Post by Drakz on Aug 5, 2015 18:18:54 GMT -5
For Old Times' Sake...
(A.K.A Drakz tries to play nice)
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For the first time since I was tossed off by a friend of mine……..I should perhaps rephrase that…….ever since I was given flying lessons by the other half of the Tag Team Champions I have known exactly where I’m heading. I had no idea that attack was coming but from the moment my feet left the stage and hereafter I’ve been The Seer to my own fate.
Are you with me?
Let me break it down into bite size chunks for baby. Here comes the aeroplane!
As I hurtled towards the smooth concrete of the University of Phoenix Stadium I knew what lay ahead. It didn’t take much sooth saying to predict I was about to get to 1st base with the floor. Things were a little touch and go while I lay vegetated, but once I woke up I knew where I was going. I knew of all the rehab and painstaking wasted time that lay ahead. I knew I’d get out of there on my own two feet, emancipated from that f*cking chair.
I knew I’d get back on the waggon.
Now you could put all of that down to positive mental attitude, perhaps the most important part of the healing process? If you’re that way inclined then let me continue in my attempt to dispute.
I defied medical practitioners and returned to the WFWF. I lay down a challenge to a man many considered to be THE man. Did I do that because I thought I could beat him? For the most part I’m actually quite conservative and a risk like that just isn’t my style. I had to know I was going to beat Phillip Schneider if I was getting into that ring with him.
Do you need further proof?
I was initially held at arms reach from the grand prize I so sought, but guess what? I knew I’d become WFWF World Heavyweight Champion again.
The pattern continues in that I knew I’d have a lot to deal with when I went back to the UK. I knew I’d defend my title against Trace Demon. I knew Phillip Schneider wouldn’t be able to stay away. I knew I’d finish the job. I knew I’d be set to break his record as the longest reigning champ of all time. I may not be there yet but newsflash time waits for no man, and I’m clawing at that door.
So why in the blue f*ck am I putting you through this laborious history lesson? Why am I repeating the words “I knew” over and over? I simply want you all to appreciate that I am constantly looking ahead, and what I see on the horizon is always crystal clear. 20/20 vision.
Do you accept that as more than just self belief now?
Well even if you don’t, f*ck you. Suspend your disbelief for the sake of a good story.
The point I’m trying to make, if you’d all just get off my back, is that up until these last few weeks I’ve had a head start on what the future holds. Now though? Everything’s gone f*cky.
As soon as I was vicariously partnered up with Donnie Monty Kent in this tag team tournament my vision has been blurred. I can’t clear the fog from the room. A toxic, sh*tty fog that only an angry midget can generate. It pumps from his ears when his blood pressure rises.
Each week I’ve had no idea where I stand until after Christa Adina says our names and the word “winners”. At any moment DMK's pet dragon could change the route our road takes. He’s one of the few men capable of ripping the tarmac from beneath my feet and force feeding it to me. So far so good though.
Even I’m surprised we’ve made it as far as the tournament finals, I thought Donnie would have turned his thrall on me weeks ago, but here we are. We’ve collectively laid waste to new comers and legitimate teams alike in a fashion many would call “by the seat of our pants” and yet it seems to be working. Whilst on paper the argument could be made that our teaming is no more than the sum of it’s parts, due in totality to the lack of any chemistry, it’s a non-point though as the parts that we are, happen to be world f*cking class.
The WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, The “God Slayer“, The “Demon” Slayer, Drakz; and The Dragon, a man none have yet beaten cleanly in the ring. He’s the Eater of Worlds. How can you deny the insanity of betting against us?
Whilst I’ve been so caught up in my own short sightedness I certainly didn’t foresee our opponents in the finals making it so far either. Who would have thought that the cookie dough, nicey niceness of Nikki Dean would have gelled so well with “The Master of Dried Pasta”, the guy the women want to be and the men want to f*ck, Trace Demon? Not only have they forced some kind of mutual respect but they’ve done so in the midst of battles with Michael Kyzer and his sex slave Ante Whitner, as well as the same pussies we beat, Hollywood Unhinged 2.0. Sequels are always worse than the original, and when the original is straight garbage you’re doomed to licking boots.
Back on point. Somehow the finals of this tag team tournament have been hijacked by four singles wrestlers who have no business in the division. I mean what is going to happen after this tourney is done with? We stand as two units for now, but as far as I can tell not one of us is going to remain a dedicated partner after this all blows over. Family values can only tie Dean and Demon together for so long, and me and Tugarin? As suicidal as it may sound I’d rather stand across from him than next to him. I know where I stand when he’s running towards me.
That’s easy.
That’s what I do.
Don’t misunderstand my intentions though. I’m not just playing survival here. This isn’t a bad sexual experience that I’m just gritting my teeth and trying to make it through.
Oh no.
I want those Tag Team Titles. I need those Tag Team Titles.
They cement my legacy and set me apart from what has become a crowded room over the years.
If the Grand Slam is the V.I.P section of the party then I want the private booth. I have to become Mr. Double Grand Slam in Tokyo, even if The Dragon tries to eat me alive after the fact. A charred champion is still a champion.
And hey, even if our title reign only lasts for 10 minutes it’s only a case of retracing my steps from the last time. Up and off the stage.
Although, as sweet as he was, I just don’t think I could handle 5th base with that concrete.
I’ve got a future to think about.
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Dog Business
“And so you see my dilemma? Without the World Heavyweight Championship on the line, I don’t think we’ve got the punching power we need for such a prestigious show. Also, is it really necessary for that dog to be in here?”
Sucking my teeth I breathe in deep. I know exactly where she’s coming from. It’s tough selling a show with anyone but me at the top of the card. She can eat sh*t if she thinks Dog is going anywhere though.
“Maybe I can help you out Lila. You need some serious midas touching and in doing so I might be able to solve my own problems while I’m at it. Also Dog stays. He’s my business partner, and seeing as we’re doing business I insist on his company.”
A sigh. One of complicity.
“Go on.”
“My friend and I thank you. So, as you know, I opted to take a step back this go around because I wanted a break from the norm. I wanted to try something different. How do you think I’ve done in that field?”
She smirks, knowing full well that all of this is just fanfare. Sleater knows to play along though. Pander to my ego if only for a short while.
“I’d say teaming with Tugarin has come as a breath of fresh air, no?”
“A strange way to put it, but yes in a way it has. There’s an element of danger there, and it's been present every week instead of just when Pay Per View time rolls around. Granted I’ve been slacking on my championship duties but I’ll be sure to make up for that in due course. Right now though we’re nearing the end of this little run, and while it’s been fun I need something to look forward to. A new challenge. We need to build some stars Lila. Right now the only legitimate contender I’ve not beaten is one Michael Kyzer, and well, I can’t get within X amount of feet of him by law.”
“So what you’re saying is you need a worthy opponent? Someone who actually gets our audience on board?“
“What I’m saying is I want to destroy Michael Kyzer, but I’m not allowed, so instead we need someone who screams MONEY, because at the end of the day that’s the reason this company exists.”
“Any ideas?”
Isn’t she supposed to be the shrewd business woman here?
“Certainly not f*cking Yukio. The day I headline a Pay Per View against him is the day they revoke my day release privileges.”
Ever the politician, Sleater doesn’t respond.
“What I propose is we stick a rocket up one of your International Title boy’s arses.”
“Oh? Which one?”
I sneer, holding my hands up. I’ve not got time to do the deciding.
“Let them choose.”
She cocks an eye brow and for a moment I can see what Dave “DUI” Demento sees in her. If she can keep that coy look on her face with a d*ck in her mouth we’re on to a winner. Sorry, I forgot myself there. This is a professional meeting.
“Surely they’ll all just be pushing for themselves?”
“And? Let them do it in the ring. Lip service is only one dimension, and they’ve all shown they can talk. Perhaps a little too much. They need to prove in that ring the lengths they’re willing to go to, vying for my attention. I want to know when it comes down to it who wants this opportunity more? If they’re willing to crack heads over second class gold then just think what will happen when they know they could become the big fish…………that’s how you sell a main event Lila. Blood lust.”
If her purse strings haven’t got a hard on for me right now then there’s something drastically wrong.
“F*ck.......Sorry. Excuse my language.”
“Please, curse all you want.”
“I think you may have just saved my ass.”
“You can say it. I’m a f*cking genius.”
“Let’s not over do it Drakz. This is damn good though. If we go with your idea, when should we announce it?”
“Osaka. Announce it in Japan and it’ll get more press coverage over there. Come on Lila this is easy.”
“Sorry I’m just getting excited about this. You’re totally right we need to start cultivating the next generation of main event talent. With Phillip Schneider gone, Trace Demon losing momentum and Michael Kyzer running from the championship match we’ve offered him, we have a gap that needs filling. A gap that could become permanent very soon.”
Wow, that was pretty cold. She’s right though, my generation aren’t far off being put out to pasture and it’s too late to act once that happens.
“Is there anything else?”
“Get me Michael Kyzer. I don’t care what you have to do but I want this sanction lifted. You have my complete co-operation with regards to what he wants from me, so just act with power of attorney.”
“You know far better than I do that nothing I do or say will change Kyzer’s mind.”
“Have you tried?”
“Of course. I want this as much as you. The pulling power of that match alone could set attendance records. He’s on his own terms though.”
“Okay, let’s force the people to forget him then. I’ll bait him out of the woods like the jackal piece of sh*t he is. If he senses his importance waning he'll react. I am the main event around here Lila. I don’t even have to be at the top of the card in Tokyo for people to know I’m still the main event. The match going on last is for the chance to face me. I’m the f*cking prize! If we want this match with Kyzer to happen then we’re going to have to create the perfect environment for it to flourish. Make me the God Schneider always thought he was.”
As my emotions get the better of me we start to go off piste. Time to reel it in.
“But of course, that’s not your responsibility. I’ll take care of it. Once Kyzer sees I've eclipsed him he'll come for me.”
I rise to leave and Sleater jumps to her feet to see me out. I whistle just the once and Dog is out of the door ahead of us. Sleater waves me off and once the door closes the real meeting can commence.
“How did she seem to you?”
“Scared. Lost. Worried.”
That’s probably just what he could smell. This creature is the ultimate judge of character.
“She’s not in the strongest of positions right now is she?”
“The top few guys have all of the leverage that’s why. You, Trace Demon, Kyzer. The talent should be working for her not the other way around. Which brings me to your idea. Why are you trying to shift the balance of power? Aren’t you happy being in control?”
It may seem odd to a Dog that’s never wielded much in the way of authority, but my bringing through of a fresh main event scene is far more therapeutic than the ever present sense of omnipotence in remaining unchallenged at all times.
“I said it in there pal, I need new game to hunt. I need hungry opponents who have never tasted the top. Consistently beating wrestlers of memories past isn’t enough to etch my name in the annals. I need to mix it up, for my legacies sake and my own peace of mind.”
“Peace of mind?”
“Like everything, I need to KNOW I’m unstoppable. Everyone knows I like to talk myself up, but the difference between me and every other c*nt who’s passed through this place is that my resumé matches the spiel I’m hawking.”
“So what’s missing? Why aren’t you confident enough to 'know'?”
“I need to physically experience my dominance to be entirely sure of it. Can’t we just settle on the fact that I simply want some new faces to f*ck?”
“It always boils down to where you can put your c*ck doesn’t it? Both literally and metaphorically.”
“Don’t hate me for my testicles. I wasn’t the man who neutered you. I found you that way remember?”
Dog goes silent. Reminiscing. A soft focus montage of licking his own balls playing out in his head no doubt. Memories.
“Hey!”
I open a door for him and he cocks his head.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Forget it. Listen, I need to know if you want to come to Japan. There’s all sorts of paper work that needs filling out to get you through customs and imports.”
“You’re on your own there.”
“Why so? Have you ever even left the states?”
“I’ve done more than you know Isaac. I don’t go to that part of the world though.”
“You still haven’t said why.”
“I refuse to end up on a menu.”
HA! Wow!
‘’Not all Asians eat dogs you know.”
“And how can you be sure which ones do and which ones don’t? They all look the….”
“Hey, hey, hey. Less of that squire. I thought you were supposed to be this worldly, third eye activist? Tsk, tsk.”
His tail is tucked between his legs and he knows when he’s done wrong by me.
“Not only am I friends with a dog, but a racist one at that.”
Maybe instead of changing the live’s of those itching for the main event scene it’s time to re-evaluate my own?
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The Meet
“The next station will be Roppongi. Doors will open on the left. Change here for the Oedo Line.”
The perfectly enunciated translation follows the Japanese announcement, and a moment later the train doors part in front of my face. The warm night air rushes into the air conditioned carriage and the humidity kicks my sweat glands into gear.
Of all the neighbourhoods, how did I know this is where Donnie would arrange our meeting? Roppongi is infamous amongst the Japanese for it’s bars infested with gaijin. Not just foreigners looking to integrate into Tokyo society, and certainly not the type that would even attempt to adhere to any kind of national etiquette. Noisy. Drunk. Sexually frustrated. Without Class. These are words that encapsulate the nature of almost every ex-pat, or stationed US army recruit that calls this area “home”. These are also the words that make it an obvious choice of location for DMK.
I f*cking hate Roppongi.
As I walk the last few stairs from the underground the streets rear their ugly head. At first glance it’s just another built up Tokyo ward, but to the cynical eye of a well travelled hate machine it’s the Tokyo streets littered with unsavoury types. Don’t get me wrong it’s nothing compared to the rougher side of almost any city in the states, that’s not the kind of unsavoury I mean. Left and right are the kind of people that solidify the negative use of the word gaijin. It’s a word rarely used in a purely matter of fact sense. 99 times out of 100 it’s used as an adjective to describe a complete lack of manners and self awareness. A derogatory term indeed. These are the kind of people I see on the streets now. Caucasian males looking for ‘love’. Nigerian fraudsters calling them from the doorways of the seediest of bars.
“Hey mister! Hey mister! You like Japanese girl?”
Who doesn’t? But I don’t like “Japanese girl” enough to run up an 18 hundred dollar bar tab. Nor do I like “Japanese girl” enough to have my drink spiked and my possessions performing vanishing acts. Walking toward the bar of Donnie’s choice I continue my analysis of those around me. There are of course Japanese on the streets as well, it’s not a bizarre paradox bubble within the world’s most densely populated city. Their reasons for being here? Work? Pleasure? Who cares. They’re nigh on invisible amongst the swathes of c*nts. The only Japanese who stand out to me are those smoking in doorways, faces set in a sneer. Their hair cuts. Their tattoos. Their body language. Y-Boys. Yaks. Gokudō. Yakuza. They generally leave foreigners alone though. It draws too much media attention to extort or aggravate anyone from overseas. It’s almost impossible to feel threatened in this city, and perhaps that’s why so many of these foreigners act the way they do.
As I turn a corner I see the club I’m heading to, not because I know the name, not because I recognise the building, but because out the front stands a 7 foot masked leviathan. The fact he’s not drawing much attention is testament to the Japanese nature of 'mind your own business' so as not to offend. Tugarin is the last man you'd want to offend. His huge head looks toward me and on seeing my approach he turns and heads inside, knowing full well that I’d be stupid not to follow suit.
“You’re late you f*cking clown!”
Quite the salutation as I approach Donnie’s booth.
“How long have you been here drinking?”
“What’s it to you? You kept me waiting! You shouldn’t keep me waiting!”
“Keep your voice down. Let’s not get ourselves tarred with the same old f*cking gaijin brush.”
Who the f*ck am I kidding? I’m being ushered into the far corner of a booth by a drunken midget and then blocked in by a giant. There is no way we’re keeping a low profile.
“F*ck your English sensibilities. If I want to shout in your face I’ll shout in your f*cking face. God! Look at me! You got me all riled up! I was all ready to introduce you to your slice of **** and now I’m ready to smash your teeth in.”
It never fails to amaze me that Donnie thinks he would even stand a chance if things got physical. The fact Zmey is sat 20cm to my left keeps me in check though.
“Do you know why I asked you to meet me?”
“Because Zmey and I have a high profile match to discuss?”
“Exactly. But I don’t think we’re talking about the same match.”
What’s his angle?
“What do you mean? We’ve got a few days until we’re in the Tokyo Dome fighting for the Tag Team Titles.”
He grins and his yellow pegs are bared to the gums.
“You made a promise to me ‘champ’. Something you seem to be going back on if what you said in Osaka is to be believed. You’re in a very deep hole and I’m shovelling sh*t down onto you. It’s time to start talking.”
What is this maniac talking about?
“I don’t follow?”
Donnie slams his drink onto the table and though he’s trying to hide behind this disgusting smile I can see the vein in his head start to throb.
“You promised the number one contendership to Zmey and me, so why the f*ck am I hearing what I’m hearing regarding Ahriman’s match?”
“That’s what this is about? If I remember correctly Donnie I said IF we win this tourney I’d grant Zmey a title shot.”
“And?”
“We haven’t won yet.”
His teeth are grinding and he has to down his drink to steady himself. I have a feeling that glass may be heading my way any moment now.
“Listen here you f*cking Welsh piece of sh*t, are you telling me you think, even for a f*cking moment that my Dragon isn’t capable of ripping through Trace Demon and his Dean wh*re partner? Maybe you don’t have faith in your own chicken sh*t abilities, but I for one know that we don’t need you on board to win this match. That Heavyweight Championship match is basically booked and now you’re dangling it over the heads of 3 other men? F*CK YOU!”
As predicted the glass comes straight at my face but I’m able to slip it thanks to premeditating his rag loss. He’s breathing fast and hard and I think it may be time to at least try and defuse things here.
“Donnie. Chill the f*ck out. If we win this match at the Pay Per View Zmey can still have his title shot. Jesus! The stipulation I added to the main event was to sell the show, not because I’m overlooking our agreement. It's good business.”
The claret complexion begins to fade as Donnie’s blood sinks back into his body. This little man is going to be his own undoing. One of these days he’s going to forget his wallet, or trip on a threshold and his heart will literally just stop. Maybe a frantic spasm first, but the end result is the same.
“In that case here’s the f*ck slave I promised for the duration of your stay.”
For the first time I realise there’s actually a fourth person sat around the table. Thanks to Donnie’s immediate tirade on my approach I’ve not taken my eyes off of him, making sure Zmey’s always been in my peripheral. Somehow the last 10 minutes have gone by and I’m yet to notice the staggeringly beautiful woman sat across from me at DMK’s side.
“I told you I’d find a geisha who was a wh*re.”
She’s like something from a movie. Painted to perfection. Not a hair out of place. Something tells me this is Donnie’s idea of leverage, but she’s almost too flawless to f*ck.
“Quite.”
“Shut the f*ck up. Quite? You limey f*ckin’ c*nt hole. God I hate you.”
The feeling is most certainly mutual but having only just calmed him down I don’t want to vocalise my opinion of him. I instead turn to look at Zmey to find he is eyeballing me in such a way that I feel uncomfortable holding his gaze. I turn my attention back to the young Japanese woman who is surprisingly calm given her current situation. Mind you, if she really is a prostitute the chances are she’s seen worse men than us, which actually………no, there’s no way.
“Are you ready to win me some gold then?”
Win him some gold? He has no idea.
“Like you say, it’s a foregone conclusion.”
“You’re not going to get all nervous in the ring with your ex-boyfriend?”
“Excuse me?”
“Everyone knows you and Trace Demon have the hots for each other. Just don’t let your yearning loins f*ck with your head.”
I suppose dropping a man head first on a steel chair probably does count as a display of affection in Donnie’s world.
“As for Nikki Dean though, that b*tch still needs to be taught a lesson for taking the National Title away from the KKK. You leave that to Zmey though. I want him to eat her alive. If you really came here to talk strategy then that’s it right there. Zmey destroys Josh’s slam pig while you and Trace make out. Just as long as you’re the one in the saddle, your tonsil hockey should keep Trace enamoured for long enough to pin his shoulders to the mat. We win. We become champions. I never have to deal with your f*ggot ways ever again, unless it’s watching as Zmey splits you in two. Can you even imagine how big his d*ck is?”
What is wrong with him? A couple of drinks and he’s spouting homo-erotic imagery like it’s second nature. I know it’s taking the path of insult but something tells me he’s laying it on a little too thick here.
“If it’s all the same to you Donnie I think me and Tugarin will handle the in ring side of things.”
“Whatever. It won’t be long before Tugarin gets his shot at laying waste to you. You might be able to beat chumps like Phillip Schneider but my Dragon? HA! We’ll show the world that you’re a bigger joke of a champion than Dex ever was.”
Okay, this is getting on my t*ts now.
“Donnie your Dragon may be twice my size but I’ll still send him to the knacker yard. They’ll turn his f*cking carcass into glue, and you? You can be my f*cking lap dog you bean headed f*ck.”
Too much? The rising tide in DMK’s eyes makes me think perhaps. Time to head on out.
“I’m out of here little man. You need to think long and hard about wether you want me to win this match for you or make your Dragon look like a f*cking fool. I’m not the push over b*tch you’ve convinced yourself I am. I’ll throw this whole f*cking tournament away if it means you’ll have an aneurysm and die.”
I rise from my seat, still pinned in by the table in front of me and the Slavic behemoth to my left.
“SIT DOWN!”
He jumps to his feet, standing on the seat.
“Where do you get off throwing orders at me Kent? I’m the Heavyweight Champion of the World, not one of your crack addled security force. That sh*t might fly with the likes of Whitner and Ahriman but I’m f*cked if I’m letting you talk to me like this anymore. Show some respect.”
“ZMEY!”
Oh f*ck!
“Zmey.”
I hold my hands up to Tugarin but he’s now standing as well, stepping out of the booth and blocking my exit. The little Geisha girl is starting to look worried but she’s not bolted just yet. Donnie must be paying her handsomely.
“I AM THE F*CKING DADDY! WHILE YOU FIGHT WITH MY DRAGON YOU WORK FOR ME!”
Donnie grabs the girl’s drink and throws it at me. I move again but it shatters right next to my head, the exploding shards cutting just below my ear. Zmey, knowing I may lunge for his keeper steps toward me and I opt for vaulting the wall of our booth. I land on the next table along, sending drinks all over the laps of some sleazy looking salarymen who shout at me in their mother tongue. I don’t stop to discern what they’re saying and instead race toward the door, not knowing for a moment how close on my heels Zmey really is.
Barrelling into the street I cross the road, a taxi’s horn screaming at me as it’s bumper rolls inches away from my legs. For a man who wanted to avoid the gaijin cliches I’m causing quite the scene. Zmey now emerges from the bar with Donnie behind him, dragging the girl by the wrist. She doesn’t resist and I’m starting to wonder just how much she really is making from all of this?
“You can keep the wh*re! Maybe her sideways p*ssy can be your new tag team partner?! Good luck in your handicap match you f*cking f*ggot sack of cum!”
Still with the homo-eroticism.
“Go choke on his tiny balls!”
Donnie pushes the girl into the road ahead of him, throwing a loaded money clip at her as she stumbles. She scrambles to pick up the couple of notes that have come loose before brushing her yukata down, straightening her posture and calmly making her way over to me.
“I don’t give a f*ck if you win or lose that tournament, my Dragon is taking that belt from you once we get back to the states!”
Having heard enough I snort at the suggestion before hooking arms with the Geisha and walking back toward the station, Donnie’s stream of expletives chasing us until we turn a corner. On doing so we’re greeted by the sight of a sun burned American throwing his guts up all over the place. If that wasn’t enough he seems to have been taking a p*ss at the time of eruption as his flaccid c*ck is still hanging out.
I f*cking hate Roppongi.
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Geisha in a Garden
“And so you see my dilemma? One on one, I know I can beat Trizzle Dizzle, that’s common knowledge at this stage in our careers. As for his femme fatale, I’m yet to even speak to her, but we have met, if only briefly. She watched me beat the p*ss out of her husband before she’d ever even laced up a pair of wrestling boots. I like to think the kicking I gave Josh was so inspirational that she made the jump from valet to in ring competitor. I don’t know how true that is but that can be said of a lot of sh*t I say about other people I work with. That’s a strange way to put it isn’t it? My colleagues. My work mates. It’s not as though we meet by the water cooler to gossip or get to decorate our cubicles with photos of cats, dogs and midgets. Our place of work is some what……..unorthodox.”
For the record I’m talking to my newly acquainted Geisha friend. I say friend because we’re yet to consummate our relationship. It may strike you as weird, and to be honest it does me as well, but last night I took her back to my hotel room, ran a hot bath and didn’t have sex with her. Instead I got her to do all of the things a real Geisha should do. She sang for me, danced for me, folded paper for me, made tea for me, essentially just pampered me and calmed me down after our earlier run in with Donnie Monty C*nt.
Am I going soft with age? Perhaps.
But today is a new day and we’re spending it sat in Yoyogi Park enjoying one another’s company. Realistically I’m just using her to vent. It feels less weird divulging all of my inner most angers to a painted up prostitute, in a country renowned for it’s lack of English speakers, than it does a dog. It makes no sense really as at least Dog talks back to me………F*ck. What kind of a statement is that?
“But a job’s a job, and I happen to be sh*t hot at this one. I’m one of, if not THE best at it. Even still though if I really have been left to my own machinations by Donnie and Tugarin then I don’t know if even I can overcome what lies ahead. This isn’t a match fuelled by emotion, or is it? I suppose if it were then it’s probably contained within each team. While I’ve got Zmey breathing down my neck you’ve got to believe the ‘Demon and Dean Family Hour’ can’t be all roses, not unless Trace has turned over about 16 new leaves.”
She just smiles at me, her legs tucked under her backside pulling her kimono tight against her.
“My only chance is if things collapse around my opponent’s ears. It’s a sorry sight though isn’t it? Perhaps this tournament final is just a metaphor for what my life has become. I’m fighting for the Tag Team Titles on my own. My only real friend betrayed me and is now trying to prove a point by destroying as many people as possible right under my nose. The company I keep now is a f*cking dog, no offence boy, and he’s 7000 miles away. I’m a lonely old man who’s not even old. It’s hard staying positive when you’re at the top of the mountain. Straddling the precipice is all well and good when you’ve got your footing, but one slip and it’s going right up your arse hole. I can’t trust anyone not to swipe my legs out from under me.”
I pause as the truly depressing nature of my situation starts to sink in.
“You knoe, you’re a really good listener.”
“Hai!”
F*cking hell. I changed my mind this IS more pathetic than talking to a dog. I feel like a middle aged man who’s too much of a sad c*nt to find a woman who speaks his language, and so I’ve come to the far east to basically buy someone’s affection, or in my case have it bought on my behalf by a midget who loathes me. Is this some kind of hate f*ck he’s trying to set up? Is she a robot assasin? Maybe she’s……. Hold on, what the f*ck is this?!
The girl is startled by my sudden scramble to a standing base and starts anxiously talking to me in Japanese.
Walking along the path, only 50 feet away and coming in our direction, is a man I have every reason to be wary of, even more so this far away from home.
“What are you doing here? Have you changed your mind?”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps on coming.
“Drop the strong, silent sh*t. We both know you love to talk as much as I do.”
Still no response and now he’s right on top of us. He addresses my lady first with a bow.
“Kon'nichiwa wakai josei.”
She timidly bows her head and replies. Now the pleasantry of greeting my companion is through he turns his attention to me and me alone. That death stare I know so well.
“Hello Isaac.”
“I thought you retired? Why are you following the WFWF touring schedule? Do you want an autograph?”
“I am retired. I’m a man of my word, not a wh*re like your friend here.”
Even with his hair cut off Phillip Schneider’s still recognisable to me from a distance, and up close I can now see his wounds from his last match, like mine, are simply just more scars on the canvas.
“So why are you here, on the other side of the world from home, in the exact same park as me? Seems a little too coincidental to be true Phillip.”
I make a point of popping my lips on the final P of his name.
“You’re right, this isn’t just happenstance, but I’m not as far from home as you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After spending a few weeks tying up some loose ends I upped sticks and left the states. I’m living up in the Osaka hills now. It’s beautiful. Much nicer than Chicago. Quieter.”
“A good place to die.”
I realise that sounded more like a threat than I meant it to. This is weird. So far we seem to be conducting a pretty normal conversation, the first in our lives.
"Tokyo's still a trip though. Hopped on the bullet train when I heard you guys were gonna be here. It's weird. You run me out of the WFWF.. I leave the continent.. And you're right back to me..."
“It must be love……”
He seems much calmer. More like a reasonable human than a maniacal violence monger. Perhaps I did a good thing? I mean I know I did good by me, and the rest of the company. I even did good by the fans, but it seems I may have even helped out Schneider by forcing his hand.
“Why aren’t you at the top of the card?”
He's straight to the point, as though he’s offended by my absence from the main event.
“I fancied something different. A step out of the lime light. Besides that main event is simply a place holder, setting up my next grand design.”
“You should be defending your title.”
“I plan on winning another one.”
I see why he’s getting antsy. 355 days and counting. The gap’s closing. Hell it’s almost closed.
“Are you worried I’m about to break your record?”
I’m ready for a kick to the jaw and I think he senses it, his lips parting into a smile.
“The breaking of the record itself? No. Congratulations if you can manage it. The way you’re going about it? Perhaps. Stalling by entering yourself into a tournament is a clever ploy, but going this long without a title defence is hokey.”
“This isn’t an argument you want to have with me. The history books are on my side Phil.”
He chuckles and as though simply testing my metal moves the conversation along.
“Call me assuming but I can’t imagine you and Donnie are getting on behind closed doors? How does it feel having his fingers so close to your short and curlies?”
“You mind if we sit?”
A subtle nod on his part and I place myself next to the girl, my knees up and legs spread in front of me. Schneider follows suit, crossing his legs, his scarred, surgically repaired knees poking out the bottom of his cargo pants.
“So?”
“It’s as you’d imagine. Donnie’s disdain for my existence is well documented, so his having to rely on me has been quite the strain. In fact it came to a head last night?”
“Did you push him out of bed?”
“He pushed me……so to speak. I’ve been left high and dry by the looks of things.”
“Is this the part where you ask me to step in?”
“I’d rather get beaten on my own.”
“And I’d rather watch from the comfort of my own home.”
It’s nice to know that despite the civility of our current situation we both still want as little to do with one another as possible. That’s what makes this encounter so puzzling.
“So why are you actually here? You didn’t travel to Tokyo just to say hi.”
He respects me, but he doesn’t like me.
“I’m here because I wanted to see how you were after what happened at End Game.”
Excuse me?
“Excuse me?”
“Not your physical health. I don’t give a f*ck about that. Your mental state. I wanted to know what ending my career had done for you. Looking at you here, sat in Yoyogi with a whore and no tag team partner to speak of, I’d say it’s not left you in too good of a position.”
“What? You expected me to be a burning ball of gas searing through the atmosphere? Phil, beating you has indeed done a lot for me as a champion, but right now? Whatever has happened in the past isn’t going to help me in the numbers game. The long and short of it is I’m totally up sh*t creek. I’ve got a paddle. I reach for it. It’s also made of sh*t. You see where I’m coming from?”
“Stop being such a ****. How the f*ck did you beat me with such a defeatist mentality? Who cares if Zmey isn’t going to show? Are you Samael Ahriman? Do you need that masked slab of meat to fight your battles for you? Are you a satanic chippendale? Well?”
“Of course I need Zmey. I need a partner. Any partner!”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I’m outnumbered 2 to 1, that’s why. F*ck, this isn’t hard to understand.”
“You’re against Trace Demon, a man you have the psychological advantage over, and Nikki Dean, a woman you have almost every advantage over.”
He starts counting on his fingers.
“They have to slap hands to swap places, capitalise on that. As a team they’re oil and strawberry f*cking milk, capitalise on that. They’ve taken on the role of ‘good guys’, capitalise on that!”
All valid points. Maybe I do need to strap my balls back between my legs?
“You’ve been keeping up your ‘good guy’ facade for so long that you’ve forgotten how to play the game. Maybe, if you can still stomach it, you should take this opportunity to play the villain? For one night only. Cheating and taking the path of least resistance might be the only way to get you where you want to go.”
I don’t really know his motives but he may be right. Maybe I should thrust my middle finger up the world’s arse just this once? I can’t lose all of my good guy points in one night now can I?
“Why the f*ck do you even care anyway?”
“Why? Isn’t that obvious? If you lose your first big match after End Game then that tarnishes what we did. It makes me look bad. It makes you look bad. It makes everything we did in that ring look bad. You need to suck it up Isaac. Partner or no partner you need to win this match. Become a piece of sh*t again. Do what you always did best.”
A somewhat sinister smirk curls the edges of my mouth and I glance across at my Geisha. She smiles back at me, although her eyes tell a different story. She knows something isn’t right. I grab her by the wrist and stand, dragging her up with me.
“You speak her language. Tell her she’s about to earn the money she’s been paid.”
As Schneider starts up I walk away, pulling my girl in tow. She doesn’t resist, she doesn’t squirm, in fact she hurries her pace to stay by my side. I turn back to Schneider and shout over my shoulder:
“What’s the Japanese word for gaping?”
He bursts out laughing and it becomes evident not only to him, but to myself, that maybe I do stand a chance. It’s time to turn the scum bag dial up all the way! I need to come out with spit flying, and teeth gnashing. I’m going to f*ck this girl within an inch of her life and then I’m going to do the same to Nikki Dean. That should just about get me warmed up to f*ck the red out of Trace Demon’s hair and then forge a sporan out of the Tag Team Titles to cover my expletives as I walk butt naked out of the Tokyo Dome dripping with horror.
All of this and I’m going to have fun while I’m at it.
For old times' sake…….
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You can’t blame me for being the bad guy come match time. I’ve had my hand forced by a multitude of people. Donnie, Tugarin and Schneider of all people. I’m just a puppet to my own inner workings this go around. You can let me off just this one time though right? You can all just look away and ignore the screams, for the sake of character continuity.
I’m a man who’s made his career on being the worst of the worst but also entertaining the masses with my every move, and yet I chose to turn away from it all in favour of a life of honour and chivalry. Even the nicest of guys need an outlet though. A moment to simply open the flood gates and perform a hard reset. Let’s just consider this my hard reset. Next match I’ll be all smiles again, I promise. For now though I’ve gotten myself all worked up. The last week has seen me move from limp fish out of water to tiger shark, and I can smell menstruation all around. Word must have gotten back to Trace and Nikki by now that Tugarin has no intention of turning up on game night. They’re guard is lowered, their expectations lessened. For all intents and purposes I’m an easy target, waiting to be torn to shreds. This will be their undoing.
They forget that Sol Inviticus needs no allies, needs no partners, needs no Dragons. I’m The “God” Slayer, The f*cking Demon Headmaster, Genghis Khan Jnr. I am a man who smiles to hide the knife in his hand. I’m the kisser of hands and the shaker of babies.
I was worried, of course I was, that my plight was an impossible one to overcome, but I’ve thrown caution to the wind. What good does it do me going into this fight convinced I’m a loser? None. I’m going to be the one with my hand raised at the end of it all, with my foot atop the stacked bodies of Trace Demon and Nikki Dean.
This may all sound like a scared man trying to puff his chest up but that’s the beauty of “Evil Drakz”, he honestly believes all of it! What fun!
Now for the part where I pick apart each of my opponents. Are you ready? Then we’ll begin;
Trace Demon. Tracey D. Tracey Beaker. We’ve had a laugh over the years you and I. A series of back and forths. The chance to steal one another’s thunder. The thing is though that of the four times we’ve met in the ring I’m the one who tends to do the winning.
Myself and Michael vs. You and the guy Schneider collected all of the saliva from. He keeps it all in a jar. No kidding. Hutton Brown was it?
I won.
Myself vs. Yourself.
I won.
Myself vs. Yourself 2: The Reckoning.
I won.
In fact the only time you’ve actually ever beaten me is by blindsiding me with the International Title belt while I was busy ending the career of the third man in the match. R.I.P. Drake Elias.
That’s got to weigh on your mind, knowing that if I win it makes us 4-1 in my favour. Not a great record for a would be King? Even more so if I do it when you’ve got the Princess of Salvation on your side. What’s more is this isn’t even the first time we’ve ended up across the ring from one another in a tournament final now is it? Gold on the line. All or nothing. Well…….you know how it went last time, and all you have to do is ask Schneider for confirmation of the fact that when I’m involved history has a way of repeating itself.
That was a few years ago though, and I’m not one to assume you’re the same man I beat last time we were in Japan, I’m not even sure you’re the same man I beat over in the UK. Things have changed for you Trace and I’m not so sure it’s been for the better. Last time we waged war you were at the head of what you called a revolution. You had doting followers, all the momentum in the world and a vendetta. Since then? It seems my denying you the gold you so needed to force your dominance in the fed brought the whole damn thing to a grinding halt. I’d hazard a guess that no more than 5 minutes after your shoulders had been pinned to the mat Joe Bishop was planning his mutiny. Once the shock had worn off, as he realised his messiah was not as untouchable as he had been lead to believe, he started looking for a way out, and boy did you give him one.
The way you crushed that young man dissolved the Final Revolution in a manner so grand not even I expected it, and now Joe Bishop, an individual many considered your protege, is the odds on favourite to be pinned in the main event. At least you gave him that. You beat him so hard he’s ended up headlining over you, even if it is as a dead man walking.
This new idea of honour is going to cost you Trace. This side that you’ve shown in defence of Nikki Dean will be something you look back on and shake your head over, and you had better enjoy this opportunity to wrestle me while it lasts my man, because it’s the last one you’re going to get for a while. There’s a line forming of people who want a shot at my title and you’re toward the back of it. A loss here may put you out of the running altogether. Don’t worry though the International Title picture could always use a few more bodies. You could even ask Nikki nicely for a pop at her National Title? I’m sure she’d help a friend out.
Which leads us in concise fashion to the champion herself. Nicola. This is a very different fight for us than it is for Trace and I. We’ve never met, let alone traded fluids, but that can be rectified in fine fashion in the Tokyo Dome. You will give, and you will receive my darling. Are you ready to step into the ring with another champion? The very person who allowed you to become a champion yourself in the first place. The steps you took toward your first reign were all guided by Daddy……..me. I relinquished that National Title belt after the greatest fight there’s ever been in it’s name. No one, and I say this with a confidence that is absolute, no one will ever have a more memorable National Title match than Schneider and I did at Superbrawl last year. As agreed with the WFWF suits though I vacated the belt, for if it had remained around my waist no up and comers would ever hold it again. I willingly did so for the good of the next generation, and on doing so announced a tournament, a tournament that you won Nicola. All of this talk of tournaments, anyone would think it was all we did around here.
So Mrs Dean I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to get into that ring with you. I’m excited to see what you’re really made of, to see if you’re worthy of being my hand selected champ. I could berate you with all kinds of sexually aggressive expletives like Kyzer seems to enjoy but I prefer not to fall short on my word, so as a matter of course I won’t be f*cking you in the face, I won’t be blowing cum out your ears and I won’t be stretching you like a Japanese lady of the night. I will however be hitting you just as hard as Trace Demon. There’s not a discriminatory bone in my body, and I’ll be more than happy to kick you in the face if it helps you break through that glass ceiling. We’ll do it together babe.
Now the exciting thing is I know Josh is going to be watching back stage, doing his very best not to charge the ring and split my head open the moment I drop you on yours, but I also know that he’s more sensible than that. Immediately following our first date he’s heading into the biggest match of his career so far. If he is as sensible as I’ve been lead to believe then he’ll save himself and make sure he wins that shot at the World Heavyweight Title. If he really wants to hurt me for ruining his princess that would be the way to do it, but I don’t know, maybe his emotions will simply get the better of him? I’d like to think he respects you enough to fight your own battles though, and just think you’ve got that other caring Daddy you met at kindergarten standing by you, surely he’s protection enough should you need it?
I’ll be honest, a couple of months ago this is the last fork in the road I expected to be at, but seeing as we’re all here together know this; my abandonment issues in relation to this match have done nothing but bolster my will to win. I’ve said it before but I NEED you to understand just how much this victory means to me, whether alone or with Tugarin in my corner. This victory is the final piece of puzzle that has forever eluded all that have passed through here. I win in Tokyo and I become a ‘something’ most can only dream of. I ascend. I go double f*cking platinum. I break a record no one even knew existed. If I can beat you two then I become the first Double Grand Slam Champion in the history of this company.
If my return from extended hiatus, some years ago, was to ensure my name was synonymous with immortality, then this night above almost any other is the one I’ve been working towards.
23 victories and only 1 loss has lead me here.
3 years undefeated, almost exactly to the day, has lead me here.
I won’t let it slip away from me when I can taste it in the air.
A mere week ago I was finding it hard to become emotionally invested in your being my opponents. It all seemed so random, so thrown together. How does one generate a feeling with no reason? In my time across the world though I’ve come to realise I DO have a reason to hate you both. I DO have a motive for making this more than just for sport.
It’s common knowledge there is only one man in this fed that I truly want to face. If I was granted the opportunity tomorrow I would take it even if I was asked to vacate my own title.
That man needs no introduction. That man is Michael Kyzer.
By law I am restrained from approaching him, but on hearing his entry into this tourney I saw a loophole. If a binding contract called for us to be in the same ring together how could I refuse? I had been granted the opportunity to destroy Michael Kyzer, perhaps not in the perfect circumstance that I’d come to imagine, but all the same after nearly 3 years I would finally get my hands on the man I used to call brother.
But here we are. You two denied me that! The team of Trace Demon & Nikki Dean, you took away my chance to repay a debt long overdue! If I had to find a source from which to grow my vitriol this is it. It’s not enough that you now have the chance to p*ss my legacy up the wall, but you’ve already denied me the only thing I genuinely want. I suppose it’s not your fault, you’re just wanderers caught up in a strange sequence of coincidences, but all the same I enter that ring looking for an apology.
You are but figures in a grander plan, and it is a plan that drives me ever forward.
I come to Tokyo to stand under the falling sakura, and I learn something about myself.
Try as I might to deceive you all, or even myself, this truth holds firm. You might ask what that means, and to explain it best I can only quote from fiction as these words seem so terribly fitting given the nature of things:
“It means that I'm not the Samaritan. That I'm not the priest, or the Levite. That I am the ill intent... who set upon the traveler on a road that he should not have been on.”
Trace. Nikki. I am the cause and the effect and you have stumbled into my path.
I am not a responsible party that brings about disaster.
I AM disaster.
To you.
To me.
To everything.
I am The Undefeated Sun.
Sol Inviticus.
And I intend to remain as such, and for that……..for the way I may present myself on this night, in complete antithesis of my “good guy” disposition………
I’m sorry.
(A.K.A Drakz tries to play nice)
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For the first time since I was tossed off by a friend of mine……..I should perhaps rephrase that…….ever since I was given flying lessons by the other half of the Tag Team Champions I have known exactly where I’m heading. I had no idea that attack was coming but from the moment my feet left the stage and hereafter I’ve been The Seer to my own fate.
Are you with me?
Let me break it down into bite size chunks for baby. Here comes the aeroplane!
As I hurtled towards the smooth concrete of the University of Phoenix Stadium I knew what lay ahead. It didn’t take much sooth saying to predict I was about to get to 1st base with the floor. Things were a little touch and go while I lay vegetated, but once I woke up I knew where I was going. I knew of all the rehab and painstaking wasted time that lay ahead. I knew I’d get out of there on my own two feet, emancipated from that f*cking chair.
I knew I’d get back on the waggon.
Now you could put all of that down to positive mental attitude, perhaps the most important part of the healing process? If you’re that way inclined then let me continue in my attempt to dispute.
I defied medical practitioners and returned to the WFWF. I lay down a challenge to a man many considered to be THE man. Did I do that because I thought I could beat him? For the most part I’m actually quite conservative and a risk like that just isn’t my style. I had to know I was going to beat Phillip Schneider if I was getting into that ring with him.
Do you need further proof?
I was initially held at arms reach from the grand prize I so sought, but guess what? I knew I’d become WFWF World Heavyweight Champion again.
The pattern continues in that I knew I’d have a lot to deal with when I went back to the UK. I knew I’d defend my title against Trace Demon. I knew Phillip Schneider wouldn’t be able to stay away. I knew I’d finish the job. I knew I’d be set to break his record as the longest reigning champ of all time. I may not be there yet but newsflash time waits for no man, and I’m clawing at that door.
So why in the blue f*ck am I putting you through this laborious history lesson? Why am I repeating the words “I knew” over and over? I simply want you all to appreciate that I am constantly looking ahead, and what I see on the horizon is always crystal clear. 20/20 vision.
Do you accept that as more than just self belief now?
Well even if you don’t, f*ck you. Suspend your disbelief for the sake of a good story.
The point I’m trying to make, if you’d all just get off my back, is that up until these last few weeks I’ve had a head start on what the future holds. Now though? Everything’s gone f*cky.
As soon as I was vicariously partnered up with Donnie Monty Kent in this tag team tournament my vision has been blurred. I can’t clear the fog from the room. A toxic, sh*tty fog that only an angry midget can generate. It pumps from his ears when his blood pressure rises.
Each week I’ve had no idea where I stand until after Christa Adina says our names and the word “winners”. At any moment DMK's pet dragon could change the route our road takes. He’s one of the few men capable of ripping the tarmac from beneath my feet and force feeding it to me. So far so good though.
Even I’m surprised we’ve made it as far as the tournament finals, I thought Donnie would have turned his thrall on me weeks ago, but here we are. We’ve collectively laid waste to new comers and legitimate teams alike in a fashion many would call “by the seat of our pants” and yet it seems to be working. Whilst on paper the argument could be made that our teaming is no more than the sum of it’s parts, due in totality to the lack of any chemistry, it’s a non-point though as the parts that we are, happen to be world f*cking class.
The WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, The “God Slayer“, The “Demon” Slayer, Drakz; and The Dragon, a man none have yet beaten cleanly in the ring. He’s the Eater of Worlds. How can you deny the insanity of betting against us?
Whilst I’ve been so caught up in my own short sightedness I certainly didn’t foresee our opponents in the finals making it so far either. Who would have thought that the cookie dough, nicey niceness of Nikki Dean would have gelled so well with “The Master of Dried Pasta”, the guy the women want to be and the men want to f*ck, Trace Demon? Not only have they forced some kind of mutual respect but they’ve done so in the midst of battles with Michael Kyzer and his sex slave Ante Whitner, as well as the same pussies we beat, Hollywood Unhinged 2.0. Sequels are always worse than the original, and when the original is straight garbage you’re doomed to licking boots.
Back on point. Somehow the finals of this tag team tournament have been hijacked by four singles wrestlers who have no business in the division. I mean what is going to happen after this tourney is done with? We stand as two units for now, but as far as I can tell not one of us is going to remain a dedicated partner after this all blows over. Family values can only tie Dean and Demon together for so long, and me and Tugarin? As suicidal as it may sound I’d rather stand across from him than next to him. I know where I stand when he’s running towards me.
That’s easy.
That’s what I do.
Don’t misunderstand my intentions though. I’m not just playing survival here. This isn’t a bad sexual experience that I’m just gritting my teeth and trying to make it through.
Oh no.
I want those Tag Team Titles. I need those Tag Team Titles.
They cement my legacy and set me apart from what has become a crowded room over the years.
If the Grand Slam is the V.I.P section of the party then I want the private booth. I have to become Mr. Double Grand Slam in Tokyo, even if The Dragon tries to eat me alive after the fact. A charred champion is still a champion.
And hey, even if our title reign only lasts for 10 minutes it’s only a case of retracing my steps from the last time. Up and off the stage.
Although, as sweet as he was, I just don’t think I could handle 5th base with that concrete.
I’ve got a future to think about.
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Dog Business
“And so you see my dilemma? Without the World Heavyweight Championship on the line, I don’t think we’ve got the punching power we need for such a prestigious show. Also, is it really necessary for that dog to be in here?”
Sucking my teeth I breathe in deep. I know exactly where she’s coming from. It’s tough selling a show with anyone but me at the top of the card. She can eat sh*t if she thinks Dog is going anywhere though.
“Maybe I can help you out Lila. You need some serious midas touching and in doing so I might be able to solve my own problems while I’m at it. Also Dog stays. He’s my business partner, and seeing as we’re doing business I insist on his company.”
A sigh. One of complicity.
“Go on.”
“My friend and I thank you. So, as you know, I opted to take a step back this go around because I wanted a break from the norm. I wanted to try something different. How do you think I’ve done in that field?”
She smirks, knowing full well that all of this is just fanfare. Sleater knows to play along though. Pander to my ego if only for a short while.
“I’d say teaming with Tugarin has come as a breath of fresh air, no?”
“A strange way to put it, but yes in a way it has. There’s an element of danger there, and it's been present every week instead of just when Pay Per View time rolls around. Granted I’ve been slacking on my championship duties but I’ll be sure to make up for that in due course. Right now though we’re nearing the end of this little run, and while it’s been fun I need something to look forward to. A new challenge. We need to build some stars Lila. Right now the only legitimate contender I’ve not beaten is one Michael Kyzer, and well, I can’t get within X amount of feet of him by law.”
“So what you’re saying is you need a worthy opponent? Someone who actually gets our audience on board?“
“What I’m saying is I want to destroy Michael Kyzer, but I’m not allowed, so instead we need someone who screams MONEY, because at the end of the day that’s the reason this company exists.”
“Any ideas?”
Isn’t she supposed to be the shrewd business woman here?
“Certainly not f*cking Yukio. The day I headline a Pay Per View against him is the day they revoke my day release privileges.”
Ever the politician, Sleater doesn’t respond.
“What I propose is we stick a rocket up one of your International Title boy’s arses.”
“Oh? Which one?”
I sneer, holding my hands up. I’ve not got time to do the deciding.
“Let them choose.”
She cocks an eye brow and for a moment I can see what Dave “DUI” Demento sees in her. If she can keep that coy look on her face with a d*ck in her mouth we’re on to a winner. Sorry, I forgot myself there. This is a professional meeting.
“Surely they’ll all just be pushing for themselves?”
“And? Let them do it in the ring. Lip service is only one dimension, and they’ve all shown they can talk. Perhaps a little too much. They need to prove in that ring the lengths they’re willing to go to, vying for my attention. I want to know when it comes down to it who wants this opportunity more? If they’re willing to crack heads over second class gold then just think what will happen when they know they could become the big fish…………that’s how you sell a main event Lila. Blood lust.”
If her purse strings haven’t got a hard on for me right now then there’s something drastically wrong.
“F*ck.......Sorry. Excuse my language.”
“Please, curse all you want.”
“I think you may have just saved my ass.”
“You can say it. I’m a f*cking genius.”
“Let’s not over do it Drakz. This is damn good though. If we go with your idea, when should we announce it?”
“Osaka. Announce it in Japan and it’ll get more press coverage over there. Come on Lila this is easy.”
“Sorry I’m just getting excited about this. You’re totally right we need to start cultivating the next generation of main event talent. With Phillip Schneider gone, Trace Demon losing momentum and Michael Kyzer running from the championship match we’ve offered him, we have a gap that needs filling. A gap that could become permanent very soon.”
Wow, that was pretty cold. She’s right though, my generation aren’t far off being put out to pasture and it’s too late to act once that happens.
“Is there anything else?”
“Get me Michael Kyzer. I don’t care what you have to do but I want this sanction lifted. You have my complete co-operation with regards to what he wants from me, so just act with power of attorney.”
“You know far better than I do that nothing I do or say will change Kyzer’s mind.”
“Have you tried?”
“Of course. I want this as much as you. The pulling power of that match alone could set attendance records. He’s on his own terms though.”
“Okay, let’s force the people to forget him then. I’ll bait him out of the woods like the jackal piece of sh*t he is. If he senses his importance waning he'll react. I am the main event around here Lila. I don’t even have to be at the top of the card in Tokyo for people to know I’m still the main event. The match going on last is for the chance to face me. I’m the f*cking prize! If we want this match with Kyzer to happen then we’re going to have to create the perfect environment for it to flourish. Make me the God Schneider always thought he was.”
As my emotions get the better of me we start to go off piste. Time to reel it in.
“But of course, that’s not your responsibility. I’ll take care of it. Once Kyzer sees I've eclipsed him he'll come for me.”
I rise to leave and Sleater jumps to her feet to see me out. I whistle just the once and Dog is out of the door ahead of us. Sleater waves me off and once the door closes the real meeting can commence.
“How did she seem to you?”
“Scared. Lost. Worried.”
That’s probably just what he could smell. This creature is the ultimate judge of character.
“She’s not in the strongest of positions right now is she?”
“The top few guys have all of the leverage that’s why. You, Trace Demon, Kyzer. The talent should be working for her not the other way around. Which brings me to your idea. Why are you trying to shift the balance of power? Aren’t you happy being in control?”
It may seem odd to a Dog that’s never wielded much in the way of authority, but my bringing through of a fresh main event scene is far more therapeutic than the ever present sense of omnipotence in remaining unchallenged at all times.
“I said it in there pal, I need new game to hunt. I need hungry opponents who have never tasted the top. Consistently beating wrestlers of memories past isn’t enough to etch my name in the annals. I need to mix it up, for my legacies sake and my own peace of mind.”
“Peace of mind?”
“Like everything, I need to KNOW I’m unstoppable. Everyone knows I like to talk myself up, but the difference between me and every other c*nt who’s passed through this place is that my resumé matches the spiel I’m hawking.”
“So what’s missing? Why aren’t you confident enough to 'know'?”
“I need to physically experience my dominance to be entirely sure of it. Can’t we just settle on the fact that I simply want some new faces to f*ck?”
“It always boils down to where you can put your c*ck doesn’t it? Both literally and metaphorically.”
“Don’t hate me for my testicles. I wasn’t the man who neutered you. I found you that way remember?”
Dog goes silent. Reminiscing. A soft focus montage of licking his own balls playing out in his head no doubt. Memories.
“Hey!”
I open a door for him and he cocks his head.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Forget it. Listen, I need to know if you want to come to Japan. There’s all sorts of paper work that needs filling out to get you through customs and imports.”
“You’re on your own there.”
“Why so? Have you ever even left the states?”
“I’ve done more than you know Isaac. I don’t go to that part of the world though.”
“You still haven’t said why.”
“I refuse to end up on a menu.”
HA! Wow!
‘’Not all Asians eat dogs you know.”
“And how can you be sure which ones do and which ones don’t? They all look the….”
“Hey, hey, hey. Less of that squire. I thought you were supposed to be this worldly, third eye activist? Tsk, tsk.”
His tail is tucked between his legs and he knows when he’s done wrong by me.
“Not only am I friends with a dog, but a racist one at that.”
Maybe instead of changing the live’s of those itching for the main event scene it’s time to re-evaluate my own?
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The Meet
“The next station will be Roppongi. Doors will open on the left. Change here for the Oedo Line.”
The perfectly enunciated translation follows the Japanese announcement, and a moment later the train doors part in front of my face. The warm night air rushes into the air conditioned carriage and the humidity kicks my sweat glands into gear.
Of all the neighbourhoods, how did I know this is where Donnie would arrange our meeting? Roppongi is infamous amongst the Japanese for it’s bars infested with gaijin. Not just foreigners looking to integrate into Tokyo society, and certainly not the type that would even attempt to adhere to any kind of national etiquette. Noisy. Drunk. Sexually frustrated. Without Class. These are words that encapsulate the nature of almost every ex-pat, or stationed US army recruit that calls this area “home”. These are also the words that make it an obvious choice of location for DMK.
I f*cking hate Roppongi.
As I walk the last few stairs from the underground the streets rear their ugly head. At first glance it’s just another built up Tokyo ward, but to the cynical eye of a well travelled hate machine it’s the Tokyo streets littered with unsavoury types. Don’t get me wrong it’s nothing compared to the rougher side of almost any city in the states, that’s not the kind of unsavoury I mean. Left and right are the kind of people that solidify the negative use of the word gaijin. It’s a word rarely used in a purely matter of fact sense. 99 times out of 100 it’s used as an adjective to describe a complete lack of manners and self awareness. A derogatory term indeed. These are the kind of people I see on the streets now. Caucasian males looking for ‘love’. Nigerian fraudsters calling them from the doorways of the seediest of bars.
“Hey mister! Hey mister! You like Japanese girl?”
Who doesn’t? But I don’t like “Japanese girl” enough to run up an 18 hundred dollar bar tab. Nor do I like “Japanese girl” enough to have my drink spiked and my possessions performing vanishing acts. Walking toward the bar of Donnie’s choice I continue my analysis of those around me. There are of course Japanese on the streets as well, it’s not a bizarre paradox bubble within the world’s most densely populated city. Their reasons for being here? Work? Pleasure? Who cares. They’re nigh on invisible amongst the swathes of c*nts. The only Japanese who stand out to me are those smoking in doorways, faces set in a sneer. Their hair cuts. Their tattoos. Their body language. Y-Boys. Yaks. Gokudō. Yakuza. They generally leave foreigners alone though. It draws too much media attention to extort or aggravate anyone from overseas. It’s almost impossible to feel threatened in this city, and perhaps that’s why so many of these foreigners act the way they do.
As I turn a corner I see the club I’m heading to, not because I know the name, not because I recognise the building, but because out the front stands a 7 foot masked leviathan. The fact he’s not drawing much attention is testament to the Japanese nature of 'mind your own business' so as not to offend. Tugarin is the last man you'd want to offend. His huge head looks toward me and on seeing my approach he turns and heads inside, knowing full well that I’d be stupid not to follow suit.
“You’re late you f*cking clown!”
Quite the salutation as I approach Donnie’s booth.
“How long have you been here drinking?”
“What’s it to you? You kept me waiting! You shouldn’t keep me waiting!”
“Keep your voice down. Let’s not get ourselves tarred with the same old f*cking gaijin brush.”
Who the f*ck am I kidding? I’m being ushered into the far corner of a booth by a drunken midget and then blocked in by a giant. There is no way we’re keeping a low profile.
“F*ck your English sensibilities. If I want to shout in your face I’ll shout in your f*cking face. God! Look at me! You got me all riled up! I was all ready to introduce you to your slice of **** and now I’m ready to smash your teeth in.”
It never fails to amaze me that Donnie thinks he would even stand a chance if things got physical. The fact Zmey is sat 20cm to my left keeps me in check though.
“Do you know why I asked you to meet me?”
“Because Zmey and I have a high profile match to discuss?”
“Exactly. But I don’t think we’re talking about the same match.”
What’s his angle?
“What do you mean? We’ve got a few days until we’re in the Tokyo Dome fighting for the Tag Team Titles.”
He grins and his yellow pegs are bared to the gums.
“You made a promise to me ‘champ’. Something you seem to be going back on if what you said in Osaka is to be believed. You’re in a very deep hole and I’m shovelling sh*t down onto you. It’s time to start talking.”
What is this maniac talking about?
“I don’t follow?”
Donnie slams his drink onto the table and though he’s trying to hide behind this disgusting smile I can see the vein in his head start to throb.
“You promised the number one contendership to Zmey and me, so why the f*ck am I hearing what I’m hearing regarding Ahriman’s match?”
“That’s what this is about? If I remember correctly Donnie I said IF we win this tourney I’d grant Zmey a title shot.”
“And?”
“We haven’t won yet.”
His teeth are grinding and he has to down his drink to steady himself. I have a feeling that glass may be heading my way any moment now.
“Listen here you f*cking Welsh piece of sh*t, are you telling me you think, even for a f*cking moment that my Dragon isn’t capable of ripping through Trace Demon and his Dean wh*re partner? Maybe you don’t have faith in your own chicken sh*t abilities, but I for one know that we don’t need you on board to win this match. That Heavyweight Championship match is basically booked and now you’re dangling it over the heads of 3 other men? F*CK YOU!”
As predicted the glass comes straight at my face but I’m able to slip it thanks to premeditating his rag loss. He’s breathing fast and hard and I think it may be time to at least try and defuse things here.
“Donnie. Chill the f*ck out. If we win this match at the Pay Per View Zmey can still have his title shot. Jesus! The stipulation I added to the main event was to sell the show, not because I’m overlooking our agreement. It's good business.”
The claret complexion begins to fade as Donnie’s blood sinks back into his body. This little man is going to be his own undoing. One of these days he’s going to forget his wallet, or trip on a threshold and his heart will literally just stop. Maybe a frantic spasm first, but the end result is the same.
“In that case here’s the f*ck slave I promised for the duration of your stay.”
For the first time I realise there’s actually a fourth person sat around the table. Thanks to Donnie’s immediate tirade on my approach I’ve not taken my eyes off of him, making sure Zmey’s always been in my peripheral. Somehow the last 10 minutes have gone by and I’m yet to notice the staggeringly beautiful woman sat across from me at DMK’s side.
“I told you I’d find a geisha who was a wh*re.”
She’s like something from a movie. Painted to perfection. Not a hair out of place. Something tells me this is Donnie’s idea of leverage, but she’s almost too flawless to f*ck.
“Quite.”
“Shut the f*ck up. Quite? You limey f*ckin’ c*nt hole. God I hate you.”
The feeling is most certainly mutual but having only just calmed him down I don’t want to vocalise my opinion of him. I instead turn to look at Zmey to find he is eyeballing me in such a way that I feel uncomfortable holding his gaze. I turn my attention back to the young Japanese woman who is surprisingly calm given her current situation. Mind you, if she really is a prostitute the chances are she’s seen worse men than us, which actually………no, there’s no way.
“Are you ready to win me some gold then?”
Win him some gold? He has no idea.
“Like you say, it’s a foregone conclusion.”
“You’re not going to get all nervous in the ring with your ex-boyfriend?”
“Excuse me?”
“Everyone knows you and Trace Demon have the hots for each other. Just don’t let your yearning loins f*ck with your head.”
I suppose dropping a man head first on a steel chair probably does count as a display of affection in Donnie’s world.
“As for Nikki Dean though, that b*tch still needs to be taught a lesson for taking the National Title away from the KKK. You leave that to Zmey though. I want him to eat her alive. If you really came here to talk strategy then that’s it right there. Zmey destroys Josh’s slam pig while you and Trace make out. Just as long as you’re the one in the saddle, your tonsil hockey should keep Trace enamoured for long enough to pin his shoulders to the mat. We win. We become champions. I never have to deal with your f*ggot ways ever again, unless it’s watching as Zmey splits you in two. Can you even imagine how big his d*ck is?”
What is wrong with him? A couple of drinks and he’s spouting homo-erotic imagery like it’s second nature. I know it’s taking the path of insult but something tells me he’s laying it on a little too thick here.
“If it’s all the same to you Donnie I think me and Tugarin will handle the in ring side of things.”
“Whatever. It won’t be long before Tugarin gets his shot at laying waste to you. You might be able to beat chumps like Phillip Schneider but my Dragon? HA! We’ll show the world that you’re a bigger joke of a champion than Dex ever was.”
Okay, this is getting on my t*ts now.
“Donnie your Dragon may be twice my size but I’ll still send him to the knacker yard. They’ll turn his f*cking carcass into glue, and you? You can be my f*cking lap dog you bean headed f*ck.”
Too much? The rising tide in DMK’s eyes makes me think perhaps. Time to head on out.
“I’m out of here little man. You need to think long and hard about wether you want me to win this match for you or make your Dragon look like a f*cking fool. I’m not the push over b*tch you’ve convinced yourself I am. I’ll throw this whole f*cking tournament away if it means you’ll have an aneurysm and die.”
I rise from my seat, still pinned in by the table in front of me and the Slavic behemoth to my left.
“SIT DOWN!”
He jumps to his feet, standing on the seat.
“Where do you get off throwing orders at me Kent? I’m the Heavyweight Champion of the World, not one of your crack addled security force. That sh*t might fly with the likes of Whitner and Ahriman but I’m f*cked if I’m letting you talk to me like this anymore. Show some respect.”
“ZMEY!”
Oh f*ck!
“Zmey.”
I hold my hands up to Tugarin but he’s now standing as well, stepping out of the booth and blocking my exit. The little Geisha girl is starting to look worried but she’s not bolted just yet. Donnie must be paying her handsomely.
“I AM THE F*CKING DADDY! WHILE YOU FIGHT WITH MY DRAGON YOU WORK FOR ME!”
Donnie grabs the girl’s drink and throws it at me. I move again but it shatters right next to my head, the exploding shards cutting just below my ear. Zmey, knowing I may lunge for his keeper steps toward me and I opt for vaulting the wall of our booth. I land on the next table along, sending drinks all over the laps of some sleazy looking salarymen who shout at me in their mother tongue. I don’t stop to discern what they’re saying and instead race toward the door, not knowing for a moment how close on my heels Zmey really is.
Barrelling into the street I cross the road, a taxi’s horn screaming at me as it’s bumper rolls inches away from my legs. For a man who wanted to avoid the gaijin cliches I’m causing quite the scene. Zmey now emerges from the bar with Donnie behind him, dragging the girl by the wrist. She doesn’t resist and I’m starting to wonder just how much she really is making from all of this?
“You can keep the wh*re! Maybe her sideways p*ssy can be your new tag team partner?! Good luck in your handicap match you f*cking f*ggot sack of cum!”
Still with the homo-eroticism.
“Go choke on his tiny balls!”
Donnie pushes the girl into the road ahead of him, throwing a loaded money clip at her as she stumbles. She scrambles to pick up the couple of notes that have come loose before brushing her yukata down, straightening her posture and calmly making her way over to me.
“I don’t give a f*ck if you win or lose that tournament, my Dragon is taking that belt from you once we get back to the states!”
Having heard enough I snort at the suggestion before hooking arms with the Geisha and walking back toward the station, Donnie’s stream of expletives chasing us until we turn a corner. On doing so we’re greeted by the sight of a sun burned American throwing his guts up all over the place. If that wasn’t enough he seems to have been taking a p*ss at the time of eruption as his flaccid c*ck is still hanging out.
I f*cking hate Roppongi.
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Geisha in a Garden
“And so you see my dilemma? One on one, I know I can beat Trizzle Dizzle, that’s common knowledge at this stage in our careers. As for his femme fatale, I’m yet to even speak to her, but we have met, if only briefly. She watched me beat the p*ss out of her husband before she’d ever even laced up a pair of wrestling boots. I like to think the kicking I gave Josh was so inspirational that she made the jump from valet to in ring competitor. I don’t know how true that is but that can be said of a lot of sh*t I say about other people I work with. That’s a strange way to put it isn’t it? My colleagues. My work mates. It’s not as though we meet by the water cooler to gossip or get to decorate our cubicles with photos of cats, dogs and midgets. Our place of work is some what……..unorthodox.”
For the record I’m talking to my newly acquainted Geisha friend. I say friend because we’re yet to consummate our relationship. It may strike you as weird, and to be honest it does me as well, but last night I took her back to my hotel room, ran a hot bath and didn’t have sex with her. Instead I got her to do all of the things a real Geisha should do. She sang for me, danced for me, folded paper for me, made tea for me, essentially just pampered me and calmed me down after our earlier run in with Donnie Monty C*nt.
Am I going soft with age? Perhaps.
But today is a new day and we’re spending it sat in Yoyogi Park enjoying one another’s company. Realistically I’m just using her to vent. It feels less weird divulging all of my inner most angers to a painted up prostitute, in a country renowned for it’s lack of English speakers, than it does a dog. It makes no sense really as at least Dog talks back to me………F*ck. What kind of a statement is that?
“But a job’s a job, and I happen to be sh*t hot at this one. I’m one of, if not THE best at it. Even still though if I really have been left to my own machinations by Donnie and Tugarin then I don’t know if even I can overcome what lies ahead. This isn’t a match fuelled by emotion, or is it? I suppose if it were then it’s probably contained within each team. While I’ve got Zmey breathing down my neck you’ve got to believe the ‘Demon and Dean Family Hour’ can’t be all roses, not unless Trace has turned over about 16 new leaves.”
She just smiles at me, her legs tucked under her backside pulling her kimono tight against her.
“My only chance is if things collapse around my opponent’s ears. It’s a sorry sight though isn’t it? Perhaps this tournament final is just a metaphor for what my life has become. I’m fighting for the Tag Team Titles on my own. My only real friend betrayed me and is now trying to prove a point by destroying as many people as possible right under my nose. The company I keep now is a f*cking dog, no offence boy, and he’s 7000 miles away. I’m a lonely old man who’s not even old. It’s hard staying positive when you’re at the top of the mountain. Straddling the precipice is all well and good when you’ve got your footing, but one slip and it’s going right up your arse hole. I can’t trust anyone not to swipe my legs out from under me.”
I pause as the truly depressing nature of my situation starts to sink in.
“You knoe, you’re a really good listener.”
“Hai!”
F*cking hell. I changed my mind this IS more pathetic than talking to a dog. I feel like a middle aged man who’s too much of a sad c*nt to find a woman who speaks his language, and so I’ve come to the far east to basically buy someone’s affection, or in my case have it bought on my behalf by a midget who loathes me. Is this some kind of hate f*ck he’s trying to set up? Is she a robot assasin? Maybe she’s……. Hold on, what the f*ck is this?!
The girl is startled by my sudden scramble to a standing base and starts anxiously talking to me in Japanese.
Walking along the path, only 50 feet away and coming in our direction, is a man I have every reason to be wary of, even more so this far away from home.
“What are you doing here? Have you changed your mind?”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps on coming.
“Drop the strong, silent sh*t. We both know you love to talk as much as I do.”
Still no response and now he’s right on top of us. He addresses my lady first with a bow.
“Kon'nichiwa wakai josei.”
She timidly bows her head and replies. Now the pleasantry of greeting my companion is through he turns his attention to me and me alone. That death stare I know so well.
“Hello Isaac.”
“I thought you retired? Why are you following the WFWF touring schedule? Do you want an autograph?”
“I am retired. I’m a man of my word, not a wh*re like your friend here.”
Even with his hair cut off Phillip Schneider’s still recognisable to me from a distance, and up close I can now see his wounds from his last match, like mine, are simply just more scars on the canvas.
“So why are you here, on the other side of the world from home, in the exact same park as me? Seems a little too coincidental to be true Phillip.”
I make a point of popping my lips on the final P of his name.
“You’re right, this isn’t just happenstance, but I’m not as far from home as you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After spending a few weeks tying up some loose ends I upped sticks and left the states. I’m living up in the Osaka hills now. It’s beautiful. Much nicer than Chicago. Quieter.”
“A good place to die.”
I realise that sounded more like a threat than I meant it to. This is weird. So far we seem to be conducting a pretty normal conversation, the first in our lives.
"Tokyo's still a trip though. Hopped on the bullet train when I heard you guys were gonna be here. It's weird. You run me out of the WFWF.. I leave the continent.. And you're right back to me..."
“It must be love……”
He seems much calmer. More like a reasonable human than a maniacal violence monger. Perhaps I did a good thing? I mean I know I did good by me, and the rest of the company. I even did good by the fans, but it seems I may have even helped out Schneider by forcing his hand.
“Why aren’t you at the top of the card?”
He's straight to the point, as though he’s offended by my absence from the main event.
“I fancied something different. A step out of the lime light. Besides that main event is simply a place holder, setting up my next grand design.”
“You should be defending your title.”
“I plan on winning another one.”
I see why he’s getting antsy. 355 days and counting. The gap’s closing. Hell it’s almost closed.
“Are you worried I’m about to break your record?”
I’m ready for a kick to the jaw and I think he senses it, his lips parting into a smile.
“The breaking of the record itself? No. Congratulations if you can manage it. The way you’re going about it? Perhaps. Stalling by entering yourself into a tournament is a clever ploy, but going this long without a title defence is hokey.”
“This isn’t an argument you want to have with me. The history books are on my side Phil.”
He chuckles and as though simply testing my metal moves the conversation along.
“Call me assuming but I can’t imagine you and Donnie are getting on behind closed doors? How does it feel having his fingers so close to your short and curlies?”
“You mind if we sit?”
A subtle nod on his part and I place myself next to the girl, my knees up and legs spread in front of me. Schneider follows suit, crossing his legs, his scarred, surgically repaired knees poking out the bottom of his cargo pants.
“So?”
“It’s as you’d imagine. Donnie’s disdain for my existence is well documented, so his having to rely on me has been quite the strain. In fact it came to a head last night?”
“Did you push him out of bed?”
“He pushed me……so to speak. I’ve been left high and dry by the looks of things.”
“Is this the part where you ask me to step in?”
“I’d rather get beaten on my own.”
“And I’d rather watch from the comfort of my own home.”
It’s nice to know that despite the civility of our current situation we both still want as little to do with one another as possible. That’s what makes this encounter so puzzling.
“So why are you actually here? You didn’t travel to Tokyo just to say hi.”
He respects me, but he doesn’t like me.
“I’m here because I wanted to see how you were after what happened at End Game.”
Excuse me?
“Excuse me?”
“Not your physical health. I don’t give a f*ck about that. Your mental state. I wanted to know what ending my career had done for you. Looking at you here, sat in Yoyogi with a whore and no tag team partner to speak of, I’d say it’s not left you in too good of a position.”
“What? You expected me to be a burning ball of gas searing through the atmosphere? Phil, beating you has indeed done a lot for me as a champion, but right now? Whatever has happened in the past isn’t going to help me in the numbers game. The long and short of it is I’m totally up sh*t creek. I’ve got a paddle. I reach for it. It’s also made of sh*t. You see where I’m coming from?”
“Stop being such a ****. How the f*ck did you beat me with such a defeatist mentality? Who cares if Zmey isn’t going to show? Are you Samael Ahriman? Do you need that masked slab of meat to fight your battles for you? Are you a satanic chippendale? Well?”
“Of course I need Zmey. I need a partner. Any partner!”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I’m outnumbered 2 to 1, that’s why. F*ck, this isn’t hard to understand.”
“You’re against Trace Demon, a man you have the psychological advantage over, and Nikki Dean, a woman you have almost every advantage over.”
He starts counting on his fingers.
“They have to slap hands to swap places, capitalise on that. As a team they’re oil and strawberry f*cking milk, capitalise on that. They’ve taken on the role of ‘good guys’, capitalise on that!”
All valid points. Maybe I do need to strap my balls back between my legs?
“You’ve been keeping up your ‘good guy’ facade for so long that you’ve forgotten how to play the game. Maybe, if you can still stomach it, you should take this opportunity to play the villain? For one night only. Cheating and taking the path of least resistance might be the only way to get you where you want to go.”
I don’t really know his motives but he may be right. Maybe I should thrust my middle finger up the world’s arse just this once? I can’t lose all of my good guy points in one night now can I?
“Why the f*ck do you even care anyway?”
“Why? Isn’t that obvious? If you lose your first big match after End Game then that tarnishes what we did. It makes me look bad. It makes you look bad. It makes everything we did in that ring look bad. You need to suck it up Isaac. Partner or no partner you need to win this match. Become a piece of sh*t again. Do what you always did best.”
A somewhat sinister smirk curls the edges of my mouth and I glance across at my Geisha. She smiles back at me, although her eyes tell a different story. She knows something isn’t right. I grab her by the wrist and stand, dragging her up with me.
“You speak her language. Tell her she’s about to earn the money she’s been paid.”
As Schneider starts up I walk away, pulling my girl in tow. She doesn’t resist, she doesn’t squirm, in fact she hurries her pace to stay by my side. I turn back to Schneider and shout over my shoulder:
“What’s the Japanese word for gaping?”
He bursts out laughing and it becomes evident not only to him, but to myself, that maybe I do stand a chance. It’s time to turn the scum bag dial up all the way! I need to come out with spit flying, and teeth gnashing. I’m going to f*ck this girl within an inch of her life and then I’m going to do the same to Nikki Dean. That should just about get me warmed up to f*ck the red out of Trace Demon’s hair and then forge a sporan out of the Tag Team Titles to cover my expletives as I walk butt naked out of the Tokyo Dome dripping with horror.
All of this and I’m going to have fun while I’m at it.
For old times' sake…….
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You can’t blame me for being the bad guy come match time. I’ve had my hand forced by a multitude of people. Donnie, Tugarin and Schneider of all people. I’m just a puppet to my own inner workings this go around. You can let me off just this one time though right? You can all just look away and ignore the screams, for the sake of character continuity.
I’m a man who’s made his career on being the worst of the worst but also entertaining the masses with my every move, and yet I chose to turn away from it all in favour of a life of honour and chivalry. Even the nicest of guys need an outlet though. A moment to simply open the flood gates and perform a hard reset. Let’s just consider this my hard reset. Next match I’ll be all smiles again, I promise. For now though I’ve gotten myself all worked up. The last week has seen me move from limp fish out of water to tiger shark, and I can smell menstruation all around. Word must have gotten back to Trace and Nikki by now that Tugarin has no intention of turning up on game night. They’re guard is lowered, their expectations lessened. For all intents and purposes I’m an easy target, waiting to be torn to shreds. This will be their undoing.
They forget that Sol Inviticus needs no allies, needs no partners, needs no Dragons. I’m The “God” Slayer, The f*cking Demon Headmaster, Genghis Khan Jnr. I am a man who smiles to hide the knife in his hand. I’m the kisser of hands and the shaker of babies.
I was worried, of course I was, that my plight was an impossible one to overcome, but I’ve thrown caution to the wind. What good does it do me going into this fight convinced I’m a loser? None. I’m going to be the one with my hand raised at the end of it all, with my foot atop the stacked bodies of Trace Demon and Nikki Dean.
This may all sound like a scared man trying to puff his chest up but that’s the beauty of “Evil Drakz”, he honestly believes all of it! What fun!
Now for the part where I pick apart each of my opponents. Are you ready? Then we’ll begin;
Trace Demon. Tracey D. Tracey Beaker. We’ve had a laugh over the years you and I. A series of back and forths. The chance to steal one another’s thunder. The thing is though that of the four times we’ve met in the ring I’m the one who tends to do the winning.
Myself and Michael vs. You and the guy Schneider collected all of the saliva from. He keeps it all in a jar. No kidding. Hutton Brown was it?
I won.
Myself vs. Yourself.
I won.
Myself vs. Yourself 2: The Reckoning.
I won.
In fact the only time you’ve actually ever beaten me is by blindsiding me with the International Title belt while I was busy ending the career of the third man in the match. R.I.P. Drake Elias.
That’s got to weigh on your mind, knowing that if I win it makes us 4-1 in my favour. Not a great record for a would be King? Even more so if I do it when you’ve got the Princess of Salvation on your side. What’s more is this isn’t even the first time we’ve ended up across the ring from one another in a tournament final now is it? Gold on the line. All or nothing. Well…….you know how it went last time, and all you have to do is ask Schneider for confirmation of the fact that when I’m involved history has a way of repeating itself.
That was a few years ago though, and I’m not one to assume you’re the same man I beat last time we were in Japan, I’m not even sure you’re the same man I beat over in the UK. Things have changed for you Trace and I’m not so sure it’s been for the better. Last time we waged war you were at the head of what you called a revolution. You had doting followers, all the momentum in the world and a vendetta. Since then? It seems my denying you the gold you so needed to force your dominance in the fed brought the whole damn thing to a grinding halt. I’d hazard a guess that no more than 5 minutes after your shoulders had been pinned to the mat Joe Bishop was planning his mutiny. Once the shock had worn off, as he realised his messiah was not as untouchable as he had been lead to believe, he started looking for a way out, and boy did you give him one.
The way you crushed that young man dissolved the Final Revolution in a manner so grand not even I expected it, and now Joe Bishop, an individual many considered your protege, is the odds on favourite to be pinned in the main event. At least you gave him that. You beat him so hard he’s ended up headlining over you, even if it is as a dead man walking.
This new idea of honour is going to cost you Trace. This side that you’ve shown in defence of Nikki Dean will be something you look back on and shake your head over, and you had better enjoy this opportunity to wrestle me while it lasts my man, because it’s the last one you’re going to get for a while. There’s a line forming of people who want a shot at my title and you’re toward the back of it. A loss here may put you out of the running altogether. Don’t worry though the International Title picture could always use a few more bodies. You could even ask Nikki nicely for a pop at her National Title? I’m sure she’d help a friend out.
Which leads us in concise fashion to the champion herself. Nicola. This is a very different fight for us than it is for Trace and I. We’ve never met, let alone traded fluids, but that can be rectified in fine fashion in the Tokyo Dome. You will give, and you will receive my darling. Are you ready to step into the ring with another champion? The very person who allowed you to become a champion yourself in the first place. The steps you took toward your first reign were all guided by Daddy……..me. I relinquished that National Title belt after the greatest fight there’s ever been in it’s name. No one, and I say this with a confidence that is absolute, no one will ever have a more memorable National Title match than Schneider and I did at Superbrawl last year. As agreed with the WFWF suits though I vacated the belt, for if it had remained around my waist no up and comers would ever hold it again. I willingly did so for the good of the next generation, and on doing so announced a tournament, a tournament that you won Nicola. All of this talk of tournaments, anyone would think it was all we did around here.
So Mrs Dean I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to get into that ring with you. I’m excited to see what you’re really made of, to see if you’re worthy of being my hand selected champ. I could berate you with all kinds of sexually aggressive expletives like Kyzer seems to enjoy but I prefer not to fall short on my word, so as a matter of course I won’t be f*cking you in the face, I won’t be blowing cum out your ears and I won’t be stretching you like a Japanese lady of the night. I will however be hitting you just as hard as Trace Demon. There’s not a discriminatory bone in my body, and I’ll be more than happy to kick you in the face if it helps you break through that glass ceiling. We’ll do it together babe.
Now the exciting thing is I know Josh is going to be watching back stage, doing his very best not to charge the ring and split my head open the moment I drop you on yours, but I also know that he’s more sensible than that. Immediately following our first date he’s heading into the biggest match of his career so far. If he is as sensible as I’ve been lead to believe then he’ll save himself and make sure he wins that shot at the World Heavyweight Title. If he really wants to hurt me for ruining his princess that would be the way to do it, but I don’t know, maybe his emotions will simply get the better of him? I’d like to think he respects you enough to fight your own battles though, and just think you’ve got that other caring Daddy you met at kindergarten standing by you, surely he’s protection enough should you need it?
I’ll be honest, a couple of months ago this is the last fork in the road I expected to be at, but seeing as we’re all here together know this; my abandonment issues in relation to this match have done nothing but bolster my will to win. I’ve said it before but I NEED you to understand just how much this victory means to me, whether alone or with Tugarin in my corner. This victory is the final piece of puzzle that has forever eluded all that have passed through here. I win in Tokyo and I become a ‘something’ most can only dream of. I ascend. I go double f*cking platinum. I break a record no one even knew existed. If I can beat you two then I become the first Double Grand Slam Champion in the history of this company.
If my return from extended hiatus, some years ago, was to ensure my name was synonymous with immortality, then this night above almost any other is the one I’ve been working towards.
23 victories and only 1 loss has lead me here.
3 years undefeated, almost exactly to the day, has lead me here.
I won’t let it slip away from me when I can taste it in the air.
A mere week ago I was finding it hard to become emotionally invested in your being my opponents. It all seemed so random, so thrown together. How does one generate a feeling with no reason? In my time across the world though I’ve come to realise I DO have a reason to hate you both. I DO have a motive for making this more than just for sport.
It’s common knowledge there is only one man in this fed that I truly want to face. If I was granted the opportunity tomorrow I would take it even if I was asked to vacate my own title.
That man needs no introduction. That man is Michael Kyzer.
By law I am restrained from approaching him, but on hearing his entry into this tourney I saw a loophole. If a binding contract called for us to be in the same ring together how could I refuse? I had been granted the opportunity to destroy Michael Kyzer, perhaps not in the perfect circumstance that I’d come to imagine, but all the same after nearly 3 years I would finally get my hands on the man I used to call brother.
But here we are. You two denied me that! The team of Trace Demon & Nikki Dean, you took away my chance to repay a debt long overdue! If I had to find a source from which to grow my vitriol this is it. It’s not enough that you now have the chance to p*ss my legacy up the wall, but you’ve already denied me the only thing I genuinely want. I suppose it’s not your fault, you’re just wanderers caught up in a strange sequence of coincidences, but all the same I enter that ring looking for an apology.
You are but figures in a grander plan, and it is a plan that drives me ever forward.
I come to Tokyo to stand under the falling sakura, and I learn something about myself.
Try as I might to deceive you all, or even myself, this truth holds firm. You might ask what that means, and to explain it best I can only quote from fiction as these words seem so terribly fitting given the nature of things:
“It means that I'm not the Samaritan. That I'm not the priest, or the Levite. That I am the ill intent... who set upon the traveler on a road that he should not have been on.”
Trace. Nikki. I am the cause and the effect and you have stumbled into my path.
I am not a responsible party that brings about disaster.
I AM disaster.
To you.
To me.
To everything.
I am The Undefeated Sun.
Sol Inviticus.
And I intend to remain as such, and for that……..for the way I may present myself on this night, in complete antithesis of my “good guy” disposition………
I’m sorry.
