Despite Callahan's victory over the number one contender to the World title, Showtime, Drake will be scheduled to face off against the man who put him away in the Elimination Chamber from Kingdom Come, Brad Bomb. Callahan will be looking for retribution for Bomb's actions inside the cage whilst Bomb has the opportunity to showcase his skills in taking down the guy who has shot himself up in World title contention.
Deadline is Tuesday, June 26th at 11:59 PM Central Time.
"Brad. Brad can I get a quick question for WZCW.com?"
"I'm sure I can spare a moment of my time for you Johnny."
"Everyone has time for the best interviewer and commentator extraordinaire."
"Only a matter of time before you replace that goon Jack Cohen."
"Don't tell it to me, tell it to the boss. He makes the decisions around here." Johnny Klamour points towards the door of Ty Burna of which Brad Bomb has just come out of. "What were you talking about in there anyway Brad? Handing in your resignation? With a record like yours, I'd have retired after Big Dave gave you that concussion, seemed to knock any usefulness out of you anyways."
"Oh Johnny, you know the way to flatter a girl don't you? My business with Burna is nothing important and nothing that concerns you, he just announced my next opponent. Nothing more. nothing less. You were less than discussed in the meeting." Brad turns to tower over the WZCW interviewer, his brow furrowed, eyes glaring down upon Johnny.
"You won't scare me Brad, I ain't Leon Kensworth and you're nothing to be scared of, just track back to the point about the win loss record I mentioned moments ago, I know you don't have much going on up there like most of the wrestlers these days but surely you have more than the memory of a goldfish."
"I don't need to stand here and take insults from the likes of you," Brad looks Johnny up and down and quickly pushes his head right next to Johnny, scaring him and making him jump, "haha, just like the rest of them." Brad turns to walk off but Johnny shouts for him before he can leave.
"Now, now Brad, don't leave without answering the question, that ain't professional is it." Brad turns back to Johnny, nostrils flared and breathing deep, his eyes piercing through Johnny, who remains firm and unnerved in the face of an angry Brad Bomb.
"My opponent next week is Drake Callahan, the very man I put out of the King For A Day match, so I fancy my chances." Once again Brad turns to leave but before he can get away Johnny stops him.
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why do you 'fancy your chances'? Is it 'your time' again? Come on Brad, give me some terrible reason why you think you'll before your inevitable loss?"
"To pull off the 'upset', 'prove the critics wrong' because I'm tired of the joke you make me out to be Johnny. You and others, I know you do it and I know you've got my opponents picked to win every week I go out there and bust my ass. I'm tired of being a jobber to the 'stars' who peak at the EurAsian level and nowhere else. It's known I'm too good for the Mayhem divison but can't quite get results elsewhere from it. To channel my inner Muhammed Ali, I'm going to show you how great I am. I know you got Callahan picked but he's weak. He's a drunk, schizophrenic who goes out to the biggest event in WZCW dressed up as a My Little Pony character. I'm not sure if he's a wrestler or looking to attract little girls to a van outside the arena. It's a joke even that I have to face him what with his intoxication levels being high at all times, it's a danger to put me in there with him... a danger to himself. Just you wait and see Johnny. You and everyone else will see how great I am. I will not quit. I will not lose. I will win. You have my word on that."
"Cute. Best of luck Brad, you're going to need it."
"Fuck off Johnny, I'm done with your shit for now."
Brad walks off from Johnny, leaving him to stand there and finish his piece with the camera, as he walks off he whistles the theme to My Little Pony.
Callahan manages to get to his feet and is breathing heavily. Whilst most of the crowd are still in awe of what happened, some boo Callahan's tactics he took to gain the advantage. He however does not care as he stares of Show, who is using Callahan to get himself to a vertical base. A small smile comes across the face of Callahan before Drake picks him up and nails another Hangover. Callahan sits up as Show is out, smile on his face and some laughing as well. Callahan turns to the ref who is checking on Show and pushes him aside, locking in the Last Call on Show. The ref has no choice but to immediately end the match to preserve the condition of Show.
The scene - a dark room with only a TV screen providing any light. It's replaying footage from Meltdown 74. A silhouette is framed against the light of the screen, watching it intently. The figure raises a remote control and presses a button, rewinding before playing again.
Callahan manages to get to his feet and is breathing heavily. Whilst most of the crowd are still in awe of what happened, some boo Callahan's tactics he took to gain the advantage. He however does not care as he stares of Show, who is using Callahan to get himself to a vertical base. A small smile comes across the face of Callahan before Drake picks him up and nails another Hangover. Callahan sits up as Show is out, smile on his face and some laughing as well. Callahan turns to the ref who is checking on Show and pushes him aside, locking in the Last Call on Show. The ref has no choice but to immediately end the match to preserve the condition of Show.
The figure raises the remote and pauses the video. The figure, male, runs his hands through his hair and hangs his head as the screen shows himself brutalizing "Showtime" David Cougar. He rewinds again and plays once more.
Callahan manages to get to his feet and is breathing heavily. Whilst most of the crowd are still in awe of what happened, some boo Callahan's tactics he took to gain the advantage. He however does not care as he stares of Show, who is using Callahan to get himself to a vertical base. A small smile comes across the face of Callahan before Drake picks him up and nails another Hangover. Callahan sits up as Show is out, smile on his face and some laughing as well. Callahan turns to the ref who is checking on Show and pushes him aside, locking in the Last Call on Show. The ref has no choice but to immediately end the match to preserve the condition of Show.
Drake Callahan lurches to his side and vomits noisily into a trash can. He could hardly make sense of the actions of the man on screen, let alone reconcile the fact that they were his actions. But he had convinced himself of it, at least. His memory was hazy ever since that press conference - he could barely remember the last week at all, really. The stares backstage, the muttered comments, the brief words exchanged with some people backstage were all that stood out, asking him questions he had no answer for. Did he really hate Showtime so much? Why had he been so violent? What was wrong with him? He didn't understand, then. No, that was a lie. He understood, he knew what they were saying, he'd just pushed the memory to the fringes of his mind, unwilling to cope with it. He knew everything he was doing. He was in total control. He'd confirmed it, watching the video. Every one of his actions came flooding back, and exactly what he'd thought and felt while doing it. He hadn't wanted to beat Showtime. He'd wanted to end him. Force him into retirement. Maybe even kill him.
It was enough to make him want to vomit again, though he held it in this time. Why had he done those things? He was just so angry. So, so unbelievably angry. To be continually frustrated at pay-per-view, to have years long dreams denied repeatedly and in devastating fashion, he had a right to that, didn't he? He had a right to be angry, to be sure. But he knew that he'd gone too far. He'd let his anger get the better of him. And he'd violently unleashed it on a man who didn't deserve it. He'd meant what he said about Showtiime - he wasn't everything everyone thought he was. He knew better. But even he didn't deserve what Drake had done to him. He could have ended his career out there, he knew that. It was wrong. All of it was wrong.
He got up and sighed heavily. What could he do? It was over and done with. Showtime wouldn't want his apologies. There was a lifelong enemy, he was sure. He had to live with it and put it behind him. He'd worked out his frustrations, at any rate. He felt confident that he would be better in the future. He walked around to the door of the small room and flipped the light on. Part of WZCW's southern offices, the room was available to watch tape whenever anyone wanted. He ran his hands through his hair once more. It was over and done with, he told himself. Nothing to do now but be better.
He was about to exit when his phone rang. He looked at it. "Kate". Of course. He took a deep breath before answering; he didn't want to deal with this, but he had to.
Drake: Hello?
Kate: Drake? I'm so glad you picked up.
Despite the turbulent flow of emotions in Drake's mind, none of them positive, Drake smiled. It was good to hear her voice.
Drake: Hey, Kate. I'm sorry we haven't talked.
Kate: I've been so worried! Are you alright?
Drake: Yeah, yeah...well. I'm still kicking, I guess.
There's a silence on the other end of the phone, before Kate continues tentatively.
Kate: Drake...listen, everyone's really worried about you. Me, and Joe, and...well, me, especially. I saw your match with Showtime...
Drake winced. Somehow he had hoped she wouldn't watch him, but he knew that was foolish.
Drake: Kate, I...look, I don't want to talk about that. I want to put it behind me.
Another long silence. Drake can almost see her biting her lip.
Kate: ...Okay. I'm sorry. Drake...when are you coming home?
Drake's breath caught. He knew it was coming, but he still wasn't ready for it.
Drake: I'm thinking of staying on the road awhile, Kate. It just doesn't make sense for me to keep coming home after every show. I'll save more money this way. The next time we swing near Cleveland, I'll come home. But we're still swinging out south here, you know? It's just not good timing.
Kate: ...That's not really why you're not coming home, is it?
Drake waited a few moments before answering.
Drake: I'm sorry, Kate. I love you. I'll talk to you soon.
He hung up before she could answer. How could he tell her? How could he tell her that he couldn't bear to look into her eyes and see what was in them? That he couldn't bear to see pity or sympathy? That he was afraid just seeing her would break him? He felt sick again just thinking it. How would she feel hearing it? How could you possibly tell the woman you love that the last thing you want is to see her face?
With that dark thought on his mind, he exited the room and made his way out of the building and into the night.
----
A few days later in a small diner, Drake is eating dinner. He'd remained on the road ever since his foray into WZCW offices. A few more short conversations with Kate, all conducted only by text messaging, had been enough to establish the new living arrangement. She'd stay in the apartment, and he'd send enough to cover rent and utilities. She'd found a new job, working as a receptionist for a small, regional paper company, which would cover everything else, she'd assured him. He was glad that she was, at least, provided for. It would give him enough time to sort things out.
His phone buzzed. He grabbed it and saw he had an e-mail.
John Adams said:
Hey Drake,
It's John again, from production. We've decided to book you against Brad Bomb this week. We think it'll be big money considering what happened between you two at Kingdom Come. A win here might mean good things for you! We've got an interview arranged for you with Becky as well, and as usual, your tickets should be waiting for you at the airport.
Drake chewed over a mouthful of his dinner as he slowly considered the e-mail. He noticed, distantly, his fist slowly clenching. Brad Bomb. Brad Bomb? The same Brad Bomb who had just lost to Matt Tastic? The next round after he'd just beaten the number one contender? He may regret exactly how he'd finished off Showtime, but the fact was, he'd won that match clean, and he'd meant what he said. He deserved Showtime's number one contendership. Whether or not he'd lost his control, whether or not he'd unduly taken out his rage on Showtime, whether or not he'd tried to end his career - he'd still beaten him. He deserved a world championship match this round. But instead? He got Brad Bomb? And if he won, good things "might" happen to him?
Before he knew what was happening, he'd ripped an arm across the table and send all the dishes crashing to the floor. The diner around him went dead silent as everyone stared at him. He realized he was breathing heavily, his shoulders heaving. He was furious again, as furious as he was after losing at Kingdom Come. And did he not have a right? A little part of him in the back told him to calm himself, told him this was wrong, but the rest of him wanted no part of it. It felt good, as good as it had before. Better. The anger coursing through his veins was sweet.
A waitress was making her way tentatively to his table, no doubt ready to ask him to leave. He stood, holding onto his anger, looked her dead in the eye. She froze dead in her tracks. He took a long look around the diner with a grim smile on his face, before ducking out quickly, once more into the night.
----
Becky Serra stands in front of a WZCW camera, production team setting up around her. The lights are put into place, a microphone is handed to her, while she prepares for the interview herself. She clears her throat a few times, takes a drink of water, brushes at her blouse, tugs her skirt down a bit, making sure everything is ready to go. She glances over at the door, and then at her watch. They were scheduled to begin in just a minute. She takes a deep breath, just as the door opens.
Drake Callahan walks through, looking dirty and disheveled and now unshaven, stubble all over his face. The room quiets as he enters, most everyone associated with WZCW familiar with his actions in his match against Showtime, and everyone on edge. Becky, however, puts a smile on for Drake and walks over to him.
Becky: Drake! It's so good to see you!
She throws her arms around him in a friendly hug. He stiffens and does not reciprocate. She backs off only slightly awkwardly and flashes him another smile.
Becky: I'm so sorry about Kingdom Come -
Drake: Stop. Don't talk about it.
His voice is hard in a way she's never heard it before. She looks up into his eyes. They're full of cold anger, not at all like the smiling, happy eyes she's used to. She swallows and takes a slight step back.
Becky: Is everything alright, Drake?
Drake: It's fine. Everything's fine. Can we just start?
Becky nods, slowly, smiling encouragingly. She motions Drake over in front of the camera and nods to the man behind it. He counts down on his fingers and Becky begins, beaming professionally.
Becky: I'm here now with Drake Callahan. Drake, the question on everyone's mind is this - what do you have to say about your match with Showtime last week?
Drake twitches and cracks his neck before beginning. His voice is half sorrow, half bitter rage.
Drake: I want to apologize to Showtime for what I did last week. Showtime, you're a monster. I stand by that. You deserved a lesson in humility, and I gave you that. But you didn't deserve to be brutalized. Just because you're a monster, doesn't mean I should have acted like one. I'm ashamed of myself. I'm ashamed of stooping down to your level.
Becky waits to see if there's any more, but Drake backs off and waits patiently, looking down. His lips seem to move, but no sound comes out, as if he's voicing a silent conversation with himself. Becky clears her throat and continues.
Becky: Well, Drake, what everyone else is interested is in your upcoming match this week with the man who took you out of King for a Day, Brad Bomb. Does he have coming to him what Showtime got last week?
Drake twitches even more violently this time before continuing.
Drake: Are you even listening? Last week was an anomaly. I'm better than that. I fight the monsters. I am not one. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?
Becky looks somewhat put out but maintains her professionalism.
Becky: I'm sorry, Drake. All I mean to ask is what can we expect this week?
Drake mulls it over for a minute before snatching the microphone away. The cameraman looks at Becky, who shrugs almost imperceptibly. He zooms in on Drake.
Drake: What...can...you...expect? You can expect me to repeat one part of last week's performance. You can expect me to win. Brad Bomb is another of WZCW's monsters, and I will do what I've promised to do against the monsters. Beat them. Rise above them. Fight them, fight them, and beat them. Brad Bomb made his monstrous self apparent to me in King for a Day.
He has to force out those last words, almost spitting them out.
Drake: What kind of sick man throws a person through glass, just for the pursuit of glory? What kind of person tries to end a career just for their own gratification? What kind of twisted things go on in a man like Brad Bomb's head, for him to do such an unspeakable thing, just for the chance at a chance at glory? Those, my friends, are the actions of a monster. Brad, I want you to understand something. Revenge is not in my heart this week. It wasn't in my heart last week when I fought and beat Showtime. The only thing I had on my mind last week was that Showtime was a monster who had to be stopped. I don't care that you shattered my dreams, Brad. I just care that you need to be stopped, and I want you to understand that I'll stop at nothing to do it. Nothing short of becoming a monster like you. Because I'm a good person, Brad, I'm a good person who knows his limits, who knows when to stop, who knows when things aren't right -
He cuts off, suddenly, staring into the camera. And a liar, it seems, to boot. He shakes his head violently and carries on.
Drake: But I have something else to say today. I want to stop Brad as much as I want to stop any monster. But this is not the match I should be booked in this week. I pinned - I PINNED - the number one contender to the world championship last week. And what do I get? I get nothing. I get a match with a sixth wheel from King for a Day who lost to the fifth wheel last week. It's pathetic. Bomb doesn't deserve better than Aftershock. He doesn't deserve the true number one contender. And I deserve better than him. I deserve Steven Kurtesy. I deserve the world championship match that I earned last week when I pinned Showtime clean. But you want to know why I didn't get it?
Drake roots into his pocket and grabs his phone, flipping it open. He reads the email sent to him earlier.
Drake: I'm not getting it because this company is infected to the core. The monsters aren't just in the ring - they're in the back, they're producing this show, they're everywhere. They don't care about giving a man his due. They don't care about justice. They don't care about what's right. They care about making money. I'm in this match because they think I care abot revenge - they want me and Brad to fight it out this week. But I'm a good person. I just want what's due to me. I put King for a Day behind me. I put Brad Bomb behind me. I emptied myself of those thoughts, and I beat Showtime. But they'd rather drag me back down and sell a blood feud instead of pursuing justice. It's disgusting. It's wrong. It's a flat out conspiracy.
Drake takes a deep breath and close his eyes for a brief moment before continuing.
Drake: I understand just how deep this conspiracy goes now. It goes straight to the top. It's wrong. It's so wrong. But I'll keep fighting. You want me to give you a blood feud this week, but I'll just give you what I'm committed to do - stopping a monster. And I'll keep coming back and doing what is right and what is just until you can't ignore it anymore. Until I have to be given a world championship match. Until no one has any choice.
He takes one last breath and shoves the microphone back at Becky, who takes it while yielding a step back. Her eyes are wide after Drake's tirade. Drake takes one last look at everyone before storming off, while the camera centers on Becky, who can only speechlessly stare after Drake as the interview fades to black.
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