Lethal Lottery V: Grand Mystique vs. Mikey Stormrage - Steel Cage Match

[Kermit]

If Mikey Stormrage loses, he must join The Sacrificial Altar.

For months, Mikey Stormrage has been chasing The Grand Mystique around the arena show-in and show-out. Now, he will finally get the cult leader to himself within the confines of a steel cage. Will this be the moment that Mikey finally gets his long-waited revenge for his fallen comrade, or does Mystique have something up his sleeve? Will he corner Mikey into joining TSA once and for all or Mikey push through the pain?! Find out at the Lethal Lottery!


Deadline is Thursday, May 9, 2013 at 11:59 P.M. (Central Time). Soft Extensions Only.​

 

[a0161613]

Two men, one table. The Grand Mystique stands at the head of it; his knuckles grind the tabletop as he observes DC in front of him.

“Tonight is the night that the future is planned out. The time has come for us to dominate WZCW. We need no iron fist, no celebrity or wealth. We have destiny in our favour and we need nothing else. This is the moment that will go down in history as the greatest acts of sacrifice in company history. This is the night we have been waiting for.”

“Err, G. That’s great and all but what is my role in all this?”

“DC, you came to me because your life has fallen through. Your past actions have caught up with you and you have nothing left. The only thing to give yourself over to us.”

“What’s in it for me?”

D makes it clear that he is not interested as he pushes himself down in the chair, refusing to make contact with the direct stare of the villainous masked superstar.

“That’s a touch selfish isn’t it?”

“You said I have nothing left. I say I have my body and my mind so while I am in control -”

“You think you’re in control? That’s touching. It’s sickening really.”

“And you are?”

“If you had anything left to give you wouldn’t be here.”

DC sighs and puts his head in his hands. “How the hell did we get to this point?”

“It’s this moment that will cement The Sacrificial Altar as the greatest group of talent ever amassed in the ring. You just don't know it yet.”

“So you’re building a dynasty to cause chaos?” DC chuckles but it only serves to increase GM’s disdain for the lackadaisical attitude. “Look, cut me some slack.”

“Why should I?” The muscle bound monster pounds his fists into the wooden surface, causing his visitor to sit up a little to take notice. “DC, you are the single biggest waste of talent I have seen, you have routinely discarded your potential and with it, your destiny. Yes, you have titles to your name and have had countless plaudits but what does that mean to you in the here and now? Where are your fans?” DC goes to respond but GM cuts him off resoundingly. ”In the here and the now, we are the only entity in your life worth anything. We haven’t given up on you. We think there is something worth saving in there; if you give everything to us then we will ensure that you will have the chance to be remembered as you want. I see a superstar still buried in there that can help us and help himself if he is willing to give something to us first.”

DC fails to stifle a chuckle. “We’ve been through some wars haven’t we? The Grand Mystique vs DC, street fights, first blood matches, for pride and for World titles. Punk-ass superstar against bad ass evil; but dude, you let yourself go man. And you aren’t the midget I remember.”

“It’s called evolution. The Grand Mystique survived in spirit, which is more than I can say for you because you are broken.”

GM shakes his head but he doesn't seem annoyed that the conversation has been distracted. Instead he continues to pace the floor.

“The name has got you this far but you aren’t the one I remember.”

“There’s a reason for that. You remember the man who wore this mask but never truly believed the message. Austin Reynolds was weak and pathetic; he thought he was better than everyone else. He stormed out of WZCW when he couldn’t get his way years ago.”

“You got him job after job and fought him years ago in companies around the world and it got you precisely nowhere. He came back to WZCW a bigger star but he was far too weak to fulfil his potential. DC, whether you like it or not, you took him under your wing and he rejected it, to masquerade here as someone who was better than everyone else. You both got what was coming to you but you need to understand something very simple DC. You have one chance to rebuild your career, allow us to build our future triumphs out of your sacrifices.”

“And, why should I just throw all that away? You think you can get me that much success that fast? Kinda feels like you’re playing me for a fool. That will surely lead to me being discarded like your big brother.”

“Austin failed because he didn’t trust those around him. He felt that he was able to succeed on his own when he couldn’t be more wrong. He succumbed to the numbers in the same way that we will use them to succeed.”

“With each sacrifice at our hands, we’ve used it grow stronger and more powerful. Steamboat Ricky fell easily because he was the Messiah that nobody thought could be taken down. I was responsible for countless others before I revealed myself. And now we could take on the entire roster.”

With each passing sentence, DC looks as if he is becoming interested though his tone still suggests otherwise.

“That is the power that sacrifice has given you?”

“James Howard was a pawn, a message. An archetype, which every group needs to deliver in a public manner.”

“Was it worth it? To have Mickey Stormrage come after you?”

“Stormrage is a beast who shall be tamed at my hand. He needs to be beaten, he needs to be caged and he has to be directed because his brawn will send him around in circles.”

“So that’s how you do it.”

“It’s necessary to get control.”

Brother Mason Westhoff walks into the room following a brief knock. GM barely acknowledges his entrance whilst DC eyes him up and down. Mason wears his finest vestiges and paints a fine contrast with DC who is as untidy as ever with ripped jeans and greasy painted hair.

“Excellent timing Mason. I assume Mr Jacobs is being managed.”

GM offers a seat next to DC for his collaborator.

“Indeed my liege. He is doing everything as you expected he would. He is damaged mentally and physically. He won’t pose a threat to us. There’s no reason why your plan won’t continue as expected.”

“And Stormrage?”

“As planned; our preparations are on course. The Lethal Lottery will see him sacrifice himself and join us. His most recent defeat will tip him over the edge.”

“And then what?”

Mason sighs; the question he asks is one that Westhoff sees as basic and redundant. “And then it is my destiny to ensure that we win the Lethal Lottery match. It is a duty that I will perform faithfully, even if it means dragging Stormrage out through the cage by his fat belly and sacrificing both him and me for the privilege.”

“We are preparing for war gentlemen. I trust you are ready gentlemen.”

“We are going to be stronger than ever. The Lethal Lottery is the ideal battleground for a display of our strength.”

“And what do we get out of this?” DC’s emphasis on the “we” in his question brings about a smile from The Grand Mystique; a demonic smirk that Mason picks up on.

“We will secure a great prize. The roster will be decimated at our hands and those left standing, namely the World Heavyweight Champion will cower in the fear, insane with the knowledge that he will be the next victim laid at our Altar. He will know the date, the location, the time and the outcome.”

“So your plan is to use us to win the Lethal Lottery. We will be sacrificed for your greater plan? What makes me any different to James Howard or Ricky or.....”

“You will not be sacrificed for His victory, if carried out in the manner we have foretold. You will have the privilege of remerging from the ashes of victory, better than you ever thought possible. Just imagine DC, if your countless sins could be forgotten and forgiven.”

“What would be the point?”

“I should have known you wouldn’t understand the depth of His message.” Mason’s sarcastic dismissal is on a par with DC’s blatant ignorance thus far. The new visitor is now piqued though his focus is Mason.

“What I mean of course, what’s the grand aim here. I mean, is it just another way of saying that you want to see the place burn. That seems to be the buzz phrase around the place. Half the guys around are saying it.”

“Those idiots have no clue what they’re meant to achieve. They want to be the last one left. We aren’t aiming for something absurd. We want this place to survive, we need to see WZCW carry on because it is our destiny to see each and every soul damned to their destiny, dragged, slain and draped across our Altar.”

“That can only be achieved with one of us succeeding in our destiny.”

“Well isn’t that the American Dream?” D’s bitterness cuts clean through Mason’s deep belief, neither men are shy in hiding their feelings.

“You didn’t come here to mock us DC. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Mason’s comment gets a smirk from DC as he can sense a nerve has been pinched.

“DC, you’re far too proud to have come here for no reason.”

“Shit, I don’t need you talking me up. I know I’m of a kind. But you and bitch tits here are right. This is not divine fucking intervention. I’m here for a reason but you haven’t convinced me of one single fucking thing.”

“That’s because you are ignorant. We are giving you every chance.” Mason speaks with the kind of fulfilled passion that would be expected from a man who considers himself so enlightened. “We aren’t saying absolution will come freely but it will come in time. You will become the man you once were. The hype will find you again and you will be the man that the people will pay to hate. That, after all, is what you are all about. That is the essence of your personality.”

For once, DC seems speechless. In truth, he is milliseconds from an instant retort but GM cuts him off.

“I’ve seen all you can do DC. I know what you have left and above all, I know that you want to prove it all in front of the world. Mason and I can only do so much but with you in our ranks, we will be more than dominant. It’s not in your nature to trust what I say next but this is not going to Rated X all over again.”

DC harrumphs, exhaling loudly, clearly meant to express disbelief and disinterest. Mason rolls his eyes. GM watches them both carefully. Their personalities rub off against each and there is potentially an angry spark there between his loyal ally and the tempestuous newcomer.

“DC, take your leave. Consider our offer carefully.”

The lithe veteran leaves, surprisingly without fanfare, causing no more friction between himself and Mason. But the two men are clearly at odds.

“I know you are loathe to trust him but you trust your destiny. And me.”

“That is never in doubt, my leader. I am content to hold my tongue and I will fall before you should your plan thrive. He would make a fine sacrifice if he fails to live up to expectations.”

“Of course but we should look to bring the entire roster to sacrifice before him. This is the moment that we have planned for. The Lethal Lottery is going to be the ultimate act of sacrifice, a collective feat where we will cut swathes through the roster and when we are done.....”

Mason tips his head expectantly as GM cuts off his own sentence.

“When we are done, we will show there is nothing and no-one capable of stopping our bastion of destiny.”

 

[Richard Blonoff]

I'm not sure what's worse, the waiting or the waiting room. "You're next sir." becomes a cruel taunt to you. Recycled air, the smell of sleep and disinfectant. Your God is a two door elevator. Do they even cure you? Or is it just to humor us before we die?

"I'm a bit concerned Mr. Brown. You seem to be jumping back and forth between extreme feelings of anger and depression. That concerns me far more than your hand."

The voice of the doctor snapped me back to reality. He was placing the x-rays of my left hand onto the illuminated board on the wall. The back light slowly flickered to life, revealing a perfectly healthy hand. I glanced down at the stitches, reminding me however, that my hand was anything but healthy.

"No broken bones, no ligament or tendon damage, just the laceration. I have to ask what drove you to punch through a window?"

I took my time, my eyes roaming the white walls. The ticking of the second hand on the clock was almost hypnotic.

"Wish I knew." I responded, though it felt like I was answering not the doctor, but myself, as if I were questioning my own actions.

"So you don't know why you felt the need to put your hand through a window? Regardless, it does bring me back to my concern about your mental state. You seem to be plagued by violent mood swings lately. Is there anything going on in your personal life that is causing you extreme stress?"

I turned my head in the doctor's direction, cocking an eyebrow at him. He didn't strike me as a wrestling fan, but it still caught me by surprise. The last few months began to replay in my mind, all the emotions I felt came back at once.

Denial
James Howard was going nowhere. This couldn't be happening, not to me.

"It is happening, and Strikeforce is done."

It will be fine. I feel fine. He won't be out long, everything will work out. This isn't a problem. Strikeforce isn't over, we are just getting started. It probably isn't even a broken neck, James is going to be just fine. We are going to go to the bar in a day or two, get drunk and celebrate making history.

Anger
James Howard was gone. Who was to blame? Westhoff, Jacobs, Mystique. I would have revenge.

"You won't succeed. You are one man taking on three, the odds are insurmountable."

I would take them out one by one. Start from the bottom, work my way up. I would find out why they did it. I would make them pay. Nothing would stand in my way. Friend and foe alike would fall if it meant I could have my revenge. I hate those men for what they did to me.

Bargaining
I will give anything for James Howard to be back. I would give anything to be happy again.

"He isn't coming back. You were weak, you failed him. You have to live with your failure."

All I need is one more shot, I will do anything for it. Just give it to me and I can prove that I can get my revenge. I'll join The Sacrificial Altar if I lose, just give me a chance. You can fire me if I don't succeed, but just one more shot. Please!

Depression
I miss James Howard. I'm nothing without him. What is the point of even competing anymore.

"We was better than you. You held him back, and now you want to give up? Pathetic."

I failed him. I failed the fans. I failed myself. I can't keep this up. I'm sorry I couldn't stop them. I can't sleep, I have little appetite, this is all pointless. No one wants to be around me, I have alienated friends and family. I beat up my friend Ricky Runn, it only makes sense that Triple X will walk out on me. Why do I even try?

"Mr. Brown?"

The doctor's voice again snapped me back.

"I need to get out of here, I have some thinking I need to do."

As I began to stand, the doctor began to speak.

"Mr. Brown I'm concerned about your mental health. This isn't the first time you have had an incident in the last few months that has put you in here. Every time you come in you are either extremely aggressive or you seem distant. Have you gone through any major changes in your private life recently? The loss of someone close to you, a change at work, a major shift in your home life?"

"All of the above doc." Was all I muttered as I walked out, leaving him standing.

As I made my way through the parking lot, I glanced at the window on the driver's side of my car. The glass resembled a spider web. I opened the door carefully and climbed in. As I shut the door the glass began to spider web even more. Not wanting to take any chances I grabbed my jacket from the rear seat and wrapped it around my good hand. After turning on my radio, I began to slowly and easily punch out the glass. I wasn't making much progress, that is until an advert for the Lethal Lottery came on. Like most of the happenings in the company, I paid little attention until there was mention of The Sacrificial Altar. Once the stipulation of the match with Mystique was brought up, my interest piqued. My anger got the better of me and I finished the job with one swift blow. I had drawn the attention of a few bystanders, so instead of making a bigger scene I simply drove off. I knew what I needed to do to set my mind right. I drove to the airport and booked the first available flight to San Francisco.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An elderly Native American man sat beside a dimly burning fire. As he sat, drawing figures in the dirt with his walking stick, a young Native American approached him. The boy, who appeared to be in his early twenties, took a seat next to the tribal elder.

The elder began to speak.

"A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight between two wolves. One is evil. He is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego."

The elder continued to draw in the dirt, the wind blowing the hanging feathers of his headdress.

"The other is good. He is joy, hope, peace, love, serenity, humility, kindness, truth, benevolence, empathy, generosity, compassion, and faith.

The elder stood and pointed his stick in the direction of the young brave.

"The same fight is going on inside of you, and every other person too."

As he began to walk away the young brave spoke.

"Which wolf will win?"

The elder stopped, turning his head to the side as the wind continued to blow his headdress.

"The one you feed."

The elder began to walk away before he disappeared into the woods.

The young brave walked to a nearby puddle and looked in, seeing his reflection, before the wind picked up, causing the puddle to ripple and change the reflection in the puddle to that of my own.

"This is your captain speaking, please fasten your seat belts as we are about to make our approach into San Francisco."

The voice of the plane's captain over the loud speaker caused me to open my eyes. I kept to myself the entire time I made my way through the airport. I had my earphones in, hoping any fans who recognized me would get the hint. I made my way to a cab and sat with my eyes closed until the driver pulled into the driveway of a familiar house. I paid my fare and looked the house over, my mind starting to feel at ease for the first time in months, really it was the first time it had felt at ease since I left this place.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, and was instantly greeted by the crying of a small child.

"Oliver." I said softly as I walked into the kitchen. The smell of fresh pancakes hung in the air as I could hear inaudible voices from another room. I took a plate from the cabinet and found the syrup in the fridge, but had no luck finding any of the pancakes.

"Mate what are you doing here, you should have called ahead."

I turned and saw the familiar face of James Howard. He had progressed a long way in six months, but was still in his neck brace. I smiled and walked over to hug him.

"Sorry man, I just had to get my head right, and this seemed like the best place to do it. With all of the shit going on lately, I was thinking that this would be the perfect time for you to return. Well I mean obviously not right now, but after the Lottery. You and me can reform the team and take our rightful place back atop the tag division. Strikeforce back to kicking ass."

I was much more excited than James, who had a grim look on his face. He began to speak, but Dinah came into the room holding Oliver.

"Mikey, we had no idea you were coming. It's great to see you!"

She and I hugged with her free hand, and I ruffled what little hair Oliver had. He gave a toothless smile and began laughing.

"I'm going to go put him down for a nap, I'm sure you guys have some talking to do with the pay per view coming up."

As Dinah exited the room, James again spoke.

"I'm not sure how to tell you this, but I'm not going to be back. I'm finished mate. I was lucky to walk away without permanent injury. I've got a family now. I have to think about them. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate you swearing vengeance for me, but I don't let it bother me anymore. I've found peace where I am. To be honest, the attack at Unscripted was a blessing in disguise. It made me get my priorities right. You are still welcome back anytime, you will always be my brother, but my career is over."

We stood in silence for what seemed like hours, but only a few seconds passed before James spoke again.

"Are you okay mate? You seem like you wanna say something."

"Yeah man, where are the pancakes? I smell pancakes, but I don't see pancakes."

"And it is that shit right there that makes me happy I'm not your partner anymore. You can't stay focused to save your life. It's no wonder Westhoff and Mystique keep getting the best of you!"

I looked at him and shook my head, walking out of the room and eventually walking out of the house in complete silence.

Acceptance
James Howard is done. I didn't fail him, I failed myself.

"You did fail him. You didn't avenge him, and he walked away from you."

"This is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seat belts as we make our descent into San Francisco."

I awoke from my dream. Déjà vu had set it, so I began to touch my arms, my seat, the stewardess, anything I could. I drew a few odd looks, convincing me that I was indeed awake. I struggled with a seat belt that barely fit around my girth. I sat back in my seat and prepared for landing. Shortly after we touched down, the voice of the captain came back on the loud speaker.

"This is your captain speaking, we want to thank you for flying United Airlines. The temperature is currently sixty one degrees with slightly overcast skies. We hope you enjoy your stay."

I called a cab and signed a few autographs to the few fans who had the courage to approach me despite me wearing the hood on my jacket up. They wished me luck in my match against Mystique before I climbed into my cab. I gave the cabbie the address and put my earphones in for the ride. As a few familiar locations came into view, my mind began to ease.

As the cabbie pulled into the familiar half circle driveway, I saw Dinah standing in the doorway. I paid my fare and walked to door, being greeted with a long overdue hug.

"It is good to see you, James is just inside. We just put Oliver down for a nap."

We walked inside, and there sat James, still clad in his neck brace. We exchanged smiles. I began to speak but James opened his mouth before me.

"Good to see you mate. You are welcome to stay as long as you like, it will be nice to have a housemate that isn't all crying and poop."

We exchange a laugh.

"I know you don't plan on being back for a few more months, if ever, but you still hitting up the gym?"

"Yeah man, just because I'm laid up doesn't mean I can get fat."

There is an awkward silence as James realizes his faux-pas.

"I just want you to realize you don't need to fight for me, you have to fight for yourself. Mystique has gotten in your head, you can't beat him if you don't get over it. I know you, you won't recover from having to join him. Even if you fight it tooth and nail, you won't make it. He damn near paralyzed me, don't let him destroy you too. Now get your ass in the gym so I can make you punch a cow."

I cocked a half smile at him as he began to walk to the all too familiar basement gym.

"Once we finish, I'll let you eat it."

He gave me a weak punch and again we shared a familiar laugh as we went down the stairs.

Acceptance
James Howard doesn't need me to fight for him. I have to fight for myself.

"He doesn't need you to fight for him because you aren't good enough to..."

No, I don't need to fight for him, because I've got to fight for myself. James is in a good place, he needs no revenge. The only one who needs revenge is myself. I know James can't be at my side, but he doesn't need to be. I can't lose again. If I have to tear a whole in the cage my bare hands, I will. Grand Mystique was finally in my grasp, and he was going to pay. Not for his sins against James Howard, but for his sins against me.