Lethal Lottery IV: 30 Man Lethal Lottery Match

[Harthan]

A sudden burst of laughter and song fills a gloomy, otherwise silent street on a brisk evening in Cleveland. The door to a bar has been thrown open and a stumbling, shambling figure emerges, clutching in one hand an empty beer bottle. Some rough looking figures stand in the doorway, having pushed the figure out of the bar, and shake their heads in disapproval as they close the door behind them. The figure takes a few tentative steps and draws itself up, seeming to have its balance now. Promptly, it collapses forward and lays for a moment on the street, letting the empty bottle roll away with a slight tinkling sound. The noise of a hiccup reverberates throughout the street.

“Just getting started,” remarks Drake Callahan. He pulls himself off of the street and dusts himself off. He looks about the street and orients himself. Taking another step, he feels the world lurch around him, and finds himself flat on the ground again. He turns over on his back and looks at what stars he can see above the city lights. He runs a hand across his mouth, and checks that he hasn’t lost any teeth. Once more, he draws himself up and this time, ever so tentatively, takes a step. Everything spins, and once again, Drake and the ground are more intimately acquainted. This time, he doesn’t get up, but observes the stars once more.

“World,” he suddenly addresses the empty surroundings, slurring extensively, “you have really got to get it together here. I can forgive the first time, okay, you’d had a lot to drink and it was cold outside. The second time, seriously, what was that? You should have had it under control by then. And this, this, this I’m pretty sure is just you trying to mess with me. Now, I need to get up and walk to the nearest establishment that will sell me alcohol, and I’m not going to put up with any more of this spinning, lurching garbage when I try to walk there. Alright? Have we got a deal?”

The world does not deign to respond. Drake nods, trusting in the implicit understanding, but curiously finds his legs uncooperative with the act of righting himself. He moans, the dreadful lament echoing in the silent street.

“Just when I get the world on my side, my legs give out. What is a man to do?”

“Need some help?”

Drake thrashes wildly as he looks for the source of the voice. “What? Who’s there? Where are you? Oh, God, the voices, the voices are back, they’re in my head just like last time. No, Aunt Polly, I don’t want to go with the doctors, I don’t want to take the medicine…”

“I’m not in your head. I’m standing right here.”

With the world still conspiring against him, everything is lurching about too rapidly for Drake to see anything. He remains unconvinced. “I don’t want to go back to the white room, it smelled like cheese…and the blue man, the blue man! He’s waiting for me there, he said so, and he’s waiting with King Charles and the fifth Beatle, to take me beyond the seventh door!”

A woman suddenly enters Drake’s frame of vision, standing directly over him. “Can you see me here? I’m real, and I’m standing right here. Okay?”

Drake moans even louder this time. “Oh, God, now it’s the hallucinations! They told me this would happen if I stopped taking my meds, but is it my fault that my meds were mysteriously sold to a Puerto Rican gentlemen in exchange for a zoo membership? Is it my fault that giraffes are so adorable that some weak willed individual that is certainly not I could sell the only thing tethering him to sanity just to spend every day looking at them? Oh, what a world!”

The woman remains dogged. “Okay, sunshine. It’s time to come back to the real world.” She grabs him around the chest and pulls him to his feet. “Can you stand up on your own? Don’t try to walk.” Drake nods feebly and puts all his effort into standing. His legs, grudgingly, return to some semblance of obedience.

“For a hallucination, you’re pretty strong.”

“Thanks,” she says with a sarcastic smile, “but I’m not a hallucination.”

“Are you sure? You seem pretty hallucinagish.”

“That’s definitely not a word.”

“It is so! It just hasn’t caught on yet. I invent words all the time. Watch - snorgariffic. Blastacrunch. Smoopsh. Twiddle.”
“Twiddle’s already a word.”

“Aha, you see? It caught on. Just a matter of time for the rest of them.”

“Sure thing, cowboy. How do you feel about walking?”

“Alas, fair maiden, I have been bested in this endeavor thrice this night alone, and I am afeared that my enfeebled wits are not equal to so mighty a task.”

“…Do you often talk like that?”

“Talk like what?” As way of punctuation, he belches loudly.

“Okay, you know what, never mind. Let’s just try one step, okay?”

“I can’t be certain you’re not just another conspiracy of the world designed to make me fall down again. “

“For the last time, guy, I’m not a hallucination. I’m real. See? Touch my arm.”

She reaches out her arm for Drake to grab. He surveys it with narrowed eyes, giving fleeting glimpses at the woman’s eyes to ensure there is no devious intent. He reaches out his own hand with the intent of grabbing her forearm, but the devious, devious world gives another sickening lurch and he suddenly, quite inexplicably, finds himself with a hand clutching a breast.

“Well, now however did that get there?”

Suddenly, Drake finds himself on the ground once more, this time with the side of his face in inexplicable pain.

“I just don't know what went wrong...”

The woman, red faced, takes a deep breath.

“Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on that one. Sorry. Shouldn't have slapped you. Don’t even think of trying that again.”

Drake gives a lazy grin. “If it helps, I’m convinced you’re real now.”

“Great. Awesome. I’m thrilled. Now get up, or I’m leaving you here.”

Drake tries to right himself, but the world and his legs have joined forces in evil and steadfastly refuse to allow him to stand. He groans. “What do you care anyway?”

“I’m not going to leave some guy on the street to die. Unless he continues to be a belligerent idiot.”

“You should probably help that guy out.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She roughly pulls Drake to his feet this time, and puts her hands on his shoulders to right him. “Good? You can stand okay? You believe I’m real?”

Drake stares at her dumbly.

"What now?"

“I don’t know how to answer three questions in a row.”

“Are you that drunk, or just stupid?”

“No, I’m Drake. Drake Callahan, nice to meet you.”

She looks incredulous. “Christ. I’ve seen you on TV. I always thought that was just an act. You really get this wasted all the time?”

“Yes ma’am. What, you think wrestling’s fake, or something?”

“Uhh…no, no, not at all.”

Drake beams. “Wonderful. And your name is?”

“What?”

“I introduced myself. Normally, you introduce yourself now. Then we shake hands, talk about the weather, maybe local sports, and if that goes well, we get to be friends.”

“Oh. Right. I’m Kate. Kate Stanton. Nice to meet you.” She offers her hand. “Make sure you get my hand this time, genius.”

“Please, there’s no need for flattery.” He takes her hand and shakes it vigorously.

“Such pleasant weather we’re having.”

“Seriously? This is what we’re doing right now?”

“I have only used my snow blower twice this winter.”

“Please tell me this is a joke.”

“I hear it will be above 50 next Tuesday.”

“I…alright, fine, if this gets us out of here faster. Yes, I heard that, and sunny too.”

Drake nods and gives a warm, slightly condescending smile. “Now you’re getting it. One moment, please.”

He reaches into a pocket and retrieves a small notebook and a pen. He opens the notebook and scans the page. He arrives at a page titled “Talking to Girls Checklist”. He scans, mumbling loudly…”Drink….drink more…fall down…grab breast…there we go, talk about weather.” He closes the notebook and smiles.

“You plan these kinds of things?”

“I haven’t the first idea what you’re talking about. Say, the Cleveland Cavaliers sure are doing well, aren’t they?”

“Your checklist! I just saw you. You meant to do all of this!”

“Sorry, I don’t know what checklist you’re talking about. What a fine young player is Kyrie Irving.”

Kate furiously shakes her head. “No, I’m not doing this. You’re trying to check that off your list, and then move on to God knows what.”

“I’m just making conversation. Spring training is starting soon.”

She lets out a deep sigh. “Okay, okay, fine. Uh. The Cavaliers beat the Pacers the other night, right? Is that okay?”

“Wonderful. Excuse me for a moment.”

He pulls out the checklist once more and makes a check.

“Seriously, I can see you doing this.”

“See me doing what?”

“The checklist! The casual conversation! The everything!” Her head is starting to pound.

“Would you like to get a drink?”

“God, yes.”

“Wonderful! Please follow me.”

He promptly falls down once more and Kate puts her head in her hands.

“Next time, I’m leaving the hobo to die.” Still, she picks Drake up and lets him lean on her as they walk in search of the nearest bar.

-----------------

“So there I was, alone in the jungles of Cameroon, with nothing but a single dull knife to protect me from thirty tigers…”

Drake Callahan is wildly gesticulating and emphasizing his outlandish story as he sits at a table in a small dive bar on an anonymous street corner. Across from him, sipping on a drink, is Kate, unsure why she’s been listening to his stories for the better part of the two hours since she had brought him to this bar that he insisted upon going to. He was insane, potentially dangerous, but inexplicably charming and Kate found herself completely content to simply let him ramble. He somehow seemed amused and even encouraged at her occasional commentary. She sipped at the same drink she’d been working on all night. She wasn’t much for drinking, but Drake had insisted. Once caught in his stories, however, he had promptly forgotten to pay attention to whether or not she was actually consuming anything. She smiled a little, confused but somehow happy.

“Thirty, hm?”

“Thirty at least! And each one bigger and meaner than the last!”

“Uh huh.”

Drake gives her a raised eyebrow and narrowed eyes, a combination she had hitherto considered impossible and that gave Drake the most confusingly interesting face she had ever seen.

“I’m beginning to think you don’t believe me.”

“Not even a little bit.”

Drake slams his hands down on the table in what she assumed was mock anger, but then again, she wasn’t sure Drake understood the idea of mockery.

“Why not?”

“Drake, do you even know where Cameroon is?”

“Er, well, I don’t see how that’s relevant…”

“Did you know that there are no tigers in Cameroon?”

Drake draws himself up proudly and gave a winning smile. “Not anymore there aren’t.”

Kate opens her mouth, but instead of her rebuttal she found herself laughing instead.

“Alright, fair enough. Go on.”

Drake gives a gracious nod of his head. “Thank you, now as I was saying…er…what was I saying?”

“Tigers. Thirty of them. Cameroon, dull knives.”

“Right, right…I forget how that one ends, actually. But there was the time I fought a polar bear at the South Pole…”

Kate decided not to bother this time.

“Dr. von Terrible had attached laser cannons to the polar bears, you see, which complicated the means of attacking them, especially considering I was armed only with a sharpened stick and my wits…”

“Mmm.”

“But, by manipulating the stick just right, I was able to use it as a throwing device and got it stuck just right in the laser cannons, thereby rendering them disabled…”

“Mmmmm.”

Drake seems to return to the present and looks at Kate more critically this time.

“You know, by this point, most girls I meet are a little more interested.”

“I’m very interested.”

“Really? Then tell me how I defeated Dr. von Terrible’s assistant, Svetlana.”

Kate runs a hand through her hair and smiles a little sheepishly. “Uh…you jumped on the back of one of the polar bears and used its laser cannon?”

“Lucky guess!”

“Fine, try me again.”

“How did I befriend the native peoples of the South Pole?”

“Uh, you offered them fish?”

“Trick question! There are no native peoples of the South Pole. I knew you weren’t listening.” He pouts a little bit and sulks.

“Oh, come on, Drake. We both know none of these stories are real.”

“Well, I mean, they’re based on true stories…”

“Drake.”

“They’re not completely implausible!”

“Drake!”

“…Okay, fine, I made them all up. Most girls just laugh and ask me questions, you know. And not the hard questions, but nice questions, like how I got my muscles to be so big…”

Kate snorts and chokes back laughter. “Really? Sounds like you’ve been hanging around with some real winners.”

“These girls are very intelligent young ladies, I’ll have you know. One of them was attending cosmology school.”

“I think you mean cosmetology school.”

“Oh…that would explain why she didn’t know anything about Ascendra, the hidden second moon.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

Drake raises an eyebrow in her general direction.

“No, of course you’re not.”

Drake isn’t paying attention, as he finds himself distracted by a small old man staring directly at him from the bar. Drake looks around for a moment to see if the man might be staring at anyone else, but the man seems to be staring only at him.

“So, where does this end tonight, Drake?”

Drake is utterly unaware of her speaking, as he remains fixated on the man staring at him.

“Drake? Hello? This is ground control to Major Drake. Drake, I’m going to order fondue. Drake, I have a jar of cat heads in my basement. Drake, I’m actually a space alien. Drake, I’m married to Oprah.”

Drake stirs himself just a little and tries to piece together the last few moments of conversation. “Don’t be ridiculous, Oprah’s not a space alien. And you can’t marry a cat.”

“What are you staring at?”

“Some old guy is seriously weirding me out.”

“Oh, that guy? I noticed him. He’s probably just drunk.”

Drake shrugs and tries to ignore it.

“So, do you want to get out of here?”

Kate’s been waiting for this all night.

“No, Drake, I’m sorry, but I’m not in college anymore and I’m too old to do this. I’m not going home with some drunk guy at a bar, let alone one I met thinking he was a hobo who needed to be taken to an emergency room.”

Drake looks crestfallen. “Oh…sorry, I thought…I guess I thought you liked me. Sorry for bothering you.”

Kate bites her lip a little. This was stupid. For all she knew, this guy was a lunatic. “Look, Drake, I’m sorry, I do like you, I just mean I don’t want to do…this, not like this, anyway. I’ll give you my number, alright? Call me when you sober up, maybe we can do something a little less…insane, next time?”

Kate starts to write her number on a napkin. Halfway through, she looks up at Drake. “You can read, right?”

“Why does everyone always think I can’t read? Of course I can, how else would I know what beer I was drinking?”

Kate smiles as she nods and finishes writing down her number.

“Alright. There you go. Call me when you feel up to it, okay? I…I had an interesting time tonight.”

Drake beams as he takes the number. He raises a hand in farewell as Kate departs out the front door into the cold. He looks around the old bar, still relatively filled up with the usual crowd. He took a deep breath and let the spirit of the bar fill him up. An old place with the radio on low and everyone here just to get away for a little while. He lived for places like this. The only thing that was off was the strange old man still staring him down. “I got nothing better to do now,” he said to himself, and got up to confront the old man about what he was up to.

As Drake stands up to go over to the old man, he’s suddenly confronted by a raging drunkard stumbling into him. The disheveled man, a little older than Drake, lurches about wildly. Drake, who’s since regained his stability and sorted out both the world and his legs, maintains his balance and grips a table.

“Hey, friend, might want to watch where you’re going.”

The disheveled drunkard draws himself up and stares Drake square in the eye.

“Aye, and who are you, you old high and mighty bastard? I know you, with your fancy clothes and your big wallet, you coming into my bar and entertaining your ****e. I seen you on the TV, yeah, big time wrestler, right? Pah! Too good for us now, so why are you here? Get out of here, and don’t tell me what to do in my own bar.”

Drake tries to keep his cool, but he’s had a lot to drink even by his standards, and he feels his anger rising.

“Take that back.”

“Take what back, you upjumped pig fucker?”

“Kate. Don’t call her a ****e. Take it back.”

The drunkard makes a braggadocios gesture and gets the whole bar’s attention with a deep belly laugh.

“What, do you love her? I heard the whole thing between you two, the bitch turned you down when you asked to go pork her! I’m an honest man, not like your lot, pretending to be something you’re not, aye, and I call a spade a spade, and I call a ****e a ****e.” . And he spit in Drake’s face.

The fight was short and the crowd separated the two before any real damage could be done. Drake had thrown the first punch, breaking the man’s nose. After that it had been ineffectual struggling and they were quickly pulled apart. The patrons threw the drunkard out and were about to throw Drake out with him and let the two have it out in the street, but the old man at the bar spoke up.

“Leave him be. I want to talk to him.”

The crowd mumbles and grumbles but they respect the old man and push Drake toward him. Drake dusts himself off and takes a seat next to the man. The fight and the adrenaline had sobered him up somewhat.

“You know who that was?”

Drake is caught off guard by the sudden question. He orders a drink and the bartender shoots him a glance, but brings it. Drake drinks before answering.

“No. Should I?”

“Yeah, yeah you should. That’s Jason McAllister.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I didn’t think it would. Do you know where you are right now?”

“I’m in a bar in Cleveland. Something special about it?”

“I know who you are, you know.”

“Are you going to answer any of my questions?”

“In time. I know who you are. Who you used to be, anyway.”

Drake runs his hand through his hair and takes a long drink. He turns back to the man who’s staring judgmentally at him.

“How many have you had?”

“As many as I want to. Who did I used to be?”

“Someone who cared about people. Someone who tried to help.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You called yourself a prophet, back then. Stupid, but people bought into it and they came to see you.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Was it so long ago? I guess it was. But you used to help people.”

Drake thought back. In his younger days, he’d come from a rough neighborhood. He remembered always wishing there was someone around to tell him what to do, and help out everyone around him, but there never was. He left to train in wrestling, but when he’d returned, he’d decided to do something about it. In between small wrestling gigs, he’d called himself a prophet and tried to help people. He told them what he thought about life, and even if he was making it up as he went along, people seemed to be happy to listen to him. They’d come to him for advice, and he’d organized community events – food drives, basketball programs, that kind of thing. He smiled to remember those times. He’d made the prophet his wrestling gimmick to, and lived the life all the time.

“You’re smiling. Either you’re simple, or you remember what it was like.”

“Yeah. I do. I helped people out. Those were good times.”

“And then you started drinking.”

Drake’s head starts swimming. He holds it until it passes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve always been drinking.”

“You stepped it up when your career started to go places. Everyone knows it. What nobody knows is why.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The old man chews on nothing and stares down Drake. “No? I suppose you don’t. “

Drake finds his hand shaking a little bit and finishes his drink to steady it.

“So. You remember, then. And you remember leaving all of it behind to go be a superstar.”

“I never made promises. I did what I could while I was here. And then I got my big break, and I had a job. I had responsibilities.”

“And the drinking got worse.”

“I wish you’d stop talking about that.”

The old man raises his hands. “Fine. What I want to know is why you left this place so completely. Do you know where you are, right now?”

Drake looks around and suddenly sees the place in a new light. He’d been so drunk, and so caught up with Kate when he came here, he hadn’t realized.

“This is…this is the old neighborhood. This bar…I used to be here all the time, back in the day.”

“You remember. Good. You remember the last time you were here?”
--------

Spoiler

The scene - a dark sidewalk outside of a building downtown. From the building, loud music and happy shouting can be heard, more than likely alchohol induced. Outside, Leon Kensworth is shown waiting impatiently, arms crossed and tapping his foot. After a few moments of impatient waiting, he glances and his watch and sighs in frustration.

Kensworth: Where is he? He said he'd meet me outside at 8. It's past midnight!

The camera moves up and down, as the cameraman shrug.

A few moments later the door to the building opens and the music amplifies as it spills out into the street. "The Prophet" Drake Callahan, clad in trench coat and sunglasses (even at midnight), emerges into the dimly lit street, a beautiful woman on his right arm and a Budweiser in his left hand. He chuckles and kisses the woman, who walks down the street. He takes a deep swig of the beer, finishing it off. He turns it upside down and checks that there's none left, and then throws it over his shoulder.

Kensworth sighs gratefully and hurriedly walks over to Drake.

Kensworth: Mr. Callahan! Mr. Callahan, what took you so long?

Drake looks around confusedly for a moment, before seeing Kensworth. He breaks into a drunken grin. He speaks with a slight slur.

Drake: Leon! I missed you...

He reaches to hug Kensworth, who steps back out of the way.

Kensworth: You're drunk!

Drake shrugs.

Drake: A little bit, yeah.

Kensworth: A little bit? How many have you had?

Drake holds up all his fingers, then grins stupidly.

Drake: I stopped counting when I ran out of fingers.

Kensworth exhales exhaustedly.

Kensworth: You're in no shape for an interview. Honestly, you make me wait for hours and then you show up drunk?

He starts to walk off, but Drake catches him by the shirt.

Drake: No, hey, buddy...I'm okay.

He punctuates this by stepping back and stumbling. Kensworth looks at him skeptically.

Kensworth: Okay, fine. Tell me what you think of the battle royale coming up.

Drake: Right. Royal battle, big stuff. I think it's very important. Like, really really. Because...you know. A battle is one thing, Leon, but a royal battle is something else altogether.

Kensworth: You don't have any idea what I'm talking about, do you.

Drake: Not really, no.

Kensworth starts to walk off, throwing his hands up, but Drake catches him again. There is a slight whine in his voice.

Drake: No, please, Leon, tell me about the battle king.

Kensworth: The battle royal.

Drake: That one too.

Kensworth rolls his eyes, but indulges Drake. Drake nods periodically throughout.

Kensworth: Okay, look. There's gonna be a match at the next pay per view, between four men, okay? And the match is for the title. Three men are already picked, and there's going to be an open battle royal to determine the fourth man. He hesitates. You...do know what a battle royal is, right?

Drake scoffs.

Drake: Of course. It's a battle whose mommy was a queen and whose daddy was a king.

He looks at Kensworth as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Kensworth's jaw is slightly open.

Kensworth: No, Drake, it's...look, a bunch of men get in the ring, and if you get thrown over the top rope and both feet hit the floor, you're eliminated. The last man standing wins.

Drake looks confused.

Drake: But what's so royal about that?

Kensworth: Well, it's...there's a lot of men and...well, it's just...royal.

Drake: Doesn't sound that royal to me.

Kensworth: Look, it doesn't matter. What matters is you are in this match, and I want to know what you think about it.

Drake scratches his chin and looks to the sky.

Drake: Well, Kensworth...if I win, I get a shot at the world title. And that, that is a big deal. Because, you see, Leon, I am a prophet. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. See, I have cards that say so.

The camera zooms in on the card, which reads:

Drake Callahan
Prophet

Drake: Here, take a few, give 'em to your friends... He hands Kensworth a few, and then grins drunkenly. He extends his hand to Kensworth. Hi, I'm Drake Callahan.

Kensworth looks at Drake, and he pulls back his hand, still smiling.

Drake: Anyway, Leon...I'm a prophet. I'm not a very serious prophet, but I'm a prophet. I want to make people happy, you know? Everyone is so unhappy, with the war and the economy, and all that bad mojo. And I'm not a big fan of unhappiness, because it tends to kill my buzz. Not just my buzz, but the world's buzz. So, Leon...I might not be a serious guy, but people should take me seriously. Or at least listen to me. And I figure, how can I make people listen to me? Well, I could write a book, but...then I'd have to, like...write. I could have been a televangelist. But, you know, that's not my scene. So the next logical conclusion was to get on TV. Now, I like to wrestle. It makes me happy, Leon. So happy. Inside. Like...beer. Wrestling is like beer. Except, you know...you like, drink beer.

Leon nods impatiently, waving Drake to get to the point.

Drake: Well, right. So, I figure, I'm on TV. But people don't have to listen to me. They would have to listen to me if I was a champion though, right? Kensworth nods. So, I figure, the best way to further the SBR&R movement - that's Sex, Booze, Rock & Roll, in case you didn't know - is to become a champion. And who, Leon, is the best of the best of champions? Well, the world champion of course! So, I'm gonna be a part of this...um...

Kensworth: Battle royal, Drake.

Drake: Right, that one. So I'm gonna be a part of the battle royal, and I think I'm gonna win. I hope I'm gonna win. I'd pray I was gonna win, but you know, beer bottles don't tend to answer many prayers. Although there was this one time in Tijuana...

Kensworth: Back the point, Drake.

Drake: Sure thing, buddy. So if I win, I'll be pretty stoked. Because then I'd go on to challenge for the title. And if I was world champion, Leon, well...everyone would listen. It'd be a pretty cool world, if people listened to me. So that's the plan, Leon. Win the match, win the title, change the world. I think it's pretty solid.

Kensworth: But you do realize you'll be going up many wrestlers with far more experience than you.

Drake: Right, well...I'll just have to, like, win.

Kensworth: Any plan of action for that?

Drake: I figure I'll wing it.

Kensworth: You're a visionary, really.

Drake smiles widely.

Drake: Thanks, man! I always knew it, and know you've acknowledged it. I'm on the way to the top, buddy! He looks at Leon critically. Hey, how about being my first convert?

Kensworth: Um. Maybe later? How about the men in the match? What do you think of them?

Drake thinks for a moment.

Drake: Well, who's signed up so far?

Kensworth: You've got Carmen Bratchny, Kyle Christianson, Eric Derf, Mike Ryder, Shock, and Daniel Stokes.

Drake looks at Kensworth.

Drake: Well, um. Leon, I don't know any of those people.

Kensworth shakes his head in disappointment.

Drake: But look, I don't think it matters. You know, I've always been a fan of going to parties alone and making my friends there. So I'm going into this match, and I'll see who wants to be my friend.

Kensworth: But what if no one wants to be your friend? I mean, everyone is vying for that world title shot.

Drake: Well, if I can't make any friends at a party, you know what I do? Well, Leon...I get drunk and I dance like a maniac! So I'll apply the same idea to the match. If I can't make an ally, well...I'll just be my own man, get hammered, and take down everyone else in the ring! He beams proudly. Because it's all about being world champ, right Leon? Because I'm a prophet, and prophets see the future... He pulls down his sunglasses for the first time in the interview.

And the future is me.

He pats Leon on the shoulder and walks off down the street, leaving a dazed and confused Leon Kensworth as the camera cuts to black.

----------

“My first interview…that’s when I got my big break. This bar…it’s the same bar.”

“Yeah, and the last time anyone ever saw you around here, till tonight. Yeah, good for you. Your big break. And then we never saw you again around here, always on the road, always on the TV, but never with the people you helped, never where you belonged. You left this place to the wolves, and that’s where it went. It’s even worse now than when you were a kid. Your fault. In part, at least.”

“I was busy…I had to be on the road, and doing things for the company…”

“You sold out. But I suspect even deeper down, you were just waiting for an excuse to leave this place forever. And you took the first train out.”

“That’s not true. I came back to this place after I trained.”

 

[Harthan]

“I know. Something happened to you here, I think, and you tried to run away from it. WZCW gave you your chance. Only reason you’re here now is because you were too drunk to realize you were coming back.”

Somewhere, back in Drake’s head, there’s a small voice screaming at him to get out of here, but he can’t fathom why and he pushes it aside.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. All I remember is getting on the road with WZCW and I just never found the right time to get back.”

“Yeah. I figured as much.”

“So…that guy. This Jason McAllister. Where does he fit in?”

“You don’t remember him?”

Drake shakes his head, with confusion in his eyes.

“He was part of the…flock, if you will. He bought into you. Hard. Always working hard at whatever it is you were planning, this event or that event. He needed you. When you took up drinking, so did he. He liked it a little too much, just like yourself. When you left, he just kept drinking, but he fell apart without you around. When his wife passed…that was it. He went off the deep end. All he does now is wander around, beg for cash, and get drunk.” The old man raises an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. How did you just forget about him? He used to be one of your most dedicated.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember any of this.”

The man chews as he’s done all night. “Fine. I believe you. And I know why you forgot.”

“Why?”

“It’s the damned drink, you idiot. It’s rotted your brain. Christ, I saw you on the news, you know, when you got busted for those drugs. How stupid were you? Didn’t know what crack was. You came from this neighborhood, you knew what it was. Either you’re one hell of a liar or you’d gone daft, I said then. I see now. The drink, Drake, the drink’s taken it’s toll on you.”

Drake shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. Maybe that’s true. But I am who I am now, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Is that so?”

Drake gives a sidelong glance and shrugs. He waves the bartender to bring him a drink, but the old man waves it off.

“No, that’s enough. Listen. I’m not just doing this to make you feel bad and have a long reflection at yourself. I have a warning, and an offer.”

Drake looks longingly at the alcohol behind the bar, but comes back to the conversation. He rubs a hand over his eyes.

“Fine.”

“Jason is you, plus one disaster. You can be him in a heartbeat. Maybe you lose this big match you have coming up, what is it? The Lethal Lottery. I’ve been watching you on TV. I know how bad you want it. If you lose that, what then? You’re as fragile as Jason was before his wife passed. You lose, maybe you snap, maybe you’re done. Or maybe you win, and you lose that big title match of yours, huh? What then? Even worse. I’ve been watching you ever since you came back to that show, and you’re on the brink of disaster.”

Drake gulped. His mouth was dry and he was speechless.

“That’s the warning. Here’s my offer. You need what Jason didn’t have – someone to stand by him, someone to watch him. Let me do that for you. Let me do that for everyone that believed in you.”

“Why should I trust you, huh? I don’t even know who you are.”

“Drake…I am your father.”

“WHAT?!”

The old man has a deep laugh, the first real emotion he’s shown all night.

“God, no, you really have gone daft. The name’s Joe, and that’ll be enough. I’ve lived here all my life. I saw the good you did back then. I think maybe I can help you do that again.”

Drake calms down after nearly having his heart leap out of his chest.

“So what, you want to take over my life, drag me back here to be this prophet I used to be?”

“No. I just want to be there for you. A coach, maybe. I saw on the TV show that you wanted a coach, right?”

“Technically, I wanted an ancient master of the eastern arts. Do you know any eastern arts?”

“I boxed in the Navy. Good enough?”

“It’s not perfect, but then again, my last sensei tried to kill me. Boxing works. I can always use some help beating the sense out people.”

“Aye, and maybe I can beat some sense into you, eh?”

Drake smiles a little. What a strange night it had been. Something tickled at the back of his mind. Why was he trusting this man? His smile dropped a little.

“Listen. This is going to be strictly a coaching thing, alright? I’ll meet you in gyms and that’s it.”

“Fine, fine. That’s fair.”

Drake nods.

“Can I have another drink now?”

“Look, here’s my first advice to you as a coach. Stop drinking.”

Drake laughs uproariously until he realizes Joe isn’t kidding.

“No way. I need this.”

“You have a sickness. You need to beat it.”

“I’ve been drinking since the minute I stepped foot into WZCW. I won championships drinking. This is who I am.”

“Is it? Or is it what the drink’s made you?”

Drake shakes his head. His head swims a little again. “No. This is just me. Who I am.”

“Who you want to be?”

“I already told you. I won championships. I’m in the Lethal Lottery. I can go as far as I want like this. This is who I want to be.”

Joe chews.

“Alright, fine. We’ll talk about it later. Just do me a favor, alright? Tomorrow, just one day, try to go without. And see how you do, okay? And let me tell you something else. I saw that girl in here. I can tell her type. You keep up drinking like you are, you’ll never go anywhere with her. But, just try it, just give it one day, and see what you’re like without it. Maybe you’ll like what you see.”

Drake gives him a long stare.

“Fine. I’m going to need sleep if I intend to do that. And I think I have an interview tomorrow anyway, and you wouldn’t believe how angry some people get if you miss those thing. I’ll be heading out.”

“Good man. Here, let me write down my number. I think we might as well not start anything until after this big show of yours. If you lose, call me immediately. I don’t want you collapsing. If you win, call me anyway, and we’ll set up the first training session at a gym somewhere.”

Drake takes the number and shakes Joe’s hand.

“You don’t have to worry about me losing, you know. This is the biggest night of my life. There’s no way I’m letting his opportunity pass me up.”

Joe smiles a tight little smile. “I hope so. For both our sakes. Good night, Drake, and good luck.”

Drake gives one final nod and exits the bar. Many of the patrons look after him with dark looks in their eyes, and many turn those same dark looks on Joe for turning his back on them. But Joe ignores them, turns back to the bar, and orders a drink in silence.

-----------------


Late in the morning the next day, Drake woke up to the sunlight on his face back in his apartment. Hungover, as usual. Nothing a little whiskey wouldn’t fix. He grabs for the bottle he knows if there and starts to bring it toward him, before he remembers.

“Damn it.”

He rests the bottle against his chest, wanting desperately to take a drink. Who was this Joe to tell him to stop drinking, anyway? He should call the whole thing off now and live the way he wanted to.

“Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.”

He sits up and gets out of bed and sets the drink aside. He would do this, just to prove he could. He promised himself. He got out of bed and left the whiskey behind. He showered miserably, but the hot shower helped his hangover just a little bit. He got out and felt a bit better about his challenge. He got dressed and checked the time.

“Oh, sh-“

A knock on the door cuts him off. He was fortunate to have woken up when he did. It was already time for the interview. He’d gotten word that Becky and the WZCW cameras were coming by. He rushes to the door and opens it up, giving his best grin for Becky.

“Hi, Drake, you look terrible.”

“Good, Becky, how are – wait, what? That’s not very nice.”

“Well, it’s true. You look like you were out drinking all night.”

Drake grins sheepishly. “Well, I mean, what do you expect out of me?”

“Very little. Are you ready to start?”

“Yeah, yeah…is the table okay? Let me just clear it off…”

Drake quickly makes some room at a cluttered table and motions for Becky to sit.

“Alright, Drake, are you ready? This is it. The big one. We’ll turn the cameras on in 3…2…1…go.”

Drake smiles as the red light turns on and gives a little wave to the camera.

“Alright, Drake, let’s talk about the situation with Blade last time. What are your thoughts?”

“Last week, I said I barely remembered Blade. Well, he jogged my memory. And now, I’ll never forget. But that’s bad news for Blade, you see, because I don’t intend to let this go quietly. He provoked me at Meltdown, and then beat me clean at Ascension. That hurts. That sticks in my craw. And it’s not something I’m going to take lying down. Blade is target numero uno from here on out, Becky, and don’t you, or anyone, forget about it. Because I don’t take losing well. I don’t believe in just trying harder the next time. I believe in righting the wrong, and the wrong is that Blade thinks he can just brush me off. He can’t. Last time, Blade reminded me who he was. At the Lethal Lottery, I intend to remind Blade – and I intend to remind everyone- who I am. I’m the man that damn near killed Milenko to win the Mayhem Championship. I’m the man that pinned Ty Burna – the Ty Burna – to become the Eurasian Champion. I am not someone who loses and takes it easily. I will see Blade at the Lethal Lottery, and he will remember who I am, and I will wipe his victory off the record books. Because no one is going to care that Blade pinned Drake in a nothing match at Ascension…but they will all remember the moment that Drake tossed over the chosen one, the heir apparent, the odds on favorite and ended his Lethal Lottery run. They’ll remember that. And they’ll remember me winning. And they’ll remember me – me, not Blade, not anyone else – becoming the World Heavyweight Champion.”

Becky’s eyes are a little wide and one of her eyebrows is slightly up. Drake looks at her, a little out of breath. He hadn’t felt like this in ages. So full of energy, so full of adrenaline. He could visualize Blade in front of him in the ring, he could visualize the moment happening, how glorious it would feel. Not just ages – he’d never felt like this before ever.

“Drake, you sound…different.”

“I know, Becky, I know. I know this is the time. This is it. This is the precipice of redemption. I’m ready. I’m ready to take my moment in history.”

“Well…alright, then. We’ve already touched on it a little, but let’s talk about the Lethal Lottery. You sound pretty confident. What would you say your odds are of winning the match?”

“I’m done with odds. I know I’m going to win. There are many men who want to this match, Becky, but that’s just it – there are many men who want it. The Sons of Destiny just want Blade to pat them on the head and tell them they did a good job. Blade himself, Blade wants to be champion, because it’s a pretty bauble that he can look at and hold over everyone else. He’s like a child. He wants the biggest toy so he can make everyone see how great he is. Titus wants it because he thinks he deserves it. Ty wants it because he thinks he owns it. Some men want it for glory, some want it to prove a point, some want it so that nobody else can happen. Some want it for no better reason than everyone’s told them they want it. But the difference, Becky, the absolute difference between all of them and me, Becky, is that they want it. I don’t want it, Becky, I need it. I have to win this match. I have to become a champion. I have to do this, because it’s my destiny. I see that now. Blade and his Sons talk about destiny, but they don’t know what destiny is. They think because they’re good looking and talented that they have a destiny. I know what the truth is, though, because I’ve had my destiny stare me in the face. I know how close I came, once. And I know that I didn’t come that close because of a mistake. I came that close because this is my destiny. And I have to fulfill it. There is no greater suffering than knowing what your destiny is and not being able to achieve it. That is why I have to win, and that is why I will win. 29 men want it. I need it. That’s it. End of story.”

Becky shoots a glance at the cameramen. She’s never seen Drake like this. The cameramen just shrug.

“Drake…you’re so passionate about this. I’ve never seen this kind of fire in you. It’s…inspiring.”

“I’m surprising myself, even. And I’ll surprise everyone else at the Lethal Lottery.”

“Drake, I think that’ll do it for today, you’ve given us more than enough material. Thanks.”

“Thank you, Becky. I’ll see you at the show.”

Becky gathers her things and exits with the cameramen. Drake watches them exit. After the door closes, he turns around and sighs contentedly. Maybe there was something to this sobriety thing, now that he knew what to do with it.

“Yeah, this isn’t so…”

As he speaks, his head starts to swim uncontrollably.

“Whoa.”

He tries to get to a chair to sit down, but falls on the floor instead. He holds his head until it passes. He groans as the feeling passes. It seems as though he’s sat on the floor for hours. He gets off the ground stiffly.

“So, okay, maybe sobriety isn’t a great idea. Sorry, Joe, I tried.”

He grabs a bottle off the top of the fridge, pops the top, and brings it to his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Drake thinks he sees a shadow, but as he turns, there’s nothing there. He shrugs and drinks deeply.

“Ah, that’s the good stuff.”

Drake sits back at the table and drinks a little more. Surprisingly, he feels content shortly. Another day he would have had three times as much. He shrugs and sets it aside. Something on the table catches his eye. A phone number. His eyes light up as he remembers. He grabs it, gets his cell phone out, and dials.

“Hello, Kate? This is Drake…I was just wondering if you were busy today…"