Post by Level-Two on Oct 23, 2010 20:59:00 GMT -4
''One's'' Night in hell/Love Triangle (12)
Training day...
In every training regiment there is a need for balance. There's only so much weight lifting you can do before you sacrifice stamina which is most often, equally as important as strength. If mental training is more your thing, it'll do you very little if you can't put it into practical use when it matters the most. If you're all about technique that's fine too—you may never break your own neck trying to preform a head scissors but how effective is it without the natural instinct to win? To succeed in this business, you need the total package.
Look no further then I, the APW world heavyweight champion, Level-One.
The training camp Jason Blackburn had strung together put emphasis on the three most important things to succeed as a world champion.
Physical. Mental. Emotional.
Every competitor that would be in the APW elimination chamber match possesses each trait. Some are better then others in different areas; but one could not achieve the status we have with simply one or two of the three. We have all three. Now, all that was left was to make sure I was the best I could possibly be, physically, mentally, emotionally and that would amount to a successful training camp and thus amount to a successful performance at one night in hell.
THE PHYSICAL
In a gym located in the outskirts of Liberty city, the first part of my training camp began with an Italian professional trainer named Bill Versetti.
''Alrighty, now this is how it's gonna' go. You're going to pick up these weights and give me a set of light reps, I don't need ya' tiring out on me before the big show—it looks bad on the family name and mamma wouldn't like that...''
I didn't pay much attention to Bill's nonsensical workout strategy. Instead, I grab a set of 100 pound dumbbells, carrying them over to the work bench. The personal trainer looks at me as if I was out of my mind.
''What the hell are you doing, son? Did you hear me? Only school children and wannabe mix martial artists grab the heaviest weights they can lift thinking it's going to make for an effective workout. Put those down and grab the 50's...''
Holding the weights in my grip, I lift my head up to acknowledge the mere existence of the professional personal trainer, I couldn't even remember the name of.
''The other ones aren't heavy enough and I don't know who the hell got off on telling you that I do anything half assed. I don't need a light workout, if anything, I'm begging you for a goddamn challenge...''
''This is my gym. My family has put years into this place, you hear me? You don't tell me how to run my business nor my family, that's all I gots! If you want to win your match this weekend, you'll do what I say...''
''Stupid mortals. Who does this ass hole think he is, anyways!? Little does he know weight lifting is all but irrelevant when you possess my strength. I almost wonder why you are wasting your time here, anyways? Oh, yeah. I forgot. It's all about tradition. uniformity and following a regiment you have followed for four years now. Okay, okay, I get it. I'll have you know it though, you could get so much more out of life at a strip joint getting wasted out of your mind because at the end of the day, we're still going to be world champions, my love...''
I look up at the personal trainer grinning ear to ear, as I curl the weight doing a single rep with one arm before following it up with the other.
''You know what, kid? Have it your way. You don't want to follow my lead and instead come in here and act like a fuckin' jackass? Then so be it. I took you into my gym last minute because a friend mine gave me a call and said, ''Hey, Bill. I got this kid named Lester Only, he's got a big title match coming up against and I need someone to whip him into shape and make sure he's best he can be at end the week'' he also said you being down on yourself and lacking the confidence needed to retain a world championship, so I'm wondering what the fuck has changed since then?''
Bill the personal trainer says trying to intermediate me and get under my skin to no avail. Calm and composed and now breaking into a full blown work out with the one hundred pound dumbbells, I snarl at my opposition.
''A lot has changed since then. In short, I'm no longer impressed with this concept of weight training, especially if the only thing it's going to do is tickle my biceps. Do you have anything heavier in here?''
Bill Versetti clenches his teeth, balls up his large fists and quickly changes complexions from white and tanned, to hot red and angry. The years of steroids had finally caught up to the forty year old weight lifter, his body shook with chills of burning rage. I look up at him before I toss the hundred pound weights above my head into the ten foot high ceiling, causing them to ricochet in two separate directions, one nearly falling onto of the head of the personal trainer. The weights smashed against the floor and rolled along the floor upon it's impact.
''I admit that one took a lot out of me...''
I say stretching out my arms of which I had nearly strained. Bill Versetti immediately takes off in the opposite direction heading for the door as he calls for his momma—and perhaps, a hit on my head to the tune of a hundred grand. So be it.
''Hopefully, the psychiatrist meeting goes a little bit better then this, wouldn't you agree?''
''Oh, for fuck sakes. Don't count on it...''
THE MENTAL
A psychiatrist sits across from me tending to her pad and paper as she takes notes in an mental evaluation. It was her job to make sure I was in the right place mentally and that I had the confidence within myself to win.
''How am I feeling you ask? Well, that's a stupid question. I have never felt better, it's almost like I got a second wind in life!?''
She smiles at me gently and nods her head along with me.
''You aren't on any drugs are you?''
''Me? On drugs? No way! The only drug I have is adrenaline and the last time I checked the government didn't deem that one illegal...''
She makes a note on her notebook before lifting it against her chest. All while, the voice in my head was giving me another lecture.
''You are so boring. Honestly, what are you afraid of? Let me out! Let her know about me and see how she reacts...''
''I can't do that, she'll think I'm crazy and send me off to the looney bin...''
''What was that?''
The psychiatrist interjects. I probably shouldn't have said that one out loud. Nonetheless, I took her advice and spilled the beans—it was all or nothing now and I wasn't going to do anything to make her upset and in turn jeopardize my opportunity to retain the APW world championship.
''Oh, sorry. I was just talking to a little voice in my head...''
''A voice? Okay, care to elaborate?''
''Absolutely. This voice in my head talks to me. She gives me a sense of strength, I cannot describe and she mounts me with the confidence and bravery of a thousand foot soldiers in world war two. With her, I'm unstoppable. Thus, I am beyond the limitations of a human bein bound man. Now, I know all this sounds really crazy...''
I say as I reach out and grab the pen and paper out of the psychiatrists hands, ripping out a sheet of paper from her notebook she had been taking notes on. I scrunch the piece of paper into a ball and then swat it across the room with disdain. The psychiatrist doesn't dare to budge as she fears for her life—under the mercy of a psychopath.
''...but crazy, is what this world founded on. It's crazy that someone would think up something like the elimination chamber to throw mortal men and women in for blood thirsty entertainment. It's crazy that in this environment I am realistically expected to survive on my own—against five other competitors looking to take me out of the picture. It's crazy of anyone to think that me going above and beyond expectations in the name of victory and survival is anything less then inspiring!''
The psychiatrist jumps out of her seat and heads for the door but I sprung up in pursuit of her out of reflex. She wraps her hand around her only way out, tugging on the door knob but it was useless with the weight of my shoulder up against the door.
''Please don't hurt me. I can help you!''
''Help me? Ha! You want to help me!? No, I don't need your help. I have all the assistance I need to get exactly what I want and anything you can offer simply antagonizes it!''
I grab the psychiatrist by the arm and lead her away from the door tossing her down onto a couch in her office. She tries to squirm away, so I pin her down to the canvas (so to speak) with the force inspired by my knee. She cries out but her pleas are useless now.
''I must admit. I feel so much better knowing that the secret is out. I'm glad this has been an enlightening process for the both of us. I feel as if I made a great leap in the right direction. Unfortunately, I don't hold the faith that you'd honour the patient and professional status quo, so I'm going to have to make sure this thing stays between me and you...''
...
''Well, how do I do it?''
''Goddamn it, Lester! Do I need to hold your hand all the time? She has ton of psychopathic drugs in this office, mix something together that will put her out and make sure she doesn't remember a damn thing... understood?''
THE EMOTIONAL
''Please give a warm welcome to special guest, Lester Only...''
Says the yoga instructor who points me out as I sit on a rubber mat with my legs folded wearing a white GI. The fellow classmates all greet me with a round of applause making the entire experience that much more awkward.
''That Jason Blackburn guy is a fucking pig. Tell him I said hi, will you? I'm sure it's not a coincidence that every female in here looks like a contestant on America's top model...''
Surrounded by several beautiful women wearing tight spandex pants, it was clear yoga was the best class ever. The greatest challenge would probably having to close my eyes in an exercise at some point and miss out on some bouncing booty. I was a faithful man; but now that she had returned to me, the options were fair game.
''It's not every day we get a world class wrestling competitor in our presence so it's important we welcome him with a little exercise of our own. So, get yourself warmed up and I'll see one of you up here in the front of the class to show Mr. Only how it's done...''
The yoga class begins with some light warm ups, that weighed heavily on my thoughts, dirty thoughts. They stretch, they bend and they moan while they begin to loosen up. I try to follow along with the exercise but my eyes often get ahead of myself, until the yoga instructor makes her way over to me.
''I talked to Jason Blackburn a few days ago. He said you needed to be put at ease and that you don't attend these classes often, so I figured we'd take it slow today...''
The yoga instructor says before smiling as she turned her sweet as back to the front of the class and called an end to the warm up. The women oblige and take a seat on the rubber mat. Objecting to this executive decision, I raise my hand like a school child waiting for the teacher to call upon me. She see's me with my hand in the air and couldn't ignore it.
''Yes, I have a problem with you ending warm ups early. Five minutes of warm ups certainly fail to do anyone hear any justice. In my opinion, it takes anywhere from thirty minutes to let's say... an hour before the labia's are warmed up and ready to go...''
''Excuse me?''
''I meant limbs...the limbs are warmed up and ready to go!?''
''I assure you Lester Only, all is well. Simply take a deep breath, put your mind at ease and let me back in control...''
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I let my thoughts go, to the displeasure of the demon within the confines of my head.
''What the hell are you doing? Stop that! You're making a fucking fool out of yourself!''
The queen of yoga picks out one women from the crowd who was in her late twenties and gave off the young soccer mom vibe to come up to the front of the class. Then the yoga instructor turns her attention to me and insists I join them in-front of the entire class.
''Me? Really? No way!''
That's when my fellow classmates cheered me on and unanimously decided I should go up to the front of the class to make a fool of myself and who was I to tell them they were wrong? I stumbled to the front of the class as the yoga instructor explained what the exercise was.
''I want you both to take a seat and cross her legs. I want you both close your eyes as if you were about to go to sleep at night and I want you to put your mind at ease. Then, I'd like you to tell the class the first thing that comes to your mind, okay?''
Against my better judgement, I obliged. However, I simply couldn't focus with the distraction of dead silence. My life was far too complicated and hectic to find peace in an environment as extreme as this one.
''I can't do this!? I need some music or something, I just can't get into the mood...''
The yoga instructor opens her eyes and took a deep breath pointing at a small stereo system across the room. She picks up an old cassette and hands it over to me.
''This should help...''
I take the cassette which was about as old as my grandmother and approached the stereo system. I pop open the cassette slot and slipped it in as the record began to play. It was soft, angelic and innocent...
''What the fuck is that!? Turn it off! My ears, my ears! I can't handle that classical bullshit, stop the torture, please!''
Immediately, I hit the cassette button on the machine before extracting the age old tape. This wasn't cutting it for me either, not quite the pace I was looking for. So, I fiddle around with the radio dial until I found something with a bit more life.
DEATH!
DESTRUCTION!
WAR!
THAT'S WHAT WE'RE GOOD FOR!
The loud heavy metal music blasts through the small radio speakers to the class attendees dismay. The yoga instructors mouth morphs into the letter ''O'' lost in her own state of shock as I crank up the volume and return to the front of the class taking a seat beside my yoga partner who opens up her eyes, turns to me and says...
''I so want to jump your bones right now...''
The training camp was now complete and chalked up as a success. There was only a few days left before the title defence in Japan and I was feeling as confident as ever with her by my side. With time to waste I planned to spend sometime with Patricia Lewis before my flight was scheduled to take off the next day. It was more important to see her now then ever as she still had no real explanation as to what occurred at the hospital. I risked losing the love of my life, forever.
Though she had no obligations to my feelings. She made it known with her sharp voice that could cut a rock with a butter knife. Pissing her off was the last thing I wanted to do. Up until now everything had been smooth sailings, perhaps simply too good to be true.
''You will not waste your time by crawling back to that slut, do understand me? We're days and hours away from a title defence in an elimination chamber and we do not need useless last minute distractions nor does she need to convince you of backing out of this match!''
''I'm not going to back out of this match, I assure you. I just need to see her before I go, every time I walk out there especially in a match like this there's always a chance I may never return the same...''
''You listen to me, Lester Only! The only way you don't walk out alive is if you fuck this up is by driving me away thus do something that you'll end up regretting. You know as well as I do, I am the key to victory when you need it the most and I've never failed you before...''
''Well, that's true...''
''Damn right it is. Baby, you know that I am just looking out for you. I'm looking out for us! Right now, it's best if you get away from all this, as soon as possible...''
''Why? What do you mean? We still have a day in America to prepare for one night in hell. I was thinking of giving Andrew Meltzer a visit, perhaps he can spill the beans on what my opponents are doing. That guy has connections as deep as the rabbit hole goes. He knows what's up!''
''You can call the fucker long distance from Japan, then. We need to leave now. You've done everything you need to do in America, it does us no benefit to hang around here any longer. Plus, do you really trust that Mark Mania won't try some dirty trick with the airliners and your flight—or that Young Mannie doesn't have a hit team looking to cap a bullet in your ass to escape the beating your going to lay down on that snivelling coward?''
''You know, you got a point. Surely, nobody in this match is stupid enough to even risk having me show up at one night in hell in one piece. I'll book an immediate flight as soon as I can. Let me give them a call right now...''
I look around suspiciously as I take a seat in a nearby parks bench. I pull out my cellphone and snap pictures of my surroundings just incase something really did go down. After all, it's better to be safe then sorry. I then dial the airport to book my new flight—they were all booked. The latest one was scheduled to leave at 8:30 PM but that wasn't good enough for her.
''No, no, no!''
''Sorry, there's nothing I can do. It's not just like I can barge my way through security and hop onto the plane, you know...''
''We can do anything we want, you hear me? Anything!''
Several hours later...
''For the love of god? Can you shut the fuck up about the goddamn flight? It isn't going to happen. Look, I'm going to go home and sleep on it. This bench is extremely uncomfortable and is starting to make ass itch and your constant bitching, pissing and moaning isn't making this any better...''
I say, before realizing there's a young kid with a skateboard standing in front of me as if I was crazy.
''What the fuck are you looking at, punk!?''
The kid immediately took off tossing his skateboard and the ground and skating away, looking back at me as if I was going to chase him down and beat his skull in. I must say, it would have been fun. My phone rang and as I reached into my pocket, she screamed...
''Don't you answer that! I am demanding you not to answer that goddamn phone, Lester!?''
I read the ID: Patricia Lewis. Out of reflex and answered the phone to her rage. Patricia Lewis was crying on other end pleading for my help.
''Lester, you need to get over here as soon as you can. It's Kayla. She's here. I don't know what to do, please...''
''Kayla?''
All I hear after that is the dial tone, the phone was hung up. I shove the phone into my pocket and sprung into action as quick as the heart beat in my chest.
''What are you doing? Where are you going? Don't you do it, I'm warning you—you son of a bitch, you're going to regret this!''
I arrive at Patricia's door step to which she stares at me with tears flowing down her face as if her eyes were a water fall. She approaches me with grave hesitation wondering if I'd push her away like I did to her before when she needed me the most. I extended my arms as she wrapped her hands around me and whelped.
''What's wrong?''
''It's Kayla. She's dead...''
''They'll bring you in for questioning and then you'll miss your match. Run while you still can, don't be a fool!''
''Fuck you. There was a reason why you wanted me to go to Japan early, isn't it?''
''Goddamn it, Lester! Do not do this. We are two days away from retaining that world title. I was doing what I could to protect you. This is what you wanted wasn't it? You wanted me to help you keep your world title! That's all that matters. You know it and I know it!''
''You are her...''
''LIES!''
''You fucking bitch...''
Patricia looks to me as if I can explain what the hell is going on or why it seems like I am talking to myself, but she wouldn't understand. Nobody could understand. This was a demon I had been fighting, even when I gave in and aligned myself with it and suddenly, winning didn't mean much. With my feet, I kicked Kayla Rose's limb body on to her back where a gun laid.
''Okay, okay... I'm sorry. I really am. I never knew you were going to grant me another opportunity to work together. I thought you found religion, god and all that other gospel bullshit and forgot about the power, strength and everything else I bring to you that makes you feel the way you do...''
''You don't know how I feel right now. You don't know how much all this hurts. You betrayed me. You used me. And what were you going to do with Kayla Rose after all this was said and done? Leave her in my girlfriends house to rot!?''
I bent down to pick the gun laying on the floor, I looked at it before pointing at Kayla Rose.
''Someone is going to pay for all this...''
''Lester!? What are you doing? Put that gun down!''
''Fine. It's the price, I'll have to pay then. Shoot her and get it over with. If that's what it takes to prove to you I am loyal, then do it!''
I looked at Patricia before pointing the gun at my head.
''I'm sorry, Patricia but death brought me here and there's only one way I know how to get out of all this. To make things normal again...''
''Normal!? Then put the gun down! Please, Lester... don't do this to me. I love you. You love me. The kids? They deserve to have a father, don't do this...''
''She's right! For the first time in her goddamn life the lady has a point! Don't you do it. I am demanding you not to do it. You son of a bitch your going to do it? FUCK YOU LESTER ONLY!''
BANG!
I pulled the trigger.
''Okay, I did it again. Fuck me. I must say, that being dead isn't as bad as the movies make it out to be—I might even considering dying for real some day, myself...''
''This is not something to make light of, Mr. Only. You are aware that you've killed something inside of you, correct?''
''I guess. Really though, I'm not a picky person. All I need is one more chance, I promise I won't fuck up this time...''
''I warned you that they'd be grave consequences should you allow the devil back into your life but you refused to listen to me. Anything that happens from now on is simply going to be because of your doings, do you understand?''
''Yeah, I understand...''
''This power that you have enjoyed off and on for the past several years is gone forever but I am going to go on a limb and say, you are better off without the devils influences clouting your judgement, Mr. Only...''
''I guess we'll see about that after I lose my APW world championship, huh?''
''I don't know. Maybe you've already won or lost it. Open your eyes...''
Slowly, I open my eyes, lifting my head up off the pillow as quickly as I could. I look at my hands and then touch my face to ensure I wasn't dreaming, but it felt just as real as it did before. A silhouette of the man in the white mask sitting in a chair by my bedside with his leg folded atop the other sat watching over me.
''Is this real life?''
''Very much so, Mr. Only. It's nice to meet you in person...''
I tilt my head to the side flabbergasted by what I saw. The man in the white mask treated me to a solid nod as if to say, ''Allow me to explain'' which I had no qualms about whatsoever.
''The battle between good and evil has finally come to a rest. You've chosen your side. Even under the influence of the devil during key parts of your life and career as wrestler, you've been able to keep your humanity for the most part. It would have been easy to put a bullet in that poor women's skull but extremely difficult to turn the gun on yourself. You aren't as bad as the world makes you out to be Lester Only, but you are far from perfect...''
''Do you mind if I pretend to understand who or what you are? Or would that just make this situation far more awkward then it needs to be?''
''Don't your worry yourself. You'll never fully understand what or who I am, until you find peace with yourself...''
''Oh come on. That's a cop out. I'm ready for whatever you got...''
''Well, okay. Do you believe angels?''
''Absolute, quackery. I believe angels no more then I believe Santa clause and Easter bunny, give me a break!''
The man in the mirror simply nods his head side to side and chuckles to himself. This guy was quite the personality.
''So what exactly are you? You don't give me any extra powers before Halloween rolls by, do you?''
''Depends on what you consider a power. I bring you knowledge and wisdom to lead you through the toughest of times. Wouldn't you agree that knowledge is power?''
''Yeah sure but kind of pointless when you know everything like me. I don't know if you know, but I am an honorary member of MENSA. I can't imagine there's much you can teach me. Maybe I can teach you a little something or two?''
''Then tell me what day is it today?''
I shrug my shoulders looking at the time. I figured I must have been asleep for a several hours, which meant it couldn't have been no later then October, 22nd.
''A few days before the big match...''
''Wrong...''
The man in the mask sharply points out. My heart dropped. I looked at him to which he unfolded his legs and leaned forward.
''It's the day after your big match; the damage you sustained from the match nearly killed you...''
''Well, at least we're sticking to theme here...''
My response comes wittingly. Unfortunately, if the match did happen, I sure as hell didn't remember it—which also meant the result must have not been a good one. I wait for the man in the white mask to fill me in on the details before the wait becomes too much to bare.
''So did I win?''
''I don't know. Did you?''
The man in the white mask stood up from his chair and extended a hand out to me. I accepted his hand as he pulled me out of my bed and led me towards the door...
''I guess we're both about to find out...''
--
When I think of the APW these days, I see it as a system. A corporate machine. A machine that benefits off of quick changes and endless twits and turns to tend to the average viewers attention span. Several years ago, if were a top your game like I am today, you'd be loved by everyone for it. These days? The internet smarks bitch, piss and moan and complain about my success week in and week out. So much so, the APW has often taken things into their own hands by stacking the deck against me in hopes a new APW world champion would be crowned while giving their golden boys, a less then hard road towards the world title.
These same people cheer on the likes of Mark Mania and Sally Talfourd who have taken it upon themselves to ensure that I don't walk out of Tokyo, Japan with the APW world championship. This to me makes Mark Mania and Sally Talfourd nothing less then two corporate whores, carrying the devils sinful deeds at one night in hell.
Each one of you in this match plays a role in the APW corporate machine, including myself. Each one of you serves a purpose for a much larger game and I'm going to break it down piece by piece here today.
The head
We all have one. Some of us maybe uglier then others (see; Sally Talfourd) but we all have a face we are recognized by and thus the successes or failures of us as a person(s) has a tangible attribute. In other words, if I was to use the words; self centred, egotistical and highly motivated you wouldn't know if I was talking about myself or Mark Mania. In turn, when I think of the system and the machine—specifically, I see Mark Mania.
Every head has a brain and the brain child behind all this coming together and falling into place the way it has is because Mark Mania has been implementing his game plan long before the night we are bound to see it take place. Like a chess master, Mark Mania has used several ponds to further his con game. He used John Green to solidify his spot in this match day one, called him a friend and then used him again to score a lofty spot in the elimination chamber match. All the while, slipping under the radar by emphasis my threat and downplaying his own!
Mark Mania knows he can't beat me one on one and is using this match as an opportunity to change a free for all match into a handicap beat down —one that he doesn't even need to get involved in for several minutes because he's been granted an opportunity to sit pretty while the rest of us have to work our asses off! It was very important for Mark Mania to ensure he'd be one of the last one's in because I was, he'd have to take it upon himself to fight the same people he cut deals with behind the scenes.
Now being the brains behind the operation, Mark Mania is probably going to deny it. He'd hate for his fans to see he's not above the dirty tricks, low balls and cheap tactics if it means walking out richer with a slab of gold with his name on it. Mark Mania is a smooth talker. In fact, he's the type of guy that could talk you out of a paper bag, a paper bag that belongs to you, before taking that paper bag and selling it back to you for double the price. Well, sorry Mark Mania—you haven't fooled me; because as smart as you may be, you lack the punch and execution that would ensure your elaborate scheme falls into place the way you dreamt up the night before, old man.
The arms
The reason why Mark Mania's elaborate brain game will come to fall short is because his punch packs the power of a school girl scout angry at your for not buying her shit tasting brownies. In other words, Young Mannie. Young Mannie has played the part of my opposition for the past few weeks while everyone else sat back, then got comfortable and watched. How is it that we have four other competitors two of which I have deep history with over the past several months, yet they have so little to offer me? There wasn't a time where Mark Mania came down to the ring and called me out—or a time where Sally Talfourd attacked me from behind citing and eye for an eye. These facts cannot go ignored any longer.
This is all because Young Mannie was used nothing more then a distraction. Controlled by the brain of the operations Mark Mania, Young Mannie serving as his arm—strong armed his way into my radar with constant shouting matches, call outs and attempted gang beat downs inspired by a criminal gang more suited for prison then a wrestling ring. And when Young Mannie wasn't trying to muscle his way into my attention span he was waving his hands in the air trying to distract me and take my eyes off the prize.
Young Mannie is nothing more then the bitch-arm of this machine controlled by Mark Mania. Young Mannie does not think for himself, rather his only purpose is to flex the muscle he wishes he had and to continue to do his part in trying to hold me back. At the end of the day though, I'm going to arm-bar this motherfucker until I rip off his arm and take his elbow home with me in a philosophical sense. You know, it really is a shame considering the part he's meant to play in all of this. What else is going to take out the trash or jerk off the collective dick of this hideous machine? All in all, Young Mannie could consider this entire experience one hell of a push...
...off a cliff.
The eyes
Criss Cassidy is the eye of this machine and you'd be blind not to see it. Up until a week ago, he was standing on the outside looking in. For the most part, he doesn't determine where this machine goes or how the machine does what it does but the mere thought of closing his eyes and refusing to be apart of it would be enough to send the machine head over heels in a split second. Criss Cassidy is a very important element of this match, despite otherwise being useless. He, like Young Mannie cannot win.
Criss Cassidy needs to look at himself and see what he's become should he choose to fight for Mark Mania's APW world championship cause. I don't expect Criss Cassidy to open his eyes and see things my way, but I do expect him to look around and see that I am not the only threat in his view and I am the last thing he needs to worry about. Criss Cassidy needs to look himself in the mirror and ask himself if he really wants to fill the same void the man he removed from this match in the first place and become nothing but an alternate to team Mark Mania.
On the other hand, I reckon Criss Cassidy can't honestly see himself as a world champion. I believe Criss Cassidy understands his role in all this, unlike the foolish back swing of Young Mannie throwing fists aimlessly in the air at a target he couldn't hit looking through the eyes of Criss Cassidy, himself. Mark Mania can't cope with the reality that sometimes the brain can only do so much and cannot control every aspect even if it's that of his own body. At one night in hell, Criss Cassidy needs to look up at the lights hanging above the ring and realize this is likely the first and last time he'll ever be on this type of platform again and must make the most of it. He can blindly follow the sheep to the slaughter... or turn the other eye in the opposite direction and really shake things up for the rest of the world.
The legs
It's clear to see without Sally Talfourd legs this entire machine would be at an absolute stand still. Sally Talfourd is a crucial aspect of Mark Mania's con game. I have no doubts that they will be the last people in this match to turn against each other should I survive the onslaught of their minions. Without Sally Talfourd; Mark Mania's larger conspiracy would be more like a wet dream or something he drew up high on cocaine but with Sally Talfourd being his boots, it's a reality.
Sally Talfourd has done her best to walk over me and my APW world heavyweight championship, time and time again. So much so, she walked around a circle for what felt like three hours running her motor mouth, bitching and complaining like most women do these days in her last promotional skit. It appears this time as she runs her lap, she's putting a bit more energy into because she knows that this is her best opportunity to put a kick in the champions pants and swindle away his championship.
It's obvious Sally Talfourd and her stanky leg, is feeling awfully confident this time around. Why, you ask? It's simple. She knows there's a target stomped in my back and all she needs to do is stand around and egg it on. She also understands that men are weak and just about willing to do anything for some sweet ass. It's not like Young Mannie, Nathaniel Havok or Criss Cassidy can actually go to bar and be recognized by the average person being D-list celebrities. So, picking up date is hard—especially in the APW where all they have is a choice between Sally Talfourd and Leila Farahhi. Me personally? I rather tow the line and walk down death valley before I'd resort to something like that. The point is, you got a leg up on the competition.
Though, I'm not too worried. See, while your sprinting to the finish—there's always a likelihood the nerves will get to you and you'll make a mistake needed for me to sweep the legs right underneath you and take the advantage. It's not the first time you ''sprained'' your ankle so to speak under the pressure. This is because you are not ready to step up to the plate and be head honcho, get it Sally?
P.S; don't forget to shave those legs. Your body always has and will equal pay-per-view buys. Cool, huh?
The monkey wrench
Obviously, this brings us to the unknown element in all this, Nathaniel Havok. Without Nathaniel Havok suddenly this entire build becomes less sturdy. The arms and legs aren't screwed on too tight and the eye sockets are a little too loose. With Nathaniel Havok playing the number games against me, then the build of the machine becomes complete and I must find a way to otherwise systematically destroy it. However, if Nathaniel Havok stays true to his frilly rainbow colours and sparkly personality, then he'll come into this match an individual and virtually pick apart Mark Mania's con game, piece by piece.
Nathaniel Havok is the monkey wrench in all this because he can thwart Mark Mania's elaborate scheme to a world championship and Sally Talfourds race towards APW feminism ''we can do it too'' 2 hour rant on Thursday Night Overdrive where's she bound to brag about how much men suck. Nathaniel Havok needs not to listen to Mark Mania and understand his power in this match because unlike Criss Cassidy and Young Mannie the prospect of winning, is very much still alive.
If Nathaniel Havok is to join the others in their shenanigans and lynch party, then the whole world will realize that Nathaniel Havok isn't as original nor as innovative as he'd like to think or convince the world of and will be exposed as a farce. It's important for Nathaniel Havok to grasp Mark Mania's and Sally Talfourds disdain for him and realized in their eyes, he's nothing more then a tool they plan to use and toss away for future use. Sally Talfourd is still beaming with anger after you knocked her screws loose with a steel chair. That bitch never forgets a damn thing, so don't you forget it.
So, the only question for you now is Nathaniel Havok—are you going to be responsible for building this machine or taking it apart?
Lefty loosey or righty tighty?
The heart
This is where I come in. For without me, none of this will be possible. I am at the very heart of the same machine I am trying to destroy, allow me to explain. Before the Pence Weather light's, the Bryan Payne's, the Mark Mania's and Sally Talfourd's of the APW—there was Level-One, the one and only. I signed with the APW knowing that I was going to be bashed, looked down upon and disregarded as a second rate champion in the eyes of the experts as the true expert champion.
Through me I was able to put the APW on the map when it comes to top notch competitors competing in the APW arena. My name alone was enough to bring several superstars—one of which who would become world champion, solely out of wanting to best me in a match. If it wasn't for me, the APW wouldn't have a place in the experts. In turn, there would be no Mark Mania or Sally Talfourd associated with the the three letters in ''A-P-W'' and that's a goddamn fact! Yet, swarming ME is YOUR game plan?
I'm a hard-to-attack, even harder to beat! I know the ins and outs of this company like the back of the hand I'm going to bitch slap you upside the head with, bitches! I am a three time APW world champion and if holding it is really what it's about, how does being the longest reining APW world champion sound to you? You can't kill me. I am the Teflon world champion, damn it! Killing me, you might as well as knock out the W off APW and called it Action Packed—because I am wrestling and without me, this match wouldn't even be possible!
I am the heart because I am the most important part of this entire system. Mark Mania may control the arm in Young Mannie he may walk with the legs of Sally Talfourd, see with the eyes of Criss Cassidy—and be built or destroyed by the monkey wrench that is Nathaniel Havok—but ultimately, I am the final nail in the coffin. When this heart stops beating for you, you're done and as good as dead! Sure, I may take myself out in the process... but kamikazes for everyone if it means not letting one of you steal my title with your grubby paws!
I admit, originally the concept of the elimination chamber put doubt in my mind for I was uncertain. Now it's the feeling of not knowing the outcome that awaits me is what fuels me to charge in head first, eyes closed and all in with no worries whatsoever of the consequences that may or may not await me by the end of the night!
For the first time in a long time, there's no pressure. Not at all. After all, why should there be? I've proved myself time and time again. I've beaten Mark Mania. I've beaten Sally Talfourd. I've beaten Criss Cassidy and I've beaten Mark Mania. Nathaniel Havok? Well, he just hasn't had the opportunity to lose to me yet! There isn't a damn person in this match I can't beat nor haven't beat—so the pressure is on them to show that they can back up their words, not mine!
The truth of the matter is I could retire to today become a legend tomorrow, who else could possibly make the same case for themselves? No one. Who else knows what it takes or how it feels to be APW world champion in this match? No one. Lastly, who does this match flavor—the champion or the contenders? Certainly, not me!
So, I'm simply going to sit back and enjoy the show. It's been entertaining so far watching you fucking cockroaches squirm underneath my feet! I know I can't be the only one enjoying watching you people trying to convince the world that each one of you are the best ones for the job, as if it fucking mattered. This business maybe corrupt inside and out; but once the bell rings, all the pleas you've made, all your ass kissing of presidents, general managers and your constant pandering to your ignorant fans is irrelevant because regardless, I'm ramming my fist into your fucking face.
I don't give a shit if the odds are against me either, anymore. The devil taught me an important lesson in all this and that is the power lies within one. In other words, I trust myself more then anyone else and all five of you are nothing more then vultures. You'll find out that you can't put me away quite like you planned and that's when you'll either jump the ship, or go down with it.
I'm past the point of no return. Bring me victory or bring me death. Fuck it, bring me both. I want it all and I don't care who gets hurt. Mark Mania can enter last. I may just kick a hole through my pod door and enter first. Or, I may just kick Mark Mania's pod open and drag his ass out early and say to hell with uniformity. At the end of the day, the only thing more dangerous then a man that has everything to gain is man with everything to lose. You'll all learn this.
I feel as if this entire structure was built custom made for me. The APW's way of saying, ''this championship isn't a cake walk. Here's to it...'' where I am supposed to then say, ''gee thanks. Is that you Pence Weatherlight?'' because no doubt every time I get my hands on the championship, the big dogs are let out on me right out of the gate but rather then bitch about it, this time, I'm just going to take it as a compliment. I love me a good challenge.
That's what men like Nathaniel Havok and Mark Mania are, a challenge. Nathaniel Havoks is unproven in the APW but dangerous because this type of match brings out the absolute best in him. Mark Mania is a challenge because he's a man determined to reach the status he once was at before he threw it all away. These are types of competitors I came to the APW one day, hoping to face. And now that I have my chance, do you think I am going to simply let it go unanswered? Here's your answer, fuck no.
Sally Talfourd claims to be confident her talents and ability, yet spends an awfully amount of time explaining why when in reality you shouldn't need too because such speaks for itself. The only reason I sit here and berate each one of you fucks is because you need to be put in your place. You need to be reminded in regards to where you are on the totem pole. And when you get to big for your britches, I'm the man to reach down, slap you across the face and make you humble again. It seems the hype train has ran wild on all five of you and has greatly influenced your recent rants and raves that reek of desperation.
Take Nathaniel Havok for example. One compliment and the guy goes hog wild, virtually spit shining my shrine he spent the last week carving out of rocks in his mothers basement in my honour. Honestly, I'm flattered but it's borderline obsessive. And while he's most certainly a dangerous man, he's also a self destructive one. In fact, I may not even have to worry about removing from this match. He may just break his neck for me doing something spotty, foolish and rather unnecessary. Here's hoping.
At the end of the day, the battle lines have been drawn. All is said that needs to be said and now it's time for each one of us to live by our words. Some may have talked more then others, some may have had nothing much to say at all—but each of us put our words on the line and now are expected to live by it for the rest of our lives.
Unfortunately, for at least four of you, you've all signed for cheques you can't cash. Ate expensive dinners when you can't pay the tab. And loaned out threats of an ass kicking, you probably can't afford to dish out in the first place.
Me? I'm just here to fight until I can no more and when I can no longer fight, survive. And what happens, happens. I've prepared in every way possible for what's to come. Let the chips fall as it may, I say...
You've all put your credibility on the line and now your about to lose it, all. Me? I've already established I can back my words up with action; because one thing that seperates me from rest of you?
I am the world champion.
I have been to hell and back.
Now it's time to go back...
...only to return, again.
[/b][/center]Training day...
In every training regiment there is a need for balance. There's only so much weight lifting you can do before you sacrifice stamina which is most often, equally as important as strength. If mental training is more your thing, it'll do you very little if you can't put it into practical use when it matters the most. If you're all about technique that's fine too—you may never break your own neck trying to preform a head scissors but how effective is it without the natural instinct to win? To succeed in this business, you need the total package.
Look no further then I, the APW world heavyweight champion, Level-One.
The training camp Jason Blackburn had strung together put emphasis on the three most important things to succeed as a world champion.
Physical. Mental. Emotional.
Every competitor that would be in the APW elimination chamber match possesses each trait. Some are better then others in different areas; but one could not achieve the status we have with simply one or two of the three. We have all three. Now, all that was left was to make sure I was the best I could possibly be, physically, mentally, emotionally and that would amount to a successful training camp and thus amount to a successful performance at one night in hell.
THE PHYSICAL
In a gym located in the outskirts of Liberty city, the first part of my training camp began with an Italian professional trainer named Bill Versetti.
''Alrighty, now this is how it's gonna' go. You're going to pick up these weights and give me a set of light reps, I don't need ya' tiring out on me before the big show—it looks bad on the family name and mamma wouldn't like that...''
I didn't pay much attention to Bill's nonsensical workout strategy. Instead, I grab a set of 100 pound dumbbells, carrying them over to the work bench. The personal trainer looks at me as if I was out of my mind.
''What the hell are you doing, son? Did you hear me? Only school children and wannabe mix martial artists grab the heaviest weights they can lift thinking it's going to make for an effective workout. Put those down and grab the 50's...''
Holding the weights in my grip, I lift my head up to acknowledge the mere existence of the professional personal trainer, I couldn't even remember the name of.
''The other ones aren't heavy enough and I don't know who the hell got off on telling you that I do anything half assed. I don't need a light workout, if anything, I'm begging you for a goddamn challenge...''
''This is my gym. My family has put years into this place, you hear me? You don't tell me how to run my business nor my family, that's all I gots! If you want to win your match this weekend, you'll do what I say...''
''Stupid mortals. Who does this ass hole think he is, anyways!? Little does he know weight lifting is all but irrelevant when you possess my strength. I almost wonder why you are wasting your time here, anyways? Oh, yeah. I forgot. It's all about tradition. uniformity and following a regiment you have followed for four years now. Okay, okay, I get it. I'll have you know it though, you could get so much more out of life at a strip joint getting wasted out of your mind because at the end of the day, we're still going to be world champions, my love...''
I look up at the personal trainer grinning ear to ear, as I curl the weight doing a single rep with one arm before following it up with the other.
''You know what, kid? Have it your way. You don't want to follow my lead and instead come in here and act like a fuckin' jackass? Then so be it. I took you into my gym last minute because a friend mine gave me a call and said, ''Hey, Bill. I got this kid named Lester Only, he's got a big title match coming up against and I need someone to whip him into shape and make sure he's best he can be at end the week'' he also said you being down on yourself and lacking the confidence needed to retain a world championship, so I'm wondering what the fuck has changed since then?''
Bill the personal trainer says trying to intermediate me and get under my skin to no avail. Calm and composed and now breaking into a full blown work out with the one hundred pound dumbbells, I snarl at my opposition.
''A lot has changed since then. In short, I'm no longer impressed with this concept of weight training, especially if the only thing it's going to do is tickle my biceps. Do you have anything heavier in here?''
Bill Versetti clenches his teeth, balls up his large fists and quickly changes complexions from white and tanned, to hot red and angry. The years of steroids had finally caught up to the forty year old weight lifter, his body shook with chills of burning rage. I look up at him before I toss the hundred pound weights above my head into the ten foot high ceiling, causing them to ricochet in two separate directions, one nearly falling onto of the head of the personal trainer. The weights smashed against the floor and rolled along the floor upon it's impact.
''I admit that one took a lot out of me...''
I say stretching out my arms of which I had nearly strained. Bill Versetti immediately takes off in the opposite direction heading for the door as he calls for his momma—and perhaps, a hit on my head to the tune of a hundred grand. So be it.
''Hopefully, the psychiatrist meeting goes a little bit better then this, wouldn't you agree?''
''Oh, for fuck sakes. Don't count on it...''
THE MENTAL
A psychiatrist sits across from me tending to her pad and paper as she takes notes in an mental evaluation. It was her job to make sure I was in the right place mentally and that I had the confidence within myself to win.
''How am I feeling you ask? Well, that's a stupid question. I have never felt better, it's almost like I got a second wind in life!?''
She smiles at me gently and nods her head along with me.
''You aren't on any drugs are you?''
''Me? On drugs? No way! The only drug I have is adrenaline and the last time I checked the government didn't deem that one illegal...''
She makes a note on her notebook before lifting it against her chest. All while, the voice in my head was giving me another lecture.
''You are so boring. Honestly, what are you afraid of? Let me out! Let her know about me and see how she reacts...''
''I can't do that, she'll think I'm crazy and send me off to the looney bin...''
''What was that?''
The psychiatrist interjects. I probably shouldn't have said that one out loud. Nonetheless, I took her advice and spilled the beans—it was all or nothing now and I wasn't going to do anything to make her upset and in turn jeopardize my opportunity to retain the APW world championship.
''Oh, sorry. I was just talking to a little voice in my head...''
''A voice? Okay, care to elaborate?''
''Absolutely. This voice in my head talks to me. She gives me a sense of strength, I cannot describe and she mounts me with the confidence and bravery of a thousand foot soldiers in world war two. With her, I'm unstoppable. Thus, I am beyond the limitations of a human bein bound man. Now, I know all this sounds really crazy...''
I say as I reach out and grab the pen and paper out of the psychiatrists hands, ripping out a sheet of paper from her notebook she had been taking notes on. I scrunch the piece of paper into a ball and then swat it across the room with disdain. The psychiatrist doesn't dare to budge as she fears for her life—under the mercy of a psychopath.
''...but crazy, is what this world founded on. It's crazy that someone would think up something like the elimination chamber to throw mortal men and women in for blood thirsty entertainment. It's crazy that in this environment I am realistically expected to survive on my own—against five other competitors looking to take me out of the picture. It's crazy of anyone to think that me going above and beyond expectations in the name of victory and survival is anything less then inspiring!''
The psychiatrist jumps out of her seat and heads for the door but I sprung up in pursuit of her out of reflex. She wraps her hand around her only way out, tugging on the door knob but it was useless with the weight of my shoulder up against the door.
''Please don't hurt me. I can help you!''
''Help me? Ha! You want to help me!? No, I don't need your help. I have all the assistance I need to get exactly what I want and anything you can offer simply antagonizes it!''
I grab the psychiatrist by the arm and lead her away from the door tossing her down onto a couch in her office. She tries to squirm away, so I pin her down to the canvas (so to speak) with the force inspired by my knee. She cries out but her pleas are useless now.
''I must admit. I feel so much better knowing that the secret is out. I'm glad this has been an enlightening process for the both of us. I feel as if I made a great leap in the right direction. Unfortunately, I don't hold the faith that you'd honour the patient and professional status quo, so I'm going to have to make sure this thing stays between me and you...''
...
''Well, how do I do it?''
''Goddamn it, Lester! Do I need to hold your hand all the time? She has ton of psychopathic drugs in this office, mix something together that will put her out and make sure she doesn't remember a damn thing... understood?''
THE EMOTIONAL
''Please give a warm welcome to special guest, Lester Only...''
Says the yoga instructor who points me out as I sit on a rubber mat with my legs folded wearing a white GI. The fellow classmates all greet me with a round of applause making the entire experience that much more awkward.
''That Jason Blackburn guy is a fucking pig. Tell him I said hi, will you? I'm sure it's not a coincidence that every female in here looks like a contestant on America's top model...''
Surrounded by several beautiful women wearing tight spandex pants, it was clear yoga was the best class ever. The greatest challenge would probably having to close my eyes in an exercise at some point and miss out on some bouncing booty. I was a faithful man; but now that she had returned to me, the options were fair game.
''It's not every day we get a world class wrestling competitor in our presence so it's important we welcome him with a little exercise of our own. So, get yourself warmed up and I'll see one of you up here in the front of the class to show Mr. Only how it's done...''
The yoga class begins with some light warm ups, that weighed heavily on my thoughts, dirty thoughts. They stretch, they bend and they moan while they begin to loosen up. I try to follow along with the exercise but my eyes often get ahead of myself, until the yoga instructor makes her way over to me.
''I talked to Jason Blackburn a few days ago. He said you needed to be put at ease and that you don't attend these classes often, so I figured we'd take it slow today...''
The yoga instructor says before smiling as she turned her sweet as back to the front of the class and called an end to the warm up. The women oblige and take a seat on the rubber mat. Objecting to this executive decision, I raise my hand like a school child waiting for the teacher to call upon me. She see's me with my hand in the air and couldn't ignore it.
''Yes, I have a problem with you ending warm ups early. Five minutes of warm ups certainly fail to do anyone hear any justice. In my opinion, it takes anywhere from thirty minutes to let's say... an hour before the labia's are warmed up and ready to go...''
''Excuse me?''
''I meant limbs...the limbs are warmed up and ready to go!?''
''I assure you Lester Only, all is well. Simply take a deep breath, put your mind at ease and let me back in control...''
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I let my thoughts go, to the displeasure of the demon within the confines of my head.
''What the hell are you doing? Stop that! You're making a fucking fool out of yourself!''
The queen of yoga picks out one women from the crowd who was in her late twenties and gave off the young soccer mom vibe to come up to the front of the class. Then the yoga instructor turns her attention to me and insists I join them in-front of the entire class.
''Me? Really? No way!''
That's when my fellow classmates cheered me on and unanimously decided I should go up to the front of the class to make a fool of myself and who was I to tell them they were wrong? I stumbled to the front of the class as the yoga instructor explained what the exercise was.
''I want you both to take a seat and cross her legs. I want you both close your eyes as if you were about to go to sleep at night and I want you to put your mind at ease. Then, I'd like you to tell the class the first thing that comes to your mind, okay?''
Against my better judgement, I obliged. However, I simply couldn't focus with the distraction of dead silence. My life was far too complicated and hectic to find peace in an environment as extreme as this one.
''I can't do this!? I need some music or something, I just can't get into the mood...''
The yoga instructor opens her eyes and took a deep breath pointing at a small stereo system across the room. She picks up an old cassette and hands it over to me.
''This should help...''
I take the cassette which was about as old as my grandmother and approached the stereo system. I pop open the cassette slot and slipped it in as the record began to play. It was soft, angelic and innocent...
''What the fuck is that!? Turn it off! My ears, my ears! I can't handle that classical bullshit, stop the torture, please!''
Immediately, I hit the cassette button on the machine before extracting the age old tape. This wasn't cutting it for me either, not quite the pace I was looking for. So, I fiddle around with the radio dial until I found something with a bit more life.
DEATH!
DESTRUCTION!
WAR!
THAT'S WHAT WE'RE GOOD FOR!
The loud heavy metal music blasts through the small radio speakers to the class attendees dismay. The yoga instructors mouth morphs into the letter ''O'' lost in her own state of shock as I crank up the volume and return to the front of the class taking a seat beside my yoga partner who opens up her eyes, turns to me and says...
''I so want to jump your bones right now...''
The training camp was now complete and chalked up as a success. There was only a few days left before the title defence in Japan and I was feeling as confident as ever with her by my side. With time to waste I planned to spend sometime with Patricia Lewis before my flight was scheduled to take off the next day. It was more important to see her now then ever as she still had no real explanation as to what occurred at the hospital. I risked losing the love of my life, forever.
Though she had no obligations to my feelings. She made it known with her sharp voice that could cut a rock with a butter knife. Pissing her off was the last thing I wanted to do. Up until now everything had been smooth sailings, perhaps simply too good to be true.
''You will not waste your time by crawling back to that slut, do understand me? We're days and hours away from a title defence in an elimination chamber and we do not need useless last minute distractions nor does she need to convince you of backing out of this match!''
''I'm not going to back out of this match, I assure you. I just need to see her before I go, every time I walk out there especially in a match like this there's always a chance I may never return the same...''
''You listen to me, Lester Only! The only way you don't walk out alive is if you fuck this up is by driving me away thus do something that you'll end up regretting. You know as well as I do, I am the key to victory when you need it the most and I've never failed you before...''
''Well, that's true...''
''Damn right it is. Baby, you know that I am just looking out for you. I'm looking out for us! Right now, it's best if you get away from all this, as soon as possible...''
''Why? What do you mean? We still have a day in America to prepare for one night in hell. I was thinking of giving Andrew Meltzer a visit, perhaps he can spill the beans on what my opponents are doing. That guy has connections as deep as the rabbit hole goes. He knows what's up!''
''You can call the fucker long distance from Japan, then. We need to leave now. You've done everything you need to do in America, it does us no benefit to hang around here any longer. Plus, do you really trust that Mark Mania won't try some dirty trick with the airliners and your flight—or that Young Mannie doesn't have a hit team looking to cap a bullet in your ass to escape the beating your going to lay down on that snivelling coward?''
''You know, you got a point. Surely, nobody in this match is stupid enough to even risk having me show up at one night in hell in one piece. I'll book an immediate flight as soon as I can. Let me give them a call right now...''
I look around suspiciously as I take a seat in a nearby parks bench. I pull out my cellphone and snap pictures of my surroundings just incase something really did go down. After all, it's better to be safe then sorry. I then dial the airport to book my new flight—they were all booked. The latest one was scheduled to leave at 8:30 PM but that wasn't good enough for her.
''No, no, no!''
''Sorry, there's nothing I can do. It's not just like I can barge my way through security and hop onto the plane, you know...''
''We can do anything we want, you hear me? Anything!''
Several hours later...
''For the love of god? Can you shut the fuck up about the goddamn flight? It isn't going to happen. Look, I'm going to go home and sleep on it. This bench is extremely uncomfortable and is starting to make ass itch and your constant bitching, pissing and moaning isn't making this any better...''
I say, before realizing there's a young kid with a skateboard standing in front of me as if I was crazy.
''What the fuck are you looking at, punk!?''
The kid immediately took off tossing his skateboard and the ground and skating away, looking back at me as if I was going to chase him down and beat his skull in. I must say, it would have been fun. My phone rang and as I reached into my pocket, she screamed...
''Don't you answer that! I am demanding you not to answer that goddamn phone, Lester!?''
I read the ID: Patricia Lewis. Out of reflex and answered the phone to her rage. Patricia Lewis was crying on other end pleading for my help.
''Lester, you need to get over here as soon as you can. It's Kayla. She's here. I don't know what to do, please...''
''Kayla?''
All I hear after that is the dial tone, the phone was hung up. I shove the phone into my pocket and sprung into action as quick as the heart beat in my chest.
''What are you doing? Where are you going? Don't you do it, I'm warning you—you son of a bitch, you're going to regret this!''
A women's scorn
Kayla Rose was a determined women inspired by the feelings of jealousy, anger and envy. She hated to lose which is why she often refused to play any games and one's she did play, she could use a bluff to wheel in you in close and then really make you pay by the end of the night. A world class poker player in her own right.
She had approached a small little house on the outskirts of Liberty city. It was a country side for the most part and there wasn't a MC Donalds chain in sight for several miles. It was a nice small knit community that often kept to themselves. Kayla Rose had been here before for a few cups of tea, with lots of sugar—as sweet and innocent as she was, the tea never lied. There wasn't a damn thing, Kayla Rose couldn't fool, including a wise man.
She also happened to be very observant. She had a photographic memory, which meant she remembered each photo that had been hung on the wall in the house she was once welcomed in and that only added fuel to her fire, which had already burned hot enough. Her photographic memory was also enough to remember that through an open vent there was a way to get access into the inside of the house. Surprise, it's the route she took.
Kayla Rose entered the house and put her plot into motion. The target for today? Ms. Lewis. Patricia Lewis. AKA known as ''the whore who stole my boyfriend''; Kayla Rose couldn't grasp why her ex-boyfriend Lester Only would choose anyone but her and picked apart the few flaws Patricia Lewis had, unable to see her own.
In Kayla's Rose mind she wasn't doing anything wrong. After all, deep down she knew Lester Only wanted her. Using, the words ''I love you'' said years ago, as an updated justification for what she's done. She believed there was no power greater then the power of love. Yet, couldn't grasp why she was so weak with so much hatred, so often.
She took her vantage point behind a couch, directly across from the hallway. She didn't want to get too far away, or it would be more like trying to use a sawed off shot gun like a goddamn sniper rifle, or so those were the words of the voice inside her head.
Oh, excuse me. Did I forget to introduce the voice inside of her head? Please forgive me, it went a little something like this...
''I don't know where she is! She has to be coming soon, I know it! That blonde bitch is more predictable then a Level-One in a singles match! You just shut up and get your gun ready, you hear me? At the end of all this Lester Only is ours!''
Sweat perspiration from Kayla Rose's eyebrow and washed away from of the eyeliner on her face. Fitting, considering nothing could hide the ugly reality of this situation. Fortunately, the door would never ring and Patricia Lewis made a last minute emergency detour to the hospital, unannounced to Kayla Rose; the would be assassin.
She would later faint and leave her entire body at the scene of the crime where the implications would be far too obvious to ignore.
Kayla Rose was a determined women inspired by the feelings of jealousy, anger and envy. She hated to lose which is why she often refused to play any games and one's she did play, she could use a bluff to wheel in you in close and then really make you pay by the end of the night. A world class poker player in her own right.
She had approached a small little house on the outskirts of Liberty city. It was a country side for the most part and there wasn't a MC Donalds chain in sight for several miles. It was a nice small knit community that often kept to themselves. Kayla Rose had been here before for a few cups of tea, with lots of sugar—as sweet and innocent as she was, the tea never lied. There wasn't a damn thing, Kayla Rose couldn't fool, including a wise man.
She also happened to be very observant. She had a photographic memory, which meant she remembered each photo that had been hung on the wall in the house she was once welcomed in and that only added fuel to her fire, which had already burned hot enough. Her photographic memory was also enough to remember that through an open vent there was a way to get access into the inside of the house. Surprise, it's the route she took.
Kayla Rose entered the house and put her plot into motion. The target for today? Ms. Lewis. Patricia Lewis. AKA known as ''the whore who stole my boyfriend''; Kayla Rose couldn't grasp why her ex-boyfriend Lester Only would choose anyone but her and picked apart the few flaws Patricia Lewis had, unable to see her own.
In Kayla's Rose mind she wasn't doing anything wrong. After all, deep down she knew Lester Only wanted her. Using, the words ''I love you'' said years ago, as an updated justification for what she's done. She believed there was no power greater then the power of love. Yet, couldn't grasp why she was so weak with so much hatred, so often.
She took her vantage point behind a couch, directly across from the hallway. She didn't want to get too far away, or it would be more like trying to use a sawed off shot gun like a goddamn sniper rifle, or so those were the words of the voice inside her head.
Oh, excuse me. Did I forget to introduce the voice inside of her head? Please forgive me, it went a little something like this...
''I don't know where she is! She has to be coming soon, I know it! That blonde bitch is more predictable then a Level-One in a singles match! You just shut up and get your gun ready, you hear me? At the end of all this Lester Only is ours!''
Sweat perspiration from Kayla Rose's eyebrow and washed away from of the eyeliner on her face. Fitting, considering nothing could hide the ugly reality of this situation. Fortunately, the door would never ring and Patricia Lewis made a last minute emergency detour to the hospital, unannounced to Kayla Rose; the would be assassin.
She would later faint and leave her entire body at the scene of the crime where the implications would be far too obvious to ignore.
I arrive at Patricia's door step to which she stares at me with tears flowing down her face as if her eyes were a water fall. She approaches me with grave hesitation wondering if I'd push her away like I did to her before when she needed me the most. I extended my arms as she wrapped her hands around me and whelped.
''What's wrong?''
''It's Kayla. She's dead...''
''They'll bring you in for questioning and then you'll miss your match. Run while you still can, don't be a fool!''
''Fuck you. There was a reason why you wanted me to go to Japan early, isn't it?''
''Goddamn it, Lester! Do not do this. We are two days away from retaining that world title. I was doing what I could to protect you. This is what you wanted wasn't it? You wanted me to help you keep your world title! That's all that matters. You know it and I know it!''
''You are her...''
''LIES!''
''You fucking bitch...''
Patricia looks to me as if I can explain what the hell is going on or why it seems like I am talking to myself, but she wouldn't understand. Nobody could understand. This was a demon I had been fighting, even when I gave in and aligned myself with it and suddenly, winning didn't mean much. With my feet, I kicked Kayla Rose's limb body on to her back where a gun laid.
''Okay, okay... I'm sorry. I really am. I never knew you were going to grant me another opportunity to work together. I thought you found religion, god and all that other gospel bullshit and forgot about the power, strength and everything else I bring to you that makes you feel the way you do...''
''You don't know how I feel right now. You don't know how much all this hurts. You betrayed me. You used me. And what were you going to do with Kayla Rose after all this was said and done? Leave her in my girlfriends house to rot!?''
I bent down to pick the gun laying on the floor, I looked at it before pointing at Kayla Rose.
''Someone is going to pay for all this...''
''Lester!? What are you doing? Put that gun down!''
''Fine. It's the price, I'll have to pay then. Shoot her and get it over with. If that's what it takes to prove to you I am loyal, then do it!''
I looked at Patricia before pointing the gun at my head.
''I'm sorry, Patricia but death brought me here and there's only one way I know how to get out of all this. To make things normal again...''
''Normal!? Then put the gun down! Please, Lester... don't do this to me. I love you. You love me. The kids? They deserve to have a father, don't do this...''
''She's right! For the first time in her goddamn life the lady has a point! Don't you do it. I am demanding you not to do it. You son of a bitch your going to do it? FUCK YOU LESTER ONLY!''
BANG!
I pulled the trigger.
''Okay, I did it again. Fuck me. I must say, that being dead isn't as bad as the movies make it out to be—I might even considering dying for real some day, myself...''
''This is not something to make light of, Mr. Only. You are aware that you've killed something inside of you, correct?''
''I guess. Really though, I'm not a picky person. All I need is one more chance, I promise I won't fuck up this time...''
''I warned you that they'd be grave consequences should you allow the devil back into your life but you refused to listen to me. Anything that happens from now on is simply going to be because of your doings, do you understand?''
''Yeah, I understand...''
''This power that you have enjoyed off and on for the past several years is gone forever but I am going to go on a limb and say, you are better off without the devils influences clouting your judgement, Mr. Only...''
''I guess we'll see about that after I lose my APW world championship, huh?''
''I don't know. Maybe you've already won or lost it. Open your eyes...''
Slowly, I open my eyes, lifting my head up off the pillow as quickly as I could. I look at my hands and then touch my face to ensure I wasn't dreaming, but it felt just as real as it did before. A silhouette of the man in the white mask sitting in a chair by my bedside with his leg folded atop the other sat watching over me.
''Is this real life?''
''Very much so, Mr. Only. It's nice to meet you in person...''
I tilt my head to the side flabbergasted by what I saw. The man in the white mask treated me to a solid nod as if to say, ''Allow me to explain'' which I had no qualms about whatsoever.
''The battle between good and evil has finally come to a rest. You've chosen your side. Even under the influence of the devil during key parts of your life and career as wrestler, you've been able to keep your humanity for the most part. It would have been easy to put a bullet in that poor women's skull but extremely difficult to turn the gun on yourself. You aren't as bad as the world makes you out to be Lester Only, but you are far from perfect...''
''Do you mind if I pretend to understand who or what you are? Or would that just make this situation far more awkward then it needs to be?''
''Don't your worry yourself. You'll never fully understand what or who I am, until you find peace with yourself...''
''Oh come on. That's a cop out. I'm ready for whatever you got...''
''Well, okay. Do you believe angels?''
''Absolute, quackery. I believe angels no more then I believe Santa clause and Easter bunny, give me a break!''
The man in the mirror simply nods his head side to side and chuckles to himself. This guy was quite the personality.
''So what exactly are you? You don't give me any extra powers before Halloween rolls by, do you?''
''Depends on what you consider a power. I bring you knowledge and wisdom to lead you through the toughest of times. Wouldn't you agree that knowledge is power?''
''Yeah sure but kind of pointless when you know everything like me. I don't know if you know, but I am an honorary member of MENSA. I can't imagine there's much you can teach me. Maybe I can teach you a little something or two?''
''Then tell me what day is it today?''
I shrug my shoulders looking at the time. I figured I must have been asleep for a several hours, which meant it couldn't have been no later then October, 22nd.
''A few days before the big match...''
''Wrong...''
The man in the mask sharply points out. My heart dropped. I looked at him to which he unfolded his legs and leaned forward.
''It's the day after your big match; the damage you sustained from the match nearly killed you...''
''Well, at least we're sticking to theme here...''
My response comes wittingly. Unfortunately, if the match did happen, I sure as hell didn't remember it—which also meant the result must have not been a good one. I wait for the man in the white mask to fill me in on the details before the wait becomes too much to bare.
''So did I win?''
''I don't know. Did you?''
The man in the white mask stood up from his chair and extended a hand out to me. I accepted his hand as he pulled me out of my bed and led me towards the door...
''I guess we're both about to find out...''
--
When I think of the APW these days, I see it as a system. A corporate machine. A machine that benefits off of quick changes and endless twits and turns to tend to the average viewers attention span. Several years ago, if were a top your game like I am today, you'd be loved by everyone for it. These days? The internet smarks bitch, piss and moan and complain about my success week in and week out. So much so, the APW has often taken things into their own hands by stacking the deck against me in hopes a new APW world champion would be crowned while giving their golden boys, a less then hard road towards the world title.
These same people cheer on the likes of Mark Mania and Sally Talfourd who have taken it upon themselves to ensure that I don't walk out of Tokyo, Japan with the APW world championship. This to me makes Mark Mania and Sally Talfourd nothing less then two corporate whores, carrying the devils sinful deeds at one night in hell.
Each one of you in this match plays a role in the APW corporate machine, including myself. Each one of you serves a purpose for a much larger game and I'm going to break it down piece by piece here today.
The head
We all have one. Some of us maybe uglier then others (see; Sally Talfourd) but we all have a face we are recognized by and thus the successes or failures of us as a person(s) has a tangible attribute. In other words, if I was to use the words; self centred, egotistical and highly motivated you wouldn't know if I was talking about myself or Mark Mania. In turn, when I think of the system and the machine—specifically, I see Mark Mania.
Every head has a brain and the brain child behind all this coming together and falling into place the way it has is because Mark Mania has been implementing his game plan long before the night we are bound to see it take place. Like a chess master, Mark Mania has used several ponds to further his con game. He used John Green to solidify his spot in this match day one, called him a friend and then used him again to score a lofty spot in the elimination chamber match. All the while, slipping under the radar by emphasis my threat and downplaying his own!
Mark Mania knows he can't beat me one on one and is using this match as an opportunity to change a free for all match into a handicap beat down —one that he doesn't even need to get involved in for several minutes because he's been granted an opportunity to sit pretty while the rest of us have to work our asses off! It was very important for Mark Mania to ensure he'd be one of the last one's in because I was, he'd have to take it upon himself to fight the same people he cut deals with behind the scenes.
Now being the brains behind the operation, Mark Mania is probably going to deny it. He'd hate for his fans to see he's not above the dirty tricks, low balls and cheap tactics if it means walking out richer with a slab of gold with his name on it. Mark Mania is a smooth talker. In fact, he's the type of guy that could talk you out of a paper bag, a paper bag that belongs to you, before taking that paper bag and selling it back to you for double the price. Well, sorry Mark Mania—you haven't fooled me; because as smart as you may be, you lack the punch and execution that would ensure your elaborate scheme falls into place the way you dreamt up the night before, old man.
The arms
The reason why Mark Mania's elaborate brain game will come to fall short is because his punch packs the power of a school girl scout angry at your for not buying her shit tasting brownies. In other words, Young Mannie. Young Mannie has played the part of my opposition for the past few weeks while everyone else sat back, then got comfortable and watched. How is it that we have four other competitors two of which I have deep history with over the past several months, yet they have so little to offer me? There wasn't a time where Mark Mania came down to the ring and called me out—or a time where Sally Talfourd attacked me from behind citing and eye for an eye. These facts cannot go ignored any longer.
This is all because Young Mannie was used nothing more then a distraction. Controlled by the brain of the operations Mark Mania, Young Mannie serving as his arm—strong armed his way into my radar with constant shouting matches, call outs and attempted gang beat downs inspired by a criminal gang more suited for prison then a wrestling ring. And when Young Mannie wasn't trying to muscle his way into my attention span he was waving his hands in the air trying to distract me and take my eyes off the prize.
Young Mannie is nothing more then the bitch-arm of this machine controlled by Mark Mania. Young Mannie does not think for himself, rather his only purpose is to flex the muscle he wishes he had and to continue to do his part in trying to hold me back. At the end of the day though, I'm going to arm-bar this motherfucker until I rip off his arm and take his elbow home with me in a philosophical sense. You know, it really is a shame considering the part he's meant to play in all of this. What else is going to take out the trash or jerk off the collective dick of this hideous machine? All in all, Young Mannie could consider this entire experience one hell of a push...
...off a cliff.
The eyes
Criss Cassidy is the eye of this machine and you'd be blind not to see it. Up until a week ago, he was standing on the outside looking in. For the most part, he doesn't determine where this machine goes or how the machine does what it does but the mere thought of closing his eyes and refusing to be apart of it would be enough to send the machine head over heels in a split second. Criss Cassidy is a very important element of this match, despite otherwise being useless. He, like Young Mannie cannot win.
Criss Cassidy needs to look at himself and see what he's become should he choose to fight for Mark Mania's APW world championship cause. I don't expect Criss Cassidy to open his eyes and see things my way, but I do expect him to look around and see that I am not the only threat in his view and I am the last thing he needs to worry about. Criss Cassidy needs to look himself in the mirror and ask himself if he really wants to fill the same void the man he removed from this match in the first place and become nothing but an alternate to team Mark Mania.
On the other hand, I reckon Criss Cassidy can't honestly see himself as a world champion. I believe Criss Cassidy understands his role in all this, unlike the foolish back swing of Young Mannie throwing fists aimlessly in the air at a target he couldn't hit looking through the eyes of Criss Cassidy, himself. Mark Mania can't cope with the reality that sometimes the brain can only do so much and cannot control every aspect even if it's that of his own body. At one night in hell, Criss Cassidy needs to look up at the lights hanging above the ring and realize this is likely the first and last time he'll ever be on this type of platform again and must make the most of it. He can blindly follow the sheep to the slaughter... or turn the other eye in the opposite direction and really shake things up for the rest of the world.
The legs
It's clear to see without Sally Talfourd legs this entire machine would be at an absolute stand still. Sally Talfourd is a crucial aspect of Mark Mania's con game. I have no doubts that they will be the last people in this match to turn against each other should I survive the onslaught of their minions. Without Sally Talfourd; Mark Mania's larger conspiracy would be more like a wet dream or something he drew up high on cocaine but with Sally Talfourd being his boots, it's a reality.
Sally Talfourd has done her best to walk over me and my APW world heavyweight championship, time and time again. So much so, she walked around a circle for what felt like three hours running her motor mouth, bitching and complaining like most women do these days in her last promotional skit. It appears this time as she runs her lap, she's putting a bit more energy into because she knows that this is her best opportunity to put a kick in the champions pants and swindle away his championship.
It's obvious Sally Talfourd and her stanky leg, is feeling awfully confident this time around. Why, you ask? It's simple. She knows there's a target stomped in my back and all she needs to do is stand around and egg it on. She also understands that men are weak and just about willing to do anything for some sweet ass. It's not like Young Mannie, Nathaniel Havok or Criss Cassidy can actually go to bar and be recognized by the average person being D-list celebrities. So, picking up date is hard—especially in the APW where all they have is a choice between Sally Talfourd and Leila Farahhi. Me personally? I rather tow the line and walk down death valley before I'd resort to something like that. The point is, you got a leg up on the competition.
Though, I'm not too worried. See, while your sprinting to the finish—there's always a likelihood the nerves will get to you and you'll make a mistake needed for me to sweep the legs right underneath you and take the advantage. It's not the first time you ''sprained'' your ankle so to speak under the pressure. This is because you are not ready to step up to the plate and be head honcho, get it Sally?
P.S; don't forget to shave those legs. Your body always has and will equal pay-per-view buys. Cool, huh?
The monkey wrench
Obviously, this brings us to the unknown element in all this, Nathaniel Havok. Without Nathaniel Havok suddenly this entire build becomes less sturdy. The arms and legs aren't screwed on too tight and the eye sockets are a little too loose. With Nathaniel Havok playing the number games against me, then the build of the machine becomes complete and I must find a way to otherwise systematically destroy it. However, if Nathaniel Havok stays true to his frilly rainbow colours and sparkly personality, then he'll come into this match an individual and virtually pick apart Mark Mania's con game, piece by piece.
Nathaniel Havok is the monkey wrench in all this because he can thwart Mark Mania's elaborate scheme to a world championship and Sally Talfourds race towards APW feminism ''we can do it too'' 2 hour rant on Thursday Night Overdrive where's she bound to brag about how much men suck. Nathaniel Havok needs not to listen to Mark Mania and understand his power in this match because unlike Criss Cassidy and Young Mannie the prospect of winning, is very much still alive.
If Nathaniel Havok is to join the others in their shenanigans and lynch party, then the whole world will realize that Nathaniel Havok isn't as original nor as innovative as he'd like to think or convince the world of and will be exposed as a farce. It's important for Nathaniel Havok to grasp Mark Mania's and Sally Talfourds disdain for him and realized in their eyes, he's nothing more then a tool they plan to use and toss away for future use. Sally Talfourd is still beaming with anger after you knocked her screws loose with a steel chair. That bitch never forgets a damn thing, so don't you forget it.
So, the only question for you now is Nathaniel Havok—are you going to be responsible for building this machine or taking it apart?
Lefty loosey or righty tighty?
The heart
This is where I come in. For without me, none of this will be possible. I am at the very heart of the same machine I am trying to destroy, allow me to explain. Before the Pence Weather light's, the Bryan Payne's, the Mark Mania's and Sally Talfourd's of the APW—there was Level-One, the one and only. I signed with the APW knowing that I was going to be bashed, looked down upon and disregarded as a second rate champion in the eyes of the experts as the true expert champion.
Through me I was able to put the APW on the map when it comes to top notch competitors competing in the APW arena. My name alone was enough to bring several superstars—one of which who would become world champion, solely out of wanting to best me in a match. If it wasn't for me, the APW wouldn't have a place in the experts. In turn, there would be no Mark Mania or Sally Talfourd associated with the the three letters in ''A-P-W'' and that's a goddamn fact! Yet, swarming ME is YOUR game plan?
I'm a hard-to-attack, even harder to beat! I know the ins and outs of this company like the back of the hand I'm going to bitch slap you upside the head with, bitches! I am a three time APW world champion and if holding it is really what it's about, how does being the longest reining APW world champion sound to you? You can't kill me. I am the Teflon world champion, damn it! Killing me, you might as well as knock out the W off APW and called it Action Packed—because I am wrestling and without me, this match wouldn't even be possible!
I am the heart because I am the most important part of this entire system. Mark Mania may control the arm in Young Mannie he may walk with the legs of Sally Talfourd, see with the eyes of Criss Cassidy—and be built or destroyed by the monkey wrench that is Nathaniel Havok—but ultimately, I am the final nail in the coffin. When this heart stops beating for you, you're done and as good as dead! Sure, I may take myself out in the process... but kamikazes for everyone if it means not letting one of you steal my title with your grubby paws!
I admit, originally the concept of the elimination chamber put doubt in my mind for I was uncertain. Now it's the feeling of not knowing the outcome that awaits me is what fuels me to charge in head first, eyes closed and all in with no worries whatsoever of the consequences that may or may not await me by the end of the night!
For the first time in a long time, there's no pressure. Not at all. After all, why should there be? I've proved myself time and time again. I've beaten Mark Mania. I've beaten Sally Talfourd. I've beaten Criss Cassidy and I've beaten Mark Mania. Nathaniel Havok? Well, he just hasn't had the opportunity to lose to me yet! There isn't a damn person in this match I can't beat nor haven't beat—so the pressure is on them to show that they can back up their words, not mine!
The truth of the matter is I could retire to today become a legend tomorrow, who else could possibly make the same case for themselves? No one. Who else knows what it takes or how it feels to be APW world champion in this match? No one. Lastly, who does this match flavor—the champion or the contenders? Certainly, not me!
So, I'm simply going to sit back and enjoy the show. It's been entertaining so far watching you fucking cockroaches squirm underneath my feet! I know I can't be the only one enjoying watching you people trying to convince the world that each one of you are the best ones for the job, as if it fucking mattered. This business maybe corrupt inside and out; but once the bell rings, all the pleas you've made, all your ass kissing of presidents, general managers and your constant pandering to your ignorant fans is irrelevant because regardless, I'm ramming my fist into your fucking face.
I don't give a shit if the odds are against me either, anymore. The devil taught me an important lesson in all this and that is the power lies within one. In other words, I trust myself more then anyone else and all five of you are nothing more then vultures. You'll find out that you can't put me away quite like you planned and that's when you'll either jump the ship, or go down with it.
I'm past the point of no return. Bring me victory or bring me death. Fuck it, bring me both. I want it all and I don't care who gets hurt. Mark Mania can enter last. I may just kick a hole through my pod door and enter first. Or, I may just kick Mark Mania's pod open and drag his ass out early and say to hell with uniformity. At the end of the day, the only thing more dangerous then a man that has everything to gain is man with everything to lose. You'll all learn this.
I feel as if this entire structure was built custom made for me. The APW's way of saying, ''this championship isn't a cake walk. Here's to it...'' where I am supposed to then say, ''gee thanks. Is that you Pence Weatherlight?'' because no doubt every time I get my hands on the championship, the big dogs are let out on me right out of the gate but rather then bitch about it, this time, I'm just going to take it as a compliment. I love me a good challenge.
That's what men like Nathaniel Havok and Mark Mania are, a challenge. Nathaniel Havoks is unproven in the APW but dangerous because this type of match brings out the absolute best in him. Mark Mania is a challenge because he's a man determined to reach the status he once was at before he threw it all away. These are types of competitors I came to the APW one day, hoping to face. And now that I have my chance, do you think I am going to simply let it go unanswered? Here's your answer, fuck no.
Sally Talfourd claims to be confident her talents and ability, yet spends an awfully amount of time explaining why when in reality you shouldn't need too because such speaks for itself. The only reason I sit here and berate each one of you fucks is because you need to be put in your place. You need to be reminded in regards to where you are on the totem pole. And when you get to big for your britches, I'm the man to reach down, slap you across the face and make you humble again. It seems the hype train has ran wild on all five of you and has greatly influenced your recent rants and raves that reek of desperation.
Take Nathaniel Havok for example. One compliment and the guy goes hog wild, virtually spit shining my shrine he spent the last week carving out of rocks in his mothers basement in my honour. Honestly, I'm flattered but it's borderline obsessive. And while he's most certainly a dangerous man, he's also a self destructive one. In fact, I may not even have to worry about removing from this match. He may just break his neck for me doing something spotty, foolish and rather unnecessary. Here's hoping.
At the end of the day, the battle lines have been drawn. All is said that needs to be said and now it's time for each one of us to live by our words. Some may have talked more then others, some may have had nothing much to say at all—but each of us put our words on the line and now are expected to live by it for the rest of our lives.
Unfortunately, for at least four of you, you've all signed for cheques you can't cash. Ate expensive dinners when you can't pay the tab. And loaned out threats of an ass kicking, you probably can't afford to dish out in the first place.
Me? I'm just here to fight until I can no more and when I can no longer fight, survive. And what happens, happens. I've prepared in every way possible for what's to come. Let the chips fall as it may, I say...
You've all put your credibility on the line and now your about to lose it, all. Me? I've already established I can back my words up with action; because one thing that seperates me from rest of you?
I am the world champion.
I have been to hell and back.
Now it's time to go back...
...only to return, again.
