Post by Tritch on Mar 10, 2014 2:13:44 GMT -4
"Get back in the ring you fucking idiot."
His voice echoes in my ear, standing right next to me on the apron, his hands outstretched as if to ask me what the fuck I was doing. Jack throws another haymaker, but I thrust my arm up just in time, stopping his momentum dead and delivering a stiff jab to his jaw, staggering him.
"Are you mental? GET IN THE RING!"
He was screaming at me now. His vile expression made me want to puke. I didn’t want him out here. He was becoming more of a burden than safety net. In fact, I didn’t want him around at all any more. I hated him. Once again…
I hated Brandon Garcia. And this time, he was just a hallucination. A figment of my imagination, plaguing me for the past several months.
But I obliged his pleas, stepping through the ropes. Not for him. Not because he told me to. Because I wanted to win. I wanted to win Survive & Conquer. And more importantly, I wanted to embarrass Jack Benevolence.
So I rushed him, blocking Santelmo out of my head. I grabbed his arm, pushed him against the ropes and whipped him toward the other side. And everything slowed down, Garcia’s shit-eating grin on full blast.
Sweat fell slowly past my eyes, and my breath evened out. I took a couple steps after him, following the once and future king close behind as my momentum carried him across the ring. He spun, rebounding, just as I took a step off the ground and pulled my arm back. For a second, I through I heard the crowd cheer.
Not because they wanted me to win. Because they wanted him to lose.
And he came barreling back at me as I leaped into the air, thrusting my arm forward with all my strength, and connecting a Superman right in the middle of his face, with all my force. I saw his eyes glaze over; his pupils disappear. He staggered back and the force of my punch actually carried him all the way over the ropes.
…to the floor. I won. I was going to the finals.
I beat Jack Benevolence.
My music played, my hand was raised, and his limp body was sprawled out at the base of ramp. Garcia slinked away through the crowd, grinning at me. I hoped he wouldn’t come back. Jack began to stir, and I rushed to the floor, making sure I was right next to him as he was helped to his feet.
Garcia’s shit-eating grin plastered my face this time, as I stood just a couple of feet away from the longest reigning True Expert in history. And as he lashes out, I begin the trek up the ramp backwards, chuckling at him, laughing in his face.
He was defeated. And I knew he wouldn’t let it slide.
I was counting on it.
It was my first time in Legacy Plaza since my record-breaking victory in the short-lived 2013 Extreme Tournament. I beat Ron Rufio in four seconds flat. He wasn’t a respected athlete, but when you beat someone in four seconds it doesn’t matter who they are, you make yourself known. As if I need to be any more know.
The hallways were dimly lit. It didn’t see as much foot traffic as it used to. The Experts was all but a fading memory. Its prestigious companies were closing their doors faster than its final tournament fell apart. First it was TFWF, and if the TFWF couldn’t make it… things didn’t look good for the others.
Now all that was left was Phoenix Wrestling and my home, Sin City. And the Legacy Plaza? It was simply a building dedicated to the history of the most world renown wrestling company in history. The Experts might be dead, but its history would live on forever.
And that’s why I was here, in this specific hallway. Everyone has a bucket list, a group of people they’d love to get in the ring with. But everyone knows they barely come to fruition.
Me on the other hand? I would stop at nothing until I checked off all three names.
I came across the first poster on the wall, well… the first one I cared about. Two True Experts titles to his name, he was one of the most dominant True Experts in history. Granted, he didn’t have the record for most title victories, but the man who did was a shell of his former self. And I don’t give a shit about beating corpses.
The picture was of a man named Lester Only. A man I hoped would one day answer my call. With APW’s doors closing, it will be difficult to track him down. But I will stop at nothing until I get him one-on-one, and my hand is raised high above his fallen body.
I smirked, moving forward down the hallway, past other insignificant posters, until I came across the second that piqued my interest. It was a man I had already had quarrels with in the past. He helped one of my enemies defeat me through mind games, and I was not one to let that slide.
The face donning this poster belonged to Douglas Fresh, the final True Expert. With all this talk about retirement being thrown around, he worried me for a second. But I have the utmost belief that he will defeat Flade and keep his career on track, and I have faith that he would not be opposed to granting my wish.
Which brings me to the third poster, and quite frankly the most important, because there isn’t a person in this industry who doesn’t cringe at the mere whisper of his name. They get chills when they think about him; they get butterflies if their name is across the card from his.
But not me. I punched him in the face expecting retaliation. I hit him so hard that I knew my name would be across from his in due time. And now that it is? I’m going to be able to cross the first name off my list.
The picture belonged to the longest reigning True Expert in history, the once and future king… Jack Benevolence.
And on March 29th, I would get my revenge.
There was a never-ending supply of wrestlers in this industry. I had faced well over a hundred of them. I had beaten well over half of all the ones I’d faced. And there were always more. I could wrestle anyone, beat anyone, and my career would just keep going.
But there were those names that, if I beat them, would elevate me to the next level. That’s why I had set my eyes on Evan Envi. He’s one of the best in the industry to never hold the main gold. That’s why I’m going to destroy everyone in the SureShot Ladder Match, because it’s filled with names like Specter, Cyclone, and Gryphon.
And that’s why I’m going to dethrone the Once and Future King. There is no one in this industry whose name means as much as Benevolence. And one day, the name Rex Evans will be right there alongside of it.
What Jack did to me last year only makes this that much sweeter.
The Warden Jack… he broke Rex Evans. He destroyed the Code Red Con. He is the true creator of the Loose Cannon. Because when he trapped me in that prison, that hell on Earth, something happened to me.
You see my friend Rick, he asked me to promise that I wouldn’t change in there. I guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t make that promise. Because I’m broken, and I don’t think there’s any hiding it any more.
So on March 29th I’m going to step into the ring with one of the best in the business and I’m going to bring him back down to earth. I’m going to break his ribs, I’m going to punch him in the face, and I’m going to defeat him.
I’m going to cement MYSELF… as the Future King.
His voice echoes in my ear, standing right next to me on the apron, his hands outstretched as if to ask me what the fuck I was doing. Jack throws another haymaker, but I thrust my arm up just in time, stopping his momentum dead and delivering a stiff jab to his jaw, staggering him.
"Are you mental? GET IN THE RING!"
He was screaming at me now. His vile expression made me want to puke. I didn’t want him out here. He was becoming more of a burden than safety net. In fact, I didn’t want him around at all any more. I hated him. Once again…
I hated Brandon Garcia. And this time, he was just a hallucination. A figment of my imagination, plaguing me for the past several months.
But I obliged his pleas, stepping through the ropes. Not for him. Not because he told me to. Because I wanted to win. I wanted to win Survive & Conquer. And more importantly, I wanted to embarrass Jack Benevolence.
So I rushed him, blocking Santelmo out of my head. I grabbed his arm, pushed him against the ropes and whipped him toward the other side. And everything slowed down, Garcia’s shit-eating grin on full blast.
Sweat fell slowly past my eyes, and my breath evened out. I took a couple steps after him, following the once and future king close behind as my momentum carried him across the ring. He spun, rebounding, just as I took a step off the ground and pulled my arm back. For a second, I through I heard the crowd cheer.
Not because they wanted me to win. Because they wanted him to lose.
And he came barreling back at me as I leaped into the air, thrusting my arm forward with all my strength, and connecting a Superman right in the middle of his face, with all my force. I saw his eyes glaze over; his pupils disappear. He staggered back and the force of my punch actually carried him all the way over the ropes.
…to the floor. I won. I was going to the finals.
I beat Jack Benevolence.
My music played, my hand was raised, and his limp body was sprawled out at the base of ramp. Garcia slinked away through the crowd, grinning at me. I hoped he wouldn’t come back. Jack began to stir, and I rushed to the floor, making sure I was right next to him as he was helped to his feet.
Garcia’s shit-eating grin plastered my face this time, as I stood just a couple of feet away from the longest reigning True Expert in history. And as he lashes out, I begin the trek up the ramp backwards, chuckling at him, laughing in his face.
He was defeated. And I knew he wouldn’t let it slide.
I was counting on it.
August 31st, 2013
Siberian Prison Complex
One of the coldest places on Earth, and here I was, standing on a snow covered gravel path, in just a pair of jeans and wrestling boots. I had a pack of cigarettes tucked into my left boot, and in the other was a pack of matches and something more… dangerous. Something I promised myself I’d never touch the entire year I was in prison.
But where I was going wasn’t like where I had been. The men who tried to take my life in New York were like schoolyard bullies compared to the men I’d see in here. I knew that. So I came prepared. I knew that I wouldn’t be afforded the luxuries of warmth or a good meal, so I hadn’t eaten in over a week, and I was standing in the brisk Siberian air without so much as an undershirt.
I wanted them to see who I was as soon as I walked in. I wanted them to see the scars on my body, to see the scars on my face. I wanted them so see exactly who I was, so that they would know I wouldn’t be so easily scared.
But I was scared.
“Promise me you won’t lose yourself,” his voice echoed in my head. “Promise me you’ll come back the same man!”
I didn’t afford him a response. I simply pressed my fingernails into the palms of my hands and gritted my teeth, walking through the barbed wire fences and armed guards, and entered the prison.
Would I ever be the same again?
It was my first time in Legacy Plaza since my record-breaking victory in the short-lived 2013 Extreme Tournament. I beat Ron Rufio in four seconds flat. He wasn’t a respected athlete, but when you beat someone in four seconds it doesn’t matter who they are, you make yourself known. As if I need to be any more know.
The hallways were dimly lit. It didn’t see as much foot traffic as it used to. The Experts was all but a fading memory. Its prestigious companies were closing their doors faster than its final tournament fell apart. First it was TFWF, and if the TFWF couldn’t make it… things didn’t look good for the others.
Now all that was left was Phoenix Wrestling and my home, Sin City. And the Legacy Plaza? It was simply a building dedicated to the history of the most world renown wrestling company in history. The Experts might be dead, but its history would live on forever.
And that’s why I was here, in this specific hallway. Everyone has a bucket list, a group of people they’d love to get in the ring with. But everyone knows they barely come to fruition.
Me on the other hand? I would stop at nothing until I checked off all three names.
I came across the first poster on the wall, well… the first one I cared about. Two True Experts titles to his name, he was one of the most dominant True Experts in history. Granted, he didn’t have the record for most title victories, but the man who did was a shell of his former self. And I don’t give a shit about beating corpses.
The picture was of a man named Lester Only. A man I hoped would one day answer my call. With APW’s doors closing, it will be difficult to track him down. But I will stop at nothing until I get him one-on-one, and my hand is raised high above his fallen body.
I smirked, moving forward down the hallway, past other insignificant posters, until I came across the second that piqued my interest. It was a man I had already had quarrels with in the past. He helped one of my enemies defeat me through mind games, and I was not one to let that slide.
The face donning this poster belonged to Douglas Fresh, the final True Expert. With all this talk about retirement being thrown around, he worried me for a second. But I have the utmost belief that he will defeat Flade and keep his career on track, and I have faith that he would not be opposed to granting my wish.
Which brings me to the third poster, and quite frankly the most important, because there isn’t a person in this industry who doesn’t cringe at the mere whisper of his name. They get chills when they think about him; they get butterflies if their name is across the card from his.
But not me. I punched him in the face expecting retaliation. I hit him so hard that I knew my name would be across from his in due time. And now that it is? I’m going to be able to cross the first name off my list.
The picture belonged to the longest reigning True Expert in history, the once and future king… Jack Benevolence.
And on March 29th, I would get my revenge.
September 3rd, 2013
Siberian Prison Complex
The prison was just as cold as the rumors said they were. The ground, covered in frozen dirt and mud, made for a hardened bed. But the worst part was the screams. They echoed at any point in the day, and round the clock, never ceasing.
In most of the cells there was a man, emaciated and cowering in the corner, mumbling to himself or screaming. The cream rose to the top, just like in any prison. They got what they wanted, and often by force. But there was on cell that was different than the rest.
Because one cell housed a man who fought back. Every day, when the gigantic Russian men would come knocking on his bars, he was ready. He fought them off with a little piece of wood, sharpened at the end. And when he lost it, leaving it lodged in the forearm of one particular brute, his hands and feet sufficed.
And now, his cell was filled grunting, and the chant of an increasing number.
“447. 448. 449.”
“красный осужденный (Krasnyy Osuzhdennyy)!” a loud voice screamed from outside his cell door. It was the name the grew to dub him, after only three short days in the prison. It was a name that elicited fear in the most feared criminals within the complex’s walls.
The man inside finally became visible. He was upside down, hanging by his legs from a pole near the ceiling. He grabbed the bar with his hands and flipped down to his feet. The moonlight cast shadows around the room, but made his features even more frightening.
He looked deathly skinny, like he hadn’t eaten in days, and was covered in scratches and bruises. But his muscles glistened beneath the sweat that covered them, and he looked incredibly ripped. Reaching down, he removed something from his boot. A flame sparked within the cell, and the man lit a cigarette before turning toward the bars.
“I have news,” the guard snarled at the man in the cell, as he lifted his gun and pointed inside. The figure pressed on unfazed, and leaned against his arms hoisted above his head on the bars. A thick, mangled beard covered the bottom half of his face, and an unfamiliar look plagued his eyes, but as the cherry on the end of his cigarette sparked his face became apparent for the first time. It was indeed ‘The Code Red Con’ Rex Evans. He didn’t speak, just stared down the barrel of the gun, right into the eyes of the guard.
“The Warden Jack, have cancelled this tournament. All the Amerikans have been locked out. You are all alone,” something flickered in Rex’s eyes. The guard laughed, but Rex didn’t understand why. He inhaled deeply and then dropped his arms.
“So open the gate, let me out. I’ll leave in peace,” he stated plainly, grabbing a piece of bloody cloth from the ground and wiping his forehead with it. The guard continued to laugh, which sent a chill down Rex’s spine.
“Mister Evans, you can leave when The Warden Jack say you can leave, mudak,” he went back to laughing, turning a walking away. Rex rushed to the bars. “Kooshi govno ee oomree!”
“No! Come back! Let me out!” He screamed after him, shaking the bars violently… to no avail.
There was a never-ending supply of wrestlers in this industry. I had faced well over a hundred of them. I had beaten well over half of all the ones I’d faced. And there were always more. I could wrestle anyone, beat anyone, and my career would just keep going.
But there were those names that, if I beat them, would elevate me to the next level. That’s why I had set my eyes on Evan Envi. He’s one of the best in the industry to never hold the main gold. That’s why I’m going to destroy everyone in the SureShot Ladder Match, because it’s filled with names like Specter, Cyclone, and Gryphon.
And that’s why I’m going to dethrone the Once and Future King. There is no one in this industry whose name means as much as Benevolence. And one day, the name Rex Evans will be right there alongside of it.
What Jack did to me last year only makes this that much sweeter.
The Warden Jack… he broke Rex Evans. He destroyed the Code Red Con. He is the true creator of the Loose Cannon. Because when he trapped me in that prison, that hell on Earth, something happened to me.
You see my friend Rick, he asked me to promise that I wouldn’t change in there. I guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t make that promise. Because I’m broken, and I don’t think there’s any hiding it any more.
So on March 29th I’m going to step into the ring with one of the best in the business and I’m going to bring him back down to earth. I’m going to break his ribs, I’m going to punch him in the face, and I’m going to defeat him.
I’m going to cement MYSELF… as the Future King.
March 5th, 2013
Siberian Prison Complex
It’s been two days. Forty-eight grueling hours since Rex discovered that there was no purpose for him being held there any more. He was no longer the ferocious animal that struck fear in the hearts of fearsome criminals. Now he was just another prisoner, huddled in the corner.
He didn’t know how long he would be there. He didn’t know if he’d see his beloved Alexandria again, or his friends, or, even he stabbed him in the back, he didn’t know if he’d ever again see… Tommy.
He was muttering nonsense beneath his breath, mud was rubbed on his face, and a tear slid down his cheek. The hunger was getting to him; the fear was getting to him. He was starting to break. The guards laughed at him whenever they passed. But then something strange happened. In their eyes, he was just talking to himself. But to him?
They can’t keep me here.
They can’t keep me here.
I have to get out of here.
I have to get out of here.
“Look at how pathetic you are,” a voice rang out from across my cell. I could see anyone, my eyes darting from corner to corner. Who was it? Another Russian here to kill me? Perhaps I shouldn’t fight it. “How far the might have fallen.”
I recognized his voice. It wasn’t Russian at all, not even European. It was American. Who was in my cell?
I moved my head to the left slightly, changing the fall of the moonlight. A cigar was lit in the corner, and the faint sound of puffing hits his ears. Who was there? I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
“Jesus kid, you look like shit,” he poked his head out of the shadows, stepping forward. The first thing I saw was a fur coat, and my heart sank slightly. But then… the shit-eating grin came into the light and I lost all hope.
How was he here? The prison was locked. No one could enter. No one could leave. So how?
How was Brandon Garcia in my cell?
No one knew he was talking to. No one knew what was going on with him. But for the next two days, the man they feared came back in force. He was completely broken, he completely snapped. He became an animal.
He broke their bones. He broke their spirits. He snapped their necks. He fought tooth and claw. He wore their blood as an accessory. And whoever it was, whoever he was seeing in that broken mind of his, he was egging him on. He was pushing him, training him.
He was molding a beast.
And one day, that beast would destroy whoever it was that trapped him here.
One day, that beast would get his revenge.
