Meltdown XXII & Fallout 022 || Promo Thread

[Dubb]

Post your promos here for the titular shows!

DEADLINES:
Sunday 20th November at 23:59, Pactific Time.
Monday 21st November, 05:00(am), Eastern Time.
Monday 21st November, 08:00(am), UK.
Monday 21st November, 11:00(am), Turkey.
Monday 21st November, 18:00, Melbourne.

Mod Note:
As noted in the recent news post, no extensions will be offered on the above deadlines.​

 

[Rosie]

Meltdown: Thursday, November 10th:

Behind the scenes at Meltdown from Hyde Park, we see a collection of FWA staff members and wrestlers gathered around the screens as Jean-Luc Watkins is in the ring addressing the injury of FWA World Champion Danny Toner and its repercussions. The tone backstage is a bit somber, with rumours of his injury making the rounds throughout the day. Even with his attitude and place in Executive Excellence, there is a sense of respect for him. Now we will hear the news many expected and dreaded. Danny Toner will not be here tonight or in the F1 Climaxxx. Mixed in the crowd, having done her match earlier in the night, we see Vampyra, still in her gear. She has her arms crossed, the entrance mask she put on Sawyer’s head after the match is in her hand. Some of his blood is seen on the forehead after he got driven face first into the ring post. What is unexpected is what comes next. The F1 Climaxxx tournament, with its round robin format, is an endurance test meant for the best of FWA. So with an outgoing world champion being removed, who can fill the void? A veteran in FWA? A fan-favourite? Maybe a former champion in FWA or a returning star? The answer is not expected, even less by the person benefiting from it.

We hear the echo of Jean-Luc Watkins from the television.​

"To allow sufficient preparation time, tonight’s scheduled match will be taking place this Saturday on Fallout with Tommy Bedlam facing Danny’s replacement, Vampyra."​

Upon hearing her name, Vampyra jumps up in surprise. Some gasps are heard from the crowd of people along with a fairly generous pop from the live crowd given her novelty to the FWA audience. The Dark Huntress’ jaw slightly drops and she blinks, in total shock. At the mention of her name, almost everyone in the room turns towards her. There is a mix of surprise, some pleasant with her making a decent impression early in her FWA career. Though mixed in the shock, there are a few dirty glares towards her way. Her? A woman with only three matches in the company over so many others? She mutters to herself in Japanese, trying to keep what she says private to her.

“I am in the F1 tournament? I am surprised but honoured. Do they believe in me to fill that void?”

The announcement continues with the news of the FWA World Championship becoming vacant and the Battle Royale in the Netherlands. Soon Chris Peacock makes his way out and most of the attention is directed towards the pandemonium going on in the ring. Like that, she has become a ghost again. Turning around, Vampyra leaves, trying to digest this landmark announcement as she hears from a staff member who maybe doesn’t realise she’s within earshot…

“Vampyra in the F1? She’s going to get killed…”

She tucks her head down, trying not to let that get to her. Is the tournament really that deadly?

Fallout: Saturday, November 12th

Vampyra bids a farewell for now, to her future opponent, Phillip A. Jackson, handing him a version of her mask. Is it out of respect? Mind games? Both? Only she knows. In her in-ring gear, she walks away, cape flowing behind her and she overhears the FWA Television Champion mutter…
​

"How dare she interrupt me?! She is getting ideas above her station, first thinking she can compete in the Climaxxx and challenge me and approach me backstage?! I’ll show her what her respect means to me…”​

The words from the champion once again strike a chord with her. She balls her hand into a fist, restraining herself from responding and mutters…

“Says him... ”

Another? Let alone someone who is as decorated as PAJ? Vampyra groans in frustration as she heads off.

Then, later in the night…

“THE BUCKSHOT!!!”

A superkick lands directly on the cheek as if it was out of thin air and Vampyra is down on the canvas.

ONE

TWO

THREE!

Ding ding!

She lost.

Her first chance to prove herself to potentially be near the top of FWA, if not now, then at least in the future, she falls short to one of the heaviest superkicks in the game from a Cowboy riding high. But, if there is anything to hang her mask on, some doubt is removed. Although disappointed and a touch dazed still, she sees Tommy give her a nod of his head. A proverbial tip of the hat. She isn’t much for handshakes or similar signs of respect, but she needed that. SOMEONE gives her a sense of validation. Vampyra gives a slight nod back and the Joshi rolls out of the ring as Bedlam continues to celebrate his well earned victory.

Heading back through the curtains, Vampyra is given an ice pack from someone where she puts it on her cheek. A couple of staff members give a round of applause and pat her on the back.

“Keep it up.” One says to her and Vampyra gives him a polite smile, or at least as best as she can after her jaw was nearly kicked off.

She heads down the hallway towards the locker rooms as she overhears another staff member.

“Prepare for her to go 0-5.”

And there is a laugh between the critic of her’s and the person who they are talking to. Another sting of words.

Despite an overall strong start in her FWA career, which is the first time she has ever truly stepped out of her comfort zone, she still has room to grow. For everybody who she has left a positive impression with there is going to be another who doesn’t see anything in her. Sometimes it is herself. But, she tries to keep steady. It is only one loss, but a tough dose of reality. She is not going to walk over everyone in the company. She mutters in Japanese.

“I need to be stronger in my fight against Alyster Black.”

Going into her locker room which is separate from others again, likely as a way to keep her identity a secret, Vampyra heads over towards her bag. Digging in, she reaches and pulls out a mask, one that is vastly different to her signature mask which she has worn countless variations of over the years. It is worn with a tear near one of the eye holes. No fangs are visible and instead of darkness, it has a white base with some sparkles, some of which has faded over the years. The trim is a light blue though the design does not have an overall theming and instead it is just designs that generally look appealing. Her first mask. Before Vampyra or even Vampiress, it was her in this mask. Though it is common for masked wrestlers to keep a collection of their masks over their career, this one is perhaps the most special to her. It is a reminder of where she was and to look where she is now…

Vampyra Presents…

A Cyber-Kay Production…

Wake-Up Call
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We are in a unique room.. Candles are placed on stands in the room, giving some light. The wall looks to be padded in an all black colour with the floor being tiled with a mix of different shades of grey. The floor is covered in wrestling masks. Most of which are versions of Vampyra’s mask over the years with half of them being darker designs to the more recent versions over the past couple of years in MAYHEM where more colour has bled into it. Mixed in we see multiple variations of a mask very iconic to FWA fans. The signature mask of a living legend. The greatest X Champion of all time, Alyster Black. We repeatedly hear “One…Two… Three” over and over, mimicking an official’s count in a match.

In the middle of the room, we see a bed. The sheets match the dark aesthetic of the room with black sheets. Lying in the bed, we see a woman wearing a white and blue mask with a rip near its eye. Vampyra under her original mask. From what we can see, she is even wearing old gear with a white and blue bra with sparkles. Tossing and turning in the bed, she doesn’t want to wake up. Her hand twitches in bed. A distorted voice speaks overhead in Japanese with its translation in subtitles between the three counts.

“You’re not worthy…”

“ONE! TWO! THREE!”

Then again.

“You’re not worthy…”

“ONE! TWO! THREE!”

Over and over again, this voice repeats the message. This is going over and over again until…

BEEP BEEP

The annoying beeping and ringing of an alarm clock rings out over and over in the background, shutting out the other noise.

We hear a voice speaking in Japanese with the translation appearing in subtitles. It is a woman’s voice.

“Wake up…”

The alarm still rings.

“Wake up… Wake up…”

We hear a grunt from Vampyra as she tries to get up.

“Wake up, my friend. It is the dawn of a new day and you have so much to do.”

Groggily, Vampyra gets up to a seated position in her bed, holding onto her bedsheets. She blinks.

“It isn’t over. One failure is not the end of the world. It is just a reminder. A reminder that nobody is untouchable. Just remember, remember who you truly are.”

Vampyra glances towards the floor towards one of her masks.

“Remember how far you have come… Remember for me… Remember for yourself… REMEMBER-”

CRACK!

The whiplash of the kendo stick is heard as we have a sudden cut to post-match footage in Vampyra’s home promotion COSMIC Joshi Wrestling. The date on the footage is 2017. The quality of the image varies with some lines and static happening.

CRACK!

​

Another Kendo stick shot is heard as it crashes into the back as we see a beatdown in the middle of the ring in KBS Hall. The ring has a predominantly pink mat with purple ropes along with the turnbuckle pads more similar to boxing. Behind them a beautiful stained glass window, something unlike any other venue. In the ring we see five ladies standing in the ring, most of them are clad in black. Two girls, both wearing face paint, hold up the woman on the mat for the woman holding the kendo stick. Queen Yoshiko, the Dark Royal, leader of Sin. Her long dark hair with light red streaks, she has a wicked streak about her with her all black gear. Lying on the mat we see a dazed young girl in gear, all white and blue. She looks to be no older than 16 or 17, very young, though not unseen in Japan. Her face is covered by a sparkly white and light blue mask. The woman we now know today as Vampyra. The fans jeer as the bell is continually rung, trying to encourage the beatdown to stop. Looking at the weakened girl in front of her, Yoshika has a smirk and begins to rip at the mask she is wearing before grabbing her kendo stick again and cracking it repeatedly against her back. CRACK CRACK! CRACK! SNAP! Finally, the weapon breaks and Queen Yoshika laughs. Dropping the kendo stick she looks for a microphone as the young Vampyra is practically in tears in the ring. Putting her knee over the chest of the young wrestler, Queen Yoshika speaks in Japanese. “Is this the future of Cosmic Joshi Wrestling? If so, this is a laughable effort, masked girl.” She leans down closer to Vampyra’s face and we can hear her sobbing, “You don’t belong here… You're not worthy... You’re WEAK!” And she slams the microphone into her face which is slightly exposed due to the ripping of the mask. There is a pop of sound from the microphone as the future Vampyra lies face first on the mat, crying and in agonising pain. Several marks appear on her back from the kendo stick. “We in Sin indulge in our urges. Everyone in this company who denies them is weak like her…” Queen Yoshiko points down at the masked girl. “I will become a champion in CJW. Pray you do not end up like her…” And she drops the microphone on the mat, it landing with a thud as her music begins to play with the audio of the video becoming muddled. The camera zooms in on the future Vampyra, crying on the mat. The other members of Sin go next to their leader, nodding with approval at the message. Yoshika motions for them to leave the ring and one by one they exit. In one of the corners of the ringside area where there are no seats, they begin to file out… until a voice stops them. Breathing heavily on the mat, the future Vampyra, still in great physical and emotional pain, mutters on the microphone in Japanese. “H-Help me…” A tear hits the mat as she breathes heavily. “I-I don’t want to be weak…” She lies face first on the mat, bundled up in a ball of agony. Queen Yoshika turns back. One of the group members grabs their leader, trying to get her to leave, but instead she slithers back into the ring. Slowly, Queen Yoshika grabs the microphone. There is a sinister look on her face as she grabs the masked girl up by the chin. “Do you?” She mutters coldly. “Show me.” And she slams her face against the mat again and again. The other members of the group, confused, head back to ringside. Getting on the back of the future Vampyra, she holds her chin almost like a camel clutch. “Repeat after me… ‘I’m nothing’” And she hits her across the face with a crossface forearm! She holds the microphone up to her face and Vampyra, with tears repeats… “I-I’m nothing…” Queen Yoshika stomps her in the back. “Repeat after me. I am pathetic!” And then another before holding the microphone up to her face. The fans are horrified by what they are witnessing and Vampyra mutters “I am pathetic…” The young girl is in tears as Queen Yoshika with a sly grin. She’s embarrassing her while she is breaking her. Then she has another phrase. “Say, ‘I will give Queen Yoshika my loyalty. I will learn from my Queen.’” and she holds up Vampyra by her chin. “I-will give Queen Yoshika my loyalty…” She can hardly talk. She’s crying. “And…” Queen Yoshika stares a hole into her, through her mask. “I will learn from my Queen…” Queen Yoshika lets go of the future Vampyra, having humiliated her in the ring. She motions towards another member on the outside, one with teal and purple hair. “MARI. Let’s initiate her…” and MARI, with a gleefully evil grin, slides into the ring. Queen Yoshika puts Vampyra’s head between her thighs before lifting her up, transitioning into a Gory Special. She wrenches it in before MARI runs off the ropes and they hit an assisted Gory Bomb! Vampyra’s face bounces off the mat as the fans jeer. Laughing on the microphone, Queen Yoshika grabs Vampyra’s hand. “Hahahaha! Welcome… New Sinner. You have much to learn…” Together, both MARI and the Dark Royal drag Vampyra to the apron. The two face painted members hoist her up, putting an arm over each of their shoulders and help carry her out. ​

Static.

We see footage of her way out for the first time as the persona now known as Vampyra. There is even more black than before, but slowly and surely, we see her get sucked into the persona, standing at the side of the leader of Sin, gladly taking part in beatdowns at her request. Better to join than be a victim herself? Viciously stomping the heads of her opponents, locking opponents in her vicious triangle choke, choking someone while hanging upside down like a bat, and more. But, eventually, Queen Yoshika’s power over her fades and we see Vampyra pushing down the group’s leader in a tag team match and storming out.

The voice comes back as we return to Vampyra seated in the bed.

“You were weak then. You were scared. People fed on it and made you a killer but then you turned it around on them. Doing that, you became stronger than they imagined. You are Vampyra.”

Slowly getting out of bed, Vampyra crawls on her hands and feet, reaching for a mask.

“You know your strength. You don’t need to fade away. Fade to black. It is just a matter of showing them… Go on, assume your identity.”

Grabbing a mask, Vampyra bows her head down and slowly removes her old mask. Her hair hangs down, covering her face as she begins to put on her modern mask.

The feed blips in and out before it cuts to black. After a moment the image returns, showing Vampyra in her modern gear. Her mask has the signature fangs and horns again, showing a black base with a white trim, mimicking her next opponent in the F1 Climaxxx, Alyster Black. The rest of her gear is matching as she slowly moves to a cross-legged position. A small smile appears on her face and she takes a deep breath. She speaks English towards the camera.

“Everyone needs a wake-up call once in a while. I am no exception and in some ways I am better for it. I was reminded why I ventured out of Japan in the first place. To see the oceans and the sky. To meet new people and to test myself and you learn more from a loss than victory. I wish it was under different circumstances. I would have been fine with focusing only on winning the FWA Television Championship for the time being. Danny Toner, despite us not knowing each other well, and your unpopularity with some, I wish you well. I wish for you to have the strength to power through your circumstances. I will do everything I can to hold myself to a standard of a world champion. But in times of chaos you need to capitalise.”

Leaning back, Vampyra’s back is against the bed she lied on. “And truthfully, I did not expect myself to be in the F1 Climaxxx tournament when the line-up was announced. I did plan on keeping a close eye. I wanted to learn what I needed to do so that I could become a champion. Now I get a close and personal look. The F1 Climaxxx is my own rite of passage. I am in a pool of death. Former and current champions all around. I am the outlier in this tournament and with no time to prepare I dove in…”

A flash on the screen replaying the missed Nightfall Frog Splash from Vampyra and Tommy Bedlam turning it into his Buckshot superkick. Vampyra’s head snaps back from the kick as she falls to the canvas, down for the three.

Giving a cold laugh, Vampyra responds… “And it could have gone better, hehe…”

Looking down at the floor, Vampyra runs her finger along a crack in the tiles.

“A result like that may lead to people doubting my ability in the tournament, as if it wasn’t already. I know one who doubts me. I will address him in time. Maybe I doubted myself until the bell rang? Now I stand fighting from underneath as I have the challenge of my career. Alyster Black is truly the most dangerous man in FWA and I do not say that lightly. With or without his X-rules I will be in a fight. There is a battle royal on Meltdown as well and upon my entry, I may somehow become FWA World Champion. Some people think I do not deserve such opportunities.”

And she glances towards the camera. “But this journey is not one of a handful of matches. This is a journey…”

Grabbing her original mask, she holds it up to the camera. “Six-years in the making…”

And she tosses the mask down to the ground. Tilting her head back, she takes a deep breath. “If that Vampyra was in FWA then there would not be a conversation. I indeed would be destroyed by a tournament like this. But with all the steps I have taken, have I not earned the right to see what I can do?”

Slowly, Vampya raises her voice.

“This wake-up call has given me purpose in the F1 Climaxxx tournament and the rest of the European tour! Look beyond just my wins and losses. I need to remove doubt! I have a long way to go in my career, but I am not a little girl anymore, crying for mercy and help!”

Shouting out in Japanese, she yells, “I am the Dark Huntress!!!” and her voice echoes in the room. She calms herself before adding, back in English,

“A nod of respect is not enough. No more talk behind my back. Things will change and that begins with Alyster Black…”

And mentioning her next opponent, Vampyra gives a long chuckle. Looking at her side, she grabs one of Alyster Black’s signature masks on the floor. Holding it up, she smiles, “Because this is not just a wake-up call for me…”

Reaching down on the ground, she picks an iconic mask, the one for Alyster Black.

“There is a mythos with this man. Is he one of the best men to never be a world champion in FWA? He is in that conversation. The Messiah of the X Championship, raising it to a level near that of the FWA World Championship. A title held together by duct-tape has somehow become coveted. If I can even reach a measurement of that as FWA Television Champion, then I would find my place in the history of this company. A younger me would shake in fear at the thought of facing a man like you. Someone who can chop me down to size, take my head off with a single strike, or drive me into the canvas down to hell. I now welcome that-”

Holding the mask up high, she examines it long. “And Vampyra knows how to see someone through their mask. There is a difference between the public self and the one in private. I am no exception. Your heart has a road to healing and your remedy is gone. I know you are disappointed. I am not who you want…”

Static.

The screen shows a playback of Alyster Black’s recent world championship match with the now former champion, Danny Toner. A bloodied and exhausted Alyster Black drops Toner on his head with a massive brainbuster, Satan’s Spike, but victory escapes him with a rope-break by an champion. The match continues before Black is taken down once and for all by the Equaliser, a huge knee strike from the champion. The camera zooms in on Alyster Black’s face before the feed dissolves showing Vampyra holding up a copy of Alyster Black’s mask. The alarm clock goes off once in the background.

BEEP BEEP

“You wanted to face Danny Toner again. I know you did. For all he did to torture you, I know you wanted to get your hands on him and hurt him again before circumstances changed. Fighting his friend, Mike Parr, was not enough. You wanted to lay to rest your grudge but now you are stuck in that cycle. An endless loop of you wanting to destroy him. It is a never-ending grudge even if you may feel sorrow like many for how he has been injured.”

Flashing on the screen, we see highlights from Alyster Black’s X Championship defences. Him calling out Danny Toner, Violet Dreyer being brutalised by Executive Excellence.

BEEP BEEP

“You are an angry man. You are vengeful. I know you would have loved to get revenge against Toner for what he and Executive Excellence did to Violet Dreyer. But not everything goes your way. I could have had an undefeated streak going for longer if I was not in the F1, facing the best of the best, but I accepted that When you have been on top as long as you have, those moments of failure become rare. Even at Lights Out, there was a feeling that you would be back. You would face him again., until he got hurt. Plans change. I accepted it because it is healthier for me to come to grip with that reality. Now you need to come to grip that you are stuck in a cycle of rage without the man you want to take it out on. That even with your time, anyone can topple you. Not just him. You need someone to break your cycle.”

BEEP BEEP

Leaning towards the camera, Vampyra tries to stare a hole directly at Alyster Black.

“And that is where I come on. I know you are disappointed. I am not Toner, but I will be glad to introduce myself. I will be glad to use you as a statement and to take advantage of your rage. Maybe you have heard things about me and are interested in seeing what I can do, or you fall in line like another decorated champion in doubting me. I will find out soon…”

Getting up off the floor, Vampyra heads over towards a candle. The fire glows against her mask.

“Wake up. It is the dawn of a new FWA. One without Danny Toner as world champion. One with his rivals being forced to look at themselves in the mirror, wondering how they can exist without him? One where no champion is safe. One where Vampyra sees herself in the conversation with some of the best. I will not have any excuses in this tournament. But I promise that I will become a better Vampyra by the end. My first mask represents my fear while this mask now..." She points to her face, "Is a woman who feeds on it. Alyster Black…”

Hold up the Alyster Black mask, she puts it into the candle’s fire, the edge of the mask catching blaze.

“This is your wake-up call…”

Static appears on the screen before things fade to black.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

The alarm clock returns, blaring out in darkness. It is unending. An annoying cycle again and again. As the lights of the room come on.

Vampyra is gone. The masks are gone.

Then a single spotlight appears in the room of the bed. Lying in the bed is a man in an Alyster Black mask. The edge of the mask is burnt, much like the mask Vampyra just put in the candle. He lies on the bed and from his neck, some blood pours and stains the bed sheets as if he had recieved a vicious bite.

A cycle ends.

Then the same Japanese woman speaks over him.

“Wake up, my friend. It is the dawn of a new day and you have so much to do…”

And Another begins.

The video finally fades. This time for good.​

 

[SupineSnake]

MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
in
[VOLUME NINETY FIVE]
”Meanwhile, in the past…”
(reprise)

****​

The morning reared up at her like an untamed and affronted stallion, and she cowered from it meekly. Sun was entering her cabin through the slits between the wooden boards that made up its walls, projecting thin slithers of light for the dust to dance in. She squinted, groaned, stretched out. Outside the cabin, she could hear the gentle breath of the water on which they sat. She knew it to be the Rhine, upon which they’d snaked through the night, having now - if all had gone to plan, judging by the time of day the sunlight implied - arrived in Köln. She squinted again, groaned again, stretched out again.

Her arrival in Köln was early, she knew, but this was by design. The idea of spending too much longer in Rotterdam itself made her feel dizzy. The fanfare that accompanied her appearances in European wrestling rings was tolerable. In fact, it made a welcome change from the troglodytes who watched her matches back in the States. But Rotterdam? It was the city she grew up in, and one she had left behind for a reason.

Her senses were returning to her, one by one, and now her vision was strong enough to see through the planes of sunlight coming in through the slats to the roof of her cabin. The crack was still there. It waited for her when she woke up, sometimes resembling a smile, at others a frown, her days alternating between comedy and tragedy and this crack deciding which way the needle pointed. Today it seemed larger than it did yesterday. Yesterday it seemed larger than it did the day before yesterday. Upon inspection, she found she could now fit her fingers up to the first knuckle inside of it. The thought of these hungry jaws opening above her as she slept made her uneasy, and so she dressed quickly before leaving her cabin.

The captain was alone on deck, sitting with his feet up on the railing with a cigarette and a cup of coffee. As far as Michelle could tell, there were three other members of the crew besides the captain, but when they were docked they were invariably making the most of the city. She only ever saw them when they were moving, and the majority of that time she spent below deck in her cabin. They mostly moved at night, but every now and then she'd catch a glimpse of them whilst going to the bathroom, or restocking her drinks cabinet. They paid her no mind, as they would any other quarry.

"You're still up?" Michelle asked, whilst removing a cigarette of her own and taking a seat next to the captain. He was friendly enough, and amenable to early morning idle dialogue

"We arrived, I slept, and then I rose," the sailor said, in-between sips of his coffee. "It is quite late in the morning, Frau von Horrowitz. I mean to make the most of our time here in Germany, but first I needed to speak with you."

"I was meaning to speak to you, too," she mumbled. "There's… there's this crack, in my cabin."

"I imagine there are plenty of cracks in your cabin," the captain said. "This ship is old."

"This one… it seems to be getting bigger," she said, and as soon as she had she felt stupid for doing so. "Maybe I'm mistaken."

"Maybe," the captain replied. "Maybe not. The ship lives and breathes itself. Some cracks get larger. Others retract. But she still floats."

Michelle thought about this for a moment and sucked on the end of her cigarette. They were docked about as close to the city as they could manage, but it would still be a decent walk for her today before she made it to the bars there. She thought about remaining in her cabin instead. This idea wasn't without merit, but the crack dissuaded her. The ship might be living and breathing, but she couldn't shake the picture of one sharp inhalation swallowing her entirely.

"You said you wanted to speak to me, as well?" Michelle asked, whilst finishing her smoke and stubbing the end of it on the railing. The captain was using an old coffee can for his ends, and she dropped hers into it.

"You had a visitor this morning," he said. "An hour or so ago. Even early for me. He asked if you were onboard."

"How did he know I was here?" Michelle replied. Instinctively, she thought about the three crewmates below deck, and wondered which one had betrayed her confidence.

"Maybe he knows someone at the docks," he answered, with a shrug. "Or maybe he read about my boat on the internet."

Michelle had sensed the captain's understanding of who she was growing over the voyage so far. Subtle remarks about their route, such as referring to it as a stadium cruise, and vague allusions to her being a fighter during their morning conversations suggested he wasn't as clueless as he once was. It shouldn't have been a surprise that the dirtsheets had worked out her travel plans. They probably had the ship's inventory on hand, also. It shouldn't surprise her. But every time it did.

"Who was he?" Michelle continued.

"Just some boy," the captain began again. He'd long since finished his coffee but was only now getting around to setting down his empty cup. "Well, a young gentleman, I suppose. All young gentlemen look like boys, really. But he said he knew you. Or used to. He knew you back in Berlin, he says. The boy's name was Tomas."

The memory of Tomas was not a particularly difficult one to dredge up. Even now, half a lifetime on, she could conjure up the finer points of his facial features, and as she did he smiled back at her, vivid as ever.

"A blonde boy?" she asked, for confirmation.

"Maybe once," the captain said. Although he'd finished both his coffee and his cigarette, he didn't seem ready to abandon his reclined position on the deck of his ship any time soon. "Bald now. But you can see for yourself if you'd like. I told him you weren't onboard, as instructed. He said he'd be at some place called Vorbild for dinner and drinks at eight. I said I'd pass on the message."

There was a long pause.

"So that's the message," he said. Then: “I’ll get one of the boys to take a look at that crack.”

And then he said no more.​

****​

Michelle had said many goodbyes, and left many cities. The only place that she remembered leaving twice was Germany. That was Berlin, which was the entire breadth of the moderately large (by European standards) country away from where she was now. But hearing the same language, albeit spoken in a vastly different and quite peculiar accent, with all the dialectal differences that went with that, brought the memories back none-the-less. With most places, she was left with a singular opinion on her time there, usually punctuated by a fitting finale. Japan was a time she associated with her work, and as a result her final interactions there were within the ring. Marseille, and France in general, with her schooling, and the relative revelry that she partook in there, with her exit from the city coated in gin and confetti. Moscow was an insular and self-indulgent time, but one that was cut short, and thus her final days there resembled question marks.

Berlin, though, and by extension the whole of Germany, was unique in that she’d lived there twice and she’d left there twice, and she was never really sure which of these two disparate memories of the place was real. Perhaps both of them were, perhaps neither. As she walked down the streets of Köln and lit a Camel, both of these images of the country that she had in her mind were distant and remote. Perhaps this place was absolutely different to the capital. It seemed it: smaller, less obnoxiously modern, less unique in many ways. Or maybe it was she that was different. She was thirty two, now. She didn’t know it yet, but she was already half-way through her life. She was nineteen when she first lived here, and twenty seven when she came back. The years took their toll. Those lost girls, the Michelles she’d left behind in Berlin back in ‘09 and ‘18, didn’t know how good they had it.

Tomas had been there, the first time she'd said goodbye to this country. He'd been there for much of her early years in the wrestling business: he took her to watch her first show in Marseille, to her first lesson in Paris. He drove her to countless matches in Berlin and in Munich and in Stuttgart and every city in-between. He was on the same cards, often in the same matches. He'd been there for so much during those formative years, as far as wrestling went. It was only fitting that he was there when she left.

The last image she had of Tomas was him standing in front of the Bundestag back in 2009, his trousers around his ankles, his manhood painted gold, red, and black. Margot, an old school-friend from Marseille who was working as a freelance photographer, took a picture of him which Michelle still had somewhere in her parents' attic in Rotterdam. He was arrested and released two days later, but by then Michelle had already left for Japan.

The early morning hours in front of the Bundestag were just the climactic scenes of a week of revelry leading to her exit from the continent. Japan awaited, and all the promise that came with those islands. But she was leaving with safe knowledge that all of them - Tomas and Margot and Karina and the rest - would be there in Berlin, waiting for her should she eventually come back. Her goodbyes were only pauses in what would most likely be life-long dialogues.

Fate brought her back to Berlin a few years later. In the intermittent period, she had - of course - fallen out of contact with Tomas and Margot and Karina and the rest. She'd made and lost more friends in Japan and in America. Very few of them remained to her in 2017. Only Jean-Luc, really. When she came to say goodbye to Berlin for the second time, again to go East, she was confronted by the fact that there was nobody left to say goodbye to. She'd always looked back on Berlin as a great city, where she'd spent one of the happiest times in her life. But, as she prepared to leave it for the second time, it was difficult to believe those things had even happened there. It was just a random array of buildings, with dour people and miserable weather. When she tried to remember the elation of her first departure from the city, it only served to compound the misery of this new, more insular farewell.

She'd come back to Germany between those periods in which she'd lived here, but this was the first time she'd spent a significant portion of time here since she and Jean-Luc had left Frankfurt for Moscow in 2018. It felt mostly the same.​

****​

It was in the late afternoon that she caught her first glimpse of the markets. They were still being erected, and seemed to sprawl in an inconceivable maze across many of the city's larger squares. She'd been led to believe that this episode of Fallout was something of a grand opening for the 2022 Köln Christmas Markets. She struggled to see the link between the second week of competition in the F1 tournament, and the birth of a boy in a desert in Palestine a couple thousand years ago. It was best not to look for meaning when there was none.

Other than the Netherlands, she'd probably spent more Christmasses in Germany than in any other country. She remembered an evening deep in December that she and Tomas spent in Dusseldorf, which was a very different city from Berlin and even Köln aside from the overarching similarities between all German cities. Dusseldorf was less pretty than most of the others, which was a damning statement in itself. They'd driven seven hundred kilometres over the past two weeks, west from Berlin and across much of the country. This old guy, Jan, who ran their gym had some contacts in the industry out here, and this was the last of five or six bookings in what she could reasonably call her first tour.

She'd been wrestling for two years already, but had no name or reputation as of yet. Barely any skill either, really. Most of her matches had taken place in Marseille and Berlin up to that point, where she could walk from her apartment to the ring. Relying on Tomas for a ride across an unfamiliar country was uncharacteristically trusting of her, and probably spoke a little to the sincerity of feeling she had for him at that tender, young age. Margot came too, to take photographs and offer moral support. She lost more than she won, so maybe the moral support wasn't worth much.

Every show up until Dusseldorf had seen between five and twenty people come to watch them in almost-empty sports gyms or night clubs. They'd been paid little, barely enough to cover Tomas' fuel. But they'd come out in the industrial city at the very end of the journey. Maybe two hundred and fifty people were crammed into an old, disused warehouse. She'd won, too. Perhaps the whole thing wasn't such a waste of time, after all.

She remembered peering through the curtain from Gorilla position as Tomas' match drew to a close. He was facing some old Czech bruiser with a scar across his chest, and had spent much of the match on the coarse end of the brawler's fists. But his conditioning was showing through. He'd turned the tide with a German suplex, and popped the crowd by wrenching his much larger opponent up for a brainbuster. Tomas liked to use the shooting star press, and the audience were on their feet as he executed it in Dusseldorf, an audible gasp emanating as he came dangerously close to the warehouse's low ceiling. It was a thing of beauty. Michelle bit her bottom lip as he crashed down onto the veteran, and only exhaled again once the three was counted.

As vivid as the picture of Tomas' victory was her recollection of the scene within the promoter's office an hour or so later. She couldn't remember his name, but the image of the short, old man with the pockmarked face and clusters of hair around his ears and neck was still clear to her. He sat behind his desk, reading through a pile of documents, as if they were more important than the two wrestlers in front of him.

"Your base pay's all there though, right?" he was saying, evasively.

"It's not the base pay I'm talking about," Tomas answered. He held his light envelope out towards the promoter, half in illustration and half in accusation. "The winner's purse. We were promised an extra hundred if we won. And we both won tonight."

"Congratulations," the promoter said. He seemed bored, both with this conversation and in general. "Look, the gate wasn't what I'd hoped tonight. Wouldn't be able to afford the win bonus. And even if I could, some of my guys have been throwing matches and splitting the purse. Until I get to the bottom of that, I'm withholding all win bonuses for the time being. You understand?"

Tomas didn't say anything for a moment. The promoter turned a page in his document, as if in triumph.

"You should understand that, unless you pay us what you promised, we won't come back here," she said, taking up the argument on their behalf. "We won't wrestle for you again."

The promoter looked up at her, and then he began to laugh.

"I'm sorry, what were your names again?" he asked, in between cackles. "I'll try to make do without you. Have a safe drive back to… Munich, was it?"

"Berlin," Tomas corrected, pointlessly. The promoter didn't say anything else, and the pair left.

In the car, neither of them said anything for quite a long time. Eventually, Margot stopped asking them what was wrong from the back seat and fell asleep. Tomas' eyes had been fixed on the road in front of him for the best part of an hour.

"If you say it, you've got to follow through," he said, finally. He seemed to be speaking mostly to himself. "We can't wrestle for him again."

Tomas was prone to giving people advice, but Michelle couldn't really determine whether this utterance qualified as such. It was, in a cynical twist of fate, certainly the most long-lasting and prevalent lesson she'd draw from anything he'd ever say to her. This was true even though it wasn't meant as a lesson when so much of what he spewed was. The idea of retreading familiar steps was one that she had avoided by rule, with the lonely exception being her return to Berlin. Even then, she was somewhat dragged there, although she put up little struggle, a willing victim to that period of anonymity.

The opportunity never presented itself for her to reject an offer of work from that nameless little promoter in Dusseldorf. Perhaps it still would, if he was alive somewhere. But this idea of always looking forward had applied to everywhere she'd worked since. She had, after all, only come back to North America when the CWA was dead and she'd outlived it. Looking back, she wasn't sure if this was cowardice.

Only now was she beginning to apply this inadvertent lesson to opponents as well as employers. For so long her inability to do so had cost her so much. More than just matches and titles. It was a marvel, really, that Gerald had stuck with her despite everything. She could see he still struggled with it, but she was committed to the team. Committed to their run with the championships. She'd meant everything she'd said in London: this was to be a historic reign, that will be spoken of in the same breath as the recent giants of the division. She owed that much to Gerald, and would drag him to that legacy kicking and screaming if she had to.

She found a clearing within the market stalls where a wrestling ring was being erected, and lit a cigarette whilst sitting in the top row of the surrounding bleachers. She determined not to allow any memory from her past - recent or near-forgotten, in any of the phantom-forms her demons and allies liked to take - get in the way of what she was building with Gerald.​

****​

She'd spent only a small part at the start of her day considering whether or not she would meet Tomas. The memories they'd built had subsided far, but still they were strong. She was usually wary of figures from her past emerging now that she was, for want of a better term, a household name. But Tomas had been there during the earliest and most humble days, when the first bricks of the foundations of Michelle von Horrowitz were being laid. When they were seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, they had been cut from similar cloth. Destined for similar heights.

At least, that is how the two of them saw it when they'd sat in his loft, freezing cold with the windows open, the room full of smoke and stinking of cheap booze. She had a habit of seeing twinned souls, and an interest in mapping their trajectories. Observing parallels. Bell Connelly was the most obvious example, but not the only one. Snowmantashi and Parr, too. And it was the case with Tomas back then, at the beginning of it all. She found it peculiar that she reexamined Tomas again as a twinned soul now, a decade and a half later, on a cold afternoon and evening in Köln. But that was how fate worked. The luck of the draw.

Now that Tomas sat opposite her at Vorbild, she realised that any parallels between the two were ill-founded or - at their every least - visible only in infancy. Time had separated them as much as any ocean.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he was saying, as he shovelled more of his main course - a dry looking steak that came with both fries and a salad - into his mouth. "I don't really watch much wrestling nowadays, but I knew you were still going. I saw your name on the posters for the markets. My company is doing some work there."

Michelle didn't say anything. She hadn't ordered anything to eat, either. She only drank, and stared at the bald man Infront of her with passive eyes. It was difficult to believe that this was the same man she'd seen arrested in front of the Bundestag in 2009. She remembered that every molecule of his being had been replaced between then and now, so maybe he wasn't the same person anyway. The thought both reassured and scared her.

"I run a food truck company that's working the markets," he said, answering a question that she didn't ask. He'd already told her about his dull wife and his dull children, and now he was moving onto his dull job. "So maybe I'll get to see you wrestle again. See if you've learned anything since our time together."

He smiled to himself, and Michelle sensed unearned wistfulness. He reached for his wine and took a satisfied sip. Michelle wondered what she was doing there.

It was as Tomas explained to her the intricate workings behind a food truck business - the ordering, the contract negotiations, of course the actual preparation of the food, etc - that Michelle realised she was possibly (probably) the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him. That wasn't meant to be in any way self-aggrandizing. More a denouncement of the banality that surrounded this shell. This passive shell of a man she used to know, who used to be so vibrant and prone to hostility. She wondered if it was the same for the rest of them: for Margot and Karina and the others, whose names escaped her now. She wanted to know, but she didn't want to have to find out.

"I saw you'll be facing Mike Parr," the bald shell was saying, as he placed his cutlery down on his plate and leant back in his chair. His stomach involuntarily protruded over his belt, obnoxious and glaring. Michelle recoiled from it. "I read about you two. Can't imagine it's a match you're looking forward to."

She didn't enjoy speaking about these things with Gerald, let alone a man who was now a perfect stranger. She thought about standing up and leaving, though she didn't. Instead, Michelle just sat in front of the shell, occasionally sipping her drink, but saying next to nothing at all.

The notion that she'd be facing her old rival Mike Parr had of course been playing on her mind as of late. But it didn't light the same fire beneath her as it perhaps once would have. Back in 2020, the hunt for Parr became her everything, building a monopoly on her mind and clouding her judgement. It had cost her and Gerald the tag team championships, perhaps. It had distracted her from the match against Bell Connelly that she'd requested for half a year. It had delayed the real hunt, of Saint Sulley and of the FWA World Championship, whilst Parr's trivial jealousies were addressed. It was, ultimately, a waste of time, but one in which she poured every ounce of her heart, to the detriment of everything she'd built up until that point.

But now? Mike Parr did not seem to her to be the same opponent that he was when she had gone to war with him. A pointless war, yes, but a war none-the-less. Much like the bald man in front of her was a shell of the daring, bold boy she'd entered into adulthood with, the Mike Parr she would face in Köln was the same Prodigy of Desert Storm and NOLA in name only. A shadow of his own past, whose last attempts to grasp at power seem like a whimper in a hurricane. His fourth reign with his favourite trinket was his being in microcosm: a suggestion of a glorious past now long gone, a faded memory.

But just like the memories of those first goodbyes to Berlin amplified and compounded the silent loneliness of the second set, her recollection of those battles with the Prodigy did the same now. She lamented the limp affair that awaited her, knowing what they had put each other through before. But it wasn't the same. They had both changed. The years take their toll.

She should have resisted her own heart when Jean-Luc suggested Berlin in 2017. Memory is a difficult thing. She expected to find the happiness here that she'd once known, waiting for her with little or no effort required in return. She should've realised how naive she was. The memories of Berlin should have remained memories, fading over time, and yet more colourful as a result. She wouldn't make the same mistake with Parr.

Eventually, when her glass was empty, she did leave without much of a goodbye. On the way home she saw an old dog, chasing its own tail.​

****​

The walk back to the boat from the city seemed longer than the same journey made in reverse that morning. By the time she reached the river she was already plodding, and it was another kilometre or so before she reached the familiar deck of the S.S. Sisyphus. The captain was in situ, sitting on his chair with a bottle of German beer in his hand. He wore his hat low over his eyes, and it was difficult to tell if he was awake. It was late, the moon already high, the sun having given up on the world and deserted it. Michelle shuffled from foot to foot, the boards creaking beneath her shifting weight.

The sound was enough to prompt the slow-moving captain to lift his free hand and raise his cap. His eyes were open and knowing, and he smiled when he saw Michelle.

“Have you moved from here at all today?” Michelle asked. The question seemed to amuse him, but he elected not to answer it.

“Did you meet Tomas?” he said, in his manner of responding to a question with another. She didn’t think for a second that he was interested in the answer. His deflection was obvious.

“Yes,” she answered, plainly. She retrieved her packet of cigarettes and offered one to the captain, who took it gladly.

“Did you learn anything?” he asked.

She thought about the only notable resolution that she’d made whilst drinking with Tomas, and that did not revolve around the blonde boy that Tomas used to be, or the bald, uninspiring man that he was now. It related to Mike Parr, and her unwillingness to once more allow the Prodigy to occupy space within her life. It didn’t seem much, and she trusted that she would’ve come to this conclusion herself without the help of Tomas and his disappointing company at some point over the next week.

She rarely ever learned anything, these days.

“Not really,” she said.​

 

[Dubb]

Bryan Baxter

in

GUILTY CONSCIENCE
​

Meet Bryan.

Thirty-four years old.

Fed up with his past failures and wanting another chance at fame and fortune, he decided to enter the professional wrestling world once again. But in doing so, he had to deceive a former friend to allow him back into his life. Returning to the civic center in rural North Carolina where their friendship ended many years back, Bryan paced back and forth in the darkness. Any minute now, his former friend Jeremy Best would walk through those doors and he’d have to begin his web of lies. He couldn't help but feel like something wasn't right. Like he was making a mistake.

Suddenly, his conscience came into play.

“Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

Startled, Bryan Baxter looked around alarmed. That was the voice of his friend, Jeremy. But he shouldn’t arrive for another thirty minutes. Scanning the inside of the gymnasium, he finds that it is still empty.

“Jesus Bryan,” he said to himself, “gotta lay off the energy drinks. I’m starting to hear things.”

Shaking his head, he leaned back against the wall.

“You’re hearing things alright!”

Once again, the voice sounded exactly like Jeremy's. Bryan's eyes darted and suddenly he could see Jeremy, as clear as day. Except…Jeremy was about 6 inches tall and standing on his right shoulder.

“Hiya!” The miniature Jeremy smiled and waved up toward Bryan’s face.

“What the Hell…okay, who drugged my Red Bull? I’m fuckin’ freakin’ out here!”

Bryan began to panic as the tiny Jeremy waved his arms frantically trying to calm down his larger host. “No! No! Calm down! Calm down, Bryan! You haven’t been drugged. I’m your conscience!”

“Wait, what? Those are real?”

“Abso-pos-a-lutely!”

Bryan rubbed his eyes with both hands trying to get rid of the vision, but Jeremy was still there smiling away on his right shoulder. He slaps himself a couple of times across the face as well, as if trying to wake himself up from a dream.

“Sorry, buddy. Can’t get rid of me. That’s kind of the way a conscience works. Something is clearly bothering you.”

“YA THINK? I have a tiny Jeremy Best sitting on my shoulder. Something’s fuckin’ wrong!”

“Ahh, yes, yes indeed. And I’m afraid you are making a terrible, terrible mistake.”

“You don’t know that. How can you possibly know that?”

“Secrets, secrets are no fun. Secrets, secrets…hurt someone.”

“Don’t listen to him, boy!”

It was only getting worse for Bryan’s sanity now as that voice was also a familiar one to him. It was that of Mr. Bill Scorpane. The man who took Bryan in when he needed him most. When he had reached the bottom of the barrel in his life. He had been homeless. He had been locked up. His own family wanted nothing to do with him and he had burned the bridges of all his other friends. But Mr. Scorpane had basically built Bryan back up and got him to the point now where he could once again become a wrestler again.

But it had come at a price.

He was the mastermind behind the plan to get Jeremy to allow Bryan to be his partner once again in FWA.

But much like the tiny Jeremy, there was a 6-inch Bill Scorpane now standing on his left shoulder, puffing on a cigar in his brown leisure suit.

“This plan is airtight! He’ll never find out!”

“Are you sure? Because it definitely would be super bad if he did.”

“Exactly! That’s why you should just tell him the truth! Besides, I’m sure you don’t need some convoluted plan to have Jeremy forgive you! He’s a nice guy!”

“That’s a fair point. Why is this even necessary?”

“Because! Remember what you did to Jeremy?! You ruined his shot at a championship! You basically ran him out of a company! And then you ignored him and wanted nothing to do with him. You USED him and he knows it. He knows what a piece of shit you are! Why would he want anything to do with you?”

Bryan nodded, turning towards mini Jeremy. “That’s true. I have been a pretty big piece of shit.”

“But you were a piece of…poo…when Jeremy first met you too. And guess what, friend, he liked you! He teamed with you then!”

“AND WHERE’D THAT GET HIM? Nothing! Except for a knife right in the back!”

The tiny big man was right. Jeremy had no reason to ever want to talk to Bryan again. If Bryan was in Jeremy’s shoes and he showed up back in his life again, he’d tell himself to fuck off. Jeremy wouldn’t be so crass but he couldn’t imagine why Jeremy would ever want to give him a second chance.

“Sorry, little dude. But the other bigger little dude is right. I have to win Jeremy over and if he thinks I’ve been sending him little supportive letters all this time…he’ll think I’m a new man. Maybe he’ll even think highly of me…”

Conscience Jeremy shook his head in disappointment. “But Bryan… what will he think when he finds out the truth? There’s still hope right now but when he finds out that you’ve been deceiving him… it won’t be the knife to the back that hurts him the most. It’ll be a knife to the heart.”

Bryan hesitated. He’s tried for a long time to atone for the mistakes he’s made in the past. He’s battled his way back from alcohol addiction and begun to seek forgiveness from those he’s hurt.

Was this counterintuitive to his goal?

“Your goal? Your GOAL is to wrestle for the FWA? That’s your goal,” Mr. Scorpane scoffed.

“Wait, how did you hear me thinking about that?” Bryan said, perplexed.

“Idiot, we’re part of your brain.”

“Hey! You…or I…can’t talk to…uh…me like that..”

“Forget about that goody-goody over there. Remember what you wanted that day you called me up? You wanted another chance at the big times. Well, my boy, this is THE only way. You can tempt fate and see if maybe, JUST MAYBE, Jeremy forgives you on his own and just welcomes you back into his life with open arms…on your own merit…based on your own track record… or you do what you know you have to do.”

“Yep, I sure do,” Bryan said as he stood up.

“No…” the angelic miniature Jeremy pleaded, “wait…please…this is a huge mistake…you’ve got to…”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Bryan cut him off, “this is the way it has to be. There’s nothing more I want than to have another shot at glory… and I’m not gonna let it pass me by.”

With a look of disappointment, the Jeremy on his shoulder turned to dust as he disappeared. At the same time, the Scorpane on his left shoulder grinned with that cigar still in his mouth as he disappeared into a cloud of smoke.

A car was pulling up outside the civic center. He was here. It was time. There was no backing out now.

= = = = = = = = = =​

And sure enough, Bryan Baxter would go through with the plan. Jeremy had been hesitant at first. He initially wasn’t sure he should trust his former friend. Bryan quickly began to show his loyalty to Jeremy, helping him out but in ways that Jeremy didn’t agree with including interfering in a match with Uncle J.J. Jay and (allegedly, Bryan still disputes this to this day) attacking Konchu Hao backstage.

But eventually, their tag team, The Buddy System was back. The reunion was going swimmingly. Everything was going according to plan.

They were winning matches together and individually. It felt like old times for Bryan and Jeremy. It was almost like nothing had ever happened between them.

And Jeremy even had done the unexpected. Just before the October Lights Out Pay-Per-View, he had given Bryan his blessing by 100% forgiving him for his past transgressions. For the way Bryan chose championship gold over their friendship and partnership years earlier.

So with Jeremy’s forgiveness, tag team success, and the icing on the cake, Bryan had himself the chance to earn his first shot at singles gold at Lights Out.

Mr. Scorpane’s plan had worked to perfection.

This should’ve been the happiest moment of his life.

But why did he feel like absolute shit?

Inside a hotel lobby, Bryan felt those familiar feelings coming into play once again. Jeremy had forgiven him but it wasn’t deserved. The time he had spent with Jeremy was changing him. He wanted so badly to tell Jeremy the truth, but he also didn’t want to ruin what had been rebuilt.

The pressure was getting to him. Bryan eyed the hotel bar.

18 months.

He had been sober for 18 months.

But just watching people sitting at the bar, sipping on cocktails and beers, letting go of any cares they had in the world, Bryan felt himself longing for that. He wanted to let go of all his cares and worries.

Bryan took a seat at the bar.

“What can I get ya?”

“Oh…I probably shouldn’t. This was a bad idea,” he started to get up.

“C’mon Bryan, one little drink isn’t gonna hurt!” With a poof of smoke, that miniature Mr. Scorpane had returned to his left shoulder. “No one’s gonna know anyway.”

“Well, what’s it gonna be, buddy?” the bartender broke the awkward silence as Bryan was halfway sitting and halfway standing up, having stopped in his tracks trying to leave.

Bryan sat back down. “I’ll take a Jack & Coke.”

“Coming right up!”

The bartender grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels and tossed it around his back into his right hand before measuring out a shot into a glass. He then brought the glass up to the tap to dispense the fizzy Coca-Cola. He then slid the glass over to Baxter.

“Enjoy, my man.”

Bryan just stared at the glass.

“Cheers!” Mr. Scorpane said, suddenly having his own tiny bottle of Jack Daniels in his arm. He took a big swig. “Bottoms up!”

Before he could give in and listen, once again, his conscience would come into play.

“Don’t you dare!”

Conscience Jeremy had made his triumphant return as he appeared on Bryan’s right shoulder, stomping his left foot down onto the shoulder. “You’ve worked way too hard at beating this disease! Don’t let HIM ruin all your hard work.”

“Hey, lighten up! Don’t be such a square! A little drink isn’t going to hurt him. Besides, he should reward himself for all he’s accomplished since joining the FWA. Hell, he’s probably on his way to surpassing Jeremy Best even!”

“What? That’s crazy talk, dude. Jeremy’s wrestling for a shot at the World Title…I’m in the Spooktacular with like 5 jobbers and two people dressed up like vampires.”

“Don’t be so down on yourself, my boy! You’re well on your way to a title shot yourself! And plus, we all know Jeremy’s gonna choke again! He always does on the big stage! You didn’t even have to turn on him back then…you would’ve won it anyway! Because Jeremy has never won the big one!”

“Watch it bub, that’s my friend you’re talkin’ about!”

“You mean the one you are constantly LYING to? HAHAHA! Some friend you are!”

“The fuck man, that was your idea!”

“Damn right it was! A great one too…and look how it’s working out! Your life has NEVER been better!”

“Then why do I feel like a piece of shit?”

“We’ve been over this. You ARE a piece of shit! But right now you are a WINNING piece of shit! So CHEERS! Let’s celebrate!”

Bryan leaned over the bar, burying his palm into his face.

“Bryan, you’ve shown the real Jeremy over the past couple of months that you are trying to be a good friend. But you feel this way because of the lies. I warned you about this. I told you that nothing good would come out of making that deal with Mr. Scorpane. Lies always hurt someone. And right now, that someone is you.”

“That’s what the drink is for! Wash away that inner turmoil, my man! That’s what alcohol was invented for!”

“I…don’t think that’s true.”

Bryan lifted his head up from his arms, eyeing the glass of whiskey. The black gold inside it was beckoning to him.

“18 months. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. It’s been years of battle for you, buddy. Don’t give up the fight now. Are you a quitter?”

“I may be a lot of things, but I ain’t no goddamn quitter!”

“Then let’s just get up. Walk away. Walk up those stairs to your room and call it a night! Lights Out is gonna be a big night for you. Sure, he says it’s just one drink, but you know what happens when you have one drink. It’s not gonna stop there, is it? He’s right… you have a lot to celebrate right now, but there’s plenty of ways to celebrate.”

“Hey, hey, hey now - that IS true! I know a guy who can hook you up with the GOOD stuff, just…”

“NO! Not that!”

Bryan reached out and grabbed the glass in front of him. He picked it up and got a close look at the liquid on the inside. He tilted it side to side, letting the whiskey soda on the inside flow back and forth like the waves of the ocean. He could taste its sweet nectar on his tongue already.

He didn’t want to drink to celebrate. No matter what the Devil on his left shoulder wanted to say. Maybe there were things he could be celebrating, but he didn’t feel like celebrating.

He wanted to suppress the guilt. Hide the shame. Numb the pain.

The angelic Jeremy sat down on Bryan’s right shoulder, crisscrossing his legs. “That drink isn’t going to solve those problems for you. It’s just going to create even more problems. You want to get rid of those feelings… the drink isn’t the solution, you know what the solution is. You’ve got to talk to Jeremy… you’ve got to tell him the truth. Then… and only then… will you get that weight off your shoulders.”

Conscience Jeremy and reality Jeremy had so much in common. And he was right. This wasn’t the way.

Bryan placed the glass back down on the bar. He reached down into his pants pocket to retrieve his wallet, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and tossed it onto the bar next to the drink. He stood up and walked away… leaving the drink untouched.

The fun-sized Jeremy smiled proudly as he faded away while a frustrated Scorpane stomped his foot down as he vanished.

= = = = = = = = = =​

Unfortunately, Bryan still couldn’t muster up the courage to come clean. Lights Out came and went. Jeremy came up short in his Golden Opportunity match and would not get a shot at the FWA Championship, but Bryan Baxter was successful in the Spooktacular and walked away from the event with a future shot at the North American championship.

And not only that, but he also qualified for the F1 Climaxxx Tournament with the winner receiving a shot at the FWA Championship.

But having not taken Conscience Jeremy’s advice, the guilt continued to eat at him. He still couldn’t enjoy any of his recent successes. The worry of what would happen when Jeremy found out the truth continued to keep Bryan from spilling the beans. He just knew it would probably be the end of The Buddy System once and for all.

Jeremy would find out. And Bryan’s fears were all confirmed.

Except it wasn’t because Bryan finally came clean. Jeremy found out on his own. He walked in and overheard a conversation between Bryan and Mr. Scorpane discussing the letters they had been intercepting. Jeremy found out in the worst possible way what the pair had been hiding from him.

Just as his conscience had predicted, Jeremy didn’t react with fury or anger. The first time Bryan stabbed Jeremy in the back, Jeremy seemed disappointed and definitely let down by his friend. But what Bryan saw in Jeremy’s eyes this time was pure sadness.

He had stabbed his friend right in the heart.

Bryan tried to explain himself. He wanted to pin it all on Mr. Scorpane. It was his idea after all. But who was he kidding… Bryan was a partner in this crime. He went along willingly. His own selfish desire to get this second chance. His hunger for this success.

And now he had it. But what did it cost him?

He may have lost his only friend once again to get it.

Last time, many years ago, it was Jeremy sending texts to Bryan that went ignored. This time, it was Bryan sending messages to Jeremy. Pleading with him for five minutes of his time. He wanted to explain himself but even Bryan wasn’t sure what good it would do. There was no good explanation for what he’d done.

Now Bryan was going into the biggest match of his career. A match for the North American Championship.

And he’d have to do it without Jeremy in his corner.

Instead, that night as Bryan walked down to the ring as he tried his best to focus on the upcoming match with Lizzie Rose and not on his rift with Jeremy, he was accompanied by Mr. Scorpane. His agent had suddenly become very interested in Bryan’s accomplishments. He suddenly wanted to be right there alongside Bryan.

As Lizzie Rose made her way down to the ring, smiling and high-fiving the fans at ringside, Bryan couldn’t help but compare her to his friend.

“No, no, no…don’t you dare go there.” Unfortunately for Bryan, it wasn’t the angel on his shoulder that had shown up. It was Mr. Scorpane popping up on his left shoulder once again. “She’s not Jeremy. Don’t show her any mercy or sympathy.”

Bryan looked to his right shoulder, waiting for the counterpoint from mini Jeremy. But he hadn’t shown up.

“Where’s the other guy?” Bryan said, with concern. Now more than ever he needed that angel on his shoulder.

The imaginary Scorpane shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Who cares? Who needs him? You got ME! That's all you need! Now let’s destroy this bitch!”

“That seems like a bit much.”

“Do you want that title or not?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then show no mercy! This is your chance to show the FWA what Big Bryan Baxter is capable of! You’re not Jeremy Best’s little bitch boy, standing around in the corner while he gets all the attention. This is your time to shine, Bryan. Show them that beast. Show them the Bryan Baxter that was willing to throw his own partner under the bus to get to the top.”

“But…I’m not that guy…or at least, I don’t know if I want to be…”

“Look in the mirror, big boy. You are still that guy. You’ve just tried so hard to conform to what Jeremy wanted you to be because of all that guilt you had. But guess what, you’re FREE! It’s all over with now, Bryan. You want to know why the other guy isn’t over there on the other shoulder anymore?”

Bryan once again glanced over to his empty right shoulder. Why had he been abandoned by his Conscience Jeremy? Why hadn’t he just listened to him all along? He had been right all along, after all. He must’ve gotten tired of Bryan not listening to him. He probably realized that there was no hope. There was no getting through to him. Being a conscience for Big Bryan Baxter was a lost cause.

“Nope, it’s because you don’t need him anymore! Just like you don’t need Jeremy Best anymore. You’re free from the guilt now that everything is out in the open. There’s nothing left to be guilty about. And tonight, you’re gonna surpass Jeremy’s accomplishments in FWA. You’re going to have FWA gold. Jeremy can’t say that. This is YOUR TIME, Bryan. And THAT’S why you are going to show this girl…NO MERCY!”

Bryan once again brought his eyes towards Lizzie, still making her way down to the ring to the beat of “The Key, the Secret.” While at first, Bryan felt a connection to her because of her similarities to his friend, he now felt some anger starting to build up.

“That’s it. Now we’re getting into the right state of mind! You saw her and Jeremy together on Meltdown…she probably wants to replace you as his best friend!”

Bryan didn’t trust people who wanted to get close to Jeremy. Throughout his life and career, people have pretended to be Jeremy’s friend for their own personal gain. Bryan knew this better than anyone. Most recently he saw it with Jackson Fenix. Even if Jeremy wanted nothing to do with him anymore, Bryan wasn't going to let Lizzie use Jeremy.

Bryan cracked his knuckles and tilted his neck around, loosening himself up.

Both the tiny Mr. Scorpane and the actual Mr. Scorpane at ringside both grinned as they saw the look in Baxter’s eye.

He was ready for this. He was ready to bring the pain and punishment to Lizzie Rose. He was ready to walk out as FWA North American Champion.

As soon as the opening bell rang, Baxter was like a man possessed. He was ruthless in his attacks on Lizzie. The smaller competitor was overwhelmed by the massive size difference between her and Baxter.

The crowd, which had slowly been won over by Baxter during the Buddy System reunion, quickly turned on Baxter. Watching him dismantle Lizzie both inside and outside the ring was enough to cause the boos to begin to be rained down on Baxter.

But he didn’t care. He was used to being booed. Let them boo. He’s about to be champion.

Bryan was dominant but there was one problem. Lizzie’s heart. Her never say die attitude. She just kept getting back up!

“What the fuck do I have to do to keep this bitch down,” Bryan thought to himself, with frustration.

“I know one thing you could do,” the little Scorpane voice on his shoulder chimed in with a wink.

Baxter wanted to do this the right way. If Jeremy was watching this match, he still wanted to make him proud.

That said, he also wanted to win. He wasn’t going to leave this ring without that title.

Outside the ring, the actual Mr. Scorpane had climbed onto the apron to distract the referee and also garnered the attention of Lizzie Rose, turning her back to her challenger to trade some words with Bill.

“Now’s your chance,” the imaginary Mr. Scorpane called out. “Let’s end this!”

Though he was conflicted, Bryan reached down the front of his black wrestling trunks. He retrieved his trusty pair of brass knuckles. The crowd booed and yelled out, trying to get the attention of both Lizzie and the referee while Bryan slid the knuckles over his hand.

Bryan looked to his right shoulder once more. Deep down hoping the minute Jeremy would show up to talk Bryan out of this.

What would Jeremy say?

Not this way, Bryan. You don’t need to do this. Win the right way.

“Winning is what matters. Nothing else. Doesn’t matter how you do it. The record books aren’t gonna say ‘Bryan Baxter won the North American Championship due to cheating,’ no, it’ll say ‘Bryan Baxter won the North American Championship.’ That’s what history will look at. No one will remember how it happened. No one will care.”

Bryan tightened his fist around the brass knuckles as the Scorpane on his shoulder grinned and nodded as he began to fade away.

Scorpane’s voice had been replaced by that of his own.

“This is your moment, Bryan. Your one shot. Your one opportunity. Are you gonna seize everything you’ve ever wanted? Or are you just going to let it slip away?”

Bryan stood up…he waited for Lizzie to turn around…

This WAS going to be his moment.

He was going to seize it.

Carpe fucking Diem.

 

[Dubb]

Friendsgiving II​

Friendsgiving. A get-together on or around Thanksgiving where friends get together for some fun and food. An event that has been held near and dear to Jeremy Best’s heart for years. Every year he reserves a table at a restaurant and invites all his friends for an all-you-care-to-enjoy feast with the bill being on him.

Every year, Jeremy invites all his friends from near and far.

Most years, very few people actually show up. If anyone.

But that’s okay. Jeremy knows that the holidays are a busy time of year. People have families to spend time with. And for most people, family comes first

It’s just that Jeremy, no longer really has much family left.

His friends are his family.

For several years, Jeremy could always count on his friend and tag team partner Big Bryan Baxter to take up one of the seats at the table. Then after that, Mr. Scorpane had been nice enough to show up for the last few years.

Unfortunately, neither of them would be there for this year’s Friendsgiving.

The middle-aged waitress at the Outback Steakhouse in Cary, North Carolina walked Jeremy to a table that seats eight. All the seats were empty until Jeremy took a seat at the end of the table. The waitress placed a menu down in front of Jeremy.

“Will your friends be joining you soon?” she said in a pleasant tone.

“Probably not,” Jeremy said, his voice lacking its usual chipperness.

“Oh,” she clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. “Well, I’m sorry, hun - can I get you started with something to drink?”

“It’s been a hard week. Gimme something hard.”

“You got it, hun. Rum & Coke? Whiskey on the rocks?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Let’s make it a Seltzer Water. Neat.”

The waitress chuckled to herself, “oh my, we are having a hard week, aren’t we? You got it. I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menu and I’ll be back with your drink.”

Jeremy didn’t bother to look at the menu. He already knew what he wanted.

But what he really wanted was a table full of his friends.

At least with the restaurant, he knew he could get exactly what he wanted.

So no, he didn’t need the menu. Instead, he chose to look across the table at all the empty chairs and reflect upon the people he had met so far during his time in FWA. People that could be in those chairs but for various reasons weren’t.

Jeremy thought back about one of the first people he interacted with after he joined FWA. It was Chris Peacock who had stopped Jeremy backstage at an FWA House Show to offer some friendly advice. Jeremy remembered that moment fondly and thought it sure was nice of him.

Many people have compared Jeremy to Peacock. And at first, it felt like quite the compliment. But in the last year, Jeremy wasn’t so sure. He wanted to think Peacock was a good guy but some of his recent actions made Jeremy wonder. Not to mention that Peacock had become the challenge Jeremy just couldn’t overcome. Peacock pinned him in Cibernetico. Peacock eliminated him at the Carnal Contendership. And then most recently at Lights Out, Best came so close to winning the Golden Opportunity, only to fall short…

To whom? You guessed it, Chris Peacock.

Losing to Peacock isn’t a reason for Jeremy to not invite him to Friendsgiving. Jeremy doesn’t hold a grudge like that. But his recent changes in attitude made Jeremy think that he just might not be the type of friend he needed.

Especially not right now.

Jeremy had really tried to make friends with the Bad Boys Boy Band. A team that Jeremy had a few run-ins with earlier in his first year here in FWA. They could’ve taken up three of these seats. After all, they all shared a common interest in boy bands. Granted, it did take Jeremy getting over an aversion he had to boy bands thanks to a moment in his past.

He shuttered for a moment. That was the first time he had received a mysterious gift from his pen pal. The old O-Town album.

This just caused him to think about the deceit of Bryan Baxter and Bill Scorpane. Best not to think too much more about the Bad Boys then. They weren’t coming. For some reason, they didn’t want to let Jeremy sing with them.

Last year, Jeremy had an open invitation to all the members of his victorious Cibernetico team. He had hoped they would show up. They had spent so much time bonding leading up to the match. It felt like they had something special going for them. Maybe they could keep being friends moving forward.

There was Gerald Grayson. Jeremy had really enjoyed stepping out of his comfort zone with Gerald leading up to Cibernetico, going skydiving for the first time in his life. Gerald was a good guy but unfortunately, he had another set of friends that he was tied up with. Well, a set of Nephews anyway. Even though Jeremy had bested their leader, Uncle J.J. Jay… what, three times now, Gerald still preferred their company, especially that of his tag partner. As long as Gerald was with the Nephews, he probably wouldn’t be joining Jeremy for Friendsgiving.

Then there was Konchu Hao. Jeremy still was very cloudy about what exactly they had done on their team building event with him. He’s such a mysterious guy. Jeremy would’ve loved to be able to find out more about the man behind the mask. Maybe break down some emotional walls along the way. With Epsilon, obviously, Konchu is capable of friendship. Unfortunately, Jeremy may have lost any chance of friendship with Konchu after what happened during the Undisputed Amigos saga. What with Bryan Baxter attacking him backstage and all and Jeremy aligning himself (perhaps foolishly so) with Jackson Fenix...

So yeah, Jeremy didn’t think he’d be seeing Konchu tonight.

“Here you go, hun” the waitress had returned, sitting the glass of seltzer water down on the table. She noticed he hadn’t touched the menu. “Do you need a few more minutes? We can wait for your friends if you’d like.”

“No, that’ll be okay. I’m ready.”

She brought up her pad and pen, “Wonderful! What will you be having?”

“I’ll have the BBQ chicken with a side of baked potato and corn on the cob.”

She began to jot it down but then stopped in her tracks, “Oooh, I’m so sorry, hun. We are actually out of corn on the cob.”

Well, so much for being able to get what he wanted at a restaurant.

“Oh, umm…well okay, I’ll just take the green beans then.”

“You got it! We’ll have that right out shortly.”

The waitress flashed a smile to Jeremy before she walked back off, leaving Jeremy to his thoughts once more.

Of course, there was the captain of the Cibernetico team, Krash. But yeah, obviously he wasn’t going to be there. He’s gone. Not dead, mind you. Jeremy still refused to believe that theory. He’s just gone. He still believes that one-day Krash will be back, and as much as he wished he’d walk through the doors and join Jeremy at the table, it probably wouldn’t be tonight.

After all, Jeremy had no idea where to even send the invitation to.

Two of the seats could’ve been filled with two very familiar names…two names that he just can’t seem to escape anymore. Jackson Fenix. Nate Savage. The Undisputed Alliance. Jeremy had made the unfortunate mistake of having a connection with Jackson during their Cibernetico bonding. Jeremy had really let loose at the nightclub with Jackson, and Fenix had seemed to be so helpful in repairing Jeremy’s relationships on Sesame Street after that unfortunate incident with Big Bird.

Unfortunately, Jackson’s own friend and tag partner, Nate Savage wasn’t so keen on the friendship. But Jeremy really thought they could all get along and be one big group of friends. The Undisputed Amigos were going to take FWA by storm.

People had warned Jeremy not to trust them. Bryan Baxter and Mr. Scorpane especially (how ironic).

But they were right. In the end, Jackson chose the Undisputed Alliance over the Undisputed Amigos.

Jeremy had hoped that at Back in Business, they had put their issues to bed. But those two just can’t leave well enough alone. They’ve decided to pick on one of Jeremy’s other friends, XYZ. And unlike them, Jeremy would be more than willing to help out a friend in need, which is why Jeremy had agreed to team up with XYZ on Fallout this week to take on his old rivals.

So those two Undisputed Alliance seats definitely wouldn’t be filled tonight either.

That just left Bryan Baxter and Mr. Scorpane.

Before last week, Jeremy would’ve had zero doubt that they’d both be there for Friendsgiving. But after learning of their deception, Jeremy didn’t even bother sending them an invite.

So Jeremy just sat by himself and waited on his food.

“Why the elongated face, Jeremy Best?”

Startled, Jeremy looks up from the table to find XYZ, joined by his own close friend, Big Al.

“X, hello! Sorry, I am just a little surprised to see you here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. You invited me, did you not? Why would you be surprised by my acceptance of your invitation and my subsequent arrival to your offer of a bountiful feast?”

Jeremy stood up from his chair with a big smile before he rushed over and gave X a big hug.

“OH, well, yes…good to see you, too, Jeremy Best.”

“Sorry about that. It’s just nice to see a friendly face. Please, have a seat.”

XYZ turned to Big Al and nodded. “Yes, let’s have a seat,” he told his friend as he pulled out a chair for Big Al to sit down. Al obliged and took a seat as XYZ also sat down near Jeremy. “So, where are all your other acquaintances?”

“I think it’s just you for tonight.”

“Oh my. Not even Big Bryan Baxter?”

“Afraid not. Bit of a long story, unfortunately. But no worries, I’m just happy that you were able to join.”

“Well, thank you, Jeremy Best, for your generous offer. I’ve learned through my travels that one does not decline invitations to bountiful feasts from a friend. Being rude can get you into quite a bit of trouble on some planets, you know.”

“I can imagine. Sounds like my kind of planet!”

“Oh, no trust me…it’s quite awful. So much blood everywhere. Even across the galaxy, it’s hard to come across people who aren’t just downright awful.”

“Ugh, I was hoping there were planets out there with better people, even if they weren’t actually people. I’m beginning to think most people on Earth are just liars who you can’t trust.”

“Well, I assure you that you can trust me, Jeremy Best. You’re an honorary XYZite and I would never let down one of my XYZites.”

Jeremy gave a genuine smile to his friend, “I’m glad to hear that. And I want to help you out as well. A friend in need is a friend indeed, and I’m glad to be able to team up with you this week! Should be fun! Well except having to deal with the Undisputed Alliance again.”

“Yes, one couple of those unsavory Earthlings you mentioned earlier.”

“Unfortunately a couple of the most unsavory!”

“I was fortunate to come out victorious against Nate Savage last week, but I worry the numbers could be too much, which is why our partnership comes at an opportune time.”

Jeremy’s waitress came back over, offering Jeremy a refill on his beverage when she noticed he was no longer alone. “Well, looks like you finally have some company after all. And my, what a beautiful, uh, cape you have! Can I get you something to drink?”

“Why thank you! I’ll just have a glass of water,” XYZ looked over to Big Al who nodded his head in approval to X. “Make that two glasses of water for us.”

“And will you need some time to look over the menu?”

“According to the name of this establishment, I must assume you make a good steak. So I’ll take one of those…medium rare.”

Big Al got XYZ’s attention as he spoke up, “That sounds delicious. I’ll take one of those as well.”

“Wonderful! Make it two!”

The waitress smiled as she jotted down the info, “Alrighty then…two steaks…medium rare…you got it!”

The waitress scurried off with the order, leaving the friends back to their conversation. “What a pleasant lady. We should probably tip her well.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ll definitely be tipping well but this feast is on me. Have whatever you want.”

“Are you sure, Jeremy Best? I’m more than happy to…”

Jeremy interrupted, “No! This is my treat. Friendsgiving is on me!”

“Friendsgiving. What a peculiar name! Did you come up with it? It would make sense, it definitely seems on brand for you, Jeremy Best.”

Jeremy chuckled, “No, I can’t take credit for that. I wish I could! But no, it’s just like…a celebration…a get-together for friends around Thanksgiving. Especially for ones who maybe don’t have family they can see over the holidays for whatever reason.”

“Ahhh! Well that’s just splendid. What an honor it is to spend this special occasion with you. Remind me to invite you to the next Xlyeafjatefest I visit in the Gamma-34 sector. I seem to recall you’re a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol though, so…well, just be careful.”

Jeremy and X shared a laugh. As they continued their conversation, Jeremy caught up XYZ on the efforts to find Krash. X was especially happy to find out that Jeremy found the cookies he had left him in his backpack when Jeremy revisited the spot where Krash went missing right before Lights Out.

“Those cookies were…something else. You could’ve warned me they would make me have… just the craziest of hallucinations.”

Sipping on his water, X did a spit take, spraying water on the table. Big Al quickly handed him a napkin and he began wiping his face off. “Wait…wait…Jeremy Best…did you eat ALL the cookies at once?”

“I mean, yeah…I was hungry.”

“Oh dear. I suppose this one is on me, I should’ve warned you… you were only supposed to have one! I’m surprised you’re even alive right now, quite frankly.”

“I suppose that explains the visions I had after that… but I spoke to Krash and it was great! I mean, it wasn’t really him I know but… it really made me feel better about everything.”

“So we’ve called off the Crusade?”

“For now.”

“Very well! Then we shall focus our efforts on the Undisputed Alliance!”

“Definitely. They may look like a couple of goofballs, but boy howdy you better not underestimate these guys. Nate Savage looks like he’s really focused… he wants to get the X Title back and he may be more dangerous than ever. And Jackson Fenix… he may seem harmless but he’s a sneaky little snake.”

“So I’ve seen! But I’m not too worried…”

“And why is that?”

“Because I have Jeremy Best as my secret weapon! You certainly know how to defeat them… you’ve done it before and no doubt you will do it again!”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I propose a toast!” XYZ lifted up his glass of water. He glanced over to Big Al, “you too!” Big Al quickly scrambled to grab his water, lifting it up. “To the new pairing of XYZ and Jeremy Best… even if it’s just this one time or if it develops into something more…!”

“Here here!” Jeremy lifted up his glass in reciprocation. “I can’t express how great it was of you to join me tonight, X. I really needed a good friend to talk to tonight.”

“Anytime! It’s been delightful and…it’s about to get even better..”

X motioned towards their waitress as she brought over their food, placing the plate of chicken with Jeremy and the two steaks with XYZ and Big Al. “Enjoy fellas!”

“Shall we dig in?”

“Absolutely! Enjoy… eat whatever you want… order deserts if you want. Let’s enjoy the night!”

XYZ didn’t have to be asked twice as he slid Big Al’s steak over to him and the pair began to cut into their steak. Jeremy didn’t touch his food yet, instead he just watched his friend with a smile. He took solace in knowing that he still had people out there he could turn to. People he could trust.

He’d been bitten before, but he didn’t feel like he had anything to worry about with X. Bryan would probably warn him about making friends…but then look at what Bryan did to him. Trust is earned and right now, X had done more than rough to earn his trust.

Which is more than Jeremy could say about Bryan Baxter.

Or Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage.

Even since beating them at Back in Business, the pair had remained a thorn in Jeremy’s side whether it was prank calls during his search for Krash or the mocking they did backstage of Jeremy’s search. Apparently, they haven’t learned their lesson.

His partner may be different, but Jeremy wanted to make sure the results were the same.

And who knows, maybe XYZ was onto something. Maybe this would be the start of something special. After all, a Mile High Massacre challenge for the tag titles was out there…and while he had no interest in teaming with Bryan for it...

Maybe he would still get his shot at the tag titles after all…

 

[Jam]

“Next”
By Gerald Grayson

“Onto the next.”

The text message from my mom read. If you couldn’t tell by now, I’m really close with my mom. She’s my #1 cheerleader and part of the best support system a son can ever have. It’s funny to me that she tries to give me advice on my opponents. For example, if she sees a maneuver my opponent likes to do, she tells me to come up with a way to counter that, so I can surprise my opponent. Other times, she’d tell me something obvious like, “just beat them.” Just the other day, she was telling me to kill Jeremy Best with kindness. While that might be a viable strategy, my opponent wasn’t Jeremy Best, even then, killing Best with kidness might not 100% work. My opponent last week was Best’s tag team partner, Big Bryan Baxter - trying to kill Baxter with kindness was not the play. Regardless, my mom’s advice is a good reminder of the things I should be taking note of.

For Big Bryan Baxter, she reminded me that he'd throw everything at me, including the kitchen sink - and that’s exactly what he did. I didn’t account for the resilience Baxter showed. I didn’t do enough at the end and that’s why I lost the match. Baxter fought as if his life depended on it and I didn’t. That difference was enough to give Baxter the victory and put another L in the loss column for me. But like my mom’s text message read, “onto the next.”

— — —

Seattle, Washington, specifically Pacific Place, was where Thomas West and I were headed to to create content for the FWA social media accounts. Knowing West is a podcast savant and pairing him with me, who is likable enough to many fans, according to FWA management, they were confident we could get the job done. West was excited for the opportunity to showcase his skills and I was always down to do things for the fans. When we presented our task to the Nephews, no one was really itching to follow us - everyone except the Sane Wizard. Harry, being the eccentric person he is, insisted on following Thomas and I. No matter what excuse Thomas gave, Harry would retort annoyingly.

That’s when Thomas took Harry aside and talked to him privately. I’m not sure what Thomas told Harry, but Harry changed his tone quickly and understood why he couldn’t go on the trip. While Thomas was lecturing Harry, I saw Thomas pointing towards me, making me think Thomas had some hidden agenda for us to do. Whatever West’s intention was, I was about to find out.

— — —

It was a rainy Wednesday morning in Seattle, Washington. Thomas and I were in a van, headed to Pacific Place. I still didn’t know what the plan was. All I know is the location of the content shoot and Thomas telling me not to ask any questions. Probably against my better judgment, I did just that. On the way to Pacific Place, the drive was a quiet one as both Thomas and I elected to put our headphones on and be on our phones. However, as we neared the location, Thomas took his headphones off and looked at me with curiosity, prompting me to remove my headphones.

“Wassup?” I asked Thomas.

“Nothing much. I appreciate you following me on this trip and not asking questions,” he said politely. I don’t think this is all he wanted to say, but I humored him with small talk.

“No problem. You gave me enough details to determine that we won’t be doing anything illegal or unsafe. That’s all I can really ask for these days with the Nephews,”

“I know what you mean, Gerald,” Thomas said in response, smirking at the thought of the Nephews being normal for once.

“Chris Peacock next huh?” he questioned casually, looking outside of the car window, seeing the pouring rain.

“Yeah, tough one ahead of me, but I’m game,” I said, nodding my head.

“You better be,” Thomas said imperatively. I looked at Thomas, annoyed, but he was right. I needed to be on top of my game if I wanted to compete with Thomas. I simply nodded, not wanting to get into it with Thomas, ready to put my headphones back on.

“Wait, hold on,” Thomas halted me. “Are you okay?”

“What do you mean?” I turned my head, my eyebrows furrowing at the question.

“I know the way you get after a loss, especially a singles match loss,” Thomas said, leaning backwards in retreat, almost regretting that last part he said.

For some reason, a smirk was all I could muster in response. “I’m fine,” I said, giving Thomas a thumbs up before putting my headphones back on and putting my hoodie down.

I could tell Thomas wasn’t satisfied with my answer, but it was the answer he was going to get out of me at the moment.

I don’t like losing, but I don’t like losing singles matches even more. Just adds to the narrative that I will forever be known as a tag team competitor and that I could never make it on my own. That cloud has been over my head since I started tagging with Michelle and it doesn't look like it’s going anywhere anytime soon.

After about twenty minutes and a few sharp turns, we arrived at the parking garage of the Pacific Place. I removed my headphones, placing them in their respective case, then into my backpack. I looked to where Thomas was sitting - he wasn’t there. Worry started to come over me as I looked around, not noticing if he had already left or what. As soon as I stepped out of the van, Thomas was there, talking to a FWA rep, probably about the stuff we’d be doing.

“Are you good to go?” he asked, after talking with the FWA rep.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do this,” I said hesitantly, still unsure what lies ahead.

We made our way inside Pacific Place, where a myriad of people were making their way to various outlet stores this mall housed. There was a large atrium in the middle where the people of Seattle could meet up and served as the meeting point for the other crew members to meet us. The five-story building amused me for some reason. It’s not like I didn’t see big malls before, but this one seemed different. Every possible brand you could think of was here and it was busy with people - probably the reason Thomas wanted to be here.

Around us were a ton of FWA personnel - cameramen, linemen, reps, the whole she-bang. They moved like a well-oiled machine, every part moving like a gazelle in a meadow. When one walked right, the other followed suit. When one stopped, the other stopped as well. It gave me a newfound respect for people who work these jobs. It’s obviously tough, but they make it look easy.

“Right, you ready?” Thomas asked. A look of confusion came onto my face as I wiped my eyes not once, but twice. Thomas was dressed in a suit, befitting of James Bond himself.

“What’s with the outfit?” I questioned, knowing I was in black sweatpants, a black hoodie, and black crocs on my feet.

“It’s for the content, remember?” he said nonchalantly.

He took me by the arm and just like that, we were in front of the cameras. The lights blinded me for a few seconds before I acclimated to them. The cameras began rolling before this, so that part definitely needed to be edited out, or so I hope.

“Hello there FWA fans! I’m Thomas West, former FWA World Champion, podcast savant of the FWA, and your favorite Nephew!” he said with a big smile.

The camera swung to the left and focused on me next.

“Alongside me is fellow Nephew and currently one-half of the FWA Tag Team Champions - FWA’s resident Daredevil, Gerald Grayson!”

“Hi,” I said, waving to the cameras, putting on my best smile.

“We’re here in the jam-packed Pacific Place in Seattle, Washington where Gerald and I will be talking to random strangers and asking them questions. If they get our questions right, they win $100. Easy enough right?” Thomas was all smiles once more.

Oh, so that’s what we’re doing. I was expecting something crazier, but thank God that’s it. I wiped the sweat off my forehead at the relief of knowing what we’d be doing.

We walked for less than a minute, with many people giving us looks, curious at who we were as they moved out of the way with how big a crew was following us. We stumbled upon a young man, holding Target bags in each hand. He sported a combover haircut and was dressed in business casual - probably an early 20s intern at a big firm.

“Excuse me, sir. Can we have a moment of your time?” Thomas questioned the young man. He looked at the cameras nervously.

“If you get this question right, we’ll be giving you $100. Does that sound good?” Thomas waved the $100 bill around for the young man to see. The young man’s nervousness seemingly went away when he saw the $100 bill, nodding in response to Thomas’s question.

“Do you know this man?” Thomas asked the young man.

“What?” I immediately turned to Thomas. “What’re you doing?”

“This is part of the bit,” he whispered, before looking back at the young man.

“I don’t, sorry,” the young man said, looking at me apologetically. I waved my hands, letting him know it’s fine.

“That’s fine that you don’t know him,” Thomas paused. “If you had to guess what he did for a living, what would you say?”

“Uhm,” the young man paused, looking at me to get a better look.

I felt super uncomfortable with a random stranger analyzing me based on what he can see. This could be someone’s ultimate nightmare to be honest - to be judged without being able to defend yourself.

“From his stature, he looks like someone who works out, but his outfit is giving me technology, IT department vibes. You know, the whole work from home kind of thing. However, he’s wearing those Nike Zoom Pegasus’s and those are known to be some of Nike’s best running shoes, so it makes me think he’s a runner - a fast runner to be exact,” he paused once more to ponder his answer.

Hearing him analyze me was nerve-wracking, but what he was saying wasn’t close to bad. I was relieved to hear that part at least. This was just one person though. We’re bound to find someone who thinks I’m a bum - just look at how I’m dressed! I guess I brought this on myself by not asking Thomas what type of content we’d be shooting.

“You know what, I’m feeling generous. You’re right that he’s an athlete. Hell of an athlete actually,” Thomas emphasized, pointing at me for the camera to focus on. “He’s a professional wrestler for the FWA,”

“Professional wrestler? That’s sick!” the young man exclaimed.

“Right? Here’s your $100 dollars,” Thomas handed him the bill, as the young man’s eyes glowed even brighter.

“Like I was saying, this man is a professional wrestler, and a damn good one,” Thomas said, looking in my direction, as he saw the confused look on my face.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, shaking my head to signal him from stopping what he’s doing.

“He’s fast, he’s agile, he’s quick on his feet. He’s a hell of a tag team partner, having to deal with someone like Michelle von Horowitz,” he continued.

“Michelle von Horrowitz?” The young man questioned.

“Don’t even get me started on her, bud,” Thomas chimed in. That’s when my eyes grew wide and I motioned for Thomas to cut it out. Fortunately, he obliged.

“This man puts on a smile every day of the week even when he’s not feeling 100%. Sure, you can say it’s a facade, but I think it shows his strength. This man has the mental game needed to be in a tough business like the wrestling industry,”

“Hell yeah!” the young man threw a fist in the air in agreement.

“For those of you GG haters out there, listen here. I dare you to step into his shoes and see how you handle the pressure, the anxiety, and all the other things that come with this job. Not once has he lost himself. He continues to be not just a good person, but an even better friend,” Thomas said with confidence, before looking at me for approval.

I had no idea what to say.

I didn’t know Thomas felt this strongly about me, but it sure put a smile on my face hearing someone stand up for me. I’ve seen the chatter online from people who think I’m not good enough to be on my own, which isn’t new and isn’t something that gets to me easily. But recently, I’ve started to think they were right to think that way, which probably made way for Big Bryan Baxter to defeat me last week. I was in my own head too much and the loss is what I get as punishment.

Before I could scold Thomas, he went ahead of me as I dealt with the young man. This time, he stopped a young, blonde woman probably in her late 20s, dressed in a blue, matching Lululemon top and bottom. She had her airpods in as Thomas approached her.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Can we have a moment of your time?” Thomas questioned, as the young woman removed her airpods from her ears. Like the young man from earlier, she was bewildered at the camera crew following us.

“Right, so I have a question for you and if you get the answer correct, you win $100,” Thomas said enthusiastically, as I hurried to make myself presentable for this round. I removed my black hoodie, revealing a white Nike shirt underneath.

“Oooh,” the young woman said, on account of my undershirt revealing a bit of my abdomen.

“Sorry,” I apologized, looking nervous as ever.

“No need to apologize,” she retorted, smiling at me, making me even more nervous.

“Seems to be a connection here already. But anyway, the question is,” Thomas paused. “What do you think this man does for a living?” pointing at me, as he asked the young woman the question.

The young woman smiled at me again as I looked to the floor in shyness.

“Uhm, this is tough,” she said, pondering her answer. “He’s a businessman?”

“A businessman? Sort of, but not really,” Thomas informed her.

“Aww, really? What is he then?” her tone was not convinced she was wrong.

“He’s a professional wrestler,” Thomas said in response.

“Oh, is he?” she folded her hands, looking at me. “Maybe he can show me a few moves?”

My eyes grew wide. While the young woman was indeed attractive, I felt nothing but awkward meeting people through these circumstances. I laughed nervously as she waited for my response.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Maybe if you buy a ticket to our show, you’ll get to see this man perform.. Later!” Thomas said, waving for me and the entire crew to follow him. I heard the woman scoff, looking back at us with disdain.

“Thomas, dude. We’re not going to be doing this the whole day, are we?” I asked, futile in my attempt to get this whole thing called off.

“Excuse me, ma’am, sir,” Thomas halted an elderly couple next, who were surrounded with other family members, probably their daughter, her husband, and their kids.

“We’re going around Pacific Place asking random strangers random questions. If you get the answer to the question right, you win $100. Is that okay with you?” Thomas asked, making sure to speak clearly for the elderly couple and for their family around them not to think any funny business is going on.

“Sure, let's do it,” the elderly man in glasses responded.

“Awesome, here’s your question,” Thomas paused. “What do you think this man does for a living?

“This man, right here?” the elderly woman questioned.

“Yes, ma’am. That guy right there,”

The elderly couple looked at their family members for advice. But they were so thrown off by the camera crew that they couldn’t begin to make suggestions.

“Here, maybe this’ll help,” Thomas said, showing them a picture of myself.

Something about me in that photo screamed “first day on the job.” I don’t know if it was the goofy smile or the weird peace sign I was showing. I glanced at the photo and was surprised to see Thomas hand them a photo of me when I first joined the FWA in early 2020. That Gerald Grayson is different from the one that exists today.

“Is he some sort of fighter?” the elderly man said. I looked at Thomas, nodding my head because of how close that answer was to the truth.

“Why would you say he’s a fighter?” Thomas questioned the elderly man.

“In the photo you showed us, he looks to be in some type of gear attire, ready for a fight,” he paused. “Then you look at him here standing next to you, he’s got some height to him and a build that looks menacing to the average person,”

“Sir, you are correct! This man is a professional wrestler. We’ll take ‘fighter’ as a correct answer,” Thomas said, signaling the crew behind us. Suddenly, a burst of confetti fell from the poppers the crew let out. “Here’s your $100,”

Thomas handed the elderly man his prize, who responded by waving it around in front of his family, who in response were cheering for the elderly man. With the celebrations out of the way, the family thanked us and moved on. Just then, we noticed a crowd starting to form around us, probably looking to win $100 as well.

“Move along everyone, we’ll be back in a little bit,” Thomas informed the crowd, garnering some groans. “I think it’s a good time for a break,”

Immediately after, the cameras were shut off and everyone dispersed, taking their respective breaks. I was frozen in place, not sure what to make of the events that just transpired. Before long, I joined Thomas, who was sitting on a nearby bench, drinking a bottle of water.

“Hey,” I said, waving my hand like a dork, making things even more awkward.

“Hey dude,” Thomas responded casually.

“What you said back there,” I paused, biting the inside of my mouth, unsure how to continue that sentence.

“Yeah,” was all Thomas said, before a silence fell between us.

“Well, I appreciate it,” I said firmly, letting that statement sink in. For some reason, sweat started to form on my forehead, unsure what Thomas’s response would be. No response came from Thomas as awkward silence filled the air once more. Before things got even more awkward, I turned around to leave.

“It’s true, you know?” Thomas said, halting my exit. I looked at him with curiosity, before he began speaking once more. “What I said back there is 100% factual, Gerald. The hate you’re getting is unwarranted,”

“Is it unwarranted though?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve gotten my fair share of hate for being a media personality. What people say online can be quite nasty. I know shit like that can get to you. It got to me so many times, but I’ve worked too hard for them to put me down for good,” Thomas said, almost scolding me for believing the haters.

“Well, thank you for that. It’s been rough these last few weeks. Winning the tag titles with Michelle was huge, but since then, I feel like Michelle and I are further apart as a team more than ever. So I’ve got that on my mind,” I paused, letting out a big sigh.

“Whatever you and Michelle are going through, it’ll pass man. And you guys will figure it out like you always do,”

“This F1 Climax Tournament… I may bitten off more than I can chew,”

“What, you mean against Peacock? Man, fuck that guy,” Thomas said, scoffing at the thought of Peacock.

“Historically, the Nephews have had their wars with Peacock and have come out victorious most of the time. I don’t doubt your skills against Peacock, Gerald. You’ve just gotta focus up and beat the shit out of him. Easy. You get me?” the podcast savant said confidently.

“Yeah, I get you. But what if -”

“No what if’s, Gerald. Just remember the Nike slogan and just do it,” Thomas said, cutting me off.

He was right. Now more than ever, I need to focus on one thing at a time. When I’m in tag team action, I need to focus on that. When I’m in singles action, that needs to be my primary focus. My focus has been all over the place and if it continues to be this way, Chris Peacock will have no trouble beating me.

I nodded my head continuously then began bouncing on my feet in place. “C’mon Gerald, you got this!”

“Yes, you do!” Thomas joined in on hyping me up.

“You’re going to walk into Germany and walk out with a win against Peacock!” he exclaimed.

“I’m going to win!” I shouted, continuing to bounce on my feet and for some reason, shadow box the air.

“Say it again!”

“I’m going to win!” I said once more.

“Again!”

“I’m going to win!”

“You’re going to win!”

“I’m going to win! I’m going to win! I’m going to win!” I repeatedly shouted, before stopping to close my eyes and letting out some deep breaths.

“Hell yeah, you are, Gerald,” Thomas balled both his fists in front of me, waiting for me to double fist bump me. As soon as I opened my eyes, I did just that, nodding my head at the positive reinforcement Thomas has provided me.

“Are you ready to continue this shoot? I think interviewing one more person will be more than enough content, then we can move onto something else,” he said, assuring me the worst of this content shoot is almost over.

“Let’s do it,” I said, as the camera crew began to crowd around us, getting ready to continue the shoot.

Before long, we were on the move again. We walked through a crowd of people, ignoring them, or well, Thomas ignored them, while I just followed, waiting for Thomas to choose a person. The podcast savant stopped in place, rubbing his hands together, as a smile crept up on his face. I looked in the general direction he was looking in and spotted a young man on a bench stuffing himself with McDonald’s fries. Before I could do anything to stop him, Thomas was already in front of the red haired fella.

“Hi there,” he said, as the young man looked up from biting a piece of his McRib sandwich.

“Hi,” his eyes grew in size. “You’re -”

He paused, pointing at Thomas, obviously knowing who he was. He immediately grabbed a napkin and wiped the sauce on his mouth from the McRib sandwich. Upon further inspection, I see why Thomas chose this dude - he had a FWA shirt on! The shirt was a simple design - black with the white logo of FWA. The young man noticed me next after snapping back to reality from the trance he was in.

“You’re Gerald Grayson!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, I am,” I said with a smile, waving at him.

“What’s your name?” Thomas asked the young man.

“Lance,” the young man responded.

“Nice to meet you Lance,” Thomas shook hands with him. “And how old are you, Lance?”

“21,”

“Cool cool. What brings you to Pacific Place?” Thomas began his interview process and the young man seem oblivious to the camera crew right behind us, only more starry-eyed because of Thomas and I being right in front of him.

“I was going on a supply run for this event I have planned then I got hungry,”

“And you went with McDonald’s huh?” Thomas said, looking at the food on the table as he nodded his head. “Nice shirt,”

“Oh thank you!” Lance said, pointing to the logo then back at us.

“Yup, we work for the FWA,” Thomas said with his podcast voice.

“Fuck yeah, the Nephews!” he exclaimed, throwing a fist in the air. “Oh shit, sorry. Can I say that on camera?”

“You can say whatever you want. The Nephews believe in free speech!” Thomas replied, looking at me as I shrugged in response. Lance was all smiles too, knowing he hadn’t broken any rules.

“Alright, Lance. Thomas is going to ask you some questions and if you get them right, you win a prize. How’s that sound?” I asked him, garnering a glare from Thomas’s as I took over his hosting duties for just that moment. I took a step back and motioned for Thomas to resume his hosting duties, to which he nodded in agreement. “Let’s do it!”

“First question,” Thomas paused, motioning for a crew member to give him something. Lance was excited, leaning forward from his seat.

“Do you recognize this person?” Thomas pulled out a sizable headshot. I didn’t know whose face was in the photo until Lance answered.

“Yes, that’s Chris Peacock,” Lance said, examining the photo.

I looked at Thomas, not sure what his end goal was, but I remained curious. Just like Lance, I examined the photo of Chris Peacock. To be specific, the photo was of Peacock from when he first joined the FWA. He was smiling from ear to ear with that goofy mustache of his, pointing at the camera. This was probably his first roster picture.

I remember when he first joined the FWA, he came in with a lot of buzz because of how outlandish his personality was - and rightfully so. He placed on the podium when he participated in Ground Zero. Despite not securing a FWA contract, it was only a matter of time for when he’d eventually show up in the FWA.

He had not a care in the world, performing to the beat of his own drum. A disco enthusiast making it in the wrestling industry. What a happy person - or so you’d think.

“Very good,” Thomas nodded, motioning for a crew member to give him another photo. I spaced out on Lance’s answer, but he probably got it right.

“Do you recognize this person?” Thomas showed him.

“Yeah… that’s Chris Peacock. Sort of,” Lance hesitated for a moment.

Sort of? Why’d Lance say that? I looked at the same photo Lance was shown and immediately understood why. This was a very different Chris Peacock from the first photo. This Chris Peacock glared at the camera for this photo. He still had that same mustache, but it seemed more rugged and instead of enhancing his face, made him look older. You could see the lines on his face, probably from the chaos that he’s endured - multiple Cosmic Playground matches will do that to you.

The lines underneath his eyes were extremely telling. While the spots underneath his eyes weren’t necessarily dark, they were getting to the point where you could assume Peacock does not sleep or has trouble sleeping.

These are the only things we can see from the photo. In reality, Chris Peacock is a different man than he once was. Gone is the disco enthusiast who enjoyed putting smiles on the faces of the FWA fans. These days, Peacock only cares for himself alongside his buddy, Allen Price, who has only stuck with Peacock because of how much money Peacock makes for him. It’s truly a sad sight to see.

Peacock has had his ups and downs, so does everyone. It’s up to the person to react accordingly and decide whether they make it out okay or not. For Peacocks, I don’t think things are looking good. Things may have even gotten worse with Peacock when he won the Golden Opportunity briefcase. That kind of power has gone to his head and he’s crumbling under the pressure. Fearing the title of “choke artist” being used to label him, Peacock has gone to lengths I didn’t think he’d go to prevent that.

Peacock has lost the light in his feathers and instead has exchanged it for darkness in his heart. He has lost the person he used to be and is now chasing faux happiness in his pursuit of the FWA World Championship. It gets lonely at the top they say - that couldn’t be more apt for someone like Peacock. What did it cost Peacock, you may ask? Everything.

“How about this? Do you recognize this person?” I heard Thomas asking Lance, zoning out again.

“Yeah, that’s Gerald Grayson!” I continuously blinked before wiping my eyes, to make sure what I was hearing was correct.

“Correct. Now how about this photo?”

“That’s also Gerald Grayson!” Lance said quickly.

“Wow! You were quick to give an answer. Any reason for that?” Thomas asked Lance, who took a few moments to answer. He gathered the first photo of me and put the second photo of me side by side.

“I’m going to guess this is Gerald’s first photo taken in the FWA?” Lance said observingly.

“You’d be right,” Thomas nodded.

“And this is his photo right currently on the roster page on FWA.com, I’ve seen it,”

“That would also be correct,”

“It looks like Gerald hasn’t aged a day. And I know that’s a tough thing to do in your line of work, Mr. West,” he said, smiling at his observation.

“Not gonna lie, Gerald and Peacock are my two favorite superstars in the FWA. No offense, Mr. West,” Lance said, looking at Thomas and then me. “None taken,”

“I like Gerald for his high-flying moves and his non-stop, full octane offense he puts on display for the fans,” he paused, “But he also seems like a genuinely nice person. I follow the FWA religiously on Twitter and he’s in a lot of the charity events and backstage stuff. I feel like someone who’s that active for that type of content really enjoys it, rather than doing it for a paycheck,”

I smiled at Lance, bowing my head in acknowledgement.

“I liked Peacock for the same reasons. He came in as a disco star and seeing him do all those moves was crazy to me,” he paused. “Then it all changed when he started facing adversity,”

“Indeed he did. Tell us more,” Thomas told him as he looked at me. I motioned for Thomas to cut it out, but Lance obliged with Thomas’s request.

“When Peacock started facing adversity, he started to lose. Lose matches. Lose his sanity. Lose himself. That’s fine, I get it. No one likes to lose. I don’t like losing either,” he said, letting out a sigh. “But it continued even when he was winning. He started to lose more of himself as time went on. It sure doesn’t help that he’s still associating himself with that bozo, Allen Price,”

“Right, Allen Price is a bozo,” Thomas concurred, nodding his head.

“At any point, Peacock could’ve separated himself from Price, but he chose not to, and Price is just adding more fuel to the fire as Peacock continues to lose himself,"

"He has the Golden Opportunity briefcase now, which is both a blessing and a curse, I think. I can only imagine what will go down if Peacock cashes it in and loses. Dude’s going to lose it,” Lance said, staring blankly into the photos.

“And how about Gerald? You said he hasn’t aged a day. What makes you say that?” Thomas asked. Lance looked at Thomas as if he asked a stupid question, before staring back at the photos of me. He held them up side by side and showed it to the cameras.

“Take a look at this. Doesn’t he look the same? Same hair. Same smile. Same facial features. You can tell this dude is enjoying what he’s doing and it’s awesome to see. He hasn’t lost himself like Peacock. He probably even found himself in his journey in the FWA and because of that, it shows in his face,”

“Thanks Lance, I really appreciate that,” I said audibly as the cameras instantly focused on me. Realizing what I had done, I had to act fast and think of something to do.

“Right, let’s not get all sappy and emotional here. Lance, you’ve answered the questions that we gave you and more. Because of that, we’re hooking you up with $500 and I’ll personally provide you another $500 in gift certificates to McDonalds. How’s that sound?”

“Wait, really? Let’s go!!!” he jumped from his seat and ran towards me to give me a hug. “Thank you,”

“No, thank you, dude. You’ve helped me more than you know. If there’s anything else I can do for you, let me know,” I told him. He let go of the hug and looked at me.

“Well, there is one thing,” he said, pondering his answer. He asked me to get close as he whispered something into my ear. I smiled as he told me his request.

“Hell yeah! Let’s do it. Hold on for a moment,” I told him, as he sat back down on the bench.

“What’d he want?” Thomas asked.

“Hold on, let me talk to Mike,”

At this point, the cameras were shut off and the whole crew was looking at me to find out what was going on. I went to talk to Mike, who was the FWA representative accompanying Thomas and I at this event. I whispered in his ear what Lance told me and he replied saying it’s no problem. We shook hands and I went back to Lance, giving him the thumbs up.

“Thomas, get those cameras rolling on Lance and I here,” I told him, taking a seat next to Lance on the bench. Thomas instructed the camera crew to focus on Lance and I and counted us down in 3… 2… 1…

“Hello FWA universe! Gerald Grayson here and alongside me is my friend, Lance. We’re currently here Seattle, Washington at Pacific Place Malls to be exact. My friend, Lance here, has a very special announcement,” I said into the camera, handing the microphone over to Lance.

“Hello FWA universe! With the help of the Nephews, specifically Gerald Grayson and Thomas West, they’ve pledged to help us organize a Thanksgiving feast for the boys and girls club of Seattle. For more information, please contact your boys and girls club representative. We’ll see you on Thanksgiving Day! Thank you to the FWA and to the Nephews!” Lance announced, as the cameras stopped filming.

Everyone started clapping as they heard the announcement. I gave Lance another hug and so did Thomas surprisingly.

“You’re a good dude,” Thomas told me, patting me on the back. I nodded, thanking him for taking me on this content shoot with him.

“Hey Gerald,” Lance called for my attention. “Kick Peacock’s ass,”

“I will,” I said, nodding my head in agreement.

 

[Jimmy King]

Announcer: "You are about to enter the courtroom of Judge Judith Sheindlin. This is her courtroom. The people are real. The cases are real. The rulings are final. This is Judge Judy."

Bailiff Byrd: “Order, all rise.”

Announcer: “Nate Savage is suing FWA referee Larry Stevens for attempting to sabotage Mr. Savage in a wrestling match.”

We see Nate Savage with Jackson Fenix at his side, as well as their attorney, Chase Green. On the left side, we are shown Larry Stevens, who looks like he’d rather be elsewhere than here.

Judge Judy takes a seat at her podium.

Bailiff Byrd: “Be seated! Your honor, this is case number 022. Savage vs. Stevens. All parties have been sworn in.”

Judge Judy: “Alright, Mr. Savage, is that correct?”

Nate moves forward a little towards his microphone at his podium.

Nate Savage: “Yes, your honor.”

Judge Judy: “It says that you’re suing Mr. Stevens for attempting to sabotage a wrestling match. Is that correct?”

Nate Savage: “Yes, your honor, that is correct.”

Judge Judy: “When you say he was attempting to sabotage you, what do you mean? How was he trying to sabotage you?”

Nate Savage: “Well, your honor, it’s simple. Mr. Stevens is a referee for the wrestling promotion FWA. I’m a performer for said company, and on one of our more recent events, Mr. Stevens was assigned to officiate my match with a man that goes by the name XYZ.”

Judge Judy: “XYZ?”

Nate Savage: “Yes, your honor, a strange man that goes by the stage name of the last three letters of the alphabet. I’m as baffled by him as you seem to be.”

Judge Judy: “Continue.”

Nate Savage: “Anyway, the match goes on as it does, and I go for my first pin attempt of the match, and Mr. Stevens does his counting, but XYZ kicks out. I think nothing of it and carry on with the match. As it progresses, I notice Mr. Stevens counting in a peculiar fashion.”

We see Larry Stevens roll his eyes and shake his head in disbelief.

Judge Judy: “What do you mean?”

Nate Savage: “Well, your honor, I believe Mr. Stevens was counting at an usually slow pace. I only noticed this whenever I attempted to win, but when XYZ would pin me, Mr. Stevens would count a little faster than he was doing for me.”

Larry Stevens: “Your honor, that’s preposterous!”

Judge Judy: “Quiet! When it is your turn to speak, then you may do so.”

Stevens quietly nods his head while Jackson Fenix is loudly snickering at Stevens.

Judge Judy: “Excuse me? Who are you?”

Savage elbows Fenix in the stomach to calm him down, and Fenix looks over at Judge Judy.

Jackson Fenix: “Um, yes, ma'am?”

Judge Judy: “Who are you?!”

Jackson Fenix: “Oh, um, my name is Jackson Fenix, and I’m here on behalf of my friend, Nate Savage.”

Judge Judy: “Okay, may I ask what you find so funny?”

Jackson Fenix: “Um, if I’m being honest, I thought you yelling at that dork over there was pretty funny.”

Judge Judy: “Well, would you mind keeping it down, please?!”

Fenix is about to speak up, but he’s nudged again by Nate, so Jackson takes the hint and sheepishly nods.

Judge Judy: “Now then, Mr. Savage, what you’re telling me is that you believe Mr. Stevens was trying to sabotage you by counting too slowly. Is that correct?”

Nate Savage: “Yes, your honor.”

Judge Judy: “Would he have any reason to do so? Do you have a history with him?”

Nate Savage: “Um, not that I know of.”

Judge Judy: “You’re not sure if you have a history with that man over there? You work in the same company and don’t know if you’ve had any encounters with this man?”

Savage is trying to come up with a retort, but he’s at a loss for words as Judge Judy turns her attention to Larry Stevens.

Judge Judy: “Now, Mr. Stevens, is it true? Were you purposefully trying to sabotage Mr. Savage’s chances of winning that match?”

Larry Stevens: "That is not true. I pride myself on doing my job well; I have a reputation to uphold when officiating a match. I don’t see why I would want to damage that reputation by favoring one competitor over the other."

Judge Judy: “I see; so what you’re saying is that Mr. Savage is lying?”

Larry Stevens: “Yes, your honor. I was there to do a job, and I did that job. I made the count when XYZ rolled him up and counted. I feel like he’s projecting his anger at losing the match on me, and I don’t appreciate it.

Nate Savage: “Excuse me, your honor, but I don’t appreciate him dragging my name through the mud by saying I’m projecting on him.”

Larry Stevens: I drag your name through the mud? You’re the one that brought me on this show to sue me for doing my job! It’s not my fault that you couldn’t kick out in time.”

Nate Savage is angry and looks like he’s about to lunge out and attack Stevens, but Judge Judy bangs her gavel loudly to stop the commotion.

Judge Judy: “Order, order!”

Savage is stewing in anger, while Stevens seems startled by the loud bangs from the gavel.

Judge Judy: “I will not have this kind of ruckus carry on in my courtroom, do you understand?!”

Larry Stevens: “Yes, your honor.”

Nate Savage: “Yes, your honor.”

Jackson Fenix: “Do you have to hit that thing so loud? My ears are ringing!”

Judge Judy bangs her gavel loudly again, and Fenix covers his ears.

Jackson Fenix: “Ouch, what gives?!”

Judge Judy: “Are you always this obnoxious?”

Jackson Fenix: “Obnoxious? People find me charming and delightful!”

Judge Judy: “I find that hard to believe.”

Jackson Fenix: “Rude, you don’t even know me.”

Judge Judy: “Good, I’d like to keep it that way.”

Jackson Fenix: “Hey, uh, is now a bad time to ask if I can, like, sue someone?”

Judge Judy: “What are you babbling about?!”

Nate Savage: “Jax, please!”

Jackson Fenix: “I wanted to sue Big Bird!”

Nate puts his face in his hands while Judge Judy looks on in utter bewilderment.

Judge Judy: “You’re telling me you want to sue a child’s TV show character?”

Jackson Fenix: “Yes! I know it sounds crazy, but believe me when I tell you Big Bird is bad news!”

Nate Savage: “Jackson, please, not now.”

Jackson Fenix: “You see, it all started when I was hanging out with Jeremy Best and some other losers. Jeremy took us on a trip to Sesame Street, and while we were there, a fire was started; for some reason, Big Bird seemed to think it was me that started the fire, but it wasn’t! That freak Konchu Hao started with his stupid wizard powers!”

“I tried to apologize to Big Bird, but that only made him angrier with me, and then wound up kicking me right in my nuts and cost us our match against Jeremy and Bryan at Back in Business! Can you believe that?! Big Bird may have all you fooled, but I know the real Big Bird and let me tell you, he’s not nice!”

Everyone in the courtroom is stunned at Jackson’s story, while he seems proud of himself.

Jackson Fenix: “You know, now that I think about it, maybe it’s Jeremy’s fault! I wouldn’t have met Big Bird without him taking me on that lousy trip! Good thing we have him and XYZ at the next Fallout so I can super kick him right in his d-”

Before Fenix can continue, he’s cut off by Judge Judy’s gavel.

Judge Judy: “Order!”

After the loud banging, Fenix holds his ears again, and Chase Green steps in.

Chase Green: “Excuse me, your honor, if I may, Mr. Savage is a client of mine and what he has said about Mr. Stevens is true. This wouldn’t be the first case of shoddy officiating by an official in FWA.”

Judge Judy: “Who are you?!”

Chase Green: “Chase Green, I’m the attorney for Mr. Savage and Mr. Fenix.”

Judge Judy: “You represent these two clowns?!”

Chase Green: “Well, yes, your honor, but I wouldn’t refer to them as clowns.”

Judge Judy: “You’d have to be a fool to represent them! You have the one over there that rambles on about Big Bird, and you have this one that is crying about a slow count!”

Nate Savage: “Excuse me, your honor, if I may say, that was rude and uncalled for! Secondly, I know for a fact that he purposefully counted slowly! I saw him getting cozy with Chris Peacock; I bet it was Peacock that put him up to it!”

Larry Stevens: “What? Why would Peacock care about you?”

Nate Savage: “I don’t know, he’s your friend; ask him! Maybe it was XYZ that put you up to it or Jeremy Best! I bet it was Jeremy to get back at me for not wanting to be friends with him, so he’s trying to get back at me!”

Larry Stevens: “You sound ridiculous!”

Nate Savage: “You’re the one that’s being ridiculous! Just admit that you counted slowly on purpose! I would’ve won that match if it wasn’t for you and your shoddy officiating!”

Judge Judy: “ORDER!”

Judy’s voice booms across the courtroom, and everyone instantly quiets down.

Judge Judy: “I’ve heard just enough out of you here today; there will be no judgment for either of you! The court is dismissed!”

Judy hammers her gavel and quickly makes her exit from the courtroom.

Nate Savage: “What?! That’s it?! You can’t do that! I demand justice!”

Nate continues his tirade as the bailiff drags him out while Fenix and Green follow him.

Moments later, we get the post-trial interviews with each party as the Judge Judy music plays.

Nate Savage: “This is ludicrous! She can’t do that! I came here expecting justice, and I got nothing; what the hell is wrong with her?! She must be in cahoots with Stevens! That’s it! He must’ve paid her off!”

Jackson Fenix: “Judge Judy, you suck! Your show sucks! Your courtroom sucks! That stupid little hammer you use also sucks!”

Nate Savage: “What a tremendous waste of time this was!”

Jackson Fenix: “You know what won’t be a waste of time? We will give the beating to those goobers XYZ and Jeremy Best at Fallout!”

Nate Savage: “You’re right about that, or you could end this by saying that thing you like to say…”

Jackson Fenix: “That’s undisputed!”

They are about to walk away from the cameras but Fenix stops and turns around.

Jackson Fenix: "Wait, one more thing, these cameras are still rolling, right? Okay, hey Judge Judy, do you think you're so big and bad being a judge?! A judge of what? Being a bitch! Maybe I should sue you after I sue Big Bird! Yeah, you like that? One more thing, Judge Judy you can suck my d-"

The screen goes black.​

 

[Oz]

So, a professional wrestler goes into GM's office, and the GM says,

“What seems to be the problem, Luna?”

Luna says,

“What’s the problem? Where do I begin, GM? I once had a feud with someone called THE POWER!!!, and all day long I ran away from her. Honestly GM, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t even know if THE POWER!!! knows. She only knows that she has power over me, and that seems to bring her happiness. But I don’t know, I wake up in a malaise, and I walk here and there… at night. I … I sometimes wake up and I turn to some random fan in the bed laying in my arms, wearing the goggles. A fan that thought the goggles really affected him, GM. It's like placebo effect, you know, if you're stupid enough to believe they work then they actually work on you. But I don’t know where to turn to. My old friend and supporter, Krash, he fell into the sea in an unsanctioned match a few months ago. Professional wrestling finally took him down, as it did many of us. And my other work place, and this is the hardest pill to swallow, doc. My other work place, Clique Wrestling Alliance… I can no longer work there. As much as it pains me to say, when I look at all that erased history, all I see is the same vast sea of emptiness that I… that I catch when I take a glimpse of my own face in the mirror. If only I wasn’t such a coward, then perhaps…perhaps I could bring myself to reach over to that sheets of paper that lays on the bedside behind me and reads 'LUNA PIPER MEETS HER MAKER' and pull the trigger on this miserable career for once and all … Doc, sometimes I feel like Michelle von Horrowitz, even though I’m just Luna Piper, just barely hanging on to my web with an everlasting fire underneath me. I’m not feeling good."

And so the GM says,

“Luna, man, you’re troubled. But you should be seeing a psychiatrist. Why on earth did you come here? Why are you cutting this promo on me all of a sudden?”

And Luna says,

“‘Cause the world title's on the line.”

​

 

[Sully]

Where In The World Is Kleio De Santos?

It's been some time since Kleio De Santos has been missing. According to Blair Ravenwood, she disappeared after she was transferred to a different hospital following her concussion.

Why Blair kept this information from her sister Celestia is unknown. And Celestia wasn't happy about it. How much time was wasted when they could have been looking for her? They could have been questioning doctors, or looking through files, or doing something!

Blair Ravenwood: HIPPA. They aren't allowed to tell us where she is because of HIPPA or something.

Celestia Ravenwood: It makes no sense...why wouldn't she have reached out to us? It's been months now, Blair...

Blair Ravenwood: She had a concussion. What if she doesn't remember?

Celestia Ravenwood: She passed The Seven Trials, Blair...you can't become Witch Queen and then get taken down by a concussion. Something isn't right...there is...a dark power surrounding this. I can feel it!

Blair Ravenwood: I was worried you would suggest that.

Celestia Ravenwood: Why wouldn't YOU suggest it?

Blair suddenly gets intense. She stares daggers into her sister.

Blair Ravenwood: You don't trust me, sister?

Celestia gets a bit intimidated by her older sister and backs down.

Celestia Ravenwood: No, it's just that...something isn't adding up, and I want to find my queen.

Blair Ravenwood: Then go find her.

Blair says it coldly. Celestia stares back at her sister, and then decides...she will.

Hours later and she is on a plane.

The thoughts kept going through Celestia's head. The paranoia...did someone take Kleio? And who could have done it? She thought back to her last match, on Fallout. Who was at the arena? Was anyone watching her?

Then she thought about her next match.

Bad Reputation.

Who would have more motive to kidnap her Queen than a former Queen herself? Gabrielle and Kleio De Santos never quite got along. It would mean a lot for The Coven to take down Gabrielle once and for all, and with Kleio that would have been possible. Gabrielle would have many reasons to go after Kleio.

It made sense.

But how would she get it out of Gabby?

Soon her plane landed. And after a short drive in a rental car, Celestia found herself in the same airport that Kleio was supposedly transferred too in Miami.

Receptionist: I'm sorry, but there isn't a Kleio De Santos here.

Celestia Ravenwood: Was there ever?

Receptionist: I'm sorry, I can't help you.

Celestia had hit a dead end.

As she was walking out of the hospital, feeling defeated, she suddenly saw something and got an idea. The lost and found. She ran over the closet shaped room, and started looking through plastic totes and coat racks...suddenly, she saw it. Kleio's black leather jacket, she smelled it...it was definitely Kleio's. She took it off the rack and searched the right side pocket. Nothing. Then she searched the left pocket...it was a business card, for a hotel in Miami. It wasn't much, but it was a lead. Celestia felt more confident, as she took Kleio's jacket and put it on before leaving the hospital and heading for the hotel. Was Kleio staying there? Who gave her the card?

As Celestia entered the hotel she felt a darkness enter her. There was something off about this hotel...by all means it looked normal on the outside, but Celestia had a way of sensing energy. And she sure could feel something.

She cautiously went up to the front desk.

But before she said anything, she noticed the pictures on the wall. It was all the famous people who had stayed there. Dan Marino, Regis Philbin, Wilmer Valderrama, and...KAYDEN KNOX. Celestia nearly gasped when she saw that photo of Kayden Knox behind the front desk. Why was Kayden Knox staying at this hotel? The same hotel who's business card was in Kleio's jacket. Something wasn't adding up.

That slimy worm Kayden Knox was in on this. It didn't surprise her...Kayden was never good. He was always shacking up with some of the most evil people. Mike Garcia, Gabrielle, even Saint Sulley at one point.

Celestia ran to call Blair.

It was time that Blair knew. For the longest time her sister wasn't taking this seriously, she didn't think Kleio missing was anything to worry about. Now she had proof...Kayden Knox, and likely Gabrielle, took their Queen. And it was their job as sisters of The Coven to get her back. She knew what Blair would say...that Kleio can handle herself.

But what if Gabrielle is the dark force she's been feeling?

She has always called herself a Goddess. What if she is The Goddess of something so much darker?

Celestia rushed to her rental car, and quicky headed back to the airport. She dialed the phone trying to get ahold of Blair. No answer. Celestia began to worry. She dialed the phone again, and again...no answer. She tried one more time, and finally...

Blair Ravenwood: What? What do you want?

Celestia couldn't wait to tell her. She couldn't wait to tell her that she was wrong and Celestia was right.

Celestia Ravenwood: Sister, I have a lead on where Kleio is! We need to act fast.

Blair Ravenwood: Oh, do you now?

Celestia Ravenwood: Don't start. This is more serious than you thinking you're in charge. Look sister, that bitch Gabrielle and her little minion Kayden Knox took her. They took her, and they're holding her somewhere. I went to that hospital, and I found Kleio's jacket...and it led me to this hotel...and....

Blair Ravenwood: Celestia...

Celestia Ravenwood: And the hotel had Knox's picture!

Blair Ravenwood: Celestia...

Celestia Ravenwood: And I just know that Gabrielle has some sort of dark force. We need to save her. We need to save our Queen.

Blair Ravenwood: Celestia! She is fine. ENOUGH.

Celestia Ravenwood: You don't know that!

Celestia was so angry, she almost hung up.

Blair Ravenwood: I do. I know where she is...she isn't with Gabrielle. She isn't with Kayden Knox. I'm sorry, I knew the entire time. I just...you weren't ready.

Celestia now was even angrier. None of this made sense.

Celestia Ravenwood: ...you didn't tell me?

Blair Ravenwood: You weren't ready.

Celestia could kill her. She might.

But then Blair brought her back in.

Blair Ravenwood: Now you are.

​

 

[Tommy Bedlam]

Dear Rodeo

Saturday, November 12, 2022

The win streak was still intact, but barely. Tommy had spent more than a week preparing for a match against Danny Toner only to have things suddenly changed because of an injury. If Tommy was being honest, he was somewhat relieved when he found out that he would be facing Vampyra instead. He assumed that his size advantage would turn their match into a glorified squash, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.

FWA’s newest rising star had given him everything he could take and then some. Some of her unorthodox offensive moves had left Tommy hurting in areas that weren’t generally sore after a match. There was no doubt in his mind that they would meet again, especially if she wound up taking the FWA TV title.

Rocco handed Tommy a bottle of water and a towel as he opened the door to the locker room.

“Helluva a job out there, kid. We didn’t have a lot of tape on Vampyra, but you went out there and got it done.”

“Yea.”

Tommy had managed to maintain his focus during the match. Had he not, he undoubtedly would’ve lost. Now that the match was over, his focus had shifted back to Uncle Jimmy’s funeral and the eulogy that he had to deliver in less than 48 hours. The deadline looming over him was a significant source of anxiety.

“Who do I have in the next round?”

“Caesar.”

Tommy had never faced off with Caesar before. Obviously, he had heard stories about one of the most eccentric members of the FWA roster. Everyone had.

“The guy who thinks he’s the reincarnation of Julius Caesar?”

“The one and only.”

Tommy’s time in the FWA had seen him take on a variety of opponents. However, he had never faced off with someone who believed he was the reincarnation of a ruler who reigned more than 2,000 years ago.

“What have you got on him?”

“You know I’m already working on it.”

“I’m going to get a shower.”

Tommy went into the small shower in his dressing room, relishing the opportunity to be alone. He had taken plenty of opportunities to be by himself since Jimmy had died. When Rocco had offered to book them two tickets to Freetown, Tommy had made up an excuse to catch a different flight. It had been days since he had responded to Randi’s text messages.

They had spent one incredible day together in the morning hours after Jimmy had passed. She had come over to talk, but Tommy had managed to avoid any meaningful conversation. Instead, they spent the next several hours in his bedroom, rarely coming out. Much like he did with Rocco, Tommy made up some reason to avoid spending meaningful time with her. Undoubtedly, she would lose interest in him soon.

Tommy was isolating himself because he didn’t want to talk about anything of any importance. As the water poured from the showerhead over his body, Tommy couldn’t shake the mental images of the medical team rushing into the room as Jimmy flatlined. The high-pitched whistle coming from the shower sounded a lot like the long, stead beep that emitted from the machines that filled the room.

Filled with rage at the entire situation, Tommy pulled back a mighty fist and punched the tile wall in the shower. Two of the tiles cracked and Tommy immediately regretted his decision. The throbbing in two of his knuckles caused him to look down at his hand to see blood streaming from it. Oh well. It wasn’t like he hadn’t broken his fingers before.

Tommy put on his jeans before he made his way back into the small sitting area in his locker room where Rocco was waiting. The towel wrapped around his hand was sure to be a giveaway that he had done something stupid.

“So, did you teach that wall a lesson?”

Tommy decided to lie.

“Hurt my hand in the match. Nothing major, I’m sure.”

“Bullshit. I heard you punch the wall. These walls aren’t that thick.”

Tommy pulled the towel away to reveal that his knuckles were already swollen and turning bright purple.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Why don’t you just go ahead and draw a big ass bullseye on something for Caesar to focus on next week?”

“It’ll be fine by next week.”

“Fine? You’ve broken at least two knuckles! Listen, kid. I know that you’re hurt about what happened with Jimmy. I know you’re mad that he’s gone. But, this is the biggest opportunity of your life and you’re self-sabotaging.”

“I’m not fucking mad about anything, Rocco. And don’t talk to me about self-sabotage. You're my manager. Not my therapist.”

"You're right. If I was your therapist, I'd be making more money."

Tommy didn’t want to talk about self-sabotage because deep down, he knew it was true. He did this to every good thing in his life. When he was in high school, he was a promising football player. He self-sabotaged until the coach gave him an ultimatum, and in turn, a reason to quit the team. He had torpedoed every relationship he had ever had, and it looked like he was in the process of doing the same with Randi. Now, only a few days away from the biggest match of his FWA career, he was doing it again.

“When do you need to be back in Texas?”

“By Monday. Funeral is Tuesday.”

“I think there’s a redeye leaving in a couple hours. It'll get you home late tomorrow night. You wanna get on that one?”

“Sure.”

Rocco pecked away at his cellphone and got Tommy’s ticket booked.

“You’re booked. I’ll send you the flight info. I’m going to wait and fly out tomorrow, but I’ll be in town for the funeral.”

“You really don’t have to do that. You only met him once. It’s not going to be a big funeral. I’m going to say a few words, let the preacher read a verse and they’re going to put him in the ground.”

“I’m not going for Jimmy. I’m going for you.”

“Do whatever you want.”

Tommy threw on his signature black t-shirt, pulled his ballcap on low, grabbed his bag and made his way for the exit.

“Your ride will be here in five minutes. I told them to pick you up at the backdoor.”

“Thanks, Rocco.”

Tommy knew he shouldn’t have been so short with Rocco. As he pulled his phone out of his bag for the first time, he saw another text from Randi.
​

“Great win tonight. Proud of you! Let me know when you’re back in town.”​

He started to put his phone into his pocket. He knew he shouldn’t keep ignoring her.
​

“Thanks.”​

That was the best he could muster.

Tommy arrived at the airport just in time to grab a beer at an airport bar before he made his way to the gate. The flight was going to be a lengthy one that landed in Dallas, which was less than an hour outside of Sweetwater.

Tommy knew that he should work on his eulogy for Jimmy during the flight. He also knew he probably wasn’t going to. As he settled into his seat, he asked the middle-aged flight attendant for a beer. She brought one, Tommy threw it down in two large gulps, reclined his seat and drifted off to sleep.

Tommy woke up a couple times during the 22-hour flight. Usually long enough to take a piss, order another beer, and force himself to go back to sleep. After his third drink of the flight, Tommy drifted back to sleep. In his dream, he was greeted by a familiar voice.

“Damn, boy. You’re looking rough.”

“Jimmy?”

“Of course. With the way you’re acting, there probably aren’t a lot of other people wanting to talk to you.”

“Aren’t you…you know…dead?”

“Oh shit, I’m dead?! What happened?”

“The hospital…the rodeo…Cyclone…”

“Oh, shut up, dumbass. I’m just yanking your chain. Yes, I’m dead. You’re having a dream. Dead doesn’t count in dreams.”

Tommy was trying to force himself to wake up, but he couldn’t.

“Hell, I’m not entirely sure dead counts in real life anymore. What’s this I hear about you fighting Julius Caesar? Didn’t that guy die thousands of years ago?”

“Yea. Reincarnation or some shit like that.”

“Holy fuck. You mean I can come back and try this whole living thing again?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“I think if I could come back, I’d come back as Tim McGraw. He’s been banging Faith Hill for years now. Lucky bastard.”

“I’m not totally sure that’s how it works.”

“What do you know about how it works? You ever been dead before? You’ve got a match coming up against fucking Julius Caesar 2.0. Apparently, that guy got to come back as a professional wrestler. If he can go from Roman ruler to pro wrestler, I think I could go out as a rodeo cowboy and come back as a country singer.”

“How did you even know who I’m facing? You’re. Fucking. Dead.”

“Yea, I’m dead. But listen Tommy, I’m everywhere you are. Back when I was alive, I had to keep up with you online and on TV. Now, I just kinda get to tag along and go where you go.”

“Oh God. Does this mean you’re gonna be my ‘guardian angel’ or whatever mom used to talk about all the time? I’d feel a whole lot better if my guardian angel was stronger than a bull.”

“Cheap shot.”

Jimmy chuckled.

“Listen Tommy. I go where you go now.”

“That include the funeral?”

“You still tore up about the whole eulogy thing?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I probably can’t be there for that. Kind of a bad look if you go to your own funeral.”

“So, I’m on my own?”

“Not if you stop pushing people away. You’ve got a good friend, and you could have a good woman if you’d pull your head out of your ass. Wake up, Tommy. Wake up.”

With that, Jimmy was gone, but Tommy could still hear him saying “wake up.” Soon, Jimmy’s voice was replaced by that of the middle-aged flight attendant. The flight had landed, and Tommy was back in Texas. He looked out the window and saw the night sky over Texas.

He left the airport and picked up the rental car that Rocco had arranged for him. He drove the 30 minutes to his apartment, walked in, kicked off his boots, and laid down on the couch. He stared at the ceiling, recapping the dream conversation that he had with Jimmy until he drifted off to sleep once again.

Monday, November 14, 2022

The knocking at the door woke Tommy up. There was no way that Rocco had already made it into town. He rolled over and checked his phone and saw that it was 11:17 AM. The sunlight was pushing through the curtains in the apartment.

Tommy walked over and opened the door. He already knew who was going to be on the other side. He would certainly have some explaining to do. He was right. It was Randi.

“Come on in.”

“Wasn’t sure you remembered who I was.”

“Sorry. Just been a little busy."

“Too busy to send me anything other than a one-word thank you message?”

“Gotta get ready for next week.”

“Sure."

Tommy thought back to the conversation he had with Jimmy in the dream on the plane. He knew he needed to stop pushing people away, starting with Randi. How many more gorgeous blondes were just going to walk into his life?

“I’m sorry, alright? I’ve had the F1 stuff going on, media obligations, then dealing with all this stuff with Jimmy. It’s just been a lot, and I’m really not that good at letting people in. That’s not what we do in this family.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to be here for you. When I came over here after Jimmy died, I was just trying to offer you a shoulder.”

“Pretty sure you gave me more than a shoulder.”

Tommy chuckled and a slight smile came across Randi’s face.

“It was the best shoulder you’re ever gonna get.”

Damn. She was really good at this.

“So, do you have your eulogy ready?”

“Haven’t even started on it.”

“Want some help?”

“No. I can do it on my own-“

Before he could finish, Randi interrupted.

“I wasn’t really asking. I’m going to help you.”

“Alright.”

“So, you know how sometimes at funerals, they have a video with pictures of the person?”

“Yea.”

Tommy was lying. He hadn’t been to a funeral since his grandfather died, and nobody liked that old bastard enough to make a music video about him.

“I went ahead and made one for Jimmy. If you want to use it at the service, that’s fine. If not, no hard feelings. Do you wanna see it?”

“Sure.”

Randi pulled up the video on her phone and handed the device to Tommy.




By the time the video was over, Tommy’s emotions were all over the place. He was still determined to not let Randi see him shed a tear. A woman like her wasn’t looking for a weepy, weak-kneed guy. But damn, it was hard to hold everything in.

“That’s beautiful. Seriously. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So, let’s get to work on this eulogy.”

Tommy went over to the small desk in the corner, pulled out a legal pad and an ink pen and sat down beside Randi on the couch. For a few moments, they sat there in silence.

“Have you ever done one of these?”

“Nope.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Just write down what you want people to know about Jimmy. What you think he'd want to tell people if he was there."

Tommy, in an effort to sarcastically break the tension in the room wrote on the pad.

“Jimmy was a dumbass who died because he tried to ride a bull that had almost crippled him before.”

“I think we both know you can’t get up in a church and say that. The old women will faint.”

“Hopefully my mother hits the ground with them.”

“I still haven’t met her.”

“She’s crazy. You’re not missing much. How bout a pizza?”

“You can order one, but we’re still going to have to work on this eulogy.”

“That’s fine. What do you like on your pizza?”

“Anything but pineapple. Pineapple doesn’t go on pizza.”

Holy hell. Maybe she was the one. Tommy picked up his phone and placed a call to Howie’s Pizza, his favorite little grease pit in Sweetwater. Once the order was placed, he picked the legal pad back up and began to write.

“How long does this thing have to be?"

“I’m not sure. Not long, I’m sure.”

“Good.”

Hours passed while the two of them worked on the eulogy and enjoyed the pizza. The undefeated Philadelphia Eagles were losing to the Washington Commanders on Monday Night Football, but neither of them really cared.

Finally, as the game came to an end, Tommy was satisfied with the eulogy that he had written. Randi had been as wonderful as always. She did stop him from using his typical language a few times, but that was probably for the best.

“I guess I should get going.”

“I mean, you’re welcome to stay here. I could always use another shoulder.”

She chuckled.

“Honestly, I’m not sure that’s the best idea. I don't particularly like to just give my shoulder to everyone. I’m gonna take off and let you get some rest. I’m sure you’re still jetlagged.”

“Alright. I assume I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You know you will. How about I pick you up on my way to the funeral?”

“That’d be great.”

The two of them shared a somewhat uncomfortable hug at the door, each of them suppressing their desire for a repeat of the last time they had been together. She was right, though. It probably wasn’t a good idea. Especially after Tommy had been so distant over the last week.

Tommy walked over to the liquor cabinet and picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels. He heard something fall over behind the bottle with a rattle. It was a bottle of the pain pills that he had hidden after his back surgery.

He hadn’t touched any sort of narcotic since the night Rocco had found him in his stupor. Eh, one couldn’t really hurt, could it?

Tommy opened the bottle, revealing one Oxycodone tablet in the bottom of the bottle. He threw it into his mouth and swallowed it with a long pull of whiskey. Within a matter of minutes, his head was swimming and he stumbled down the hall to his bedroom. He fell onto the bed.

Soon, Tommy found himself in an unfamiliar place wearing unfamiliar clothes. His traditional black shirt, blue jeans, and boots had been replaced by a flowing white toga and some sandals that looked like they had just come off the feet of Jesus Christ. His cowboy hat was gone, and instead, a small wreath of greenery rested on top of his head.

As if he was standing over himself, looking down from above, he saw himself looking out over the crowd, and there were many familiar faces. There was no Rocco and no Randi. Instead, a large room was filled with other FWA superstars. Along the front row, Tommy noticed Vampyra, Michelle von Horowitz, and Gerald Grayson. Scattered throughout the large crowd, Tommy saw Reagan Cole, Phillip Jackson, Johnny Johnson, and The Lumberjacks.

Tommy cleared his throat as he stepped up to the podium that stood over an open casket. He looked down into the coffin and saw a familiar face. It was the face of Cornelius Aurelius Caesar.

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest–
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men–
Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

As Tommy stepped back from the podium, he felt a hand land flush across his shoulder. It was Jimmy, again. Unlike the rest of the crowd, Jimmy wasn’t dressed in traditional, ancient Roman garb. Instead, he was in a Wrangler pearl-snap shirt, jeans, and his cowboy hat.

“Nice job out there, Tommy.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

“Now, if you did that for him, you better give me a better send off than that. Oh, and bury that Caesar guy. We’re Texans. We don’t lose fights to guys who wear togas.”

Tuesday, November 15, 2022

When Randi arrived the next morning, Tommy was already ready. He had chugged enough black coffee to kill off any lingering affects of the alcohol and the narcotics from the night before. She would never know.

She had insisted that he actually wear a shirt with a collar, much to his chagrin. He did convince her that most of the crowd would be in blue jeans, so he could be at least somewhat comfortable. Finally, he was wearing the belt buckle that Jimmy had given him on the day that he died. Bull riders never really wear the buckles that they win, but Tommy wasn't a bull rider, and that buckle was one of the last things that he had seen bring a smile to Jimmy's face. They arrived at the small funeral chapel a few minutes before the service was to start. A small TV screen in the foyer played the video that Randi had made.

Tommy quickly spotted Rocco who was by far the best-dressed man in the room full of cowboys. The two of them spoke as Tommy made his way to the front. He greeted the chaplain who shared a quick devotional with the cowboys when they were out on tour. The man informed Tommy that the service could start whenever he wanted it to.

The back row was filled by a group of old women who people around town made jokes about. The three blue-haired church ladies made appearances at every funeral. Many locals joked that they were only going to find out if they had managed to outlive one another.

On the front row, Tommy saw Suzy, who Randi sat beside, and his mother. He hugged Suzy but steered clear of his mother. Their relationship had been severed when Tommy had reconnected with Sammy, and she had made it clear that no amount of apologizing was going to work. Generally, tragedy brings a family together, but that didn’t seem to be the case for Tommy and his mom.

Tommy stood over the casket, which was thankfully closed, and cleared his throat.

“Jimmy Bennett was my hero. From the time that I was old enough to participate in mutton busting, Jimmy vowed that he was going to teach me everything that he knew. Fortunately, that wasn’t much.”

The crowd chuckled at Tommy’s joke.

“Jimmy was only a few years older than me, which meant that I always felt like I had an older brother. Jimmy caught me dipping skoal when I was 12. He caught me drinking moonshine when I was 16.”

The mention of forbidden, homemade whiskey made the group of holy roller women on the back pew clutch their pearls.

“Most of all, Uncle Jimmy always looked out for me. Most of you know that I don’t really have a father. As we got older, Jimmy was the man that I went to when I needed advice. I figured that he had dealt with most of the things that I was facing pretty recently. Everybody in this room could share stories about Jimmy Bennett. Unfortunately, most of them can’t be shared in front of the preacher back here.”

There was more laughter from the crowd.

“I know I was probably supposed to talk longer than this, but I’m not big on speeches. Before he…uh…before he…went on, Jimmy gave me some good advice. He told me to always be good to the people who you consider friends.”

With that, Tommy made eye contact with Rocco. The older man nodded, knowing that this was an apology from Tommy.

“Also, he told me when you find a good woman, do everything you can to hold onto her.”

Suzy was dabbing at her eyes, so she missed the fact that Tommy glanced at Randi.

“Folks, if my Uncle Jimmy was here, I believe he’d tell all of us to find what we care about the most in this world and do it as good as we can do it. Whether you’re a bull rider or a professional wrestler, he would tell us to do it full speed. That’s what Jimmy Bennett would say.”

Tommy backed away from the podium and mentally checked out of the service. The rodeo chaplain got up and read a passage from the 23rd Psalm, but Tommy didn’t hear any of it.

Jimmy had requested no graveside service, so once the minister led a closing prayer, the crowd began to move toward the doors. Tommy spoke to a few of the local bull riders who he had got to know over the years, as Rocco made his way toward him.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it. I was gonna head back home for a few days before we fly out for Germany. But if you need me to stick around town, I don’t care at all.”

“No, man. Go ahead and get back home and get some rest. Listen, I know you haven’t been walking out with me since I came back, but I’d really appreciate having you in my corner against Caesar. You think we can work that out?”

“You got it, kid. I like being in your corner.”

The two men shook hands and Rocco hopped in his rental car to head toward the airport.

Randi walked across the parking lot to Tommy and threw both arms around him. She kissed him on the cheek, and he nearly melted.

“You did wonderful. Jimmy would’ve been proud.”

“Thanks. I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“You would’ve been fine.”

“You think we can get out of here? Go grab a drink or something?”

“Sure.”

As Tommy started to get into Randi’s car, he heard someone calling for him. Curt, one of Jimmy’s closest rodeo buddies was hurrying across the parking lot.

“Nice eulogy kid. Jimmy was real proud of you.”

“I appreciate that, Curt.”

“So, I hear you’ve got that Caesar guy next week on Fallout.”

“Wow, Curt. Never really pegged you as a wrestling fan.”

“Psh, I don’t miss it! Me and Jimmy used to always make sure we were somewhere that had cable once the rodeo was over so we could catch you guys.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Yea. So, you’ve been on a damn good win streak lately. You think you’ll be alright against Caesar?”

“You kidding me? We’re Texans. We don’t lose to guys in togas. Plus, I’ve already got a eulogy ready for him, too.”

Tommy hopped in Randi’s car, took her hand, and the two of them took off to the nearest bar.​

 

[Cyrus Truth]

Exile Chronicles (Volume 5)
Chapter 10: Weight of One’s Frustrations

How has it come to this?

The quest for salvation. The Road to redemption and reclamation.

What…what is happening?

Where did everything go wrong?

Cyrus Truth has done everything right. He’s done everything he’s been asked to do, competed against everyone who’s been put in front of him. He’s struggled, sure. Victories haven’t been consistent, but they’ve been there. And even his defeats haven’t been crushing or disgraceful.

Losses to a Dreamer, who had to stoop low to earn most of them.

Losses in the Golden Opportunity matches, but only after the eventual winners had to employ others to take him out.

A loss in Freetown to Chris Peacock, only because of a bum knee.

Defeat, as Cyrus has said before, is a bitter drink to swallow in the best of times. Even more so in an environment like the F1 Climaxxx, where every victory counts. And Cyrus HAD victory within his grasp, had it with just one Journey’s End…

…but, no.

Instead, a sneaky pin gave Chris Peacock the win and the points in the Climaxxx. Another step for him towards the World Title, another opportunity on top of his guaranteed shot. And with Danny Toner out and the World Title up for grabs in a battle royale?

The worst thing is…Cyrus can’t even be mad at Peacock. Embarrassing as it was to lose to a goddamn victory roll after pushing his opponent to the absolute brink, it was still a fair loss. And Chris Peacock showed at least some dignity by not choosing to simply cash in the title shot and become the World Champion without a fight. Still, Cyrus can’t shake the feeling that, when the chips were down and an opportunity against a weakened, defenseless champion presented itself, Peacock would take the chance like so many others before him.

Assuming, of course, he doesn’t just become the World Champion in Rotterdam by surviving the Battle Royale.

Even now, as Cyrus finds himself in some rundown little dive bar in Amsterdam’s Red Light district, far away from the actual dance floor and drug-fueled patrons as he holds court in a dimly-lit backroom between two competing black marketeers who asked for him to mediate their dispute regarding territory, The Exile barely listens to the two men prattle on about who owes who what and when. Instead, Cyrus’s thoughts are clouded, constricted by chains…

Chains of frustration, anger, and maybe…just maybe, a twinge of fear.

Cyrus can see himself, FEEL himself in his mind locked in a room with no light, no comfort, just the feeling of rusted steel wrapping around him, preventing him from moving and restricting his ability to even breathe.

The Exile has never, NEVER felt this level of abject frustration in his entire career as a professional wrestler. And the worst thing is…he has nobody to blame but himself. He SHOULD have beaten Chris Peacock, bum knee and all. He SHOULD have crushed Michelle von Horrowitz and put an end to her insipid, droning bullshit. Hell, he SHOULD have won the Golden Opportunity at SOME point.

For fuck’s sake…he SHOULD have retained his World Title all those years ago and prevented all of this frustration from happening in the first place. In an environment full of the most accomplished and capable wrestlers, Cyrus Truth has proven time and again that he stands above them…

…doesn’t he?

He certainly hasn’t as of late. Cyrus isn’t weak, by any means…or is he? Would someone as strong as Cyrus had been in the past allowed this much time to pass by without getting a proper shot at the World Championship? The man who’s been FWA World Champion more days than anyone, the man whose two nearly year long reigns eclipse the reigns of all but a handful of men and women should be better than this. He shouldn’t have struggled as much as he has over the last three years just to try and get a shot. Not even just fighting for the championship…no, just to GET A SHOT to fight for the World Title.

Frustration, disgust, and that sinking feeling in the pit of Cyrus’s stomach…all of them continue to tighten around him, digging into his heart like chains wrapping around his arms, legs, and throat. The image in his mind of being trapped, the sensation of those chains tightening around him threatening to constrict and consume him in a sea of rage and sorrow…

“Hey, Truth! Didn’t you hear what I said?”

That weighty feeling doesn’t go away, but the sudden shouting of one of the black market entrepreneurs snaps Cyrus’s attention back to the meeting. The one who shouted, a spindly man with a thin pencil mustache dressed in a suit that was probably nice back in the 1970s, is leaning forward on the makeshift table giving Cyrus a rather sharp look, an expecting glare.

“Hmm? Yeah, I heard you the first time, Ernest. And I don’t care how much product you think you can move through Rotterdam. This section of Europe is Dirk’s territory and he hasn’t given anybody in the world of shadows any reason to want him ousted. So, your request to take over some of the territory is denied. That’s my decision. Live with it.”

The other man at the table, an olive-skinned and somewhat portly man dressed in simple black attire and wearing a golden rimmed set of glasses, flashes a slight grin and nods as he looks over to The Exile.

“I’m glad you understand, Truth. I was a bit hesitant to agree to Ernest’s proposal for mediation, but it seems the stories told in our world about your fairness are not exaggerations.”

Ernest slams his fist into the table, obviously unsatisfied with this conclusion as he sneers at Cyrus.

“What the actual hell, Truth?! Dirk is a small-time thug who’s stumbled his way into a fraction of the greatness that others in our line of work have accomplished, and you know it! There’s a shit-ton of opportunities that aren’t being taken, and it’s because this fat fuck…”

“...You mind not throwing that body-shaming bullshit in my presence?”

“FUCK. YOU. I’m a far better smuggler and businessman, and you know it. And we had an understanding when I asked to set up this arbitration…”

“‘An agreement?’ No, Ernest, you had some idea in your head that I was going to be swayed by whatever kickbacks you thought I was paying attention to. I don’t get brought in to settle disputes because I’m some kind of loser that can have their heart and soul bought out. My decision stands. Get over it and get the fuck out of here.”

“And what if I don’t?”

The air feels like it was sucked out of this dingy little backroom with that blatant challenge to Cyrus’s authority. Dirk, having gotten what he wanted, is leaning back in his chair with a drink in his hand, but even he is floored by this act of defiance against The Exile.

Cyrus, for his part, continues feeling that tightening of chains in his mind. He can almost see himself in that dark, moldy cell as chains are pulled and constrict him…chains forged from the dark thoughts that cloud his heart and soul.

“...You want to repeat that?”

“You heard me the first time, Truth. Way I see it, power and influence are fickle bitches. And maybe, just maybe…your word doesn’t mean as much as I might’ve thought it does. And maybe this little meeting and your decision…maybe that doesn’t carry the kind of weight to make it stick.”

Cyrus jolts up from his chair as he clenches his right hand into a tight fist. The normally resolute Exile is clearly riled up.

And not by some smarmy upstart like Chris Peacock or Michelle von Horrowitz.

Not by some fleeting, flighty bastard like Phillip A. Jackson.

No…just some fucking lowlife that’s gotten a bit uppity.

“You should really think very carefully about what you choose to say next, Ernest.”

“Should I? Hehe…I don’t think I really need to. I think…I think maybe I thought too much about you and your ability to back up your decisions and intentions.”

“Ernest, what are you…”

Before Dirk can finish his sentence, Ernest stands up and tosses his drink in his face, right in front of Truth. To humiliate Dirk, sure…but more as a sign of defiance against the will of The Exile. That’s evident by the look he gives Cyrus, that smarmy smirk as he bumps shoulders with him before walking out.

Every neuron in Cyrus’s head is screaming at him. Pushing him to drive Ernest’s head through the wall for that flagrant, disrespectful act.

But the chains…the chains in his mind have him questioning himself. Thinking instead of acting, pondering whether there’s Truth in what Ernest is saying.

Not just in the world of shadows. But in FWA, as well.

And even if Cyrus wanted to stop Ernest and turn him into a blood-soaked smear on this dirty, dusty floor, he’s stopped by the low chuckle and outstretched arm of Dirk, wiping his face with his free hand with a handkerchief.

“Let him go, Truth. He’s just bitter because his little ploy didn’t work out the way he thought it would. I’m satisfied to leave things as they are.”

“I’m not.”

“I know…but that’s neither here nor there. Listen, why don’t we head out to the district and find somewhere more comfortable, with perhaps some more comfortable…company?”

Dirk’s tone when he says that makes Cyrus’s skin crawl. Regardless of what he might think of the man and in spite of ruling in his favor in this instance, there’s no doubt that he’s a bit of a lech. Still, Cyrus shakes his head and just waves him off. He doesn’t even tell Dirk to leave, but the smuggler gets the message. Standing up and patting Cyrus on the shoulder, he takes his leave.

And Cyrus can’t help but feel that pat on the shoulder was more than just a little patronizing.

Cyrus Truth, the man who’s always alone. Now sitting alone with nothing but those chains in his mind.

Truth knows he has a match against Phillip Jackson on Fallout as part of this ongoing Climaxxx tournament. Despite Phillip’s recent success in becoming Television Champion, both he and Cyrus are in the same boat in terms of needing a win to keep any hopes alive for coming out of the pool.

Phillip…a repugnant little man who’s made a career of a dozen reinventions, all of them equally as awful as the last. Cyrus isn’t entirely sure what Phillip did to earn a Television Title shot in the first place. Was there a contendership match? Cyrus can’t for the life of him remember who Phillip beat to get the shot at Shawn Summers in the first place. From what he can remember, he “earned” a title shot based solely on pedigree.

Pedigree…the pedigree of a mongrel dog pretending that it’s a king. A former World Champion who couldn’t stand alone, and who has failed to reclaim that glory at every turn.

“But then…what does that say about me?”

Again, the chains tighten, digging into his neck and chest, making it harder and harder to breathe, let alone think clearly.

There’s a bottle of whiskey on the table, but Cyrus doesn’t reach for it. That fog of doubt and frustration is too heavy, and no amount of booze can help soothe it.

Loathe as he was to admit it, there was a certain similarity between Cyrus and Phillip at this moment. Both of them have found the Road back to prominence fraught with perils and pitfalls. Sure, Phillip was a champion, but he’s found that being a champion has not helped when faced with the stiff competition of the current environment.

The chains continue to tighten.

Hell, Cyrus has always had Phillip’s number. In the various matches he and “The Cleanser” or whatever he’s calling himself this week have had over the years, Phillip Jackson has never, NEVER claimed victory over Cyrus Truth, and nothing in the last few months have convinced The Exile that that was going to change. If someone like Cyrus has struggled like this, doubtless someone like Phillip would struggle when not facing an opponent like that blowhard Shawn Summers.

But…if that changes…if Phillip beats him on Fallout, then what? Not only would that be an unforgivable, intolerable loss…it’d also guarantee that Cyrus Truth would be knocked out of the Climaxxx. He’d still have to compete, but for what? Just to play spoiler? Just to make it easier for Chris Peacock or Phillip Jackson to become the World Champion?

Is that ALL that’s left for Cyrus? Not to be the man, but to be the man who paves the Road for others to achieve what he starves for, bleeds for, dies for a little more each day? It wouldn’t be so bad, it would be almost tolerable…if not for the fact that every single champion since Sullivan has either been embarrassingly defeated in short order, unable to defend the World Title even once, or in the case of Toner? Ended up getting injured after achieving his ambition.

The chains tighten even more.

The world around Cyrus disappears. The Netherlands aren’t a thing anymore. Europe, the world, everything just fades away. The only thing that remains is that cell, and those damned chains.

Cyrus struggles against them, getting more and more feral as the chains continue to tighten and his mind continues to wander.

If he loses to Phillip…

If Cyrus is unable to survive the Battle Royale and become World Champion again…

Is that it?

Everything that Cyrus Truth has accomplished, everything that he’s endured. The rigors of the ring, the disrespect and dismissal of his peers, and the unrelenting struggles of the past few years…

If Cyrus doesn’t win the Battle Royale, someone else will simply waltz in and become the World Champion. The title that he hungers for will again slip through his grasp and continue to elude him.

If Cyrus can’t beat Phillip Jackson, a wrestler that has NEVER defeated him…then any hope Cyrus has of winning the F1 Climaxxx is as good as dead, and all Cyrus will have to show for it is the vague pretense of playing spoiler…but all it really ends up being is a prancing dog and pony show.

“Damn it.

“Damn it.

“Damn it!”

“DAMN IT!!!”

Cyrus screams, but it’s hoarse and weak. The chains around his throat are stifling him. He tries to struggle, but rage and frustration and the creeping sense of finality keep him bound in place, unable to move, unable to do ANYTHING.

The more he struggles, the more he rages, the more the chains tighten. The more he thinks about the challenges ahead, and what happens if he yet again fails to achieve victory, the more and he finds himself bound.

No way to free himself.

No way to move forward.

Just…STUCK.

“The hell is the matter with you?”

As the chains slither and cover more of his body, to the point where the only thing we can see are his eyes piercing through the metal links.

But his eyes are razor sharp, and focused on a figure just out of reach. The tightness of the chains are blurring his vision, making it difficult to see clearly. But the voice is familiar…and yet, it seems so strange at this point in time. It’s the voice of a man Cyrus once knew, but hadn’t heard in some time.

“I asked you a question. What the hell is the matter with you, Exile? Huh? Don’t tell me you plan on going out like a bitch due to a couple setbacks?”

Cyrus, enraged, tries to lash out. But the chains are too tight, and all it manages to do is make him more and more frustrated. He can’t even speak, as a chain has wrapped around his mouth and gagged him. The figure sighs in exasperation at this pathetic display.

“You have always been your own worst enemy, Truth. Sure, you’ve struggled. And a bunch of punks, bastards, and lowlifes have had their grubby mitts on the one thing you care about more than anything in wrestling. And it seems like everybody’s getting their shot while you have to deal with assholes like Phillip and competing in a battle royale against everybody else on the roster who has the stones to show up. I bet you’re thinking that the same thing that happened in that Golden Opportunity match is going to happen, right? You’ll fight your hardest, and then a couple of punks will team up to eliminate you.

“Well…WHO THE FUCK CARES WHAT THEY’RE GOING TO DO?”

Cyrus, who had been struggling against the chains…just stops. He stops struggling, stops trying to break free. He just…listens.

“I said, who the fuck cares what they want to do? Since when has that ever mattered? The only thing that matters is the will to move forward. It doesn’t matter if the wall standing between you is Phillip Jackson, Chris Peacock, or the gods above and devils below. I know you’re frustrated. I know it seems like no matter how hard you try, no matter how vigorously you fight, no matter what you do or say or how you act, it doesn’t matter because the world has changed so much around you.

“But you’re a fool. You forgot…the world isn’t something static. Yesterday’s struggles don’t define your future. The Struggle is there to make you stronger…and like it or not, you will have to be stronger to get back what those motherfuckers took from you. But what’s that to you? What’s that to an Exile who’s already lost everything once before?

“If you’re tired of losing, then stop losing! If you’re afraid that letting Phillip Jackson beat you will, for whatever reason, prevent you from reaching your goals, then drive his head through the mat and make sure he never has the chance to steal victory away from you! You’ve done it before, haven’t you?

“And if you have to beat the entire fucking roster in one match to become the World Champion? To make amends for losing it in the first place and having to scrape and claw for the same opportunities that were handed to others? Then that’s exactly what you’re going to have to do! That’s exactly what you’re GOING to do! These chains that are holding you back…that rage, that frustration, that fear…

“...if you want to break them? Then stop messing around and BREAK them.”

As the voice shifts, sounding like the voice of a former champion and king…a voice that Cyrus has had in his throat…The Exile tenses.

But not out of frustration, or fear, or anger.

Rather…in preparation.

Cyrus lunges. But there’s a purpose behind it. Not just flailing around like some wild animal or child throwing a temper tantrum. Cyrus has been trying to free himself from these chains, these chains born out of fury, despair, and dread.

But “trying” isn’t good enough. It never has been.

You either do or you don’t. There’s no points awarded for trying. You don’t get to become the best in the world simply by showing up.

Smash the face of the man who threatens to take away your shot at glory.

Demolish a horde of vandals and bandits who’ll dare steal your prize from you.

Stop thinking about it. Stop worrying about it. And simply just get it DONE.

*Snap*

*Crack*

The chains, once impossible to break, start to crack.

Cyrus feels wind return to his lungs. Feels the strength to shatter through return to his muscles.

The chains start to break, and grow slack. Cyrus is able to free an arm, which he uses to grab the chains around his neck, head, and throat and tear them away with a crushing grip. Quickly, but methodically, he tears the chains away, and in doing so strips away the frustration that has been building over the past.

Clarity.

Purpose.

Focus.

Resolve.

As the chains clatter around him in his mind, Cyrus returns to the waking world, and the crappy little back room in this bar in the middle of Amsterdam. He breathes in, breathes out as if those chains were actually choking the life out of him.

Breathing as if he hasn’t breathed normally in some time.

In the end, that’s the Truth of the situation. He has an opportunity, albeit not a great one. An opportunity to return to where he belongs. The only thing standing in his way is everybody on the roster.

And after that, Phillip Jackson.

But who cares?

Cyrus doesn’t have time to care.

If he wants what he lost to be reclaimed, then that’s just what he has to do. He has to defeat everyone that stands in his way. Whether he’s strong enough to do it or not is irrelevant. He simply has to do it. It simply has to be done.

The only question is…does he have the will and strength of purpose to make it happen? To emerge from the chaos with his hand firmly back on the FWA World Championship? To toss and smash every member of the roster, every wrestler in FWA that decided that the prize is no longer his to claim?

…Is that even a question? No one can possibly be foolish enough to doubt him, even in these times.

Cyrus takes a quick sip of the whiskey that was left on the table before tossing the bottle, shattering it on the wall. Not out of frustration, but because he doesn’t need it. Liquid courage to face Phillip Jackson? Fuck that.

The Exile works his way out the backroom into the main bar itself, past the gyrating bodies hopped up on whatever poison. Leaving the bar, Cyrus breathes in the night air as he turns to walk down an alley to wherever else the dark will take him.

As he traverses this alleyway, he sees figures waiting. A small clutch of thugs and heavies, carrying various weapons from clubs and knives. For most people, it’d be impossible to glean anything. There’s no light here to show faces.

But Cyrus knows.

These are Ernest’s men. Coming to make a statement and to eliminate the man who insulted their boss.

Shame, really.

“Hey…you’re in my way. Either move or I’ll make you move.”

The thugs laugh at that.

Their laughter doesn’t last.

We cut to a few minutes later as Cyrus exits the alleyway. A bit banged up, but no worse for wear.

And behind him? The unconscious bodies of Ernest’s thugs.

“I’m through having people stand in my way. I’m just going to win the World Title and be done with it. And to hell with anybody who wants to get in my way…”​

 

[ETE]

DAY ONE




Why is she doing this? Why is she here? What does she think will happen? Why would he of all people want to see her?

This is a bad idea. But yet she’s not walking away. She’s knocked on the door in front of her and just stands there waiting.

Maybe he’s not here. That would be the perfect excuse to get out of this right? He’s not here. But then there’s a noise from the other side of the door. She can hear footsteps…getting closer. And then finally a lock and the door swings open.

For a moment Gabrielle tenses up, expecting a clenched fist to meet the side of her face. But nothing happens. So she relaxes and just stands there in the doorway to Alyster Blacks hotel room. The former Black Caramel partners just staring at each other for a mini eternity.

No one says anything, and no one does anything. Its just silence for moment after moment before Alyster steps back slightly. Without speaking he lets her know she can come in. So Gabrielle ducks in under his arm and steps inside Alyster’s room. Her eyes quickly falling upon his X Championship which is haphazardly laid across a chair while beer bottles are strewn about the room.

Alyster flops down on his bed, resuming his drinking without having said a word to Gabrielle who stands just inside the doorway. She didn’t bail despite all her thoughts to do so, but now she doesn’t even know what to say or do. So she just stands there, leaning against the wall and watching him. Despite everything, despite even Executive Excellence Alyster has been one of the most important people in her life in recent years.

After several more silent moments where they barely seem to even acknowledge each other Gabrielle pushes herself off the wall, needing to force herself to get closer to Alyster.

“Aly…I…I…”

“I know.” He replies.

More silence follows. Alyster knows why she’s here. He knows what she wants, what she needs. He can see it in her eyes. Eyes that are threatening to unleash a flood of tears at any moment.

But she holds them back, for now. All façade of ‘The Goddess’ entirely gone from her being. Whether that be the Caramel Coated Goddess that people remember, or the Goddess she has tried to be in the return of Executive Excellence.

She’s just a woman standing in the Hotel room of someone who has meant a great deal to her at times. Has she ever been ‘this’ human before?

Alyster polishes off his latest bottle and Gabrielle approaches him, standing over his bed as she looks at him.

“Aly…you have to know…I…I…am…”

“Gabby. I know.” He replies, again.

Gabrielle sighs, but then falls silent. As does he. There’s so much they need to say. So much that needs to be addressed. The start of the year had seen them go from estranged friends to friends once more. Gabrielle’s ‘broken’ saga pushing them apart due to bad luck and self-loathing. Of all things a match for Alyster’s X Championship had brought them back together. A chance to unleash any bad feelings they had towards each other, and a chance to just be there for each other.

But that didn’t last. They drifted apart. Gabrielle flirted with retirement, turned her back on her mentee, and then played a key role in Executive Excellence forming for the fourth time. Alyster, well he just cemented himself as one of the greatest X Champions ever. So great that a World Championship was flirted before his eyes.

But Gabrielle alongside Danny Toner played a hand in making sure Alyster didn’t win. Attacking him, hospitalising Violet Dreyer, and just showing zero regard for their friendship.

So no. Alyster doesn’t know. And Gabrielle has to tell him.

“Aly…I have to say this…”

“Gabby. I know you. I know you better than you think I do, better than I thought I did. Gabs…its okay.”

“No Alyster. Its not. Its not okay. I’m sorry Aly. I’m so fucking sorry.”

With those words said a few tears begin to trickle down her face. Alyster sits up, wanting to comfort her but she holds him at bay with her hands.

“Aly…please. I’m so sorry.”

Those words could be empty and meaningless. They’ve been here before, and yet they’ve wound up here again.

“I just…I’m not the person I want to be, not the person I have pretended to be for so long.”

They just look at each other. Alyster wants to say something to help her, but he doesn’t really disagree with her.

“I only ever cared about myself Alyster. And it has always been that way for me. I care about myself more than I do anyone else, to the detriment of everyone else around me. You never really got to know me Alyster, the real me. The person that everyone else was warning you about when we first met. I remember people warning you, concerned that I’d use you, that I’d chew you up and spit you out like so many others who have come before you.”

“You didn’t listen, maybe you should have.”

An awkward pause.

“No…no I don’t mean that, not like that. I’m glad you didn’t listen to anyone else Alyster I really am. I needed someone like you in my life. I wish I had of met you when I was younger, maybe you could have made me into a better person.”

Alyster disagrees with that statement, he wants to say something. But at the same time he cant forget that Gabrielle gleefully put Violet Dreyer in the hospital just to get to him. She should have been better.

“I…just…I’ve taken every shortcut in my life Aly, and used anyone who could me to get ahead. I was so narrowly focused on getting to the top, once I saw that it was possible for a woman like me to be great out there in the ring its all I cared about, its all I wanted. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. I was a terrible person for so long. But I could bat my eyelashes and all would be forgiven just like that.”

“Everyone loved me, everyone wanted me no matter what I did. No matter how low I sunk. I reached the highest heights and that’s all that matters. Its all that has ever mattered to me, more than even my family if I’m honest. Its why now Aly you’re one of the few people I can consider a friend…even if our friendship is so broken because of me. All those other friends I’ve made over the years didn’t stick around.”

“And that’s fair. Because I used them, they were all always just pawns to me to help me get what I wanted. None of them really ever mattered to me Aly. All that mattered was being the Goddess, upholding that image and poise no matter what it took. I want to say that used to be me, I want to say that’s the side of myself that I hid away from you Aly. But it still is me, it is me…and I didn’t hide this from you well enough.”

“Aly I brought back Executive Excellence because the last time I was great their banner was behind me. I talked everyone into helping me get what I wanted by promising them everything they wanted. But its just about me. Danny, Mike, even Kayden they were all meant to help me get back to the top. But they all failed me. It hasn’t worked out how it was meant too work.”

“I’ve never wanted anything more in life than I want to prove myself again right now. I so desperately need to be back on top of the World Aly. Because I don’t have long left, I know that. I’m getting older, slower, less athletic, my confidence is completely shot, people don’t look at me the same way. Aly Executive Excellence was my last shot at anything. I didn’t care who I hurt, who I had to target, who I had to undermine all that mattered was I was meant to be back on top of the World.”

A long pause again. Gabrielle has unloaded a lot on her former Black Caramel partner. Each of them just letting her words sink in for a while.

“You deserve better Alyster. Better than a friend like me. I haven’t even asked you how you’re dealing with everything with Krash, or how Violet is doing. I don’t think I even really care. But I care about you Alyster, I care about making this up to you and making sure you know how truly sorry I am. I don’t have a good excuse, there’s nothing I can say that will make this all better and justify anything I’ve done to you.”

“But I’m sorry Alyster. I’m sorry I’ve been so weak, I’m sorry I’ve been so jealous of you. I should have been supporting you this whole time. Aly you’ve been so incredible, so damn great. No one can beat you for that X Championship…not even me.”

A smile had briefly crossed her lips, but those last few words bring an end to that.

“And I have to tell you, Danny was terrified of you. Terrified of the challenge you brought. Its why we had to throw everything at you to try and stop you from being Champion. I’m sorry for all of that Alyster. So sorry that my personal greed got in the way and made me think hurting you was the thing to do.”

Alyster closes the distance between them and rests his forehead against hers.

“Gabby I’ve known who you are all along. I recognise some of that darkness within you as my own inner demons. I don’t know if things can ever be the same between us again. I’m sorry but I cant just forget everything...but I do forgive you Gabrielle. I do, again. Maybe I shouldn’t and perhaps you’ll make me regret it but I forgive you Gabby. You need that even more than I do.”

A few more tears trickle down her face as she sobs softly and nods her head against his. It was more than she ever expected. More than she feels worthy of right now.

“Aly…why don’t you hate me?” She asks.

He lifts his head off of hers and looks deep into her eyes. “Because you self-loathing bitch, you hate yourself more than I ever could. Because you don’t need me hating you as well.”

She nods her head. There’s a glimmer of humour to his statement, but so much more truth to it.

“I don’t deserve you Alyster Black, but I’m so glad you’re in my life. You make me want to do better. You make me want to be the woman I’ve pretended to be, tried to be, wanted to be for so long. The woman that doesn’t need all the tricks and all the help. The woman who stands on her own two feet against the World. I want to make you proud of me Alyster. I want you to look at me and be proud of your friend and everything she’s doing. The way I’m proud of you.”

“I don’t know what that means, or just what I will have to do exactly but I’ll do it Aly. If I have to make amends to everyone else I’ve hurt. If I have to apologise to you everyday. If I have to stand in the middle of the ring and take my licks from everyone else in the FWA as a penance I will.”

“I don’t need any of that. Make yourself proud Gabby. That’s all I need.”



DAY TWO



The noise is almost deafening. Some generic sounding but fun pop-rap song with a decent beat, played just a little too loud. The lighting isn’t much better either, it’s a bit too dark in here save for the lighting over the bar and over the main stage. Though honestly this is probably to some of the girls benefit. The smell in here probably isn’t great either, a mixture of sweat, stale beer and probably some daddy issues.

It’s a strip club on a saturday. Their busiest time of the week. Their best girls are on. The place is packed. Some regular degenerates who spend far too much time here. Some guys at the start of a night out. Some guys enjoying a night away from their wives. Probably a few guys reading into the girls friendliness just a little too much.

And tonight, they’ve had a new girl start, though in actuality she’s worked here before. Quite a long time ago admittedly. She’s the oldest ‘dancer’ here tonight, with all her colleagues being in their late teens or early twenties. But this older woman, in her thirties is certainly no slouch. Fit, tanned, toned. Flowing blonde hair, a few tattoos here and there that draw the eye. Amazing curves to die for drizzled in a caramel skin tone. Wide, brown eyes and a wicked smile that seems to silently present so many possibilities.

The Clubs owner remembered her. He was surprised to see her but all to happy to let her work the main stage earlier tonight. The crowd loved her as she worked the pole and tore herself out of her clothes. She seemed so carefree and happy on stage. Making him some good money already, so she’ll surely be back up there later on. But for now she’s giving one lucky patron a more personal dance.

In a quiet(er) corner of the Club a middle aged man on his way home from work sits in a chair. He’d told his Wife some paper work was going to keep him in the office a bit late. But the only paper here is how paper thin this woman’s underwear is.

She’s on his lap, her skin against his suit. Grinding and writhing against him. Her legs wrapped in a pair of stockings straddling either side of his waist as she bucks her hips into him. Hips only clad in a small lacy red g-string which is stuffed with $1 bills. She runs her hands up along his chest before pressing her body tighter to his, her face next to his as she whispers in his ear. What she said we cant know but he reacts by unclasping her bra and then helping her out of it.

She giggles delightfully as she presses her nearly naked body to his, her glorious skin sparkling under the lights through a mixture of glitter and glow (men sweat, women glow). Her large breasts pressed to him as his eyes explore her body. A few more $1 bills are stuffed into her little g-string. If she wanted she could take every last cent from him with ease, but she doesn’t want his money, she needs something else.

She continues to writhe against him, a constant tease of something he thinks he’s going to get…though maybe he will. Once more she leans in to whisper in his ear, and then his hands start to explore her body. You’re not meant to touch the strippers, but she asked him too. He runs his hands along her thighs, takes a moment to cup her ass before running his hands further up her back. One hand on the small of her back, the other grasping at her hair. He pulls her head back slightly and she leans right back, arching her back until her hair dangles back onto the floor.

Its at this moment she see’s someone approaching them. A familiar face but not security (thankfully). He approaches them both but doesn’t say a word just taking a seat not far from them.

The man enjoying this lapdance is unfazed by this new arrivals presence for now. His attention fully upon the woman in his lap as he pulls her back up, she giggles playfully, wickedly as he grins widely. Then rising up in his lap to press her breasts to his face and let him motorboat her. She squeals with delight before sitting back down in his lap. Throwing a brief glance over her shoulder at this other man as she parts her thighs around her current ‘client’.

One of her slender hands slides between her legs, undoing his belt with something that can only be described as skilful ease. Her movements slow as she stares into his eyes and then slides that hand down his pants, making him grin even wider as her free hand then retrieves a key card from the top of one of her stockings. She hands it over to him as she leans in to whisper into his ear once more “meet me in the private room, I just have to talk to an old friend first.”

She gets up out of his lap, this lucky, happy patron of the club doing his fly back up, getting to his feet and then blissfully marching off towards the private rooms in back as this awkward reunion between Jack Severino and Gabrielle Montgomery begins.

“So…” Jack begins.

“…So…” Gabrielle replies.

“Back here Gabs?” Jack asks, though its more of a statement really. “Mike still own the place?” That’s an actual question. Though does Jack really care?

“No, his son has it now actually. Steve…remember him? I gave him his first lapdance when he turned 18.” Gabrielle replies as she stands there fidgeting with her fingers. Not quite not knowing what to do or even really say.

“Steve, yeah. He was a nice guy.” Jack smiles awkwardly. He doesn’t really know what to say either. It was bad enough when he just thought Gabrielle had come back to this strip club to visit. Its even worse seeing her working here again, seeing her nearly naked like this writhing in a strangers lap and even sticking a hand down his pants. “What is this Gabs?”

Silence for a while. She doesn’t quite know what to say, how to react, what to even do. She doesn’t know anymore what she expected or wanted from seeing Jack again. He’s the man who crossed the World with her. They uprooted their simple lives in New Zealand and came here together all those years ago, winding up in this same strip club together.

“I’m working in here Jack, my times valuable here. No one gets to talk to me or touch me or look at me without paying me for that privilege.” She walks over to him a suddenly more stern expression upon her face. Jack pulls out a couple of notes, unsure of how much money it is he stuffs it into the top of one of her stockings.

Her expression softens as she pushes him back into the chair behind him and then sits in his lap, or sits across his lap rather, her naked body glistening under the lights.

“You short on cash? Is that what this is? You’ve somehow run out of money?”

“Money? I don’t need the money Jack. I’m not keeping a single cent of this money. The other girls can have that, they need this money, I don’t.”

“So what then?” He asks in a pained fashion.

She sighs as she crosses her legs, Jack taking the time to rest a comforting hand on the small of her back. “I need to not fail Jack. I need to not lose, to not disappoint myself or the people around me.” She pauses for a moment, the realisation that she’s disappointing so many people that know and love her right now sinking in. But its fleeting and almost forgotten in an instant, forgotten or ignored. “I’m sick of failing Jack. I’m so sick and tired of failing at everything I do. Relationships, being a Mother, my Marriages, Acting, Pro Wrestling…I keep failing at all of it.”

“I cant fail at this, I don’t fail at this.” She takes a moment to look around the Club. A couple of girls on centre stage being showered with money right now, other girls giving their own personal lapdances, several guys nearby staring at her. “I walk in here, I dance, I take my clothes off and everyone loves me. I slipped off the pole earlier, no one cared, no one was disappointed. I didn’t lose anything from it. You stood there and watched me dance in that mans lap and he didn’t care. It didn’t ruin it for anyone.”

“I cant fail in this building. I’m special in here again Jack. I’m a Star in here. I put my clothes back on and walk outside and what do I have? Night after night of being put on my back in the ring? Good things happen to me in here when I go down.” How sad that statement is, is not lost on her. Gabrielle has sought some kind of solace and meaning in this place, but its not who or what she truly wants to be.

“You’re better than this Gabrielle.” Is all that Jack can seem to muster. Words that mean nothing to her right now.

“Jack…I gotta work.” She says it sternly as she gets back to her feet, brushing his hand aside as he reaches out for her. I don’t need you anymore.” He doesn’t get anytime to reply as she rushes off, leaving Jack sitting there not quite sure what to do. Should he sling her over his shoulders and carry her out of here? Should he call her Brother? Call Chris Kennedy? Would Alyster Black come help her? What about Kayden Knox or that Jean-Luc kid? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is Gabrielle is above this, even if she doesn’t think she is. She had to be this person ever so briefly when she was young and they had no money. Jacks always regretted letting her do it, he cant let her do it again now. She’s not a young kid desperate for money anymore. She’s a Woman who changed the World, who became a Goddess. This cant be her…

…

…

…

The door to the private room opens and the towering figure of Jack Severino is met by a single pair of eyes, but only for a brief moment. For the man sitting in the room with his pants around his ankles, Jack’s direction is the last place he wants to look. So he looks down as he tightens his grip on the back of Gabrielle’s head. As he sits there she’s kneeling between his legs, her hands resting on his knees as she bobs her head up and down.

Jack just closes the door behind himself and stands there besides the door, trying not too look, trying not to watch but almost hypnotised by the movements of her head. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Just like life – he thinks to himself. Anything to distract his mind. Things are always up and down. It can never be all positives forever, or all negatives forever. You have to take the good with the bad.

Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Life is a rollercoaster really, you cant expect anything else.

There’s a loud grunt, and then a few quieter grunts, and then a loud satisfied sigh.

The man gets to his feet, pulling his pants up and quickly buckling them back up. “Damn girl, I’m definitely giving you a call when you get off work.”

“Thanks Baby.” She kind of mutters in an absent minded kind of way.

He pulls his last few dollars out of his wallet and just tosses them at her feet, or knees rather as it were. “I’ll fix you up next time alright, though I guess you never gave me a price…for ‘this’.” He pats her on the head, fixes his tie up and then makes his way out of the room, passing a glance and a comment at Jack. “Jesus man, you trying to ruin this for me. Damn pervert.”

Jack just ignores him as Gabrielle reaches down and picks up the few dollars on the ground, using one of them to dab at her mouth before sliding them into her stockings. Her shoulders then droop massively. Jack approaches her but she holds up a hand silently making him stop.

As she kneels there he just stands in silence, its hard to tell how long the silence lasts. The reality of everything Gabrielle has done tonight chasing some kind of rush or feeling of self-worth really setting in.

“I sent you that picture of me standing out front for a reason.” She finally speaks up as Jack scrolls through his phone and pulls up the photo Gabrielle had indeed sent him earlier in the day. She was just outside the strip club. It’s a simple selfie of her smiling with the clubs name above her head. Jack had seen it and just known he had to rush to her. Jumping on the first flight that would take him anywhere near her not knowing what he’d find.

“Jack did I just blow a guy for $3?”

Silence.

What do you say to that without crushing her spirit further?

“When I got here I thought I could find something. Maybe find where things had gone wrong. Maybe redo some mistakes. Start over. I don’t know. But I got here and got into Steves office quickly. Someone who looks like me saying they want to work here gets around pretty easily. He…he knew me. He knew I was some wrestler now, he didn’t watch wrestling but he knew I was some wrestler. I made him promise he’d keep that quiet, I wouldn’t keep any of the money if he kept it quiet.”

“But he’d seen my movies. Those stupid movies I was in. Movies I had to get my tits out in to even have a hope of starring in, movies I had to jump on the casting couch to actually get in. I did that Jack. I slept with every casting agent and every Director on all three of my movies. Movies he watched and enjoyed. He knew I was the Stripper that had given him a lapdance on his Birthday. His Dad, my boss, our boss had told me too afterall.”

“He knew me, he knew who I was, he knew I didn’t want money. But still…he bent me over his desk. But I didn’t complain Jack, I didn’t say no, when he slapped my ass I told him to do it again. Jack…I wanted it. It was what I was here for. I walked in those front doors and ten minutes later I was naked, bent over and loving every second of it as Steve had his way with me. I wanted that. I called him ‘Big Daddy’ just as he wanted.”

“He said he did it with all the new girls on their first shift. Then he said I was the best he had. Then Jack…then I cleaned myself up and I danced on that stage out there for so long, I stripped off all my clothes, I was naked out there being showered in money. When that was done, I gave lapdance after lapdance…and then…well…you saw what I did.”

“I earned every cent of these last 3 dollars.”

Jack approaches her, crouching down behind her, not interrupting her, just letting her speak, and letting her know he’s listening. Though he’s not prepared for what she says next.

“You want to know something about all of that Jack? I don’t regret it. I don’t regret any of it Jack. I feel sad because I feel like I should, like I’m meant to be disgusted in myself right now. But I’m not Jack. I feel hurt that I’m not hurt. I got on my knees on this dirty, stained floor and blew a guy I didn’t even know and I had so much fun. I danced out there naked apart from some glitter for strangers and loved the attention. I let a guy I hadn’t seen since I was eighteen call me his ‘bimbo pet’ as he used me…and I felt so…so powerful.”

“Jack today was the best day I’ve had in so long. I didn’t fail once, I didn’t come up short once, I didn’t go into anything with expectations that weren’t met. Jack I thought I wanted you here because I was having some doubts or second thoughts. But maybe its because other than an asshole like Shawn Summers you’d be one of the few people who might understand me. And unlike an asshole like Shawn Summers you wouldn’t mock me.”

“Jack…you understand what I am saying?”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want too. A small part of him understands where her thought process is coming from. Gabrielle always had big dreams, lofty expectations and hated setbacks.

“Jack…”

“Gabs. You’re better than this, you’re so much better than this. You’re too good, too smart, too talented to be here doing this.”

“Am I? I used to be Jack, I used to be. Now this is how I find meaning in my life. This is what I have to do.”

“All those people that look up to you. Gabs…you changed the World. Women have never been more prominent in sport. Not just Wrestling either, but all sports. You see how the Black Ferns are being treated like Stars, like conquerors now after the World Cup? Gabs, you helped paved the way for that by being so successful.”

Gabrielle’s turn to fall silent. Its like she doesn’t want to hear praise, so she snaps back a reply.

“You think anyone would be surprised to see me here Jack? You think any of my fans, or even my own family would actually be surprised to know what I’m doing. This is who I am Jack, and who I always have been. I know this, you know this. We used this to get ahead. My looks, my sexuality, my willingness to throw on a short skirt opened doors for both of us Jack.”

“This is me. I know this, its why I’m here. In here I can be special, I can be great, I can excel. And this is what people think of when they think of Gabrielle. You know I’m right Jack.”

“Just look at the FWA, look at all these cinematic promos everyone loves now. When they want a ‘Gabrielle’ character she’s always the Slut, she’s always half naked. That’s all that matters. I’m never a Warrior, never a Goddess, never a Revolutionary, just a pair of tits and an ass. After every fucking thing I’ve done. The people around me don’t look at me as some great Champion, just some Bimbo the boys all love.”

“Danny Toner rang me up with this big idea for his promo at Lights Out. This psychedelic trip taking twists and turns…that all lead to me naked as we carried out a sex scene. I didn’t protest, I didn’t complain. I took my clothes off and rolled around in a bed with him to fulfill his artistic vision.”

Jack goes to chime in, but is quickly cut off.

“And then Chris Peacock calls me. Going on about how we should all be able to put aside any differences and act professional to one another. He has a part for me in his promo. I told him to get lost and never call me again. I saw his promo, I saw that woman who bore a passing resemblance to me. Half naked, sitting in his lap, rubbing her face against his crotch. He wanted that to be me. He probably thought if he could get me there in my underwear, skin against skin that things would go all the way and he’d fuck me…”

“And I probably would have let him Jack…”

“Wait.” Is Jacks reply. “That’s how you guys do promos now. You go around featuring in each others promos or hiring actors to play each other in all these crazy alternate realities?”

“Well…yeah.”

“How do I know how the Wrestler feels about their actual match then?”

“Its still all there.”

“Whatever happened to monologues?”

“No one likes them anymore. Too boring or something. Gotta play the game.”

“Man I was great at monologues.”

“So was I.”

…

“Gabs listen. I say this as someone who once loved you, someone who felt comfortable to leave everything he knew and move across the World because I had you by my side with me…you’re so much more than this. Don’t let everyone else dictate how you see yourself. Everything you’ve accomplished, and you wind up working in a strip club…for free.”

“I’m not going to drag you out of here Gabs, I’m not going to save you. You’re strong enough to save yourself. You’re strong enough to shock the World in the way you always have. Not here but in the ring. Gabs you’re the most beautiful woman to ever step foot in this building, and the most dangerous. Don’t forget that, in a fight…you’d kick my ass. You’d kick everyone else’s ass in this building. If you could just believe in yourself again…you’d get the best of every other person in the FWA, on the same night. Chuck them all in the ring at once, big Battle Royal style, and you’d be the last one standing.”

“You just need to remember that. You want purpose, you want meaning, you want to show up all those people who just see you as ‘this’ Gabrielle. Then go do what you did better than any woman to ever lace up a pair of wrestling boots.”

Gabrielle looks up at Jack. He doesn’t know but such an opportunity is right in front of her. The prize she has chased for four long years there for the taking. If only she could drag herself up out of this pit of self-loathing and take it.



THE IN-BETWEEN



The Old Woman is back. The one who seems to haunt Gabrielle’s every waking moment, and her every sleeping moment as well. The Old Woman she see’s everywhere. The sight of her always fills Gabrielle with dread, like she’s foreshadowing something terrible. Like her very presence is something to fear, and Gabrielle does, every time.

“Why are you showing me all of this? Why are you making me live these days out? Do you have any idea how much it hurts to see Jack staring at me with such sorrow like that? Or to know that I’ll never truly be friends like we used to be with Alyster ever again?”

Gabrielle enquires to this old woman, forcefully. Demanding an answer.

“Of course I know.” She replies. “I remember that pain. Jack was always special no matter what happened. His influence on our life meant so much. And Alyster, even if he’d never love us like we loved him, as much as you still try to pretend you don’t love him like that, he means the World to you. Even more than Kayden did.”

“Then why show me all of this again? Why make me relive these moments, these fever dreams over and over again?”

“Oh sweetie, because you hide from them. You have all these people who could save you, even Kayden could as well but you hide from all of them. You wont really let them in, and even if you do you take nothing they say to heart.”

“Do you realise Gabrielle there is an opportunity to be the World Champion right in front of you? That very thing that has eluded you and left you so broken. Danny Toner has abandoned you but left you a great opportunity. So I need you to WAKE UP and embrace it…”



NIGHT ONE



A startled Gabrielle is suddenly standing in front of that door, her hand raised and ready to knock on the door but she stops herself. The words of that Old Woman ringing in her head, and the memory of that conversation with Alyster replaying in her mind. So it didn’t really happen? She spilled her heart out, Alyster forgave her as much as he could but it didn’t matter, just a fantasy in her head? Like she’d pictured herself holding that World Title above her head one last time in her life, now she was picturing herself making amends with Alyster.

But this time, she froze, too scared to even knock on the door.

…

But then she didn’t have too. The door swings open, Alyster is standing right there a smile upon his face, things are so awkward between them and will be for a long time. But its not what she expected, he’s happy to see her, she’s happy to see him and that is all that matters.

“You get lost out there?” He asks her. It wasn’t a dream. She looks down in her hand at the bottle of bourbon she’d ducked out to get. She’d made amends with Alyster after everything, again. It was a weight off her shoulders. A great relief. Now she can get drunk with the sweetest friend she’s ever had. Something and someone she needs so she can believe in herself again.



NIGHT TWO



Gabrielle is startled awake in the dead of night by her phone chiming. A relief, it was only a nightmare. That old woman, that tormenting old woman showing Gabrielle another possible reality.

But…wait…its different. As she tosses the blankets aside and sits up her skin seems to sparkle and shimmer so much more than usual. As do her bed sheets, like its all touched by glitter.

Her phone chimes again.

And again.

So she reaches over and picks it up. A series of messages from a number saved as ‘Married Mike’. She opens her phone. The very first message is a photo. A photo that changes everything. A photo that makes that ‘dream’, anything but a dream. A photo this married man took earlier tonight when he stopped into a strip club on his way home. Gabrielle is kneeling before him in a little red g string stuffed with dollar bills, his hand on the back of her head, and her eyes staring up into the camera on his phone as she unmistakably engages in oral sex.

The next messages are text: Just showed some of the guys this photo, they didn’t believe I got with a stripper.

She freezes up as that Old Woman’s words replay in her head. She’s humiliated, embarrassed, but yes she’s somehow, someway a tiny bit of her feels some spark. If making things right with Alyster had been a great positive moment for her. This was a realisation that she’s hit rock bottom, and that she needs to get out of this. She needs to get away from this. She’s better than this. She cant be remembered as this. This cant be her Legacy, she has to save her Legacy.

The World wants her to be this, it tried to make her this in the past but she persevered and became a Goddess. Now she has to do that again…​

 

[Jazz Wolf]

It’s a quiet, serene afternoon, somewhere west of nowhere in particular.

“HEY DIPSHIT! HIBERNATION’S OVER, WAKE THE FUCK UP!”

Or, rather, it was a quiet, serene afternoon, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. How quickly the world changes.

A fist banged on the front door of a quiet abode in the middle of a desert. The trio of knocks echoed, fading into rapid silence.

After a long, painful three seconds of no-one answering the door, the fist resumed it’s rampant knocking, and the voice resumed it’s vulgar sensibilities.

“DON’T YOU DARE GIVE ME THE SILENT TREATMENT! I JUST GOT DONE WITH ALYSTER TRYING THE SAME THING AND I’M NOT UP FOR ROUND TWO! YOU CAN’T IGNORE ME AND YOU KNOW IT, MOUSTACHE FUCK! OPEN UP!”

Oddly enough, her persuasion skills left something to be desired.

The mouth continued shrieking a profanity-laden tirade, the majority of which was as unsuitable for print as it was for ears. Attached to this mouth was a pale, lethargic woman who looked like she had been inside a Hot Topic when a nuke detonated next door. Truthfully, she carried much of the same vibe, though whether that vibe is similar to that of a struggling on-the-verge-of-going-out-of-business Hot Topic, or that of a nuclear detonation, probably depended on what day it was. As she bobbed her head in frustration, her ridiculous, obnoxious, bright green mohawk swayed with the motion, as if it were a bright neon arrow pointing directly to her, screaming ‘notice meeeeeee’ in the most high pitched voice imaginable.

Fortunately, many people within FWA and FWA’s various associates did, infact, notice her.

Unfortunately none of them gave much more of a thought from the forced noticing, aside from ‘oh godamnit, Violet’s back again.’

And godamnit, Violet was, indeed, back again.

Kinda.

Maybe.

See, if you asked her, then technically speaking, Violet Dreyer was not a contracted wrestler within FWA.

If you asked literally anyone else, they would say there is no ‘technically’ about it, and additionally you should stop asking about her. Violet Dreyer is a contracted wrestler in FWA in the same way that Jackson Fenix stuffing a pair of rolled-up socks down the front of his trunks makes him a twelve-incher. Violet Dreyer is a contracted wrestler in FWA in the same way that Shawn Summers appearing on Fox News makes him a qualified analyst. Violet Dreyer is a contracted wrestler in FWA in the same way that taking a shit on the kitchen table makes you Chef Supremé.

That is to say, it doesn’t, no matter how much parsley you decorate it with.

Sure, she was a ‘trained’ wrestler, with visible quotation marks if you consider Murphy Dreyer’s wrestling regime training. Sure, she might’ve popped up several times in areas vaguely close by yet not necessarily ingrained with FWA. Sure, she might’ve tagged along with FWA Personality & Potentially Dead Guy, Krash, on several of his adventures, even with a few matches on Fallout.

But she wasn’t a contracted wrestler to the biggest company in the wrestling business today, despite her best efforts and countless underhand efforts for a shot.

And yet, as the saying goes, there’s more than one way to skin a cat, and there’s more than one way to force FWA to throw a contract at her.

For instance - if, blinded by what could only be referred to ‘sheer blind egotism’ and not ‘any reasonable facet of standards’, FWA officials refused to give her her due, then eventually another opportunity would present itself. Say, in the form of an Open Battle Royal for the presently vacated FWA Championship, for example. Surely, if she won that Battle Royale - and boy of boy did she have experience with Battle Royals, maybe not successful experience but experience nonetheless - then, as their new world champion, FWA would be bending over backwards to give her the fattest of contracts, right?

And thus, Violet Dreyer, hopeless villain with a mouth faster than her mind, found herself standing in front of the cozy home of her missing mentor. The former World, NA, & Tag Team Champion, the man who sunk beneath the murky waters at Back In Business, the man who despite the best efforts of Jeremy Best - pun intended - seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth.

Krash.

“INSECURE FUCKBOY, OPEN THE GODAMNED DOOR, I’M MAKING A SCENE FOR YOUR LAME ASS NEIGHBORS AND I KNOW YOU HATE THAT SHIT.”

Krash’s closest neighbor was approximately 11 ½ kilometers away, and yet, I would bet money that they could feel the ground rumbling from the sheer velocity of Violet’s voice.

Letting out a snort of derision, Violet finally ceased her furious pounding of Krash’s front door, if only because her fist was really hurting right now. Leaning on her crutches - the result of a generous Danny Toner cracking her skull open to get at Alyster, because why the fuck would you not just do it to the guy himself and skip the middleman, god fucking damnit Danny Toner, go ahead and roll one, loight it up, and stick it where the sun don’t shine you prick - Violet squinted at the ground.

“Fine. Fuck you, then, I’ll play your game.” She spoke aloud, for some reason, despite being the only human being within 11 ½ kilometers. “If I was a disaster of a human being with the moustache of a 1940’s fucklord… then surely one of these rocks would…”

She paused, smirking, as her eyes laid on a rock that was slightly bigger, slightly off color, and also made of a non-rock texture, lying amongst the other rocks in the sand that make Krash’s garden. “Bingo.”

Kneeling, Violet grasped the non-rock in the palm of her hand, and, completely failing to notice the key taped to the underside of it, hurled it as hard as humanly possible at one of the glass windows next to the front door. The window shattered into several dozen pieces with an ear-splitting crack. The thrown non-rock continued it’s valiant travel into the home of Krash, whereupon it collided with a priceless ming vase, cracking it in half, before burying itself into the wallpaper.

Reaching a slim arm through the window, Violet unlocked the door, and kicked it open.

“SURPRISE, FUCKFACE.” She joyously declared, as the door banged against the wall and swung back shut in her face. Sheepishly pushing the door open again and hoping no-one saw that, she entered the house, her eyes glancing at the thin layer of dust on the mantle. “Alright, jig’s up! I’m here now, no more hiding in your bed, I need your help getting that Battle Royal win! You owe me, remember!”

Silence answered her.

“See, I knew you’d be in here.” She continued, as she strode towards the bedroom. “I’m surprised your weirdo fanboy Jeremy didn’t already check here, I thought he would’ve exhausted all means especially after that Cibernetico thing where you invited a bunch of freaks and dorks like him to your own home like an idiot, but judging by the dust, no-one’s been here for a while.”

Something caught in her throat, and much like many things in her life, she forced it down without acknowledgement.

“Aside from you, of course! Because if you’re not here, then…” She slowly trailed off into silence as she stepped into the bedroom. The empty bed, covers thrown about and left to rest months ago, greeted her. “Then where the fuck are you?”

Uncharacteristically, there was a tone in Violet’s voice that she wasn’t quite familiar with. “Godamnit.” She quietly grumbled.

Limping back to the living room, Violet threw herself on the couch, exhaling. She never noticed before now how… Barren her mentor’s home was. The lack of any kind of photos or indications of any family attachments was really standing out to her, and for a brief moment she wondered who, outside of herself & Alyster, would be considered a next-of-kin for Krash. Sure, he was supposedly close to a few other wrestlers - Cyrus Truth, for one - and maybe once, there were a few bridges that weren’t burned - Steve Storme, Dan Maskell, AJ Tornado, the list went on and on - but it occurred to Violet that she never asked her mentor about his family, friends, or life outside of wrestling. And Krash never discussed it either. He desperately tried to create and hold on to relationships and connections in wrestling, as if it were all he had, and at the supposed end of it all he didn’t have much to show for it.

Violet Dreyer felt a strange emotion similar to pity, and she had no idea why.

Suddenly, before she could dwell and analyze on this, she felt a presence behind her.

“Aha! I knew it.” She exclaimed. “Even if you’re not here, some kind of representation of you will appear to give guidance! As is tradition with these things. Show yourself, and give me some fuckin' advice!” She sat up on the couch, turning expectantly at who she assumed a hallucination of Krash would be.

A tangible form stumbled towards her, pale and transparent and dripping water on the carpet. The spirit, for lack of a better term, lacked the moustache she was expecting, and upon closer inspection seemed to be at least seven feet tall.

“Hello.” The ghost of Stu Grimes said, waving an oversized hand.

Violet stared. Leaning her head to glance past the spirit of Stu Grimes - and seeing no Krash-sized spirit behind him - Violet threw her hands up. “The fuck is this?!?”

“Oh, well, y’know how it is.” Stu said, shrugging. “Talking to those who have… Left us behind, often helps us find what we need, in terms of advice or guidance or a pep talk or something along those lines. It’s- Well, I mean, it happens. Not regularly, but often enough that people kind of… expect it, in certain situations, so-”

“Yeah, Bigfoot, I get it, I know the process, okay? Ain’t my first fuckin’ rodeo.”

Stu Grimes peered at his ghostly feet, quietly measuring the size of them and equating them to Bigfoot’s. They seemed almost similar.

“What I mean is, and disrespect fully intended-” Stu squinted, unsure whether the admittance that the disrespect was intended made the upcoming retort respectful or not. “-is what the fuck are you doing here? I don’t even fuckin’ know you!”

“I’m Stu Grimes, an-”

Violet flapped an arm. “Shut the fuck your mouth, I know who you are.”

Stu coughed. “But you-”

“I mean, I know who you are, but I don’t know you! Y’know? Yeah, you’re the Jolly Green Giant who hung around with, fuckin’, Mark Antony or whatshisface.”

“Caesar.”

“The fuckin’ Roman guy, yeah, that. But I don’t actually know you, and you don’t know me!”

Stu thought for the grand total of one second. “Aren’t you the lout that followed Krash around hoping for a pity contract? Didn’t you try stealing my boots and selling them on eBay once?”

“Yeah, okay, so you do know me, swell, suck my dick. Point is, I don’t know you, so I have no idea why you’re the one standing there talking to me instead of the guy I actually came here to see!”

Stu Grimes looked hurt. “Advice can come from many faces, Violet.”

Violet groaned. “Well, find Krash’s face and yank the advice out of him!”

“I can’t do that.” Stu Grimes paused, considering. “I can get Randy Ramon for you? Would he be a better spirit to give you guidance?”

“Fuck off, you can get Randy Ramon, but not Krash? What gives? Is he with you lot in the spectral void or not?”

“I… don’t know. Usually spirits stay in this position if they have… Unfinished business, so to say. So maybe your friend - are you two friends? I was never clear on the matter.”

Violet did not answer.

“Oh. So maybe your… Mentor? … Has moved on.”

“That guy? Fuck no, he’s got more internal baggage than an airport terminal. So if he’s not here ,and he’s not in the maybe purgatory afterlife with you saps, where the fuck is he?”

Stu Grimes shrugged. “I can’t answer that.”

“Fat lot of help you are.”

“But maybe I can still answer other questions.”

“Does gigantism have an effect on your junk?”

Despite being a ghost devoid of color, Stu somehow became more pale. “Maybe other questions.”

Violet finally exhaled in defeat. “Fuck, fine. Oh almighty spirit, he who walks the earth, lend me your wisdom.”

“That’s the spirit! No pun intended.” The apparition of Stu Grimes sauntered over to the couch, sitting next to Violet. Despite being a weightless ghost, the couch still seemed to heave beneath his weight. “So! What can I help you with, Violet?”

“I want to win the Battle Royal.”

Stu nodded. “Okay.”

There was a long, painful silence. Violet gestured with a palm. “Uh, hi? Advice please?”

“Oh, I thought- I thought there would’ve been more to the statement.”

“Okay, fine. I want to win the Battle Royal and win the FWA Championship, so FWA are pretty much forced to give me a contract.”

Stu nodded again.

Another brief silence ensured.

“So,” Violet continued through gritted teeth. “Can you give me advice on how to win the Battle Royal?”

“Sure. Back in the 60’s, before I was frozen, I was a pretty successful battle royal guy. See, promoters knew I was a pretty good asset, but sometimes they didn’t want me just crushing their top guy on the first go, y’know? So they’d stick me in the undercard with a bunch of guys for a battle royal, because there’s no better spectacle than watching one giant mow through a crowd of normal-lookin’ dudes. So, yeah, I’ve won a whole bunch, I can probably help out in the matter, sure.”

“I’m all ears. Lay it on me, big guy.”

“Okay, so, since I was - and still am - over seven feet tall and nearly 500 pounds, it was pretty much impossible for anyone to lift me up and throw me out. I could stand there and be dead weight and eventually all I’d have to do is toss out the last guy and I’d win. Follow my lead and victory is yours.”

Violet stared, briefly contemplating on whether you could strangle one that had no neck.

Stu stared back, glancing at Violet’s thin, wiry frame, then back at his own giant body, then back to Violet.

“Oh.” He mumbled sheepishly. “I think my perspective may not be the best qualification for this one.”

“You fuckin’ think?!?”

“Tell you what, wait here, I’ll get Randy, he’s… closer to your size, he’ll know what to say-”

“I don’t want you or Randy Fuckin’ Ramon to give me the same advice any dork would give to any schmuck! I want my fucking mentor to crawl out of whatever hole he’s dug himself into and come back godamnit! Alyster’s a borderline shut-in, even when he opened his door it wasn’t for me, per se, and who the fuck else in FWA is going to stick their head out for me? Who the fuck else is going to tell me what I need to hear, not the same bullshit anyone with a grasp of Battle Royal rules can prattle?”

“This… isn’t entirely about the Battle Royal and advice for it, is it?”

Violet scoffed. “Yes, it fuckin’ is, shut up. You just don’t know how to say it for me. He does.”

Stu squirmed. “I’m sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologizing for?”

“... I don’t know.”

The two sighed.

“It’s fine.” Violet shrugged, dejected. “This is more than I expected, really. Sure, it’s fuckin’ useless, but hey, it’s something.”

Stu gently patted Violet on the shoulder. His hand phased through her body and wiggled around somewhere beneath her collarbone. Violet felt incredibly violated.

“Sorry. I keep forgetting I’m… Nevermind. Look, tell you what, I’ll keep an eye out for him. For Krash, when I’m… Y’know, in the spectral plane. I havn’t seen him in there, but it’s bigger than you’d think, so… Maybe he’s in there somewhere. And if I see him, I’ll let him know that you… Would like his perspective on things. You and Alyster.”

It took a while before Violet answered, and when she did, her voice was low, quiet. “Fine.” She said.

Stu waited for the insult.

No insult arrived.

“Good luck with the Battle Royal.” Stu mumbled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help, but… You’re you. You’re a cockroach in human form. You persevere, despite it all. One way or another… You’ll be okay. Okay?”

Violet simply closed her eyes, and exhaled.

When reopened them and turned her head, the apparition was gone, and she was once again alone in the home of a missing man.

“Fuckin' unbelieveable.”

 

[Cyrus Truth]

Devious Productions Presents...

Konchu Hao in...

"Triumphant Return! The Mad Wizard's March to Prominence!!!"

"Kehahaha!"

A familiar cackle, long overdue as a new hype video shows up on FWA.com. It shows Konchu Hao, FWA's resident Mad Wizard, sitting comfortably in a very Old World study wearing black velvet lounging robes. Seated next to him is his ever-trusty compatriot, Epsilon, who is sipping on a cup of what looks like hot cocoa.

Konchu, ever since his X Division Title match against Alyster Black where he came up short, has been noticeably absent from FWA as a whole. Questions have been asked about what the future holds for the self-proclaimed "Leader of the Army of the Night" and fans have been clamoring to get some sort of answer from Konchu or Epsilon, and it would seem that their patience has finally been rewarded.

The Mad Wizard seems rejuvenated, excited, and very pleased with himself.

"My dear loyal minions! I have heard your pleas, your requests and placations to have me return to save you from the usual dreck of boring, incompetent, and altogether minor wrestlers you've had to endure as entertainment. And many of you have been wondering what sort of devious, shadowy business I've been up to in my absence. Well, wonder no longer!

"You see, a major distributor and developer of tabletop role-playing games have requested the expertise of a TRUE wizard to assist them in penning a brand new adventure module for their flagship game! Yes, I am pleased to announce that I am one of several authors of this new module that will be available for purchase on December 6th, just in time for the pagan holiday that has been subverted by organized religion known as Christmas! A harrowing adventure where would-be heroes work alongside a humble necromancer looking to uncover the greater truths of the world and stop an insidious plot that threatens all things! So, do be sure to keep an eye out for "Blood and Bone" at your local hobby shops! It's sure to be a wonderous adventure! Kehahaha!"

As if to drive the point home and to get some free marketing, Konchu holds up a hardcover version of this adventure module. Epsilon accentuates the presentation by waving his hand at it, bringing attention to the cover showing a hooded man in dark robes carrying a book with a locust-shaped clasp. Once Konchu has milked the attention long enough, he puts the book down and folds his hands in his lap.

"But, writing endeavors aside, I am told that I've been booked for a couple of different matches coming up on FWA's upcoming shows. I'm told that Daniel Toner, instead of ruining his title reign through his usual brand of incompetence, instead ruined it by not taking the necessary precautions and preventative measures to avoid injury and that the World Title is up for grabs in a battle royale.

"In addition, I am to compete against Reagan Cole. And, might I ask what seems to be a rather obvious question that nobody's bothered to ask? He's called "The British Apprentice." Does that mean he's simply an apprentice while also simultaneously being British? If so, then who is he apprenticed to? Certainly not me, because if he was? He wouldn't be such a miserably boring little man who's greatest accomplishment happened after riding Cyrus Truth's coattails to war and tag team championship gold. Or does his name imply that he's apprenticed to someone who happens to be British? What could the British possibly have to teach anyone aside from how to plunder the treasures and secrets from other countries and have the gall to keep those treasures under the reasoning that they and they alone are the only ones capable of maintaining them? Well, that and tea. They do love their tea."

Konchu looks over to Epsilon as if to ask him those questions, to which Epsilon simply shrugs as if to suggest he has no idea.

"Regardless, doesn't matter. I could go on and on about how utterly outclassed Reagan Cole is or how horribly the other participants in the World Title Battle Royale are going to be massacred...but the truth is, we wrestlers have a terrible tendency to speak and drone on and on about what makes us better and what makes our opponents worse. And honestly, a lot of us will drone on about things that don't really matter. Now, I enjoy a good skit or vignette as much as the next man. Especially if undead cyberized pachyderms are involved!

"But...what's the point? I'm a wrestler. I'm the Mad Wizard! And I'm going to compete in the Battle Royale because I wish to reign as the true master and ruler of FWA, as I always should have. As for Reagan Cole...this is not a tag team match, and I am nothing like the fools that Reagan's been competing against. When you face Konchu Hao? You're facing the very essence of dark magic, and all of terror that it implies.

"So...I'm not going to waste the words. I'm going to massacre Reagan Cole not because I have anything against the man, but because I'm bored and it sounds like fun! And why not...I'll just become the World Champion that everybody wants, needs, and deserves because I'm there and I might as well, kehahaha!!! Oh, Epsilon...it's good to be home!"

Epsilon chitters excitedly as the two share a good laugh.

Short, sweet, and to the brutal point.

Konchu Hao's not about to play games. He's back, and even more of a wild card than before. All the disrespect to Jason Randall, of course.

Long live the Mad Wizard! Long live the Primogen of the Black Mass!!!​

 

[SupineSnake]

"I love the forest," Gerald mused, absently. He sat with his back against a willow's trunk, a great many more of them scattered around him in a dense woodland. He breathed the fresh, crisp air, closed his eyes, and found himself thinking about a memory almost lost to time…

****​

My dad taught me at a young age that if I wanted something, I needed to work hard for it. I never really understood until I turned fifteen. I started racing against tougher competition, which meant I needed to get better. One of the ways for me to improve was not just through training, but having the right equipment. I was fortunate enough that my parents were able to provide my first ever bike, but it was on its last wheels. If I rode it one more race, I’d be putting my life on the line.

It was summer time in good ol’ Raleigh, North Carolina when I decided to work at “All Seasons Grounds Services,” which provided lawn care, sprinkler installation, tree removal, and more. It was a business owned by one of my dad’s good friends, Bobby Lewis, who graciously allowed me to work there to earn money for my first professional bike.

The guys who worked for Bobby were strong and they needed to be. As a young, skinny kid, I thought the manual labor they were doing would whip me into shape. For motocross, I had to be strong mentally, but also physically. I had seen them hacking down trees before and I was astonished at how quickly they worked. They had various contraptions that made cutting down those trees easy, but they also had reliable tools like saws and axes.

My first day of the job came and I was excited. I thought I’d be out there in the heat with the rest of the guys, but I wasn’t. I was in the store, answering calls, sweeping up the place, doing admin work. While admin work was honest enough, I wanted to be out there. However, that was also the day one of Bobby’s guys suffered a severe injury. He had gotten his hand stuck in the wood chipper machine and had left with one less hand. From that day forward, I learned that whatever work you do, no matter how small, helps the company you work for. I strived for perfection when it came to my administrative duties.

Eventually, though, Summer ended.

“The paperwork around here has never been so organized, Gerald. For that, I thank you,” Bobby told me, shaking my hand.

“It was a pleasure working here, Mr. Lewis. Because of you, I can buy myself a new bike."

“You earned it. Here’s your final cheque,” he said, handing me an envelope. I looked at it with starry eyes, before glancing back at Mr. Lewis. I thanked him again and was off to buy my new bike that very same day.​

****

"Me too," Dreamer replied. She was lying down on the cold grass, the earth firm with winter. Movement was difficult owing to the patchwork of injuries, physical and psychological, that riddled her body, but if she remained perfectly still she could almost forget about that. The shade of the willow brought rejuvenation.

Gerald had been quiet for quite some time, and she feared he was asleep. She closed her own eyes, and found herself thinking about a memory almost lost to time…

****​

It was in Marseille and Florian was there, meaning that I must have been fifteen, with all of youth's headstrong naivety. The image is still clear to me, now that I try to conjure it up: two large, yellow diggers, to be used for the excavation of the woodland, were parked up only a meter away from us, their offensive parts pointed at us in some dim replication of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Behind them, a series of workmen waited, their impatience quietly growing. Often, one of them would look over at us, whisper to a colleague, and then continue to wait. The picture was absurd, now that it was laid out before me.

Most vividly, I could feel the chains that bound me to the poplar, biting against my hips, my bare forearms, my shoulders. It had been a while, but I could remember the liberation that came with being confined by my own will.

Florian, the exchange student from Naples, had been flagging for hours. Two days strapped to a tree with little food will do that. As I looked at him, uneasy and struggling against his constrictions, I wondered if he ever really cared about the woodland. Now, I wondered if I ever did either.

"I really think we've made our point," he said, out of earshot of the idle workmen. "We can't stay here until we die."

"We can hold out longer than this. Or I can, at least. You follow your own heart."

His heart held out another hour, until his father arrived and they engaged in a brief conversation. I couldn't hear more than the occasional word (which mostly centered upon his responsibilities), but the manner in which he loomed above Florian - wearing a gray suit and with his hands tightly clasped behind his back - was striking. Memorable, I guess.

I stayed for another few hours, until night came and the cold with it. This time, though, the evening bite was accompanied by the police. They cut my chains and arrested me, for the first time in my life. I should've made more of that before I was old enough to matter. Life is full of regret.​

****

Without opening her eyes, Michelle reached into her pocket and pulled out her cigarettes. She lit one, inhaling lazily as the afternoon swept by.

"You want to talk about our match?" he asked her. The willow trunk scratched his back but he wasn't irritated. He felt close to nature. Peaceful, and more comfortable than he had in a good few months.

"Not really."​