Post by Level-Two on Mar 3, 2009 21:59:12 GMT -4
‘’One’s’’ Old wounds
It was only several months ago.
Several months since I had taken it upon myself to set ablaze Dr. Chan’s fight club, burning it straight to the ground along with everything within it. The flesh & blood embedded within the arena floor. People that fought for money, fought for greed, and fought for fame. Perhaps it’s hypocritical for me to come upon this conclusion like this; for I have been fighting for the same reasons, lately.
And in the amidst of a failing economy the demand for the money would bring some interest back into this illegal activity. First they’d come for the money, then if they were successful, they’d fight more for greed. As for fame? If you’re making money lots of it, chances are you are successful in the club, and the fame was pretty self explanatory. These days though, the landscape would change.
No longer would it be fighters who’ve lost their minds and had dropped out of school a GED too early, but also regular people, like me or you…maybe just you. People in which have been screwed over by the foundation of this country that was only built by the illusion of success; and once it was sought through, its uncovered failures would be exposed.
I should’ve known better. I should’ve know that those who had invested in the fight club, wouldn’t back down too easy. They refused to falter. And those who remained close to me? I should’ve re-evaluated their position a little more closely; anyone standing beside you shoulder to shoulder, is just waiting until you turn their back towards them at your first sign of trust...
…Then only in the form of crimson red do they show you their true colors.
It’s a Sunday in the upper-class of the city. It wasn’t too far away from Level-One’s penthouse, it was in walking distance in fact. A majority of the city was well privileged, but there was something that was always disturbing of seeing a homeless bum wondering in between two overly sized mansions. And when they weren’t welcome there, they hung out in between back alleys; smack dab in between the Chinese restaurant and the furniture store. What a shame.
They roared, they chanted, and they cursed. The only professionalism these men showed was in their clothing. Business suites all identical to each-other, and the same black brief case they all tended to care around. The only differences between them was their twisted faces of frustration; each face spoke a different language, but it was all said in the same tone. See, they’re standing outside their business. A business in which they’ve been working at for many years, some people had worked their all their life, and they’ve all be laid off.
They had invested so much money in the stock market, and that crashed. Now, they lost their job. Sure, they all had fancy cars, nice homes, and pretty wives…but how could they contain those without their income? They were losing it all, and they were outraged. Some, some would be lucky enough to find work…
The crowd; slowly disappears with now about half of them still remaining outside the office building. There even angrier, as one kicks in the glass of the front door.
‘’We worked for you for years, and this is what you repaid us with?’’
‘’You promised us job security’’
‘’My wife, my kids…you’ve fucked them all over!’’
All chants that had erupted. A few more would end up leaving the country, somewhere less demanding, where they could start anew. These people suddenly vanish from the crowd; only 5 men remain. Their tired, there broken, and no longer to they chant they simply wait quietly, for their hopelessness speaks louder then their words could ever. The sun has set and the night has risen, the cold temperatures cut through their suites like butter; they’re worn out now, they’ve been here every day.
‘’…I can take this anymore’’ One man cries as he lies on his back on the front door step.
‘’My wife has left me…’’ Another man cries out; this man on the top of the stair case with a gun pointed to his head.
‘’You’ve failed us’’
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG
Four gun shots ring out; there four men lay on the front door step, having committed suicide; the last one hangs from the sign above the front door, with a tie wrapped around his neck. The sign’s quotation painted in small but bold white letter reads a ‘’…wealthy America, a better America’’ Their losses too much to bare; they too vanish from the scene.
A new day is painted over.
Not too far away from the building, three men sit. All on a bench; with a grassy pasture growing flawlessly beneath them. They’ve lost their jobs, and there feeling desperate for the cash…really desperate. They’ve all had work on and off, but nothing can give them the satisfaction their former job did. There double digit figures, the CEO status…they wanted it all back.
On the other side of the green grass; a vehicle sat pulled up by a curve. In the driver seat sat Brian Mc Phee the name alone makes Level-One shake with frustration, rightfully so. Beside Brian Mc Phee sat his new acquaintance Jace Brown, a crooked cop/investigator, which did everything in his power to ensure Level-One was not a free man. Jace wanted Level-One locked up like an animal and while maybe the world was safer like this, Level-One himself wanted no part of it.
‘’These are the guys you’ve been talking about all week long?’’ Jace Brown asks; staring through the card window; as the three business man chat amongst them on a bench. ‘’…I don’t see why we wouldn’t pull up in the slums and pick up a few fighters’’ Jace brown says turning away from the window before leaning back ever so casually on the head-rest.
‘’These guys are bums, these are real men. Men who are hardworking, men who are healthy, and can be molded into twice the fighter some bum down the street could with just the right amount of training. And unlike those bums? They cannot be bought out at such a low price…’’ Brian tells Jace Brown, as he ever so carefully fixes the hair atop his head. His appearance had to be flawless.
‘’Can you believe it’s opening up tomorrow night?’’ Jace Brown asks, as Brian casually nods his head. Reaching down the glove department he pulls out a pair of Gucci glasses slipping them on as they hang neatly on his face which only compliments the rest of his ‘’million’’ dollar look.
‘’Yeah, I can…and that’s why we need to round up some numbers’’ Brian reaches over thrusting the door open, quickly stepping out. Jace Brown sighs before exiting the vehicle himself. Brian Mc Phee makes his way across the grassy pasture, although he couldn’t see it with his confidence which could also been seen as cockiness, held so high.
They approached the business men.
‘’Hello, how are you fine gentlemen doing this afternoon?’’ Jace Brown calls out. All three men look up at them. Brian muscles his way in front of Jace Brown, immediately extending a hand.
‘’Hi, I’m Brian Mc Phee’’ Brian says introducing himself, Brian make sure he shakes each one of their hands, before continuing on. ‘’…So how’s work coming along for you guys?’’
The three men looked at each-other; their hair was a wild mess, and they looked tired, it was apparent that they were going through some tough times. ‘’It’s been tough’’ one man replies. ‘’Yeah, I worked with this business for 10 years, I couldn’t imagine losing my job’’ a heavy set man to the right offers up. The man in the middle simply stands up, running his hand through his short jet black hair.
‘’My name is Mike Appleton’’ Brian pays close attention and before Brian can offer up any other words one of the other quickly grows frustrated.
‘’Look at you, desperate as hell for work’’ The man on the left calls out, the older one of the bunch. ‘’Yeah, what your going to suck his dick too?’’ The heavy set man blurted the man on the left begins to laugh. Mike Appleton simply glances at them looking back at Brian Mc Phee, who senses his opportunity.
‘’…What if I told you I had work for you?’’ Brian says, he turns to the other men who’s faces begin to stir with jealousy, but Brian is already one step ahead of their emotions. ‘’…What if I had work for all three of you?’’
‘’…How much are we talking here?’’ Mike Appleton asks, he wasn’t going to work for peanuts. It wasn’t too long ago where he was making up to 300, 000 dollars a year. No work was an option, work for little pay simply wasn’t; too much pride.
‘’200 bucks a pop’’ Jace Brown offers up. He knew the were desperate, but Brian turned around and simply told Jace to back off. The two business partners clashed about everything, and this was no different.
‘’20 grand a fight’’ Brian tells Mike Appleton; who’s eyebrows shoot up in the air.
‘’…Fight?’’ Mr. Appleton asks, as his former co-workers and friends are already game for what they are hearing.
‘’20 grand? I’m in’’ The older man says, quickly standing up to his feet.
‘’How about 21 grand’’ The heavy set business man to the right asks, still seated on the bench not wanting to break an inch. Brian flashes him a look; as the fat man immediately gives in, it was no time to bargain. ‘’Hey, I’ll take 19 if you want’’
‘’…Are you stupid?’’ Jace brown asks Brian leaning over his shoulder. ‘’Your going to run us dry!’’ Jace brown tells him, as Brian simply raises his hand signaling for silence.
‘’…I believe this is a done deal?’’
The business men all look to each-other, and nod their heads. Each one wearing a look of uncertainty on their faces. Brian Mc Phee simply smiles; glances over to Jace brown who simply looks in the other direction, not quite pleased with the circumstances of the deal…
I leaned over the balcony of my penthouse; which over looked the city. Shirtless, my wounds and tattered skin was shown to anyone with guts to look. And even if they did would they turn around as soon as they could. I took one hell of a beating last Sunday, but if there was anything that could take my mind off the pain my body was encountered with, it was what I was holding in my hand.
‘’Grand opening, sports club’’ With the address underneath, I knew this was just an illusion and the hid it real well. Sports club, simply meant fight club. They knew what they were running was illegal, and they did their best to hide it. At first, I figured why bother? Let, Brian open up his fight club. Let him flaunt it in my face, and fuck, he could have Kayla too. Expect one thing was in my way…
Pride.
It carries us to great lengths. It takes us too far sometimes, past our boundaries in which we vowed never to go. See…
It was only several months ago.
Several months since I have stood on this path; what I had burnt down to the ground now re-built and standing tall again. Everything I hated, I had destroyed. Only for Brian Mc Phee to let his greed take over, and inherited the pain I sought so hard to run away from…
…No more running.
I entered the re-built fight club. It was fancy, it was decorated from top to bottom, and nothing like the shit-whole Dr. Chan had built. What would I expect from Brian? The man had expensive taste, no matter what lengths he took to eat. It was a grand opening, a celebration. People danced, people partied, people had the time of their lives, but even while I was offered a drink, I shoved it away.
‘’Fuck you’’ A guy shouts out.
I nearly dropped him right then and there. I approached the dance floor up above I had spotted the VIP section. The pink club lights illuminating the lounge sofas, which hid behind a wall of plastic clear glass. I slipped in between the people on the dance floor, which seemed not to pick a fight with me, their only goal was for them to dance until the night grew old; my plans however involved something much more sinister.
Up in the VIP room; Brian Mc Phee sat laid back with Jace Brown beside him smoking a Cuban cigar.
‘’You know after tonight the fun ends, huh?’’ Jace brown says taking a long drag off his cigar, as Brian folds his hands up behind his head letting out a loud sigh.
‘’I know, all things have to come to an end…’’ Brian says casually, before looking to Jace Brown. ‘’This includes Level-One’’ Brian tells Jace Brown who looks at Brian before puffing smoke from in between his lips.
‘’The masked freak wants to end him…’’ Jace brown casually states. As Brian shrugs his shoulders.
‘’Oh, I know’’ Brian replies. ‘’But you know as well as I do that Masked freak simply does not have what it takes to beat Level-One. I mean, he’s a dangerous individual…but there is no fighter who can match up with him’’ Brian tells Jace brown, who begins to grow nervous.
‘’What?’’ Jace brown asks, laying his cigar down. Putting the back of his hand on Brian’s chest. ‘’We aren’t backing down on this plan, you hear me?’’ Jace brown says to Brian who to Jace surprise agrees with him. Brian Mc Phee waves at a stripper who slowly approaches him.
‘’What I’m saying is that it’s going to take something big to throw Level-One off his game, should Level-One fight our guy at full strength, he won’t have a chance’’ Brian tells Jace. Jace looks over to Brian; who now has the stripper sitting on his lap, a big smile across Brian’s face.
‘’Get the whore of ya’ we’re talking!’’ Jace brown shouts out in frustration. The girl gives him a dirty look, before whispering in Brian’s ear. Slowly she pulls herself off of Brian, before treating him with a seductive wave. Brian Mc Phee regretfully turns back to Jace…
‘’Look, we are going to run this city. I mean, every single inch of it. The business, the politicians on our side? We’ll force Level-One out of this city’’ Brian Mc Phee says to Jace brown who simply nods his head.
‘’You are too naïve. Why don’t we just kill him?’’ Jace brown asks. Brian slowly turns away from Jace, looking down at the ground. Jace brown reaches over tugging on Brian’s shoulder. ‘’…Why don’t we kill him?’’ Jace asks Brian one more time, who only closes his eyes and nods his head.
‘’My club…my rules’’ Brian says, as Jace brown grits his teeth in frustration. The music kicks up as Jace brown stands up; and leaves Brian on the couch alone…
SMASH!
I cracked Brian Mc Phee right across the face with a glass bottle. People seated around him screamed in horror. Brian dropped to the ground soaked in beer; a huge gash running right along his face. Brian cried out in pain cursing under his breath, which would make a sailor look amateur. I slowly backed away, leaving Brian to cope with the spilt alcohol on his own.
It was clear the battle-lines were drawn. I wasn’t going to stand by and allow Brian to make the first move, it was going to be me who called all the shots. Rage, it was burning through my veins. I wanted to deliver the beating of his live with my bare hands, but quickly security came to his aid. I simply backed away, I was in no mood too celebrate.…
Thank god I took those bullets out of that gun.
Useless piece of shit.
Rick Steven’s, I hope my personal thank you letter wasn’t lost in the mail. I even got one for Streets Wilson, hoping that one of you retarded children would be able to read it out loud. I didn’t know it was possible for two people to single handily tarnish an entire pay-per-view with their lack luster performances, but low and behold, it’s been accomplished, and we have you to idiots to thank.
You know, I figured the tag division was in shit, when Jason Royce and The Hardcore kid pranced around with the titles a few months back. While they sucked, they certainly didn’t blow like you and Streets Wilson did. With poor performances from the entire tag-division in itself, which consisted of two shit teams, thrown together with little to zero thinking, you’ve single handily killed off the tag-division. You’ve been stripped from the titles, and word through the grapevine is that the titles will remain vacant until a decent tag team can emerge.
Rick Steven’s your pathetic. You have zero heart. Zero passion. You simply don’t give a shit anymore. Don’t tie up your wrestling boots and walk down to my ring. Don’t jump into your gay wrestling attire, and tell me I must take you seriously. Don’t fucking look me in the eye, and tell me the APW means a damn thing to you, because nobody likes liar. We saw right through your pathetic act.
Let’s face it, you’re a joke. A comedy skit 30 minutes too fucking long. To be quite honest, I know very little about you. This is simply because you are irrelevant to my world. Up until your pathetic performances at Carnage, I didn’t make a note of your existence. I didn’t care. And now, even as you’ve been thrown into my ring with a napkin tossed for my disposal; I still don’t want to have to waste my time with you. I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for your trivial shit.
I know exactly what to expect from you though. The little garden snake you are; slithering, pretending as if you have nothing in the tank, just waiting to spring up at me and catch me by surprise. I watched you do it to BDC virtually killing any credibility the man managed to pick up during his field trip to the APW. That shit isn’t going to work on me. Scrap your game-plan. Hit the fucking drawing boards, and re-evaluate just who the fuck your dealing with here.
You won’t catch me off guard. I may give you a free shot, but you don’t have the will nor strength to do the damage. Preparation? You tugging on a lock with no key, Steven’s. You can sit in-front of the camera and talk a bit longer than you already do, you can repeat the same shit, you can add a little dance near the end for filler, what good will it do you when this promotion bullshit is all over with? How will that extra time you spent rolling the camera’s making yourself look like a complete and utter moron, help you when I decide to rein down upon the top of your skull with flying fists? Fuck, I don’t want to hear your reply. Save your breath. For you’ll need it to survive; when I slowly remove it from your windpipe.
It’s people like you, Stevenson that has been making my time here more-so a chore, than an actual fucking job. Max Carter can stop wasting my time with people like you. It only takes so long before I get bored of beating John Green and the Hardcore Kid on a week to week basis. See, warm ups aren’t supposed to last long. And this is why I’m going to make quick work of you.
Let’s just get this pain-staking motion over with. Give me Michael Lively, and I will take my APW world championship by force. And when I’m done getting every single last thing I want out of his place? I may, just may, kick some fucking talent in your direction, you may still be around to use it. See, while you maybe here today? Tomorrow isn’t looking so bright. I hope you can survive, but I doubt it. Will you put up a fight? Or will you risk embarrassment and honestly TRY to defeat me? Between me and you?
I’d take the ladder.
SPLAT.
Cimb fool; Those rungs await you.
It was only several months ago.
Several months since I had taken it upon myself to set ablaze Dr. Chan’s fight club, burning it straight to the ground along with everything within it. The flesh & blood embedded within the arena floor. People that fought for money, fought for greed, and fought for fame. Perhaps it’s hypocritical for me to come upon this conclusion like this; for I have been fighting for the same reasons, lately.
And in the amidst of a failing economy the demand for the money would bring some interest back into this illegal activity. First they’d come for the money, then if they were successful, they’d fight more for greed. As for fame? If you’re making money lots of it, chances are you are successful in the club, and the fame was pretty self explanatory. These days though, the landscape would change.
No longer would it be fighters who’ve lost their minds and had dropped out of school a GED too early, but also regular people, like me or you…maybe just you. People in which have been screwed over by the foundation of this country that was only built by the illusion of success; and once it was sought through, its uncovered failures would be exposed.
I should’ve known better. I should’ve know that those who had invested in the fight club, wouldn’t back down too easy. They refused to falter. And those who remained close to me? I should’ve re-evaluated their position a little more closely; anyone standing beside you shoulder to shoulder, is just waiting until you turn their back towards them at your first sign of trust...
…Then only in the form of crimson red do they show you their true colors.
It’s a Sunday in the upper-class of the city. It wasn’t too far away from Level-One’s penthouse, it was in walking distance in fact. A majority of the city was well privileged, but there was something that was always disturbing of seeing a homeless bum wondering in between two overly sized mansions. And when they weren’t welcome there, they hung out in between back alleys; smack dab in between the Chinese restaurant and the furniture store. What a shame.
They roared, they chanted, and they cursed. The only professionalism these men showed was in their clothing. Business suites all identical to each-other, and the same black brief case they all tended to care around. The only differences between them was their twisted faces of frustration; each face spoke a different language, but it was all said in the same tone. See, they’re standing outside their business. A business in which they’ve been working at for many years, some people had worked their all their life, and they’ve all be laid off.
They had invested so much money in the stock market, and that crashed. Now, they lost their job. Sure, they all had fancy cars, nice homes, and pretty wives…but how could they contain those without their income? They were losing it all, and they were outraged. Some, some would be lucky enough to find work…
The crowd; slowly disappears with now about half of them still remaining outside the office building. There even angrier, as one kicks in the glass of the front door.
‘’We worked for you for years, and this is what you repaid us with?’’
‘’You promised us job security’’
‘’My wife, my kids…you’ve fucked them all over!’’
All chants that had erupted. A few more would end up leaving the country, somewhere less demanding, where they could start anew. These people suddenly vanish from the crowd; only 5 men remain. Their tired, there broken, and no longer to they chant they simply wait quietly, for their hopelessness speaks louder then their words could ever. The sun has set and the night has risen, the cold temperatures cut through their suites like butter; they’re worn out now, they’ve been here every day.
‘’…I can take this anymore’’ One man cries as he lies on his back on the front door step.
‘’My wife has left me…’’ Another man cries out; this man on the top of the stair case with a gun pointed to his head.
‘’You’ve failed us’’
BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG
Four gun shots ring out; there four men lay on the front door step, having committed suicide; the last one hangs from the sign above the front door, with a tie wrapped around his neck. The sign’s quotation painted in small but bold white letter reads a ‘’…wealthy America, a better America’’ Their losses too much to bare; they too vanish from the scene.
A new day is painted over.
Not too far away from the building, three men sit. All on a bench; with a grassy pasture growing flawlessly beneath them. They’ve lost their jobs, and there feeling desperate for the cash…really desperate. They’ve all had work on and off, but nothing can give them the satisfaction their former job did. There double digit figures, the CEO status…they wanted it all back.
On the other side of the green grass; a vehicle sat pulled up by a curve. In the driver seat sat Brian Mc Phee the name alone makes Level-One shake with frustration, rightfully so. Beside Brian Mc Phee sat his new acquaintance Jace Brown, a crooked cop/investigator, which did everything in his power to ensure Level-One was not a free man. Jace wanted Level-One locked up like an animal and while maybe the world was safer like this, Level-One himself wanted no part of it.
‘’These are the guys you’ve been talking about all week long?’’ Jace Brown asks; staring through the card window; as the three business man chat amongst them on a bench. ‘’…I don’t see why we wouldn’t pull up in the slums and pick up a few fighters’’ Jace brown says turning away from the window before leaning back ever so casually on the head-rest.
‘’These guys are bums, these are real men. Men who are hardworking, men who are healthy, and can be molded into twice the fighter some bum down the street could with just the right amount of training. And unlike those bums? They cannot be bought out at such a low price…’’ Brian tells Jace Brown, as he ever so carefully fixes the hair atop his head. His appearance had to be flawless.
‘’Can you believe it’s opening up tomorrow night?’’ Jace Brown asks, as Brian casually nods his head. Reaching down the glove department he pulls out a pair of Gucci glasses slipping them on as they hang neatly on his face which only compliments the rest of his ‘’million’’ dollar look.
‘’Yeah, I can…and that’s why we need to round up some numbers’’ Brian reaches over thrusting the door open, quickly stepping out. Jace Brown sighs before exiting the vehicle himself. Brian Mc Phee makes his way across the grassy pasture, although he couldn’t see it with his confidence which could also been seen as cockiness, held so high.
They approached the business men.
‘’Hello, how are you fine gentlemen doing this afternoon?’’ Jace Brown calls out. All three men look up at them. Brian muscles his way in front of Jace Brown, immediately extending a hand.
‘’Hi, I’m Brian Mc Phee’’ Brian says introducing himself, Brian make sure he shakes each one of their hands, before continuing on. ‘’…So how’s work coming along for you guys?’’
The three men looked at each-other; their hair was a wild mess, and they looked tired, it was apparent that they were going through some tough times. ‘’It’s been tough’’ one man replies. ‘’Yeah, I worked with this business for 10 years, I couldn’t imagine losing my job’’ a heavy set man to the right offers up. The man in the middle simply stands up, running his hand through his short jet black hair.
‘’My name is Mike Appleton’’ Brian pays close attention and before Brian can offer up any other words one of the other quickly grows frustrated.
‘’Look at you, desperate as hell for work’’ The man on the left calls out, the older one of the bunch. ‘’Yeah, what your going to suck his dick too?’’ The heavy set man blurted the man on the left begins to laugh. Mike Appleton simply glances at them looking back at Brian Mc Phee, who senses his opportunity.
‘’…What if I told you I had work for you?’’ Brian says, he turns to the other men who’s faces begin to stir with jealousy, but Brian is already one step ahead of their emotions. ‘’…What if I had work for all three of you?’’
‘’…How much are we talking here?’’ Mike Appleton asks, he wasn’t going to work for peanuts. It wasn’t too long ago where he was making up to 300, 000 dollars a year. No work was an option, work for little pay simply wasn’t; too much pride.
‘’200 bucks a pop’’ Jace Brown offers up. He knew the were desperate, but Brian turned around and simply told Jace to back off. The two business partners clashed about everything, and this was no different.
‘’20 grand a fight’’ Brian tells Mike Appleton; who’s eyebrows shoot up in the air.
‘’…Fight?’’ Mr. Appleton asks, as his former co-workers and friends are already game for what they are hearing.
‘’20 grand? I’m in’’ The older man says, quickly standing up to his feet.
‘’How about 21 grand’’ The heavy set business man to the right asks, still seated on the bench not wanting to break an inch. Brian flashes him a look; as the fat man immediately gives in, it was no time to bargain. ‘’Hey, I’ll take 19 if you want’’
‘’…Are you stupid?’’ Jace brown asks Brian leaning over his shoulder. ‘’Your going to run us dry!’’ Jace brown tells him, as Brian simply raises his hand signaling for silence.
‘’…I believe this is a done deal?’’
The business men all look to each-other, and nod their heads. Each one wearing a look of uncertainty on their faces. Brian Mc Phee simply smiles; glances over to Jace brown who simply looks in the other direction, not quite pleased with the circumstances of the deal…
I leaned over the balcony of my penthouse; which over looked the city. Shirtless, my wounds and tattered skin was shown to anyone with guts to look. And even if they did would they turn around as soon as they could. I took one hell of a beating last Sunday, but if there was anything that could take my mind off the pain my body was encountered with, it was what I was holding in my hand.
‘’Grand opening, sports club’’ With the address underneath, I knew this was just an illusion and the hid it real well. Sports club, simply meant fight club. They knew what they were running was illegal, and they did their best to hide it. At first, I figured why bother? Let, Brian open up his fight club. Let him flaunt it in my face, and fuck, he could have Kayla too. Expect one thing was in my way…
Pride.
It carries us to great lengths. It takes us too far sometimes, past our boundaries in which we vowed never to go. See…
It was only several months ago.
Several months since I have stood on this path; what I had burnt down to the ground now re-built and standing tall again. Everything I hated, I had destroyed. Only for Brian Mc Phee to let his greed take over, and inherited the pain I sought so hard to run away from…
…No more running.
I entered the re-built fight club. It was fancy, it was decorated from top to bottom, and nothing like the shit-whole Dr. Chan had built. What would I expect from Brian? The man had expensive taste, no matter what lengths he took to eat. It was a grand opening, a celebration. People danced, people partied, people had the time of their lives, but even while I was offered a drink, I shoved it away.
‘’Fuck you’’ A guy shouts out.
I nearly dropped him right then and there. I approached the dance floor up above I had spotted the VIP section. The pink club lights illuminating the lounge sofas, which hid behind a wall of plastic clear glass. I slipped in between the people on the dance floor, which seemed not to pick a fight with me, their only goal was for them to dance until the night grew old; my plans however involved something much more sinister.
Up in the VIP room; Brian Mc Phee sat laid back with Jace Brown beside him smoking a Cuban cigar.
‘’You know after tonight the fun ends, huh?’’ Jace brown says taking a long drag off his cigar, as Brian folds his hands up behind his head letting out a loud sigh.
‘’I know, all things have to come to an end…’’ Brian says casually, before looking to Jace Brown. ‘’This includes Level-One’’ Brian tells Jace Brown who looks at Brian before puffing smoke from in between his lips.
‘’The masked freak wants to end him…’’ Jace brown casually states. As Brian shrugs his shoulders.
‘’Oh, I know’’ Brian replies. ‘’But you know as well as I do that Masked freak simply does not have what it takes to beat Level-One. I mean, he’s a dangerous individual…but there is no fighter who can match up with him’’ Brian tells Jace brown, who begins to grow nervous.
‘’What?’’ Jace brown asks, laying his cigar down. Putting the back of his hand on Brian’s chest. ‘’We aren’t backing down on this plan, you hear me?’’ Jace brown says to Brian who to Jace surprise agrees with him. Brian Mc Phee waves at a stripper who slowly approaches him.
‘’What I’m saying is that it’s going to take something big to throw Level-One off his game, should Level-One fight our guy at full strength, he won’t have a chance’’ Brian tells Jace. Jace looks over to Brian; who now has the stripper sitting on his lap, a big smile across Brian’s face.
‘’Get the whore of ya’ we’re talking!’’ Jace brown shouts out in frustration. The girl gives him a dirty look, before whispering in Brian’s ear. Slowly she pulls herself off of Brian, before treating him with a seductive wave. Brian Mc Phee regretfully turns back to Jace…
‘’Look, we are going to run this city. I mean, every single inch of it. The business, the politicians on our side? We’ll force Level-One out of this city’’ Brian Mc Phee says to Jace brown who simply nods his head.
‘’You are too naïve. Why don’t we just kill him?’’ Jace brown asks. Brian slowly turns away from Jace, looking down at the ground. Jace brown reaches over tugging on Brian’s shoulder. ‘’…Why don’t we kill him?’’ Jace asks Brian one more time, who only closes his eyes and nods his head.
‘’My club…my rules’’ Brian says, as Jace brown grits his teeth in frustration. The music kicks up as Jace brown stands up; and leaves Brian on the couch alone…
SMASH!
I cracked Brian Mc Phee right across the face with a glass bottle. People seated around him screamed in horror. Brian dropped to the ground soaked in beer; a huge gash running right along his face. Brian cried out in pain cursing under his breath, which would make a sailor look amateur. I slowly backed away, leaving Brian to cope with the spilt alcohol on his own.
It was clear the battle-lines were drawn. I wasn’t going to stand by and allow Brian to make the first move, it was going to be me who called all the shots. Rage, it was burning through my veins. I wanted to deliver the beating of his live with my bare hands, but quickly security came to his aid. I simply backed away, I was in no mood too celebrate.…
Thank god I took those bullets out of that gun.
Useless piece of shit.
Rick Steven’s, I hope my personal thank you letter wasn’t lost in the mail. I even got one for Streets Wilson, hoping that one of you retarded children would be able to read it out loud. I didn’t know it was possible for two people to single handily tarnish an entire pay-per-view with their lack luster performances, but low and behold, it’s been accomplished, and we have you to idiots to thank.
You know, I figured the tag division was in shit, when Jason Royce and The Hardcore kid pranced around with the titles a few months back. While they sucked, they certainly didn’t blow like you and Streets Wilson did. With poor performances from the entire tag-division in itself, which consisted of two shit teams, thrown together with little to zero thinking, you’ve single handily killed off the tag-division. You’ve been stripped from the titles, and word through the grapevine is that the titles will remain vacant until a decent tag team can emerge.
Rick Steven’s your pathetic. You have zero heart. Zero passion. You simply don’t give a shit anymore. Don’t tie up your wrestling boots and walk down to my ring. Don’t jump into your gay wrestling attire, and tell me I must take you seriously. Don’t fucking look me in the eye, and tell me the APW means a damn thing to you, because nobody likes liar. We saw right through your pathetic act.
Let’s face it, you’re a joke. A comedy skit 30 minutes too fucking long. To be quite honest, I know very little about you. This is simply because you are irrelevant to my world. Up until your pathetic performances at Carnage, I didn’t make a note of your existence. I didn’t care. And now, even as you’ve been thrown into my ring with a napkin tossed for my disposal; I still don’t want to have to waste my time with you. I’m a busy man, and I don’t have time for your trivial shit.
I know exactly what to expect from you though. The little garden snake you are; slithering, pretending as if you have nothing in the tank, just waiting to spring up at me and catch me by surprise. I watched you do it to BDC virtually killing any credibility the man managed to pick up during his field trip to the APW. That shit isn’t going to work on me. Scrap your game-plan. Hit the fucking drawing boards, and re-evaluate just who the fuck your dealing with here.
You won’t catch me off guard. I may give you a free shot, but you don’t have the will nor strength to do the damage. Preparation? You tugging on a lock with no key, Steven’s. You can sit in-front of the camera and talk a bit longer than you already do, you can repeat the same shit, you can add a little dance near the end for filler, what good will it do you when this promotion bullshit is all over with? How will that extra time you spent rolling the camera’s making yourself look like a complete and utter moron, help you when I decide to rein down upon the top of your skull with flying fists? Fuck, I don’t want to hear your reply. Save your breath. For you’ll need it to survive; when I slowly remove it from your windpipe.
It’s people like you, Stevenson that has been making my time here more-so a chore, than an actual fucking job. Max Carter can stop wasting my time with people like you. It only takes so long before I get bored of beating John Green and the Hardcore Kid on a week to week basis. See, warm ups aren’t supposed to last long. And this is why I’m going to make quick work of you.
Let’s just get this pain-staking motion over with. Give me Michael Lively, and I will take my APW world championship by force. And when I’m done getting every single last thing I want out of his place? I may, just may, kick some fucking talent in your direction, you may still be around to use it. See, while you maybe here today? Tomorrow isn’t looking so bright. I hope you can survive, but I doubt it. Will you put up a fight? Or will you risk embarrassment and honestly TRY to defeat me? Between me and you?
I’d take the ladder.
SPLAT.
Cimb fool; Those rungs await you.
