''Ones'' Power struggle from within (2)

[Level-Two]

''Ones'' Power struggle from within (2)

A dinner with a special girl and a special guest

The world tour had ended a little earlier then I expected and I knew there would be a consequence of some sort to come with my actions but that meant very little too me. I may look bad in the eyes of a few sleaze ball promoters who care less about their talent and more about their monthly pay-per-view sales but I much like most of them had important people in my life to intend too. Wait. Scratch that. I had an important person to tend too...

I -owe- her that much. She like any other women had grown close too felt the cold shaft of my career. I can't tell you how many dates I have had to cancel because a match, press conference or any other business related to my career sprung up and even when we did share our time together it was compromised with a couple of phone calls. And through all this, she stood by my side—she took all the disappointment I had thrown upon her and she never -once- let it outweigh the good we had.

I can't help but think back to the day I left her to hop onto the tour bus. I realized that even though I had the strength to say ''enough is enough'' a bigger part of me was dedicated to this business—so much so, I found it hard to admit. If Mr. Blackburn was the business man I knew he was, he'd do anything to get me on board with yet another deal of some sort and it wasn't something I could guarantee I could turn down.

Some people are addicted to chocolate, more are addicted to alcohol and drugs are practically a given in career like mine. I wasn't blowing coke of a strippers torso but I, like an addict, I had my problems. They say you can be addicted to anything and I don't doubt that is the fact. Most people see this business as a career; a few that end up going nowhere even see it as little as a hobby, but for me—it was a way of life. I'm addicted to the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I march down the ramp. I'm addicted to hearing the music break sound barriers through the speaker as it struggles to drown out the boos from the crowd. Fuck, I love this shit.

There is no rehab. No, not for this. You can take the man out of the fight but not the fight out of the man. My way of thinking was split into two. Imagine a television screen with me, beating the shit out of a punching bag, roaring that primal roar, as I eagerly wait to be let out of my cage to devour the soul daring to tests his wits in the same ring with me moments away. Then imagine the other guy on the other side, your Slade Craven. Sitting down, reading a fucking book—listening to music, ranting off about his holidays showing little to no respect for the battlefield he'll wage war on. That's where I am right now...

Apart of me wants to sit here all night and drill my game plan into my head until I can act it out step by step and systematically pick Slade Craven apart. The other half of me, knows I have a life to live outside the ring. I may not be in my warrior mindset and it may not be the best way to prepare for a match but it's something that I'll have to begin to live with. If it's anything -any- of my opponents have over me...

It's their sanity. Fuck it. Let them have it.

I'm not perfect and if anyone knows that; it's Patricia Lewis. For one hour, I'd put wrestling to the side. I turned off my phone and cleared my head. I realized I had been five minutes late but if I know Patricia it's that she'll never have a problem waiting for me.

If you knew me it's that -everything- had to be the best. I wasn't materialistic nor did I spend most of my money, but if I was going to spend it would have to be a quality purchase. So the restaurant had been upscale and stood on the highest mountain. I hadn't been one to wear a suit often unless it was to impress the lady. I never understood the point of wearing a suit to a wrestling event, who the fuck cares about how a few inbred fucks think about you anyways, right?

The restaurant was pretty full. The men all wore tuxedos and individuality really didn't stick out. However the women inside the place wore long expensive dresses and they didn't -dare- to look similar—that'd break a law or something. Females were the hardest creatures to understand. What the fuck do you mean you love me but you hate me? Eh, it's a famous line an old girlfriend use to spout off about, forget it.

And then... there she was. Patricia Lewis smiled which I had seen coming a mile away. I walked over to her table as she greeted me with a hug. Her hair was done up, I couldn't describe it. She wore a black dress that clinched to her skin and hugged her curves. She expelled any old tales about the black dress adding extra pounds. We took a seat as waiter quickly made his way to the table. I hated this part. A stake, a coke. She took her order, I didn't bother to keep up with it, and she ordered a class of whine on the side. It put me back a few extra bucks, but hey, it was a special night—live large.

''It's great to finally spend sometime with you. You know how the entire career thing goes...'' I started off the nights conversation as the waiter walked off taking our orders to chefs. Patricia drew a sip of water before smilingly gently.

''I'm just glad you've decided to come back. I guess tonight, all I can do is hope you don't decide to leave anytime soon?''

''I doubt, I'll be getting any more world tours for a long while now...'' I stated. In away, it hit me—it was a once in a life time offer and could've done wonders for me. I looked up at Patricia and it reminded me about why I was still here. ''I don't regret it though'' I added.

''Good'' Patricia said sure of her stance. ''To tell you the honest truth by day three I began to miss you'' Patricia teased to which I offered her a smile in return.

''Well, it could've been worse'' I stated casually before glancing around the restaurant. I hadn't really gotten the time to scope the place out and I was glad I did. The scenery had an 80's antique feel to it and if the food was half as good, I'd sure come here more often.

''You know this business really kicks your ass. It takes the life right out of you. I don't think I could've made those six months with or without you...'' I noted. Patricia Lewis played with her hair, tossing a large strand back behind her ear.

''And I thought college was hard'' Patricia said offering up a wink with her eye. ''Speaking of which. I have a friend on Campus who is moving in her new suite sometime this week. I know your busy, but do you think me, you and her can get together and help her move in?'' Patricia asked me to which I rolled my eyes.

''Huge let down'' I expressed as Patricia looked on playfully confused. ''I swore you were stammering up an offer for a threesome'' I said throwing the possibility out there. What? A champions got get laid too, right? Patricia laughed and slapped me playfully on my shoulder.

''I'm being serious'' She said half convincing, as she was still laughing. I sighed and shrugged my shoulders.

''Well, I have match coming up this weekend...'' I said, clearly trying to get out of it. Well, shit—it was against Slade Craven. I could get away with skipping a training day, plus, I owed it to her. ''Well... why not. Where is your friend moving too?'' I asked. Patricia's eyes had opened wide.

''That's the catch. My friend is actually moving into your apartment complex'' Patricia added. Fuck, it really was a small world.

''Really? That's a crazy coincidence'' I could only add not thinking much of it. ''I guess it only makes it logical you ask me to help out, huh?'' I tossed in.

''Yeah. When she told me she was moving into that apartment, I wondered how she came about that cash. I'm guessing a relative of some sort had passed away. Whatever it was, the girl practically has it made'' Patricia said with a hint of envy in her voice.

''Well, think about it this way. Your on a date with a professional wrestling star, hell, the best in the business and your in school getting an education, I never had. I'd say, life is working out pretty good for you...''

''I've come a long way from arson and watching fire fights'' Patricia sarcastically adds. She often didn't talk about her fascination for fire—but it was a sign that she was beginning to let me in that much deeper. ''Hey, Lester... I'm going to go to the bathroom, please excuse me'' Patricia stated standing up to her feet abruptly.

''Sure. Hopefully by the time you get back the food is here. I want some grub'' I impatiently stated as Patricia walked by me, she planted a kiss on the cheek, the end of her purse bumping into my shoulder as she walked off and disappeared to the bathroom.

I found myself sitting at the table alone with my eyes wandering around the restaurant. It was awkward sitting here alone, swimming in my own silence. The other costumers who had just walked in must think I am a loser sitting here by myself. I looked at my watch, I only wore one because it suited my attire, goddamn it, what is taking these chefs so long to cook the food? My thoughts were wild and really stepped up a notch when I looked up, and saw a women sitting in the chair...

Only it wasn't Patricia.

''What in the fucking world are you doing here?'' I said nearly falling out my chair. On the other side of the table sat Kayla Rose, my ex girlfriend.

''Well, I was just going shopping with a few of my girls'' She stated, pointing to them as they stand outside the window. There was four of them, all whom were smiling and waving at me—they were pretty, the Hollywood type of girls you'd find on a reality television show, dumb as a bag of rocks.

''I saw you through the window and I couldn't help but stop in and say hi'' Kayla Rose said with a smile drawn wide upon her face. I admit, I was still a sucker for her beauty. She was more then attractive.

''I appreciate that but I'm sort of busy right now...'' I told Kayla before looking in the direction of the bathroom. Still, no sign of Patricia—it was actually a good thing.

''So who are you with?''

''Excuse me?'' I questioned clearly caught off guard.

''Who are you here with?'' She emphasized the question once again. By now the waiter had came with our meals as he placed my food in-front of me.

''One for the man'' He said before shifting his tray to the opposite hand as he grabbed the second plate and placed it down in-front of Kayla

''And one for the...'' The waiter stopped dead in his tracks as he looked at Kayla befuddled and then back at me. I smiled at Kayla and with my two fingers, I singled for the waiter as he ducked his ear in front of my mouth.

''Don't even ask...'' I said, slipping him a pre-service tip. Little did I know, I put myself a hundred bucks down. Damn it. The waiter taking his more then gracious tip, simply looked straight ahead and walked off in the direction in which he came.

''Sorry about that...'' I apologized before realizing that Patricia would be back any moment now. ''I'm here with someone, it's a kinda a, you know... one of those things?'' I stumbled about. Kayla nodded her head up and down as if she beginning to understand me...

''A business date?'' Kayla asked as she looked away, distracted by her friends tapping on the window as they called her name. It disturbed a few of the other consumers but they showed little to no respect for the well paying patrons.

''Yeah, something like that...''I had shot out quickly. Kayla Rose nodded her head as she quickly stood up from the chair.

''Well, it's good to see you again. I'll see you around?'' Kayla enquired as she stood up, and began to run towards the door, tip toeing in her high heels, before joining her girls outside the restaurant. She flirtatiously blew me a kiss as her and her entourage made their way down the street.

''Man, I'm getting way to fucking old for this...'' I said as I lowered my head towards the table and drew a deep breath. Looking back up, Patricia was sitting in her seat placing her purse beside her feet.

''Hey, is everything alright with you, babe?'' Patricia showed concern. I shook my head free and forced out a fake smile as I nodded my head up and down.

''Oh, yeah... everything is just fine. In fact, this night couldn't have been better...'' I muttered out, trying to find my bearings. ''And look, we even got our food...'' I said pointing at our food as Patricia Lewis stared up at me. Oh, crap. Maybe she realized something IS really up?

She simply smiled and laughed.

''You look like as if you just saw a ghost''

''Yeah, a ghost... something like that''

A ghost of a dark past.

---

A new neighbour next door to hell

Moving out is always a stressful thing to do. I remember the time I moved out into my own apartment at the age of eighteen; it was a sobering change. The only catch was I had nothing to move out and nothing to move in. The apartment was empty and the best thing to come of it is that I didn't have to pay moving fees. I remember sleeping on the hardware floor in two sweaters because the floor was equivalent to that of an ice rink, solid and ice cold.

Naturally people do not like change. It's scary, it has an element of unknown to it—that induces a risk factor. Those who take risks and gamble often didn't have a problem with change (no pun intended) for some people change occurred so often that it was actually normal. I had undergone a huge change; from an old empty apartment to a large penthouse in the most expensive building in the entire city, looking out that window you felt as if you were on the top of the world.

The change was hard to adjust too; but it's perhaps the best thing that had ever happened too. At times, it seems like a curse. A match doesn't go your way or your on the other end of an ass kicking by the bitch that is life—it's a tough pill to swallow, I find myself chewing the on idea alone. Today though, I was going to help Patricia and one of her friends move into her apartment suite—which just so happened to be in the same building I had been living in. It was an odd occurrence but given that the girl in question had more money then she could really do with it—it wasn't really too hard to believe.

I met Patricia in the lobby, which had various boxes piled up neatly in a corner. The boxes were big, bold and brown, with written labels in black marker across them. I looked out for her friend who at the time wasn't in the lobby.

''She's on her way here; in the meantime maybe you can load up a few boxes in the elevator and carry them up to her floor?'' Patricia asked me as she reached into her purse pulling on a small slip of paper.

''She lives on the highest floor'' Patricia said not thinking too much of it.

''No, I live on the highest floor. I own the damn penthouse, remember?'' I corrected Patricia whom shrugged her shoulders and handed the sheet off to me. ''Close enough. She lives in one of the suites below me. Are you sure this chick isn't a crazed stalker of mine?'' I joked as I sighed and walked over to one of the boxes thinking today was going to be one long day.

I had loaded up a few boxes in the elevator and slipped in between them ready to take off.

''Hey, Patricia. You sure you don't want to get in here and squeeze in?'' I offered. It couldn't hurt to be squeezed in with a pair of boobs; it was much better then being surrounded by a few dozen cardboard boxes but Patricia had declined.

''You go along, I'm going to wait for my friend to come back. I'll see you in a few minutes'' Patricia said waving goodbye to me as the automatic doors closed shut. The next 30 seconds up the elevator was a long thirty seconds. I thought about kicking the shit out of Slade Craven while humming the jeopardy theme song, you know everyone does it.

I spent the next 30 minutes unloaded the boxes into the suite. It was a nice place large in size; but mine had been at least two times bigger. Everything from the third floor up, had only two suites on each floor—the very top, being one, the penthouse. Upon unloading the elevator; I was on the way back down.

The elevator doors swung open as Patricia and a women who I was willing to bet my life was her friend stood beside her; they both had their backs to the elevator so the only glimpse at this point was the back of their heads (or preferably their asses) the only distracted me was a kid and a few of his friends hassling me for an autograph.

''I told you Level-One lived in my building!'' A small posh rich kid says, surrounded by four of his hoodlum looking friends. I sighed reaching into my pocket pulling out a pen.

''I'm very busy guys. Get whatever you want me to sign and hurry it the hell up, alright?'' I shot off, fighting with myself to sign these brats their autographs.

Patricia and her friend had turned around. Patricia saw her boyfriend signing a bunch of kids autographs who circled him like sharks.

''That's him. You know, the mystery man I was talking to you about...'' Patricia said almost as if she was in a dream like state. Her friend tugged on her arm.

''You mean to tell me your actually dating, Lester Only... Level-One?'' Her brunette friend said with a hint of jealousy present in her voice. ''Patricia... I dated him too''

''You what?'' Patricia asked not buying into the coincidence.

''Yeah, we dated for a few years. He never spoke of me to you?'' Her friend asked as the duo watched Level-One sign the rest of the autographs.

''Hey, fuck you man. I'm not going to sign your chest'' I said to one of the kids as his friends ribbed him about his odd request. ''Give me your forehead'' I said grabbing the scruffy teenage by the back of his head, placing my signature across his face.

''Dude that's awesome... Level-One just signed my face!'' The teenager bragged to his friends whom all quickly took off in the opposite direction upon request. I turned around as saw Patricia standing with her friend...

Wait a second...

''Kayla?'' I asked myself out loud. Loud enough for the both of them to hear it. Patricia grabbed the hand of Kayla rose as she drug her towards me laughing it up the entire way, but this had been no joking matter.

''I can't believe you two know each other!'' Patricia exclaimed as I shook my head and looked towards Kayla whom tilted her head towards me and raise and eyebrow.

''Yeah, she's an old friend'' I found it hard to say.

''She told me you two dated before...'' Patricia added only making matters worse.

''Yes, we dated... back in the day'' I conquered the admission.

''It's a small world'' Kayla offered up breaking the few seconds of awkward silence.

''Too small'' I slipped in an extra jab which Kayla Rose seemed not to take much notice too. She had been running into me everywhere and I was starting to begin to think it all wasn't a coincidence...

''So, Patricia... how did you come to know, Kayla...'' I said trying my hardest to start a conversation of some sort, after all—if I was going to have to live in the same building as Kayla, I'd have to get use to the sight of her which interestingly enough wasn't hard to do.

''She's majoring in journalism'' Patricia quickly offered up as Kayla flashed a smile.

''Yeah, I'd love to start following world events... maybe even get into the world of sports. I'm a big fan of wrestling...''

''No you aren't'' I infactly state. She hated wrestling. It destroyed her father and was the main driving force of the break up between me and her. Kayla's smile faded as Patricia kicked me with the tip of her high heel and flashed me a deathly look.

''...I mean, you weren't a fan of it back when we were... you know... dating'' I back peddled to which Kayla shrugged her shoulders and flashed me an intent look of lust.

''Well, you know—people change'' She softly stated as I looked down at my watch and realized I hadn't had one on.

''I'm pretty sure it's getting late. We should start loading this stuff up...'' I stated before quickly walking off in the direction of the boxes. I picked one up, but I was so nervous I dropped it onto the ground and then outright stumbled feet first over the box.

''Hey, watch that, Lester—it's fragile!'' Patricia screamed out to which Kayla simply giggled.

''Don't worry about it Trishy...'' Kayla assured Patricia as she walked over to me, the contents in the box smashed. She offered me a hand but I decided to pick myself up back to a vertical base. Kayla checked up in the box to find whatever it was in it, broken.

''What is wrong with you today'' Patricia whispered to me while nudging on my arm. Kayla simply looked up at me and smiled.

''It's not a problem; I'll have no problem replacing it''

I simply nodded my head back and forth and went back to loading up the elevator. I couldn't imagine things getting any worse then this...

Though, I'd soon come to find out it would.

---

Damage Controlled

There was a certain standard a wrestler had to uphold in the eyes of the beholder. It was one thing, to enter a ring, and verbally run down a crowd and it was another to verbally run down a promotion and it's superstars, but it was another to no show an event. It was another to slight the fans with entertainment in which they paid for. Most importantly, it was another thing to snowball a lead promoter into thinking that you'd be there for perhaps the biggest media launch in decades.

You can't just call up the big boss and tell him you aren't going to do it. You can't tell him you aren't going to show up, and that you are walking away from the deal you shook on. Yet that's -exactly- what I did. I wasn't doing his world tour at all costs. Those costs came expensive. Mr. Blackburn was out millions of dollars and the APW suffered for it too. If there was anything I'd have to fear stepping into the ring with Slade Craven it would be that of a -screw job-; shit, how else could Slade Craven beat a guy like me?

Forget, Slade Craven—he isn't my problem. My problem is -now- I have Mr. Blackburn on my tail ready to shove his fist down my throat. I had avoided his calls, ignored his emails—virtually shut off all contact between me and him. I figured it'd be the easiest this way. He was a determined man and would manage to find me sooner then later. Mr. Blackburn had barged his way into my home and made my couch his own, he insisted that I sit down.

Who the hell did this fucking guy think he was?

Well, in reality—he was a wrestling promoter. The types of guys who can make you or break you. At this point, he couldn't break me—but was in a soft enough position where he could do his damn hardest to try. I could tell by the look on his face he wasn't happy, with me. So, I showed the same contempt towards him. It was an uneasy environment that could explode in -any- second and if such occurred it wouldn't bode well for, Mr. Blackburn.

''Mr. Only, I assure you I am not here to start any problems nor blow our little misunderstand out of proportion for I believe there is -someway- we can work this out'' Insisted Mr. Blackburn who removed a pair of dark tinted glasses from his face.

''Look, I have told you already... I was in no condition to wrestling on a sixth month tour. Never mind the best in the business, night after night...''

''I thought you were superman?'' Mr. Blackburn cockily inserts a 1-2 jab which had me covering up in a defensive mode.

''Well, you can consider your fucking offer my kryptonite'' I countered with a big shot. It dug right into the gut of Mr. Blackburn whom wheeled his head back, clearly feeling slighted. ''I don't know who the hell you think you are showing up at my home. You've overstepped your boundaries, Jason''

''Have I?'' Mr. Blackburn tested the waters. ''The last time I checked. It wasn't Jason Blackburn who put Mr. Only out millions of dollars. I never breached any contracts nor broke my word. If anyone has overstepped his boundaries, I am afraid it's you, Mr. Only...''

''Well what the fuck do you want me to do? This isn't a fucking movie. I can't wag my dick back and forth and go back to the future!'' I exclaimed. At this point, I had lost my cool and Mr. Blackburn fed off of it.

''While we both know we can't go back in the past; I'm sure the neither of us won't mind looking towards the future, correct?'' Mr. Blackburn asked to which I merely shrugged my shoulders and placed my feet on my living room coffee table.

''Now you are getting somewhere. What's the catch?'' I enquired.

''Mr. Only, I've come up with a very gracious deal between me and you. The first is real simple. You put me out multi-millions of dollars. I am willing to go half way. You pay me half of what you've cost me and we can begin to go our separate ways...''

Mr. Blackburn casually expressed. I thought about it for a second and remembered how much money I had laying around, it wouldn't hurt to pay this guy and get him off my back, right?

''How much are we talking about here?''

''1.8 million dollars'' Mr. Blackburn confirmed. I sighed but ultimately shrugged my shoulders, I didn't have anything to worry about. ''The second part is very simple...''

''Shoot''

''Mr. Only, I'd like to further extend my working relationship with you in the form of me becoming your new manager...''

''Fuck that!'' I immediately shot down the idea. I didn't need anyone telling me how to act, how to eat nor follow me around city to city. I was a lone solider and planned to keep it that way. Mr. Blackburn simply wouldn't take no for an answer.

''Mr. Only, you are to accept more more then gracious deal with you or you will have to face some detrimental consequences'' Mr. Blackburn insisted. I smirked to myself and shrugged my shoulders, I was the least bit interested in what Mr. Blackburn had in store for me.

''Do you think I fear you?'' I asked Mr. Blackburn uncertain of his own thoughts. At this point he simply lifted his head.

''Mr. Only these consequences are simple. You will be dragged through court for the next several months. You'll continue to be trashed in media as a coward. Most importantly, you'll be barred from all Expert affiliated events for the next two years''

''That's bullshit!'' I protested as a smile crossed the thin face of Mr. Blackburn.

''No True Expert championship'' He added. He studied me and he knew what made me tick. This guy was up to no good there was an ere about him I just can't describe—but he had me in a vulnerable position. I needed the True Expert title and if I was barred from the experts event, I'd have no opportunity to receive my shot.

''What gives you the power to do that?'' I asked.

''You did when you decided you'd back out on them. There are many owners of many promotions who are more then disappointed by the way you snowballed them and their promotions. At this point, Mr. Only, I am the only thing standing between you and the True Experts championship'' Bragged Mr. Blackburn.

It was true, the man did have a point and my back was against the wall.

''Fuck you, man. You can shove your fucking deal up your ass''

''I'm taking that as a yes?'' Mr. Blackburn casually stated. I didn't respond to him as he nodded his head gently before standing up to his feet. ''I'm glad to be doing business with you once again, Mr. Only. However, I hope this time our partnership can work out a bit more smoothly...''

''Don't count on it'' I said optimistically.

''Well, Mr. Only you can get started on repairing your reputation and paying back your debts by winning the Survive and Conquer match when it approaches us next week. An inter promotional event is just the way to get back into things. Not to mention, you can stand to win the 500, 000 grand and put it towards the money you owe me...'' Mr. Blackburn noted as he placed his black shades back over his eyes.

''Shit, now that I think of it... I may just throw myself over the top rope'' Sarcastically came my reply. ''I know what I have to do. Don't you worry about that''

''Good luck with your match with Slade Craven as well. A win here will be the first step on me managing your successful career'' Mr. Blackburn said as I grabbed him by the collar of his suit and pulled him directly into my face.

''You shut your mouth and get the fuck out of my house'' I demand. Mr. Blackburn merely smiled as I let go of his collar pushing him in the direction of the door. Mr. Blackburn merely waved with the back of his palm on his way out.

''Goodbye Mr. Only'' Mr. Blackburn can't help but add.

There was something about this guy that had me thinking, not mention any suspicions I had about him were backed up today. The quicker I got away from this guy, the better it would be for my career—but now I found myself deeper entrapped in a partnership with him. All I could hope now is that he crashes his car and dies between my home and the APW offices...

However that was unlikely, and so I had yet another problem on my hands.

At this point; only time will tell.

---

Here I am again, addressing the naked talent of Slade Craven once again! Quite frankly, I'm getting sick of it. Shit, I'm sure even Slade Craven is getting sick of it. He's tired of crying every time I run his name through the mud, he's tired of running his big mouth only to come up short at the end of the night and he's tired of getting a mile wide whole stomped into his ass when he finds himself on the other side of my boot.

Seriously, have we NOT yet established Slade Craven is out of touch in EVERY single way in this business? I mean for fuck sakes the guy sat around his pyjamas shooting some shitty Christmas skit—a month after Christmas. Haven't you realized we aren't in 2009? Have you missed the fucking memo that your trashy interviews were out of style in 1999? Are you even aware we all live on planet nebula!? The last one was a joke because we ALL know Slade Craven is too fucking stupid to understand it.

So, in preparation for your match—you decided to watch an OLD match I once again showed you up in? Great. You know that is sure going to make the 2 fans you have left; blissfully behind you. I'd usually give you credit. I'm sure everyone believes you were watching the match to fix up one of many wholes in your game, but your an idiot, a fool—and a fool doesn't learn from his mistakes. It's why you will and continue to go nowhere in this business.

You may have never asked for a title shot but who the fuck does? Well, except Pence Weatherlight because APW management decided it was the only way to motivate his otherwise lazy ass. It doesn't change the fact that President Jeff started pulling names out of hats and it just so happened to be yours. You're just lucky that APW management finally got tired of rehashing the same Pence Weatherlight FAILS to dethrone Level-One schtick and needed to find a filler replacement. It didn't matter who it was because whoever it was would've had an infiltrated ego with no sense of reality—which is why you actually believe your a viable threat to me.

It's too fucking hard to admit that Level-One really is the best in the business, isn't Slade? So instead you have to pull these talking points out of your ass, all which reek of shit because your ego won't allow you to assume to roll as the underdog. Nope. Instead you have to make shit up, some in which clearly are lies. I mean do you REALLY expect ANYONE with a brain in their head to believe you've done more then me in this business? Do you really expect anyone to believe that the name ''Slade Craven'' can outsell the name ''Level-One?''

You've been in this business longer then I have and it's only a testament to how far out of touch you are with reality. Seriously, I've accomplished more in three years then you'll ever come to accomplish your ENTIRE fucking life and it's documented every step of the way. Pretty much any promotion you ever worked for went down in flames and if YOU were the ''main-man'' you claim you were; it's quite obvious you didn't keep enough asses in enough seats because the promotion shut down on your watch.

In a show of yet more of your ignorance you seem to be under the impression that I am APW's President Jeff. Unfortunately, you fail to realize that I just have authoritarian power; you know, like giving you a FREE world heavyweight championship upon crossing ''GO?''. No paper work, no office—no running the show for the fans. I have taken the show over along with the Axis solely for political gain. Soley for a choke hold around the necks of men like you Slade Craven. It's about the power. You think I give a shit about how YOU or any other person on this roster feels about me? You think I make decisions for the fans? I'm not the owner of the APW and don't want to be; I just took it hostage and now it's going to meet EVERY last one of my demands.

You think I am out to kill the APW, Slade? I'm not. If I wanted to KILL the APW I hand the championship over to you and tell you to go and sell out the next show. If I wanted to KILL the APW; I'd put you through a one on one program with Pence Weatherlight so you can bitch slap each-other in the name of the APW championship. Slade, if I wanted to KILL the APW—you'd be the fucking bullet I'd use to kill it with. You're nothing more then a cancer to the APW. You are nothing more then a ''mistake'' that took up three months of my time trying to correct. Well, it stops at News Years Retribution. I finally remove your cancer from the title picture once and for all and you can assume your roll as a bottom feeder who could never live up to the same expectations his friend had.

If anything I had put APW on the map. I exposed the APW to the experts, the every best promotion in the entire world. Jesse Gunn himself showed up here and offered the APW a deal President Jeff is still wetting his pants about today. And just a few weeks ago, I announced the Survive and Conquer match once again expanding the horizon to other fighters and fans around the globe. I may walk in here, take the title and call the show my own—but it's clear to see I have deserved it. I managed to break through walls; your still banging your head against trying to understand. The question isn't what I have done for the APW; it's what the APW has done for Level-One.

And right now; all I can think about is Slade Craven. This is what the APW has to offer to me? A fucking 1999 blow back who thinks his own shit smells like roses? It's a fucking joke. I expanded my horizon with the Survive and Conquer invitational in hopes that I'd find myself a new solid contender who will actually GIVE me a run for my money, which is something I can't get from a broke back bitch like yourself.

I'm on the top of the world right now and you want to claim I am falling of my waggon? The same waggon you tried to hop your lop-sided ass on? Bitch please. Your running your mouth about things you can't even bring yourself to understand. See, when you align yourself with people? You think about what they can do for YOU. You think about how you can LEECH off of THEIR success. Where as you get NO bigger then Level-One then Level-One himself. Biggs and Chris Cyrus are in my corner because they have the desire to learn from the best. They have the desire to follow in my foot steps and be the BIGGEST damn thing in professional wrestling, since the wrist lock.

I don't need Biggs nor do I need Chris Cyrus; but I choose to keep them by my side anyways. Numbers can't hurt. Extra man power can only help. Don't cream your panties, Slade—I won't be re inventing a tag team division anytime soon. You just don't have an eye for the business. You just don't understand what it takes to get to the top and stay on the top—but it's understandable for someone who has never, ever BEEN there. Live with it.

I don't know if you've realized this or not Slade but I am a lasting name in this business. I'll be here five years from now, slapping fat fucks like you into shape. I'll be here five years from now running some other helpless souls face through the mud. Where the hell are you five years from now, Slade? Chilling on a yacht; sipping on wine and getting laid by escorts? Shit, Slade—there isn't a damn thing wrong with that. It's just one thing that separates me from you. I'm a fighter, I'm a warrior—your a high paid actor, playing the roll of a fighter, warrior and at the end of the day, you are here to collect your fucking pay cheque and a buy yourself a back rub because this shit hurts.

You're damn right it fucking hurts. You want to hurt me? Maim me? You want to take that extra bounce in my step? Go ahead because while you have all but admitted your out to carry a personal vendetta instead of winning the biggest prize this company has to offer—I could care less about my well being, it's all about the world heavyweight championship. If that doesn't make things anymore clearer as to who is really about this sport and honestly means business; then I guess pinning your for the three count in front of the entire world, will.

Any last words you ask? Yeah...

Fuck you.