AS 57: Vega (c) vs Jimmy Flynn - Mayhem Title match
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Its a nice truck, dont ya think?
Jimmy stands in front of a black Chevy four-door truck, the bottom of the vehicle covered in a mixture of mud and snow. He pats the side of the truck and smiles warmly at it.
Jimmy: Yes sir, this truck and I had had some interesting adventures in this state, nit unlike one that Im about to bring you people on.
Flynn lifts up the camera and puts it in the passenger side seat, and straps it in with the camera aimed at him. He hoists himself up into the drivers seat, and starts up the truck.
Jimmy: Because, you see, Ive not really been focusing on my life as of late. Ive been much more focused on the wrestling side of me that you see.
Jimmy pulls out and starts to drive on the road, waving every few seconds.
Jimmy: I thought about this, and I feel like you should see the sights of Maine, starting with the place that I called home for most of my life.
He turns into a space, and pulls out the camera, showing a restaurant next to a bed and breakfast. Flynn pans the view around, showing another restaurant, a gas station, and a section of buildings.
Jimmy: Welcome to what, for lack of a better term, is downtown Machias.
The Devils Dancer starts to walk towards the gas station, showing the area while walking.
Jimmy: This small town has a population of not a lot, a square area that takes about five minutes to drive through, and has its only claim to historic fame by being the site of the first naval battle of the American Revolution.
Flynn aims the camera out over a river, panning around the area.
Jimmy: Thats where it was, Machias Bay. Armed with pitchforks and rifles, they took over a British vessel and opened fire on their navy. Those crazy people. But, its a nice story to tell to tourists when they come to our other biggest claim to fame.
He continues walking, the camera moving around the town, as a garage and a bank comes into view.
Jimmy: Every summer, this town is invaded by tourists for the annual Wild Blueberry Festival. A big call for the one trooper in the town. A three day festival where we just go crazy, basically. Two highlights are the pie eating contest, which is always a favorite, and the Blackfly Ball, which is known for getting a little nuts, for lack of a better term.
Jimmy continues walking, stopping on a bridge looking over rapids. He zooms on the rushing river, showing the rough rocks in them.
Jimmy: And this is one of my favorite spots on the Machias River. Bad Little Falls, which is actually what Machias means when roughly translated in Passamaquoddy. The town made this the spot for the town park, which is actually a fitting spot. Lets the people remember our past.
Jimmy resumes walking, unzooming and looking up at a Happy Holidays sign on a hill in front of a large building.
Jimmy: Theres the college. The University of Maine at Machias, which, I may add, is where I did not go to school. That place is one of the worst places to go in the state. I mean, you could go to worst, but if you want to stay downeast, its either UMM or the Washington County Community College in Calais, and most people here despise that city.
More walking, now to a baseball diamond.
Jimmy: One of the three baseball softball fields in the town. When youre in elementary school, baseball or softball are the two biggest sports in the area. Once you get to high school, it shifts to basketball.
He turns down a side road, and returns to the college, which he walks past and continues on his way down a new street.
Jimmy: I suppose I could talk about my match for this week. A Mayhem championship match against Vega. The weapons are going to be an interesting change, which I wont need.
Flynn shifts view to a Laundromat, then continues down the road.
Jimmy: Some opponents need them for a crutch, to hide the obvious fact that most of them cant get down and dirty to wrestle. Vega is one of these people. He became the top of that division because of his high flying antics, a style that some find entertaining, but I find quite annoying.
He turns the view to a retirement home, then shifts across the street to a collection of buildings.
Jimmy: Excuse the interruption, but another notable landmark in the town is right here. Rose M. Gaffney Elementary School and Machias Memorial High School. I went to elementary school here, but I went to high school at the infinitely better Washington Academy one town over, in East Machias. It was a nice elementary school, with a quant gym and two floors separating the elementary school from the middle school.
Jimmy quickly shifts to a lane across the street, where a row of bleachers can be seen.
Flynn: Another baseball diamond.
Flynn continues walking down the street, scanning the horizon covered in pines.
Jimmy: Most of the time going through here, you can see a herd of deer.
Sure enough, a few deer are spotted at the edge of the woods. A chuckle is heard behind the camera.
Jimmy: See?
The camera shifts again to a large brown building.
Jimmy: And this is the last stop on our tour, Downeast Community Hospital. Its not the best hospital in the area, but its what we got.
Jimmy puts the camera down, then walks in front of it, a sly grin on his face and a spark in his eyes.
Jimmy: Vega, you should be paying attention now.
Flynn starts to pace in front of the camera, his gaze shifting from the camera to the space in front of him.
Jimmy: As the crutches of the Mayhem division, your precious weapons are supposed to make you look better. They are used to make a match that would normally be terrible, passable at the very least. Hell, even a professional company, once upon a time, used these crutches as a normal part of a show, and look how long they lasted. But
Jimmy turns to the camera and raises his fist.
Jimmy: As the time changes, so does the guard. That old company went down in flames, and with it, their superstars forgotten. The Mayhem division here is now going through that change. Gone are the divisions glory days with Alex Bowen and Milenko. Gone are the matches between Ty Burna, Drake Callahan and David Cougar. Gone are the original masters: Steamboat Ricky, Grand Mystique, and The Killjoy. The Mayhem division has grown old, and the times are changing.
The Devils Dancer spreads his arms out, motioning to the hospital behind him.
Jimmy: This should look nice, Vega, because this is where Im sending you when I snap your arm in two. The biggest cliché in wrestling is tap or snap, but for me, its tap, then snap. I dont need your crutches of ladders and chairs, barbed wire or rope, not even an infinite count. Im going to prove that your end is nigh, and it will come from a pure wrestler.
Jimmy points at himself.
Jimmy: Because Im coming, Vega, and you better be ready to dance.
Jimmy laughs as the tape cuts.
Jimmy stands in front of a black Chevy four-door truck, the bottom of the vehicle covered in a mixture of mud and snow. He pats the side of the truck and smiles warmly at it.
Jimmy: Yes sir, this truck and I had had some interesting adventures in this state, nit unlike one that Im about to bring you people on.
Flynn lifts up the camera and puts it in the passenger side seat, and straps it in with the camera aimed at him. He hoists himself up into the drivers seat, and starts up the truck.
Jimmy: Because, you see, Ive not really been focusing on my life as of late. Ive been much more focused on the wrestling side of me that you see.
Jimmy pulls out and starts to drive on the road, waving every few seconds.
Jimmy: I thought about this, and I feel like you should see the sights of Maine, starting with the place that I called home for most of my life.
He turns into a space, and pulls out the camera, showing a restaurant next to a bed and breakfast. Flynn pans the view around, showing another restaurant, a gas station, and a section of buildings.
Jimmy: Welcome to what, for lack of a better term, is downtown Machias.
The Devils Dancer starts to walk towards the gas station, showing the area while walking.
Jimmy: This small town has a population of not a lot, a square area that takes about five minutes to drive through, and has its only claim to historic fame by being the site of the first naval battle of the American Revolution.
Flynn aims the camera out over a river, panning around the area.
Jimmy: Thats where it was, Machias Bay. Armed with pitchforks and rifles, they took over a British vessel and opened fire on their navy. Those crazy people. But, its a nice story to tell to tourists when they come to our other biggest claim to fame.
He continues walking, the camera moving around the town, as a garage and a bank comes into view.
Jimmy: Every summer, this town is invaded by tourists for the annual Wild Blueberry Festival. A big call for the one trooper in the town. A three day festival where we just go crazy, basically. Two highlights are the pie eating contest, which is always a favorite, and the Blackfly Ball, which is known for getting a little nuts, for lack of a better term.
Jimmy continues walking, stopping on a bridge looking over rapids. He zooms on the rushing river, showing the rough rocks in them.
Jimmy: And this is one of my favorite spots on the Machias River. Bad Little Falls, which is actually what Machias means when roughly translated in Passamaquoddy. The town made this the spot for the town park, which is actually a fitting spot. Lets the people remember our past.
Jimmy resumes walking, unzooming and looking up at a Happy Holidays sign on a hill in front of a large building.
Jimmy: Theres the college. The University of Maine at Machias, which, I may add, is where I did not go to school. That place is one of the worst places to go in the state. I mean, you could go to worst, but if you want to stay downeast, its either UMM or the Washington County Community College in Calais, and most people here despise that city.
More walking, now to a baseball diamond.
Jimmy: One of the three baseball softball fields in the town. When youre in elementary school, baseball or softball are the two biggest sports in the area. Once you get to high school, it shifts to basketball.
He turns down a side road, and returns to the college, which he walks past and continues on his way down a new street.
Jimmy: I suppose I could talk about my match for this week. A Mayhem championship match against Vega. The weapons are going to be an interesting change, which I wont need.
Flynn shifts view to a Laundromat, then continues down the road.
Jimmy: Some opponents need them for a crutch, to hide the obvious fact that most of them cant get down and dirty to wrestle. Vega is one of these people. He became the top of that division because of his high flying antics, a style that some find entertaining, but I find quite annoying.
He turns the view to a retirement home, then shifts across the street to a collection of buildings.
Jimmy: Excuse the interruption, but another notable landmark in the town is right here. Rose M. Gaffney Elementary School and Machias Memorial High School. I went to elementary school here, but I went to high school at the infinitely better Washington Academy one town over, in East Machias. It was a nice elementary school, with a quant gym and two floors separating the elementary school from the middle school.
Jimmy quickly shifts to a lane across the street, where a row of bleachers can be seen.
Flynn: Another baseball diamond.
Flynn continues walking down the street, scanning the horizon covered in pines.
Jimmy: Most of the time going through here, you can see a herd of deer.
Sure enough, a few deer are spotted at the edge of the woods. A chuckle is heard behind the camera.
Jimmy: See?
The camera shifts again to a large brown building.
Jimmy: And this is the last stop on our tour, Downeast Community Hospital. Its not the best hospital in the area, but its what we got.
Jimmy puts the camera down, then walks in front of it, a sly grin on his face and a spark in his eyes.
Jimmy: Vega, you should be paying attention now.
Flynn starts to pace in front of the camera, his gaze shifting from the camera to the space in front of him.
Jimmy: As the crutches of the Mayhem division, your precious weapons are supposed to make you look better. They are used to make a match that would normally be terrible, passable at the very least. Hell, even a professional company, once upon a time, used these crutches as a normal part of a show, and look how long they lasted. But
Jimmy turns to the camera and raises his fist.
Jimmy: As the time changes, so does the guard. That old company went down in flames, and with it, their superstars forgotten. The Mayhem division here is now going through that change. Gone are the divisions glory days with Alex Bowen and Milenko. Gone are the matches between Ty Burna, Drake Callahan and David Cougar. Gone are the original masters: Steamboat Ricky, Grand Mystique, and The Killjoy. The Mayhem division has grown old, and the times are changing.
The Devils Dancer spreads his arms out, motioning to the hospital behind him.
Jimmy: This should look nice, Vega, because this is where Im sending you when I snap your arm in two. The biggest cliché in wrestling is tap or snap, but for me, its tap, then snap. I dont need your crutches of ladders and chairs, barbed wire or rope, not even an infinite count. Im going to prove that your end is nigh, and it will come from a pure wrestler.
Jimmy points at himself.
Jimmy: Because Im coming, Vega, and you better be ready to dance.
Jimmy laughs as the tape cuts.
Infinity
Starving (Martial) Artist
-Open-
The thunderous sound of Vega's shin pounding a black beaten down heavy bag jarringly welcomes us into the scene. It's a large brightly lit room with clean white walls and light brown hardwood floors, with certain areas covered by black mats. To the side there are various exercise tools such as weights, a treadmill, stair master, bench press, chest fly machine, etc. On the other side, an assortment of martial arts weaponry; swords, nun chucks, bo staffs, kendo sticks... and in the middle, the lone black heavy bag hangs from the tall ceiling. There stands Vega, gracefully moving in circles around his inanimate prey, stalking it, slyly dipping, ducking, and weaving while peppering it with left jabs and right crosses before punishing it with a round house kick that sends thunderous sound waves bouncing off the white walls throughout the room once again.
Vega is wearing white compression grappling shorts and a long sleeved white compression shirt. His hands are wrapped with white boxing tape and covered in 5 ounce MMA gloves. His ankles are wrapped with black tape to provide added stability and support. Sweat drips down Vega's face, his shirt dampened considerably from his perspiration. It's apparent that he's been hitting this bag for a while, but his eyes remain angrily focused. Every punch he throws hits the same spot on the bag, even a spinning back fist. He grabs the bag with a modified Muay Thai clinch and drives his right knee into it's side, then the left, and then the right again before backing up with another jab, cross combo.
Tap... then snap.
He cracks a sinister little smile, but his eyes remain angry as he stares at the bag. He shakes his head, almost as if he pities his victim, before continuing his assault. This time he connects with a spinning back kick that sends the bag swaying even more than before. Vega welcomes it back with a picture perfect right Superman punch that stops it in it's tracks. He paces around with his hands on his hips, looking down the entire time while shaking his head. Vega repeats the phrase under his breath once again...
Tap... then snap.
He shakes his head again, as if in some type of disbelief or bewilderment. Vega looks up towards the bag again, but his eyes are no longer focused. He looks to be lost in his own mind... lost in his own thoughts, as he cracks another sinister smile.
-----------------------
Summer '92
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
-----------------------
The thunderous sound of a man's shin pounding off the side of another man's knee welcome us into this cold, dark, and dirty room. The walls are made of cracked stone, the floors nothing more than chipped cement. There are exposed pipes above the ceiling, some of which leak water down onto random spots on the chilling cement floor. In the middle of this depressing and downtrodden dungeon stands Vega. He's got a shaved head, black shorts, and nothing else.
He stands in the middle of the room, gingerly... favoring his left leg, trying to keep weight off of it while preparing himself. He is not alone. In the room with him is a middle aged man with light brown skin, a bald head, and a badly scarred body. Random wounds cover his war torn canvas of a body as he wears only a matching pair of black shorts while sauntering around Vega, stalking his prey.
Dammit, Santos-
Vega is cut off by a quick left jab to the mouth followed by a stunning right cross to the jaw that staggers him. The man, now identified as Santos, follows it up with another right leg kick to the side of Vega's left knee. Vega isn't even done clutching his mouth in pain before he reaches for his leg, feeling the effects of the punishing blow. As he does so, Santos grabs Vega behind the head in a Muay Thai clinch and drives a right knee to the side of his body, then a left. Vega bends forward in pain, having the wind knocked out of him, just in time for another right knee from Santos, this time to the face.
Vega's head is sent whiplashing backwards. A stream of blood flies upwards through the air before splashing down onto the floor. Vega's nose is leaking like a faucet, but before he can even react, his liver is met with a spinning back kick that sends him backwards, but still on his feet. Santos quickly runs towards Vega and connects with a picture perfect Superman punch to the jaw that drops his prey down to a knee. Santos reaches down and wraps both of his arms around Vega's left arm and cinches in a kimura lock. It bends Vega's arm backwards in at an awkward angle, but he counters by rolling forward to alleviate the pressure. Immediately, Santos counters his counter by switching effortlessly into a textbook arm bar submission. Knowing he is trapped, Vega immediately taps, but Santos does not let go.
I tap! I tap!
Santos doesn't let go of the arm bar. He continues to wrench back on the hold. His eyes are not even looking at Vega, they look gone. It's as if Santos is lost in his own mind right now, not even feeling Vega's rapidly moving right hand tapping on his leg.
TAP! TAP! I TAP GOD DAMMIT!
Still he holds onto the arm bar. Santos simply cracks a sinister smile before viciously pulling back one last time. Vega's arm clearly bends in the wrong direction, and finally, Santos let's go. He gets to his feet as Vega rolls over onto his knees, clutching his limp left arm with his right hand, and yelling in agony. His painful cries reverberate off the stone walls as Santos stands there, smiling.
I told you, boy! There is no mercy in this world!
As Vega kneels there with his head lowered, without warning, Santos rears his right leg back and then swings it forward, disgustingly punting Vega directly in the face. His shin destroys Vega's face as his limp body collapses like a corpse onto the cold concrete.
Just because you submit, does not mean the punishment has ended. You quit in life, the world doesn't stop hurting you, boy. It punishes you, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year. For the rest of your life. You need to learn that, boy. You need to know that it is you and you alone who controls the outcome of every single situation you are in. If you fail, it's because you didn't have the will to succeed. If you quit, you deserve to lose, deserve to hurt, deserve to die, boy.
Submission is no escape. You cannot escape misery through submission... you only accept it.
Vega begins to move, just in the slightest bit. Santos slowly walks over to his prone body as he continues his diabolical diatribe.
You need to learn...
Santos lifts his right foot up into the air...
...that you NEVER...
...and then brings back down, violently stomping on Vega's face. The back of his head smacks off the cement floor with a sickening thud. Vega can barely even lift his hands up to his face, depleted of all energy necessary to react.
...EVER...
Santos mercilessly stomps on Vega's face again...
...EVER...
...and stomps on his face a third time for good measure.
QUIT!
Santos stands there, looking down at Vega's bloody face, his mangled arm, his body laying there motionless. He smiles, again, proud of his work.
-----------------------
Present Day
New York City
-----------------------
Back in the original room with white walls and hardwood floors we find Vega once again. However, the heavy bag that was once hanging from the ceiling is now destroyed, torn in half. Only the top half remains on the chain, hanging, swaying sadly side to side. The bottom half of the heavy bag lays on the floor with the padded contents, which at one point were inside the bag, now surround the shredded remains. Vega stands there, looking down at the mess he's made. He's breathing heavily, but otherwise remains motionless.
Without warning, Vega begins angrily stomping down on the remnants of the bag with his right foot. Over and over and over again he unleashes his aggression until a voice jars him out of his state of mind-
Vega!
He stops immediately, and turns around to find Alexis standing by the door. She's walks into the room barely making any noise in her pink socks, which stick out in comparison to her dark black sweat pants. A simple white tank top finishes her laid back look as she approaches Vega.
What are you doing?
Vega looks at her, into her eyes. She looks back, but then diverts her eyes down to the ripped up remains of the heavy bag on the floor. That's when Vega looks down as well, and then back at Alexis, as if discovering the mess for the first time.
I... don't know.
I've seen you destroy heavy bags before, but not like this. What's wrong?
He takes a deep breath and looks away.
Nothing.
Bullshit.
Vega let's out a muffled chuckle at Alexis as she immediately calls his bluff, as if amused by how easily she can see through him at the moment.
It's just...
He gathers his thoughts, thinks further about what he wants to say before actually saying it. Alexis waits for him to continue...
How often do you think about the worst thing that has ever happened to you in your entire life?
She's taken back by Vega's line of questioning, but tries answering it honestly.
I try not to.
Or the second worst thing that ever happened to you? How often do you think about the worst moments in your life?
Why would I want-
Exactly! Why would people want to keep the worst memories they possess at the forefront of their minds at all times? It... it would drive a sane man mad! Here's the thing... I am defined, by all of these kinds of moments, but they're memories I've learned to keep at bay. The life we live now, or... used to live, it's all one big, glorious, luxurious distraction from the life we used to live. Just you and me, no killing, no violence, just con jobs and heists and we continue to live in anonymity, hidden from the world.
But now... this new lifestyle, it's changing me. Not only have I entered back into a lifestyle of violence by joining WZCW... I am now the king of the most violent division in the damn company. Some of those things I did at "Unscripted," they brought me to mental places I haven't been in years. The killer instinct in a man truly never dies. It's in here-
Vega puts a fist to his heart.
-begging to be unleashed. The First Blood match was right up my alley. I've seen more bloodshed than battlefields and butcher shops combined... many of it at my hands... and many of it my own. It's taking me places, Alexis. Places I tried to leave behind.
So stop! Just leave, walk away from the Mayhem division and WZCW all together. You don't have to do this, you know?
Don't you understand? This isn't me complaining, Alexis. No, no no... this? This is me embracing it. Maybe it sickens you to hear this, but there will always be a part of me that needs to cause some kind of pain and misery to people around me. I like this feeling. I'm not walking away from anything. How about you?
Alexis smiles casually.
You know where you go, I go.
Vega smiles back, but it's a more mischievous smile than hers. He nods as he rubs his hands together looking off into the distance.
These people in this Mayhem division, these other people in MY division, they want what I have. Every single one of them claims to be the one to do the very thing I'm doing right now. At "Apocalypse" it was The Beard, Jacoby Capone, and Josh Young that wanted to be the ones to get the chance to win the Mayhem Championship so they could be the ones to restore it to it's past glory. But they failed. I beat 'em all, and I did it with a damn submission hold, not some hardcore stunt. I showed the world that Vega can wrestle. Eventually, I got my fair shot and won the title. I said I would be the one to restore it to it's glory, and that's what I'm doing right now, dammit.
Ricky Runn and Connor Reese said the same thing this new punk Jimmy Flynn is saying... but you know what? Reese and Runn, they failed. I held that stupid, naive excuse for a wrestler Ricky Runn tightly in my triangle choke... and I looked into his eyes as he realized it was only a matter of time. The look in his eyes as I was cutting off the blood flow... it brought the killer in me all the way back. It inspired me to grab that kendo stick, and beat his pathetic body down while still choking the life out of him. That stick shattered, and I drove it's jagged edge deep into his forehead. All that blood I didn't let flow in and out was then pouring all over me. Bathing in a bed of blood... someone else's blood... and I loved it. I freaking loved it.
Vega looks down at the shredded remnants of the bag, and picks up the bottom half of the bag with his gloved hand. He squeezes it tightly, and continues to speak, almost as if speaking to the bag itself.
And then this Jimmy Flynn says the same thing they all did. He wants to restore the Mayhem title... MY Mayhem title, back to glory. He said... tap... then snap.
Vega begins to laugh to himself...
Tap, then snap. Oh Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy... if he only knew the things that I do about "tap then snap" his poor little country bumpkin mind would cave in. He claimed the weapons we use in these Mayhem matches are nothing more than crutches... crutches I use to mask my inability as a wrestler. Funny thing is, I had to wrestle my way passed a bunch of other wrestlers just to get a shot at using those weapons for my title match... for my title. Like I said earlier, I became the number one contender by making someone tap out to a submission hold. I didn't win with a chair shot, or a springboard double moonsault as he'd have you believe... he paints me as some sort of hardcore spot monkey, which tells me one thing.
He knows absolutely nothing about me.
I'll show him a crutch. Maybe I'll smash his putrid little skull in with a literal crutch just for the poetic irony. He wants to snap my arm in half...
Vega laughs, almost hysterically.
What, is that supposed to scare me!? My arm, getting snapped? Oh no, not again!
His painfully obvious facetious tone clearly indicates he is mocking Flynn as opposed to actually fearing him.
I've had my arm mangled by the same man twice... and he was the most dangerous man I ever met in my entire life. That man mutilated me every day for 2 years straight. The first time he did it, he dislocated my elbow and tore damn near every ligament in there. Years later, I returned... a different man.
I remember this story. You're talking about Santos...
He broke my arm. Bone pierced right through the skin...
...and then you shot him...
He just sat back down, with his back turned towards me.
...right in the back of the head...
Vega simply nods. He looks down to the ground, contemplating his next match as Alexis stares at him with a serious look in her eyes. She shakes her head in pity and solemnly says-
God help Jimmy Flynn.
The statement draws Vega's eyes up from the floor and they now stare defiantly back at Alexis'.
At "Ascension," Jimmy Flynn will realize that there is no God.
There is only... Mayhem.
Vega smiles sadistically. Alexis replies with an equally sinister smile of her own.
-Close-
The thunderous sound of Vega's shin pounding a black beaten down heavy bag jarringly welcomes us into the scene. It's a large brightly lit room with clean white walls and light brown hardwood floors, with certain areas covered by black mats. To the side there are various exercise tools such as weights, a treadmill, stair master, bench press, chest fly machine, etc. On the other side, an assortment of martial arts weaponry; swords, nun chucks, bo staffs, kendo sticks... and in the middle, the lone black heavy bag hangs from the tall ceiling. There stands Vega, gracefully moving in circles around his inanimate prey, stalking it, slyly dipping, ducking, and weaving while peppering it with left jabs and right crosses before punishing it with a round house kick that sends thunderous sound waves bouncing off the white walls throughout the room once again.
Vega is wearing white compression grappling shorts and a long sleeved white compression shirt. His hands are wrapped with white boxing tape and covered in 5 ounce MMA gloves. His ankles are wrapped with black tape to provide added stability and support. Sweat drips down Vega's face, his shirt dampened considerably from his perspiration. It's apparent that he's been hitting this bag for a while, but his eyes remain angrily focused. Every punch he throws hits the same spot on the bag, even a spinning back fist. He grabs the bag with a modified Muay Thai clinch and drives his right knee into it's side, then the left, and then the right again before backing up with another jab, cross combo.
Tap... then snap.
He cracks a sinister little smile, but his eyes remain angry as he stares at the bag. He shakes his head, almost as if he pities his victim, before continuing his assault. This time he connects with a spinning back kick that sends the bag swaying even more than before. Vega welcomes it back with a picture perfect right Superman punch that stops it in it's tracks. He paces around with his hands on his hips, looking down the entire time while shaking his head. Vega repeats the phrase under his breath once again...
Tap... then snap.
He shakes his head again, as if in some type of disbelief or bewilderment. Vega looks up towards the bag again, but his eyes are no longer focused. He looks to be lost in his own mind... lost in his own thoughts, as he cracks another sinister smile.
-----------------------
Summer '92
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
-----------------------
The thunderous sound of a man's shin pounding off the side of another man's knee welcome us into this cold, dark, and dirty room. The walls are made of cracked stone, the floors nothing more than chipped cement. There are exposed pipes above the ceiling, some of which leak water down onto random spots on the chilling cement floor. In the middle of this depressing and downtrodden dungeon stands Vega. He's got a shaved head, black shorts, and nothing else.
He stands in the middle of the room, gingerly... favoring his left leg, trying to keep weight off of it while preparing himself. He is not alone. In the room with him is a middle aged man with light brown skin, a bald head, and a badly scarred body. Random wounds cover his war torn canvas of a body as he wears only a matching pair of black shorts while sauntering around Vega, stalking his prey.
Dammit, Santos-
Vega is cut off by a quick left jab to the mouth followed by a stunning right cross to the jaw that staggers him. The man, now identified as Santos, follows it up with another right leg kick to the side of Vega's left knee. Vega isn't even done clutching his mouth in pain before he reaches for his leg, feeling the effects of the punishing blow. As he does so, Santos grabs Vega behind the head in a Muay Thai clinch and drives a right knee to the side of his body, then a left. Vega bends forward in pain, having the wind knocked out of him, just in time for another right knee from Santos, this time to the face.
Vega's head is sent whiplashing backwards. A stream of blood flies upwards through the air before splashing down onto the floor. Vega's nose is leaking like a faucet, but before he can even react, his liver is met with a spinning back kick that sends him backwards, but still on his feet. Santos quickly runs towards Vega and connects with a picture perfect Superman punch to the jaw that drops his prey down to a knee. Santos reaches down and wraps both of his arms around Vega's left arm and cinches in a kimura lock. It bends Vega's arm backwards in at an awkward angle, but he counters by rolling forward to alleviate the pressure. Immediately, Santos counters his counter by switching effortlessly into a textbook arm bar submission. Knowing he is trapped, Vega immediately taps, but Santos does not let go.
I tap! I tap!
Santos doesn't let go of the arm bar. He continues to wrench back on the hold. His eyes are not even looking at Vega, they look gone. It's as if Santos is lost in his own mind right now, not even feeling Vega's rapidly moving right hand tapping on his leg.
TAP! TAP! I TAP GOD DAMMIT!
Still he holds onto the arm bar. Santos simply cracks a sinister smile before viciously pulling back one last time. Vega's arm clearly bends in the wrong direction, and finally, Santos let's go. He gets to his feet as Vega rolls over onto his knees, clutching his limp left arm with his right hand, and yelling in agony. His painful cries reverberate off the stone walls as Santos stands there, smiling.
I told you, boy! There is no mercy in this world!
As Vega kneels there with his head lowered, without warning, Santos rears his right leg back and then swings it forward, disgustingly punting Vega directly in the face. His shin destroys Vega's face as his limp body collapses like a corpse onto the cold concrete.
Just because you submit, does not mean the punishment has ended. You quit in life, the world doesn't stop hurting you, boy. It punishes you, every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every month of every year. For the rest of your life. You need to learn that, boy. You need to know that it is you and you alone who controls the outcome of every single situation you are in. If you fail, it's because you didn't have the will to succeed. If you quit, you deserve to lose, deserve to hurt, deserve to die, boy.
Submission is no escape. You cannot escape misery through submission... you only accept it.
Vega begins to move, just in the slightest bit. Santos slowly walks over to his prone body as he continues his diabolical diatribe.
You need to learn...
Santos lifts his right foot up into the air...
...that you NEVER...
...and then brings back down, violently stomping on Vega's face. The back of his head smacks off the cement floor with a sickening thud. Vega can barely even lift his hands up to his face, depleted of all energy necessary to react.
...EVER...
Santos mercilessly stomps on Vega's face again...
...EVER...
...and stomps on his face a third time for good measure.
QUIT!
Santos stands there, looking down at Vega's bloody face, his mangled arm, his body laying there motionless. He smiles, again, proud of his work.
-----------------------
Present Day
New York City
-----------------------
Back in the original room with white walls and hardwood floors we find Vega once again. However, the heavy bag that was once hanging from the ceiling is now destroyed, torn in half. Only the top half remains on the chain, hanging, swaying sadly side to side. The bottom half of the heavy bag lays on the floor with the padded contents, which at one point were inside the bag, now surround the shredded remains. Vega stands there, looking down at the mess he's made. He's breathing heavily, but otherwise remains motionless.
Without warning, Vega begins angrily stomping down on the remnants of the bag with his right foot. Over and over and over again he unleashes his aggression until a voice jars him out of his state of mind-
Vega!
He stops immediately, and turns around to find Alexis standing by the door. She's walks into the room barely making any noise in her pink socks, which stick out in comparison to her dark black sweat pants. A simple white tank top finishes her laid back look as she approaches Vega.
What are you doing?
Vega looks at her, into her eyes. She looks back, but then diverts her eyes down to the ripped up remains of the heavy bag on the floor. That's when Vega looks down as well, and then back at Alexis, as if discovering the mess for the first time.
I... don't know.
I've seen you destroy heavy bags before, but not like this. What's wrong?
He takes a deep breath and looks away.
Nothing.
Bullshit.
Vega let's out a muffled chuckle at Alexis as she immediately calls his bluff, as if amused by how easily she can see through him at the moment.
It's just...
He gathers his thoughts, thinks further about what he wants to say before actually saying it. Alexis waits for him to continue...
How often do you think about the worst thing that has ever happened to you in your entire life?
She's taken back by Vega's line of questioning, but tries answering it honestly.
I try not to.
Or the second worst thing that ever happened to you? How often do you think about the worst moments in your life?
Why would I want-
Exactly! Why would people want to keep the worst memories they possess at the forefront of their minds at all times? It... it would drive a sane man mad! Here's the thing... I am defined, by all of these kinds of moments, but they're memories I've learned to keep at bay. The life we live now, or... used to live, it's all one big, glorious, luxurious distraction from the life we used to live. Just you and me, no killing, no violence, just con jobs and heists and we continue to live in anonymity, hidden from the world.
But now... this new lifestyle, it's changing me. Not only have I entered back into a lifestyle of violence by joining WZCW... I am now the king of the most violent division in the damn company. Some of those things I did at "Unscripted," they brought me to mental places I haven't been in years. The killer instinct in a man truly never dies. It's in here-
Vega puts a fist to his heart.
-begging to be unleashed. The First Blood match was right up my alley. I've seen more bloodshed than battlefields and butcher shops combined... many of it at my hands... and many of it my own. It's taking me places, Alexis. Places I tried to leave behind.
So stop! Just leave, walk away from the Mayhem division and WZCW all together. You don't have to do this, you know?
Don't you understand? This isn't me complaining, Alexis. No, no no... this? This is me embracing it. Maybe it sickens you to hear this, but there will always be a part of me that needs to cause some kind of pain and misery to people around me. I like this feeling. I'm not walking away from anything. How about you?
Alexis smiles casually.
You know where you go, I go.
Vega smiles back, but it's a more mischievous smile than hers. He nods as he rubs his hands together looking off into the distance.
These people in this Mayhem division, these other people in MY division, they want what I have. Every single one of them claims to be the one to do the very thing I'm doing right now. At "Apocalypse" it was The Beard, Jacoby Capone, and Josh Young that wanted to be the ones to get the chance to win the Mayhem Championship so they could be the ones to restore it to it's past glory. But they failed. I beat 'em all, and I did it with a damn submission hold, not some hardcore stunt. I showed the world that Vega can wrestle. Eventually, I got my fair shot and won the title. I said I would be the one to restore it to it's glory, and that's what I'm doing right now, dammit.
Ricky Runn and Connor Reese said the same thing this new punk Jimmy Flynn is saying... but you know what? Reese and Runn, they failed. I held that stupid, naive excuse for a wrestler Ricky Runn tightly in my triangle choke... and I looked into his eyes as he realized it was only a matter of time. The look in his eyes as I was cutting off the blood flow... it brought the killer in me all the way back. It inspired me to grab that kendo stick, and beat his pathetic body down while still choking the life out of him. That stick shattered, and I drove it's jagged edge deep into his forehead. All that blood I didn't let flow in and out was then pouring all over me. Bathing in a bed of blood... someone else's blood... and I loved it. I freaking loved it.
Vega looks down at the shredded remnants of the bag, and picks up the bottom half of the bag with his gloved hand. He squeezes it tightly, and continues to speak, almost as if speaking to the bag itself.
And then this Jimmy Flynn says the same thing they all did. He wants to restore the Mayhem title... MY Mayhem title, back to glory. He said... tap... then snap.
Vega begins to laugh to himself...
Tap, then snap. Oh Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy... if he only knew the things that I do about "tap then snap" his poor little country bumpkin mind would cave in. He claimed the weapons we use in these Mayhem matches are nothing more than crutches... crutches I use to mask my inability as a wrestler. Funny thing is, I had to wrestle my way passed a bunch of other wrestlers just to get a shot at using those weapons for my title match... for my title. Like I said earlier, I became the number one contender by making someone tap out to a submission hold. I didn't win with a chair shot, or a springboard double moonsault as he'd have you believe... he paints me as some sort of hardcore spot monkey, which tells me one thing.
He knows absolutely nothing about me.
I'll show him a crutch. Maybe I'll smash his putrid little skull in with a literal crutch just for the poetic irony. He wants to snap my arm in half...
Vega laughs, almost hysterically.
What, is that supposed to scare me!? My arm, getting snapped? Oh no, not again!
His painfully obvious facetious tone clearly indicates he is mocking Flynn as opposed to actually fearing him.
I've had my arm mangled by the same man twice... and he was the most dangerous man I ever met in my entire life. That man mutilated me every day for 2 years straight. The first time he did it, he dislocated my elbow and tore damn near every ligament in there. Years later, I returned... a different man.
I remember this story. You're talking about Santos...
He broke my arm. Bone pierced right through the skin...
...and then you shot him...
He just sat back down, with his back turned towards me.
...right in the back of the head...
Vega simply nods. He looks down to the ground, contemplating his next match as Alexis stares at him with a serious look in her eyes. She shakes her head in pity and solemnly says-
God help Jimmy Flynn.
The statement draws Vega's eyes up from the floor and they now stare defiantly back at Alexis'.
At "Ascension," Jimmy Flynn will realize that there is no God.
There is only... Mayhem.
Vega smiles sadistically. Alexis replies with an equally sinister smile of her own.
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