Post by Rated R on May 11, 2019 13:51:49 GMT -5
Tyler Draven Presents
The Bad Guy
Playing the Game
"Do you have any idea why I’ve asked you to come in today?"
I don’t know Lila, might it have something to do with firing those meandering, lazy, pathetic excuse for show description writers and replacing them with someone who can do a better, more creative job? Like an illiterate coma patient?
"None at all. Honestly, I’m a bit annoyed at being called into WFWF headquarters when I’m meant to be preparing for the, quote-unquote, biggest match of my career."
"Trust me Tyler, if I didn’t have a good reason to call you in I wouldn’t have. I need to ask you something Tyler, and it… it’s sensitive."
"Lila, you’re freaking me out, so either tell me you’re secretly in love with me or let me get on with things, alright?"
"What?"
"This isn’t about you secretly being in love with me? Wow, I have totally misread the room."
"Tyler, can you be serious for a minute?"
"I can try."
Got to say, the longer I’m a part of this whole "wrestling world" or whatever people want to call it, the more sarcastic I get. Must be a side effect of getting dropped on my head all the time.
"I got a call from Elinor Nix yesterday. I’m assuming you know who that is from your time with Trace?"
"I know the last thing you want is a phone call from her."
Because right now, with everything that’s going on, I can only think of two reasons why Lila would be telling me that. Either it’s because Trace Demon’s woken up or it’s because…
"Did you know that Jason Anders’ daughter had a child with Trace Demon?"
Elinor Nix sure doesn’t waste any time. Right, time to act surprised, put on your best oscar performance Tyler, this is what all those acting classes were building to.
"I am shocked and appalled."
Right, I’ve never taken any acting classes, forgot about that.
"Of course you knew, how could you not know? After everything I’ve done all you manage to do is give me a constant migraine."
"Lila, I literally just found out and to be honest with you, what do I care who’s f*cking who and who’s giving birth to what f*cking hellspawn? If it doesn’t affect the whole professional wrestling of it all, then it’s none of my business."
Except the bit where I told Elinor about the little rat child, but that doesn’t need to be public information now, does it?
"Wait, why does this even matter? Why am I here?"
"The estate of Trace Demon… it’s launching some sort of custody battle over the kid. Elinor, Trace’s family, they want custody of Trace’s kid and they’re going to drag Anders and his daughter through the mud to get it. And honestly, hiding a child's existence from the world? It’s probably not going to go down too well."
"Still waiting for the me of it all."
"There’ll likely be press attention. Trace Demon’s a big name in the scuzzy media, his name sells, which means so will this story. I’m not sure the WFWF can take the negative publicity so-"
"You’re cutting Jason Anders out."
Her looks answers the question for me.
Her look tells me I’ve won.
"I know the two of you were starting to work well together, that he was helping you, but it’s in the best interests of the WFWF that we distance ourselves from him while all of this is going on."
"You told him this yet?"
"Not yet. I’m seeing him after this. I wanted to let you know first so that you were prepared. I know the timing isn’t the best, with Superbrawl just around the corner. I’ll find you someone else, someone who-"
"You know what Lila, don’t. I think I’ll be fine on my own. I get that you needed someone to keep an eye on me but… I’m good, I understand what you need of me and I’m willing to do that. Sooner or later Lila, you need to trust me."
"Don’t make me regret this Tyler."
"I wouldn’t dream of it…"
< *** >
I’m fourteen, we’re driving down the interstate. We’re traveling back from my aunt and uncles. A terrible, dull week only ignited by the continuous arguments of my mom and dad whenever they think nobody else is listening. Like now for instance.
Me and my sister are in the back seat. She’s asleep, I’m pretending to do the same. I didn’t sleep much, even back then, too many thoughts in my head, too much racing through my mind. So I pretended, anything to make my parents leave me alone, anything to get a bit of peace.
And then there’s a loud noise, a car horn blares, the car swerves. My eyes open suddenly and I see the barricade hurtling towards us at full speed.
And then, darkness.
< *** >
Conflict
I could have left. Could have drove off home, gotten back to preparing for Superbrawl. Could have done a lot of things. But no, I decided to stay here, leant against my car, waiting for Jason Anders to leave the office of Lila Sleater. Waiting for him to learn that he was sacked. Waiting to see the look on his face. Like I’m gonna find some pleasure in it.
Maybe I will. Time to find out.
He sees me as he comes out the doors of the gigantic glorified office block. Our eyes meet, and I see rage in his all the way from here. I always wondered what it’d take to get Anders to act like a man, to stand up for something he actually believed in. To actually fight.
Turns out all it took was me ruining his life. Who’d have thought it?
He marches across the car park, fury in every step. I was right. There is pleasure in this.
"Hey Anders, how’ve you been?"
"You son of a b*tch!"
He roars it across the car park. Well, he kind of roars. It’s a bit like what I’d imagine a mouse with a megaphone would sound like. You know? Pathetic, just a bit louder about it.
"No idea what you’re on about."
"You told them!"
"You’re daughter had a kid with the devil, you decided to hide it from the world and you’re blaming me for… something? Honestly, think you’ve-"
Can’t finish before he reaches me, his hand outstretched for my throat. Thing is, Anders isn’t exactly renowned for his physical prowess. Strength, speed, agility, the man’s got none. So it doesn’t take much for me to side step, grab his wrist, twist it behind his back and slam him face first into the hood of my car.
He better not leave a dent.
"What’d you think was gonna happen there Anders? You thought you were gonna grab my round the throat, hold me against the car, threaten to f*ck me up? Spoiler alert, this isn’t a f*cking film and you ain’t no f*cking hero."
He struggles against my grip, but I know what I’m doing, I know where to apply pressure to keep him in place. And in his head he knows thats true so eventually he stops struggling.
"Why’d you do it Tyler, why’d you do it? All I ever wanted to do was help you!"
Did he just seriously say that?
"Help me? You wanted to help me?! All you wanted, all you’ve ever wanted, was to feed off me like a f*cking leech! The same way you did to Trace! You don’t get it, do you Anders? You think you’re so good at hiding who you are, but I see right through you!"
I let up my grip, drag him from the car, throw him to the floor, flat on his ass where he belongs.
"You really think that the first moment you got you wouldn’t have used that kid to your advantage too? Hell, I bet that was the plan, wasn’t it?"
"Shut up."
I’ve struck a nerve. I can taste it and damn, its delicious.
"You were, weren’t you? You were gonna use that kid to get a bite of the Trace Demon pie, but then I put him out of action and suddenly, you had to make other plans, and so there you were, ready and waiting to latch onto me the first chance you got."
"You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re out of your f*cking mind!"
"You know something Anders, I didn’t even care. You could have trailed behind me, picked up your paycheck and I wouldn’t have given a sh*t, but you just couldn’t keep quiet, you couldn’t keep your head down, you couldn’t just leave things alone! You had to push, and prod, and get involved like you had any idea what you were doing! That’s what p*ssed me off, that’s what made this whole thing untenable, that’s why you had to go!"
"You’re a god damned psychopath."
"Well now you’re just hurting my feelings."
"No, I’m being serious. I always wondered what Trace saw in you, the man hated everybody, but here he was training you, and why? Because you’re just like him."
He says it like he seriously believes it’ll hurt me, but what do the ravings of a deluded, defeated, desperate man mean to me?
Me? A monster like Trace Demon? No, not even close.
"Trace Demon was a sociopath, interested only in hurting people. Me? I’m doing the right thing for my family. You wouldn’t understand that though Anders, you’re only interested in what’s best for yourself, and f*ck what it means to anybody else. To be honest, where I’m standing, you’re more like Trace Demon than I could ever be."
I mean a chubbier, less impressive Trace Demon with absolutely no charm, power or anything even remotely resembling competence, but y’know, pointing all that out to him wouldn’t be nearly as effective.
"I’m bored of this Anders, I’m bored of you. Scuttle on home, look after that Demon spawn while you’ve still got it, and stay out of my way, alright?"
I’m about to get into my car when Anders shouts something, needing to say something to make himself not feel completely pathetic.
"You know the thing about monsters Tyler? They all get slain eventually!"
"Funny, last I checked, the world is run by monsters."
< *** >
No Access
Superbrawl, the biggest show in all of professional wrestling, the most important event imaginable for any person who wants to call themselves a wrestler. It’s the event that everyone speaks about when they think of the WFWF, it’s the night where moments are made, where stars are created, where people first become obsessed with becoming a professional wrestler. It’s a night of pride, of dreams, of glory.
It’s a night where three men willing to do anything to their bodies to become the International Champion will look as the title hangs above the ring, having to climb a ladder if they want to spam with it. It’s a night where former WFWF World Heavyweight Champion Penny Shannon issues an open challenge to anyone and everyone. It’s a night where Mesh and Anna Ahriman show everyone why the WFWF is the place to be for a female competitor, a place where gender doesn’t matter as long as you can get it done in the ring. It’s the kind of night where the janitor can live every wrestlers dream of shedding blood for something they believe in.
And it’s the night where Drakz and Michael Kyzer finally clash, and one of their careers will end forever. What more has to be said? It’s the night, the show, the event, that makes the WFWF what it is.
And yet here we are, less than a week before this legendary event goes down, and the WFWF is throwing a tacky, degrading "fan event". All-access? F*cks sake, who in their right mind is going to open themselves up to that just days before the biggest night of the year? People like Smash Rodriguez and Enchanted, that’s who.
Utterly ridiculous.
I look at the crowd waiting to be admitted, hood up to avoid being seen by the all these lowlife scum waiting to see a bunch of C-list talent and anyone else stupid enough to show up. Word has it Frank Lynn’s gonna be there, because of course he is. The man still feels the need to pander to these people, even when he’s betrayed everything he was meant to be about.
Pathetic, but what else do you expect from a company being run by the likes of Lila Sleater. Now Jason Anders out of the picture I’ll need to turn my attention to her next, but all in good time, a bigger fish is gonna require better bait.
"I was expecting to find you inside, not hiding out here like you’re the unabomber."
"You think pretty little of me if you think I’d lower myself to being part of that freak show."
"You get more and more like him by the day."
"I wish people would stop saying that blatant f*cking lie. Why’re you even here Elinor? To thank me?"
"You want me to thank you for bringing Trace’s daughter to our attention? When you only did it to ruin Jason Anders’ life? Really?"
I mean, kind of, yeah.
"So you’re looking to add a few autographs to your collection or something?"
Elinor Nix, previously the personal assistant of Trace Demon, now the head of his estate what with the whole coma thing. Overqualified for both jobs, might I add. The woman’s smart, smarter than me I’m not afraid to add, and she’s still way too closely linked to Trace for my liking. Her being here means trouble can’t be far behind.
"Autographs? I’m not sure if you’re aware Tyler, but I find the whole wrestling business ridiculously boring. I dealt with Trace Demon’s business assets, I had nothing to do with the sideshow circus you’ve entangled yourself with."
"Christ, you must give one hell of a pep talk."
"I always found Trace’s sarcasm the worst of his bad habits, and you aren’t nearly as good at it as him."
"So you’re just here to insult me. Cool, noted, thanks."
"No, actually, I’m here to give you this."
She pulls out an envelope from her bag and hands it to me. The only word on the front is my name, in familiar looking scrawl.
"This is from Trace."
Another f*cking letter. Hasn’t the guy heard I’m more of an e-mail guy? Or better yet, a don’t bother talking to me at all kinda guy?
"Does this mean he’s-"
"No, he’s still comatose, to my knowledge. He gave me two letters for you before what happened and told me that I’d know when you were ready to receive the second one."
"Why now?"
"Because I’m pretty sure the reason for the letters is to hurt you, and I think it’s only right to hurt you a few days before the biggest moment of your life."
"And people think Trace was savage."
"Oh it’s nothing personal Tyler, my job is to carry out the wishes of Trace in his absence. This is what he’d want. Enjoy your letter and I hope we never have to have anything to do with each other again."
"Likewise."
I screw the letter up and shove it in my pocket, pulling my hood down lower and heading back to my hotel. Whatever Trace has to say to me, I feel like he’d want it to be just the two of us. I’m not sharing this with all these pathetic ring rats.
All access?
Nah, these people get enough of my life.
F*ck them all.
< *** >
I’m fourteen, we’re driving down the interstate. We’re traveling back from my aunt and uncles. A terrible, dull week only ignited by the continuous arguments of my mom and dad whenever they think nobody else is listening. Like now for instance.
Me and my sister are in the back seat. She’s asleep, I’m pretending to do the same. I didn’t sleep much, even back then, too many thoughts in my head, too much racing through my mind. So I pretended, anything to make my parents leave me alone, anything to get a bit of peace.
But then the arguing starts, hushed whispering, as loud as a roar if you catch the tone. Mom’s calling Dad every name under the sun, he’s been cheating on her, doesn’t think anyone else knows, but I pay attention, I see and hear it all.
He’s getting aggressive now, like always. Dad’s the nicest man in the world until he suddenly isn’t. The argument builds, even if their voices don’t, but a lot can be said with a hushed, hate-filled voice.
And then someone grabs the steering wheel. There’s a loud noise, a car horn blares, the car swerves. My eyes open suddenly and I see the barricade hurtling towards us at full speed.
And then, darkness.
< *** >
The Letter; Redux
I don’t usually do fancy hotels. Usually I’m happy crashing in a three star motel, as long as there’s a bed and somewhere to run nearby then I’m happy. But it’s Superbrawl, and I was in the mood to treat myself, so here I am in a five star luxury hotel a quick fifteen minute drive from the AT&T. Bright, luxurious, a kingdom for a man like me.
I stand on the balcony, looking out on the streets of Dallas, the stadium shining in the distance, knowing that in three days I’ll be inside, fighting for the WFWF International Championship and all the money that comes with it. This is why I did it, this is why I’m here, this is what it’s all for. The money and, to be totally honest with you, the thought of taking Frank Lynn’s precious title from him.
It should be a good moment, but all I can think about is the letter still screwed up in my pocket.
Trace Demon, f*cking with me from a coma, why am I not surprised.
I could burn it, could drop it off the balcony and let it float off into the wind, could cut it up, bin it, I could do any number of things to this bloody thing.
But what I’m going to do is read it, because curiosity is an absolute killer.
I don’t know what to expect as I open the envelope. My fingers grip it tightly, scanning the words. Just a page, that’s all, whatever Trace Demon wanted to say to me, whatever he wanted his parting words to be, all it took was a page to sum it up.
Hey Tyler, me again, bet you thought we were done, didn’t you? Afraid not. Nearly, but not quite. I asked Elinor to give you this letter at the right moment, and I’m hoping she chose wisely, because I want what I’m about to tell you to have the desired effect.
I wanted to make sure you knew something.
When I first met you Tyler I wanted nothing to do with you. Training some kid? Not my idea of a good time. But you didn’t let up, and there was something odd about you, something familiar, so I did some digging. I hired a guy, and I found out what you did.
I know what happened in that car, I know what actually happened, I know what you did, and I know that you don’t care, that you don’t even think about it, because that’s who you are, that’s what you are.
Did you really think I saw talent in you? No, I saw something else. I saw a monster, just waiting to be unleashed, and I wanted to be the one to do it.
There’s something broken in you Tyler, something that can never be fixed. I know it and despite what you tell yourself, so do you. You’re only going to ever be one thing, and I want you to accept it.
You’re a monster, the bad guy, a villain.
And that’s all you’ll ever be.
You’re going to hurt people, destroy lives, ruin everything, and it’s going to be beautiful. Maybe I’ll be around to watch, maybe I won’t, but one thing I know for sure, whatever happens to me, whatever I have to do to make you into what you really are…
It’ll all be worth it.
< *** >
Welcome To The Show
In one day I will face Frank Lynn and Ante Whitner inside that ring for the WFWF International Championship. To win I’ll need to climb a ladder, reach up high and pull that title down. And I’ll have to do it on the biggest show of the year, in front of the biggest crowd of the year, in what I can only call the biggest match of my career.
I should be nervous.
But I’m not, and I couldn’t tell you why. Frank Lynn’s had my number so far. Two matches, two losses. Ante Whitner’s… well, at some point he was a threat, now he’s just kind of there, but he’s still an additional complication that I probably could have done without. Everything about this match should set my hair on end, should send my stomach swirling, my mind racing, but it doesn’t. As I sit here in what will soon be a sold out crowd, watching the ring crew put together the Superbrawl set, I am calm.
Until I see her, looking up at me. A girl that I’ve inflicted unbelievable pain upon, a girl who’s family I tore apart because I did something terrible for the right reasons. She has every reason to hate me, and as I look down the steps towards her, I know that she does, and I know that she’ll never stop.
"Emily…"
Emily Hall, Trace Demon’s half-sister, one of the few people that he actually cares about, or at least pretended, always hard to tell what was real with him.
And, I’m starting to think, with me.
When I broke Trace Demon’s skull open with that barbed wire bat I didn’t just hurt him, I hurt her as well. And I hurt Alexa, and Eliza, his little girl. So many people affected by my actions. You always think that you’re doing the right thing attacking someone evil, and you are, but you never like to think that they’ve got people close to them.
Even Hitler was loved once upon a time.
My train of thought is broken when she finally walks up the staircase of the crowd towards me, her eyes never leaving mine.
"Can’t say I expected to see you here, but then, that seems to be a trend of late."
"I should kill you."
"Well if you’re gonna do it, do it quick. I might fight back given the chance."
And how would that end? With more blood on my hands? With even less remorse in my soul?
"I’m no monster. Trace was, you are, but not me."
She says it so matter of factly, like her saying I’m a monster makes me one without doubt. And she doesn’t even think twice about it. I’ve known Emily since I became a part of this world, she never liked me, we were never friends, but I could always tell that she saw the good in people, a counter to her brother who saw only the worst.
And if she only sees a monster when she looks at me, what does that say about me?
"Nothing I didn’t know already."
"What?"
I smile at her, and I think that only freaks her out more.
"Why’d you come here Emily? It can’t have just been to see me?"
"Believe it or not, it was. I flew all the way to Dallas just to see the man that broke my brother."
Makes you wonder which of us is really unstable, doesn’t it?
"I’ve been putting this off since it happened but after what you did telling Elinor about Anders and all I need to make sure you know something. I will never, ever forgive you for what you’ve done. Me, Alexa, Eliza, you have taken Trace away from us all and for that you don’t deserve, and you will never ever get my forgiveness."
Honestly not sure I’d have flown to Texas for that, but to each their own.
"It’s taken me a long time to even come and see you. I wanted to hurt you, kill you, do what you did to Trace, but deep down I know I couldn’t do it. I’m not like you, or my brother, You’re both monsters and I hate you for what you did, more than you’d ever understand, but as much as I hate you, as angry and filled with rage I am at you every single moment of the day… I’m better than you."
"I appreciate your honesty in telling me how much you hate me. I’ll really cherish this moment."
"You’re a lot like him, you know that?"
"People keep mentioning it."
She pauses, looking out at the arena, she’s almost serene, peaceful. She’s sat here with the man who put her brother in a coma and she’s peaceful. I don’t know who her therapist is, but they’re earning their money, that’s for sure.
"He loved all this, the atmosphere, the moments before, I’m pretty sure he liked this more than he’d ever admit."
Not more than he liked mutilating people inside that ring though. Funny how we forget the worst about violent, blood thirsty sociopaths the moment they’re out of the picture.
"I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me, okay?"
"I can do that."
I’m not sure I can do that.
"Do you seriously think you’re a good person? Do you seriously think you were doing the right thing?"
"You don’t want the answer to that. It’s not gonna do anything for you."
"I think you’ve already answered it."
She gets up from the steps, takes another look out at the arena ahead of us. I think she’s gonna leave without a word but then-
"Did you get a letter?"
"What?"
"Trace wrote these letters to people in case something happened. I think he had some feeling that something was going to happen to him, I don’t know how."
Because he knew what happened.
"Did you get one?"
"Yeah, I did."
"And what did it say?"
"I’m afraid if I tell anyone it might not come true."
It’s not a f*cking birthday wish you d*ck wad.
"One more thing, just something I’ve got to ask before I go. Do you still, after all this time, knowing how you’re actions have affected other people, think you’re a good person?"
"Me? A good person? I don’t know Emily, all I know is…"
< *** >
I’m fourteen, we’re driving down the interstate. We’re traveling back from my aunt and uncles. A terrible, dull week only ignited by the continuous arguments of my mom and dad whenever they think nobody else is listening. Like now for instance.
Me and my sister are in the back seat. She’s asleep, I’m pretending to do the same. I didn’t sleep much, even back then, too many thoughts in my head, too much racing through my mind. So I pretended, anything to make my parents leave me alone, anything to get a bit of peace.
But then the arguing starts, hushed whispering, as loud as a roar if you catch the tone. Mom’s calling Dad every name under the sun, he’s been cheating on her, doesn’t think anyone else knows, but I pay attention, I see and hear it all.
He’s getting aggressive now, like always. Dad’s the nicest man in the world until he suddenly isn’t. The argument builds, even if their voices don’t, but a lot can be said with a hushed, hate-filled voice.
I feel my anger build, rage bubbling up, like it has before, like it does every time I get into a fight at school. I’ve had enough, I just want it to stop, I want them to stop. To stop arguing, to stop shouting, to stop being.
And so I lurch forward, grabbing at the steering wheel. There’s a loud noise, a car horn blares, the car swerves. My eyes open suddenly and I see the barricade hurtling towards us at full speed.
And then, darkness.
< *** >
I take one more look at Emily, and offer her one more smile.
"I sleep pretty soundly at night."
< *** >
Superbrawl. It’s the biggest show in professional wrestling. It’s the night of immortals. It’s the showcase of legends. It’s whatever cliched series of buzzwords shoved together to give this one single night in Texas the gravitas that it deserves. See before a match almost everyone cuts one of these little promos, these little video bites to go out and promote their match. And usually it’s pretty easy to predict what people are gonna say, depending who they’re facing. But when it comes to Superbrawl, almost everyone is going to be saying the exact same thing.
That this is what it’s all about, that this is what professional wrestlers aspire to, that there is no bigger moment thann standing under the Superbrawl spotlight. And they’d be right, I suppose. This is what most wrestlers dream of, this is what they work towards. They want their moment. And it’s good to have a dream, something to work towards, it’s good to want to be on the big show.
And I know I should probably stand here and say exactly the same thing. I should stand here and talk about how everything I’ve done, the blood I’ve spilled, the people I’ve hurt, it’s all so that I could get here. It’s all so I can live my dream of wrestling at Superbrawl, of climbing a ladder, literally as the case may be, and standing tall as the new WFWF International Champion in front of all those fans…
But honestly? I don’t really give a sh*t about any of that.
Sure, it’s a nice feeling knowing I’ve gotten to the big show when this time last year nobody even knew who I was, but that’s not what I’m doing this for. I’m not even doing it for the accolades, or the pride of winning, because that’s not what I’m here for.
I’m here for the money.
But that shouldn’t come as a surprise, should it? I’ve never hid that, I'm here to support my family and that’s it. And I always thought that if I could do a little bit of good while I was at it then great, all the better. But I’m not here to do good, I’m here to make money. By any means necessary.
Which brings me to you, Frank Lynn. You’ve got something I want. Oh I know, I know, I just said I wasn’t really interested in titles, but you know what that International Championship would bring me? The old championship bonus, not to mention all the big match paydays that’d come with it. If I want to make as much money as I need, then I need that title, and like I just said, I’m coming for it by any means necessary.
Plus, it’d feel pretty good taking it from you. Because I’ve got to be honest with you, I’m feeling a little bit tetchy about this one, a little bit personal. Thing is Frank, I don’t really like you, in fact, I think you’re a bit of a d*ck. You go around making out like you’re this big deal, like you matter, when really it’s all in your own head, your own delusional ego. And yes, you’ve beaten me, twice, I accept that, but the way I see it it’s gotten a little bit harder. First time, I tapped, second time, you couldn’t get that job done, you had to choke me out. What comes next when you can’t manage that?
Because I’ve got a slight idea. Here’s what happens Frank. You lose, I climb that ladder and take that title, and you leave Superbrawl with absolutely nothing but a broken, fractured ego, decimated by the knowledge that you couldn’t get the job done on your precious show of shows. You’ll wither away and become something rotten because you couldn’t take knowing that you were never quite as good as you thought.
That’ll be fun to watch.
And then there’s you, Ante. Honestly, I don’t think you belong here. And I’m not just talking about this match, or Superbrawl, I’m talking about this company, this business. You’re no wrestler, you’re no star, you’re certainly no champion. You’re a hanger-on, you’re one of those guys who has a bit of name value and they had to find a spot for you on the card.
Must be tough, knowing you’re an afterthought.
But hey, you’re here now, so this is your opportunity to prove me wrong, isn’t it? But you won’t, because you’ve not got it in your anymore. You’re Ante Whitner, the Bloody Eagle! Ante Whitner, the man who fought Phillip Schneider! Ante Whitner, the perennial disappointment, the eternal waste of potential. You’re gonna lose here and nobody is gonna bat an eye, nobody is gonna care, nobody is gonna even remember your name because guess what Ante?
Nobody cares about you.
So what next? I could stand here and talk about how this is my opportunity to be known as more than the man who broke Trace Demon, but I won’t. I could stand here and talk about how this is my moment to make something of myself, but I won’t. Truth be told I’ve done a lot of thinking, and the fact is it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of me, because I’m not here for any of you.
I’m here for me.
So yes, this is my moment. But not to make something of myself, not to be a star. This is simply my moment to take what I want, by any means necessary. So call me whatever you want, because honestly, I don’t give a sh*t.
The enemy, the villain, a monster, the bad guy…
Call me whatever you want.
It won’t matter.
That title is going to be mine, and as everybody eventually finds out, when I set my mind to something…
There’s nothing anybody can do to stop me.
The Bad Guy
Playing the Game
"Do you have any idea why I’ve asked you to come in today?"
I don’t know Lila, might it have something to do with firing those meandering, lazy, pathetic excuse for show description writers and replacing them with someone who can do a better, more creative job? Like an illiterate coma patient?
"None at all. Honestly, I’m a bit annoyed at being called into WFWF headquarters when I’m meant to be preparing for the, quote-unquote, biggest match of my career."
"Trust me Tyler, if I didn’t have a good reason to call you in I wouldn’t have. I need to ask you something Tyler, and it… it’s sensitive."
"Lila, you’re freaking me out, so either tell me you’re secretly in love with me or let me get on with things, alright?"
"What?"
"This isn’t about you secretly being in love with me? Wow, I have totally misread the room."
"Tyler, can you be serious for a minute?"
"I can try."
Got to say, the longer I’m a part of this whole "wrestling world" or whatever people want to call it, the more sarcastic I get. Must be a side effect of getting dropped on my head all the time.
"I got a call from Elinor Nix yesterday. I’m assuming you know who that is from your time with Trace?"
"I know the last thing you want is a phone call from her."
Because right now, with everything that’s going on, I can only think of two reasons why Lila would be telling me that. Either it’s because Trace Demon’s woken up or it’s because…
"Did you know that Jason Anders’ daughter had a child with Trace Demon?"
Elinor Nix sure doesn’t waste any time. Right, time to act surprised, put on your best oscar performance Tyler, this is what all those acting classes were building to.
"I am shocked and appalled."
Right, I’ve never taken any acting classes, forgot about that.
"Of course you knew, how could you not know? After everything I’ve done all you manage to do is give me a constant migraine."
"Lila, I literally just found out and to be honest with you, what do I care who’s f*cking who and who’s giving birth to what f*cking hellspawn? If it doesn’t affect the whole professional wrestling of it all, then it’s none of my business."
Except the bit where I told Elinor about the little rat child, but that doesn’t need to be public information now, does it?
"Wait, why does this even matter? Why am I here?"
"The estate of Trace Demon… it’s launching some sort of custody battle over the kid. Elinor, Trace’s family, they want custody of Trace’s kid and they’re going to drag Anders and his daughter through the mud to get it. And honestly, hiding a child's existence from the world? It’s probably not going to go down too well."
"Still waiting for the me of it all."
"There’ll likely be press attention. Trace Demon’s a big name in the scuzzy media, his name sells, which means so will this story. I’m not sure the WFWF can take the negative publicity so-"
"You’re cutting Jason Anders out."
Her looks answers the question for me.
Her look tells me I’ve won.
"I know the two of you were starting to work well together, that he was helping you, but it’s in the best interests of the WFWF that we distance ourselves from him while all of this is going on."
"You told him this yet?"
"Not yet. I’m seeing him after this. I wanted to let you know first so that you were prepared. I know the timing isn’t the best, with Superbrawl just around the corner. I’ll find you someone else, someone who-"
"You know what Lila, don’t. I think I’ll be fine on my own. I get that you needed someone to keep an eye on me but… I’m good, I understand what you need of me and I’m willing to do that. Sooner or later Lila, you need to trust me."
"Don’t make me regret this Tyler."
"I wouldn’t dream of it…"
< *** >
I’m fourteen, we’re driving down the interstate. We’re traveling back from my aunt and uncles. A terrible, dull week only ignited by the continuous arguments of my mom and dad whenever they think nobody else is listening. Like now for instance.
Me and my sister are in the back seat. She’s asleep, I’m pretending to do the same. I didn’t sleep much, even back then, too many thoughts in my head, too much racing through my mind. So I pretended, anything to make my parents leave me alone, anything to get a bit of peace.
And then there’s a loud noise, a car horn blares, the car swerves. My eyes open suddenly and I see the barricade hurtling towards us at full speed.
And then, darkness.
< *** >
Conflict
I could have left. Could have drove off home, gotten back to preparing for Superbrawl. Could have done a lot of things. But no, I decided to stay here, leant against my car, waiting for Jason Anders to leave the office of Lila Sleater. Waiting for him to learn that he was sacked. Waiting to see the look on his face. Like I’m gonna find some pleasure in it.
Maybe I will. Time to find out.
He sees me as he comes out the doors of the gigantic glorified office block. Our eyes meet, and I see rage in his all the way from here. I always wondered what it’d take to get Anders to act like a man, to stand up for something he actually believed in. To actually fight.
Turns out all it took was me ruining his life. Who’d have thought it?
He marches across the car park, fury in every step. I was right. There is pleasure in this.
"Hey Anders, how’ve you been?"
"You son of a b*tch!"
He roars it across the car park. Well, he kind of roars. It’s a bit like what I’d imagine a mouse with a megaphone would sound like. You know? Pathetic, just a bit louder about it.
"No idea what you’re on about."
"You told them!"
"You’re daughter had a kid with the devil, you decided to hide it from the world and you’re blaming me for… something? Honestly, think you’ve-"
Can’t finish before he reaches me, his hand outstretched for my throat. Thing is, Anders isn’t exactly renowned for his physical prowess. Strength, speed, agility, the man’s got none. So it doesn’t take much for me to side step, grab his wrist, twist it behind his back and slam him face first into the hood of my car.
He better not leave a dent.
"What’d you think was gonna happen there Anders? You thought you were gonna grab my round the throat, hold me against the car, threaten to f*ck me up? Spoiler alert, this isn’t a f*cking film and you ain’t no f*cking hero."
He struggles against my grip, but I know what I’m doing, I know where to apply pressure to keep him in place. And in his head he knows thats true so eventually he stops struggling.
"Why’d you do it Tyler, why’d you do it? All I ever wanted to do was help you!"
Did he just seriously say that?
"Help me? You wanted to help me?! All you wanted, all you’ve ever wanted, was to feed off me like a f*cking leech! The same way you did to Trace! You don’t get it, do you Anders? You think you’re so good at hiding who you are, but I see right through you!"
I let up my grip, drag him from the car, throw him to the floor, flat on his ass where he belongs.
"You really think that the first moment you got you wouldn’t have used that kid to your advantage too? Hell, I bet that was the plan, wasn’t it?"
"Shut up."
I’ve struck a nerve. I can taste it and damn, its delicious.
"You were, weren’t you? You were gonna use that kid to get a bite of the Trace Demon pie, but then I put him out of action and suddenly, you had to make other plans, and so there you were, ready and waiting to latch onto me the first chance you got."
"You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re out of your f*cking mind!"
"You know something Anders, I didn’t even care. You could have trailed behind me, picked up your paycheck and I wouldn’t have given a sh*t, but you just couldn’t keep quiet, you couldn’t keep your head down, you couldn’t just leave things alone! You had to push, and prod, and get involved like you had any idea what you were doing! That’s what p*ssed me off, that’s what made this whole thing untenable, that’s why you had to go!"
"You’re a god damned psychopath."
"Well now you’re just hurting my feelings."
"No, I’m being serious. I always wondered what Trace saw in you, the man hated everybody, but here he was training you, and why? Because you’re just like him."
He says it like he seriously believes it’ll hurt me, but what do the ravings of a deluded, defeated, desperate man mean to me?
Me? A monster like Trace Demon? No, not even close.
"Trace Demon was a sociopath, interested only in hurting people. Me? I’m doing the right thing for my family. You wouldn’t understand that though Anders, you’re only interested in what’s best for yourself, and f*ck what it means to anybody else. To be honest, where I’m standing, you’re more like Trace Demon than I could ever be."
I mean a chubbier, less impressive Trace Demon with absolutely no charm, power or anything even remotely resembling competence, but y’know, pointing all that out to him wouldn’t be nearly as effective.
"I’m bored of this Anders, I’m bored of you. Scuttle on home, look after that Demon spawn while you’ve still got it, and stay out of my way, alright?"
I’m about to get into my car when Anders shouts something, needing to say something to make himself not feel completely pathetic.
"You know the thing about monsters Tyler? They all get slain eventually!"
"Funny, last I checked, the world is run by monsters."
< *** >
No Access
Superbrawl, the biggest show in all of professional wrestling, the most important event imaginable for any person who wants to call themselves a wrestler. It’s the event that everyone speaks about when they think of the WFWF, it’s the night where moments are made, where stars are created, where people first become obsessed with becoming a professional wrestler. It’s a night of pride, of dreams, of glory.
It’s a night where three men willing to do anything to their bodies to become the International Champion will look as the title hangs above the ring, having to climb a ladder if they want to spam with it. It’s a night where former WFWF World Heavyweight Champion Penny Shannon issues an open challenge to anyone and everyone. It’s a night where Mesh and Anna Ahriman show everyone why the WFWF is the place to be for a female competitor, a place where gender doesn’t matter as long as you can get it done in the ring. It’s the kind of night where the janitor can live every wrestlers dream of shedding blood for something they believe in.
And it’s the night where Drakz and Michael Kyzer finally clash, and one of their careers will end forever. What more has to be said? It’s the night, the show, the event, that makes the WFWF what it is.
And yet here we are, less than a week before this legendary event goes down, and the WFWF is throwing a tacky, degrading "fan event". All-access? F*cks sake, who in their right mind is going to open themselves up to that just days before the biggest night of the year? People like Smash Rodriguez and Enchanted, that’s who.
Utterly ridiculous.
I look at the crowd waiting to be admitted, hood up to avoid being seen by the all these lowlife scum waiting to see a bunch of C-list talent and anyone else stupid enough to show up. Word has it Frank Lynn’s gonna be there, because of course he is. The man still feels the need to pander to these people, even when he’s betrayed everything he was meant to be about.
Pathetic, but what else do you expect from a company being run by the likes of Lila Sleater. Now Jason Anders out of the picture I’ll need to turn my attention to her next, but all in good time, a bigger fish is gonna require better bait.
"I was expecting to find you inside, not hiding out here like you’re the unabomber."
"You think pretty little of me if you think I’d lower myself to being part of that freak show."
"You get more and more like him by the day."
"I wish people would stop saying that blatant f*cking lie. Why’re you even here Elinor? To thank me?"
"You want me to thank you for bringing Trace’s daughter to our attention? When you only did it to ruin Jason Anders’ life? Really?"
I mean, kind of, yeah.
"So you’re looking to add a few autographs to your collection or something?"
Elinor Nix, previously the personal assistant of Trace Demon, now the head of his estate what with the whole coma thing. Overqualified for both jobs, might I add. The woman’s smart, smarter than me I’m not afraid to add, and she’s still way too closely linked to Trace for my liking. Her being here means trouble can’t be far behind.
"Autographs? I’m not sure if you’re aware Tyler, but I find the whole wrestling business ridiculously boring. I dealt with Trace Demon’s business assets, I had nothing to do with the sideshow circus you’ve entangled yourself with."
"Christ, you must give one hell of a pep talk."
"I always found Trace’s sarcasm the worst of his bad habits, and you aren’t nearly as good at it as him."
"So you’re just here to insult me. Cool, noted, thanks."
"No, actually, I’m here to give you this."
She pulls out an envelope from her bag and hands it to me. The only word on the front is my name, in familiar looking scrawl.
"This is from Trace."
Another f*cking letter. Hasn’t the guy heard I’m more of an e-mail guy? Or better yet, a don’t bother talking to me at all kinda guy?
"Does this mean he’s-"
"No, he’s still comatose, to my knowledge. He gave me two letters for you before what happened and told me that I’d know when you were ready to receive the second one."
"Why now?"
"Because I’m pretty sure the reason for the letters is to hurt you, and I think it’s only right to hurt you a few days before the biggest moment of your life."
"And people think Trace was savage."
"Oh it’s nothing personal Tyler, my job is to carry out the wishes of Trace in his absence. This is what he’d want. Enjoy your letter and I hope we never have to have anything to do with each other again."
"Likewise."
I screw the letter up and shove it in my pocket, pulling my hood down lower and heading back to my hotel. Whatever Trace has to say to me, I feel like he’d want it to be just the two of us. I’m not sharing this with all these pathetic ring rats.
All access?
Nah, these people get enough of my life.
F*ck them all.
< *** >
I’m fourteen, we’re driving down the interstate. We’re traveling back from my aunt and uncles. A terrible, dull week only ignited by the continuous arguments of my mom and dad whenever they think nobody else is listening. Like now for instance.
Me and my sister are in the back seat. She’s asleep, I’m pretending to do the same. I didn’t sleep much, even back then, too many thoughts in my head, too much racing through my mind. So I pretended, anything to make my parents leave me alone, anything to get a bit of peace.
But then the arguing starts, hushed whispering, as loud as a roar if you catch the tone. Mom’s calling Dad every name under the sun, he’s been cheating on her, doesn’t think anyone else knows, but I pay attention, I see and hear it all.
He’s getting aggressive now, like always. Dad’s the nicest man in the world until he suddenly isn’t. The argument builds, even if their voices don’t, but a lot can be said with a hushed, hate-filled voice.
And then someone grabs the steering wheel. There’s a loud noise, a car horn blares, the car swerves. My eyes open suddenly and I see the barricade hurtling towards us at full speed.
And then, darkness.
< *** >
The Letter; Redux
I don’t usually do fancy hotels. Usually I’m happy crashing in a three star motel, as long as there’s a bed and somewhere to run nearby then I’m happy. But it’s Superbrawl, and I was in the mood to treat myself, so here I am in a five star luxury hotel a quick fifteen minute drive from the AT&T. Bright, luxurious, a kingdom for a man like me.
I stand on the balcony, looking out on the streets of Dallas, the stadium shining in the distance, knowing that in three days I’ll be inside, fighting for the WFWF International Championship and all the money that comes with it. This is why I did it, this is why I’m here, this is what it’s all for. The money and, to be totally honest with you, the thought of taking Frank Lynn’s precious title from him.
It should be a good moment, but all I can think about is the letter still screwed up in my pocket.
Trace Demon, f*cking with me from a coma, why am I not surprised.
I could burn it, could drop it off the balcony and let it float off into the wind, could cut it up, bin it, I could do any number of things to this bloody thing.
But what I’m going to do is read it, because curiosity is an absolute killer.
I don’t know what to expect as I open the envelope. My fingers grip it tightly, scanning the words. Just a page, that’s all, whatever Trace Demon wanted to say to me, whatever he wanted his parting words to be, all it took was a page to sum it up.
Hey Tyler, me again, bet you thought we were done, didn’t you? Afraid not. Nearly, but not quite. I asked Elinor to give you this letter at the right moment, and I’m hoping she chose wisely, because I want what I’m about to tell you to have the desired effect.
I wanted to make sure you knew something.
When I first met you Tyler I wanted nothing to do with you. Training some kid? Not my idea of a good time. But you didn’t let up, and there was something odd about you, something familiar, so I did some digging. I hired a guy, and I found out what you did.
I know what happened in that car, I know what actually happened, I know what you did, and I know that you don’t care, that you don’t even think about it, because that’s who you are, that’s what you are.
Did you really think I saw talent in you? No, I saw something else. I saw a monster, just waiting to be unleashed, and I wanted to be the one to do it.
There’s something broken in you Tyler, something that can never be fixed. I know it and despite what you tell yourself, so do you. You’re only going to ever be one thing, and I want you to accept it.
You’re a monster, the bad guy, a villain.
And that’s all you’ll ever be.
You’re going to hurt people, destroy lives, ruin everything, and it’s going to be beautiful. Maybe I’ll be around to watch, maybe I won’t, but one thing I know for sure, whatever happens to me, whatever I have to do to make you into what you really are…
It’ll all be worth it.
< *** >
Welcome To The Show
In one day I will face Frank Lynn and Ante Whitner inside that ring for the WFWF International Championship. To win I’ll need to climb a ladder, reach up high and pull that title down. And I’ll have to do it on the biggest show of the year, in front of the biggest crowd of the year, in what I can only call the biggest match of my career.
I should be nervous.
But I’m not, and I couldn’t tell you why. Frank Lynn’s had my number so far. Two matches, two losses. Ante Whitner’s… well, at some point he was a threat, now he’s just kind of there, but he’s still an additional complication that I probably could have done without. Everything about this match should set my hair on end, should send my stomach swirling, my mind racing, but it doesn’t. As I sit here in what will soon be a sold out crowd, watching the ring crew put together the Superbrawl set, I am calm.
Until I see her, looking up at me. A girl that I’ve inflicted unbelievable pain upon, a girl who’s family I tore apart because I did something terrible for the right reasons. She has every reason to hate me, and as I look down the steps towards her, I know that she does, and I know that she’ll never stop.
"Emily…"
Emily Hall, Trace Demon’s half-sister, one of the few people that he actually cares about, or at least pretended, always hard to tell what was real with him.
And, I’m starting to think, with me.
When I broke Trace Demon’s skull open with that barbed wire bat I didn’t just hurt him, I hurt her as well. And I hurt Alexa, and Eliza, his little girl. So many people affected by my actions. You always think that you’re doing the right thing attacking someone evil, and you are, but you never like to think that they’ve got people close to them.
Even Hitler was loved once upon a time.
My train of thought is broken when she finally walks up the staircase of the crowd towards me, her eyes never leaving mine.
"Can’t say I expected to see you here, but then, that seems to be a trend of late."
"I should kill you."
"Well if you’re gonna do it, do it quick. I might fight back given the chance."
And how would that end? With more blood on my hands? With even less remorse in my soul?
"I’m no monster. Trace was, you are, but not me."
She says it so matter of factly, like her saying I’m a monster makes me one without doubt. And she doesn’t even think twice about it. I’ve known Emily since I became a part of this world, she never liked me, we were never friends, but I could always tell that she saw the good in people, a counter to her brother who saw only the worst.
And if she only sees a monster when she looks at me, what does that say about me?
"Nothing I didn’t know already."
"What?"
I smile at her, and I think that only freaks her out more.
"Why’d you come here Emily? It can’t have just been to see me?"
"Believe it or not, it was. I flew all the way to Dallas just to see the man that broke my brother."
Makes you wonder which of us is really unstable, doesn’t it?
"I’ve been putting this off since it happened but after what you did telling Elinor about Anders and all I need to make sure you know something. I will never, ever forgive you for what you’ve done. Me, Alexa, Eliza, you have taken Trace away from us all and for that you don’t deserve, and you will never ever get my forgiveness."
Honestly not sure I’d have flown to Texas for that, but to each their own.
"It’s taken me a long time to even come and see you. I wanted to hurt you, kill you, do what you did to Trace, but deep down I know I couldn’t do it. I’m not like you, or my brother, You’re both monsters and I hate you for what you did, more than you’d ever understand, but as much as I hate you, as angry and filled with rage I am at you every single moment of the day… I’m better than you."
"I appreciate your honesty in telling me how much you hate me. I’ll really cherish this moment."
"You’re a lot like him, you know that?"
"People keep mentioning it."
She pauses, looking out at the arena, she’s almost serene, peaceful. She’s sat here with the man who put her brother in a coma and she’s peaceful. I don’t know who her therapist is, but they’re earning their money, that’s for sure.
"He loved all this, the atmosphere, the moments before, I’m pretty sure he liked this more than he’d ever admit."
Not more than he liked mutilating people inside that ring though. Funny how we forget the worst about violent, blood thirsty sociopaths the moment they’re out of the picture.
"I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me, okay?"
"I can do that."
I’m not sure I can do that.
"Do you seriously think you’re a good person? Do you seriously think you were doing the right thing?"
"You don’t want the answer to that. It’s not gonna do anything for you."
"I think you’ve already answered it."
She gets up from the steps, takes another look out at the arena ahead of us. I think she’s gonna leave without a word but then-
"Did you get a letter?"
"What?"
"Trace wrote these letters to people in case something happened. I think he had some feeling that something was going to happen to him, I don’t know how."
Because he knew what happened.
"Did you get one?"
"Yeah, I did."
"And what did it say?"
"I’m afraid if I tell anyone it might not come true."
It’s not a f*cking birthday wish you d*ck wad.
"One more thing, just something I’ve got to ask before I go. Do you still, after all this time, knowing how you’re actions have affected other people, think you’re a good person?"
"Me? A good person? I don’t know Emily, all I know is…"
< *** >
I’m fourteen, we’re driving down the interstate. We’re traveling back from my aunt and uncles. A terrible, dull week only ignited by the continuous arguments of my mom and dad whenever they think nobody else is listening. Like now for instance.
Me and my sister are in the back seat. She’s asleep, I’m pretending to do the same. I didn’t sleep much, even back then, too many thoughts in my head, too much racing through my mind. So I pretended, anything to make my parents leave me alone, anything to get a bit of peace.
But then the arguing starts, hushed whispering, as loud as a roar if you catch the tone. Mom’s calling Dad every name under the sun, he’s been cheating on her, doesn’t think anyone else knows, but I pay attention, I see and hear it all.
He’s getting aggressive now, like always. Dad’s the nicest man in the world until he suddenly isn’t. The argument builds, even if their voices don’t, but a lot can be said with a hushed, hate-filled voice.
I feel my anger build, rage bubbling up, like it has before, like it does every time I get into a fight at school. I’ve had enough, I just want it to stop, I want them to stop. To stop arguing, to stop shouting, to stop being.
And so I lurch forward, grabbing at the steering wheel. There’s a loud noise, a car horn blares, the car swerves. My eyes open suddenly and I see the barricade hurtling towards us at full speed.
And then, darkness.
< *** >
I take one more look at Emily, and offer her one more smile.
"I sleep pretty soundly at night."
< *** >
Superbrawl. It’s the biggest show in professional wrestling. It’s the night of immortals. It’s the showcase of legends. It’s whatever cliched series of buzzwords shoved together to give this one single night in Texas the gravitas that it deserves. See before a match almost everyone cuts one of these little promos, these little video bites to go out and promote their match. And usually it’s pretty easy to predict what people are gonna say, depending who they’re facing. But when it comes to Superbrawl, almost everyone is going to be saying the exact same thing.
That this is what it’s all about, that this is what professional wrestlers aspire to, that there is no bigger moment thann standing under the Superbrawl spotlight. And they’d be right, I suppose. This is what most wrestlers dream of, this is what they work towards. They want their moment. And it’s good to have a dream, something to work towards, it’s good to want to be on the big show.
And I know I should probably stand here and say exactly the same thing. I should stand here and talk about how everything I’ve done, the blood I’ve spilled, the people I’ve hurt, it’s all so that I could get here. It’s all so I can live my dream of wrestling at Superbrawl, of climbing a ladder, literally as the case may be, and standing tall as the new WFWF International Champion in front of all those fans…
But honestly? I don’t really give a sh*t about any of that.
Sure, it’s a nice feeling knowing I’ve gotten to the big show when this time last year nobody even knew who I was, but that’s not what I’m doing this for. I’m not even doing it for the accolades, or the pride of winning, because that’s not what I’m here for.
I’m here for the money.
But that shouldn’t come as a surprise, should it? I’ve never hid that, I'm here to support my family and that’s it. And I always thought that if I could do a little bit of good while I was at it then great, all the better. But I’m not here to do good, I’m here to make money. By any means necessary.
Which brings me to you, Frank Lynn. You’ve got something I want. Oh I know, I know, I just said I wasn’t really interested in titles, but you know what that International Championship would bring me? The old championship bonus, not to mention all the big match paydays that’d come with it. If I want to make as much money as I need, then I need that title, and like I just said, I’m coming for it by any means necessary.
Plus, it’d feel pretty good taking it from you. Because I’ve got to be honest with you, I’m feeling a little bit tetchy about this one, a little bit personal. Thing is Frank, I don’t really like you, in fact, I think you’re a bit of a d*ck. You go around making out like you’re this big deal, like you matter, when really it’s all in your own head, your own delusional ego. And yes, you’ve beaten me, twice, I accept that, but the way I see it it’s gotten a little bit harder. First time, I tapped, second time, you couldn’t get that job done, you had to choke me out. What comes next when you can’t manage that?
Because I’ve got a slight idea. Here’s what happens Frank. You lose, I climb that ladder and take that title, and you leave Superbrawl with absolutely nothing but a broken, fractured ego, decimated by the knowledge that you couldn’t get the job done on your precious show of shows. You’ll wither away and become something rotten because you couldn’t take knowing that you were never quite as good as you thought.
That’ll be fun to watch.
And then there’s you, Ante. Honestly, I don’t think you belong here. And I’m not just talking about this match, or Superbrawl, I’m talking about this company, this business. You’re no wrestler, you’re no star, you’re certainly no champion. You’re a hanger-on, you’re one of those guys who has a bit of name value and they had to find a spot for you on the card.
Must be tough, knowing you’re an afterthought.
But hey, you’re here now, so this is your opportunity to prove me wrong, isn’t it? But you won’t, because you’ve not got it in your anymore. You’re Ante Whitner, the Bloody Eagle! Ante Whitner, the man who fought Phillip Schneider! Ante Whitner, the perennial disappointment, the eternal waste of potential. You’re gonna lose here and nobody is gonna bat an eye, nobody is gonna care, nobody is gonna even remember your name because guess what Ante?
Nobody cares about you.
So what next? I could stand here and talk about how this is my opportunity to be known as more than the man who broke Trace Demon, but I won’t. I could stand here and talk about how this is my moment to make something of myself, but I won’t. Truth be told I’ve done a lot of thinking, and the fact is it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of me, because I’m not here for any of you.
I’m here for me.
So yes, this is my moment. But not to make something of myself, not to be a star. This is simply my moment to take what I want, by any means necessary. So call me whatever you want, because honestly, I don’t give a sh*t.
The enemy, the villain, a monster, the bad guy…
Call me whatever you want.
It won’t matter.
That title is going to be mine, and as everybody eventually finds out, when I set my mind to something…
There’s nothing anybody can do to stop me.
