Post by Michael Callahan on Apr 25, 2013 16:50:10 GMT -4
It's 2AM in the Estadio El Campin and all but everyone has checked into their hotels and started booking their flights for next weeks Overdrive, but in the medical bay the two exceptions to this rule pick up the pieces from the fallout of the last few weeks of Asylum. Stripped down to his combat pants, a shirtless Michael Callahan's chest is wrapped in a thick white bandage and that's just the most noticeable of his injuries diagnosed by his partner Dr. Saeed. As well as his chest, Callahan's right hand ring finger is smothered with wraps and Dr. Saeed has fitted him with a protective cast brace to support it until either it can heal or he has to take it off for his next match.
Dr. Saeed is understandably unimpressed with the extents of Callahan's injuries, especially in such a short amount of time. Having only debuted three episodes ago, Callahan's suffering the impacts and facing the hazards of his self-imposed “patriot of APW” job title. Producing a clipboard from the bottom of the bed Callahan's sitting on, Dr. Saeed reads from it to his patient.
“Well Mr. Callahan, if you had come to me sooner we might've been able to do more about your dislocated finger, dislocated shoulder, loose tooth and bruised ribs but frankly? You've left it too late. It's two in the morning. There's little I can do.” sternly explains Dr. Saeed in a matter of fact tone of speaking.
”I had no choice, Dr. Saeed. If I stuck around and got treated straight after the show Duvall would've still been here and there's nothing anyone could've done to protect me. I'm sorry to keep you up doc, but I had to do this to protect myself.” explained Michael as he apologised to the exasperated middle-aged doctor. Dr. Saeed sighed wearily, his classical education and natural humility rendering him unable to process the rationale behind the connection in physical combat and human pride.
“Just take my number and call me if you need any further attention Mr. Callahan. I can assure you that not everyone in this building is on the payroll of Alexander Duvall.” Dr. Saeed places a folded up piece of paper in Callahan's hands containing the good doctor's number, but Callahan is sceptical of the Saeed's sincerity.
”You are though... He's the general manager. I mean, he runs this show! He actually pays your wages.” disputes Callahan, picking up on Dr. Saeed's mistake.
“No, Michael. He doesn't. He runs the madhouse, but he does not draw the money in. My salary is paid for by those in attendance of our shows. They don't come to see Alexander Duvall, they come to see you, they come to see CJ Gates, they come to see A.C. Smith, and they come to see The Sindicate, even if that's only so they can see you tear them apart.” explains Dr. Saeed. He pulls open the door to the dark corridor. All of the lights are off and an eerie chill passes through the halls on this cold Bogota night.
“You want me to be well because without me, the show doesn't go on. Duvall is just the greedy bourgeoisie scumbag robbing proletariat me of my hard earned earnings and what I'm duly owed as a wrestling representative.” muses Callahan. Dr. Saeed nods in agreement.
“Exactly, and besides, not everyone trusts or likes Duvall and that no-good Felipe Deloren. For those who are on the fence? Well, convince them you're worth standing behind and they'll watch your back. We're a global company. Sticking our neck out for you isn't too much of a risk with so many staff on hand.” he assures him. He gestures him out through the door.
“I guess you're right. Thanks again Dr. Saeed.” says Michael as he steps out of Saaed's medical bay while buttoning up his shirt dishevelled white silk shirt, crumpled from falling off the doctors bed and to the floor below. Callahan walks away from the clinic but stops when the doctor calls out to him.
“Oh and Michael?” interrupts Saeed.
“Yeah?” Callahan whirls around to face him.
“Quit being stupid, will you? Come and get medical attention right away next time. Don't leave it as long as possible just because you're paranoid you're going to get jumped by Sindicate thugs. Leave it an hour tops. At least then I can get to bed at a sensible hour.” chuckles Saeed but with a chastising tone to his voice.
“I'm not promising anything. I might have to start self-medicating at this rate. I just... I CAN'T let them take me down. I can't. I got a lucky escape this week, I'm more hurt from getting knocked for six by Evan Envi and A.C. Smith but tonight could've gone a lot worse if I hadn't had the sense to duck Level One's monster clothesline-and” starts Callahan only to be cut off by a livid Saeed who interjects with a face flushed red like half a pack of cards.
“Don't be ridiculous! You're going to get yourself killed at this rate Mr. Callahan!” roars Saeed. Callahan opens his rucksack and pulls out the World Heavyweight Championship, still shining brilliantly even in the darkness of the dark hallway. He slings it over his shoulder.
“See this? This championship belt is the summation of my life efforts thus far Dr. Saeed. It's worth bruising for, it's worth bleeding for, it's worth breaking for, it's worth DYING for. Nothing will come between me and my world title. No amount of pain and suffering. This belt is all that stands between me and The Sindicate from taking complete control of Action Packed Wrestling and I CAN'T allow them to take it from me.” announces Callahan defiantly. Saeed opens his mouth to argue but the ruthlessly determined look on Callahan's face tells the doctor what he already knows. It's a total waste of both their time.
Without another word, Callahan silently tips an invisible to Saeed before turning and exiting the arena to go and make his flight arrangements with a local airfield rather than the Columbian international airport like everyone else. Sheer paranoia is setting in for Callahan but for now, he's not reached the depths of desperation and exasperation that we've seen him hit before. For now, everything remains stable but that will surely change as we get closer to Mayhem.
–
While the MegaStars of Action Packed Wrestling take their packed bags to El Dorado International Airport to be swamped and adored by Lady Columbia's excited fans, Michael Callahan drives twenty miles out of the city limits of Bogota in retreat to a private airfield located deep in the heart of Columbian wilderness. With designs to make his own private escape where he can't be followed by The Syndicate, he has paid a local taxi driver handsomely to ensure his safe delivery to the airstrip where rustic old hangars like so many forgotten cages rattle in the wind.
At four in the morning, the taxi arrives at the airstrip and drops Callahan off by the one open hanger out of five. As the car approached, the deafening sounds of sputtering rotor blades filled his ears making Callahan grit his teeth in total discomfort as he fumbled in his pockets for earplugs. The taxi driver climbs out and opens Callahan's door for him, allowing him to climb out and set his feet down onto the dirty, dusty ground the colour of rust beneath him.
”I can hear the plane... but I can't see it.” mused Callahan aloud just moments before the plane, a rustic looking light aircraft rolled out of the hanger and into the visibility of the APW World Champion. The shredded paintwork and the ambiguous functionality of the two machine guns bolted onto the plane did little to fill Callahan with confidence, but having already paid for his flight he thought it better to not offend these potentially dangerous people by wasting their time and his money.
“Hey, hey are you Meester Callihan!” calls a heavily accented Columbian English voice from behind him. Callahan turns to address the man confronting him and sees a young boy no older than eleven wearing a filth soaked olive vest with more stains than the cathedral glass manufacturer and a pair of dark brown shorts that carried matching markings to present the illusion that he was wearing desert camouflage.
“I am Rodrigo, Meester Callihan. My papa told me you fly to heavens with us today?” asked the little boy with eyes glowing like the lights on a Christmas tree, although odds are Rodrigo had probably never seen Christmas lights.
”Errrr... yeah. Let's go with that.” reluctantly agrees Callahan, puzzled by the curious choice of words. To someone as paranoid as Callahan, “fly to heaven” sounds awfully... well, ”suicidey”.
“I am big fan Meester Callihan. I try to save up all my money to come see Overdrive but I no get ticket. Too expensive. I so happy to see you though. So happy to see American Hero. I learn English from you. Look!” Rodrigo stops to clear his throat, then in his best American accent, “Sally, you are a herpe! You not good enough to beat American Hero!” Rodrigo beams with pride as he looks to Callahan for approval.
“That Rodrigo, is the best impression I've ever heard. You've got a knack for mocking Sally Talfourd. Do Level One.” encourages Callahan with a grin that matches that of his young fan.
Rodrigo ponders it for a moment. “Ummm... Level One, go back to Hollywoods USA, you do not belong in American wrestling ring!” he yells before falling apart with laughter at his own insult. Callahan knows it's the most inept thing he's ever heard and that Rodrigo is not destined to be the next Terry Marvin, but he's only eleven and damned if it wasn't funny to hear him try. Rodrigo turns towards the plane, the side door open with a man, presumably the boy's father beckoning them over. Callahan and Rodrigo continue their conversation as they make their way to the aircraft.
“One day, I want to be Colombian hero. Can you teach me how I can be hero?” asks the boy, heart-warming in his hopefulness to “learn”. Two months ago, Callahan would've ridiculed the little boy and waxed poetic about how heroism is something innate, American, genetic and pure. Fear has a funny way of affecting people though and rather than crush the boys dreams, he finds himself wanting to encourage and inspire. Callahan strokes his chin in contemplation and then fires a question.
”Do you do what your papa tells you to do when he asks you?”
“Uhuh.” says Rodrigo with a nod.
”Do you pray to God every day for strength?
“Yeah! Every day! I love God!” affirms Rodrigo, again with a nod and an enthusiastic thumbs up.
”And do you do put every effort into what you do, at all times, even when it's something you don't want to do? Do you try your best no matter what it is you have to do?”
“Yes! I try my hardest all the times! You can't be lazy in Colombia. Does this mean I can be Colombian hero one day?”
”Son, you already ARE an Colombian Hero. Being a hero isn't about the deeds you do, the belts you win, the matches you have. It's about the decisions you make and the ethic behind it. If you work hard enough, you can achieve ANYTHING. Don't you ever forget that son.” assures Callahan, with a brief speech that he hopes will impact that kids' life forever. Callahan throws his luggage into the back compartment of the plane as the pilot pulls out a spare helmet for him to wear on the flight. Strapping it on tight, Callahan feels right at home with fond memories of being deployed VIA helicopter into wartorn countries coming to mind.
No sooner are they all strapped in, Rodrigo's father takes the plane and turns it down the runway ready for take-off as Callahan braces himself for the bumpy ride ahead. The jagged, lumpy runway jerks and shakes the plane like a rumbling washing machine but the aircraft takes off without problem and soars slowly upwards as the sun rises in the distance. Callahan's breath catches in his throat as he sees the view below of miles upon miles of dense forest all culminating in the striking presence of Los Nevados peaks way in the distance. He doesn't hesitate to pull out his cell phone and snap the postcard worthy imagery, stunned into silence by Colombia's natural beauty as they journey into the horizon where Venezuela awaits them.
-
Sitting in the enormous empty cellar below the Leones de Caracas stadium in Venezuela, Michael Callahan tightly clutches onto a leaflet gifted to him by a short-sighted employee who didn't quite realise who she was promoting to until she looked up to see the face of her World Heavyweight Champion. In that instant, her face sank to the floor once again and she hurried to take the leaflet back but Callahan would not let go until she did. She turned and fled to go promote elsewhere, and to hide from Callahan but the damage had been done.
“Everybody's favourite APW cowboy is taking pictures and signing autographs at the Millennium Mall from two 'til five and will be taking pictures with his fans!”
”Everybody's... favourite.” sighs Callahan as he looks at the beaming face of the former Undisputed Champion grinning back at him like he's just an ordinary fan.
Michael Callahan doesn't get PR spots like this. He doesn't get much of PR spots at all. He just gets hassled at airports and has lettuce thrown at him for no properly explained reason other than sheer hatred. Michael appreciates that CJ Gates has earned his way into the hearts of the people, but it's still disheartening and unsettling to see how far he's going to have to go if he wants to emulate that. Gates came into the promotion with a clean slate and built himself from nothing into the champion of the masses. Callahan however has a legacy of violence behind him, meaning he'll have to overcompensate if he wishes to win over the people.
”Everybody's favourite. That's the problem, isn't it, CJ? You're everybody's favourite. You always have been. Always will be until the day you hang up your cowboy hat and spurs. You ARE a favourite, and not just any favourite CJ, THE favourite. You're in an illustrious club here at APW CJ. You're in the company of heroes, the upper echelon of the men and women who embody the spirit of the company and arguably the best of the bunch, because let's face it CJ? If your name isn't Sally Talfourd or Kurt Noble, there's nobody in this locker room that can touch you in the eyes of these fans. You're immortal to them... and I want that.”
”As some people may no doubt be aware, CJ Gates and I have a storied history. We've fought twice before in various out of APW contexts and as you might be surprised to hear? I won, both occasions, with straight victories. On the first incident, I wormed my way into CJ Gates' head in an attempt to convince him that his greatest allies, you fans, were his worst enemies. The second time? I did it out of resentment for the opportunities that he has been given. Not of envy but of pure loathing out of the injustices done to me by giving him his constant opportunities. Whether it be his wealthy background or the constant opportunities to earn titles, promote and spread his messages to the world, CJ Gates has had it all in this industry while I had to scratch and claw to get my way just this far...”
”And now, it's the third time the charm and it's here that I realise I've been wrong on two separate occasions. Firstly, I will admit that I am and have always been INCREDIBLY envious of what CJ Gates has. Not just his monetary wealth and his renown and his opportunities, but his stature and his esteem. Even as the premier brand in APW's World Heavyweight Champion, I feel intimidated by the fact I have to share a ring with the icon, the smiling face, the beacon of all the audiences expectations in this company and that is something I both desire and admire about CJ Gates. Secondly, I will raise my hand and say that I've had EXACTLY the same level of opportunities that CJ Gates has had but I have simply squandered them because I was more concerned with selfish endeavours rather than flying off the screens and delighting these people. Which is wrong.”
”What I will stand by however is the fact that CJ Gates' incredible relationship with our audience IS a problem as much as it is beneficial to him. While he can rely on them to give him constant support him no matter what, with that comes the immense pressure and responsibilities of being these people's “boy”. They expect him to come through for them. They expect him to triumph over the evil-doers and quite frankly? Lately, that's scarcely been the case. The pressure has become too much and the cracks are starting to show. Instead of CJ riding the momentum of the fans to a string of championship victories and a storied career, the horse is now riding the cowboy and those kind of burdens can't easily be adjusted to.”
”Both times CJ and I fought, I cared nought for what those people thought and for me? It took the pressure off. I wasn't out there competing for anyone but myself and with no expectations and no people to satisfy, I could do whatever I needed to do without shame and without remorse to get the job done. And believe me, I got the job done. I eliminated CJ Gates from the Experts Tournament, I beat CJ Gates in a CRW Charity Show. Now though? Things have changed. A lot of things have changed. I'm currently on the injured list with various fractures. I'm constantly on edge fearing the threat of being jumped by any number of Syndicate goons and of course I'm the World Heavyweight Champion. But y'know what's changed most of all? YOU have CJ Gates.”
”It's impossible to ignore CJ. You're changing. Without question. We all are in APW. That's part of what we do. But few are evolving quite as rapidly as you. You can see it in your eyes. Finally all of those beatings by Terry Marvin are making sense to you. After my match last week, I sat backstage in a panic room and I watched you face off with Kid Dynamo. I watched you go twelve rounds and even then, in a match which in the long run will almost certainly not be seen as your personal apex? You had that FIRE in your eyes. If you could've seen the look on your face when you hit that Market Crash, you'd swear blind you were watching somebody else compete. This isn't the CJ Gates we've spent a year watching get beat up. Oh no, this is something else entirely.”
”This is your prime CJ. You're back in the zone and y'know what? I think you'll be exhibiting a mean streak in these coming weeks. Like me, you realised things weren't working out the way you planned and you changed up and now things are swinging back your way. You're probably expecting me to mock you for cracking under pressure or for embracing this new passion inside of you that you've tried so hard to keep restrained, but y'know what? I'm not laughing. Kid Dynamo isn't laughing. I won't be laughing at you if you lose to me this week and I sure as Hell won't be laughing if you beat me to add yourself to the Mayhem Main Event.”
”Apparently I'm not the only wrestler on this roster who can repackage himself before heading on a big election campaign. Mark my words, your Kid Dynamo victory will be the first of many and win or lose? You'll be fighting for this strap before the year is out. If you're not holding it, I''ll be amazed, because with that fire back in your lungs you are almost duty bound to recapture that glory that you had when you were the Undisputed Champion for seven straight months. I have nothing but the greatest of admiration for your abilities CJ, and I mean that sincerely from the bottom of my heart. HOWEVER... I am going to put my foot down and let you know one simple thing.”
”Tonight will not be your night.”
”For the past few weeks, I've been up to my neck dealing with those filibustering philanderers Delikado and Level One. I've had to fight off very game challengers in the form of A.C. Smith and Evan Envi and I've had to nose dive head first into a show where the only experience I have of it's rosters is outer promotional affairs in war-torn countries. I've had nothing but bad news given to me since Overdrive and now I'm more determined than ever before to settle my business. The deck is stacked high against me at Mayhem when I defend my championship against Level One and Delikado in what is essentially a handicap match. Tonight, it's time things went MY way.”
”I'm not going out there to shut down a potential threat to my championship reign, I'm going out there to remind everyone one thing. That hey, I AM the World Heavyweight Champion. I AM Overdrive's top dog. Because some people seem to have have forgotten that. All they've seen so far since my debut on Overdrive me getting my head staved in by no-good crooks when I'm least able to defend myself. Blind-sided at every opportunity by jackals who want to rob me of what I rightfully earned rather than facing my challenges like men. We're better men than them CJ, and tonight I'm going to prove to you that I'm the best of them all. Your new passion, your new drive, your reinvigouration, it's all going to help you...”
”But tonight? I need this just that little bit more. I need to assert my place here and remind everybody exactly how and why I became World Champion, how I escalated to the top of the pack and to the highest office in all the land. I AM President Callahan, I AM Overdrive's Executive Power. I am no pawn. I am no puppet. I am no figure head. I AM the true power of APW, the voice of the people and the steward standing between The Syndicate and the liberties we enjoy as APW megastars. That's why I don't just want to beat you, I HAVE to. There simply is no other choice. I must go the extra mile and prove myself and that's what I'm going to do.”
”One day CJ, you and I will stand toe to toe in this ring and your time will come that if you're not taking my title away from me then you're taking away a hard-fought victory. Tonight is not that night. Tonight sets the tone for the future, so that everyone can see what the Callahan Administration has in stall. I won the race CJ, Callahan Callahan 2013 is in effect and I will use every asset in my nuclear arsenal to ensure the victory. There is nothing I won't do to hold onto what I've worked for. I'll scratch and claw just like I always have and PROVE myself to be the better man. That?! CJ Gates? That is a promise!”
Dr. Saeed is understandably unimpressed with the extents of Callahan's injuries, especially in such a short amount of time. Having only debuted three episodes ago, Callahan's suffering the impacts and facing the hazards of his self-imposed “patriot of APW” job title. Producing a clipboard from the bottom of the bed Callahan's sitting on, Dr. Saeed reads from it to his patient.
“Well Mr. Callahan, if you had come to me sooner we might've been able to do more about your dislocated finger, dislocated shoulder, loose tooth and bruised ribs but frankly? You've left it too late. It's two in the morning. There's little I can do.” sternly explains Dr. Saeed in a matter of fact tone of speaking.
”I had no choice, Dr. Saeed. If I stuck around and got treated straight after the show Duvall would've still been here and there's nothing anyone could've done to protect me. I'm sorry to keep you up doc, but I had to do this to protect myself.” explained Michael as he apologised to the exasperated middle-aged doctor. Dr. Saeed sighed wearily, his classical education and natural humility rendering him unable to process the rationale behind the connection in physical combat and human pride.
“Just take my number and call me if you need any further attention Mr. Callahan. I can assure you that not everyone in this building is on the payroll of Alexander Duvall.” Dr. Saeed places a folded up piece of paper in Callahan's hands containing the good doctor's number, but Callahan is sceptical of the Saeed's sincerity.
”You are though... He's the general manager. I mean, he runs this show! He actually pays your wages.” disputes Callahan, picking up on Dr. Saeed's mistake.
“No, Michael. He doesn't. He runs the madhouse, but he does not draw the money in. My salary is paid for by those in attendance of our shows. They don't come to see Alexander Duvall, they come to see you, they come to see CJ Gates, they come to see A.C. Smith, and they come to see The Sindicate, even if that's only so they can see you tear them apart.” explains Dr. Saeed. He pulls open the door to the dark corridor. All of the lights are off and an eerie chill passes through the halls on this cold Bogota night.
“You want me to be well because without me, the show doesn't go on. Duvall is just the greedy bourgeoisie scumbag robbing proletariat me of my hard earned earnings and what I'm duly owed as a wrestling representative.” muses Callahan. Dr. Saeed nods in agreement.
“Exactly, and besides, not everyone trusts or likes Duvall and that no-good Felipe Deloren. For those who are on the fence? Well, convince them you're worth standing behind and they'll watch your back. We're a global company. Sticking our neck out for you isn't too much of a risk with so many staff on hand.” he assures him. He gestures him out through the door.
“I guess you're right. Thanks again Dr. Saeed.” says Michael as he steps out of Saaed's medical bay while buttoning up his shirt dishevelled white silk shirt, crumpled from falling off the doctors bed and to the floor below. Callahan walks away from the clinic but stops when the doctor calls out to him.
“Oh and Michael?” interrupts Saeed.
“Yeah?” Callahan whirls around to face him.
“Quit being stupid, will you? Come and get medical attention right away next time. Don't leave it as long as possible just because you're paranoid you're going to get jumped by Sindicate thugs. Leave it an hour tops. At least then I can get to bed at a sensible hour.” chuckles Saeed but with a chastising tone to his voice.
“I'm not promising anything. I might have to start self-medicating at this rate. I just... I CAN'T let them take me down. I can't. I got a lucky escape this week, I'm more hurt from getting knocked for six by Evan Envi and A.C. Smith but tonight could've gone a lot worse if I hadn't had the sense to duck Level One's monster clothesline-and” starts Callahan only to be cut off by a livid Saeed who interjects with a face flushed red like half a pack of cards.
“Don't be ridiculous! You're going to get yourself killed at this rate Mr. Callahan!” roars Saeed. Callahan opens his rucksack and pulls out the World Heavyweight Championship, still shining brilliantly even in the darkness of the dark hallway. He slings it over his shoulder.
“See this? This championship belt is the summation of my life efforts thus far Dr. Saeed. It's worth bruising for, it's worth bleeding for, it's worth breaking for, it's worth DYING for. Nothing will come between me and my world title. No amount of pain and suffering. This belt is all that stands between me and The Sindicate from taking complete control of Action Packed Wrestling and I CAN'T allow them to take it from me.” announces Callahan defiantly. Saeed opens his mouth to argue but the ruthlessly determined look on Callahan's face tells the doctor what he already knows. It's a total waste of both their time.
Without another word, Callahan silently tips an invisible to Saeed before turning and exiting the arena to go and make his flight arrangements with a local airfield rather than the Columbian international airport like everyone else. Sheer paranoia is setting in for Callahan but for now, he's not reached the depths of desperation and exasperation that we've seen him hit before. For now, everything remains stable but that will surely change as we get closer to Mayhem.
–
While the MegaStars of Action Packed Wrestling take their packed bags to El Dorado International Airport to be swamped and adored by Lady Columbia's excited fans, Michael Callahan drives twenty miles out of the city limits of Bogota in retreat to a private airfield located deep in the heart of Columbian wilderness. With designs to make his own private escape where he can't be followed by The Syndicate, he has paid a local taxi driver handsomely to ensure his safe delivery to the airstrip where rustic old hangars like so many forgotten cages rattle in the wind.
At four in the morning, the taxi arrives at the airstrip and drops Callahan off by the one open hanger out of five. As the car approached, the deafening sounds of sputtering rotor blades filled his ears making Callahan grit his teeth in total discomfort as he fumbled in his pockets for earplugs. The taxi driver climbs out and opens Callahan's door for him, allowing him to climb out and set his feet down onto the dirty, dusty ground the colour of rust beneath him.
”I can hear the plane... but I can't see it.” mused Callahan aloud just moments before the plane, a rustic looking light aircraft rolled out of the hanger and into the visibility of the APW World Champion. The shredded paintwork and the ambiguous functionality of the two machine guns bolted onto the plane did little to fill Callahan with confidence, but having already paid for his flight he thought it better to not offend these potentially dangerous people by wasting their time and his money.
“Hey, hey are you Meester Callihan!” calls a heavily accented Columbian English voice from behind him. Callahan turns to address the man confronting him and sees a young boy no older than eleven wearing a filth soaked olive vest with more stains than the cathedral glass manufacturer and a pair of dark brown shorts that carried matching markings to present the illusion that he was wearing desert camouflage.
“I am Rodrigo, Meester Callihan. My papa told me you fly to heavens with us today?” asked the little boy with eyes glowing like the lights on a Christmas tree, although odds are Rodrigo had probably never seen Christmas lights.
”Errrr... yeah. Let's go with that.” reluctantly agrees Callahan, puzzled by the curious choice of words. To someone as paranoid as Callahan, “fly to heaven” sounds awfully... well, ”suicidey”.
“I am big fan Meester Callihan. I try to save up all my money to come see Overdrive but I no get ticket. Too expensive. I so happy to see you though. So happy to see American Hero. I learn English from you. Look!” Rodrigo stops to clear his throat, then in his best American accent, “Sally, you are a herpe! You not good enough to beat American Hero!” Rodrigo beams with pride as he looks to Callahan for approval.
“That Rodrigo, is the best impression I've ever heard. You've got a knack for mocking Sally Talfourd. Do Level One.” encourages Callahan with a grin that matches that of his young fan.
Rodrigo ponders it for a moment. “Ummm... Level One, go back to Hollywoods USA, you do not belong in American wrestling ring!” he yells before falling apart with laughter at his own insult. Callahan knows it's the most inept thing he's ever heard and that Rodrigo is not destined to be the next Terry Marvin, but he's only eleven and damned if it wasn't funny to hear him try. Rodrigo turns towards the plane, the side door open with a man, presumably the boy's father beckoning them over. Callahan and Rodrigo continue their conversation as they make their way to the aircraft.
“One day, I want to be Colombian hero. Can you teach me how I can be hero?” asks the boy, heart-warming in his hopefulness to “learn”. Two months ago, Callahan would've ridiculed the little boy and waxed poetic about how heroism is something innate, American, genetic and pure. Fear has a funny way of affecting people though and rather than crush the boys dreams, he finds himself wanting to encourage and inspire. Callahan strokes his chin in contemplation and then fires a question.
”Do you do what your papa tells you to do when he asks you?”
“Uhuh.” says Rodrigo with a nod.
”Do you pray to God every day for strength?
“Yeah! Every day! I love God!” affirms Rodrigo, again with a nod and an enthusiastic thumbs up.
”And do you do put every effort into what you do, at all times, even when it's something you don't want to do? Do you try your best no matter what it is you have to do?”
“Yes! I try my hardest all the times! You can't be lazy in Colombia. Does this mean I can be Colombian hero one day?”
”Son, you already ARE an Colombian Hero. Being a hero isn't about the deeds you do, the belts you win, the matches you have. It's about the decisions you make and the ethic behind it. If you work hard enough, you can achieve ANYTHING. Don't you ever forget that son.” assures Callahan, with a brief speech that he hopes will impact that kids' life forever. Callahan throws his luggage into the back compartment of the plane as the pilot pulls out a spare helmet for him to wear on the flight. Strapping it on tight, Callahan feels right at home with fond memories of being deployed VIA helicopter into wartorn countries coming to mind.
No sooner are they all strapped in, Rodrigo's father takes the plane and turns it down the runway ready for take-off as Callahan braces himself for the bumpy ride ahead. The jagged, lumpy runway jerks and shakes the plane like a rumbling washing machine but the aircraft takes off without problem and soars slowly upwards as the sun rises in the distance. Callahan's breath catches in his throat as he sees the view below of miles upon miles of dense forest all culminating in the striking presence of Los Nevados peaks way in the distance. He doesn't hesitate to pull out his cell phone and snap the postcard worthy imagery, stunned into silence by Colombia's natural beauty as they journey into the horizon where Venezuela awaits them.
-
Sitting in the enormous empty cellar below the Leones de Caracas stadium in Venezuela, Michael Callahan tightly clutches onto a leaflet gifted to him by a short-sighted employee who didn't quite realise who she was promoting to until she looked up to see the face of her World Heavyweight Champion. In that instant, her face sank to the floor once again and she hurried to take the leaflet back but Callahan would not let go until she did. She turned and fled to go promote elsewhere, and to hide from Callahan but the damage had been done.
~MEET AND GREET WITH APW MEGASTAR CJ GATES~
“Everybody's favourite APW cowboy is taking pictures and signing autographs at the Millennium Mall from two 'til five and will be taking pictures with his fans!”
”Everybody's... favourite.” sighs Callahan as he looks at the beaming face of the former Undisputed Champion grinning back at him like he's just an ordinary fan.
Michael Callahan doesn't get PR spots like this. He doesn't get much of PR spots at all. He just gets hassled at airports and has lettuce thrown at him for no properly explained reason other than sheer hatred. Michael appreciates that CJ Gates has earned his way into the hearts of the people, but it's still disheartening and unsettling to see how far he's going to have to go if he wants to emulate that. Gates came into the promotion with a clean slate and built himself from nothing into the champion of the masses. Callahan however has a legacy of violence behind him, meaning he'll have to overcompensate if he wishes to win over the people.
”Everybody's favourite. That's the problem, isn't it, CJ? You're everybody's favourite. You always have been. Always will be until the day you hang up your cowboy hat and spurs. You ARE a favourite, and not just any favourite CJ, THE favourite. You're in an illustrious club here at APW CJ. You're in the company of heroes, the upper echelon of the men and women who embody the spirit of the company and arguably the best of the bunch, because let's face it CJ? If your name isn't Sally Talfourd or Kurt Noble, there's nobody in this locker room that can touch you in the eyes of these fans. You're immortal to them... and I want that.”
”As some people may no doubt be aware, CJ Gates and I have a storied history. We've fought twice before in various out of APW contexts and as you might be surprised to hear? I won, both occasions, with straight victories. On the first incident, I wormed my way into CJ Gates' head in an attempt to convince him that his greatest allies, you fans, were his worst enemies. The second time? I did it out of resentment for the opportunities that he has been given. Not of envy but of pure loathing out of the injustices done to me by giving him his constant opportunities. Whether it be his wealthy background or the constant opportunities to earn titles, promote and spread his messages to the world, CJ Gates has had it all in this industry while I had to scratch and claw to get my way just this far...”
”And now, it's the third time the charm and it's here that I realise I've been wrong on two separate occasions. Firstly, I will admit that I am and have always been INCREDIBLY envious of what CJ Gates has. Not just his monetary wealth and his renown and his opportunities, but his stature and his esteem. Even as the premier brand in APW's World Heavyweight Champion, I feel intimidated by the fact I have to share a ring with the icon, the smiling face, the beacon of all the audiences expectations in this company and that is something I both desire and admire about CJ Gates. Secondly, I will raise my hand and say that I've had EXACTLY the same level of opportunities that CJ Gates has had but I have simply squandered them because I was more concerned with selfish endeavours rather than flying off the screens and delighting these people. Which is wrong.”
”What I will stand by however is the fact that CJ Gates' incredible relationship with our audience IS a problem as much as it is beneficial to him. While he can rely on them to give him constant support him no matter what, with that comes the immense pressure and responsibilities of being these people's “boy”. They expect him to come through for them. They expect him to triumph over the evil-doers and quite frankly? Lately, that's scarcely been the case. The pressure has become too much and the cracks are starting to show. Instead of CJ riding the momentum of the fans to a string of championship victories and a storied career, the horse is now riding the cowboy and those kind of burdens can't easily be adjusted to.”
”Both times CJ and I fought, I cared nought for what those people thought and for me? It took the pressure off. I wasn't out there competing for anyone but myself and with no expectations and no people to satisfy, I could do whatever I needed to do without shame and without remorse to get the job done. And believe me, I got the job done. I eliminated CJ Gates from the Experts Tournament, I beat CJ Gates in a CRW Charity Show. Now though? Things have changed. A lot of things have changed. I'm currently on the injured list with various fractures. I'm constantly on edge fearing the threat of being jumped by any number of Syndicate goons and of course I'm the World Heavyweight Champion. But y'know what's changed most of all? YOU have CJ Gates.”
”It's impossible to ignore CJ. You're changing. Without question. We all are in APW. That's part of what we do. But few are evolving quite as rapidly as you. You can see it in your eyes. Finally all of those beatings by Terry Marvin are making sense to you. After my match last week, I sat backstage in a panic room and I watched you face off with Kid Dynamo. I watched you go twelve rounds and even then, in a match which in the long run will almost certainly not be seen as your personal apex? You had that FIRE in your eyes. If you could've seen the look on your face when you hit that Market Crash, you'd swear blind you were watching somebody else compete. This isn't the CJ Gates we've spent a year watching get beat up. Oh no, this is something else entirely.”
”This is your prime CJ. You're back in the zone and y'know what? I think you'll be exhibiting a mean streak in these coming weeks. Like me, you realised things weren't working out the way you planned and you changed up and now things are swinging back your way. You're probably expecting me to mock you for cracking under pressure or for embracing this new passion inside of you that you've tried so hard to keep restrained, but y'know what? I'm not laughing. Kid Dynamo isn't laughing. I won't be laughing at you if you lose to me this week and I sure as Hell won't be laughing if you beat me to add yourself to the Mayhem Main Event.”
”Apparently I'm not the only wrestler on this roster who can repackage himself before heading on a big election campaign. Mark my words, your Kid Dynamo victory will be the first of many and win or lose? You'll be fighting for this strap before the year is out. If you're not holding it, I''ll be amazed, because with that fire back in your lungs you are almost duty bound to recapture that glory that you had when you were the Undisputed Champion for seven straight months. I have nothing but the greatest of admiration for your abilities CJ, and I mean that sincerely from the bottom of my heart. HOWEVER... I am going to put my foot down and let you know one simple thing.”
”Tonight will not be your night.”
”For the past few weeks, I've been up to my neck dealing with those filibustering philanderers Delikado and Level One. I've had to fight off very game challengers in the form of A.C. Smith and Evan Envi and I've had to nose dive head first into a show where the only experience I have of it's rosters is outer promotional affairs in war-torn countries. I've had nothing but bad news given to me since Overdrive and now I'm more determined than ever before to settle my business. The deck is stacked high against me at Mayhem when I defend my championship against Level One and Delikado in what is essentially a handicap match. Tonight, it's time things went MY way.”
”I'm not going out there to shut down a potential threat to my championship reign, I'm going out there to remind everyone one thing. That hey, I AM the World Heavyweight Champion. I AM Overdrive's top dog. Because some people seem to have have forgotten that. All they've seen so far since my debut on Overdrive me getting my head staved in by no-good crooks when I'm least able to defend myself. Blind-sided at every opportunity by jackals who want to rob me of what I rightfully earned rather than facing my challenges like men. We're better men than them CJ, and tonight I'm going to prove to you that I'm the best of them all. Your new passion, your new drive, your reinvigouration, it's all going to help you...”
”But tonight? I need this just that little bit more. I need to assert my place here and remind everybody exactly how and why I became World Champion, how I escalated to the top of the pack and to the highest office in all the land. I AM President Callahan, I AM Overdrive's Executive Power. I am no pawn. I am no puppet. I am no figure head. I AM the true power of APW, the voice of the people and the steward standing between The Syndicate and the liberties we enjoy as APW megastars. That's why I don't just want to beat you, I HAVE to. There simply is no other choice. I must go the extra mile and prove myself and that's what I'm going to do.”
”One day CJ, you and I will stand toe to toe in this ring and your time will come that if you're not taking my title away from me then you're taking away a hard-fought victory. Tonight is not that night. Tonight sets the tone for the future, so that everyone can see what the Callahan Administration has in stall. I won the race CJ, Callahan Callahan 2013 is in effect and I will use every asset in my nuclear arsenal to ensure the victory. There is nothing I won't do to hold onto what I've worked for. I'll scratch and claw just like I always have and PROVE myself to be the better man. That?! CJ Gates? That is a promise!”
