Post by Drakz on Apr 29, 2016 13:11:26 GMT -5
Sam, Son of Man
(A.K.A. A Crisis of Confidence)
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It’s been a while since we’ve spoken ey kids? To be fair not a great deal has changed. I’m still playing the part of the nefarious villain as best I can, rubbing my hands together in between twiddles of my moustache. I’m still the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, I’m still the WFWF Tag Team Champions, oh actually, there is a little more news! I’m now the proud owner of a mantlepiece adorned with the (deep breath here folks) Superstar of the Year 2015, Feud of the Year 2015, Tag Team of the Year 2015, Shocker of the Year 2015 and Match of the Year 2015 awaaaaaards. Phew. (Actually you should probably scrap the Superstar of the Year award as I may or may not have thrown that at a certain former commentator.)
Of course all of this came much to the chagrin of the rest of the WFWF no hopers, but I’ve come to expect that over the years. Jealousy is such an ugly thing and yet I absorb it with a degree of class that’s rarely heard of these days.
As a side note I also spoke the sh*t out of my acceptance speeches and reminded the world that I am indeed the wielder of the silkiest, most listenable voice in modern media. What did strike a chord with me though was the fact that whilst I probably spent more time on that stage than anyone else I was followed in a close second by Mr Josh Dean. People have asked if that worries me? People have asked me if I can feel Dean breathing down my neck, gearing up to snatch my crown? The answer to both, my dears, is of course no. It merely reminds me that Joshua Dean is still in a very firm second place, and even then I’m being generous.
The fact of the matter is he didn’t make the most of his opportunity and so it passed him by. He was foolish for allowing that to happen because shots at the king don’t come around all that often in this kingdom, just ask the very man I’m pitted off against this time around. Samael Ahriman is by no means new to this game and yet this is his first ever challenge for the World Heavyweight Championship, at least to my knowledge. Some cry “travesty”. Me? I don’t see that he’s ever done anything to deserve it. Not then, and certainly not now. He’s here because I want him in front of me. He’s landed himself a spot in the main event because I chose him as the 18 in my “post stage dive” record of 18 - 0.
Very few people have taken from me over the years, very few have had the chance, but Samael inadvertently robbed me of something I held very close. The moment he put Michael Kyzer out to pasture left me without a purpose, well……it left me without a sense of finality. My purpose has always been to cement myself as the greatest of all time, but I was happy to end that quest if I could take Michael with me. Instead suddenly I was presented with an abyss, one that I was stood right up against the edge of, the rim crumbling away beneath me. I was left with nothing.
This grey void of absolution very nearly forced me to jump but instead I was able to turn my head. My eyes narrowed and I found a new reason to work. I wasn’t going to let all of this pent up angst and rage turn to steam, whistling out of an open vent. No. Instead I was going to harness it, like an old iron engine and use it to drive me headlong towards the very man that burned my target to ash. I vowed I was going to cripple Samael Ahriman the way Mike tried to cripple me and the way he has seemingly crippled Mike. Pay it forward. No doubt it won’t be long before someone returns the favour and I’m once again chair bound, but when that day comes I’ll happily roll myself off of that very same cliff face and down into the silent sheet of absence.
Until that day catches up with me though I’ve made it my personal mission to continue moving forward in any way possible, and I mean that. Any way possible. I’m moving forward and through Samael Ahriman like a d*ck through butter and just for the record this isn’t about revenge for a fallen soldier. No this has never been retribution for Michael Kyzer. This is simply a case of me pointing all targeting systems toward a single faux satanic ninja f*ck clown and pulling the trigger, pressing the button and cutting the rope all at the same time.
Ahriman you’ve talked a big game these last few weeks but it’s almost time for you to test yourself against THE MEASURING STICK OF A GENERATION. MR PRESIDENT. EL CHAPO.
The man who will raise your daughter in your stead and teach her how to excel as the Glory Hole Queen she’s destined to be.
It’s been a very long time since someone’s p*ssed me off Sammy boy, but you sir have irked me something f*cking rotten.
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The Odd Couple
“Hang my head, drown my fear, ’til you all just disappear…..”
*CLICK*
Shut the f*ck up Cornell. A flick of the wrist silences the radio that for some unknown reason Dog has had on in my absence. Maybe it keeps him from getting lonely? I’d rather be the last man on earth than have the members of Soundgarden serenading me. What’s wrong with him?
I’ve just arrived home for the first time in weeks and it strikes me as odd that he hasn’t come running to welcome me. I can hear him in the kitchen and something smells good. Wait. He’s a f*cking domesticated animal, not a chef. He’s not even got enough posable thumbs to use a wok, let alone put it to good use.
“Dog?”
Nothing. There’s an electricity in the air that prickles my skin. He’s angry about something………..he’s also not alone.
“Dog?”
I push open the kitchen door and what I see causes me to drop my gold and glass filled duffle bag.
“Who the f*ck are you?”
Besides gorgeous.
“Jesus!”
I’ve scared the life out of her. I’m surprised she didn’t cotton someone else had entered the flat when I turned that drivel off. She’s…….well……she’s not wearing a whole lot. In fact….is that my shirt?
“You’re the son of God? Come on. Who are you, and what are you doing in my flat?”
My shirt, her underwear and I can only assume her hair band. Am I losing my mind? Did I rip through this girl last night and forget I’d been home already?
“The ’Jesus’ was clearly a knee jerk reaction to you bursting in here. Do I look like a bearded sandal seller to you?”
Seller? Wasn’t he supposed to be a carpenter?
You look like a stranger in my clothes and kitchen darling, so, I’ll ask you again, who….are…you?
I make a point of impersonating the Carrollian caterpillar with my intonation. Shame I’ve got no smoke rings to puff in her direction really. She raises an eyebrow.
“Daphne. And you are?”
And I am? What is this? She’s in my God dammed home.
The proprietor…..of both the space you’re cooking in and the shirt you’re also cooking in……...
“Wait? This is your flat?”
I have a good mind to d*ck slap that eyebrow back down into place.
Yes this is MY flat, and I must say you’re taking much too long to get to the part where you tell me what you’re doing in it? In fact how did you even get in? Where’s Dog?
That better not be him sizzling in the pan. I’ve hard of a bunny boiler but sauté a man’s best friend? Needle Damage the b*tch. Out the window.
“Dog? What are you talking about? Listen I don’t know what’s going on here but Fernando’s just gone to the store. He’ll be back any minute to clear this up.”
And in the mean time?
“I’m cooking lunch, if you’re hungry?”
What in the name of shiny f*ck is happening right now? Who is this woman? Who is Fernando? Have I missed something? Was there a memo I’ve overlooked notifying us all of an impending tear in the dimensional fabric?
Sure. Whatever. Listen I need to unpack. Don’t burn the place down.
Why am I being so courteous? I think I’ve got vagina on the brain. I bet her’s is pretty. BLAH! Snap out of this incessant quest for something to thrust into. When a body part has enough of a control on you to limit the number of syllables in each train of thought then it’s time to make a change. I leave her to it and in doing so leave the kitchen.
I unzip the duffle and toss my two championship belts onto the bed. Make yourselves comfy girls. Yes, girls. I feel they have the qualities of strong independent women, except the Tag Title who often pines for her equally attractive twin sister. She’s since relocated to Washington with another man though. We’ll get over it.
In time.
I’ve just started lining my record haul of awards up on the mantle piece when I hear keys in the door. Fernando? Who ever the f*ck you are. The door jars open and a long brown snout pokes it’s way around and into the gap, nudging the door the whole way open. In potters Dog, a length of plastic wrapped salami held gently in his mouth. He drops it, wide eyed, on seeing that I’m home. His comic timing is second to none.
“Fernando is that you?”
Daphne calls from the kitchen, and Dog’s eyes dart from the kitchen door and back to me. The f*ck is this?
Yeah….Fernando is that you?
Mother…..
“Fernando?”
She enters the room and smiles at the sight of my furry room mate.
“Hey baby. Can you explain to this man what’s going on here? He’s a little confused. In fact…..how did you get in here?”
She turns to look in my direction, crossing her arms. The sass levels are mounting.
“How did I get in? Are you f*cking kidding? I used MY key. After all this is MY flat, paid for by ME. Isn’t that right…….Fernando?”
I smile at Dog with enough of a glint in my eye for him to know I’ll play along until I stop finding it entertaining. He needs to adapt his story.
“What? Fernando? I thought this was your place?”
“Erm, Daphne, you see…….he’s my…..”
“Lodger. I’m his lodger. I pay rent to stay here……”
A doggy sigh of relief. She must be world class at d*ck sucking to warrant the panic I saw in his eyes. Wait? What am I saying?
“With only one bed?”
Sh*t.
“I sleep…..”
I look around the flat. Sofa? You wouldn’t pay to sleep there. To my horror I find myself pointing…..
“There. I sleep there.”
I’m pointing directly at the dog bed. F*ck my self. Why am I playing this game?
“You sleep there?”
“Yup. Right there……. It’s not a dog bed. It’s a Nepalese sleeping mat.”
HA!
“Looks like a dog bed to me.”
And me.
Dog’s brow ruffles and if I thought things were awkward now little did I know it was about to mount ten fold. Daphne walks over to Dog, crouches down…..
“I asked him if he wants to stay for lunch. Is that okay?”
Stay for lunch? Is that okay? Wow, this is insane. Does she not realise he’s a four legged, domesticated animal? Hardly what one looks for in a home owner.
“Of course. It’s Isaac’s home as well as mine.”
“You’re such a sweet heart baby.”
……and then proceeds to lay some sugar on his sh*t eating, ball licking dog mouth! Tongue and all!
“Jesus.”
This is f*cked. I’ve seen a lot of things, hell I’ve DONE a lot of things that would make your average Joe squirm, but this, this right here is the most mind melting thing I’ve ever borne witness to. Just to clarify this stone cold gorgeous mixed race girl, wearing my shirt and little else, cooking lunch in my house is swapping fluids with Dog…….yes THE Dog. The friend of mine who is indeed a dog himself. It’s not just a cutesy nickname. He is 100% canine and….oh for God’s sake. All of this slobbering has got his lipstick joining the party. F*ck this.
SO! What’s cooking? It smells like it might be burning!
Daphne jumps up.
“Oh no!”
She races back into the kitchen and all I can do is stand and stare at Dog, completely aghast by whatever it was I just had to endure.
“Listen man, I can explain.”
“I honestly don’t think you could.”
An icy tremor runs through me as my gut churns. He’s come up a lot today but….Jesus.
“You’ve been out of town for so long and I figured you wouldn’t mind me using the flat.”
You haven’t……you know…..sealed the deal in here have you?
“It’s not like that…”
“She just had her tongue all in and around your awful, awful, mouth and you expect me to believe that ‘it’s not like that’. Come on mate.”
“So you roll back into town and the first thing you start with is judging me and my relationships? I think you should get your own affairs in order before you turn to mine.”
Am I really having this conversation?
“My affairs?”
“Yeah. Just take a look at who you’ve climbed into bed with since we last spoke.”
“Trace?”
For the record he is of course speaking metaphorically. I have not and will not be sharing a bed, platonically or otherwise, with Trace Demon. He on the other hand, judging by his defensive tone, has quite literally been in bed, probably mine, with this mentally unwell Daphne girl.
“Of course Trace.”
“Were you or were you not with me during our impromptu meeting before Show Time? You remember? He practically kidnapped us in his limo and then dumped us on the kerb? Now based on what he said during that 20 minute conversation how did you think I was going to react? I was either with him, or against him, and personally I quite like being World Heavyweight Champion, probably about as much as you like lending a horrifying legitimacy to the term ‘doggy style’. F*ck. I’m going to have to burn this entire bed.”
Another shudder.
“So you’re just going to let this happen? He’s using you!”
“Of course he is! I’m well aware of my situation and the line I’m walking mate, what he, and seemingly now you, have a tendency to forget though is that Trace Demon is only ever going to be a runner up in the brains race. I’ve had to rethink my strategy on the fly and almost constantly evolve my methods each week, but I am indeed ten steps ahead of anything Trace is planning. He knows I don’t like him and I know the feeling is mutual, but we have a common enemy in those encroaching on our patch. What good does it do me to have him gunning for me as well as Ahriman, Dean and anyone not named Drakz? I’m playing this game to protect my neck.”
“When did you turn into such a ****?”
Excuse me?
“Excuse me?”
“When did you become this weak, scared little boy? You’re running for your life and pulling people in the way to slow down those chasing you.”
“Boys?”
Daphne pokes her head around the kitchen door.
“Go back in the kitchen Daphne.”
B*tch got told!
“And while we’re at it, where was my f*cking invite to the award ceremony? Or don’t you need me hiding under the table cloth to keep you company now you’ve got Trace’s face to sit on?”
I didn’t even think to invite him. Damn. Maybe I am being a d*ck? He gestures his head in the direction of the trophies.
“At least you cleared up ey? It’s just a shame everyone now knows that JoshDean has got your number. He beat you. He beat you clean and he took your title and you had to rely on Trace Demon to steal it back for you. I’ve got no problem with you being a piece of sh*t and dropping the whole GOOD GUY act, but not at the expense of your immortality. Losing to Dean made you look weak. Taking the title from him the way you did made you look weak. Taking that other title from Ahriman made you look weaker still.”
“F*ck off. What would you even know about any of this? At Show Time I refused to be dethroned thanks to Trace’s interference.”
“So instead you were dethroned thanks to Ahriman’s instead?”
“Which is why I’m going to deal with him personally. Listen, like it or not I’m working with Trace. Together he and I can fend off the hungry dogs………I’d say no offence but you’re being a f*cking c*nt so please take as much offence as you like to that statement regarding your species. Which reminds me, how the hell does this Daphne girl not know you’re a f*cking dog for God’s sake?! Surely she realises something’s up when you go waving your red…..”
The back plate on the letter box goes and the post falls down and onto the mat. I don’t have my post delivered to this address so my train of thought is broken. It’s probably for the best given my next port of address was this animal’s c*ck and where that girl puts it.
I simply walk away from Dog and he sighs before going to join Daphne in the kitchen. There’s a tension between us that hasn’t really existed prior to this very moment and it’s making me glad of his leaving the room.
The single letter that’s entered in Dog’s absence is hand written and addressed to “My Brother in Arms”. I’m confused by the very notion of that sentiment as, simply put, I have no ‘brothers’, not anymore anyway. I do however recognise the handwriting. Tentatively I run my thumb along the underside of the fold, opening the envelope, before unfolding the paper within and giving it a once over.
Jesus.
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If You Like A Lot of Chocolate on Your Biscuit...
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When you start second guessing yourself then you know things are bad, or at least that you’ve made some bad decisions to get there. I’m confused as to which category I fall into right now, but so long as I don’t let anyone else know about my misgivings then I’m safe as houses…….albeit houses built on sand, or sh*t, or a composite of the two. I suppose what I’m trying to say is I have absolutely no idea why I’m doing what I’m doing. I received a letter from one Michael Kyzer via his legal representative, the contents of which asked me to fulfil a request that he wasn’t able to. Michael clearly foresaw his own undoing, and before Ahriman, or anyone else for that matter, was able to silence him, he made a point of letting someone he could trust know that there was unfinished business to attend to.
What makes him so sure he could trust me though? I have every reason to stuff this letter up his comatose arse (there’s been a lot of mention of putting things inside human cavities so far hasn’t there?). What reason did he have to believe in my sense of obligation?
More importantly why the f*ck do I even have this morality complex? This is a man I considered my brother, one of the few men I could turn to at any given moment, no matter how f*cked things were. This is a man who betrayed that confidence by not only throwing me head first into the welcoming arms of a concrete floor, but then during my rehabilitation planting actors in the same facility to gain my trust, for the sole purpose of undermining my own sense of reality. This is a man who then wouldn’t even allow me the opportunity to face him thanks to his taking out a restraining order. So with all of that in mind, I find it hard to understand why I’m almost definitely going to deliver on the request made of me concerning the mother of his first born child.
Donnie denied me the information pertaining to her location for the simple fact that he didn’t want Kyzer to influence her life any further, be it for better or worse. In short he has been hiding her from him and in turn hiding her from me. It’s not hard to see why Donnie might take this stance given the fact that he f*cking hates Kyzer so much at this point that he probably hates any room Kyzer’s ever set foot in. He would probably quite literally unload a full clip into the walls of said room simply because at some point in its existence it contained Michael Kyzer. As such I’ve had to turn to Trace Demon for help and to my surprise he’s already come through for me. He’s already provided me with an address and for now I’ve no reason to doubt it’s legitimacy. He does after all want to keep me on side.
So I’ve mulled this over in my head (because right now that’s all I CAN do. Me and Dog aren’t on speaking terms at the moment) and there are a few things I’ve made note of. For one I maybe have a subconscious sense of (very f*cked up/barely recognisable) gratitude toward Kyzer, or at least his actions, because in trying to send me to the knacker yard he inadvertently revitalised a career that had started to tread water. I’ve said it time and again that since my spill from the stage and subsequent return I’ve achieved more than I ever did previous. I’ve elevated my status from “Oh yeah I remember that Drakz guy, he was pretty decent. What ever happened to him?” to “Drakz? Yeah of course I know Drakz! Even his d*ck had multiple title reigns! I’d let him f*ck my girl friend in an instant.”
I’ve remained undefeated for over two years and earned enough awards and titles, and broken enough records, to completely eclipse Michael’s career. I am THE man and there honestly isn’t anyone who will argue with that, even my biggest detractors. Joshua Dean, Samael Ahriman, Cameron Stone, whoever. They will all agree that I am THE man, and for that fact alone they want to be the one to usurp me. All of this I owe in part to Michael Kyzer I suppose. There’s no denying the fact that as a discernible point in time where everything changed his actions were the catalyst, and perhaps that’s why I feel I owe him something?
Perhaps.
But I much prefer the second option I came up with. I’m doing this to mimic and satirise the actions of Samael Ahriman. Let’s look at the points of comparison shall we gang?
Bad guy persona?
Check.
Formerly regarded as a ‘good guy’?
Check.
Dying friend with a final request of my services?
Check. Sort of. In his current state Kyzer’s as good as dead, and to be fair up until a couple of weeks ago no one could really be certain Malakai was dying. I mean there’s no dispute now, that’s a given, but I’m no doctor, and I only had hearsay as proof that there was anything wrong with him.
My dying guy is a whole lot more exciting than Sam’s as well. Even though Malakai still had motor response up to his dying day he’s still a f*cking drag. Kyzer’s not so much as batted an eye lid and he still wins that competition.
So the table is set. I have the chance to (at least in my own mind) one up Ahriman at his own game. I complete the righteous task that’s been laid out before me simply because anything he can do I can do better. It’s childish I know, but I never claimed to be all that grown up when it comes to belittling my enemies. What’s more, Malakai’s unfinished business involved taking out my choice of ‘dying guy’, so technically my selection of person to fill that role has already put me aeons ahead. In fact if I can do this for Michael does that mean Malakai’s still got unfinished business? Can I single handedly keep the ghost of Shawn Malakai stuck on earth?
I’m really reaching here.
Basically, while I still haven’t figured out my true motive for doing this, I’ve become happy with the idea that I’m doing it simply because Samael Ahriman is a total f*cking ****.
Or something like that anyway.
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The Attempt
I didn’t actually ask you to come with me so if you wouldn’t mind simply shutting the f*ck up until we’re done that would be tremendous.
To say the tension in this car is palpable is kind of underselling it. It’s more like a giant hand of tension squashing my balls into a pulp and syphoning them out of the car through the air conditioning vents. Why you ask? Because having not been back to my own flat since the argument with Dog, the first time I saw him was when I went to pick up the car, the car we’re now both sat in. He jumped in ahead of me and did his whole snarling rabid thing when I said I didn’t want him along for the ride. As such I’m driving toward the address Trace provided with a less than desirable passenger, especially as he refuses to just stay quiet.
“So you’d rather no one tell you about your shortcomings and mistakes? You’d rather just continue on your self destructive path until you’re too far gone? I for one am a better guide than a shoulder to cry on, so don’t come snivelling to me when everything you’ve worked so hard for is totally worthless.”
“Ignorance is bliss. Isn’t that what they say?”
I know that’s what they say. That was rhetorical.
“That’s a way of justifying the happiness that comes with being a total f*cking moron. You’ve got some self awareness and some self respect, or at least I thought you did. F*cking ****.”
I opt for the technique of just not antagonising him further. If I stay quiet maybe he’ll run out of steam? I thought he’d be cheerier given the fact a poor excuse for a human is letting him inside her. F*ck, that image never gets any easier to stomach.
He continues on in the same vain for a little while longer but I’ve managed to reduce his ranting to an unmodulated hum in my head. I’m focusing all of my attention through a single sense, my eyes, in the hope that I won’t have to take onboard any of the bile coming my way. Am I hiding from the truth? Almost certainly, but I don’t need life lessons from someone who licks their own arse hole.
I’m on my way to find Ashley, that is all I want to think about right now. Not my next match. Not my business relationships with midgets and red haired overlords. I just want to follow through on a simple task and nothing more. Am I treating this like some kind of hippie retreat? No. That was my trip to Peru last year. This is just a brief escape to normality……..if you consider normality to be delivering a message to your comatose former best friend’s estranged baby mamma, who’s address you’ve had to procure through somewhat underhanded means, and yes, yes I do. Compared to my day job of hitting other people in the face this is quite normal.
And with that I pull up across the road from the house.
“Stay here.”
Nothing more, nothing less. Just a command. Like a master to his dog. His non capitalised dog.
I step out into the sun and close the car door, only to open it again and wind down the window. I may not be in the best mood with him but dogs die in hot cars, and I don’t want that.
Closing the door again I make my way across the hot tarmac and onto the front lawn, all the while thinking to myself I must look like a f*cking killer come to collect his bounty. This is a nice suburban neighbourhood, they probably don’t get people like me here very often.
That thought is dissolved by the laughter of a young girl followed by the playful call of an older woman.
”Serenity!”
A ball rises in my throat as I realise Trace Demon has done exactly as I asked and I’m stood on the front lawn of a woman who never thought all that highly of me. A flash of Serenity as she runs past the window, her mother in tow, and I strengthen my resolve and walk toward the front door. I have to do this, for whatever reason I’ve created in my head. I’ve made it this far so I should finish what I’ve started. I glance over my shoulder and see that Dog has his paws up on the edge of the car door, making sure to get a good look at what’s about to unfold.
*Knock Knock*
Before I have chance to think too much about it my hand has reached up and done the deed. I’m invested now. No turning back. Footsteps approach the door and I take a deep breath. The door swings the whole way open and…..the f*cking sky turns black!
WHAT IN THE F*CK!
“Tugarin?”
Tugarin Zmey. The Dragon. Last seen chasing a prostitute and I out of a bar in Tokyo, Japan 9 months ago. Most recently seen? Towering over me, still masked, still silent, still scary as hell.
“What……I mean….why……no, I do mean what……what are you doing here?”
My mind reels at the possibilities but I’m brought straight back to the present moment when he utters a handful of words, something almost as unexpected as his mere presence.
“The little man knew you would come.”
Donnie.
“So what, you’ve been placed here as round the clock security? I’m not a threat Zmey. I have something for Ahsley that she should see.”
He slowly and authoritatively shakes his huge head.
“So Donnie has said what? That I under no circumstances make it through this door?”
He stands there as silent as I remember him.
“You realise I’m coming in right?”
I make to move past him but a single dinner plate sized hand rises up and meets my chest. He applies no force, just the suggestion of it, holding me back.
A warning.
“If you leave now the little man never needs to know you were here.”
Considering my options this sounds like perhaps the best one. I either attempt to fight my way in, causing God knows how much damage, an act that would no doubt terrify Ashley and Serenity more than they already must be with this faceless behemoth in their house. That’s not something I want for them. Leaving now also removes the chance of DMK following through on his threats from earlier. To be fair I’ve never been that hot on the idea of having things rammed down my urethra, especially not in the fashion that Donnie would do it.
“Will you at the very least give this to Ashley?”
The letter I produce from my pocket is thrust toward Zmey and he stares at me. I feel as if an hour passes before his hand falls from my chest and carefully takes the paper from my hand, a display of gentleness I wasn’t aware he was capable of.
“And now you leave Tsar Lazar.”
Tsar what? I don’t really need to know the answer to that, but I am curious as to whether that letter will actually make it to Ashley or not. I have by all accounts made good on my side of the deal though. I got the letter as far as Ashley’s door. The rest is in the hands of The Dragon.
As I walk back toward the car I can’t help but turn back and address Zmey one last time.
“By the way Zmey, I won those f*cking Tag Titles even without your help.”
I wait for a response but I’m stupid to. Nothing. So I carry on to the car where no doubt Dog awaits to call me a **** again for not stoving Zmey’s head in. I grit my teeth as I sit back into the driver’s seat but strangely there’s a silence. Dog just sits there panting, his open mouth curled into the faux smile that adorns every dog’s face.
I’m unsure as to how I feel about what just happened. There’s no sense of relief or of a duty followed, instead I feel stuck on the fence. One leg pleased with how well that went (avoiding going to war with a Dragon), the other feeling let down that I didn’t put the letter in Ashley’s hand myself.
I turn the keys in the ignition and pull away from the roadside with this strange anti-feeling swirling around in my chest, waiting for Dog’s inevitable input. I can’t be sure if he’s silently gloating or just giving me some time to process it myself. It takes a while, but eventually he does indeed pipe up.
“You know, you’ve still not even mentioned him…..”
Zmey? Kyzer? Trace? Ahriman? Josh? Who? There are a lot of ‘hims’ that I’ve ignored so far today.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“That lousy drunk.”
Brennan.
“Brennan.”
“Brennan.”
Am I expected to mention him?
“You shouldn’t just ignore him.”
“I’m not. I’ve already seen and spoken to him.”
I can tell his not knowing this has made Dog uneasy, he really does feel as though he’s being pushed out of my circle. I’m not sure if one man and a dog counts as a circle, but it’s closer to one than I can be on my own.
“So? What does he want?”
To crack heads? To fend off boredom? To lie to himself about wanting my head on a platter?
“I don’t think he knows. I can only imagine he’s not happy about what happened with Daniel Kirkbride though.”
“You mean what Michael Kyzer did to Daniel Kirkbride? Kyzer’s not here anymore, so what good does coming back to his old stomping ground do?”
“David likes to stomp. It’s kind of his thing. I don’t f*cking know.”
I don’t really care either. Dave’s free to do what he wants, and now he’s got his little nest egg to fall back on at any point I cant imagine he’s going to be all that motivated to see things through.
“Whatever it is he’s doing I don’t see it lasting all that long. He’s the ultimate opportunity waster, so for anything to come of his potential International Title shot he’d have to change a few things, and by a few I mean a lot, and by a lot I mean practically everything. I did my best for that cat and he refused my help, so any grudge he might bear for me is unfounded, not that I imagine a sense of logic is going to dispel whatever reason he dreams up to come after me. We both disappeared, the difference is I came back and blew everything before me out of the water. Dave? The only thing he’s likely to blow is yet another opportunity, and maybe a few unwashed d*cks if it means a grip on a bottle of Tennessee’s finest.”
Wow. That ended more viciously than I expected it to.
“Would you consider taking him back?”
“Taking him back? He wasn’t my f*cking girl friend. I did my best for him. I followed him and offered him a hand up. How did he respond? By telling me to get off my high horse. He thought I was looking down on him when in actuality all I wanted was to bring him back to his senses. He chose the bottle over a brother, and I think it’s time he learned to stand beside his decisions, in regret or otherwise.”
“Did you do the best you could? Or were you too busy to try Isaac? Before you start, I’m not trying to belittle what you did, I just want you to be honest with yourself. Could you have done more for a man you considered a friend? You’ve gone out of your way for Michael today, and he did far worse to you than Brennan ever did. Maybe you should consider more than one line of action when it concerns people you once trusted?”
What’s his game here? What does Dog look to gain from my working things out with David?
“This isn’t a play by me Isaac. I know things have been a bit weird between us since you came back to Chicago but I don’t want to be just another footnote in the list of people you’ve lost. Have a think about all of this and consider one thing. Are you being true to yourself?”
He sounds like a f*cking psychotherapist, but he is right to a degree. I’m being very standoffish with him and perhaps he is just trying to help? If I really think about it, what is the reason I’ve done all of this today? I want it to be that I’m trying to one up Samael Ahriman, I really want that to be the reason as it means I’m a straight up c*nt of a b*stard, however if I’m honest I know that’s not the case. I don’t need to copy that whiny pr*ck to one up him. Everyone knows that. I know that.
“Maybe, just maybe, the self you once knew has changed beyond recognition. Maybe you played ‘The Good Guy’ for so long that you became him?”
F*ck. A silence follows his statement as I try to even begin processing that thought.
“Maybe you’ve become so mild natured that people are finding it easy to take advantage of you? For instance, and hear me out now, why did Michael Kyzer struggle to locate Ashley, to the point that he asked you to do it for him, when you found her having asked only one person, Trace Demon? Don’t you think it’s weird? Michael Kyzer, commander of men and money, couldn’t follow through on a simple missing persons report? I don’t know what it means, but it’s certainly food for thought if nothing else.”
I’ve not even really heard any of that last speech, I’m still hung up on the notion that perhaps I’ve already bleached the evil out of my very being. I want to cry. Have I tried to fool everyone else and instead fooled myself?
Dog continues and the knot in my gut tightens.
“Drakz? Are you okay buddy? You know there’s nothing wrong with being ‘THE GOOD GUY’. You can pick up from where you left off. Don’t let it get to you too much.”
My brow furrows and my hands grip the wheel with such vigour my knuckles turn white.
“There’s still a chance…..”
“You’re done……..no more talking now.”
Dog sits up straight, a little shocked at my curt response.
“Isaac, I dont think….”
“I said you’re f*cking done! How am I supposed to think with all of this talking?”
How am I supposed to think at all? Right now I shouldn’t be wasting time on stupid errands like this. I’ve got a title defence in a matter of days and a choice to make.
Make a decision or get pushed off the fence Isaac.
Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer.
“God” Slayer.
Fool?
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Not really THE BAD GUY?! Not really the mother killing BAD GUY!?
We’ll see about that come go time. I’ll see about that……..I think.
F*ck!
Who am I kidding? I thought if I started this all guns blazing I’d be able to carry on in that vain, you know, just follow the bale of hay’s momentum as it rolls down hill? It’s no good though. The more I look inward the more blurred my vision of myself becomes. I don’t know where I stand anymore.
Don’t get me wrong, I still love the idea of crushing Samael Ahriman’s larynx with his own ridiculous ‘reverse blade’ but I am also aware of the fact that I’m not doing it out of an unremitting urge to be evil. No. I have reason, and good reason at that. I feel justified in the idea of those actions and to me that kind of validates me. I’m following what I deem to be a moral code, so what does that make me?
Okay, so I’ve done some pretty villainous things over the course of the last couple of months but I’m just protecting my spot. That’s all I’ve ever done. The fact that people claim I cheated Josh out of his championship reign, or that I then cheated Ahriman out of his as well? Remember who uttered the words ‘immediate rematch’……..it sure wasn’t me.
So am I just following orders? Have I caved to the peer pressure mounted by Papa Demon? Am I really deserving of the name ‘INSERT ACCOMPLICE HERE’S B*tch’? People love throwing that one around when it pertains to me, claiming I’m not being my own man. Maybe they’re right? I don’t pay much mind to the twitter of birds though, I’m focused solely on maintaining my footing, and if that means doing a few underhanded things then all I can say is; are you surprised? Have you forgotten who I am? I’ve never been a model citizen, even at my best. My only problem now is that I feel as though I’ve backed myself ever deeper into a corner. Whilst Trace and I are cordial with one another for the moment, I know full well he’s using me for his own ends, of course he is. That’s what he does.
The fact that people seem to think I’m unaware of the stability (or lack thereof) of my current position is somewhat insulting if I’m really honest. There is one reason, and one reason alone that I’ve sided with Trace Demon. If I hadn’t I would no longer be the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion. That’s an irrefutable fact. I made a choice that, so far, has extended my sell by date, but I know it’s not a permanent fix.
What worries me is Dog’s allegiance. When you start to worry if your own four legged friend is merely using you to gain something then you know things are teetering right on the brink. Not only that but I fear one David Brennan might be planning more than he’s letting on. The swift disposal of the Heavyweight Champion would be more than enough to inject a dose of Jim Beam into the main event picture. Couple all of this with the suggestion that Kyzer has just used my own sense of moral standing against me by completing a task he surely could have done himself prior to ‘induced-coma-gate’ and you’ve got a nice little cocktail of betrayal/paranoia/uncertainty.
But now, thanks to Lila Sleater, I have the chance to put all of that out of mind. Her closing the main event inside four walls of steel lends me a comfort, regardless of who wants my head come Black Hole Sun, there is only one man in a position to take it. Samael Ahriman. We have been granted political immunity to do whatever takes us in the moment. Sam I’m not sure if you know what that really means for you?
It’s become evident that I’m in the midst of a crisis of confidence right now. A crisis that effects my ability to trust just about anyone, but Samwise, do not make the mistake of assuming I’m doubting my own ability to do what I do best. The fact we’re completely isolated at Black Hole Sun means I have no reason to pay any mind to these external factors. In that ring, in that very moment, I’m thinking about one thing and one thing only………the absolute disassembly of Samael Ahriman. Regardless of my troubled ’home life’ you will be getting the very best Drakz there is. The same Drakz that just made a near clean sweep at the WFWF awards. The same Drakz that has beaten every single person put in front of him for the last four years. The scary part Sam? It’s a far better Drakz than the one that beat you and Raider for those Tag Team titles back in 2012.
I’ve never been this good Sam.
But the main factor isn’t how good I am, because given my track record that’s kind of a given, and something every opponent I face should be more than aware of, no Sammy, the largest unknown quantity at play is how good are you going to be?
There are a number of parallels that can be drawn between us Ahriman. Of course my current dilemma of principles can be our first. Good men masquerading as villains. Does that make us the same? Of course not. Why? Because I’ve always been a more convincing method actor than you. I’ve always known what you are Sam. You never once fooled me. You may have fooled the KKK, Donnie, your colleagues and even the fans around the world but I always knew the hand you were playing.
You are neither good nor bad, you are merely noble by your own estimations, and I suppose we do have THAT in common. I, like you, do what I do because I deem it right, and if that means acting out from time to time then so be it.
A shared belief however does not even come close to drawing us onto the same line.
In fact, whilst this is merely an added extra for me, a proverbial cherry if you will, the largest gap between us on paper is something I will have the satisfaction of blowing the knee caps out of. This Grand Slam dream of yours rests in the outcome of our match and therefore in my highly capable hands. Yours won’t be the first I’ve had the pleasure of denying, but it may be the sweetest knowing that, for you, your entire career hinges on the idea that you NEED to make it on to that list, to some how be remembered as more than just a second rate commentator, father and friend. Well my dear boy you’re looking at the King of the Grand Slam.
Mr Grand Slam².
Grandus Slammus II
I could go on.
I have taken it upon myself to act as a gate keeper of sorts for the hallowed halls of Chez Grand Slam, and believe me when I say I have strict orders to keep riff raff like you out.
Sam, we can be compared and contrasted as many times as people deem necessary but let’s be honest, we both do our talking better with our fists, or palm strikes, or whatever feeble kung fu sh*t you threaten to bore us with.
Just remember this isn’t a title defence for me, this is a chance to get an apology out of you. I’m going to perpetually bounce your head off of that steel cage until you say sorry, and I mean that. I’ll keep that packed house there until dawn if I have to, but you sir, you will beg for forgiveness before the night is out. You will admit you should never have stolen from me and then you’ll lie on your back and hear the crowd count away your dream.
Uno.
Dos.
…….three.
I'm going to relish in burying your vision deeper than a certain friend of yours. Ah sh*t, I really was trying to go this whole time without mentioning him.
Damn it.
I clearly couldn't help myself. This is what I'm talking about though. Good guy? Bad guy?
I'm conflicted.
Luckily I don't need to be either once I'm locked in there with you.
See you in Boston my little serpent.
(A.K.A. A Crisis of Confidence)
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It’s been a while since we’ve spoken ey kids? To be fair not a great deal has changed. I’m still playing the part of the nefarious villain as best I can, rubbing my hands together in between twiddles of my moustache. I’m still the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion, I’m still the WFWF Tag Team Champions, oh actually, there is a little more news! I’m now the proud owner of a mantlepiece adorned with the (deep breath here folks) Superstar of the Year 2015, Feud of the Year 2015, Tag Team of the Year 2015, Shocker of the Year 2015 and Match of the Year 2015 awaaaaaards. Phew. (Actually you should probably scrap the Superstar of the Year award as I may or may not have thrown that at a certain former commentator.)
Of course all of this came much to the chagrin of the rest of the WFWF no hopers, but I’ve come to expect that over the years. Jealousy is such an ugly thing and yet I absorb it with a degree of class that’s rarely heard of these days.
As a side note I also spoke the sh*t out of my acceptance speeches and reminded the world that I am indeed the wielder of the silkiest, most listenable voice in modern media. What did strike a chord with me though was the fact that whilst I probably spent more time on that stage than anyone else I was followed in a close second by Mr Josh Dean. People have asked if that worries me? People have asked me if I can feel Dean breathing down my neck, gearing up to snatch my crown? The answer to both, my dears, is of course no. It merely reminds me that Joshua Dean is still in a very firm second place, and even then I’m being generous.
The fact of the matter is he didn’t make the most of his opportunity and so it passed him by. He was foolish for allowing that to happen because shots at the king don’t come around all that often in this kingdom, just ask the very man I’m pitted off against this time around. Samael Ahriman is by no means new to this game and yet this is his first ever challenge for the World Heavyweight Championship, at least to my knowledge. Some cry “travesty”. Me? I don’t see that he’s ever done anything to deserve it. Not then, and certainly not now. He’s here because I want him in front of me. He’s landed himself a spot in the main event because I chose him as the 18 in my “post stage dive” record of 18 - 0.
Very few people have taken from me over the years, very few have had the chance, but Samael inadvertently robbed me of something I held very close. The moment he put Michael Kyzer out to pasture left me without a purpose, well……it left me without a sense of finality. My purpose has always been to cement myself as the greatest of all time, but I was happy to end that quest if I could take Michael with me. Instead suddenly I was presented with an abyss, one that I was stood right up against the edge of, the rim crumbling away beneath me. I was left with nothing.
This grey void of absolution very nearly forced me to jump but instead I was able to turn my head. My eyes narrowed and I found a new reason to work. I wasn’t going to let all of this pent up angst and rage turn to steam, whistling out of an open vent. No. Instead I was going to harness it, like an old iron engine and use it to drive me headlong towards the very man that burned my target to ash. I vowed I was going to cripple Samael Ahriman the way Mike tried to cripple me and the way he has seemingly crippled Mike. Pay it forward. No doubt it won’t be long before someone returns the favour and I’m once again chair bound, but when that day comes I’ll happily roll myself off of that very same cliff face and down into the silent sheet of absence.
Until that day catches up with me though I’ve made it my personal mission to continue moving forward in any way possible, and I mean that. Any way possible. I’m moving forward and through Samael Ahriman like a d*ck through butter and just for the record this isn’t about revenge for a fallen soldier. No this has never been retribution for Michael Kyzer. This is simply a case of me pointing all targeting systems toward a single faux satanic ninja f*ck clown and pulling the trigger, pressing the button and cutting the rope all at the same time.
Ahriman you’ve talked a big game these last few weeks but it’s almost time for you to test yourself against THE MEASURING STICK OF A GENERATION. MR PRESIDENT. EL CHAPO.
The man who will raise your daughter in your stead and teach her how to excel as the Glory Hole Queen she’s destined to be.
It’s been a very long time since someone’s p*ssed me off Sammy boy, but you sir have irked me something f*cking rotten.
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The Odd Couple
“Hang my head, drown my fear, ’til you all just disappear…..”
*CLICK*
Shut the f*ck up Cornell. A flick of the wrist silences the radio that for some unknown reason Dog has had on in my absence. Maybe it keeps him from getting lonely? I’d rather be the last man on earth than have the members of Soundgarden serenading me. What’s wrong with him?
I’ve just arrived home for the first time in weeks and it strikes me as odd that he hasn’t come running to welcome me. I can hear him in the kitchen and something smells good. Wait. He’s a f*cking domesticated animal, not a chef. He’s not even got enough posable thumbs to use a wok, let alone put it to good use.
“Dog?”
Nothing. There’s an electricity in the air that prickles my skin. He’s angry about something………..he’s also not alone.
“Dog?”
I push open the kitchen door and what I see causes me to drop my gold and glass filled duffle bag.
“Who the f*ck are you?”
Besides gorgeous.
“Jesus!”
I’ve scared the life out of her. I’m surprised she didn’t cotton someone else had entered the flat when I turned that drivel off. She’s…….well……she’s not wearing a whole lot. In fact….is that my shirt?
“You’re the son of God? Come on. Who are you, and what are you doing in my flat?”
My shirt, her underwear and I can only assume her hair band. Am I losing my mind? Did I rip through this girl last night and forget I’d been home already?
“The ’Jesus’ was clearly a knee jerk reaction to you bursting in here. Do I look like a bearded sandal seller to you?”
Seller? Wasn’t he supposed to be a carpenter?
You look like a stranger in my clothes and kitchen darling, so, I’ll ask you again, who….are…you?
I make a point of impersonating the Carrollian caterpillar with my intonation. Shame I’ve got no smoke rings to puff in her direction really. She raises an eyebrow.
“Daphne. And you are?”
And I am? What is this? She’s in my God dammed home.
The proprietor…..of both the space you’re cooking in and the shirt you’re also cooking in……...
“Wait? This is your flat?”
I have a good mind to d*ck slap that eyebrow back down into place.
Yes this is MY flat, and I must say you’re taking much too long to get to the part where you tell me what you’re doing in it? In fact how did you even get in? Where’s Dog?
That better not be him sizzling in the pan. I’ve hard of a bunny boiler but sauté a man’s best friend? Needle Damage the b*tch. Out the window.
“Dog? What are you talking about? Listen I don’t know what’s going on here but Fernando’s just gone to the store. He’ll be back any minute to clear this up.”
And in the mean time?
“I’m cooking lunch, if you’re hungry?”
What in the name of shiny f*ck is happening right now? Who is this woman? Who is Fernando? Have I missed something? Was there a memo I’ve overlooked notifying us all of an impending tear in the dimensional fabric?
Sure. Whatever. Listen I need to unpack. Don’t burn the place down.
Why am I being so courteous? I think I’ve got vagina on the brain. I bet her’s is pretty. BLAH! Snap out of this incessant quest for something to thrust into. When a body part has enough of a control on you to limit the number of syllables in each train of thought then it’s time to make a change. I leave her to it and in doing so leave the kitchen.
I unzip the duffle and toss my two championship belts onto the bed. Make yourselves comfy girls. Yes, girls. I feel they have the qualities of strong independent women, except the Tag Title who often pines for her equally attractive twin sister. She’s since relocated to Washington with another man though. We’ll get over it.
In time.
I’ve just started lining my record haul of awards up on the mantle piece when I hear keys in the door. Fernando? Who ever the f*ck you are. The door jars open and a long brown snout pokes it’s way around and into the gap, nudging the door the whole way open. In potters Dog, a length of plastic wrapped salami held gently in his mouth. He drops it, wide eyed, on seeing that I’m home. His comic timing is second to none.
“Fernando is that you?”
Daphne calls from the kitchen, and Dog’s eyes dart from the kitchen door and back to me. The f*ck is this?
Yeah….Fernando is that you?
Mother…..
“Fernando?”
She enters the room and smiles at the sight of my furry room mate.
“Hey baby. Can you explain to this man what’s going on here? He’s a little confused. In fact…..how did you get in here?”
She turns to look in my direction, crossing her arms. The sass levels are mounting.
“How did I get in? Are you f*cking kidding? I used MY key. After all this is MY flat, paid for by ME. Isn’t that right…….Fernando?”
I smile at Dog with enough of a glint in my eye for him to know I’ll play along until I stop finding it entertaining. He needs to adapt his story.
“What? Fernando? I thought this was your place?”
“Erm, Daphne, you see…….he’s my…..”
“Lodger. I’m his lodger. I pay rent to stay here……”
A doggy sigh of relief. She must be world class at d*ck sucking to warrant the panic I saw in his eyes. Wait? What am I saying?
“With only one bed?”
Sh*t.
“I sleep…..”
I look around the flat. Sofa? You wouldn’t pay to sleep there. To my horror I find myself pointing…..
“There. I sleep there.”
I’m pointing directly at the dog bed. F*ck my self. Why am I playing this game?
“You sleep there?”
“Yup. Right there……. It’s not a dog bed. It’s a Nepalese sleeping mat.”
HA!
“Looks like a dog bed to me.”
And me.
Dog’s brow ruffles and if I thought things were awkward now little did I know it was about to mount ten fold. Daphne walks over to Dog, crouches down…..
“I asked him if he wants to stay for lunch. Is that okay?”
Stay for lunch? Is that okay? Wow, this is insane. Does she not realise he’s a four legged, domesticated animal? Hardly what one looks for in a home owner.
“Of course. It’s Isaac’s home as well as mine.”
“You’re such a sweet heart baby.”
……and then proceeds to lay some sugar on his sh*t eating, ball licking dog mouth! Tongue and all!
“Jesus.”
This is f*cked. I’ve seen a lot of things, hell I’ve DONE a lot of things that would make your average Joe squirm, but this, this right here is the most mind melting thing I’ve ever borne witness to. Just to clarify this stone cold gorgeous mixed race girl, wearing my shirt and little else, cooking lunch in my house is swapping fluids with Dog…….yes THE Dog. The friend of mine who is indeed a dog himself. It’s not just a cutesy nickname. He is 100% canine and….oh for God’s sake. All of this slobbering has got his lipstick joining the party. F*ck this.
SO! What’s cooking? It smells like it might be burning!
Daphne jumps up.
“Oh no!”
She races back into the kitchen and all I can do is stand and stare at Dog, completely aghast by whatever it was I just had to endure.
“Listen man, I can explain.”
“I honestly don’t think you could.”
An icy tremor runs through me as my gut churns. He’s come up a lot today but….Jesus.
“You’ve been out of town for so long and I figured you wouldn’t mind me using the flat.”
You haven’t……you know…..sealed the deal in here have you?
“It’s not like that…”
“She just had her tongue all in and around your awful, awful, mouth and you expect me to believe that ‘it’s not like that’. Come on mate.”
“So you roll back into town and the first thing you start with is judging me and my relationships? I think you should get your own affairs in order before you turn to mine.”
Am I really having this conversation?
“My affairs?”
“Yeah. Just take a look at who you’ve climbed into bed with since we last spoke.”
“Trace?”
For the record he is of course speaking metaphorically. I have not and will not be sharing a bed, platonically or otherwise, with Trace Demon. He on the other hand, judging by his defensive tone, has quite literally been in bed, probably mine, with this mentally unwell Daphne girl.
“Of course Trace.”
“Were you or were you not with me during our impromptu meeting before Show Time? You remember? He practically kidnapped us in his limo and then dumped us on the kerb? Now based on what he said during that 20 minute conversation how did you think I was going to react? I was either with him, or against him, and personally I quite like being World Heavyweight Champion, probably about as much as you like lending a horrifying legitimacy to the term ‘doggy style’. F*ck. I’m going to have to burn this entire bed.”
Another shudder.
“So you’re just going to let this happen? He’s using you!”
“Of course he is! I’m well aware of my situation and the line I’m walking mate, what he, and seemingly now you, have a tendency to forget though is that Trace Demon is only ever going to be a runner up in the brains race. I’ve had to rethink my strategy on the fly and almost constantly evolve my methods each week, but I am indeed ten steps ahead of anything Trace is planning. He knows I don’t like him and I know the feeling is mutual, but we have a common enemy in those encroaching on our patch. What good does it do me to have him gunning for me as well as Ahriman, Dean and anyone not named Drakz? I’m playing this game to protect my neck.”
“When did you turn into such a ****?”
Excuse me?
“Excuse me?”
“When did you become this weak, scared little boy? You’re running for your life and pulling people in the way to slow down those chasing you.”
“Boys?”
Daphne pokes her head around the kitchen door.
“Go back in the kitchen Daphne.”
B*tch got told!
“And while we’re at it, where was my f*cking invite to the award ceremony? Or don’t you need me hiding under the table cloth to keep you company now you’ve got Trace’s face to sit on?”
I didn’t even think to invite him. Damn. Maybe I am being a d*ck? He gestures his head in the direction of the trophies.
“At least you cleared up ey? It’s just a shame everyone now knows that JoshDean has got your number. He beat you. He beat you clean and he took your title and you had to rely on Trace Demon to steal it back for you. I’ve got no problem with you being a piece of sh*t and dropping the whole GOOD GUY act, but not at the expense of your immortality. Losing to Dean made you look weak. Taking the title from him the way you did made you look weak. Taking that other title from Ahriman made you look weaker still.”
“F*ck off. What would you even know about any of this? At Show Time I refused to be dethroned thanks to Trace’s interference.”
“So instead you were dethroned thanks to Ahriman’s instead?”
“Which is why I’m going to deal with him personally. Listen, like it or not I’m working with Trace. Together he and I can fend off the hungry dogs………I’d say no offence but you’re being a f*cking c*nt so please take as much offence as you like to that statement regarding your species. Which reminds me, how the hell does this Daphne girl not know you’re a f*cking dog for God’s sake?! Surely she realises something’s up when you go waving your red…..”
The back plate on the letter box goes and the post falls down and onto the mat. I don’t have my post delivered to this address so my train of thought is broken. It’s probably for the best given my next port of address was this animal’s c*ck and where that girl puts it.
I simply walk away from Dog and he sighs before going to join Daphne in the kitchen. There’s a tension between us that hasn’t really existed prior to this very moment and it’s making me glad of his leaving the room.
The single letter that’s entered in Dog’s absence is hand written and addressed to “My Brother in Arms”. I’m confused by the very notion of that sentiment as, simply put, I have no ‘brothers’, not anymore anyway. I do however recognise the handwriting. Tentatively I run my thumb along the underside of the fold, opening the envelope, before unfolding the paper within and giving it a once over.
Jesus.
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If You Like A Lot of Chocolate on Your Biscuit...
For a man with so much money, and a tendency to talk about it, this club is a f*cking dive. I mean I’m not one for clubs anyway these days for a number of reasons.
Numero uno: They’re full of people.
Numero dos: The music forced into your ears is generally God awful.
Numero…..three: You’re putting money into the pockets of pieces of sh*t like my esteemed partner in f*ckery, Trace Demon. I still can’t believe he legally changed his f*cking name to that. If we weren’t both considered ‘the old guard’ I’d have nothing to do with him. He’s ruining my reputation. He’s the closest thing I’ve got to a compatriot these days though so I suppose I shouldn’t be too harsh. F*ck that’s depressing.
Anyway, my point stands. I’m no cluxpert (that’s an expert on clubs by the way, not to be confused with an expert on chickens) but this joint really stinks of p*ss. I just hope no one sees me in here. F*ck it, what do I care?
“Sir? Excuse me, SIR?!”
Ooop. I must have been heavy into that thought trail because I didn’t even notice her stood there.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave!”
I shake the last few drips off and sheathe the beast before turning to address the pleb.
“Leave? I only just got here.”
She speaks into the walkie talkie in her hand and I have to chuckle knowing what’s coming.
“Security. I need a customer ejected.”
“A customer? I wasn’t planning on buying anything. I’m an associate darling.”
She pauses and looks me up and down.
“An associate? I just caught you taking a leak in the hallway and you expect me to believe you have any business here?”
I can hear the rumble of footsteps approaching from behind and I’m waiting for a constrictor like arm to smother my neck any minute. I’d better make this quick.
“There are a couple of things I need you to do, and yes your job does depend on it. First of all let the gorillas know they can return to their machine gun turrets as opposed to dragging me out of here. Once you’ve done that tell Trace that Drakz is here, oh and you also might want to get someone to clear that up.”
I gesture towards the puddle on the carpet and the streaks up the wall.
“It looks like someone missed the bowl.”
”Everything alright Becky?”
A voice from over my shoulder and I can feel his fingers twitching, ready to snap which ever part of me he can get a hold of first. ‘Beckie’ doesn’t answer right away and I can hear the cogs whirring. She doesn’t know if I’m bull sh*tting her but she also doesn’t know if she can take that risk.
“Yeah, all good. Sorry, mistaken identity.”
The dump truck leaves the way he came and I half expect to hear a BEEP BEEP BEEP as he backed up. I didn’t get a chance to take a look at him but the shadow cast over me was enough to get a rough idea of what I was in for. It seems Bekky’s still got her job……for now.
“Follow me.”
She turns away and the high speed chase is on. Not so much high speed as normal walking pace and not so much chase as following politely. In fact I’m not sure why I used that phrase at all.
“Elinor is the boss expecting anyone?”
She speaks into her walkie talkie again and I have to assume that Trace has made a point that everyone who works here calls him “The Boss”. Just when I thought he couldn’t be any more of a piece of sh*t he goes and reveals his love for Bruce Springsteen. Why am I here again?
Beckee turns to me as we approach the bottom of a set of stairs, stairs I can only assume lead to Trace’s quite literal ivory tower.
“It seems you weren’t actually as full to the brim with sh*t as I thought. He’s expecting you.”
She sarcastically waves an arm, gesturing to the stairs as though my carriage awaits. I kind of like this Beccy girl, she’s got spunk……..one can assume it’s mostly Trace’s though and to that end I shall touch her with none of my appendages.
“Merci beaucoup.”
I make a point of pronouncing the words in as broad of a Yorkshire accent as I can muster. She responds with a series of blinks and a straight face. She is quite the catch. I can understand why Trace has her in his employ.
I cast all of this to the wind though as I leave her and ascend toward my maiden fair. The light of my life, the apple of my eye, the (former) pain in my arse, Trizzle Dizzle.
Known to many as The King of Dizzles.
Of course I’m met at the top of the stairs by another attractive, young woman. It was never going to be Trace himself was it? Having his ‘help’ do all of the menial tasks like welcoming guests gives the impression of importance. What he fails to realise is I already know more about him than practically anyone else in his life, so any illusions are somewhat lost on me. Oz your curtain fails you.
“Drakz?”
“Trace?”
“Elinor.”
“I thought you looked different. ”
“Trace Demon is just through here. He appreciates the fact you’re on time.”
He appreciates? I feel like I’m making my way to royal court. This is so f*cking lame.
“People have said a lot of terrible things about me over the years Elinor, but no one can refute the fact that I’m punctual.”
She smiles and opens a door for me, entering ahead.
“Boss? Drakz to see you.”
I could have said that.
“I could have said that.”
Another polite smile, one that this time gives away the fact she’s humouring me, and then I step past her and close the door in her face.
“Drakz to see you……..boss.”
A pop of my lips around the letter B lets him know I’m poking fun at his hierarchy, not that it offends him, but I wasn’t looking to offend him. I just enjoy being a d*ck.
“Isaac.”
Urgh. I hate that. Even now we’re associates I still hate my name in his mouth.
“Please, call me Drakz.”
Or The Artist Formerly Known as ’THE GOOD GUY’, or The Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer, or The ‘God’ Slayer. Anything but Isaac really. Trace grins knowingly. I hope the d*ck measuring contest wears thin between us soon because it’s pretty f*cking exhausting. Damned if I’ll be the first to give up though.
“Take a seat.”
I do.
“Drink?”
I don’t.
“We’ve got a lot to discuss ahead of the Pay Per View.”
I know.
“The most pertinent to us both I suppose being your WFWF World Heavyweight Championship match?”
“It’s certainly the most pertinent to me. I don’t really give a sh*t about your match mate, although that’s not to say I don’t want to see Dean battered and broken by the end of it.”
Trace chuckles.
“This is the first time I can remember where I might actually consider someone else’s match more important than my own. Don’t take that as a compliment though Isaac….sorry, Drakz. I simply don’t want that belt falling into the wrong hands.”
Unless they’re yours?
“You don’t need to worry about that pal. Samael Ahriman is small fry and, as I like to think I’ve made abundantly clear, is only getting this opportunity because I owe him physical recompense for what he did back in Tokyo. It’s taken me nearly a year due to other…..commitments, but now I’ve not only got him across the ring from yours truly but Sleater did right by me and surrounded us with steel to stop him running.”
Trace’s lip curls at the mere insinuation that I’m showing good grace to Lila, something I wish he’d let go to be honest. He’s always had to ‘fight the power’. Maybe I should get him a clock to hang around his neck?
“Besides, any chance of interference from his band of merry men should be fairly slim, what with the fact that Crowe will have cut Stone off at the knees and Dean will have been reduced to a dark red stain on the ring canvas. If the two of you do what’s expected of you….”
Redistribution of power in one half sentence.
“….then I should have no problem maintaining my foothold……sorry, our foothold.”
I know Trace is having to try impossibly hard to remain professional through all of this. As smart as he is, and as wily as he is, there is one man who can push his buttons and that man is me. Equally of course he is capable of returning the favour. Wins and losses will do that to a man, even if nearly four years of water have flown under the proverbial bridge.
“Speaking of which I’ve invited Tyme here to discuss his future with us.”
“Justin f*cking Tyme? Why Trace? I know you’d rather we dealt with Crowe face to face. It’s easier to manipulate a man with your hand up HIS backside instead of his master’s. It’s manipulation within manipulation. It’s manip-ception.”
Trace really needs to lighten up. Ever since he bought the WFWF from under Xavier’s nose he’s become so adult. That joke didn’t even garner a smirk. He just keeps pressing on.
“Tyme has insisted he remains the go between. I don’t want him getting in the way and as such I have to at least give him the impression he has a modicum of control over the direction Crowe is heading.”
“You’re such a f*cking business man these days. It’s painfully boring mate. Can’t we just beat on Tyme until he crawls back into whatever cave he’s been hiding in these last few years? Dress him as a woman, take photos and threaten to leak them? Burn his house down? I don’t know……something a bit livelier?”
It seems I really have been suppressing my urges the last couple of years.
“Drakz, Drakz, Drakz. We’re past all that. Now isn’t the time for your Kyzer era shenanigans….”
Kyzer era…….he’s dropped that in there to rile me in return for my previous transgression.
“We need to keep things a little more, how should I put it? Discreet.”
*Knock Knock*
The door opens ajar and Elinor pokes her head inside.
“Justin’s car has just pulled up outside. I’ll have him wait downstairs for 10 minutes before letting him up.”
Wow, this Elinor has really got the power play sh*t on lockdown.
“Oh and boss…..the erm……shipment arrived safely.”
Hello. What’s this? Shipment?
“Thank you Elinor. Grab Mr Tyme a drink would you. I’d like him lubricated before we talk business.”
And with that the door closes again, but I feel as though I could have just been made a little more privy to things than Trace would perhaps have liked, not that he showed any hint of it in his facial expressions.
“Are you sure you won’t take a drink Drakz?”
He’s probably had his knob in the end of each bottle specially for me so no I think I’ll pass.
“You’re too kind but I really shouldn’t. My bladder’s been playing up a little today.”
Heh.
“You know Drakz I really wish we could both loosen up a little. We’re fighting on the same side now, for the first time. I mean make no mistake, I’ve never liked you, but I think perhaps it’s time I put a pin in that for the good of this little agreement of ours, and I think it’d suit us both if you did the same."
It’s hard to trust anyone you’ve dropped head first on a steel chair. My spidey senses are tingling but hell, what have I got to lose really? Plus with all of his financial connections maybe he can help me out with something.
“Listen Trace, I appreciate you being honest with me and I feel I should be doing more on my end of the forgiveness parade so I’m going to open up to you if only a little.”
Even Trace Demon, with all of his years of experience, can’t completely hide that glint in his eye. He likes this, which is good because it might make him a little less hesitant to help if he thinks he’s getting inside my head.
“I wonder if you can help me find someone?”
“Who?”
He’s dying to know and part of me wants to withhold that information just to annoy him but that’s not really going to get the ball rolling is it? Deep breath.
“Ashley………….Ashley Kent.”
Look at me being all grown up!
“Is she related to Don…..oh sh*t! You mean Kyzer’s old flame? DMK’s sister? Why don’t you just ask the little psycho?”
The fact he thinks I even could ask DMK reveals to me that he knows Donnie and I are on about the same terms as me and Trace. Professional partners. The walls have ears.
“I already did. He listed all of the things he’d put inside my d*ck if I so much as said her name again.”
“May I ask why you want to find her?”
You may ask but I also may not tell you. No. Come on. Feed the badger. Give him what he wants or he won’t return the favour. F*ck this is like a scene from Silence of the Lambs. Quid pro quo Clarice, quid pro quo. Sigh.
“I received a letter asking me to pass a message on to her. A letter from Kyzer.”
“Wait, but Michael Kyzer is still in an induced coma at the University of Washington Medical Center. I know that because technically he’s still under contract with me. Don't you find it odd that he’s been able to pen you a letter in his current state?”
“He must have written it a while back because it was forwarded by his lawyer Seth who, just to make things even more convoluted, is also Donnie and Ashley’s brother. He hates Kyzer. He hates Donnie. He does however love his sister and the content of this letter is somewhat beneficial to her.”
“Okay, let me get this straight. You want to follow through on the wishes of a man who nigh on crippled you, but you can’t because her midget, drug lord brother refuses to reveal her location, so you want me to help you find her?”
Well, when you put it like that it does sound pretty ludicrous yes. I just nod in agreement.
*Knock Knock*
Elinor again.
“Mr Tyme is here to see you.”
And then the grating voice of gross expenditure.
“Trace! Thanks for the invite. I’m glad you took on board what I said about my involvement in Lucas’s career trajectory, and oh my! Hello champ. I didn’t know you were going to be joining us!”
I don’t even bother looking over my shoulder at him. F*ck I hate this guy. He’s a gut churning reminder of how bad things were in the WFWF all those years ago. He actually makes me appreciate guys like Ahriman and Dean, simply because while they’re not on my level, they’re sure as hell above his.
Tyme takes a seat next to me and gives me a little punch on the shoulder. My teeth grit and if Trace wasn’t having fun before he sure is now.
“Let’s cut right to the chase then boys. When Crowe wins the International Championship at Black Hole Sun where do we take him in the lead up to Superbrawl IX? This is going to be his first so I want it to be special for him.”
“Well as you know as well as we do there’s a number one contender to be announced once the match is over. So you’ve got a lottery pick of either Shannon, Whitner or Brennan.”
“It’ll be Brennan. Trust me on that.”
“What makes you so sure champ?”
“Stop calling me champ.”
I shoot him a look from the corner of my eye and then continue addressing Trace instead.
“Brennan is going over, not only because he’s the most talented of the three but because him winning means a chance to p*ss on my shoes.”
Before either of them say a word, yes it is always about me. For good reason.
“He’s already made his feelings toward me clear and knowing David he’ll take this title opportunity as a means to get back at me. He won’t admit it to be the case but how many of us let on when we’re going out of our way to f*ck with someone? We don’t want to give their ego reason to inflate further.”
No doubt everyone in this room was made a little uncomfortable by that statement.
“The way I see it Justin you shouldn’t be looking any further than your man’s current obstacles.”
“Drakz is right. This is Crowe’s first real chance to prove his worth. I’ll level with you Tyme, if he bombs on this one then he’s of no use to us. We need a man who can deliver. We need a little mercenary who can, if you catch my meaning?”
“Oh no doubt. This is the biggest match of my client’s career so far and he knows as well as I do that there’s more riding on the outcome of this match than just championship gold. We’re ready, we just like to know where we’re heading after the fact.”
“If Crowe can be the man to retire that piss-ant Cameron Stone then trust me he’s a made man. He’s a company man.”
I can hear Tyme’s wallet bulging at the very thought.
“If Crowe wants to really make a name for himself in this game then he’s on the right side of the fence and not just because I’m the man running the show either. Take a look at the men you’re with Justin. We’re the two most decorated superstars in WFWF history. You’d better believe that our endorsement means as much, if not more, than any championship belt to those fans. They may not like us, they might even hate us, but they can’t deny that they respect us.”
I’m bored.
“This sounds like the beginnings of a very lucrative relationship gentlemen. Now, something else I wanted to…..”
“Thanks for coming down Justin.”
Trace rises from his seat. Haha my God he made him fly out here just for that? He’s been here what? 8 minutes? And now Trace is sending him packing. I think he’s been watching too much of The Apprentice. It’s been power play after power play ever since I entered the building.
Clearly Tyme’s a bit shocked by his gracious host’s sudden resolution of the meeting. No doubt it took him a few hours to get here and probably a wedge of money courtesy of the fuel burned up by his private jet, but he’s not going to let it slip that it bothers him. We’re all wearing poker faces so engrained in our selves that it’s hard to tell who I’m even speaking to.
Tyme does as expected as he follows suit and rises to shake Trace’s outstretched hand. I remain seated, looking out of the window.
“Good luck inside that cage champ. You’ll do just fine.”
His hand is thrust outward seemingly expecting me to rise and take it like he just did. Instead I take it and kiss the back of his fingers.
“Thank you mi lady.”
And with that he was gone, although the smell of classless money lingers behind him like a fart. Trace doesn’t take his seat and I suppose that’s his way of trying to get rid of me while he’s at it.
“So, do you think you can help locate my person of interest?”
I haul myself to a standing base and begin to stretch out my shoulders before touching my toes and letting out a huge sigh of air.
“I’ll see what I can do. It shouldn’t be a problem though.”
I pick up my jacket and keep talking to him as I dig my arm into each sleeve.
“And you’ll be sure to keep this between you and I yes?”
“But of course. Professional confidentiality is my forte these days.”
So I heard……which is ironic.
“You never did tell me exactly why you’re doing this though.”
That’s because I don’t really know myself.
“It just seems like the right thing to do.”
We don’t bother shaking hands and I let myself out. Before the door closes though Trace has to get the final word, and he does so mocking Justin Tyme, although I figure it’s as much a dig at me.
“Good luck inside that cage champ. You’ll do just fine.”
I pull the door closed and have a little laugh to myself. There was so much f*cking bravado on display in that room that Elinor will have to run a mop around the place before Trace’s next meeting.
I need a drink.
Numero uno: They’re full of people.
Numero dos: The music forced into your ears is generally God awful.
Numero…..three: You’re putting money into the pockets of pieces of sh*t like my esteemed partner in f*ckery, Trace Demon. I still can’t believe he legally changed his f*cking name to that. If we weren’t both considered ‘the old guard’ I’d have nothing to do with him. He’s ruining my reputation. He’s the closest thing I’ve got to a compatriot these days though so I suppose I shouldn’t be too harsh. F*ck that’s depressing.
Anyway, my point stands. I’m no cluxpert (that’s an expert on clubs by the way, not to be confused with an expert on chickens) but this joint really stinks of p*ss. I just hope no one sees me in here. F*ck it, what do I care?
“Sir? Excuse me, SIR?!”
Ooop. I must have been heavy into that thought trail because I didn’t even notice her stood there.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave!”
I shake the last few drips off and sheathe the beast before turning to address the pleb.
“Leave? I only just got here.”
She speaks into the walkie talkie in her hand and I have to chuckle knowing what’s coming.
“Security. I need a customer ejected.”
“A customer? I wasn’t planning on buying anything. I’m an associate darling.”
She pauses and looks me up and down.
“An associate? I just caught you taking a leak in the hallway and you expect me to believe you have any business here?”
I can hear the rumble of footsteps approaching from behind and I’m waiting for a constrictor like arm to smother my neck any minute. I’d better make this quick.
“There are a couple of things I need you to do, and yes your job does depend on it. First of all let the gorillas know they can return to their machine gun turrets as opposed to dragging me out of here. Once you’ve done that tell Trace that Drakz is here, oh and you also might want to get someone to clear that up.”
I gesture towards the puddle on the carpet and the streaks up the wall.
“It looks like someone missed the bowl.”
”Everything alright Becky?”
A voice from over my shoulder and I can feel his fingers twitching, ready to snap which ever part of me he can get a hold of first. ‘Beckie’ doesn’t answer right away and I can hear the cogs whirring. She doesn’t know if I’m bull sh*tting her but she also doesn’t know if she can take that risk.
“Yeah, all good. Sorry, mistaken identity.”
The dump truck leaves the way he came and I half expect to hear a BEEP BEEP BEEP as he backed up. I didn’t get a chance to take a look at him but the shadow cast over me was enough to get a rough idea of what I was in for. It seems Bekky’s still got her job……for now.
“Follow me.”
She turns away and the high speed chase is on. Not so much high speed as normal walking pace and not so much chase as following politely. In fact I’m not sure why I used that phrase at all.
“Elinor is the boss expecting anyone?”
She speaks into her walkie talkie again and I have to assume that Trace has made a point that everyone who works here calls him “The Boss”. Just when I thought he couldn’t be any more of a piece of sh*t he goes and reveals his love for Bruce Springsteen. Why am I here again?
Beckee turns to me as we approach the bottom of a set of stairs, stairs I can only assume lead to Trace’s quite literal ivory tower.
“It seems you weren’t actually as full to the brim with sh*t as I thought. He’s expecting you.”
She sarcastically waves an arm, gesturing to the stairs as though my carriage awaits. I kind of like this Beccy girl, she’s got spunk……..one can assume it’s mostly Trace’s though and to that end I shall touch her with none of my appendages.
“Merci beaucoup.”
I make a point of pronouncing the words in as broad of a Yorkshire accent as I can muster. She responds with a series of blinks and a straight face. She is quite the catch. I can understand why Trace has her in his employ.
I cast all of this to the wind though as I leave her and ascend toward my maiden fair. The light of my life, the apple of my eye, the (former) pain in my arse, Trizzle Dizzle.
Known to many as The King of Dizzles.
Of course I’m met at the top of the stairs by another attractive, young woman. It was never going to be Trace himself was it? Having his ‘help’ do all of the menial tasks like welcoming guests gives the impression of importance. What he fails to realise is I already know more about him than practically anyone else in his life, so any illusions are somewhat lost on me. Oz your curtain fails you.
“Drakz?”
“Trace?”
“Elinor.”
“I thought you looked different. ”
“Trace Demon is just through here. He appreciates the fact you’re on time.”
He appreciates? I feel like I’m making my way to royal court. This is so f*cking lame.
“People have said a lot of terrible things about me over the years Elinor, but no one can refute the fact that I’m punctual.”
She smiles and opens a door for me, entering ahead.
“Boss? Drakz to see you.”
I could have said that.
“I could have said that.”
Another polite smile, one that this time gives away the fact she’s humouring me, and then I step past her and close the door in her face.
“Drakz to see you……..boss.”
A pop of my lips around the letter B lets him know I’m poking fun at his hierarchy, not that it offends him, but I wasn’t looking to offend him. I just enjoy being a d*ck.
“Isaac.”
Urgh. I hate that. Even now we’re associates I still hate my name in his mouth.
“Please, call me Drakz.”
Or The Artist Formerly Known as ’THE GOOD GUY’, or The Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer, or The ‘God’ Slayer. Anything but Isaac really. Trace grins knowingly. I hope the d*ck measuring contest wears thin between us soon because it’s pretty f*cking exhausting. Damned if I’ll be the first to give up though.
“Take a seat.”
I do.
“Drink?”
I don’t.
“We’ve got a lot to discuss ahead of the Pay Per View.”
I know.
“The most pertinent to us both I suppose being your WFWF World Heavyweight Championship match?”
“It’s certainly the most pertinent to me. I don’t really give a sh*t about your match mate, although that’s not to say I don’t want to see Dean battered and broken by the end of it.”
Trace chuckles.
“This is the first time I can remember where I might actually consider someone else’s match more important than my own. Don’t take that as a compliment though Isaac….sorry, Drakz. I simply don’t want that belt falling into the wrong hands.”
Unless they’re yours?
“You don’t need to worry about that pal. Samael Ahriman is small fry and, as I like to think I’ve made abundantly clear, is only getting this opportunity because I owe him physical recompense for what he did back in Tokyo. It’s taken me nearly a year due to other…..commitments, but now I’ve not only got him across the ring from yours truly but Sleater did right by me and surrounded us with steel to stop him running.”
Trace’s lip curls at the mere insinuation that I’m showing good grace to Lila, something I wish he’d let go to be honest. He’s always had to ‘fight the power’. Maybe I should get him a clock to hang around his neck?
“Besides, any chance of interference from his band of merry men should be fairly slim, what with the fact that Crowe will have cut Stone off at the knees and Dean will have been reduced to a dark red stain on the ring canvas. If the two of you do what’s expected of you….”
Redistribution of power in one half sentence.
“….then I should have no problem maintaining my foothold……sorry, our foothold.”
I know Trace is having to try impossibly hard to remain professional through all of this. As smart as he is, and as wily as he is, there is one man who can push his buttons and that man is me. Equally of course he is capable of returning the favour. Wins and losses will do that to a man, even if nearly four years of water have flown under the proverbial bridge.
“Speaking of which I’ve invited Tyme here to discuss his future with us.”
“Justin f*cking Tyme? Why Trace? I know you’d rather we dealt with Crowe face to face. It’s easier to manipulate a man with your hand up HIS backside instead of his master’s. It’s manipulation within manipulation. It’s manip-ception.”
Trace really needs to lighten up. Ever since he bought the WFWF from under Xavier’s nose he’s become so adult. That joke didn’t even garner a smirk. He just keeps pressing on.
“Tyme has insisted he remains the go between. I don’t want him getting in the way and as such I have to at least give him the impression he has a modicum of control over the direction Crowe is heading.”
“You’re such a f*cking business man these days. It’s painfully boring mate. Can’t we just beat on Tyme until he crawls back into whatever cave he’s been hiding in these last few years? Dress him as a woman, take photos and threaten to leak them? Burn his house down? I don’t know……something a bit livelier?”
It seems I really have been suppressing my urges the last couple of years.
“Drakz, Drakz, Drakz. We’re past all that. Now isn’t the time for your Kyzer era shenanigans….”
Kyzer era…….he’s dropped that in there to rile me in return for my previous transgression.
“We need to keep things a little more, how should I put it? Discreet.”
*Knock Knock*
The door opens ajar and Elinor pokes her head inside.
“Justin’s car has just pulled up outside. I’ll have him wait downstairs for 10 minutes before letting him up.”
Wow, this Elinor has really got the power play sh*t on lockdown.
“Oh and boss…..the erm……shipment arrived safely.”
Hello. What’s this? Shipment?
“Thank you Elinor. Grab Mr Tyme a drink would you. I’d like him lubricated before we talk business.”
And with that the door closes again, but I feel as though I could have just been made a little more privy to things than Trace would perhaps have liked, not that he showed any hint of it in his facial expressions.
“Are you sure you won’t take a drink Drakz?”
He’s probably had his knob in the end of each bottle specially for me so no I think I’ll pass.
“You’re too kind but I really shouldn’t. My bladder’s been playing up a little today.”
Heh.
“You know Drakz I really wish we could both loosen up a little. We’re fighting on the same side now, for the first time. I mean make no mistake, I’ve never liked you, but I think perhaps it’s time I put a pin in that for the good of this little agreement of ours, and I think it’d suit us both if you did the same."
It’s hard to trust anyone you’ve dropped head first on a steel chair. My spidey senses are tingling but hell, what have I got to lose really? Plus with all of his financial connections maybe he can help me out with something.
“Listen Trace, I appreciate you being honest with me and I feel I should be doing more on my end of the forgiveness parade so I’m going to open up to you if only a little.”
Even Trace Demon, with all of his years of experience, can’t completely hide that glint in his eye. He likes this, which is good because it might make him a little less hesitant to help if he thinks he’s getting inside my head.
“I wonder if you can help me find someone?”
“Who?”
He’s dying to know and part of me wants to withhold that information just to annoy him but that’s not really going to get the ball rolling is it? Deep breath.
“Ashley………….Ashley Kent.”
Look at me being all grown up!
“Is she related to Don…..oh sh*t! You mean Kyzer’s old flame? DMK’s sister? Why don’t you just ask the little psycho?”
The fact he thinks I even could ask DMK reveals to me that he knows Donnie and I are on about the same terms as me and Trace. Professional partners. The walls have ears.
“I already did. He listed all of the things he’d put inside my d*ck if I so much as said her name again.”
“May I ask why you want to find her?”
You may ask but I also may not tell you. No. Come on. Feed the badger. Give him what he wants or he won’t return the favour. F*ck this is like a scene from Silence of the Lambs. Quid pro quo Clarice, quid pro quo. Sigh.
“I received a letter asking me to pass a message on to her. A letter from Kyzer.”
“Wait, but Michael Kyzer is still in an induced coma at the University of Washington Medical Center. I know that because technically he’s still under contract with me. Don't you find it odd that he’s been able to pen you a letter in his current state?”
“He must have written it a while back because it was forwarded by his lawyer Seth who, just to make things even more convoluted, is also Donnie and Ashley’s brother. He hates Kyzer. He hates Donnie. He does however love his sister and the content of this letter is somewhat beneficial to her.”
“Okay, let me get this straight. You want to follow through on the wishes of a man who nigh on crippled you, but you can’t because her midget, drug lord brother refuses to reveal her location, so you want me to help you find her?”
Well, when you put it like that it does sound pretty ludicrous yes. I just nod in agreement.
*Knock Knock*
Elinor again.
“Mr Tyme is here to see you.”
And then the grating voice of gross expenditure.
“Trace! Thanks for the invite. I’m glad you took on board what I said about my involvement in Lucas’s career trajectory, and oh my! Hello champ. I didn’t know you were going to be joining us!”
I don’t even bother looking over my shoulder at him. F*ck I hate this guy. He’s a gut churning reminder of how bad things were in the WFWF all those years ago. He actually makes me appreciate guys like Ahriman and Dean, simply because while they’re not on my level, they’re sure as hell above his.
Tyme takes a seat next to me and gives me a little punch on the shoulder. My teeth grit and if Trace wasn’t having fun before he sure is now.
“Let’s cut right to the chase then boys. When Crowe wins the International Championship at Black Hole Sun where do we take him in the lead up to Superbrawl IX? This is going to be his first so I want it to be special for him.”
“Well as you know as well as we do there’s a number one contender to be announced once the match is over. So you’ve got a lottery pick of either Shannon, Whitner or Brennan.”
“It’ll be Brennan. Trust me on that.”
“What makes you so sure champ?”
“Stop calling me champ.”
I shoot him a look from the corner of my eye and then continue addressing Trace instead.
“Brennan is going over, not only because he’s the most talented of the three but because him winning means a chance to p*ss on my shoes.”
Before either of them say a word, yes it is always about me. For good reason.
“He’s already made his feelings toward me clear and knowing David he’ll take this title opportunity as a means to get back at me. He won’t admit it to be the case but how many of us let on when we’re going out of our way to f*ck with someone? We don’t want to give their ego reason to inflate further.”
No doubt everyone in this room was made a little uncomfortable by that statement.
“The way I see it Justin you shouldn’t be looking any further than your man’s current obstacles.”
“Drakz is right. This is Crowe’s first real chance to prove his worth. I’ll level with you Tyme, if he bombs on this one then he’s of no use to us. We need a man who can deliver. We need a little mercenary who can, if you catch my meaning?”
“Oh no doubt. This is the biggest match of my client’s career so far and he knows as well as I do that there’s more riding on the outcome of this match than just championship gold. We’re ready, we just like to know where we’re heading after the fact.”
“If Crowe can be the man to retire that piss-ant Cameron Stone then trust me he’s a made man. He’s a company man.”
I can hear Tyme’s wallet bulging at the very thought.
“If Crowe wants to really make a name for himself in this game then he’s on the right side of the fence and not just because I’m the man running the show either. Take a look at the men you’re with Justin. We’re the two most decorated superstars in WFWF history. You’d better believe that our endorsement means as much, if not more, than any championship belt to those fans. They may not like us, they might even hate us, but they can’t deny that they respect us.”
I’m bored.
“This sounds like the beginnings of a very lucrative relationship gentlemen. Now, something else I wanted to…..”
“Thanks for coming down Justin.”
Trace rises from his seat. Haha my God he made him fly out here just for that? He’s been here what? 8 minutes? And now Trace is sending him packing. I think he’s been watching too much of The Apprentice. It’s been power play after power play ever since I entered the building.
Clearly Tyme’s a bit shocked by his gracious host’s sudden resolution of the meeting. No doubt it took him a few hours to get here and probably a wedge of money courtesy of the fuel burned up by his private jet, but he’s not going to let it slip that it bothers him. We’re all wearing poker faces so engrained in our selves that it’s hard to tell who I’m even speaking to.
Tyme does as expected as he follows suit and rises to shake Trace’s outstretched hand. I remain seated, looking out of the window.
“Good luck inside that cage champ. You’ll do just fine.”
His hand is thrust outward seemingly expecting me to rise and take it like he just did. Instead I take it and kiss the back of his fingers.
“Thank you mi lady.”
And with that he was gone, although the smell of classless money lingers behind him like a fart. Trace doesn’t take his seat and I suppose that’s his way of trying to get rid of me while he’s at it.
“So, do you think you can help locate my person of interest?”
I haul myself to a standing base and begin to stretch out my shoulders before touching my toes and letting out a huge sigh of air.
“I’ll see what I can do. It shouldn’t be a problem though.”
I pick up my jacket and keep talking to him as I dig my arm into each sleeve.
“And you’ll be sure to keep this between you and I yes?”
“But of course. Professional confidentiality is my forte these days.”
So I heard……which is ironic.
“You never did tell me exactly why you’re doing this though.”
That’s because I don’t really know myself.
“It just seems like the right thing to do.”
We don’t bother shaking hands and I let myself out. Before the door closes though Trace has to get the final word, and he does so mocking Justin Tyme, although I figure it’s as much a dig at me.
“Good luck inside that cage champ. You’ll do just fine.”
I pull the door closed and have a little laugh to myself. There was so much f*cking bravado on display in that room that Elinor will have to run a mop around the place before Trace’s next meeting.
I need a drink.
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When you start second guessing yourself then you know things are bad, or at least that you’ve made some bad decisions to get there. I’m confused as to which category I fall into right now, but so long as I don’t let anyone else know about my misgivings then I’m safe as houses…….albeit houses built on sand, or sh*t, or a composite of the two. I suppose what I’m trying to say is I have absolutely no idea why I’m doing what I’m doing. I received a letter from one Michael Kyzer via his legal representative, the contents of which asked me to fulfil a request that he wasn’t able to. Michael clearly foresaw his own undoing, and before Ahriman, or anyone else for that matter, was able to silence him, he made a point of letting someone he could trust know that there was unfinished business to attend to.
What makes him so sure he could trust me though? I have every reason to stuff this letter up his comatose arse (there’s been a lot of mention of putting things inside human cavities so far hasn’t there?). What reason did he have to believe in my sense of obligation?
More importantly why the f*ck do I even have this morality complex? This is a man I considered my brother, one of the few men I could turn to at any given moment, no matter how f*cked things were. This is a man who betrayed that confidence by not only throwing me head first into the welcoming arms of a concrete floor, but then during my rehabilitation planting actors in the same facility to gain my trust, for the sole purpose of undermining my own sense of reality. This is a man who then wouldn’t even allow me the opportunity to face him thanks to his taking out a restraining order. So with all of that in mind, I find it hard to understand why I’m almost definitely going to deliver on the request made of me concerning the mother of his first born child.
Donnie denied me the information pertaining to her location for the simple fact that he didn’t want Kyzer to influence her life any further, be it for better or worse. In short he has been hiding her from him and in turn hiding her from me. It’s not hard to see why Donnie might take this stance given the fact that he f*cking hates Kyzer so much at this point that he probably hates any room Kyzer’s ever set foot in. He would probably quite literally unload a full clip into the walls of said room simply because at some point in its existence it contained Michael Kyzer. As such I’ve had to turn to Trace Demon for help and to my surprise he’s already come through for me. He’s already provided me with an address and for now I’ve no reason to doubt it’s legitimacy. He does after all want to keep me on side.
So I’ve mulled this over in my head (because right now that’s all I CAN do. Me and Dog aren’t on speaking terms at the moment) and there are a few things I’ve made note of. For one I maybe have a subconscious sense of (very f*cked up/barely recognisable) gratitude toward Kyzer, or at least his actions, because in trying to send me to the knacker yard he inadvertently revitalised a career that had started to tread water. I’ve said it time and again that since my spill from the stage and subsequent return I’ve achieved more than I ever did previous. I’ve elevated my status from “Oh yeah I remember that Drakz guy, he was pretty decent. What ever happened to him?” to “Drakz? Yeah of course I know Drakz! Even his d*ck had multiple title reigns! I’d let him f*ck my girl friend in an instant.”
I’ve remained undefeated for over two years and earned enough awards and titles, and broken enough records, to completely eclipse Michael’s career. I am THE man and there honestly isn’t anyone who will argue with that, even my biggest detractors. Joshua Dean, Samael Ahriman, Cameron Stone, whoever. They will all agree that I am THE man, and for that fact alone they want to be the one to usurp me. All of this I owe in part to Michael Kyzer I suppose. There’s no denying the fact that as a discernible point in time where everything changed his actions were the catalyst, and perhaps that’s why I feel I owe him something?
Perhaps.
But I much prefer the second option I came up with. I’m doing this to mimic and satirise the actions of Samael Ahriman. Let’s look at the points of comparison shall we gang?
Bad guy persona?
Check.
Formerly regarded as a ‘good guy’?
Check.
Dying friend with a final request of my services?
Check. Sort of. In his current state Kyzer’s as good as dead, and to be fair up until a couple of weeks ago no one could really be certain Malakai was dying. I mean there’s no dispute now, that’s a given, but I’m no doctor, and I only had hearsay as proof that there was anything wrong with him.
My dying guy is a whole lot more exciting than Sam’s as well. Even though Malakai still had motor response up to his dying day he’s still a f*cking drag. Kyzer’s not so much as batted an eye lid and he still wins that competition.
So the table is set. I have the chance to (at least in my own mind) one up Ahriman at his own game. I complete the righteous task that’s been laid out before me simply because anything he can do I can do better. It’s childish I know, but I never claimed to be all that grown up when it comes to belittling my enemies. What’s more, Malakai’s unfinished business involved taking out my choice of ‘dying guy’, so technically my selection of person to fill that role has already put me aeons ahead. In fact if I can do this for Michael does that mean Malakai’s still got unfinished business? Can I single handedly keep the ghost of Shawn Malakai stuck on earth?
I’m really reaching here.
Basically, while I still haven’t figured out my true motive for doing this, I’ve become happy with the idea that I’m doing it simply because Samael Ahriman is a total f*cking ****.
Or something like that anyway.
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The Attempt
I didn’t actually ask you to come with me so if you wouldn’t mind simply shutting the f*ck up until we’re done that would be tremendous.
To say the tension in this car is palpable is kind of underselling it. It’s more like a giant hand of tension squashing my balls into a pulp and syphoning them out of the car through the air conditioning vents. Why you ask? Because having not been back to my own flat since the argument with Dog, the first time I saw him was when I went to pick up the car, the car we’re now both sat in. He jumped in ahead of me and did his whole snarling rabid thing when I said I didn’t want him along for the ride. As such I’m driving toward the address Trace provided with a less than desirable passenger, especially as he refuses to just stay quiet.
“So you’d rather no one tell you about your shortcomings and mistakes? You’d rather just continue on your self destructive path until you’re too far gone? I for one am a better guide than a shoulder to cry on, so don’t come snivelling to me when everything you’ve worked so hard for is totally worthless.”
“Ignorance is bliss. Isn’t that what they say?”
I know that’s what they say. That was rhetorical.
“That’s a way of justifying the happiness that comes with being a total f*cking moron. You’ve got some self awareness and some self respect, or at least I thought you did. F*cking ****.”
I opt for the technique of just not antagonising him further. If I stay quiet maybe he’ll run out of steam? I thought he’d be cheerier given the fact a poor excuse for a human is letting him inside her. F*ck, that image never gets any easier to stomach.
He continues on in the same vain for a little while longer but I’ve managed to reduce his ranting to an unmodulated hum in my head. I’m focusing all of my attention through a single sense, my eyes, in the hope that I won’t have to take onboard any of the bile coming my way. Am I hiding from the truth? Almost certainly, but I don’t need life lessons from someone who licks their own arse hole.
I’m on my way to find Ashley, that is all I want to think about right now. Not my next match. Not my business relationships with midgets and red haired overlords. I just want to follow through on a simple task and nothing more. Am I treating this like some kind of hippie retreat? No. That was my trip to Peru last year. This is just a brief escape to normality……..if you consider normality to be delivering a message to your comatose former best friend’s estranged baby mamma, who’s address you’ve had to procure through somewhat underhanded means, and yes, yes I do. Compared to my day job of hitting other people in the face this is quite normal.
And with that I pull up across the road from the house.
“Stay here.”
Nothing more, nothing less. Just a command. Like a master to his dog. His non capitalised dog.
I step out into the sun and close the car door, only to open it again and wind down the window. I may not be in the best mood with him but dogs die in hot cars, and I don’t want that.
Closing the door again I make my way across the hot tarmac and onto the front lawn, all the while thinking to myself I must look like a f*cking killer come to collect his bounty. This is a nice suburban neighbourhood, they probably don’t get people like me here very often.
That thought is dissolved by the laughter of a young girl followed by the playful call of an older woman.
”Serenity!”
A ball rises in my throat as I realise Trace Demon has done exactly as I asked and I’m stood on the front lawn of a woman who never thought all that highly of me. A flash of Serenity as she runs past the window, her mother in tow, and I strengthen my resolve and walk toward the front door. I have to do this, for whatever reason I’ve created in my head. I’ve made it this far so I should finish what I’ve started. I glance over my shoulder and see that Dog has his paws up on the edge of the car door, making sure to get a good look at what’s about to unfold.
*Knock Knock*
Before I have chance to think too much about it my hand has reached up and done the deed. I’m invested now. No turning back. Footsteps approach the door and I take a deep breath. The door swings the whole way open and…..the f*cking sky turns black!
WHAT IN THE F*CK!
“Tugarin?”
Tugarin Zmey. The Dragon. Last seen chasing a prostitute and I out of a bar in Tokyo, Japan 9 months ago. Most recently seen? Towering over me, still masked, still silent, still scary as hell.
“What……I mean….why……no, I do mean what……what are you doing here?”
My mind reels at the possibilities but I’m brought straight back to the present moment when he utters a handful of words, something almost as unexpected as his mere presence.
“The little man knew you would come.”
Donnie.
“So what, you’ve been placed here as round the clock security? I’m not a threat Zmey. I have something for Ahsley that she should see.”
He slowly and authoritatively shakes his huge head.
“So Donnie has said what? That I under no circumstances make it through this door?”
He stands there as silent as I remember him.
“You realise I’m coming in right?”
I make to move past him but a single dinner plate sized hand rises up and meets my chest. He applies no force, just the suggestion of it, holding me back.
A warning.
“If you leave now the little man never needs to know you were here.”
Considering my options this sounds like perhaps the best one. I either attempt to fight my way in, causing God knows how much damage, an act that would no doubt terrify Ashley and Serenity more than they already must be with this faceless behemoth in their house. That’s not something I want for them. Leaving now also removes the chance of DMK following through on his threats from earlier. To be fair I’ve never been that hot on the idea of having things rammed down my urethra, especially not in the fashion that Donnie would do it.
“Will you at the very least give this to Ashley?”
The letter I produce from my pocket is thrust toward Zmey and he stares at me. I feel as if an hour passes before his hand falls from my chest and carefully takes the paper from my hand, a display of gentleness I wasn’t aware he was capable of.
“And now you leave Tsar Lazar.”
Tsar what? I don’t really need to know the answer to that, but I am curious as to whether that letter will actually make it to Ashley or not. I have by all accounts made good on my side of the deal though. I got the letter as far as Ashley’s door. The rest is in the hands of The Dragon.
As I walk back toward the car I can’t help but turn back and address Zmey one last time.
“By the way Zmey, I won those f*cking Tag Titles even without your help.”
I wait for a response but I’m stupid to. Nothing. So I carry on to the car where no doubt Dog awaits to call me a **** again for not stoving Zmey’s head in. I grit my teeth as I sit back into the driver’s seat but strangely there’s a silence. Dog just sits there panting, his open mouth curled into the faux smile that adorns every dog’s face.
I’m unsure as to how I feel about what just happened. There’s no sense of relief or of a duty followed, instead I feel stuck on the fence. One leg pleased with how well that went (avoiding going to war with a Dragon), the other feeling let down that I didn’t put the letter in Ashley’s hand myself.
I turn the keys in the ignition and pull away from the roadside with this strange anti-feeling swirling around in my chest, waiting for Dog’s inevitable input. I can’t be sure if he’s silently gloating or just giving me some time to process it myself. It takes a while, but eventually he does indeed pipe up.
“You know, you’ve still not even mentioned him…..”
Zmey? Kyzer? Trace? Ahriman? Josh? Who? There are a lot of ‘hims’ that I’ve ignored so far today.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“That lousy drunk.”
Brennan.
“Brennan.”
“Brennan.”
Am I expected to mention him?
“You shouldn’t just ignore him.”
“I’m not. I’ve already seen and spoken to him.”
I can tell his not knowing this has made Dog uneasy, he really does feel as though he’s being pushed out of my circle. I’m not sure if one man and a dog counts as a circle, but it’s closer to one than I can be on my own.
“So? What does he want?”
To crack heads? To fend off boredom? To lie to himself about wanting my head on a platter?
“I don’t think he knows. I can only imagine he’s not happy about what happened with Daniel Kirkbride though.”
“You mean what Michael Kyzer did to Daniel Kirkbride? Kyzer’s not here anymore, so what good does coming back to his old stomping ground do?”
“David likes to stomp. It’s kind of his thing. I don’t f*cking know.”
I don’t really care either. Dave’s free to do what he wants, and now he’s got his little nest egg to fall back on at any point I cant imagine he’s going to be all that motivated to see things through.
“Whatever it is he’s doing I don’t see it lasting all that long. He’s the ultimate opportunity waster, so for anything to come of his potential International Title shot he’d have to change a few things, and by a few I mean a lot, and by a lot I mean practically everything. I did my best for that cat and he refused my help, so any grudge he might bear for me is unfounded, not that I imagine a sense of logic is going to dispel whatever reason he dreams up to come after me. We both disappeared, the difference is I came back and blew everything before me out of the water. Dave? The only thing he’s likely to blow is yet another opportunity, and maybe a few unwashed d*cks if it means a grip on a bottle of Tennessee’s finest.”
Wow. That ended more viciously than I expected it to.
“Would you consider taking him back?”
“Taking him back? He wasn’t my f*cking girl friend. I did my best for him. I followed him and offered him a hand up. How did he respond? By telling me to get off my high horse. He thought I was looking down on him when in actuality all I wanted was to bring him back to his senses. He chose the bottle over a brother, and I think it’s time he learned to stand beside his decisions, in regret or otherwise.”
“Did you do the best you could? Or were you too busy to try Isaac? Before you start, I’m not trying to belittle what you did, I just want you to be honest with yourself. Could you have done more for a man you considered a friend? You’ve gone out of your way for Michael today, and he did far worse to you than Brennan ever did. Maybe you should consider more than one line of action when it concerns people you once trusted?”
What’s his game here? What does Dog look to gain from my working things out with David?
“This isn’t a play by me Isaac. I know things have been a bit weird between us since you came back to Chicago but I don’t want to be just another footnote in the list of people you’ve lost. Have a think about all of this and consider one thing. Are you being true to yourself?”
He sounds like a f*cking psychotherapist, but he is right to a degree. I’m being very standoffish with him and perhaps he is just trying to help? If I really think about it, what is the reason I’ve done all of this today? I want it to be that I’m trying to one up Samael Ahriman, I really want that to be the reason as it means I’m a straight up c*nt of a b*stard, however if I’m honest I know that’s not the case. I don’t need to copy that whiny pr*ck to one up him. Everyone knows that. I know that.
“Maybe, just maybe, the self you once knew has changed beyond recognition. Maybe you played ‘The Good Guy’ for so long that you became him?”
F*ck. A silence follows his statement as I try to even begin processing that thought.
“Maybe you’ve become so mild natured that people are finding it easy to take advantage of you? For instance, and hear me out now, why did Michael Kyzer struggle to locate Ashley, to the point that he asked you to do it for him, when you found her having asked only one person, Trace Demon? Don’t you think it’s weird? Michael Kyzer, commander of men and money, couldn’t follow through on a simple missing persons report? I don’t know what it means, but it’s certainly food for thought if nothing else.”
I’ve not even really heard any of that last speech, I’m still hung up on the notion that perhaps I’ve already bleached the evil out of my very being. I want to cry. Have I tried to fool everyone else and instead fooled myself?
Dog continues and the knot in my gut tightens.
“Drakz? Are you okay buddy? You know there’s nothing wrong with being ‘THE GOOD GUY’. You can pick up from where you left off. Don’t let it get to you too much.”
My brow furrows and my hands grip the wheel with such vigour my knuckles turn white.
“There’s still a chance…..”
“You’re done……..no more talking now.”
Dog sits up straight, a little shocked at my curt response.
“Isaac, I dont think….”
“I said you’re f*cking done! How am I supposed to think with all of this talking?”
How am I supposed to think at all? Right now I shouldn’t be wasting time on stupid errands like this. I’ve got a title defence in a matter of days and a choice to make.
Make a decision or get pushed off the fence Isaac.
Streak Destroyer Destroyer Destroyer.
“God” Slayer.
Fool?
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Not really THE BAD GUY?! Not really the mother killing BAD GUY!?
We’ll see about that come go time. I’ll see about that……..I think.
F*ck!
Who am I kidding? I thought if I started this all guns blazing I’d be able to carry on in that vain, you know, just follow the bale of hay’s momentum as it rolls down hill? It’s no good though. The more I look inward the more blurred my vision of myself becomes. I don’t know where I stand anymore.
Don’t get me wrong, I still love the idea of crushing Samael Ahriman’s larynx with his own ridiculous ‘reverse blade’ but I am also aware of the fact that I’m not doing it out of an unremitting urge to be evil. No. I have reason, and good reason at that. I feel justified in the idea of those actions and to me that kind of validates me. I’m following what I deem to be a moral code, so what does that make me?
Okay, so I’ve done some pretty villainous things over the course of the last couple of months but I’m just protecting my spot. That’s all I’ve ever done. The fact that people claim I cheated Josh out of his championship reign, or that I then cheated Ahriman out of his as well? Remember who uttered the words ‘immediate rematch’……..it sure wasn’t me.
So am I just following orders? Have I caved to the peer pressure mounted by Papa Demon? Am I really deserving of the name ‘INSERT ACCOMPLICE HERE’S B*tch’? People love throwing that one around when it pertains to me, claiming I’m not being my own man. Maybe they’re right? I don’t pay much mind to the twitter of birds though, I’m focused solely on maintaining my footing, and if that means doing a few underhanded things then all I can say is; are you surprised? Have you forgotten who I am? I’ve never been a model citizen, even at my best. My only problem now is that I feel as though I’ve backed myself ever deeper into a corner. Whilst Trace and I are cordial with one another for the moment, I know full well he’s using me for his own ends, of course he is. That’s what he does.
The fact that people seem to think I’m unaware of the stability (or lack thereof) of my current position is somewhat insulting if I’m really honest. There is one reason, and one reason alone that I’ve sided with Trace Demon. If I hadn’t I would no longer be the WFWF World Heavyweight Champion. That’s an irrefutable fact. I made a choice that, so far, has extended my sell by date, but I know it’s not a permanent fix.
What worries me is Dog’s allegiance. When you start to worry if your own four legged friend is merely using you to gain something then you know things are teetering right on the brink. Not only that but I fear one David Brennan might be planning more than he’s letting on. The swift disposal of the Heavyweight Champion would be more than enough to inject a dose of Jim Beam into the main event picture. Couple all of this with the suggestion that Kyzer has just used my own sense of moral standing against me by completing a task he surely could have done himself prior to ‘induced-coma-gate’ and you’ve got a nice little cocktail of betrayal/paranoia/uncertainty.
But now, thanks to Lila Sleater, I have the chance to put all of that out of mind. Her closing the main event inside four walls of steel lends me a comfort, regardless of who wants my head come Black Hole Sun, there is only one man in a position to take it. Samael Ahriman. We have been granted political immunity to do whatever takes us in the moment. Sam I’m not sure if you know what that really means for you?
It’s become evident that I’m in the midst of a crisis of confidence right now. A crisis that effects my ability to trust just about anyone, but Samwise, do not make the mistake of assuming I’m doubting my own ability to do what I do best. The fact we’re completely isolated at Black Hole Sun means I have no reason to pay any mind to these external factors. In that ring, in that very moment, I’m thinking about one thing and one thing only………the absolute disassembly of Samael Ahriman. Regardless of my troubled ’home life’ you will be getting the very best Drakz there is. The same Drakz that just made a near clean sweep at the WFWF awards. The same Drakz that has beaten every single person put in front of him for the last four years. The scary part Sam? It’s a far better Drakz than the one that beat you and Raider for those Tag Team titles back in 2012.
I’ve never been this good Sam.
But the main factor isn’t how good I am, because given my track record that’s kind of a given, and something every opponent I face should be more than aware of, no Sammy, the largest unknown quantity at play is how good are you going to be?
There are a number of parallels that can be drawn between us Ahriman. Of course my current dilemma of principles can be our first. Good men masquerading as villains. Does that make us the same? Of course not. Why? Because I’ve always been a more convincing method actor than you. I’ve always known what you are Sam. You never once fooled me. You may have fooled the KKK, Donnie, your colleagues and even the fans around the world but I always knew the hand you were playing.
You are neither good nor bad, you are merely noble by your own estimations, and I suppose we do have THAT in common. I, like you, do what I do because I deem it right, and if that means acting out from time to time then so be it.
A shared belief however does not even come close to drawing us onto the same line.
In fact, whilst this is merely an added extra for me, a proverbial cherry if you will, the largest gap between us on paper is something I will have the satisfaction of blowing the knee caps out of. This Grand Slam dream of yours rests in the outcome of our match and therefore in my highly capable hands. Yours won’t be the first I’ve had the pleasure of denying, but it may be the sweetest knowing that, for you, your entire career hinges on the idea that you NEED to make it on to that list, to some how be remembered as more than just a second rate commentator, father and friend. Well my dear boy you’re looking at the King of the Grand Slam.
Mr Grand Slam².
Grandus Slammus II
I could go on.
I have taken it upon myself to act as a gate keeper of sorts for the hallowed halls of Chez Grand Slam, and believe me when I say I have strict orders to keep riff raff like you out.
Sam, we can be compared and contrasted as many times as people deem necessary but let’s be honest, we both do our talking better with our fists, or palm strikes, or whatever feeble kung fu sh*t you threaten to bore us with.
Just remember this isn’t a title defence for me, this is a chance to get an apology out of you. I’m going to perpetually bounce your head off of that steel cage until you say sorry, and I mean that. I’ll keep that packed house there until dawn if I have to, but you sir, you will beg for forgiveness before the night is out. You will admit you should never have stolen from me and then you’ll lie on your back and hear the crowd count away your dream.
Uno.
Dos.
…….three.
I'm going to relish in burying your vision deeper than a certain friend of yours. Ah sh*t, I really was trying to go this whole time without mentioning him.
Damn it.
I clearly couldn't help myself. This is what I'm talking about though. Good guy? Bad guy?
I'm conflicted.
Luckily I don't need to be either once I'm locked in there with you.
See you in Boston my little serpent.
I dont know good luck 
