Post by Rated R on Aug 19, 2014 10:54:27 GMT -5
There are some words that stick in your mind, words that grip you and don’t let go no matter how much you wish they would. Some can be fondly remembered, that first time your partner told you they loved you or the first words of your child. Others less so, the moment you heard a family member had died or that time you missed the game and found out the Canadiens beat the Maple Leafs. Some words are so powerful that there’s just no pushing them away. Those words and how you handle them make you who you are. We’ve all got them, even the strongest among us. And we remember every word, every syllable, every letter… perfectly, as if they’re being screamed into our ears in this very moment.
“You’re going to learn this damn lesson, even if I’ve got to beat it into you.”
Some words… some words stick with you.
< *** >
May 19th 1999
The Demon Residence; Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
I remember I was thirteen.
I don’t remember much of my youth, other than the fact that I was a little s**t with a big sense of entitlement. I didn’t care about what people thought of me, I acted out, got into brawls with anyone who I thought had the slightest chance of putting up a good fight. I was a solid striker back then too, always had a wicked right hand on me, and I liked putting it to use. I got a reputation quickly for being that runt who packed a punch and who wouldn’t back down when the older guys came a-calling and that’s the way I liked it. There was nothing better than knocking down a guy a foot taller than you and hearing him crash like you’d just cut through a freaking redwood. And the looks you get, fear, respect, awe, they’re the looks I craved.
But not everyone looks favourably on a kid that’s always getting into fights whether he wins or loses. Parents especially and mine… well mine were especially pissed. I say parents but I’m talking about my father of course, good old Abram Demon was a bastard monster hiding in the skin of a drunkard and if he didn’t like it then he’d make sure you knew about it.
Right now he was making sure my mother knew. She’d taken the call from that old witch of a receptionist – “oh little Trace has been doing it again, fighting in the playground, teasing that poor ginger boy.” She failed to mention that poor ginger boy was sixteen and had been trying to pick a fight with me for weeks after I decided to try and set his hair on fire to impress a girl. Thing you realize about thirteen year old girls is that no matter how many gingers you set on fire they’re probably not going to give you anything good.
Anyway like I was saying, that d**k Abram was going hell for leather after my mother told him what I’d done. Also in this situation hell for leather is not biker code, it’s just d**k code.
Abram Demon: It’s cause you coddle the dumb s**t, he ain’t gonna learn a damn thing if you’re always telling him he’s fine.
You could say a lot about not-so-dearly departed Abram but a man of vast words was never one of them. It’s hard to say where I got my way with words, my parents were never the sharpest tools in the shed.
Harriet Demon: Please Abram, calm down and have a drink.
Yeah mom, good idea, tell the alcoholic to have another drink. Like I said, not the sharpest. Not even usable as a cutting instrument.
Faith Demon: Why do you always get into fights?
At this point I was sat in my room, want to say on the bed but years of drug abuse have kind of dulled the memory a little. Drugs do that to you folks, watch yourself. Faith, ten years old at this point, yet to be toughened by the s**t that life throws at every single one of us, sat nearby. I’d be more specific but you know, still a bit hazy.
Trace Demon: Shut up.
Total honesty, thirteen year old me was not the best at comebacks.
Arguments between my parents were often one-sided and I won’t bore you with the drunken ramblings of my father or the fear induced begging of my mother. I don’t know about you but there’s little fun to be had from the idiotic arguing of two people who aren’t even with us anymore.
Faith Demon: You always get him so mad.
Trace Demon: The drink gets him mad.
You ever tell yourself you’ll never be like your father? I did, tons of times, from the moment I turned ten and roughly twice daily after that. Turns out I’ve always been fighting a losing battle. I shared his appetite for alcohol and his inability to hold any kind of normal life when I was drinking it, I shared in his self-destructive tendencies but unlike him I learnt to control it. He never got far enough to figure out he had to.
Faith Demon: He gets mad and then mom cries.
Trace Demon: It’s her own fault.
I always struggled to find sympathy for my mother, why stay with a man like that? Why let him beat you, why let him hurt you and berate you? Why not run. I still struggle with it now, but then empathy has never been my strong suit.
Faith Demon: What if he hurts you again?
She knew what he was like, so did my mother, so did the teachers and the neighbours and none of them did a damn thing to stop him. You ever overhear an old woman in the street say something along the lines of “oh that poor boy, his father’s going straight to hell”. Well guess what, so are you you old b***h.
Trace Demon: Sure I’ll survive.
The screaming stopped and that’s when I knew it was coming. That’s when I knew that any moment I’d heard the stamping down the hall, the roaring of his voice, the stench of booze oozing from every pour.
Trace Demon: Go to your room Faith.
Faith Demon: But-
Trace Demon: Get out!
She ran, afraid both for me and for herself, fearing that it wouldn’t be long before it’s her turn, that soon enough she’d be the one he’s angry with. I wouldn’t let that happen, the beatings doubled until that night when I found him in her room…
Abram Demon: You little s**t, won’t you ever learn?
I heard him before he got to the room and, on instinct, ran for the door, slamming it shut and pressing against it with my body. We weren’t allowed locks, he probably thought they’d slow down the beating. As it turns out the body of a thirteen year old kid isn’t exactly enough to hold back the fury of a raging alcoholic because, and don’t ask me how, but many alcoholics often manage to stay muscular and strong despite the calories involved with drinking a ridiculous amount every day.
His boot slammed against the door with force, his shouts clouded by my fear. The door crashed open and I was sent sprawling across the floor.
Abram Demon: How many times have I told you to behave you stupid son of a b***h?
He expected me to beg, but I never gave him that satisfaction. The thing about my father is he was going to do this whether you pleaded with him or not. He got way too much of a thrill out of it. Must be a family trait, finding enjoyment in beating people into unconsciousness.
Abram Demon: Well guess what boy, you’re going to learn this damn lesson, even if I’ve got to beat it into you.
Some words… some words just stick with you. Even when you’re a bloody, unconscious heap on your bedroom floor.
< *** >
August 20th 2014
Loews Regency Hotel; Manhattan, New York
Toke, toke, toke, exhale.
Haven’t had a smoke in a while, it kind of lost it’s lustre once I stopped drinking, but something about what’s coming required a bit of a stress-relief and since I’m out here in Manhattan without Alexa I can’t go with old faithful. Not a fan of these big expensive hotels, more used to sleeping in my car or in cheap motels but Anders said it was a good idea, show the sponsors that they’re wrong about me, that I can be a viable face for the company. Of course I’m not interested in being the face but I do need to get rid of Lila Sleater before she destroys my company and if I can claw the sponsor’s support away from her that’ll make things so much easier.
Still, the freaking thread count on these sheets is breezy as anything. Who knew luxury was actually kind of luxurious.
Toke, toke, toke, exhale, stub out. And we’re done.
Leroy Cash: Trace! Trace Demon!
Oh we were so close to being done.
Leroy Cash: Dude, wait!
Not sure who this guy is, I’ve never seen his spotty face before. Probably just some fan who’s gotten lucky in spotting me, certainly looks like the kind of guy who spends all his time watching wrestling and trashy reality TV on the net while his mother wonders how the hell she gets him to finally move out.
Trace Demon: I’m not signing anything today so you may as well get lost.
Leroy Cash: No man…
He’s huffing and puffing just for rushing over here. This guy really needs to work on his cardio, maybe invest in some odour resistant clothing as well.
Leroy Cash: I’m Leroy Cash, I work for TMZ.
Trace Demon: Oh f**k off.
I don’t do reporters, especially internet sensationalist bull like TMZ. Bottom feeders the lot of them.
Leroy Cash: Come on, I just want a quote on what it feels like to be facing an A-list actor?
What did he say?
Trace Demon: You’re telling me Drakz has gone into films? With that face?
Leroy Cash: Wha… Drakz? No, Ja-
Trace Demon: Then Dex? I thought he was some weird science experiment who might or might not be an angel and murders evil genius scientists?
Leroy Cash: Wait that’s a real thing? I thought that was some really bad publicity stunt?
Trace Demon: Who the hells knows anymore?
Thinking about it we should really invest in some psychiatric evaluations when hiring people. Though if that were the case I probably wouldn’t have a job.
Leroy Cash: No, I’m talking about Jayson Garrett.
Trace Demon: Jayson Garrett is a movie star?
Leroy Cash: Yeah, he’s pretty famous.
Trace Demon: I know TMZ are renowned for coming up with absolute rubbish but that has to be the worst lie I’ve ever heard. I mean that’s right up there with the time that girl told you that she liked you like a brother.
His face drops, definitely struck a chord there. But come on, you shouldn’t make it so obvious that you’re such a useless loser.
Leroy Cash: Seriously, you don’t know Jayson Garrett’s a famous actor?
If he was then surely he’d know how to be interesting, am I right?
Trace Demon: No, and I don’t much care. You want a quote?
He nods, pulls out his phone and hits record. What, the poor schmuck can’t remember a few bloody words? No wonder modern journalism has fallen to pieces and all we’ve been left with is a bunch of bias, pathetic politically driven sensationalist drivel.
Trace Demon: It doesn’t matter who he is or what he does outside this ring. When it comes down to it Garrett will fall to my revolution… just like the rest.
< *** >
August 21st 2014
Loews Regency Hotel; Manhattan, New York
I declined taking a top floor room not only because it seemed a little bit exorbitant but also because there’s nothing more awkward than a long elevator journey with people you can’t stand. For me that’s all people. Thankfully my scowl is so refined that any time that elevator door opens the person on the other side quickly decides to get the next one. At least a dozen times since I booked in here I’ve found myself reported by the other guests. Makes sense I suppose, I probably don’t look like their usual clientele, especially since I’ve refused Anders other piece of advice to suit up. I’ll stick to the jacket and jeans approach thank you very much.
My point is I don’t belong here, among these people, but as I walk down the corridor towards my room and hear a very familiar sound I quickly realize that it doesn’t matter how much money you’ve got deep down you can still be as much of a d**k as a loudmouth drunk in suburban Hamilton.
Toby Fume: You stupid b***h, won’t you ever learn?
There’s the clap of a backhand on skin and the sound of a crying woman, two more sounds I find disturbingly familiar. More disturbing is the look that the couple walking towards me give each other before they just decide to continue on their merry way. Yeah, you two are destined for hell. Me? Not so much, at least not for something like this.
So I knock.
Toby Fume: Oh shut up!
Muffled shouting before I hear him approach the door. My experience of domestic abuse is limited to alcoholics, junkies and middle aged working class men with absolutely no excuse. Not that there is any. Instead what I get…
Toby Fume: May I help… you?
Is some suit-wearing businessman in his mid-twenties. Probably made a living on good old daddy’s dime and now thinks he’s a big shot who can get away with anything he damn well pleases.
Trace Demon: Just wanted to make sure everything was peachy keen in there, heard a bit of a ruckus going on.
He was already put off guard when he spotted the leather jacketed, bright haired possible sociopath standing in his doorway. I figured the boy scout speech habits might freak him out just that little bit more. What can I say, I like messing with people.
Toby Fume: Nothing to worry about, just a bit of… rough housing.
He grins and it turns my stomach. I want nothing more than to grab him by the neck and teach him the real meaning of the word rough right now. But sadly I’ve got to behave myself, ending up on the front page of every wrestling website out there for attacking some guy isn’t going to strengthen my message all that much.
Trace Demon: Mind if I speak to your girlfriend, just to be sure and all.
There’s the eye twitch, everyone’s got a tell and I knew I’d see his the moment I brought up the girl.
Toby Fume: Why don’t you just mind your own business mate?
Trace Demon: I don’t remember us becoming mates, I certainly hope you don’t expect an invite to my birthday next year.
Toby Fume: Just get lost.
The friendly demeanour vanishes pretty quickly when he realizes that I know exactly what I heard, and that’s good enough for me to drop mine too. I place my hand against the door, keeping it open when he tries to close it on me. Doesn’t he realize closing the door on someone is just downright rude?
Toby Fume: Word of advice, back off and mind your own business.
Trace Demon: That’s cool and all, but let me give you a word of advice in return. I hear one more peep out of that room that I don’t like and I’ll be right back over here and I won’t be so nice next time. I got my eyes on you kid and that’s about as downright close to hell as you can get.
Toby Fume: Just p**s off freak.
He forces the door shut and I let it go, adding in one final thing in my absolute loudest, creepiest voice.
Trace Demon: I’ll be watching you.
Oh we’ll be meeting again.
I got a feeling he’s gonna have to learn his lesson the hard way.
< *** >
August 22nd 2014
Madison Square Garden
It’s not every day you see beauty like this.
Ring Crew Member: Um sir…
The perfect glisten of the spotlights.
Ring Crew Member: Sir…
The seats surrounding you as they climb up.
Ring Crew Member: Mr. Demon?
The canvas beneath you, the ropes surrounding you, knowing that in just a few days you’ll be inside this ring claiming what is yours.
Ring Crew Member: Trace…
Trace Demon: This better be damn well important.
Ring Crew Member: Just checking you were okay, you’ve been sat there for a few hours now.
Trace Demon: I’m appreciating the majesty of it all.
Ring Crew Member: Well we’ve got-
Joe Bishop: If I were you I’d get lost while he’s still letting you.
I hear him before I see him and know that Jason Anders is close behind him. The unnamed peon takes his advice, the first smart thing he’s done all day I suspect, and makes a quick getaway while Joe leans on the edge of the ring apron.
Joe Bishop: You done or are we going to have to join you?
Trace Demon: No, get in here. I want you both to really feel this.
I see Joe and Anders share a look out of the corner of my eye. Bishop doesn’t hesitate, he’s a believer either in the cause or in the knowledge that I am best for his career. I know Anders doesn’t share that faith. He’s in this for the power and the power alone. He doesn’t care about whether we succeed in our goal as long as he succeeds in his. This is what I’m counting on.
Jason Anders: He said you’ve been here hours Trace.
Joe took the simple way in, rolling beneath the ropes before propping himself up against them, leaning as if trying to look cool. Youths these days, they don’t even realize that nobody cares about them, their style or their attitude. Anders on the other hand had to use the steps, all the time he’s spent working alongside me and he still hasn’t recognized the value of a good cardio routine.
Trace Demon: You’re point being?
Jason Anders: Well you’re the one who gave us this time, we could have met earlier if you wanted, save you sitting around staring out at the walls and looking all weird.
Trace Demon: No, had to be here, you had to appreciate it, like really feel it deep down.
Jason Anders: Feel what?
Trace Demon: What we’re fighting for.
Jason Anders: I really don’t know what you’re-
Joe Bishop: It’s Madison Square Garden man, it’s the home of wrestling.
Finally, someone gets it.
Trace Demon: This building hasn’t just got history, it is history. This building is wrestling. Right here, this building is where every single wrestler dreams of competing, where every single wrestler dreams of walking out as a legend. This building represents every single man and woman who has ever dared to fight their way to the top and achieve their dream and Lila Sleater is about to tarnish it.
Jason Anders: You’ve lost me again.
I’m not surprised, Jason Anders might be a good talker when you need him to be and he’s great at the business side of things but when it comes to common sense, when it comes to what’s right and what’s wrong, he doesn’t have a clue.
Trace Demon: Because of Lila Sleater we are about to let a man who doesn’t deserve to be champion enter the holiest of buildings as exactly that. Because of Lila Sleater we’re about to commit sacrilege by letting that undeserving delusional little freak defend the biggest prize in our company at one of our biggest shows in the most important arena American wrestling has ever known!
Joe Bishop: Aren’t you Canadian?
Trace Demon: Unimportant right now.
Though it does make me far superior to any of the other substandard scum in this match.
Trace Demon: What is important is that Dex doesn’t deserve to be wrestling in this arena, let alone walking in as the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion. And yet he is, and why? Because of Lila Sleater, because she thought it was fair to let Shawn Malakai just hand over the title to that undeserving piece of trash. Don’t you see what that makes this company? It makes us a joke, people are going to look back in history and wonder what kind of company not only hands over their World Championship to a man who hasn’t won a pay per view main event in in his life but also then lets him headline a show in the most important arena in wrestling history. It makes a mockery of this building, it makes a mockery of it’s history, it makes a mockery of this company and it makes a mockery of all of us for letting it happening.
Joe Bishop: Woah I didn’t let this happen, don’t put the blame on me.
Trace Demon: Really? Because I don’t remember seeing you out there when that cancer-filled reject gave that delusional little sycophant the title. I don’t remember seeing you shouting no when Lila Sleater gave her blessing. We could have stopped that, this is the WFWF, we could have marched out there with chairs and spikes and kendo sticks and just beaten the crap out of those nobodies but we didn’t. That makes this as much our fault as any and that’s why the only way we redeem ourselves and the only way we redeem this company is by making sure that Dex doesn’t leave with that title.
Jason Anders: It isn’t as easy as just beating Dex Trace.
What did he say? I thought he was smart enough to avoid a beating.
Jason Anders: We all know you could beat Dex and Jayson Garrett in your sleep but…
He goes quiet, doesn’t want to finish that sentence even though we both know what he’s about to say. Luckily Joe isn’t so gutless.
Joe Bishop: He’s talking about Drakz.
Trace Demon: I’ve beaten Drakz before.
Jason Anders: He’s different this time though Trace, this isn’t the same ego driven guy you beat before and you know it. I mean I hate to say I told you so but…
Then don’t freaking say it you clueless idiot.
Jason Anders: I did warn you.
Cue the middle aged black woman snap because he just went there.
< *** >
April 30th 2013
WFWF Headquarters; The Office of Trace Demon
Sure it might have been over a year ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. It’s stuck in my memory with such vivid detail because, for the first time since I’d started working for him, Trace Demon had finally done something so crazy that it just made no sense whatsoever.
Jason Anders: You brought back Drakz?
Trace Demon: Don’t be stupid, he’s still stuck in a wheelchair pissing himself. He looks like s**t as well. No, I offered him an open contract to come back when he’s done all that rehab stuff.
He said it like it was nothing, just continued leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk, flicking through paperwork with as little interest as it’s possible to have. This was nothing new for him in the day-to-day but to be so calm and relaxed having just made such a stupid mistake… well even I thought he had a bit more sense than that.
Jason Anders: What were you thinking?
Trace Demon: I was thinking that Drakz makes money.
Jason Anders: No that’s bull and you know it. He won’t bring enough revenue in to make the risk worthwhile and I know you know that.
Trace Demon might be crazy but he’s the dangerously smart kind. He knows the business side of the WFWF better than anybody will give him credit for and he knew exactly how much revenue that Drakz would have to bring in to make his signing worth it’s salt and he just didn’t have that name value. Even with his broken body return angle he wasn’t the name player he used to be.
Not with Kyzer gone.
Trace Demon: I need the big name players if I want to make this company great again after Xavier’s pathetic attempt at running things and Drakz is a great start. Plus I bring him back and more will follow, I’m sure of that.
Sure he was right, Drakz brought back Phillip Schneider and since then even more people have been flocking to the training camps. The WFWF is nearing a new golden age right now, as long as we can deal with the black spots that are Lila Sleater and Dex, but he couldn’t have known that at the time.
Jason Anders: And what, you just think he’s going to play ball, you don’t see any chance that this doesn’t go the way you want it too?
Trace Demon: Like how exactly Anders? Like Drakz deciding he wants to come after me and finish things, is that what you’re worried about?
I saw a little flicker in his eyes, a little glint. That’s what he wanted, that’s part of what made Drakz’s return so interesting to him. He was easier to read back then though, I could tell at least part of what he was thinking. Now, with his obsession over this revolution, I can’t even get the slightest read on him. And that is terrifying.
Jason Anders: You’re hoping he does, aren’t you? You want to fight him again.
Trace Demon: No, I want to beat him, I want to end him, but I want him to be at his best and that’s gonna take time. He’s got to get back in the ring first and then he’s got to get back to what he was. Until then he can do what he wants, beat who he wants, he won’t dare get in my way.
Jason Anders: And what makes you so sure about that?
Trace Demon: Because unlike most of the people the WFWF employed before I took over Drakz actually has a bit of common sense, he’s got a brain up in that cracked skull of his.
One thing that will never change, no matter how deep down that rabbit hole he goes, is that Trace Demon loves to insult the entire roster whenever he gets the chance. I’m just waiting for him to drop a Yukio Blaze reference.
Trace Demon: Plus if he starts snapping at my heels early then I’ll just feed him the homeless hero, that’ll quieten him down.
And there’s the reference. That didn’t take long at all.
Jason Anders: I think you’re overlooking something.
His feet were off the table and he sat up the moment I closed my mouth, leaning on the desk staring at my with both a eagerness to hear where he’d gone wrong and an utter distaste for the mere idea that it was even a possibility. Trace Demon is not wrong often and he does not like the feeling.
Trace Demon: Explain.
Jason Anders: This isn’t the same Drakz you wrestled before. This is a man who was betrayed by a man he’d teamed with for years, a man he thought he knew and could at least somewhat trust. This is a man who’s had his back, and probably at least some of his psyche, broken. He’s never going to be the same again and that’s not a good thing for us. He’s going to be rabid, he’s got nothing left to lose, he’s just going to come in, see what he wants and take it and soon enough what he wants is going to be around your waist.
He looked pensive for a moment, and then started to laugh. In over a year since that moment I have never felt more mocked by Trace Demon than when I stood in front of him in that office. The laugh lasted for what felt like hours, in reality it was likely mere seconds. Yet even now I remember how small I felt.
Trace Demon: You’re right Anders, he isn’t the same man, he’s weak, he’s broken, he’s half as impressive as he was. If he comes after me right now then, well actually if it was right now I’d just push him out of his wheelchair. But the point is Drakz is never going to be as good as he was, he won’t even come close to it. And me? I’m just going to get better. So if I find myself stood opposite Drakz any time soon, be it next week or next year, I don’t need to be afraid because I know that he is but a shadow of the man he was and he always will be.
Jason Anders: Trace, I hope you’re right, for your sake as much as anyone’s. Because if you’re not it’s going to come back and tear us apart.
And so it has. Worse than I could even imagine.
< *** >
August 22nd 2014
Loews Regency Hotel; Manhattan, New York
Barman: What can I get you sir?
Temptation is my strength.
Trace Demon: Just water.
Barman: Water?
Trace Demon: That’s what I said, isn’t it?
Barman: Of course sir, coming right up.
What sense is there in sitting at a bar on your own and drinking water? Why, all the sense in the world. Being able to resist temptation is the marker of a great man. I never saw that before, I always thought I should avoid it, that if it wasn’t near me then I wouldn’t have to fear a relapse, but that’s a fool’s way of living. Sitting here, knowing that at any moment I could just say screw it and order some whiskey, knowing that I can resist, that is how a king lives.
Barman: Your water.
Trace Demon: What?
Barman: Your water sir.
Trace Demon: Cheers, add it to the tab.
I’ll admit that I’m distracted. I’m not sitting here just for the satisfaction that temptation brings me. I’ve got another reason, one much less self-involved.
Toby Fume: What’s the problem?
I’m doing a little catch up, making sure my rich friend has taken my kind words of advice.
Toby Fume: What, it’s not good enough for you?
He hasn’t. In my world that’s what you call a mistake.
Stacey Bell: I’ve just had enough. I’m full.
I got young Stacey’s name from the receptionist at the front desk, turned out she only works here to pay off her college loan and is much more interested in grimy rockers like myself over the posh losers they usually get in here. She’s undoubtedly beautiful, long flowing blonde hair framing a picture of near twenty year old perfection. She’s far too good for her boyfriend here, far too good.
Toby Fume: I spent all this because you wanted lobster and now you’re saying you can’t eat anymore? Why you ungrateful…
He cuts himself off as he remembers that he’s being watched. Not solely by me, in fact I’m the least obvious observer in here. You’re stood in the middle of a restaurant jackass, you really thought nobody would notice when you lost your temper with a girl far too good for you? Oh they noticed, everyone in earshot noticed.
Yet none of them does anything, they just whisper, try to pretend they’re not watching. He knows they are, I know they are, everyone knows everybody else is watching and they don’t make a move. No words, no actions, not even a damn posh person gang mauling. Another room entirely condemned to hell.
Toby Fume: You’re pathetic.
He sneers it at her and then pushes his chair out beneath him, storming out of the hotel restaurant without even paying the bill. Rude much. I stand, walk through the tables of people, all of whom are still trying to pretend that they haven’t seen a damn thing wrong. Pathetic. I stop at the table that now sits a snivelling blonde twenty year old.
Trace Demon: You want my advice, get out while you still can. And if you’re going to stay… learn to fight back.
She looks at me, surprised that someone can be so brave to speak to her in a moment like this, knowing what I know.
No, not brave… common f*****g decency.
I’m not being condemned to hell, not for being a coward.
< *** >
The Streets of Manhattan, New York
I follow for five minutes before I decide we’re secluded enough that I won’t be interrupted before I get to say my piece. Good old Toby has no idea, he’s caught up in his own little bunghole world and nothing else around him matters.
Guess what Toby, I matter.
And so the moment he reaches the next alley I step up, grab him by the arm and throw him straight into the dimly lit abyss. He goes to the ground side first and I relish the crash.
Toby Fume: What the hell!
Trace Demon: Hell’s an appropriate term I guess.
Toby Fume: You? You’re the guy from the hotel?
Trace Demon: And you’re the bunghole who beats up his girlfriend.
Toby Fume: Man my girl’s none of your business. Now just pis-
He tries to get to his feet but a swift boot to the side of the ribs stops that pretty quickly. One thing I’ve found is that any man willing to beat up a woman who is too scared to defend herself doesn’t tend to do too well when he ends up in front of someone perfectly willing, and more importantly capable, to cave your face it.
Trace Demon: Stay right there you piece of s**t and listen to me, because things around here are going to change.
Toby Fume: Man you’re crazy!
Trace Demon: More than you know, but I’m also the only one seeing sense anymore. It isn’t just the damn company that’s broken, it’s people like you as well, people who do terrible things for terrible reasons. What’s your justification? To keep her in line? You’re not helping anybody, you’re not doing anything of value, you’re just being a dick.
Toby Fume: You’ve got no right to-
I grab him by the collar and haul him up to his feet, throwing him back first up against the wall, hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to knock him out. I want him to see me while I’m talking to him.
Trace Demon: I’ve got every right, because I’m the only one with the balls to change things, I’m the only one who can make the revolution happen. And it’s a revolution that’s needed because of people like you and Lila Sleater.
Toby Fume: Who the hell is Lil-
Trace Demon: Will you please shut the hell up while I monologue!
A quick right hand to the gut sends him doubling over, not going to deny that I got a bit of satisfaction out of that one.
Trace Demon: I mean you go around beating that poor girl because you think you can and that’s the problem! Everyone thinks they can do what they want; they don’t think about the consequences, they don’t think about how they hurt others. That has to change, you’ve got to accept what’s coming to you, you’ve got to learn you damn lesson!
He moves quickly trying to grab me but compared to the likes of Drakz, Alex Sean and Phillip Schneider he’s moving slower than a thought in the mind of Shawn Malakai. By head connects with his before he knows what’s hit him and it’s followed up by a right hook. I feel the blood on my hand before it splatters over his perfectly pressed shirt as he doubles over. I grab him by his greasy, disgusting hair and yank his head up.
Trace Demon: Our manifesto is very clear; you don’t beat on helpless women. You don’t drag down something that shouldn’t be yours in the first place. And you certainly don’t try to tear apart something that doesn’t belong to you.
Another right hook to the face sends him dropping to the floor. And as I roll my sleeves up I remember something that has stuck with me for years. A single sentence that, as it turns out, makes me more like my drunk of a father than I’d like to admit.
Trace Demon: And you’re going to learn this damn lesson, even if I’ve got to beat it into you.
< *** >
I have done some bad things… I guess that’s kind of an understatement. I have ended careers, destroyed people, ruined lives, and I have no regrets. I did what I did and looking back I would do it all again. But now I see what’s really needed. Change. We have let things fester for too long, no, I’ve let things fester too long. It’s on me, it’s my fault, because I’m the only one who could have stopped it. I’m the only one capable of standing up against everything that is wrong with this company and this world. Everybody else… they don’t have the guts, they don’t have the brains, they don’t have the balls.
I’ve got the guts, I’ve got the brains and I’ve damn sure got the balls.
Where everyone else fails I will stand tall because I’m sick of it, I’m sick of it all. Lila Sleater, you represent everything that is wrong with this company. You’ve been installed as a false leader because they knew that you would turn everything against me. They saw what was coming and they realized they had to get rid of me before I tore this entire false kingdom down around them and made it into what it once was. Not something built on money, not something built on sponsors… not something built on the vindictive nature of a b***h with a chip on her shoulder. But none of that can stop me, I’m still here, I’m still standing no matter what you throw at me. Sure, your pathetic hell in a cell tore the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship from around my waist but I’m still here and I’m stronger than ever. No matter what you throw at me I’ll keep fighting until the end. And it will be the end of your injustice, not of Trace Demon.
Which brings me to Battle at the Garden and the latest assortment of souls to be placed in my way. What Lila, you weren’t content with one multi-man match you had to put me in another? It’s obvious why, it’s because you don’t believe you’re boy Dex can get the job done. You realized that your paper champion can’t actually win a title match so you put in some insurance to make sure I don’t win because if I get that title again then there will be no stopping my revolution. But you chose the wrong contingency Lila, if you wanted to keep that title away from me then you should have picked people who can actually beat me. Who do you send at me? A cripple, a paper champion and a D-lister? With these three men you prove your ignorance. With these three men you feed my revolution.
Let me read from the manifesto.
“The Final Revolution demands an end to undeserving champions. All those still standing will have their titles torn from them… through whatever means necessary.”
Dex, you don’t deserve that title. And this isn’t just my opinion, it’s the common opinion of this roster and of these fans. Every single person that the Final Revolution fights for knows the prestige of the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship and they know that by having it around your waist you tarnish the legacy of that belt and every single man who has held it. Even Yukio Blaze is a more rightful champion than you and that is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had to admit. Dex in this business titles aren’t just handed out like they mean nothing, they’re earned in that ring. They’re meant to mean something. What have you done to earn that title? Beat ZMaster, a man who knew his best days were over and just wanted one last match? No, that means nothing to me. All you did was kiss the right asses, allying yourself with someone who was dying and needed someone to make their legacy since their own child was long gone. You haven’t proven yourself to anyone, least of all to me. You’ll be the first swept away, forgotten as the false champion in the days before the Final Revolution lead the WFWF back to the promised lands. A bad memory, that’s all.
Let’s flip the pages.
“The Final Revolution demands an end to idolization on outside accomplishments. Prove yourself in our ring or remain unproven.”
Jayson Garrett, I don’t know or understand how you find yourself here but something tells me it’s going a little to do with that so called name value of yours. They tell me you’re a film star, a money maker, an A-lister. Now I haven’t seen any of your films but then I only pay attention to things that entertain, which is probably why I don’t know a whole lot about you. What little Joe Bishop has told me leads me to believe you’ve got some potential. No, I’m not talking about that nonsense of Shawn Malakai calling you a future star, that man wouldn’t know talent if… actually he just wouldn’t know talent since he never had any of his own. I’m talking about the fact you caught Drakz’s attention, a man that I know wouldn’t want to waste his time on just anybody. That has my attention, but rest assured it’s only what you do in that ring that’s going to keep my attention. You can brag about being an A-lister or about being a WFWF Tag Team Champion all you like but those films mean nothing and a title you hold without a partner means just as little to me. You’re as out of depth in this match as Dex is, and you’re only here to be his backup. It’s a shame, because you could be better than him. It’d be hard to be worse.
One final passage.
“The Final Revolution demands an end to resting on past success. Your name means nothing if you can’t back it up.”
Drakz, again we find ourselves opposite each other, only this time there’s a prize much bigger than the International championship on the line. Lila Sleater has put you here because she needed someone with genuine talent to stop me running roughshod over her little boys. And you’re the best she could find. The sad thing is you’re not really that dangerous now, you’ve not been the same in over a year, ever since your precious best friend broke your back. I offered you a spot back on this roster because I wanted to finish things between us, but not like this. I wanted you back to your best; I wanted you to be the Drakz I remember, the one who actually beat me once upon a time. Not this fool who wages wars over the National Championship and gets side tracked by a so-called movie star. Oh what’s that, you beat Phillip Schneider? Guess what, been there, done that and it didn’t require months of mind games. Just a three count and it was all over. Drakz, you don’t realize that your best days are behind you, you’ve forgotten how to swim and you’ve been thrown in the deep end with nothing to hold onto. If that wasn’t enough I’m already pushing down on you and watching you drown.
“The Final Revolution accepts no excuses of itself. The Final Revolution is everything it claims to be.”
Lila, it doesn’t matter who you put in front of me, it doesn’t matter what odds you stack against me, I am Trace Demon and that name and my reputation tells you everything you need to know. I’ve never shied away from a challenge in my life, I’ve waged more wars than anybody else because I know how to win them and come out stronger every time. There is nothing you can do to beat me, there is nothing you can do to break my resolve and there is nothing you can do to end this revolution. Battle at the Garden is the beginning of the end for you Lila and every single idiot who steps in my way.
You can’t stop me, you can never stop me. I’m a f*****g Demon! I can’t be killed, I’m f*****g immortal!
And you’re all just f****d.
Because my revolution, my Final Revolution, has only just begun.
And you’re going to learn that damn lesson.
Even if I’ve got to beat it into you.
“You’re going to learn this damn lesson, even if I’ve got to beat it into you.”
Some words… some words stick with you.
< *** >
May 19th 1999
The Demon Residence; Hamilton, Ontario, Canada
I remember I was thirteen.
I don’t remember much of my youth, other than the fact that I was a little s**t with a big sense of entitlement. I didn’t care about what people thought of me, I acted out, got into brawls with anyone who I thought had the slightest chance of putting up a good fight. I was a solid striker back then too, always had a wicked right hand on me, and I liked putting it to use. I got a reputation quickly for being that runt who packed a punch and who wouldn’t back down when the older guys came a-calling and that’s the way I liked it. There was nothing better than knocking down a guy a foot taller than you and hearing him crash like you’d just cut through a freaking redwood. And the looks you get, fear, respect, awe, they’re the looks I craved.
But not everyone looks favourably on a kid that’s always getting into fights whether he wins or loses. Parents especially and mine… well mine were especially pissed. I say parents but I’m talking about my father of course, good old Abram Demon was a bastard monster hiding in the skin of a drunkard and if he didn’t like it then he’d make sure you knew about it.
Right now he was making sure my mother knew. She’d taken the call from that old witch of a receptionist – “oh little Trace has been doing it again, fighting in the playground, teasing that poor ginger boy.” She failed to mention that poor ginger boy was sixteen and had been trying to pick a fight with me for weeks after I decided to try and set his hair on fire to impress a girl. Thing you realize about thirteen year old girls is that no matter how many gingers you set on fire they’re probably not going to give you anything good.
Anyway like I was saying, that d**k Abram was going hell for leather after my mother told him what I’d done. Also in this situation hell for leather is not biker code, it’s just d**k code.
Abram Demon: It’s cause you coddle the dumb s**t, he ain’t gonna learn a damn thing if you’re always telling him he’s fine.
You could say a lot about not-so-dearly departed Abram but a man of vast words was never one of them. It’s hard to say where I got my way with words, my parents were never the sharpest tools in the shed.
Harriet Demon: Please Abram, calm down and have a drink.
Yeah mom, good idea, tell the alcoholic to have another drink. Like I said, not the sharpest. Not even usable as a cutting instrument.
Faith Demon: Why do you always get into fights?
At this point I was sat in my room, want to say on the bed but years of drug abuse have kind of dulled the memory a little. Drugs do that to you folks, watch yourself. Faith, ten years old at this point, yet to be toughened by the s**t that life throws at every single one of us, sat nearby. I’d be more specific but you know, still a bit hazy.
Trace Demon: Shut up.
Total honesty, thirteen year old me was not the best at comebacks.
Arguments between my parents were often one-sided and I won’t bore you with the drunken ramblings of my father or the fear induced begging of my mother. I don’t know about you but there’s little fun to be had from the idiotic arguing of two people who aren’t even with us anymore.
Faith Demon: You always get him so mad.
Trace Demon: The drink gets him mad.
You ever tell yourself you’ll never be like your father? I did, tons of times, from the moment I turned ten and roughly twice daily after that. Turns out I’ve always been fighting a losing battle. I shared his appetite for alcohol and his inability to hold any kind of normal life when I was drinking it, I shared in his self-destructive tendencies but unlike him I learnt to control it. He never got far enough to figure out he had to.
Faith Demon: He gets mad and then mom cries.
Trace Demon: It’s her own fault.
I always struggled to find sympathy for my mother, why stay with a man like that? Why let him beat you, why let him hurt you and berate you? Why not run. I still struggle with it now, but then empathy has never been my strong suit.
Faith Demon: What if he hurts you again?
She knew what he was like, so did my mother, so did the teachers and the neighbours and none of them did a damn thing to stop him. You ever overhear an old woman in the street say something along the lines of “oh that poor boy, his father’s going straight to hell”. Well guess what, so are you you old b***h.
Trace Demon: Sure I’ll survive.
The screaming stopped and that’s when I knew it was coming. That’s when I knew that any moment I’d heard the stamping down the hall, the roaring of his voice, the stench of booze oozing from every pour.
Trace Demon: Go to your room Faith.
Faith Demon: But-
Trace Demon: Get out!
She ran, afraid both for me and for herself, fearing that it wouldn’t be long before it’s her turn, that soon enough she’d be the one he’s angry with. I wouldn’t let that happen, the beatings doubled until that night when I found him in her room…
Abram Demon: You little s**t, won’t you ever learn?
I heard him before he got to the room and, on instinct, ran for the door, slamming it shut and pressing against it with my body. We weren’t allowed locks, he probably thought they’d slow down the beating. As it turns out the body of a thirteen year old kid isn’t exactly enough to hold back the fury of a raging alcoholic because, and don’t ask me how, but many alcoholics often manage to stay muscular and strong despite the calories involved with drinking a ridiculous amount every day.
His boot slammed against the door with force, his shouts clouded by my fear. The door crashed open and I was sent sprawling across the floor.
Abram Demon: How many times have I told you to behave you stupid son of a b***h?
He expected me to beg, but I never gave him that satisfaction. The thing about my father is he was going to do this whether you pleaded with him or not. He got way too much of a thrill out of it. Must be a family trait, finding enjoyment in beating people into unconsciousness.
Abram Demon: Well guess what boy, you’re going to learn this damn lesson, even if I’ve got to beat it into you.
Some words… some words just stick with you. Even when you’re a bloody, unconscious heap on your bedroom floor.
< *** >
August 20th 2014
Loews Regency Hotel; Manhattan, New York
Toke, toke, toke, exhale.
Haven’t had a smoke in a while, it kind of lost it’s lustre once I stopped drinking, but something about what’s coming required a bit of a stress-relief and since I’m out here in Manhattan without Alexa I can’t go with old faithful. Not a fan of these big expensive hotels, more used to sleeping in my car or in cheap motels but Anders said it was a good idea, show the sponsors that they’re wrong about me, that I can be a viable face for the company. Of course I’m not interested in being the face but I do need to get rid of Lila Sleater before she destroys my company and if I can claw the sponsor’s support away from her that’ll make things so much easier.
Still, the freaking thread count on these sheets is breezy as anything. Who knew luxury was actually kind of luxurious.
Toke, toke, toke, exhale, stub out. And we’re done.
Leroy Cash: Trace! Trace Demon!
Oh we were so close to being done.
Leroy Cash: Dude, wait!
Not sure who this guy is, I’ve never seen his spotty face before. Probably just some fan who’s gotten lucky in spotting me, certainly looks like the kind of guy who spends all his time watching wrestling and trashy reality TV on the net while his mother wonders how the hell she gets him to finally move out.
Trace Demon: I’m not signing anything today so you may as well get lost.
Leroy Cash: No man…
He’s huffing and puffing just for rushing over here. This guy really needs to work on his cardio, maybe invest in some odour resistant clothing as well.
Leroy Cash: I’m Leroy Cash, I work for TMZ.
Trace Demon: Oh f**k off.
I don’t do reporters, especially internet sensationalist bull like TMZ. Bottom feeders the lot of them.
Leroy Cash: Come on, I just want a quote on what it feels like to be facing an A-list actor?
What did he say?
Trace Demon: You’re telling me Drakz has gone into films? With that face?
Leroy Cash: Wha… Drakz? No, Ja-
Trace Demon: Then Dex? I thought he was some weird science experiment who might or might not be an angel and murders evil genius scientists?
Leroy Cash: Wait that’s a real thing? I thought that was some really bad publicity stunt?
Trace Demon: Who the hells knows anymore?
Thinking about it we should really invest in some psychiatric evaluations when hiring people. Though if that were the case I probably wouldn’t have a job.
Leroy Cash: No, I’m talking about Jayson Garrett.
Trace Demon: Jayson Garrett is a movie star?
Leroy Cash: Yeah, he’s pretty famous.
Trace Demon: I know TMZ are renowned for coming up with absolute rubbish but that has to be the worst lie I’ve ever heard. I mean that’s right up there with the time that girl told you that she liked you like a brother.
His face drops, definitely struck a chord there. But come on, you shouldn’t make it so obvious that you’re such a useless loser.
Leroy Cash: Seriously, you don’t know Jayson Garrett’s a famous actor?
If he was then surely he’d know how to be interesting, am I right?
Trace Demon: No, and I don’t much care. You want a quote?
He nods, pulls out his phone and hits record. What, the poor schmuck can’t remember a few bloody words? No wonder modern journalism has fallen to pieces and all we’ve been left with is a bunch of bias, pathetic politically driven sensationalist drivel.
Trace Demon: It doesn’t matter who he is or what he does outside this ring. When it comes down to it Garrett will fall to my revolution… just like the rest.
< *** >
August 21st 2014
Loews Regency Hotel; Manhattan, New York
I declined taking a top floor room not only because it seemed a little bit exorbitant but also because there’s nothing more awkward than a long elevator journey with people you can’t stand. For me that’s all people. Thankfully my scowl is so refined that any time that elevator door opens the person on the other side quickly decides to get the next one. At least a dozen times since I booked in here I’ve found myself reported by the other guests. Makes sense I suppose, I probably don’t look like their usual clientele, especially since I’ve refused Anders other piece of advice to suit up. I’ll stick to the jacket and jeans approach thank you very much.
My point is I don’t belong here, among these people, but as I walk down the corridor towards my room and hear a very familiar sound I quickly realize that it doesn’t matter how much money you’ve got deep down you can still be as much of a d**k as a loudmouth drunk in suburban Hamilton.
Toby Fume: You stupid b***h, won’t you ever learn?
There’s the clap of a backhand on skin and the sound of a crying woman, two more sounds I find disturbingly familiar. More disturbing is the look that the couple walking towards me give each other before they just decide to continue on their merry way. Yeah, you two are destined for hell. Me? Not so much, at least not for something like this.
So I knock.
Toby Fume: Oh shut up!
Muffled shouting before I hear him approach the door. My experience of domestic abuse is limited to alcoholics, junkies and middle aged working class men with absolutely no excuse. Not that there is any. Instead what I get…
Toby Fume: May I help… you?
Is some suit-wearing businessman in his mid-twenties. Probably made a living on good old daddy’s dime and now thinks he’s a big shot who can get away with anything he damn well pleases.
Trace Demon: Just wanted to make sure everything was peachy keen in there, heard a bit of a ruckus going on.
He was already put off guard when he spotted the leather jacketed, bright haired possible sociopath standing in his doorway. I figured the boy scout speech habits might freak him out just that little bit more. What can I say, I like messing with people.
Toby Fume: Nothing to worry about, just a bit of… rough housing.
He grins and it turns my stomach. I want nothing more than to grab him by the neck and teach him the real meaning of the word rough right now. But sadly I’ve got to behave myself, ending up on the front page of every wrestling website out there for attacking some guy isn’t going to strengthen my message all that much.
Trace Demon: Mind if I speak to your girlfriend, just to be sure and all.
There’s the eye twitch, everyone’s got a tell and I knew I’d see his the moment I brought up the girl.
Toby Fume: Why don’t you just mind your own business mate?
Trace Demon: I don’t remember us becoming mates, I certainly hope you don’t expect an invite to my birthday next year.
Toby Fume: Just get lost.
The friendly demeanour vanishes pretty quickly when he realizes that I know exactly what I heard, and that’s good enough for me to drop mine too. I place my hand against the door, keeping it open when he tries to close it on me. Doesn’t he realize closing the door on someone is just downright rude?
Toby Fume: Word of advice, back off and mind your own business.
Trace Demon: That’s cool and all, but let me give you a word of advice in return. I hear one more peep out of that room that I don’t like and I’ll be right back over here and I won’t be so nice next time. I got my eyes on you kid and that’s about as downright close to hell as you can get.
Toby Fume: Just p**s off freak.
He forces the door shut and I let it go, adding in one final thing in my absolute loudest, creepiest voice.
Trace Demon: I’ll be watching you.
Oh we’ll be meeting again.
I got a feeling he’s gonna have to learn his lesson the hard way.
< *** >
August 22nd 2014
Madison Square Garden
It’s not every day you see beauty like this.
Ring Crew Member: Um sir…
The perfect glisten of the spotlights.
Ring Crew Member: Sir…
The seats surrounding you as they climb up.
Ring Crew Member: Mr. Demon?
The canvas beneath you, the ropes surrounding you, knowing that in just a few days you’ll be inside this ring claiming what is yours.
Ring Crew Member: Trace…
Trace Demon: This better be damn well important.
Ring Crew Member: Just checking you were okay, you’ve been sat there for a few hours now.
Trace Demon: I’m appreciating the majesty of it all.
Ring Crew Member: Well we’ve got-
Joe Bishop: If I were you I’d get lost while he’s still letting you.
I hear him before I see him and know that Jason Anders is close behind him. The unnamed peon takes his advice, the first smart thing he’s done all day I suspect, and makes a quick getaway while Joe leans on the edge of the ring apron.
Joe Bishop: You done or are we going to have to join you?
Trace Demon: No, get in here. I want you both to really feel this.
I see Joe and Anders share a look out of the corner of my eye. Bishop doesn’t hesitate, he’s a believer either in the cause or in the knowledge that I am best for his career. I know Anders doesn’t share that faith. He’s in this for the power and the power alone. He doesn’t care about whether we succeed in our goal as long as he succeeds in his. This is what I’m counting on.
Jason Anders: He said you’ve been here hours Trace.
Joe took the simple way in, rolling beneath the ropes before propping himself up against them, leaning as if trying to look cool. Youths these days, they don’t even realize that nobody cares about them, their style or their attitude. Anders on the other hand had to use the steps, all the time he’s spent working alongside me and he still hasn’t recognized the value of a good cardio routine.
Trace Demon: You’re point being?
Jason Anders: Well you’re the one who gave us this time, we could have met earlier if you wanted, save you sitting around staring out at the walls and looking all weird.
Trace Demon: No, had to be here, you had to appreciate it, like really feel it deep down.
Jason Anders: Feel what?
Trace Demon: What we’re fighting for.
Jason Anders: I really don’t know what you’re-
Joe Bishop: It’s Madison Square Garden man, it’s the home of wrestling.
Finally, someone gets it.
Trace Demon: This building hasn’t just got history, it is history. This building is wrestling. Right here, this building is where every single wrestler dreams of competing, where every single wrestler dreams of walking out as a legend. This building represents every single man and woman who has ever dared to fight their way to the top and achieve their dream and Lila Sleater is about to tarnish it.
Jason Anders: You’ve lost me again.
I’m not surprised, Jason Anders might be a good talker when you need him to be and he’s great at the business side of things but when it comes to common sense, when it comes to what’s right and what’s wrong, he doesn’t have a clue.
Trace Demon: Because of Lila Sleater we are about to let a man who doesn’t deserve to be champion enter the holiest of buildings as exactly that. Because of Lila Sleater we’re about to commit sacrilege by letting that undeserving delusional little freak defend the biggest prize in our company at one of our biggest shows in the most important arena American wrestling has ever known!
Joe Bishop: Aren’t you Canadian?
Trace Demon: Unimportant right now.
Though it does make me far superior to any of the other substandard scum in this match.
Trace Demon: What is important is that Dex doesn’t deserve to be wrestling in this arena, let alone walking in as the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion. And yet he is, and why? Because of Lila Sleater, because she thought it was fair to let Shawn Malakai just hand over the title to that undeserving piece of trash. Don’t you see what that makes this company? It makes us a joke, people are going to look back in history and wonder what kind of company not only hands over their World Championship to a man who hasn’t won a pay per view main event in in his life but also then lets him headline a show in the most important arena in wrestling history. It makes a mockery of this building, it makes a mockery of it’s history, it makes a mockery of this company and it makes a mockery of all of us for letting it happening.
Joe Bishop: Woah I didn’t let this happen, don’t put the blame on me.
Trace Demon: Really? Because I don’t remember seeing you out there when that cancer-filled reject gave that delusional little sycophant the title. I don’t remember seeing you shouting no when Lila Sleater gave her blessing. We could have stopped that, this is the WFWF, we could have marched out there with chairs and spikes and kendo sticks and just beaten the crap out of those nobodies but we didn’t. That makes this as much our fault as any and that’s why the only way we redeem ourselves and the only way we redeem this company is by making sure that Dex doesn’t leave with that title.
Jason Anders: It isn’t as easy as just beating Dex Trace.
What did he say? I thought he was smart enough to avoid a beating.
Jason Anders: We all know you could beat Dex and Jayson Garrett in your sleep but…
He goes quiet, doesn’t want to finish that sentence even though we both know what he’s about to say. Luckily Joe isn’t so gutless.
Joe Bishop: He’s talking about Drakz.
Trace Demon: I’ve beaten Drakz before.
Jason Anders: He’s different this time though Trace, this isn’t the same ego driven guy you beat before and you know it. I mean I hate to say I told you so but…
Then don’t freaking say it you clueless idiot.
Jason Anders: I did warn you.
Cue the middle aged black woman snap because he just went there.
< *** >
April 30th 2013
WFWF Headquarters; The Office of Trace Demon
Sure it might have been over a year ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. It’s stuck in my memory with such vivid detail because, for the first time since I’d started working for him, Trace Demon had finally done something so crazy that it just made no sense whatsoever.
Jason Anders: You brought back Drakz?
Trace Demon: Don’t be stupid, he’s still stuck in a wheelchair pissing himself. He looks like s**t as well. No, I offered him an open contract to come back when he’s done all that rehab stuff.
He said it like it was nothing, just continued leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk, flicking through paperwork with as little interest as it’s possible to have. This was nothing new for him in the day-to-day but to be so calm and relaxed having just made such a stupid mistake… well even I thought he had a bit more sense than that.
Jason Anders: What were you thinking?
Trace Demon: I was thinking that Drakz makes money.
Jason Anders: No that’s bull and you know it. He won’t bring enough revenue in to make the risk worthwhile and I know you know that.
Trace Demon might be crazy but he’s the dangerously smart kind. He knows the business side of the WFWF better than anybody will give him credit for and he knew exactly how much revenue that Drakz would have to bring in to make his signing worth it’s salt and he just didn’t have that name value. Even with his broken body return angle he wasn’t the name player he used to be.
Not with Kyzer gone.
Trace Demon: I need the big name players if I want to make this company great again after Xavier’s pathetic attempt at running things and Drakz is a great start. Plus I bring him back and more will follow, I’m sure of that.
Sure he was right, Drakz brought back Phillip Schneider and since then even more people have been flocking to the training camps. The WFWF is nearing a new golden age right now, as long as we can deal with the black spots that are Lila Sleater and Dex, but he couldn’t have known that at the time.
Jason Anders: And what, you just think he’s going to play ball, you don’t see any chance that this doesn’t go the way you want it too?
Trace Demon: Like how exactly Anders? Like Drakz deciding he wants to come after me and finish things, is that what you’re worried about?
I saw a little flicker in his eyes, a little glint. That’s what he wanted, that’s part of what made Drakz’s return so interesting to him. He was easier to read back then though, I could tell at least part of what he was thinking. Now, with his obsession over this revolution, I can’t even get the slightest read on him. And that is terrifying.
Jason Anders: You’re hoping he does, aren’t you? You want to fight him again.
Trace Demon: No, I want to beat him, I want to end him, but I want him to be at his best and that’s gonna take time. He’s got to get back in the ring first and then he’s got to get back to what he was. Until then he can do what he wants, beat who he wants, he won’t dare get in my way.
Jason Anders: And what makes you so sure about that?
Trace Demon: Because unlike most of the people the WFWF employed before I took over Drakz actually has a bit of common sense, he’s got a brain up in that cracked skull of his.
One thing that will never change, no matter how deep down that rabbit hole he goes, is that Trace Demon loves to insult the entire roster whenever he gets the chance. I’m just waiting for him to drop a Yukio Blaze reference.
Trace Demon: Plus if he starts snapping at my heels early then I’ll just feed him the homeless hero, that’ll quieten him down.
And there’s the reference. That didn’t take long at all.
Jason Anders: I think you’re overlooking something.
His feet were off the table and he sat up the moment I closed my mouth, leaning on the desk staring at my with both a eagerness to hear where he’d gone wrong and an utter distaste for the mere idea that it was even a possibility. Trace Demon is not wrong often and he does not like the feeling.
Trace Demon: Explain.
Jason Anders: This isn’t the same Drakz you wrestled before. This is a man who was betrayed by a man he’d teamed with for years, a man he thought he knew and could at least somewhat trust. This is a man who’s had his back, and probably at least some of his psyche, broken. He’s never going to be the same again and that’s not a good thing for us. He’s going to be rabid, he’s got nothing left to lose, he’s just going to come in, see what he wants and take it and soon enough what he wants is going to be around your waist.
He looked pensive for a moment, and then started to laugh. In over a year since that moment I have never felt more mocked by Trace Demon than when I stood in front of him in that office. The laugh lasted for what felt like hours, in reality it was likely mere seconds. Yet even now I remember how small I felt.
Trace Demon: You’re right Anders, he isn’t the same man, he’s weak, he’s broken, he’s half as impressive as he was. If he comes after me right now then, well actually if it was right now I’d just push him out of his wheelchair. But the point is Drakz is never going to be as good as he was, he won’t even come close to it. And me? I’m just going to get better. So if I find myself stood opposite Drakz any time soon, be it next week or next year, I don’t need to be afraid because I know that he is but a shadow of the man he was and he always will be.
Jason Anders: Trace, I hope you’re right, for your sake as much as anyone’s. Because if you’re not it’s going to come back and tear us apart.
And so it has. Worse than I could even imagine.
< *** >
August 22nd 2014
Loews Regency Hotel; Manhattan, New York
Barman: What can I get you sir?
Temptation is my strength.
Trace Demon: Just water.
Barman: Water?
Trace Demon: That’s what I said, isn’t it?
Barman: Of course sir, coming right up.
What sense is there in sitting at a bar on your own and drinking water? Why, all the sense in the world. Being able to resist temptation is the marker of a great man. I never saw that before, I always thought I should avoid it, that if it wasn’t near me then I wouldn’t have to fear a relapse, but that’s a fool’s way of living. Sitting here, knowing that at any moment I could just say screw it and order some whiskey, knowing that I can resist, that is how a king lives.
Barman: Your water.
Trace Demon: What?
Barman: Your water sir.
Trace Demon: Cheers, add it to the tab.
I’ll admit that I’m distracted. I’m not sitting here just for the satisfaction that temptation brings me. I’ve got another reason, one much less self-involved.
Toby Fume: What’s the problem?
I’m doing a little catch up, making sure my rich friend has taken my kind words of advice.
Toby Fume: What, it’s not good enough for you?
He hasn’t. In my world that’s what you call a mistake.
Stacey Bell: I’ve just had enough. I’m full.
I got young Stacey’s name from the receptionist at the front desk, turned out she only works here to pay off her college loan and is much more interested in grimy rockers like myself over the posh losers they usually get in here. She’s undoubtedly beautiful, long flowing blonde hair framing a picture of near twenty year old perfection. She’s far too good for her boyfriend here, far too good.
Toby Fume: I spent all this because you wanted lobster and now you’re saying you can’t eat anymore? Why you ungrateful…
He cuts himself off as he remembers that he’s being watched. Not solely by me, in fact I’m the least obvious observer in here. You’re stood in the middle of a restaurant jackass, you really thought nobody would notice when you lost your temper with a girl far too good for you? Oh they noticed, everyone in earshot noticed.
Yet none of them does anything, they just whisper, try to pretend they’re not watching. He knows they are, I know they are, everyone knows everybody else is watching and they don’t make a move. No words, no actions, not even a damn posh person gang mauling. Another room entirely condemned to hell.
Toby Fume: You’re pathetic.
He sneers it at her and then pushes his chair out beneath him, storming out of the hotel restaurant without even paying the bill. Rude much. I stand, walk through the tables of people, all of whom are still trying to pretend that they haven’t seen a damn thing wrong. Pathetic. I stop at the table that now sits a snivelling blonde twenty year old.
Trace Demon: You want my advice, get out while you still can. And if you’re going to stay… learn to fight back.
She looks at me, surprised that someone can be so brave to speak to her in a moment like this, knowing what I know.
No, not brave… common f*****g decency.
I’m not being condemned to hell, not for being a coward.
< *** >
The Streets of Manhattan, New York
I follow for five minutes before I decide we’re secluded enough that I won’t be interrupted before I get to say my piece. Good old Toby has no idea, he’s caught up in his own little bunghole world and nothing else around him matters.
Guess what Toby, I matter.
And so the moment he reaches the next alley I step up, grab him by the arm and throw him straight into the dimly lit abyss. He goes to the ground side first and I relish the crash.
Toby Fume: What the hell!
Trace Demon: Hell’s an appropriate term I guess.
Toby Fume: You? You’re the guy from the hotel?
Trace Demon: And you’re the bunghole who beats up his girlfriend.
Toby Fume: Man my girl’s none of your business. Now just pis-
He tries to get to his feet but a swift boot to the side of the ribs stops that pretty quickly. One thing I’ve found is that any man willing to beat up a woman who is too scared to defend herself doesn’t tend to do too well when he ends up in front of someone perfectly willing, and more importantly capable, to cave your face it.
Trace Demon: Stay right there you piece of s**t and listen to me, because things around here are going to change.
Toby Fume: Man you’re crazy!
Trace Demon: More than you know, but I’m also the only one seeing sense anymore. It isn’t just the damn company that’s broken, it’s people like you as well, people who do terrible things for terrible reasons. What’s your justification? To keep her in line? You’re not helping anybody, you’re not doing anything of value, you’re just being a dick.
Toby Fume: You’ve got no right to-
I grab him by the collar and haul him up to his feet, throwing him back first up against the wall, hard enough to hurt, not hard enough to knock him out. I want him to see me while I’m talking to him.
Trace Demon: I’ve got every right, because I’m the only one with the balls to change things, I’m the only one who can make the revolution happen. And it’s a revolution that’s needed because of people like you and Lila Sleater.
Toby Fume: Who the hell is Lil-
Trace Demon: Will you please shut the hell up while I monologue!
A quick right hand to the gut sends him doubling over, not going to deny that I got a bit of satisfaction out of that one.
Trace Demon: I mean you go around beating that poor girl because you think you can and that’s the problem! Everyone thinks they can do what they want; they don’t think about the consequences, they don’t think about how they hurt others. That has to change, you’ve got to accept what’s coming to you, you’ve got to learn you damn lesson!
He moves quickly trying to grab me but compared to the likes of Drakz, Alex Sean and Phillip Schneider he’s moving slower than a thought in the mind of Shawn Malakai. By head connects with his before he knows what’s hit him and it’s followed up by a right hook. I feel the blood on my hand before it splatters over his perfectly pressed shirt as he doubles over. I grab him by his greasy, disgusting hair and yank his head up.
Trace Demon: Our manifesto is very clear; you don’t beat on helpless women. You don’t drag down something that shouldn’t be yours in the first place. And you certainly don’t try to tear apart something that doesn’t belong to you.
Another right hook to the face sends him dropping to the floor. And as I roll my sleeves up I remember something that has stuck with me for years. A single sentence that, as it turns out, makes me more like my drunk of a father than I’d like to admit.
Trace Demon: And you’re going to learn this damn lesson, even if I’ve got to beat it into you.
< *** >
I have done some bad things… I guess that’s kind of an understatement. I have ended careers, destroyed people, ruined lives, and I have no regrets. I did what I did and looking back I would do it all again. But now I see what’s really needed. Change. We have let things fester for too long, no, I’ve let things fester too long. It’s on me, it’s my fault, because I’m the only one who could have stopped it. I’m the only one capable of standing up against everything that is wrong with this company and this world. Everybody else… they don’t have the guts, they don’t have the brains, they don’t have the balls.
I’ve got the guts, I’ve got the brains and I’ve damn sure got the balls.
Where everyone else fails I will stand tall because I’m sick of it, I’m sick of it all. Lila Sleater, you represent everything that is wrong with this company. You’ve been installed as a false leader because they knew that you would turn everything against me. They saw what was coming and they realized they had to get rid of me before I tore this entire false kingdom down around them and made it into what it once was. Not something built on money, not something built on sponsors… not something built on the vindictive nature of a b***h with a chip on her shoulder. But none of that can stop me, I’m still here, I’m still standing no matter what you throw at me. Sure, your pathetic hell in a cell tore the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship from around my waist but I’m still here and I’m stronger than ever. No matter what you throw at me I’ll keep fighting until the end. And it will be the end of your injustice, not of Trace Demon.
Which brings me to Battle at the Garden and the latest assortment of souls to be placed in my way. What Lila, you weren’t content with one multi-man match you had to put me in another? It’s obvious why, it’s because you don’t believe you’re boy Dex can get the job done. You realized that your paper champion can’t actually win a title match so you put in some insurance to make sure I don’t win because if I get that title again then there will be no stopping my revolution. But you chose the wrong contingency Lila, if you wanted to keep that title away from me then you should have picked people who can actually beat me. Who do you send at me? A cripple, a paper champion and a D-lister? With these three men you prove your ignorance. With these three men you feed my revolution.
Let me read from the manifesto.
“The Final Revolution demands an end to undeserving champions. All those still standing will have their titles torn from them… through whatever means necessary.”
Dex, you don’t deserve that title. And this isn’t just my opinion, it’s the common opinion of this roster and of these fans. Every single person that the Final Revolution fights for knows the prestige of the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship and they know that by having it around your waist you tarnish the legacy of that belt and every single man who has held it. Even Yukio Blaze is a more rightful champion than you and that is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever had to admit. Dex in this business titles aren’t just handed out like they mean nothing, they’re earned in that ring. They’re meant to mean something. What have you done to earn that title? Beat ZMaster, a man who knew his best days were over and just wanted one last match? No, that means nothing to me. All you did was kiss the right asses, allying yourself with someone who was dying and needed someone to make their legacy since their own child was long gone. You haven’t proven yourself to anyone, least of all to me. You’ll be the first swept away, forgotten as the false champion in the days before the Final Revolution lead the WFWF back to the promised lands. A bad memory, that’s all.
Let’s flip the pages.
“The Final Revolution demands an end to idolization on outside accomplishments. Prove yourself in our ring or remain unproven.”
Jayson Garrett, I don’t know or understand how you find yourself here but something tells me it’s going a little to do with that so called name value of yours. They tell me you’re a film star, a money maker, an A-lister. Now I haven’t seen any of your films but then I only pay attention to things that entertain, which is probably why I don’t know a whole lot about you. What little Joe Bishop has told me leads me to believe you’ve got some potential. No, I’m not talking about that nonsense of Shawn Malakai calling you a future star, that man wouldn’t know talent if… actually he just wouldn’t know talent since he never had any of his own. I’m talking about the fact you caught Drakz’s attention, a man that I know wouldn’t want to waste his time on just anybody. That has my attention, but rest assured it’s only what you do in that ring that’s going to keep my attention. You can brag about being an A-lister or about being a WFWF Tag Team Champion all you like but those films mean nothing and a title you hold without a partner means just as little to me. You’re as out of depth in this match as Dex is, and you’re only here to be his backup. It’s a shame, because you could be better than him. It’d be hard to be worse.
One final passage.
“The Final Revolution demands an end to resting on past success. Your name means nothing if you can’t back it up.”
Drakz, again we find ourselves opposite each other, only this time there’s a prize much bigger than the International championship on the line. Lila Sleater has put you here because she needed someone with genuine talent to stop me running roughshod over her little boys. And you’re the best she could find. The sad thing is you’re not really that dangerous now, you’ve not been the same in over a year, ever since your precious best friend broke your back. I offered you a spot back on this roster because I wanted to finish things between us, but not like this. I wanted you back to your best; I wanted you to be the Drakz I remember, the one who actually beat me once upon a time. Not this fool who wages wars over the National Championship and gets side tracked by a so-called movie star. Oh what’s that, you beat Phillip Schneider? Guess what, been there, done that and it didn’t require months of mind games. Just a three count and it was all over. Drakz, you don’t realize that your best days are behind you, you’ve forgotten how to swim and you’ve been thrown in the deep end with nothing to hold onto. If that wasn’t enough I’m already pushing down on you and watching you drown.
“The Final Revolution accepts no excuses of itself. The Final Revolution is everything it claims to be.”
Lila, it doesn’t matter who you put in front of me, it doesn’t matter what odds you stack against me, I am Trace Demon and that name and my reputation tells you everything you need to know. I’ve never shied away from a challenge in my life, I’ve waged more wars than anybody else because I know how to win them and come out stronger every time. There is nothing you can do to beat me, there is nothing you can do to break my resolve and there is nothing you can do to end this revolution. Battle at the Garden is the beginning of the end for you Lila and every single idiot who steps in my way.
You can’t stop me, you can never stop me. I’m a f*****g Demon! I can’t be killed, I’m f*****g immortal!
And you’re all just f****d.
Because my revolution, my Final Revolution, has only just begun.
And you’re going to learn that damn lesson.
Even if I’ve got to beat it into you.