''One's'' Family Bloodlines (5)

[Level-Two]

''One's'' Family Bloodlines (5)

Social Networking

''You need my help? Now isn't that ironic...'' He said.

As cliche as it was, desperate times call for desperate measures. And with only, a few hours until showtime those measures would need to be exercised if it meant keeping, secrets of the past in the past. My, mother was still alive and she still had her story to tell and she was going to tell it, despite the incident that had occurred just 48 hours ago. It was apparent to me that she was eager in her quest to break me, destroy me and bring me down once and for all...

I still couldn't believe the gun jammed. Even more so, I couldn't believe I was actually willing to pull the trigger but now that I have, killing seems more possible then ever. I was a shot away, from becoming a murder and all those claims of me being nothing but a thug, would be verified in the blood of my own mother. At the end of the day, the assassination attempt didn't work and time wasn't on my side. It was only, a mere day separating me from my highly anticipated match with Bryan Payne, and only hours removed from the even more-so anticipated nation-wide, interview.

There was no time to dwell on miss shots but more the enough time to reload and keep firing, only this time it wouldn't be in a literal sense. I would have to take my case to the highest power; the ones who plan to profit and gain recognition from the hour long segment. If I could get to the big, top dogs at the food chain and give them whatever they wanted, perhaps they could cut the vein to the heart. My mother couldn't share her story to an audience without the networks giving her the platform.

So, that brings us to where we are right now. In the parking lot of a major, television headquarter which is hosting the interview on it's channel. Along with me was Jason Blackburn. My former manager now turned lackey, with a sour taste in his mouth in the expulsion of his duties. While he was bitter he wasn't stupid, he knew better to fuck around with something as big as this.

I pointed at a large poster hanging, on the side of the HQ building. It was advertising the big interview. Perhaps, it was a foreshadow of things to come. These people wouldn't bite on anything, small. Which is exactly, why I brought Blackburn along. He was slick and ruthless and known for making things happen behind the scenes, now was his time to prove his worth.

''Sure looks like they've invested a whole lot of resources on this one. Goddamn it. You know damn well know if this was someone like... someone like Bryan Payne, it would be a footnote in a local newspaper not national television! Jesus... what have I gotten myself into?''

''Well, that's how show-biz works when you're the top, dog. Or, rather... close to one'' Came Jason Blackburn's response, sly and snarly per usual.

''Listen, keep your smart ass remarks to yourself. And try, not make me look like a damn fool in here. I, we, Jason... we have a lot riding on this'' I had said turning to Jason Blackburn.

''Hey, I'll do my best...'' He said, slowly lifting his hands beside himself as if to say, that was the best he could do.

''I'm serious, slick. Hell, if you can even land some type of deal in there, I might consider giving you some leverage...'' I said, grabbing Jason's interest as he tilted head slightly to the right. ''Though, don't count on it...'' I said, resulting in him rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

''I sure hope you've brought a blank cheque. These fat cats don't play nice around here. They could give less then two shits on whether or not you make it to your match up, this Sunday with a clear head or not, as long as they're getting paid...'' Jason Blackburn said before slipping a pair of black sun glasses over his face.

''Trust me. I know how these psychopaths minds work and it's not because I am one, either. I mean, take President Jeff for instance. He's all about the money, all about the cash, all about what could get him the most money in the shortest amount of time never thinking of the long term plan. It's why, he pushed a clean faced, Pence Weatherlight to the moon''

''Yeah, but then you got guys like, Biggs...'' Jason interjects, his voice with bitter quality. He wasn't happy, that Biggs had slighted him behind the scenes through contract dealings with me, he couldn't wait until President Jeff came back and put him in his place.

''Yeah, guys like Biggs... who too is all about the money. That's what all these guys think about, hell, that's all you think about too, Jason. At the end of the day, money talks. These guys will do absolutely, anything for it, they'll even sell out their own mothers for it...''

''How much could you get for yours?'' Jason Blackburn sarcastically, jabbed.

''Horrible joke'' I said, shrugging my shoulders. I laughed inside. ''I don't know... but whatever the bitch is worth, she certainly, isn't worth the shipping''

Jason Blackburn smirked as he opened up his car door slamming it shut behind him as I followed suite and headed towards the networks headquarters. Inside, was nice. Though, nobody likes to be bored to death hearing about the aesthetics. Notable mentions, were celebrity photographs of who the network deemed as their golden cash cows at some point in time, as well as a few golden trophies and plagues pasted around the walls.

There wasn't time to waste and negotiations could take hours, hours we didn't have. So, we checked in with secretary...

''Tenth floor to the right'' She said pointing to the elevator. I took a few steps forward but Jason Blackburn failed to follow.

''Hey, by any chance do you have a boyfriend?'' Jason said trying to pick up, the attractive secretary at her place of employment. Classy. I tugged on his arm, pulling him away, reminding him about that time thing...

We really didn't have much of it.

It wasn't long before that we found ourselves up, the slow, awkward ascension in the elevator up to the tenth floor and when the doors opened, we quickly made that right—and made it. Though, looking at the well dressed, old man, with a bald spot in the middle of his head, the journey was just half the battle.

''Good day...'' The old Jewish network owner greeted us as we took a seat at the table.

''My name is Joseph Silverstein. I understand you are here to pitch an important offer to us today. Firstly, though; I must thank you, Level-One for stopping by. I know how big of a name you are in pop culture and many people are interested in your story, as I am sure you have readily been made aware''

Joseph Silverstein says as he reached out to shake my hand. With a short pause of hesitation, I accepted the gesture.

''And I'm, Jason Blackburn...'' Jason said, squeezing himself in-front of me, shaking Mr. Silverstein's hand in a show of desperation only a blind man couldn't pick up. Silverstein wiped his hand off casually, as he took a seat in his desk—resulting, in me flashing a dirty look towards Jason, I wasn't sure he picked up, as he wore a mile wide grin across his face.

''So, how can I help you fine gentlemen today?'' asked Silverstein.

''Well, Joseph... like you said I am aware that many people are interested in my story, and I'd even be willing to tell it if the circumstances are right. I'm sure anyone interested in my story, would love to hear it first hand by you know... me.''

''Ah, I'm sure they would! I'm sure I can make this happen!'' Mr. Silverstein exclaims in excitement, confused about what I had to offer. I could literally, see money signs glowing in his pupils at the business opportunity, he thought had presented itself to him.

''Wait, it's not what you think...'' Jason Blackburn points out of turn, looking take over the reins as early as possible.

''My client here is more the willing to grant you that business opportunity, under the condition his mother doesn't muddy the waters...''

''That's right. I mean surely, you would much rather have a story being told first hand the second hand, wouldn't you? After all... nobody knows Level-One better then Level-One!'' I continued where Jason left off.

''In short, Mr. Silverstein. My client is willing to present you his story, under the circumstance his mother isn't given the time and day, today...''

Mr. Silverstein smiled shaking his head back and forth as he scanned a sheet of paper in-front of him, as if there wasn't anything in his power to do.

''Your request comes at a significantly short notice. To cancel right now will hurt business and will upset our very large viewership'' Mr. Silverstein reported the bad news tactfully.

''Hey, if it's really the large... how bad could it hurt you? Few thousand people? I can't imagine it's a big deal...'' I said, shrugging my shoulders to Silversteins discomfort. Jason Blackburn bit his lip, as he tried a more strategical approach.

''What my client was trying to say, is that his broadcast could offer your network far better ratings in the long run then what you could possibly receive from his mother talking about him. I mean, to me... that's a cheap way out. Why not simply get the real, thing?''

''I'm sorry, folks but that simply is far too reaching. The hype surrounding this interview, is astonishing and presents great opportunities for our new sitcom coming on right after it.''

''You mean that show about a professional wrestler, marrying his cat?'' I asked.

''Precisely'' Mr. Silverstein proudly, confirms.

''Well, that's easily the stupidest fucking thing I have heard in my entire life. You might as well sign on for prediction hour with Bryan Payne where he can run down weekly cards in regards to a bunch of matches nobody gives two shits about!''

Mr. Silverstein looks on clearly, feeling slighted as Jason Blackburn fiends the fakest smile he could conjure up, playfully taping Silverstein on his shoulder only further agitating the old man.

''You have to admit a professional wrestler marrying his cat? It really, is stupid...'' Jason Blackburn said only adding fuel to fire.

''I know it is... but these idiots love things like that!'' Mr. Silverstein exclaims, finally, hitting his breaking point. He stops, pauses and regains his composure.

''Look, if this is all your offers consist of, I'm going to have to respectfully, decline...''

I turned to Jason as if to say, is that all we got? Jason was eager to remain at the dealings table as he took the initiative.

''No, not at all. Mr. Silverstein me and you, we're one alike. We both speak in terms of digits, numbers, large lump sums. Money, Benjamins, moolah...''

''Get to the fucking point...'' I cut off Blackburn half way through his curve ball pitch in a display of my impatience.

''Mr. Silverstein sir... we would like to pay for the cancellation of the interview today. We would gladly pay for both the inconvenience and the amounts spent in advertising, and any other costs you will be projected to endure afterwards...''

Mr. Silverstein looked at his watch and then back up at us. A few seconds of silence passed before he slowly nodded his head, as if the lure of money made everything possible. For once in my career; the pieces of paper actually meant something. As useless as most of it was, I knew it had to be good for something. Bribery? Check.

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

''Fifty million...'' I said, practically, emptying in my bank account right then and there. Mr. Silverstein, merely giggled at the offer.

''I'm afraid you'll have to throw in more then that...''

''I'm sure, Jason here can take a large cut in salary...'' I said turning to Jason, who clinched his teeth and shook his head violently back and forth. Re-focusing on the negotiation, I would come to gamble everything I had.

''Include my house. It's like, ten million dollars...''

''Where are you going to live!?'' Jason Blackburn expresses in shock at just how much I was willing to give up, in return for the cancellation of the interview.

''Oh, with you...'' I said, tapping Jason Blackburn on the shoulder, friendly. Jason Blackburn put his face in his palms and nearly, cried. Still, the big media mogul wanted more, more, and even more.

''I'm afraid you're about 90 million short on this offer...'' Mr. Silverstein announces to my surprise.

''Ninety million!? I have just offered you everything, I have... and it's still not enough?'' I said turning to Jason. ''Biggs, that motherfucker better give me a raise!'' I whispered.

''I'm afraid not...''

''Look, can't I just give you all that money, and we come up with a great excuse? I mean, just run a warning message, as if something disastrous happened. And when they find out, we'll claim someone hacked into the satellite system! Nobody, can blame you for that... and the attention will be put off elsewhere...'' I plead, not even attempting to hide my desperation.

''Yeah, your onto something, Level—but what message is Mr. Silverstein going to run?''

''Well, I don't know. Maybe, something from call of duty, something that goes like this...''

EMERGENCY WARNING; TERRORISTS HAVE ATTACKED. PLEASE RELOCATE TO YOUR LOCAL FEMA CAMPS. BRING NO MORE THEN ONE ITEM PER PERSON...

''Hey, that's kinda cool'' Jason Blackburn says, turning behind him, festering with the camera crew. Mr. Silverstein closed his eyes, shook his head side to side and delivered the heart breaking, news.

''Sorry, Mr. Only... but that is not going to happen, today.''

''Well tomorrow's too late!'' I countered.

''Not now... not ever'' Mr. Silverstein re illiterates. ''Do you see that man behind me?''

Mr. Silverstein asked, as my eyes floated up above his head and to a large poster with a middle-sized, middle age man, with an annoying hair cut and a more then punchable face.

''Well, he's invested a whole lot more then you have to offer me and I can't screw him over...''

''Donald crump? That billionaire ass hole!? Fuck Donald crump!'' I exclaimed with seething, hot hatred, spilling from my mouth.

Mr. Silverstein nodded his head up and down as if to say, he actually agreed with me. Right before... pointing to the door.

''Now please... take your offers elsewhere''

And so that's what we did.

~Half hour later~

GARAGE SALE!

A place where bargains were made and deals were synonymous with a days of hard work of relentlessly dumpster diving. Though, this wasn't your normal garage sales. This man claimed to be have worked with a fellow wrestling, star—right out of his backyard. Some of you may know Agent Decipher Light for his tendencies to blow smoke out of his ass, literally... with the assortment of gadgets he uses to evade everyone else. Well, this man was the man behind it...

or at least that's what he claims. The point was; this was my last stop towards the road to hell, the last ditch effort to avoid the now almost imminent fate. And if this guy, could pull of half of the miracles said he could, order world wide could be restored.

''Why, yes! I really DO have a back pack which can turn into helicopter propellers in the simple click of the button, though if that's what you've come for; I'll need you to sign a waiver. Like, any helicopter ride there's always an opportunity, to crash and burn...'' The garage nerd says, adjusting his flimsy glasses on his face.

''That is pretty awesome...'' Jason Blackburn says as I stared at him in disgust.

''So, you've really supplied Agent Decipher Light with all his gadgets, huh?'' I asked, not quite trusting the computer geek just yet.

''That's right. The gas bombs. The fancy suites. The wall walker 3000 which gives him the ability to scale a building like spider-man that was ALL me, booyakasha!'' The nerd says, clapping his hands together as he extends a hand.

''You can call me cliff hanger, by the way...''

''Cliff hanger?''

''World of warcraft username. If it's anything, I kicked the addiction just yesterday. I'm going to play it some more tomorrow...''

''Right...'' I said, rolling my eyes in confusion and feeling the odd need to scratch the back of my head, there was something about his statement that didn't really make much sense. Oh well.

''So, what type of gadget are you looking for here?'' Cliff hanger asked as I stared at his assortment of gadgets, including an old washing machine and other house appliances hanging around in his garage.

''Well, see, Cliff hanger... my mother is doing to do a television interview. And I need something that would stop her from doing so...''

Cliff hanger rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket protector pulling out a, fat pen. He held it up in-front of my face as if he expected me to have seen it for the first time.

''Now I know this may just look like a simple pen on the surface but once you pop the lid and point, a powerful lazer beam will shoot out of it and burn your prey, to death. This ray, is nearly as powerful as the sun...''

''Really?'' Jason Blackburn chimed in.

''Yes, really. And it's yours for only five bucks...'' Cliff hanger pitched.

''Look Cliff hanger, I'm looking for something more technical and less physical this time around'' I told him, wrapping my arm around his scrawny neck.

''Why didn't you just say so!? What you need is a signal receptor!'' He said reaching in his pocket pulling out an old remote control with two antennas sticking out the top, vertically, several centimetres long. I looked at the object, highly suspicious.

''That's your answer to my problem?''

''Hey, who said it had to look pretty? All that matters is that it gets the job done. My, girlfriend follows the SAME philosophy, when she visits me every two months and we hit the bed, like little fuck monkeys...''

''Too much information?'' Jason Blackburn once again, interjected his two sense. Cliff hanger shrugged his shoulders and continued his sales pitch.

''All you need to do is hit the channel you want on this remote and it'll dial in. You then press the secret code, 1234 and this receptor will shoot up a signal, interrupting with the specific channel to it's satellite. E-Z as pie!''

''Yeah, well it seems a little too easy...'' I said not buying into what he had to offer. ''If this is so simple; why has nobody else done it?''

''Simple; I'm the first one to create it!'' Cliff hanger says, letting out a loud nerdy cackle, I hadn't heard since I was a junior in high school. ''Buyer beware, though. It only has a one time use. Those savvy, satellite providers will quickly find the method to my madness''

''I don't know about this...'' I said, taking a deep breath, possibly in preparation for a leap in faith.

''Hey, if it's any constellation, I'll even throw in the blow dart V.2 as a gift. It's small, it's handy, a great short range weapon. Simply put it to your mouth, aim and blow and a non-lethal dart will shoot out and put your target to sleep, wiping away all memory within the last 24 hours of consciousness. I sell these things to teenage boys everywhere....'' Cliff hanger says holding the small blow dart. Jason clearly interested in the object seeks it out.

''Do you really have a choice?'' Jason Blackburn said flashing his snarky, grin. I looked at the nerd, grumbled under my breath, reached into my pocket and pulled out five bucks, handing it to him.

''I'm afraid this baby is going to cost you a little more then that...'' Cliff Hanger announces.

Oh, please... not this again.

''Hundred bucks, kid. That's all you're getting!'' I slurred in frustration. Cliff Hanger, happily obliged and I was in possession of the satellite receptor. The only question now was...

Ones man trash... another man's treasure?

---

No re-funds

There was two minutes until showtime and with each passing minute my anticipation grew. I held the special remote in hand pointed directly at the television. Thirty minutes ago, the idea seemed so outlandish there was really no real possibility it would end up working, but as time passed the more I depended on it. And now it's the only thing, I could really count on. Either this worked... or my dirty laundry, is as good as yours.

I knew my opponent Bryan Payne was glued to the television. If not, to come up with some new material it was for a potential key to the game. The one thing he needed to break me psychology and take me to a new dark place, I hadn't seen before. I wasn't sure if I could handle it. Reliving it all again, with the entire world watching and laughing along, like the cowards they were.

Under the rarest of circumstances; the gun resting on the table beside me was my sure way, out. I wasn't afraid of dying and if it took me to a better place, so be it. Maybe, we are already living in the real hell and anything after it, is nothing more. Who really knew? Perhaps, I really don't win this time...

Maybe, I lose.

The show started as the host took centre stage, greeting the millions of people who watched with bowls of popcorn in their laps. Hell, it was likely people were catching this show half way around the world, heading to bed for the night or waking up, in the early morning. Anything, they could do to watch me suffer...

''Hi, I'm Doprah Lindsey and today I am here with a very special guest. Her name is Lola Only. She is the mother of a highly decorated professional wrestler, Lester Only. And today, she's here to tell her story from a mothers perspective...''

The audience clapped their hands together. I lifted my remote at the television and quickly entered the simple code. 1-2-3-4. I waited, I waited, I waited...

...but nothing changed.

''Fucking hell!'' I cursed out loud, eagerly slapping the remote against my knee, trying to get it to work. I re-entered the codeword once again thinking I may have hit the wrong button, but nothing again. It was a piece of shit. A dupe. Frustrated, I smashed the remote against the wall, causing it to break in half.

It was all too good to be true.

''Lola, tell us a little about yourself...'' The host Doprah Lindsey said as she turned towards my mother and slowly took a seat beside her. My mother wearing a smile across her face, clearly enjoyed the spotlight, though the grin on her face was one of uncertainty. She must have just been nervous, hopefully, nervous enough that she would do in her own credibility, the fucking drunk.

''She's a fucking whore. An abuser. A drunk. A lowlife, criminal scum...'' I slurred, spewing my hatred so loud, I couldn't even hear how my mother answered. Though, it wouldn't matter at that point. I already had my mind made up.

''How many years have you been clean now?'' Doprah, asked.

''Three years'' Lola Only, answered. The crowd erupting, in a round of applause. I rolled my eyes. I couldn't believe for a second she put the bottle down, despite the rumours and claims by her made. She was a liar too, add that to the list.

''Now before we go back in time; how do you feel about where your son is, today?'' Doprah asked after the crowd, quieted down. My mother thought about it; but I already, knew the answer...

''Well, proud...'' Mother had answered to my surprise, though, surely it had to come with a catch. That bitch couldn't stand me, not now... not ever. ''However, I think he could handle it much better. He has so much talent. So much skill. I hate to see him misuse it for bad and evil...''

Oooooh, the crowd followed up with. I knew there had to be a catch. You couldn't satisfy anyone and would die trying. Take my word for it; I've tried it and barely made it here today... wherever it is I am.

''Though, I can't help but feel as if I am too blame...'' She added.

''You are...'' I scoffed at the television.

''Well, your son has made some very public claims about his childhood; are they true? Why don't you tell us about Lester Only, growing up...'' Doprah said breaking the ice.

''Don't do it!'' I shouted at the television.

''Well... yes, many of those claims are true'' The crowd, gasps at the response. As if, I had been making it all up, all along for fun. Still, I couldn't believe she was brave enough to admit it. The Lola Only, I knew would deny it to her grave, where I'd surely piss.

''To be honest, I don't think it's right to tell you stories of the past. It was horrible and opens up, some horrible wounds in me...'' She said, drawing a deep breath.

''Do you think your son has gotten over them yet?'' Doprah, pressed on.

''No, ma'am; I don't...'' My mother flatly, responded.

Was this for real? I pulled on my eye lids, slapped myself across the face and pinched myself, until I left a bruise. Still, it all seemed like a dream that was too real. I reached over and turned on the light; it lit up. That was my final confirmation. Still, I didn't want to believe it. Perhaps, it was an elaborate large scale prank... surely, she has a collection of lies to tell the world.

''Do you think your son's career path has anything to do with his childhood? He is known for a very aggressive and ruthless style, that hasn't been rivalled by too many other people in his position...'' Doprah couldn't help but ask.

''Absolutely. In a better up bringing, I'm sure he would be a great man bringing positive to the world and a faithful follower in God. All the time, I ask myself... what if? Lester is a very smart man, not many people know that he has been a member of MENSA since a very young age...''

''I'm a member of MENSA?'' I asked myself out loud. I guess we learn something new, everyday. Still, a fighter is what I am and I probably wouldn't have it any way, regardless of how my absent mother felt.

''So, you feel at fault for what Lester Only has become?'' Doprah asked.

''To a certain extent. I mean, he's made something of himself. He's a figure, bigger then life. Everyone in this room knows who he is and what he has done; but at what price? The son I knew, is no longer there. And I am too blame because I turned him into a monster. I had beaten every last inch of good in his soul and while I have made a recovery of my own... I am not certain my son will be able to say the same thing...'' My mother, explained.

''I don't want no damn recovery! I'm fine the way, I am!'' I tell myself. At first, I was certain but not I am not so sure. Maybe, it isn't the entire world that is wrong anymore... maybe, they're right.

''No going back now, Level-One...'' that voice in my head reminds me that they're wrong, again and that it's she, who is right, not my mother. I refocused my attention back at the television to see a close up, of my mother—she really, was different.

''I am convinced that my son is under the possession of the devil; much like I was...'' My mother continued to the shock of the audience.

''Lies!'' The voice in my head hissed, sharply.

''The hate in his heart has grown within him, like a cancer and will end up killing him, if he isn't able to remove it...'' She concludes, a single tear dripping from her eyes and rolled down her cheek, as if they were climbing over mountains.

''How is your relationship with your son, Lester Only today?'' Doprah Lindsey asked while she handed over a tissue to her guest.

''There isn't one and for good reason. I don't think, he'll ever forgive me for what I have done...'' Lola Only, says wiping the tears away from her eyes.

''If Lester Only is watching right now what would you like to tell him, personally?'' Doprah pitched to my mother.

''Lester, I know you're watching right now—if your not preparing your next fight. Listen to me. You don't have to forgive me but you do need to save yourself before it's too late. And if you can't... momma is going to make things right...''

I turned off the television.

''She can't save me...'' I tell myself.

''Nobody can...'' the voice in my head reminds me.

''Bryan can't save me...''

''He says he will...'' the voice in my head is quick to add.

''But he wont because they cant even save themselves from what's coming...''

---

A look into the future...
Sub title: No distractions

Tonight was the night. I heard the announcer calling my name; the boos, shaking the arena walls ever so slightly. Mayhem, was calling. The pay-per-view where a year ago, I lost it all to the same man who stole everything from me, leaving me empty handed this time around. Now, there was nothing more to lose, instead, everything to gain...

I know where this road led too, new opportunities. The same pay-per-view where a year ago, I had lost it all; I had a chance to put myself back in striking distance without a doubt a singles doubt in anyone's mind and by the end of the night, I would receive what I want. Those fans, will grant me my shot against Pence Weatherlight...

...and if they didn't? The blood of Bryan Payne, would be spilt in vain. There was nothing more left standing between me and my ultimate goal but my own shadow. Nervous? No, I've been here before... I've done this. I won't. I can't. I refuse to crack under the pressure.

This was mine, mine for the taking!

''No distractions'' said the voice my head which had a smile crossing my face.

''No distractions'' I repeated.

''Hey, Level-One!'' A stage hand called out in a panic as I eagerly turned my attention towards him. He ran towards me with a newspaper in hand.

''I'm sorry, but Biggs demanded I showed this to you...'' The stage hand said, lifting up the newspaper in-front of my face, as my eyes shot to the headline.

24 HOURS AFTER THE INTERVIEW; LOLA ONLY RUSHED TO THE HOSPITAL, IN CRITICAL CONDITION.

''One down...'' the voice in my head, squealed in excitement.

''Apparently, she slit her wrists and tried to kill herself to apparently save you...'' The stage hand said to me, as my music kicks in. I closed my eyes and pushed my entire world aside and headed towards the door, leaving it all behind.

''No distractions...''

---

In twenty four hours; the last pieces of the puzzle will fall into place, creating the final picture the entire world will fall head over heels for. Every last word both vile, degrading and tasteless to every word I spoke with complete eloquence with poise of an English Scholar will ring true. And all the naysayers, all the fools who took my words and made a joke out of them will finally feel the punchline deep in their shallow gut. And to me, their God, they will repent and I will NOT grant them forgiveness nor show them any mercy.

Ever since my APW world championship was stolen from me; I have been treated with disrespect from anyone to the top of the carder to the show openers who haven't even got a foot through the door. I've been flashed dirty looks by the stage hands and slighted by the backstage interviewers and my requests have been shunned by the highest office in the APW; telling me the sun will shine some other day, and to patiently get in line and take my number. And all along, the fans sat idle, clapping their hands...

And so, I decided to take a stand. Insert, Bryan Payne. He, much like Pence Weatherlight resembles the spirit of the crowd. The happy, go lucky, pieces of shit... who paint a smile across their smug faces and pretend their life isn't as half as bad as mine while they keep a hand on their closet door hiding the skeletons in their closet. Yet, they don't mind picking through mine and judging me every, single, step of the way.

One fucking loss and suddenly, you're nothing to these people. One fucking loss and suddenly, the new dog in town becomes the new top dog in town. One fucking loss suddenly overwrite all the wins, all the hard fought battles and all the championship rings, you've added to your collection means nothing. Bryan Payne, embodies this horrid display of sickening, ignorance—as he marches to the own beat of his drum into a battle he can't nor will he win.

This spirit of the crowd must cease and die. And while, it's a beast festering with three heads and cannot be destroyed on one night, it's spirit will take a hit. It's smile, will grow just that much duller. And the look in that beasts eye will remain uncertain the next time we go to battle. Bryan Payne, is a door I must knock down to find Pence Weatherlight—one way, or another. Bryan Payne, is a message in blood to be sent to everyone and anyone who has ever dared to doubt me. I call it, shooting the messenger to send the message. Oh, I'm a very bad man.

Bryan Payne is a disillusioned little boy, who still has a lot of growing up to do. All this nonsense about me not having it anymore is foolishness. A typical talking point for a rookie who doesn't have experience under his belt. See, Bryan Payne has never physically been in my presence when I was the True Expert and thus by definition, in top form. He was unknown. Hell, I doubt he had even earned his wrestling tights at that point. Regardless, Bryan Payne simply came to such conclusions that I was no longer as ''good'' as I was because I no longer held the True Expert championship, much like he has now claimed about the APW championship...

Now ask yourself; what does Bryan Payne know about either of those two things? He's never held either of them, hell, he hasn't even be considered worthy of a title shot for either championships. Yet, I'm led to believe Bryan Payne knows what it takes to be a True Expert? An APW world champion?Bryan Payne, who was pinned not once, but twice by me in the several months knows how far I have fallen of the waggon of the Amish, yet can't score a spot on one, himself? An intelligent mind has to ask, if Bryan Payne can't beat Level-One at his worse... how in the hell do you expect to beat him at his best?

You don't, Bryan. And you know as well as I do that I never really lost the APW world championship to begin with. You blame me for being negligent rather then blaming the referees incompetent for a horrible call at the biggest pay-per-views in this companies history... but what does that matter to a freshman on loan from SCW? Absolutely, nothing. You could care less then two shits about where this companies heading, because you have a headrest waiting for you at your other place of employment...

There is nobody that rivals me in terms of how much I have given to the APW both physically, and mentally. Even if your mission statement wasn't made up from the top of your head and you really did come all away here to the APW to expose, little ol' Level-One... it's clear I attract big names. Sounds like a compliment? Sure is. You are a big name, Bryan. You're the upcoming, new fresh face to the experts scene looking to take it by storm... right before I crush your hype. We've done this on separate occasions, Bryan. And we know how that story, ends. Symmetrical with how it's going to end at, Mayhem.

I win.

Bryan Payne what is it do you plan to expose? Either it's clear then I am a washed up, BDC like model, reject... or it's not. You claim that me losing my True Experts title, a year ago and me losing the APW title over a month ago are both signs that I am falling off... so technically, then losing to someone as pathetic as you will be the final nail in my coffin? Shit. Maybe you ARE onto something, however I cant imagine how your low self-esteem is going to help you out when I am dancing on your face, though...

If you want to expose anything, spend less time on me and more time on Pence Weatherlights clearly cannon fodder challenger, John Green. I mean, you aren't upset at all that you pinned his ass, smack dab in the middle of the ring, and there wasn't even a single thought of you taking his place? I guess not. Perhaps, you were so busy, exposing me and my desire be someone around here... gee. Plus, you'd hate to lose to Pence Weatherlight twice in a row, furthermore proving why you are no bite and all talk...

If anything, all you've done here so far is expose yourself, to me. I mean, I figured out you aren't so bright... you don't have the desire to be world champion... and you have the memory of a 65 year old Alzheimer patient as you conveniently forget all the times you came up short on your very, shallow promises and guarantees, all of which hold very little weight like an anorexic teenage girl. Who could probably actually keep your shit down long enough to throw it back up, and become a bulimic... but either way, listening to you is clearly unhealthy both physically, mentally, and emotionally. Under rare circumstances taking you seriously, may actually result in death...

And there is talk about being, overrated. Typical, rookie speech for ''I really don't know what the fuck I am talking about''; the term overrated has been tossed around more times then the overdrive title. It never mattered if I was the world champion, the True Expert and on the top of the world, I was still dubbed overrated. By who you ask? Nobodies. Fuck all's. Men who were overrated themselves, in the truest essence—because there was never anyone over their shoulders bitch slapping them back in line and keeping their ego's self-inflation in check.

If anything, all my life I've been underrated. Ever since my first match where I was projected to get my ass handed to me, to my first title rein as champion going up against the big bad unstoppable giant before reducing him to a shadow... man. All the way, up until now... where you feel obligated to throw around the loose term as if you've proved to be anything but a catchy name, at all in this sport. We have all heard it before; and never has it meant a damn thing, nor will it ever.

Bryan, you're nothing more then a petty con-artist. The same old shit, repackaged as the newest, fresh, brand named soap. An individual who bends, twists and makes constant compromises to his own morale compass. Here you are, playing some type of holy warrior who has spawned from the heavens cloud and has come down to planet earth to save your fellow friends from the horrible monster named, Level-One! Yet, seemingly ignoring your own flaws every step of the way...

I mean, think about it. Everything, I've done to you—you've tried to do in return to me as way to get even. And yet, I'm seen as the bad guy? You're playing an eye for an eye and you see the same evils I do, Bryan. And you love them. For you, much like your counter part, Pence Weatherlight are merely playing a roll, as the good guy. The false prophet. The home crowd hero. In reality, it's nothing more then a con-game to you. You're pleased to hear the chants calling your name. You love their attention...it even makes you tickle your private parts. You have thousands upon thousands of people fooled with your act and you both mentally and physically, get off on the power trip.

My power comes from within. I'm the furthest thing from perfect. I maybe, as evil as they come—but my strength comes from within—not those people and that is why, you'll never hear them chant my name. Though, in reality... they should be for deep down we are the same kind of beast. Human. I assure you however; their bias will not have me lose one bit of sleep. It's the voices in my head that keep me awake.

The only thing standing between me and Pence Weatherlight are those fickle minded fans. Every, last one of them. Yet, as if picking one out of the crowd who is wearing a t-shirt with my name on it, proves a point. I'm public enemy, number one. You'd have to be an idiot to walk out in public like that in the first place. Nonetheless; I hope this isn't the best of your mind games... or this bout between me and you will have even a worse outcome. And trust me, while I don't expect much from you... I certainly, don't expect nothing. So, being the fair guy I am; I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.

Oh, wait. I can't talk about that, can I? Apparently, you're upset that I called you out on your bullshit, diagnosing 90% as verbal diarrhoea. Boo-fucking-whoo. You're lucky, I even turned on your shit long enough to sit through it, not all of my opponnets actually get that leisure. This assumption that I leech of others peoples, meaningless words stems from Ms. Nickles, own twisted imagination. So, I figured, why the fuck not? I'm no idiot... and I'm not one to fall for your, pathetic grade school mind games.

And shit, at the very least... if you're going to claim, I hang onto your every word, at least try not to respond to my response in the exact same manner. Though, that makes way too much sense. On the positive side, at least your consistent with inconsistency, and hypocrisy! I wouldn't want to actually take you too seriously, now... after I'm done with you, it's on to more important matters, like... you know, Test for the best?

And of course, supposedly I am banned from entering because I didn't want to play nice with Biggs. Quite obviously, it's all just all elaborate move to keep the title around Pence Weatherlight because a rematch with me, a loss is imminent. Biggs is simply happy, he managed to throw me a bone, insert Bryan Payne... to keep me busy, until then. What, Bryan? You haven't realized you're simply a pawn in a much larger game?

You fools, tool. You've been involved in a conspiracy, and you don't even know it. A conspiracy, to hold me back. Shit. I wouldn't be surprised if you were encouraged to take me on one on one by, Biggs to keep me busy, with the outcome being completely irrelevant. For at the end of the day the bore fest between John Green and Pence Weatherlight will commence, as planned a month ago.

But hey, you're too busy trying to expose me to care! Fucking, idiot. Still, at least you pretend to still sound sure about yourself. You know... beating me over and over and over again? Have you ever stopped and actually asked yourself how that's working out for you so far? See, there's something called history, and I'm not an ass hole for taking it into account. That history tells me that it isn't going to be me, who comes up short time and time again, it's you. I mean... haven't you met, Joel Bryant?

Well, I'm sure you have... because judging the latter part of your uninspired rant, you practically repeated everything he had ever said. He was going to ''purge'' me of my evil. He was going to save Lester Only, from Level-One... well, Lester Only, is dead now. So, how are you going to make that one happen, Mr. Miracle worker?

You want to really help me, Bryan? If you really want to do me a favour; you'll take your loss like a man straight the highest office. You'll take your loss, you'll swallow your pride and you will tell your stupid friends in the crowd that they should give me what I am not longer asking for; but demanding. Lastly, you'll shut that gaping black whole you call a mouth, put your hands your pockets and respectfully move aside and make way, for the champion.

Thank you for your co-operation?

Though, I doubt it; because just like when I took it upon myself to smash your face in with a steel chair, you decided to swing back. And while at a certain level I can respect your bravery, I do not envy your stupidity. When you lose, I know you'll come crawling back, begging for more. I know when you lose, I'll still be overrated, I'll still be washed up, and I'll still be just the shell a man I was, six months ago... because you can let go of the fact I am better then you and always will be, better then you.

You talk about all the short cuts I have taken; yet, you plan on taking the biggest leap to stardom, I dreamed of taking as a rookie to this sport. The True Experts title reins... all the world championships I have won and all the pay-per-views I have headlined—you want all of that. And beating me, a guy who is quite possibility one of the most decorated competitors in this sport in such a short amount of given time, you feel as if it'll bring you credence and take you to that next level.

It's not about me. We are a human breed. We all have selfish motivations in mind each step we take forward and will not be fooled that you are any different. Though, despite what you believe... it is not the truth. Defeating, me... doesn't make you a expert. Beating me, doesn't make you a APW world champion. And beating me, won't make you a legend. To stand where I stand; there's no cutting across the field. There is no short cuts. No quick fix to your self-esteem problems, kid. You're going to have to follow my footsteps to surpass me...

You aren't up for the challenge. I've established that the very second you opened up your big mouth and decided to spew your garbage. Hell, I thought you were different. I thought you had something. And when hit you with that steel chair; I expected you to bring something to the table I hadn't seen before...

Now, however, I realize you are no different from the rest. Now that AC Thunder and Georgie Nickles have been demoted to nothing, you've taken their turn as the new up comer in for some big things. Well, I'm crushing your hype nice and early. I'm going to take that ass of yours and paint it black, so when that next big experts tournament you can be dubbed the dark horse; nobody decides to ride on because they knew, it's going absolutely no where, Cunt.

So, you can try to pass judgement on your superior—as if I should be ashamed on getting where I have gotten, today but APW world championships, simply don't take such useless factoids into account. So, you don't like the fact that I use under handed tactics inside the ring? Get in line and take a fucking number. You don't seem to mind watching Pence Weatherlight blatantly steal my APW world championship, despite him clearly losing, do you? Don't blame me for capitalizing on the gaping wholes in your game plan.

If I sock you in the nuts when the referee is not looking, it's your fault for not being in a position of total control. If you turn your head and to show boat to the crowd and nail you in the face with a steel chair in the face when you finally decide to focus on the actual match, then it's your fault for taking your eyes off the prize. See, as far as I'm concerned? If was really breaking the rules, I'd be disqualified...

It's time for you to face the facts and accept them. I'm willing to do WHATEVER it takes to WIN while you're trying to look pretty, doing it. This business is grimey. It's dirty. It's down feet first in the mud, scrapping it out to the near death and you're crying, because I decide to kid mud in someones eye? Cry me a river... get the fuck over it. You're talking to a multi-time, APW world champion, you stupid, never-will-be. Until, you do half of the shit I have done... I would reserve judgement on the best way to get there.

Bryan Payne, you're on borrowed time. And I have you, right where I want you. If your 70% prediction rate means anything at all, is that you're wrong 30% of the time... and this is going to be one of them. All this nonsense about you making me tap out (this time around that is, wink) simply, ensures you're a picky eater. You can spend your entire night, trying to tap me the fuck out... but you're in for a sad realization when you apply all the pressure you have from the very depths of your soul... only, for me to withstand the Payne; once again.

It's one thing, to claim you're going to win... and it's another thing to repeat it, a thousand times over in your promos, kid; but it's a whole different ball game, acting out such ludicrous high school fantasies you've been wetting your panties about. Sharpen your pencil dick, faggot. I'm about to teach you a lesson about something called a pecking order and where your rightful position is, within it.

You can take your seven virtues of Bushido: Rectitude, Courage, Honour, Respect, Honesty and Loyalty and you can throw them back into your dictionary, and then shove that dictionary up you're ass, upright.

There is only one word you need to learn the definition of, reap, repeat and accept once and for all.

Defeat.