index, not the ring finger, not the pinky, which incidentally is my favourite finger before Dan turns back to the camera.
Dan Lupone:"The point is, when we signed on the dotted line for FWA, the big wigs offered us a chance to go over to FWA studios, film a promo, and they edit it up and make it all snazzy looking like they do with everyone else, but with all due respect, that ain't how we do things.
Dan points behind him at his brother's work.
Dan Lupone: "You see that? That's a full-time gig, there ain't a lot of us Lumberjacks left, and we live in cabins in the heart of the Yukon; we ain't got the time for any of that stuff, you just find a cameraman, you send him to the Yukon, and we'll do the rest. We ain't ones for fancy words or smooth talking. We don't mince words. What you see is what you get and what you see? Dan Lupone, Doug Lupone. The Lumberjacks and there are two things we do better than anyone else; Cutting down trees and breaking knees."
Doug Lupone: "That's either the best thing you've ever said or the worst."
Dan Lupone: "Either way, They'll probably put it on a t-shirt."
While they were talking, Doug finally decided to stroll on over to his brother with the chainsaw resting on his massive shoulders, wiping sweat off his brow as he shared the promo workload with Dan.
Doug Lupone: "I think it's fair; we ain't winning any beauty contests any time soon; you're not going to see any shooting star presses from us; hell, I would even hesitate to call us wrestlers; we're fighters. We're in the business of the best brawls this side of a hockey rink. We're in the business of fights! And business is a-booming!"
Dan Lupone:"I could do a shooting star if I wanted to; we just never got around to it."
Doug quickly throws a jab towards Dan's shoulder.
Doug Lupone: "Jerk."
Dan Lupone: "Hoser"
Yep, they're brothers,
Dan Lupone: "When you talk about fights, you talk about mayhem; you talk about bodies flying everywhere. You talk about chaos everywhere you look. You're talking about the Secular Spooktacular."
Doug Lupone:"God, it's really hard to say that name and take it seriously."
Dan Lupone:"Maybe, we're not meant to take it seriously; maybe people think this is just going to be a "Fun" match, with a lot of whacky and zany Halloween hijinks, trick or trick and all that bullshit, and you know what? It might be. It might be hysterical. People in the crowd might be laughing their asses off....but that's going to be until WE get in the ring. When we get into the fray? Then it's going to stop being fun REAL fast. Because we ain't here to play games. We ain't here to make up the numbers. We're here to do one thing and one thing only. To win those tag team titles and cut through everyone that stands in our way."
Doug Lupone:"So, that's why we're here, that's why we're doing this video because we want to let every single person that is looking to enter the Secular Spooktacular. Friend or foe. Nice person, or asshole. It doesn't matter to us; all that matters is you're an obstacle, you're in our way, and what do we do with things in our way?"
Doug shifts the chainsaw off his shoulders and gestures to it for the camera.
Doug Lupone:"Take the saw to em, cut em down and introduce them to the chipper."
Dan Lupone: "....And people may not like that, they might call us bullies, they might not like how we beat down much smaller opponents, But this is the biggest wrestling company in the world, and this is our debut; you throw in a shot at those belts, and hey; It doesn't matter if we respect you, it doesn't matter if we want to get a beer with you after the show, all that matters is-
Doug Lupone: "You're going into the wood chipper."
Dan Lupone: "That vampire chick? Cool mask, a great high flyer."
Doug Lupone: "She's going in the wood chipper."
Dan Lupone: "The Undisputed Alliance? Probably the most well-established tag team in FWA."
Doug Lupone:"They're going into the wood chipper."
Dan Lupone:"..And I could go through the entire roster, but you get the idea; If you stand in the way of The Lumberjacks and the tag titles?"
Doug Lupone:"You're going into the wood chipper."
Doug points one big massive finger with his free hand to underline that's exactly what'll happen to you...YES...YOU.
Dan Lupone:"Because that's how it has to be, we're here to rock the tag team division to its foundation, to cut down the forest of tag team wrestling and use it to build something else, something better, and the best way to do that? Is to get that tag team case.
Doug Lupone: "Granted, sure, we ain't gonna turn our nose up at one of us getting a shot a the North American Championship or The X-Fly Championship. Last I counted, there were two of us in this match. Two Lumberjacks, two cases. But that's just Maple Syrup on Canadian flapjacks for us."
Dan Lupone: "Look, we could go on and on and tell you all the reasons why we're the best and why we're going to run through this match. But we ain't talkers. We're fighters. We let our actions do our talking, so you know what we say?"
Doug Lupone: "Buy the show. Watch Lights out, and just SEE what we do to EVERY single person to anyone who steps to us; watch us DESTROY the competition. Watch us bulldoze every damp person in that ring and then tell us.....we can be stopped.
Dan Lupone: "Because it basically comes down to this;
We are bigger.
We are badder.
...and we got a chainsaw."
And with that, Doug and Dan share a "cool brother" fist bump before Doug puts the chainsaw back on his shoulders, and The Lumberjacks walk towards the fallen tree
They had work to do.
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:05:49 GMT
Originally posted by Welshy.
The Road to Self-Destruction
30th September 2022
Newark, New Jersey
Andersen Vega’s School of Bastardry
…and Wrestling  Ah, gym life. The sounds and smells of sweaty people giving it everything they’ve got, with the hopes that one day they could be as successful and badass as the man that owns the building they’re currently flooding with their liquid body odour.
However, we don’t get to see these aspiring young talents at work, for the scene opens inside a cramped little office space. At the back of the room, there sits a desk that houses on which an old computer sits, keyboard, mouse and screen included, with a cluster of papers, junk food wrappers and pens covering most of the rest of the table. Screwed onto the front of the desk is a silver plaque that reads “Manager”. The room also houses a small trash bin that looks to be the only item in this office that doesn’t have any trash, and a worn two-seater couch.
A balding man with aged features and an unkempt, stubbly face sits with his feet up on the desk. He looks handsome in his own, rugged way, despite the apparent lack of effort he puts into grooming his face. He has, however, put at least some effort into his wardrobe, seemingly not wishing to look like a full-blown vagrant. He’s wearing a black, long-sleeved button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone, an expensive-looking silver watch, dark blue slim-fit jeans, and a pair of black/white/red Jordans. He looks presentable, even if his office doesn’t.
As the seconds tick by, the aged man just sits casually at his deck, reading some paper documents in his lap, looking as though he’s unaware that he’s being recorded…that is, until a voice from behind the camera perks up.
“Uh, Mr Vega?” the disembodied voice asks nervously, “You know I’m recording, right?”
“I’m well aware, dipshit. I’ll be with you in a minute.” The man, seemingly named Mr Vega, responds in a bored and annoyed voice.
“Uh…my name’s Kyle, sir.” The cameraman responds, sounding a little insulted.
“I didn’t ask, and there’s a reason why,” Vega retorts, sounding increasingly annoyed as he continues to stare at the documents, “you wanna hazard a guess as to what that reason is?”
“Uh…I dunno, sir…” the cameraman admits, “because you don’t care?”
Vega chuckles. “Good answer, kid…now, if you don’t mind, keep the camera running and keep your oversized Twinky hole shut. I’m tryna read.”
“What are you reading?” the cameraman asks, clearly not understanding what Vega meant by “keep your oversized Twinky hole shut”.
Inhaling a deep breath and sighing it back out in annoyance, Vega responds. “My FWA contract…now, please, shut the fuck up.”
“Okay…sorry, sir.” the cameraman responds.
Vega’s eyes leave his FWA contract for the first time since the video began as he glares towards the camera, indicating that he’s about to do something he probably won’t regret later. “I swear to god, if I hear your voice one more time, I’m gonna reach down your throat and rip your voicebox out…understand?” Having made his point, Vega’s eyes return to his contract.
However, perhaps instinctively, having technically been asked a question, the cameraman answers, his voice a little shaky. “Yes, sir…sorry, sir.”
Vega shakes his head in disbelief as he stares at the ceiling. “What the fuck did I do in my life to deserve this dickhead?” he asks to himself, in a voice that sounds unequivocally DONE with this interaction.
“Well…there was that one time where you hit Alice Xander in the head with a baseball bat so hard that you ended her career.”
Vega takes his feet off his desk and turns his entire body to face the camera with a shocked and accused look. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa…Alice Xander was a fucking dude, alright! I ain’t no fucking woman beater!”
“You bullied Jack Rogue for weeks on end, ended up winning a match with his contract on the line, used him as your slave with the threat of being fired and unable to wrestle anymore, and abused him so much that he ended up going insane. He needed months of therapy before becoming a semi-normal person again.”
“He was a pasty, ginger dweeb! He was never normal!” Vega says before adding guiltily, “besides, I did apologise.”
“Not to mention that during your last run, you repeatedly assaulted Reagan Cole and ended up hospitalising him after a baseball bat assault.”
A dreamy grin forms on Vega’s face. “Yeah…that was fun.”
“And there was that time…”
Before the cameraman can continue his listing of Vega’s various misdeeds, Vega interrupts, trying to get back on track. “Alright, that’s enough…we’ll be here all bastard year if you carry on listing every heinous act I’ve committed. How do you know all that shit anyway?”
“I’ve been watching you since I was a kid. I used to love watching the good guys beat you up!” the cameraman chirps, “Like when Reagan Cole returned after you hospitalised him and ended up making you tap out…”
Slamming his fist on his clutter-filled desk and causing an empty soda can to fall to the floor, Vega interrupts. “THAT’S ENOUGH!” after a moment of intense silence, he continues, “Now, I’m gonna finish reading the last two lines of this contract, and then I’m gonna sign it. After that, I’ll officially be a member of the FWA roster. Upon becoming a member of the FWA roster, I will then use the platform that your camera provides to cut a promo, hyping my imminent return and hell, I may even tell you where, when and how I’ll return. However, until I’ve finished reading the last two lines of the contract, the other shit ain’t happening, so shut the fuck up and LET ME READ!”
After another couple of moments of Vega glaring at the man behind the camera, he then turns back to the contract.
[MEDIA=youtube]F6y1Y450BD8[/MEDIA]
Having finished reading his contract, Vega finally puts pen to paper, making him the newest edition to the FWA roster. He tosses the pen between a Burger King wrapper and a banana peel. He then slots the contract into a brown envelope before sealing it shut and places it back on the trash dump he calls a desk. Lifting himself off of his chair, Vega can finally begin his first piece of business as an FWA wrestler.
“Come, dipshit…let’s take a walk around,” Vega says as he walks out from behind his desk and towards the partially-open door to the gym.
“M-my name’s Kyle, sir.” the cameraman reiterates.
“I thought we made it clear that I don’t give a fuck what your name is?” Vega responds, a smarmy look etched on his face.
The cameraman, for the first time, doesn’t respond.
Reaching the door, Vega looks at the cameraman with an impatient glare. “Get the door, dipshit,” he says, his hands indicating where it is as if he thinks the cameraman may be too stupid to know what a door looks like, “Come on, I haven’t got all day!”
“Sorry, sir,” the cameraman says as his hand reaches out from behind the camera and pulls the door open, allowing Vega to walk through without thanks.
Following Vega out of his office, we are given our first look at the gym itself. The walls are adorned with a plethora of wrestling memorabilia, such as trophies, championship belts, and marquees that all feature the name and likeness of the man himself, although he looks quite a bit younger in most of them. Despite being displayed with apparent pride, the trophies and championship belts seem to be scratched and dented, and the posters look worn and dusty. Ignoring the fact that the place looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in a while, it at least looks well-equipped, with weight benches, treadmills, rowing machines and punching bags of multiple varieties in various locations throughout, along with two full-sized wrestling rings.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to “Andersen Vega’s School of Bastardry…and Wrestling”.” Vega says, a prideful grin on his face, “where aspiring young bastards and bastardettes alike come to find out if they have what it takes to make it in this harsh, unforgiving, vindictive, absolute bitch of a world that we call “Professional Wrestling”.”
Pausing a moment, Vega glances at several aspiring “bastards and bastardettes” as they go about their workout routines. The gym looks decently attended, with about a dozen or so people scattered throughout. “I bought the place in twenty-eighteen as sort of a project for myself after getting out of rehab,” Vega says, his face taking on a reminiscent look. “The place was as battered and broken down as I was. I thought that if I poured all my energy into fixing the place up, it’d help take my mind off of wanting to chase another high. It worked, too….” he says, as he begins to wander slowly around the place he rebuilt. “I haven’t so much as looked at a bottle of whiskey or a line of cocaine since. I’ve kept well away from anything I used to chase that oh-so-addictive high,” he pauses a moment, a brief look of regret forming on his face, “...until now.”
Continuing his wander around the gym, he makes his way to the closest of the two wrestling rings, where two young adults look to be practising their chain wrestling, stopping a meter or so away, watching them as he continues. “See, I’ve had so many addictions in my life. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Weed. Cocaine…I’ve beaten them all.” he says, looking on as the smaller of the two wrestlers escapes a headlock by raking his opponent’s eyes, causing a brief prideful smirk to form on Vega’s face, before it quickly dissipates as he continues, “Well, at least I thought I did….”
As the larger of the two wrestlers is thrown to the ground by the younger, struggling to fight back after being temporarily blinded, Vega resumes his monologue. “The most debilitating drug that I’ve ever come across…the one that I always seem to return to,” Vega turns his head to face the camera, a resentful look in his eyes, “...is you.”
Turning his attention back to the action in the ring, the larger wrestler has recovered somewhat from the underhanded attack on his vision by his slighter rival. He lifts himself and his opponent off the canvas and executes a back-body drop.
As he watches the action, Vega continues. “You people provide the single biggest high that I’ve ever had the unfortunate pleasure of falling victim to,” he says, his resentful expression returning. “To walk out from behind the curtain to an ocean’s worth of people, all screaming my name, whether it be in adulation or abhorrence…it’s the single most exhilarating feeling ever created.”
As the larger wrestler continues to dominate in the sparing session, Vega grows disinterested and decides to continue his slow journey around his wrestling school. “But what’s worse is that with any other drug on the market, all you have to do is buy it and use it, and if you truly want to, you can stop…but to acquire the drug I’m addicted to above all others…you’ve got to sign a contract.”
Manoeuvring his way past several swaying heavy bags as a few potential future stars unleash their fury upon them, Vega finds himself approaching the wall at the farthest end of the gym. The wall contains the fruits of Vega’s near thirty-year labour. What amounts to 14 different championship belts and two trophies from various wrestling promotions are displayed all along the wall on several shelves, along with a metal plaque that contains the date/dates in which he won each title.
Looking at the quite substantial amount of gold and silver on display, Vega continues, “Not ten minutes ago, you witnessed me signing a contract…one that sees me tied to the FWA for the next few years. An agreement that stipulates that I must inject myself with the drug that you people supply on pretty much a weekly basis.” Vega shakes his head, a dejected look on his face. “Should I try to bail out of that contract, the FWA has every right to take legal action…hell, I’m no better than they are,” he says, as he gestures to his dozen disciples, “I’m training these poor motherfuckers to get into a business that I know will likely eat them alive, and I charge them for it….”
Turning around to face the camera, he continues, his wall of accomplishment becoming his backdrop, “also, I get 20% of anything they earn as part of their contracts with me….” Vega says, a momentary shit-eating smirk forming on his face, giving us a glimpse at the ruthless bastard whom those who know him have learned to be wary of. “But, that’s just the business that we all love,” he says nonchalantly, “it’s legal slavery, and I’m as guilty as anyone else.”
“In due time, regardless of whether they make it in this business or not, these young men and women will end up in the same sinking life raft that I find myself clinging on to,” he says, his smirk returning. “They’ll get to the point where their bodies have broken down, and they can’t physically compete with their far younger adversaries, and they’ll get beaten to a pulp every week, but they won’t be able to stop…just one. More. Drink….”
Chuckling to himself, he continues, “and, at some point, they may wind up rolling past my lifeless body as they travel this road to self-destruction. And I’m left wondering…how many bodies will I leave in my wake?”
And with a shit-eating smirk plastered on his face, he says, “at least nineteen, I reckon.” And as the scene begins to fade, Vega winks, a look of malice in his eyes.[ATTACH type="full" width="367px"]31762[/ATTACH] |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:06:56 GMT
Originally posted by PheTomenal. This production was funded by the WS Network and FWA Films.
We open to a black screen. White text fades into the picture and we see the below on screen.
Pro wrestlingxTelevision - A documentary by Phillip A. Jackson
“I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. But I can't stop eating peanuts.” - Orson Welles We fade into a hallway, laminated wooden flooring as the camera zooms out of the hallway we can see a few cupboards and we can hear shoes bouncing off the wooden floor as the scene opens. The legs walk into frame and it pans up to Phillip A. Jackson. Jackson is in a hallway where they have set up televisions from various eras. There is a black and white television, the first models of colour television, a television from the 90s, a flat screen on the wall and a tablet round things off. Beyond the tablet desk there is a picture on the wall, we cannot make out what it is as it is covered by a curtain. Jackson stands in a navy suit with a white shirt, his top button undone with no tie.
I have a lot in common with a technology. It sounds weird, but hear me out. This technology is television and the video will demonstrate why my journey should finish with being a champion of television. To some, it is just a box that show mindless nonsense, to some it is a vital cog of society and to other it is a dying technology. However, my industry is ruled by television. It is beating heart that if removed will kill every single business but it is not just my business that is ruled by it, our societies are ruled by it. The USA, Japan, Australia, The United Kingdom, South Africa, Brazil...I could go on and on. It rules the world. It is something that allows us to look into the future, at what we think our world will become, it allows us to keep abreast of the present, a representation of our current times and it allows us a peak into history, and a look back to our past. What has changed? How far have we come? Why were they racist back then? All that jazz but that's not what I want to focus on. The things we see from the days of old are the timeless classics that ruled their time. That is all that we see. Just like in 30 years when the classics of our time are all that remain. Icons of those shows remembered forever, that's not always a good thing, especially if they are a British television host from the 70s.
Jackson winces and lets out a smile. He shrugs jokingly.
Mostly though television stars of yesteryear are beloved. Just like in show business television is the lifeline to professional wrestling. It is a have and have not world with television. It the defining feature of world class wrestling and everyone strives for a deal. Every promotion and every wrestler needs it to thrive. All these companies flogging themselves to get a TV deal is pathetic but it is necessary. I get it. It's an interesting relationship what is more important to a wrestling company, a superstar or the television deal. Television, is the difference between a bingo hall and a superdome. It is the difference between being a cult hero and a star. It is the very foundation of which success in this industry is measured. It is no surprise the companies in this industry bend over backwards to satisfy sponsors.
The lifeline:
At the mention of sponsors, adverts new and old start to play in silence in the background on the screens of the television. Jackson watches away at the adverts as they begin playing. They are on a loop. Jackson turns up the volume of the modern television.
“Consult your doctor about”...
“This production was funded by”...
“FWA Fallout is bought to you by”...
“Proud sponsors of....”
Jackson slowly lower the volume of the flatscreen tv that was playing the adverts.
Why are companies held hostage by sponsors and TV companies? Money. It is the lifeline that fuels industry. It is success. It is the standard. It is what keeps the lights on, the ropes attached and the wheels turning. Every single show on television, every single wrestling promotion on television is held to ransom to a degree by men in suits who have more money than sense. They all have visions and ideas.
It compromises the purity of the art. Wrestling is a dirty business, everyone knows that. There is politics, there is deceit, there is lies, there is affairs. Just like most of your favourite TV shows but here you don't see that. You don't see the dirt under the carpet because the money men don't care. They just want to see what you see. That money, that drive to stand out leads to the poor behaviours and dramas you hears whisper about. It is impure. It is horrible and it is not something I am involved in willingly but what would we be without them?
Nothing, that's what we would be. We would still be a wrestling company floating around regional gyms, arenas or whatever venue would take us. We would be nothing but what we have is capacity crowd at one of the most historic arenas in the world. The money allows us the platform to become stars. To showcase ourselves on television for the world to see because this is what is keeping us alive.
The adverts continue to play, but they begin to accelerate and speed through, they now have very brief clips of television shows between the adverts that are much shorter than the adverts.
Can't trim the fat:
Television isn't the be all and end of an actors career. They want to be movie stars, that's where the money is. Television for actors is the beginning. Television for a pro wrestler and a pro wrestling company is a platform to stand on and be seen. It is our biggest outlet. Television for the masses, is an addictive means to consume. It can be the third parent in a household. It can be a curse the plagues us. It makes people fat and lazy, spending all their time staring with empty minds as they peddle all sorts of crap to a captive audience. I hesitate to call the human, lifeless husks that used to have live but are you surprised?
Jackson motions back to the adverts that continue to play in the background
It promotes the duality of consumerism. Every great company used to be held hostage by television it was the liveblood of industrial success and pro wrestling was not different. They sit on their asses for hours and hours watching endless crap. It somehow manages to cast an enticing spell on people. It reels them in and takes their souls. The control it create defies all human thought, how can a screen control us. It tells them what to buy, what to think about the world or celebrities or politicians. It keeps people hooked through saving things for later, cliff hangers and dramatic plot twists.It is a one way control. The internet, you can at least be heard but television doesn't speak back. It rewards those who they want to be great and punishes everyone else.
Only the very best in this business can brag about television deals, not streaming deals, television deals. Just like in the business, only the very best get screen time. Only the very best are seen week after week on television. That's the negative of the money. It encourage people to get lazy and that is no different in this industry. It makes people complacent, lack the desire to improve because they end up in a weekly show that has a tv deal. There is a grind to it, a grind that takes a while. A grind that I am still getting back up to speed with. Just because you're on tv doesn't mean you've made it. It isn't the be all and end all of careers. I want to bring this company to the golden age that it experience when I ruled this world. I want this company to be hard working, hard hitting and pure. It is what the people want. That is my mission. My purpose. It is what is driving me. The purity I want to bring to FWA will help form the much promised, new era of television. What does that mean? You'll just have to wait and find out.
The adverts finally cease and Jackson is relieved. The screens remain black. Jackson presses the remote with no luck...
Stupid thing...should have bought a BLEEP brand television
"we will need to censor that...we can't mention the brand"
Just cut this p-
Slow Start to Golden Age:
It wasn't always an easy road. Like everything new, it was consider a fad. It would never overhaul the existing dominance in the media market. It was never going to touch radio, or newspapers as the primary source. “People will soon get tired of staring at a plywood box every night.” those were the words of Darryl Zanuck, a huge player in Hollywood. It was said out fear because this new technology had taken a chunk out of his precious movie industry. Stars were now becoming accessible in every home in the country and he was soon making appearance on the plywood box he denounced previously. It plugged away and slowly but surely it took over. Home by home, viewer by viewer it stole the monopoly of the film industry and morphed into something accessible, relatable and became the topic to discuss.
The FWA should have someone who represents them, who is a star, who has been down the path of struggling. I had a long, slow start to my FWA career. I went away from FWA. I grew outside of this company, in a smaller company called LOW. I became their greatest of all time. I ran it, I owned it, I did everything but I wanted to have my own plywood box. I need to scratch my itch, failure was not acceptable in mind and I grovelled back to FWA. I humbled myself to get back in. From my debut to being a success it took my years to go from a disgraced, unreliable wrestler to being a world champion. I don't shy away from the hard path. I don't shy away from taking on the established hierarchy. I came back into FWA when legends were dominating but they were dying out. The early days of my career in this company saw a changing of the guard. We moved from a main event scene dominated by tired, old legends to the new era of FWA. A main event scene completely refreshed by something new. A group of young wrestlers who changed everything, Ryan Rondo, Shane McLean and Phillip A. Jackson. I've been apart of the change, from humble beginnings I reached a golden age along with FWA.
They should have me.
The Change:
Jackson places the remote back down in front of the flat screen TV.
But all of that is over now.
Jackson picks up the tablet. Television is being replaced. Piece by piece. The dominant era it once had was over. However it still has a place. It is still important but the magic is gone. Things are spoiled. Things are set. We are now in a fluid world. On demand streaming reigns over the world. This little device does that. It is a constantly moving world, there is no room for standstill. Tablets, phone and laptops let that happen. Time is not stopping for what used to be. Sound familiar? It is a tale that never stops. The established replaced by the new and interesting. Phillip A. Jackson replaced by younger wrestlers. It is a never ending cycle and the guys at the top now will see this in action very soon. Even still, television and wrestling has and deserves stars. The internet has “personalities” and “influencers” these are nothing achievements because there is no skill needed to do it and it is meaningless because they contribute nothing but attitude and ego. Stars, real stars,, are just more. They are held in higher regard, pillars of society because they worked hard to be the top of their craft, the pinnacle of entertainers. Many of them great men, but only one star stands out to me. That man is of course, Phillip A. Jackson.
Jackson allows the tablet to fall out of his hand and smiles as he does so. I worked my ass off to be a star. It is all I ever wanted. I didn't need the internet, I didn't need movies. All I needed was a platform on television to be great. I became a star through whichever 4 sided viewing you wanted, the ring or the television. I popped on both. That skill is what the industry thrives on. I am not an internet personality. I don't care about the world beyond because my stage is wrestling on television. You can call me stubborn, stuck in the past or behind the times and that the way I deliver things is a bygone era but to me it is vintage and classic. I've rebooted after 3 years away. Fans would clamour for my return but the second I come back they criticise. I'm stale and old and boring and I don't change. Am I like one of the many television shows that ruins themselves with the ending? Or one where the fans are relieved it is over because it had been stinking up the place for years before it finally died? Is longevity a choice? For the most part, no. They are demanded by sponsors at a series level but longevity for the technology is admirable. It has had generation defining moments. It has witnessed everything, it is our eyes to the world. Just like I have been in this business a long time. I have had career and era defining moments, like the Golden Opportunity cash in on Chris Kennedy, my mentor and friend. Just like those in control, they have erased it from history. I have seen what FWA used to be. I have seen it move networks twice. I am the glimpse into history and I am the eyes to the world for all these upstarts in the company. Speaking of which...
Jackson finally takes a step to the hidden picture and pulls the curtains open to reveal a vandalised picture of Shawn Summers. There is red writing underneath with “Der Boring” written where it should say Der Bastard. Jackson smiles, he finds it funny.
Summers over:
This will not be the first Summer I've finished in my career, so be warned Shawn. Ask Shane MacLean about how his the “Summer of Shane” ended. Since none of you will know how that summer ended, it ended with me wining the FWA World Championship for the first time, ruthlessly ending the “much loved” reign of Shane MacLean. It propelled me to stardom. Shawns summer is over, and it will end with me holding the FWA Television Championship for the first time. Like a perfectly woven television series, it all aligns and culminates in the happy ending we are all waiting for. A reboot that turns itself around from sinking my legacy to enhancing it. Like Television, I am not on my deathbed. I am in a new age that has changed.
Unlike Television, I can speak, I can adapt and I can take on the problem head on. My problem will be standing across from me in the square that made me. It will be looking me in the eye and a man who cannot lead, will try and defend against me. The question becomes am I Darryl Zunuck of wrestling? Am I seeing a new generation pass me by and move the goal posts?
To a degree, that's true but I am still a star and stars are what keep people coming back, they keep people tuning in. The desire to replicate is the driving force and in FWA, everyone would want my career. Everyone would want to be Phillip A. Jackson because I am a star, even to this day. It is not as bright as it used to be but my name, my stories and my accomplishment cast a long shadow through the halls of FWA. People shake my hand, I do not shake their hand, if you catch my drift. Shawn, you can only hope to be that right now. You have a strong start, I can't deny that. The first ever Television Champion, you should be proud but this company needs better. It needs a star to add prestige to the belt.
You've made your history, you did what you wanted to achieve but now, it is time to help build the image of the belt. The FWA needs a star with a new title, now more than ever. Everything is changing. Everything is different and is new but you need your foundational piece to be the new face of it. I have grand vision for what I want to do with the belt. I have been denied the new era of television previously, this time it is one on one. I foolishly looked beyond Tommy Bedlam last week because my sole focus is on you Shawn and has been for a while because you have no style. As the picture so helpfully says, Der Bastard is Der Boring one. Strong Style is overrated. It's boring just like Japan. People don't tune in to watch you slap the crap out of people and be relentless. They watch for the show. They want to be entertained and see stars not see someone super aggressively attack and attack and attack. Like everyone else, the world needs variety. Do you know what kills television? Seeing the same thing over and over and over. It works in very few cases. That's why the Summer of Shane was a defining moment in FWA history because it represented the change in FWA. The summer of Shawn represents the same stale bullshit they have seen before, all you have done is allowed the leaves to fall from the trees and for everything to start dying and decaying. Television needs showmen. It needs entertainers and it needs a champion that represents those values. I'm protecting the FWA. I'm ensuring that you do not sully the name of the belt you carry. I am cleansing this world to ensure a brighter and better future carried by the biggest name in FWA history, Phillip A. Jackson, the cleanser and the bringer of the new era of television and mark the date because this will be just like July 27th 2014, because summer is over.
Jackson stares down the lens as his face appears on all the television screens, following by “new era is coming” flashing between frames of Jackson. The credits begin to roll on the documentary/video. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 17:07:17 GMT
Originally posted by CBK. Shawn Summers in
JOURNAL
[/HR] September 19, 2022 Oslo, Norway Dear Journal, My alarm went off at 4:45 like it does every morning but I couldn't will myself to get up. It seems every Monday through Friday I play this little game of waking up to turn off the alarm that is supposed to wake me up so that I can start my day. I always seem to start my day about 30 minutes after the time I intended. Wouldn't it be smarter for me to set my alarm for 5:15 since that's the time I always end up rushing out of bed to start getting ready? I had chosen 4:45 as my alarm time because I had these ambitious dreams of waking up in the morning and getting a workout in before getting started with my day. I hadn't worked out since a week or two before Back in Business. My body was beginning to show it. When I got out of the shower at about 5:30 I toweled myself off and took a glimpse at my reflection in the mirror. I was starting to develop a huskier figure. Areas that were once defined had grown plump and hung out further than they did before. I couldn't stand to look at myself for too long because I was nothing like the man I thought I was. Who was I? I wasn't Shawn Summers, Der Basterd, or The God King. I couldn't bare to look at the unfamiliar man that I saw in the mirror so I tried to busy myself and preoccupy my mind. I gargled Listerine, brushed my teeth, and looked through my closet for something to put on. I grabbed a black pair of jeans and tried to put them on but stopped just as they got around my thighs. I felt myself struggling to pull them up so I immediately pulled them down and tossed them to the side. I had started a pile of jeans and shorts that were starting to become too tight for me to fit into. I had thought about throwing them away but I keep telling myself that I will be able to fit into the soon. I settled for a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I hated wearing those sweatpants today. I hated that sweatpants had become part of my wardrobe. Each time I put them on I was reminded of what Karl Lagerfield had said about them. "Sweatpants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweatpants." I think about that quote each time I put those damn sweatpants on and die a little inside. He was right. I had completely lost control of my life, and that wasn't even the saddest part about it all. The saddest part was that I had no idea how to fix it. I had no idea how to regain that control and get back to being the man I used to be. I sat in the cafe of the hotel I'd been staying at for most of the morning. I tried to set up meetings, respond to emails, and craft a plan for myself going forward, but I found myself becoming distracted. My mind wouldn't sit still and focus on one task. I didn't use to be like this. Why had I started to be like this? I don't know. By the evening I had gotten little to nothing done and I returned to my room where I sat on the balcony. The sunset here was beautiful. For a moment I forgot that would have to be going to work again. I don't want to go back to the states. I don't want to deal with the whole Jackson thing. Defending the championship is my least favorite part of being a champion. I sometimes wish I hadn't won the title so that I wouldn't have the stress of having to continuously prove that I'm one of the best. I'm not afraid to admit that I'm not the best because the best is either holding or within proximity of the world title. I'm not even close to that. By championship value, I'm at the very bottom. My title holds little to no meaning and is often forgotten when people talk about the titles. I hope that one day this changes. They will be expecting me to answer PAJ's challenge and to be honest I still have no idea what I'm going to say. Why should he get a championship opportunity? Is it because of what he used to be? It must be because it can't have anything to do with who he is now. PAJ is a disappointing caricature of the man that he used to be. It's crazy to think that HE used to be considered one of the best in the business. It's crazy to think how trash the business used to be.  September 24, 2022 Austin, Texas Dear Journal, I accepted PAJ's challenge and I still don't know why. I went back and forth weighing the decision but ended up agreeing to his challenge. I didn't come to a definitive decision until I saw that he had lost to Tommy. That loss solidified for me that PAJ was nowhere near the competitor that he used to be. Facing him in his prime would have been a challenge that I would not have looked forward to. Or maybe I would have looked forward to it. I don't know. From what I've heard PAJ is still the same man that he was before he left. Maybe that's the problem? The FWA that PAJ left and the FWA PAJ returned to are two very different companies. I guess that would make him two different competitors by that same logic. In the FWA that he left, PAJ was considered a top-caliber wrestler who had a secure spot in any main event that he wanted to be part of. However, in the FWA that PAJ returned to he is barely able to get past the opening bout of the card. The talent in the FWA has evolved and adapted to become more athletic and talented than PAJ could ever hope to be. The things he used to be able to do just won't cut it here. I wanted to show him that when I came down to the ring tonight. I wanted to make a bold statement to him. I want to make an even bolder statement at lights out. I want to end the career of Phillip A. Jackson. It sounds harsh when to say/write that but I truly think that I would be doing him a favor. He's tarnished his legacy with this "return" and I do not believe that he is capable of realizing the damage that he is doing to himself. He's got too much pride to admit that returning was a mistake. I can respect that. However, sometimes you need to swallow your pride and if anyone is incapable of swallowing their pride, it's him. I looked out into the crowd as I walked to the back and I could have sworn that I saw Noah. I don't know why I'm trying to lie to myself. I KNOW that I saw Noah. He was there and he wanted me to see him. It's part of his mind games. I know him so well. I haven't said or written about it but I don't feel bad for what I did to Noah and Eli. I'm not afraid to admit that what I did was fueled by jealousy to an extent. Noah's run in the Tag Warz tournament was everything that I wanted my FWA career to be. He was so calculated and focused in the ring. The way he was able to encourage and bring the dog out of those New Breed boys pissed me off. That entire Tag Warz tournament shit was Noah's way of giving me a giant middle finger. Every match. Every move. Every strike was Noah's way of letting me know that he was better than me. He could be in charge whenever he wanted it. He just let me think I was in charge because he was loyal to me. I'm not loyal to anyone but myself. It's how I was raised. Your friends will stab you in the back and your family will stab you in the heart. That's what my dad used to say. I find myself missing him more and more as the years go on. He would have been proud that I set Noah and Eli up. He would have preached to me about the dangers of the resentment that Noah had for me because of the New Breed. Noah would have betrayed me sooner or later. Noah knew too much. Eli knew too much. At times like this, I'm reminded of the lyric from a Beyonce song. "Me, myself, and I is all I've got in the end. That's what I found out. And there ain't no need to cry I took a vow that from now on I'mma be my own best friend."It resonates with me now more than anyone could know. October 20, 2022 Dear Journal, It's media week and I absolutely hate it. I get asked the same questions repeatedly by "journalists" who haven't an original bone in their bodies. It's a stretch to even call them journalists. The standards that we hold for people to consider them professional at what they do are extremely low nowadays. One of the journalists complimented me on performing a 180 after my loss to Michael at Back in Business. I was proud of the amount of self-control that I had at that moment. It took everything in me not to cave his head. I hadn't thought about my match with Michael since it ended. I didn't want to relieve that moment. It was truly the most embarrassing moment of my entire life. I still haven't fully recovered from everything I took in that match. My body aches every day and I try to tell myself that that is the reason I have a hard time getting out of bed when my alarm goes off. The truth of the matter is that I believe I may be depressed and possibly have been for quite some time. The depression has impacted me both mentally and physically. I stepped on the scale this morning and saw that I had gained 20 pounds. Normally, I would have been happy to have gained so much, but I was all too aware that it was not from added muscle mass. I vanity search myself on social media and have yet to come across anyone discussing the weight gain I've experienced. I don't think my ego or self-esteem could take another hit like that. I'm scheduled to do a podcast tomorrow and I know that they are going to want to know my feelings going into the title defense at Lights Out. Truth be told I haven't really given the match any thought after me and Phillip's confrontation on Fallout. Why do I need to give it any more thought than that? In that confrontation, I saw everything I needed to see. What type of man would allow another man to storm the ring after he suffered a humiliating loss and press a championship belt against his face? I wouldn't have let that happen. I honestly was surprised that he even let me get that close to him. I gave him multiple opportunities to show me and the world that he was a viable challenger for my championship and he just stood there and shouted petty insults. Phillip has proven himself to be such a disappointment. I often wonder if he knows how much of a disappointment he has become. I wonder if he realizes how he has become a joke. I bet he's off somewhere shooting a "promo" to post on his Instagram where he's just screaming at the camera about a bunch of nonsense and trying to get in every zinger he can on me as he would do in the days of yesteryear. Nobody wants to see or hear that shit. My God, he's such a fucking loser. October 22, 2022 Dear Journal, I'm better than Phillip. That's not a statement that is a fact. I've asked myself multiple times if I am overlooking him and to be perfectly honest with myself I have to say that I'm not. His accolades mean nothing to me because they happened when the bar was so low in the industry. When we talk about legends his name doesn't get brought up. He's no Belle Connelly. He's no Devin Golden. He's no Chris Kennedy. He's just...Phillip A. Jackson. I would hate to be him at this stage in his career. He's both an afterthought and a joke. I feel as though tonight it is my duty to put him out of his misery. It's the least that I could do for him. Someone has to show him that he isn't championship-caliber anymore. Someone has to stop him from trying to prove himself in the F1 Grand Prix. I have to hurt him tonight and I have to end his career. What choice do I have? If I let Phillip beat me then what do I do? What is the point of Shawn Summers continuing to compete here in the FWA? If I lose this championship what is there for me? This championship means more to me than anyone could ever know. This championship is like a representation of my heart. What happens when you take away someone's heart? They die. That's what I feel would happen to my career if I were to lose this championship now. It's the only thing that is keeping my career going. Without it, everything is over. I'm not ready to give up everything I've worked for. I'm not ready to allow Phillip another chance at glory. When's it going to be my chance to strive for glory? When's it going to be my turn to have that happy ending? They took that moment away from in CWA and I can't let it happen again here in FWA. |
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