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Prologue
Blown Gaskets

Dean Residence
Atlanta, Georgia
7/15/2016

"Hand me a towel." Jason shot out while holding his hand. "I just sliced my f*cking hand open again."

"You know this isn't a blood drive, right?"

"Tell that to the pistons I tried putting in."

I hand him a towel before asking, "Did you shave them down?"

"Yeah."

"Here, let me take a look."

"I got them down to nearly a millimeter gap, just like you asked." Jason says, wrapping his hand in the towel. "Damn near took me three hours and probably another tetanus shot thanks to this rust bucket."

"Yeah, but what about the housing?" I ask, ignoring his rant while feeling around the jagged cylinder walls. "Still feels kind of rough."

Jason ponders for a moment before replying, "So I guess I need to take this all apart?"

"Man, you know the pistons and heads are areas we can't afford to f*ck up."

"Ok," he exhales before walking back toward the wall. "I'll get the hone."

I hate to be so particular, but all cogs in the ole T-Bird's block need to be in immaculate condition before I'd consider it in working order and fit to drive. The car is like turning back the clock and looking at my career in retrospect. Its bent and broken frame bears resemblance my body, which for years endured countless amounts of abuse from this fast lifestyle. Like many of my compatriots, I didn't take care of myself for a stretch and I slowly problems arose. First was my shoulder, then my ankles, then my neck and knees. Surgeries, much akin to replacing the clutch and changing things like oil and sparkplugs, were stop gaps. It wasn't until I parked myself that I was restored physically, though mentally took much longer.

"Why don't you spend a little bit of money and have that machine shop on Howell Mill do it?"

"They screwed up the heads on my Mustang when I took it in." I say, attaching the air compressor. "I'm not gonna buy parts for them to be careless with."

"And how many engine blocks have you rebuilt?"

"A few." I say before taking the manifold off and setting it on my work bench. "Enough to know what I'm doing."

"These guys do this for a living though." Jason says while inspecting the crankshaft. "It'd would be like them getting into a wrestling ring. By the way, this thing is cracked."

"Yeah, a lot of people seem to think they can do it." I assert, pulling out my tape measure. "But you know how I feel about fixing my own cars."

"I know."

"Ok then." I say, marking a spot on the manifold. "So I need clean this out something horrible. You got the oil ready?"

"I still think it's a bad idea." He says, handing me some oil. "When was the last time you did this anyway?"

"Oh, about five, six years ago I believe." I quip. "Dates run together anymore."

*****

An opportunist.

A loose cannon.

Not the man we've come to know.

The ironic thing about labels is they're often times as misguided as the person giving them, and I think it's fair to assume that my recent actions haven't gone over very well in some people's eyes. From how I derailed Jette and Lynn's hype train to punching a friend in the mouth for his poor decision making processes, that target just keeps growing for all the proverbial ammunition one can muster. And to be quite honest, I'm not entirely sure I care anymore. I want to... though I can't see myself going about it the way I have any longer. That's not to say I give up the good fight or being an inspiration for so many others, because my life story and anything I do in my wrestling career covers it. But the definition of insanity is trying the same thing continuously, expecting a different outcome. I've been beating my head against the wall for far too long, even though I was able to break through for a moment in time. I've come to a place where I realize taking the honorable route was only going to see me looking up at those lights. That's unacceptable to a man with my talent, so I decided to play by my own set of rules. Consequently, everyone has become a mark for this frustration I've been feeling.

So I apologize to anyone who doesn't want to support me, it's nothing personal. That's your right to choose. I was really hoping not to show this side of me because it was the side you hear about in infamy rather than with esteem, but understand my hand got forced. I'm hoping you can appreciate everything I've done in the past couple years to make this promotion watchable again, because I've done it with the utmost class and our fans deserve that.

From Phillp Schneider to Donny Kent's army to the very man running this joint, there has and should never be a question where I stand morally. Wrestling's historically been filled with a good versus evil narrative, all while promoting a twenty by twenty ring as the proving ground. I'm not even certain how much I believe in that at this point because the sheer amount of back room deals being made around here, and these guys who use it to cut line. Yet at the center of all this controversy regarding the World Title is me, the only person amongst all these moving parts that actually has a legitimate claim for it. Yeah, I guess you can say I came in and f*cked up the pipe dream back in Janurary, boys. Oh the depravity, Josh Dean is what's wrong with this company! It seems pretty convenient to blame me, the guy who wasn't even supposed to be in this position much less succeed. Why is that, because I took advantage of Drakz overlooking me? OK, I'll own that. But name me one person who wouldn't have, and I'll take my place at the rogue table then proceed to get nice and friendly with your Michael Kyzers and King Kraigs.

I'm waiting. And I have been.

Six months later and no one has been able to answer that question without lying, so shut up and get over it. Your point has been proven null and void, and now we're done discussing my merits. But I digress, because in an attempt to give me a receipt for my transgressions, Trace has decided to book another Tag Title match involving your favorite dysfunctional team against Brennan and Sam for Horizon. I guess it's appropriate, the show title and all, since we are on the horizon of something special in WFWF. There's a new era dawning on this company, one that will see collusion go out the window and talent rising properly. I predicted this would happen, and whether good, bad, or indifferent I didn't choose to sit by and wait for someone else to do it. I've handled my problems head on like a man should (here's to ya Stan ), and slowly that brat who demanded more kept inching his way closer to the forefront despite my attempts to suppress it. That's all while raising the bar for everyone in this company.

That struggle left me exhausted, so right around the time Drakz turned me down a second time I decided to stop fighting it. There's been calls from my colleagues questioning if I possess what's necessary to get over the hump and stay there, a killer instinct and ruthlessness you'd never doubt in David Brennan, Thunder during his prime, or EBR when he was on top. Well ladies and gents, you got what you yearned for out of me. After everything else I've given, you weren't satiated until I floored Cam for trying to stop me going after who really deserved my wrath. I'm just glad I was able to prevent myself from taking his back home as a souvenir, an injury that would've been a damn shame indeed given his quest for a title shot. Incidentally I find myself in a position where I might've cost us the Tag Team Titles, but I can finally get some answers from our adoring public.

Are you happy now?

Good...me too.

Josh Dean Presents
Scapegoat

Dean Residence
Atlanta, Georgia
7/19/2016

"Do you have a problem with listening to logic?"

"No, why?"

Jason shakes his head slowly before asserting, "Because you're so dead set on restoring this car, and yet you're having trouble thinking straight. Do you even know what day it is?"

"It's Monday, right?"

"Lucky guess." He says, sitting the pistons on my work bench. "You know, you're not the easiest guy to work with sometimes."

"I've been told that a time or two."

"Consider yourself fortunate that I understand you, otherwise you'd be doing this alone."

"I do," I say while attaching the rings. "And thank you."

"So where's the rest of your crew you normally run around with?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"You mean you don't know."

"I'm just saying I don't keep them under constant surveillance." I say while detaching the hone from my air compressor. "If they feel inclined to tell me their business, I'll keep my ears open."

"Hmmm...seems like they've abandoned you after you decked Cam."

"And here I was hoping sides wouldn't need to be chosen."

"As good of friends as we are, you know title shots don't come often."

I suppose that's what makes this clusterf*ck the way it is. I'm all for equal opportunity, but Cam's pursuit doesn't sit right when I think about my path here. I endured as taxing a run as anything in my career, and the idea of Cam being gifted what I've earned by virtue of crawling in bed with Trace leaves me feeling violated. I didn't realize how much until Exodus went off the air.

"I know, I know, but you have to realize this is some serious sh*t he's gotten himself into."

"All I can tell you is that Dave said he needed to find himself again," Amber says through the phone's speaker. "And I guess he believes being in the public eye isn't going to help."

"But he can't just disappear and not tell anyone." I say before tossing my gear in my duffel. "He knows that."

"I agree."

"And here he is, going off the grid." I retort, forcing a heavy breath from my lungs. "At least I knew where Dave was the last time he went away."

"Look Josh, I tried to stop him from going." Amber's voice resonates throughout the locker room as I sit down. "I told him that he needed to at least talk to you first."

"That would've been the decent thing to do."

There's an odd pause before Amber mutters, "Dave hasn't been right since the trial ended."

"Is he drinking again?"

"I don't think so." She replies as I tie my hair back. "I've even scoured the apartment looking for any sign of it. There's not a trace to be found."

"Relapse is a real thing though."

"I could see it if he disappeared for hours on end and came home smelling like booze."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not even doing that, which I could understand." Amber begins. "No, I leave for the restaurant and he just sits there. I come home it's the same thing, staring at the walls like he's in some sort of trance."

This is the first contact I've had with anyone possessing a direct link to Dave, and me grilling Amber as a result is simply to pinpoint his whereabouts. Her revelation of his mental state is a bit unsettling but not surprising, considering my own experience has taught me there's limited options when you're looking at long periods of solitude. A year isn't a long time, however such a monotonous routine has a way of making time creep along. Even though my own stint was a finger snap in comparison to Dave's, but those walls still have the same effect consequently. I still find myself going through stretches of zoning out and living in my mind, which after a decade plus can still be a scary place. If Dave's self imposed vision quest is anything similar, it could be as long before he finds reprieve. Being his former tag team parter and more importantly a friend, handling the situation delicately is vital.

"Dave has some skeletons in his closet." I say, zipping up my duffel. "Things going beyond the trial."

"Such as?"

"Well you've been living with him for the past few months." I reply as my door opens. "Doesn't he talk about anything?"

She pauses as I look up. The door closes and I see my guest. He's in an angry mood as he marches toward me.

"Well he did mention needing to clear his conscience."

"Hmmm, I think I know where he went..." I say while clenching my fist and continuing, "Hey Amber, I'll have to call you back."

"Something wrong?"

"No, I just need to take care of some business."

I hang up the phone and sitting it beside me before blurting out, "Well if you're going to punch me Frank, you better go ahead and do it while I'm sitting down."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"It beats you standing there with steam coming out your ears." I quip, motioning towards a nearby chair. "Now why don't you have a seat, I've got some things I want to discuss with you."

Frank begrudgingly takes my offer and grabs a seat. Sitting down, he crosses his arms expectantly before saying, "Just because I'm sitting down doesn't mean I'm going to concede defeat."

"I know that." I say before handing him a water bottle. He looks at me in confusion as I continue, "You always took setbacks and less than stellar performances hard in MMA. I can respect that, because it means you care."

"I want to win..."

"Yeah, and you want to win in spectacular fashion." I interrupt, watching as he stares at my peace offering. "Go on, it's not drugged."

"Thanks." He replies with caution. "Look don't think you've seen the last of us."

"I have no doubts about that."

"Doesn't it make you a little edgy knowing that?"

"Nope, in fact I welcome it."

Owning an agency means scouring the earth for talent, but not just any talent. No, I've built Championship Connections into a brand that places emphasis on clean living, humble athletes that only need a little push to break out. Because of my business model, Frank is someone I've had a vested interest in since his fighting days. His technical prowess and knockout power caught my eye when he fought for Guerilla Fight League, but my attempts of contacting him got detoured by my own career. He and Jette put up a better fight than I want to admit, and as a result they've earned my respect. While I'm sure that Frank will be gunning for me, maybe for now he wouldn't mind my help in building his career.

"So, what do you want to do with all this money you just made tonight?"

"Probably invest it."

"Smart man, just like it was a good decision to go the wrestling route." I begin as Frank takes a sip of water. "More money to be made here."

"Just like the money you're making off Drakz?"

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't stutter." He lashes out. "I know what kind of promoter you are."

"Please, enlighten me."

"No one will ever be able to outshine Josh Dean as long as they're in business with you." He continues. "Drakz has carried your ass just like he did tonight, yet it was you who got the pin."

"It just happened to go that way."

"Mike was hurt and you took advantage..."

"And you were somehow in better shape?"

"That wouldn't have happened with me."

I probably shouldn't prod him, given the fact he took a hard spill in the match. But I'd be remiss if Frank wasn't informed of how much work he still needed.

"So let's just get it out in the open," I say while noticing his furrowed brow. "You believe you can beat me?"

"Maybe I can."

"Or maybe you think tough talk and a poor disposition is going to intimidate me into saying we got lucky."

"Now you're putting words in my mouth, just like the hill..."

"Oh yeah, the hillbilly comment. Listen that was me talking people in the building." I interrupt, not taking my eyes off him. "Yet here you are, fresh off getting a chance to prove just that and failing, coming into my locker room with the audacity to say I've done anything but get the best out of you. Are you f*cking kidding me?"

Frank leans in his chair, taken aback by my declaration. I can't say I'd blame him if he'd decide to shoot a power double on me, since I did just call him out on trying to retain his pride. Whether it was barely scraping by or blowing them out we won tonight, end of discussion. I wasn't planning on bringing up the match, in fact a guy with Frank's time in wrestling could stand to use some advice. I think it's because I do like him, and the fact I indirectly made him the biggest heel in the southern US, are pretty solid reasons for trying to ease tensions. Apparently he's a bit tongue tied a the moment, so it may be best to keep talking.

"Why should I bother telling you that your chain wrestling is sloppy and that you'll need to learn to pace yourself, when all you've done since arriving in WFWF is make sophomoric digs at me as a person?" I demand, standing up from my seat for the first time. "Huh, tell me why I'm even offering you advice and possibly representation down the line?"

"To avoid eventually having to face me one on one."

"You're going to need to get infinitely better if you want to face me by yourself and have a chance." I retort. "That's a fact. It's matches like these that make everyone better, and I accept nothing less than excellence from anyone I wrestle."

"Then why fight so hard to keep Cam on your side if you're not worried about potentially wrestling him?"

"Loyalty, something I expect you know a thing or two about."

Frank nods his head, taking a moment before drinking his water and asking, "So you got the connections?"

"Growing everyday."

"Ok, send a proposal to my lawyers." Frank says as he tosses the empty water bottle near a trashcan. "If they say it's good, I'll consider looking at your firm."

"That's all I ask."

"No promises, especially if all you're going to do is use me to bolster your own profile."

"I don't want any." I say, sitting back down in my chair. "You'll find I'm not a big fan of conflicting interests. Boston, right?"

"Just send it to Jersey."

I nod my head with a smirk. I'm tempted to say something else, but that'll open up a can of worms neither of us are ready for. I have my assumptions about things pertaining to Frank's career before WFWF, but that's really it without proper proof. I'm impressed with his moxie though, even if I believe he's foolishly standing by his antics. That's exactly what I need as an ally amidst the undercutting current filling WFWF's locker room, a man of character. While flawed, Frank is certainly a guy that I've gained a modicum of respect towards.

Jason slaps my back and immediately I tense up, nearly dropping my hone. That would've been a few thousand dollars down the drain.

"I guess I did it again."

"Yeah." He says with a chuckle before asking, "So are you going to square things away with Cam?"

"I will, if he's willing to talk reasonably."
****

I never knew that intention could be so misinterpreted.

I mean really, who would've thought competitive spirit and desire, you know admirable qualities, could be manipulated into a narrative designed to make it seem as though my honesty has been forgotten? That I would sell out everything I've built for my resume to have a couple more accolades on it? And I guess that's what really jumps my craw is the complete disregard for research on my body of work clearly disproving such a notion. Nevermind the fact that these accusations, ones that I've heard many times over in my career, are feeble attempts to disparage my principles for a couple f*cking sound bytes.

Yup, sounds like some pretty dangerous talk coming from a couple guys whose careers are famous for grasping at the straws of relevancy and mired in self destruction. Since we're all about 'exposing' truths here, let's throw some gasoline on the fire and really ignite a grudge. That's what you two want, right? You want to place the blame on me for doing what you two have unsuccessfully done in your careers, praying to Satan and his handle of Tennessee's Finest that you can get the 'weak link' off his game. While you two can't agree on much else, that's the common point of attack. Wow, so typical, almost to a point that it's played out, this notion that Drakz has been doing the heavy lifting. OH GEEZ HIS BACK MUST ACHE SO BAD! Let's take a look back at the results shall we, and you'll see that I was the one who got the winning pinfall in our last two title defenses.

But see that doesn't fit your rhetoric, because that would show the opposite of what you're trying to prove. Josh Dean and Drakz being on equal footing, what a concept! We are the last two World Champions after all, so yeah, I suppose you can say we are. And Sam, just so we're clear, I didn't ask for you to jump on the apron back in Vegas. So you can stop taking credit for my World Title because I didn't need your help to do it. I'd ask David where his title is due to his reputation as the ass stomping, bourbon swilling renegade that takes his ball and runs home when he doesn't get his way.

So no David, I can't relate to you because I don't quit when I think a decision sucks or when my boys decide to pack up shop. The kicker is you keep coming back and claiming you hate this place, so it's apparent not only are you a liar but that you do enough to placate someone into giving you another chance before pissing it away again. I mean what are we on, your fifth, sixth contract here? Just so you know, there's a pool going around the locker room giving you about six months before you either quit or die from choking on your own vomit. That's how little faith anyone has in you to do something worthwhile. And the funniest part is going to be when Daniel Kirkbride isn't there to play babysitter, forcing you to take a long hard look in the mirror at what a f*cking sycophant you really are.

I'm going to take great pride in kicking your ass on behalf of Daniel Kirkbride, David. And Sam had a hand in his demise too, so I feel like I owe him because of the respect I have for him.

Two for the price of one, sounds like a hell of a deal to me.

But I digress because I know your game David Brennan, and no amount of long winded diatribes aimed at yours truly can change that. Call my skin Kevlar, because while most would cower in fear at the amount of times you say f*ck then paint a colorful picture of how you're gonna stomp them. I, however let it bounce off me, because you'll do great until you realize you're getting kicked out of your tacky Doc Martens by the best wrestler on the planet. Then what? I don't think it's beyond you to quit in the middle of a match. So that means you're f*cked Sam, because I do have history to achieve and a tag team partner who I'd love nothing more than to capture this record with. It pisses him off that his name will forever be synonymous with mine, and that's fine with me because deep down in Isaac Cray's heart he knows he couldn't have done it without me!

Man I'm getting worked up just talking about this, and I haven't even gotten to Cam yet. The X-Factor and the one guy who has a lot to gain from watching us four destroy each other. But I'll get to him at another time. You two are my focus, which means everything ever said or thought about me you'll be held accountable for. Maybe when you drown in the deep end Sam, David will be there for the save. If you can even count on him. I know he knows his way around a face full of liquids, but you need to worry about the nasty hangover he'll undoubtedly have. I may not like Drakz, but him showing up ready to fight is the least of my worries. And when we dispatch you guys at Horizon, you can blame me for your career going into a tailspin.

That's blame I have no problem accepting.