''One's'' Flames of the inferno (Part III)

[Level-Two]

‘’One’s’’ Flames of the inferno (Part III)

''Burn the motherfucking machine''- Level-One

A letter to my SENATOR

You want mayhem, Jeff?

You have turned me back into a beast again. You have allowed me to walk in the direction in which I have RAN to escape from. And now these hands are vowing to pull me back down with them, back into that dark cess-pool, back into a dark place I have been hiding from, because I know all about the monster I have and can become.

Yet, you don’t care. Whatever makes you money short term right? You’re sitting back with your feet kicked up, just praying your golden boy Pence Weatherlight steps up to the plate, your hoping that John Green becomes world champion again—anything that brings you ratings, and the APW excitement right? If you are willing to trade all that in; for a short term fix, then go ahead. You make sure Pence Weatherlight is well rested up, nice and chiseled, ready to be step up to the plate. You make sure John Green has his head on straight, you sway the tide to roll in the favor of the man who emerged the APW first ever world heavyweight champion, and hope he doesn’t kill the APW in five minutes, like he did Rasslemania four.

If you want me Jeff; then what about the other guys…you know they can do with-out me. You know they rather see me leave, then stay—they rather see me die in my match against Crazyman, because then they can be number one. See, Jeff. There is NO other way to the end of my title rein. Either I step down, because the powers that be knock me over, or I vanish from the picture forever, and one of your fodders assumes their role as the head of the APW.

See, I maybe here in spirit—but I am done being here for you physically Jeff. I am DONE going out of my way to make you money, I am DONE going out of my way to making sure your roster performs to the best of their ability.

The motivational tour is fucking done and over with, stick a fork in it.

I’m going to stick a fork in you too, right between those money making eyes. Cancel the match, leave me along with my world championship, or else.

P.S- Mr. Senator.

You suck.

Who needs one when you got two-three-and four?

‘’You see the end before you realize the beginning’’ –Level-One

If there was anyone you could depend on; it would be Level-One. He spent countless hours in the gym perfecting his craft off camera; because he knew that each week he would need to show up and perform to the best of his ability. And when he wasn’t training, he was allowing the cameras to synch their teeth into a piece of his life; one in which they’d chew up, spit out, and then feed it to his enemies just looking for a whole in his game to exploit. It wasn’t about winning championships and having successes within his home federation…

It was about being an icon.

If there was anything anyone could ever learn from him, it’s that things don’t come easy. Thousands upon thousands of wrestlers became world champions in their own federations; but how many are willing to step out of their boundaries of their home grown federation; and face a world of harsh realities that surrounds the wrestling industry as a whole? You ask yourself ‘’how did Level-One come to gain the success he has?’’ and than you look to yourself, and learn right then and there, you simply aren’t doing enough.

There was a time in Level-One’s career; where he couldn’t wait to step in the ring to wrestle a match, and now he’s at the point where another match; is more than a chore than anything. The cycles are endless, his rivals all appear to be the same, the politicking, the bullshit, the countless uttering of the same sentences over and over—when would their words finally result into action? The men he would surround himself in the ring with this Sunday, all they could do is talk. And talk. And talk some more until you can’t bare to listen to their ranting and raving, any longer.

Tonight had marked a revolution. No longer was he, you, or anyone other fan of this business, stand around accepting this shit any longer. No longer would we listen to your feeble threats, your empty promises, and their non-sensical ranting. See, no longer was Level-One going to do anything for the establishment—the same establishment that gave him John Green, Jason Royce as prospects in which he sought to help and guide; but the system will NEVER be rewired. It can’t be fixed, it needs to be DESTORYED.

You thought you could depend on your world champion? You thought you could depend on the ratings, the hype, everything else he brought you, wrapped up in a nice pretty pattern—and tied together with a knot in a pretty little bow?

He isn’t even here; he isn’t even here to narrate this shit for you! According to the system; they don’t need Level-One. He isn’t a champion, he isn’t the best…Pence Weatherlight, John Green, Jason Royce—THESE are YOUR heroes. These are the PEOPLE who will carry this business through hell and back, according to the system.

…you don’t need Level-One anymore.

‘’Where is he?’’ A camera man asked; standing on the set of a promo shoot that had been scheduled for Level-One. ‘’It’s go time in five minutes, and we can’t mess this up. Jeff will kill us all if we don’t make this happen!’’ the camera man shouted fearing for his job.

Today was the day, Level-One—never showed up.

---

The life he once knew

It’s been awhile since I have gotten away. You sell your freedom with this business; you sign it away the minute you sign with a major promotion; so when I found me in the bathroom cleaning myself up, for a coffee-date, you’d be their watching me too. Joyous. Nonetheless, finally I could escape it all, you know? Feel like one of those human beings for once; I feel like a totally different animal these days.

I met Patricia Lewis a few weeks ago, outside the funeral gates where her uncle was shot and killed. I was convinced that I was untouchable after all the assassinations attempts that had piled up against me; though it played a huge psychological role on my mental state, it had me looking behind me back every so often…

I turn my head and refocus on the mirror.

Today though, today I was going to escape everything. The promo I would have to shoot in regards to my match with Jason Royce, John Green, and Pence Weatherlight in a glorified clusterfuck. I would escape the realities of my life; which has been ridden with bullet wholes—you can pretty much see through it all now. I would forget about my family, I would forget Brian, and Jace, the fight clubs—I’d put out all those flames that have been eating me alive. I’d ignore the burns; I’d pretend it all didn’t happen…

…Your right, I can’t escape shit.

I run my hand across my chest; a large scar aligning it—sets of scars, and scrapes and rough bumps mark my body. It aches, it’s sore—the road is getting to me slowly. I know I have still a few years left; but of this shit? I’m not sure if I can last anymore than a month. If Pence, John, and Jason knew any better—they’d do me a favor and take the title from me—and heal me of my wounds. But I know better; the competitive spirit will live on in me, until it kills my body. Pence, John, and Jason—aren’t worth the gold plating on my title; it was a duty. It was something I NEEDED to protect from the evils that tried to snake its grubby hands around it, I’d suck it up, even if it kills me.

Shit, the date—I’m late. I get carried away when I think about my career; wait until you hear about my accomplishments.

---

I arrived ten minutes late, but Patricia didn’t mind as she coaxed back in her seat, listening to music. I knew very little about Patricia, but she was different from some of the other women I had met. For whatever reason, a piece of her—reminded her of me, which scared me more than enticed me to be quite honest. You know what I am all about, if you’ve ever turned on the television—biased media is exciting media, and everyone eats it all up, with no regard for spilling shit on their chin.

I took a seat in-front of her, she didn’t notice me when I had walked in; and looked up at me as I sat down in-front of her. She removed the head-phones off her ears and shut off her I-pod, she smiled and placed her forearms over the table ‘’Sorry I’m late’’ I said to her, she merely shrugs her shoulders.

‘’Sorry about what?’’ Patricia asks. ‘’I just got here two minutes before you to be quite honest’’ she says, her tone, as serious as ever. ‘’You know, for the past week, I have been bragging to all my friends that I know you’’

‘’I’m hardly anything to brag about…’’ I lied.

‘’Are you kidding me!?’’ Patricia counters enthusiastically. ‘’…Your only like the best wrestler in the world’’ she teases.

‘’You know, I’d like to think I am more than just a good wrestler’’ I replied as a waitress comes up to us; we order the same thing, and she heads off. ‘’You know, more than just the guy whom beats people up for blood thirsty crowds, who demand nothing more than your best, every single night…’’

‘’Ouch’’ Patricia said ‘’Well, you know—that’s why we’re here today, to learn a bit more about each-other on a personal level’’ She says, she did have a point. I mean, that’s what dates are for. ‘’So if there’s more to you behind your bad-ass exterior, and successful wrestling career, what is it?’’

I looked up at her; Patricia got me. I stumbled, I was startled, who am I?

After a few moments of awkward silence on my end, Patricia took the lead. ‘’Well, I’m 21—still in college, I want to be an entrepreneur’’ she said, but I didn’t hear all of it, I started zoning out, I wanted to answer the question she had asked me. ‘’…and I’m single’’ she says, it’s the only thing I had heard of her speech.

‘’Your single?’’ I shoot back; she nods her head perplexed.

‘’So now that Y’know, I took the lead, tell me something about you. I know there is something beneath that exterior of yours’’

She asked me again, and you know what? I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know who I was. Really, besides my career what do I have? My family is non-exisistant, the only thing holding us up; is the pile of rebel our broken emotions had piled up too. My friends, what friends? There hasn’t been a single person I had ever met that had stabbed me in the back, yet I was inviting a new person into my life—for it to happen all over again. The truth was, wrestling was ALL I had left, and she made me realize it. I don’t know how long I have been zoning out of reality, especially as I begin to envision those flames again—not here, not now…

‘’Level?’’ She asks, her voice shaking with a hint of nervousness. ‘’Is everything alright with you?’’ She concerns herself, picking up her drink, taking a long sip of coffee.

‘’Oh, call me Lester…’’ I said stumbling along, shaking the flames out of my head. ‘’And yes, everything is…fine, with me. I’m okay’’ I said, finally facing the truth.

‘’Patricia…perhaps that’s all I am. Perhaps, the only thing I got is wrestling’’

Patricia had raised her eyebrow. ‘’You mean, the only thing you got going for you is a wrestling career? I’m sure a chick like me passes you by on the road on weekly basis. And family? You have a family don’t you?’’

I avoided the question. ‘’You know in the back of my head, all I could think about is my match this weekend with John Green, Jason Royce, and Pence Weatherlight?’’

‘’You’re kidding me right? Glad to see I reached your thought radar’’ Patricia says sarcastically, equipped with a sassy eye-roll.

‘’No, please don’t get me wrong’’ I countered before she got any angrier. ‘’This date, I have been looking forward to it—I mean, it’s out of the ring. Away from the business—away from everything, just you and I, you know?’’

She shakes her head. ‘’No, I don’t. Have you ever thought to yourself that maybe the reason you can’t avoid the wrestling business, because that’s all you have become over the past few years?’’ Patricia asks me, I look up to her; she was intelligent, and she commanded attention.

‘’Face it, you are here with me, and I’m enjoying myself. But you have been so consumed with wrestling, you’ve lost yourself’’

I didn’t lose myself!

‘’I know this is hard to take, and you can hate me for it all you want—but you need to take it easy, you need to step away from the spotlight’’

‘’I can’t stop wrestling…’’ I blurt out.

‘’Nobody told you to stop’’ Patricia reminds me. ‘’I am just saying you should step back a bit, find yourself, and then return, and don’t put your heart into it the way you have’’

I don’t think she understood the physics of wrestling. You either put all your heart in a match or none at all. It’s why guys like John Green, Jason Royce, and Pence Weatherlight, could never accomplish what I had. Skill brings you far; it brings you very far, but heart—that extra beat, that extra push, that’s what determines the winner when times get tough, and wrestling matches get too close for comfort.

‘’I’m sorry, Patricia’’ I said standing up to my feet. Patricia looked up at me, she knew me—she knew me better than I probably knew myself.

‘’Let me guess, you have a promo to shoot?’’ Patricia asks, sighing as she gather her purse. ‘’Well, it was fun for the time you had written me off for, should I grab a number next time?’’ She says, giving me a verbal beat down.

‘’No, wait’’ I said, taking a seat back on the chair. ‘’Let’s get out of here and have some fun’’ I challenged her, myself, hell I couldn’t believe it.

I knew Jeff was going to have a fit.

I smiled.

---

U-robot

The system knows what YOU like. The system determines between what’s good, and what’s bad. What’s wrong, and what’s right. The system controls the way we think, and it distorts our perception of what is truly reality. The system has only ONE goal, TO SELL. Systematically speaking, Level-One has a one and three chance on retaining his world heavyweight title and Mayhem. This is what has been sold, that anyone can win this match. But here’s where the system is faulty. Jason Royce, fucking sucks. He is a joke, and he can’t wrestle to save his own life—so are you going to tell us that Jason Royce actually stands a chance in the fatal four match? Why even include him in it? Jason Royce is a marking tool, a mere selling point, and he’s too stupid, dumb, and ignorant to notice.

Jason is a cannon fodder. A seed of doubt planted in the minds of millions; there to push the iffs, and the countless story of the underdog, beating all odds, and reining above the APW as world heavyweight champion. It’s there so when you eating chips, drinking beer, you can point as say, ‘’what if he wins?’’ before bursting out into uncontrollable laughter for raising an impossible option, with zero basis of reality. Jason Royce is given a pot to piss in; just to show that someone actually appreciates him, around here. God knows that with Level-One no longer carrying him through any sort of success, or decency, Jason Royce will slowly fall off the face of the earth, and assume his position in the APW as a jobber there to put people over on their debut matches.

See, the system gives these people illusions. Illusions that everyone can rein supreme and be the top dog, but what this system fails to calculate is that fact that there is only ONE top dog. So when it signs your pre-printed contracts, with your humane rights revoked, and feeds you money—much less then you will end up putting back into the system, it’s also giving you false hopes, and empty promises. We are given the illusion that ANYONE can shine at ANYTIME but it’s just not true. It comes down to skill, dedication, and performance—not some fucking statistic or simple math.

Jason Royce has been lied to. Jason Royce has been deceived, mis-guided, and will find himself pumping his veins with steroids, or painting himself with a new gimmick, or maybe a gay name change in hopes that he would be taken seriously, but image means nothing unless you’re looking through the eyes of the machine. Jason Royce has been promised a chance at success; but his raw ability or there lack of will always be inferior; and he will never reach the glass ceiling, he isn’t aware one even exists.

And so he comes out, week after week. Preaching his systematically taught bullshit on how to sell a match, how to shoot a promo. Jason Royce had been taught every week to walk out to the ring, and bash his opponent; claim he is the greatest wrestler in the APW roster—knowing full well he’d lose, and go no where. This soon became a vicious cycle, and now listening to a Jason Royce promo, is liking reading non-fiction, you can’t take any of it serious the entire thing is fucking made up. Hell, with a Jason Royce promo, you don’t even know it’s there, because not one person finds themselves looking for it—the system repeats itself, over, and over, and over again.

Jason Royce is nothing more than a whipping post; a cannon fodder who is just there to cover space. A fatal four match sounds more enticing than a triple threat match in the eyes of the machine. The machine has built up three stars regardless of personal animosity between them; Jason Royce is merely the man who takes the bullet. The man whom is pinned to savior any credibility of the systems top three; they don’t make money off Royce—they build and keep stars standing off the foundations of his last name, how does he feel about this? He’s simply too slow, too stupid, and too ignorant to even heed these words, and so—he fits this role perfectly. Oblivious to how the system works, and continues to give it what it wants to survive.

Pence Weatherlight isn’t in the same boat; but he still rows it with the same paddle. Pence Weatherlight believes he can talk through the system. He believes he can sit in-front of the camera, and ramble for three hours, failing to take a breath the whole way through, because he believes that’s what the system wants. He believes that if he does that; this will equate to success. That someone will take him seriously, that he’d be handed a world title in the near future.

He takes a look to past successes. The BDC’S of the world, and remembers what made him successful, what made the fans worship him and take him seriously, giving him the extra push which mounted to success. And so, he mimics this. Little does he know, people actually wanted to hear what BDC had to say, they wanted to see how Shadow Man was going to clown his next opponent; they want to HEAR the venom that Level-One spits on a daily basis, yet—the got Pence Weatherlight. A mumbling, ranting, and raving buffoon who is driving an large amount of shit talk with-out a license to carry, nor dump upon million upon millions of ears.

See, these guys have EARNT their right to talk that much. They have shown that they can back everything they say up, in the ring when push comes to shove. This is what makes them different from you; this is what makes Level-One credible, and Pence Weatherlight, not so much. It’s been a month, and he already walks around like he owns the show. He thinks he knows what it takes to win. But that massive amount of non-sensical bullshit he spilt all over his chin; while it may make the system happy, in the eyes of people who matter—it all doesn’t matter. Not when Level-One walks in the way he walked out; World heavyweight champion.

He maybe able to push insane amounts of endless dialogue; the question is though, how will Pence Weatherlight fair against the best wrestler in the world? No microphone to wield, no nameless manager to peddle your balls for you—to make you look a big, and bad, a big fire sputter—a man that everyone should fear. Your million dollar contracts; your month upon month, main-event spree—how will that help you, when he drives his first right through your forehead; and feels no brain? You can shove the glitz and glam straight up your ass, and shit it out through your mouth in the morning, because he will NOT stand for this systematical peddling bullshit.

A owner whom through you in the main-event week after week to justify your entry into an contender ship match. It seems as if, President Jeff has given up on Level-One, it seems like if the system no longer needs the world champion, and now they’re ready to stack the deck against him to see through that their golden boy, who has been built up with advertising and promotion since day one, over throws the current APW world heavyweight champion.

Well, fuck you and the system.

The truth is; weather Level-One retains or not—not a damn thing would be proven. We all know due to the lack of heart, talent, and skill nature has avoided passing over to Jason Royce, he’ll take the pin. The system will come up with an excuse for why Pence Weatherlight lost, and then he’ll go around saying it until his face turned blue. According to Pence Weatherlight, when summing through transcripts, which nearly broke the search engine for how fucking long and drawn out it all is; it turns out Pence Weatherlight blames his first debut loss against Level-One based on the fact Jason Royce got him purposely disqualified. It was all a conspiracy according to Pence; as to why Level-One walked away that night, with his unbeatable record and winning streak still fully intact.

Not that fact that he is the best wrestler alive. Not the fact that he’s accomplished more than Pence has in a single day that he had in his entire career, nor the fact that he is the APW world champion, simply because he puts the value back into the belt, since Michael Lively fucked it all away. See, because these systematic products are only meant to build THEMSELVES up, not sell reality, nor things that hold substance. Excuses save credibility.

What Pence doesn’t know is that Level-One has heard it ALL before. Do some research. There isn’t a single person who he has crossed in the APW who has acknowledged the fact that everyone whom he came cross claimed that they were superior to him. Some people had the audacity to do it not once, but TWICE. This is because the system feeds no doubt into the mind of their product, it’s too busy reminding them about their golden opportunity, and their chance to finally be something—than to fully realize that their goals are unsustainable when Level-One is standing atop of the mountain, you’ve been trying to climb. And through all this, he remains unbeaten. A perfect 17-0 and swept the world championship up on the way to the top.

History repeats itself, so listen to it again, you piece of shit.

YOU WILL NOT WIN!

You see a weak Level-One? Move right on in. If Pence Weatherlight knew anything about his competitor he would know that Level-One never wrestles the same match. He would know that Level-One is innovative, Level-One doesn’t follow the new hottest trend, he sets the examples, he determines the trend—because when people want success, the mimic him, and in some cases, it all works out for them—he’s glad to help you out. Level-One is a chameleon; molding his colors to better fit his environment, and when dealing with Pence, he’s best described as looking like wall paper. Bland, boring, and tiring…

So, please for the love god kid, shut the hell up, and get your rank up. Level-One is two minutes away from ripping that system’s mother board right out of your fucking back and freeing you back into a world of reality. He’s been helping Jason Royce and John Green for the past two months; but it appears as if Pence Weatherlight himself is need of the most help, he cant’ see past his delusions…he’s blocked out the screams and testimonials of people who simply couldn’t stack up me, with his own fucking voice…

At mayhem; Level-One is removing that circuit board within you, you systematical, over hyped, under talented piece of shit.

Level-One is going to free you.

You know who else needs to be freed? Do you know someone else who needs to be released from their chains? John Green. A man who has been bound within the realms of RETARDATION since birth. A man who just speaks; speaks with-out knowing what the hell he stands for, what he’s about, or what he’s even doing. Sure, its interesting to see how he contradicts himself week after week—but that can’t be good for the system. The system cannot have a conflict of interest; the system needs to sell itself, to promote its persona, to determine who he hates, who he likes, but John Green forgets what the system had taught him.

A few years ago, he was doing the soulja boy dance in the middle of hall ways in between losing matches, then he wore suites, and started to use big words, apparently he had found a dictionary lying around. After the suites; he became a world champion, then a jobber, and now he’s here a vying for a world championship once again, but the system is fucking fed up with his combustible pussy, trying to come across any type of dick it can fuck. John Green has no long time vision; he has no far sights, pathetic ambitions. Two months ago, he was all about the Overdrive championship, and when he fucked that over, he found himself in the mix of a world title race; and now he’s all about the world title. John Green gets whatever he can get; and that’s why he sold out Level-One.

See but all along Level-One was going to give John Green what he thought he wanted, a world title shot, one on one, man to man. But then, he watched as Level-One got viciously assaulted, stood by with his thumb in his ass, and his index finger up his nose, embezzled by his own stupidity, he did nothing to help him, and then tried to apologize for it afterwards. It could’ve been Level-One vs. John Green, but John Green’s inability to understand the system is held within, has held him back for months now, and until he realizes he isn’t shit but a glorified number 1 contender, until some other Extreme Wrestling Corporation douchebag decides to jump ship and takes his spot on the roster, and assumes his role, as being second to the world heavyweight champion.

John Green continually bitches, whines and moans about him becoming a world champion, and how much he wants it all—yet he’s playing video games with kids, and signing T-shirts for charity, smiling, laughing playing wrestling games; trying to somehow associate the name ‘’Level-One’’ with the old dreaded, pathetic, over used, video game references. You can jerk your joy stick, tap those buttons, and directional pad your ass straight back home then, because you don’t BELONG in a world title match with a priority complex like that.

Still, Level-One sees promise with John Green. With a little guidance he can see him going places; one day being a very serious contender for the world heavyweight championship, when Level-One decides he no longer wants it anymore. But there is one problem; John Green had been given his chance already, and he traded it in for a title match. He believes he’s ready, he believes that he doesn’t need Level-One anymore, and he’s cut his ties.

This is why John Green will NEVER be shit. When he loses this title match, and vanishes out of the world title picture, he will know it’s because Level-One has shafted him out. He left him on the other side of the grass, where it isn’t so greet. He had brought him into the title picture along with Jason Royce; he had GIVEN this to him….

Just to take it away again.

For the system has been taking from him since he stepped foot in this industry. You’re probably asking, what exactly is this system I’m talking about? Well, then your just too stupid to understand the references now, aren’t you? He loves wrestling…

…he just hates the business…

…the politics…

He hates all of you.

---

There we sat on an empty ride; sneaking into the city fair that had just opened up due to the nice weather that came just a bit early, blame it on global warming, or some shit. The ride spun around in circle, as we sat together, my arm wrapped around her shoulder, as I stare out into space.

‘’Hey, what are you thinking about?’’

I looked at her

‘’Nothing, tonight’s been fun’’

No promo. No shoots. Not a single mention of wrestling, out loud that is. I was fighting for myself from here on out.

Period.