Slater vs Israel

[Deleted]

For the NEW Youngblood Championship

1 RP a piece. Good luck.

[KeNath Israel]

As a champion, one must be aware of the giant target on his back. To everyone out there looking for a fight, the champ is always watching his back. From challenges by nobodies who figure the title is “theirs” that fizzle out after a few losses, to former champions willing to stake it all on one more go for the belt, even to the overachievers who’ve never achieved anything that want to start from the bottom and work their way up to you after two wins.

Those are the guys everyone roots for but never does anything, talk the talk, and crawl the walk. How the hell can the fans get behind someone who not only fails to meet their expectations, but also fails at life so many times he can’t even hold a family down.

A couple days ago, I was strolling around the arena like I usually do. It was after my match with Judas, I gave it my all, and he did too. My head still hurts from that knee. But, With two losses since I’ve gotten ahold to this belt, it feels like my chances of keeping the title from Mathew Slater are slim.

Even after losing to Judas, Matt Slater is stuck in my head, but a week prior, the Head Dean Professor of Boredom straight murked that Rivers guy with a Santa costume. I couldn’t shake him.. Matt Slater has gained a new name for him, starting off at the bottom and surprising everyone by actually beating those at the bottom.

It’s basically the equivalent of getting a Ph.D. in Quantum Physics, and then going around and challenging a bunch of kids from a preschool to a fight on the playground and having others cheer for you when you go “against all odds” and win.

I paced around the meeting room. It was a small trailer where the staff met. I snuck in there often times to find myself with a little peace and quiet. The room had a large circular wood table and swivel chairs seated around it. I sat in a chair right in the middle and rubbed my temples, some of the pain was caused by that goddamn shooting star knee to my face, the rest was stress from strategies I formed with myself. I had many ideas from electric Brass Knucks to setting explosives across the ring just in case the match got a little too ugly.

They placed me up with this man not once but twice. He’s beaten me once and no doubt in my mind leads me two believe he won’t try at it a second time. Recently, he’s taken care of McMattio, the guy who funded a genetically engineered shark to eat all my fans, and put him out of the business. He alone put away a man many other wrestlers tried and failed to do. Yet, he couldn’t quite fit in with the big boys could he, forcing himself down to the lower card so he can look good again.

But in between him and the fame he so eager tries to achieve is me. I looked at the platinum hunk on the table infront of me.Me and my title. Everytime I glanced at it, there was a small part in my head that said I’d lose it. Hell, I’d never kept a title more than two weeks. It would just be natural to lose it to my first, and potentially last challenger. Like always.

But an even bigger part of my mind told me to forget everything and just ram on through the bullshit. But I knew that it wouldn’t be easy Neither of them. I lifted the title. It shined just right even in the dimmed lights of the closed trailer. Just seeing my reflection forced me to smile. My hands glided over the blooded hands and then the crimson red Young Blood engraving over the face of the leather belt. Holding it,now that it was mine kinda relieved the pains. The physical I’ve had to deal with for three years before I was able to get this belt, and the mental pains that came with trying to survive even as a champion.

It’s like I had to take so many bumps to get to this belt. Now that I have it, it just might be worse than working your way up. It’s true, the air is thin, and it gets harder to breath... but Fuck if I’m working my ass off to the top only to get thrown off by the first nigga with a name that tries to fuck with me.

My smile faded as soon as the lights came.

“What the hell, oh it’s just you.”

I picked my head and looked straight at his bald head. God I hated Ryan Elias.

“Fuck you want, punk?”

He stopped and smiled.

“Hey. I’m just trying to wish you luck.”

Fuck that, wishing me luck?

“Quit the bullshit, Mr. Showtime L-whatever. What do you fucking want?”

Elias kept his smile as he neared me. He sat into the chair next to me, he was begging for a crack in the nose. Still, I held my cool, or what part of my cool I had left. Keeping my title was alot more than one punch to the new boss...maybe even more than a few stomps aswell.

“Look, I’m just here to say good luck against Matt Slater. I mean look at him, a miracle couldn’t even save you from that guy. Wow, a good way to prove your worth to the network, isn’t it?”

“My worth?”

“Yes. Roger gave you a contract because well, he felt sorry you. And now that I’m in charge, I feel you’re a waste of our money. I mean, take example the state Ignite is in next week. Connecticut. Rich white people, wanting a rich white champion, not some broke ex con. You scare them. You scare us. And you’re a loser. What’s going to stop you from shooting up the whole place when you take one loss too many?”

Nothing. Infact I’ve done it multiple times, but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing that. This guy was a piece of work wasn’t he? Just thinking he could get up and do whatever he wanted. I wanted to reach for my semiauto, but As I reached into my lap, I caught a glimpse of my title. I couldn’t flush all that away. Roger has this whole place rigged with cameras, I don’t think anything could escape his eyes.


Ryan sighed and folded his hands on the table.

“All I’m saying is, your time here is limited. you won a title good, was it a fluke? The network thinks so, and until you prove why we’ll throw money at losers ask Josh Cole, what happens when the Network loses money. And ask Triple X what happens when the Network doesn’t like you. In other words, if you’re not Showtime material, you’re out of the fold, capiche?”

“Bi-”

No. I held that word, it would be followed closely by a fist surely. I grabbed my title, and fixed it over my shoulder, nodding as I got up.

“I feel ya.” I told the douchebag. I walked out of the trailer but stopped at a couple feet from the trailer. I still had that semiauto, I could scare him a little bit, but that would only do more, and I had Slater to worry about. God what was worse, Reya or Slater. At least Reya Serra had a title to back her up.

Matt Slater holds a victory over me, but now he wants the one thing I spent so long trying to obtain. I couldn’t let him get his hands on my title, it just wasn’t an option right now. Not as my first defence. And of course all of his fans expect him to win, but Matthew, poor Matthew Slater has a history of not being able to grab that brass ring, I can use that against him and no way can I let him get close to my platinum belt.

As I walked through the corridors I tried to think about more ways to dismantle my challenger, strategies aren’t the best things in this unexpected, unpredictable business. Usually the wires start to unravel right as the bell rings, leaving your strategy with a few holes to fill. But it’s always good to know what you’re up against.

Still in my wrestling gear, the arena’s Air conditioning system clipped the naked parts of my body. Still covering with sweat, the bearable cold winds caused the sweat drops to magnify the cold exponentially. Suddenly I was covered with shivers, my ice cold title belt freezing my shoulder everytime it touched.

The belt’s tail flappped around as I held it. The belt filled me with so much pride it was kinda hard to imagine losing it to anyone, but Matt Slater isn’t just anyone. How I lost to someone who’s been beaten by every other champion in the history of ever is a question to my, one that I try not to answer. My question, the one I need answers to is the one that’s been in my head since the begining of this week. Can I hold on to my belt?

Of course I think I can, but do I know I can?

“You can do this man!”

I knew that voice. As I was caught deep in my own thoughts, I kinda wandered about the whole stadium and wound up in a wind filled with staff. James walked up and patted his hand against my shoulder.

“That baby shines don’t it?”

“Like a nigga wouldn’t believe.”

It was like he was trying to reassure me without saying it. He didn’t have to.

“Yeah,” he started off. “I can tell by the way you were walking. Get swung upon by anyone. Luckily the locker room’s on the other side. You got to keep healthy for Slater.”

He had that one right. If i had chance to beat a rolling Slater, I’d need to keep myself in shape.

“Look man.” James started walking down the halls and motioned for me to follow. As we started walking he took out his black berry and punched in some buttons, pulling the files on Slater.

“You have a few advantages, but so does Slater. Roughly this is a fifty fifty contesion. Slater’s momentum and your being the champion are a few wild cards, but You’re stronger and a hell of a lot more brutal, I mean seriously a steel chair? That’s amateur.”

Once again he was right.

“Look, honestly I want to stay out of that shockwave, that bitch hurts like a mudd. I think Slater just needs to get hurt a bit. But he’ll be pretty sharp in the beginning won’t he?”

“Oh yeah,” James nodded. “I don’t really know if he’ll start out with a headstrong attitude, I’d doubt it. But don’t think he’s not going to try to kill you in the first three minutes. I think the guy hates you.”

“He hates you even more, now.”

Wondabread leant on the water cooler holding a styrofoam cup. He was in gear so had refereed a match that night, but I couldn’t remember which. A smile was painted in bold across his face.

“You pissed in his tea?”

It was a worthy question...

“No, but I shoulda..But close, though.”

Wondabread tossed the cup walked up to us, popping fives.

“So what did you do?”

“Just helped out the strategy.”

Strategy?

“Strategy?”

“Yep.”
James nodded and popped fives with Wondabread again. So now these two were conspiring against me? To take out Slater. Hell yeah. Those my niggas forreal! I wonder what they did though, maybe ran him over after the show? Used a stopsign?

Wonda backed up a bit and pulled something out of the striped pocket on his shirt and pulled out a chain. Along with the chain was a golden watch.

Oh. My. Fuckin. God. These two jackasses actually did that shit. Well, I guess if it’s anyone Wonda would be the one to pull it off. James chimed in.

“Look, as your agent. I find it in my best interests as well as yours to keep your title defence successful. And I’ll do whatever in my power I can to to make sure it happens. And hiring Wonda was just in my powers.

I nodded in appreciation. It was low, dirty, and unethical. It was brilliant.

“How the hell did you do that?”

Wonda smiled and placed watch into his pocket.

“Look...”

-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-
Matt Slater’s locker room. The British loggings were furnished by comfortable, white furniture that furnish the locker room. In a corner were the lockers, all painted a Deeply blue, Strengthening red and Most Boring white in the likeness of the flag of Great Britian. Built in upon the opposite wall, a fireplace, as fire consumed and nipped at the wood feeding it’s sharp hunger and licking it’s ember tongues at top of the fireplace.

In the middle stretched a table, upon it sat a china teapot and cup filled with singeing hot, horrible tasting tea and scones that were harder than the rocks along Cera’s glacier that was once known and referred to as the cardiovascular organ.

The empty, adjacent room was filled only with sounds of the Beatles playing on a vinyl somewhere by the spare crumpets somewhere undecreed within the confines of the room.

Breaking the unending noise of four prepubescent English boys, the wooden door of Matthew Slater’s office of changing and room of locking creaked open. It was ajar exactly six inches in gap length and a pale Caucasian face looked in and took a glancing peak. The door opened and didn’t close a little bit more, for a longer amount of time.

The bread of Wonder stepped and placed a foot into Matthew’s confines. With a feline, catlike tread, he cautiously laid the second foot onto the cherry oak wood floor boards.

[Alright seriously if you don’t tell me what the fuck happened I will kick your ass!]

Aight..

Wondabread creeped around the room a little bit. When he found no signs of Slater, he looks around Slater’s locker room, checking the furniture, under the subscribed Playgirl magazines and even behind the plasma TV with the image of firewood on the screen.

Eating a few scones, Wonda looked at the lockers and examined them. After finding that they weren’t combination locked, he proceeded to take out his trusty “Brat”. A rather large jack knife and went to work with the locks. After manipulating the lockers a bit, one opened and luckily, it contained Matt’s duffelbag.

Unzipping it, Wonda checked the doors once more before digging through the black blag. A few man thongs, a dictionary, and a picture of a naked Jen with analbeads..still, nothing of value. But wait! there, under the Ass-Cream. It felt cold to his fingers. When Wonderbread picked it up he saw it was gold. Biting the chain, he felt it was pure gold. Placing the items back into the bag, Wonda locked the locker and placed the watch in the back pocket of his sweatpants.

Darting for the door, Wonda placed one hand on the door and turned it exiting the room.

“What were doing in my locker room?”

Wonda froze for a second. He then cleared this throat and looked Slater directly in the eye.

“Just wanted to see if you had any questions about the match. Straight one on one American style, you got it?”

Matt nodded.

“Good luck in your match.”

Wonda shot off and Matt Slater entered his locker room not taking his eyes off Wonda and closed the door.

….


“What the fuck!!?”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
“Aaaand that’s how I swiped it from Slater.” Wonda looked proud. He should be, and I was proud of him, without that watch, Slater’s going to be so pissed into the match..might even bring it with me to the ring.

“You can totally beat this guy, bro.”

Wonda produced a file on Matt Slater bigger than the one James had. He must’ve pulled it under his shirt when noone was looking. he threw it to me.


“These are reports, from promoters, commentators, critics and referees. They all place their comments into the folders of wrestlers, to kinda give you a feeling what they really are.”

James intercepted the folder and looked through it, his jaw dropping harder than Slater did on the cards everytime he turned a page. It was filled with handwritten notes on Slater’s acts back stage, his composure in the ring and the expectations of other nonwrestling staff in charge.

“How in hell did you pull this off? I can’t even get this stuff.”

“I’m a ref, I not only get access to them, but I’m also allowed to add to them, dumbass.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just see what this paper says.”

I grabbed the brown folder and looked through it.

“Yeah, the guy is a god in the ring, but he’s super focused. So taking that which kinda helped you out a bit. You really won’t find any serious flaws in there so don’t look for them. If it were me in your shoes with that shiny ass belt, I’d try to see what he can do right and build on him. Fight fire with fire, not water sometimes.”

“So you tellin me, if the nigga wants brawl, brawl with him?”

“Yeah, just don’t play his game a little too much, keep yourself ahead of him, his moves are designed for guys his size, not yours. Break him down before you go for the big ass moves, and whatever you do, don’t just rush at him like you did to Judas, that’s how you lost, try to keep him wondering what you’re going to do, even if he knows the cards in your deck, keep your hand fresh.”

“Sho you right..”

I looked back at the title across my shoulder. To get the results I want would take awhile, but I could do it. Just go in it headfirst? Mabybe not but still give him the asswhooping of a lifetime. I didn’t spend so long battling Reya Serra and proving to her that I was a true contender for that title just to get beat down and defeated by Matt Slater. Infront thousands of people, people expecting me to lose and the great white..I mean Silver Hope to take my title? fuck that. Slater knows this game.

I’m the good guy, the underdog he’s the villain the big bad Wolf, taking down all the midcarders in path. The fuck ever, Slater’s just as much as a fan favorite as ever. Showtime Pipes in those boos. But I know how it feels, not just from taking on Slater that first time, but giving it all I had, taking it all to the top with only a select few, even less of those who could afford tickets to the shows,cheering and getting drowned out by the the arena by the bigger name, the man who probably worked a bit less than I did to get where he was, then Slater who came into this building backed with so much in the high card, even after he proved his worthlessness losing every title shot he had...And I’m the one who’s ass is on the line to prove why I’m still here.

Slater, and everyone like him reminds me of school on Sundays: No class. Just handed everything despite their lack of actual worthiness. It’s pampered, privileged squares like him are the reason the low livers like me are having to shark ourselves and do whatever the hell we can to get to the top.

Unfortunately the ones at the top aren’t the ones from the bottom and the ones who are can only focus on keeping their spots for the next privileged asshole who is given a shot. Goddamn I came to far to lose. To Slater. Hell If I lose, it’s going to someone who deserves it, not someone who decided to go to the bottom just cause he couldn’t make it in the top, he won’t make it here either, not with me guarding the gates. And once I win, hopefully I’ll get the respect
I finally deserve and kill out the buzz Slater’s been getting and showing the world how much of a generic overachieving asshole he is.

Slater..Now You’re PHUCKED!

Fuck That! You dead, British boy!”

[Deleted]

OOC: This takes place after Cera’s RP and BEFORE Kenath’s RP, just to clear up the time-line of events that occur. I would also like to thank Johnny for character usage. Enjoy!

---

A Matter Of Time

Incinerating pieces of debris flowed across the blackened sky like sparkling fireflies. Exhaustive, panic-stricken voices echoed through the park from all directions, being elicited from numerous people who had disregarded their formerly-joyous conversations and lawful activities to dilute the hazardous blaze that had manifested before them. Intense crackling sounds emanated from the catalyst of the scorching flames; unable to be controlled, unable to be exterminated. And a short, safe distance away, occupying a hotel room balcony to visualize these chaotic scenes from, two individuals smirked with callousness and enjoyment, captivated by these moments of anxiety, calamity and fiery splendour that had substituted a rather boring festivity for something enticing and memorable.

‘This is rather enchanting...’ Cera indirectly said, her beautiful sky blue irises being discoloured by the rampaging flames ahead that offered a reflective glimpse at the ensuing havoc in her marvellous eyes.

‘I couldn’t agree more...’ was my reply that came out with a tone of satisfaction, being equally-judgemental in accordance to what we were witnessing with collective interest. ‘Had it not been for those fireworks malfunctioning and setting fire to the trees, this service would have been a complete waste of time.’

‘That’ll teach them to be foolish and incompetent,’ Cera remarked as a smile stretched across her face, taking the cigarette I had been smoking casually from between my fingers and culminating a few drags herself.

This should have been a show to commemorate something I hardly cared about in Hartford, Connecticut, but some idiotic planner had situated the fireworks too close to the trees. Not only that, but they had also purchased a set of fireworks that were clearly faulty, having not been destroyed before they could be put to use.

Now they had been, and the effects had been harmful; well, charmingly harmful, at least to a couple of spectators who had gotten bored by the repetitive nature of the show and wanted something invigorating to quench their appetites for entertainment after consuming a hearty meal beforehand.

Fortunately, this seemed to be the perfect distraction from Cera enquiring if I had come to a decision about World War X yet. She had persuaded me to consider joining Team NEW alongside her, Matthew Carter and Roger Wright for the War Games Match, even though I didn’t care about representing the company in that fashion, or competing for the sake of Wright and his partner, the Showtime Liaison Officer Ryan Elias, generating a superiority complex.

I hadn’t come to a clear decision, but I could tell that Cera wanted me there, seeing as how I was the only one she could trust, and that our chemistry as a team was superbly tremendous and successful – we had been the longest reigning World Tag Team Champions in NEW history after all.

But at the same time, I didn’t want to be involved in those proceedings. I wanted to atone for my recent failures, working up from the bottom as a redeeming task.

Cera saw it as cowardly, but she didn’t understand my motivations, and she couldn’t deny that it was off to a prosperous start.

Two decisive victories had been attained since my current obligations had taken effect. Christian Rivers had the misfortune of falling prey to my onslaughts whilst I was adorned in a Santa costume, but at least he didn’t suffer the ultimate humiliation of submitting to me in his last match like Matt McMattio did. It wasn’t quite the send-off he mentally pictured, but he could still take solace in the fact he faced me as his final opponent in New Edge Wrestling ... after recovering from his brutal beatings in a hospital in Boston of course.

As anyone could suspect, these questionable obligations to prove my respectable worth were becoming hastily fruitful and commendable, something no one would doubt or criticize in due time. Perhaps it was bewildering for a wrestler of my immense calibre to conduct my recuperative affairs in the Youngblood Championship Division, seen as the lowest title in terms of prestige and popularity, but people needed to realize that this was only the beginning. Soon my journey would ascend back to the higher ranks, laying waste to my opposition with strong determination and incorruptible will, and as they would fall one by one, society would have no choice but to bestow positive feedback and complimentary statements towards me without hesitance or falsification.

It was only a matter of time until my purpose had been fulfilled, and they could see it brewing and festering, unable to nullify what will be ... and what shall be.

Speaking of time, Kenath Israel needed to thoroughly understand that he had little of it left as it pertained to his Youngblood Championship reign. The next Ignite would mark Israel’s first official title defence; unfortunately, he would be putting the championship he had shockingly pried from Reya Serra’s grasp against me. Maybe now Israel would subdue his repugnant personality and actually concentrate on being professional and supportive, because there was no way he could overcome my abilities with his current attitude.

If he didn’t change his obnoxious, dislikeable ways, it would just be like the previous time I competed against him; he would come in with an abundance of confidence, act as though the match would work in his favour, and then succumb unto my tenacious motives once he realized he was in deep trouble – or, as others would commonly vocalize, deep shit. Sure, last time he gave me quite a fight, but on this occasion he had nothing to save him from his impending descent into mediocrity.

I would prove that his championship acquisition had been an absolute fluke, just like the other times he had held gold in New Edge Wrestling. How could such a vulgar, idiotic competitor that smoked illegal substances to experience hallucinogenic imagery, who had been fired and rehired numerous times, and who had been victimized with comical slander and humiliating references since his hardly amusing return overcome a pure technical wrestler like Reya Serra? It was asinine.

And now, it would be my pleasure to prove to the world why he was on borrowed time, and that his run as a champion – using that word loosely – had been a shameful, forgettable experience.

Some people expected this to be a slaughter. Others theorized that the verdict had already been guaranteed. They were correct of course, and if Kenath couldn’t comprehend what he was in store for, his imminent defeat would be painful to watch and savour; not just for the viewing audience in attendance, but for him personally as he surveyed the match on replay in a location of isolative obscurity... if he even could.

The clock was ticking down for the neglectful, incompetent imbecile, who was strangely adored despite his ethical preferences and childish antics that made the fans laugh. What a backward, pitiful world we live in these days. And once it reached zero, prepared or unprepared for combat, Kenath Israel would be forced to agonizingly relinquish the Youngblood Championship unto me as the newest champion of the year.

‘Looking at this destructive scene makes things feel symbolic to me too...’ I said, letting that comment linger as I surveyed a small group of fireman that had been ushered forth to extinguish the flames.

‘Is it symbolic in the sense that you’re picturing Kenath Israel’s chances of victory burning and disintegrating away, just like Matthew Carter’s will too?’ Cera intellectual predicted, causing me to chuckle and turn to face her directly.

‘That is one symbolic statement,’ I said with a smirk, moving back into the hotel room with Cera and shutting the balcony doors after she finished off our shared cigarette and tossed it over the balcony rail. ‘Plus, we’ve already established that their egos will implode, especially in the case of Kenath Israel, who can’t seem to maintain his momentum after losing to you and Judas Dathan. But there is one other symbolic meaning that doesn’t concern them.’

‘Oh?’ Cera intriguingly mouthed, strolling up to me in a seductive manner. ‘Then what would the other be?’

‘Let’s just say...’ I began to elicit as my hands were gently pressed against the smooth skin of her visible waist, looking upward in contemplation briefly before our eyes met again, ‘...that I’m feeling hot at this moment in time, and it’s not because of those flames.’

‘Hot enough to melt the ice within?’ Cera questioned poetically as she caressed my chest with her fingers.

‘Hot enough to compare to your inner fire,’ I answered with a tone of affection, slowly reaching my hands around her waist as she lightly chuckled.

‘I doubt that’s even possible...’

‘Want me to prove it?’ I flirtatiously asked, rubbing the fingers of my right hand up her back as she pouted in thought.

‘Are you sure?’ she questioned back as her fingers massaged the skin of my face that had been recently shaved, allowing her to feel the stubble on her fingertips. ‘I might engulf you and leave you burning.’

‘Burning with desire ... or burning for more?’ was my suggestive reply, causing Cera to move her lips close to mine.

‘Burning with ecstasy ... perhaps...’ she clarified as she spoke against my mouth. ‘And this does remind me that I’ve neglected to give you your New Years present.’

‘Would you care to indulge me?’

‘Gladly...’ Cera answered before she firmly pressed her lips against mine, the both of us eventually sharing kisses ... with a little bit of bite in-between. This romantic altercation soon grew rampant as we intimately caressed each other’s bodies as the kissing got stronger and rougher, making our way towards the bed until Cera shoved me down onto it. From there she sat on my abdomen and removed her tank top, revealing wrapped bandages for her cracked ribs that had been caused by Reya Serra – shockingly – and exposing her breasts which I got a full frontal view of before more kissing ensued ... with the pulling of hair added in to establish a loveable power struggle.

The sensual roughness of these sexual proceedings was exhilarating, to say the least, and I couldn’t allow her to stay on top for long, reversing the roles and laying atop of her slender body as I kissed her neck passionately. Her gasps increased as my fingers trailed down her stomach slowly, loosening her jeans as she pulled at my shirt, tearing the fabric with her nails.

Being here with her in this manner, it alleviated the problems I had been mentally experiencing for some time, and I knew it would help us relieve the pressure and unwind considerably – even though Cera flinched occasionally due to her injuries. And, to expand the comfort level, somewhat, Jen wouldn’t be around to interrupt our ventures, due to her going on a merry adventure through Hartford, undertaking some kind of ... “project” that she had spontaneously devised.

The bliss of this moment was immaculate, and as we kissed, groped and caressed, I knew it to be true.

Little did I know that the torturous anguish that had affected us both before was about to materialize once more as I stroked her inner thigh with my hand, only to locate something that stopped our affectionate session in an instant.

A deep scar from a grotesque wound that had been etched permanently into her flesh.

Cera realized what was wrong as she viewed my quizzical eyes, immediately turning away from me and resting her head on the thick pillow. And as I attempted to comprehend how this scar had been developed, whether it was from her rebellious youth or from her wrestling career, a sadistic quotation bloomed inside my mind that made me disturbingly nauseous, digitally spoken by the man who had taken Tyler and concealed his invisible entity in Papua New Guinea.

“You’ll see it sooner or later on that little whore. Mind you, the cunt deserved every bit of it. Watch for that spot. It’s where I marked my territory.”

This was what he had been referring to all those weeks ago. He had done this. He labelled it “his territory”.

If he couldn’t have sickened or aggravated me anymore, he just had, and he wasn’t even present to witness the astonishment on my face, slowly turning into one that exposed my flourishing rage at a man I wanted to brutalize and mercilessly punish for still being alive after completing these dreadful subjections.

‘... Cera ... tell me...’

My words were exhaled with troubling clarity, wanting to know everything ... wanting to know what this bastard had physically done to her. Her eyes began to well up with tears as she continued to stare away, shutting her eyelids tightly to try and remove herself from reality, hoping that this discovery had been nothing but a psychological nightmare.

Unfortunately, this was genuine, and I needed to know the excruciating details ... right here and now.

‘... Please...’ I said again, my hand trembling with anger as I wiped a single tear away from her face, Cera opening her eyes again and shaking her head in dismay.

‘... He was the first bastard who told me he loved me...’ Cera verbalized with notable venom, scowling with malignance until she frowned and started to visibly shiver. ‘I was foolish to think that I could trust someone ... trust him. It was just a lie to ... experiment on his perverted fucking fantasies...’

Continuing to look at Cera, I struggled to absorb the blatant answers that had subtly been unleashed from her trembling lips. How could he...?

He was her ex-boyfriend ... and he had falsified his love for her to obscure his true nature from being uncovered.

‘His name’s Daren, Matt...’ Cera whispered aloud, his name emanating from her mouth in a tone of bitterness, ‘... and he tried to kill me. He ... had a knife ... and he...’

‘Stay strong, Cera...’ I said as I stroked her face delicately, wanting her to feel easy, wanting her to soothingly understand that she was being protected and comforted by me at this moment in time.

‘I fought him off. He was aiming for my ... but he missed...’

So that’s how the wound had gotten there. He wanted to plunge the knife into her vagina and twist it to satisfy his gruesome temptations. The sick fuck...

‘I’ve been scarred for life, Matt ... in more ways than one. It still hurts ... but I know I deserve to feel the agony...’

‘No, you don’t...’ I lovingly emphasised, although it was difficult to suppress the anger brewing inside my mind.

‘I’ve always been worthless. A masochistic demon should be tortured and banished. And ... I’m even getting weaker, Matt. The power I once had is leaving me ... being replaced with nothing but fear. I don’t even deserve you ... and you certainly don’t need to be plagued with someone like me. You should just ... leave me alone...’

‘You’re not worthless, Cera. You’ve helped me more than anyone ever has. You’ve been there for Jen and for Tyler. I ... care for you, Cera ... more than anyone can comprehend. And in time, you’ll regain the power and supremacy that you should deservingly cherish and harbour.’

With Cera still relenting from looking at me, I turned her face towards mine and looked into her watery eyes, merely to lean forward and kiss her on the lips before speaking again.

‘I swear to you, Cera ... you are far more important to me than anyone I’ve ever known, and I would never hurt you in the ways that ... he did. He may have harmed you physically in the past, but you can look ahead to the future with me by your side. I promise I’ll never leave you alone.’

‘Even...’ Cera began to say until she took my hand in hers, pausing momentarily as she studied my own eyes warily. ‘... If it means you’ll remain tainted...?’

‘You’ve purposefully tainted me in a manner that no one else has, Cera...’ I replied honestly as a smile of revitalization appeared for her to see, ‘and these markings I bear will be my homage to you ... and how significant you’ve become in my life. I want you there with me for my rest of my life ... just like I’ll be there for the entirety of yours.’

Without saying anything more, Cera grasped my hair with her other hand and pulled me down onto her lips, firmly embracing our reconciliation with a touch of wholesome romance. And soon enough, the rest of the clothes came off with the padded duvet of the bed becoming our intimate canvas, entwined and embroiled in a loving session that I wanted to last forever as the flames of the botched fireworks show continued to crackle and scorch, symbolically purifying our love with an atmospheric clarity that couldn’t be permanently extinguished.

---

Calming silence surrounded me as I roamed across the empty roads of Hartford, contemplating various affairs that had bothered me recently, all for entirely different reasons; well, except for the noise of the distant helicopter that endlessly coursed over the city, but it wasn’t exactly affecting my thoughts with detrimental interruptions.

After comforting Cera’s fearful emotions – which led to gratifying, sensual sex that subdued her bitter feelings, for the most part – and lying with her until she fell asleep, I decided to get dressed and journey out alone to have a thoughtful stroll through the expansive city, leaving Cera to sleep away her grief in the warm habitat of the hotel room. She needed the rest, and I didn’t want to bother her with my relentless pondering that would possibly wake her up and cause further distress.

The disturbing conducts of her ex-boyfriend Daren had definitely infuriated me to the point where I actually started to feel sympathetic about those who he had harmed in the past, not just Cera. This bastard was still walking freely without limitation, accompanied by May who had aligned herself with him just to cause Cera aggravation and make her feel insecure. Add onto the fact that he presumably brainwashed Tyler and teased something far more sinister in the future, and you could tell why I wanted to utterly decimate this twisted individual.

He didn’t deserve to live ... not after what he had done. But just like the other incriminating, hypocritical, two-faced individuals that continued to populate this impoverished planet, he would find ways to strengthen his longevity, taking every breath with a vile smile of enjoyment as he leisurely feasted on the impeccable qualities of life that he didn’t deserve to touch.

At least the people who had mindlessly caused the trees near our accommodative hotel to turn into burning cinders after being smothered in smouldering flames got their dose of punishment. Sure, I was amused by their mind-numbing incompetence in terms of health and safety maintenance, but they did deserve to be lambasted and ridiculed because of their lack of knowledgeable insight. That’s what entertained me the most; witnessing those who created problems getting their comeuppance and paying for the consequences.

Daren though ... he was getting away with murder.

But we would locate him and bring that piece of shit to justice, one way or another, and would love for Cera to confront him and be his judge, jury ... and executioner.

As I thought of the ways he would be victimized and tortured once we got our hands on him, I suddenly realized that I had ventured into the Constitution Plaza, an urban space where festivals and concerts occur at different times of the year. Walking through the Plaza, I soon came across a water fountain that softly glimmered with sparkling light, but it wasn’t just this pleasant scenery that removed Daren from the forefront of my conscious mind.

It was who happened to be residing on one of the marble pillars that made up this designed and sculptured fountain, smoking casually as he took in the dark atmosphere of the cool night with a cocky grin, a grin that widened as soon as he noticed my frozen figure.

‘Well, well, well...’ Johnny Stylez said after exhaling a cloud of smoke, ‘ain’t this a phucking surprise. The Paragona of Americana, the Don of Disrespect, the former PCW World Heavyweight Champion L.A Johnny Stylez, coming face-to-face, once again, with Matt Slater, the next, and soon to be greatest, Youngblood Champion in New Edge Wrestling history!’

‘You can quit with the sarcastic flattery...’ I replied drearily as I started to walk away from the brash cRu member, the logo on his shirt so flamboyant and luminous it would give people a headache just from looking at it.

‘Hey, hey!’ Johnny called aloud, stopping me in my tracks for a moment. ‘I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was telling the God honest truth!’

‘A deceptive, manipulative man like you telling the truth?’ I rhetorically questioned before shaking my head deniably. ‘That’s quite an accomplishment, considering how you ranted on Insanity about how I’m a failure, and that I need Cera to hold my hand, and that I should be better than I am without being held down by imbecilic factors. And let’s not forget bringing out a mannequin designed to duplicate my current features and wipe lip stick on its plastic face to emphasise that I’m a cowardly man who prances around without any balls. If I’m supposed to believe that was all a cover-up, or if you believe it was, Aurora Deadwood must have smashed that bottle of whiskey over your head pretty good.’

‘Nothing a shit ton of pills, weed, alcohol and stitches can’t fix. But she’ll get hers...’

‘Just like last time, and the time before that?’

‘I’m a patient man, Slater, so it won’t come when she expects it to.’

‘Johnny Stylez is going to be patient and not retaliate instantly after being bludgeoned with a whiskey bottle? What next, he’s going to apologize to all those he’s harmed in the past and stop acting like a hypocrite?’

‘Phucking hell...’ Johnny exhaled as he dropped down from the marble pillar, strolling over to me and smoking his blunt. ‘You’re really going to assume I don’t have a genuine reason for what I said about you?’

‘It’s what you’ve done for years, Johnny, so I’m not being as assumptive as I am being factitious...’

‘There’s an explanation I can give for what I broadcast on Insanity.’

‘I’d rather not hear it. I’m tired of the constant spewing of bullshit...’

‘Oh Jesus Christ...’ was Johnny’s flabbergasted reply, composing himself before he finished his blunt and chucked it aside. Staying wary of Johnny, I couldn’t help but think he really did have something to reveal and explain truthfully, which was astonishing considering the predictable impossibility of that ever happening from a man who had led many people into gullible traps, manipulative schemes and betrayals, some of which caused mental breakdowns, psychotic episodes and family bereavements to ensue.

‘I need to tell you, Slater, you shouldn’t be doing this “starting from the bottom” bullshit...’ Johnny said, reminding me of what Cera had said in the gym after our training regimen had exhaustively concluded. ‘It makes you seem like the next Cinderella Man.’

‘Cinderella Man?’

‘You’ve not seen that movie?!’ Johnny responded in a shocked tone of voice. ‘Damn, you’re missing out! It has Russell Crowe playing a real-life boxer called James J. Braddock, who used to be a contender to the World Championship, but when the Great Depression hits, he starts losing fights and ultimately loses his boxing license. Then he has to go and make ends phucking meet for his family by working at the docks, until he gets a deal for a one-time fight...’

‘And let me guess, the movie concludes with him going from rags to riches all over again, and his nickname, from what he accomplished, was “Cinderella Man”?’

‘You should have put a phucking bet on!’

‘It’s the same way all “feel-good” movies that Hollywood churn out end, Johnny. The main protagonist fall’s victim to something sympathetic and tragic, and before they lose hope, they start fighting back until they reach the glorious finale.’

‘Which is what you shouldn’t be doing...’

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ I said, all the while studying his deceitful demeanour. ‘It’s not because I’ve lost everything that I’m doing this. It’s not because I’m being forced to commit myself to this task. I’m doing this willingly, Johnny ... to redeem myself from what I’ve done, or rather failed to do.’

‘Fair enough...’ Johnny vocalized before he chuckled audibly, strolling ahead as I kept a vigilant eye on him. ‘But that doesn’t exclude the fact that you’re a phucking pussy.’

‘And now the vulgarity begins...’

‘Do you want to know why I called you a pussy after we, the greatest collection of wrestlers in wrestling history, the cRu, destroyed the members of Team NEW on Ignite? And do you want to know why I continued the bashing on Insanity? It was to encourage you, Slater, to get you out of this slump and give you some ambition and some drive. ’

‘I do have ambition and drive, Johnny.’

‘Really? Well I don’t see you in the Undisputed Championship division. In fact, I don’t see your phucking name attached to Team NEW heading into the War Games Match at World War X.’

‘I’m not taking part...’ I answered back with frustration. ‘At least, I don’t care to...’

‘Because you fear you’ll be decimated like the rest of those atrocious asshats who are on the team? That’s understandable...’

‘It’s not my battle to fight in...’

‘Not even for Cera?’ Johnny questioned back, and it was then I started to deeply ponder my sensible inclusion. ‘Slater, I know who you can be. Don’t listen to those irrelevant asshats who put you down and disrespect you. They know what you’re capable of, and its phucking jealousy and envy that makes them say those things. You belong in this match, Slater ... even if you’re against a group that can’t possibly lose.’

‘... I have a champion to prepare for and defeat on Ignite...’ I responded bluntly. ‘This meeting is over.’

‘You mean Kenath Israel? That asshat couldn’t beat you if you were dead and left on the canvas for him to cover! You’ll kick his ass and take that Youngblood Championship, and then Slater ... you’ll be part of the War Games Match at World War X.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘You’ll prove to the world that you’re nothing but a coward that runs away from his phucking problems,’ Johnny answered, starting to walk off as I stood there for a moment in contemplation.

‘I’m not a coward, Johnny. Kenath Israel will realize my intentions on Ignite. I’ll stroll into the XL Center with the purpose of claiming that Youngblood Championship as a token of my early rejuvenation, and Israel will be helpless to resist my motives and crawl away into the shadows of despair and neglect.’

That was when Johnny stopped in his tracks and shuffled his shoulders, looking over his shoulder at me as I stayed in place near the fountain.

‘... I remember winning the Young Gunz Championship long ago, Slater. That was when I officially changed its name to the Youngblood Championship, and the rest is history. But do you know what I did afterwards?’

‘You won a Tournament to face Avalanche at World War X and beat him to become the NEW World Heavyweight Champion.’

‘Correct. I could have stayed Youngblood Champion and elevated that division to heights that no one could surpass or equalize, but instead I aimed for a higher goal. Kenath Israel has no enduring qualities that’ll help him aim higher, like me and you do. He’ll always be stuck in the lower regions of the company. His reign has been a phucking joke, Slater. I may have won the World Championship afterwards, but I didn’t intend for the Youngblood Championship to be held by guys like him...’

Listening to Johnny in this empty Plaza, it was if I was hearing the truthful personality of Johnny Stylez coming out, reflecting on the glorious memories of his past and sharing his opinions on what happened to something he once cherished and helped build from its newly-layered foundations.

‘It should be held by guys like you...’ Johnny continued as he finally turned around, focusing on me from a distance. ‘You won’t disappoint us by losing two matches consecutively after becoming a champion, like that phuck-mook. You’ll increase the prestige of that championship again, Slater, and if you want my extra opinion, I believe your participation in the War Games Match will put that championship in the spotlight more than anyone else has. Because, Slater, it isn’t the championship that makes the champion...’

‘... It’s the champion that makes the championship,’ I concluded for him, Johnny nodding in approval.

‘Kenath Israel is desecrating what should be a regaled title. You can take that away from him and make it something again. For far too long it’s been overlooked and phucking wasted with cheap talent holding it. Now it can have a credible wrestler like you restoring its pristine imagery, all before you do what’s right and lead Team NEW into combat at the PPV...’

At that moment, the same helicopter that was circling Hartford could be heard approaching our position in the distance, a spotlight coursing across the Plaza from underneath the airborne contraption. Johnny tilted his customary hat and looked towards it, blinking considerably as dust particles were swept up from the ground and flung aside by the rapid rotary blades.

‘Consider what I’ve told you, Slater!’ Johnny shouted over the deafening sound of the blades as a rope ladder fell from the helicopter’s opening, Johnny taking hold of the tense fabric and waving me off. ‘Make the right choice, because if you don’t, you’ll always be known as a phucking pussy, and earn no one’s respect!’

As Johnny started to climb up the rungs, the helicopter began to increase its altitude once more before flying across the city, Johnny’s figure becoming a miniscule silhouette until he disappeared inside. Acknowledging the side of the helicopter, I noticed that it was decorated with a large cRu logo, obviously indicating that it was owned and operated by them in some form or fashion.

Then it immediately occurred to me that this meeting had been planned from the start. Johnny had learned of my whereabouts and journeyed across the states after the Insanity Show in Disneyland, and when some information about my calming stroll had been relayed to him, they located a place where I was bound to go and dropped him off there to conduct our verbal altercation.

The crafty bastard had intercepted me and given me a potent lecture, and now his words were filling my mind, blending with Cera’s and Roger Wright’s words too as they persuaded me to make that crucial choice.

Would I join Team NEW for World War X, or would I deny their suggestions altogether?

I wanted to become the next Youngblood Champion and redefine its tarnished legacy; that much was clear. I wanted to continue to redeem my career in a way that I had singularly devised; that much was certain. And now, I was indecisive about not just representing NEW, but being there for Cera as a trustworthy partner, and gaining the respect I knew I deserved.

But why did Johnny want me to be involved in the match so badly despite being a potential enemy, and why did he want me to win the Youngblood Championship and reinvigorate its decayed prestige more than anyone? Maybe he was hiding something ... or maybe he wasn’t? I couldn’t be sure.

Still, I knew what I had to do. I was going to defeat Kenath Israel on Ignite, take away his Youngblood Championship, and set about creating a new era in the division. And then, once that task had been settled and earnestly rewarded, I would make my important decision regarding World War X and the War Games Match ... something that I would evaluate as I smoked a cigarette and walked back to the hotel.

It was only a matter of time until I would become the latest Youngblood Champion, and it was only a matter of time until everyone received the conclusive answer that I needed to analyze and culminate efficiently.