It's My Blood

[Jon Moxley / The Wyatt Family]

There's a rope around my waist, my hands are chained to the wall.

It's dark.

It's my second day, I think. Or maybe it's been one day. Maybe it's even been ten. I've been attempting to tell time from my beatings. It seems a beating every hour, and then my only break is when they sleep.

Punches. Kicks. Slaps. Calling me a bitch. Saying I made the wrong choice, I shouldn't have ran. Saying I'll regret it for the rest of my life.

I pray someone comes looking for me. My mom, my dad, my brother, anyone at all. The cops will notice. Hell, ThyWWE will notice something.

They will.

they will


******

The car is cruising smoothly across down the long road- Troy doesn't know where they are, he's bathing in the afterglow of Oppression. They didn't get the title, but Bob had taken Blade to the limit- the New Age are sharks, they smell the blood, Blade's blood, in the water- and they had made an impact. Joey is driving, and they're talking about Orton vs. Troy, first blood. Troy felt like he needed this. Troy knew he needed it. He needed to add another loss to Kurt Orton's streak.

All around them is an expansive desert. Troy hoped Joey knew where he was-

"How about that, Troy?"

Troy flinches. Car is closing in on him. Claustrophobic.

"Tried to escape us, you failed, didn't you?" A kick to the gut.

Troy closes his eyes- he's shaking now, Joey notices-

Another kick. Troy is lifted up, and a punch lands squarely on his nose- there's a crunch, blood almost sprays out of Troy's now broken nose-

"Troy? What's up man?" Joey stops the car.

He can taste his blood, warm, tastes like iron-

Troy has to get out of the car- stumbles out.

"You-should-have-never-tried-to-run!" Each word, punctuated by a slap. Troy's face is numb now.

He trips over, falls face first into the desert sand. His eyes are tightly closed again.

Beno delivered a final punch. "Clean him up. Then chain him back in."

He felt, vaguely, Joey asking him what was wrong. Troy didn't respond. Joey was distant, his voice muffled.

I have become comfortably numb.....

Joey was lifting him off the ground, trying to help him back to the car. Troy heart was pounding mercilessly. He felt like he was dying- was this it, then? Troy Motor falls from a flashback attack? Everything was fuzzy; he had tunnel vision, and he could hear Joey's voice; fuzzy, far away.

His eyes closed as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Troy woke up a few hours later, curled up in the back seat. He couldn't remember what had went down when he woke up; only the face. Beno's.

******

Troy spits into his cup. His habits with dip had started relatively recently. He had purchased this particular tin after the debacle last night- his favorite kind, mint.

Some guy walked up to him, camera in hand. Asked to take a picture of Troy, saying it was for the ThyWWE.com article on behind the scenes pictures. It was a foregone conclusion it would be in black and white. Troy wondered, does anyone even care about the articles? He continued looking off into the distance, even as the flash went off and the photographer made some sort of comment about how the picture looked.

Troy supposed it's a good enough picture; he's sitting on a crate, solitary, looking at nothing; he's mentally preparing himself. It's hard, he's seeing that face everywhere he turns- the smug grin, the man who beat him nearly every day of his life for months- but he's trying to ignore it.

That's the type of picture that wins awards. But Troy was looking for something; something inside of himself. A monster.

That monster inside of him, the one he had talked about in his heated feud with Joey, he didn't think it existed. Troy had killed it, when he saw the same monster in the eyes of the people who beat him in the dungeon.

But he wouldn't win this match on luck. Kurt would bring his best. Troy needed that monster to come back.

******

It's my blood, it's my blood,

Paint Troy big. Turn Troy into.... one of my enemies.

It's my blood!

******

A ladder is set up on the stage. The arena is empty for now; soon the fans will start to file in. In front of the ladder, a chair is set up, and Troy is sitting in it; the camera goes up close to his face.

"A lot of words come to mind when you think about Kurt Orton. Confidence. Fluke. Failure. My favorite one is fluke. Because, Kurt Orton, your whole entire life has been that. A fluke. After your flukes, comes failure."

Troy smirks, as he turns to look at the ladder.

"Failure...." He says quietly, almost to himself. "Failure, synonymous with Kurt Orton." He turns back to the camera, his smirk having faded. He stands up, and puts his foot on the first rung of the ladder.

"Come on, Orton. We got this. First step. Second step." Troy is climbing the ladder. "So close, Kurt, you are so close.... number thirty, imagine it, it's easy pickings, come on Kurt! You get this, and the Ascension Rumble is in the bag for you!"

Troy has reached the very top of the ladder. He sits down, looking down at the camera.

"Unfortunate it didn't happen, huh? The New Age prevailed. Number Thirty, and Joey the Bastard is basically confirmed to win the Ascension Rumble. That could be you, Kurt; but fate intervened, didn't it? The result, in the end, was the very result everyone expected- no, knew- would happen. Joey The Bastard won. And Kurt Orton lost. And the Earth continued to revolve around the sun, the universe continued expanding, time went on it's unstoppable course. Kurt, in the end, no one cared about you."

Troy chuckles, reflecting on the moment, the image of himself helping Joey climb that ladder; as Joey grabbed his chance to win the rumble.

"Did you really think I would let you go unpunished for the attack on me? I didn't challenge Kurt Orton, I challenged that bastard, Beno- his time will come, soon enough- but you decided to try and make a name for yourself."

Troy begins to climb down the ladder. He touches down, and gets close to the camera.

"Picture a boat. She's called the New Age. We've got Blade.... Bret..... Knight...... FEAR....... Beno....... all of them, trying to climb on the boat to save themselves from drowning. Kurt, you could've been valuable. But you decided to put yourself on the old guard's side. But see, those guys trying to climb onto that boat- they can't find a handhold, so they fall into the water, and they drown. But, Kurt, you're just managing to hang onto the edge- and now I'm above you, and my foot is about to kick your hand off...."

Troy chuckles to himself. The laugh seems a little forced. He's getting anxious in anticipation of the matchup.

"Tonight on RAW, the boat leaves you dead in the water, leaving you to float amongst the dregs of bygone ThyWWE 'legends'. Another name that the New Age built their throne on the body of. First blood, Orton. First blood is nothing to me. Blood doesn't bother me. Blood is a part of the business. To make another opponent bleed- well, it's easy work. And tonight'll be like a day off, that's how easy my victory is. I'm a star. You'll be remembered as a statistic."