Post by Level-Two on Mar 26, 2010 23:19:39 GMT -4
Through ''Ones'' eyes: The finale
Feat. The continuum of the Family Bloodlines series
''It must suck to see things through my brothers eyes... he's all but blind'' - Level-One
Chris ''Game-over'' Only's; POV
You don't know how it feels to be related to one of the most popular stars in business knowing that you had just as much if not more to offer to the entire world. My little brother, Lester Only has become the measurement stick of success, I know I'll never ever be able to reach. As long as my name is mentioned in the same sentence as his... for as his as long has his name is mentioned at all, I'll always be the failure. The one who is the first to have his face shoved in shit, spit upon and left to cope with the consequences of anothers action...
Lester Only, isn't a wrestler. I am the wrestler. I've been studying old black and white film since I was twelve years old. Learning in-ring manoeuvres long before I even had the opportunity to preform them. I understood in-ring psychology, I practically had a goddamn PHD in the art. Medals, trophies, I had it all too—I was even picked for an Olympic team representing my country, but like everything else it was stripped away from me. This time in the form of a strained groin.
Since then this thing called life hasn't let up when it comes to kicking me in the balls. My career in this business was all but set for the rest of my life, until one in-ring fuck up, ruined it all for me. You can't wrestle with a broken back, no, not even if you're Level-One. Shit, I was Level-One. It pains me to this day, to see him relishing in my spot, prancing around with world titles and all the opportunity of the world, only to see him down on himself, wasting a single moment down on himself. I'd give anything I ever had to feel what he felt, just for a second, and I'd appreciate it a whole hell of a lot more then he would too.
The truth is, Lester isn't good at anything, but wrestling. It's all he has, anymore. He's destroyed everything else in the name of getting to where he has gotten, a length—I probably wouldn't go through myself. There is nothing worth selling your soul to the devil in return for a tongue of a venomous snake and a mind of psychopath able to mentally tear apart even those physically stronger then he is. Lester hasn't ever won a single world title based on talent alone, it's all the other things he brings to the table with him that puts him over the edge.
I have the formula to defeat my brother myself and if I wasn't a cripple, I'd just about shock the entire world by doing so. I guess the only question now is—what should I choose to do with this information?
A part of me wants to keep it to myself. I love my little brother more then words can describe. To this day, I still remember all the times we spent as children together—ignoring, the shades of black and blue sometimes on his face, he always wore a smile. And while there was no other kid he'd get along with in his neighbourhood he showed me apart of him, apart he showed nobody else, apart of him... I find it hard to see in him, today. Things have changed since then...
I'm I bitter? Goddamn right, I'm bitter. For the past two weeks, I have heard nothing but Level-One this and Level-One that... you may as well as chalk this up as a victory and X out that other guy, by now because the media much like him, never looks twice at the underdog. Not once have they sent out a camera crew to interview the one man who knows him best, simply because... besides having a bullet pumped into inches away from my spine, nobody knows I exist anymore...
I don't want to hear about Level-One anymore. I want to hear about Pence Weatherlight. I want to hear about Chris Only. Shit, instead of Level-One... let's talk about the little brother I knew as Lester Only? Let's talk about the underdogs for once. The men discarded, forgotten and thrown upon the old dusty book shelves because their stories weren't appealing when put up against, the big bad wolf.
A nurse handed me an envelope as I stared up at the television with sheer contempt as it advertised the big pay-per-view event with my brothers face on it. Ignoring the sender of the letter I was kick to rip it open—it isn't often I get mail, other then an odd medical expense I cannot afford to pay. Inside of it?
A ticket it to Rasslemania six with a small note attached.
Dear, Chris...
I am sorry for how things that have been going down lately and I want to fix things, properly. This is a front row ticket to Rasslemania six with a backstage pass code embedded within the ticket bar code. Hope to talk to you soon, brother.
Remember... bound by blood.
Sincerely, Lester Only.
Nothing more then just another slap in the face, he needed to rub in the fact that he was main-eventing the biggest show of the weekend, well, so much for his ego. As, I ripped the ticket up and tossed it to the floor like confetti. The line was drawn and there was no going back.
He'd look into the crowd for his big brother and he wouldn't be there; but that was only half of the equation. I wasn't supporting him but the underdog, Pence Weatherlight. I was going to give his camp and information he could possible use against him to pick apart the big giant on the biggest night of his life.
This is tough love— and my little brother needs to be saved.
''If only she could see through her eyes the pain she put me through... but that will never happen.'' – Level-One
My mothers eyes; POV
It's been awhile since I have held him in my arms but when did everything felt right. I loved my son, Lester Only, with every inch of my heart before it became black. This part of me he was far too young to remember and the choices I have made has set him on a path similar to my own, with less redeeming qualities. And I fear that what I have passed down to him has crippled him for the rest of his life and forever will be fighting with a seemingly irreversible effect.
Nobody knows an addict better then an addict. I was addicted to drugs, wholesale, it didn't matter what I could find my hands on. And when I was sick and tired of my drug habit, I washed it down with vodka in attempts to numb the pain but that eventually all wears off and your left with what you really are, an addict. The key to healing an addict is removing their addiction and never falling back into it's death trap. I was a lucky, one.
My son, Lester Only doesn't have such a luxury and I am to blame. He hasn't ever been taught right from wrong, good from evil—just how to survive the best he can. Still, to this day I have trouble knowing that I beat the innocence from a child, my own child. And while even his biggest critics would say he turned out better then his jail-house, prostituting on 48th street, whore of a mother—the illusion of the bright lights, fame, and everything else normal people live with out, he needs. And when he can't hide anymore, he'll have to face himself and through his eyes he will see my face Methadone-riddled and all.
I fear the moment he loses the empire he has built for the entire world to see his life will go with it. This is all he identifies with. Words cannot describe knowing that your son will never understand just how much you love him because you taught him not how to love—but to hate, to destroy, and to even kill if it means getting what you feel the world owes you. And the only thing worse in the world then burying your own child is burying your child that you yourself, helped kill.
If it wasn't for Religion; I don't know if I'd be here in the same shape I am today. Through all the abuse, all the deception and through all my crimes committed my Pastor, Pastor L. Willis had stood by my side, washing away my sins one day at a time and so, I'd be here for the rest of my life. The only hope I had left in my son, is that he didn't give up his belief of a greater being, looking out for him under the worse circumstance. God alone couldn't save him but he, investing in the spirit of the lord Jesus Christ, perhaps was the last hope I still had in bringing my son, Lester Only, life—for the first time.
''Pastor Willis, I'm ready. I'm ready to know the truth about my son.''
''Is that so? Certainly, this isn't an easy thing for you to do. There is no judge thou more truthful then our Lord. No matter the answer he brings upon you, you must not let it break your spirit nor your will, you must continue to strive to be a better person and a devote believer to our precious lord, Jesus Christ''
''Yes, Pastor. Has my son, Lester Only, stopped coming here regularly?
The pastor lifted his head and put his index finger in the air.
''Yes, he has. Mr. Only, has stepped onto the alter with me. He is a grown, strong, man now—but he has lost his way, I am afraid. It is policy of the lord that I do not share soft words, spoken in confidence. However under the circumstance that you are his mother and perhaps the only person who can save this boy, I must make an exception and hope god can forgive my sin...''
The old pastor placed a hand on his Bible to which I added into the mix, my own. As Pastor Willis told me the story, with picture perfect perfection—for he had never encountered anything like it before. I said a short prayer in which the Pastor's pure words would lie hope.
~ ~ ~
One day, I was in the church alone ready to head home just in time for supper when someone came marching through the church. He was drenched in water which soaked through his clothing and gave him the annoyance of a runny nose. At first, I was alarmed and reminded him that I was done here for the night but he was insistent with his appeals. Despite, not knowing this mans intentions or what he had to lay out on the alter before him, I took him in. There is nothing like practising what you preach.
I didn't recognize him as your son until he would later tell me his name but I did remember the lost look in his eyes searching for an answers he had come to the right place. He also had his fair share of questions...
''Do people really still come here and pray?''
''Why, yes... faith never dies in those who are truly alive, Mr. Only. What can I with the assistance of the almighty Gold help you out with today?''
At this point his eyes were scanning the church. Most notably, he had seemed to be fascinated with windows above the church tinted with various colours perhaps it was all he still remembers of the place at all.
''So, apparently your the man I come to, you know--cleanse myself from sins? Not to say, I actually believe any of this stuff anyways...''
''If you are ready to make such a bold move in the name of God, then feel free to shed your layers of sin right on this alter''
Unsure of the opportunity he had before him Lester Only merely shrugged his shoulders and took a seat on one of the many empty rows that filled the church while I stood behind a small podium becoming his witness.
''I haven't murdered, nor have I raped, hell I haven't stolen a damn thing in my life but a loaf of bred one time when I was hungry, yet... the entire world sees me as a bad guy. Evil. Hell, I'm practically the Anti-Christ to these people which makes being here a little more awkward...''
''Well, do you believe you are evil?''
''No, not really. The truth is, I don't know what evil really is. I mean, maybe it's killing innocents--or maybe it's raping young girls or even maybe it's stealing from the poor but I haven't done none of that... yet.''
I watched Mr. Only, stew in his own confusion. Unable to comprehend even the basics of morality and the more he spoke the more I was able to read into the poor mans soul, not even he knew he had within him.
''Is it the blood I spill of mortal men in the name of
entertainment? Is it the venom I spit to destroy them before they even step in between the ropes? Or am I guilty of sin for being who I am—a created, well crafted machine who has been advertised and paid to be a one man wrecking crew solely designed forever separate fathers away from their sons, daughters and wife's mercilessly without batting a single eye of regret... is that why those people boo me?''
I watched him as he shook his head back and forth, not even granting me the opportunity to add in another word. He was pouring his heart out or rather, everything he still had left of it.
''... or maybe it's her voice. The voice of the devil. Maybe, she isn't just speaking to me and me alone, anymore. Perhaps, everyone else can hear her within me too. She is a bad women, Pastor... and she can't be trusted as long as she speaks to me and makes me act out; I can't be trusted. Can you see the devil within me?''
''No, Mr. Only... but God can. God can free you from this. You just need to embrace him. Accept him into his life. Listen to the words of God and it'll carry you a long way''
''Pastor... I don't believe God''
Silence between the both of us commenced for what seemed to convert into a lifetime. The bell began to toll.
''Then I am afraid I can't help you. I have done all I can...''
''So that's it?''
He exclaimed before standing to his feet and throwing his hands up in protest. As much as he wanted the devil purged from himself—it was something, he would have to do by finding himself within himself. Mr. Only, shook his head in disgust and spit venom on the alter.
''You're church is no good for nothing. If you can't help me, nobody can. You just don't come crying to lord Jesus Christ when I burn everything in my wake to get what I want. And if nobody can help me, nobody can stop me! Any blood I spill is on your precious lords hands...''
~ ~ ~
I almost cried hearing the story of the encounter at the church with Pastor Willis. It was a punch in the stomach, a kick in the gut—anything, Lester Only ever felt physically, I was now feeling mentally. I almost wanted to relapse and simply take the easy way out, again. I tried to remember the Pastors words and hold faith, high.
So with Pastor Willis by my side we prayed for my son, Lester Only. For what has been seen as the biggest opportunity of his life coming this weekend; I clasped my hands together so tight, the blood ran escaping my veins ultimately turning my hands blanket white.
''Please lord 'O Jesus Christ, cure Lester Only. Please lord 'O Jesus Christ, save my son. Please, lord... I beg of you don't you let my son walk out with that devils trophy attached to that leather strap of hell and cleanse his soul in the name of justice...
Amen''
''I used to hate the saying like father like son...growing up without one'' - Level-One
Rashid's Only; POV
If anyone understood Lester Only, it was me. Stubborn, hard headed and determined as ever are all traits he has had passed down to him, by me. For the first twenty plus years of his life, I didn't know who he was. I never got the chance to see him grow up and never would've have if he didn't come searching for me—the dad he never knew.
I never had the opportunity to play a game of catch in the back yard, nor there to attend his first day at school because I was held prisoner. I killed a man. I kill a father of my son's mortal enemy, without even knowing it. Lester Only and Joel Bryant were born and raised to hate each-other without ever seeing or acknowledging the others existence and when they cross paths, a spark just lit. A bowel movement with their soul had them acting out in ways, words cannot describe. To watch my son go through what he did, well, I feel guilty. I am guilty.
I don't know much about this Pence Weatherlight fella and I know I didn't kill his, father—but the hate between both men was growing too strong. It was far too dangerous and there was no guarantee he was going to make it out alive this time, like he did the last. I know this isn't anymore of my business then it is yours but I couldn't watch my son do this all over again.
Excuse my penmanship. It's been a while since I have swung, anything other then the sword. Here are a few written mails to which we corresponded to each other. With no steady location, I often found myself using other home addresses, sneaking into the mail box and retrieving my piece—but more often then not, my efforts were failed ones.
It's sad when your only relationship with your own son is that of a pen-pal—but an old man like me, needs to take whatever he can get.
From: Lester Only
To: Rashid Only
Date: July, 18th, 09
''So, your supposed to be that big, bad guy, dead beat of father mother used to talk about, huh? She maybe right about the deadbeat part but you aren't half as bad as you were cracked out to be. I haven't seen you since the big bust. You know I put my fucking neck on line for that, don't you? My relationship with Chris hasn't been the same since the shooting. You fucked up on that one. Look, if you don't want to see your son or even thank him properly for what he's done for you then fine but make sure you keep moving, Joel Bryant is still soar about his ass kicking a few weeks ago and he's looking for some justice any way he can get it.
Don't let him win. And enjoy the $100 the came with this. Don't spend it on stupid shit.''
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: July, 27th, 09
''First off thanks for the $100 I was able to stay in a motel for two nights with clean running water which I don't get to do very often. It's tough out here, you know... on the run. It's too hot right now to be so out in the open and with all that press around you at that Pence Weatherlight doesn't help this situation at all. You do you know your a suspect in my breakout from the Siberian Prison, right?
Anyways, don't let that bother you and congratulations on beating Joel Bryant once and for all. I am sorry for getting you in all this mess to begin with. Fate is a weird thing, no science can explain. I'm out here right now living for you, so keep safe—and watch out for this Pence Weatherlight kid, he's dangerous and I don't want to be here months from now watching you go through what you did with Joel Bryant, you guys turned each-other into mince meat out there. No prison fight in Siberia with forks and spoons were ever that violent.
I hope you can read this letter, I know my hand writing is sloppy, son''
From: Lester Only
To: Rashid Only
Date: September, 14, 09
''You're hard to pin down. I sent a few mails out but I don't think you got them. I sure hope this address is right; I guess it is if your reading it, huh? Anyways, all is well and I got your letter and was able to make out, at least half of it. To be honest, I don't know what you see in this Pence Weatherlight kid that I don't; he's nothing special, a shot in the dark at best. This championship is going to be with me for a long time.
Anyways, the heat for your lynch party for the most part had died down. Since you were held in Siberia and is now hiding on in the states our great officials has basically let you off their radar. Now, don't get careless—but you haven't exactly appeared on American's most wanted just yet.
Stay out of trouble''
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: November 2, 09
''Sorry, I haven't gotten back to you for so long. I've been... you know, making a living. And before you tell me that I should ask you for help know that I can't do that for the rest of my life, son. I'm alright out here and I'm staying with a trusted friend. Hell, he even has this computer in his house that has something called the internet. I'm sure you've heard of it, already. Anyways, you can now send me messages through email right here: (REDACTED@hotmail.com)
Let's face it this writing letter thing is out of style''
From: Lester Only
To: Rashid Only
Date: November, 8th, 09
So what's next, old man? Text messages VIA black berries? The internet is great for porn but not much else.
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: February, 6th, 2010
''I'm afraid that didn't last long enough. The guy robbed all my stuff. Apparently, it wasn't his house... nor even his computer. There is nothing more awkward then having a white suburban family walk in on you eating a bowl of co-co puffs on their leather couch. Tough luck. I'm back on the streets. Is as if these people aren't even trying to catch me, anymore.
Anyways, I don't want to spook you out... but apparently there's been a sighting of your mother around these streets as a big-church goer or something but I don't know who I can trust anymore...
Hope all is well, son''
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: March, 10th, 2010
''Hello, son. Where have you gone? Is everything, alright? You stopped writing to me and here we are, almost a year later and things between you and Pence Weatherlight has ramped up. You are going too far with this. Relax. You don't need to kill yourself in the name of a title. Those come and go, you only live life one time.
Siberia is filled with guys like you. Guys, wrestling in promotions that end up losing it all by taking it a step too far. Pence Weatherlight isn't worth being locked up for the rest of your life. Don't make the same mistakes that I did, son.
...and remember I am always here for you, even if it means taking a bullet''
That was the last mail I sent to my son. I watch my son an old television, right inside my favourite bar, shovelling the various pieces of paper letters corresponding with each-other back into my pockets.
''Aye, that guy looks awfully familiar like you''
A bar tender says as he wipes spilt beer from his counter. I looked up at him and then back at the television watching my son utter the words ''I am going to kill you''. It was everything I feared, everything I couldn't let happen. It was time to put my words into actions—I owed my son, Lester Only that much. I'd do everything in my power to make sure this match didn't happen.
''Aye, what the hell are you doing with that?''
The bartender exclaimed as held a pistol in my hand cocking back the trigger as the bar tender took a step back. I hopped up off the stool and threw the bartender all the change I had left in my pocket, I wouldn't need anything else after today.
''Nothin' I won't regret''
~ ~ ~
Lester Only sat at a desk placed on his large tour bus over looking a piece of paper with the television playing quietly in the backdrop. He had written out a note to his father, Rashid Only—and was all but ready to send it to his last known address, until backdrop of the television became the forefront of his attention.
BREAKING NEWS: CRAZED FAN INJURS ONE
''Today, shots rang out after a shooter took aim at what was thought to originally be APW superstar Pence Weatherlight's vehicle which was expected to arrive at an event earlier today. As many of you may know, Pence Weatherlight is scheduled to main-event a match at this weekends Rasslemania six which is one of the biggest sports events all year...
Police are currently looking for the shooter who was said to have escaped through the crowd. One person was injured none relating Pence Weatherlight or his camp. The victim has been rushed to a local hospital and is currently in life-threatening condition. As of now, neither Pence Weatherlight or Action Packed Wrestling has issued a statement regarding the incident...
...next up, how can you make the perfect Rasslemania meal using your coupons!''
Lester Only turns away from the television with his eyes perked in confusion. He returns his focus back to the letter reading it over again before looking glancing over the one that had been sent to him, originally which was signed,
''...your number one fan; your father''
Lester Only, shook his head free—not wanting to believe the conclusion that he ran into face first. In a burst of rage he through his pen at the television screen before ripping up the letter he was writing, for he knew it was too late. The battle that his father had warned him about had come to full scale and no amount of blood spilt by the end of the night would ever defuse the situation.
''Damn...''
Is about all he could say.
''We all make sacrifices—most often, it's never ourselves but I never been the one to follow the status quo. You know that.''- Level-One
Through my own eyes
Today was the longest day of the rest of my life. It was only a matter of time before I went into battle. No guns, no war paint and no flags. This was a war most don't ever get the opportunity to prepare for; and war where the odds are you'll never walk out the same again. I feared not the enemy, but the environment of war—it's unpredictable, it's fast paced and it's all about capitalizing on open opportunities to move your battle forward and onward.
The bus rolls down the high way, with the sun dipping below the skyline as dawn approached. It's been a long and hard road to get here and I don't think there is a damn person in this perceived to be free world who is ever fully prepared for what environments this place on hell has to offer—but what I can say is, I am more prepared then I have ever been for battle.
It didn't matter what new techniques Pence Weatherlight had been learning nor the specialized training regiment he had gone through heading into this match because you may be able to each a new dog new tricks but this old dog knows all the tricks in the book—he wasn't bringing a damn thing to the table I hadn't seen before.
As I stared out the window engaged in mental stimulation and preparation; Lee Takashi entered my living space on the bus throwing down two black VCR tapes on the couch beside me. The big black blocks were as old school as ever but Lee Takashi never made the transition from tapes to DVD's as his tape collection was far too large to abandon. You couldn't find a better guy to run down an opponent with you before a big match. Even according to him, I'm not perfect—he has a better eye then I do.
''More tapes? Fucking hell. I feel like I know Pence Weatherlight more then I know myself and to be quite honest... President Jeff couldn't have found me the most dull opponent in the APW locker room if he tried. I mean, shit. I'm not a fan of Victor Hades or even Micheal Lively but at the very least they actually try to be original''
''It isn't about personality, Level. It's about in-ring effectiveness. Pence Weatherlight is no slouch and can carry his own''
''Well... does he have to bore the fuck out of me by doing so?''
I complained before sluggishly, grabbing the first tape. In the middle of the white sticker a tittle was written in blue marker; Pence Weatherlights Promo. Scoffing, I picked up the second tape this one reading; Pence Weatherlights trash talk.
''Oh give me a fucking break! He couldn't fit it all on one tape again?''
''Nope''
''Well... do you think you can cut me a break? How about we, like, skip the boring filler he does to pass time and get to the meat of it?''
''Then that will round out to be about two minutes, yeah?''
''Yeah. Well that's not counting the ten minutes spent fast-forwarding it all. That's the entire point. You know I'm really strapped for time...''
Lee Takashi flashed me a serious look which meant if I knew what was best for me, I'd watch Pence Weatherlights tapes as painful as it would come to be. Still, I wasn't in the mood for testing out my pain endurance just yet as I threw the tapes carelessly off the chair and stretched out my legs, as Lee Takashi disappeared through the curtain and into another location of the large tour bus.
Tonight was the big night and it wasn't in the form of bright lights and an arena packed with a sold out crowd with the rest of the world sitting on the edges of their seats at home—no. It was the night that I would seal my fate against Pence Weatherlight well before we stood across the ring from each-other waiting for the old familiar bell to toll again...
By midnight I would reach the empty field and Lee Takashi would be fast asleep, not understanding the pre-match ritual I was going to take part of; Lester Only maybe Lester Only—but even I know Level-One is all the more powerful.
Goodnight, Lester Only. Nice knowing you.
~ ~ ~
The creatures of the night were in full force. The crickets chirped and the mosquito bit away, sucking my blood like a vulture. My face, arms, torso and legs are cut by the brush which spanned for what felt like miles. I'd be lying, if I said I didn't feel like turning back and calling it in for the night—but I pushed myself.
My mouth was dry and my throat burned and I seemingly in the middle of nowhere. This was right spot, it had to be—but where were the hooded figures like the note on the mirror entailed? So, with nowhere to go, I waited and waited then I waited some more—but still, nothing. I had set up my own death trap, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no chance on finding my way back.
The thick brush started stirring, which caught my attention. Alert, I took a step back but a similar sound now came from behind me. The sounds continued and the longer they went on the quicker they got. I can't tell you how long this went on for—it felt like ages in the moment right before everything stopped.
Yellow eyes, growling teeth, cutting through the darkness of night. I slowly turned around, preforming a full circle like a circus monkey, realizing I was surrounded by a pack of wild coyotes with famine for hunger.
''Oh, fuck...''
Then everything went black.
~ ~ ~
I opened my eyes to see three faces staring down at me. A pretty but scornful women. She wore a lot of make up, most notably the black make up painted on her poisonous lips and her eyes burned with hells fire, it was the first time I saw her in person, assuming I still wasn't dreaming.
The second person was best described as my twin. He was the man in the mirror. He looked just like me, except he wore the old black mask face covering, hiding everything below the eyes. His yellow eyes, looked just like the coyotes that I swore consumed me whole.
The third person was The man in the white mask. A pure soul, who wore a white nylon mask, a pair of dark classes and white fedora atop his head. He was tall but slim and peered well over both her and the man in the mirror. Slowly, I pulled myself to my feet as they all stared wholes right through me.
''Where the hell am I?''
I asked as the three figures merely looked at each-other and shrugged their shoulders; as the man in the white mask stepped forward offering me his hand.
''I am afraid you are dead''
''What!? A day before Rasslemania six!? This can't be happening, please tell me this is all just a sick joke...''
''No, Lester Only is dead now—but I hold the power to give him a second life. ''
I reached out to grab his hand but the she-devil was quick to flaunt her beauty, as she put her finger on my cheek and seductively ran her hand across it softly, lifting up my chin as she stared into my face.
''This is what you wanted, isn't it? Lester Only is dead now—and now we can take over full time like we once were before Lester Only got in our way. You are most powerful human being when you utilize your greatest strength... me and you together, will destroy Pence Weatherlight and any other mediocre force who is stupid enough to choose to stand in our way''
''So you are my ticket to guaranteeing the victory, huh?''
She giggled playfully, before leaning into my ear and whispering softly.
''You bet''
Her tongue slid down up my neck as her lips touched my own; the sweetness of her lips was enough for me to sell my soul; I craved for more of it—but The Man in the Mirror was resilient in his fight for survival.
''Fuck that trick! Come on, man. You know there ain't no better team then me and you! Imagine this—a pure Level-One, huh? No more bullshit dilemmas about good cop, bad cop—we won't feel a damn thing. And more importantly, if you go with me; no more voices''
''Seriously?''
''Do I look like I am fucking joking with you? I say, to hell with both of these clowns and you join me—together we will be physical specimen where our only weakness is this super-natural-horse shit these two have to offer you...''
The man in the mirror illustrates this by shoving the she-devil into the Man in the white mask. The she-devil shoves the man in the white mask backwards before snapping around, letting out a loud threatening hiss which nearly deafens me in the process.
''What? Did I step on your tail again?''
''You really don't think this man is dumb enough to re-birth himself in your body, do you? A human has limitations that I do not''
''A human is what he is!''
''Hey, you shut your fucking mouth and keep out if it, slick. There is a reason your main-man is dead and that's because you offer him nothing but weakness!''
''There you go again. Insulting the man you except to take your hand and join you in this battle''
''You both are despicable. Lester Only, is the only thing pure about this man and you have arranged his death just so we can do this entire thing, again. You already know what this righteous man will do. Do the right thing...''
The bickering stopped as they all turned their attention to me as if they were waiting for answer from me. I closed my eyes and let myself drift away, before opening them again... but they were still here. I blinked twice more but to no avail. Maybe, I really was dead. Who was I to choose? The powerful devil which brought on evil. The man in the white mask who offered me peace at the price of fame or the happy medium the man in the mirror had offered me? Unable to come to a conclusion, I lowered my head.
''I don't know what I want guys...''
The man in the mirror was quick to celebrate his self-perceived victory.
''Ha! That means he chooses me''
The she devil merely scoffs in disbelief her tactics were unable to sway the victory her way. The man in the white masked raised a single finger in the air.
''Incorrect. I afraid what this truly means is that this man does not get an opportunity to choose which one of us he goes back with. Instead, we must all bind ourselves within him once again for one last final battle''
''Wait... what are you talking about?''
I asked in the heat of my confusion as the she-devil smiled devilishly.
''Hunny, it means Pence Weatherlight is going to be the one who determines your fate''
~ ~ ~
''Lester... Lester... Lester!''
A voice screamed out. I opened my eyes as Lee Takashi stood over me with a helicopter spotlight glaring down upon me.
''You have just about lost your goddamn mind, haven't you, eh? You have the biggest match of your life coming up a day from now and your out here dancing with coyotes in the middle of the night! Half of Texas, county has been looking for you!''
Slowly, I lowered my head back onto the ground surrounded by large stands of grass and smiled.
''Well at least you found me. Lee, I have gone to a bad place and I was starting to question if I was ever coming back.''
''Well your back now kid. You're back now...''
I closed my eyes knowing it was out of my hands now but didn't feel safe knowing Pence Weatherlight played apart in all this with everything on the line and the stakes higher then ever. It's in your hands now, Pence Weatherlight.
So what are you going to do with it?
If you want to know why this Rasslemania is better then the other five just try to remember them. Face it the first 1-3 wasn't even under the APW banner and stands for everything wrong with the initial foundation of this company. There is a reason why President Jeff shut down his shop and decided to work for the EWC as a general manager and that's because his company wasn't breaking even profits no matter what bullshit he'll tell you. So, when Pence Weatherlight stands in front of a camera like an ignorant piece of shit and tells you I hadn't done anything for this company just grab the poop scoop because Pence is shitting out of his dirty mouth, again. President Jeff on RECORD acknowledges that he didn't expect his run with the APW to last over the one year mark...
but guess what? It did. And it was about then I jumped on board to breath yet MORE life into this promotion after it was barely breaking, even. While Pence was getting his panties in a bunch bitching about the shit he was shovelled back in the EWC; who was here, dominating, and changing up the scene of the APW? Me. The APW wasn't even on your goddamn radar, Pence—because you, like any other clown that decided to rub their ball sweat on Danny Mac's bald head for good luck, honestly believe the EWC was the end all and be all of professional wrestling. It's joke.
So, you tell me—Pence... who the fuck do you think actually put APW on the radar for good? President Jeff maybe a promotional genius but it wasn't he that did it. I held the Tittle of the True Expert and the Extreme Wrestling Corporation was shunned from the inter-federation due to it's low margin of profits and lack of television ratings which coincidentally, occurred right after I jumped ship to APW. The True Expert had signed with a federation that wasn't even on the map. This created a bidding war between ''The Experts'' and their rivals that made up the ''Collective''. Months later; Mr. Jesse Gunn appeared on the APW; granting President Jeff a prestige spot in the world wide inter-fed, you know as The Experts; with Level-One noted as an honorary member on APW television with the entire world playing as witness.
So, the next time you decide to participate in an Experts-event which smears your ugly face on it's large banner don't forget to thank ME for making it possible for you to do so, you fucking blood sucking leech. If I didn't take the APW to the next level... why is it that the past two main-eventers are on record claiming to have got into the APW ranks, solely to lace up their wrestling boots with yours truly? Slade Craven? He came here to bump heads with ''THE EXPERT'' only get dropped off a twenty foot latter ultimately ending his career as an active competitor in this sport.
The second person? It was you! What irony! Furthermore proving you pull talking points out of your ass with no historical facts to back it up. You had it written in your contract that first match you compete in was to be against ME! The APW world champion in the main-event as well as a bunch of other freebies that have helped you become a big name in the APW and wrestling world abroad. You claim to be one of the best wrestlers in the world, do you not? So, not only have I elevated the APW as a name brand, I'm also the target to which big names come on board in attempts to dethrone the big bad wolf! Priceless.
So yes, President Jeff founded the foundation and paid for the lot. I, on the other hand built it into the empire we are all apart of today. That isn't an ego, trip. It's just fact and it's why the APW is as great as it is today, above and beyond the old, defunct, CWC.
As for Rasslemania four? John Green's pathetic in-ring display, pretty much killed the entire show—if I didn't show up by the next Rasslemania the buy-rates would be as low as Pence Weatherlight gets for a title shot, alright? If I wasn't forced to carry, this lump of dog shit called Pence Weatherlight for an entire hour there is an 80% chance this match would be over even quicker then it took Lambardo to pin John Green.
Rasslemania five was an improvement by 50%; I say this because I was on the card in the main-event but Micheal Lively was across from me, throwing his toys out of the tram because he couldn't have his way, again—another main-event ruined. Do you see the flow of pattern here?
This year I am matched up with Pence Weatherlight, finally a match worth seeing. Don't get me wrong, Pence Weatherlight maybe pasty as fuck and he may be the vanilla to your chocolate but he still possesses more talent then anyone who main-evented the last four Rasslemania's combined—although, I'm going to join the (Two) Victor Hades fans in the world and join them in saying, Victor Hades deserves Pence Weatherlights spot. Victor was SCREWED!
Still, to Pence Weatherlight justice comes in a form of blow jobs and bribes, who actually cares about earning shit around here, anymore? This match isn't going to be perfect but Pence Weatherlight is the type of flesh I and sink my teeth into while President Jeff can find me a more worthy opponent next year when I'm standing in the ring, main-eventing Rasslemania for the third year in a row.
Hopefully, this opponent can bring to the table something we haven't seen before, heard before and also dreaded before like Pence Weatherlight manages to do each time he decides to open his mouth. If you can find me one person on the APW roster as clueless to how big a fucking joke they are—other then Jason Royce—as Pence Weatherlight and I'll give you a free title shot. Anywhere, anytime.
I mean this guy, literally laid on his bed, opened his eyes, rolled out and decided to shoot a promo leaving me with hilarious sound bytes on how boring, I am! Failing to note that he tried to actually say the shit he said three times before but feel asleep before he could get through it all which explains why he had just opened his eyes his OWN promo put him to sleep! Someone tell cock-breath to brush his teeth and wipe the fucking crust from his eyes before he decides to address the BEST goddamn wrestler he has ever stepped in the ring with and will do so again at the biggest show of the year.
What's really notable about his entire tirade about... nothing? Is that apparently he thinks nobody cares about what the APW world champion has to say, yet feels he's exempted from this rule being, the challenger? This all of course is said right before he decides to start a twenty minute DEBATE responding to what I said, line by line, furthermore displaying Pence's proficiency when it comes to shooting low quality promos.
Still, you need to note that Pence Weatherlight has comprehension skills of that of a five year old boy. For not only did he use my words, unable to think of anything to say himself but he also decided to respond in depth to shit, I didn't say. Like when I mentioned that the FANS were meant to sit in the crowd to watch men like ME rule with an iron fist. Yeah, you fucking nut... the fans. The entire world doesn't spin around the orbit of your fat ass, you self conceited cunt.
I mean is it anymore obvious you want to be me? I mean, if saying shit I have said to you—back to me with shit delivery, isn't a sign you are MY number one and only fan in the entire world, then I don't know what is. Maybe you DO want to sit in the crowd after-all! I mean; how about that shitty explanation on why you decided to dress up in black and run around in a mask, staging attacks on yourself in attempts to ''wooo'' the crowd? So, apparently a black mask and a thug suit stands for everything I am, right? Here's a fucking tip; try not to grasp at straws too hard, you might pull something...
Last time I checked; I dropped the mask thing, like... two years ago and never would dare wear such attire. Last time I checked, I didn't create stupid plans to stage attacks on myself (risking injury) solely to shock the world built off the mere foundation of shock value and sensationalism. Lastly, I never had to dress up and pretend to be the bad guy—you can't shed my skin nor can you wear it. You better ask Slade Craven for some better excuses because at the very least his is built on a solid foundation, yours is entirely made up.
What's next? You're going to smash an apple and compare it to what you'll do to my head? Are you going to stand in-front of a tree; chop it down with a chainsaw and then proceed to tie it into some bullshit about your in-ring strategy of taking my legs away from me so I collapse to the ground, just like the tree? I mean, seriously... it's almost as if you aren't even trying anymore. About what time do we just all just stop this madness and point and laugh at you? Is it now? How about now?
Now? Come on. It has to be now!
As for this ridiculous notion that I am scared of you? Yeah, your onto something. I'm so terrified that I have beaten you on more then one occasion. I'm so terrified that your oozing with reliability and consistency, on a nightly basis. In fact, Pence... I am so deathly scared of you; I didn't even take the time to do a number on you beforehand. Simply because you deserve this. Why would I have to take you out, Pence? Why would I have to soften YOU up? I thought this roster was the least bit competent. It didn't matter who got this match, I was going to sit back and watch this roster fight over that spot—like I would have done if I wasn't in my position...
However, they didn't. They sat back, being content with mediocrity, never demanding better. Victor Hades never stood up, grabbed a microphone and demanded a shot at the APW world champion. The Axis didn't put their desire for power into the need to be world champion, despite me being more the willing to give either of them a title shot. President Jeff handed you over the opportunity and although you didn't even bother to run with it, nobody tried to take it from you... further explaining why the APW needs an image of star like me to further motivate them to be as great as I am.
If you take this title from me, you'll promote the same cancer spreading like a wildfire around here. This roster is way too complacent—just like you are. Sure, you decided to finally find the gull to fight back, Pence but you threw a rather unnecessary punch which ultimately got you laid the fuck out. You pranced around as the masked man for NO good reason because a week later, I'd level the playing field.
You can't do anything right, you're fucking failure. I may have scum bag parents; but where the hell are yours? See, my mother? She's scum. Not me. My brother? He's the traitor, not me. My father? He's the criminal, not me. So what makes you think I damn well care about what they have to say about me, punk? Your family on the other hand; I'd love to meet them. I bet they can't even stand to show their faces around you, scum. I bet they changed their last names after what you have done to the ''Weatherlight''' family name which has been associated with the very essence of pure filth, beyond your fake veil of purity.
Let's face it; I consume you cookie cutter fakes trying to keep it edgy at the same time. You're APW's version of Shadow Man, with less world championships under his belt and a less then impressive win streak. However, you're still treated like he was, royalty. Go ask Shadow Man what I did to him. Go ask him how it felt to be uncovered as a fraud who paid, bribed and stole his way to the top—all the while in with his buddies at the top, to hold anyone deemed as a threat down with their backs to the floor.
I'm exposing you come Rasslemania six, fraud! I'm going to wipe that confident smirk off your face and the whole world is going to watch me do it. How is the little show you put on for the fans going to pick you up, when I drop you on your neck and you can't feel your legs? How will the fans who are more busy shovelling obese amounts of popcorn into the big gaping hole in their faces going to help you out when I run up the big old score board!? Nothing! Fan favourites have been proven to do nothing but sell a few extra wrist bands and corporate t-shirts, so fuck you, fuck your fans and to hell with the entire world; this is MY show, boy.
I have never been so prepared in my life for a match. You want to win? You're going to have to take my fucking pound of flesh to your grave to do so! Do NOT take my preparation as a sign of your less then stellar intimidation tactics. Am I preparing for this match harder then any before? You can damn well bet I am! This isn't a weekly show. This isn't a run by the mill pay-per-view with some cannon fodder competitor tossed in my ring for disposal. This is rasslemania. The biggest and brightest display of what this company has to offer all year round!
You may not realize it and you may not even respect it—but when your laid out in the ring, looking up at the bright lights, snapping in and out of consciousness; You'll realize you just missed the opportunity of a life time to be something and there won't be a damn thing you can say or do to change it.
This is a story of betrayal, deceit and lost souls...
This is the story of my life and we all know how that ends....
I win.
Feat. The continuum of the Family Bloodlines series
''It must suck to see things through my brothers eyes... he's all but blind'' - Level-One
Chris ''Game-over'' Only's; POV
You don't know how it feels to be related to one of the most popular stars in business knowing that you had just as much if not more to offer to the entire world. My little brother, Lester Only has become the measurement stick of success, I know I'll never ever be able to reach. As long as my name is mentioned in the same sentence as his... for as his as long has his name is mentioned at all, I'll always be the failure. The one who is the first to have his face shoved in shit, spit upon and left to cope with the consequences of anothers action...
Lester Only, isn't a wrestler. I am the wrestler. I've been studying old black and white film since I was twelve years old. Learning in-ring manoeuvres long before I even had the opportunity to preform them. I understood in-ring psychology, I practically had a goddamn PHD in the art. Medals, trophies, I had it all too—I was even picked for an Olympic team representing my country, but like everything else it was stripped away from me. This time in the form of a strained groin.
Since then this thing called life hasn't let up when it comes to kicking me in the balls. My career in this business was all but set for the rest of my life, until one in-ring fuck up, ruined it all for me. You can't wrestle with a broken back, no, not even if you're Level-One. Shit, I was Level-One. It pains me to this day, to see him relishing in my spot, prancing around with world titles and all the opportunity of the world, only to see him down on himself, wasting a single moment down on himself. I'd give anything I ever had to feel what he felt, just for a second, and I'd appreciate it a whole hell of a lot more then he would too.
The truth is, Lester isn't good at anything, but wrestling. It's all he has, anymore. He's destroyed everything else in the name of getting to where he has gotten, a length—I probably wouldn't go through myself. There is nothing worth selling your soul to the devil in return for a tongue of a venomous snake and a mind of psychopath able to mentally tear apart even those physically stronger then he is. Lester hasn't ever won a single world title based on talent alone, it's all the other things he brings to the table with him that puts him over the edge.
I have the formula to defeat my brother myself and if I wasn't a cripple, I'd just about shock the entire world by doing so. I guess the only question now is—what should I choose to do with this information?
A part of me wants to keep it to myself. I love my little brother more then words can describe. To this day, I still remember all the times we spent as children together—ignoring, the shades of black and blue sometimes on his face, he always wore a smile. And while there was no other kid he'd get along with in his neighbourhood he showed me apart of him, apart he showed nobody else, apart of him... I find it hard to see in him, today. Things have changed since then...
I'm I bitter? Goddamn right, I'm bitter. For the past two weeks, I have heard nothing but Level-One this and Level-One that... you may as well as chalk this up as a victory and X out that other guy, by now because the media much like him, never looks twice at the underdog. Not once have they sent out a camera crew to interview the one man who knows him best, simply because... besides having a bullet pumped into inches away from my spine, nobody knows I exist anymore...
I don't want to hear about Level-One anymore. I want to hear about Pence Weatherlight. I want to hear about Chris Only. Shit, instead of Level-One... let's talk about the little brother I knew as Lester Only? Let's talk about the underdogs for once. The men discarded, forgotten and thrown upon the old dusty book shelves because their stories weren't appealing when put up against, the big bad wolf.
A nurse handed me an envelope as I stared up at the television with sheer contempt as it advertised the big pay-per-view event with my brothers face on it. Ignoring the sender of the letter I was kick to rip it open—it isn't often I get mail, other then an odd medical expense I cannot afford to pay. Inside of it?
A ticket it to Rasslemania six with a small note attached.
Dear, Chris...
I am sorry for how things that have been going down lately and I want to fix things, properly. This is a front row ticket to Rasslemania six with a backstage pass code embedded within the ticket bar code. Hope to talk to you soon, brother.
Remember... bound by blood.
Sincerely, Lester Only.
Nothing more then just another slap in the face, he needed to rub in the fact that he was main-eventing the biggest show of the weekend, well, so much for his ego. As, I ripped the ticket up and tossed it to the floor like confetti. The line was drawn and there was no going back.
He'd look into the crowd for his big brother and he wouldn't be there; but that was only half of the equation. I wasn't supporting him but the underdog, Pence Weatherlight. I was going to give his camp and information he could possible use against him to pick apart the big giant on the biggest night of his life.
This is tough love— and my little brother needs to be saved.
''If only she could see through her eyes the pain she put me through... but that will never happen.'' – Level-One
My mothers eyes; POV
It's been awhile since I have held him in my arms but when did everything felt right. I loved my son, Lester Only, with every inch of my heart before it became black. This part of me he was far too young to remember and the choices I have made has set him on a path similar to my own, with less redeeming qualities. And I fear that what I have passed down to him has crippled him for the rest of his life and forever will be fighting with a seemingly irreversible effect.
Nobody knows an addict better then an addict. I was addicted to drugs, wholesale, it didn't matter what I could find my hands on. And when I was sick and tired of my drug habit, I washed it down with vodka in attempts to numb the pain but that eventually all wears off and your left with what you really are, an addict. The key to healing an addict is removing their addiction and never falling back into it's death trap. I was a lucky, one.
My son, Lester Only doesn't have such a luxury and I am to blame. He hasn't ever been taught right from wrong, good from evil—just how to survive the best he can. Still, to this day I have trouble knowing that I beat the innocence from a child, my own child. And while even his biggest critics would say he turned out better then his jail-house, prostituting on 48th street, whore of a mother—the illusion of the bright lights, fame, and everything else normal people live with out, he needs. And when he can't hide anymore, he'll have to face himself and through his eyes he will see my face Methadone-riddled and all.
I fear the moment he loses the empire he has built for the entire world to see his life will go with it. This is all he identifies with. Words cannot describe knowing that your son will never understand just how much you love him because you taught him not how to love—but to hate, to destroy, and to even kill if it means getting what you feel the world owes you. And the only thing worse in the world then burying your own child is burying your child that you yourself, helped kill.
If it wasn't for Religion; I don't know if I'd be here in the same shape I am today. Through all the abuse, all the deception and through all my crimes committed my Pastor, Pastor L. Willis had stood by my side, washing away my sins one day at a time and so, I'd be here for the rest of my life. The only hope I had left in my son, is that he didn't give up his belief of a greater being, looking out for him under the worse circumstance. God alone couldn't save him but he, investing in the spirit of the lord Jesus Christ, perhaps was the last hope I still had in bringing my son, Lester Only, life—for the first time.
''Pastor Willis, I'm ready. I'm ready to know the truth about my son.''
''Is that so? Certainly, this isn't an easy thing for you to do. There is no judge thou more truthful then our Lord. No matter the answer he brings upon you, you must not let it break your spirit nor your will, you must continue to strive to be a better person and a devote believer to our precious lord, Jesus Christ''
''Yes, Pastor. Has my son, Lester Only, stopped coming here regularly?
The pastor lifted his head and put his index finger in the air.
''Yes, he has. Mr. Only, has stepped onto the alter with me. He is a grown, strong, man now—but he has lost his way, I am afraid. It is policy of the lord that I do not share soft words, spoken in confidence. However under the circumstance that you are his mother and perhaps the only person who can save this boy, I must make an exception and hope god can forgive my sin...''
The old pastor placed a hand on his Bible to which I added into the mix, my own. As Pastor Willis told me the story, with picture perfect perfection—for he had never encountered anything like it before. I said a short prayer in which the Pastor's pure words would lie hope.
~ ~ ~
One day, I was in the church alone ready to head home just in time for supper when someone came marching through the church. He was drenched in water which soaked through his clothing and gave him the annoyance of a runny nose. At first, I was alarmed and reminded him that I was done here for the night but he was insistent with his appeals. Despite, not knowing this mans intentions or what he had to lay out on the alter before him, I took him in. There is nothing like practising what you preach.
I didn't recognize him as your son until he would later tell me his name but I did remember the lost look in his eyes searching for an answers he had come to the right place. He also had his fair share of questions...
''Do people really still come here and pray?''
''Why, yes... faith never dies in those who are truly alive, Mr. Only. What can I with the assistance of the almighty Gold help you out with today?''
At this point his eyes were scanning the church. Most notably, he had seemed to be fascinated with windows above the church tinted with various colours perhaps it was all he still remembers of the place at all.
''So, apparently your the man I come to, you know--cleanse myself from sins? Not to say, I actually believe any of this stuff anyways...''
''If you are ready to make such a bold move in the name of God, then feel free to shed your layers of sin right on this alter''
Unsure of the opportunity he had before him Lester Only merely shrugged his shoulders and took a seat on one of the many empty rows that filled the church while I stood behind a small podium becoming his witness.
''I haven't murdered, nor have I raped, hell I haven't stolen a damn thing in my life but a loaf of bred one time when I was hungry, yet... the entire world sees me as a bad guy. Evil. Hell, I'm practically the Anti-Christ to these people which makes being here a little more awkward...''
''Well, do you believe you are evil?''
''No, not really. The truth is, I don't know what evil really is. I mean, maybe it's killing innocents--or maybe it's raping young girls or even maybe it's stealing from the poor but I haven't done none of that... yet.''
I watched Mr. Only, stew in his own confusion. Unable to comprehend even the basics of morality and the more he spoke the more I was able to read into the poor mans soul, not even he knew he had within him.
''Is it the blood I spill of mortal men in the name of
entertainment? Is it the venom I spit to destroy them before they even step in between the ropes? Or am I guilty of sin for being who I am—a created, well crafted machine who has been advertised and paid to be a one man wrecking crew solely designed forever separate fathers away from their sons, daughters and wife's mercilessly without batting a single eye of regret... is that why those people boo me?''
I watched him as he shook his head back and forth, not even granting me the opportunity to add in another word. He was pouring his heart out or rather, everything he still had left of it.
''... or maybe it's her voice. The voice of the devil. Maybe, she isn't just speaking to me and me alone, anymore. Perhaps, everyone else can hear her within me too. She is a bad women, Pastor... and she can't be trusted as long as she speaks to me and makes me act out; I can't be trusted. Can you see the devil within me?''
''No, Mr. Only... but God can. God can free you from this. You just need to embrace him. Accept him into his life. Listen to the words of God and it'll carry you a long way''
''Pastor... I don't believe God''
Silence between the both of us commenced for what seemed to convert into a lifetime. The bell began to toll.
''Then I am afraid I can't help you. I have done all I can...''
''So that's it?''
He exclaimed before standing to his feet and throwing his hands up in protest. As much as he wanted the devil purged from himself—it was something, he would have to do by finding himself within himself. Mr. Only, shook his head in disgust and spit venom on the alter.
''You're church is no good for nothing. If you can't help me, nobody can. You just don't come crying to lord Jesus Christ when I burn everything in my wake to get what I want. And if nobody can help me, nobody can stop me! Any blood I spill is on your precious lords hands...''
~ ~ ~
I almost cried hearing the story of the encounter at the church with Pastor Willis. It was a punch in the stomach, a kick in the gut—anything, Lester Only ever felt physically, I was now feeling mentally. I almost wanted to relapse and simply take the easy way out, again. I tried to remember the Pastors words and hold faith, high.
So with Pastor Willis by my side we prayed for my son, Lester Only. For what has been seen as the biggest opportunity of his life coming this weekend; I clasped my hands together so tight, the blood ran escaping my veins ultimately turning my hands blanket white.
''Please lord 'O Jesus Christ, cure Lester Only. Please lord 'O Jesus Christ, save my son. Please, lord... I beg of you don't you let my son walk out with that devils trophy attached to that leather strap of hell and cleanse his soul in the name of justice...
Amen''
''I used to hate the saying like father like son...growing up without one'' - Level-One
Rashid's Only; POV
If anyone understood Lester Only, it was me. Stubborn, hard headed and determined as ever are all traits he has had passed down to him, by me. For the first twenty plus years of his life, I didn't know who he was. I never got the chance to see him grow up and never would've have if he didn't come searching for me—the dad he never knew.
I never had the opportunity to play a game of catch in the back yard, nor there to attend his first day at school because I was held prisoner. I killed a man. I kill a father of my son's mortal enemy, without even knowing it. Lester Only and Joel Bryant were born and raised to hate each-other without ever seeing or acknowledging the others existence and when they cross paths, a spark just lit. A bowel movement with their soul had them acting out in ways, words cannot describe. To watch my son go through what he did, well, I feel guilty. I am guilty.
I don't know much about this Pence Weatherlight fella and I know I didn't kill his, father—but the hate between both men was growing too strong. It was far too dangerous and there was no guarantee he was going to make it out alive this time, like he did the last. I know this isn't anymore of my business then it is yours but I couldn't watch my son do this all over again.
Excuse my penmanship. It's been a while since I have swung, anything other then the sword. Here are a few written mails to which we corresponded to each other. With no steady location, I often found myself using other home addresses, sneaking into the mail box and retrieving my piece—but more often then not, my efforts were failed ones.
It's sad when your only relationship with your own son is that of a pen-pal—but an old man like me, needs to take whatever he can get.
From: Lester Only
To: Rashid Only
Date: July, 18th, 09
''So, your supposed to be that big, bad guy, dead beat of father mother used to talk about, huh? She maybe right about the deadbeat part but you aren't half as bad as you were cracked out to be. I haven't seen you since the big bust. You know I put my fucking neck on line for that, don't you? My relationship with Chris hasn't been the same since the shooting. You fucked up on that one. Look, if you don't want to see your son or even thank him properly for what he's done for you then fine but make sure you keep moving, Joel Bryant is still soar about his ass kicking a few weeks ago and he's looking for some justice any way he can get it.
Don't let him win. And enjoy the $100 the came with this. Don't spend it on stupid shit.''
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: July, 27th, 09
''First off thanks for the $100 I was able to stay in a motel for two nights with clean running water which I don't get to do very often. It's tough out here, you know... on the run. It's too hot right now to be so out in the open and with all that press around you at that Pence Weatherlight doesn't help this situation at all. You do you know your a suspect in my breakout from the Siberian Prison, right?
Anyways, don't let that bother you and congratulations on beating Joel Bryant once and for all. I am sorry for getting you in all this mess to begin with. Fate is a weird thing, no science can explain. I'm out here right now living for you, so keep safe—and watch out for this Pence Weatherlight kid, he's dangerous and I don't want to be here months from now watching you go through what you did with Joel Bryant, you guys turned each-other into mince meat out there. No prison fight in Siberia with forks and spoons were ever that violent.
I hope you can read this letter, I know my hand writing is sloppy, son''
From: Lester Only
To: Rashid Only
Date: September, 14, 09
''You're hard to pin down. I sent a few mails out but I don't think you got them. I sure hope this address is right; I guess it is if your reading it, huh? Anyways, all is well and I got your letter and was able to make out, at least half of it. To be honest, I don't know what you see in this Pence Weatherlight kid that I don't; he's nothing special, a shot in the dark at best. This championship is going to be with me for a long time.
Anyways, the heat for your lynch party for the most part had died down. Since you were held in Siberia and is now hiding on in the states our great officials has basically let you off their radar. Now, don't get careless—but you haven't exactly appeared on American's most wanted just yet.
Stay out of trouble''
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: November 2, 09
''Sorry, I haven't gotten back to you for so long. I've been... you know, making a living. And before you tell me that I should ask you for help know that I can't do that for the rest of my life, son. I'm alright out here and I'm staying with a trusted friend. Hell, he even has this computer in his house that has something called the internet. I'm sure you've heard of it, already. Anyways, you can now send me messages through email right here: (REDACTED@hotmail.com)
Let's face it this writing letter thing is out of style''
From: Lester Only
To: Rashid Only
Date: November, 8th, 09
So what's next, old man? Text messages VIA black berries? The internet is great for porn but not much else.
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: February, 6th, 2010
''I'm afraid that didn't last long enough. The guy robbed all my stuff. Apparently, it wasn't his house... nor even his computer. There is nothing more awkward then having a white suburban family walk in on you eating a bowl of co-co puffs on their leather couch. Tough luck. I'm back on the streets. Is as if these people aren't even trying to catch me, anymore.
Anyways, I don't want to spook you out... but apparently there's been a sighting of your mother around these streets as a big-church goer or something but I don't know who I can trust anymore...
Hope all is well, son''
From: Rashid Only
To: Lester Only
Date: March, 10th, 2010
''Hello, son. Where have you gone? Is everything, alright? You stopped writing to me and here we are, almost a year later and things between you and Pence Weatherlight has ramped up. You are going too far with this. Relax. You don't need to kill yourself in the name of a title. Those come and go, you only live life one time.
Siberia is filled with guys like you. Guys, wrestling in promotions that end up losing it all by taking it a step too far. Pence Weatherlight isn't worth being locked up for the rest of your life. Don't make the same mistakes that I did, son.
...and remember I am always here for you, even if it means taking a bullet''
That was the last mail I sent to my son. I watch my son an old television, right inside my favourite bar, shovelling the various pieces of paper letters corresponding with each-other back into my pockets.
''Aye, that guy looks awfully familiar like you''
A bar tender says as he wipes spilt beer from his counter. I looked up at him and then back at the television watching my son utter the words ''I am going to kill you''. It was everything I feared, everything I couldn't let happen. It was time to put my words into actions—I owed my son, Lester Only that much. I'd do everything in my power to make sure this match didn't happen.
''Aye, what the hell are you doing with that?''
The bartender exclaimed as held a pistol in my hand cocking back the trigger as the bar tender took a step back. I hopped up off the stool and threw the bartender all the change I had left in my pocket, I wouldn't need anything else after today.
''Nothin' I won't regret''
~ ~ ~
Lester Only sat at a desk placed on his large tour bus over looking a piece of paper with the television playing quietly in the backdrop. He had written out a note to his father, Rashid Only—and was all but ready to send it to his last known address, until backdrop of the television became the forefront of his attention.
BREAKING NEWS: CRAZED FAN INJURS ONE
''Today, shots rang out after a shooter took aim at what was thought to originally be APW superstar Pence Weatherlight's vehicle which was expected to arrive at an event earlier today. As many of you may know, Pence Weatherlight is scheduled to main-event a match at this weekends Rasslemania six which is one of the biggest sports events all year...
Police are currently looking for the shooter who was said to have escaped through the crowd. One person was injured none relating Pence Weatherlight or his camp. The victim has been rushed to a local hospital and is currently in life-threatening condition. As of now, neither Pence Weatherlight or Action Packed Wrestling has issued a statement regarding the incident...
...next up, how can you make the perfect Rasslemania meal using your coupons!''
Lester Only turns away from the television with his eyes perked in confusion. He returns his focus back to the letter reading it over again before looking glancing over the one that had been sent to him, originally which was signed,
''...your number one fan; your father''
Lester Only, shook his head free—not wanting to believe the conclusion that he ran into face first. In a burst of rage he through his pen at the television screen before ripping up the letter he was writing, for he knew it was too late. The battle that his father had warned him about had come to full scale and no amount of blood spilt by the end of the night would ever defuse the situation.
''Damn...''
Is about all he could say.
''We all make sacrifices—most often, it's never ourselves but I never been the one to follow the status quo. You know that.''- Level-One
Through my own eyes
Today was the longest day of the rest of my life. It was only a matter of time before I went into battle. No guns, no war paint and no flags. This was a war most don't ever get the opportunity to prepare for; and war where the odds are you'll never walk out the same again. I feared not the enemy, but the environment of war—it's unpredictable, it's fast paced and it's all about capitalizing on open opportunities to move your battle forward and onward.
The bus rolls down the high way, with the sun dipping below the skyline as dawn approached. It's been a long and hard road to get here and I don't think there is a damn person in this perceived to be free world who is ever fully prepared for what environments this place on hell has to offer—but what I can say is, I am more prepared then I have ever been for battle.
It didn't matter what new techniques Pence Weatherlight had been learning nor the specialized training regiment he had gone through heading into this match because you may be able to each a new dog new tricks but this old dog knows all the tricks in the book—he wasn't bringing a damn thing to the table I hadn't seen before.
As I stared out the window engaged in mental stimulation and preparation; Lee Takashi entered my living space on the bus throwing down two black VCR tapes on the couch beside me. The big black blocks were as old school as ever but Lee Takashi never made the transition from tapes to DVD's as his tape collection was far too large to abandon. You couldn't find a better guy to run down an opponent with you before a big match. Even according to him, I'm not perfect—he has a better eye then I do.
''More tapes? Fucking hell. I feel like I know Pence Weatherlight more then I know myself and to be quite honest... President Jeff couldn't have found me the most dull opponent in the APW locker room if he tried. I mean, shit. I'm not a fan of Victor Hades or even Micheal Lively but at the very least they actually try to be original''
''It isn't about personality, Level. It's about in-ring effectiveness. Pence Weatherlight is no slouch and can carry his own''
''Well... does he have to bore the fuck out of me by doing so?''
I complained before sluggishly, grabbing the first tape. In the middle of the white sticker a tittle was written in blue marker; Pence Weatherlights Promo. Scoffing, I picked up the second tape this one reading; Pence Weatherlights trash talk.
''Oh give me a fucking break! He couldn't fit it all on one tape again?''
''Nope''
''Well... do you think you can cut me a break? How about we, like, skip the boring filler he does to pass time and get to the meat of it?''
''Then that will round out to be about two minutes, yeah?''
''Yeah. Well that's not counting the ten minutes spent fast-forwarding it all. That's the entire point. You know I'm really strapped for time...''
Lee Takashi flashed me a serious look which meant if I knew what was best for me, I'd watch Pence Weatherlights tapes as painful as it would come to be. Still, I wasn't in the mood for testing out my pain endurance just yet as I threw the tapes carelessly off the chair and stretched out my legs, as Lee Takashi disappeared through the curtain and into another location of the large tour bus.
Tonight was the big night and it wasn't in the form of bright lights and an arena packed with a sold out crowd with the rest of the world sitting on the edges of their seats at home—no. It was the night that I would seal my fate against Pence Weatherlight well before we stood across the ring from each-other waiting for the old familiar bell to toll again...
By midnight I would reach the empty field and Lee Takashi would be fast asleep, not understanding the pre-match ritual I was going to take part of; Lester Only maybe Lester Only—but even I know Level-One is all the more powerful.
Goodnight, Lester Only. Nice knowing you.
~ ~ ~
The creatures of the night were in full force. The crickets chirped and the mosquito bit away, sucking my blood like a vulture. My face, arms, torso and legs are cut by the brush which spanned for what felt like miles. I'd be lying, if I said I didn't feel like turning back and calling it in for the night—but I pushed myself.
My mouth was dry and my throat burned and I seemingly in the middle of nowhere. This was right spot, it had to be—but where were the hooded figures like the note on the mirror entailed? So, with nowhere to go, I waited and waited then I waited some more—but still, nothing. I had set up my own death trap, stuck in the middle of nowhere with no chance on finding my way back.
The thick brush started stirring, which caught my attention. Alert, I took a step back but a similar sound now came from behind me. The sounds continued and the longer they went on the quicker they got. I can't tell you how long this went on for—it felt like ages in the moment right before everything stopped.
Yellow eyes, growling teeth, cutting through the darkness of night. I slowly turned around, preforming a full circle like a circus monkey, realizing I was surrounded by a pack of wild coyotes with famine for hunger.
''Oh, fuck...''
Then everything went black.
~ ~ ~
I opened my eyes to see three faces staring down at me. A pretty but scornful women. She wore a lot of make up, most notably the black make up painted on her poisonous lips and her eyes burned with hells fire, it was the first time I saw her in person, assuming I still wasn't dreaming.
The second person was best described as my twin. He was the man in the mirror. He looked just like me, except he wore the old black mask face covering, hiding everything below the eyes. His yellow eyes, looked just like the coyotes that I swore consumed me whole.
The third person was The man in the white mask. A pure soul, who wore a white nylon mask, a pair of dark classes and white fedora atop his head. He was tall but slim and peered well over both her and the man in the mirror. Slowly, I pulled myself to my feet as they all stared wholes right through me.
''Where the hell am I?''
I asked as the three figures merely looked at each-other and shrugged their shoulders; as the man in the white mask stepped forward offering me his hand.
''I am afraid you are dead''
''What!? A day before Rasslemania six!? This can't be happening, please tell me this is all just a sick joke...''
''No, Lester Only is dead now—but I hold the power to give him a second life. ''
I reached out to grab his hand but the she-devil was quick to flaunt her beauty, as she put her finger on my cheek and seductively ran her hand across it softly, lifting up my chin as she stared into my face.
''This is what you wanted, isn't it? Lester Only is dead now—and now we can take over full time like we once were before Lester Only got in our way. You are most powerful human being when you utilize your greatest strength... me and you together, will destroy Pence Weatherlight and any other mediocre force who is stupid enough to choose to stand in our way''
''So you are my ticket to guaranteeing the victory, huh?''
She giggled playfully, before leaning into my ear and whispering softly.
''You bet''
Her tongue slid down up my neck as her lips touched my own; the sweetness of her lips was enough for me to sell my soul; I craved for more of it—but The Man in the Mirror was resilient in his fight for survival.
''Fuck that trick! Come on, man. You know there ain't no better team then me and you! Imagine this—a pure Level-One, huh? No more bullshit dilemmas about good cop, bad cop—we won't feel a damn thing. And more importantly, if you go with me; no more voices''
''Seriously?''
''Do I look like I am fucking joking with you? I say, to hell with both of these clowns and you join me—together we will be physical specimen where our only weakness is this super-natural-horse shit these two have to offer you...''
The man in the mirror illustrates this by shoving the she-devil into the Man in the white mask. The she-devil shoves the man in the white mask backwards before snapping around, letting out a loud threatening hiss which nearly deafens me in the process.
''What? Did I step on your tail again?''
''You really don't think this man is dumb enough to re-birth himself in your body, do you? A human has limitations that I do not''
''A human is what he is!''
''Hey, you shut your fucking mouth and keep out if it, slick. There is a reason your main-man is dead and that's because you offer him nothing but weakness!''
''There you go again. Insulting the man you except to take your hand and join you in this battle''
''You both are despicable. Lester Only, is the only thing pure about this man and you have arranged his death just so we can do this entire thing, again. You already know what this righteous man will do. Do the right thing...''
The bickering stopped as they all turned their attention to me as if they were waiting for answer from me. I closed my eyes and let myself drift away, before opening them again... but they were still here. I blinked twice more but to no avail. Maybe, I really was dead. Who was I to choose? The powerful devil which brought on evil. The man in the white mask who offered me peace at the price of fame or the happy medium the man in the mirror had offered me? Unable to come to a conclusion, I lowered my head.
''I don't know what I want guys...''
The man in the mirror was quick to celebrate his self-perceived victory.
''Ha! That means he chooses me''
The she devil merely scoffs in disbelief her tactics were unable to sway the victory her way. The man in the white masked raised a single finger in the air.
''Incorrect. I afraid what this truly means is that this man does not get an opportunity to choose which one of us he goes back with. Instead, we must all bind ourselves within him once again for one last final battle''
''Wait... what are you talking about?''
I asked in the heat of my confusion as the she-devil smiled devilishly.
''Hunny, it means Pence Weatherlight is going to be the one who determines your fate''
~ ~ ~
''Lester... Lester... Lester!''
A voice screamed out. I opened my eyes as Lee Takashi stood over me with a helicopter spotlight glaring down upon me.
''You have just about lost your goddamn mind, haven't you, eh? You have the biggest match of your life coming up a day from now and your out here dancing with coyotes in the middle of the night! Half of Texas, county has been looking for you!''
Slowly, I lowered my head back onto the ground surrounded by large stands of grass and smiled.
''Well at least you found me. Lee, I have gone to a bad place and I was starting to question if I was ever coming back.''
''Well your back now kid. You're back now...''
I closed my eyes knowing it was out of my hands now but didn't feel safe knowing Pence Weatherlight played apart in all this with everything on the line and the stakes higher then ever. It's in your hands now, Pence Weatherlight.
So what are you going to do with it?
If you want to know why this Rasslemania is better then the other five just try to remember them. Face it the first 1-3 wasn't even under the APW banner and stands for everything wrong with the initial foundation of this company. There is a reason why President Jeff shut down his shop and decided to work for the EWC as a general manager and that's because his company wasn't breaking even profits no matter what bullshit he'll tell you. So, when Pence Weatherlight stands in front of a camera like an ignorant piece of shit and tells you I hadn't done anything for this company just grab the poop scoop because Pence is shitting out of his dirty mouth, again. President Jeff on RECORD acknowledges that he didn't expect his run with the APW to last over the one year mark...
but guess what? It did. And it was about then I jumped on board to breath yet MORE life into this promotion after it was barely breaking, even. While Pence was getting his panties in a bunch bitching about the shit he was shovelled back in the EWC; who was here, dominating, and changing up the scene of the APW? Me. The APW wasn't even on your goddamn radar, Pence—because you, like any other clown that decided to rub their ball sweat on Danny Mac's bald head for good luck, honestly believe the EWC was the end all and be all of professional wrestling. It's joke.
So, you tell me—Pence... who the fuck do you think actually put APW on the radar for good? President Jeff maybe a promotional genius but it wasn't he that did it. I held the Tittle of the True Expert and the Extreme Wrestling Corporation was shunned from the inter-federation due to it's low margin of profits and lack of television ratings which coincidentally, occurred right after I jumped ship to APW. The True Expert had signed with a federation that wasn't even on the map. This created a bidding war between ''The Experts'' and their rivals that made up the ''Collective''. Months later; Mr. Jesse Gunn appeared on the APW; granting President Jeff a prestige spot in the world wide inter-fed, you know as The Experts; with Level-One noted as an honorary member on APW television with the entire world playing as witness.
So, the next time you decide to participate in an Experts-event which smears your ugly face on it's large banner don't forget to thank ME for making it possible for you to do so, you fucking blood sucking leech. If I didn't take the APW to the next level... why is it that the past two main-eventers are on record claiming to have got into the APW ranks, solely to lace up their wrestling boots with yours truly? Slade Craven? He came here to bump heads with ''THE EXPERT'' only get dropped off a twenty foot latter ultimately ending his career as an active competitor in this sport.
The second person? It was you! What irony! Furthermore proving you pull talking points out of your ass with no historical facts to back it up. You had it written in your contract that first match you compete in was to be against ME! The APW world champion in the main-event as well as a bunch of other freebies that have helped you become a big name in the APW and wrestling world abroad. You claim to be one of the best wrestlers in the world, do you not? So, not only have I elevated the APW as a name brand, I'm also the target to which big names come on board in attempts to dethrone the big bad wolf! Priceless.
So yes, President Jeff founded the foundation and paid for the lot. I, on the other hand built it into the empire we are all apart of today. That isn't an ego, trip. It's just fact and it's why the APW is as great as it is today, above and beyond the old, defunct, CWC.
As for Rasslemania four? John Green's pathetic in-ring display, pretty much killed the entire show—if I didn't show up by the next Rasslemania the buy-rates would be as low as Pence Weatherlight gets for a title shot, alright? If I wasn't forced to carry, this lump of dog shit called Pence Weatherlight for an entire hour there is an 80% chance this match would be over even quicker then it took Lambardo to pin John Green.
Rasslemania five was an improvement by 50%; I say this because I was on the card in the main-event but Micheal Lively was across from me, throwing his toys out of the tram because he couldn't have his way, again—another main-event ruined. Do you see the flow of pattern here?
This year I am matched up with Pence Weatherlight, finally a match worth seeing. Don't get me wrong, Pence Weatherlight maybe pasty as fuck and he may be the vanilla to your chocolate but he still possesses more talent then anyone who main-evented the last four Rasslemania's combined—although, I'm going to join the (Two) Victor Hades fans in the world and join them in saying, Victor Hades deserves Pence Weatherlights spot. Victor was SCREWED!
Still, to Pence Weatherlight justice comes in a form of blow jobs and bribes, who actually cares about earning shit around here, anymore? This match isn't going to be perfect but Pence Weatherlight is the type of flesh I and sink my teeth into while President Jeff can find me a more worthy opponent next year when I'm standing in the ring, main-eventing Rasslemania for the third year in a row.
Hopefully, this opponent can bring to the table something we haven't seen before, heard before and also dreaded before like Pence Weatherlight manages to do each time he decides to open his mouth. If you can find me one person on the APW roster as clueless to how big a fucking joke they are—other then Jason Royce—as Pence Weatherlight and I'll give you a free title shot. Anywhere, anytime.
I mean this guy, literally laid on his bed, opened his eyes, rolled out and decided to shoot a promo leaving me with hilarious sound bytes on how boring, I am! Failing to note that he tried to actually say the shit he said three times before but feel asleep before he could get through it all which explains why he had just opened his eyes his OWN promo put him to sleep! Someone tell cock-breath to brush his teeth and wipe the fucking crust from his eyes before he decides to address the BEST goddamn wrestler he has ever stepped in the ring with and will do so again at the biggest show of the year.
What's really notable about his entire tirade about... nothing? Is that apparently he thinks nobody cares about what the APW world champion has to say, yet feels he's exempted from this rule being, the challenger? This all of course is said right before he decides to start a twenty minute DEBATE responding to what I said, line by line, furthermore displaying Pence's proficiency when it comes to shooting low quality promos.
Still, you need to note that Pence Weatherlight has comprehension skills of that of a five year old boy. For not only did he use my words, unable to think of anything to say himself but he also decided to respond in depth to shit, I didn't say. Like when I mentioned that the FANS were meant to sit in the crowd to watch men like ME rule with an iron fist. Yeah, you fucking nut... the fans. The entire world doesn't spin around the orbit of your fat ass, you self conceited cunt.
I mean is it anymore obvious you want to be me? I mean, if saying shit I have said to you—back to me with shit delivery, isn't a sign you are MY number one and only fan in the entire world, then I don't know what is. Maybe you DO want to sit in the crowd after-all! I mean; how about that shitty explanation on why you decided to dress up in black and run around in a mask, staging attacks on yourself in attempts to ''wooo'' the crowd? So, apparently a black mask and a thug suit stands for everything I am, right? Here's a fucking tip; try not to grasp at straws too hard, you might pull something...
Last time I checked; I dropped the mask thing, like... two years ago and never would dare wear such attire. Last time I checked, I didn't create stupid plans to stage attacks on myself (risking injury) solely to shock the world built off the mere foundation of shock value and sensationalism. Lastly, I never had to dress up and pretend to be the bad guy—you can't shed my skin nor can you wear it. You better ask Slade Craven for some better excuses because at the very least his is built on a solid foundation, yours is entirely made up.
What's next? You're going to smash an apple and compare it to what you'll do to my head? Are you going to stand in-front of a tree; chop it down with a chainsaw and then proceed to tie it into some bullshit about your in-ring strategy of taking my legs away from me so I collapse to the ground, just like the tree? I mean, seriously... it's almost as if you aren't even trying anymore. About what time do we just all just stop this madness and point and laugh at you? Is it now? How about now?
Now? Come on. It has to be now!
As for this ridiculous notion that I am scared of you? Yeah, your onto something. I'm so terrified that I have beaten you on more then one occasion. I'm so terrified that your oozing with reliability and consistency, on a nightly basis. In fact, Pence... I am so deathly scared of you; I didn't even take the time to do a number on you beforehand. Simply because you deserve this. Why would I have to take you out, Pence? Why would I have to soften YOU up? I thought this roster was the least bit competent. It didn't matter who got this match, I was going to sit back and watch this roster fight over that spot—like I would have done if I wasn't in my position...
However, they didn't. They sat back, being content with mediocrity, never demanding better. Victor Hades never stood up, grabbed a microphone and demanded a shot at the APW world champion. The Axis didn't put their desire for power into the need to be world champion, despite me being more the willing to give either of them a title shot. President Jeff handed you over the opportunity and although you didn't even bother to run with it, nobody tried to take it from you... further explaining why the APW needs an image of star like me to further motivate them to be as great as I am.
If you take this title from me, you'll promote the same cancer spreading like a wildfire around here. This roster is way too complacent—just like you are. Sure, you decided to finally find the gull to fight back, Pence but you threw a rather unnecessary punch which ultimately got you laid the fuck out. You pranced around as the masked man for NO good reason because a week later, I'd level the playing field.
You can't do anything right, you're fucking failure. I may have scum bag parents; but where the hell are yours? See, my mother? She's scum. Not me. My brother? He's the traitor, not me. My father? He's the criminal, not me. So what makes you think I damn well care about what they have to say about me, punk? Your family on the other hand; I'd love to meet them. I bet they can't even stand to show their faces around you, scum. I bet they changed their last names after what you have done to the ''Weatherlight''' family name which has been associated with the very essence of pure filth, beyond your fake veil of purity.
Let's face it; I consume you cookie cutter fakes trying to keep it edgy at the same time. You're APW's version of Shadow Man, with less world championships under his belt and a less then impressive win streak. However, you're still treated like he was, royalty. Go ask Shadow Man what I did to him. Go ask him how it felt to be uncovered as a fraud who paid, bribed and stole his way to the top—all the while in with his buddies at the top, to hold anyone deemed as a threat down with their backs to the floor.
I'm exposing you come Rasslemania six, fraud! I'm going to wipe that confident smirk off your face and the whole world is going to watch me do it. How is the little show you put on for the fans going to pick you up, when I drop you on your neck and you can't feel your legs? How will the fans who are more busy shovelling obese amounts of popcorn into the big gaping hole in their faces going to help you out when I run up the big old score board!? Nothing! Fan favourites have been proven to do nothing but sell a few extra wrist bands and corporate t-shirts, so fuck you, fuck your fans and to hell with the entire world; this is MY show, boy.
I have never been so prepared in my life for a match. You want to win? You're going to have to take my fucking pound of flesh to your grave to do so! Do NOT take my preparation as a sign of your less then stellar intimidation tactics. Am I preparing for this match harder then any before? You can damn well bet I am! This isn't a weekly show. This isn't a run by the mill pay-per-view with some cannon fodder competitor tossed in my ring for disposal. This is rasslemania. The biggest and brightest display of what this company has to offer all year round!
You may not realize it and you may not even respect it—but when your laid out in the ring, looking up at the bright lights, snapping in and out of consciousness; You'll realize you just missed the opportunity of a life time to be something and there won't be a damn thing you can say or do to change it.
This is a story of betrayal, deceit and lost souls...
This is the story of my life and we all know how that ends....
I win.
