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Chapter 08: I Am Alex Kendall.
THE ACID PROJECT: 28%
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"I thought I'd seen everything."
"I thought I knew exactly what I was up against in Thy WWE when I first signed on the dotted line. I thought I had everything figured out; that this place was going to be just another overhyped federation with 'talent' that didn't suit the label they were given. Overfed egos that don’t deserve to perform in front of a hundred people, let alone tens of thousands.
“Mostly, people who would try to cover up their shortcomings by pretending that they were something they weren't, whether that be a millionaire, or something supernatural, anything they could use to give themselves the slightest bit of credibility, and turning themselves into nothing but a living marketing ploy.”
“At first, I thought I was right."
"I saw the same kinds of pretenders. I saw the same cookie-cutter representations of human beings trying to compensate for self-worth they obviously didn't have. I saw wrestlers that were mediocre even compared to the other trash in this company that tried to blame the system itself for their shortcomings and shying away from pointing out every failure they made along the way.”
“I saw the select few ‘talented’ athletes somehow managing to give themselves more credit than anyone would believe that they deserved. I saw people trying to hype themselves up as murderers who were under contract to wrestle televised instead of getting their money's worth in the prison showers where they would be, if they weren't just a manufactured scam of their own imagination."
"Most of all, I was convinced that what I wanted to see in the mainstream, more than anything, was professional wrestling and nothing but. I wanted us to live up to the 'professional' point by being nothing but wrestling.”
“By composing the ranks of nothing but purely talented athletes with no need to promote themselves as anything else, and I wanted to work under a man who would promote this, and the company as a haven for this. Perhaps, most of all, I wanted to be an inspiration. To tell all those that aspired to step in a Thy WWE ring and tell themselves this is what they wanted to be; a wrestling purist."
"So yes, everything I have aspired for in professional wrestling has gradually burned before my eyes. Yet, I'm not discouraged. I'm not without purpose. As long as I hold this SCW World Championship, I can at the very least demonstrate the success a true high-calibur athlete can accomplish. If people turn to the World Heavyweight Championship scene, then perhaps they can pay attention to a division without corruption. A division of which the taint I am gradually scrubbing off, to prove that this is more than just a cog in Vince McMahon’s grand scheme to belittle what used to be the industry’s powerhouse. That more than anything means I can continue my mission. If not to save the face of the company, but of my title. I can continue to rid of pretenders; starting with you, Sheamus."
“You like stories, don’t you, O’Shaughnessy? It’s a good job that we have one hell of a story to tell.”_________________________________
January 29th , 21:56pm EST.[/size]
[/center]The lights are bright, the crowd is loud, the music is booming. It must be the flagship show.
No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the feeling of jetlag, but it didn't matter at this point. He was there to represent 'his' company. He wasn’t there to be one of the boys, to be one of Vince’s top guys. He was there representing something he couldn't stand, to fight under contract to someone he hated and in front of fans who he could have sworn had tried to stub out his fire for what he stood for, in the ring with a man who he couldn't stand being in the same room with. Ugh, if he wasn't so close to going out, he would have lit a cigarette, but he'd been strategic enough to combat this temporary addiction and not left any in his ring attire. Not that he wouldn't have done. There were matches in the past where he’d gone to the ring with cigarette and lighter handy on his ring attire, just in case. Smoking regulations in arenas had curbed that little trick of his rather efficiently.
The thing was, he wasn't even originally a part of the match, so in effect, he was being contractually forced to do something he didn't even believe in, but it was going to backfire anyway. Several members of the roster had the same idea of their own free will, and even members of that faction that opposed him and Caitlyn so long ago had the same ideals. This match was going to become a cluster bomb of two people fighting for something they either mindlessly believe in, or half-heartedly believe in on the grounds of hedonism. This match itself was his own antithesis.
Alex Kendall wanted Thy WWE to die. Jim Cornette just wanted Thy WWE. The entire world – everyone under contract, everyone in the audience, everyone watching at home – was going to be watching very carefully.
It didn't matter. The reason he was here, the reason he'd come back in the first place was a need for escape. 'Need' was a very applicable word. Ever since that rival organisation of the past had come calling for his head, one he'd taken along with Reave's spurring, explaining how the two of them were no longer necessary in a 'relic' like Ring Of Pride and Excellence, Alex had been trapped in his own limbo of misery. No matter how much support he got, it would soon be squandered. No matter how hard he fought against the establishment, he was struck down time and time again all the same. Even when he managed to usurp some degree of power of his own, all of it was for nought. The fact remained that Alex Kendall was no leader.
That changed.
The more he thought about it, the more he realised; ROPE was the first, the only place, where he'd actually been happy.
Admittedly, calling it a 'friendship' was hardly accurate, but Alex had always found himself to have a far more amicable connection with Scott Reave than any roster member had, in the sense that neither had left the other down and bleeding in the middle of the ring, which was more or less as good as you could expect from someone like Reave. It was something he’d tried to deny.
The Chairman, Alexander Riley had always been supportive of Alex as both a person and as a cog in his great machine, and as far as Alex was concerned, half was still better than nothing. ROPE had everything he'd ever wanted; exposure, decent money, healthy amounts of competition, and compared to what he'd now seen in the 'mainstream', a modest level of corruption. Now he was back, the previous year seemed like...such a waste.
He felt sick. All the competitors were already out there and it was almost as if he regretted the fact the main event went on last. He kept picturing the moment in his head; of him standing there, both championships in hand as the entire world pondered the fate of the industry goliath. All it meant was letting these feelings brew, and some sort of hellish 'brew' was forming in the basis of his organs. It felt like it took every fibre of his body to stop himself vomiting alongside Vince McMahon’s prestigious set. All it meant was while he was holding off this moment of weakness, he was giving 'him' a little longer to speak.
He had promised the world victory. If only Adam Deming was there to call him a hypocrite, it would have made him chuckle, at least. ‘You never assure victory’, Kendall had once uttered to his greatest rival a day before securing a win with a lucky roll-up. How the tables were turned now.
“Alex, we have to—“"Goddamnit, not now." Alex muttered to himself, slightly collapsing to the side. The curtain jolted as his hand fell through it, not finding any scaffolding behind it and temporarily letting a flash of light out into the arena, ignored by the general energy that was already circulating the building. Placing his grasp firmly around some scaffolding, and his other placed around his temple, Alex could do nothing but focus on his own being; his turning stomach, his throbbing head, his skin at such a temperature he felt he could turn to liquid at any moment.
Even his eye, numb in even the most dire of situations, was burning. It had been years since that mixed tag match; a simple axe kick that landed improperly and cost him one of the few friendships he’d had during his career. The doctors said he was lucky to see. It wasn’t going to stop him wrestling.
“Alex, take a drink of water or something, please. I’m not used to seeing you like this. You can’t be nervous, not—“"It’s not nerves, Caitlyn." Alex groaned, clenching his eyes tight. If his blood vessel burst now, he'd be of no use to anyone, least of all himself. All he could hear, now directly over the booming of the crowd, was that voice inside his head, laughing at him, mocking him. The sound of Vince McMahon, Austin Starr, Adam Deming, Jason Lovell – all mocking him for falling short.
Just one more hour. There wouldn't have to be a resistance, or a system, or any kind of conflict. Any of the problems you're sick of facing down.
You’d be champion. You’d have control.
To one knee, he fell. This mental anguish was worse than anything physical he'd possibly been through before. Twice now he'd become what his mind desperately craved, like a drug addict getting 'one last fix'. He'd never made the difference he wanted, he'd never satisfied himself in any way and he'd always left more disappointed than before. Why was this time going to be any different? "Give me my title.”
“Do you want me to carry it?” “No, I want it.” He grumbled, rubbing at his eyes. Adrenaline was starting to overtake the queasiness and give him the drive that he needed for the moment. The last thing he needed was to look vulnerable, even in front of the production crew. If they saw him unable to shoulder his own championship right before the big event, win or lose, he was going to look like a joke.
“Pass it over.” “...Remember, aim for the legs first. His upper body is his strong point, submissions won’t work at first. If you topple his trunk, you’ll limit the effectiveness of the Brogue Kick and tire—“Her words blurred into a hum. The last thing he needed was to talk strategy right now. The more he thought about it, the less it was about the grand scheme. The more it was about the encounter. Shutting down the company, saving the industry, it didn’t matter. What mattered was being the best in the world.
Sheamus. Was Sheamus the best in the world?
His stomach turned again. He didn’t even feel the title being placed on his shoulder. Anxiety. He was anxious to fight, anxious to compete. He hadn’t had that feeling in years.
That was it. To hell with regulations, his own health, the match. He could do with this one little distraction if it would get rid of the greater one at hand. His hand shot to his pocket no less immediately and within a split second, a cigarette found itself igniting, held firmly against gritted teeth. Kendall inhaled and exhaled deep, trying to force silence in his own head and calming the storm by enjoying the solice of his internal rotting. And yet, he still hears it. That laughter.
You can't block me out with nicotine forever Alex, it says to him.
That voice rings in the back of his head, and there he stands with his head clenched in his hands. His fingernails dig into his forehead, almost puncturing the skin in their attempt to pry this voice out forever. So he never had to hear it again except from when it came out of his own mouth. He'd listened to it too many times in the past, and the consequences had almost been dire, not so much for himself, but for the others he had his mind's eye on at the time. Desperate, the cigarette is inhaled once again, hoping, praying this will provide him release.
Don't make me laugh. You're only spiting yourself, you know.
That hum was still there. She’s still talking.
"Caitlyn, please." he grunts, to no one in particular, which was a good thing since there was 'no one in particular' to talk to. He leans forward, leaning against the scaffold of the entranceway once again, still desperate to find his footing if nothing e;se. He hadn't taken the time to appreciate the new high budget McMahon had invested, a testament to Thy WWE’s survival on top of everything else. Maybe these new lighting rigs were meant to represent the company quite literally standing tall.
The 'no smoking' signs on the door were of no consequence to him. He was sure the person who would come out after him and complain of a musty smell would much prefer that to the consequences.
“...What’s our next move?”"We haven’t made our current move yet," Alex sternly tells himself,
"Sheamus has tenacity above all else. Cornette isn’t going to let anything fly. McIntyre is a wildcard. Vince could pull anything to stop this match going ahead." “But the contract—“"This is beyond the contract now." You'll never beat someone like Sheamus in your current mindset. Oh, I'm sorry, had you forgotten about him? He's one of the many you're potentially going up against tonight, after all. I hope I'm not distracting you.
Alex's hands go straight back to their clutched position, rage boiling over him.
Oh, come on. I thought you were more logical than this to realise you're having a conversation with yourself. I'm not him, you idiot, I'm you. And you're only hearing this because it's what you want to hear. You want to feel conflicted, because you know it isn't right...but it's what you want.
Think about it, Alex. You'll come around.
Alex burst through the curtain with no warning. His music hit two seconds later than, by all means, it should have, but it didn't matter. Caitlyn cries out, doing her best to keep her pace with him without making it obvious that she had broken her stride to do so. He marched down to the ring with the utmost of dedication. The reason he came here was forgotten and so was the reason he hesitated.
All he was hoping was that the excitement, the adrenaline, the pain would shut that voice up. But it didn't. The closer he got to the ring, the more his face contorted, forced to listen. Forced to listen.
Tick, tock, Alex, tick tock.
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“It seems like not a day goes by where at some point between sleeping, you don’t mutter the phrase ‘reminds me of an old story’. Maybe the person who told you it differs – perhaps it was your ‘old man’, or your grandfather, mother, childhood friend, a random passerby in the street who happened to have a word of wisdom to throw your way, but there’s always a story.”
“A little parable for us to walk away with, and a little window of insight into what has shaped the life of Sheamus O’Shaughnessy.”
“I wonder. Did the time ever come back when you were a wee lad, long before you would ever step in a wrestling ring or accept a payment for fighting another man, where you would be curled up beneath the covers back home in Ireland and you would ask your father to tell you another story? Where you’d tell him that you’re a warrior, and that you have the blood of a true Celt going through your veins – you’re a hero, just like the men in the epics, and not an fool like the poor downtrodden souls in those old fables.”
“And yet, when the stories are told and the lessons are learned and the time has come for your father to turn out the lights, I wonder; did the young boy, who would grow up to be the Celtic Warrior ever ask for his father to check the closet for monsters?”
“I don’t know if this ever happened or not, but I have to wonder if it was something you ever thought to yourself. Listening to tales of the banshee and the dullahan and wondering if such a thing could exist, right there, in the darkness of your own room. Perhaps your father lied and told you these tales were true. Perhaps he told a greater lie, and told you there’s no such thing as monsters.”
“And so there you would lay, night after night, story after story, slowly growing into the man that would one day call himself ‘champion’. Day by day, bones growing stronger. Day by day, muscles growing more toned. Until one day you could call yourself a man – and one day, you could call yourself a giant – a warrior among men.”
“And maybe, just maybe, at some point during this period of growth, you stopped asking if monsters were real. You stopped worrying about what was in your closet or under your bed.”
“Because all those stories taught you the truth of this world, Sheamus.”
“We stopped checking for monsters under the bed when we realised they are inside of us.”
“You’ve perhaps never stopped to reflect on the fact, but there are plenty who would regard you as a monster, Sheamus. And in a way, it’s possible that they had no choice but to. There you are at the top of the mountain, undefeated in God knows how long, and on the very cusp of breaking a solid year with that championship title around your waist to the extent that I’d imagine it’s starting to form a comfortable little indent in your hip bone.”
“You’ve stood tall throughout it all. You defeated Jonny Freeman, a man who was at his greatest trying to overcome his own demons and who had a drive and a talent that I’d never seen in a man before. I saw that, and I was impressed.”
“You defeated Triple H, multiple time World Champion, a man with no moral compass, no restrictions when it comes to the smallest win, let alone the biggest prize in all of sports entertainment, and especially not on the grandest stage of them all. The man who has played the system from both sides and a man genuinely regarded as someone simply biding his time before the Hall of Fame comes calling. I saw that, and I was impressed as well.”
“I watched as you fought The Undertaker himself – the phenom. No championship on the line, no pay per view to sell, just a simple match between the two biggest competitors – quite literally and figuratively – in the entire company, to see who was going to call themselves the best that Thy WWE had to offer. And you proved once and for all that you have what it takes to become a monster to fight the monsters of the world. You defeated the Undertaker, Sheamus. I saw it, and I smiled. I was more impressed than I think I’d ever been.”
“But you know? Nothing’s changed.”
“I still don’t see you as a champion.”
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January 28th , 22:31pm EST.
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[/center]There was no cause for celebration.
Alex Kendall felt like he was in Purgatory, like his entire life was nothing more than a drag. Sure, other star's lives were probably littered with the most glamorous things imagineable, and regardless of the victory or not, he'd feel content. Everything Alex did was a battle, and when he had a chance to actually get a win, he'd take it. Unfortunately, boredom and disappointment were proving to be his toughest opponents. Far tougher than Knight or Senn had been, and dare say, almost as tough as Sheamus himself was. Overcoming all of the stress that he was forced to endure was a task in itself, and perhaps the strongest submission hold his will had ever been put under.
At least, it seemed like change was about to come by. Sheamus, much like Senn, his last 'waste of time', loved the limelight just as much as he loved the gold that both he and Alex wore around their waists. As champions on two different ‘companies’, it was expected that they would have any kind of relationship, but they were...nothing more than an inconvinience to one another. At least, on a personal level. It was a hot scene, no doubt, and certainly the clubs were the true place where the Thy WWE roster likely wanted to be known, wanted to be revelled in as the true 'champion of the world'.
Caitlyn had told Alex that she would meet him there. Several hours prior, the flight she was supposed to be returning from was delayed.
Unfortunately, nobody told Alex this.
“ ‘Tell him Donnie sent you’, he says,” he grumbles to himself,
“ ‘Who the fuck is Donnie’, he says.” And there he sat, feeling like a child with nothing but a lemonade in a bar full of drunkards, stationed in a club filled with worse. Listening to what he could only describe as noise and dozens, perhaps even hundreds swayed like corpses and thrashed around like epileptics caught in the sea of strobe lighting. Dressed in tatters that anyone would be ashamed of to wear in public, and saying that knowing full well what some people wanted to wear as 'ring attire'. People surgically attached at the lips to people they didn't even know the name of, regardless of gender, which was the minimum knowledge requirement even in Thy WWE. Every disk jockey trapped in his own sense of hype as those stuck in his trance deified him. It was almost enough to turn his stomach.
Yet, not as much as knowing that this was the kind of attention that people he hated craved, and moreso, that the industry he hated craved. Any similarity he had with them, he didn't want.
All he could do was sigh, and take sip after sip in an attempt to prolong the inevitable. To tell himself that any minute, Caitlyn was going to turn up and apologise and he'd actually enjoy himself, and that he wouldn't regret getting changed and using the expensive kind of aftershave, the kind that was lost in a sea of musk of the dancefloor odors anyway, and the two of them would dance, both of them completely absorbed in their temporary desire to be a king of fools. A loose chance to unwind, something he hadn’t even considered indulging himself in before she insisted. But it never came. What did come, was Alex's virtual reflection.
She caught his eye, much like the infection of his other would cause the same kind of unintentional eye-contact. Petite, brunette, plain black dress, and a surprising lack of makeup. Not that it hindered her face in any way, but by god, she looked...normal. Almost like a leper in this sea of monstrosities, and it showed. She was clearly as uncomfortable as he was. It took a while, but soon the awkwardness of each other's situation caused each of them to become aware of each other's presence, and from then it was simply an awkward silence. Just two people, a man and a woman, at a bar, staring sombrely at the marble desk in front of them, before she finally spoke.
"You don't feel like being here either?"Alex just smiled. As negative as it was, it was pretty much the perfect introduction. Leaning his weight upon the desk, he paid a gaze to her, and she returned it, slight smiles indicating how much they'd make each other's night just a hint better, and Alex's honesty was only going to help that.
"Can't say I am. Was waiting for a friend, but she's no showed so far. You?" "Here because of hype. Can't say it lives up to it. Not a club person, myself." She lifted her glass to her mouth, and like instinct, Alex felt obligated to do the same, even if he did feel slightly foolish once he realised there was no lemonade left with which to fulfill his craving. Thankfully, she didn't notice this, but the curiosity of her lifted brow showed that she was clearly trying to notice something else about him, which naturally caused his mouth to lift up into his throat. It was almost in his nature at this point to expect the worst, but 'the worst' to him wasn't what most would expect in any case. A slight tug at the corner of her lip before she spoke, put his mind at ease.
"Aren't you that actor? Karl Urban?" And all Alex could do was burst out laughing. His fears at ease, he leant down, resting his head in his hand.
"I get that a lot." "Well, as long as you don't take it as an insult, I guess. So what's your name?" The smile shrunk, but it didn't hide. Staying there like it's own camoflauge. 'Wonderful', he thought, 'another hurdle to jump.' He couldn't lie, surely not. He had to risk it.
"Alex Kendall. You?" "Jean." ...
That was it?
No face contortions at the horrible reputation that his line of work had? No suddenly 'lighting up' at meeting someone with a potentially fat wallet? Not even asking for an autograph?
“Why the full name? Is this a board meeting or something?” “A board meeting?” He tilted his head, suddenly reminded of the original reason he was here – or at least, on a tangent related to that. He hummed to himself, relaxing. It was unlikely that Caitlyn was going to show, but he’d already spent more on the door – and an absurd amount for a single glass of lemonade to leave now. We were talking less than ten dollars to a would-be millionaire, but that didn’t matter. It was the principle.
“No, no. I’ve had far too many of those lately.” “Oho. Big shot businessman, huh?” “In a way.” “You trying to impress me?” “No offense, but I gave up trying to impress people.” The smile faded slightly. His words were sincere enough. He had enough scars from when other people’s opinion mattered more than his own.
“I don’t know if you’d find what I do impressive in the first place.” “What you do is pay to get into a VIP club and then sit by your lonesome with a non-alcoholic drink. Less impressive, more elusive.” “You heard me order my lemonade, huh?” He grinned slightly, and to his surprise, she returned the smile.
“You must come here often. Got used to hearing things over this noise?” “I have a lot of friends with expensive taste and poor judgment.” She shrugged, going to lean on the bar.
“Paying an extra twelve dollars for a drink doesn’t make it any better.” “What do you drink?” He chimed in, sitting up suddenly.
“I can get you one, if you want.” ...Did he just flirt?
It was something that caught him off guard himself. He tried to mentally hide the fact, but all she did was offer him a polite smile in return. He waited for her to respond properly. Instead, all she did was...look at her watch, and a grimace followed. Quickly, with no time wasted, she delved into her bag, removed a small note and had slid something along to Alex before he even realised what had happened, and by the time he did, the paper was already becoming watered down by remnants left upon the table. Snatching it up, it was clear what was there; a number? Darting eyes from it to hers, she was clearly unaware of just how...unusual this was to him.
"Shit, I have work in the morning, I didn't think I'd be here this late. Anyway, give me a call sometime, we need to be lonely together more often." "Sure. I'll...keep that in mind. Take care of yourself – Joan, right?" "Right, you too. Don’t hit the lemonade too hard, Alex." The handbag throws itself over her shoulder in a routine she's clearly practised, and she exercises no less than perfect skill in weaving her way through the people who'll regret the night's antics for the umpteenth time once it catches up with them upon their awakening. The number makes its own way to his pocket, where unlike the majority of its distant cousins, will not be forgotten. Alex Kendall, 'international wrestling superstar', had just gone onto the scene and run into someone who didn't have the slightest clue who he was. Were he Drew McIntyre, were he Jacob Senn, Dominic Reynolds, in fact, were he any of the vast majority in Thy WWE, this would have caused great offence, or perhaps, it wouldn't have even been the case to begin with.
But no. Like the majority of his career, Alex had run into someone who didn't know who he was.
And it was everything he could have asked for.
Now. Where was Caitlyn?
_____________________________________
“If you were a true champion, you wouldn’t have let a single thing lie when it came to how you were perceived by the public. You would have contested every time anyone ever mentioned the haphazard way in which you stole the championship from Jonny Freeman in the first place.”
“You would have had no reservations about giving the man a fair, balanced rematch with no need for ‘hardcore’ rules. You would have risen to the occasion to represent the company without waiting to see what Vince or Starr was going to throw your way.”
“No, Sheamus. You stood there, six months ago, as I threw you from a stage and told the world that you were no champion. You lay there among the cables and the steel in agony, exhausted from your match with Freeman – I wonder if you were even conscious to hear what I had to say at the time. You simply lay there as I declared myself SCW World Heavyweight Champion – and here we are. You haven’t laid a finger on me since.”
“And you know something? I haven’t laid a finger on you, either.”
“Why is that, Sheamus? Why is it that you’ve worked so hard to finally earn the respect of your peers, the respect of the management and of the crowd, and yet at no point have you come after me? Not for revenge, not to save the company that you hold so dear, but rather you’ve simply bided your time. You’ve waited for me to get into this position. You knew, as I knew, that both of us were simply waiting until there was no one left but you and I.”
“It’s like I said on RAW, Sheamus. There is no one else. The two of us, we are Thy WWE.”
“And soon, only one of us will be.”
“You beat Triple H. You beat Jonny Freeman. The Undertaker. Jacob Senn. All comers rose against the challenge and the Celtic Warrior struck them down like the monster that he is. And all the while, the people are wondering ‘Is he going to hold the championship for a whole year?”
“Who is going to be capable of putting him down?’ And then we have a look on the other side of the coin. While your fire burns brighter than ever, there I stand, the Dark Horse – extinguishing every flame I come across.”
“And perhaps I haven’t had the most prestigious of opponents, but that’s simply because you didn’t leave me with any. Not that it matters. Anyone that has been in the ring with me, anyone that has watched me wrestle knows that no matter who it came down to, whether it was me in the ring against Triple H and The Undertaker instead of you, that I am just as capable of getting the job done as you.”
“People don’t need to see it, because they just know that I am the best American wrestler drawing breath today. And conveniently enough, I’m going against the best wrestler in Ireland. In Europe.”
“Maybe even the world.”
“See, that’s the misconception here, Sheamus – the misconception is that just because I don’t see you as a champion means I don’t see you as a wrestler. I do, Sheamus, I most certainly do, and in fact you’re a damn good one. One of the best and someone who, I have to be frank – I am anxious about getting into the ring with. I get goosebumps at the thought of it. The second that bell rings, there’s going to be a tingle running down my spine like you wouldn’t believe.”
“That feeling is the reason I haven’t laid a finger on you. And I suspect that it’s the only reason you haven’t destroyed me as well.”
“Did you think I walked into that ring, ruining your celebration, spitting on your shoes – did you think I did all that not knowing what you were capable of? Do you really think of me as someone so uninformed, so naive to think that me walking down to that ring, unprepared, in a dress suit no less, is going to be capable of handling you in a sudden outrage? Of course not. You’ve have eaten me alive. All you had to do was throw that one punch and the field would have been yours.”
“But you didn’t. You stood there, and you went to say something – and words never came. You bit your tongue and you watched me leave, and you simply grit your teeth while my saliva dried against the leather of your shoes while the whole world wondered why Sheamus O’Shaughnessy let Alex Kendall leave alive. You know, and I know.”
“You want this match just as much as I do. The politics don’t come into it. The year long title reign, my unbeaten streak, even SCW and Thy WWE don’t affect a damn thing when it comes down to this match. They’re just something for the marketing department to throw into a vignette, something for the fans to bring signs for. A reason for them to boo me and cheer you. All of it is irrelevant, because what it boils down to is the fact that I am a professional wrestler, and I am the number one contender – and all you care about is defending your title against the greatest opponent you have ever faced.”
“Are you going to deny me that, Sheamus?”
“You can’t. It’s not in your warrior spirit. You could have taken me out the very same night after I made my announcement, but you didn’t. You bided your time because you knew there was something special about me. I claimed win after win and the company was dying before you, and it didn’t matter at all, because you had the greatest wrestlers in the world to defend your championship against.”
“And when it was all said and done – when Sheamus took the last name of everyone that had risen to the challenge, he looked down to see Alex Kendall standing in the middle of the flames of his kingdom, treading Vince McMahon’s face into the dirt and the things you saw, Sheamus – oh, the things you must have saw.”
“You saw opportunity. The chance to be recognised as champion from the management team that had shunned you, that had simply thrown you opponents out of ‘contractual obligations’ and even The Undertaker, solely to give you a chance to slip up and undermine you.”
“You saw the chance to be owed a favour from the management for taking out the big bad invader, with the exception of Senn and Knight and all others, knowing full well you were the only one with remotely enough ability to make that claim.”
“But ultimately, you saw one more great match. And that, above all else, was what was important.”
“All you had was one simple demand – to be recognised as champion. And you know, both Vince and Starr, in their desperation – they don’t even see what they really have in you. I see you as no champion, Sheamus – but my God, the potential.”
“If only I’d had the chance to work with you, rather than being staring you down in the ring. If only it was me at your right hand side rather than Jim Cornette – but that’s something I’ll get to later. When you handed the World Championship to Austin Starr, you did something that doesn’t happen very often. I’ve only been in this business eight years, so I’m still essentially an infant compared to some, but I thought I’d seen everything. I thought I knew what to expect.”
“And then, you...surprised me.”
“I didn’t expect to be surprised. This entire time, I had you completely written off. I thought you were nothing but dumb muscle who had done everything in his power – and a raw power at that – to fight his way to the top of the mountain, taken every opportunity and shortcut to get it there and solely because the rest of the roster was too dense to control and limit that power was the sole reason for your success.”
“When you put your pride, your dignity as a champion above that lump of gold and leather – above the title itself, I started to believe that maybe you are what you say. Maybe you are a champion.”
“Even if Starr and McMahon wouldn’t have, I would have recognised you as champion. Consider that for a moment. It’s not praise I give out lightly.”
"I'm a simple man. I believe in the spirit of competition, in clean winners and losers, and about wrestling being a sport for athletes, not murderers and human machines and other wastes that would rather exaggerate their own 'colourful personality' and claim success for defeating those who're somehow even lower on the food chain. What I lack in apparent 'colour', I make up for in talent.”
“What I lack in true marketability in the sense that I'm not a designer, and I don't bother coming up with catchphrases to sell t-shirts, I'm still marketable because what I am is simple; I'm a man who does his job. Right now, I'm being paid to go against people and not only defeat them, but prove I deserve my spot in this company.”
“That was the mindset I was always brought up to believe in. To justify my position on the roster, and that means I have to go through and expose all who don't fit in the category. I'd hate for Mr. McMahon to be putting money into dead weight. Really, I would."
“That’s why I want everyone to pay very close attention to this match.”
“It’s going to be the swan song of Thy WWE.”
________________________________________
January 28th , 20:42pm EST.
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"You've got what you need, now get out there!"And so he did. Hastily stumbling out behind the curtain, Alex found himself bedazzled immediately by dozens of constantly flashing lights, and his face could have only been described as bamboozled at that moment, trying to comprehend exactly what he was facing whilst blood poured down his chin like drool. Once he realised that these were merely photographers as compared to light based assassins, and that he actually had a duty to attend to, Alex regained his composure, and made his way over to the smiling duo of Susan Swallows and Alex Riley. This was the moment he'd been waiting for ever since his contract with 'Xtreme Frontier Wrestling', ever since he was shown the door in 'No Pussies Allowed Wrestling', ever since Jason Lovell had tried to stop him with everyone from 'Profit' Mike Williams to John Raide...the Hardcore Division was about to die.
Overcome, Alex was more than happy to hold out the plate he had been given just moments ago to Alex Riley, finally freed of the burden known as hardcore wrestling, and with it, managed to put the legacy of people like Cody Brunelle to rest. Riley held the belt out to the side, and Alex's expression turned to face the same way, catching the sight of the photographers once again as his current state was forever captured upon film. Only that wasn't the only thing he caught. What with the flashing lights impairing his vision, he could hear so much more. Even more than the sudden murmering. Even Alex Riley suddenly patting him upon the shoulder didn't seem to awaken him. He was certain of what he was hearing.
Were the crowd...booing?
He didn't know who it was. Whether it was just a select few within this current audience that he was standing in front of, or whether he was hearing resonations of the 4,200 paid in the arena, and that it was the majority of them that was gradually making it's way through the corridors and into his ears. This unsettled Alex a great deal...but just like in his matches, he persevered. Without saying a word, he stood beside Alex Riley as he finished his speech, and accepted the gift that he was given thereater. He was no longer the Hardcore Champion, and now, he had a brand new championship on his belt. This...this moment was the one he'd been waiting for ever since he signed his contract. Why didn't he feel fulfilled?
Five years ago. To the day.
His eyes snapped open. God damn it, of all days to have that vision in his head again. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of that one moment – the time where he felt as if his plans were at their closest to coming to fruition, and the moment when he ultimately realised he’d been working towards nothing. He didn’t have the support of the people when he was entirely relying on them to back him, to back Riley. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he felt responsible for what happened – infinitely more responsible for the death of ROPE than the death of SCW.
“Just pull up anywhere on the side here,” he sighs to the driver, glancing out the window at the endless blur that was the streets going by, a vision of scum and loose waste that he couldn’t be bothered to mentally process when he already had so much else on his mind. The cab comes to a screeching halt, leaving him with the welcoming view of filthy tarmac and downtrodden gum that the streetlights shone down upon like that once strawberry flavoured piece owned it.
“...I don’t suppose you know any good clubs around here, do you?” He sighed, doing his damndest to make conversation if only to get over the jetlag.
“Depends,” responds the cab driver, about as listless and uninterested as Kendall himself and tenfold as anxious to get paid,
“You a big spender?” Crafty bastard, mused Alex to himself. Say no and God knows what pit he’ll recommend to you. Say yes, and you’ve just paid for him and his wife to go out for a night on the town – well, him and his mistress at least. He didn’t seem like the ‘family man’ type, given the colourful views on women’s rights and immigration he had shared with Alex during the drive from the airpoint.
“I guess I could do with splashing out a little.” “Right down this street on your right here. Still early, but lines are gonna start forming pretty soon. Just go up to the guy on the door, tell him Donnie sent you.”...He supposed that was helpful. Kendall reached into his wallet, grabbing the first note that looked like it was of significant value to be impressive but not high enough value to give the man more than he deserved, and was on his way. He was right. Even as he sped off, offering a thanks he didn’t care to listen to nor respond to, he could see the line beginning to develop, the music pounding at such a volume that even from there he could make out the lyrics.
He sighed to himself. She’d insisted that it be somewhere like this for their next meeting. It must be important if that’s what she wanted to cover up the conversation. His phone exits from his pocket, and a message is flung her way, both the location of the club and the name, before he made his way down.
Sheamus could wait.
____________________________________________
“Let’s not forget, Sheamus. True, I am contender and you are champion, but we both know there is infinitely more riding on this match. The crux of the match is that I have to beat you in order to prove to the world, and most importantly prove to myself that I am the best in the world.”
“That championship you hold, regardless of how much the gold and leather is worth, is representative of that distinction. That is the reason I want to win. But let’s not forget, both of us have a reason that we have to win.”
“And I am that reason.”
“I have several agreements with media moguls and investors and a number of people who see this world in nothing but figures. Who wear watches on their wrists that could buy and sell people like me and you in a heartbeat. People who I have gone to and assured that I am going to make them money. I am making them money by having them invest stocks in Thy WWE, currently a market leader and ensuring them a healthy dividend.”
“I am increasing public awareness of the product by my controversial actions, and as a result, I’m increasing revenue, not only into the pocket of Vincent K. McMahon but into the pockets of my associates who benefit from the increase in stock price. It’s good business.”
“And with each win, each of us grow closer to further privatising the company. I’ve gone in a way that no one else has ever considered and that is what makes Vincent Kennedy McMahon sweat is the fact that it doesn’t matter a lick to him whether I’m the best in the world or whether or not I can even tie my own boots.”
“If I was the person I was eight years ago, in the position I was in now, with the talent that I have today, I would have just walked out there every week with a smile on my face, wrestled, won, lost and it wouldn’t have mattered. I would have maybe got a few cheers but I would have had no chance of making it onto a t-shirt and that would have cut me off at the knees.”
“I was never marketable. I was never someone who you could make action figures of, someone who the little children would want to wear on their pyjamas when their mother tucks them in at night. I never had catchphrases, I never had slogans, I never had logos, I never had ‘the look’.”
“Since this could be the last time any of you see me again, let me give you the story of Alex Kendall.”
“When I was starting out eight years ago, I walked into a small, run-down federation in Atlanta, Georgia with my brother Shane, and they told me that they didn’t want any more wrestlers with short hair.”
“That’s it. I haven’t even got my foot in the door yet, and I’m shot down. Because of a haircut.”
“So we ended up coming to a compromise. I would wrestle as Shane’s ‘manager’. We tried it a few times. They told me I wasn’t ‘connecting’. I tried being more chirpy, faking my smile. They told me it didn’t have appeal. Shane had the glitzy tights, the dyed hair, he needed a rock star gimmick – but no, that wasn’t going to get the fans behind him and they wanted him to be a franchise player. You can’t have your franchise player be too arrogant.”
“Oh, I know. Let’s have his manager be an idiot.”
“So they made me an idiot. They made me stand there and act as if I didn’t understand how to apply a headlock properly. They used me as the comic relief, assured me that eventually they were going to let me show off what I can do, and when I finally stepped in the ring, the last thing they told me before I walked through the curtain was ‘don’t break character’.”
“My first wrestling job ended with me overjoyed that my contract had expired. And if I was a clever man, I would have left there and then. If I was a clever man, but back then, I wasn’t. I was young, and most of all, I was angry.”
“I joined Xtreme Wrestling Unleashed. Jason Lovell was the owner, and the two of us never got off on the right foot. Lovell saw me as little more than a marketing tool. ‘Look at how this company in Atlanta mistreated this guy. Go out there and talk about how much you hate the company.’”
“Instead, I went out there and told the world that I was going to prove to everyone that had held me back in Atlanta that I was talented. I told the world I was going to win every match for the rest of my career without any controversy, without any weaponry or hair pulls, eye pokes – no one would doubt I was the best.”
“The very next day, they put me in the Hardcore division. I have more scars in my back from those three months than I have from the rest of my career. But it just fuelled my anger to prove that I was better than everyone who relied on weaponry like a crutch. I won the championship, and lost it – and most of my blood with it – in my very first defense.”
“That said, XWU was such a mess of a company, it’s worth mentioning I won the championship in a semi final match since the other two competitors didn’t show. Lovell did everything he could to use up the people that came through the door and when they were of no use to him, they were replaced. It was then that I started to realise that the wrestling industry itself was inherently corrupt, not just the people inside.”
“Finally, I come to Ring of Pride and Excellence.”
“My God. I was home.”
“See, Sheamus – ROPE was a place where I felt respected as an athlete. On the very cusp of global expansion and they put me against people they knew I would shine against. Barely in the door, and I was the favourite of the Toukon Trial Tournament – a submission only tournament, which I won. When the Hardcore Champion challenged me, we put each other through hell and back and I claimed his championship.”
“I was undefeated for four straight months, fifteen wins to zero losses, before I was beaten by the former champion in one of the best matches I’ve ever had. I have nothing but fond memories of ROPE – well. Mostly fond. But you see, ROPE taught me a number of lessons about wrestling from two particular people I’d like to mention right now.”
“Let me tell you about Adam Deming and Scott Reave.”
“Scott Reave, like me, was a talented wrestler. Scott Reave, unlike me, was a man who would run a stranger down in the parking lot if it meant that he’d get one extra dollar for winning his match that night.”
“Scott Reave was a World Champion, who plotted and schemed his way into that honor – but he was the first man I ever looked upon and saw as a champion. At least, I did then. I’m not entirely sure what I would have said if I saw him today in the place he was then.”
“I saw him as someone who carried himself as a champion and who claimed to have the interests of the company at heart. I saw him as someone who was capable of holding himself both in the ring and in the streets. Reave was everything. He was a wrestler. He was a fighter. He was a politician and a schemer. Most importantly, Scott Reave was a businessman.”
“When I got to ROPE, I was beginning to realise that I couldn’t change the industry. At first, I thought it was just because I was one man, but the more I thought about it, I wasn’t going to change the business as a rebel like I tried in XWU. Too easy to extinguish, too many opportunists looking to do the extinguishing. Scott Reave had Alexander Riley, the ROPE General Manager, wrapped around his little finger to the point where it might as well have had his name on the door. He was someone who knew how to manipulate people – and wouldn’t you know it, I was one of those people.”
“I was reknowned as a prodigy, the ‘next big thing’ – not just in ROPE, but in all of wrestling. And there I was, wrestling under Scott Reave’s banner as the enforcer, because I believed in the world of wrestling that Reave was trying to promote. I tried to change ROPE as a wrestler, and no matter who I beat, it didn’t change a thing. Scott Reave turned the company on his ear with nothing but a few words to the right people.”
“And even he didn’t last. But he got out. He made a lot of money doing it, too. He was a bastard and a leech, and everything wrong and right with this industry wrapped in a package. I’m not sure if I respect the man or hate the man. But he taught me another valuable lesson.”
“That if you are discontent, even going as far as to have the management in your back pocket is not enough. I want you to pay close attention to this part, Sheamus, because I’m finally getting back to you. This is actually relevant and the state of affairs that you’re probably looking at. I thought that if we had the best wrestlers and we had the management on our side that promoted those wrestlers, everything would fall into place.”
"Scott Reave taught me that this isn't possible without deception. Alexander Riley taught me this isn't possible without backlash. And now, Thy WWE, you're teaching me that all I'm promoting is the same filth in a different package."
“See, Sheamus – I’m sure when Jim Cornette came to you, he had good intentions. He probably came to you and started talking about taking you to ‘greater heights’. Maybe you stood there for a moment, wondering what he could have possibly meant. After all, you already had the title draped over your shoulder, how much higher could you possibly go? And just then, the faces of Austin Starr and Vince McMahon come into your head and you think to yourself ‘yes, if only Jim was there, then control of the company would be mine.”
“Do you really think it’s something that McMahon hasn’t considered? Something he hasn’t put precautions in place against?”
“See, that’s what makes this such a complicated little plan of mine. It doesn’t matter a damn bit of difference if I’m the best wrestler, and it doesn’t even matter if I get Vince McMahon alone in the ring and I turn him into a human pretzel. The old bastard is resilient. He’ll take the beating, and he’ll come back a week later all the more eager to get me taken down. That’s fine. It’s something he accepts as the only way his ‘independent contractors’ know how to solve their problems. Hell, it’s something he’s been dealing with on a weekly basis for quite literally fifteen years now. I don’t have to resort to something so tried and tested that – as satisfying as I’m sure it is – just doesn’t work. Not for the goal I’m working towards.”
“But Vince spends his every waking hour surrounded by people in suit and ties who have never spent a day of their life in the gym, and he knows that if anyone is in a position to stab him in the back, then it’s those people. Vince McMahon can see through the false smiles. We think that it’s just a case of a senile old egotist enjoying his fantasy as a multi-millionaire surrounded by yes-men, when it actually goes far deeper. Rather, it’s the daily life of a senile old sadist, watching grown men degrade themselves, forced to smile when he feeds them shit. Watch them do everything short of getting on their knees so he can use their back to rest on while he shines his shoes, and knowing full well that what they ultimately aspire to is to be in his chair, a chair he has under complete lock and key.”
“Austin Starr is nothing but a cog in the machine, no more of a slave carrying the throne of Vince McMahon on his back than you are as champion and I am as a competitor. Cornette may have surrounded himself with the two brightest stars of the age, you as the champion and the present face of the company, Drew McIntyre as the untapped potential and the future prospect to keep what is yet to come under the control of your little syndicate, but Jim Cornette himself has forgotten one little thing that might be a bit of a handicap in the long haul.”
“Jim Cornette has forgotten that the wrestling business left him behind decades ago.”
“You know, there was a day when I would have wished that I had Jim Cornette as a mentor, Sheamus. If I didn’t already have one of the greatest wrestling and business minds in the industry at my side already, then I dare say I would have envied you. Jim Cornette is one of a select few elite individuals who I would say understands the wrestling business. A veteran of the territory days, a time when I would have flourished. A mind so great for the business that he knew that he was never going to survive as a businessman. So he did the next best thing, and attached himself to the talent on the way up, like a barnacle stuck to a whale heading up for air.”
“The industry has moved beyond Jim Cornette. It has done for a long time. The territories are dead and buried and while his eye for talent clearly hasn’t faded in the least, the fact still remains that Jim Cornette does not understand what it takes to be management in this industry anymore. Cornette is a relic, a collage of outdated ideals. Both you and McIntyre are as far along the old, dusty trail as Jimmy is capable of taking you.”
“And who knows, perhaps we could be friends. All four of us. Hang out at the bar and tell stories about the old days – where we came from, and all of that—ah, that reminds me. I almost forgot.”
“I almost forgot to tell you about Adam Deming.”
_________________________________
ACID...
TEST...
CONTINUES...
