Post by Level-Two on Mar 18, 2009 7:32:49 GMT -4
‘’One’s’’ Unexpected Partnership
How could I let this happen?
The fight club that I sought so hard to destroy was up and running once again. Brian’s fight club was quick to get up and started, and to make their impact amongst the roots of the city. With a current economic down fall led by wealthy bankers willing to put the country under cross fire if it meant earning an extra buck or two, many people were out of jobs. Hell, I could see it have an effect in my profession. You could always look out into that screaming crowd, and notice an extra few seats unoccupied.
The old unemployment folk wasn’t the typical black, lazy, and any stereotypical bullshit the media would tag minorities with these days. It was the blue collar, the white American, who was living the old typical American dream. Brian sought out these folks, the upper tier of Americans, the elite of all people. These people didn’t inject themselves with needles nor did the sniff a line before a big fight; these guys ironed their suites, and made sure to never deposit large amounts in their bank accounts.
Brian had used the city’s downfall to his own uprising. Now that he had assembled a team of fighters, he wasted no time making his name known around the city. Brian was smarter than I originally thought. It was very rare he ever held a fight at his own head quarters; instead he forced the owners out of clubs and any facilities willing to serve as a fight spot. A news cast from a few days ago flashes in my head
‘’This 54 year old man was tied up in the back of his own store; while up to twenty people held a fight gathering outside in the gas station parking lot. Three vehicles were damaged, and two people are currently in hospital in result of the incident’’
-White noise-
‘’Today, a man was found dead in the VIP room of his own club. The man was found in a freezer which contained the clubs alcohol with a bullet to the back of his head, this is just many of the recent assaults on…’’
-SPHHHHHH-
I snapped out of it. It was clear that in just two weeks, Brian had assembled a team of vicious fighters and already was making quite have enjoyed the glass bottle I smashed across his face, and surely a name for themselves. I was gambling with high stake players. It was clear that Brian Mc Phee wasn’t happy about the scar I left marked upon his face. It was his greatest asset. I had no doubt that he was out to kill me.
In fact, I was only attacked a few days ago by him.
‘’I’m going to be really, really sorry about what I’m going to do to you right now’’ Brian said before smashing my face in with louisville slugger. I wore my black mask, to hide some of the bruising. It was a damn near miracle; I’m still alive.
Loud hip hop music blasted the stereo; as people crowded around the action that awaited them. I snuck through the small crowd; my eyes locking in as my eyes only confirmed what I was here to see. A stage lit up beneath them with fancy neon lights, it was cleared from all the whores and stripers who stood off watching from the side.
A man with black hair, fairly built, a clean shaven guy, stood above another man. Long haired, his face was rugged; mixed in with the blood and bruising the man standing over him unleashed on him, shot after shot. It made me sick, it brought back the old memories of what I was forced to witness in the fight club Dr. Chan ran, surely no different from this one.
‘’Get the fuck off of him!’’ I shouted; but he didn’t listen. The music too loud, and the people too drunk to pay me any mind. Hoping over a small barrier, I approached the stage. This seemingly where I caught everyone’s attention.
‘’What the hell?’’
‘’Get the fucking faggot of the stage!’’
‘’I’m going to beat the shit out of his fuck!’’
Their words seemingly meaning nothing more. I approached the man, who quickly dropped his opponent. The man looked at me, it didn’t seem as if he wanted any trouble.
‘’What the hell are you doing to this guy?’’ I asked him.
The man was self reserved; not a hooligan by any means. ‘’I’m not doing nothing you wouldn’t do’’
‘’What the fuck does that mean?’’ I shot back.
‘’…It means I have a kid and a wife at home to feed’’ The man tells me, before shoving past me. I looked snapped around, as the man hopped off the stage and walked through the crowd, where he received pats on his back for his performance before their very eyes.
The guy had a point. It struck a nerve too. What made him fighting here, any different from what I did in the ring, in-front of fans wanting to see blood in the same manner? I don’t think there was much of a difference, but somewhere in my head, I managed to justify my situation. The cameras, the fame…there was purpose. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, and I wouldn’t have too…
‘’I am going to kick your fucking ass!’’ A guy shouts out, as he cuffs his sleeves back and prepares his fighting stance. The crowd eggs him on, as I shake my head in guilt, for I knew.
…I knew what I had to do to his fool.
--
‘’I’ll pay you each 100 bucks if you jump him, you got it?’’
I quickly paced down the street. It was a chilly night, but the winter was phasing out, and the spring brought warmth to some degrees. It was only ten minutes ago, in which I was kicked out of the fight club. It was for the better I supposed, I was nearly killed in there; but looking down at my fist, still dripping with blood, I knew I wasn’t the only one.
I had involved myself with the wrong people, and now I was paying the price for it. I could feel myself knee deep in shit, with not many venues to escape it. Rasslemania the biggest event in my life was rolling on by, and I could only think about what Brian and Jace Brown were planning to ruin the entire event. There was only one way, I wasn’t going to walk out with the APW world championship, and it isn’t up to Michael Lively.
-Flashback-
‘’…Did you just say you wanted to buy 10 tickets to the event, sir?’’ A young man standing behind a piece of glass says at the ticket booth. Brian Mc Phee casually looks up to the Rasslemaina five poster, with Level-One displayed upon it, as he nods his head.
‘’Wait’’ Jace Brown tells the young teen in response the young teen sighs. Jace Brown turns to Brian.
‘’You are positive you want to buy 10 tickets?’’ Jace brown asks, Brian.
‘’It comes up to about $1050 sir…’’ The kid adds on.
‘’Shut up!’’ Jace brown hisses towards the kid. The kid’s eyes dart down towards the counter. Brian runs his hands through his hair trying to keep his patience.
‘’Look, the more guys we got in here the better. Who the fuck cares about how much we have to pay? We need him taken out. We need insurance’’
‘’Yeah, but we can’t get the job done with 5 guys and cut our costs by half?’’ Jace brown pressures on. Brian grits his teeth and smacks the table.
‘’10 tickets, now’’
‘’Jeeze’’ The kid replies rolling his eyes, as he walks to the back to follow up on the order. Jace brown and Brian return along stare; before breaking out into their own frustration.
‘’You are fucking unbelievable, do you know that?’’ Brian says, shaking his head back and forth, as the scene comes to a fade.
-Present time-
I knew Rasslemania would be unpredictable. Unpredictable in the sense that Brian Mc Phee was looking for his final blow. His last stroke of genius to take me out once and for good. It was clear that he wanted to have full control of the city, and in just a few weeks; he already controlled a major club in the city.
I thought about countering his moves, but I figured it would only get me in deeper water. I could barely swim now. Each time I walked these streets the more I looked behind my back, so much in fact it left me a notch or two in my neck. I trust nobody, each person I pass, I watch them walk on by through the corner of my eye…
…I saw them coming.
‘’Ouch!’’ A lady calls out, as I bump into her shoulder, the force almost sending her to the ground. I take off down the street, running as fast as my legs are willing to carry me. I cross an intersection, as a car approaches me head on, the driver able to squeeze the breaks in time. I run directly into the car flipping over the hood landing on my back. The cold hard concrete enjoyed breaking my fall.
The men ran around the vehicle approaching me by my feet. Once reaches over grabbing me by my neck thrusting me into the car, where a woman opens up her door and bails, screaming at the top of her lungs. The man drove his knee into my ribs a few times, as his friends stood on by as assurance. Suddenly from the rear view two guys come to my aid, steel poles in hand. The attackers wanting no business with my defenders wasted no time taking off down the street. Before I knew it, I was picked up by my arms, and led to a limo across the street, as it disappeared into the darkness of the night.
What did they want with me?
The offering
The butt of the cigar lit up; with red and orange flames staring right back at me, as the smoke bellowed up in front of the man’s face, creating a cancerous mask. Two men sat on each side of me; the two men that virtually came to my aid. The men were all of Asian decent. They wore suites and were well groomed. Similar to the men Dr. Chan surrounded himself with.
‘’Who the hell are you?’’ I quizzed frantically, as the man simply took a deep drag of his cigar, treating me with no answers. Only after he was done calculating his approach did he begin to speak.
‘’My friend, let’s not get off on the wrong foot. I see problems; and I am only trying to help you solve them’’ The man assures me, returning a emotionless stare.
‘’If this has anything to do with Dr. Chan, you can shove this offer straight up your ass!’’ I shout towards him. The man simply cracks a slight smile, before leaning forward.
‘’Dr. Chan is apart of my family’’
‘’Then consider my ''no'' a final answer...’’ I tell him, as I reach for the door, the other two men seated hold me back.
‘’You don’t want to do this. My uncle is dead now, I am not your enemy’’ The man tells me, dumping his cigar through the crack of the window.
‘’I have enough enemies…’’ I hiss, as the man simply nods his head.
‘’This is why we must become friends. You see, there is a man by the name of Brian Mc Phee; and he had decided to stick his noise in our business, per say? You see, my uncle had a great business going on here…’’
‘’…It’s disgusting’’ I interrupt. The man closes his eyes, and lowers his head, raising a hand in protest.
‘’…And I want to keep it growing. Let it be known, that I have no problems with you, yes? I just want to protect my history. My bloodline. I cannot allow some American trash to control this city…’’
I knew what was coming up next. An offer to join them. To fight alongside them. I thought about it, but did I really have a choice? If they didn’t kill me at the decline of their offer, where could I go from here? If I had worked with this man, at least I could gain protection. Safety. An extra force to take down Brian Mc Phee and Jace brown, and realize the death grip they threatened the city with.
No doubt about it, I didn’t like this guy either. His history runs deep, so deep infact, you couldn’t trust him. Nor his lackeys. I wanted to turn these guys down, deep down I want to snap open the car door, and throw myself out, no matter the damage I would self inflict on myself. But another part of me wanted revenge. Felt trapped, as if this was my only way out…
No way out.
‘’…I’ll fight for you. Under one condition. After we are through with Brian Mc Phee and Jace Brown? I am out. You all leave me the fuck alone’’ I tell the man; who returns me a blank stare. The vehicle suddenly stopped, as he pointed towards the door.
‘’We are on the same page here’’ The man tells me.
‘’What’s your name?’’ I ask.
The man looks towards his men; as if they were supposed to give him an answer. He looked back at me, his mouth forming the words ‘’Mark’’
I simply reached over thrusting the car door open. My eyes darting towards my very own penthouse. I quickly snapped around, as the man waved to me.
‘’…Enjoy your time home’’
The door is shut, as the limo drives off vanishing through the dark. Quickly, I turn back towards my penthouse in disbelief.
‘’…How the fuck does he know where I live?’’
-Back in the vehicle=
The two men look at Mark Chan as he closes his eyes back and coasts his head against the limo interior head rests.
‘’Yeah, boss. That worked wonderfully’’ One man says; doing his best to suck up. The other one chiming in.
‘’How did you do it? How did you make him believe he was on our side?’’ The other one asks Mark. Mark Chan resting his eyes, slowly opens them now staring at the roof of the limo.
-Flash back-
Mark Chan is seen standing in-front a small group of druggies. Three of them to be exact. They all appear to be mid-aged, but that’s a simply a side effect from the drugs they’ve injected themselves daily. Mark Chan has rounded them all up, as he flips through each bill within the large wad of cash in his hand…
‘’I’ll pay you 100 bucks if you jump him right now…’’ Mark Chan says, pointing across the street; where Level-One is pacing himself down the side-walk.
-Back to real time-
‘’As long as we believe we our his friends…’’ Mark Chan says lifting his head up off the head seat looking directly at the two men. ‘’…The closer we are to owning this city once again’’
Slade Craven… Who the hell is Slade Craven, and why the FUCK is he in my ring in a main-event match? It appears to me as if there is a backstage booker with his thumb going in between his ass and his mouth, when it comes to feeding me some decent competition. Alright, so his name isn’t John Green, nor is it the Hardcore Kid, but at least they’ve wrestled a goddamn match or two. My first title match isn’t coming until Rasslemania five, yet these new bloods are handed the fucking world, with-out even paying their dues.
I supposed Slade Craven has been thrown on my plate, similar to a stick of bread, or a side dish of salad before the big meal. For I know the last thing, Jeff or anyone marketing genius wants, is some no named, no good piece of shit walking in beating not only The True Expert, but the number 1 contender for the APW world heavyweight championship, a few weeks before the big event. However, I guess they can count on me to get the job done.
You know, unlike Michael Lively, who couldn’t beat John Green in his main-event. The guy has become nothing but a liability to the credibility of the APW world heavyweight championship, and by god you must have the IQ of John Green/Fyre Angel love child to believe I would sit by and let some chump who’s been around for a week and half, walk over the next APW world champion. Slade, you may have gotten off pulling that shit in the place of your former employment, but this is the APW, not the WAW which lies beside the other feeder federations in some unmarked graveyard paved by wet horse shit.
You come in here, with your little faction, believing you’re just going to trample the competition here. Well, you might as well. Besides Michael Lively, there isn’t anyone who can break me a sweat. Understand however that the buck stops with me. Hurricane Jeff should’ve let you swander in the mid card a bit longer, because I am going to smash your fucking dreams of the grandeur, and I expect you to take your boys and hit the bricks, when you learn that you and your tag-a longs are no better than a defunct tag team championships.
Typical delusional shits, walking in a new promotion like they run the place. Well, I am going to acquaint you well with your position around this place for as long as you decide to stick around. Should you stick around, hopefully you respect the grace of the bottom of my fucking shoe. Because I don’t respect you, anymore than you respect yourself.
Your motives of coming to the APW to begin with is flawed. Sure, it’s easy to turn up a few lower card championships, with people like Carl Cage having the gull to call himself a champion, but when you’re dealing with me? You’re simply illiterate when it comes to this story. You decided to come to the APW, because I am here? The True Expert has graced the APW ring, and you believe that’s enough motivation to carry you, and two other nobodies over here with you?
Give me a fucking break. Sure, I’m half of what the APW is—but I’m not the entire thing, because the other half sucks. The other half consists of men like you; who while can talk a big game, simply cannot match it with in-ring talent. You came here simply to dethrone the True Expert. Simply because, you couldn’t do it in the circle of The Experts itself.
No invitations, with all the ego stroking, you couldn’t even blow a big enough load to break the top twenty. You can’t raise the attention in the eyes of Jesse Gunn, so you use the APW as a way to get to me. Well, it looks like you have your wish. Although, it’s not going to turn out just like you’ve planned.
I hear you’ve got something in store for me? Yeah, I’ll be waiting hoping that you’re finally the man who can back up the massive amounts of shit, and broken promises they make. I can expect to hear the typical shit squeezed out between your teeth. The broken threats, the already been debunked philosophies, and the good ol’ story of the underdog. It seems as if everyone who has emerged out of this cesspool of nothingness, have all read the same damn books on ‘’how to be a predictable wrestler’’. It’s a shame John Green can’t read, because he could only add onto his arsenal.
Despite stepping in the ring with the best in the world, you haven’t paid your dues—fuck the sales pitch hasn’t even got around to you yet. I’m not a fan of letting you new bloods run around, tossing you fodder competition to break you into the swing of things. Despite this being a waste of my time, you need to be taught a lesson. Your going to need to learn your position is pivotal around here; and you’re no different from the next rookie to walk through those doors; exit first.
So let me ask you this, kid. After I am doing re-arranging your face, do you stick around? Or do you hit the deck? To me, it seems as if you had already blown your load. You and your friends don’t have to worry about the APW going anywhere, because as long as I’m the cornerstone of this promotion? There is nowhere to go but up. I’m beyond the glass ceilings; I am atop of the entire world looking down. The question emerges…where the fuck is Slade Craven? I see the U.K. I see an obese America, and I just saw John Green sneeze and accidentally swallow Paris, but by god Slade Craven, you simply don’t pick up any signals on my radar.
In just a few weeks, I will be riding high on yet another big moment of my career when I win the APW world heavyweight championship for the first time. No matter what happens on this very night, no matter how bad I beat you, no matter what match you are thrown in at Rasslemania five, my title rein will over shadow you all. Each and every single one of you will be build up for something greater.
Slade Craven, you may preach otherwise but this is simply your stupidity talking. You and your friends run around here like it’s fucking 1999 with your backstage interviews, and your in-ring promos. You haven’t shown me shit; I haven’t been bored seeing before. So do I see you as a non- threat this Wednesday Night? Fuck yes. Why would I see you as anything else but causality for my greater cause?
I have zero respect for you; and you shouldn’t bet on that changing anytime soon. I am not here to put you the fuck over; I am not here to be some push-over to create a new star in the APW. To get where I am, you need to pick up your pace, you don’t understand how it feels to run a day in my shoes. You don’t know how it feels to be a target by every son of a bitch in this goddamn business trying to break into the status of a great. You know, they say to be the man you have to beat the man…
So enjoy being the bitch.
There is no beating me. You may have your own little strategies and a few sneaky moves in your arsenal, but how the fuck do you expect to pull these from out under your sleeve when MY agenda is to rip you limb for limb? I am going to Rasslemania in one piece, save your talk; do NOT tarnish your credibility by lying to an entire world in terms of your capabilities of beating me. This is NOT a game you can win.
But fuck, since we are done here let me ask you something before your opening up the big show two weeks from now. Level-One or Michael Lively?
Wait, I don’t give a fuck about what you think.
My impact…speaks louder than your words!
…
…
…
…
What was that slade? We can’t hear you.
How could I let this happen?
The fight club that I sought so hard to destroy was up and running once again. Brian’s fight club was quick to get up and started, and to make their impact amongst the roots of the city. With a current economic down fall led by wealthy bankers willing to put the country under cross fire if it meant earning an extra buck or two, many people were out of jobs. Hell, I could see it have an effect in my profession. You could always look out into that screaming crowd, and notice an extra few seats unoccupied.
The old unemployment folk wasn’t the typical black, lazy, and any stereotypical bullshit the media would tag minorities with these days. It was the blue collar, the white American, who was living the old typical American dream. Brian sought out these folks, the upper tier of Americans, the elite of all people. These people didn’t inject themselves with needles nor did the sniff a line before a big fight; these guys ironed their suites, and made sure to never deposit large amounts in their bank accounts.
Brian had used the city’s downfall to his own uprising. Now that he had assembled a team of fighters, he wasted no time making his name known around the city. Brian was smarter than I originally thought. It was very rare he ever held a fight at his own head quarters; instead he forced the owners out of clubs and any facilities willing to serve as a fight spot. A news cast from a few days ago flashes in my head
‘’This 54 year old man was tied up in the back of his own store; while up to twenty people held a fight gathering outside in the gas station parking lot. Three vehicles were damaged, and two people are currently in hospital in result of the incident’’
-White noise-
‘’Today, a man was found dead in the VIP room of his own club. The man was found in a freezer which contained the clubs alcohol with a bullet to the back of his head, this is just many of the recent assaults on…’’
-SPHHHHHH-
I snapped out of it. It was clear that in just two weeks, Brian had assembled a team of vicious fighters and already was making quite have enjoyed the glass bottle I smashed across his face, and surely a name for themselves. I was gambling with high stake players. It was clear that Brian Mc Phee wasn’t happy about the scar I left marked upon his face. It was his greatest asset. I had no doubt that he was out to kill me.
In fact, I was only attacked a few days ago by him.
‘’I’m going to be really, really sorry about what I’m going to do to you right now’’ Brian said before smashing my face in with louisville slugger. I wore my black mask, to hide some of the bruising. It was a damn near miracle; I’m still alive.
Loud hip hop music blasted the stereo; as people crowded around the action that awaited them. I snuck through the small crowd; my eyes locking in as my eyes only confirmed what I was here to see. A stage lit up beneath them with fancy neon lights, it was cleared from all the whores and stripers who stood off watching from the side.
A man with black hair, fairly built, a clean shaven guy, stood above another man. Long haired, his face was rugged; mixed in with the blood and bruising the man standing over him unleashed on him, shot after shot. It made me sick, it brought back the old memories of what I was forced to witness in the fight club Dr. Chan ran, surely no different from this one.
‘’Get the fuck off of him!’’ I shouted; but he didn’t listen. The music too loud, and the people too drunk to pay me any mind. Hoping over a small barrier, I approached the stage. This seemingly where I caught everyone’s attention.
‘’What the hell?’’
‘’Get the fucking faggot of the stage!’’
‘’I’m going to beat the shit out of his fuck!’’
Their words seemingly meaning nothing more. I approached the man, who quickly dropped his opponent. The man looked at me, it didn’t seem as if he wanted any trouble.
‘’What the hell are you doing to this guy?’’ I asked him.
The man was self reserved; not a hooligan by any means. ‘’I’m not doing nothing you wouldn’t do’’
‘’What the fuck does that mean?’’ I shot back.
‘’…It means I have a kid and a wife at home to feed’’ The man tells me, before shoving past me. I looked snapped around, as the man hopped off the stage and walked through the crowd, where he received pats on his back for his performance before their very eyes.
The guy had a point. It struck a nerve too. What made him fighting here, any different from what I did in the ring, in-front of fans wanting to see blood in the same manner? I don’t think there was much of a difference, but somewhere in my head, I managed to justify my situation. The cameras, the fame…there was purpose. I didn’t want to think about it anymore, and I wouldn’t have too…
‘’I am going to kick your fucking ass!’’ A guy shouts out, as he cuffs his sleeves back and prepares his fighting stance. The crowd eggs him on, as I shake my head in guilt, for I knew.
…I knew what I had to do to his fool.
--
‘’I’ll pay you each 100 bucks if you jump him, you got it?’’
I quickly paced down the street. It was a chilly night, but the winter was phasing out, and the spring brought warmth to some degrees. It was only ten minutes ago, in which I was kicked out of the fight club. It was for the better I supposed, I was nearly killed in there; but looking down at my fist, still dripping with blood, I knew I wasn’t the only one.
I had involved myself with the wrong people, and now I was paying the price for it. I could feel myself knee deep in shit, with not many venues to escape it. Rasslemania the biggest event in my life was rolling on by, and I could only think about what Brian and Jace Brown were planning to ruin the entire event. There was only one way, I wasn’t going to walk out with the APW world championship, and it isn’t up to Michael Lively.
-Flashback-
‘’…Did you just say you wanted to buy 10 tickets to the event, sir?’’ A young man standing behind a piece of glass says at the ticket booth. Brian Mc Phee casually looks up to the Rasslemaina five poster, with Level-One displayed upon it, as he nods his head.
‘’Wait’’ Jace Brown tells the young teen in response the young teen sighs. Jace Brown turns to Brian.
‘’You are positive you want to buy 10 tickets?’’ Jace brown asks, Brian.
‘’It comes up to about $1050 sir…’’ The kid adds on.
‘’Shut up!’’ Jace brown hisses towards the kid. The kid’s eyes dart down towards the counter. Brian runs his hands through his hair trying to keep his patience.
‘’Look, the more guys we got in here the better. Who the fuck cares about how much we have to pay? We need him taken out. We need insurance’’
‘’Yeah, but we can’t get the job done with 5 guys and cut our costs by half?’’ Jace brown pressures on. Brian grits his teeth and smacks the table.
‘’10 tickets, now’’
‘’Jeeze’’ The kid replies rolling his eyes, as he walks to the back to follow up on the order. Jace brown and Brian return along stare; before breaking out into their own frustration.
‘’You are fucking unbelievable, do you know that?’’ Brian says, shaking his head back and forth, as the scene comes to a fade.
-Present time-
I knew Rasslemania would be unpredictable. Unpredictable in the sense that Brian Mc Phee was looking for his final blow. His last stroke of genius to take me out once and for good. It was clear that he wanted to have full control of the city, and in just a few weeks; he already controlled a major club in the city.
I thought about countering his moves, but I figured it would only get me in deeper water. I could barely swim now. Each time I walked these streets the more I looked behind my back, so much in fact it left me a notch or two in my neck. I trust nobody, each person I pass, I watch them walk on by through the corner of my eye…
…I saw them coming.
‘’Ouch!’’ A lady calls out, as I bump into her shoulder, the force almost sending her to the ground. I take off down the street, running as fast as my legs are willing to carry me. I cross an intersection, as a car approaches me head on, the driver able to squeeze the breaks in time. I run directly into the car flipping over the hood landing on my back. The cold hard concrete enjoyed breaking my fall.
The men ran around the vehicle approaching me by my feet. Once reaches over grabbing me by my neck thrusting me into the car, where a woman opens up her door and bails, screaming at the top of her lungs. The man drove his knee into my ribs a few times, as his friends stood on by as assurance. Suddenly from the rear view two guys come to my aid, steel poles in hand. The attackers wanting no business with my defenders wasted no time taking off down the street. Before I knew it, I was picked up by my arms, and led to a limo across the street, as it disappeared into the darkness of the night.
What did they want with me?
The offering
The butt of the cigar lit up; with red and orange flames staring right back at me, as the smoke bellowed up in front of the man’s face, creating a cancerous mask. Two men sat on each side of me; the two men that virtually came to my aid. The men were all of Asian decent. They wore suites and were well groomed. Similar to the men Dr. Chan surrounded himself with.
‘’Who the hell are you?’’ I quizzed frantically, as the man simply took a deep drag of his cigar, treating me with no answers. Only after he was done calculating his approach did he begin to speak.
‘’My friend, let’s not get off on the wrong foot. I see problems; and I am only trying to help you solve them’’ The man assures me, returning a emotionless stare.
‘’If this has anything to do with Dr. Chan, you can shove this offer straight up your ass!’’ I shout towards him. The man simply cracks a slight smile, before leaning forward.
‘’Dr. Chan is apart of my family’’
‘’Then consider my ''no'' a final answer...’’ I tell him, as I reach for the door, the other two men seated hold me back.
‘’You don’t want to do this. My uncle is dead now, I am not your enemy’’ The man tells me, dumping his cigar through the crack of the window.
‘’I have enough enemies…’’ I hiss, as the man simply nods his head.
‘’This is why we must become friends. You see, there is a man by the name of Brian Mc Phee; and he had decided to stick his noise in our business, per say? You see, my uncle had a great business going on here…’’
‘’…It’s disgusting’’ I interrupt. The man closes his eyes, and lowers his head, raising a hand in protest.
‘’…And I want to keep it growing. Let it be known, that I have no problems with you, yes? I just want to protect my history. My bloodline. I cannot allow some American trash to control this city…’’
I knew what was coming up next. An offer to join them. To fight alongside them. I thought about it, but did I really have a choice? If they didn’t kill me at the decline of their offer, where could I go from here? If I had worked with this man, at least I could gain protection. Safety. An extra force to take down Brian Mc Phee and Jace brown, and realize the death grip they threatened the city with.
No doubt about it, I didn’t like this guy either. His history runs deep, so deep infact, you couldn’t trust him. Nor his lackeys. I wanted to turn these guys down, deep down I want to snap open the car door, and throw myself out, no matter the damage I would self inflict on myself. But another part of me wanted revenge. Felt trapped, as if this was my only way out…
No way out.
‘’…I’ll fight for you. Under one condition. After we are through with Brian Mc Phee and Jace Brown? I am out. You all leave me the fuck alone’’ I tell the man; who returns me a blank stare. The vehicle suddenly stopped, as he pointed towards the door.
‘’We are on the same page here’’ The man tells me.
‘’What’s your name?’’ I ask.
The man looks towards his men; as if they were supposed to give him an answer. He looked back at me, his mouth forming the words ‘’Mark’’
I simply reached over thrusting the car door open. My eyes darting towards my very own penthouse. I quickly snapped around, as the man waved to me.
‘’…Enjoy your time home’’
The door is shut, as the limo drives off vanishing through the dark. Quickly, I turn back towards my penthouse in disbelief.
‘’…How the fuck does he know where I live?’’
-Back in the vehicle=
The two men look at Mark Chan as he closes his eyes back and coasts his head against the limo interior head rests.
‘’Yeah, boss. That worked wonderfully’’ One man says; doing his best to suck up. The other one chiming in.
‘’How did you do it? How did you make him believe he was on our side?’’ The other one asks Mark. Mark Chan resting his eyes, slowly opens them now staring at the roof of the limo.
-Flash back-
Mark Chan is seen standing in-front a small group of druggies. Three of them to be exact. They all appear to be mid-aged, but that’s a simply a side effect from the drugs they’ve injected themselves daily. Mark Chan has rounded them all up, as he flips through each bill within the large wad of cash in his hand…
‘’I’ll pay you 100 bucks if you jump him right now…’’ Mark Chan says, pointing across the street; where Level-One is pacing himself down the side-walk.
-Back to real time-
‘’As long as we believe we our his friends…’’ Mark Chan says lifting his head up off the head seat looking directly at the two men. ‘’…The closer we are to owning this city once again’’
Slade Craven… Who the hell is Slade Craven, and why the FUCK is he in my ring in a main-event match? It appears to me as if there is a backstage booker with his thumb going in between his ass and his mouth, when it comes to feeding me some decent competition. Alright, so his name isn’t John Green, nor is it the Hardcore Kid, but at least they’ve wrestled a goddamn match or two. My first title match isn’t coming until Rasslemania five, yet these new bloods are handed the fucking world, with-out even paying their dues.
I supposed Slade Craven has been thrown on my plate, similar to a stick of bread, or a side dish of salad before the big meal. For I know the last thing, Jeff or anyone marketing genius wants, is some no named, no good piece of shit walking in beating not only The True Expert, but the number 1 contender for the APW world heavyweight championship, a few weeks before the big event. However, I guess they can count on me to get the job done.
You know, unlike Michael Lively, who couldn’t beat John Green in his main-event. The guy has become nothing but a liability to the credibility of the APW world heavyweight championship, and by god you must have the IQ of John Green/Fyre Angel love child to believe I would sit by and let some chump who’s been around for a week and half, walk over the next APW world champion. Slade, you may have gotten off pulling that shit in the place of your former employment, but this is the APW, not the WAW which lies beside the other feeder federations in some unmarked graveyard paved by wet horse shit.
You come in here, with your little faction, believing you’re just going to trample the competition here. Well, you might as well. Besides Michael Lively, there isn’t anyone who can break me a sweat. Understand however that the buck stops with me. Hurricane Jeff should’ve let you swander in the mid card a bit longer, because I am going to smash your fucking dreams of the grandeur, and I expect you to take your boys and hit the bricks, when you learn that you and your tag-a longs are no better than a defunct tag team championships.
Typical delusional shits, walking in a new promotion like they run the place. Well, I am going to acquaint you well with your position around this place for as long as you decide to stick around. Should you stick around, hopefully you respect the grace of the bottom of my fucking shoe. Because I don’t respect you, anymore than you respect yourself.
Your motives of coming to the APW to begin with is flawed. Sure, it’s easy to turn up a few lower card championships, with people like Carl Cage having the gull to call himself a champion, but when you’re dealing with me? You’re simply illiterate when it comes to this story. You decided to come to the APW, because I am here? The True Expert has graced the APW ring, and you believe that’s enough motivation to carry you, and two other nobodies over here with you?
Give me a fucking break. Sure, I’m half of what the APW is—but I’m not the entire thing, because the other half sucks. The other half consists of men like you; who while can talk a big game, simply cannot match it with in-ring talent. You came here simply to dethrone the True Expert. Simply because, you couldn’t do it in the circle of The Experts itself.
No invitations, with all the ego stroking, you couldn’t even blow a big enough load to break the top twenty. You can’t raise the attention in the eyes of Jesse Gunn, so you use the APW as a way to get to me. Well, it looks like you have your wish. Although, it’s not going to turn out just like you’ve planned.
I hear you’ve got something in store for me? Yeah, I’ll be waiting hoping that you’re finally the man who can back up the massive amounts of shit, and broken promises they make. I can expect to hear the typical shit squeezed out between your teeth. The broken threats, the already been debunked philosophies, and the good ol’ story of the underdog. It seems as if everyone who has emerged out of this cesspool of nothingness, have all read the same damn books on ‘’how to be a predictable wrestler’’. It’s a shame John Green can’t read, because he could only add onto his arsenal.
Despite stepping in the ring with the best in the world, you haven’t paid your dues—fuck the sales pitch hasn’t even got around to you yet. I’m not a fan of letting you new bloods run around, tossing you fodder competition to break you into the swing of things. Despite this being a waste of my time, you need to be taught a lesson. Your going to need to learn your position is pivotal around here; and you’re no different from the next rookie to walk through those doors; exit first.
So let me ask you this, kid. After I am doing re-arranging your face, do you stick around? Or do you hit the deck? To me, it seems as if you had already blown your load. You and your friends don’t have to worry about the APW going anywhere, because as long as I’m the cornerstone of this promotion? There is nowhere to go but up. I’m beyond the glass ceilings; I am atop of the entire world looking down. The question emerges…where the fuck is Slade Craven? I see the U.K. I see an obese America, and I just saw John Green sneeze and accidentally swallow Paris, but by god Slade Craven, you simply don’t pick up any signals on my radar.
In just a few weeks, I will be riding high on yet another big moment of my career when I win the APW world heavyweight championship for the first time. No matter what happens on this very night, no matter how bad I beat you, no matter what match you are thrown in at Rasslemania five, my title rein will over shadow you all. Each and every single one of you will be build up for something greater.
Slade Craven, you may preach otherwise but this is simply your stupidity talking. You and your friends run around here like it’s fucking 1999 with your backstage interviews, and your in-ring promos. You haven’t shown me shit; I haven’t been bored seeing before. So do I see you as a non- threat this Wednesday Night? Fuck yes. Why would I see you as anything else but causality for my greater cause?
I have zero respect for you; and you shouldn’t bet on that changing anytime soon. I am not here to put you the fuck over; I am not here to be some push-over to create a new star in the APW. To get where I am, you need to pick up your pace, you don’t understand how it feels to run a day in my shoes. You don’t know how it feels to be a target by every son of a bitch in this goddamn business trying to break into the status of a great. You know, they say to be the man you have to beat the man…
So enjoy being the bitch.
There is no beating me. You may have your own little strategies and a few sneaky moves in your arsenal, but how the fuck do you expect to pull these from out under your sleeve when MY agenda is to rip you limb for limb? I am going to Rasslemania in one piece, save your talk; do NOT tarnish your credibility by lying to an entire world in terms of your capabilities of beating me. This is NOT a game you can win.
But fuck, since we are done here let me ask you something before your opening up the big show two weeks from now. Level-One or Michael Lively?
Wait, I don’t give a fuck about what you think.
My impact…speaks louder than your words!
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What was that slade? We can’t hear you.
