Hayabusa Cup VOTING & PROMO Thread

* Vote for one winner from each 'Ring'. Vote for one overall winner (of your four choices) for the main event.

Clarke

The men shall fall two by two, Hurrah, Hurrah! Impaled by wire and scorched by fire, Hurrah, Hurrah!

The light in the small concrete bathroom flickered to life.

I’ll laugh, they’ll cry and surely die, Hurrah, Hurrah! When four remain one won’t retain...Hurrah!...Hurrah!

Carefully the comb pulled through the man’s hair pulling it away from his eyes. The small amount of gel provided little resistance but held form perfectly in a stylish contemporary fashion. With a wink into the mirror the man pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket placing them carefully across his face. Hiding behind his ‘true’ identity the man stepped away from the mirror and out towards the shimmering day’s light.

The midday’s light shone giving birth to a crisp autumn day. The temperature around the city began to drop as paces began to pick up and jackets began to cover to skin to provide warmth. Slowly the city transformed into a bustling creature all too eager to avoid the cooling air. As people began to hustle through the streets the brazen too took to the streets all too willing to take advantage of those who couldn’t care enough to slow down a pace.

Without hesitation these men and women took to the streets, some offering the warmth of an intimate embrace for just a few of your hard earned dollars, sometimes a reasonable price for the touch of another human on a less than temperate night. While others sought only to take your hard earned dollars with as little human contact as possible. It was exactly due to this that Shane Wallace took to the city streets this crisp, cool autumn day.

It was this exact day that he set his sights on a man clearly cut from an intellectual cloth, the easiest of targets. These were the men that would easily give up the goods if an altercation occurred, the type to submit without so much of a peep, the perfect mark.

Carefully Shane Wallace followed his acquired target, a man of about average height and weight, nothing special. He wore thin frameless glasses that sat in a scholarly yet attractive way across his face. The man’s chin length hair was carefully pulled away from his face with only the tiniest amount of gel, clearly a man who cared about his public appearance thought Wallace as the second block passed by as he continued his tail.

Wallace watched and found his moment as his mark ducked briefly to tie his shoe. As the man arose Shane Wallace pressed his gun into the back of the academics head and spoke softly into his ear.

“I’m not looking for a fight, trust me it’s the last thing I want.”

Somehow I doubt that.

“Just shut up and listen. All I want is your money and that fancy watch you’ve got on there. We can go about this the very simple way.”

You’ve got my attention.

“Good. I want your money not life, but try to make a move and I won’t think twice.”

Shane Wallace smiled for a quick second, he liked how quickly this was proceeding, no hassle, and no fear in his victim’s voice.

You can have my money, but I have one simple question for you. What inspired you to live this type of life?

“What’s it matter?”

Just indulge me, I’m a professor. I’m not going to hunt you down, I merely want to know, it makes for an interesting anthropological study.

“Fine, if you gotta know, it’s just that there ain’t no rest for the w—“

The elbow caught Wallace in the solar plexus releasing the air from his chest as he released his gun and collapsed to the ground struggling for air.

You see the problem with you ‘hardened’ criminals is that you don’t take the time to truly perfect your craft. You allowed me to talk, to get into my element and take away control of the situation. Now my crumpled little friend you’re going to come with me, and I’m going to show you how it’s really done...now...are you ready?

“Wh...What..are...you gonna...do?”

Oh trust me you said it best, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.

[laugh][/laugh]


The light shone as bright as it ever had, beaming down on center stage illuminating a pacing figure. Aside from the hum of the light above the only noise was that from the thudding heels of the man as he stepped heavily back and forth across the stage.

High above the stage hanging just above the edge of the light’s path to avoid elucidation a bundle of barbed wire hung as below the illuminated man paced continually back and forth. The light shone against the man’s clothes with such intensity that to all viewing the pacing spectacle the man was all but obscured and washed out by the light’s intensity.

I want to tell you something.

“It’s something you know I know.”

It’s something I know you know.

“There’s no way I’m making it out of this alive?”

In a sense.

“What does that even mean?”

Oh my new friend, you’re about to find out.

The bundle of wire fell to the stage with a sickening thud as its spikes dug deep into the blood stained wooden stage. The man clinging to consciousness in a chair to the front of Harlequin chuckled briefly as his eyes dated back and forth examining each spiked metal barb that now lay in front of him. His gaze shifted towards the bared teeth of smiling psychopath before him.

“Barbed wire?”

Astute observation.

“Yeah well we’re all good at something.”

Presicely.

Harlequin half laughed to himself as a gloved hand grabbed a strip of the spiked metal and began to wrap it around the forearm of Shane Wallace.

Trust in this, the rewards from this pain far outstrip the flash in the pan searing sensation you are currently feeling.

The screams of Shane Wallace filled the theatre, reaching the ears of all those who still dwelt within the concrete walls.

As I said, I know it hurts.

Slowly Harlequin pulled the wires tighter and tighter as the blood escaped through each barbed hole in the man’s arm. Carefully Harlequin reached with a gloved hand extracting a row of barbs before moving them slowly across the skin of Shane Wallace before driving the barbs back down into unpunctured skin still remaining on the man’s arm.

Screams once again pierced the air of the theatre as Harlequin grew all the more pleased with his recent assault.

You could have taken the high road and simply killed me on the street. But you didn’t. You chose to talk and for that you lost the power in the situation. You didn’t plan out your attack, you simply acted. You missed the opportunity to calculate your chaos, instead hoping for panic to rule the day, and for that you lost, and will always lose.

“You seemed like an easy mark.”

Harlequin tighten the barbed wire once again before pressing his hand against the mouth of Shane Wallace.

Try not talking. You’ll live through this little experiment of mine. Violence is a calculated and precise practice, not an unplanned frolic. You have to take the time to understand what you are going to do, otherwise you end up in the exact position you’re in now. You see you thought I was an easy target based on appearance alone, which is where you made your first and luckily for you not a deadly mistake...yet.

“Why does this matter? I know who you are, hell if the city would open their eyes they’d know who you were.”

But they don’t open their eyes. They live their blissful little lives ignorant of what goes on around them until it is far too late and they are far more involved than they wanted to be. And this matters...ohhhh this matters, far more than you could ever imagine. You see I’m about to make you an offer that far outstrips anything you could have ever hoped to take from my wallet. I see potential in you, I see an ability to far surpass what you are now, to leave behind the mortal coil and join a higher pantheon of madness.

“Umm..”

You’re going to need to be a little sharper than this Mr. Wallace. You see I’m offering you my hand in camaraderie. Offering you the opportunity of a lifetime to join my little Commedia D’ell Arte.

“And if I refuse?”

Simple really, I tighten this fun bundle of barbed wire around your neck pulling tighter and tighter until it cuts through the skin. The agony will almost knock you unconscious until you realize that it is sawing through your neck and spine until lo and behold your head topples to the floor and rolls to my feet.

“...I”





Still pondering a refusal?

“How can you ask a person to do this?”

You realize that barbed wire has been in your arm for days now. Soon the wounds will begin to fester and become infected. Soon, you’ll lose that arm.

“...But why?”

Because you need to learn. Learn that marks aren’t defined as easy by their appearance. Need to learn how to break people, need to learn where the breaking point is. You need to learn.




You realize you’re running out of time?

“You’re... insane...”

I see you’re beginning to come around.

“How...what do I learn...”

You learn that we break our enemies with fear, you learn to see how the tears come down. We build our confidence on this wasteland and we see how the walls come down...you learn that life...that life burns!

Harlequin beginning patting the spikes pressing them deeper into the arm of Shane Wallace, the blood trickling quicker down his arm.

So I’ll ask you one more time. This time your choice is determinant of your life status.

Harlequin removed his hand from the barbed spikes surrounding Shane Wallace’s bloodied arm.

One last time, will you join this movement?

“...It... would be... an honour.”

You’re right it would.

With a delighted grin Harlequin wrapped the wire tighter around his hand before pulling it tighter around the blood covered arms of Shane Wallace.

“Why are you still doing this!?”

Consider this to be a trial by fire so to speak.

“You mean you’re going to continue?”

Oh I plan too. You’ve got to know what the pain is like before you can rain it down upon others. The more you know about what causes the infliction of pain, the main you will be able to apply it to others. The more you know about how to get inside their heads the easier it will be to manipulate them. It’s a simple practice...it just requires some getting used to.

Removing the barbs from the skin of Shane Wallace, Harlequin began to carefully wrap the same strip of wiring around his glove not caring about the placement of the spiked barbs that pressed against the leather of the glove.

Pulling his fist back Harlequin extended his arm sending it crashing into the face of the bloodied man on the chair before him. Strike after strike fell upon the man’s chest and face as blood began to pour freely from under the gloved fist of Harlequin.

It’s with great pleasure that I tell you now that a war is coming. It’s not something I had ever wanted. Fear, chaos, HavOc sure, but never a full scale war. But alas now it is too late. You see there’s some reform in the Police Department. They are coming after me, ne; they are trying to come after me and that simple won’t do at all. Which is why you get to live to hear this pleasant story. You’re going to help me, you are going to be my associate.

Another fist fell against the now opened and bloodied face of Shane Wallace. The life bled out from the open gashes across his face, spilling down his neck onto his clothes.

From now on Shane Wallace is dead.

Carefully reaching out with a single spike of the barbed wire Harlequin carefully pulled the metal above the left eyebrow of Shane Wallace’s face. Making a circle around the eye the blood poured freely across his face. Harlequin laughed as he eyed the carving he had placed on Wallace’s face.

As far as the world is concerned the psychopath known as The Harlequin murdered him in cold blood, carelessly removed his left eye and discarded the body wherever he felt fit. From now on your past life means nothing. From this second forward you will answer to one thing only, to only one name...

“What?”

Trivelin.

A very familiar sadistic smile crossed the widening lips of Harlequin as a distinct sound of guttural laughter emerged from the broken lips of the man formerly known as Shane Wallace.

A war is coming my good Trivelin, and come Heaven or high water, come fire or wire, nothing shall stop HavOc from being wrought. I have been denied twice prior, I will not be denied again. The tides are turning and HavOc shall rise above. When the dust clears the truth will be forever evident...

The Harlequin prevails, HavOc endures.

[laugh][/laugh]

RCA

The scene opens to the coast of Waikiki Beach in Hawaii. The sunset has just begun, causing the sky to become a vibrant explosion of orange, purple and red hues. They all dance together in harmony to create the perfect sunset. The shimmering Pacific waters gently crash against the shore and rocks and as we follow the waters during its trek up to shore, it leads up to a man. He sits in lotus position, eyes closed, posture stoic. His chest rhythmically moves up and down and we pan to his face. This man is Chris Austin. The camera zooms around his head to imply an out of body experience and as the camera regains focus on the side of his face. His eyes twitch, his ear jerks ever so, he can hear a voice...

“Why did you fail me…”

Austin tries to remain calm, he tries to remain focused. But it seems like every time he tries to remain committed, just like some of FMW’s finest…his ear is seduced by the pleas…his concentration, his decisiveness is broken.

“Why, Christopher-san…Why?”

“I didn’t fail you…You weren’t in the position to be failed.”

Austin’s reply seems different. The voice behind it is deep and gravelly, not one that seems to desire interrogation. Hayabusa continues on, as we can see that he sits beside Austin, in his wheelchair.

“I thought you were the one that would properly uphold my legacy. I thought you were the hero.”

Austin doesn’t say a word. His eyes are fully open, he stares blankly, his face showing disgust and growing anger. Hayabusa senses this, but continues on.

“You didn't live up to my expectations. I have made another mistake in choosing you to succeed me. I am so disappointed in you.”

“Shut up.”

Hayabusa calmly quiets down. Austin’s head rises slowly, he stares out to sea. He exhales before angrily speaking.

“You are no different than the rest…your legacy, your expectations. You were sorely mistaken, Hayabusa…and so was I. Detractors will always exist, but I won’t tolerate being told that I fucked up by a handicapped legend.”

Austin rises to leave as Hayabusa angrily frowns. Hayabusa braces himself and stands out of his wheelchair. He turns to face the back of RCA as the distance between them grows farther apart.

“Where are you going, we’re not done.”

Austin stops, and turns his head snidely to the legend, not making eye contact. He speaks with the voice of a man who has grown fed up.

“We are done. I get enough of handicapped people trashing me. Every one of these handicapped lacks a vital quality that's needed to properly function. For you, it was the ability to walk. For the rest, that quality is the Truth, moreover the ability to see, hear and comprehend it. For a whole year I absorbed the punishment, I showed the respect and I did everything people asked of me, despite the fact not wanting to be in that position in the first place but the one time I stray out of a ‘planned’ path and all of a sudden I'm a failure? No more. The only reason I failed was because FMW wouldn't listen to its heart and soul, which I was anointed to be. FMW disregarded the feelings of its heart and I realized…

FMW has no heart. It has no soul.

It's just a shell of a being. I could never help FMW get to the heights it used to be because it didn't want me to help it. FMW was just fine with their corruption and their days of darkness. They were just fine living a lie and I will never be the heart and soul of a lie.

Not again.”

The scene ends up in front of Austin as he turns his head back towards the front as Hayabusa’s face shows a somber expression. Hayabusa, who is seen over the shoulder of Austin, takes a couple of steps towards Austin, before ultimately vanishing into thin air. Austin’s eyes close seemingly in realization as the scene fades to black.

[size=200]Theory of Radicality #64: It is better to be hated for the truth than to be adored for lies.[/size]

[size=200]FMW….ARE YOU READY?[/size]

The last time I asked this particular question, it was September 25, 2008. I was competing for the Hayabusa Cup. I touted myself as the change that FMW and I guess in a sense the world, had needed. With this weighing on my mind along with the greed I knew every other being in the match was being fueled by, the desire to go on and deny the undeserving, hypocritical bastards the chance to control FMW for their own selfish desires.

I stopped Drew Michaels from ultimately betraying his mission, which was to save us regardless of the cost. When he entered this tournament last year, I said that he had fallen to the earthly sin of Greed. His own desire to add to his legacy as being the most decorated competitor in FMW history overrode his purpose to save us from eternal damnation, which he had temporarily given up on. I stopped this.

Or so I thought.

I stopped Harlequin from taking over Catalyst and throwing FMW into a state of utter chaos. He entered this tournament, not for control, but to take it away and turn our livelihood into his own little playground, which he governed by one rule: Kill or die, regardless of the cost. This is Havoc, Chaos and for one night, the night where we celebrate the opportunities FMW has given us…I stopped this.

Or so I thought.

I stopped Butters from waltzing in and realizing the greatest career turnaround in FMW history. Despite the fact that many of you had thought he had turned over a new leaf with his self-depreciating attitude. You all thought he’d finally take it serious. What in his history made you think this otherwise? As it were, He only showed up when the spotlight was on, this was his foot in the door you see. And I stopped him from coming in and once again letting down FMW, making them look like fools for actually thinking to take him seriously…I stopped this.

Or so I thought.

“A man is what he thinks about all day long.”

I thought I was a hero…


These things I thought I prevented, all of these things I thought I had saved FMW from ended up happening anyway. Harlequin ended up turning FMW upside down and is now in a position to screw it up even more. Drew Michaels went on to add to his legacy by becoming C-4 champion. And then he faked his death in order to get sympathy, made his intentions known to add more gold to his collection and ended up paying one hell of a price. Butters went on to let FMW down again, blinded by what they thought ‘could have been’, they let him in and he promptly shat on FMW’s faith in him. Having seen these things, I feel compelled to confess…

I failed.

I, Chris Austin, failed the Full Metal Wrestling Federation and the fans. I was made to be a lie. I wish I could apologize, but I realize something; every time I begin to make the words…I’d never mean it.

I’d never actually be sincere in how bad I felt because as time went on the Hayabusa Cup became secondary to me. It was just a trinket; something to fill up my empty trophy case. I figured just by having it I’d erase the stench Alex O’Rion left on it and I did so by leaving my own more pungent stench of failure all over it.

I wasn’t concerned with doing so either. Look at my reward. I got to run a show where I got screwed over. I got destroyed by X; Romeo took the Ultraviolent title out of my hands after trying to end me earlier in the night. To this day I have never forgotten that and I’ve asked myself repeatedly ‘What was the point of trying to uphold the values of a cup when my reward was so tainted?’ Someone, anyone, tell me why in the fuck I should have given a shit about that particular cup? It is because it’s named after Hayabusa or because FMW awards it or because it’s the accepted thing to do? Hold your replies, sympathy and opinions because I don’t care about them. I do care, however, about the choke jobs I’ve pulled since winning it.

This is worse than losing to Hostyle at 7.1. This is worse than losing at Supremacy in the Elimination Chamber. This is worse than losing to Eric Scorpio. It is one thing to let myself down but it’s completely different to let down every one else. I can live with failing myself, as hard as it is. But, I failed to become the change I said I’d be. I never became that Hayabusa Cup Champion you could be proud of. I never became the Hayabusa Cup Champion, period. I never lived up to the expectations that FMW and I heaped on me. But this is completely my fault, because, like Drew I fell to greed.

I was greedy for acceptance, I was greedy for validation and I was greedy for appreciation. That cup validated the shaky thought that I had made the right choice by basically turning my back on my country. That cup made me feel like I had finally become a part of the FMW family. When those fans chanted my name after I had won, I really believed that they appreciated what I had left in the ring.

“The strongest principle of growth lies in the human choice.”

I choose to be truthful…


I wasn’t true to myself and I wasn’t true to any of you. I think it’s time I do that now. I am a human being just like you. I have issues, doubts and fears just like you.

I have a child on the way with the woman who was my first love, who then crushed my heart into a million pieces. I saved the cheerleader and she took everything from me. Like a dumb ass I took her back because a little me resides in her now. I’m not, nor do I want to be, in love with her. I always will care for her but thanks to the past I will never trust her and as a result, regardless when I finally choose who to spend my life with, sooner or later she will be cut out of my life. The only reason I even have a child on the way is because I didn’t want to use a condom. Pussy feels better without it, just saying.

Truth be told, I sort of wish the kid wasn’t mine then I wouldn’t feel so guilty after I bust her heart like she did mine.

Meanwhile, I’ve fallen in love with her younger sister. If I wasn’t talking to you right now, I’d be off thinking of ways to bring her to orgasm repeatedly when I finally muster up the courage to show her how badly I want and need her. Here's the kicker though, the longer I wait, the tougher the situation will become to manage and the tougher situations get, the more disinterested I become.

When things get tough, I liked to say that ‘It isn’t my problem’ or ‘I’m not the only one at fault’. I say this to hide my true feelings. Truthfully, I was scared. I was scared that I’ll fuck it up and I’m scared that what I end up doing will burn bridges that I hate to admit I need. I’ve panicked, choked or just damn come up short in many throat-tightening situations that I don’t want to go into, but one need look no further than my FMW career to see what I mean.

I’m currently in a stable that occasionally makes me think to myself at that it was a mistake to join them. Maybe the vets were right that they’d hold me back. This same stable has had issues with trying to help me work through these nagging feelings. For lack of a better term, they’ve behaved as if they don’t give a shit. But why should they? They do not doubt anything. They’re too blinded by ‘flash’ and ‘innovation’ to see that it’s a possibility that I’ll stab them in the back. It’s quite possible that I won’t support each and every one of the decisions they make. So, after I put this out there…one has to ask “Why join them in the first place?” Sounds like the Innovative Initiative is on borrowed time and will soon be taken out, doesn’t it?

You’d love that wouldn’t you, FMW? You'd love for me to toss the II aside, put your best interests first and come crawling back. You probably still have that ‘Drew Michaels Part Deux’ spot waiting for me. Seems to me that FMW is in the fetal position because their beloved Drew is supposedly ‘dead’, and it's somehow my fault. The only way I can make it up to is to answer your cries of ‘Save us! Save us RCA!’ I look at you and I coldly whisper…NO. I don't want to save you. You don't really deserve to be saved, FMW. Your history, which is dominated by Ethan Black, Original Sin and now HavOc shows that you'd prefer to be in chaos and live your lives in fear. I think it gets you off in some sick way. It makes you money; it makes the rest of you so called ‘good guys’ feel better about yourselves when you think of the greater good.

The greater good in FMW is nothing more than assisting people too scared or too untalented to defend themselves. I'm not going to stand up for anyone that won't stand up for their own selves. Celt has been doing that for a year and look where it's gotten him. Look where it got Drew Michaels. Look where it got me, and I pretty much got forced into being the hero in training. With that said…

Fuck the greater good.

Not one of the ‘good guys’ sincerely gives a damn about the greater good, they just act like it so FMW will give a damn about them since Drew, Nick, RAMPAGE!, Alex O and whoever else aren't around to verbally fellate on a daily basis. I just so happen to be the only guy who'll admit to your face that as long as I get mine, you can, to quote who some find to be a gravely overrated piece of shit, die in a fire. Look at the boulevard of broken heroes; look at the wasted bodies of your heroes. That will not be me. I won't be your next martyr.

That's one thing about the II. They don't need me to change whoever the hell I am. They don't need me to fight their battles. They don't want me to hold their hand 24-7 and take them through the darkness that they’ve subconsciously grown to accept as life. FMW isn’t sure how to react when a glimmer of hope shines into their faces. I wasn't that hope. That hope was someone you led to slaughter at Ultimatum 2. That hope was killed by me, the guy you wanted in his place. He tried to open my eyes to the truth, and I refused to see it even after he constantly beat me over the head with it. It was only until I had broken him, I truly realized that he was right the whole time. But it was too late, the damage had been done and I had lost a friend. There are rumors going around that he hasn’t been the same since and that he’s walking away from FMW. Somehow I think it’s my fault.

You cost me one of the few friends I have, FMW. You caused me to take away a real hero before you would be forced to give him a chance. And after all of this, you have the audacity to want to be saved? Well, I'm not playing Captain Save-a-Ho. I’ve done it once with Jaime and while I appreciate and love her for the gift of a child that she’s giving me…I know that I’ll never do it again. Hell, FMW already had itself some nice orgasms of sorts after my performances at Supremacy, Mount Vesuvius, Catalyst, and the 2008 Hayabusa Cup and that was before I even figuratively ‘gave you the dick’, if you get what I mean.

Find someone else to infect. You won't be getting me until you’re clean.

I don’t owe any of the competitors an explanation for a damn thing I decide on. All I owe you people is the truth when it relates to you. Then again, I don’t relate to you. You don’t relate to me and you probably never will. But, I’ll humor you cunt-faced bitches. I will say this once and ONLY once. Stay the fuck out of my business and worry about your own shit. Besides, the people who tried to offer their two cents and ‘make me feel important’ only gave me something I thought I’d never have: an ego

“Ego has a voracious appetite, the more you feed it, the hungrier it gets.”

Mine is starving…and I will not deny myself because it is the truth.


I have an ego, just like you. It needs to be fed, just like yours. I have feasted off of lesser competition and my ego has grown to the point where I can’t sincerely admit I’ve been bested by someone who you find superior on that day. I’ve written off every loss I’ve had except for TyranT as a fluke. Hostyle, Eric Scorpio, Harlequin. Am I sincerely justified in thinking this way? Yep. I honestly believe I am. I honestly believe that if Hostyle and I went at it right now the result would be different. I honestly believe if Romeo hadn’t shown up, I’d be Ultraviolent Champion or FMW Champion, possibly both. I honestly believe that it was a stroke of fated luck that Eric Scorpio defeated me to become the C-4 champion.

I tried to hide it. I tried to resist even the simplest pleasures of an athlete. But, just like you guys and most of the people I silently judge and decree myself as better than in some way…I fell. I began to believe my own hype. The weird thing is that I have no idea where the hype even came from. I never hyped myself up save for one time. All of the praise and predictions came from other people. Drew said I’d be a champion within a year of being drafted to Anarchy. He was wrong. A lot of people say that I’m quite possibly the ‘baddest man in FMW’, if only I can put it together when the chips are down. They were wrong. But there was one comment, one quote that the magnitude of its falsity once hit like a plane into the World Trade Center: The Radical.

This grievous error on my behalf has followed me from day one. This was supposed to be my calling card. At one time or another I trivialized it as being what got my foot in the door so to speak. Do you know what a Radical meant to me? It meant not voting on Election Day. It meant masking one’s irresponsibility and unwillingness to grow up by referring to it as ‘being you’. It meant never having to explain your actions because when you’re “Radical”, things don’t have to make sense. Things don’t have to be politically correct. See, a radical is someone who strays away from what’s customary and accepted. But most of the time, it refers to ‘Favoring or effecting fundamental or revolutionary changes in current practices, conditions, or institutions’…you know, politically-related stuff from what I am gathering.

Like I said, I don’t vote. I watch CNN every now and then and I follow the big election, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck about it to be honest. It’s not like I’m running for office. I’m a registered voter but I don’t see myself actually using the right in the foreseeable future. I’ve never really cared about ‘favoring revolutionary changes in current institutions’ such as FMW. Honestly, as long as I got mine, I didn’t give a shit about the next guy as long as he wasn’t in danger. As long as I didn’t get screwed over, everything was copasetic. But guess what? That lackadaisical attitude bit me in the ass and beat me over the head like I owed it money on the night where I was to be the spotlight. I didn’t book myself into the 15-Minute Massacre to ‘save FMW from HavOc’. I put myself in the match to prove that Harlequin could be beaten at his own game, no, that he COULD be beaten. I wanted a nice, flamboyant feather in the cap. We saw how that ended up.

When my mom died, I thought right then I’d have to start taking more and more responsibility for my actions. I thought I’d have to help my dad raise me, you know do his job for him when he had shit under control. It’s a reason why our relationship is somewhat strained. On top of that, lately I’ve shunned what he’s taught me. He taught me how to be a man. I just didn’t want to be one unless it benefited me at that time.

This brings me back to the Hayabusa Cup. Last time I won the damn thing, I won it under deceit. I won it saying that it was the best thing for FMW and that’s why I got so much crowd support. I don’t know what’s best for FMW, shit I barely know what’s best for me. I’m not going to lie to you about this special event. This time…I want to make history as the only man to win the Hayabusa Cup back to back, let alone twice.

This time…I want a chance to do it right. This time…I want to actually feel what it’s like to accomplish something, I mean really accomplish something.

“He who refuses to embrace a unique opportunity loses the prize as surely as if he had failed.”

In FMW, every night is a second chance...I won’t squander mine…


This time…I want no one else to have it until I’ve actually proven that the Hayabusa Cup actually does elevate ALL of its holders to a higher position. As much as I shat on Alex O’Rion about winning it, I pale in comparison to what he accomplished. As the Hayabusa Cup Champion, Alex carried Alchemy on his back and was named Alchemy Superstar of the Year despite having never been a champion.

As the Hayabusa Cup Champion, Alex became one of the best FMW competitors of all time. Sure he’s had his bad luck and sure he never became a title holder until I won the thing, but no one can deny that Alex O’Rion will one day be an FMW Hall of Famer and it all started when he won the Hayabusa Cup. It’s time for me to reach for those heights. Time for me to become a champion and just like last year, it all starts at the Ring of Valor. How fitting. I begin in the ring that signifies bravery, courage and the most worthy of the worthy. Last time I deceived my way in there. This time is a different story.

I don’t give a shit whether all of FMW and NEW show up, or if only 20 people show up like last year; far as I’m concerned last year’s turnout was because you didn’t think you had what it took. You didn’t think you could do it, doesn’t matter if you had ‘time’ or not. If you don’t have it in your mind, you won’t have it out there. Half of accomplishing anything consists of believing you can do it. I repeatedly put the thought into my mind that I was ready to take that next step. Looking back on it, I really wasn’t. But on that night, I believed that I was the best man for the honor and it took me to the allegedly cursed Hayabusa Cup.

So, let me explain to you all, exactly why I fully intend to be recognized as the Hayabusa Cup Champ. You ready? Lean in close…FUCK.YOU. I already told you that I don’t owe you a damn thing except the truth. I don’t owe you guys in the back an explanation. I owe you the truth. So here’s the truth.

When I win the Hayabusa Cup, I’ll most likely go after the Television Championship because it seems easiest to win. But things aren’t always what they seem. Look no further than me.

When I win the Hayabusa Cup, come Supremacy, REGARDLESS of who the FMW Champion is at the time, I’ll most likely be facing them for the title. Other than that, I really couldn’t give a rat’s ass whether anyone else is on the card or not.

When I win the Hayabusa Cup, I’ll treat it like the honor it is supposed to be treated. I let the lack of turnout get to me and I let my failure at Catalyst get to me. I’ve let a lot of shit get to me. I will not have that anymore. I’m tired of trying to bend over backwards to please anyone and every one. In the end, the only people I truly care about at THIS moment besides me and my family are Chris Kelson (who from time to time is a fucking bastard who’d I’d like to kick in the head) and my fans, who I encourage to always think for you and yours first. I truly believe if I was up front with my fans, they’d respect and appreciate me more. Maybe you wrestlers don’t like it, but I don’t see you doing anything about it. As for what I’m going to do…

I’m going to whip ass. I will advance and I will win the Hayabusa Cup. I’m going to win it because I can. I want you to walk a mile in my shoes and understand what it’s like when you spend so much time worrying about what others think of you, you forget who you truly are. I forgot that while I am one of the nicest guys in FMW…I really don’t care about people who THINK they know me but actually don’t. Know this, participants of FMW. I am the man to beat. Not Harlequin. Not Skyler Striker. Not Chrisitan G. Smitten. I am. Chris Austin. I’m not saying this to be arrogant. I say this because it’s a fact. You want the Hayabusa Cup? Come take it from me if you can.

I am flawed. I am egotistical. I am arrogant. I am scared. I am vengeful. I am focused. I am pissed. I am not that different from you. I am nothing like you. I am Radical. I am the next Hayabusa Cup Champion. I am the representation of every one’s hidden self. I am everything that some people wish they could be. You can hate to love me, but there will always be something about me you can’t get enough of, whether it be the truth, or the simple fact that while some people claim they don’t give a shit, I’ll show you that I don’t give a shit with a smirk on my face. I wasn’t ready last year and I’m probably not ready this year. But you won’t see me show it. I’m coming for that damn cup and I will win it by any means necessary. There are no rules in love and war. I don’t really love any of you, and this isn’t war…this is merely your failures, even in victory.

So there it is. I don’t have time, the cowardice or the lack of creativity to do something like capture however many people that remind me of my opponent and kill them, when I could quite possibly do the real thing in the ring. I’m not going to dedicate this match to my seemingly perfect family when the only person it’d directly help is me. I’m not going to say this is my chance to arrive, be heard or something because every match is a chance to arrive and be heard. No, this isn’t a new side or anything like that, and no this isn’t the ‘real’ me. It’s the mindset I need to have. It’s the mindset of the new generation and the mindset of a Radical. When it comes to a Radical’s cause, it’s as simple as Kill or Be Killed. Survive or Perish.

If you come into this match thinking you’ll punish me for the laughing joke of a champion you became, or wanting to mask the sight of the failure you see in the mirror because wielding around a stick of restricted authority will never mask the truth inflicted by the people who voted during Catalyst and then decided to expose you as the fraud you are, then you will perish in my world.

If you come into this match thinking that it’s your turn to win, or that your blind wife would love to hear about you winning it when in all actuality, you are no better than the maggots you fight and survive against because you don’t know shit about being tested then you will perish in my world.

If you come in thinking that your master will be pleased, if you think this will put you on the map, if you think this will show that you are above being where you are on the card…basically, if you aren’t Chris Austin, you will perish in my world. You will perish because you aren’t here for what I am here for. You all have hidden agendas. You don’t even know what they are, despite what you tell other people. I’m here for redemption and to elevate myself. See, I know who I am and because I do, I finally know what I want to be: My own man. None of you are that enlightened just yet.

When I die, I will die a man who fought for what he believed in. In this match, you all will die as puppets who thought they were doing something besides falling victim to the traps that your mind erroneously created and passed off as ‘values, virtues or rules to live by.’ You’re only human; you just don’t know it yet. I’m about to teach it to you.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: How can I be so sure in myself; so confident? How do I know I’ll win?

But think about my history, think of the last guy to win it. I want you to ask yourself: How can I not?

Are you going to stop me or something? I doubt it but stranger things have happened so I wouldn’t put it past you. I would advise you not to bet on that though. I’ve run before, I will not run again. It’s time for me to face the music and man the fuck up. As I said earlier, I am not your hero, FMW. But someone out there does deserve to be saved. It’s time for me to save MYSELF from becoming a footnote or a bust. Despite the fact that I will win, if by some way I don’t I find that my performance in this match will be better than it was last year, if only because I did it for the right reasons. That reason is to make things right with myself and the fans I lied to.

“It is better to be defeated on principle than to win on lies.”

Radical means I see the bigger picture. I see the truth. I see the future. I see fans to set an example for. I see people to make an example of.


It’s time to face the Radical. It’s time to face the truth and it’d be wise to just let it flow because it can’t be stopped. Be warned, the truth hurts, this particular one like no other before or after it.

[size=200]READY OR NOT…HERE I COME

[/size]

Mark Johansson

The Hayabusa Cup was the first major event I ever competed in. Over a year ago I faced men who were miles ahead of me in skill, in power and in authority.

What a difference a year makes. It is shocking to think about the current state of Full Metal Wrestling. To catch you all up to where I am, I am caught in a struggle for the power of Corruption. HavOc may be dead but their spirit lives on in the hearts of two men, Jaro and Harlequin.

But I ask of you, the participants of FMW, one simple question.



Images of past FMW superstars flash onto screen.

Michael James and PFC Pearson winning the Television Tag Titles.

Footage of John “Doc” Derrick winning the FMW World Title.



Drew Michaels holds high the C-4 Title.



Images of Dante “RAMPAGE!” Jones as Alchemy General Manager.



The video package ends with an image of Harlequin reading his eulogy for Drew Michaels.



So during this rough time in FMW I suggest that Mark Johansson has a chance to be the saviour. The hero that we need. The man we all looked up to is dead. We can’t cry about it anymore. Nick Bryson has failed to fill the shoes of his deceased cousin.



Unfortunately we can’t wait for the end of the night. Rapid action is needed, imagine if someone like Harlequin wins and has a chance to book and manage his own super show. We lost a great man, one who helped so many during his time. If Harlequin runs anything, if he is the top dog that we all strive to reach, FMW will not survive past Supremacy.



I’m not the strongest competitor, nor am I the fastest. But I am fresh, fresh and ready to take on half the FMW roster. Ready to take the lead and be the man that is needed in order for peace.



As the saying goes there are only two things that you can be sure of in life. Death and taxes. And I know what many of you are thinking. Mark Johansson is not ready to take this on himself, so help me. Hayabusa Cup is the one time that we can all stand against a common enemy, trust me when I say this we need to put faith in ourselves to quit unstoppable evil.

One year ago FMW was divided. Original Sin reigned supreme. Do we want that again? Is there enough good men left in FMW to save us if such a stable was recreated. Sadly the answer seems to be no. Again if someone like Faith or Harlequin or VanGuard win they have the power to create such dominance.



I don’t want this to be just fantasy, it’s not a matter of hope. When faced with unstoppable evil you can’t stand on hope alone. Action is needed, action is wanted. If it’s out of our reach… jump, jump to grab hold. It’s going to take a leap of faith to do what is right.

It’s something I must do, I must dive for that outreached hand. For everyone in the locker room, for the future of FMW.



Superman was flawless and he is just a fictional character. No one has super strength, nor x-ray vision and of course no one has iron skin. If anyone did we wouldn’t be faced with the current situation.

It sounds like I’m pleading with you as if I am running for president but I’m not. All I am asking is that everyone who knows what is good for FMW fights until the very last possible breath. Never give up.

Never surrender.



Don’t let what Drew Michaels stood for die with him. Carry on his legacy.



I am not a leader. I never have been, this is the most stirring speech I will ever give and its to the tune of probably a top ten gay disco hit. But even though I am not a leader I do know one thing, I know what it takes to see justice. I know what sacrifices need to be made for justice to prevail.

The time has come.

The time is now.

Where have all the good men gone?

I’m still standing.

Tromboner Man



A young and enthusiastic biker turned wrestler signed on the dotted line to compete for the upstart promotion, Full Metal Wrestling. The young man, who went by the alias C.G.S, prided himself on two things. Honor and Honesty. His technical style of wrestling was highly skilled, putting him on the map in the C-4 Division. Beloved by the rabid fans of the promotion, and well respected in the locker room, C.G.S had the makings of a promising and extended career.

While he was respected backstage by both his colleagues and management alike, his wrestling record in the ring was not an impressive one. Knocked out in the opening round of the “Road to Glory” tournament, and failing to win the Four Way Dance for the C-4 Championship, C.G.S walked into the maiden PPV event of FMW, Death Row, with a solitary win over veteran wrestler “The Rabbi”. This would be his only victory of 2006, as he was bested on PPV by powerful youngster Adrian O’Rion.

While C.G.S put on a brave face, deep down, he hurt, knowing that the chance to make a strong and lasting first impression to his career as a wrestler had passed him by.



C.G.S, exhausted and extremely sore, walks into his communal locker room. In there is veteran superstar, Styxx, who is packing up his bag after his Dark Match earlier in the night. C.G.S sits down on a bench in the room and sighs, before pounding his hand down on the bench.

Styxx: Calm down, it’s only one match.

C.G.S.: I will not calm down. That should have been me. I was dominating, and I let my guard down for a micro second. The little shit pins me.

Styxx: Don’t get pissy, it happens. Adrian O’Rion is very good, accept it, you got beaten.

C.G.S.: Yes, I did, I got beaten.

Styxx: There you go!

Styxx gives a cheesy smile and a thumbs up to the frustrated young star. C.G.S doesn’t quite know what to say to something like that.

C.G.S.: That’s it?

Styxx: Yes, that’s it. Don’t let it get you down. Get back on your horse, and go. You’ll do fine.

C.G.S.: But... I held his hand in the air, acknowledging he won.

Styxx: Congratulations. You’re a bigger man than I was at your stage.

Styxx picks up his now fully packed back and slings it over his shoulder, before getting in the face of the frustrated C.G.S.

Styxx: Word of advice for you kid, stop acting like a baby and take defeat like a man. If you don’t, nobody’s going to take you seriously. Ever.

C.G.S.: What would you know?

Styxx laughs, as he steps back from C.G.S and heads out the locker room door. As he leaves, he shouts over his shoulder.

Styxx: Trust me, I don’t talk bullshit.

C.G.S is left alone to ponder the rantings of the much loved and well respected Styxx. Perhaps he was being immature. He tried to think of positives to take his mind off the final moments of the match, but all he could think about was how he let an opportunity slip through his fingers. Again.



C.G.S returned after the Christmas break with a greater commitment and renewed enthusiasm. This reflected inside the ring, with the board of directors granting him a C-4 Championship match at the next Pay-Per-View, Lethal Injection. C.G.S failed to capture the belt on that night, and was left battered and bruised by the newly formed stable, New Masters of Earth. He would not compete again until the super-show “Circus Maximus”, in what would become an FMW tradition, the Mount Vesuvius match.

While competing in the match, something snapped in C.G.S’ head, hanging fellow superstar Slegna over the structure with his bikers chain. Moments later, he found himself eliminated, and receiving jeers and insults from the crowd, something which he surprisingly liked. After defeating Slegna at the following show, C.G.S declared to the world that his do-good biker days were over, and he was to embrace his true passion, Law. C.G.S had attained his Law degree studying via correspondence while he served time in the Salt Lake City jail, so embracing the change came naturally. He took on his given name, Christian Gregory Smitten, and aligned with then Anarchy General Manager St. Michael Dreamkiller, who orchestrated a trade to bring the lawyer to the red brand.

Smitten soon became a powerful threat, taking on all comers with his less than honorable antics. While this was a far cry from what he’d previously done, it was much more successful, evident by Smitten’s capture of the Gold Card at FMW’s signature PPV event, Ultimatum. With the power to challenge the FMW Champion at any time in his hand, he was quickly coaxed into joining the highly secretive “Original Sin”, a super group determined to turn FMW upside down in order to make it their personal playground. The group debuted later that same night by crucifying the new FMW Champion Drew Michaels, along with Nick Bryson and Alex O’Rion. In a few short months, Smitten had turned his career around, and was starting to enjoy success at the highest level.



C.G.Smitten: I Did it.

FMW 5.1. Christian G. Smitten sits proudly in his luxury dressing room. With a desk set up in the middle of it, Smitten turned it into his private office. On the other side of the desk, silently smiling at him was St. Michael Dreamkiller, one of the ring leaders of the Original Sin. All he could do was smile as Smitten just stared at the Gold Card.

C.G.Smitten: I really did it... this is an absolutely terrific feeling I have. I don’t know what it is.

St.M.Dreamkiller: Smitten, what you’re feeling is the warm embrace of success. You’re powerful Smitten, I don’t know if you realize how powerful you really are.

C.G.Smitten: Sure I do.

St.M.Dreamkiller: I’m pretty sure you don’t. Up until now, you’ve been very unlucky. Unlucky is still a failure, but it’s the unlucky part that made me and Jason keep a close eye on you. When you won the Gold Card at Ultimatum, you saw it yourself. You were something special. I want to harness that special it help me...

C.G.Smitten: Help you? I hope this next part isn’t some diabolical scheme that’s going to leave me out in the lurch.

St.M.Dreamkiller: No, you’re going to get your rewards too. But first, you need to realize how much of a game swinger you’ve become. You can now step in at any time and take the FMW Championship off Drew Michaels. And there’s nothing he can do.

C.G.Smitten: It would cripple any resistance they have building against us.

St.M.Dreamkiller: Exactly.

Smitten puts the card into his jacket pocket momentarily as he thinks carefully.

C.G.Smitten: And what if we were, to say, exploit this fact. Hold it over their heads?

St.M.Dreamkiller: I think you’re catching on.

C.G.Smitten: We could let them defend the title against opponents of our picking. Every night, yet keeping me far away from the scene. Then, when they are least expecting it, swoop in, and take home my rightful prize.

Smitten stands up, getting more and more animated with his excitement. His voice gets louder and his body language gets more extravagant.

C.G.Smitten: They will be like prey. I can then easily pick them off, one by one. Assert the authority upon them that I’m no man to be meddled with. And I can then lead the Original Sin into a new league of dominance. Taking over rival federations, with our power. Money, Fame, Fortune. It will all be ours!

St.M.Dreamkiller: Smitten, congratulations. You’ve just developed a killer instinct. I think we were right in believing in you.

C.G.Smitten: Damn right you were. Nobody, nobody, is greater than I am. It’s time I started showing my true potential.



Smitten’s alliance with the Original Sin gave him an unimaginable amount of power, and thus, he set out on a quest to vanquish anything in FMW he found offensive, or did not agree with. Firstly, he targeted Jack Boice and his perversion to inanimate objects, specifically Steel Chairs. Boice and his Steel Chair, whom he called Baby, tried to fight back against Smitten’s decisions, but lost their pivotal match at Death Row 2 which would allow their love to continue.

Not content to rest on his laurels after outlawing Man-on-chair relations, Smitten targeted bigger fish. Former FMW Champion Drew Michaels was unsuccessful in recapturing his title at Death Row, and Smitten became fascinated with how he stacked up against a former champion. In their first meeting, he was bested. Irate, he plotted with FMW CEO Jason “Jaro” Roy against Michaels, and his cousin and Tag Team Partner Nick Bryson, whom Jaro shared the Ultraviolent championship with. This resulted in a rematch between the pair at the Supremacy Super show, which Michaels also won. Smitten and Jaro had a trump card however. With the resistance starting to put the pressure on the Original Sin, the pair had coxed Michaels and Bryson to putting their careers on the line at the upcoming PPV, Lethal Injection 2. The resistance won, causing the Original Sin to disband, with Michaels pinning Smitten one last time during the night, driving the lawyer to frustration point with his run of bad form.

Frustrated and looking to make a huge impact once again, Smitten cockily announce to the world that at Circus Maximus 2, he would become FMW Champion. Using his Gold Card to invoke the match, Smitten came good on his promise, defeating the champion John “Doc” Derrick for his first championship. He soon discovered he would defend the belt against Derrick in his first title bout as champion at the Catalyst PPV, with a third man to be added by the fans, due to a decision by 2008 Hayabusa Cup winner, Chris Austin. With Eric Scorpio, Nick Bryson and Skyler Striker all looking for that third spot, Smitten felt confident that after the Christmas break, he would have very little to worry about in terms of his title.

With Kelsey close in toe, Christian G. Smitten walks purposefully through the Roman Coliseum. With the FMW Championship over his shoulder, still sporting the name plate “John ‘Doc’ Derrick”, Smitten seems emotionless as he is approached by Veronica Cherrywood.

Cherrywood: Smitten, if I can get just a few words about how you’re feeling right now, after winni...

C.G.Smitten: It’s well overdue.

Smitten powers past FMW’s backstage interviewer as he heads to his locker room. As he passes several employees, get receives a few stares, and quite a number of glares. Smitten knew he’d receive backlash for his controversial victory, as well as his post match antics. However, right now, he just didn’t care.

He opens the door to his locker room and quickly ushers Kelsey inside, and shuts the door. Locking the door, he pauses as soon as he hears that satisfying click. His emotionless face quickly breaks out into a grin, then a full blown smile. His shoulders relax as he takes the title off and stares deeply into it, watching his reflection closely.

C.G.Smitten: Look at it... it’s even more beautiful than I imagined.

Kelsey waddles up, trying to catch a glimpse of her father’s new prize. She can only see the leather of the belt however. Trying to catch a glimpse of its golden faceplate, he starts jumping up and down.

Kelsey: Daddy!

C.G.Smitten: Here, look! Daddy did this. He did it all by himself.

Kelsey stares at it, amused by its. She puts her finger out to touch it. Smitten notices this, swiftly and forcefully batting the finger away before it can touch the faceplate.

C.G.Smitten: NO! Do NOT touch this. EVER! Bad girl.

Kelsey: B...

C.G.Smitten: No buts!!!! I said no!

Smitten drew his hand back, threatening to hit Kelsey. Instantly, she cowers in fear, unsure of what she has done wrong. While he hadn’t struck his daughter, nor had he ever intended to, Christian G. Smitten felt it important that she learnt her place to obey and submit. If she could do that, she might find herself in a position to take advantage of a situation. Then, in a move straight out of Christian’s own play book, take what was rightfully hers.

Smitten withdrew his hand as Kelsey sheepishly looked out from her cower. Smitten smiles, happy with his continued success tonight, this time in disciplining his daughter, and sits behind his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he relaxes, and happily stares into his title.

C.G.Smitten: I really did it. This moment is much better than I could have ever envisioned it being.



Nick Bryson won the votes, and eventually the match at Catalyst, taking home with him the FMW Championship. Smitten was beside himself, absolutely unable to answer what went wrong on the night. He was thrust into the Zachary Jones Memorial tournament to crown the number one contender to the title at Ultimatum, as the man who was supposed to challenge Bryson, TyranT, lost his Mount Vesuvius torch at Catalyst. After earning entry into the second round with a frustrating draw against Skyler Striker, Smitten once again found heart break as Alex O’Rion won the 5 Man TLC match to take the opportunity.

He gave up the law and began seeking redemption. After teaming up, and the backstabbing TyranT to try and get the shot back in its rightful hands, a match was made between the pair for Ultimatum 2. TyranT however, soon left the company, citing a lack of passion for the industry. Eric Scorpio quickly emerged from retirement to challenge the bitter Smitten to the same match at Ultimatum.

Smitten was able to best Scorpio that night, and win the title of “Number One Contender” to the FMW Title. He was not content there however, imposing himself on the FMW Championship match later that evening, and reversing the decision between champion Alex O’Rion and impromptu challenger, Janus Flare. His decision was rewarded with the title of “FMW Commissioner”. With the power, he rekindled his love for the law, taking it a step forward and becoming a Judge. The Honorable Christian G. Smitten quickly hired TyranT’s daughter, Faith McKenzie, and billed himself against the mute young lady, in an effort to impose his power upon the FMW roster. It wasn’t meant to be however, as Faith defeated Smitten, and he quickly found himself losing credibility, and patience.

The Full Metal Wrestling Commissioner’s office was a grand one. It screamed pride, with exquisant antique furniture, luxurious carpet and exceptional pieces of art. Behind his large desk sat the FMW Commissioner, “The Honorable” Christian G. Smitten. With everything within FMW at his disposal, and seemingly having everything he could ever wish for in his career, Smitten takes a moment to plan his next step.

At a smaller desk nearby is his young daughter, Kelsey Smitten. Kelsey sits in the watchful eye of her father, as she attends distance education schooling via Skype. Christian can see the math’s formulae on the screen. Simple to him, yet Kelsey seemed to be struggling. He fought the urge to help her, and told himself if she needed the assistance. She would ask.

Kelsey jumped as her concentration is broken by the ringing of her father’s cell phone. Christian is quick to pick it up and answer it, as he walks out of the room to take the call.

C.G.Smitten: Sorry Kelsey... Christian Smitten speaking.

Smitten sits down outside his office at his receptionist’s desk. As the person on the other end of the line, Smitten rolls his eyes, and drags a piece of paper out of his pocket. He starts to unravel it and takes a pen from the desk to start writing.

C.G.Smitten: I really don’t care if American Airlines are suing us for “Breach of Contract”. The contract clearly states that we, should we feel it necessary, can break our exclusive rights at any time, should we feel our staff are not being adequately catered for on their service.

The piece of paper quickly reveals itself to be a list. On top of it, in big, blue words are “Things to Achieve in my life”. The title is dated September 25th, 2006.

C.G.Smitten: Well, currently, FMW are investigating 30 reported cases of verbal abuse towards FMW superstars on their flights, with 25 reportedly coming from A.A. staff. Another 17 cases of food poisoning from their ghastly excuse for food. A staggering 72 cases of lost luggage, and 3 thefts of carryon luggage while sleeping.

The list starts off with a few standard ones. Become rich. "Become famous" has been ruled through, as has "Win a major award". Capture the FMW Championship is written twice, with the first one scrubbed through. Be recognized by my peers as a true threat isn’t scrubbed through at all, but has a number of ticks next to it.

C.G.Smitten: It’s in my best interests to look after the well being of my staff while they travel. While they are in an FMW building, they have signed a waiver saying anything that happens is out of the control of FMW and its various sponsors. But should I send them overseas, for example, to Italy, and don’t look after them, then I’m the one who can end up in court over Employee Neglect.

A date is written further down the page. Dated January 30th, 2008. Right under that are four words. Make people FEAR me. Right under that sits “Have people feel threatened by my very presence”. Both of these have been ruled through, and ruled through again. Smitten rules through them again while on the phone for good measure.

C.G.Smitten: Look, you’re obviously not seeing this as clearly as I am. They are not living up to their side of the contract. If they can’t do that, then as far as I’m concerned, they aren’t worth risking my career over. End of story. Call me back when you’ve stopped having a panic attack, and I’ll tell you exactly how to do this.

Smitten hangs up the phone and puts it back into his pocket. He looks down at the page, and dates where he is writing “September 21st, 2009”. He then proceeds to write two sentences.

Be a better father.

Never compromise success!!!

Smitten stands up and returns to his office, where Kelsey paces around the room, anxious for her father to return.

Kelsey: Daddy, I don’t understand this, and the teacher’s not helping me. Can you teach me?

C.G.Smitten: Of course, what do you need me to teach you?

Courage is something I will not be needing.

Bravery is a lost art.

Valor is dead.

Chris Austin, place the blame for losing my FMW Championship squarely on your shoulders. I’ve made it publically clear that I can, and will, be targeting you, and punishing you in that very ring tonight. I know there are other men in that ring tonight. I guess that they can consider themselves lucky to be sharing the same ring as you and I.

It will mean a less painful night for them, as my attention will be primarily on you. I have no intention of making you fall over the top rope and to the outside of the ring, and I have little interest in causing you to be eliminated via pin fall. You see Chris, I am going to feed you to the dogs for elimination.

Damien Inferno, Gabriel Crow or Black Marcus will be responsible for your elimination on this night. The night you try and defend your crown. I want you to feel exactly what it is like to have a grudge against someone, and then have a third party take away your chance at claiming your goal. Claiming your prize. Claiming what is yours. Those three, or however many happen to remain, can then be picked off, one by one, by me.

That will be the starting point, to cap off a brilliant 3 year wrestling career from myself in this federation. It’s the birth of FMW, and I’m celebrating by claiming a prize which eluded me in my only appearance in this event.

2007, I finished 3rd in the Ring of Fire, bested by Peter Saint and John “Doc” Derrick. In 2008, I did not compete. In 2009, I erase from my record failures in my career, and take the final step in my master plan. With the power to control supremacy up in the air, I will cease it ahead of 3 less deserving adversaries, and claim my reward.

Total. Power.

Mprim13

The bulge in Marcus's pants grew as the scantily clad woman ground against him. The air was filled with the scent of her sex and the strobe lights inside the club made this something of a unique experience for Marcus. It wasn't something he would have chosen to do on his own but the excursion was actually at the insistence of his fiancée. "You need to go out and experience life a little Marcus. It isn't good for you to be so closed off from the world. The biggest social setting you're ever in you end up being behind a mask."

So here he found himself, seated in the darkness with a raven haired beauty doing her best to make him mess his pants. Natalie sat in the corner of the little room and had just enough light from the other side of the curtain to catch some of the action. A smile crossed her face and he gazed to her and returned it. The dancer stopped her act and whispered into his ear.

"For another hundred you can fuck me."

Marcus shook his head incredulously.

Marcus: No thanks I think that was good enough.

The dancer nodded and sauntered from the room slowly, shaking her ass along the way and giving him enough time to change his mind. He shook his head and laughed out loud.

Natalie: What did she say to you?

Marcus: Told me for another hundred I could throw her a fuck.

Natalie raised an eyebrow.

Natalie: Did you want to?

Marcus again shook his head.

Marcus: You are more than enough for me babe.

She smiled at him lovingly, content in the fact that he was exactly the man she thought she was getting.

Natalie: Let me go get the car. We can go home and finish what she started.

She winked at him and walked out. He couldn't believe that he had lucked into such a wonderful woman. He waited a few minutes, enjoying the atmosphere of the place, before heading outside. Natalie was waiting for him right outside the door with an arm around her back, grinning devilishly.

Natalie: Close your eyes.

He did as told and he felt a thin fabric being rapped tightly around his eyes. he tried to open them but couldn't. Natalie took his hand and they rushed to the car, the excitement of the impending event palpable. She giggled as she helped him into the passenger seat. She crawled over him to the drivers side, making sure she felt his member along the way. He grinned outwardly.

Marcus: What's gotten into you tonight?

Natalie placed her hand on his leg as she started the car.

Natalie: Nothing yet. But soon....

And they were off.





Marcus found himself in his fathers office again, this time unsure of what infraction he had committed. Even with his new gig his performance had actually seemed to improve. With the exception of Gina running off whenever it suited her, things seemed to be going swimmingly. He began to sweat as he waited for his father. He was given specific instructions not to move so he just sat and waited for the meeting to get out. He took off his coat and loosened his tie and moments later his father walked in, an expression of scorn written all over his face.

Oliver: I swear to fucking god Marcus, those pencil-necked fucks in IT better get their heads outta their asses or I'll cut the whole fucking section!

Oliver opened his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch and a pair of glasses.

Oliver: Want some?

Marcus shook his head no but Oliver wasn't paying attention. He poured both glasses and slid one in front of Marcus. His eyes never left his father as he sipped the alcohol, his dad throwing all etiquette away downing his glass in one gulp.

Marcus: You wanted something dad? I have a stack of files on my desk that I need to get through before Friday.

Oliver poured himself a glass and nodded to Marcus.

Oliver: I'm proud of the way you have been picking stuff up lately Marcus. Your work is great by itself but then your units clearances are the highest in the company. We are raising the budget for your department. I want you to choose some people to get a raise. Have a list for me by the end of the week?

Marcus: Sure dad, no problem.

Marcus got up and headed to the door.

Oliver: Bahamas or Fiji?

Marcus turned his head.

Marcus: Bahamas or Fiji what?

Oliver chuckled.

Oliver: Where do you want your honeymoon? Its my wedding present to you both.

Marcus grinned.

Marcus: I'll let you know by the end of the week. Thanks dad.

Marcus walked over and for the first time in a decade embraced his father. Oliver was taken aback, no longer used to displays of affection like this, and he patted his son on the back nervously. Marcus released the hug and walked to the door.

Marcus: Thanks again dad. Don't let the IT guys piss you off to much, they're probably tense cause guys like that don't get laid.

Oliver laughed at the remark and Marcus retreated to his office. He closed the door behind him, sat back in his chair, and put his feet on the desk. He reached for his cell and dialed Natalie.

Natalie: Hello?

Marcus: Hey babe, how are you?

Natalie: Much better now that I'm talking to you.

Marcus: So quick question.

Natalie: Sure, go ahead.

Marcus: The Bahamas or Fiji?

Natalie: What?

Marcus: Our honeymoon, where you wanna go?

Natalie: How can we afford that?

Marcus: Actually we can't. My father is picking up the tab as a wedding present.

Natalie: Wow that's crazy! I dunno... give me some time to decide?

Marcus: Take as long as you need babe. Listen, I got to go, got a lot of shit left before i get out of here. See you tonight?

Natalie: Of course. We should do something.

Marcus: Cool. We can talk about it tonight. I love you. Bye Nat.

Marcus hung up the phone and smiled to himself. The smile quickly faded as his door was thrown open and Gina stepped in. Marcus removed his feet from his desk and readjusted his tie.

Marcus: What can I do for you Gina?

Gina: I'm leaving for the day. Just wanted to let you know.

Marcus: Gina this shit needs to stop.

Gina looked at him and nodded.

Gina: You're right. I'll just go talk to Oliver and get this all straightened out.

She turned toward the door and his shoulders slumped, defeated. His disappointment with himself quickly transferred to anger.

Marcus: You know what? Fuck you Gina. Go tell him if you want.

She was shocked, unsure how to respond to this new side of Marcus.

Marcus: Well? Either get back to your fucking desk and get back to work or go cry your fake sob story. Either way I don't give a flying fuck. Just get the fuck out of my face.

Gina began to sob. Marcus looked at the display with doubt, having been through fake tears from her before and he would not be taken advantage of again. However, there was something about it that looked genuine and Marcus started to backtrack.

Marcus: look I'm sorry. I have a lot of things going on. Why don't you take the rest of the week off and on Monday we can discuss this. You'll get paid for the full week so don't worry about that.

Gina walked over and hugged him. She wiped her eyes and looked at him.

Gina: Thank you.

She turned and exited the room and Marcus put his head in his hands.




The car pulled up to Natalie's house and she quickly leaned over and kissed him passionately. They pawed at one another heavily before she finally pulled away. She opened her door and helped him out and into the house. She sat him on the couch and kissed him again.

Natalie: You wait right here. When I call for you take off the blindfold and come into the bedroom.

Marcus nodded and waited. He heard her go back outside and moments later heard the door close as she came back in. He couldn't imagine what she had planned, what he had waiting for him. His erection strained against the fabric of his pants and he readjusted himself.

Natalie: Oh Marcus....

Marcus removed the blindfold and stood up and started toward the room. He stood in the threshold of the door to find Natalie in a very sexy negligee making out with another woman that he suddenly recognized. Gina. Marcus jumped from the threshold and backed up against the wall next to the door.

Marcus: Nat, I need to talk to you out here for a minute.

A few moments passed before she appeared in a bathrobe.

Natalie: What's wrong Marcus?

Marcus: What the hell is she doing here?!?

Natalie: I thought you would like it. She was working at the club and I just wanted something special for you.

Marcus: That woman works with me!

Natalie: She was working a pole. I'm sorry I tried to do something nice. How was I supposed to know?

Marcus: I dunno but this can't happen. Tell her to get dressed and I'll take her home. We can talk about this when I get back.

Natalie: She is dressed...

Marcus left the house quickly and started the car. A few minutes later Gina made her way outside. She climbed into the car, keeping her head down as to avoid eye contact.

Marcus: How the hell did this happen?

Gina said nothing. She did her best to cover herself, obviously very embarrassed and very uncomfortable. Marcus sighed and put his coat around her shoulders.

Marcus: So where do you live?

Gina: Just take me back to the club.

They drove mostly in silence, neither sure of how to attack the situation before them.


They pulled into the parking lot of the club and he looked at her.

Marcus: What are you doing working here anyway?

Gina: This is why I've been leaving early. I'll see you on Monday....and I'm sorry.

She opened the door and got out. She started toward the door when she was grabbed by a man in a suit. Marcus got out and walked toward them.

Man: Where the fuck where you? I don't pay you to leave and turn fucking tricks. Get the fuck inside and make me some money you worthless piece of shit.

He threw her toward the door and she fell to the ground. Marcus rushed over and helped her off the ground. He turned to the suited man with eyes aflame.

Marcus: Don't ever fucking do that again.

Man: Oh yeah? What the hell you gonna do about it?

Marcus rocked him with a left hook to the face without thinking and the man tumbled to the ground and ended in the same spot he had thrown Gina. The man spit blood and snarled.

Man: You're fired whore! Get the fuck out of here.

Marcus kicked the man in the mid section before taking Gina by the arm.

Marcus: Lets go.

They walked back to his car and drove away.

Marcus: Jesus Christ how do you end up working for a piece of crap like that?

Gina: I needed the money. I've got two kids and what I'm making with you just isn't cutting it. I was doing what I had to for my children.

Marcus pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped.

Marcus: Maybe I can help. You're better then all of this.

Marcus looked her over to extenuate his point.

Marcus: Come into work tomorrow. We just got a bump in payroll. We will see how you do till the end of the week and then if you improve we can bump your salary enough that you don't have to resort to this crap.

Her eyes glistened as she wiped away her still forming tears.

Gina: Thank you Marcus. You wont regret this.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.Marcus started the car and they pulled away.


Often times in life we find ourselves at a crossroads. We can take the road of least resistance or you can go out and do things the right way. If you can stand up and appreciate what you are doing there is a purity to things. Sometimes it takes bravery, valor if you will, to stand up and do what needs to be done. This can be seen in many aspects of your life. Weather it be helping someone you don't particularly care for or even something so simple as a wrestling match. I go into this as a big underdog. People are writing me off and telling me to use this as a learning experience. I say no. I will go in and do things the right way. Everyone competing for the cup, you are now on notice. I may not be the best but I will prevail. My hand will be raised and you will all see that I am not to be forgotten and neither is my method.

TyranT



The flight hadn’t been too long, and with several days before the Hayabusa Cup, Faith had more then enough time to tie up some loose ends that had long been overdue her attention. Faith travelled lightly, carrying only a rucksack with a change of clothes along with a few tools she would need for where she was headed. She was suppose to be in Hawaii to prepare with Striker for the match, but it could wait. By the time her flight arrived at her destination, it was early in the morning. Faith should have got some sleep on the plane, but it was hard to do so when she sat brooding over old ghosts that should have long been removed. It was time to make amends, she would need to do so if she wanted to keep a clear head when she went up against the best of them in the Hayabusa.

Striker advised her not to go with the event fast approaching, though he also advised her not to sign up to the federation in the first place. Ever since she signed her name on that white sheet of paper under Smitten’s smiling eyes, Striker had began to falter with his advise. He didn’t want her there, that much was obvious, and fast it seemed bad tension was beginning to grow between them. Faith had been harsh, she knew, as Striker’s heart was in the right place. But Faith was more then capable of looking after herself, she’d lived and endured through more hardships then Striker could imagine, and having him over her shoulder was fast becoming tiresome. Sometime she wondered if she had to draw a line somewhere and finally break off from him, but some small sense of loyalty and an evident friendship kept her going back to him.

Passing through security, Faith gathered her things, clad casually in a coat as finger cut gloves covered her hands to take off the chill of the autumn winds. She was no more presentable then usual, with an unkempt fringe and worn casual clothes she usually donned. She wouldn’t be in this city for long, as it happened her departing flight was some time tonight, a flight to Hawaii for the coming event. Outside the sun had taken grace, creating an unusually peaceful vibe Faith took little comfort in. A light breeze was welcoming however when it brushed by her figure, a much better environment then the confines of the cabin she spent a few hours in whilst it flew amongst the clouds. She appreciated it only for a moment, before moving on.

People passed too and fro outside the airport, carrying luggage and moving around, all faceless and unimportant to the mute, that was until one particular group caught her eye as she passed. Faith caught a glimpse of a father leading a happy daughter along with a large suitcase trailing behind them. He cracked a joke which had the two smiling and laughing, before they met up with a dark haired woman who seemed just as pleased to meet them. Faith half resented them in their happiness, Faith half pitied them from means she couldn’t explain. The small girl had everything Faith did not, yet also lacked qualities Faith took self pride in. Adjusting her rucksack she no longer lingered, knowing she needed transportation to get where she needed to be. A long echelon of taxi’s were spread out just before her, capitalizing on the new arrivals from the airport.

Faith: … We all serve a purpose…

Naturally Faith chose the closest one available which held point of the line, though she had wished she had stopped to actually observe the vehicle before she entered. A faint grey vapour hung in the air when she entered the back of the taxi, as a black foreign man sat with one arm slung from the window with a white roll tucked between his index and middle finger, letting a small tendril of smoke escape from its burning edge. His cloths were colourful to say the least, having just about every colour of the rainbow in the poncho that hung from his shoulders along with the beanie that covered jet black curly hair. Faith was in a right man to leave the taxi before she noticed his white eyes staring at her through the rear view mirror, as if he was blind. It made Faith frown as she met his eyes with her own cautious stare.

Driver: So where too den’ lady-woman?!

A blank emerald stare was his initial answer as Faith glared at the foreign taxi driver. She said no words, she only handed a small piece of paper to him with an address written upon it, something she wrote on the plane in preparation to her arrival. The driver frowned in bewilderment as he examined it, before he shot a condescending glare of his own back at the mute, finally turning to face her.

Driver: Ya’ sure ya’ wanna’ be headin’ der? Ain’t much in those parts ‘nymore.

Faith held the piercing gaze, a silence falling within the taxi that the mute had long been accustomed too. A steady stream of smoke poured from the mouth as they slowly parted, darkening the taxi in a grey shade. The smoke stung Faith’s eyes, forcing her to wince as she waved a finger cut gloved hand at the smoke to keep it away. It triggered a bellowing laughter from the driver as a few entrails of smoke escaped from his nose to merge with the cloud around him.

Driver: Ya’ luk familiar. Av’ Ah’ seen ya’ before?

Faith: … Everyone has seen me... I hate that everyone has seen me...

Faith kept her glare, unflinching since the smoke troubled her eyes. She had a place she needed to be, and this man was fast testing her patience. It seemed to prompt another small amount of laughter, deep from the stomach of the driver who smiled to show off his golden teeth.

Driver: Heh! Ya’ talk too much lady-woman! Let’s go ‘den…

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The drive was a lengthy one, Faith recalled it being so all those years ago when her father used to take her here. Peering through the window as she passed by in the taxi, she noticed the area was more run down now then when she used to frequent the place. Shops had shut down, windows were replaced by steel shutters, what windows and doors were not coated in steel had been kicked in, revealing old buildings that had long been left abandoned and completely ransacked of any valuables. It used to be an undesirable dive when Faith and her father ventured here, but it was never this bad. Mostly homeless bums and drunks littered the streets in this downtown area, just as common in number as the trash upon the ground that blew aimlessly in the mild winds. It seemed the area had finally caved in on itself, whilst twenty minutes up the road, the town thrived. Not even the gangs were present anymore down here however… probably having moved on since there was nothing left to steal here or terrorize. The place was dead.

Faith: … Just like me…

Faith recognised very few places, she couldn’t determine whether that was due to her memory not being what it was, or whether the place had changed so much. A few cars were present on the roads, merely passing through the dead space. Only one of the cars was here to make a stop, and Faith rode as a passenger in that car. The taxi slowly took a right turn, into a derelict car park. Faith new this area at least, she knew were she was even before golden teeth decided to declare their arrival.

Driver: We be ‘ere. Dat’ll be $50 lady-woman. Ay’ mite be around if ya’ need a ride back yeah.

Faith could see the glaring white eyes in the rear view mirror of the driver, and sensed that horrible golden smile was just beyond her sight. Reluctantly Faith pulled out a leather wallet, one that belonged to her old man before she decided he didn’t really need it anymore. She paid her debt, gathered her rucksack before leaving the smoky taxi and golden teeth to his own devices. She could still hear him laughing when she walked into the cold chill of the street, and before long she could hear him driving away. Faith was alone again, she walked through the car park in the dying hours of the morning towards an old building she hadn’t seen in over a decade. It was a quaint building, no more then two stories high, making it seem out of place amongst all the taller and run down flats that surrounded it. Over ten years ago the place was always out of place given its small size, but it was well maintained. Now it was nothing more then another husk in the ghost town.

Windows had been bordered up, the door under lock and chain as rust had long developed along the cold steel links. Only segments of glass remained on the borders of the windows were they had been smashed up over the years, leaving sight the wooden boards beyond that concealed view of the inside of the building. To the side of the main door, Faith noticed a small plaque as she approached with curiosity. Staring past an unkempt fringe, Faith noticed that the plaque read out a small dedication.

“In loving memory of Mathew Mileson. May his music live on forever. 1968 - 2002.”

Faith felt something when she read it, it wasn’t much, but she felt a small amount of remorse for a man that held heavy influence in a life that could have been. She slid a hand carefully over the plaque, her face unmoving. It was then she pulled her rucksack in front of her, pulling out a heavy set of cable cutters. Seeing the links baring the door had become so rusted, she only had to strike down a few times with the heavy object before one of the links snapped, causing the chain to flail to the side before the lock collapsed against the ground. Another heavy strike later, and the lock was demolished on the aging door, allowing Faith to boot it open. Inside it was almost as black as pitch beyond the small amount of light that entered through the door. The stretch of light from the sun cast Faith’s shadow amongst the void as she stood as nothing more then a black shape peering in. A tap later upon the light switch, and dim lights began to flicker to life.

Seconds passed before one of the lights let out a loud pop before dying, yet the rest seemed to finally break the boundary between life and death, shedding a half decent light on a once dead and uninhabited area. Faith closed the door over, using her bag to keep it shut with the lock having flew off. When she finally gave the place a good look, she couldn’t fight the smile that began to spread across her lips. The place had long lost its former glory, but instruments were still gathered around the large spacious room of the music store. Dust had long taken residence over the entire area, as cobwebs were housed on all corners of the room, whilst the wallpaper had become dark and loose with the gathering damp. Everything seemed untouched past the clear aging in Mileson’s music store, even the great instrument that caught Faith’s immediate attention… the instrument she used to play.

Faith: … There you are… it's been a very long time hasn't it?

Faith slid a hand over the dark wooden surface of the Bösendorfer Grand Piano, letting dust gather between her fingers and the hard surface as her hand trailed over it. She slid herself down onto the old stool just before it, which creaked loudly as it lost most of its sturdiness over the years. It’s legs held however, strong enough to support Faith as she lifted the cover over the keyboard of the grand instrument. Suddenly a wave of forbidden memories waved over her, as she dared to press down on a lower key, letting the piano sing a low note. The sound and the feeling it left in her heart was one she hadn’t experienced for some time, a small feeling of unique happiness she only ever received when she played under the teaching of Mathew Mileson. She wondered if she could still play after all those years, and before long, she played her first cord, before she let her hands do the rest, playing a slow melody she heard as a child. Soon, there seemed to be life within the music shop as the grand piano came to life. Some keys were half broken, others out of tune, but she could still manage to get most of the sound she wanted from it.

Her father wanted her to become a pianist when she was a child. He would take her here as often as he could, leaving her for a few hours so she could learn in music lessons. Billy wanted Faith as far away from his line of work as possible, and Faith found she had quite a talent for the piano as Mathew always observed. He was a strict teacher, having her play the same sequences over and over until she mastered it, but her hard work was always complimented, and even in failure, he would encourage rather then scold her. Faith couldn’t help but form a true smile, one that didn’t often grace upon her face these days when she switched melodies to play a song she heard not all too long ago.

“A child of the troubles”, a sad piece she heard and took note of not so long ago. When she heard it she imagined she could play it when she closed her eyes and moved her fingers. When she heard the gentle instrumental begin to play to her own ears by her own hands in the piano before her, she realized she could still play just as well. It was during the moment she pretended to play the piano when she realized there was a ghost in her past that she had to revisit. Yet for now she enjoyed this forbidden moment, still having the skills she left with. Just like her father could still fight when he returned to the ring after so many years had passed. For a time, Faith felt satisfied to listen to her father, to go a way of life he had chosen for her, a path she enjoyed, something she knew she was truly good at. But something happened one night, something that gained the curiosity of her fragile mind that turned her away from this.

Faith: … It turned me away from everything…

-----------------------

Billy came to pick her up after a lesson. As usual he never stayed long enough for her to play him a tune, none the less, Faith left content, her tutor giving encouraging words for her progress and skill before she departed. When her father took her by the hand, she got the scent of alcohol from his breath. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for her father to be out drinking during her lesson, and the simple fact that he couldn’t quite walk in a straight line once they were outside gave away that he might have had one too many on this occasion like a few others. In his prime, Billy was a powerfully built man, his hair dyed blonde and slicked back, His jaw clean shaven, whilst familiar shades coated his eyes. He donned his usual heavy coat, wearing all black “like Jonny Cash” as he would so claim to his daughter.

Billy: Enjoy today’s lesson lil’ one?

He’d always ask, to which Faith would find a genuine smile. It always made her father smile back, to see a rare success in his out of ring life come through. The routine was no different on this late evening as the pair of them walked towards the car park where Billy had left his Peterbuilt truck. Even though he was drunk, it wouldn’t stop him driving the monster of a vehicle, given the magnitude of the truck compared to all other vehicles, Faith never felt threatened or concerned… nor did Billy it would seem. It would be dark in moments, and that usually roused the less friendly faces of the neighbourhood. Some of which had taken the liberty to begin trashing some of the parked vehicles in the lonely parking area. Faith felt a hand grasp her shoulder firmly, stopping her from walking as she noticed the mob. She didn’t quite understand what was happening when she turned to look upon her father, seeing it was him that grasped her shoulder.

Billy: Hide… an’ don’t come out til’ Ah’ say so.

His words were low, but firm. Faith nodded, before Billy quickly guided her towards some trash cans which she slid amongst to conceal herself. She expected her father to follow, hearing as the hooligans laughed and began to take left items from the few cars littered in the park after smashing windows. It was then their attention turned to the colossal truck that belonged to her father. Her father had no intention of hiding, instead he marched on. Faith could recall how much his figure seemed to grow when he walked in an intimidating manner. It was as if he burned away all the alcohol in his system in seconds as he walked like a sober clear headed man with dark intent.

There must have been seven of the thugs, all closing in on the truck, that was until one of them noticed her father approaching. Billy in his prime had been so strong, and with frightening ease, Faith watched as her father picked up the nearest of the fully grown men, seizing him by his throat and his leg. His arms tensed up, as he lifted the man in a split second at head height before throwing him down with force against the concrete ground. Something snapped loudly as the thug landed awkwardly on his arm, before a high pitch scream followed to gather the rest of the mobs attention towards the lone man that stood before them.

TyranT: C’mon then PunK’s! Lets see what ya’ got!

What Faith witness changed everything in her life. Six men stood before her father, all with weapons in their hands. Six of them. They had him, if they just attacked they would have easily taken down her father and beat him within a bloody inch of his life. They could have beat him down, took his keys and drove away with the priceless truck. So what made them hesitate? Faith watched, as her father slid off his coat to let it fall to the floor, before he merely folded his arms… smiling. It was a smile Faith only saw in the ring when he fought, a dark smile he saved for his opponents.

It was then Faith realized, the men were scared. They knew who he was… even though they could have easily taken him, they were to shit scared to go near Billy McKenzie. It was then that Faith realized she wasn’t looking at Billy at all, she was watching the TyranT. They were afraid of the TyranT, of his reputation, and before long TyranT was actually laughing at them.

The gang took their injured comrade, and they retreated screaming out useless profanities as they faded away into the darkness. Even with weapons and numbers to their cause, they retreated. The moment they were gone, Billy’s form seemed to slump when he clumsily fumbled for his keys, the alcohol effect suddenly returning to the man as he called for his daughter. Faith could see her father seemed at unease when she finally joined him at the truck, his hands shook a little as he struggled to get the key into the car door. As soon as it was open, Faith felt herself being dragged by the wrist and lifted into the truck as Billy began to rush to get the truck started, his nerves getting the best of him. It seemed his own fear was getting the best of him, having realized what could have happened instead of what did.

Billy: Ah’ thought there was only three of ‘em!

Billy nervously laughed, when a twist of the ignition brought life to the truck. Though her fathers true self was revealed to her, Faith was still in awe over what he managed to do, what he had fashioned himself into. Suddenly, Faith felt playing the piano was not what she wanted anymore. Smiling, she realized she wanted something more. She wanted to be TyranT…

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The melody came to its end when the moment finished playing through her head. Years ago, she might have strived to become a musician, to let the piano sing where she could not. Maybe she could have had a different life, maybe she could have become a different person. Closing the cover over the keyboard for the last time, Faith knew from the beginning that such thoughts were not true. She was the TyranT’s daughter. Any attempt to be in touch with humanity or compassion would always fall through for someone with a dark mind like Faith. Even with Striker, the man who taught her how to fight in a ring, she felt herself being driven away from him. She knew deep down she was not like him, she wasn‘t Leon Caprice who could follow his footsteps and his ideals. Faith even felt that Striker didn’t even want her around, because deep down he knew what she was as well. Did he regret training her into what she had become?

Pulling out a small canister from her inside pocket, Faith finally began what she came here to do. It was time to forget the past, forget about what could have been and who she could have become. Faith was never suppose to be innocent, she was never suppose to be a woman or the daughter that her father wanted her to be. Faith is a monster, no amount of training or discipline would ever change that. Standing from the stool, Faith poured the contents of the small container over the black surface of the grand piano, pouring lighter fluid over the dust covered instrument. Before long, Faith was pulling a box of matches from her other pocket, giving the end a firm strike to bring birth to a small flickering flame. There was no pause, no hesitation, she simply cast it down upon the damp wooden surface, before watching as the fire grew and took a new life. She watched the fire slowly spread, beginning to burn away at something that had become long dead to her, just like Mathew Milson who was dead to the world.

Faith: … Farewell friend… I cannot be who you want me to be.

Faith watched for a time, as the last chance of a normal life began to burn by her own hand. As the fire danced its way across the piano and slowly spread, Faith felt it was strange that even now her mind was more focused on what was to come rather then over what should have been. Thick smoke began to pour from the blaze before her, whilst the fire began to rise, bringing her latest challenge to mind. The Hayabusa Cup would mark her second appearance in the ring, it was an event that not even her father ever went near. Whether he thought it was below him, whether he was simply too old to take part in such a closely tied event to another, or whether he just didn’t care, it did not matter. The best of the federation both old and new were all enlisting this year. If Faith ever wanted to have any hope of becoming a TyranT, she would have to begin with the Hayabusa cup.

She would have to face her mentor for the first time, Skyler Striker who taught her a great deal. To defeat him she would have to do something new, show him something he had no seen before. Caprice was his protégé, more so then Faith ever was. He would be no push over. Slegnadamus was a veteran to the FMW and knew the ropes just as well as anyone. Koldan was a Russian, self centred and not so different from herself when it came to the mentality of fighting. And then there was always the wildcards, Wolfe being a man who could make a difference if allowed. Then if she even managed to get past all of these people, she had the best fighters of the other rings to fend off.

Striker had trained her how to deal against an opponent one on one, but against many she had no experience with. Though if Faith had any benefit, it was that she wasn’t entering this match to do the best she could or make a name for herself. Faith was playing for keeps, she wouldn’t settle with trying to impress her peers, or just besting a single ring to gain some respect. Faith wanted to win, she needed to win. She had a reputation to build, a name to give herself that could surpass her fathers if she tried hard enough. The Hayabusa could just be the beginning of it.

By now the fire began to spread from the collapsing piano, breaking Faith from the distracting dance of the fire as it traced along the ground towards other instruments that once belonged to Mathew Mileson. She felt the waves of heat against her face and listened to the crack of wood as it was worn down and shattered by the flames. Faith she had stayed here too long. Dark fumes escaped from the cracks in the bordered up windows and the main door when Faith walked away from a past memory, letting an old world burn down to the ground as the fires caught more ferociously. Faith slipped out of sight, never as much as looking back when the homeless began to gather around the carnage. Not one of them attempted to phone emergency services, after all they welcomed the heat, which allowed for Faith to escape unnoticed.

---------------

An hour, maybe two may have passed when Faith finally managed to flag down a taxi. She needed to catch a flight back to Hawaii to prepare for what could be one of the most defining moments of her life. With an old ghost finally extinguished by flame, Faith felt ready to do the same to her opponents. She would have all the fire she needed, especially for her former mentor if it came to it.

Striker: I won’t go easy on you!

He would lie, Striker wouldn’t think to go all out against her given his false sense of chivalry, but Faith would soon give him a good reason to go all out. She would give them all a reason.

There was a familiar presence to the taxi when Faith opened the door, before she witnessed a golden smile from a familiar driver. A grey mist still clouded the inside of the cab when Faith sat down and closed the door. The same white eyes turned to glare at her as the driver asked his routine question.

Driver: Ah’ hope ya’ found whut you were lookin’ for… So where too now den’ lady-woman?!

He held a mocking tone with a smile to match… though that smile began to fade when he looked upon Faith, as if finally seeing her for what she was for the first time. Maybe it was because Faith was smiling right back at him this time, wide eyes half covered by a messy fringe, with a smile as dark and twisted as her own heart. With her ghosts finally gone, she felt as if a burden had finally been lifted.. There was no going back now, that much was clear, and that thought alone made Faith smile as she regarded the driver.

Faith: … I’m not a lady-woman…

The driver knew who she was now, that much she could see from the familiar look upon his face. It was the same face those men had expressed when TyranT fronted them as nothing more then a lone man. It was almost as if the driver could hear her silent words as she spoke them. He knew that what she spoke was true when she said it in her usual mute silence.

Faith: … I’m a monster…

Nash



[anx]“Dammit, dad!”[/anx]

“Wha'?

[anx]“The computer's decided to be anal-retentive again!”[/anx]

“Well hi' i'!”

[anx]“The last time I did that, it broke worse!”[/anx]

“Then i'll still be broke from t'last time yer broke i', won' i'?”

[anx]“The last time it broke, you broke it!”[/anx]

“Arr, well i's your faul' this time, yer li'le pillock. Ge' yer shi' t'gether. Yer mam'll be here in a minute.”

[anx]“Already packed, dad.”[/anx]

“Righ'.”



“Matthew! Matthew!”

[anx]“Through here, mum.”[/anx]

“Yer la'e.”

“What's it matter to you? I got held up.”

“Oh. Held up. I see.”

“Would you – no. We're not fighting in front of him.”

“Fine by me.”

“Good. Come on, Matthew, we need to get home.”

[anx]“Bye, dad.”[/anx]

“Bye, son.”

[size=200]

WHY?

[/size]

VanGuard

Downfall

There is pain, but not enough that it matters. I’m dazed with my cheek pressed up against the unforgiving canvas floor of a stained fight circle. There are voices, maybe a hundred of them, all shouting out their appreciation, blood lust and general guttural calls for violence. I try to focus, try to think but it’s hard. Each realisation is slow and lost in a thick miasma of confusion. Like breaking the surface of water and sucking in joyous air into burning lungs, I suddenly recall where I am and what I’m doing. Clarity hits me like a hammer. I’m prize fighting in an old converted boxing ring, a fall from grace somewhat. Not as classy as being in the employ of the FMW maybe, but it pays the bills. And at this point, that means a hell of a lot.

The smell of sweat and smoke is overwhelming; the caged ring is small bordering on the claustrophobic, hemmed in on all sides by the crowding barking spectators and gamblers. They applaud, they chant, they shout out encouragement; I hate them. They remind me of when I used to be a professional. I’m a big enough man to admit it to myself at least.

Chloe is screaming at me from behind the bars of the caged-in ring, her words mostly lost in the roar of the crowd. I can see it in her eyes, she’s half worried about me, half worried about what will happen if I don’t get up. I get the message, can read between the lines. 'Get up, you have to win this thing, if you don’t win you don’t get paid. If you don’t get paid we don’t eat.' It’s as simple as that. Once there was a time I fought for intangible things like pride, honour, a sense of achievement. Each week I struggled for my own self aggrandisement, a growing ego amidst many others. Now I’m fighting so Chloe and I can afford to sleep off of the streets, and maybe, just maybe, eat sometime this week.

Like I said it’s been a fall from grace. It was a downward spiral that started with Jaro’s attack a year ago. He took out one of my knees, something that hurts still every other day or whenever I think about how far I’ve fallen. I’ve been jobless with only one skill set, fighting. So yeah, it came to this; prize fighting. Its not pretty, it’s not where I want to be; but it pays the bills.

Chloe deserves better than this, deserves better than me damn it. God knows what’s kept her with me through this last year. I’m almost as afraid of her leaving me though as I am disappointing her. So I’ll get up, I need to win; I need to show the only person in the crowd that matters that I’m still worth a damn. I spit some blood onto the canvas mat and slowly push off the floor. Through bloodshot eyes I look up at my opponent, he is not Zanoni, he is not Neutron Star, he is not Gabriel Lance, and he is not Bobino. He is not Frost or any of the other numerous opponents I defeated back at the FMW; this guy is a chump and he’s in my way. He got a lucky shot on me, enough to stun me and send me down for a second, not enough to keep me there. My sixth fight tonight, not enough, need more, not enough; but nearly.

He’s big, bigger than me, he’s fast and experienced. But he’s angry, charges and leads with his chin; mistake. My haymaker nearly takes his damn head clean off. As my fist impacts I feel a satisfying crunch beneath my clenched fingers as his jaw gives way. Say what you want about Steven Vanguard the ex-wrestler. Washed up, never really could wrestle, doesn’t know how to grapple; I still punch harder than anyone else I ever met in any damn ring.

The big guy falls, hits the mat hard like a sack of potatoes. More cheers, some boo’s but only from the fools who bet against me. I breathe hard leaning against the cage, catching my breath as two of the ushers drag the prone limp form I’d just knocked out from the caged ring. I focus on my breathing; force the burning from my over exerted muscles and concentrate on the goal. Thirty dollars an opponent, I only need one more to get me and Chloe over the Stateline. Just one more.

As I lean my head against the cold wire of the cage trying to block out the cheering of the horde on the other side, I think, not for the first time how much better it had been at the FMW. There I had a modicum of self respect, worthy opponents, a friend in Frost even. Our Tag-team back in the day was well set to take the tag titles before Jaro’s attack. Frost had been a friend to me when I needed him; I can only hope he hadn’t needed my help over this last year with me not around to return the favour.

Chloe pushes through the crowd on the other side of the wire and smiles at me; it’s a sad smile but it warms me, stirring me from my nostalgia. The roar of the crowd is drowned out, muted and the world shrinks until it’s just us. She grabs the side of the cage herself touching my rough calloused hands; we lock fingers lightly through the bars. It’s been a tough year, but we’ve been together, it’s what kept us going. I became a better man because of Chloe, but look what sticking with me has cost her. A job writing in the FMW media department, friends, a home and a normal life. Still she remains optimistic, still she supports me. She smiles again, this one warmer and full of pride; I feel something stirring from deep inside me. I’m ready for the next fight now.

My knee, the one Jaro had taken out in his attack is aching, but other than that I’m ready to go on. It would hurt once the adrenalin wore off; it could hurt all it fucking wanted I tell myself, just as long as it was later. I turn walking back into the centre of the ring, waiting for the next fight. I’m still alone in the fight circle wondering when my next thirty dollars is going to step in. The crowd is slowly growing quieter and as I start to glare around into the mass, the pack, the mob that surrounds me. I start to realise why.

“No other takers? Come on! Look at me! I’m barely standing here, number seven will take me, come on, whose next?!” I shout with a fake bravado I don’t really feel. They grow even quieter. No, no not again, we only need a few more dollars and we’ll be able to move on. Just one more please. “Come on! Isn’t anyone out there man enough to come put me out of my misery?!” That’s it, piss them off, one of them is bound to lose they’re head, hurt their pride, and just get someone in here. I walk along the length of the octagon cage glaring down at them, some stare back with blank faces, most don’t meet my gaze. I strike the cage hard in frustration making it rattle on its hinges. “Come on!”

The owner of the seedy joint pipes up on the PA, interrupting me before I can get any further “If there’s no other takers, that’s all for tonight then folks, thanks for coming! Come back tomorrow, we’ll have new fighters for you to try your luck against. And remember if you win a brawl against any of Happy Al’s fighters you win Two hundred dollars, that’s right folks, Two hundred dollars!! Tell your friends!!!”

I curse softly to myself as the crowd begins to disperse, guess we won’t be leaving this city tomorrow after all. It meant finding another prize ring too; no one around here would want to fight me again, word travels fast in this scene. Who not to waste your time combating spreads like wildfire in this business. This was the second joint we’ve visited and if we wanted any more money we’d need to find number three. My shoulders slump visibly and I sigh heavily as the crowd shuffles towards the exit. I’m too good for places like this, but it’s too dangerous for Chloe if I where to go back the FMW. Or that’s what I tell myself. I’m not even sure if that’s an excuse I’m using to cover the fact that I’m just damn plain scared. Scared of going back and finding I don’t have what it takes anymore, scared of finding out that the only thing I’m good at, fighting, isn’t enough anymore.

With the day’s events over, Chloe ducks under the ropes and climbs through the cage door to join me inside the ring. “Way to go champ, another night of easily beating up the amateurs.” She quickly checks the small cut above my left eye from the lucky hit the last chump got. Gently ‘kissing-it-better’ she then punches me in the arm lightly with a smile. “Think you can take one more huh?” She jumps around in front of me like a hell of a lot better looking Muhammad Ali, throwing feint punches my way in cute fast flurries that parody a real fighter. We’re one step away from being homeless bums, not for the first time I marvel at her capacity for finding the good moments in the worst times.

Watching her pretending to be a real fighter I try to suppress the smile but give up after the first two seconds. “Nah, I’m spent anyway and wouldn’t want to hurt you either.”

Chloe stops suddenly looking insulted. “Ahem!! Remember who taught you your finisher and signature move Mr condescending. But okay, let’s go get paid and get something to eat. I’m tired after all that hard work.” I shoot her a look. “What? It’s hard cheering you on every night; I know your going to win against these rejects anyway. Come on I want a Burger, I’ll even let you pay for it.”

“Gee thanks.” Throwing an arm around her I steer us towards the cage exit stepping over the odd patch of blood on the canvas. The fresh ones are mostly my doing. The quality of the contenders in this join weren’t exactly top shelf and they’d bled pretty easy. Not a Peter Saint or Skyler Striker in the lot. Not for the first time I worry that I’m getting rusty. I bled tonight, bled fighting rookies off of the street, what the hell does that mean? It’s becoming a constant worry these days; an entire year without fighting someone who could actually fight back. Am I losing it?

Happy Al meets us near the exit with my pay. Pug faced and miserable looking his upbeat voice just never seemed to fit right with that depressed weathered old face. The man looked incapable of happiness so god knew where the nick name came from. But then, judging by the cars he drove, he was filthy rich. It usually took me a second or two to figure out what he was saying due to a thick Brooklyn accent. “Nice going kid, I threw a bonus in there cus’ I like ya so much hahahaha! Sorry about tonight though, since no ones gonna to be fighting you’s anymore I guess you guy’s will be moving on eh? Though personally, just between you and me, you should get outta these dives kid, get back into that wrestling watchamacallit business. Heard you used to be a somebody in the squared circle.”

I grimace about to shoot something back that wont make Happy Al a friend of mine, but Chloe hugging onto my side butts in fast. “Steve doesn’t do that anymore, too many bad memories, but thanks for the advice Al. Well be seeing ya!” I simply nod non committal to Al and let Chloe lead me out of the dump.

It’s cold outside but in a crisp refreshing way that seems to preserve everything in a calm stillness. Police sirens that echo down the long mostly deserted roads from a few blocks away and the constant thumping of helicopter rotor blades are the only things that brake an eerily quiet night. My breath turns into a steam vapour as soon as it leaves my lips. I love nights like this, bitterly cold, no wind, no one on the streets. The only warmth coming from Chloe as the night closes in. I drag my feet a little through the small layer of snow covering the ground below me as we head out into the city looking for somewhere to sleep and spend some of my earnings by grabbing something to eat. Were poor, the city is unforgiving, but were together, that means a hell of a lot.

-----

Uprising

Its three hours before dawn and I’m sat in the peeling kitchenette of a motel smoking one of Chloe’s cigarettes alone. The nicotine and coffee helps me stay awake as I listen to the noises of the city outside. I don’t usually smoke but when I’m waiting for something or someone the urge kicks in occasionally. I stub the remains out into a glass ashtray feeling mild unimpressed with myself and head through into the bedroom. The bed is empty now but I remember an image of Chloe sleeping softly just a few hours ago. An array of sultry curves curled up beneath the single sheet. She’d left about four hours ago saying she had to be somewhere and she’d be back in a little while, that it was important and please not to ask. I’d done the only reasonable thing, I’m a reasonable guy. Wake up, respect her wishes, be suspicious and very very alert to a vague sense of approaching danger.

My spider sense is tingling.

I’ve got our stuff packed, what little there is, and ready to move in case we need to bail fast. Now the only thing for me to do is wait until Chloe gets back and I learn just what kind of shit storm were going to be pulled into. Outside a light rain begins to fall and as I peer through the horizontal slats of the cheap blinds, the night sky outside splits. Lightning; ominous, not exactly a break from the brooding mood that has been draped over this room like a cloak. I can sense a theme for this night creeping in, bad luck, bad weather and undoubtedly, bad news on the way. But there is something else in the air; change was coming. Since the last year has been an exercise in desperate living and struggle I figure the only way is up but try to curb any sense of hope. My knuckles still hum with a dull pain from all the punching I’d done the night before; I hadn’t completely been able to wash some of the blood from them. No, no it wouldn’t do to let myself begin to hope, not just yet.

It’s another hour before Chloe shows up, stepping through the door and out of the rain. She looks tired but resolute in whatever decisions or action she’s taken. Presumably she’ll get around to revealing the mystery disappearance now. I look to her from my position sitting at the end of the bed, adrenalin bracing me for the news. A golden curve of hair masking half her face hides her eyes when she says it. “The FMW is in town, and the Hayabusa cup is in a few days.”

I don’t say anything just nod, staring blankly at the wall just to Chloe’s left not wanting to see her. Hoping that she’s not about to drop the bomb.

“Steve… I… I cut a deal with Jaro. You’re on the card.”

Having to be a nice guy is the toughest job in the world when you're not. I run a hand through my hair letting out a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. Chloe comes around the front of me, kneeling down so our eyes are level. “You can do this. They’ve paid for the flights; we can be in Hawaii by tomorrow night. You can do this Steve I know you can.”

I know I can, fighting is all I’m made for. I could have always gone back at anytime I realise. It was never about me it was always about you. Last time I was in the FMW you got shot and nearly bled out, I made far more enemies than friends and you were always in danger from the psycho’s I faced in the ring. Half of the people I defeated back then just weren’t content to leave the fighting in the ring, you were always in danger. So no, no were not going back to that shit hole that nearly killed us both. Is what I should have said. Instead I look her in the eyes holding her gaze. “Okay, okay if this is what you want. We’ll go back.”

Because deep down it’s what I wanted too. More than anything. Because the way things were going, something had to give. Something would break, and I was afraid it would be both of us. At FMW I had a challenge, at FMW I had something to fight for, at FMW I thought I had found my raison d’être. Yes. I’ll go back; I’ll be the man I wanted to be. The man Chloe wants me to be. Steven VanGuard, a competitor, a challenger, someone worth a damn.

She lurches forward hugging me close and tight. Chloe went to Jaro, the man who ended my career at FMW in the first place; that stings deep. She did it for me, knowing this life we’d been living the past year was slowly killing me. So she made a deal with the devil to get me back in. Even though going back put her at risk again. What’s done is done. Whatever agreement Chloe made with Jaro we’ll both deal with it. It’s the only mantra I know, the only way to live that seemed to ever make any sense to me. Face the facts and then Deal with it. It’s harder than you think, people seem to be engrained, purpose built to do anything but. Don’t delude yourself, don’t play out fantasy’s of what you wish were true in your head. Do not, pretend to be something you’re not. Don’t hope, don’t pray, and don’t fall for the dogma and rhetoric. Face the facts and then Deal with it.

We kiss, long hard and desperate. I brush a loose strand of hair away from Chloe’s eyes. “I guess we have a plane to catch.”

-----

Just like the Old Days

The journey is a relatively short and relaxing affair so far. The in-flight entertainment even has some ‘Wrestling Legends’ videos. I watch four minutes of a Tyrant rant from the early 90’s before giving up on the fat bastard’s tirade. Turn over to the “Hayabusa cup – fight for the gold’ before giving up again and finishing with ‘Die Hard’. As John McClane crawls through ventilation shafts and deals with the terrible situation best he can I find myself sympathising. 'Come out to Hawaii, we'll get together, have a few laughs'... And I remember suddenly and bitterly that in part I owe this to Jaro. A hard pill to swallow, I resolve to stay as far away from him as I can. He drove me out in the first place so if he thinks I’m going to thank him for helping me get back in he has another thing coming. There’s always a catch. Hell when he does show his ugly face it’ll be all I can do to stop from breaking him in half then and there.

Nursing a whisky and looking out of the small cabin window I reflect on what it’ll be like to be back at the FMW. I’m going to have to play they’re games again I realise with a sour and obvious thought. I’m back, and that’s great, but I have no allies here at this new FMW. No ones got my back and I don’t know who poses the greatest threat to me. I used to know the place inside and out. I could see the players, the chances, the kings and the pawns. I’d see people moved like chess pieces, people on short leashes, people who try to refuse to play the game. And I’d know who was being manipulated and who was pulling the strings. The business is a lot more complicated than you’d believe, and I’d have to figure it out all over again. As always, the factions are the worst, gangs that alienate or destroy anything that refuse to be on-side, even those who profess to be doing it out of a sense of righteousness. I was always a loner myself, easier that way, cleaner. I’d have to figure the place out all over again. It’s not a thrilling prospect.

Welcome to the party, pal.

We touch down, the air is humid the sun high. Chloe hasn’t said much on the flight, I wonder idly what that means. She could be having doubts about this whole thing; the FMW pretty much ruined both of our lives after all. My attitude is almost business like, a cover for a growing anticipation, a building excitement for what’s coming. Chloe will be safe this time, I tell myself. I won’t let any of the psychos near her. After navigating through the tedium that is the airport we both sit by the side of the road not ready just yet to flag down a taxi. We listen to the rolling waves coming from the nearby beach, Chloe resting a head on my shoulder.

I look down. “No regrets?” a touch of worry edging the words.

She shakes her head slowly keeping her eyes unfocused on the middle distance. “You needed this, we needed this. Even if it kills us. We need to be who we are, you’re a fighter and I’m a writer, so you go beat people up and win the titles and I’ll write about it.”

I smile “Deal. That doesn’t sound so hard; just remember to write about my rock hard abs and devastating good lucks. Throw in a picture it’ll sell more copies.”

“Hah shut up you idiot. Just promise me you’ll do your best tonight. Don’t hold back; don’t get distracted by worrying about me. We got unlucky last time. Your enemies came after me when they couldn’t take you down in the ring. So this time, this time, hurt them so bad in the ring that not one of them will even dare to try something like that. You know… for me.” She gives a cute wink.

“I love a girl who loves violence, it’s a deal.”

“Plus… you know, Hawaii. After you win were hitting the beach.”

We find the event centre, were both awed by Hawaii’s natural beauty and as Chloe meets with old co-workers from the FMW backstage I explore around the arena and surrounding suburbs. I’m not a gifted wrestler, I’m barely mediocre. I struggle, I fail, I wipe off the blood and pick myself back up again. That’s my advantage, my bloody toughness and tenacity and I’ll use it to full effect. I’m not the greatest wrestler, but that’s okay, I don’t need to be. Sometimes it comes down to the will to win, and the decisions we make. I have the will and I have a feeling that coming back was exactly the right thing to do.

Yet a thought keeps nagging at me incessantly. Training, you should be training. Its something easily ignored, I know I’m ready for this. But it’s there. Training now will only give me time for the doubts to surface. I’m as good as I ever was, back in the day that was good enough, it’ll be good enough now. It has to be. And so, instead of spending the free hours before the upcoming tournament training, worrying and researching opponents; all things I would have done in the past, I’m walking aimlessly in the sun. What happens happens, I’m past caring. I’ll give it my all, throw the dice and let the chips fall where they may. They say when a man stops’ caring what happens to him, all the strain is lifted off of him and it’s true; right now I’m just looking forward to the fight.

I finger the print out in my pocket of the match details as I walk through the streets, my knee aches a little as I go but it’s easily ignored.

A cage match; I’ve been fighting in caged prize fighting events for the last year scrounging a living where I could. This match is going to be unsettlingly familiar; with one important difference. I’m not facing rookies anymore. Oakley, Eastwood, Omega and Wraith. I don’t know them, I’ve never seen them fight but I can be damn well sure that there going to be better fighters than the untrained chumps I’ve been taking on over the last months. Again, unsettling. No, that’s wrong, it’s something else I’m feeling. Excitement. Finally my blood is up again, the thrill at having a challenge is on me. It’s all I ever wanted really, more challengers, like a junkie I needed as many as I could take. I was a man looking to see how far he could push himself, how far he could go before he broke. That old fire was coming back. Just like the old days.

-----

Bring on the New

I wait in the locker room ignoring the waves of nostalgia assaulting all of my senses. I’m back where I belong, waiting for a challenge I’m so anticipating that it’s an effort to keep a maniacs grin from spreading. I lean over a wash basin and splash my face with cold water, watching in the scratched mirror as the water etches the contours of my face and the cobalt hard blue of my eyes focus. I see resolve there, I see a man who has been lost for a long time, a man whose regained a sense of purpose. I see the ghosts of past friends and enemies both, just over my shoulder waiting to see how far I get. This is it. My moment, my come back. I can do this.

The arena is just beyond those double doors I can see in my peripheral vision, the ones I’m not yet looking towards, not just yet. Beyond is my second opportunity, the ramp, the ring, the fans, the noise, the blood, the pain, and the chance. There are others here in the locker room with me too, also preparing. I don’t see them, not really. My attention is completely turned inward, all else is shadows and distraction. Even If I get passed this ring victorious, another awaits and that prospect fills me with nothing but, joy. A bigger challenge, a harder fight, better opponents, I was right; the old fire is definitely back. I can do this.

I run fingers over my knuckles feeling the scars and pits there. Yes my move list is bigger than it used to be, but my fists have gotten me through a lot. If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. Hitting people in the face really hard has gotten me through many a match. So I’ll stick to that as my old and reliable tactic. Professionals may manage to stay detached and impassionate about getting punched in the face, me, I aim to give as good as I get; and then some. I make it personal, ride the rage and will to strike back all the way up to victory. I think a drive like that is important, it might just be an edge I have over the others despite their probably greater wrestling ability. I crack the knuckles hearing the satisfying crunch from the bones underneath the scarred, rough skin. I’ve seen men scared to face me in the prize fighting ring, but this is a different kind of fight. Its no longer about who can hit the hardest, it’s about the will to keep fighting… we’ll see it I have what it takes shortly I guess. No, I can do this.

I hear the crowd shouting outside and smile, bewilderingly I even hear some shouts of my own name; it’s nice to be remembered. I sigh, run a hand through my hair… and stand. I will do this.

VanGuard"]Downfall

There is pain, but not enough that it matters. I’m dazed with my cheek pressed up against the unforgiving canvas floor of a stained fight circle. There are voices, maybe a hundred of them, all shouting out their appreciation, blood lust and general guttural calls for violence. I try to focus, try to think but it’s hard. Each realisation is slow and lost in a thick miasma of confusion. Like breaking the surface of water and sucking in joyous air into burning lungs, I suddenly recall where I am and what I’m doing. Clarity hits me like a hammer. I’m prize fighting in an old converted boxing ring, a fall from grace somewhat. Not as classy as being in the employ of the FMW maybe, but it pays the bills. And at this point, that means a hell of a lot.

The smell of sweat and smoke is overwhelming; the caged ring is small bordering on the claustrophobic, hemmed in on all sides by the crowding barking spectators and gamblers. They applaud, they chant, they shout out encouragement; I hate them. They remind me of when I used to be a professional. I’m a big enough man to admit it to myself at least.

Chloe is screaming at me from behind the bars of the caged-in ring, her words mostly lost in the roar of the crowd. I can see it in her eyes, she’s half worried about me, half worried about what will happen if I don’t get up. I get the message, can read between the lines. 'Get up, you have to win this thing, if you don’t win you don’t get paid. If you don’t get paid we don’t eat.' It’s as simple as that. Once there was a time I fought for intangible things like pride, honour, a sense of achievement. Each week I struggled for my own self aggrandisement, a growing ego amidst many others. Now I’m fighting so Chloe and I can afford to sleep off of the streets, and maybe, just maybe, eat sometime this week.

Like I said it’s been a fall from grace. It was a downward spiral that started with Jaro’s attack a year ago. He took out one of my knees, something that hurts still every other day or whenever I think about how far I’ve fallen. I’ve been jobless with only one skill set, fighting. So yeah, it came to this; prize fighting. Its not pretty, it’s not where I want to be; but it pays the bills.

Chloe deserves better than this, deserves better than me damn it. God knows what’s kept her with me through this last year. I’m almost as afraid of her leaving me though as I am disappointing her. So I’ll get up, I need to win; I need to show the only person in the crowd that matters that I’m still worth a damn. I spit some blood onto the canvas mat and slowly push off the floor. Through bloodshot eyes I look up at my opponent, he is not Zanoni, he is not Neutron Star, he is not Gabriel Lance, and he is not Bobino. He is not Frost or any of the other numerous opponents I defeated back at the FMW; this guy is a chump and he’s in my way. He got a lucky shot on me, enough to stun me and send me down for a second, not enough to keep me there. My sixth fight tonight, not enough, need more, not enough; but nearly.

He’s big, bigger than me, he’s fast and experienced. But he’s angry, charges and leads with his chin; mistake. My haymaker nearly takes his damn head clean off. As my fist impacts I feel a satisfying crunch beneath my clenched fingers as his jaw gives way. Say what you want about Steven Vanguard the ex-wrestler. Washed up, never really could wrestle, doesn’t know how to grapple; I still punch harder than anyone else I ever met in any damn ring.

The big guy falls, hits the mat hard like a sack of potatoes. More cheers, some boo’s but only from the fools who bet against me. I breathe hard leaning against the cage, catching my breath as two of the ushers drag the prone limp form I’d just knocked out from the caged ring. I focus on my breathing; force the burning from my over exerted muscles and concentrate on the goal. Thirty dollars an opponent, I only need one more to get me and Chloe over the Stateline. Just one more.

As I lean my head against the cold wire of the cage trying to block out the cheering of the horde on the other side, I think, not for the first time how much better it had been at the FMW. There I had a modicum of self respect, worthy opponents, a friend in Frost even. Our Tag-team back in the day was well set to take the tag titles before Jaro’s attack. Frost had been a friend to me when I needed him; I can only hope he hadn’t needed my help over this last year with me not around to return the favour.

Chloe pushes through the crowd on the other side of the wire and smiles at me; it’s a sad smile but it warms me, stirring me from my nostalgia. The roar of the crowd is drowned out, muted and the world shrinks until it’s just us. She grabs the side of the cage herself touching my rough calloused hands; we lock fingers lightly through the bars. It’s been a tough year, but we’ve been together, it’s what kept us going. I became a better man because of Chloe, but look what sticking with me has cost her. A job writing in the FMW media department, friends, a home and a normal life. Still she remains optimistic, still she supports me. She smiles again, this one warmer and full of pride; I feel something stirring from deep inside me. I’m ready for the next fight now.

My knee, the one Jaro had taken out in his attack is aching, but other than that I’m ready to go on. It would hurt once the adrenalin wore off; it could hurt all it fucking wanted I tell myself, just as long as it was later. I turn walking back into the centre of the ring, waiting for the next fight. I’m still alone in the fight circle wondering when my next thirty dollars is going to step in. The crowd is slowly growing quieter and as I start to glare around into the mass, the pack, the mob that surrounds me. I start to realise why.

“No other takers? Come on! Look at me! I’m barely standing here, number seven will take me, come on, whose next?!” I shout with a fake bravado I don’t really feel. They grow even quieter. No, no not again, we only need a few more dollars and we’ll be able to move on. Just one more please. “Come on! Isn’t anyone out there man enough to come put me out of my misery?!” That’s it, piss them off, one of them is bound to lose they’re head, hurt their pride, and just get someone in here. I walk along the length of the octagon cage glaring down at them, some stare back with blank faces, most don’t meet my gaze. I strike the cage hard in frustration making it rattle on its hinges. “Come on!”

The owner of the seedy joint pipes up on the PA, interrupting me before I can get any further “If there’s no other takers, that’s all for tonight then folks, thanks for coming! Come back tomorrow, we’ll have new fighters for you to try your luck against. And remember if you win a brawl against any of Happy Al’s fighters you win Two hundred dollars, that’s right folks, Two hundred dollars!! Tell your friends!!!”

I curse softly to myself as the crowd begins to disperse, guess we won’t be leaving this city tomorrow after all. It meant finding another prize ring too; no one around here would want to fight me again, word travels fast in this scene. Who not to waste your time combating spreads like wildfire in this business. This was the second joint we’ve visited and if we wanted any more money we’d need to find number three. My shoulders slump visibly and I sigh heavily as the crowd shuffles towards the exit. I’m too good for places like this, but it’s too dangerous for Chloe if I where to go back the FMW. Or that’s what I tell myself. I’m not even sure if that’s an excuse I’m using to cover the fact that I’m just damn plain scared. Scared of going back and finding I don’t have what it takes anymore, scared of finding out that the only thing I’m good at, fighting, isn’t enough anymore.

With the day’s events over, Chloe ducks under the ropes and climbs through the cage door to join me inside the ring. “Way to go champ, another night of easily beating up the amateurs.” She quickly checks the small cut above my left eye from the lucky hit the last chump got. Gently ‘kissing-it-better’ she then punches me in the arm lightly with a smile. “Think you can take one more huh?” She jumps around in front of me like a hell of a lot better looking Muhammad Ali, throwing feint punches my way in cute fast flurries that parody a real fighter. We’re one step away from being homeless bums, not for the first time I marvel at her capacity for finding the good moments in the worst times.

Watching her pretending to be a real fighter I try to suppress the smile but give up after the first two seconds. “Nah, I’m spent anyway and wouldn’t want to hurt you either.”

Chloe stops suddenly looking insulted. “Ahem!! Remember who taught you your finisher and signature move Mr condescending. But okay, let’s go get paid and get something to eat. I’m tired after all that hard work.” I shoot her a look. “What? It’s hard cheering you on every night; I know your going to win against these rejects anyway. Come on I want a Burger, I’ll even let you pay for it.”

“Gee thanks.” Throwing an arm around her I steer us towards the cage exit stepping over the odd patch of blood on the canvas. The fresh ones are mostly my doing. The quality of the contenders in this join weren’t exactly top shelf and they’d bled pretty easy. Not a Peter Saint or Skyler Striker in the lot. Not for the first time I worry that I’m getting rusty. I bled tonight, bled fighting rookies off of the street, what the hell does that mean? It’s becoming a constant worry these days; an entire year without fighting someone who could actually fight back. Am I losing it?

Happy Al meets us near the exit with my pay. Pug faced and miserable looking his upbeat voice just never seemed to fit right with that depressed weathered old face. The man looked incapable of happiness so god knew where the nick name came from. But then, judging by the cars he drove, he was filthy rich. It usually took me a second or two to figure out what he was saying due to a thick Brooklyn accent. “Nice going kid, I threw a bonus in there cus’ I like ya so much hahahaha! Sorry about tonight though, since no ones gonna to be fighting you’s anymore I guess you guy’s will be moving on eh? Though personally, just between you and me, you should get outta these dives kid, get back into that wrestling watchamacallit business. Heard you used to be a somebody in the squared circle.”

I grimace about to shoot something back that wont make Happy Al a friend of mine, but Chloe hugging onto my side butts in fast. “Steve doesn’t do that anymore, too many bad memories, but thanks for the advice Al. Well be seeing ya!” I simply nod non committal to Al and let Chloe lead me out of the dump.

It’s cold outside but in a crisp refreshing way that seems to preserve everything in a calm stillness. Police sirens that echo down the long mostly deserted roads from a few blocks away and the constant thumping of helicopter rotor blades are the only things that brake an eerily quiet night. My breath turns into a steam vapour as soon as it leaves my lips. I love nights like this, bitterly cold, no wind, no one on the streets. The only warmth coming from Chloe as the night closes in. I drag my feet a little through the small layer of snow covering the ground below me as we head out into the city looking for somewhere to sleep and spend some of my earnings by grabbing something to eat. Were poor, the city is unforgiving, but were together, that means a hell of a lot.

-----

Uprising

Its three hours before dawn and I’m sat in the peeling kitchenette of a motel smoking one of Chloe’s cigarettes alone. The nicotine and coffee helps me stay awake as I listen to the noises of the city outside. I don’t usually smoke but when I’m waiting for something or someone the urge kicks in occasionally. I stub the remains out into a glass ashtray feeling mild unimpressed with myself and head through into the bedroom. The bed is empty now but I remember an image of Chloe sleeping softly just a few hours ago. An array of sultry curves curled up beneath the single sheet. She’d left about four hours ago saying she had to be somewhere and she’d be back in a little while, that it was important and please not to ask. I’d done the only reasonable thing, I’m a reasonable guy. Wake up, respect her wishes, be suspicious and very very alert to a vague sense of approaching danger.

My spider sense is tingling.

I’ve got our stuff packed, what little there is, and ready to move in case we need to bail fast. Now the only thing for me to do is wait until Chloe gets back and I learn just what kind of shit storm were going to be pulled into. Outside a light rain begins to fall and as I peer through the horizontal slats of the cheap blinds, the night sky outside splits. Lightning; ominous, not exactly a break from the brooding mood that has been draped over this room like a cloak. I can sense a theme for this night creeping in, bad luck, bad weather and undoubtedly, bad news on the way. But there is something else in the air; change was coming. Since the last year has been an exercise in desperate living and struggle I figure the only way is up but try to curb any sense of hope. My knuckles still hum with a dull pain from all the punching I’d done the night before; I hadn’t completely been able to wash some of the blood from them. No, no it wouldn’t do to let myself begin to hope, not just yet.

It’s another hour before Chloe shows up, stepping through the door and out of the rain. She looks tired but resolute in whatever decisions or action she’s taken. Presumably she’ll get around to revealing the mystery disappearance now. I look to her from my position sitting at the end of the bed, adrenalin bracing me for the news. A golden curve of hair masking half her face hides her eyes when she says it. “The FMW is in town, and the Hayabusa cup is in a few days.”

I don’t say anything just nod, staring blankly at the wall just to Chloe’s left not wanting to see her. Hoping that she’s not about to drop the bomb.

“Steve… I… I cut a deal with Jaro. You’re on the card.”

Having to be a nice guy is the toughest job in the world when you're not. I run a hand through my hair letting out a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. Chloe comes around the front of me, kneeling down so our eyes are level. “You can do this. They’ve paid for the flights; we can be in Hawaii by tomorrow night. You can do this Steve I know you can.”

I know I can, fighting is all I’m made for. I could have always gone back at anytime I realise. It was never about me it was always about you. Last time I was in the FMW you got shot and nearly bled out, I made far more enemies than friends and you were always in danger from the psycho’s I faced in the ring. Half of the people I defeated back then just weren’t content to leave the fighting in the ring, you were always in danger. So no, no were not going back to that shit hole that nearly killed us both. Is what I should have said. Instead I look her in the eyes holding her gaze. “Okay, okay if this is what you want. We’ll go back.”

Because deep down it’s what I wanted too. More than anything. Because the way things were going, something had to give. Something would break, and I was afraid it would be both of us. At FMW I had a challenge, at FMW I had something to fight for, at FMW I thought I had found my raison d’être. Yes. I’ll go back; I’ll be the man I wanted to be. The man Chloe wants me to be. Steven VanGuard, a competitor, a challenger, someone worth a damn.

She lurches forward hugging me close and tight. Chloe went to Jaro, the man who ended my career at FMW in the first place; that stings deep. She did it for me, knowing this life we’d been living the past year was slowly killing me. So she made a deal with the devil to get me back in. Even though going back put her at risk again. What’s done is done. Whatever agreement Chloe made with Jaro we’ll both deal with it. It’s the only mantra I know, the only way to live that seemed to ever make any sense to me. Face the facts and then Deal with it. It’s harder than you think, people seem to be engrained, purpose built to do anything but. Don’t delude yourself, don’t play out fantasy’s of what you wish were true in your head. Do not, pretend to be something you’re not. Don’t hope, don’t pray, and don’t fall for the dogma and rhetoric. Face the facts and then Deal with it.

We kiss, long hard and desperate. I brush a loose strand of hair away from Chloe’s eyes. “I guess we have a plane to catch.”

-----

Just like the Old Days

The journey is a relatively short and relaxing affair so far. The in-flight entertainment even has some ‘Wrestling Legends’ videos. I watch four minutes of a Tyrant rant from the early 90’s before giving up on the fat bastard’s tirade. Turn over to the “Hayabusa cup – fight for the gold’ before giving up again and finishing with ‘Die Hard’. As John McClane crawls through ventilation shafts and deals with the terrible situation best he can I find myself sympathising. 'Come out to Hawaii, we'll get together, have a few laughs'... And I remember suddenly and bitterly that in part I owe this to Jaro. A hard pill to swallow, I resolve to stay as far away from him as I can. He drove me out in the first place so if he thinks I’m going to thank him for helping me get back in he has another thing coming. There’s always a catch. Hell when he does show his ugly face it’ll be all I can do to stop from breaking him in half then and there.

Nursing a whisky and looking out of the small cabin window I reflect on what it’ll be like to be back at the FMW. I’m going to have to play they’re games again I realise with a sour and obvious thought. I’m back, and that’s great, but I have no allies here at this new FMW. No ones got my back and I don’t know who poses the greatest threat to me. I used to know the place inside and out. I could see the players, the chances, the kings and the pawns. I’d see people moved like chess pieces, people on short leashes, people who try to refuse to play the game. And I’d know who was being manipulated and who was pulling the strings. The business is a lot more complicated than you’d believe, and I’d have to figure it out all over again. As always, the factions are the worst, gangs that alienate or destroy anything that refuse to be on-side, even those who profess to be doing it out of a sense of righteousness. I was always a loner myself, easier that way, cleaner. I’d have to figure the place out all over again. It’s not a thrilling prospect.

Welcome to the party, pal.

We touch down, the air is humid the sun high. Chloe hasn’t said much on the flight, I wonder idly what that means. She could be having doubts about this whole thing; the FMW pretty much ruined both of our lives after all. My attitude is almost business like, a cover for a growing anticipation, a building excitement for what’s coming. Chloe will be safe this time, I tell myself. I won’t let any of the psychos near her. After navigating through the tedium that is the airport we both sit by the side of the road not ready just yet to flag down a taxi. We listen to the rolling waves coming from the nearby beach, Chloe resting a head on my shoulder.

I look down. “No regrets?” a touch of worry edging the words.

She shakes her head slowly keeping her eyes unfocused on the middle distance. “You needed this, we needed this. Even if it kills us. We need to be who we are, you’re a fighter and I’m a writer, so you go beat people up and win the titles and I’ll write about it.”

I smile “Deal. That doesn’t sound so hard; just remember to write about my rock hard abs and devastating good lucks. Throw in a picture it’ll sell more copies.”

“Hah shut up you idiot. Just promise me you’ll do your best tonight. Don’t hold back; don’t get distracted by worrying about me. We got unlucky last time. Your enemies came after me when they couldn’t take you down in the ring. So this time, this time, hurt them so bad in the ring that not one of them will even dare to try something like that. You know… for me.” She gives a cute wink.

“I love a girl who loves violence, it’s a deal.”

“Plus… you know, Hawaii. After you win were hitting the beach.”

We find the event centre, were both awed by Hawaii’s natural beauty and as Chloe meets with old co-workers from the FMW backstage I explore around the arena and surrounding suburbs. I’m not a gifted wrestler, I’m barely mediocre. I struggle, I fail, I wipe off the blood and pick myself back up again. That’s my advantage, my bloody toughness and tenacity and I’ll use it to full effect. I’m not the greatest wrestler, but that’s okay, I don’t need to be. Sometimes it comes down to the will to win, and the decisions we make. I have the will and I have a feeling that coming back was exactly the right thing to do.

Yet a thought keeps nagging at me incessantly. Training, you should be training. Its something easily ignored, I know I’m ready for this. But it’s there. Training now will only give me time for the doubts to surface. I’m as good as I ever was, back in the day that was good enough, it’ll be good enough now. It has to be. And so, instead of spending the free hours before the upcoming tournament training, worrying and researching opponents; all things I would have done in the past, I’m walking aimlessly in the sun. What happens happens, I’m past caring. I’ll give it my all, throw the dice and let the chips fall where they may. They say when a man stops’ caring what happens to him, all the strain is lifted off of him and it’s true; right now I’m just looking forward to the fight.

I finger the print out in my pocket of the match details as I walk through the streets, my knee aches a little as I go but it’s easily ignored.

A cage match; I’ve been fighting in caged prize fighting events for the last year scrounging a living where I could. This match is going to be unsettlingly familiar; with one important difference. I’m not facing rookies anymore. Oakley, Eastwood, Omega and Wraith. I don’t know them, I’ve never seen them fight but I can be damn well sure that there going to be better fighters than the untrained chumps I’ve been taking on over the last months. Again, unsettling. No, that’s wrong, it’s something else I’m feeling. Excitement. Finally my blood is up again, the thrill at having a challenge is on me. It’s all I ever wanted really, more challengers, like a junkie I needed as many as I could take. I was a man looking to see how far he could push himself, how far he could go before he broke. That old fire was coming back. Just like the old days.

-----

Bring on the New

I wait in the locker room ignoring the waves of nostalgia assaulting all of my senses. I’m back where I belong, waiting for a challenge I’m so anticipating that it’s an effort to keep a maniacs grin from spreading. I lean over a wash basin and splash my face with cold water, watching in the scratched mirror as the water etches the contours of my face and the cobalt hard blue of my eyes focus. I see resolve there, I see a man who has been lost for a long time, a man whose regained a sense of purpose. I see the ghosts of past friends and enemies both, just over my shoulder waiting to see how far I get. This is it. My moment, my come back. I can do this.

The arena is just beyond those double doors I can see in my peripheral vision, the ones I’m not yet looking towards, not just yet. Beyond is my second opportunity, the ramp, the ring, the fans, the noise, the blood, the pain, and the chance. There are others here in the locker room with me too, also preparing. I don’t see them, not really. My attention is completely turned inward, all else is shadows and distraction. Even If I get passed this ring victorious, another awaits and that prospect fills me with nothing but, joy. A bigger challenge, a harder fight, better opponents, I was right; the old fire is definitely back. I can do this.

I run fingers over my knuckles feeling the scars and pits there. Yes my move list is bigger than it used to be, but my fists have gotten me through a lot. If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it. Hitting people in the face really hard has gotten me through many a match. So I’ll stick to that as my old and reliable tactic. Professionals may manage to stay detached and impassionate about getting punched in the face, me, I aim to give as good as I get; and then some. I make it personal, ride the rage and will to strike back all the way up to victory. I think a drive like that is important, it might just be an edge I have over the others despite their probably greater wrestling ability. I crack the knuckles hearing the satisfying crunch from the bones underneath the scarred, rough skin. I’ve seen men scared to face me in the prize fighting ring, but this is a different kind of fight. Its no longer about who can hit the hardest, it’s about the will to keep fighting… we’ll see it I have what it takes shortly I guess. No, I can do this.

I hear the crowd shouting outside and smile, bewilderingly I even hear some shouts of my own name; it’s nice to be remembered. I sigh, run a hand through my hair… and stand. I will do this.

Damien_Inferno

[size=150]Damien’s Inferno Part One[/size]

Prologue: Part 1

We find Damien and Gabriel in Damien’s motel, sitting in a room at the end of the building on the first floor. Gabriel’s expression is blank, calm, awaiting Damien to utter the words he knows will escape his lips momentarily.

Damien: I need to do this alone, Gabe. He did this, knowing something horrible would happen.

Gabriel: I understand, Damien. But, he’s no normal man. He may feel the pain momentarily, but the wounds will heal before any real punishment can be administered.

Damien’s lips curl into his usual crooked smirk.

Damien: I have my ways, Gabriel. He won’t pull this shit…ever…again.

Gabriel: And what of his restraints? I know for a fact that normal hand cuffs will not be enough to hold him in place.

Damien’s smirk grows into a grin of Cheshire Cat proportions.

Damien: Those symbols I researched serve a double purpose, Gabe. Half of them are to hold him in place as I do my work. The other half are to slow his healing until he is freed. It won’t be enough to kill him, but what fun would that be?

Gabriel: Still….

Damien: If it makes you feel better, you can sit out side the entrance, but only enter if I call you down. Deal?

Gabriel: It works for me.

Damien walks out through the door, followed shortly after by Gabriel. They make their way out to the back of the building, and Damien descends the steps into the cellar. Gabriel remains outside, and closes the doors. He sits in a chair that has been placed just to the side of the entrance.

---

[/hr]

Prologue: Part 2

Now at the bottom of the stairs, Damien finds Alex cuffed to a chair in the middle of the room. The chair and the four sets of cuffs restraining him by his arms and legs have symbols carved into them. Alex is not struggling, yet doing so would be pointless. The chair is bolted to the floor.

Damien picks up a bucket of water near the wall and throws it on Alex. He jumps slightly in the chair.

Damien: Wakey, wakey, sunshine.

Alex: Damien…What…are you…doing?

His breathing is labored as he hunches over in the chair, soaking wet. Damien smiles slightly in anticipation of things to come. All over the walls, blades, clubs hooks, and other instruments of pain hang, and they shine as they catch the light of the bulb above Alex’s head.

Damien: I’m simply fulfilling a promise. I told you I owed you some pain for what you’ve done. It’s time to deliver. Let’s get started, shall we?

---

[/hr]

Circle One: Lust…..Part One….

In the first circle of hell, we find those who were overcome with lust in their lives. Helen of Troy, Cleopatra, Achilles, Dido…all residents of the storm. As they are blown to and fro by the winds of hell, they never rest.

There is a fine line between love and lust. Many of the sinners residing here confused the two, leading them to their present (or, if you prefer, past) state. This confusion is excusable in life, but hell makes no mistakes.

Perhaps the most memorable of the affairs in hell is that of Francesca da Rimini and Paolo Malatesta. Francesca was married to Giovanni Malatesta, Paolo’s brother, and heir to the lordship of Rimini. Upon reading the story of Guinevere and Lancelot, the two began a relationship that was ended in murder, when Giovanni came upon them in their adulterous embrace, surprised them, and killed them both.

---

[/hr]

Circle One: Lust…..Part Two….

Damien: You know, for a while now, I’ve noticed this little… thing… this ability in my head. I look at someone, and I start seeing these… visions. I thought that I was a telepath or something. Like I was seeing what they were thinking. I was wrong. I wasn’t seeing their thoughts. I was seeing their sins.

Damien picks a small hook off of the wall and makes his way over to Alex.

Damien: Every disgusting, depraved, demented thing you’ve ever done, I see when I look into your eyes. Hell may not want to punish you, but I do. Let’s start with your lust.

Damien looks into Alex’s eyes. Alex makes no attempt to look away, but sees as he stares back at Damien that his eyes have turned a deep black. Damien closes his eyes, and they return to normal.

Damien: I see. Your life is overcome by lust Alex. Six days out of every week, you go out to bars and pick up women. You take them to some sleazy hotel, promising to take them to your mansion the next day. Once you’re done, you leave them in the bed, unsatisfied, but unconscious from the drug you slipped them earlier on. Tisk tisk, Alex. You need to learn a lesson.

Damien drives the hook into the crotch area of Alex’s pants. The scream that escapes Alex’s mouth would curdle a normal man’s blood, but it warms Damien’s. He pulls back on the hook, dislodging it from Alex’s flesh.

Damien: You think that hurts? That’s nothing compared to what I’ve got planned for the next part.

---

[/hr]

Circle Two: Gluttony…..Part One….

Just beyond the first circle, we find the circle holding those who gave in to a sin of similar quality to lust: gluttony.

This circle is guarded by Cerberus, the infamous three-headed dog. He watches over the gluttonous, who, in life, ate with no regard for their own health, or what use their food could be to those with less than them. Here, they receive all the sustenance they can stomach, and more. There is no end to the food that is continuously shoved down their throats. As they choke down what seems to be their last meal in Hell, more is added. Their bodies swell without end. And they only wish their final meal to end...

---

[/hr]

Circle Two: Gluttony…..Part Two….

Damien: Hmmm... So many sins, so much time. Where to start?

Gabriel: Damien!

Damien looks up the stairs, The doors are shut, but it was obviously Gabriel who had called. He rushes back up the stairs to find Gabriel standing just outside, where he'd left him.

Damien: What's the problem?

Gabriel: It's Jess. Her maid just called and said they are rushing her to the hospital. She just slit her wrists.

Damien: What?!

Damien runs back down and gets face to face with Alex.

Damien: This isn't over, bitch. Don't you move, and screaming is futile. No one is around here for miles.

He then runs back up to Gabriel. They both jump on their bikes and ride to the hospital. In the basement, Alex laughs to himself, more satisfied than he's ever been.

Alex: Keep using those new abilities, Damien. That's exactly what needs to happen.

---

[/hr]

Epilogue…..

Jess' hospital room is plain white. The television in one of the top corners of the roomis small, but more than enough for a patient. Jess is under heavy sedation after her episode. Damien walks in past a nurse who tries to tell him that she can't allow visitors at that moment.

Damien: What the hell happened? What'd she do?

Jess' maid walks over to him, but keeps her eyes on the floor.

Maid: I'm sorry, Mr. Damien. I left the room to get her some water, but when I came back, she'd... done this. I'm so sorry.

Damien: Don't be. It's not your fault. You just go home and get some rest. Alright?

Maid: Yes, Mr. Damien.

She exits the room, and shortly after, Gabriel enters.

Gabriel: Damien...

Damien: I was gonna punish him before, but now he's gonna get it.

Gabriel: Damien--

Damien: What? You wanna talk about the fucking Hayabusa Cup? Fine! Watch your back, because with the way I'm feeling now, I'm not holding back, not even against you.

Gabriel: I wouldn't have it any other way, my friend.

---

[/hr]

to be continued...

Leon Caprice

Time is a fragile thing…

With so many opportunities and risks flowing pass, how can we stand tall?

How can we recognise what is ours to take, and what should just flow by?

A hard realisation is given, yet a deeper lust for our own success becomes evident.

When will it be my time?

When will these Opportunities be realised?

When will the success occur?

…

Nothing can give insight into these desirable questions.

Nothing can be written in stone

Yet if we leave ourselves open to the possibilities

Maybe one day we’ll get our chance.

…

But how can we survive this test of time?

How do we know that where we have placed ourselves is right?

…..

Simply look back to what has brought you to the moment in hand…

Maybe the reason for our lack of opportunity is written in time

However so, let us view the road taken

What has shaped Leon Caprice to this fixed moment

Is this his opportunity?

Or a moment to just let flow by?

Either way, lets see what has made this man who he is

Let us look into the life of Leon Caprice

And see for ourselves, if this is his time to rise

…….



July 17 2008
Supremacy Pre-show
T. Ekstreme's Mt. Vesuvius Preview:
Leon’s debut match.


A young perplexed Leon stands amongst the locker room alone in his own solitude. With his long dark purple hair falling to his shoulders and clothed in a black singlet and a casual black pair of jeans, he stood resting against the back set of black steel lockers, trying to absorb his surroundings and trying to grasp what exactly this moment meant. With his head bowed he fails to see that another man has joined him.

???: So you finally decided to take the next step.

Distracted from his solitude, Leon looks up to be greeted by a familiar face.

Skyler: I wondered how long it would take you to follow me here

Leon: I just needed some time to refocus and prime myself.

Leon turns to face Skyler face to face, drawing his focus to his mentor and prepping himself to walk out to his match.

Skyler: Well this is it.

Leon: Finally…

Skyler: You nervous?

Leon: Yeah, kinda.

Skyler: Just stay calm and remember the training.

Leon: Generic response.

Skyler: I’ll see you after the match, good luck.

Leon: Thanks… for everything.

Skyler: Don’t mention it.

With a slap to the shoulder of Leon and a genuine smile, Skyler leaves Leon as Caprice begins to refocus. Lowering his head and muttering a few words, Leon realises its his time and begins to walk towards the stage entrance…

Its time to shine…

*****

Quote :

Cherry: Leon Caprice has been eliminated!

*****

The scene reopens to Leon sitting in the same locker room, now covered in sweat and with a few deep red marks on his arms. Positioned with his head bowed and grasped by his hands, it seems obvious that he is in thought and most probably disappointed.

Skyler: I saw the match…

Leon lifts his head from his lap and directs his eyes to Skyler.

Leon: Not much of a debut eh…

Skyler: You had your moments

Leon: Doesn’t stop what happened.

Skyler: Its only one match though

Leon: Yeah, only my debut match, I think I made a good impression

Skyler picks up the hints of sarcasm in Leon’s voice.

Skyler: Your not going to win every match.

Leon: I know, its just…

Skyler: You just need to find your feet. I think the nerves got to you.

Leon: Probably…

Skyler: Just take this and move on, I’m sure you’ll bounce back…

Leon: Yeah, hopefully…

*****
August 25 2008
Lethal Injection Pre-show
Tag Match: Marky Mark & B.U.G vs Sean Jenson & Leon Caprice

Quote :

Cherry: Here are your winners, Marky Mark and The Notorious B.U.G!

*****

Again Leon is seated in the same locker room and again Skyler comes in to chat. It was becoming a regular thing for Skyler to be there after his matches.

Skyler: So, you came close again.

Leon: Still lost though.

Skyler: Well it was Sean that got pinned.

Leon: My partner, my loss…

Its obvious by now that Leon isn’t in any mood to be inspired or joyful.

Skyler: Come’on, don’t get like that

Leon: Like what?

Skyler: Like this is going to happen forever, you’ll turn it around

Leon: Mr Optimistic…

Skyler: I just know your potential

Leon: How?

Skyler: Well you were my best student, and I know you’re capable of doing this

Leon: …I’m not so sure…

Skyler: Well just don’t write yourself off.

Leon doesn’t bother to respond. Deep down he knew that he was being his own critic, it would only be up to him to whether he did succeed or not.

*****
September 23 2008
Alchemy 7.1
Six man Battle Royal for a spot in Mt Vesuvius II

Quote :

Bilge: And the winner, and Mt. V qualifier - Leon Caprice!

*****

Finally a win, something to celebrate after months of despair and questioning if this was the right thing to do. Leon was still in the expression of joy from his first win as he slowly unwound himself after the gruelling match. And as per normal he heard the footsteps of someone joining him in the locker room. In thinking it was Skyler, Leon begins to talk.

Leon: So I’m guessing you were proud of that.

Leon turns to see that the man that had walked into his room was not his dear friend and mentor Skyler but rather Drew Michaels.

Drew: Hardly…

Still slightly confused as to why Drew was in his presence

Leon: May I ask why you’re here?

In a very composed and smooth tone and expression Drew replies.

Drew: Merly here to congratulate you on your win.

Still curious as to why Drew was sticking around, Leon didn’t let up on his sight of Drew.

Leon: Well thank you, now if you don’t mind…

Drew: Well there was something else.

Leon: What is it?

Drew: Just to inform you that you showed quite a lot of potential in the ring tonight

Leon: and…

Drew: And its been decided that you’ll be included in the C-4 Sprint coming up.

Leon gives a slight smile to Drew, trying not to give him to much to read of him.

Leon: Ok, is that all.

Drew: For now.

Drew gives an inquisitive look to Leon, almost to size him up as if he was to be his next opponent. Needless to say, it eventuated to have reasoning behind it.

Now although the night was grand, Leon had his 1st win and was now in his 1st Pay-per-view, something diverted his attention.

Where was Skyler?

Since joining, Skyler had always comforted Leon, always talking positively and keeping Leon focused, and although the days of training under Skyler were over, Leon still hungered for that congratulations.

It never came.

Whether it was through Skyler being busy or through another reason, Leon never knew. However that wasn’t to stop Leon’s progression in FMW.

For a long period after that, Leon had to find his own feet. With Skyler no longer looking over him as much it left Leon with a lonely feeling after his matches. Almost giving hallowed victories or in some cases depressing defeats. Yet why did Leon have such a dependence on Skyler? Its not like he was tag teaming his opponents with Skyler beside him, no, it was deeper than that.

Yet life continued and Leon kept on living, winning more than losing and creating somewhat of a name for himself, however it did become tarnished by the comparison to his mentor. Leon was never really able to escape that comparison, that although he wrestled the way he had been taught, people didn’t take him to be himself, always as the student of Skyler. And through the months of working within FMW these words only grew.

Why is everyone like this?
Why does everyone talk about Skyler to me.
Sure he is my teacher but those days are finished.
I am by myself
A single entity…
Just because Skyler came before me, does not mean I am Skyler jnr
What do I have to do to become myself…

What do I have to do to become Leon Caprice

The thoughts of this grew day by day. The atmosphere in FMW surrounding Leon almost demanded this in the way Leon represented himself. He was being drawn to be Skyler’s shadow and nothing could defer this…

Although it seemed.

Enter Mark Johansson, another recent addition to the FMW roster and a strong competitor to Leon. Through the early days of Leon’s career they switched the gap between them from rivals to tag partners to best friend and to eventually lead to Mark being a groomsman at Leon’s recent wedding.

With the incision of Mark to Leon’s FMW life it deferred the talk and attention of Skyler. A grateful observation for Leon, yet it didn’t bring a sense of acceptance to Leon, nor did it satisfy his desire to reach his potential.

Now the matches between Mark and Leon did grow and noticeably draw more attention as they kept their contests in close contentions. Yet Leon never gave a single victory back to Mark after Lethal Injection, a statistic that shaped their friendship. For it wasn’t the best of friendships as it began under strange terms, however it slowly did develop into a tight one-ups-menship contest between the two. And it was probably in this that Leon became known to FMW in a greater scale.

Now through the coming months after this, Leon hit a major setback as his dear friend Brian passed away. Struggling to cope with the loss, Leon tried to channel his anger in his matches and for awhile in did give hallowed success, yet in never fully quenched the emotions. Yet with the appearance of Skyler and Mark at Brian’s funeral and the comfort of his then girlfriend Sarah, Leon slowly made his way back to his best and back to trying again to rise above.

It did take months before Leon found his grove again, and to the contentment of it, management had placed him in constant tag matches for the 8th cycle. Giving Leon time to readjust himself on a individual level. Through this cycle though Leon captured the 1st spot into the Gold Card Gauntlet, a match held at the grand Pay-per-view Ultimatum II.
With that acknowledgement and the constant belief in himself, Leon did begin to align himself to Ultimatum with the thought of capturing the crowned Gold Card, however it wasn’t meant to be with Janus Flare taking that honour.

Now since then, nothing has felt right, a loss to Austin giving nothing to cheer. Yet optimism is a common expression on Leon’s face as he realises what time it is.
Another Opportunity has arrived


Throughout Leon’s career it can be simply put…

Look back into the past and see the road travelled

See the steps taken to reach the current standing point.

And find solace knowing its not over just yet

…

So live for the opportunities both now and forever more

Don’t let a man stand in your way

You are nobody’s shadow nor a filler in a room

You’re a man with his own opportunities and heights to ascend to

Live a life of joy and happiness

And don’t hide in shame

For there are opportunities ready to grasp

If only we were always prepared.

Now Leon has seen that this date has arrived

The Annual Hayabusa Cup in the ring of fire.

He has aligned himself and refocused too

Because this isn’t an opportunity he will merely let through.

FMW and superstars together.

See this day and begin to celebrate.

It’s the birthday of our federation

And the day of joy of this rising stars salvation.

Gray


I do not like dreaming. Dreams give images of things that are best left forgotten. Dreams bring memories, long since buried, attempts made to keep them from coming back to haunt the waking hours. The death of an innocent, the blood on my hands.

It was cold. The wind blowing, making trees overhead shake as if in fear. The rows of tombstones only help to make the surroundings more depressing. Rows of the dead, all in coffins, some still mourned, others forgotten.

I stand in front of one of the tombstones, the body in the earth forgotten by all except for me, despite my best attempts to. I kneel down and read the engraving on the tombstone.


“The anniversary is coming up.”

I turn my head and look out. At the end of the row, where the trees converge to create a wall of dead wood and leafless branches. He's wearing a hoodie, my hoodie, with the hood up to obscure his face. Why's his voice sound familiar?

“Are you going to visit?” he asks me, as if we're having a casual conversation, instead of him sneaking up on me in a graveyard.

“I'll be busy.”

“You always visit.”

“Not this year.”

“Your decision?”

I'm confused (That's not it, I'm never confused.) at that. Of course it's my decision. It's always my decision.

“Of course it is. I have FMW shows to do.”

“Never let that stop you before.”

“Just who the hell do you think you are?!” I finally shout at him. He's talking to me about memories I keep away from my mind for a reason.

Before I know it, he's in front of me. I didn't even see him move. His fist plunges into my gut, and I fall to the ground, holding my gut. He bends down over me and pulls the hood down. His hair is black and spiked, a goatee of the same color on tanned skin.

No.

“I'm the Hero, Nicholas Gray, at your service.”

When I was younger, 23 or so, I had a very black and white view of the world. That there were villains, and there were heroes. And that I could change the world, just by pinning “villains” in a wrestling ring. That was immediately after I left rehab. A year ago that changed, thankfully. (What? No, not thankfully, Jack died)

“You're not.” I say to him (me?), still in disbelief. I locked that part of myself away. And even if I hadn't how could I be talking to myself?

“You were in Georgia when you fell asleep, and now you're in Japan. Do the math, man.”

As I said, I hate dreams.

“I know you do. Now, let's talk about Keiko. Why don't you want to visit? You even visited when you were in rehab. Why not now?”

“I'm too busy.”

“Oh, come on. I just debunked that theory. What is it? The memories getting to you? Eating at you? I don't blame you, man. Come on. Let's remember together.”

I growl. I'm not going to bother remembering. It will only bring back things that need to stay buried. I do what I have to. I lean up and punch him in the face. He rolls backwards as I get to my feet, my hand going to my belt, unsheathing a knife. I leap at him, bringing the knife down at his chest.

–

She was beautiful. Her hair was black, going down past her shoulders, her legs long and shapely. Her eyes were as blue as the sky, as much of a terrible cliché it is. She was a year younger then me when I met her, but that wasn't really important. At the time, I was sinking. Despite what my teacher tried, I was sinking. Walking the streets whenever I wasn't training, rage rising, waiting for a little excuse to lash out and destroy something. At first, she changed that.

At first, we did couple-y things. Saw movies, went to parks, talked for hours while looking in each other's eyes. It was only when I first visited where she lived did things start to go down.

The place was, for lack of better wording, a complete and utter shithole. While we were walking up the stairs, we passed three or four people jamming needles into their arms. If I wasn't sinking, I might have thought to not continue following her.

Her room was small. Bigger then a closet, but not by much. A bed and a stand with a very small TV on it. I wasn't even aware they made TVs that small. She sat on the bed and got me to sit next to her.

“Wanna try something fun?” she had asked me, with a grin.

She leaned over, and her lips brushed my ear. “It'll make you feel sooo good.” she whispered. I nodded, not thinking still. How could I, when she smiled like that? I couldn't. I loved her. She kept me from sinking.

So when she took the needles out and told me to inject myself with one, I said yes, without a thought, and did so. The sudden rush of euphoria was amazing. I felt better then I had since that day I first sank, the memories of them and the pain faded into drug-induced happiness. We kissed, and our clothes were off, and we enjoyed our first time together. Things seemed so good.

I later realized things never were.

–

He rolls out of the way, my knife hitting dirt. I turn my head to face him, but get a face full of boot for my trouble.

“Come on, man. You used to be tougher then this!” he shouts, leaping at me, his foot coming at my face again. I duck under, and swing my fist at his stomach, intending for the knife to sink into his stomach and silence him. But he spins around, leaving me falling forward, and then his foot connects with the back of my head, and I'm rolling forward, my knife flung from my fingers.

He stood over me, looking down at me with a cocky grin. I don't remember ever grinning at someone like that.

“Memory's not done, man. Don't stop now.” he says before bringing his boot down towards my head.

–

I went on a tour of Europe for the better part of a year. We had said our goodbyes, promised to write to each other, and that was it. Letters stopped coming after four months, and I worried every day. So, of course, the first thing I did once I returned was try to find her.

Alright, that's a lie. The first thing I did was go find a dealer to give me some heroin, THEN I went out to find her. I was such a little addicted piece of shit back then.

I found her, after a few days search, in an even worse shithole then before. Smaller then a closet, not even a blanket to sleep on the floor with, sharing said floor with cockroaches and the occasional rat.

Her beauty was a distant memory. Her hair was shorter, her cheeks slightly sunken in, and her beautiful eyes now a dull blue, no longer showing a hint of the eager young girl I fell in love with. To add to it, she had bruises and cuts on her body. She told me her dealer beat her when she couldn't pay. I could have asked why she didn't just stop. But that was an obvious answer. She needed the high. It was the escape from reality. So, I made a mistake. A very bad mistake.

“You just need to do more.” I told her, as if it made sense to me. And at the time, it did. The euphoria would lessen a bit, so I would get more. I couldn't bear losing the euphoria, the happiness, the escape it gave me from the memories.

“More and more. Until you're lost in a sea of happiness that won't end for hours.” I say as I smile to her. She smiles back, and I can see her teeth are turning yellow. But I still kiss her, and we have sex again. And then I leave, leaving her a syringe of the stuff as I do. A gift to help her escape. It'd turn out to be a parting gift.


–

I roll out of the way of his boot, leaving it to crash into the ground as I get to my feet. His smile is wide now. What's he so happy about?

“I hate sad stories. They always leave you in tears.” he said as he walked towards me.

“They give you a happy start, a love blossoming between two people who so desperately need it, then they rip it to shreds and leave you feeling as depressed as the characters.”

Then he wasn't in front of me, but behind me. “And you're still not done.” he told me as he grabbed me in a headlock. He was twisting my head, trying to twist it until it snapped. I couldn't struggle.

–

A week later I got a call, asking me to come down to a morgue. I was confused (and high) until they moved the sheet off the body. Keiko was laying on the slab, her face even more messed up, her nose broken, lip busted, and a gash on her cheek. I was informed it was a murder by overdose. That the police believed it was her dealer, and that they were working to catch him. They never would.

I didn't feel anything once I was told. I wish I could say it was because I was so shocked. But no, I was simply too high. It didn't hit me until a week later.

A week later was the funeral. No one but me came. Her parents were dead, she had told me before. And her family didn't care. No one did, but me. And then it hit me. And I hugged her tombstone and cried.

“I swear I never meant for this
I never meant...
Don't look at me that way
It was an honest mistake “

--

The hands on my head relax, and then move, shoving me forward onto my face. Once I sit up and face him, I find him looking down at me with a satisfactory smile on his face.

“See? That wasn't so bad, was it?” he says to me, taking a step toward me.

“I keep those memories buried for a reason.” I reply to him. “I have better things to do then reminisce on the past.”

He smiles and leans over, his lips brushing my ear. “Yes, the Cup. And all the power it brings. You like the power.”

“No. It's a chance to prove myself!” I yell at him. When did the conversation change?

“No reason. Now...” he says, as he puts a hand to the side of my head. “Is when things get fun!” he shouts, before smashing my head against Keiko's tombstone, and I fade into black.

–

I sit up in bed, looking around my room. It takes me a moment to realize it was a dream. A very vivid, insane dream. I run a hand through my hair and sigh. “Good morning, Nicholas” It says to me. “I hope you are prepared for the Cup today.”

“I always am.” I reply, noticing a hint of something in my voice. I get up from my bed and move to my suitcase, opening it and finding my wallet. I open it and reach into a little slit in the back that I cut, and I take out a photo. A photo of myself and Keiko on our first date. Goofy faces and thumbs up. A better time, perhaps. Before the drugs, and the mistake. I sigh and rub my eyes, feeling something (No, nothing) well up inside of me as I look down at the picture again. And I remember her how she was, before we messed up.

“I miss you.”

–

In the graveyard of his mind, It stands. A simple shift of It's form, and he was easily led to believe it. It had to make sure, of course. It couldn't help but smile. It knew all, more then what Nicholas did, as It had decreed.

–

He leaned over, his lips brushing her ears as he handed a syringe to her. “It'll make you feel sooo good.” he says. And she nodded. How could she, when he smiled like that?

–
For the better part of a year, things were good. She'd beg him for another syringe, saying she would pay him soon enough. He'd reply that there were other things she could do, and her clothes would drop. He was so glad he decided to stay, instead of doing a stupid European tour.

–

His fist, colliding with her face, yet again. She refused his hint. Said she'd pay him and that was it. That she wanted to fix her life. He kept punching her, until her nose was broken, until her lip was split, until her cheek was gashed.

“I'll teach you.” he said to her, preparing the special shot. And that was it for her."

–

The coroner, telling him that they thought her dealer had killed her, but that they had no idea who said dealer was. He just put on a sad face, and said he had no idea who that might be. But inside, he was smiling. She defied his power over her, and he taught her. No one would leave him. Never again.

–

It let It's wings unfurl, dropping the illusion of the so-called Hero. And It laughed at the gray sky of the graveyard of Nicholas' mind. It was all going just as It planned.

End

stl311

It was funny, as a kid I'd always dreamed of being a Super Hero. Now, I simply try to be a normal hero to someone...anyone. I grew up around the wrong things, and I blamed the wrong people...but why? I could of been better than that. I could of been the one to make the difference I so sorely wanted to make. Now it has been resorted to this...only after my life had been in shambles had I made the choice to become something different. But why was it the only one who realized my life had fallen apart had been someone who wasn't close to me for a long time? I didn't have the answers, but I knew it was Drew's fault. He had reached me when nobody else even tried...but how did he do it? Better yet, why did he do it?

The silence is broken by a loud crack of thunder in the air. It lights up a very dim room, upon which was only lit by a candle. The flash of light shown a man who had shown the signs of his struggles. His eyes told his story, the story of pain, the story of triumph, and the story of Seth Omega.

His path was carved out of the rocks of reality, his destiny undetermined, he didn't know what he had to do to prove his worth. He knew his match with Kelson was a violent one, hell he didn't even remember half of it. It was all a blur from that night in Salt Lake City. It was only a matter of time until he had to go to Hawaii, he was leaving at least a week early because he was going by boat due to his fear of heights.

He had played the game he wanted against Kelson, now he had to play a different game against new opponents. He knew that he was in for a fight. He knew he was going to be in for a war. He was going into a cage with at least 3 other men he'd never seen before. 15 foot high in the air was his escape. He'd have to swallow pride and go for it all to escape the cage. His opponents, well they were very much classified as out of his league to most people...well except to Omega himself.

He had to deal with Steven Vanguard, who in his own rights was a very accomplished wrestler who had been known to have some big wins in his days. He hadn't watched much of Vanguard as he probably should of. He didn't know what to expect from him, nor was he prepared...yet.

Then there was Wraith, who could knock out some of the toughest fighters in the world. Omega knew avoiding that powerful right hand would be something he'd have to do in order to escape with his head clear. He could brawl, but he didn't have the pure knockout power he'd seen from Wraith.

Daniel Oakley. Impressive young kid, he has great upside. But did he have the "it" factor like what appeared everyone else in the match had. Nobody had really seen him go so it was unknown, and Omega didn't know how to handle Oakley...but he didn't worry as much either.

Then there was him...

Jack Eastwood.

The protege of Jaro himself. The wildcard of HavOc. A champion in his own right...someone Seth wanted to get my hands on since day one. Someone who he'd watched over and over to get the feel of how they would brawl with each other...how he'd fall into Omega's game...and how the war between them would go.

They were in the same boat, both of us were considered the protege's of sure fire Hall of Famers. But then again, neither of them had a chance to prove their worth...yet.

Eastwood did something Omega had not done. He's won a belt in FMW. He's been considered in the top tier of up and comers. Omega was still a nobody here...for now.

Omega stood up out of the felt chair he was sitting in, it was green with a lot of cushioning to relax in. It wasn't a recliner, but it wasn't a stiff chair either.

Seth walked across the soft beige carpet in his new spacious townhouse, he'd only moved in two days ago. He did have one thing set up though. His rookie of the month trophy proudly sat on a shelf by itself. He'd proven to the board he was worthy enough to win that trophy at least once. Which was proof enough he was ready to be here.

He proudly walked over to it and held it in his firm hands. He smiled and nodded while looking into the sky. He already had one funeral to go to tomorrow. He was set to go to the funeral of his trainer, the late great Asai Ngata. He was a japanese man who had trained in Sumo as well as the Martial Art of Judo...just like Omega was doing now. After that, he was off to Hawaii on a 6 day trek.

He hadn't heard anything about his other mentor Drew Michaels. It had been at least a week and a half since anything had been said about his status. He was worried, but he had his own troubles as well. He spoke softly as he set his trophy back on the shelf.

Omega: I told you the next one was for Drew...keep fighting my friend, you've got to pull through this.

He walked back past the chair as the rain continued to fall on the glass roof of his nice apartment. He walked into the kitchen and opened his tall black fridge. He took out a gallon of milk and a glass from the cabinet above. He poured himself a glass of milk before putting the milk back and walking back out toward the other side of his living room.

He passed by one of his most prideful possessions. Which would be his collection of weapons he's gotten over the years. He stopped and admired the kitanas and nunchakyus that were in his collection. His concentration was broken by another lighting bolt, he glanced at the clock and realized he only had 8 hours to sleep.

He finished his glass of milk and sat it down on the coffee table, he locked his doors and turned off all his lights before finally going into his bedroom and going to bed. As he laid down in the darkness his mind began to wander again.

What if winning the Hayabusa Cup isn't my destiny? What if I can't do it? Is it wrong to think like that, I mean I'll have to do it. I have to give it my all to come out on top of the pile. Its a dog fight no doubt, but one I think I can win. I just hope everyone else is ready for Seth Omega. Because win, lose, or draw...I will make Drew Michaels proud.

Eastwood, Vanguard, Oakley, and Wraith. Know one thing, and if it is only that one thing make sure you know it well. I don't care who you are, where you've been, how long you've been there, I promise...I guarantee you've never met a wrestler quite like myself. I won't lay down and die, I won't give up, I won't stop, I will do what it takes to make sure I carry on the legacy of the fallen one. You can bet on it.

Omega tosses and turns in his bed before he finally shuts his eyes for the last time and falls asleep.

The next morning.

BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP

Omega: What the fuck is that shit?

He looked up and saw that it was the alarm clock going off. His vision was blurred and he couldn't really see to well. His powerful left hand smacked the alarm clock across the room as it hit the wall and shattered with a powerful thud.

Omega: Well this day is going to end fucking swell.

He got out of bed and began walking slowly towards the bathroom. He turned on the shower so the water could get hot, he shut the sliding glass door on the shower and then took a piss while he waited for the water to finish up. Once the water was warm he got in the shower and began to wash up. It was customary, as it is to most people, to think while in the shower.

I can't believe I'm going to go see Asai today. Last time I checked on him he was doing so well in the care of his young daughter. I wish I could of said goodbye to him. So many times had it been we'd ran the roads together in hopes of eventually hitting the big time. He never made it...and I am slowly making it. But how far can I really go? Or how far have I went? I can't tell my own progression due to wanting so much more from this place.

Not only do I want more, but I want to keep improving as well so I can finally claim I'm the best that I've ever been. All the spotlights are now on me, the fame isn't what I want. The money isn't what I want. I want the adoration of the fans, nothing more, nothing less. That would make me their hero...something I've wanted as a kid, and now I want it again. I have to get ready, I have to be focused, I WILL be ready. They WILL remember my name.

By this time the water had started to turn cold, which was good because Omega was done anyway. He hopped out of the shower, had a quick shave, than went back into his bedroom to change into his tuxedo. He put on a green pair of boxer briefs and a pair of dress socks before he began to put on his actual tuxedo.

As he set down on the best he couldn’t help but admire his new tux. It was made for him, a black Sean John with charcoal pinstripes. He wished so desperately he didn’t have to wear it for this occasion, but he knew in his head mentors die all the time. He didn’t waste anymore time, as soon as he had sat down he was right back up putting on his dress slacks.

He carefully buttoned his pants as the phone rang in the distance. After buttoning up he zipped up his pants and rushed over to the phone, he picked it up off the hook and began to talk to the man on the other end of the line.

Omega: Hello?

Roland: Hey Seth, it’s Dallas.

Omega: Hey bro, what’s up? You still coming down?

Seth continued to get ready as he held the phone between his shoulder and his ear. His mood lightened a bit as he heard his trainee was coming back to their old stomping grounds.

Roland: Yeah man, I’m still coming. I couldn’t miss a thing like this, it was he Hard Knox Legacy you know? Asai was around when even I was being trained .

Omega: He didn’t fuck around when it came to wrestling, he was all about it for sure. Did you ever hear back from Hammond?

Roland: Negative, he wasn’t seen or heard from since a month ago. Its weird, I thought he was doing good in NEW than he just upped and gone. Kind of like SOS did back when you were feuding with him.

Omega: Nah, SOS was just a scared little girl. Hammond had the Omega will behind him…well until he disappeared. Now we may never find him again, or if we do it will be a long long time from now. Anyways, what time are you going to be at the funeral home?

Roland: I should be there within an hour I would think. I’m in Tallahassee traffic right now.

Omega: Alright, peace bro…I’ll meet you up there.

Omega hung up the phone and began putting on his belt. He knew Dallas said he would show up, but since he’s gotten his new friends he wasn’t quite the same man. He had been associating with Danse Macabre, and he hadn’t changed that much. But he still wasn’t the same kid he was 3 months ago when he walked into the school of Hard Knox.

He finished buttoning up his shirt, put on his tie, than his sports coat, he brushed his teeth and put on his dress coat before he walked out the door. He was already late, he was bad about being late a lot because he was never really in a hurry. That and he was always busy with something else…or someone else.

As he walked outside he walked around to the back of the parking lot where he found his black 09 Dodge Charger parked. He’s always been a fan of sports cars, and this thing was ready to rock and roll. He had paid the extra 85,000 to have the Dodge Viper engine installed into this Charger, it topped out around 250 miles an hour. He unlocked the car door as he sat down into the driver’s seat.

As he sat down he buckled up his seat belt and twisted the key in the ignition. He heard the loud thunderous roar of the engine as he shut the driver’s side door. He put it in drive and took off down the long stretch of road he called home. As he was driving he turned on the radio to rock out to some good music. It was barely twilight outside as the sun had barely rose. Either way, it was a good 45 minute drive to the funeral home. Omega decided he better get comfortable. He started thinking once more…this time about the training.

I remember it like it was yesterday. A very cold day I went to the School of Hard Knox. In North Florida it can get pretty chilly, not as cold as Tennessee but not as warm as people thing either. I met Asai, who stood about 6’5. For a Japanese man he was very tall, he weighed in right at 350. Which was about average for a very tall sumo wrestler. However, he also majored the art of Judo. I can honestly say I learned a lot from him. I also act a lot like him. But that is another story for another day.

We never took a day off. He made you a guarantee, he could have you wrestling in a month. You just had to listen to his every word. He kept his promises, especially for me. We trained non-stop 7 days a week. We’d get in at 7 at night, and we’d train until 2 the next morning. I remember walking in the first day, we learned how to run the ring. He got us in there 2 at a time, and we ran the crisscross drill. You ran it for 10 minutes then got a break until it was your turn again, that was judging you didn’t collide with each other or piss him off.

After one long ass week of that he brought us into the ring and taught us our bumps. He said each bump represents respect for those who took the bumps before you. Boy did he make us bump. Every night we did 500 back bumps, then 500 flips bumps. Then we finally got to lock up and learn some new things. We were trained a very old fashioned Japanese Style of training. You bumped, and you bumped, and then bumped some more.

Sadly, he didn’t get to watch me wrestle much. After I left for CGS he simply couldn’t pay for the tickets. With me being so young I wasn’t allowed to have guests. By the time I got tenured enough in the company he was to old to come watch me perform anyways. He couldn’t hardly get around, and when he could it was painful for him. Wrestling does that to people. I just felt so bad for Komona.

Komona was always something like a second mother to me. Even though she is so young I could probably of hit it by now. She’s only 31, which is two years older than me. I wouldn’t ever do it, of course…but if I met her before Asai…I’d think about it.

Apparently Omega had been reflecting for quite a while, as he was already to the funeral home. He pulled into the long black driveway and parked next to Komona Ngata’s small economic car. He got out of the car at the same time she did and quickly hugged the widow. She was a very sad woman under her black veil. Her love for Asai ran deep as he treated her with more respect than most men treat women now. She was wearing a black dress, and black pantyhose. Her face showed sorrow and happiness at the same time as she saw the man who most times was just called Omega.

Komona: How have you been Seth?

Omega: I’ve seen better Komo, how have you been outside of this?

Komona: I to have seen better, thank you so much for paying for helping me pay for this funeral…Asai would of liked that.

Omega: Well, I didn’t want you to have to sell the school and all.

Komona slipped something into Omega’s hand as he was talking. She smiled at him and nodded as she passed him a key. Not just any key, but the key to The School of Hard Knox.

Komona: Asai wanted you to have this.

Without saying anything else Omega nodded and stuck the key in his pocket as him a Komona walked up to the funeral home. The entered the giant oak doors and walked all the way down the hallway to the left. It was there that they walked into the small chamber. There was no casket as Asai wanted Komona to keep his ashes. There was a picture of him, as well as a picture of his family with him. Dallas Roland walked in behind Seth Omega and Komona and all three of them sat in the front row. The people started to file in and 20 minutes later the service began with the preacher speaking.

Preacher: Ladies and Gentleman, we come here today to honor the man known as Asai Ngata. Asai grew up in the Japanese district of New York City, it was there where he began to take Judo at such a young age. By the time he was 9 he decided to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a Sumo Wrestler. After training for 15 months in a Sumo Academy, he had his first wrestling match. It was then and there he decided his calling was something else.

Shortly after his sumo training he began to wrestle in high school. After graduation he flew all the way to Japan to train in the Big Japan Wrestling Dojo. After another year he finally became a professional wrestler. After 20 years in Japan and several title belts won he came back to America after meeting the lovely foreign exchange student he later on married in Japan. Her name is Komona Asai, and she was married to him until the day of his death. We will now have Komona come up and speak.

Komona walked up the podium and shook the preachers hand as the preacher walked to the back of the room. Komona tried to remain as strong as she could while speaking on the topic of her now deceased husband.

Komona: Thank you reverend. My husband was a very caring man. He didn’t have much, and he didn’t want much. He didn’t need the 5 houses, or 20 cars. He just needed to be able to share the passion he felt a love for so deeply. He wanted his life to be very simple, and he wanted me and his mother to be taken well care of. He opened his academy in 1989. He wanted to show other people with the same passion how to achieve success, even if they couldn’t go to Japan and train. He did so much for everyone…

Komona couldn’t remain strong anymore, she bursted out into tears right on the spot. Her makeup began to run down her face as Seth Omega rushed the stage so he could lead her back to her seat. As they walked down the stairs Seth had a voice in his head telling him he needed to try and say the words she could not. He wasn’t sure if it was Drew or Asai, but someone had told him along the lines to do what he did. As he sat her down he went back up to the podium and began to speak his own words. He looked into the grieving crowd and new immediately what he needed to say. This time it wasn’t a promo, but a shoot from the heart.

Omega: I might not be able to say the words Komona could not…but I believe that I could say something to help the mood. To me Asai was a man of few words, but a huge heart. He said some of the things nobody expected, and did some of the things everyone expected. He was a man who taught his teachings onto many others, upon which they became more successful in life.

At this point Komona was shaking franticly as Dallas tried to hold her so she’d calm down.

Omega: I know he loved his family so, and his extended family just as much. I am proud to call both him and Komona my extended family…
At that very moment Komona fainted. Seth, Dallas, and the preacher all rushed to her side right away. Dallas grabbed her wrist and began to check her pulse. He looked grimly up at Seth Omega who was on the brink of tears already. He said two simple words that rocked the core of Omega.

Roland: She’s dead.

Commotion went around everywhere, the funeral home directors rushed into the room while some other staff called 911. Seth Omega looked at his fallen friend, who seemed fine just a minute ago…now she lie motionless on the floor. His face showed his utter distain. The Director looked at him and told him the news that broke his heart.

The Director: Sir, you’re going to have to leave the facility.

And with that, Omega was gone. He had ran out to his Charger and fired it up. He sped away down the same road he came not wanting to accept the fact that he witnessed two of his extended family members die in the same funeral home. He drove faster, tears forming in his eyes…for once he seemed almost human…it was for sure he was driving to catch his boat, he had no choice but to catch his boat now. He had more motivation than ever to win the Hayabusa Cup.



Too alarming now to talk about
Take your pictures down and shake it out
Truth or consequence, say it aloud
Use that evidence, race it around

There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
Hes ordinary

Dont the best of them bleed it out
While the rest of them peter out
Truth or consequence, say it aloud
Use that evidence, race it around

There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
Hes ordinary

Kudos my hero leaving all the best
You know my hero, the one thats on

There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
Hes ordinary

Slegna


He just wasn't sure what to think anymore. Everything just seemed to have imploded in his face. Creative Control, the most promising of all the endeavors, didn't work out. But even then, how much did he really control? Ekstreme called all the shots, and he didn't know what was going on until it had already happened. He sighed. He knew he wanted more, but he couldn't grasp it. Hell, he could barely figure out what exactly he wanted.

But it all came back to control. All most people wanted was control of their own destiny. Few people were actually able to do such a thing. He knew he could, but did he truly have the means to do such a daunting task? More importantly, could he summon the willpower to control himself? History pointed to no, and along those same lines, self-doubt also pointed to no.

It was if the only way to snap him out of his funk would be to do so mentally, but he couldn't gain the skills necessary to snap out of it until he was funk-free. A really shitty Catch-22. If it was really only a dry spell.



A bright light blinds the camera, and as the camera pans we see it is a lens flare, brought on by the large sun currently beating down on the expanse of beach. Another pan shows a welcome sign to the famous Waikiki Beach, one of the main tourist attractions in Honolulu, Hawaii.

Away from the glamor, on the other side of the city, a man drives a small, comfortable sedan around a block, before pulling up to a closed gate. A security guard walks out of a nearby booth and has a short conversation with the man before opening up the gates via a small remote. He steps off to the side, and lets the man through with a small wave. The security guard closes the gates and heads back into the booth, watching a small portable black and white television.

The security guard was in control.

The car drives into the narrow lanes of the moderately full parking lot. He finds a parking spot and turns off the ignition. A short pause now. The camera finds men along the fence signing autographs and talking joyfully with the fans. Men like Skyler Striker and Leon Caprice.

Men much more important than the man in the car. Men with control over what they do and who they are.

Finally, the man steps out of the car. He's wearing an FMW T-Shirt with board shorts, black wraparound sunglasses and a backwards Seattle Mariners cap, complete with a small traveling backpack. The fans lining up for autographs didn't pay him any attention. Without the hat and glasses, only a few might've recognized him. But even still, none would have cared.

His name was Andrew Carpenter, ring name Slegnadamus. He was not important. He was not in control.

He walked right past the fans, paying just as much attention to them as they had to him. Once he reached the inside of the large building he took a second to cool down in the air conditioning and take his sunglasses off.

His eyes were bleary and bloodshot. It had been another sleepless night, an event that occurred more and more often ever since Creative Control split for the first time. He was comfortable in Creative Control. He didn't have much say for himself, but he didn't realize that he wanted control. But that was in the past. It seemed like it was in another life. Now he had to face the nightmares of today.

As he walked backstage, he got pitiful looks from people he did and did not know. Some even smirked, as if to ask why he was even still employed.

Slegnadamus wasn't even sure of that himself.

He finally found what he was looking for. He cleared the phlegm from his throat and knocked twice.

Slegnadamus: It's me.

He said the words solemnly, like they might be his last.

???: Sleggy?

A rustling from the inside. The man inside starts striding to the door, and it doesn't take many steps for him to reach the door. The doorknob turns, and the door opens just a crack. Then the door swings open wide, the person inside jovial to see him. One of a small few.

Ekstreme: Sleggy! ... Whoa, you look like shit.

He sighed deeply.

Slegnadamus: Tell me about it.

Ekstreme: Well, come in. It's small, but we aren't here for too long.

Ekstreme ushered him into the office. Signs of a meeting gone bad littered the room, as there was a fist sized hole in the drywall behind the makeshift desk. He sat on a metal chair facing the desk, while Ekstreme took his position behind the desk in cheap swivel chair. Ekstreme saw him staring at the hole, and as usual was quick to come to his own defense.

Ekstreme: NEWbie came in here demanding to be on the main roster. I wanted to deck him, so instead I decked the wall.

Ekstreme feinted a right jab as his from turned into a small smirk.

Ekstreme: So, what's up.

Slegnadamus: I know you hate to play psychologist, but...

Ekstreme: Fuck you.

The words were there, but the look on Ekstreme's face was inviting. The man continued.

Slegnadamus: I know it's apathetic, but I've just had a hard time finding myself since Creative Control took its first hiatus. I second guess myself, I have self doubts. I just don't have control over anything. I need help. Anything.

Ekstreme: There isn't much I can do here. Tonight's the Hayabusa Cup. It's off the record. No risk, a huge reward. Show everybody else you've come to play ball. Show yourself you can play ball. Everybody's seen flashes of greatness from you. You need to put it together.

Ekstreme paused for dramatic effect.
Ekstreme: You need to get it together mentally before you can physically. And since I'm a nice guy, I'll wrap it up for you in a short sentence. Get it the fuck together.

Slegnadamus: Not exactly the clincher I was looking for.

Ekstreme: The point remains.

Silence for a minute. The man left without another word.



He still wasn't sure how or what to think. He needed to gain control of his thoughts and actions. He needed to systematically process them, but there were too many possible courses of action. Was control just simply out of his reach? No, he could get it together.

It would take some time. His sister was always on top of things, why wasn't he? Another thought to add to the mix. Great. Let's make it worse.

With the Hayabusa Cup, he could not only control his own destiny, but others as well. Will it satisfy him just so, so he could contently flounder yet again? Will it make him power hungry, always striving for more? But that's what Ekstreme said, he needed to get it together mentally.

Oh, the thoughts that ran through his head. But for one moment, they stopped and aligned themselves. And that one moment was all he needed.

The_A.R.M

[size=200]~Scene One: Recap~ [/size]

Inside of a Royal Bank near downtown Halifax, the day before NEW 2.3. Detective Mike Parish's left hand moves behind his back as Alex watches it intently, waiting for the signal as he thinks about how he got into this situation. How a simple run to the bank with best friend and fellow NEW wrestler Brandon Allain to withdraw their paychecks could turn into them crouching on the ground getting ready for the firefight that is about to ensue. Alex starts to think back to the conversation in line with Brandon about their match the next night. He remembers the text he got from Jessica warning him that something wasn't right and the five men who burst though the doors of the bank moments after, armed with automatic shotguns and assault rifles. He recalls the screams heard as soon as the first shot was let off, the bodies hitting the floor (two of them due to bullets). Two of the armed men going to the back of the bank in the office area. The amazing luck of noticing an off duty cop in the group of people by his gun holster. And finally to the plan that the same cop, Brandon and himself made. He then started to think about Jessica and if she is alright and how she is holding up but he doesn't have the time to dwell on that as Mikes thumb rises up signaling him which quickly knocks him back into the present.


[size=200]
~Scene Two: Coming to you live~[/size]

As Mike's thumb raises, Alex's hand goes to his hip to grasp the cocked Walther P99 snuggled tightly in it's holster. He then looks over at Brandon whose hand is on his Desert Eagle. Brandon looks at Alex and Alex nods his head then quickly pulls his gun from it's holster.

5 minutes earlier: Outside the bank, Global Marintines reporter Rebecca Lau with a microphone in hand is doing a live report of the bank robbery and hostage situation as the cameraman records the footage for all to see live.

Lau: This is Rebecca Lau coming to you live from the Royal Bank on 5161 George Street where minutes ago, a number of armed robbers entered the bank. Not much is known except that their is at least 15 hostages inside of the bank not counting the numerous employees working there. A few shots were fired moments after the men entered, but we can only hope they were warning shots.

A man whispers something to Lau who says something quietly back to him.

Lau: I've just been informed we have the bystander with us who first alerted the police and who also knows one of the hostages inside the bank.

The camera pans out a bit as Jessica walks up to Lau trying her hardest to stay calm and not cry, but she is obviously shaken up as a few tears can be seen dripping down her face.

Lau: And what is your name miss?

Jessica: Jessica.

Lau: Well Jessica tell us what happened.

Jessica: Well my boyfriend and his friend went into the bank to take out some money, so I just stayed in the car. A few minutes later I saw five big guys with duffel bags go towards the entrance of the bank. Worried I texted my boyfriend telling him something was wrong and to get himself and his friend out of there. Next thing I knew I heard the shots go off and thats when I quickly called the police.

Lau: Have you had any contact with your boyfriend since the shots were fired?

Jessica: No I've sent him a few more texts but have gotten nothing back.

Jessica bursts into tears worried about Alex.


[size=200]~Scene Three: Jess is on TV~[/size]

Meanwhile back at Cameron Wonders room in the Prince George Hotel. Black Belt is sitting in a chair flipping though TV channels as Cameron is smoking a joint and Rock and Roll is in the washroom getting ready to go clubbing once Alex, Brandon and Jessica get back. As he changes channels, he comes across Global Marintines and their coverage of the hostage situation at the bank and in particular, the interview with Jessica. He then says loudly,

Black: Cam take a look at this and yo Rock come out here! your gonna want to see this too. Jess is on TV!

Cameron turns his gaze to the television as Rock and Roll exits the bathroom with only his jeans on and sits on the bed. They watch as Jessica speaks on the Television.


Jessica: Next thing I knew I heard the shots go off thats when I quickly called the police.

Lau: Have you had any contact with your boyfriend since the shots were fired?

Jessica: No I've sent him a few more texts but have gotten nothing back.

Lau: Thank you for your information Jessica. This is Rebecca Lau reporting from Global Marintines and we'll be keeping you up to date with ongoing coverage of this hostage situation.


Rock And Roll quickly gets off the bed, stands up and says.

Rock: A is in that fucking bank! We need to book it there before anything happens.

Cameron: Agreed. Rock, BB... go to your rooms and get your shit. Meet me at the parking lot when your done and hurry.

Rock and Black exit the room as Cameron tosses the half done joint out of the window. He opens the drawer of the nightstand by his bed and takes out his gun belt with two loaded HK USP .45ACP's already in the holsters and two extra clips attached. He puts on the belt then heads out the door.


[size=200]~Scene Four: Let the bodies hit the floor~[/size]

Alex draws his P99 and quickly aims at the man wearing a ski mask in the right corner of the bank, guarding the crowd with what appears to Alex to be an M4 carbine. He lets off three shots and the man's body drops to the floor as a few bullets from the Carbine flies into the back wall of the bank. At this exact moment Mike draws his Glock and fires two shots at the man in the left corner of the bank. Brandon then pulls out and fires his Desert Eagle once at the man standing beside the front door of the bank looking out hitting him right in the spine. As screams are heard and the other hostages look around stunned, Alex stands up and yells.

Alex: Everybody run, get out of here...QUICK!

The people start flooding to the door in a hurry to get out of the bank before the other two gunmen return from the office section at the back of the bank. Once everyone is out Alex Says to Brandon and Mike.


Alex: There's still two left. Lets grab the M4's those guys had and take those motherfuckers down!

Brandon: Word. Let's do it.

The three men run towards the bodies of the three gunmen, each to the closest one. Alex checks the one that Brandon shot and notices he is still alive but wounded badly so he points his P99 at the mans head and pulls the trigger before taking his M4 and walking to the middle of the banks lobby.


[size=200]~Scene Five: Shots fired~[/size]

Meanwhile television sets across Nova Scotia are tuned in to Global Marintines and Rebecca Lau's coverage of the event. The Camera is doing a close up of Rebecca as she says.

Lau: Swat teams have arrived on scene and are preparing to negotiate with the armed men inside of the bank for release of the hostages.

All of a sudden shots are heard coming from the building, the camera turns to the building then back towards Lau.

Lau: Shots have just been fired from inside of the bank.

As she says this the camera once again turns towards the bank to a scene of people running out of the building towards the police.

Lau: This is incredible some of the hostages are running out of the building towards the police force. Lord only knows what has just happened inside of the bank.


Meanwhile Cameron, Black Belt and Rock And Roll are all getting into Cameron's car. Once inside Cameron inserts his key into the ignition and starts to dive out of the Prince George parking lot.


[size=200]~Scene Six: Like hell they did~[/size]

Back inside of the bank. Alex, Mike and Brandon are in the middle of the lobby, each armed with M4 Carbines. They quickly look around before Brandon asks.

Brandon: So whats the plan?

Alex: Go to the back find those fuckers and shoot them.

Mike: What about hostages?

Alex: Those men had auto shotguns.... You cant really take a hostage with auto shotguns. You can take a human shield but not a hostage. And killing random people wouldn't help them and would just leave them open for a bullet. So I think it's a good plan.

Mike: But thats still putting innocent people in danger.

Alex: Maybe it is, but listen. They've already heard the shots so unless these guys are retarded. They know the shots were not from the M4's. They've probably already assumed their men are dead. Now their only option is to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. So we either do this or they get away. I don't know about you, but I ain't letting these motherfuckers get away. So are you in or out?

Mike: ....I guess your right.... I'm in.

Alex: Good well then what the fuck are we still standing here for? Lets get them.

Alex runs towards the back where the two armed men went earlier with Brandon and Mike right behind him. They start walking through the bank offices towards the vault figuring thats where the men are, motioning to every worker they see crouched on the floor to run to the exit. When they get close to the vault they see the men come running out. One with a very large sack in his hand which they guess is full of money and a shotgun in the other. The other man has his left arm around the neck of the banks assistant manager using him as a human shield and in his right hand, an AA12. Alex quickly ducks behind a vending machine on the left side of the wall as Brandon and Mike both duck into cubicles on the right side. The men who run right by see Brandon and Mike duck and fire their shotguns. The buckshots tear though the cubicles but luckily do not hit either Brandon or Mike. Alex looks around the vending machine a little and fires his M4 at the men then quickly ducks back behind it again as one of the men fires a shot at him. Brandon then gets up and starts to shoot as Mike bends left and fires some shots as well, while still having cover. Alex then looks over at Brandon and Mike and yells.

Alex: Its no use guys. Don't waste your ammo. At this close range we'll get torn to shreds by the buck shot before we could hit them, so just stay covered.

Brandon and Mike both listen and quickly pull back as the man holding the bank manager walks backwards slowly and fires again at them. The other man just runs towards the exit which is about 40 feet away with the money in hand. Meanwhile Alex in his head counts the number of shots fired and knows roughly how many shells the gun can hold. The man with the human shield continues to fire while slowly moving backwards but right when he gets to the door he goes to fire off one last shot but hears his gun click. He then quickly throws the hostage onto the ground and opens the door but before he can run though it Alex, knowing the man is out of ammo comes out from behind the vending machine and pulls the trigger of the the M4 sending a stream of bullets at the man as he exits the building. Though he manages to escape most of the bullets, two of them hit him in the left thigh. He still manges to exit the building and limp towards the get-away van waiting for him and his partner out back. Alex then runs towards the door with Brandon and Mike close behind. They get through the door to see the van drive off. Brandon Then says angrily.

Brandon: Fuck they fucking got away.

Alex: Like hell they did.

Alex looks around and sees a black 2003 Honda Civic parked. He walks over to it, takes off his shirt, makes a fist, wraps the shirt around it then puts his fist right though the front window. He then unlocks the front seat and gets inside opening the passenger side door also he then yells.

Alex: Come on, get in.

Brandon walks over to the passenger side opens the door and hops in as Alex bends down and starts to hotwire the car. Mike walks over to the car but doesn't get in instead he hesitates and says.

Mike: What are you doing?

Alex: What does it look like? Stealing this car to chase those motherfuckers down.

Mike: This is breaking a lot of codes.

Alex: Fuck codes. Sometimes you have to break the rules. Now hop the fuck in.

Mike stands there thinking if this is worth risking his career over when he hears the car start up he then opens the back door of the divers side and gets in. Alex then says.

Alex: Glad you decided to join us, now lets get these fuckers.

Alex puts his foot on the gas and slams it down speeding off after the van.


[size=200]~Scene Seven: These two kids~[/size]

Meanwhile Rebecca Lau has pulled aside one of the people who has escaped from the bank for an interview. A young businessman in his mid 20s.

Lau: This is Rebecca Lau coming to you live from the scene of a hostage situation at the Royal Bank Of Canada where just moments ago swat teams rushed inside of the bank after 13 hostages ran out of the building. Here with us is one of them, Mr. John Peterson. John, what happened in there? How did you get out?

John: It was crazy I was just waiting in line when next thing I knew these men busted through the door with guns. I quickly hit the floor and watched as they shot a security guard and a teller. Then they told us to stay on the floor where we were and noone would be harmed, after that two of them went to the back of the bank. Then next thing I know these two kids and this guy pulled out guns and shot at the men who had guns pointed at us and then told us to run. It was insane.

Lau: You said two kids? How old would you say these two kids were?

John: Somewhere between sixteen and eighteen.

Lau: So... Wait a second more people are running out of the building... It looks like bank employees. Three no four no wait more of them are exiting the building.


[size=200]~Scene Eight: We're The A Team~[/size]

The getaway van swerves a corner with Alex in the black Honda right behind them. Brandon pokes his head out the window and fires off his M4 at the van trying to shoot out its tires, as Mike talks on his cell phone with the police station telling them where the car is headed. All of a sudden the left siding door of the van opens slightly and one of the men shoots one of the AA12s at the Honda. Alex reacts quickly and swerves right to avoid being hit. Doing this Alex grazes a Blue ford taking the drivers mirror right off and breaking the back drivers side window of the Honda, causing small shards of glass to fly at Mike causing minor abrasions. The chase continues for a few minutes until Brandon finally shoots out the back right tire of the van. The van then starts to swerve left turning a corner where a blue Nissan Skyline swerves in front of it. The driver of the van tries to avoid it, crashing the van right into a telephone pole. Alex stops the Honda and hops out of the car with his M4 pointed right at the drivers side door of the van. Brandon gets out of the car and points his gun at the left side door of the van, as Mike hangs up his phone after telling the station the getway van has been stopped and its location. Mike draws his gun as well. Meanwhile the driver of the Skyline, none other then Cameron Wonder steps out and whips out his two USP's as Black Belt and Rock And Roll step out unholstering their guns, a Desert Eagle for rock and a Walther P22 for Black Belt. The Man driving the van steps out of the vehicle with his hands in the air as the two other men inside slide open the side door and do the same with one going to his knees due to the bullets lodged in his leg. Alex tells the other two men to also get on their knees which they comply. He then runs at the driver and gives him a boot to the face as he hits the second man in the face with his M4. The man with the wounded leg then says.

Man: What the fuck? This is police brutality you can't do this.

Alex: Actually we can. See other then this guy right here, were not cops, and hell he's off duty at that.

Man: Well if your not cops who are you.

Alex: Oh us? We're The A Team. Oh and this is for that Teller you shot.

Alex grabs the man by the throat and lifts him up then chokeslams him onto the hard asphalt of the road. After doing that Mike says.

Mike: That wasn't necessary.

Alex: Fuck yeah it was. You don't have any cuffs on you, do ya?

Mike: No I don't.

Alex: Well without cuffs how else could we keep these bastards here till the cops show up without them doing anything stupid.... When you think about it I did that to help them because if they tired something it'd be the last thing they ever did.

Mike: Whatever... it's done now.

Alex and the rest of The A Team along with Mike then wait for the police to arrive on the scene.


[size=200]~Scene Nine: The Address~[/size]

Minutes before the Ring Of Wire match in the Hayabusa Cup tournament the Titantron shows footage recorded a few hours prior. The footage shows Alex Macey in The A Teams locker room. The lights are dimmed and Alex sits in the chair slumped over, his head in his palms. He looks up at the camera and says.


Alex: The Haybusa Cup is one of the most coveted prizes in Full Metal Wrestling. Since I've signed up for this tournament, all I've heard is "Alex, man, why are you doing this? Theres no way you can win this one. Some of the greatest wrestlers in FMW today are competing in this tournament. With barbed wire ring ropes, your just setting yourself up for injury. And an injury that possibly could cost you your career. What are you thinking?" Well all I can say is those people are probably right. Theres no doubt that the best of the best are in this tournament, you have Chris Austin, Christian G. Smitten, Skyler Striker, some of FMW's future hall of famers. Now lets take a look at my match, you have Calvin X, Mark Johansson, Carter, Gray, Pure Extremist, and of course the psychopathic Harlequin. Then you have me, little Alex Macey, who's not only the rookie in this match but is also one of the youngest wrestlers in FMW's history. So yes the odds are against me....

Alex stands up out of the chair quickly.

Alex: But thats exactly how I like things. See I may be small, I may be young and I may lack the experience that these men have, but see. You can't just count me out like that. Because as long as I have a breath left in my body, I'm gonna give this all I have, no matter the cuts or the gashes I get in this match I will not quit. No, because all the cuts and gashes I will use them to drive me. Once I see the blood.... My own blood.... Well thats when things will really get violent... Haha now Harlequin I've done my research on you and I know that this match is right up your ally. Your a fucking psychopath and I wont lie your the one person in this match that worries me cause I know what your capable of.... But you don't know what I'm capable of..... No one does....And Harley, just because you worry me doesn't mean you scare me. It just means your the one person in this match I need to watch out for... I'm not scared of anyone. Not even a deranged monster like you..... Now back to the questions I've been asked, as far as injuries come. I promise you all this... there will be injuries, but I won't be the one injured. And as for what I'm thinking, I'm thinking about a ring full of downed wrestlers with puncture wounds and gashes, their blood soaking into the mat, me grabbing hold of Harlequins head and sliding it against the barbed wire ropes, showing him the pain he has shown so many others. Watching the flesh as it is scraped off of his face. Then I'll show him something else. I will show him A.R.M.ageddon. Afterwards I'll lift up his leg and hear the ref slam his hand on the blood stained mat one time, two times, then a third. I'll stand up raise my arm and walk into the match for the cup.... Now for that match will I come out on top? Maybe, maybe not, but be sure, whoever makes it to that match... I will give them one hell of a time!

As he says this Brandon Allain walks behind Alex and says.

Brandon: Yo the guys are waiting outside with Jess. Rock got some more of that bomb kush from Jeah to celebrate tonight.

Alex turns around and looks at Brandon.

Alex: Okay man, I'll be right there, just finishing something up.

Brandon: Ight man.


Brandon goes out the back door as Alex once again looks at the camera and says.

Alex: Now to the people wondering why I'm doing this, it's simple... To prove myself... And to everyone of the susperstars who will be in that ring with me tonight, I have one last thing to say. Be prepared for A.R.M.ageddon because someones world will come crashing down on them tonight. Haha.

Alex walks up to the camera and turns it off. The camera turns black and Hero by Nas starts to play, and Alex's freshly made Titantron showing highlights from his matches in NEW and his match at No Holds Barred starts to play. The crowd starts to go wild knowing their about to see an amazing match.