Viola Moonlight
I'm Literally Just Here for WZCW
Deadline: Wednesday, 22nd of August (11:59pm Central Time)
AS52: Drake Callahan/Barbosa vs. Steven Kurtesy/"Showtime" Cougar
- Thread starter Viola Moonlight
- Start date
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ÐаÑбоÑа
doesn't know REAL wrestling...
*Nothing.
Nothing had changed.
He had thought that winning championship gold again might have provided him with direction and if not, then perhaps the joy of victory alone could have sparked some kind of emotional response in him.
And even if he had failed to win, and with the kind of multi-person mess he had found himself in, it had always been a distinct possibility, he had the deep disappointment of defeat to fall back on as some kind of insurance.
But all of his plans had come to nothing. The joy of victory had eluded him and the agony of defeat had proven useless.
And it had gotten even worse at the end of Redemption.*
*No, no, no. Not that 'ending.' Strange that he should make such a silly mistake... in his own mind...
No, the actual ending.*
*Since extricating himself from the disguarded pile of humanity that had collected outside the ring in the closing moments of the World Heavyweight Championship match, he had been sitting in his usual darkened place near the gorilla position.
As he had not taken the opportunity to give lingering looks at the title belt now in the hands of Drake Callahan, he was there to see his fellow losers trickle through the curtain one by one. Titus, Kurtsey, Showtime - each of them too caught up in their own misery to notice him.
All except SHIT. He did not see Barbosa either but he did not seem upset. He did not seem anything. How does that man-robot do it? Walk around everyday with no direction aside from that which someone or his 'programming' gives him. Barbosa meant to ask him someday.
Then there came the new champion. He was too busy proclaiming to whomever would listen about how he had overcome adversity, seemingly ignorant to the fact that his victory dispelled almost the entire notion of there ever having been a 'conspiracy' against him.
Both Strikeforce and the team of Saboteur and Action Saxton were too busy going over their gameplans to notice his presence.
The self-proclaimed "White Knight of WZCW" was too entranced by the impossible task that faced him.
Only one had even hinted at recognising his presence. Ty Burna might have stared straight ahead the entire time he was waiting to enter the arena, but just as he walked forward, a slight nod in his direction had told Barbosa that there was no need to watch the match. The outcome was assured by that nod.
Ty was going to win.
Ty was going to win, do away with this upstart KO and then restart his interactions with Barbosa, giving him new purpose and drive. A rematch. Another Hell in a Cell match. The possibilities were endless.
In that instant, the need for more ploys to trick his mind with joy or disappointment faded away. He sat in the darkness almost content. Even that damsel in distress, Serafina, nearly tripping over Barbosa as she ran to the ring to ruin everything did nothing to
knowing that things were going to be okay.
That thought had ended quickly.
With a bolt of lightning.
Following the paramedics and fire wardens out into the arena, through the chaos of screaming people streaming towards the exits; through as the backstage crew frantically attempted to put out a flaming casket, Barbosa saw that which he feared most - Chris KO and Serafina being ushered towards the backstage area.
In the hours that Barbosa had stood staring at the scene that plyed out before him, what had happened dawned on Barbosa.
She had ruined everything! And he could have stopped her! But he had been so caught up in his brief moments of contentment that he had played a part in their destruction by failing to prevent the destruction of the only one capable of giving him meaning.
But it was worse than that.
That nod.
Ty had known his own destiny and he had used it to give one last middle finger. He knew that that nod would unleash another hint of that most vile of things within Barbosa
Hope.
Only to snatch it away again in the blink of an eye.
In that moment he hated Ty Burna even more than he ever had before.
But what was he going to do with that hatred? Stomp over Ty's remains? Ground his ashes into dust?
Dr Rivers would claim that it was a great emotional breakthrough. That it demonstrated hope for further development
Ha, there was that word again that concept.
Hope.
The Father of Despair.
There was a reason why it had been all that was left in Pandora's Jar.
And it was a jar not a box - the original Greek was πίθος, not πυξίς
Wait, why did he know that?
Was that a sign of further development? If it was, he would have to explore that on his own.
He could hardly rely on whoever was in charge now to give him any direction. Look at the match he had been given. While not quite as ridiculous as recent contests - it does contain four of the last five holders of the World Heavyweight Title, including the current champion, but it is still a tag match with three men who Barbosa has had numerous matches with in recent months and stomping over old ground was hardly going to stir emotion in him or give him some direction.
He needed to find something new.
And clearly he would have to find it on his own.*
Nothing had changed.
He had thought that winning championship gold again might have provided him with direction and if not, then perhaps the joy of victory alone could have sparked some kind of emotional response in him.
And even if he had failed to win, and with the kind of multi-person mess he had found himself in, it had always been a distinct possibility, he had the deep disappointment of defeat to fall back on as some kind of insurance.
But all of his plans had come to nothing. The joy of victory had eluded him and the agony of defeat had proven useless.
And it had gotten even worse at the end of Redemption.*
*No, no, no. Not that 'ending.' Strange that he should make such a silly mistake... in his own mind...
No, the actual ending.*
*Since extricating himself from the disguarded pile of humanity that had collected outside the ring in the closing moments of the World Heavyweight Championship match, he had been sitting in his usual darkened place near the gorilla position.
As he had not taken the opportunity to give lingering looks at the title belt now in the hands of Drake Callahan, he was there to see his fellow losers trickle through the curtain one by one. Titus, Kurtsey, Showtime - each of them too caught up in their own misery to notice him.
All except SHIT. He did not see Barbosa either but he did not seem upset. He did not seem anything. How does that man-robot do it? Walk around everyday with no direction aside from that which someone or his 'programming' gives him. Barbosa meant to ask him someday.
Then there came the new champion. He was too busy proclaiming to whomever would listen about how he had overcome adversity, seemingly ignorant to the fact that his victory dispelled almost the entire notion of there ever having been a 'conspiracy' against him.
Both Strikeforce and the team of Saboteur and Action Saxton were too busy going over their gameplans to notice his presence.
The self-proclaimed "White Knight of WZCW" was too entranced by the impossible task that faced him.
Only one had even hinted at recognising his presence. Ty Burna might have stared straight ahead the entire time he was waiting to enter the arena, but just as he walked forward, a slight nod in his direction had told Barbosa that there was no need to watch the match. The outcome was assured by that nod.
Ty was going to win.
Ty was going to win, do away with this upstart KO and then restart his interactions with Barbosa, giving him new purpose and drive. A rematch. Another Hell in a Cell match. The possibilities were endless.
In that instant, the need for more ploys to trick his mind with joy or disappointment faded away. He sat in the darkness almost content. Even that damsel in distress, Serafina, nearly tripping over Barbosa as she ran to the ring to ruin everything did nothing to
knowing that things were going to be okay.
That thought had ended quickly.
With a bolt of lightning.
Following the paramedics and fire wardens out into the arena, through the chaos of screaming people streaming towards the exits; through as the backstage crew frantically attempted to put out a flaming casket, Barbosa saw that which he feared most - Chris KO and Serafina being ushered towards the backstage area.
In the hours that Barbosa had stood staring at the scene that plyed out before him, what had happened dawned on Barbosa.
She had ruined everything! And he could have stopped her! But he had been so caught up in his brief moments of contentment that he had played a part in their destruction by failing to prevent the destruction of the only one capable of giving him meaning.
But it was worse than that.
That nod.
Ty had known his own destiny and he had used it to give one last middle finger. He knew that that nod would unleash another hint of that most vile of things within Barbosa
Hope.
Only to snatch it away again in the blink of an eye.
In that moment he hated Ty Burna even more than he ever had before.
But what was he going to do with that hatred? Stomp over Ty's remains? Ground his ashes into dust?
Dr Rivers would claim that it was a great emotional breakthrough. That it demonstrated hope for further development
Ha, there was that word again that concept.
Hope.
The Father of Despair.
There was a reason why it had been all that was left in Pandora's Jar.
And it was a jar not a box - the original Greek was πίθος, not πυξίς
Wait, why did he know that?
Was that a sign of further development? If it was, he would have to explore that on his own.
He could hardly rely on whoever was in charge now to give him any direction. Look at the match he had been given. While not quite as ridiculous as recent contests - it does contain four of the last five holders of the World Heavyweight Title, including the current champion, but it is still a tag match with three men who Barbosa has had numerous matches with in recent months and stomping over old ground was hardly going to stir emotion in him or give him some direction.
He needed to find something new.
And clearly he would have to find it on his own.*
Viola Moonlight
I'm Literally Just Here for WZCW
Down-time.
Kurtesy delivers a stiff uppercut to the punching bag with a taped fist, the only thing of note in the room where wooden beams hold up the roof and the walls are completely missing that showcases the glow of the moonlight reflecting off the flora on the outside.
Is that what I've got to look forward to...
He uses the same strike again but only with more force and a grunt.
... now that everything has surpassed me?
A quick succession of jabs before ending it off with a straight knock-out punch. The bag swings wildly as Kurtesy dances on his feet to keep the heart-rate up and blood-flow pumping.
To think that my life was going just the way I planned it: getting closer to eternal happiness as the seconds ticked away when my final accomplishment was about to be achieved; considered the greatest in the world; being at my physical and mental peak; and my life finally being calm and peaceful. However, just as I reach the point that I've worked so hard to go to:
Kurtesy screws up his face and delivers another uppercut shot, followed by a hook.
Down-time.
Steven jumps up in the air, hitting a spinning back kick but doesn't manage to land properly. He staggers a bit before getting his balance back, putting his hands on his knees and panting heavily. The sweat drips from his forehead as Kurtesy closes his eyes.
I guess I should have seen this coming considering I've been heavily involved in the studies of spirituality. I've read and heard numerous times that everything in life has a purpose no matter insignificant or small: we all play a role that will eventually be useful.
Kurtesy opens his eyes and slowly rises to a vertical position, beginning to unstrap his wrist tapes.
As stressful as my career has been, I've always thought of myself as lucky to have this purpose in life: helping those who are heading straight for rock bottom and being the one extending my arm to save them.
Kurtesy discards the used wrist tape to the ground and begins rotating his wrist, squeezing his hands to get the feeling back.
I take these people into my sanctuary and expose them, strip them down mentally to find out what makes them tick and resolve their issues. The fun part is seeing them finally achieve the end result and becoming happy: it allows me to feed off their emotions and make me feel like I have them too.
Kurtesy grabs a roll of tape from the ground and begins to re-wrap his exposed hand.
And then once it is all over, I put the pieces back together and send them on their way as they once were but without any faults.
Kurtesy makes sure to tighten the tape every time it feels like its slipping.
It didn't stop there though. When one patient was fixed, they walked out and another walked in... where I had to repeat that process again.
Kurtesy finishes taping his hand and switches, unwrapping the used tape like before.
But the time for me to help those people have passed; I've done all I could and I've moved on, trying to find a new purpose. That's where my career as a wrestler came in: I wanted to put my mental abilities to the test in a physical environment.
Both wrists have now been taped up and Kurtesy begins stretching.
To say that my transition was a success would be an understatement and my career has been eventful enough to earn me a place in the record books but I've hit the same position that I did when it came to the end of my time as psychiatrist, there is essentially nothing left for me. I became the greatest warrior by earning the accolade of being the World Heavyweight Champion; I have gone full circle to find myself in this crazy world of wrestling; and I saw the demise of the one thing I said to myself I was determined in making happen.. the death of the Chaos. Whilst the final blow wasn't dealt by my sword, my dream of seeing peace and serenity bestow upon the lands of WZCW has been met and a part of me feels happy for that.
Kurtesy stops stretching out and begins dancing on his feet once more, preparing himself for another shot at the punching bag.
But the fact that the adulation, the credit and praise have all gone towards the focus of the man who was once considered Ty's right-hand man all because he slain the beast with the last shot leaves me with the uneasy feeling that my work and efforts have gone unnoticed; that my time has been wasted, turning back to the feeling that I have hit:
Kurtesy prepares his swing.
Down-time.
Kurtesy punches the bag with huge blow, getting himself psyched up to hit a few more punches and a couple of kicks in really quick succession, expending his energy fast. He finishes up with a forearm shot before move away from the bag, keeping himself warmed-up.
The last whole year may seem like a waste but if we look at the positives, at least now I have a chance to take a step back and observe everything to make a calculated plan of my future. I may be back at square one with a lot of ground to make up for but that's the whole point of planning... to take note of every last detail.
Kurtesy hits another couple of punches before prepping himself for another kick.
So you can clear everything efficiently and make sure that you don't make the same mistakes again.
Kurtesy jumps up and hits a spinning back kick on the bag, landing successfully this time on his feet with the precision of an Olympian.
I'm turning the page of my life and entering a new chapter.
Kurtesy looks up and smiles wickedly.
And I'm going to have some fun.
Kurtesy delivers a stiff uppercut to the punching bag with a taped fist, the only thing of note in the room where wooden beams hold up the roof and the walls are completely missing that showcases the glow of the moonlight reflecting off the flora on the outside.
Is that what I've got to look forward to...
He uses the same strike again but only with more force and a grunt.
... now that everything has surpassed me?
A quick succession of jabs before ending it off with a straight knock-out punch. The bag swings wildly as Kurtesy dances on his feet to keep the heart-rate up and blood-flow pumping.
To think that my life was going just the way I planned it: getting closer to eternal happiness as the seconds ticked away when my final accomplishment was about to be achieved; considered the greatest in the world; being at my physical and mental peak; and my life finally being calm and peaceful. However, just as I reach the point that I've worked so hard to go to:
Kurtesy screws up his face and delivers another uppercut shot, followed by a hook.
Down-time.
Steven jumps up in the air, hitting a spinning back kick but doesn't manage to land properly. He staggers a bit before getting his balance back, putting his hands on his knees and panting heavily. The sweat drips from his forehead as Kurtesy closes his eyes.
I guess I should have seen this coming considering I've been heavily involved in the studies of spirituality. I've read and heard numerous times that everything in life has a purpose no matter insignificant or small: we all play a role that will eventually be useful.
Kurtesy opens his eyes and slowly rises to a vertical position, beginning to unstrap his wrist tapes.
As stressful as my career has been, I've always thought of myself as lucky to have this purpose in life: helping those who are heading straight for rock bottom and being the one extending my arm to save them.
Kurtesy discards the used wrist tape to the ground and begins rotating his wrist, squeezing his hands to get the feeling back.
I take these people into my sanctuary and expose them, strip them down mentally to find out what makes them tick and resolve their issues. The fun part is seeing them finally achieve the end result and becoming happy: it allows me to feed off their emotions and make me feel like I have them too.
Kurtesy grabs a roll of tape from the ground and begins to re-wrap his exposed hand.
And then once it is all over, I put the pieces back together and send them on their way as they once were but without any faults.
Kurtesy makes sure to tighten the tape every time it feels like its slipping.
It didn't stop there though. When one patient was fixed, they walked out and another walked in... where I had to repeat that process again.
Kurtesy finishes taping his hand and switches, unwrapping the used tape like before.
But the time for me to help those people have passed; I've done all I could and I've moved on, trying to find a new purpose. That's where my career as a wrestler came in: I wanted to put my mental abilities to the test in a physical environment.
Both wrists have now been taped up and Kurtesy begins stretching.
To say that my transition was a success would be an understatement and my career has been eventful enough to earn me a place in the record books but I've hit the same position that I did when it came to the end of my time as psychiatrist, there is essentially nothing left for me. I became the greatest warrior by earning the accolade of being the World Heavyweight Champion; I have gone full circle to find myself in this crazy world of wrestling; and I saw the demise of the one thing I said to myself I was determined in making happen.. the death of the Chaos. Whilst the final blow wasn't dealt by my sword, my dream of seeing peace and serenity bestow upon the lands of WZCW has been met and a part of me feels happy for that.
Kurtesy stops stretching out and begins dancing on his feet once more, preparing himself for another shot at the punching bag.
But the fact that the adulation, the credit and praise have all gone towards the focus of the man who was once considered Ty's right-hand man all because he slain the beast with the last shot leaves me with the uneasy feeling that my work and efforts have gone unnoticed; that my time has been wasted, turning back to the feeling that I have hit:
Kurtesy prepares his swing.
Down-time.
Kurtesy punches the bag with huge blow, getting himself psyched up to hit a few more punches and a couple of kicks in really quick succession, expending his energy fast. He finishes up with a forearm shot before move away from the bag, keeping himself warmed-up.
The last whole year may seem like a waste but if we look at the positives, at least now I have a chance to take a step back and observe everything to make a calculated plan of my future. I may be back at square one with a lot of ground to make up for but that's the whole point of planning... to take note of every last detail.
Kurtesy hits another couple of punches before prepping himself for another kick.
So you can clear everything efficiently and make sure that you don't make the same mistakes again.
Kurtesy jumps up and hits a spinning back kick on the bag, landing successfully this time on his feet with the precision of an Olympian.
I'm turning the page of my life and entering a new chapter.
Kurtesy looks up and smiles wickedly.
And I'm going to have some fun.
You'd think that after losing everything - the love of your life, your self-respect, even the very image of yourself as a respectable human being, hell, a human being at all, a shiny piece of gold and an extra title to go with your name wouldn't mean a whole lot. You'd think they'd be empty, meaningless objects to throw upon a big old pile of misery, insufficient sustenance to fill the gaping hole of your soul.
You'd be surprised.
Sitting in a private locker room he'd commandeered after his match, Drake Callahan sat across from the World Heavyweight Championship belt and stared into it deeply. His name wasn't on it, yet, but they had ripped off Showtime's name plate at his insistence. It didn't really matter - it was his. He hadn't expected it to mean much of anything, but it felt...good. It felt right. It felt like just holding this belt made everything else that had happened okay. Of course, he'd blocked himself from thinking consciously about much of the recent events in his life, but he couldn't stop their emotional toll...but this belt, incredibly, was soothing them. This was it - this was the prize that dozens and dozens of men had thrown themselves after but only a chosen few could touch and call their own. And it was his.
He knew what was happening to him, deep down in his heart. He had let this mean absolutely everything to him, had sacrificed everything else to get it, and now that he had it...it was everything. And it was with a smile on his face that he knew that as long as he was the champion, everything was going to be alright.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
???: Police, open up!
Startled from his reverie, Drake stood and opened the door. Three officers of the local police department stood outside, papers in hand. They flashed a warrant in front of his face and suddenly were saying something...
Police: You are under arrest for domestic abuse...
The words drowned out in a fuzz in his head. His only focus was on the belt, and found himself babbling insistence that it be brought with him, that it be kept safe, at all costs, ignoring their insistence of his right to silence and attorney.
It had to come with him.
There was nothing else.
-----
Sitting in a small holding cell, Drake could only contemplate, again, how everything had fallen apart so quickly.
It had been a blur, nothing he'd really managed to pay much attention to, since the only consequence was that he was inevitably going to lose his title. Bail had been set at some number he couldn't possibly meet - not as if he had anyone on the outside to post it, anyway - and a trial set for months away. It had only been two days, but when he didn't show for Ascension, not to mention the house show tour, it would be a short road to being stripped of his title. Prison didn't bother him - a world without the championship was all the same, everywhere. Everywhere would be prison, everywhere would be hell. The specific location of hell is hardly relevant.
He couldn't get a straight answer out of them but it didn't seem like Kate was willing to testify, but apparently the medical records would probably be enough to convict him, given that he was running off only a court appointed attorney, a young man he suspected had barely made his way out of law school. And had barely made it out last year, for that matter. He found himself answering as many questions as he was asking. A disturbing thought.
A rap came at the door. He half rose to answer, before realizing the absurdity of it. He settled back as the door opened and the guard came in.
Guard: Someone to meet with you. We'll take you to an interrogation room to meet with them.
Drake shrugged, not caring much, half grateful for the distraction. Probably Vance Bateman or whoever the hell was running WZCW these days had gotten wind of what had happened and had sent someone to talk. The beginning of the end, as it were.
He stumbled down the hall awkwardly and soon enough found the guard turning the key in the lock to the interrogation room. He was gestured inside and the door closed. He turned to the man sitting at the table, finding much what he expected. An expensive suit, an expensive hair cut, an expensive briefcase - everything about him was expensive. Come to think of it, that was just about the perfect word to describe everything about him - expensive. Just about what one would expect of a WZCW crony. Drake shrugged and sat down. The expensive man smiled his best winning smile, full of shiny white teeth, and extended a hand.
???: Mr. Callahan, it's a pleasure to meet you.
With a slight, wry smile, Drake returned the handshake, knowing full well this was the man most likely to strip him of his title in a few minutes.
Drake: You're the first person I've met in the last few days who considers my company a pleasure. I suppose I should be grateful.
The man's smile never faded as he continued.
???: Well, what a shame that is. After all, who could fail to find the company of the world champion a pleasure?
Drake: You'd be surprised.
???: Oh? Well, perhaps I wouldn't be, after all. Well, Mr. Callahan, perhaps it's time to get to business. My name is Mr. Jason Andal, and -
Drake held up a hand.
Drake: I think I can guess this one. You're a representative of WZCW, here to ascertain the full extent of my situation. Once it becomes apparent to you that I'm not leaving this place anytime soon, you'll take my title and be on your merry way.
The man's smile never faltered - Drake had to commend him on that - though he did blink once before continuing.
Andal: Mr. Callahan, I think you've been misinformed as to the situation at hand. I am not a representative of WZCW, and I have no interest in stripping you of your title, even if such was in my power.
Drake raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected that. Who else could possibly be sending someone to meet him in prison?
Andal: I represent a...mutual friend, Mr. Callahan. A friend who was informed of your situation and wants to help, as a means of, hmm, offering peace, as it were.
Drake: Who, exactly, is this mutual friend?
Andal: A Mr. Maximilian Q. Powers. Perhaps you remember him?
Drake laughed with more gusto than he thought he had in him, a deep belly laugh that was the only appropriate response to the sheer absurdity of it.
Drake: I remember Max. I remember when has was content with people calling him just Max, too. I also remember him kicking me to the curb just like everyone else. So now that I'm world champion, he wants back in? Well, you might as well tell him this little Cinderella story is over - the title won't be mine much longer, not once WZCW gets wind of this little situation. Go on back to your boss and tell him there's nothing he can do for me, or me him.
Andal's remarkable smile finally dropped, though Drake suspected it was entirely calculated. He resumed with a smaller, toothless smile.
Andal: Mr. Callahan, I don't think you wholly understand. Mr. Powers did indeed reject your business once, but he wants you to understand the circumstances. Since your previous business relationship ended, his enterprise has skyrocketed, and he only represents proven talent. However, he has been looking quite earnestly for an in road back to WZCW, one of entertainment's fastest rising companies, and now that you've proven yourself to the world as a hot commodity...well, he wants to let bygones be bygones, and re-establish a business relationship.
Drake: Even if I wanted anything to do with Max, there's still no way I'm seeing WZCW again for months, years even. I haven't got anything more than my champion's purse to post bail with, and it's not enough, even if I had anyone to bring it here.
Andal: Ah, is that the problem? Mr. Powers was afraid of a situation like this. He was not aware of the specific charges regarding your...present circumstances, so he authorized me to withdraw as much as one million dollars with which to post your bail. Will that suffice?
Drake's jaw dropped out at the sum. He was dazed.
Drake: That...that would have been enough to cover a murder charge.
Andal's radiant smile returned, though this time, something else lurked in his eyes.
Andal: Mr. Powers understands the legal system, Mr. Callahan, and knows that even innocent men can be convicted of such heinous crimes. Still...it isn't a murder charge, is it? That would complicate matters.
Drake: No. Domestic abuse.
Andal's face brightened.
Andal: Is that all? We'll have everything straightened up in a few days, then. You won't even have to be out on bail, allowing you to resume travel beyond state lines.
Drake: Just like that? You'll have things cleared up?
Andal: Ah, Mr. Callahan. Mr. Powers commands both incredible wealth and incredible lawyers, myself among them. You would be surprised what such a combination can accomplish.
Drake: I don't think I would, after all.
Andal laughed, utterly insincere.
Andal: No? Perhaps not.
Drake: So what's the catch here? I have to sign my life over to Max just to get out of this hole?
Andal: Not at all. Max only requests a meeting in exchange for this favor. If the meeting is not to your liking, nothing further will tie you to us.
Drake snorted. "Just a meeting" with Max. Sure. He knew how it was likely to end - with him doing whatever Max wanted whether or not he had any idea what was going on. Not, of course, that he had much choice in the matter. This was his only chance at getting out.
Drake: Fine. Done. Work your magic, Mr. Andal. Where do I sign in blood?
Andal laughed, and this time it was sincere, though not much more pleasant than the last time.
Andal: Nothing so gruesome as that, Mr. Callahan. That comes later.
----
Andal was better than his word. Not a day later he was in court again, having all charges dismissed. He had expected to be whisked off to a flight to New York City immediately, but Andal had insisted on making him presentable. He'd lost another day getting a suit, haircut, shoes, and everything needed to look respectable in such circles as he would soon tread before he was in New York, though he was there soon enough. Too soon for his liking. These people moved too fast, all according to a schedule, and it made him feel like a pawn in a game. Well, he was at that.
He'd entered through grand doors with engraving that read "Powers Talent Agency" above them, walking into wealth and opulence. Everyone around him had the same look that Andal did - expensive. The men were tall, handsome, wearing rich suits and stylish haircuts. The women were beautiful, almost seductive, dressed and styled with just as much expense. He knew he looked out of place - his clothes and hair could match them, certainly, but it was the way they carried themselves that differed from them. And, despite Andal's insistence, he had refused to shave his beard entirely, making him the only man in the room with facial hair. Yet despite his obvious differences, no one looked at him twice. He half wondered if they all were expecting him.
He felt half a fool for having the championship over his shoulder, but Andal said Max would want to see it - fair enough. He strode over to the receptionist and gave his name. He was told to take the elevator to the top; Max was expecting him. At the top, another receptionist nodded at his name and strode over to open the door wide for him, gesturing him in. He took a deep breath and entered.
Max had his back to him on his entrance, staring out a window at the city and sipping on scotch. Drake strode in confidently at first, then wondered where to stop. He pulled up awkwardly in front of Max's desk and waited. Max slowly turned at his footsteps and gave a great smile. He was surprised at how genuine it seemed - like Max was truly happy to see an old friend. If he didn't know better he would have believed it. To his credit, Max looked well. No older than when he'd last seen him, his hair still platinum blonde, though he'd shaved. His clothes were richer, of course, and he had a massive ring with the biggest ruby he'd ever seen, but all in all, it was mostly the same old Max Powers. Tall, muscular, handsome for an older man, exuding power and confidence. A smile that welcomed you in and only made you want to do exactly what he said.
Max: Drake! I can't tell you how good it is to see you.
He strode over, setting the scotch down on his desk and Drake was surprised to find himself locked in a warm embrace. He returned it as best he could, given his surprised, and soon found himself across the desk from Max, a glass of scotch in his hand and the title belt on the desk between them. He feigned a drink of the scotch before setting it on the desk. Max didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't show that he did. The latter, he suspected.
Max: Drake, I just want to apologize to you for the way everything has gone in our past. I regret not looking for your harder after your unfortunate disappearance, and I regret doubly the way I treated you when you finally came into contact with me. I confess that I deal with my anger on a daily basis, and I only felt betrayed. I'm so sorry, Drake. I just want to start over.
Drake could almost believe him. Almost. It was just the slight glint in his eye of a man weighing his every word that gave it away. Still, there was a game to be played.
Drake: I understand entirely, Max. We've all made mistakes. Let's start over.
They shook hands across the desk, both holding the shake a moment longer than necessary, a silent signal from each to the other that they both knew what game was being played here.
Max: Well, then, let's get to business. I understand all your legal unpleasantness has been cleared up?
Drake: Jason and his team were very effective. All the charges have been cleared.
Max: Good, good. Jason is the best we have, our ultimate problem solver. I'm glad that that all worked out for you. Does WZCW know anything about it?
Drake shook his head.
Drake: No. There's no touring immediately following a pay-per-view, so I didn't miss any time. As long as I'm there for Meltdown and Ascension, no one will be the wiser.
Max: Excellent. That would be an unnecessary complication. Now, I think you can surmise why exactly I have gone to the trouble of bringing you here, yes?
Drake: You want a client.
Max: Not just any client. I want to be the agency that represents the WZCW World Heavyweight Champion. There hasn't been a represented world champion in your company since Joseph Rios. Do you know what it will mean for me to bring you under my roof?
Drake: I can imagine.
Max: I don't know if you can entirely, Drake, but it's not important. What you need to know is that I can help you. Endorsements, sponsorships, salary negotiations, everything, we can help you with. With our help, you'll be -
Drake raised a hand. Max had the grace not to look offended at being interrupted, though Drake knew full well he was seething inside.
Drake: I don't need the pitch, Max. I'm on board.
Max did look surprised, and Drake suspected he didn't have to fake it.
Max: I would have thought you'd need a bit more convincing than that.
Drake: Max, I want you to understand my circumstances. I need someone watching my back who has as big an investment in me as, well, me. WZCW is a jungle, and the people there will plot against you to take everything you have and more. The only people I've ever had behind me are people who didn't understand the business - well, besides you, that is. But the fact is that for months, my lack of support has screwed me over time and time again. Everything you can offer me is well and good, Max, and I'm not going to stand in your way of making me as much money as you can, but more than anything else, I just need a wingman. Or a wing-agency, I guess. Someone at my back and my side, helping to put down the plots and keeping this title around my waist. I know what you can do, Max, and I know you can get it done. So bring the contracts, bring whatever needs to be signed. I'm on board.
Max nodded along with his words, then spoke.
Max: We'll have legal draft everything up and have it ready in a few days. We'll start making the calls for sponsors and that kind of thing immediately, but if I've got it right, Drake, you're going to want a direct manager before you leave today, is that right?
Drake: Of course. I'll have to prep you on all the ins and outs of what's changed since you've been gone, but you'll get the hang of it soon -
It was Max's turn to raise a hand and interrupt.
Max: Drake, as much as I'd love to go gallivanting off with you into the thick of things, I have duties here. I can only send a representative with you, but trust me, they're the best in the world.
Drake rubbed his chin, scratching at his beard. He didn't like this. He thought with Max close, he would have a chance to keep a handle on his activities. And there was certainly no one better to manage the conspiracy of WZCW than Max. But what choice did he have? He hated it, but the fact was that he was at Max's mercy here, and whatever he gave him was better than nothing.
Drake: Fine. Who've you got in mind?
Max grinned widely - a genuine grin, unless Drake missed his guess - and pushed a button on the intercom.
Max: Jonathan, send in Stoya.
Drake couldn't help his eyebrows shooting up.
Drake: Stoya?
Max: Relax, big guy. It's not who you think it is.
When Stoya eventually walked through the door, she lived up to her namesake. Tall, dark haired, stunningly beautiful, and dressed to kill. With a longer look at her, Drake decided it wasn't just that she was dressed to kill - she exuded danger, a woman not to be trifled with. Perhaps she would do as well as Max would. She pulled up short of the desk as Max and Drake rose. She extended a hand to Drake and he shook firmly.
Drake: A pleasure to meet you...Stoya.
He was unable to keep a grin off his face as he said her name. She turned to Max and gave an icy smile that didn't touch her eyes.
Stoya: This is what you bring me?
Max: It is a distinctive name, Stoya.
She haughtily turned her gaze back to Drake, freezing him in place with that same cold expression. In all this, she had yet to relinquish his hand.
Stoya: Very well. I am Stoya Vidic. And you are...
He tried to tug his hand back and with a slight, but warmer smile, she let it go. He unconsciously wiped it off on the front of his suit.
Drake: Drake Callahan. The, uh, WZCW World Heavyweight Champion.
He finished the last with a slight grin and a gesture toward the title on the desk. To his surprise, she only rolled her eyes.
Stoya: Oh, how novel. You have a big shiny thing and you want to impress me with it. Where do you find these, Max?
Max laughed again.
Max: Back off, Stoya. He's the one I talked to you about the other day. He's going to need day to day representation and assistance. I expect you can provide that?
Stoya: Of course. I am, however, somewhat disappointed that this is the best you could do for a new client.
Drake: You know, I'm right here...
Stoya: Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?
Max: Look, Stoya, go easy on him. There's more to him than meets the eye, trust me on that. Give him a little time, he'll impress you.
Stoya: With more than his big shiny belt, I hope?
Drake shrugged and turned away. He didn't have to like her for her to help him. He could tell she would handle herself well in WZCW; that was what mattered. He could put on a smile for her and let her mock him if she helped him. That's what mattered.
Max: Well, are you happy with her, Drake?
Drake: Happy? I think I'd be happier with a 300 pound mute, but she'll do.
Stoya: I'll do? You - you - who do you think -
He would just have to give her a little bit back, that's all.
Max raised a hand, barely able to speak for his laughter.
Max: Oh, this is going to be excellent. I'm half ready to go on the road with you two. At any rate, I think I'm going to send Mr. Andal as part of your entourage, Drake. There's nothing wrong with having legal counsel close to hand, just in case something goes wrong with your recent troubles. And a level head might keep you two from tearing each other apart.
Stoya shot a fiery glare his way and he responded with a mocking smile. He wondered at her ability to go from ice cold to blazing hot in seconds.
Stoya: Your lawyers can not stop me teaching a lesson when it is earned, Max.
Max: Stoya, remember who it is your work for.
Stoya: I work for you, of course.
Max: No. As of now, you work for Mr. Callahan.
The glare she sent his way was even hotter than the last one. He felt as though he should be sweating. He could practically hear her gritting her teeth.
Stoya: Fine. I will collect a car.
She spit out the last as she stormed from the room.
Drake: Well, I hate to see her leave...
Max: Please don't finish that sentence.
Drake barked a laugh and collected his belt from Max's desk.
Drake: Is that it, then?
Max nodded.
Max: Jason will have any and all relevant papers e-mailed to him. We'll have a conference call or two in the next couple of days, but the important bits are set out. Keep your entourage close to you out there, Drake. They're your best weapon in WZCW.
Drake: An entourage, eh? Joe always said he was going to find me an entourage...
Max: Who? Joe?
Drake shook his head.
Drake: Nobody. Somebody that I used to know.
He shook hands with Max and exited the office. Andal was waiting for him near the elevator. They shared a nod before descending to ground level and going in search of Stoya and the car.
----
Driving to the airport in a Mercedes, Drake slouched in the passenger side with his belt in his lap. Andal, in the back, was doing something or other on his iPhone while Stoya stared at the road with a hard set to her jaw. Drake could read her well enough to know she was angry. The tension between them had built since he and Andal had met up with her at the car. Even Jason could feel it - he pretended to be working on the phone, but Drake half suspected it was a vigorous game of Doodle Jump. He sighed and sat up straight.
Drake: Look, Stoya, I think we got off on the wrong foot. If we're going to work together, we don't need to be at each other's throats already.
She spared him a level glance, nothing in it that he could see.
Stoya: Fine.
Drake: Is...that it?
Stoya: What else do you want?
Drake: An apology, maybe?
She snorted, a harsh noise he could barely imagine coming from her.
Stoya: I have nothing to apologize for. Speaking my mind is not a crime.
Drake: Alright, fine. You don't have to apologize. I am sorry though, if I offended you.
She nodded slowly but said nothing, looking on only at the road. He sighed and sat back, having done all he could. She seemed somewhat mollified, at any rate.
He picked up the belt and toyed with it, thinking over when he would finally get his name engraved on it. He couldn't help but think about everything he'd lost to get it. It felt like enough. It had to be enough. He sighed deeply and turned it over again. Before he really knew what he was saying, he had spoken.
Drake: Have you ever been in love, Stoya?
Another, longer, but still as unreadable glance went his way. She shrugged.
Stoya: Yes.
Drake: What happened?
Stoya: That conversation extends beyond the bounds of our professional relationship.
He shrugged again and looked up at the city.
Drake: What about you, Jason?
Andal started a little bit and tapped something on his phone.
Andal: I'm married actually.
Drake: But you didn't answer my question.
Andal: Of course, I love my wife.
Drake grunted and shook his head. He had no idea what he wanted to hear. Just talking, really. He turned to look out the window and tried to put dark thoughts out of his mind as they sped along the highway.
----
Entering the arena for WZCW Ascension, it was no surprise that he drew looks.
Here he was - the WZCW World Champion. A few people gave him a round of applause as he passed, but most just stared silently. He adjusted the belt on his shoulder and kept his eyes forward. His new entourage was drawing plenty of interest as well - Andal in a crisp suit, Stoya in a deadly black dress. All in all, he made quite a sight, and there was no question - the majority of WZCW hated him. It came as no surprise - these were the people who were part of the conspiracy to keep him down, after all. How it much hurt to see their failure.
Still. What he wouldn't have given for a friendly face. He caught a glimpse of Becky walking down the hall - she didn't even turn to look at him. At least Leon would have to talk to him when he got there.
He entered a small room an intern had directed him to and found Leon waiting for him, well dressed as usual. He held the door for Stoya and Andal as they stepped through and went to one side. Leon raised an eyebrow as Drake shut the door.
Drake: Leon. Meet Mr. Jason Andal.
The two men shook hands with barely a second glance.
Drake: And Ms. Stoya Vidic.
Stoya and Leon shook hands with much more than a second glance - Leon barely able to keep his eyes in his head, Stoya appearing calm but, to Drake it seemed at least, her anger rising. Leon finally broke away and swallowed a bit.
Leon: So, um, Stoya -
Drake: Don't finish that sentence, Leon. For your own good.
Leon shook his head and gave a glance to Drake before heading over to the cameras and straightening his tie. Drake looked over to Stoya and Andal, to see if they wanted to join him for the interview. Andal ignored him, tapping away on his phone. Stoya shook her head slightly, and Drake shrugged. This, at least, he was more than capable of handling on his own.
He stepped under the lights. Leon started to speak, something about how does it feel to be world heavyweight champion, but Drake decided that he didn't really want to do this. Cutting Leon off, he grabbed the microphone and gestured the camera to come in on him.
Drake: I want to make something clear. I am the WZCW World Heavyweight Champion, and I am no longer answering questions. Instead, I am asking questions. Questions like - why is the world champion working the B-show? Who is in charge of WZCW, and how can I meet them to discuss a new contract? Because WZCW, you should be aware - my current deal is coming to an end, and unless you want me to walk out of here with this title, I'm going to need a very, very, big number next to my name. Why was I not consulted on my preferred choice of match for this round of television? Why have I not been consulted as to my opponent at Apocalypse?
He shook his head woefully.
Drake: You can see that there are so many problems with the way WZCW is conducting it's business. This outright defiance of my place as world champion be nothing less than a manifestation of the ever present conspiracy that pervades this company. Well, I have something to say, people of WZCW - I have backup. I am the newest client of the world class Powers Talent Agency, and my new representation will not allow these injustices to continue.
He smiled for a moment before continuing.
Drake: Now. Let me speak as to this match that I've been put in. I want to make something clear - I am better than every other man that is going to be in the ring this week. I proved that at Redemption. At Redemption, I beat Barbosa. I beat Steven Kurtesy, and most importantly, I beat Showtime. Of course, in this historic contest, I was not in the main event - that honor went to a psychopath and a nobody airing their personal business world wide. What a shock. But I digress. Barbosa, let me make one thing clear to you. You do not register on my radar. You are a flea. You're a freak, and the fact that you were ever world champion is frankly shocking. You have one job in this tag team match, and it's to do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Do otherwise, and we'll have a problem - and I am not the sort of man you want to have a problem with.
He continues.
Drake: Steven Kurtesy. How it must rankle at you that you were such a non factor in your rematch. A rematch, I should add, you never did anything to deserve. A match that should have been one on one between me and Showtime, but that I had to earn my way into, and then beat five other men just to get what was rightfully mine. Well, it doesn't matter after all, does it? I have the title, and you are just a pawn of the conspiracy. An instrument of the game that's being played to keep me from greatness - a tool, and in more ways than one. It means nothing for me to wrestle or defeat you - you are no one to me.
He goes on.
Drake: And Showtime...Showtime, it's you most of all I want to end. I know what you must be saying. Six men - it just wasn't fair, was it? You were bound to lose your title. How deeply I feel for you. How awful it must be to be treated unfairly. What an utter tragedy. What an utter load of crap. If you think I care - if you think that anyone cares - that you were treated unfairly at Redemption, think again. I don't care. I'm glad you know what it's like. I'm glad you could taste the conspiracy, even if it wasn't directed at you. You were just caught in its wake as it attacked me, but I won after all, didn't I? I'm glad we get to meet again, though, Showtime. I'm glad I have a chance to show you the error of your ways. Do you remember what I said, Showtime?
The camera zooms in for the last words.
Drake: We're all monsters, Showtime. Every one of us. It's just that you don't know it yet. But by the time we're finished...I think you'll have an idea.
You'd be surprised.
Sitting in a private locker room he'd commandeered after his match, Drake Callahan sat across from the World Heavyweight Championship belt and stared into it deeply. His name wasn't on it, yet, but they had ripped off Showtime's name plate at his insistence. It didn't really matter - it was his. He hadn't expected it to mean much of anything, but it felt...good. It felt right. It felt like just holding this belt made everything else that had happened okay. Of course, he'd blocked himself from thinking consciously about much of the recent events in his life, but he couldn't stop their emotional toll...but this belt, incredibly, was soothing them. This was it - this was the prize that dozens and dozens of men had thrown themselves after but only a chosen few could touch and call their own. And it was his.
He knew what was happening to him, deep down in his heart. He had let this mean absolutely everything to him, had sacrificed everything else to get it, and now that he had it...it was everything. And it was with a smile on his face that he knew that as long as he was the champion, everything was going to be alright.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
???: Police, open up!
Startled from his reverie, Drake stood and opened the door. Three officers of the local police department stood outside, papers in hand. They flashed a warrant in front of his face and suddenly were saying something...
Police: You are under arrest for domestic abuse...
The words drowned out in a fuzz in his head. His only focus was on the belt, and found himself babbling insistence that it be brought with him, that it be kept safe, at all costs, ignoring their insistence of his right to silence and attorney.
It had to come with him.
There was nothing else.
-----
Sitting in a small holding cell, Drake could only contemplate, again, how everything had fallen apart so quickly.
It had been a blur, nothing he'd really managed to pay much attention to, since the only consequence was that he was inevitably going to lose his title. Bail had been set at some number he couldn't possibly meet - not as if he had anyone on the outside to post it, anyway - and a trial set for months away. It had only been two days, but when he didn't show for Ascension, not to mention the house show tour, it would be a short road to being stripped of his title. Prison didn't bother him - a world without the championship was all the same, everywhere. Everywhere would be prison, everywhere would be hell. The specific location of hell is hardly relevant.
He couldn't get a straight answer out of them but it didn't seem like Kate was willing to testify, but apparently the medical records would probably be enough to convict him, given that he was running off only a court appointed attorney, a young man he suspected had barely made his way out of law school. And had barely made it out last year, for that matter. He found himself answering as many questions as he was asking. A disturbing thought.
A rap came at the door. He half rose to answer, before realizing the absurdity of it. He settled back as the door opened and the guard came in.
Guard: Someone to meet with you. We'll take you to an interrogation room to meet with them.
Drake shrugged, not caring much, half grateful for the distraction. Probably Vance Bateman or whoever the hell was running WZCW these days had gotten wind of what had happened and had sent someone to talk. The beginning of the end, as it were.
He stumbled down the hall awkwardly and soon enough found the guard turning the key in the lock to the interrogation room. He was gestured inside and the door closed. He turned to the man sitting at the table, finding much what he expected. An expensive suit, an expensive hair cut, an expensive briefcase - everything about him was expensive. Come to think of it, that was just about the perfect word to describe everything about him - expensive. Just about what one would expect of a WZCW crony. Drake shrugged and sat down. The expensive man smiled his best winning smile, full of shiny white teeth, and extended a hand.
???: Mr. Callahan, it's a pleasure to meet you.
With a slight, wry smile, Drake returned the handshake, knowing full well this was the man most likely to strip him of his title in a few minutes.
Drake: You're the first person I've met in the last few days who considers my company a pleasure. I suppose I should be grateful.
The man's smile never faded as he continued.
???: Well, what a shame that is. After all, who could fail to find the company of the world champion a pleasure?
Drake: You'd be surprised.
???: Oh? Well, perhaps I wouldn't be, after all. Well, Mr. Callahan, perhaps it's time to get to business. My name is Mr. Jason Andal, and -
Drake held up a hand.
Drake: I think I can guess this one. You're a representative of WZCW, here to ascertain the full extent of my situation. Once it becomes apparent to you that I'm not leaving this place anytime soon, you'll take my title and be on your merry way.
The man's smile never faltered - Drake had to commend him on that - though he did blink once before continuing.
Andal: Mr. Callahan, I think you've been misinformed as to the situation at hand. I am not a representative of WZCW, and I have no interest in stripping you of your title, even if such was in my power.
Drake raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected that. Who else could possibly be sending someone to meet him in prison?
Andal: I represent a...mutual friend, Mr. Callahan. A friend who was informed of your situation and wants to help, as a means of, hmm, offering peace, as it were.
Drake: Who, exactly, is this mutual friend?
Andal: A Mr. Maximilian Q. Powers. Perhaps you remember him?
Drake laughed with more gusto than he thought he had in him, a deep belly laugh that was the only appropriate response to the sheer absurdity of it.
Drake: I remember Max. I remember when has was content with people calling him just Max, too. I also remember him kicking me to the curb just like everyone else. So now that I'm world champion, he wants back in? Well, you might as well tell him this little Cinderella story is over - the title won't be mine much longer, not once WZCW gets wind of this little situation. Go on back to your boss and tell him there's nothing he can do for me, or me him.
Andal's remarkable smile finally dropped, though Drake suspected it was entirely calculated. He resumed with a smaller, toothless smile.
Andal: Mr. Callahan, I don't think you wholly understand. Mr. Powers did indeed reject your business once, but he wants you to understand the circumstances. Since your previous business relationship ended, his enterprise has skyrocketed, and he only represents proven talent. However, he has been looking quite earnestly for an in road back to WZCW, one of entertainment's fastest rising companies, and now that you've proven yourself to the world as a hot commodity...well, he wants to let bygones be bygones, and re-establish a business relationship.
Drake: Even if I wanted anything to do with Max, there's still no way I'm seeing WZCW again for months, years even. I haven't got anything more than my champion's purse to post bail with, and it's not enough, even if I had anyone to bring it here.
Andal: Ah, is that the problem? Mr. Powers was afraid of a situation like this. He was not aware of the specific charges regarding your...present circumstances, so he authorized me to withdraw as much as one million dollars with which to post your bail. Will that suffice?
Drake's jaw dropped out at the sum. He was dazed.
Drake: That...that would have been enough to cover a murder charge.
Andal's radiant smile returned, though this time, something else lurked in his eyes.
Andal: Mr. Powers understands the legal system, Mr. Callahan, and knows that even innocent men can be convicted of such heinous crimes. Still...it isn't a murder charge, is it? That would complicate matters.
Drake: No. Domestic abuse.
Andal's face brightened.
Andal: Is that all? We'll have everything straightened up in a few days, then. You won't even have to be out on bail, allowing you to resume travel beyond state lines.
Drake: Just like that? You'll have things cleared up?
Andal: Ah, Mr. Callahan. Mr. Powers commands both incredible wealth and incredible lawyers, myself among them. You would be surprised what such a combination can accomplish.
Drake: I don't think I would, after all.
Andal laughed, utterly insincere.
Andal: No? Perhaps not.
Drake: So what's the catch here? I have to sign my life over to Max just to get out of this hole?
Andal: Not at all. Max only requests a meeting in exchange for this favor. If the meeting is not to your liking, nothing further will tie you to us.
Drake snorted. "Just a meeting" with Max. Sure. He knew how it was likely to end - with him doing whatever Max wanted whether or not he had any idea what was going on. Not, of course, that he had much choice in the matter. This was his only chance at getting out.
Drake: Fine. Done. Work your magic, Mr. Andal. Where do I sign in blood?
Andal laughed, and this time it was sincere, though not much more pleasant than the last time.
Andal: Nothing so gruesome as that, Mr. Callahan. That comes later.
----
Andal was better than his word. Not a day later he was in court again, having all charges dismissed. He had expected to be whisked off to a flight to New York City immediately, but Andal had insisted on making him presentable. He'd lost another day getting a suit, haircut, shoes, and everything needed to look respectable in such circles as he would soon tread before he was in New York, though he was there soon enough. Too soon for his liking. These people moved too fast, all according to a schedule, and it made him feel like a pawn in a game. Well, he was at that.
He'd entered through grand doors with engraving that read "Powers Talent Agency" above them, walking into wealth and opulence. Everyone around him had the same look that Andal did - expensive. The men were tall, handsome, wearing rich suits and stylish haircuts. The women were beautiful, almost seductive, dressed and styled with just as much expense. He knew he looked out of place - his clothes and hair could match them, certainly, but it was the way they carried themselves that differed from them. And, despite Andal's insistence, he had refused to shave his beard entirely, making him the only man in the room with facial hair. Yet despite his obvious differences, no one looked at him twice. He half wondered if they all were expecting him.
He felt half a fool for having the championship over his shoulder, but Andal said Max would want to see it - fair enough. He strode over to the receptionist and gave his name. He was told to take the elevator to the top; Max was expecting him. At the top, another receptionist nodded at his name and strode over to open the door wide for him, gesturing him in. He took a deep breath and entered.
Max had his back to him on his entrance, staring out a window at the city and sipping on scotch. Drake strode in confidently at first, then wondered where to stop. He pulled up awkwardly in front of Max's desk and waited. Max slowly turned at his footsteps and gave a great smile. He was surprised at how genuine it seemed - like Max was truly happy to see an old friend. If he didn't know better he would have believed it. To his credit, Max looked well. No older than when he'd last seen him, his hair still platinum blonde, though he'd shaved. His clothes were richer, of course, and he had a massive ring with the biggest ruby he'd ever seen, but all in all, it was mostly the same old Max Powers. Tall, muscular, handsome for an older man, exuding power and confidence. A smile that welcomed you in and only made you want to do exactly what he said.
Max: Drake! I can't tell you how good it is to see you.
He strode over, setting the scotch down on his desk and Drake was surprised to find himself locked in a warm embrace. He returned it as best he could, given his surprised, and soon found himself across the desk from Max, a glass of scotch in his hand and the title belt on the desk between them. He feigned a drink of the scotch before setting it on the desk. Max didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't show that he did. The latter, he suspected.
Max: Drake, I just want to apologize to you for the way everything has gone in our past. I regret not looking for your harder after your unfortunate disappearance, and I regret doubly the way I treated you when you finally came into contact with me. I confess that I deal with my anger on a daily basis, and I only felt betrayed. I'm so sorry, Drake. I just want to start over.
Drake could almost believe him. Almost. It was just the slight glint in his eye of a man weighing his every word that gave it away. Still, there was a game to be played.
Drake: I understand entirely, Max. We've all made mistakes. Let's start over.
They shook hands across the desk, both holding the shake a moment longer than necessary, a silent signal from each to the other that they both knew what game was being played here.
Max: Well, then, let's get to business. I understand all your legal unpleasantness has been cleared up?
Drake: Jason and his team were very effective. All the charges have been cleared.
Max: Good, good. Jason is the best we have, our ultimate problem solver. I'm glad that that all worked out for you. Does WZCW know anything about it?
Drake shook his head.
Drake: No. There's no touring immediately following a pay-per-view, so I didn't miss any time. As long as I'm there for Meltdown and Ascension, no one will be the wiser.
Max: Excellent. That would be an unnecessary complication. Now, I think you can surmise why exactly I have gone to the trouble of bringing you here, yes?
Drake: You want a client.
Max: Not just any client. I want to be the agency that represents the WZCW World Heavyweight Champion. There hasn't been a represented world champion in your company since Joseph Rios. Do you know what it will mean for me to bring you under my roof?
Drake: I can imagine.
Max: I don't know if you can entirely, Drake, but it's not important. What you need to know is that I can help you. Endorsements, sponsorships, salary negotiations, everything, we can help you with. With our help, you'll be -
Drake raised a hand. Max had the grace not to look offended at being interrupted, though Drake knew full well he was seething inside.
Drake: I don't need the pitch, Max. I'm on board.
Max did look surprised, and Drake suspected he didn't have to fake it.
Max: I would have thought you'd need a bit more convincing than that.
Drake: Max, I want you to understand my circumstances. I need someone watching my back who has as big an investment in me as, well, me. WZCW is a jungle, and the people there will plot against you to take everything you have and more. The only people I've ever had behind me are people who didn't understand the business - well, besides you, that is. But the fact is that for months, my lack of support has screwed me over time and time again. Everything you can offer me is well and good, Max, and I'm not going to stand in your way of making me as much money as you can, but more than anything else, I just need a wingman. Or a wing-agency, I guess. Someone at my back and my side, helping to put down the plots and keeping this title around my waist. I know what you can do, Max, and I know you can get it done. So bring the contracts, bring whatever needs to be signed. I'm on board.
Max nodded along with his words, then spoke.
Max: We'll have legal draft everything up and have it ready in a few days. We'll start making the calls for sponsors and that kind of thing immediately, but if I've got it right, Drake, you're going to want a direct manager before you leave today, is that right?
Drake: Of course. I'll have to prep you on all the ins and outs of what's changed since you've been gone, but you'll get the hang of it soon -
It was Max's turn to raise a hand and interrupt.
Max: Drake, as much as I'd love to go gallivanting off with you into the thick of things, I have duties here. I can only send a representative with you, but trust me, they're the best in the world.
Drake rubbed his chin, scratching at his beard. He didn't like this. He thought with Max close, he would have a chance to keep a handle on his activities. And there was certainly no one better to manage the conspiracy of WZCW than Max. But what choice did he have? He hated it, but the fact was that he was at Max's mercy here, and whatever he gave him was better than nothing.
Drake: Fine. Who've you got in mind?
Max grinned widely - a genuine grin, unless Drake missed his guess - and pushed a button on the intercom.
Max: Jonathan, send in Stoya.
Drake couldn't help his eyebrows shooting up.
Drake: Stoya?
Max: Relax, big guy. It's not who you think it is.
When Stoya eventually walked through the door, she lived up to her namesake. Tall, dark haired, stunningly beautiful, and dressed to kill. With a longer look at her, Drake decided it wasn't just that she was dressed to kill - she exuded danger, a woman not to be trifled with. Perhaps she would do as well as Max would. She pulled up short of the desk as Max and Drake rose. She extended a hand to Drake and he shook firmly.
Drake: A pleasure to meet you...Stoya.
He was unable to keep a grin off his face as he said her name. She turned to Max and gave an icy smile that didn't touch her eyes.
Stoya: This is what you bring me?
Max: It is a distinctive name, Stoya.
She haughtily turned her gaze back to Drake, freezing him in place with that same cold expression. In all this, she had yet to relinquish his hand.
Stoya: Very well. I am Stoya Vidic. And you are...
He tried to tug his hand back and with a slight, but warmer smile, she let it go. He unconsciously wiped it off on the front of his suit.
Drake: Drake Callahan. The, uh, WZCW World Heavyweight Champion.
He finished the last with a slight grin and a gesture toward the title on the desk. To his surprise, she only rolled her eyes.
Stoya: Oh, how novel. You have a big shiny thing and you want to impress me with it. Where do you find these, Max?
Max laughed again.
Max: Back off, Stoya. He's the one I talked to you about the other day. He's going to need day to day representation and assistance. I expect you can provide that?
Stoya: Of course. I am, however, somewhat disappointed that this is the best you could do for a new client.
Drake: You know, I'm right here...
Stoya: Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?
Max: Look, Stoya, go easy on him. There's more to him than meets the eye, trust me on that. Give him a little time, he'll impress you.
Stoya: With more than his big shiny belt, I hope?
Drake shrugged and turned away. He didn't have to like her for her to help him. He could tell she would handle herself well in WZCW; that was what mattered. He could put on a smile for her and let her mock him if she helped him. That's what mattered.
Max: Well, are you happy with her, Drake?
Drake: Happy? I think I'd be happier with a 300 pound mute, but she'll do.
Stoya: I'll do? You - you - who do you think -
He would just have to give her a little bit back, that's all.
Max raised a hand, barely able to speak for his laughter.
Max: Oh, this is going to be excellent. I'm half ready to go on the road with you two. At any rate, I think I'm going to send Mr. Andal as part of your entourage, Drake. There's nothing wrong with having legal counsel close to hand, just in case something goes wrong with your recent troubles. And a level head might keep you two from tearing each other apart.
Stoya shot a fiery glare his way and he responded with a mocking smile. He wondered at her ability to go from ice cold to blazing hot in seconds.
Stoya: Your lawyers can not stop me teaching a lesson when it is earned, Max.
Max: Stoya, remember who it is your work for.
Stoya: I work for you, of course.
Max: No. As of now, you work for Mr. Callahan.
The glare she sent his way was even hotter than the last one. He felt as though he should be sweating. He could practically hear her gritting her teeth.
Stoya: Fine. I will collect a car.
She spit out the last as she stormed from the room.
Drake: Well, I hate to see her leave...
Max: Please don't finish that sentence.
Drake barked a laugh and collected his belt from Max's desk.
Drake: Is that it, then?
Max nodded.
Max: Jason will have any and all relevant papers e-mailed to him. We'll have a conference call or two in the next couple of days, but the important bits are set out. Keep your entourage close to you out there, Drake. They're your best weapon in WZCW.
Drake: An entourage, eh? Joe always said he was going to find me an entourage...
Max: Who? Joe?
Drake shook his head.
Drake: Nobody. Somebody that I used to know.
He shook hands with Max and exited the office. Andal was waiting for him near the elevator. They shared a nod before descending to ground level and going in search of Stoya and the car.
----
Driving to the airport in a Mercedes, Drake slouched in the passenger side with his belt in his lap. Andal, in the back, was doing something or other on his iPhone while Stoya stared at the road with a hard set to her jaw. Drake could read her well enough to know she was angry. The tension between them had built since he and Andal had met up with her at the car. Even Jason could feel it - he pretended to be working on the phone, but Drake half suspected it was a vigorous game of Doodle Jump. He sighed and sat up straight.
Drake: Look, Stoya, I think we got off on the wrong foot. If we're going to work together, we don't need to be at each other's throats already.
She spared him a level glance, nothing in it that he could see.
Stoya: Fine.
Drake: Is...that it?
Stoya: What else do you want?
Drake: An apology, maybe?
She snorted, a harsh noise he could barely imagine coming from her.
Stoya: I have nothing to apologize for. Speaking my mind is not a crime.
Drake: Alright, fine. You don't have to apologize. I am sorry though, if I offended you.
She nodded slowly but said nothing, looking on only at the road. He sighed and sat back, having done all he could. She seemed somewhat mollified, at any rate.
He picked up the belt and toyed with it, thinking over when he would finally get his name engraved on it. He couldn't help but think about everything he'd lost to get it. It felt like enough. It had to be enough. He sighed deeply and turned it over again. Before he really knew what he was saying, he had spoken.
Drake: Have you ever been in love, Stoya?
Another, longer, but still as unreadable glance went his way. She shrugged.
Stoya: Yes.
Drake: What happened?
Stoya: That conversation extends beyond the bounds of our professional relationship.
He shrugged again and looked up at the city.
Drake: What about you, Jason?
Andal started a little bit and tapped something on his phone.
Andal: I'm married actually.
Drake: But you didn't answer my question.
Andal: Of course, I love my wife.
Drake grunted and shook his head. He had no idea what he wanted to hear. Just talking, really. He turned to look out the window and tried to put dark thoughts out of his mind as they sped along the highway.
----
Entering the arena for WZCW Ascension, it was no surprise that he drew looks.
Here he was - the WZCW World Champion. A few people gave him a round of applause as he passed, but most just stared silently. He adjusted the belt on his shoulder and kept his eyes forward. His new entourage was drawing plenty of interest as well - Andal in a crisp suit, Stoya in a deadly black dress. All in all, he made quite a sight, and there was no question - the majority of WZCW hated him. It came as no surprise - these were the people who were part of the conspiracy to keep him down, after all. How it much hurt to see their failure.
Still. What he wouldn't have given for a friendly face. He caught a glimpse of Becky walking down the hall - she didn't even turn to look at him. At least Leon would have to talk to him when he got there.
He entered a small room an intern had directed him to and found Leon waiting for him, well dressed as usual. He held the door for Stoya and Andal as they stepped through and went to one side. Leon raised an eyebrow as Drake shut the door.
Drake: Leon. Meet Mr. Jason Andal.
The two men shook hands with barely a second glance.
Drake: And Ms. Stoya Vidic.
Stoya and Leon shook hands with much more than a second glance - Leon barely able to keep his eyes in his head, Stoya appearing calm but, to Drake it seemed at least, her anger rising. Leon finally broke away and swallowed a bit.
Leon: So, um, Stoya -
Drake: Don't finish that sentence, Leon. For your own good.
Leon shook his head and gave a glance to Drake before heading over to the cameras and straightening his tie. Drake looked over to Stoya and Andal, to see if they wanted to join him for the interview. Andal ignored him, tapping away on his phone. Stoya shook her head slightly, and Drake shrugged. This, at least, he was more than capable of handling on his own.
He stepped under the lights. Leon started to speak, something about how does it feel to be world heavyweight champion, but Drake decided that he didn't really want to do this. Cutting Leon off, he grabbed the microphone and gestured the camera to come in on him.
Drake: I want to make something clear. I am the WZCW World Heavyweight Champion, and I am no longer answering questions. Instead, I am asking questions. Questions like - why is the world champion working the B-show? Who is in charge of WZCW, and how can I meet them to discuss a new contract? Because WZCW, you should be aware - my current deal is coming to an end, and unless you want me to walk out of here with this title, I'm going to need a very, very, big number next to my name. Why was I not consulted on my preferred choice of match for this round of television? Why have I not been consulted as to my opponent at Apocalypse?
He shook his head woefully.
Drake: You can see that there are so many problems with the way WZCW is conducting it's business. This outright defiance of my place as world champion be nothing less than a manifestation of the ever present conspiracy that pervades this company. Well, I have something to say, people of WZCW - I have backup. I am the newest client of the world class Powers Talent Agency, and my new representation will not allow these injustices to continue.
He smiled for a moment before continuing.
Drake: Now. Let me speak as to this match that I've been put in. I want to make something clear - I am better than every other man that is going to be in the ring this week. I proved that at Redemption. At Redemption, I beat Barbosa. I beat Steven Kurtesy, and most importantly, I beat Showtime. Of course, in this historic contest, I was not in the main event - that honor went to a psychopath and a nobody airing their personal business world wide. What a shock. But I digress. Barbosa, let me make one thing clear to you. You do not register on my radar. You are a flea. You're a freak, and the fact that you were ever world champion is frankly shocking. You have one job in this tag team match, and it's to do exactly what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. Do otherwise, and we'll have a problem - and I am not the sort of man you want to have a problem with.
He continues.
Drake: Steven Kurtesy. How it must rankle at you that you were such a non factor in your rematch. A rematch, I should add, you never did anything to deserve. A match that should have been one on one between me and Showtime, but that I had to earn my way into, and then beat five other men just to get what was rightfully mine. Well, it doesn't matter after all, does it? I have the title, and you are just a pawn of the conspiracy. An instrument of the game that's being played to keep me from greatness - a tool, and in more ways than one. It means nothing for me to wrestle or defeat you - you are no one to me.
He goes on.
Drake: And Showtime...Showtime, it's you most of all I want to end. I know what you must be saying. Six men - it just wasn't fair, was it? You were bound to lose your title. How deeply I feel for you. How awful it must be to be treated unfairly. What an utter tragedy. What an utter load of crap. If you think I care - if you think that anyone cares - that you were treated unfairly at Redemption, think again. I don't care. I'm glad you know what it's like. I'm glad you could taste the conspiracy, even if it wasn't directed at you. You were just caught in its wake as it attacked me, but I won after all, didn't I? I'm glad we get to meet again, though, Showtime. I'm glad I have a chance to show you the error of your ways. Do you remember what I said, Showtime?
The camera zooms in for the last words.
Drake: We're all monsters, Showtime. Every one of us. It's just that you don't know it yet. But by the time we're finished...I think you'll have an idea.
Scene opens in a dressing room at WZCW Studios. Showtime is passed out on an upright chair. A loud bang is made outside of the room and it startles Showtime awake. He looks around the room and then goes to hold his head. He has the remnants of a filled Scotch glass in hand and puts the empty glass down on the table. He grabs some of the cards that are on the table. He picks some up and looks at them.
Had I lost it all.
I looked down at my cue cards to see that I have printed this for myself in preparation for my shows coming up. My return from the pit they call rock bottom. Recovery, one week sober. Minus the five I had an hour before I got here. Stage fright? Never had it before, than again Ive never been this out of control before. Shortly after my loss at Redemption I began to hit up the bottle pretty hard. Many said I was trying to drink away the pain of losing the WZCW Championship to Drake Callahan. The same Drake Callahan who beat me one on one at Meltdown 74 earlier. The loss of the title hit me hard, but it wasnt as hard as what had followed later night, something that had consumed my mind since Meltdown 76. It was the real reason why I turned to drinking not long after Redemption.
Much has been a blur of late since my last victory over Ty Burna at Meltdown 76 and the subsequent end to the greatest feud in WZCW history. Ty Burna, my toughest rival. The man who pushed me to become bigger than I already knew I could be. That night we put to bed our storied rivalry, neither refusing to lose to the other, the decision placed in the hands of the third great wrestler of our generation, the third pillar of our era, Big Dave. 1... 2... 3. Showtime victorious in retaining the WZCW Title, forever in the books as such, but the bigger story is what happened afterwards. With one declaration, Ty Burna ended the career of Big Dave. Symbolically, it was a prelude to what would happen to Ty Burna a few weeks later. One pillar toppling into the other. Leaving behind one pillar left from our generation to hold up the next foundation ready to perform for this company. My mind became consumed about that very idea right after Ty Burna spoke the words to begin it. I carried on as normal, as any great actor knows how to do when he is trying to hide his emotions from others. I did the workouts and preparations. I spoke to the media, answered all the questions, and said all the right things that I was expected to say. The spotlight did shine brighter in the main event, but that was not what lead me to slip and fall in my match. My focus continued to be on this idea of a once great era ending and Redemption did nothing to slow that as Ty Burna was defeated and vanquished from WZCW. The very thing I fought so hard for, how odd it was that it filled me with such sadness when it happened.
The WZCW Championship, the very prize I spent years chasing after, could not fill the void of my despair that I was feeling. My body was ready, but my mind was not, and I was rightfully defeated. Perhaps had I been more prepared for this encounter against five of my biggest challengers, I would still be here today champion. That luxury cannot be rewritten now, its there forever in history. Showtime... again... has a short title reign. This is without a doubt the most disappointing reign Ive ever had in my career, you can quote that from me right here. It fills me with such anger that I had another short title reign. I feel like I should try and pummel Drake Callahan and put aside all this good nice guy Showtime talk Ive been saying and start telling it like it is. Except that hasnt happened yet.
This idea that Ive had in my head has led me to doubt even myself, this idea that I am the last of an era. I look around the locker room these days and see a lot of new faces. Young kids, hard workers. Some will have bright futures, others wont. Many look up to me as an icon and I cant help but look down at them as the future. I am the star of this company, but I also know that no position is safe. People come and go all the time in this business. I see all the debuting wrestlers and some more skilled veterans. I look around to find wrestlers from my era. They are all gone. Ty, Big Dave, Blade, Phoenix, Austin Reynolds. Drake Callahan and Rush, theyve returned only a few months ago and feel more apart of this new wave than apart of my time. Steven Kurtesy and Matt Tastic are the only ones who debuted before my second year that are still competing, but Tastics gone through multiple name changes and Kurtesy changed professions. In other words, theyve been repackaged to seem new. While a few of my personal demons have slipped to the surface, I have remained mostly the same. I have impressive mostly of course, attaining everything there is to achieve in WZCW. Despite my poor length in reigns I still have also successfully defended every single title. That validates everything that I claim to be, but now that I have lost the WZCW World Heavyweight Title and I am alone a pillar holding up the last of a great generation in WZCW, where do I go from here?
Do I fall back in with the crowd from the older era? Slide up and down the card to only do big matches when they need someone to fill in. Does it all end like Everest, like Carmen Bratchny, like Vengeance, where not a word is spoken of them. I can go up and down the list of things to accomplish in WZCW and from titles to main events and PPV buys I can say that Ive accomplished everything. I could leave right proud of what I accomplished, retire now and once again shock the audience, agree to play the lead role in Ant-man, sign on to do commercials. I could do it all with no regret and no humiliation.
Showtime gets up and walks over to the door. Hes about to open the door, but his hand stops. He looks down at the door knob and then lowers his hand and steps back.
No... I could do all that, but Im not finished giving everything I have left for this company, for this business, for these fans. I have had doubt in myself, but I dont doubt what I am capable of. Drake I have been nice with because I have been remorseful of my past. Now, its about personal pride and when I decided to use my rematch clause I will be ready to fight Drake. The final act has only just begun and theres now telling how long the encore may be after Im through with him.
A stage hand enters the room.
Stage hand: We are ready to go Mr. Cougar.
Showtime nods his head and looks at the stage hand.
Cougar: Its Showtime.
Lose
verb, lost, los·ing.
verb (used with object)
1.
to come to be without (something in one's possession*or care), through accident, theft, etc., so that there is little or no prospect of recovery: I'm sure I've merely misplaced my WZCW Championship belt, not lost it.
2.
to fail inadvertently to retain (something) in such a way that it cannot be immediately recovered: I just lost a World Heavyweight title belt to this Crazy Cleveland Conspiracist.
3.
to suffer the deprivation of: to lose one's endorsements; to lose one's fans.
4.
to be bereaved of by death: to lose a dream.
5.
to fail to keep, preserve, or maintain: to lose one's balance; to lose one's position.
verb, lost, los·ing.
verb (used with object)
1.
to come to be without (something in one's possession*or care), through accident, theft, etc., so that there is little or no prospect of recovery: I'm sure I've merely misplaced my WZCW Championship belt, not lost it.
2.
to fail inadvertently to retain (something) in such a way that it cannot be immediately recovered: I just lost a World Heavyweight title belt to this Crazy Cleveland Conspiracist.
3.
to suffer the deprivation of: to lose one's endorsements; to lose one's fans.
4.
to be bereaved of by death: to lose a dream.
5.
to fail to keep, preserve, or maintain: to lose one's balance; to lose one's position.
Fail·ure   
noun
1.
an act or instance of failing *or proving unsuccessful; lack of success: Showtimes effort ended in failure. The reign was a failure.
2.
nonperformance of something due, required, or expected: a failure to do what Showtime has promised; a failure to deliver.
3.
a subnormal quantity or quality; an insufficiency: the failure of retaining one championship.
4.
deterioration or decay, especially of vigor, strength, etc.: The failure of his strength to compete.
5.
a condition of being bankrupt by reason*of insolvency. Not an issue
noun
1.
an act or instance of failing *or proving unsuccessful; lack of success: Showtimes effort ended in failure. The reign was a failure.
2.
nonperformance of something due, required, or expected: a failure to do what Showtime has promised; a failure to deliver.
3.
a subnormal quantity or quality; an insufficiency: the failure of retaining one championship.
4.
deterioration or decay, especially of vigor, strength, etc.: The failure of his strength to compete.
5.
a condition of being bankrupt by reason*of insolvency. Not an issue
Had I lost it all.
I looked down at my cue cards to see that I have printed this for myself in preparation for my shows coming up. My return from the pit they call rock bottom. Recovery, one week sober. Minus the five I had an hour before I got here. Stage fright? Never had it before, than again Ive never been this out of control before. Shortly after my loss at Redemption I began to hit up the bottle pretty hard. Many said I was trying to drink away the pain of losing the WZCW Championship to Drake Callahan. The same Drake Callahan who beat me one on one at Meltdown 74 earlier. The loss of the title hit me hard, but it wasnt as hard as what had followed later night, something that had consumed my mind since Meltdown 76. It was the real reason why I turned to drinking not long after Redemption.
Much has been a blur of late since my last victory over Ty Burna at Meltdown 76 and the subsequent end to the greatest feud in WZCW history. Ty Burna, my toughest rival. The man who pushed me to become bigger than I already knew I could be. That night we put to bed our storied rivalry, neither refusing to lose to the other, the decision placed in the hands of the third great wrestler of our generation, the third pillar of our era, Big Dave. 1... 2... 3. Showtime victorious in retaining the WZCW Title, forever in the books as such, but the bigger story is what happened afterwards. With one declaration, Ty Burna ended the career of Big Dave. Symbolically, it was a prelude to what would happen to Ty Burna a few weeks later. One pillar toppling into the other. Leaving behind one pillar left from our generation to hold up the next foundation ready to perform for this company. My mind became consumed about that very idea right after Ty Burna spoke the words to begin it. I carried on as normal, as any great actor knows how to do when he is trying to hide his emotions from others. I did the workouts and preparations. I spoke to the media, answered all the questions, and said all the right things that I was expected to say. The spotlight did shine brighter in the main event, but that was not what lead me to slip and fall in my match. My focus continued to be on this idea of a once great era ending and Redemption did nothing to slow that as Ty Burna was defeated and vanquished from WZCW. The very thing I fought so hard for, how odd it was that it filled me with such sadness when it happened.
The WZCW Championship, the very prize I spent years chasing after, could not fill the void of my despair that I was feeling. My body was ready, but my mind was not, and I was rightfully defeated. Perhaps had I been more prepared for this encounter against five of my biggest challengers, I would still be here today champion. That luxury cannot be rewritten now, its there forever in history. Showtime... again... has a short title reign. This is without a doubt the most disappointing reign Ive ever had in my career, you can quote that from me right here. It fills me with such anger that I had another short title reign. I feel like I should try and pummel Drake Callahan and put aside all this good nice guy Showtime talk Ive been saying and start telling it like it is. Except that hasnt happened yet.
This idea that Ive had in my head has led me to doubt even myself, this idea that I am the last of an era. I look around the locker room these days and see a lot of new faces. Young kids, hard workers. Some will have bright futures, others wont. Many look up to me as an icon and I cant help but look down at them as the future. I am the star of this company, but I also know that no position is safe. People come and go all the time in this business. I see all the debuting wrestlers and some more skilled veterans. I look around to find wrestlers from my era. They are all gone. Ty, Big Dave, Blade, Phoenix, Austin Reynolds. Drake Callahan and Rush, theyve returned only a few months ago and feel more apart of this new wave than apart of my time. Steven Kurtesy and Matt Tastic are the only ones who debuted before my second year that are still competing, but Tastics gone through multiple name changes and Kurtesy changed professions. In other words, theyve been repackaged to seem new. While a few of my personal demons have slipped to the surface, I have remained mostly the same. I have impressive mostly of course, attaining everything there is to achieve in WZCW. Despite my poor length in reigns I still have also successfully defended every single title. That validates everything that I claim to be, but now that I have lost the WZCW World Heavyweight Title and I am alone a pillar holding up the last of a great generation in WZCW, where do I go from here?
Do I fall back in with the crowd from the older era? Slide up and down the card to only do big matches when they need someone to fill in. Does it all end like Everest, like Carmen Bratchny, like Vengeance, where not a word is spoken of them. I can go up and down the list of things to accomplish in WZCW and from titles to main events and PPV buys I can say that Ive accomplished everything. I could leave right proud of what I accomplished, retire now and once again shock the audience, agree to play the lead role in Ant-man, sign on to do commercials. I could do it all with no regret and no humiliation.
Showtime gets up and walks over to the door. Hes about to open the door, but his hand stops. He looks down at the door knob and then lowers his hand and steps back.
No... I could do all that, but Im not finished giving everything I have left for this company, for this business, for these fans. I have had doubt in myself, but I dont doubt what I am capable of. Drake I have been nice with because I have been remorseful of my past. Now, its about personal pride and when I decided to use my rematch clause I will be ready to fight Drake. The final act has only just begun and theres now telling how long the encore may be after Im through with him.
A stage hand enters the room.
Stage hand: We are ready to go Mr. Cougar.
Showtime nods his head and looks at the stage hand.
Cougar: Its Showtime.
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