Battle at the Garden RP: "Alone in New York"

[Drakz]

"Alone in New York"



"It is strange to be known so universally and yet to be so lonely."
- Albert Einstein


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


Ladies and gentlemen, welcome this week to a more serious and thought provoking episode of "Isaac"™. This time the audience has been put on hold as we're working towards a live studio episode. So without further ado let's get into "Isaac Investigates."

I am your host and documenter Isaac Cray, known the world over as Drakz, The Infallible B*stard, The Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer or most recently The Next World Heavyweight Champion.

This special, one off, episode takes a look exclusively at one topic alone, the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship, although we're all liable to digression.

For those of you who are unaware, the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship is a belt held in high regard, or at least it was, once upon a time. Recently it's prestige has been called into question by a number of parties but we'll get to that later in the programme.

The title itself started life in 2001, years before your favourite wrestler even started his career, and since then it has been renamed, vacated, unified, dumped on and shined up, yet it still remains the very same belt in essence. It still remains the mark of the best in the world.

People like Raider, Destroyer, EBR, Johnny Michaels, Alex Sean, Michael Kyzer, Phillip Schneider, Wayne McGurk, Trace Demon and myself have all lived up to that moniker, regardless of where some reputations went afterwards.

At that point in time there was no doubt that each of those men were the best in the business.

However there have also been times along the way where the business has been emaciated. Starved of any real talent. Dying. I've gone on the record many times with regards to these periods, stating that the cream still rises to the top even when it's gone sour. The best of the worst aren't champions that should be remembered, and for that reason alone let us move away from them.

I don't seek to destroy the title or bring it down, I want to coronate it. I want it to be lifted to the dizzying heights at which it once sat.

Right now we find the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship in turmoil. It was handed down, with no victory, with no match, with barely any ceremony to speak of from one man to another. That alone turned what was once gold to sh*t. As far as the man chosen to carry the belt in the other's absence, well, that is where the aforementioned questions come into play.

Our current champion is a man who has never defended a title. I don't simply mean this one, I literally mean any title, at all. He hasn't earned any gold in the WFWF and because of that I honestly pity him. When Shawn Malakai simply handed the belt over to Dex he robbed him of a number of memories that he was yet to create. Moments Dex can never get back now.

Earning his first championship.

Being granted his first World Heavyweight Title shot.

And of course winning the World Heavyweight Title for the first time.

All three of those moments are snapshots in every wrestler's career that they carry with them, regardless of what comes after. For instance I know I could ask Phillip Schneider who he beat to get his first taste of gold, and he could tell me. It doesn't matter that he later went on to pin greater accolades to his chest. It doesn't matter that he is recognised as the longest reigning Heavyweight Champion of all time. I know he still remembers his first shot at gold, and how it felt when it was handed to him after the bell.

Dex will never have that feeling, and I hope in years to come he holds Shawn Malakai responsible for stealing that from him. I hope it eats him up inside until he digs up Malakai's cancer riddled bones and shakes them a la Wuthering Heights.

I am the polar opposite to Shawn Malakai and his foolish gifts. When he gave that belt to Dex he thought of it as the ultimate show of faith in his abilities. While he entrusted him with a burden, perhaps too heavy for either man to carry, he also took away from him something more important. I on the other hand have taken this Golden Boy, this Jayson Garrett, and given him everything.

Last week I gave him a match that marked a clear pinnacle for his career thus far. Not only has he never had the chance to get in the ring with someone as tenured as myself, he's never earned the fans respect as much as he did during that match. Simply going for 30 minutes in a ring with me was enough to win the fan's favour and yet I haven't stopped there. I'm spoiling him. As if kicking his momentum up a gear and handing the fans adoration to him wasn't enough I've gone on to give him this year's most sought after present; a WFWF World Heavyweight Title shot.

Lila Sleater didn't give him that. I did.

As far as Sleater was concerned I won that match and therefore earned my shot. It was me who brought Garrett in as a fourth party. It was me who gave him everything Malakai failed to give Dex.

I would never hand the thing over on a silver platter. I have simply given Jayson Garrett the platform to shock the world, the ability to elevate himself to levels even he thought unattainable. He has to work for it. He has to sing for his supper, and because of that, because he has to sweat and bleed for it, he will remember this match for the rest of his days.

So where is the belt heading? Why have I chosen this particular episode to focus on it? Right now the belt is back in the hands of a Demon, although officially Dex is still the champion. Trace did what he does best, grab the glory and run as fast as he can with it. He can't run for long though as in a mere matter of days he will find himself alongside three other men fighting for that very belt. This isn't going to be like the last time he held that title. No no no. This time around he will have some fierce competition. I'm coming for that belt Trace. I've been biding my time until the time is right.

6 years.

Watching the abuse that title has endured ever since I vacated it has been painful yes, but it was necessary to create this perfect opportunity.

I'm more ready now than I've ever been, I've got no ally's toes in my footfall and the other three competitors are at each other's throats.

It's time.

Christ on a bike, this serious sh*t is really exhausting stuff. I think we're going to have to lighten the mood if I'm to continue with the show.

We'll be right back folks. I need to put on a party hat or something.


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


Marlene & Me

August 20th 2014
New York City
- 19:34 -


"My name is Ronda and I'm an addict."

"Hi Ronda"

F*ckin' Ronda. What a bore. I bet she just drinks cheap beer and drops a couple of xanex every night.

"I've been trying to come to terms with my problem for 2 months now but……so far……..I've only hurt everyone around me."

Jesus. This is no fun.

I wonder how the dog's doing.

"Ronda, we've all hurt those around us, some to the point of driving them away. That binds everyone in this room. You're not alone here."

The difference is boyo I hurt people on purpose, it's essentially my job.

"Please, continue."

So here we all are, sat in a community centre crying over our vices. I'm yet to share with the group though.

Like every other community centre across the US the walls are covered in felt stretched pin boards, dressed in the good cheer and neighbourly spirit of everyone who gives enough of a sh*t to save humanity. I never understand why people make such an effort to bring others together, all for the sake of community. As far as my own experiences go there are far too many pieces of sh*t out there to ever truly feel safe in any neighbourhood. I'm one of them…….was one of them. I'm a good boy now.

No drugs…….except those I'm prescribed.

No womanising……….except those who want to be treated as such.

No malice or spite…………except when it's deserved.

I told you I'm a changed man. I'm a more focused man.

I'm an English man in New York. F*ck. Did I just use a Sting lyric? Kill me.

So why am I here you might ask? Why does the great and powerful Drakz need to attend N.A. meetings while he's on the road? The answer is simple; I have an addiction, and I live with it every day. It eats me up inside and not a second goes by where it's not on my mind. You can never really conquer addiction. You simply wake up every morning and think to yourself 'well I made it through another day'. But why do I need this? Why do I need to surround myself with people of the same mind set?

First and foremost I want to get one thing straight, we are not the same. These people and me. They are all sick. They are all suffering, and they deserve your sympathy and support. I'm comfortable with my addiction. I'm entirely capable of functioning, and while my decisions may still be governed by the beast on my back I know each of those decisions makes me a better person and moves me forward. These are all things you would expect a delusional addict to say though, aren't they?

So why do I need them? If they are different to me, why do I need to surround myself with them? Remember The New Epoch? That was me surrounding myself with addicts. Michael Kyzer. The ultimate addict. David Brennan. The alcoholic's alcoholic. Were they different to me? Are they still different to me? Yes they were, and yes they are, and yes it was in the same way that these people around me now, in this shrine of community spirit, are different to me.

"So Bryan, you've not shared with us yet. How about you introduce yourself."

My black hoodie has a sticker on the breast that reads "Hello my name is Bryan". If the first rule of Fight Club is never talk about Fight Club then the second is surely never give your real name………..wait, it's not? F*cking Palahniuk.

Up I get from my seat, pulling my hood down from my head to be a little less anti-social as I address the room.

"Hello everyone, my name is Bryan and I'm addicted to winning."

A number of eye brows raise and those that don't sit on confused faces.

"I've been addicted to winning for some time now and it honestly effects me every day of my life. Every decision I make leads toward that next hit. That next victory. I can't imagine life without it. F*ck, even just thinking about losing makes my hands shake."

As always (this isn't my first time) most of the shock has worn off now and people just look furious, thinking I'm trivialising their problems. F*ck their problems. They don't know about problems.

"This isn't my first run. I've been hooked on pills, and powders, and uppers, downers, tabs, bowls, lines, every peach under the sun. All of it. I'm not here just to p*ss you all off. I've been exactly where you are now, but right now I'm fighting for the reins with something that takes much more out of me than anything else ever has. I am a winner and without that I am nothing. Right now I want to know how many of you consider yourself winners?"

No one responds. This has quickly turned into a motivational seminar. I should be getting paid for my services.

"I thought so. Thank you for your time."

I spin on my heel and, head held high, I walk on out of the door.

Why do I surround myself with these people? Because it makes me realise I'm doing everything right. I can live with my problem. It's manageable because I'm so confident in my ability to score. I don't have to steal from handbags or charity boxes, I don't even have to lie to anyone. I simply do what I've always done. Be the best. The rest just falls into place.

As I step out of the building's front door I lay eyes on the dog. He's come with me from Chi town to the big apple. I thought I'd show him some more of his own country, he doesn't seem very well travelled. I keep telling him if he wants to get women he needs to seem a little more worldly. It seems to be working, he's already had his fill and we've only been here 24 hours, which is more than can be said for me. For now the dog is 1 - 0 up.

"Hey champ. Sorry about that. I had to listen to a lot of sob stories before I could get my deal off my chest. How've you been? Dog like I imagine."

What in the blue f*ck am I doing with myself? I might be winning in the ring but I'm certainly not doing so well outside of it. About the only person………creature, I spend any time with licks his own balls and eats his own sh*t. He's not a big conversationalist either.

"Excuse me."

The dog's a girl? Okay now I'm getting carried away, clearly that wasn't the dog talking. I turn back toward the building and a 20 something girl stands in front of me with a ruck sack in her hands. Mine.

"Is this yours? You left it inside."

She's a tidy 5' 6" with short black hair and a bright red lipstick on. I'm not going to waste time describing every inch of her, as much as I would like to, as I think my efforts would be better served pursuing that 1 point lead the dog has on me.

"Indeed it is."

I hold out my hand in the universal gesture for 'give me my sh*t back', and she obliges. I'm not one for showering girls with praise until they bend to my will.

"Well……thanks. Enjoy the rest of your meeting."

I click my tongue, signalling to the dog that it's time to move on. He looks up at me, smiling, his tail going like billy-o. I wish I knew why he enjoyed my company so much. We walk off together and the girl fumbles her words after us.

"Well, where are you……what are you doing now?"

I stop and look down at the dog, slipping him a wink.

"Deuce."

I whisper to the dog, for soon it will be.

About turn.

"We were just going to get some food. What are you doing now?"

She smiles. She's a little jittery, probably a meth head, but a perfectly formed one. She can't have been smoking that long.

"Well I was at this meeting, but……..well some guy turned up and made me realise I was acting like a loser. I think you opened a lot of minds in there."

Opened a lot of minds? I was simply fuelling my own fire. There we go though. I really must be a nice guy if I'm doing good deeds subconsciously. I am a philosopher in my methods.

"Well? Are you hungry?"

She nods.

"Are you from around here? We're just tourists."

Again she nods.

"Where's good for Chinese? The dog loves Chinese food."

"Chinatown's a good place to start."

Makes sense. The place with the highest concentration of Chinese people in the western hemisphere surely has at least one good food joint amongst all of that red. I should probably hang fire on the whole Genghis Khan Jnr. thing for now.

"Then my lady, let us move out."

I hold out my arm for her to take and then hail a taxi. Oh those iconic yellows. I love this city.

"What do I call you?"

"Marlene."

"Marlene, I'm Isaac, and this is dog. He answers to no man, not even me."

She raises an eyebrow and motions toward the sticker I still have on my chest.

"You're not called Bryan?"

"And you're not called Wendy. It seems we both like our privacy."

She looks down at her own mislabelling, laughs and peels it off.

As the cab pulls up to the pavement I find myself in the presence of a giggling girl and it suddenly dawns on me………….I haven't gotten laid since 2012. If Michael Kyzer didn't already have a lot to answer for then he certainly does now. Sh*t. I've been too caught up in this fighting business to even give my d*ck the time of day. What's become of me?

I open the door for her first (of course) and then toss my jacket over the dog so the driver doesn't kick up a fuss.

"To Chinatown my good man."

And into the night we go. One man and his dog……..and Marlene.



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


Advice Ignored

August 19th 2014
Chicago, Illinois
- 10:20 -


And here was I thinking I wouldn't need to be in a doctor's office again, other than to renew my prescription, yet that's exactly where I find myself. Obviously I was seeing a physiotherapist for months after I left the rehab clinic last year but I had been left with an open appointment, essentially discharged, up until I got a phone call yesterday asking me to drop everything and come in for a check up. Drop everything for a check up? That doesn't quite sit right with me. It's a juxtaposition of two very different ideals. Urgency and, well………not urgent at all. It sounds to me like they have something to be worried about but they aren't letting me in on the secret…….yet.

"Mr Cray?"

I've been in the waiting room 10 minutes but now it's apparently my time to be poked and prodded. My name was spoken by a female doctor, about 57 and looking every year of it. She smiles that reassuring doctor smile, which back in England is genuine, but over here is just a way of saying 'I hope you brought your wallet with you'.

"Hello Mr Cray, my name is Dr. Roberts. Please take a seat."

The door shuts behind me, maintaining standards of practice, and I place myself onto a cheap looking 'wood effect' chair.

"So……Mr Cray. How are things? It says here you suffered a serious injury to your neck and back around 21 months ago?"

This is one thing I hate about breaks in patient communication, I essentially have to explain my story to a totally new professional. What ever happened to continuation of care?

"I'm doing pretty well thank you. No real complaints, and yes you're correct. Vertebrae 8 through 11 in the thoracic portion of my spine were fractured, while 6 and 7 were severely dislocated after a little, shall we say tumble I took. As you can see though I'm walking around today."

"That's terrific. It must have been a very long year of rehab."

"You have no idea."

She smiles that not so reassuring smile again.

"Do you know why we've called you in here today Mr Cray?"

Here we go. What's it to be? We accidentally gave you aids? Your brain has slowly been haemorrhaging blood for almost two years?

"Nope."

"Okay, well basically the renewal for your health insurance ticked over."

"I've got money if that's the problem?"

"No, no. Not at all. You'll be pleased to know it was renewed without a hitch, however what caught our attention was the fact that the health plan which treated you throughout the course of your recovery was funded by a company called the WFWF. This made sense to us as it was due to working for them that you injured yourself."

Myself? I don't recall throwing myself off of a stage onto a concrete floor?

"However the policy was also renewed by the same company. Now this can sometimes be in line with a retirement or redundancy package. Sort of their way of saying sorry."

Haha. Sorry we broke your back and left you bed ridden for months, here have another year of health insurance. Brilliant.

"However, as with all of our patients, we chased up with the provider just to confirm the payment and on doing so we were all shocked to hear you are still working full time for this company?"

"I am indeed. So what? You're not going to lecture me on how I should never have gone back to a company with so little regard for my physical well being are you?"

"Not quite Mr Cray. I am more worried about your own regard for your well being. Correct me if I'm wrong but your company is a broadcaster of combat sports are they not?"

"They are."

"So are you now merely a member of the production team? Please enlighten me."

"Good lord no. I'm back in my old position, albeit better paid. I think the extra zero on my pay cheque was in fact their way of saying sorry. The health insurance is just a given."

"I see. So do I take from that statement that you are in fact taking part in sanctioned fighting on a weekly basis?"

"Sometimes I take a week off, but yeah that about covers it."

"Mr Cray, I don't know what the health care professionals told you at the East Phoenix Physical Therapy and Rehab Clinic but in my personal opinion that's not wise."

"Oh don't worry, they all did their jobs to the letter. I was told on numerous occasions that I'd never find myself in a wrestling ring ever again. That's part of the reason I went back."

And to face f*ck Michael Kyzer once he emerges from his hole.

"So you are purposely not only ignoring professional advice but doing so to spite those doctors and nurses?"

"Sort of. I'm not trying to hurt their feelings or anything, I just don't like being told what I can and can't do."

"Mr Cray, if I may."

"You may."

"It is my educated opinion that you should stop this course immediately. You are putting yourself at great risk of re-injury, and you must have noticed it yourself, there is no way you can be up to any kind of the standard you were at prior to the injury."

"On the contrary my good doctor. Not only did I return to the ring as promised, I went on to earn the biggest victory of my career to date. What's more I'm now fighting in a world championship match in less than a week and I intend on once again being crowned the best in the world."

She's clearly not impressed. F*ck her and her nay saying though. If I had listened to what the 'medical professionals' said I'd be sat at home picking my arse and smelling it. Thanks to my own education opinion I'm back to being one of the most feared and respected talents in the WFWF, and it's only taken me 4 matches to achieve that.

"Listen I'm going to let you in on a secret doc. If I didn't do the exact opposite of what I was advised throughout my life I wouldn't have gotten anywhere close to the position I'm in now. I'd still be knocking around a sh*t hole housing estate back in the UK, working in the local fish and chip shop and pickling my liver every weekend. Life isn't all about conforming and preserving what little you already have. I want more. I want a lot more. I'm not willing to lie down and admit I should be a paraplegic right now. Instead I'm standing up, running head long into the distance, trying to catch up with the me I left behind 10 seconds before I hit the concrete."

Lame.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add Dr Roberts? I've got a flight to New York to catch this afternoon and I've not packed yet."

She looks at me and sighs, realising I won't be told any different.

"If you're comfortable with the risk and appreciate my concerns then there's not a lot else I can say. Please be careful Mr Cray. You're walking around right now but next time you might not be so lucky."

Luck has nothing to do with it.

"While I'm here can you possibly hit me with a new batch of pain killers doc? Like I said I'm heading to New York for a week or so and I don't want to get caught out."

Clearly already expecting this question she's just finishing filling out the appropriate form before handing it over to me with a look of defeat. I gingerly accept the paper between my index and middle finger and slip her the warmest, most authentic smile I can muster from my rotting innards.

"Consider your concern appreciated."


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


Okay so I've eaten a bowl of ice cream, taken a dump, done a few lengths in the pool and I'm feeling much better now. Let's get this party started, f*ck the subtleties.
Welcome to "An Audience with Isaac"!

*Whooping, cheering and fireworks*

So during our pre show documentary special we took a look at the title itself. We examined where the belt has been and where it's going come Sunday in New York city. I think it's time we looked at the variables going into this? Let's be honest the main theme in the run up to this title match has been 'I have more friends than you'.

Trace Demon has been showing off his circle of buddies and now Dex has retaliated by letting the world know he has his own. Jayson Garrett on the other hand is part of a much bigger circle of super friends. He's one of the lesser known characters from 'The Shawn Malakai Cancer and Hand Me Downs Club' but non the less both he and Dex are a part of it. Starting to get confused? You should be. Most people within this super group are supposed to be righteous good guys to the hilt but Jayson doesn't fit that mould quite as well as the rest of them do. He's cocky. He's arrogant. He's self obsessed. Sound at all like someone you know? All of this and the super friends still welcome him with open arms? Things got a little bit sweaty last week though when Jayson nearly took a swing at Dex. I wonder what Malakai would have had to say about that? It's irrelevant though as essentially the Oncology Club is only playing a supporting role to the two main clashing armies.

On the one side we have Trace Demon's 'Final Revolution'. A group seemingly focused on just beating up anyone they see fit and blaming it on Lila Sleater.

And on the other side we have Dex and his 'Sovereignty', which is essentially just Dex and a number of kung fu hard nuts that no one has ever heard of.

Now when you break it down like that both sides sound rather ridiculous don't they? How about we talk them up with all of the pomp and pride they like to adhere to? Let's try it again;

On one side you have Trace Demon, the former World Champion, a man who feels the company is heading in the wrong direction. To help right it's course he's enlisted the talents of the current International Champion Joe Bishop and some suit Jason Anders, for reasons unknown to me.

Facing them across the battle field is Dex and his army of highly skilled martial artists who……

Jesus this is so f*cking lame. I've already said everything that needs saying about the Final Revolution. They're a carbon copy, and a very poor one, of The New Epoch only their third member can't fight. Trace Demon is as self serving as ever and I can only assume it won't take long before this entire thing blows up in his face. Bishop simply needs to realise what's actually going on.

Now Bishop has said on record that he is NOT being used. He claims he has been brought onside to help fight the good fight, and it is this hilarious lack of awareness that makes me really doubt his ability to lead this company into the future, as so many people keep claiming he can and will, once the likes of myself and Trace Demon are gone.

Dex's Sovereignty almost makes The Final Revolution look infallible though. I've honestly never seen a more desperate attempt to assert one's self than this group. Dex is clearly running scared, knowing he now finally has to show the world he deserves his current position, and so he's surrounded himself with illusions. These men are nothing. Nobodies. It doesn't matter who Dex claims they are. The fact he couldn't simply rally a team from the current roster shows how weak his position really is. The only person backing him is retired and dying. Even his apparent friend Jayson Garrett has shown willing when it comes to walking through Dex to get to the gold. Had he been left to his own devices I have no doubt that Garrett would have wrapped that chair around Dex's head the same way he wrapped it around mine only a week previous.

It seems to me then that regardless of the belt itself everyone else in this match is going in with an ulterior motive.

Trace Demon wants to pull away the curtain to show Dex is merely a fat old man at the controls of a wizard.

Dex wants to prove to Shawn Malakai that he's exactly what the WFWF fans need, a champion they can trust.

Jayson Garrett simply wants to make an impact in anyway possible.

They are all desperate.

And me?

Where do I come into all of this?

The answer is I don't. I've purposely steered clear of this political landscape, and come Sunday I'll show the world why. Right now I am the wild card. I am the man with no allegiances. I'm done with that. I have strictly one focus yet many options. I will walk out of Madison Square Garden with the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship wrapped around my waist, and I have the option of beating Garrett, Dex or Trace Demon to accomplish that.

It's not often you get a choice in these matters.

Some might claim you're only the real, bona fide champion if you beat the current champion. That's the beauty of this situation though, because as far as anyone watching is concerned there is no current champion! Who ever wins this match is officially, with out a doubt, the rightful champ, no matter how it goes down.

So is there a game plan? Am I going to call the shot that will win the fight?

We'll get back to that after a quick word form our sponsors…….


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


A Guide to Kicking a Man When He's Down

August 21st 2014
New York City
- 12:18 -


"Drakz was about to win this match and Trace Demon chose to use that title belt as a weapon, god damn it!"

"No disqualifications in a triple threat match Werner."

Urgh……..my f*cking head is thumping. So much for straight edge in the city. I suppose if it's legal it doesn't count? My mouth tastes like the drip tray of a fridge on the blink and I'm dehydrated as hell. I'd get myself a glass of water but I can't even face getting up to my feet. I only hope there's someone else in this state who feels as bad as I do right now. I'd find some comfort in that.

That Marlene sure likes to drink.

I'm not 100% sure what time I got back to the hotel but one thing I do know is that she didn't come back with me. Right now it's hard to say how I feel about that. As it stands the dog is now 3 - 0 up having forcibly cast himself onto the backs of yet more poor animals. He's acting like he's as hung over as I am, curled up on the floor, whining every now and then. I think he ate some nasty shell fish around the back of the Chinese restaurant we ate in. I think I ate some nasty shell fish inside the restaurant we ate in. Tasted great at the time but now my guts are bubbling all over.

I'm pretty sure Marlene took my number last night. I hope so, she was a trip. It makes a change to have someone showing you around the city you're in. I spend most of my time before shows walking around on my own, or with this dog.

So what am I doing with my day? Well I woke up 2 hours ago and I'm yet to set foot off of the bed itself. I'd already put my disk into the DVD player shortly after we arrived so I've been remotely making my way through a little bit of prep work for Sunday night.

"Hellfire Overdose! Trace Demon has used that move only three times before tonight, it is his most dangerous move, a move that can cause brain damage, and he just planted Drakz with it."

I'd like to clarify he said CAN cause brain damage.

"I don’t know if there is any way Drakz can kick out after that."

I was in pretty poor shape.

"Drakz is done."

*Knock Knock*

Argh! Who hits a door that loud when an ill man lies on the other side of it? I pause the clip and roll over to look at the door, trying to will myself up to my feet. It seems I won't need to deal with another human just yet though as an envelope slides under my door, and I hear footsteps leaving down the hallway. Thank f*ck.

I flop my legs off of the bed and use the momentum to catapult myself upright to then stagger, in a pair of shorts, toward the door. As I flip the envelope over to face me I'm somewhat confused by what I see. The address is handwritten, directed to the WFWF head office but with my name on. It seems they've simply forwarded it on to me here. I crouch to snatch it up and on standing back up go rather light headed. I lurch back to the bed and take some deep breaths. Stop being a p*ssy.

I take another, closer look at the hand writing, but I can't make anything of it so instead rip the end off of the envelope and spill the contents out. A single, folded sheet of paper. I open it up to see it too is covered in handwritten words and, blinking a few times to focus in on what's in front of me, I begin to read:

"To my good friend Yitskhak….."

Holy sh*t it's Bert from the clinic! How the hell did he find me? I suppose there's only so long you can stay anonymous when your face is on posters and television screens across the country.

"I hope this letter finds you in good health. You seem to be walking around just fine these days, and then some. You never did tell us what it is you do for a living, but as you can probably guess I worked it out for myself."

You wily old Jew.

"I understand that you wanted to put some distance between where you are now and your time in a chair, but I felt you would probably want to know what's happened. Your good friend, and mine, Derek, has unfortunately passed away……"

………………………….

"Derek has unfortunately passed away."

…………………………………..

"Derek has unfortunately passed away."

I read it for a third time and still nothing. I think my heart might have just stopped. My mouth has gone dry and my hands are shaking a little.

"F*CK!"

I scream at the top of my lungs and the dog jumps in fear, backing into a corner as though I were threatening him in particular.

I sit up, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands, the letter crumpled against my temple. I've not felt this in a long, long time.

Sadness.

Regret.

Loss.

These aren't the realms in which I dwell. I slide my hands down my face and look up at the ceiling, breathing slowly and deeply. I need to control myself.

"For F*CK sake!"

Again I shout involuntarily. My voice breaks a little and I can feel my face getting hot as the blood rushes to the surface. Am I actually going to cry about this? When was the last time I cried?

My face is in my hands again, pressing the ball of each palm into my eyes. What happened? I realise I've still got more to read and I take a single deep breath, with my eyes closed, before opening up the sheet and trying to continue.

"The phone call I got said he had taken an overdose of his pain medication, but Tony and I don't believe it. I spoke to him the night before and we were planning on finally just upping sticks and moving out to St. Lucia. I can't say for sure, and I don't want anyone but you to see this, but I have a strong suspicion his son was involved in some way."

All of my upset is suddenly put on hold. The tears that had welled in my eyes, withdraw and I feel my teeth clench.

"He knew the last of his inheritance would be leaving on that plane to the Caribbean and I think he wanted to make sure it never left. I've got nothing solid, just a feeling in my gut but at my age you can just tell when some thing's not right. Tony and I don't feel we're in any state to do anything about all of this and I was wondering, as someone who Derek confided in, whether you could put this to bed for us? I've attached the address he was staying at with his son and daughter in law. I only ask you don't get yourself into trouble kid.

Sorry it took something as sour as this for us to speak again. We've all missed you.

With respect

Bert"

Well what the f*ck am I supposed to make of that? Am I being brought in as Colombo here? Wow. I really didn't need this right now. Okay deep breaths. I need to focus. I roll over and sit on the remote:

"Your winner, and the NEW WFWF International Champion, the King of Demons… Trace… Demon!"

I claw behind myself looking blindly for the remote until I wrap my fingers around it. I turn and fling it across the room and it hits the TV screen leaving a crater in it, the image of Trace Demon holding the belt over his head warped in both colour and clarity. My phone receives a text message and I laugh in disbelief.

I need to get out of here.
I need to clear my head.

I grab my bag, slide all of the meds on the bed side table into it and slip on some trainers and a vest. I don't want to come back to find the dog convulsing having eaten them all. As I make for the door I see him walking over to me tentatively.

"Stay."

Not this time dog. I grab my phone and slam the door behind me. I'm being such a prima donna.

As I leave down the corridor I read my phone;

"Hey, it's Marlene. How's the head? Want to do something today?"

She even texts eloquently. I need to f*ck this girl. Isn't that supposed to be a coping mechanism when you're grieving?

I'm already too focused on getting laid, and now this. I've got the opportunity I've been waiting for this Sunday. I can't afford to be distracted.

Derek. You lovely old c*nt. Why couldn't this have waited until next week?


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


6 Years

August 18th 2014
Chicago, Illinois
- 20:40 -


"One! Two!"

Breath explodes from my nostrils with each punch. My gloved fists connecting hard with the pads that taunt me.

"Okay turn. Now quickly! One, two, three!"

And again.

The sweat from my brow p*sses down my face, dripping onto my chest.

"Good, keep your back foot on it's toes. Always pushing forward. One! Two!"

A jab is followed quickly down the middle by a straight right hand.

"Beautiful."

The buzzer announces the end of a three minute stint and we pause. Ray Smith drops his hands and slips one of the pads off, grabbing a near by water bottle. He pours the contents into my mouth which I sluice and spit onto the gym floor.

"How do you feel?"

I answer between gasps of air.

"Like a………..killing machine."

Smith smiles and knows that was rather tongue in cheek. At least I hope he does.

"I think we're both in agreement about your fitness. You're a long way from where I found you."

My breath has quickly returned to me. Conditioning is a truly wonderful thing.

"In my defence I was learning to walk again. I'd been on my back or arse for the best part of a year."

"I've seen videos of your last run. You looked like sh*t."

Looks aren't everything. Is he trying to get under my skin? Of course he is.

"I may have looked terrible, and I may have even been terrible, but I was still winning 99% of the time. What the f*ck were you doing while I was cracking heads? Finding yourself in the jungles of Viet Nam?"

"99% isn't good enough. This time around you have to be perfect. I want to beat the man no one else can."

I still don't think his apparent motive is the truth. It takes more than the want to beat a man at his best to do what he's been doing for me over the last 10 months. No one has ever been able to get me into the shape I'm in today. No one has ever even tried to push me to my limits and make me work. I might owe a lot to the man but I still don't trust him. After all, his face is in tatters because of me. He may well be following my lead and biding his time. I have to keep him at arm's reach.

I like my face the way it is.

"What makes you so sure when the time comes that you'll get the job done? You've never beaten me before."

"When did we last compete? 6…..7 years ago? You can't expect me to be the same man I was back then, as I don't expect it of you. We've both grown a lot, in very different ways. I've lived a life. Seen the world. Changed my way of thinking. You on the other hand have stayed put, yet you've become one of the best there's ever been. Our last encounter is by no means a measure of how things will turn out in the future. But you know that."

He's transient. I am the constant. That's all that's changed. I'd make him look a fool in the ring.

"I know I am THE best that's ever been. Right in this moment I can't see anyone proving otherwise either. Especially you Smith. You think beating me will cement your legacy, when in actuality losing to me will simply prove how irrelevant you are."

Arrogance? Ego? Merely a facade? It doesn't matter. If I say it with confidence my opponents believe it, and that's all that matters. It unnerves them enough to open up a chink in the armour. A chink in which to plant the seed. Once the seed is planted it too grows. From something tiny, unnoticeable, into a sprawling mass of branches, uprooting everything in it's path. Laying waste to even the deepest of foundations. All hope is gone. All confidence depleted. They are left running on fumes before the battle has even begun.

"I know you don't think the past is truly irrelevant. You're a man with an understanding of history and it's ability to repeat itself. Have you given much thought to where you were the last time you were in this position?"

"Every waking minute. The similarities are too huge to ignore, yet my position within that landscape has altered. I have switched places with another character and so find myself at an advantage."

Perhaps I'm getting a little too poetic. It strikes me that Smith isn't catching my drift.

"6 years ago I competed for the World Heavyweight Championship against 3 other men. Their roles? My role? The heated battle was of course between myself and Johnny Michaels. I had previously lost to him, yet I had come out strong enough to be granted a second chance. A war was raging between two men. In that instance it was myself and Michaels, and now? Dex and Trace Demon. They have been the focus of this match for weeks. They have been the talking point surrounding the title picture, just as Michaels and I were."

The buzzer sounds again telling us to pick up where we left off but I continue to talk instead. Smith doesn't seem to even acknowledge the sound.

"Then into the picture come two more men. One, yourself, Ray Smith, friend of Johnny Michaels, the reigning champion. Questions were asked as to whether you would betray his trust to earn yourself the gold. It was a life changing opportunity after all and not one that comes around often, especially to a man lacking any real main event experience. Now who do you think fits that mould this time around?"

He answers without reacting to my digs.

"Jayson Garrett."

"My boy, you're catching on. Jayson Garrett! Exactly. He has been an ally of Dex's, yet now he has shown perhaps he's not simply in this match to help his friend. Maybe he wants the prestige for himself? I think we all know the answer to that question. Jayson Garrett doesn't just want to win, he wants to win convincingly, probably by usurping me. Okay so who else was left? Master of Destruction. Why was he added? Simply because he had a history at the top of the bill. No other reason. He was the wild card. The unexpected opportunity. And what did he do? Wasted it. Now, in our current pickle where does that leave us? Through the process of elimination alone it's obvious I am drawing a similarity to my own status. Do you see what I mean now? This time it is I who has the upper hand. The element of surprise if you will."

"It's hardly a surprise when it's been announced to the world……"

"Of course, of course. What you have to understand though is that by adding me last minute to this match it's thrown everyone else's game completely out of the window. I never had any preconceptions regarding the part I would play at this Pay Per View. It's fresh for me. I haven't had to think up a 'Plan B'. Smith through all of this bull sh*t, what I'm trying to say is last time I challenged for the belt I was very much the centre of attention and I still pulled the rug out from underneath you all. This time I'm lurking in the shadows, with no distractions and no allegiances to uphold. I think it's fair to say regardless of my ability I have the upper hand going into this."

"Don't get complacent just because of this theory. You could just as easily waste this yourself. Master of Destruction probably thought the same back then. He was a former champion. On paper he had the goods to get the job done but for some reason didn't."

"Do you really think so little of me? I've planned this for 6 years. I've been without that title belt for 6 years. Do you honestly believe I would waste this chance to get it back? I intend on righting a lot of wrongs this Sunday. I chose to stay away from that belt for so long and only now do I question why.

I have let that championship fall into disrepute.

In my absence I have allowed scabs to hold a title they had no business even challenging for, and now it's my job to elevate this belt back up to an unreachable point. I'm going to make sure that people have to work just to compete for a chance at challenging for the belt. I want to hold it out of harms way, making sure that it is seen, above all else, as the grandest prize in this business. There will never again be a hand off. There will never again be a paper champion. By winning this match I'm going to single handedly do what Trace and Bishop are attempting. I will steer this company away from the cliff edge and, with the entire thing on my back, carry it into a new age. I am Atlas! I am the bearer of worlds."

"You're a complete lunatic."

He's right. The smell of gold is enough to send any man into a frenzy. It's so close my nostrils are constantly flared and I can't help but salivate. I have starved myself for too long and now it is time to feed, nay, feast. Gold makes even the kindest of hearts corrupt and blacken and mine is no different. It's driving me crazy just knowing I'm now within reach. F*ck Jayson Garrett and his claim of being The Golden Boy. I will drown him in his own name sake. He doesn't deserve to be in this match, he doesn't deserve to be in the ring with me, and I added him into this to prove that point.

"I'm a f*cking champion! I am THE f*cking champion! Put the pads back on. We're not done here."

Smith's eyes narrow and I know he's doubting my agenda. No doubt from the outside I'm coming off scatty and jumpy. Perhaps he thinks I might lash out. I'm the good guy remember. I wouldn't do that……….not now.

"I think we've done enough for today. You're flying tomorrow. I'd suggest going home and sorting yourself out."

Perhaps I am getting a little carried away.

"Come on Ray. One more round. I thought you wanted me perfect?"

He begrudgingly obliges and, as he calls out strikes I can feel the frenzy pass.

He's right. I've changed a lot. I'm in control.

I'm champion material again.


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


The problem with making plans is you have no idea how things will pan out. Even the shrewdest of minds have no concept of the future. There are just too any variables. Variables bring walls crashing down. They cause men to fall without reason, they up turn ships and decimate harvests. Variables are man's enemy. The unpredictability of time and what it holds is as good a reason as any to live in fear. If you wake up trembling at the prospect of a new day then no doubt it is because of the not knowing.

All of this stands as fact and yet people continue to make plans. Without plans there is only chaos. People need to think ahead, and give themselves a light to run towards. This futile idea is man's only way of conquering that fear. Controlling your own destiny is a thing many talk of, and in some respects it is a viable option, but again it is the variables that really control your destiny. So much can change. So many things can react to your actions. You may control your choices but it is the reactions of the variables that control your destiny.

My current path is plagued by such possibilities, but each variable within my environment is likewise subject to their own. Whilst I have to worry about Dex, Jayson Garrett and Trace Demon all at once, so do they.

Dex is the champion. What are the possible whims of time to which he may fall foul? For one, the most glaringly obvious, is his belt will be carried out of Madison Square Garden by any of three men. This is surely his biggest fear. The scariest part for him? He could be simply too far away from the moment to stop it. His destiny here is firmly out of his grasp. He can't simply kick out of a pin fall or fight through the pain of a submission attempt. He has to make sure that no one else gives in to anyone but him. He has to police the entire match to ensure he remains what he claims to be, the true champion.

Whilst this may be the most immediate threat, and perhaps the most important, he also has to watch for his own friend Jayson Garrett. This variable is out of his hands. He can plan how to react but he has no idea if or when his ally may turn.

Garrett has Dex scared because of this. It's a distraction he could do without. Always looking over his shoulder instead of simply just fighting from the gate. Garrett has established some form of control. He controls this decision, but as I said previously this decision does not finalise the outcome. His actions may impact the moment in which they occur, but ultimately will this change the finish? The fact that there are four men creates such a chaotic environment that just as he chops down his once friend, he too could be felled in the same instance leaving two men staring at the lights instead of just one.

There being four men means at no point can you really separate from the pack with a single opponent. Your focus has to remain spread at all times leaving each man more vulnerable than ever. One man only has one pair of eyes.

The importance of these apparent armies, formed by both Dex and Trace Demon, is minor in my humble opinion. I don't honestly believe that either man will allow their victory to be marred by the underhanded tactic of outside assistance. They are both too proud and too puffed up to leave any room for criticism after the dust settles.

Trace Demon has some experience with falling foul of variables. At Superbrawl he lost this same belt through no loss of his own accord. He knows the risks involved in this kind of match but he also knows how they play in his favour now he enters the battlefield as a challenger. He is one of the hungry men now. He knows he has everything to lose even without the belt around his waist. His own 'revolution' against Lila Sleater depends entirely on the outcome of this match. A loss here will take the wind from his sails and extinguish the flame of change before it ever has the chance to catch. The variables that effect everyone else within this match all end with that bell. For Trace Demon though this match itself is merely another, larger variable in itself. He has a plan, yet he has no control over his path. A victory here means his plan can continue. A loss however……..I'm not sure there's an action plan for that in his little book.

And so what of my fears? What of my variables? How am I effected, and what is my plan?

All of those questions can be answered at once.

Do I beat Jayson Garrett?

Do I beat Trace Demon?

Or do I beat Dex?

That is out of my hands.


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


Medicine Girl

August 21st 2014
New York City
- 13:30 -


I'm still trying to steady my nerve as my knuckles rap on the door in front of me. The walk did me some good but I'm still very much a mess. I pop open the cap of the plastic tub that holds my Percocets and knock a couple back as the sound of footsteps approach, keys fumble in the lock and finally the door swings open. In front of me is a girl, seemingly of Cypriot heritage, with short, untamed hair and a beaming smile. Marlene. She hurries me inside;

"Isaac! It's great to see you man."

Man? Hardly a lusty greeting. Maybe she's just that comfortable with me already? F*ck I hope she doesn't think I'm her friend. That is literally the worst thing that can happen to the promise of a sexual relationship.

"Come in. How are you feeling? You kind of side stepped that question in your reply."

Her eyes flick from my hand to my face as she talks. I feel a little awkward and put the meds back into my bag. We did meet at an N.A. meeting after all, she probably doesn't appreciate me bringing any kind of drugs into her home……….wow this place is a f*cking dump. Maybe she's only just moved in and is doing it up? I can't really entertain the thought any more than that in my current mind frame.

"Are you okay?"

"My friend is dead."

Well that just came right out didn't it? I suppose I needed to get it off my chest.

"Oh my god, Isaac!"

She puts her arms around me in an embrace and I just sort of stand there, stiff as a board and let it happen. Maybe death is the way into a woman's pants? Part of me thinks I should take this moment of close proximity and f*ck her brains out, while the more kindly side decides she'd probably prefer the softly softly approach a little more.

"What happened?"

She closes the flat door behind me and ushers us onto the sofa, yet another great place to start the f*cking process, however I still keep myself to myself.

"I don't really know………..They say he killed himself but…..well…….I don't know."

The words are just coming out of my mouth without any thought going into them. I'm just staring at the blood red lips that sit beautifully against her mocha skin. Nothing else matters to me right now. Derek in reality is an after thought as of 2 minutes ago. Does that make me a sh*tty person? A terrible friend? Or simply human? Animalistic to the core. Instinctually side stepping the thought of death in the hope of fornicating. This is some pretty base level stuff I'm dealing with.

"That's terrible!"

Her hand covers her mouth and I reach out and move it away, not wanting to lose sight of those lips. She maintains the contact between us, holding my hand in an effort to comfort me. Little does she know my grief pales in comparison to my libido. It's a terrible thing, having a penis. When people comment on men thinking only with their d*cks they're almost right. We don't ONLY think with our d*cks, but as soon as the opportunity arises it definitely takes the reigns.

"How long have you known them?"

"We met in the clinic I was staying in after I broke my back. You know the one I was telling you about last night."

I made a point of only mentioning it briefly. Man doesn't like to dwell on his vulnerable states, especially if it makes for a rather boring story.

"He was knocking on a bit but it certainly wasn't his time just yet."

Am I honestly going down the route of a sympathy bang? This is f*cking pathetic. Nearly two years out of the game has left me with this. I don't deserve this woman. What am I saying? That's even more pathetic!

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Gift. Surely that's a gift? If I ever needed an easier way in than what I already had then this is it. 'Sure, how about you suck my c*ck? It might take the edge off? Just draw all of the grief out from my sad, sad balls.'

"I could use a drink."

"Sure, anything. I'll be back in a second."

She gets up and leaves me alone in the room. I look around and start to take in my surroundings. It begins to dawn on me that this flat is by no means a work in progress. This is well and truly lived in. The plaster's falling off of the walls, the carpets are stained with who knows what, there's little furniture to speak of and what furniture there is strikes me as having been found rather than bought. There are two ashtrays in the room, both piled high with lip stick smeared butts and stinking up the place, and this sofa I'm on seems to be filled with potatoes instead of springs. This is the dwelling of a junkie and it's pretty familiar territory for me. For a brief moment I catch a glimpse of Kyzer sat in the corner. Of course I don't mean literally. I'm well past the whole suspended reality chapter of my life. No more Sam Clearlands………..

"Here you go."

I'm brought back from my thought by a tumbler of liquor which I wrap my fingers around the top of, staring into the glass as I spin the liquid.

"Hair of the dog that bit you."

We clink glasses and I go back to simply staring at her face. Such a perfectly imperfect face. She's certainly no model but that's where myself and the likes of the rest of the WFWF roster differ. Dolled up girls with fake t*ts aren't my cup of tea. I'd much rather a girl like this. Her teeth aren't perfect, her nails are bitten back and her arms are visibly scarred with burns and cuts. Don't get me wrong though she is still very much a thing of beauty. I think it's about time I did something about this.

"You're a wonderful girl Marlene…….."

That's all that comes out though. That sad, soppy b*llocks is all that comes out. My brain can't turn on the charm or muster the wit it's so famous for. I start and end with that one statement. She takes it in her stride, smiling and sitting back down next to me. Her hand, as she sits, falling onto mine. I can feel my palms starting to sweat and my throat tightens. What is wrong with me? This used to be so easy. Am I that out of practice? Or has this girl got a hold on me? I need to regroup.

"Where's your bathroom?"

I get up a little too suddenly and she looks startled as I cast her hand aside.

"Just up the corridor, second on the left."

I'm already half way across the room before she's finished and by the time I reach the toilet I've almost broken into a jog. I try not to slam the door behind me but it seems to go with a bang anyway. The isolation calms my nerve and with a splash of water on the face I'm ready to assess the situation.

For one I need to drop the being a b*tch act and just go out there and kiss this girl. Secondly I need to suggest going somewhere else to f*ck because this place really is a mess. I catch sight of the bath tub in the broken mirror that I eye myself in, and I can't say for sure what's in it, but it's not anything that should be in a bath. It's a dark red and crusted on. Something tells me it's not been used in a long time, and when it was last it was for something depraved. Out of control house mates perhaps? She was using after all. Just because she's stopped doesn't mean everyone she associates with has.

I flush the toilet to keep up appearances and run the tap again before taking the door knob in hand, giving myself a final pep talk, and leaving the bathroom. I take great care to not slam the door this time and instead it closes near silently. A little overcautious? I decide to creep down the hall with the intention of surprising Marlene from behind with a kiss on her neck. I enter the room and still her back is to me as I close in, however as I get a view over the back of the sofa I'm met with a very disappointing sight. I catch her red handed rifling through my bag, pocketing as many of my meds as she can. I watch for a few more seconds until she becomes aware of a presence bearing over her. She turns to face me and my god she looks more pathetic than I do. She knows she's been caught and she knows how desperate her situation is. Of course she's still a f*cking junkie. Just another thieving, lying piece of sh*t junkie.

Just like I was.

Just like Michael Kyzer was.

Just like David Brennan was.

She begins to trip over her own words, trying to make a hundred excuses at once;

"This isn't…..please I…………it's not as though…..I mean……"

My little girl demeanour soaks out through my feet, becoming just another stain on this carpet.

"Shut up and take you're f*cking clothes off you junkie b*tch."

She doesn't have to be told twice. She jumps up and her cut off shirt goes over her head to reveal a pair of small, perky breasts, the nipples dark as I expected.

I look away from her for a moment to pick up my bag and when I look back her jeans are most of the way down her calves. She steps out of them and stands before me in nothing but her pants, looking very f*cking nervous.

"I'm not going to smash your head in. Unlike you I don't give a f*ck about the contents of this bag. Now tell me, is there any reason besides wanting to lift my meds that you invited me round here? In fact let's take things back a step. Is the only reason you came out of that meeting with my bag, which I can only assume you looked inside, because you thought it might lead to the mother load?"

Not surprisingly she doesn't answer. She looks down at the floor, her hands cupped behind her back and one leg slightly behind the other.

"Bad dog. You know I'm usually not this nice to people? You did a damn good job of getting through my defences little dog."

Still she can't bring herself to look at me.

"You want all of these pills then? I'm not reliant on them, they just make my back hurt a little less. I don't start jonesing for them if I leave it an hour."

Still she doesn't even look at me.

"Oi! Look at me when I'm talking to you little dog."

She does. Her eyes aren't full of tears though. They're not even fearful as I thought they would be. This girl knows how to handle herself. Those eyes are full of conviction.

"I asked you if you want these pills?"

I shake the bag to accentuate my point and she nods defiantly without saying a word. The girl I met last night is gone, leaving only the bullet-proof resolve of an addict.

"Well you're going to have to earn them. Take those panties off and get over here."

I pour the remaining contents of the rucksack out onto the floor and hop over the back of the sofa towards her. Why the f*ck did I consider letting her in? I am Drakz and I walk this path alone. I'm the f*cking lone ranger.

Her knickers are on the ground and I grab her by the wrist, throwing her onto the sofa we both sat on minutes ago. So there she is, sprawled out amongst a whole pharmaceutical catalogue of pain relief, naked as the day she was born.

This isn't how I planned for this to go down.

F*cking variables.

She looks incredible. Her body curves and sags in all of the right places. She's a human. She's a real woman. She could have saved me, but that doesn't matter now as I unbuckle my belt.

"Bark for me little dog."


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


Apologies to a Skin

August 21st 2014
New York City
- 21:08 -


I've got a lot of character redeeming to do this evening. The scales are totally out of whack and I've very much fallen into the old camp, the tribe of which I was always the leader. The shaman. I somewhat marred the good guy persona earlier on today.

Somewhat?

I practically forced a girl into prostituting herself to me. I'd say that's up there with some of the worst things I've ever done. I may have been reacting to a personal attack but in this time of my rebirth it's much harder to justify an act of such malice.

Granted just because you're trying to be the good guy doesn't mean you should let people walk over you but I think one hour of degrading that girl was enough, six was just uncalled for. I was seeing red, and not her lipstick. That was gone within minutes. I was seeing proverbial red. Amidst all of my attempts to better myself I have proved, at least in my own mind, that I still very much have the capacity for contemptuous acts and enjoying every second of them. Make no mistake I feel no remorse for what I did this afternoon, but ultimately I know I must now reset the balance within myself.

Right now I'm pounding the pavement with the dog, an animal who regardless of my recent behaviour has shown no sway in his loyalty. I apologised to him on my return to the hotel room. I should never have raised my voice and I certainly shouldn't have left him locked in a room for so long. His dirty protests were enough to call it even though, and so now we walk the proud land together.

"Before you ask we're heading to meet an old friend of mine. Last time I saw him we left things on pretty bad terms."

I'll say, the guy came close to putting his boot through my face.

"I'm not sure he'll be as accepting as you though old boy, but this is me resetting the karmic balance."

I've had word that a certain skin is in the city, although I'm not sure for how long. I can't really be certain why he's even here but one thing I do know is he's a creature of habit. The last time we wrestled a show in New York city we came to a bar he knew about previously, and my money is on his being there every night that he's in town. We'll soon find out.

The pub, or beer hall, or what do you American's even call it? Is it just a bar? Whatever it's name it's the type of establishment that lets dogs in, which is a refreshing change. They'd soon go out of business without the dogs, as most alcoholic types seem to keep them as company. Dogs don't judge I guess. They don't leave you in the lurch. As we enter, unlike in the movies, no one looks up from their glass, and why should they? Who the f*ck cares? First stop is the bar and, in the spirit of the previous 24 hours, I order something hard. A pint of the darkest bitter they serve and a whiskey chaser.

"Have you got a water bowl for the little guy?"

I nod down towards the dog and the barman, who looks like the last man in the world to oblige this request passes a steel bowl over the bar and nods at me. Even the toughest son of a b*tch can't say no to a pooch. I lean against the bar and scan the room looking from degenerate to degenerate, searching for the THE degenerate. I eventually double take back to a man, sitting alone, with his hair more grown out than usual and a beard that covers most of his face. His eyes are glassy, his hands dirty and his glass empty. I turn back to the barman and order another drink before leaving the dog to his water and heading over to sit with a somewhat down trodden David Brennan.

He doesn't react to my approach and it's only when I put the fresh drink down on the table in front of him that his eyes seem to focus. He simply picks up the glass and takes a swig, wiping his beard with the back of his hand to remove the drink from it, or at least just rub it in. Finally his eyes fall upon me.

"David."

"Drakz. Where have you been?"

Where have I been?

"I thought you were just going to drop a load in the toilet."

He stares at me, his eyes rolling around.

"You've been gone hours."

Wow. This is genuinely worse than I ever expected.

"David."

"How's Michael? We don't hang out enough any more………….where's he staying?"

"David."

"I can't believe I'm going to be the f*cking champion! Obo won't know what's hit him……"

"David!"

My voice has raised as my patience grows thin. There is nothing more annoying than a drunk when you're sober.

"David, David, David. What?"

I try to start talking but he lifts his arms above his head and in a whispered voice begins chanting his own name, mimicking an arena crowd.

"David….David….David."

I take the drink from in front of him and he soon calms down, trying to wrestle it back from my hand.

"Hey, no take backs. F*ck. I thought you were a stand up guy."

I hand him the glass back on the proviso that he shuts the f*ck up. He agrees.

"David I wanted to come and apologise about last time I saw you……..but honestly I doubt you even remember it. It strikes me that you don't even know what year it is or what you're doing with yourself. You're not my friend any more and Michael Kyzer certainly isn't. That was your decision though, not mine."

I don't know if he's even listening.

"You're not even in a job right now, and your opportunity at becoming champion is long gone. You need to stop this."

He seems to pick up on the last part at least.

"Stop what?"

I raise my glass.

"Stop this."

I knock back a good half of the pint.

"What?! I've got it under control man. Anyway you're drinking….."

What surprises me more than anything is how despite his obvious delusions and confusions, when he does talk, he's actually pretty coherent. No slurring. No mumbling. He can talk just fine, it's just his consciousness is completely out of sync with the world around him.

"I'm drinking yes. But unlike you I'm not drinking every day."

This is the second in a row though.

"I'm not surrounded by chaos."

I just spent six hours knee deep in a junkie.

"And I've got a job."

Can't fault me on that one.

"I know you don't like to hear it mate but your drinking has gone from out of control to just miserable. Where's the fight in you gone?"

He hears the word fight and the Irish man in him takes centre stage as he rises from his seat.

"I could still have you on that floor in a minute."

I however stay in my seat, looking up at him out of the corner of my eye as he leers over me. He slams his fist on the table in front of me and I take that as a cue to knock back my whiskey.

"Need I remind you who you're talking to David?"

That probably wasn't the best way to diffuse the situation and so I backtrack. I don't need to be getting into bar brawls only days before my Heavyweight Title match.

"Listen David, it doesn't matter. I'm not here to pick fights with you, I'm here because I want to help you."

He leans in close to me;

"Help me to beat Obo?"

This is hard work. Does he really think he's in New York City to compete against Schneider? Is that the reason he's in town?

"Help you to get your life back."

He whispers to me, smiling before almost throwing himself back down into his seat.

"This is my life."

To be fair to the man I never knew him prior to his problem. I have literally never met David Brennan, only his drunken alter ego. Maybe this is why I don't stand a chance here. Perhaps if I were a recognisable person from further back, someone who he could relate to his life before all of this, maybe then I could help him? What am I talking about? This man almost came to blows with anyone who resurfaced from his old life. His old life. Such an odd statement. It adds a real finality to things. It's as though he has lived as two different men in one lifetime, but the reality of the situation is he's still living his old life, he's just at a warped and motionless point in it.

His statement 'This is my life', really strikes a chord with me. He's right. He has every right to choose how to live, and only he can make the decision to change things around and within him. Whilst I intended on doing a good deed by coming here to help Brennan I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a more selfish motive underlying the whole visit. I simply wanted a friend.

During our time as a team myself and David were drinking buddies. We used to talk for hours and whilst we didn't agree on everything we were more than capable of talking it out until the sun came up. It was fun. It expanded our horizons and it filled our time. Now he fills his time with nothing but a bottle while I spend mine chasing this idea of being 'the good guy'. I know he hates me for that and perhaps it's one of the reasons that I personally have no place in his world any more. He sits here as bitter and deluded as a man can be whilst I have set upon this quest to better myself, not that it's going very well. In fact I suppose he has the jump on me in that sense. He is doing what he does and he's doing it well, where as I on the other hand continue to see saw from helping old women cross the street to feeding my scrotum to the princess of Cyprus. He's winning at losing. I have to give credit where it's due.

"Is this how you want your life to remain?"

He laughs, gulping down the rest of the drink I only just gave him;

"Wouldn't change it for the world."

I get up from my seat and finish my drink;

"David, I wish you the best of luck my friend….."

I hold out my hand but instead of a shake Brennan simply places his empty into it.

"Be a darling."

I turn my back on him for the last time and head to the bar, order him another drink, whistle the dog and then head back out onto the street. I tried to help. I tried to help us both. We both need a friend but it seems we're destined to continue as we are. We had our time as companions and now life has chosen for us to walk alone.

"You can't say I didn't try."

The dog looks at me, panting in a way that resembles a smile.

"Cheers mate. You always know how to pick me back up."

Got to love this lad. He's always on my side.



I may have no army.

I may have no woman to call my wife.

I may have no friends or partner to watch my back.

But one thing I do have, at this very moment in time, is the world's attention........and this dog.


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


Pressing the Issue

August 22nd 2014
New York City
- 18:01 -


"Ladies and gentlemen welcome to the first of our WFWF Battle at the Garden press conferences. As I'm sure most of you already know we have chosen to split our press conferences into 4 parts so as to keep each of the main event competitors separate in the lead up to the match itself. So far having these men in the same room has proven to be some what………unpredictable."

I've behaved myself, but I guess if three of the four are susceptible to lashing out then that leaves the good guy on his own anyway.

"Today marks the opening of proceedings for the first Pay per View event after the hugely successful Superbrawl VIII show. This show promises to keep our momentum coming out of one of the biggest sporting events in history. Today I'd like you representatives of the press and selected members of the WFWF fan base to welcome your first challenger to the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship, he is a two time Hall of Fame inductee and Grand-slam Champion……Drakz."

Give them a little wave. I'm very unassuming when I want to be. I guess I better address my people.

"Now then, now then. First off thank you all for coming, and secondly I'd like to thank Lila Sleater for that lovely introduction. Isn't she a sweet heart?"

Nothing more fun than undermining the boss, especially when she thinks I'm the great white hope.

"This press conference is no doubt a PR ploy to get as much media coverage as possible in the final days before our PPV event, however I hope we can surpass that expectation and use this as a platform for me to connect with you all. I have a lot to say that has gone unsaid in the weeks leading up to where we are now, and what better way to say it than with the nation's mouth pieces in attendance? No doubt everything I say will be twisted to fit each of your publication's agendas, but you are the press, it's kind of expected for you all to be scum bags."

Laugh a little, bring them into the joke. They all laugh. Of course this sentiment, like all jokes, is underlined by my true feelings.

"So how should we get this started? How about I give a few thoughts on the rest of the Pay Per View card and then you can all begin your questioning of the defendant?"

Another hum of laughter circles the room. I've got off to a good start considering this is my first press conference in years.

"How about we start with the tournament I officially announced the week after Superbrawl? The 'Thespian and Hobo Invitational'. This was a necessity for the further progress of the fresher talent in this business. Of course there was little to no point in my keeping hold of the National Title. I would be deemed a fraud and at an unfair advantage having dominated the top of the card on so many occasions. I knew this was the case prior to using it in my little tete a tete with Phillip and whilst it pains me to have to give any gold away it has been very fulfilling watching this tournament unfold over the weeks. Now we see the culmination of all of those efforts embodied in a single match, a three way between a selection of exceedingly green talent. It's interesting to see how all three combatants have made it to this point after so little time in the WFWF, and I know regardless of the outcome that in the weeks to follow that title will be hotly contested. A fire has been reignited in the National Title division, a fire that burns with the history of all of those that have held that belt only to rise through the ranks to bigger and better things. Let it be known that Drakz is a giver and a believer in the children of tomorrow."

Smile and try not to be sick through your teeth.

"Haven't you cheapened the title though by simply picking it up and using it as a tool in your match with Schneider?"

I don't remember opening the floor to questions yet.

"If using a belt as leverage to grant the fans yet more reason to get excited is classed as cheap, then yes I suppose so. Let me ask you a question though. Did you or did you not have your brains blown out of your ass watching that very match? Did it not prove that no matter what level you are competing at you have the chance to steal the show? I find your question to be a little small minded madame. Step back and look at the bigger picture, it's far more lovely from where we're all standing.

That comment has somewhat ruined my rhythm but I'm professional enough to segway seamlessly into my next comment anyway. From one Drakz related battle to another, how about we assess the blood and guts of Battle at the Garden? Joshua Dean vs the very man we were just talking about, Phillip Schneider. Say his name three times while looking in a mirror and he'll kill you in your sleep."

I can't clarify if that's true or not, but it seems viable to me.

"This match, in keeping with our theme was born because of little old me. Again we must cast our minds back to Superbrawl, more specifically to the minutes that followed the match of the decade candidate. Phil didn't fancy touching my hand and now Joshua Dean isn't very happy. That's the layman's breakdown of what's going on at least. This is essentially Joshua Dean's opportunity to step into the big leagues. The outcome of this match is rather inconsequential to his future so long as he shows he can hang with Phillip in his own dominion. Of course this match means a lot to Dean and he wants to come out with the W, but as far as getting noticed he needs to make sure he doesn't just get mauled by my favourite hobo. I don't really know Schneider's mind set going into this, how focused he is, or how serious he's taking it all, but I do know that even on an off day he's liable to draw blood. Joshua is a strong competitor but he really has his work cut out for him here. I can only hope he pays heed to my advice because in the long run this match could make him."

Don't drag it out too long, it's time to give them the fattest worm on the hook.

"Now how about we get a little Q&A going then folks? I'm tired of bouncing ideas off of the back wall. Before we do though I'd just like to promote a new project of mine that will be coming to your television screen in the near future. An Audience with Isaac. That's all you need to remember, just the name, oh and to book your interview early on to ensure you're one of the first to announce the début episode. Okay now, to your questions. Yes, you in the terrible suit. No introductions, we don't care who you are. Just your question."

Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen.

"What made you bring Jayson Garrett into this match? Is it the best thing for his career, getting a shot at the title so early on?"

"Great question sir. Now there are conflicting ideas on this one, as we are currently in the midst of a situation that practically mirrors Jayson Garrett's addition to the match. So of course Dex has likewise been catapulted into the main event spot light, albeit in a very different way. Is it the best thing for his career? Similarly to my thoughts on Joshua Dean, both Dex and Garrett are presented with an opportunity to grab people's attention. They don't have to win, they just have to show willing. Of course Dex keeps saying he's going to win and that he's the rightful champion, and so on and so forth, but let's be honest this match is essentially between myself and Trace Demon with regards to talent. Now I know that might seem a bitter pill to swallow but it only takes a quick glance at our histories to see that it's undeniable. Between the two of us Trace and I have had 11 title runs, and Dex and Garrett? Two, one of which was simply handed down. To return to your original question I added Jayson Garrett to this match because I want him to shine, I want him to elevate himself. He already achieved that last time we met in the ring and I thought I'd give him the push he needed to really keep the ball rolling. Now it's up to him how far he takes it. Yes the young lady at the back."

"Hello, I'm….."

"A girl who does not listen to instruction. Please no introductions."

She looks rather flustered now, but I know she'll take it in her stride. If not? She needs to find another career path.

"It seems you've already made your mind up about Dex's chances of retaining. Do you see him remaining in the main event scene if he does lose?"

"You guys are knocking these out of the park. World class journalism. If I'm honest though I can't answer that question until after our match. He needs to prove to me that he's got staying power. Right now I consider him a mid card talent who has jumped the gun, but he has all of the tools he needs to prove me wrong this Sunday. A lot of people seem to think the odds are stacked against him now that Sleater has added two more men into the mix but as far as I see it she's given him more chances to get lucky. Just think about it, he can pin Garrett and retain. He can pin Jayson Garrett and claim a victory over both Trace Demon and myself! Surely that has to be his plan of action? The path of least resistance. Next."

"Do you think Michael Kyzer will play any part…."

"Next!"

"What will you do if you lose?"

"I won't. Next!"

I'm starting to get a little bored when Sleater chimes in;

"Ladies and gentlemen I think Drakz may be a little tired. He's been training very hard…."

And f*cking very hard.

"…and of course has done a lot of travelling. I think we'll leave things there for today. I'd just like to wrap things up by saying thank you to Drakz…."

She turns to look at me and suddenly comes across all earnest.

"…thank you for stepping up to fight for the people against this unwarranted revolution. Trace Demon needs to be stopped and everyone on the board of directors believes you're the perfect man for the job."

"Hold up…..I'm the perfect man for the job? Thank you? How about I end proceedings here by giving MY closing statement. I'd like to make it clear that I fight for no one but myself. Sleater you can get yourself another poster boy. The only reason I'm not standing beside Trace Demon and his revolutionaries is because I've been there and done it already. I am not your hero. I am not the antidote to your poison. What I am is a man who wants his title back. I don't care about your war. I don't care about the Sovereignty or the Final Revolution. I've come to not even care that Dex was just given the title. All I care about is winning that belt back. For those who didn't do their research before this gig, I last held the WFWF World Heavyweight Championship in 2008. That is about to change. This Sunday I will be in my element. The last time I won the title was in very similar circumstances. 3 other men stood in the ring with me and only one man was walking out with the belt. I'm going to do exactly what I did last time. Pick my spots, turn friends into enemies and reclaim the throne.

This Sunday I am going to become the first two time Triple Crown Champion in the history of this sport. This Sunday I am going to remind the world who I f*cking am!"

I turn to Sleater, who is not looking all that happy any more.

"To tell me you think I'm the perfect man for the job is just lip service Lila and you know it. Where was that belief when I asked for my title shot straight after Superbrawl? I'm not a pawn in this game and I'm not taking sides. I'm simply fighting my way back to the top of the pile. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again for coming. I'll see you on Sunday night with the title in my hand."


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


And so it stands. I'm as alone as I've ever been. Betrayed by a woman. Forgotten by a friend. Left on this earth by a confidant.

I am the last man on planet Drakz and to be honest I'm enjoying the peace and quiet.

I've said everything that needs to be said and it's about time I backed all of my talk up.

Well folks that's about all we've got time for this week, so how about a little sound byte to end the show?


This Sunday four men fight for victory.

Trace Demon wants to beat Dex.

Dex looks to beat The King of Demons.

Jayson Garrett will be happy beating anyone.

And me? I want to beat EVERYONE.


Six years is a long time to wait to lose.
See you on the other side.

[Drakz]

Well here it is. I have to say I've really enjoyed writing this and I'm also very pleased with the way it's come out. I feel like I managed to keep a constant theme going throughout while keeping it relevant to the match which I'm very proud of. Like I said before in the GD, whilst it was hard to find the time to actually sit down and write, whenever I did it all just seemed to flow nicely.

Many thanks to SYE for letting me use Brennan, Trace for letting me use Sleater and Ray Smith for allowing me to use his character again.

Now on to reading everyone else's RPs.

[Prophet of Ash]

I have no criticisms. I just wanted to say that I thoroughly enjoyed this and am really enjoying the progression of your story.

[CM Poor]

For years, the way you write Drakz's voice has always had me picturing him sort of gleefully grinning like an idiot, rocking in his seat, legs and arms waving erratically whenever he's on one of his little promos in every day life, and that sort of disregard for common sanity has always made that work for the character where it falls flat when others cut a promo on their neighbor or their dog. It reminds me a lot of different frames in Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, which might be why I like you so damn much.

This was stellar. You hit all these little notes - the match, the history with Kyzer, the history with Brennan, the dichotomy between who Drakz is and who Drakz is trying to be, the chemistry with a f*cking DOG - each one handled impeccably well, never falling short, never missing the beat, never feeling anything but a natural part of a story that you've been building and telling for years. Each piece do becomes my favorite you've done until you churn out yet another, and when the buck stops, forget writer - you're easily the tops when it comes to weaving a story around here, bar none.

Oh, and uh....Here's a towel to dry your knob off.

Loved it, as always.

[Markw]

You know ordinarily, if I'm reading a RP and there's a scene where someone is talking to a dog, I prepare myself for it being atrociously bad. But you find a way to make it ridiculously entertaining. I don't think any roleplay I've read, even those that are purely attempting comedy, has made me laugh more than this RP. Your monologues are superb, scenes are really engaging (I'm taking notes) and you used your history in this place really effectively, which I always like to see. So yeah, awesome stuff.

[Dex]

I usually don't say this, and I've often tried to hide it, but you're one of my biggest inspirations in terms of my RP's. Just about everything you've done lately is pure gold, I often find myself reading your pieces over and over again and this one was no different. Drakz is such an interesting character. I've said this time and time again, but this piece really exemplifies it to a whole other level. But I think you really could've added to the rehab scene, as this was simply Drakz stroking his own ego. I think you could've possibly mentioned more of the match rather than being vague with "i'm addicted to winning." I must admit, this piece had very funny moments, as do a lot of your pieces. This line struck out and nearly made me burst out in laughter.

"Here we go. What's it to be? We accidentally gave you aids?"

"And on the other side we have Dex and his 'Sovereignty', which is essentially just Dex and a number of kung fu hard nuts that no one has ever heard of.
" 

"Trace Demon wants to pull away the curtain to show Dex is merely a fat old man at the controls of a wizard."

Dog is simply brilliant. I just love him as a character; which is completely weird, as he's a dog. But you made it work. Good luck man, this RP was simply fantastic.

[bad guy™]

The wizard comment had me cracking up. Not gonna lie. Not even the funniest thing you've ever put in an RP either. Haha.