Rules of Engagement: Coda

[jdfranchise]

Prologue
Belly of the Beast

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Josh?"

"Don't tell me you actually believe in this sh*t."

"Look, I know we did an episode back in the day making fun of seances." Jason says, pinching his fingers together on the bridge of his nose. "But I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Listen, spirits only have power if you let them."

"Yeah, I was uncomfortable the first time you had this bright idea." He asserts. "Still am."

"You should've spoke up." I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "Nothing's gonna happen, trust me. We're probably wasting time, but it can't hurt to try."

"I've known you for ten years, and this is weird even by my standards. That's saying something." Jason quips. "Why in the hell are you wanting to talk to ghosts anyway?

"Perspective."

"About what, being dead?"

"No, about how a guy can sell himself to the devil and still wallow in mediocrity." I respond. "I thought when someone gave up their soul they inherited the earth. If I wanted to ask about being dead, I'd go to a cemetery."

"And yet you chose a condemned house. You really think summoning a demon is going to give you insight?" He asks, closing in on me and taking an exaggerated sniff. "Are you drunk?"

"You got a better plan?"

"No."

"Ok then." I smirk. "And I may have drank a few before coming here."

"That figures." Jason banters back. "Tell me Josh, do you ever check your email? Because I sent you one warning you about this place."

"Jason, you know I have more important things to worry about than looking at those ridiculous memes you send me."

For the record, the angry cat meme I got last week was pretty hysterical. While I'm enjoying exchanging pleasantries with my former teammate, Jason should know the buttons I'll gladly push in order to get a leg up better than anyone. The mind controls the body, and with so many people choosing physical provocation I went the less travelled path. All it takes is a seed being planted and an opponent is thrown off their game. I normally don't focus on someone's idiosyncrasies unless it leaves a gaping hole begging to be divulged. Intelligent competitors take what advantages are granted nonetheless, and all I see here is an opportunity. Does that make me a bad person? I don't think so, because I'm not using this information to wreck another man's life. I'd have a reason if nothing else, though, considering how often I've been targeted lately. Fair competition is all I've ever desired, and this just evens the playing field.

"Ok." Jason sighs, exasperated. "Let's just get this over with so I don't make my eventual trip to hell come even faster."

"You bring the lightsabers?"

"Yeah." He says, reaching into his bag and pulling out the plastic lightsabers he bought a few years prior. "Still the best ten dollar investment I've ever made."

"Then I challenge you to a duel."

"I think you're a little late to the party. This isn't 1700 dude."

"Beats sitting around waiting for something to happen."

"True." Jason winks, tossing one of the light sabers at me. "Is your Kung Fu strong, young padawang?"

"Stronger than yours."

"We'll see."

We're tempting fate, but I have to admit this is pretty damn fun. I can always count on Jason to poke a little fun at someone, even though I've spent a large section of my career being the punchline to his jokes and vice versa. I think you need friendships like what I have with him, if for no other reason than to help me keep from taking myself too seriously. Despite the fact we don't see each other as much as we'd like Jason knows me better than anyone, which means he knows how to get the best out of me from a competitive standpoint. Once upon a time, we were as good of a team as you could find in professional wrestling, which is nice to have in preparation for a tag team match. Dave's been otherwise occupied, same with Nikki and Penny. So I called on the one person I knew could help me in a pinch.

"Your light saber skills have improved man." Jason says as he aggressively blitzes forward. "But you should know I've harvested the power of the dark side."

"Good always triumphs, my friend!" I shout, exhaling as I bring a strike across his neck. Blood starts squirting from Jason's neck as he grabs a hold of the wound, collapsing to the floor. "Ok Jason, I dig the theatrics, but you can quit over selling it."

Jason squirms on the floor and slowly stops moving as the lights begin to flicker. I look around, trying to see if maybe this is a cruel prank.

"Ok you got me," I announce defiantly. "Let's cut the crap and go home."

I bend down to check on Jason and he's ice cold. A gust of wind shoots past me, barely lighting the hallway in front of me. I start to walk toward the hallway, peering down and seeing a trail of bloody boot prints that match mine. Something isn't quite right, but I still need to investigate this place. Turning on aflashlight, I see a door standing ominously ahead. I rush over to the door, but the handle is hot to the touch. Instead I kick the door open and what seems like an out of body force overtakes me. I think I blacked out for a moment because when I came to, I wasn't in the condemned house. The territory looks completely foreign.

I look down and two thick steel chains are binding me to a wooden chair, overlooking a pit of molten lava. The heat is condensed, making it nearly impossible to breathe as the swear pours down my forehead. Upon rolling down into my eye sockets, I force them shut from the burning they're causing. I try to resist, because it's the only thing I know to do to escape but the chains become tighter, and I feel a cracking in my torso. The rising smoke enters my lungs, nearly suffocating me from the putrid smell of ass and KY jelly. I kick my feet, sending a piece of rock vaulting over the edge into the obsidian pool. Fire shoots up, illuminating the trembling catacombs that hold me captive as I see two white as snow sheep standing in front of me. I can't make out their faces, but their quiet chant becomes louder.

"BE THE HERO WE ALL DESERVE!"

The demonic distortion in their voices rattles throughout and leaves me taken aback, while flames continue to ascend to eye level. The brightness causes me to squint, forcing sweat to fall onto my chest. Writhing in pain, I see nasty, puss filled craters form on my skin from their acidic makeup. A third sheep comes behind and forces my head up as he points to the opposite side of the abyss, causing the sheep to clear the way and allow me to get a full view of the carnage below. I clench my fists and try not to look, but I'm easily overpowered in my stationary position.

"LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE! THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS!"

The sheep's laugh echoes throughout as Nikki, Dave, and Penny are restrained to stone pillars, battered, broken, and exhausted from an undoubtedly hellacious assault. Dave throws a hand up in front of his eyes, using his remaining brawn in an attempt to break free. His movements are labourous and veins protrude from his neck due to his exertion. He digs into the soil, gritting his teeth as he claws and scratches with the hope of those reinforcements giving way. But a loud snap of bones bring Dave face first into the earth. Penny lunges towards him, but is yanked back as shrill laughs rebound off the walls. I can't stop it from ringing in my ears, ingraining that hideous sound in my brain. Almost like an out of key harmony, the sound of hooves clicking combines with the laughs like an interlude in the devil's symphony as a significantly smaller sheep dances around them.

"BAAH YOU F*CKING SHEEP! BAAAH!

The miniature sheep pulls back the wool to reveal DMK, and a forceful stomp is met with what can only be described as a herd of hooves. Out of the dark shadow surrounding my friends steps three more sheep. One by one, they remove the hoods. Ahriman, Witner, and Phillip Schneider of all people stand in front of my SOS cohorts, mocking their trial. Has Schneider been secretly been working with KKK this whole time? It would seem that way as he pulls out a piece of broken glass, while Ahriman retrieves his sword. Ante saunters up to Nikki and rips his blouse in the front, exposing her bare breasts. He, with a rapist's intent, grabs her breasts forcefully and tears into her flesh with his nails. Nikki shrieks as the cat calls from his posse sting like a cat of nine tails.

"ENOUGH!"

The booming command comes from across the tomb at an equal trajectory to me. Flames shoot up and I see the ring leader of this trip to hell. Michael Kyzer, but who else would you expect? It has become so clear to me now that hell resides in Phoenix. A ring emerges from the flames and inside, Trace Demon and Joe Bishop are slap boxing while Diamond Jack Sabbath are taking turns on the outside sucking each other off. The KKK turn their attention to their 'god' and he does not seem pleased with their actions.

"Make the b*tches suffer."

Kyzer laughs and out of his eyes shoots a meth or heroin induced lightning bolt that whizzes just by my head. I snap by head around to see where it lands, but I'm forced back around by the unidentified sheep. I hear a rumbling and a beam of light penetrates through the top right corner. Breaking through, it's Daniel Kirkbride. He seems to float as he makes a B-Line for Kyzer. Kyzer chuckles and fires another methaheroin bolt that catch Daniel and sends him into the pit. But Daniel's not the only one coming to fight. The majestic sound of a buttsack signals the arrival of Stan McMann, The Manliest Manly Man and his trusty sidekick Huck The 69 Point Buck. Unfortunately, Huck's ass rockets catch Stan's magical beard on fire as they flame out. Kyzer rises and motions for his minions to finish my comrades as the sheep holding me captive finally reveals herself.

"Lila?

"We've got something special planned for you, trust me."

Reminiscent of Sindel from Mortal Kombat, Lila whips her hair around and strikes the hoods off the final two sheep. It's my parents, alive in living color. They turn around and stare at me, bleeding gunshot exit wounds on their foreheads.

"You could've saved us."

They fall backwards, toppling over the edge and into the lava. I close my eyes, trying to block out the images of what I've witnessed, but Lila wouldn't have any of it. Down below, the KKK fascists systematically dissect my family. Schneider with a shard of glass to Penny's face, Ahriman with his sword pulling Dave's still beating heart out of his chest, and Witner by simply bashing Nikki's head repeatedly into the pillar.

"MICHAEL!"

That familiar English accent can only mean the true calvary has arrived. The Good Guy himself, Drakz. Kyzer stands up with a slow clap as Drakz smiles.

"Would you like to show him the surprise Isaac, or shall I?"

I knew it was too good to be true, because he hasn't changed one damn bit. Drakz forces my head down to see what awaits me.

"You suspected too much. It's nothing personal, mate."

Like a damn Jedi on crack, Kyzer teleports from his throne over to join his running buddy. The ruse of the century complete.

"Subutai, it's feeding time."

Togther, Kyzer and Drakz shove me over the edge. Bound and helpless, I fall toward the waiting mouth of a starving Dragon. My mind is completely f*cked by the grandeur and build up that of the parties involved. All of this to break a man considered beneath them. Now as I descend to my demise I close my eyes, hoping it's quick. I couldn't save them, and that weight of guilt pulls me down like an anchor. At least I know I'll be joining the ones who went before me, although not in the way we anticipated.

****

They always say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. While the phrase is poetic, I'm not so sure I ever believed that because the meaning behind it would imply deviation from a plan's original intent. When you've lived through humanity's worst, rose colored glasses don't necessarily apply. No silver linings should be seen as Hell symbolizes the wicked, and the souls who live on this Earth for the purpose of evil make no bones about their inevitable destination. More often than not, they take pride in their atrocities and the magnitude for which corruption is carried out. That's why when I turn on the evening news, I'm not shocked by what I witness.

Just appalled.

I've been asked ad nauseam to talk about the world as I see it, and I don't feel I'm the best one to express that sentiment because all I see are the malicious things people do. I find myself asking in the event of a good deed "what's their angle", instead of appreciating the fact there might be a sliver of decency left in this sordid world. Consequently, my skeptical nature has taken me around the globe to find others who share this common morality. The decade plus search has been tiresome, and at several points I felt like I would've been better off travelling up sh*t creek due to a lack of paddles. Every time I thought I had an ally to provide a life preserver, I found myself drowning in unreliability. After a while it was easier to push people away, despite their doing and saying the right things.

I never gave up though, regardless of how cynical I became. As a result, my patience has finally been rewarded and this wayward traveller can finally sleep with both eyes closed. Three kindred spirits, who have pledged their allegiance to the WFWF banner, took up arms beside me to wage a battle of epic proportions. Long after we're gone, people will still speak our names within the same breath as the 300 Spartans about how an imperfect team banded together in lieu of insurmountable odds. They will tell stories in the highest regard of how a unit that should've been destroyed emerged victorious despite semmingly being outnumbered and outgunned. And only the brightest minstrels will emphasize in their songs that our strength lies within the sum of our parts, an undeniable solidarity that checks egos at the door so SOS can willingly fight for something greater than leather and gold.

Each other.
****

Josh Dean Presents
Rules of Engagement: Coda

Rule number 4: The juice must always be worth the squeeze.

****

Part 1:
Trust Issues

"Sorry doc, but I'd rather not take a test."

"I wasn't planning on giving you one." He continues. "I've honestly witnessed enough of your routine to make an educated opinion."

"Oh and what did you find?"

"I'll give you a copy of my report at our next appointment."

"That's fine." I state, knocking back the remaining contents of my beer. "So if I'm understanding this right, kids that never made it out of the neighborhood were conditioned to believe they couldn't."

"In a roundabout way, yes."

"That's pretty messed up."

"In a lot of cases, the subject doesn't realize what's happening." He begins, fumbling through his bag and retrieving a pack of cigarettes. "Hope you don't mind if I smoke."

"Not at all, I'll just crack a window." I say, standing up and walking toward the window. "Nikki hates the smell."

"It's a nasty habit to start." He states, lighting up. "One I wish I never picked up."

"I'll occasionally indulge in a cigar after a good match, or if I'm really stressing about something."

"Even though there's research linking smoking to several respiratory and cardiovascular problems?"

"I'm probably the exception to that rule." I smirk, reaching into the mini fridge for another beer as I take my seat. "I try not to let things get to me anymore, so it's a rarity. Gotta try to live as clean as possible."

"Everyone has vices."

"I know, and I have mine." I retort, sliding the empty bottle toward Dr. Remke. "I keep them to a minimum."

"I started in undergrad." He exhales after taking a drag. "Seemed like everyone was doing it around campus, and I just wanted to have a reason to start conversations with people. As you can tell, I'm not a guy that screams for attention with my presence."

"That's a myth."

"I know that, twenty years after the fact." He continues. "But when you see the same group of people laughing and having fun, refraining from what they're doing wasn't a good idea at the time."

"Sounds like you put a worth on yourself based on what they may or may not think."

"Been reading those materials I've given you?" He asks, flicking his ashes in the bottle. "Because that's a pretty astute observation."

"A smart man uses his resources."

I could've talked about these bevy of subjects with people I deem in my 'inner circle', but the good doctor provides me with an unbiased rationale I more than likely wouldn't get from them. While I wasn't sold on him initially, I've managed to warm up significantly because he has proven integral to my recent turnaround. I still maintain that I didn't need his services in finding my stride, however through the endless pursuit of self actualization I'm better served being told what I need to hear. What's been invaluable has been his expertise confirming several revelations of mine over the years that didn't have a name other than experience.

I've become more cognizant during my career to the fact a select minority of rookies truly appreciate the breaks they recieve. For many of them instant gratification is an achilles heel, and even though Dr. Remke is a neophyte to the wrestling business he understands through his profession that turbulence helps athletes find out about themselves. The fight itself is the purest form of testing one's fortitude, one I've become addicted to. I look at the WFWF roster past and present on occassion, wondering how I'd do against them. That part of human nature hasn't changed, even if there's a deniability behind it. I'm a fighter at my core.

"It's hard to disconnect when you're involved." He states, taking a drag off his cigarette. "That's why the process works so well, people are always seeking approval."

"They're blinded by status."

"That's not always accurate, even if most documentation points in that direction."

"Bosses, parents, teachers and on down the line." I shot out, popping the cap on a fresh beer. "If they're appointed command, most fall over themselves trying to stay on their good side."

"I take it you don't do well with authority." He says, watching as I take a drink of my beer. "Because your stance leads me to think you'd prefer anarchy."

"It's not like I have a problem with someone being in control because I think there needs to order." I retort. "My problem is when they demand compliance without merit."

"Hmmm, maybe the better question is why?"

"We'll just call it a sour taste."

"When?"

"I'll just say that I wasn't always angry."

I take a deep breath, trying to relax. Anytime it's ever been danced around, by me or otherwise, I always get antsy. With so many people claiming bad lives, the stories always seem dicey because there's a lack of relevant details. Then I stop and remind myself that people used to think I was embellishing. I reckon I need to open up about that day, as much as it pains me to. The deep recesses of my mind take me back to that blustery night in January 1998. The streetlights provided my only navigation due to the swirling images of blood spatter and lifeless cadavers. It's been said that you can pinpoint the exact moment a life leaves its body through instant dilation in the person's pupils. I know this to be true, because it's likened to a black hole encompassing everything around it. Or at least that's how I remember it, because those memories are too vivid to be distorted.

"What are you doing at this time of night?" Officer Raul Mendez asks as his cruiser pulls up alongside me. "You really need to be home with your family, son."

I peer out of my peripherals and see the emergency lights on the roof as he turns them off, but I keep my eyes forward as I continue to walk. My bent front wheel wobbles on the sidewalk, distracting me from the pain this gash on my head is causing. I rode my new Huffy as fast as my legs could take me until I crashed into a bench at Barrett Park about a mile back. I wasn't sure if they were following me, and I certainly didn't look back to find out. With the intersection approaching, the officer swerves his car into the crosswalk in order to keep me from advancing.

"Stop." He says, stepping out of the car. "I really don't want to take you home in handcuffs."

"I can't go home." I say, finally taking a second to catch my breath. "My parents are dead."

"C'mon kid, it's not a good habit to lie." He says, approaching me with his hand on the holster. "Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?"

"I'm not fibbing sir, I swear." I plead, my tone becoming frantic. "They got shot, and I don't know if the people saw me."

He looks at me with a puzzled gaze, peering at my gash. I can tell by the wheels turning in his head he's trying to decide whether to call it in or to just take me home, no doubt lining up a 'you'll end up in the morgue at this rate' lecture he's rehearsed in front of the mirror. He doesn't hide his anxiety very well, causing me to believe he's new to the field. It's making me even more nervous as I look around in all directions. But I'd be skeptical too if I heard identical stories coming from this area of Atlanta with so many being fake. Officer Mendez coerces the bike from my hands and lays it gently on the ground.

"Ok, I need you to step over to my car and place your hands on the hood." He clamors urgently, leading me over to the car. "Do you have any guns, knives or anything that can hurt me?"

"No."

"Ok I believe you, but this is standard procedure." He continues, starting his frisk. "Where do you live?"

"Washington Road."

"Ok, well let me give you a ride home, and we'll talk to your parents about where you were."

"Please don't make me go!" I scream immediately which startles him, convulsing in vain as Officer Mendez forcefully escorts me to the back seat before stashing my bike in his trunk. "They'll come back for me!"

It's funny how a person can go from suprisingly reserved to a raving lunatic in an instant with the proper stimulation. Then again, I believe I snapped because I've seen too many crime dramas with crooked cops on television that my naive perception back then was skewed. I don't blame him for slapping the cuffs on to subdue me in his hasty reaction, because police officials make split second assessments so they can safely diffuse often dangerous undertakings.

The ride over was a blur. In the cross city journey I stared aimlessly at the passing streetlights, trying to block out the images from earlier. He talked, but I didn't pay any attention to his words. My mind raced, playing back the three men dressed in all black waltzing into my home and roughing my parents up something fierce. My dad could offer very little resistence in his heroin induced stupor leaving my mom, who was just as bad off, to fend for herself admist the trio of ruffians. The screams of my mom's anguish and the looks of pleasure as they took their liberties with her pierce my brain as I attempted to find solace in the skyline. It's unspeakable really, because at my age I shouldn't be subjected to the kind of things that became commonplace in my daily life. About a year prior, we lived on the outskirts of the city and enjoyed a small slice of Americana. That is, until my dad lost his job in the carpenter's union and turned to drugs as a coping mechanism. How I longed for the days of evading defenders rather than bullets.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Josh."

"I'm Raul. Ok, looks like we're here." He says as he sees the flashing lights. "What the..."

Upon pulling into the Harmony Apartment complex, at least four cruisers were parked in front of my home and what seems like miles of police tape lined the sidewalk. A couple of detectives meet the cruiser as Officer Mendez exits the car.

"It's a goddamn bloodbath in there, Mendez." Detective John Malloy says as Officer Mendez closes the door. "Two casualties, single gunshots to the back of their heads."

"I'll get my guys in there to sweep for fingerprints." He says. "Any ID on the vics?"

"Neighbors identified them as Rita and Daniel Dean. Landlord confirmed they're the tenants." Detective David Gonzalez says as he spots me in the back seat. "Who's the kid?"

"Says his name is Josh." He asserts, putting on a pair of latex gloves. "Picked him up heading south on Hemphill walking his bike. Looked pretty shook up."

"I bet that's their kid." Detective Malloy says, looking down at his notes. "Neighbors said they saw a kid fleeing the scene on bike that matches our description about two hours ago."

"And I pretty much called him a liar."

"You were following your gut, Raul." Detective Gonzalez intervenes, reassuring the young uniform. "We didn't get the call until an hour ago."

"Still, this kid deserves justice and I treated him like a gangbanger."

"We don't always get it right." Malloy retorts. "The best thing we can do now is find the perp."

What a day! I woke up excited for the Atlanta Junior League Championships. My team was the underdogs squaring off with an undefeated juggernaut from the north side that I knew well due to playing under their coach last year, and it really helped because I felt unstoppable on the court. It's where I was the most calm because I could dictate the outcome as opposed to my home life being a downward spiral. My team played the game of our lives this afternoon, competing tooth and nail with them. Yeah, thinking about the game will help me suppress this current predicament. Saving a loose ball and passing it off for the game winning layup was just as gratifying as making the shot myself. I always preferred the assist because it meant I made my teammates better, instead of taking all the glory for myself. Coach Dan always looked to me to make critical plays down the stretch and today was no different. He needed me to bring the championship home.

My parents actually came to the game today, and for once it seemed as though we were going to overcome this rut. With every shot, rebound, assist and defensive stop made I could hear their voices cheering, and it willed me to remain positive even when the outcome seemed bleak. But its kind of bittersweet because now my teammates are still riding that jovial wave and I've been forced into a sobering low. Going from basketball hero to inside a cop car is not how I anticipated today's events unfolding.

Officer Mendez looks at me in the back seat and turns to Detective Malloy, asking. "So what's our next move, John?"

"Canvas the area, find out if anyone saw suspicious activity." Detective Malloy instructs, pulling the gung ho Mendez back. "Don't hold you breath on getting them to talk. People in this area are tight knit."

"Should we take a run at the kid?"

"Not yet." Detective Gonzalez says, turning Mendez's head back toward me. "Do you think he'll be any help right now? Kid's shell shocked."

"Right now, our concern is to get him with Child Protection and find him a new home." Detective Malloy says, opening the door to the back of the cruiser and kneeing down to my eye level. "Hi Josh, my name is John. Listen buddy, we're going to make sure you're in safe place where whoever did this to your parent can't harm you."

All I can do at this point is close my eyes and nod. I open my eyes and I see Dr. Remke starting at me as I continue to nod. There's a disturbed, yet compassionate expression on his face.

"I'd like to tell you that the story had a happy ending, but if it did I wouldn't be here having this conversation."

"So did the detectives ever follow through on anything?"

"Hell no." I announce, gritting my teeth at the lack of closure. "Mendez got killed in a joint taskforce operation later that year, Gonzalez transferred to another unit, and ole Malloy took a government job as soon as one opened up. The case went cold once all three of them moved on."

"What about your living arrangements?"

"I bounced around."

"That would be enough to make anyone have trust issues-not enough time to establish rapport."

"It did more than that."

"Yeah?" Dr. Remke inquires, stroking his chin. "Care to delve into it?"

"I lost a lot of faith in our leaders because of that and even though time's made it easier, I still carry it with me."

"Like to the ring?"

"Yeah." I express with a somber tone. "Some wounds are harder to heal. Let me ask you, what would you say is the most important aspect of a successful athlete besides obvious physical skill?"

The doc takes a second to think before responding. "Focus."

"Not what I had in mind."

"You tell me then, since you're the athlete."

"A clear mind."

"Ok, go on."

"What the members of WFWF do is an elegant form of the savage science that is combat." I begin. "Without a clear mind, you can't fight. You freak out when you should be calm. Your performance goes to hell and there isn't much you can do besides go with it."

"Sounds like you have a mental block."

"Kinda do, and it surprises me that I'm not affected worse by it."

He scribbles something down in his notepad as I take a swig from my beer. I have to say I'm impressed with his copious note taking because I've given him enough information to fill a novella at the very least. When I first sought the good doctor's assistance, I was biting my nails thinking about the type of questions he'd have regarding my upbringing. I don't understand why, but psychiatric professionals find a fascination with analyzing a patient's past and attributing their problems to those elements. While there may be little dispute to that fact within the context of my life, I still had the choice to pursue something better and I did without hesitation. I don't want to say that I was above my raising, but I didn't belong there. The daily actions of those I surrounded myself with was a telltale indicator. However as I've grown, I've become a people watcher in my quest to find a suitable association. How they interact with body language and their word choices when addressing different social classes are the parameters in which I make my opinions. Those people who have proven themselves to be trustworthy get my absolute best in all scenarios, a fact they understand and embrace. Likewise, the favor is reciprocated and those sacrifices will not be in vain.

"What do you think causes you to miss the mark out there?"

"SOS." I say, taking a long deep exhale. "When I think about what we're trying to accomplish and the amount of obstacles that have slowed us down."

"Do you trust them?" He asks, taking a drag from his cigarette. "They are your group afterall."

"Unconditionally. They're pretty much the only family I have."

"Then how can they be a mental block?"

"I didn't say they were the block." I say, reaching over for my fingernail clippers. "But sometimes I don't think I perform up to my expectation because I focus so much on their success."

"Why do you feel the need to potentially overextended yourself for them?"

"Because I know how talented this group is." I say, rounding out the cuticle on my thumb with the clippers. "We were given the priveledge to call ourselves the best team in WFWF, and that's in large part to what each of us were able to individually and as a collective unit. Dave, Penny, and Nikki deserve to have their best interests protected too; because they drove us forward while I was still trying to find my footing."

"And you expect nothing from them?"

"Just their commitment when they decided to join me." I begin while moving along with the grooming. "I don't consider myself a selfish person, so I'm easy to please by comparison. I saw people who believed the same way I do that needed help."

"Because you haven't recieved it when you've needed it."

"Yup."

"I don't see that can be a block."

"Have you ever found yourself in trouble and had no one to call?"

Dr. Remke seems to be mulling over a way to answer my question without incriminating himself. He doesn't need to answer, because I already know by the way he lowers his eye level.

"It's not a feeling that anyone should ever have to feel." I continue, fixing my gaze on him. "I've felt it, and because of it I isolated myself and fixated on who I thought was out to get me."

"And that's where the mental hurdles come from."

"I guess so." I say, folding hands together. "It helps to have someone in your corner who can see things objectively, especially when the road of a professional wrestler takes you through those dark times. Like Penny, for instance. We don't know if she'll be back with the kind of damage Phillip Schneider did to her, but I know for a fact she at least has the money and insurance to take care of those medical bills. I helped her realize setting up a policy was the way to go, because she wasn't even contemplating it."

"You'd think insurance would be some sort of prerequisite."

I tilt my head off center, borderline insulted that the good doctor hasn't detected the laize faire approach promoters take with their talent.

"Don't act like you're surprised, doc." I respond as I spin my chair toward the mini fridge. "That would mean accountability by the higher ups, and you know they'd never stand for it."

"Is that why you sought out Penny and Dave, to fight the man as it were?"

"Dave was by design, Penny just sort of fell in our lap."

"I see."

"I know it sounds pretty standard or like I should have a grand plot." I say, reaching for another beer. "But if she didn't act as Nikki's mentor early on, I don't believe I would've been as invested."

****

Just run is what you tell opponents.

Just run from this dangerous man.

You know by this point in my life, I've learned the difference between living to fight another day and being stupid. It all stems from a choice. You may look at my recollection of that tragic day as a coward's way out, saying I ran away from my problems and you can express that sentiment with your right to free speech. You can gab until your heart's content and boast that at 11 years old like I was when it happened, you would've been heroic and fought against a band of intruders unarmed if you were placed in that same scenario correct? Because in your delusions, you would've barged in all full of piss and vinegar, shooting scud missiles out of your ass and proceeding to save the day.

Sure dude, whatever you need to tell the brass to sell yourself as a threat.

It's pretenious of you, but then again you're also the same guy who compares his worth to valuable jewels. So how foolish would it be of me to expect you to approach my life in any other fashion except a list of cliched putdowns that frankly don't have much backing on your behalf? Maybe you'll try to think beyond your usual garbage and reference Battle at the Garden, where I said three words to a man that didn't deserve them. Three words that symbolizes my conviction, you could try to manipulate in some half baked rhetoric to claim I ran from my beliefs in the face of another life altering decision if you had enough foresight to do so. Go on and keep assuming that when it comes time to dig deep, "The Franchise" Josh Dean is a guy that will just...run.

I'm sorry to tell you that you're going to be sorely dissapointed when I wipe that smirk off your face.

So allow me to say hello to the myth known as Jack Sabbath, it's nice to finally meet you face to face. You have a reputation of being this great fighter. Hell when they brought you back, there was a whole mess of talk about you being a world beater ready to take WFWF by force. But instead I'm seeing a couple of guys standing in mine and Dave's way of gaining the World Tag Team titles, a built in speedbump designed to take our focus off Zmey and Ahriman. That's the short term goal, one that I won't allow myself to be deterred from. My ears are already pretty acquainted with you Jack, and to be completely transparent they're growing a little tired of listening to your spiel. But for my fists, this is the beginning of a wonderful relationship I feel. Because I have to admit, I really enjoyed whopping your ass off the ramp, backstage, and through an endless pile of refs that held me back long enough for you to make an escape. Now tell me, who seemed more willing to run in Los Angeles? Actually, you don't need to answer that because I quite honestly don't want to hear your excuses. I've heard more than enough from Jay's ex partner to last me for a while. Needless to say Jack I'm not impressed, by your abilities or your bullsh*t.

However, I need to take a second to dispel a myth surrounding SOS and what people believe our goals should be. For months now, I've had to hear this assumption that we're wolves in sheep's clothing, hiding our true agendas through the veil of righteousness. I've heard those same people say that our mission makes absolutely no sense because we've never made it clear what exactly it is we're fighting for. I don't know if you've been paying attention or if the concept of doing the right thing is too complex for you, so I'll simplify it. We're fighting for all of this, every last WFWF talent including you. Because WFWF thrives when people like us are willing to wave the company banner proudly. That's how WFWF has continued to be the big show after all these years, because of the men and women that want it to succeed. If you have this idea in your mind that doing the right thing means living in poverty and having no ambitions to speak of, then you're more misguided than I thought. Make no mistake about it, I'm wanting to do the right thing even if it means doing something I might not take so much pride in later on. I'm of a deeply rooted belief that if you want to be recognized among the elite in this businesss, what a better way than to hold a championship belt to stake that claim. That doesn't make me a wolf in sheep's clothing, it makes me a competitor just the same as you.

But before I focus my energy on taking those World Tag Team Titles for Dave and myself, you should know that I'm exercising every last bit of restrain I have to keep from laughing at this notion that you've earned anything in WFWF. You're in the exact same position you were when you left. Now you're clearly an upgrade from Chase Landon, but how Jayson can be so gullible to fall for the same parlor trick twice- you'll have to excuse me for a moment. I have to dumb myself down quite a bit to understand that amount of ridiculousness. I can't be too hard on Jayson because after all this time because he still doesn't know any better. You're the brains behind this operation, that's why I'm directing this at you. I just have to wonder for a second what sealed the deal? Was it the way you whispered in his ear promises of a revitalized career, because he's a kid going through a slump and feeling sorry for himself? So you probably flew him across the pond to show off your trophy case, where he became so enchanted by your "war" stories and Special Olympics title that he started salivating like Pavlov's dog after hearing the bell? Or did you put Amy up at closeout price because I wouldn't put it past you, though I'm sure if he chose door number 3 you conveniently forgot to mention herpes is permanent.

Damn Jay, and here I thought Mrs. Holmes taught you not to get in cars with strangers. Have fun at the health clinic bro.

Whatever you did, congratulations on sticking your nose where it doesn't belong Jack. Dave and I are the rightful number one contenders for those belts and we've been waiting patiently, tying up loose ends while Kent's been ducking us. The only thing I'm taking seriously about your inclusion making this a three team match is that you have proven yourselves to be a couple of opportunistic vultures, and that shouldn't be dismissed because you're quite capable of poaching those belts after we do the dirty work. It makes you extremely dangerous and I may or may not be able to control that, but what I can control is showing up in Phoenix and sacrificing whatever I have to in order to get the job done. Your greed, however, will leave you empty handed Jack and I'm not the only one who sees it. My recommendation for you is honestly assess your value after End Game, because that would be rude of me to suggest you do it now. But no, what you'll end up doing is running back to XWA and trying to salvage what's left of your legacy, another stint in WFWF failed. This time however, the luster of your brand will be gone for good. Not only will you look like a traitor, but you'll be exposed as the limited athlete you really are. I talked about irrevocable damage with Yukio Blaze before I dismantled him at the Clash, but it pales in comparision to what is about to happen to you clowns at End Game.

"But Al, Calvin, D, E, Hutton, and Trace all had success here." That's what your rebuttal will be. It's all you have left, your one ace card to justify putting yourself in the same category as those guys. I've only wrestled Calvin and Trace, yet I find myself insulted by that absurd nonsense. Those men actually showed a far greater ability than you've shown me, period. This whole "Jack Sabbath kicks people and they die." slogan is a falacy too because I took your best shot full force, dusted myself off, and laughed. I'm still standing, in fact I'm even more motivated to return such a generous offering. If you didn't catch what that means, let me spell it out for you.

Your coup de grace is weak because you hit like a b*tch.

And that's what I'm going to treat you like at End Game. You deserve to know that it's about to get nasty for you and Jayson, but he could tell you that if you'd let him get a word in edgewise. But you won't and I'm afraid your ignorance will lead to Hollywood Unhinged's second demise. So enjoy what's left of your reputation while it's still in tact and take a bit of your own advice.

Just....Run.
****

Part 2:
Assembling the Artillery

9/30/2014
Indianapolis, Indiana

"You've opened a lot of people's eyes with the way you've been handling yourself lately."

"Ya think so?"

"Why else would Vega come out of hiding."

"He is connected with Mr. and Mrs. McG." Penny says, breaking up a nugget of premium Purple Haze on top of a notebook. "I'm positive I've been brought up before."

"As a package deal with Scarlett." I say, glancing out the side mirror. "But they're talking about you now."

"Yet I'm still part of a group."

"Yes." I retort. "But with the right representation, you can still build brand your way."

"I'm not sure about all of this, Josh." She says, folding the rolling paper. "I've always flown under the radar and just worried about taking care of business."

"Yeah, I don't think you'll get away with that much longer."

"Not even a little bit?"

"Nope." I reply. "It's the one disadvantage of being in demand. Say goodbye to your private life."

"How are you able to keep such a low profile away from the ring?"

"I'm barely home."

"That would do it."

"Listen, Vega's going to promise a bunch of bells and whistles to get you to sign with him." I caution Penny as we exit the highway. "But you've got to think long term."

"You're the agent here Josh, what do you think his pitch is?"

"Probably the usual, movies and merchandise." I chuckle. "That's the go to pitch, especially when they think it's a forgone conclusion."

"Well it's anything but a done deal, I still haven't heard your pitch." Penny shot out as she distributes the Haze evenly through the paper. "What are your ideas?"

Penny is the textbook definition of a wildcard, and I believe that works in our favor. She reminds me a lot of the female version of myself some years ago, talented with a certain naivety. You wouldn't know by her kamikaze style that Penny has a lot of doubts about how good she really is, and I think that's a product of playing backseat to Scarlett for so long. I know Wayne and Vanessa personally and I can't perceive any intentions to deliberately stifle Penny, but there's a difference between a family friend and blood. That's why Penny aligned with Trace once upon a time, because they felt slighted that Scarlett was being presented as the original golden child after protecting her while she rose through the ranks.

Penny has since admitted it when I asked her, and that honesty presents a likability that makes me want to help in the event Vega decides to go into business for himself. It's the least I can do after she was instrumental in Nikki's title victory. The prospect of wrestling men scares a lot of women, Nikki included, and Penny's sageness instilled a confidence in her that I couldn't. That deserves a reward of some sort.

"How about what I've already started setting up for you?"

"What do ya got?"

"I've already spoken with Raymond Powell in merchandising, and not only did I move up the release date on your new T-shirt, but the action figure you modelled for a couple months ago is now going to be a first set release instead of a second."

"Really?" Penny asks, starting to roll the paper into a joint. "Who did you get them to switch it out with?"

"Mine."

"What?!" Penny shrieks, nearly flinging the joint in shock. "But I don't understand...."

"Because you've earned it by being the most underappreciated member on the roster." I interrupt. "It's time the world gets introduced to the real Penny Shannon."

"No one has ever done something so nice for me."

"And that's not all..."

"Whoa, let me process this for a second." Penny interjects. "Like let's say I want to make comic books or something like that, can you make that happen?"

"If that's the avenue you want to branch into, then just say so and we'll make it happen."

"Understand that I still feel a sense of loyalty to the McGurks, and Ben did a lot of good for them." Penny says, lighting the joint. "This is great and all, but I can't dismiss who gave me my first break. I just don't know if you should invest all this effort, because you don't know if I'll sign with your agency."

"You're right I don't. What I know is that Vega hasn't even started the legwork on what he's promised, where as I've done not only what I've said." I assert. "Plus I'm also looking to set you up a savings account and insurance policy."

"How can you be so sure that Ben hasn't been working on a few things? We haven't heard his pitch."

"Because if he had, you'd have an offer sheet for these movie appearances in your possession." I say as we stop at a red light. "Why don't you check out the pink backpack right behind your seat."

Penny reaches behind the seat and grabs the bag. As she opens it, her eyes light up at the sight of a prototype action figure created in her image. I feel when negotiating a deal it's important to show your client results before talking numbers with them, and this is just the beginning of the perks Penny can get with my representation. More importantly than that, I want Penny to explore opportunities that she wants. Judging by her previous apathy toward the mention of movies, I don't believe that's the kind of market she wants to venture into.

"I have a blank check that just needs a number written in."

"What the hell do you need a blank check for?"

"So I can purchase the rights to your contract without being tied up in litigation for years." I say as we pull into Pick of the Litter. "Now I've proven how serious I am about this, but if you want to listen to Vega's offer then be my guest. This is about securing your life for after your competing days are over."

"But that's still a long time away."

"Right now it seems like a long time." I say, opening my door. "But we're not invincible."

****

"So how hard was it persuading Penny to sign with you?"

"It wasn't, especially when she saw that Ben Vega was a dirty perv."

"That's the guy who wanted to negotiate in a strip club, right?"

"The same."

"I don't see where he thought that was appropriate."

"You know Penny is a lesbian, right?"

"Can't say that I did."

"He tried to play towards that."

"That would seem like a smart idea."

"Except that Penny didn't want to be stereotyped." I say, taking a drink from my beer. "It's something that she had concerns about when it came to discussing her DVD."

"That it would send the wrong message out there to the public?"

"Yup." I say in a nonchalant tone. "Agents that have been around the game for a while play on their client's whims and worries. If your client likes drugs, you peddle it for them. You handle the dealers so they don't soil their image. In sports and entertainment, image is the money maker."

"Kind of like subliminal advertising."

"Exactly, athletes are an especially effective marketing tool."

"Do you think they know the kind of influence they have?"

"Unfortunately no, because most of them think they're above the law." I say, popping the tab on another beer. "Penny still had her reservations about the project. She'd always say that she wasn't the role model type."

"How do you handle something like that?"

"You work with what you're given. I don't see Penny changing herself, and I told her I didn't want her to."

"She's like the reluctant star."

"That's the angle we went for."

I guzzle the beer as Dr. Remke lights up another cigarette. I glance over at the trashcan and notice that I'm about eight beers deep now with plenty more to go. Talking Penny into doing the documentary was probably one of the most challenging things I've ever taken on as an agent. Because of mass distribution through multiple avenues, Penny's face would be out there for the public as a representative of WFWF and I think that scared her. Like me, Penny kept her affairs private and something like this could leave her vulnerable in a lot of ways. Penny shot it down without thinking about the residual income when I first came to her about it. That is, until I showed her the plans and proved myself to be open for suggestions. I still remember seeing the look on her face when I told her my ideas, that excited but anxious face one gets when being asked to step out of their comfort zone. She and Dave came to stay with us so we could all catch the flight to Denver after the Thanksgiving holiday. Nikki went to bed about an hour prior, Dave was passed out in the den and Penny wanted to have a smoke. I had been thinking about Zmey and my impending confrontation with him at the upcoming event. But earlier that day, I recieved a call from a major production firm that was interested in shooting the DVD. I couldn't wait to tell her the good news, even though my mind was preoccupied. I'd almost forgotten about it, because managing your in ring career and someone else's takes a great deal of balance. It was good for me to take a step back for a moment and chill, because there is a different kind of release taking a fat joint provides.

"You could've asked." 

"I figured you wouldn't mind."

"What about Nikki and her anti weed stance?"

"You let me worry about taking the heat."

"Ok, but I got two rules for anyone who smokes with me." Penny says as she lights a second joint. "First is don't camp unless I have a joint in my hand. And second is don't slobber. It's disgusting."

"I know how a rotation goes, Penny."

"But you've never smoked with me." Penny shot out, taking a big drag off the joint to stoke the embers. "Different people have different quirks."
"Well I guess I should say thank you for the heads up." I say as we switch joints. "You know the first week's numbers on the new action figures just came in."

"And?"

"You're sitting slightly behind Drakz for highest sales of the first week."

"Wow!" Penny shot out as she flicks the ashes in the ashtray sitting between us. "That's not bad at all."

"That's very good, considering right now the company is really putting a lot of marketing muscle behind him."

"That's flattering to be in the same conversation as him."

"I know, but you have an awesome opportunity to make yourself a lot of money with what I've cooked up next."

"Josh, you've done so much for me already, I don't know what else I could want."

"How about a chance to tell your story?" I inquire, taking a hit off the joint. "Your popularity is as high as it's ever been, but you know there are people that are still angry with you."

"Because of Scarlett."

"You did smash a chair into her head and helped Trace win the title from her."

"I know, I think about it a lot."

"There's two sides to every story Penny." I say as I pass her the joint. "The truth always lies somewhere in the middle. Don't you want that opportunity to put it all behind you?"

"I do." Penny replies, taking a moment before taking a hit of the joint. "But what I really want is forgiveness and that isn't going to happen."

"Have you tried?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it won't happen?"

"Would you be willing to forgive someone if they hurt Drake or Hunter?"

I know a loaded question when I hear one, and I get where Penny is coming from. Most parents would say no, then proceed to run off the list of heinous crimes they'd commit in the name of vengeance. I think to truly properly answer the question posed to me, it's important to understand your children's personality. Drake's a good kid, but like most ten year old boys he tends to be a talk before he speaks. While Nikki and I can overlook his desire to be the center of attention, I know that doesn't always sit well with others.

"I suppose it depends on the situation."

"Yeah, well I don't think Wayne and Vanessa would use that kind of rational thinking."

"They also know this business changes people." I retort, sniping out the first joint as Penny hits the other one. "The least you can do is call and hear them out."

"What if they blame me for Scarlett not being in WFWF?"

"Then you'll know where they stand."

"It's really hard to open up about these things." Penny begins, passing me the dwindling joint. "That's why I don't want to do the DVD."

"I wouldn't have made the calls I did if I didn't think you could do it." I say, leaning forward in the chair. "I'll make sure to set some guidelines down for production to ensure you're confortable. If at any time it becomes too much, tell me and we'll stop immediately."

"Promise?"

"Of course. All I'm doing is giving you a forum."

I pass Penny the joint and wave off any more passes. It had been almost three years since I had smoked any weed and my tolerance has decreased exponentially in that time. But marijuana has a way of making people loosen their guards so to speak, and I feel like we made a huge stride in getting Penny to shed the Velocity Grrrl persona even for a brief moment. Dr. Remke looks at me with a strange glare, and I think he's trying to figure out how someone who is usually so laid back can have these alpha male instances. I like to think of it more along the lines of asserting myself when the situation calls for it. Being an agent means going to bat for your clients and occasionally having an unpleasant conversation or two. I think that's why I enjoy being in the ring ironically, because once the bell sounds I can be as assertive as it takes to win. I don't need to use tact to achieve my goals, only the diverse skill set I've acquired over time. Sitting here and talking so in depth about all these topic has made me realize that a lot of people would struggle to handle both lives with equal efficiency, though I'd be lying if I said it came easily.

"We've got a great team, probably the most balanced collection of talent this company will ever see, but I can't help but be concerned moving forward."

"With Penny gone."

"With everything." I say, leaning my head close to the table. "We just don't click the way we used to."

"Who. Nikki? Dave?"

"You must've missed that Lila was treating our meeting like a covert operation."

"Yeah, that was kind of weird." He declares, fishing for another cigarette. "What was it all about?"

"It sure wasn't about building a nest egg."

****
Part 3:
Shades of Grey

Dean Residence
2/21/2015

"What do you mean you got suspended?"

"Yeah, it happened right after the show went off the air." Dave says, dropping his head in shame. "Said I put my own personal ambitions before the good of the company."

"So I didn't misread WFWF.com?"

"No, sorry dude."

"Why because you got the rematch you earned?"

He nods, keeping his head low so I can't see his face.

"Guys do that all the time, kinda convenient you get singled out."

"I know, but what can I do?" He says, squirming in his chair. "Damage is done."

"Not necessarily." I retort, turning toward the filing cabinet behind my desk. "Let's just look at what your contract says."

"I figured you kept that at the office."

"I have a copy there." I announce, pulling out a file labelled 'Dave'. "This is the original transcript and here is the safest place for it. I don't think anyone is stupid enough to attempt a break in, especially when I have a cabinet full of automatic weapons upstairs."

"True. Hey, can you see what it says about my pay?"

I raise an eyebrow at Dave's question. I flip through the pages before sitting back down.

"Did you even read the terms and conditions of this thing before you signed it?"

"I skimmed it." Dave mutters. "Randel said it was all good when he brought it to me."

"That could be a problem dude." I add as I pull up a highlighted section. "There's a lot of legal jargon that can tie your hands in here. You've got to read all of it very closely."

"I really f*cked up."

"No, I wouldn't have told you to pursue your rematch if I thought you'd get in trouble for it." I say, raising my head up slightly from the paperwork. "I'm just trying to make sure we have a leg to stand on."

"Like a loophole?"

"Sorta."

While misguided by Lila's promises of granduer, Dave is still our muscle. It's nice to be blessed with an intense destroyer who enforces the principles we believe in with conviction and passion. Having an unequivocal devotion to WFWF is as much a blessing as a curse ironically, because Dave thrusts himself carelessly into battle on occasion in the name of honor. Even a Sherman Tank can be stopped if you mismanage its destructive abilities, and that's what I fear he's heading towards. Why does everything always wind up as a war reference? It's outdated, but I suppose there are similarities. Prestige is sought after with the same fervor as freedom, largely because the victor's accounts are the ones people care about. I can't blame Dave for wanting to take this matter with Bishop in his own hands despite the fact its conclusion puts me in a hell of a bind. It's probably not the way he envisioned everything happening, because Dave only harvests malicious intent for those who pose a direct threat. No, whoever devised this strategy had the foresight to keep the heavy artillery idle, knowing that backup is scarce at this juncture.

I've read over Dave's contract at least half a dozen times since I attained it, and I'm frustrated that what I'm looking for hasn't committed to memory. Yay brain damage! I should have my legal team look at this in the event we need to persuade a judge, but there's no reason to interrupt their weekend. Building a case against your employer takes time, and we can start fresh on Monday. I'm beginning to wonder how much thought Lila put into the stipulation though, as there's very little in writing relating to professional conduct. I do, on the other hand, find something under the championship clause that's unsettling.

"Uh, Dave." I stammer. "Your contract has a specific clause where your rematch can be terminated."

"What!" Dave shot out, his eyes flaring up in disbelief. "I thought that was a given."

"Apparently not." I say, marking a place in the highlighted area. "Check this out."

I slide the contract to Dave. He studies it closer, and with every line he reads his face contorts with anger. He seems betrayed but sticking your neck out the way he has would be deflating to anyone, especially with empty returns. I didn't miss this part of the wrestling business in my time away, which is why I have my lawyers draw up any paperwork to meet my criteria. I could do it myself and save the money, but I have more pressing affairs that occupy my time. But Dave needs a confidence boost more than I do based on the disheartened look in his eyes.

"She didn't think I'd beat him."

"Nope, and now it would appear that she's covering her tracks."

"But why?" He asks. "Don't contracts have to go through a bunch of people first?"

"Usually."

"Son of a b*tch!"

I let out a prolonged sigh because Dave's just in his assumption, which is on par with mine. I have an inkling as to how many sets of eyes looked at the deal before it ever reached Dave's hands. I tell every client that's sought my services to go through each bargaining agreement with a fine tooth comb, and this is a time where that advice would've come in handy. I'm annoyed by the situation as a whole, but even more pissed that it could've been prevented months ago. I need to make this right, for a brother.

"Take some time and clear your head, man." I advise. "Let me worry about finding answers."

Dave looks at me, defeated. "Thanks for looking out man."

He's showing his gratitude and I haven't done anything yet. I'm usually a stickler for getting my facts in order and I didn't this time to the caliber that my clients have come to admire. I must continue to extol this virtue even though the truth is, I don't know what I can do to help.

"That's what friends are for."

****
"Ok, I'm trying to follow." Dr. Remke says, putting his cigarette butt in the quickly filling bottle. "Dave had a rematch with Joe Bishop written in his contract."

"Yeah."

"And yet he still got suspended?"

"Yup, just got lifted today because End Game is in a few days."

"Then why wasn't there any sanctions against him for showing up in Los Angeles?"

"See this is where whoever put this arrangement together screwed up." I state, taking a sip from my beer. "That suspension applied to being booked for matches."

"But it didn't say anything about being on site."

"Exactly." I say, giving the doc a thumbs up. "It even says in plain English that he's still expected to report."

"Wish it was like that in my line of work."

"How's it different?"

"Aside from the physical demands." He begins. "If my license gets suspended, I have to go before the medical licensing board and submit to an evaluation proving I'm fit to practice. That means everything grinds to a halt and I have no income."

"So you're blacklisted."

"Right." He continues, taking a draw from a new cigarette. "Even though I'm in the private sector, I'd face the same punishment as a doctor working in a hospital."

"But it's not like you're operating on someone's head or prescribing them illicit drugs, doc." I retort. "I know there are incompotent physicians still treating people. I lost two years of my career because of one."

"Do you know how easy it is to file a malpractice suit?" He asks with a furrowed brow. "If I give a patient advice and it causes harm, I'm held accountable for that. Even when they misunderstand me."

I take a large drink of my beer, thinking about the hefty lawsuit I could place on that sack of garbage. Maybe if I were still retired it'd be a possibility, but I made it back even though my neck is continuously nagging like it is now. I don't need the money, haven't for a while either. Makes no sense for me to be greedy, but I'll be stingy when it comes to those I care about. The doc has been vague about his clinical operations, and this conversation seems to be making him weary of disclosing pertinent information. I know there is such a thing as doctor patient confidentiality, so he can't mention names. Be that as it may I'm considering bringing him into the mix at the firm, so I must approach his background with the same due diligence I would any other schmo off the street.

"Are you under investigation?"

"Excuse me?" He asks, offended by my insinuation. "What gave you that impression?"

"I may not know all the technical terms, but I can read when people have something to hide." I say, crossing my arms. "If you are, now would be the time to come clean."

"I was merely giving an example." Dr. Remke says, backpedaling. "A guy I went to med school with had to go through it because the patient committed suicide. He treated mental illnesses though, not athletes."

"Ok." I breathe a sigh of relief. "Kinda had me thinking you weren't being honest."

"I can only say so much without breaking a patient's right to privacy." He states, taking a draw off the cigarette. "That'll get you in trouble quicker than malpractice."

"I never considered how little regulations there were in wrestling until recently."

"Don't they drug test you guys?"

"If you want to call it that."

"Well, is there a wellness policy in place?"

"It's a f*cking joke." I interject, polishing off my beer. "The main purpose is to keep up appearances. If it were effective half the roster would be gone, and that's a generous estimate."

"Making a dangerous environment even more hazardous."

"A lot of wrestlers don't have an exit strategy." I say, leaning forward in the chair. "This is all they know."

"Institutionalization."

"Can you repeat that?"

"When a person is institutionalized, they become so enamored with a familiar surrounding that they find it impossible to function outside of it."

"Kinda like purgatory."

"In essence." He begins. "There have been studies done on new parolees. What they've found is the longer a person is incarcerated they exhibit more criminal tendancies and activity upon release."

"Comparing apples to oranges, doc."

"Actually, I'm not." He continues. "You've been wrestling now for twelve...thirteen years, correct."

"Yeah."

"And you even walked away for a while."

"You're not implying that I'm the same as a guy that did forty years in the joint, are you?"

"Why did you come back then?"

****
WFWF Paradigm
March 11, 2015
Two hours before the show

"What the hell is this?" I shot out, bursting through Trace Demon's door. "Bet you're really proud of yourself."

"Pardon me if I have no idea what you're talking about." Trace says, looking up at the door swinging. "If that door's broken, it's coming out of your pocket. Might be rich but I'm no charity."

"Put it on my tab." I quip. "I got a bone to pick with you."

"Josh, your like white noise, a faint buzz with no meaning that just goes on and on."

"And you have no legal right to suspend Dave." I assert, pulling a folder containing his contract from my duffel. "Now, I'd hate taking you up in court to get this lifted."

"You're really enthusiastic about accusing me without grounds to base it on." Trace calmly retorts. "Since when are you so concerned with Dave's employment status?" 

"Since I took over his representation months ago." I say, sitting my duffel on the floor. "Unlike you, I actually care about my people."

"See that's what I like about you, Josh. You say exactly what's on your mind, even if it is drivel. Sit down, let's discuss this like adults." Trace says, pushing his papers to the side. "I've still got a ton of paperwork to finish before we go on the air and it isn't much fun at the best of times."

"You'd get more done if your organizational skills weren't so sh*tty."

Trace flashes me a look of contempt as I wink at him. Serves him right for trying to pull that nauseating elitist routine. I'm still trying to get a read on him, because with his reputation of being a pathological liar you're never clear on what to expect. SOS has been involved in a battle of attrition with The Final Revolution for what seems like an eternity, and although Dave and Joe Bishop were the main combatants neither side was willing to give an inch. Trace and I definitely won't be sending each other Christmas cards any time soon, judging by the sarcastic overtones of this conversation thus far. I'd like to reach across the table and slap that smug look off his face, but he's currently my last source of information. That is of course if his word has any validity.

"Look Josh, I saw the WFWF.com article and I was just as surprised as you, not unhappy but surprised none the less." Trace begins. "Look we might have been at each others throats for the past year, but I didn't make that call. I'm no coward, and what happened to Dave was the coward's way of doing things."

"You can stop saving face, Trace." I say, sitting down and laying the folder on his desk. "You wield the type of power to eliminate enemies without getting too much blood on your hands. Why should I believe that you aren't trying to pick us off one by one?"

"I assume you know that Lila makes the matches." 

"Yeah, and I also know that you have a trump card."

"Not in that department." Trace sighs. "The sponsors were very clear on that when they hired her. Being an agent as well as a wrestler, you should know about choosing the right company to invest in your client."

"Yeah, your point?"

"My point is that fat contract you got when you came back wasn't just some happy coincidence." He begins. "I sign off on the contracts, and if I really wanted to stick it to your group, I would've fought like hell to lowball you or blocked it altogether. I mean, how was I supposed to know you're lot planned on targeting my revolution?"

"People talk Trace, so don't act naive." I say, folding my hands together behind my head. "Come on, how many people stroke your ego to keep their jobs?"

"You paint me in such an ugly way Josh..."

"Just calling a spade a spade." I interject, noticing a tinge of impatience on his face. "You don't exactly have a good track record."

"I'll be the first to tell you that I have a huge ego, and I've stepped on a lot of people to get where I am today, not gonna lie, don't need to when you've got the power I've got." Trace says, leaning back in his chair. "I believe that I am this company's most valuable asset, but that's what it takes to make it to the top. Confidence in your own ability to be the guy fans pay to see."

"Must be lonely in your little world."

"People are expendable."

With an attitude like that, it's no wonder Trace has the recruiting department working overtime to fill out the roster. A man that self serving can only relate to like minded individuals that are few and far between. I knew Trace was narcissistic prior to our meeting, but in actuality this admission of his complex is refreshing. I'm not taking too much solace in his epiphany though, because it masks an unnerving caveat of his desperation to remain in the limelight after toiling for so long to get there. 

"What bothers me is how shortsighted you're being on this whole thing. You think I'm willing to sabotage a brand I believe in just so I can take a couple shortcuts to get to the top." Trace snaps. "That's not logical, it's not rational and it isn't my style. I listen to the fans more than you can ever fathom because they're the ones who pay to see my show. I know who they want to see. Drakz was a nuisance and a cancer to this company, but I personally went to Arizona and hand delivered him a contract. Schneider is a psychopath who is eventually going to kill someone in the ring, and Kyzer is going to die with a needle in his arm. But I reached out to them because the fans wanted them. Even you and Dave coming back is because I give our fans what they want." 

"Well isn't that just lovely." I say, looking Trace in his beady eyes. "Are you insulting my intelligence right to my face, because I don't have a problem with you as we speak...."

"Believe it or not I'm not trying to insult you, surprising I know. Just trying to get through that thick skull of yours in the hope you can look at the big picture beyond your own perspective." Trace interjects, giving me a bit of turnabout. Touche you son of a b*tch. "Dave was damaged goods before he signed back. And I knew that he'd come after whoever had the International Title because of how he lost it. It just so happened to be Bishop, but I could accept that. Dave was good for business because he has a name. You were gone seven years, but are you aware that WFWF reached out to you multiple times in that period?"

"That's a lie."

"No it isn't, because I made the calls. Not just now, but when I was running things years back too."

"You should've left a message." 

"I figured if you were interested you would answer the phone, and I was right because eventually you did." He says. "Fans remembered your high octane style and I had enough vision to know that was great for the bottom line. I knew you didn't want to deal with me personally, that's why I convinced Lila to oversee the medical evaluation on your neck. And then the b*tch turns around uses it against me by recruiting you and Dave as her army." 

His vitriol toward Lila comes with such conviction, such fury that it's almost plausible he's having a change of heart. The dissention of his stable might be a catalyst in that transformation. More than likely it's a side effect of not having a team, just minions that have difficulty comprehending the task let alone executing. But Trace and I seem to understand one another, at least from a business viewpoint. There are more elements to weigh out when someone else's livelihood in your hands. It creates an immense pressure that most aren't capable of holding down. Sometimes though, it's all about playing the game.

"It doesn't seem logical for Lila to all of a sudden turn against SOS."

"Lila doesn't care about you guys, Josh." Trace says, eyeing the folder. "She lets petty grudges dictate her thinking. I don't have to like someone to do business. Hell, if I did have to then I'd never have anyone to do business with."

"Take a look at this then." I say, sliding the contract over to Trace. "See if you can find where some of these conditions are completely asinine."

"Wow." Trace says, chuckling for the first time since my arrival as he reads the contract. "I can tell this isn't my work. Sneaky b*tch must have snuck it in after I sent it for filing."

"So what can you do to fix it?"

"Unfortunately, I can't override her decision..."

"Then you're useless to me."

"You really got to let people finish their thoughts." Trace cuts me off. "What I can do is make sure Dave is at the pay per view. You guys are the number one contenders for the Tag Titles after all, that's a binding deal, one I intend to honor."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch, just hoping you'll do the right thing in time, and remember who helped you out when the chips came down."

****

"Why did you come back then?"

It's a simple question, but it doesn't come with a cut and dry answer. None of life's great mysteries ever do. I have a laundry list of potential remarks that could deter any probing questions. But I know that anything I say won't be enough for the good doctor, so I might as well tell the truth.

"To prove I am the best. Ever."

****

I feel like I need to explain something about SOS, maybe clear up a couple misconceptions. People see us as the white hat wearing quartet of love, peace and understanding. That we pacify the fan base who wants to believe in a group of heroes. Maybe it's because we have a passion for the business or the compassion we show our fellow athletes. Maybe it's because we've taken the challenge of representing ourselves with dignity and class that causes people to label us as your typical smiling good guys, even more so than the ones who boast of their change in hearts. SOS lives by a saying that I feel gets lost in translation which is we aren't good or bad, we are simply an entity. The ultimate shade of grey. It's because of who we've chosen to take the fight to that dictates how you view us.

Well you can take that logo and shove it up your ass. We can only help the ones who ask for it. The rest can f*ck off and be left in our wake. You don't want to hear us but when we take the Tag Team Titles at End Game, you'll be forced to listen. You will be forced to acknowledge that we are the pinnacle in this company.

If not, then I will have no problem personally watching you burn.

You look at me as the general, the captain, the architect, the leader of this unit and it's a title I didn't ask for. No, I had that responsibility bestowed upon me because I am willing to hold myself accountable for my team's safety and successes and failures. When Dave fell into a depression because of losing his title, I picked him up and carried him on my back until he found his feet again. When Nikki broke her arm and was forced to the bench, I made sure that she was able to nurse herself back to health safely away from marauders trying to make a name for themselves off her. Because in case anyone hasn't been paying attention lately, we're good for the company. And I've been the driving us forward through the turbulence of distractions and injuries because that's what a true leader of men does.

You don't need to throw a parade for me or shower me in adulation because I do it willingly. Just take notes.

Maybe it's because I see things a little differently than others in my position. The ones who foolishly think you're only as prestigious as the titles you hold. Sure it's nice to have recognition, but it isn't necessary because you can't take it with you when it's time to go home. You look at a guy like Shawn Malakai, a man I have the utmost respect for because of the man he became after I left WFWF in 2007. Unfortunately, Shawn's greatest in ring accomplishments will be a footnote in his eulogy.

But I digress, because one of Shawn's most loyal confidants seems to have forgotten that greatness is measured by being mentally tough enough to do the right thing when there's an easy way out. Right Sam? Mr. Mediocre himself. Wait, that's being too kind. I really must work on matching appropriate titles to people when I address them. Something like the King of Shortcuts might be a better way to describe you, considering your claim to fame consists of piggyback of Zmey's momentum and Raider's legacy to the tune of two Tag Team titles. The kicker is that you weren't the first choice, or second or so on down the line. But who wouldn't take the opportunity to get a free title reign for doing little to no work. But since titles are put upon a rightful pedestal of importance, you now seem more important than you really are.

You know, I didn't condone what Bennett did last year at SuperBrawl, because it was jealously rearing it's ugly head. That being said he should've done us all a favor and squashed you like the leech you are, but then again we wouldn't be having this conversation and I wouldn't have the pleasure of doing it myself.

When you want something done right as they say.

I feel like I'm slighting Zmey by wasting all this time speaking to you Sam, because his sheer size alone makes him the biggest threat to the goal. But I still can't help but feel a little bit of sorrow for the guy, because his life has went completely off the rails recently. First, Donny puts a dunce cap on him then makes him stick his nose in the corner for kicking Drakz's head clear to the Space Needle, then he follows it up by losing to Jay Garrett of all people. I don't know Sam, but if I were you, I'd think about hitching my wagon to another partner. That's what your reputation is, after all. See how easily something like that can snowball? But the mission is very simple, though I have another reason for seeing the end of the KoKaine Konspiracy, and it isn't because Lila Sleater asked me to. It's because your grand coming out party came at the expense of two very close friends of mine, and I haven't forgotten that day. And since they're both in a position where they can't do anything about it, I will because I've sworn to give them what they've requested.

One head for Cameron Stone.

One head for Penny Shannon.

So tell whoever will listen that the most complete athlete in WFWF history is coming to Phoenix, and he's not leaving without gold. I will be the linchpin that causes the collapse of the most overhyped group since the Epoch. And when the analysts discuss my legacy, they won't ask how I did it. They'll understand that I was built to do it. With the hell I've been through in my life, I always seem to find a way of coming out better than when I started. Forged in fire, I will overcome and I'll bring my family with me.

Who knows, I might do you a favor and piss on the ashes of the scorched earth I leave behind.

[jdfranchise]

This would've been posted like 4 hours ago. But when you have a toddler that doesn't like going to bed, it can throw your best laid plans out the window. It literally took me an hour to code this. Makes me wonder who you guys can code stuff with so many colors so efficiently. Oh well. I enjoyed writing this and tried a couple different things on this. Hopefully it reads well and you guys enjoy. Sorry again for the delay.

[Deleted]

That reference to Mrs. Holmes was great and made me smirk. Had to comment on that. Best of luck to you sir!

[Drakz]

Awesome stuff brother. This was a main event quality RP, one that would stand up in a Heavyweight Title match no problem.

You covered so many bases. Your family. Your past. Your thoughts on the rest of the roster.

My favorite scene was the interaction between Josh and Trace. That was really well written and I always enjoy it when people not only write existing characters accurately but don't hog all of the zingers for their own character. You created a balance there and both Dean and Trace came off well from it.

This is the best thing I've ever read from you, no doubt, and it furthered all different kinds of stories for Josh. You looked at your relationship with your stable members but you also addressed the current state of that very group. You pay equal credence to Demento's gripes as your own and through it all you maintain a good grasp of vocabulary and structure.

I thought the opening was a bit silly but because of the tone of the rest of the RP it was almost welcome actually, as it mixed things up and stopped this piece being mono tonal.

Excellent work.

[bad guy™]

This was really good.

BOO.

[jdfranchise]

I do have to say about the scene with Trace, I actually had him give it a look to make sure it was accurate. There were a couple tweaks made in the process, but the meat of that scene was my interpretation of how an interaction between the two would go. I got to thank him for that.

[Rated R]

This was fantastic work man and I agree with Drakz it's probably the best I've seen from you. You used the framing device perfectly and hit a lot of different points through it which was great to see, plus in my eyes you're single handily keeping the momentum of the SOS and you've done a great job with it. We saw plenty of development for Josh and I really enjoy the role you've put him in, he's not your usual snarky or angry wrestler, he's a straight up businessman who also kicks ass. I didn't actually enjoy the initial flashback scene with the death of the parents, but that's probably because I don't think it was entirely needed since you touched the same bases elsewhere but aside from that I was thoroughly entertained from start to finish. Great job.