Aftershock Special - Justin Cooper (c) versus Garth Black - Heavyweight Championship
RP deadline is Monday the 20th of February at 23:59 EST.
Check it out in the General Wrestling Section!
“The photograph must make you look strong. Fierce like a lion, my friend!” Mister Ansel proclaimed.
It was late in the afternoon and as Justin looked out the window he could see the shadows of the side buildings slowly creeping upwards. His back was aching and he was now struggling to keep the World Championship above his head. Inch by inch it fell slightly and white flashes burned his eyes, the sound of Mister Ansel muttering ringing in his ears, “Like a lion! Fierce, let me here you roar. Beautiful, I feel your fire, my friend.” For the most part the day had dragged but now, as the day faded into night, Justin Cooper was struggling.
“Mister... what was it again, dude?” Justin asked, he lowered the title onto his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck.
Several people rushed forwards; one young lady brushed his face with more makeup, another adjusted the lights around him, an older looking lady brushed his hair and a final lady forced a water bottle down his throat and poured a rush of water into him. Justin coughed and waved them away, his throat stinging as he straightened himself up.
“Hey, I’ve been here for hours. I’ve spent all day doing media. I need to go home and have a rest,” yelled Justin. Mister Ansel was muttering to his staff and had placed his hands in front of his face in a rectangle. He was completely ignoring the pleas of the World Champion.
“Buddy, over here. You see this belt on my shoulder? It doesn’t just stay with me if I lose. I have a title match this week. I could lose this thing... could you stop whatever the hell you’re doing and answer me?” Shouted Justin, the staff hurried away to the side of the room and Mister Ansel lowered his hands.
His smile was forced, the lines of his face grouped together and he slapped his sides as he stepped forward.
“Visualising the photograph is most important. I think we have enough of those. Now, Penny! I said Penny come here now. Where is that girl, oh, finally... now Penny are the cameras ready?”
The girl gave a curt nod and moved away quickly as Mister Ansel turned back to Justin.
“You are done with the photographs for today, my friend. You look great. A true warrior of the arts. I would think many men will fear you and the women shall wish to hold you close to them,” Minster Ansel turned sharply to his staff, made completely up of women, and they all nodded in unison.
“How wonderful. So I can go?” Justin asked, a little too eagerly it would seem as Minster Ansel raised an eyebrow and looked utterly offended in his eagerness to leave.
“No, the company wants so video to send out to the television stations to promote the shows. They want to see you fierce like...”
“A lion,” Justin interrupted, he’d heard it over and over again during the day. He half rolled his eyes and heard a giggle from some of the staff members within earshot.
“Correct! See, you are getting it my friend. We are making a good team, I think. Much easier than some of the other champions I have worked with,” Mister Ansel leaned in close to Justin.
“You are much more photogenic than that overweight man, so fat, he had boobs! Disgusting, not good for the photographs at all, my friend. You, I am impressed, you shall do well I think.”
For the next half an hour Justin did promo after promo promoting all three of the upcoming WZCW shows. He highlighted top matches, cut small promos which he was sure would be edited out of context and cause problems in the locker room at some point. He was extremely annoyed when they tricked him into saying a line which include “bad dad and Logan McAllister” within seconds.
“Delete that! I didn’t say that, mate. “Logan McAllister is a bad dad? Of course not.” is what I said. I know how these things work, Ansel.” Justin rushed forward and tried to pry the camera free from the tripod but Mister Ansel slapped his hands away and claimed the camera for his own.
“Ah, not today, my friend. I do not get paid if something were to happen to the footage. I’m sure nothing will come from most of it however,” Mister Ansel smirked and scratched his head of black hair, dark and receding.
Justin was unconvinced and after being told throughout the day “just one more” and continuing on for hours, he felt he could not trust the man who so constantly reminded him his name was ‘Mister Ansel’ rather than just Ansel.
“Still, I am not sure of this promo you have given. It is fine, you look concerned, but fear not. You just need to feel the fire within and you shall unleash greatness. Take a minute and we will try again.”
“Again! You want me to do another promo? Look, it’s dark outside. I’m going-“
Suddenly the door to the room burst open and in stepped Vance Bateman and Becky Serra. The General Manager’s of WZCW’s famous television shows walked into the room and Mister Ansel threw his arms into the air.
“You have come at last! How wonderful, please come and take a seat. Penny! Penny, quickly gather some chairs, perhaps a drink, yes I think we should get them something to eat,” Mister Ansel shouted and sent his staff rushing around.
“That will not be needed, Ansel. We’re here to speak with Justin,” Vance said without looking at Mister Ansel. He walked forwards and shook hands with Justin, Becky Serra followed and did the same.
“Through here, Justin. We have your new contract but best not to discuss it out in public like this,” Becky whispered the second sentence and elegantly moved towards a door to the right of the main area.
Justin looked around the room; the staff were talking amongst themselves in low voices, Mister Ansel was standing, his face a slight shade of red from being blown off by the GM’s and meanwhile Vance was at the door holding it open and waved Justin into it.
The three of them sat alone in a room which was bare for the most part. A long wooden table took up most of the area, a few cheap chairs scattered around and a rather ugly painting of a duck fighting a frog. Justin took a seat across from Vance and Becky, both of whom had placed several pieces of paper onto the table in front of them.
“Right, it’s late so we should make this quick,” Vance said as he pulled out a pen and slid the contract over to Justin.
“You’ll find it’s basically what we had talked about before Kingdom Come. Pay rise, we cover your travel expenses and the cover of the video game is yours,” said Becky, her hair falling down across her face. She twisted it with her finger and pursed her lips as Justin flipped through the contract.
“I’m happy with what is here. Thank you for covering the expenses for the road. I want to talk about all this media I’ve been doing,” Justin replied, his finger clicking the pen and gliding over the contract.
Becky sat up and tapped her fingers on the table.
“What’s the problem?” Becky said, very sharply.
“It’s too much. I haven’t been able to train this week. How am I supposed to keep this title if I’m stuck doing media all the time?”
Becky shook her head and half laughed.
“You cannot be serious? Another one, I told you Vance!”
“Another one? What does that mean?” Justin asked, he clutched the World Championship tightly.
“We understand the struggle of doing media, Justin. Believe me, I’ve ran the gauntlet previously during the beginning days of WZCW. I was up at early hours of the morning and worked until midnight, I lived off two hours of sleep during the starting days of this company. Don’t think we are not sympathetic but as World Champion you have to do it,” Vance said, his eyes darting from Becky to Justin.
“It’s just really difficult. I’ve barely slept at all. This title defence against Garth is just looming over me. Spending all day talking about it, I still don’t think that guy is happy with what I have given him, has put all that worry front and centre. It’s tough knowing Garth is out there preparing and focused while I’m stuck doing media every single day,” Justin pleaded, all his hope of a break hinged on Vance. He could see, from the look of annoyance on her face, that Becky Serra had no sympathy for him or his plight.
“Justin, you had to know what being World Champion meant. It’s means a lot for the company. You are the guy. You’re on the poster, the video game and all this media is key to keeping the company at the forefront of professional wrestling. That title is more than a prop,” Vance said.
“It’s not all women and money,” Becky cut in, her tone of voice harsh.
“Well, thank you for enlightening me.” Justin said, shaking his head and turning back to Vance.
“So, it is getting rather late,” muttered Becky.
Justin laughed and stood up. He lifted the title and clipped it around his waist.
“I’d hate to keep you two. Here,” Justin signed the contract and tossed it over to Vance.
“Thank you, Justin. Glad to have you on board for another year. It’s been great seeing...”
“I don’t need a warmup speech for you or her. Just stay out of my way at this point. Send me the dates and appearances, give me the times and I’ll show up. I prove to you and everyone else that the day I won this title was the best day in the history of this company. You should’ve backed me years ago, I don’t see any room on this bandwagon.”
He moved towards the door and shot a look back to Becky and Vance.
“I’m sure you’re both wondering what kind of champion I’m going to be. I can see you thinking, am I the type to crumble under all this pressure both in and out of the ring or will I rise above it all? I don’t know. I’m no fortune teller but I believe it’s going to take a warrior, a hard fought battle to take what I've earned from me! It’s going to take the best wrestlers in the world all coming for me, for this, for everything I have,” said Justin, slapping the gold title around his waist.
“So forgive me if I don't accept your "kind words" right now. The time to jump on this bandwagon is long gone. You don't get ignore me for years and suddenly rush to shake my hand. If you want someone who is going to kiss your ass than you can go back someone else because I'm no sellout,” Justin said, he opened the door and slammed it shut.
On the other side Mister Ansel rushed towards him and shoved him into the middle of the room. Another camera had been placed and was ready and waiting for him. One last promo and he was done. The thought ran through Justin’s head and it was blissful. They all doubted him. Could he be the champion this company deserved? That was it! The inspiration he needed, Justin smiled and waited for the female staff members to hurry out of the shot.
“Okay, the final one, last promo of the night, my friend. Feel the fire, become the lion and believe that you are the World Champion!” Mister Ansel shouted. “ACTION!”
It was like the world become empty. It was just him standing in a room with the only light being the sparkling gold of his World Championship. It was weird to even think that; it was his World Championship. He’d worked for so long and now it was his but all of it was at risk of being taken away so soon. As he looked into the camera, he stood there in his wrestling gear, the World Championship around his waist and spoke, picturing Garth Black in front of him.
“No matter how many times I beat you it seems like you will not die. Twice I’ve pinned your shoulders to the mat and yet here we stand. You have risen again, far from your second coming, more like your third. Once again you stand up against authority or at least you will try. That’s the funny thing about this week, about me in all honesty. I’ve been called the new face of WZCW but how many people would have picked me? Not Becky and I doubt even Vance would have placed his faith in me. You’ve reached new heights targeting the chosen ones but I’m not chosen. I was never handpicked. I fought for everything I have. I overcome more odds than you.
That’s what makes this week, our third match, so interesting. You cannot beat me, Garth. I am what you hate more than anything. I’m the rebel, I’m the loudmouth, the original guy who stood against the system and I conquered it. Not on some secondary show but on their stage; Kingdom Come. I did what you dreamed of doing but ended up failing. You aren’t original, you stole everything I said three years earlier. I said it first, I set the stage for your rise and now I’ve overtaken you. I have eclipsed what you tried to do and now all those people you inspired, well they’ve forgotten about you. They will forget you just like history will forget you because of me!
What’s worse is that you don’t even have a point anymore. You once stood for something. You were inspiring, you were a beacon of hope and you had the world in your hands but you let it slip. You failed. You have nothing left but empty words. It was you who failed, not the company, not anybody else. In the end, it was Garth Black who dropped the ball. And I never will. You have become a parody. A joke of man who once had a message. For that I pity you. It's sad to see such a former warrior turn into a laughing stock.
I once believed in you but now I see that you blame everybody else for your downfall. I once did the same. I felt the same anger and hate towards the world. Now I see clearly, I see that you have to accept your own faults to ever overcome them. That’s your fatal flaw, Garth. You can’t accept your mistakes. We have wrestled twice, both times I won and this third match will end the same. You can’t admit what you’ve done wrong and as a result, you will be unable to fix what you did the first two times.
While our message was once the same I understand we have differences, Garth. I see that. You're a sellout, I'm not. You're a parody, a joke of a man, and I am not. You are forgotten and I will live forever in the memories of the fans. But most importantly, you are the challenger and it is I - Justin Cooper - who is proud to be called WZCW World Heavyweight...
Last edited by Da Prophet : 02-18-2017 at 06:08 PM.
The pitter-patter of rain fell on the tin rooves of the shacks by the sea-side. The grisly grey clouds emptied themselves into a gushing gale. A tarpaulin sheet draped over a shack was stretched to its limit as each gust of wind bellowed into them, like the lungs of plastic giants left exposed on the shore.
The sheet broke free and is blown away, scampering along the street. A fugitive. A refugee. It picked up speed, it slowed down. Spasmodic flailing movement that didn’t cease until it was caught by the rigid neck of a lamppost. It was held in suspension, a sombre spectre in the sullen sky. A brief moment of serenity and its flailing appendages settled towards the body of its new wrought iron home. Another gust and it was gone, flapping in the torrent as it reaches the beach. Sodden sand stuck to it, until its motion could go on no more. Weighted by the sand and the rain, the sheet slumped to the floor, where it would stay until the distant tide returned home to pick it up for another aimless journey.
Now only the elements stirred in Paradise Cove, there was no life. No soul. No joy. The “Welcome to Paradise Cove” sign had been erected in 1956, but it hadn’t been painted since. Some of the letters had faded over the years so that it now read “Welcome to P rad s e C v”, no doubt the Universe’s way of saying that this was not paradise any more. Parasite Cave may have been a more applicable name, in hindsight. New York is the city that never sleeps, Las Vegas is the city of dreams, but Paradise Cove was a living nightmare.
It hadn’t always been this way; the town was once an idyllic seaside resort and hose sorry shacks on the sea front had once been painted green and white and blue and red and yellow. But then they built the new Interstate and the passing trade drifted down the coast and where the tourists once dominated, the shysters and the cheaters and the liars moved in and the town rotted even quicker than the wood in the old boardwalk that desperately reached out to the sea, begging the ocean to take it away and put it out of its misery. Even the shysters had moved away now.
And now, some 61 years after the Paradise Cove sign was erected, there were very few people left that remembered Paradise Cove it that way. There were very few people left in Paradise Cove that remembered anything at all. This evening was particularly grim as the torrential weather took its toll on a town that had already taken a beating.
Then a pair of white lights appear, almost hypnotic in their contrast to the grey surroundings. The lights were getting closer, and as they did the unmistakeable sound of a car entering its death throes could be heard over the unrelenting noise of the rain, the wind and the waves. A battered taxicab was finally discernible as the proprietor of the only lights in Paradise Cove.
As it passed down Main Street, past where the mall used to be, past where the hotels used to be and finally past where the homeless shelter still is, the occupant of the passenger seat in the rear stared through the glass and the rain at his surroundings.
The unmistakable face of Garth Black sat stoically as he inspected the scenes, puzzled by just how depressing the locale he found himself in on this evening was. Last night he had wrestled, and won, in front of thousands in attendance and millions at home and yet now, less than 24 hours later it seemed like he and the taxi driver were the only people left in the world.
Black didn’t want to upset the taxi driver – he had spent over an hour at the train station trying to find one willing to drive this far out in this weather – but there must be a mistake, this is not where his idol, his mentor and his inspiration had ended up spending his days. Surely there had been a mistake. He bit his tongue, and continued to survey the streets with stony silence through the cab window, occasionally needing to raise his sleeve to wipe the condensation from the window.
Eventually, the taxi driver picked up on Black’s anxiety and began to address him in his friendly, simple drawl.
Taxi Driver: You know, not many folk want to come out this way anymore. I reckon you’re the first passenger I’ve brought down here to Paradise Cove for nigh on seven year. I’m afraid it ain’t much to look at any more.
Black took his words as a welcome relief, he was at least in the right place, but looking at the window made him think that he was not here at the right time. He thought about replying to the kindly driver, but he didn’t feel like raising his voice above the sound of the windscreen blades or the NPR radio chat that was loud enough to be audible, but sufficiently quiet for the garbled mumbling of the participants to be completely incomprehensible.
Taxi Driver: Once upon a time though, it was hella pretty up here. Say, do you like rasslin?
Do you like wrestling? What a question. For all but two of his years on Earth, the driver may have well have asked him whether or not the Pope was a Catholic, but now things weren’t so clear cut at all. He’d grown bitter, he’d grown jaded and now he was faced with a simple question from a simpleton and he wasn’t so sure anymore. I guess that’s why he was here in the first place. At least he hadn’t been recognised, he didn’t think. Better not to rock the boat, not here, not now. Go diplomatic.
Black: Yeah. Why? Are you a fan?
Taxi Driver: Not so much these days, on account of not having cable or that internet in my house, but we all used to be big fans in this area on account of our favoured son being from here. The great Daddy Mack was born and raised in this here town.
Back when he was first starting out, we’d all cram into the Sportatorium down the way there and cheer him on against which ever bruiser had made his way into town. Of course, he moved away like the rest of folk here, but he’s no more from Boise then I am from Timbuktu. I heard a while back that he was thinking about moving back here, but I don’t know for sure.
Of course, Black already knew all of that. Why else would he be here at such an inconvenient time. He needed to connect, not just to both his past, but potentially to his future. In a business of snakes and salesmen, Daddy Mack was the only man who had never let him down. If anyone had the answers to the questions that had eaten away at his soul for so long, it’d be his trainer. His heart began to beat faster as his thoughts ran away from him. Probably best not to burden the poor driver with all of this emotion though, especially seeing as he’d made him come to this hell hole. With that in mind he went with simple pleasantries.
Black: Wow, I never knew. I always liked that guy, too.
Exactly how much he liked him now would probably depend on getting some answers. Black didn’t yet know what he wanted to hear form his trusted mentor, but he hoped that it would clear some of the cobwebs. Before he had much time to think, the car ground to a halt outside the only respectable looking home he’d seen for about fifteen minutes. However, the weather was so appalling that even this house struggled to show its aesthetic pleasures.
He pulled a crumpled McDonald’s receipt from his back pocket, the reverse of which had a hand written address. He compared it to the address of the house in front of him, a task made ten times as difficult by the Biblical rain that was still falling. Satisfied that he had the correct location, he thanked and paid the driver, put the receipt in his back pocket and pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and alighted from the vehicle.
The rain took 3 seconds to penetrate his coat, and by the time he had reached the front door he already looked like he had fallen into a washing machine. He lifted his sodden arm and pressed the ring bell. After seemingly two thousand years of waiting, the familiar hirsute figure of Daddy Mack in his customary neon green tiger print dressing gown opened the door and presented himself to his protégé.
Mack: Garth Black, brother, so nice to see you! Ever since you called from Kingdom Come, I’ve been waiting for you to call round, yeah. Although when I saw this storm, I didn’t know if you’d make it, brother.
Garth looked at the man who he had aspired to be for all his adult life and noticed that he was a lot gaunter than the last time he saw him. Not only that but his already greying hair had now started to thin. The old man’s eyes were full of the same enthusiasm that had always been there. Father time may have taken his toll on the body, but he’s not managed to get his hands on those eyes just yet.
Mack took Garth’s jacket and hung it up on the coatrack. Black took off his shoes and immediately felt better as he felt the deep pile of the carpet between his now drying toes. Daddy Mack lead Black through to the wrestling trophy room and invited him to sit down. Mack sat opposite, and now in this improved lighting and against the contrast of golden wrestling belts and prizes, Garth could see that perhaps there was a slight sadness to the eyes after all.
Mack: So what brings you to Paradise Cove, brother? It can’t be the weather, and I don’t think the Trip Advisor ratings are very good.
Black didn’t hesitate, almost knocking the Idaho Championship Tournament 1982 trophy off of its pedestal as in his eagerness to respond.
Black: I need advice, Daddy. I need to know what to do next. I am the number one contender to the title, but I don’t know where to go from here. I’ve built up this juggernaut of momentum, and then I reached the top, but when I got there I didn’t know what to do with it. I lost the title, it was a damp squib, and now I have the opportunity to get it back, but I’m at a loss.
Daddy Mack listened to the words of his mentee with his pursed lips and he tapped his fingers against one another as he kept his hands in front of his chest. Black’s words angered him as he believed that the air of exasperation was neither merited nor appropriate.
Mack: Brother, you’ve been to the top of the mountain in the top company, and not many men can say that, yeah, including yours truly. Now, quite frankly, I can’t say that I agree with the way you’ve been conducting yourself over the last couple of years, but there’s no denying that it’s been fuel for you, yeah. You need to go back to that well one more time. You need to think about all the things that annoy and anger you and how you would be able to do them differently. You need to show yourself and your fans why Garth Black would be a better champion than Justin Cooper. A better champ than anyone.
Garth listened, but as he did so, he couldn’t help but notice there was an empty shelf in Daddy Mack’s cabinet of the replica belts he once won. Probably the spot for the big one, he thought. Even this wonderful man ended his career in a hopeless pursuit. Half the wrestling that wrestlers wrestle isn’t against another wrestler but with their own subconscious, their own agonies, their own anxieties. Still, though Mack’s words made sense, and it was no secret that Black had a lot of axes to grind.
Black: That’s exactly the problem I’m having. You see, it’d be easy for me to attack the WZCW higher ups for when they have put this match. I don’t imagine there’s been a match on Aftershock for the WZCW title ever, and yet despite that, I get put there. They even ran an article on their website to say it was to get my shot out of the way. They don’t want me to be the champion and they have made it clear by scheduling this match so soon after a gruelling encounter with Tyrone Blades.
It would be further easier for me to say that despite winning that match, decisively, the programme still somehow managed to make Blades the focus of the aftermath. What else could I possibly do? What do I have to do to not look like a rat scurrying about the ring picking up fluke victories before disappearing before the very eyes of the televisual audiences. I can tell you now that I’m not running away, they just choose to focus their attentions on the losers.
I have beaten Stormrage, Tastic and Blades over the past couple of months. 3 main event stalwarts and yet in all three cases the WZCW producers have focussed on the aftermath for them.
The WZCW powers that be are so inept, are so completely unfair in their presentation of me that I’m beginning to think that the sabotage isn’t sabotage at all but subterfuge aimed at giving me more material to fuel my rise for the ratings. There is so much I can focus on, but yet I can’t find the momentum to motivate myself to beat Cooper.
Garth had worked himself up to the point that he was almost standing, but his old friend just sat and took it all on board. A thought entered his mind.
Mack: Perhaps, you don’t want to be the champ at all, brother? I mean, you told me you saw a counsellor for how jaded it made you when you climbed that ladder, and I remember back when you fought Eve Taylor for the Elite X title, you just kind of sabotaged yourself. Perhaps you don’t want the responsibility, or burden as you see it of being the champion, brother.
Shaking his head, Garth listened to one of the only men in wrestling he’d ever respected. It was a valid point, but it couldn’t be correct, could it?
Black: Oh no, Daddy-o, I don’t think so. You see I tried so hard to get to the title in the first place, and you’re right, they didn’t let me make the changes I wanted to make, but I won the title off the champion, defended it, and then lost it in the ring, fair and square. All of those had their own pitfalls and tribulations, but all of them, even losing, gave me a kick of adrenaline that I want to experience again than anything I’ve ever really wanted before. Being the champ was overwhelming but it was too good a rush to not want to see again.
You know though, maybe it’s to do with who I’m facing. Blades and Tastic and Stormrage are the kind of guys who have had their issues with WZCW top brass, but when they haven’t beaten them, they’ve joined them. They’ve sold out, and I think the others, the Taylors and the Coopers of this world have managed success in spite of the elite, not because of it. I’ve respected them far more, so I can’t bring myself to embarrass them in quite the same way.
I’ll just have to beat Cooper the old fashioned way! With guts and grit and determination, but maybe without the unstoppable fire.
This train of thought had led to a sudden awakening for Black. All of a sudden things seemed so much more lucid. Daddy Mack, the wily fox, wasn’t quite so enthused by the sudden enlightenment.
Mack: That may be so, that may be so. When was the last time you beat Cooper, by the way?
The question knocked Garth for six.
Black: I never did.
I mean I lost to him a couple of months ago, but that wasn’t such a big deal. It was a throwaway bout for the two of us, but now I think about it, I haven’t faced him for years. We both had a comeback match against each other.
I had been out for years. Years. The drugs and the booze and the helplessness and the high school gyms. Total and utter dismay, but you know what? I recovered. I took it step by step and you were there with me every single one of those steps. We waited for years for me to be ready to come back and we planned the return.
I picked my guitar back up because for years I had been unable to express myself but I did it, I recorded an old Marley track. I was riding high and things were going to be different. And then Ascension 67. 26th August 2013. I walked out, and people wanted me there. I was going to show the world what I had done to recover, and then…
Justin fucking Cooper 1-2-3.
Daddy Mack now shared the same sense of enlightenment, the weight lifted off both of their shoulders and the tension reduced to naught. Mack had unlocked the feelings of resentment that Black never even realised he harboured.
Black: I don’t think I ever really recovered from that, not in that run. The wind was taken out of my sails and I had to leave the company for a couple of years to find myself.
So, Cooper, you may not have stolen the spotlight from me, or been elevated artificially, but what you did to me was far worse. You forced me to fall out of love with this sport, and it took two years off my career. I don’t want to embarrass you, but I need to beat you to finally find the contentment I’ve craved in this company for years. This is my Everest, and now I need to conquer it, with WZCW’s arch-company man Everest on commentary to see it all.
Black was ecstatic, and with the mood softened he was able to start to ask his old pal about how he was doing. As the wind battered the window guards, and the back door whistled a draughty tune, Black thought about how much he’d missed seeing his hero wrestle. He started to think about how he might while away his time once the curtain has fallen on his tumultuous career.
Black: Say, is retirement all it’s cracked up to be?
Mack: Don’t even think about it, brother.
And Black didn't, not just yet, he had a mountain to climb.
WrestleZone Tournament, 2015
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