Match Five: Christian Knight vs Joey the Bastard vs Wilson

[Vince McMahon]

Match Five: Christian Knight vs Joey the Bastard vs Scott Wilson
Triple Cage Match



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RP Below

[Christian Knight]

In your final moments, it’s not the memories that haunt you; it’s your regrets.

Ascension. That word burned on his lips like fire. He hated it, hated him. He hated the man who had beaten him at Ascension. He seethed with anger, standing up and hurling the remote through his television. Take slow deep breaths Christian. Get yourself back in control and don't let the anger take over.

He turned his attention to the broken television and sighed. He would have to pay for that, but for now he had other things to worry about. Yes, he had to get prepared for his match with Joey the Bastard and how does one prepare for a match when all he can think about is his loss. Honestly, he wasn't sure how to prepare for this match.

As he stood, he stared into the mirror at his own soulless eyes...they used be full of compassion and love, but that’s changed. Those lifeless eyes stared back at him with the same depravity that he stared at his opponents with. His mind wandered and he thought of days long gone by. He slowly paced in his room back and forth, trying to get himself back in the right state of mind. The last time I was in a match with more then one opponent I lost, in fact I lost the World Title, I outlasted them all with the exception of one man, with the exception of Blade LaVigne. Ever since I went on a journey of self-redemption, I lured Kenneth Walker out of retirement, and ultimately to his own doom, I beat him, the one man who I had yet to beat, yet it wasn’t enough. My pride ended up costing me, as I took on his brother at Ascension. I can’t let that be the end of me. I can’t let that mess with my psyche. Get your head straight. You need to get your head straight Christian. If you don’t get your head straight then Joey the Bastard or Scott Wilson will end up getting the best of you, one of them will end up getting the win, and one of them will end up walking away the victor and not you. Is that what you want Christian? To be the man who couldn’t get the job done. The be the one who left with his head held down in shame. To be remembered as the guy who lost one of the biggest if not the last match in his career. Then fix yourself, Christian. You need to get a grip of yourself.

Christian Knight continues to pace back and forth in the room. Christian Knight’s eyes dart back towards the mirror, but instead of looking at his reflection he see’s a picture he put in a corner that that he hadn’t look at in a long time. It was a picture of him and his brother Samuel who died at a young age. He forgotten about that picture of him and his brother which showed them both at a young age. A brother that he couldn’t save, whom drowned while they were ice skating at a lake. He could still picture his face under that ice as he pounded on it and pounded on it, the tears he held in his eyes as he ran back home to his parents, whom didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, whom sent him away, who abandoned him because all they could do was remember Samuels face whenever they saw Christian. There was and only ever will be one man that Christian would ever consider a father or and that’s his grandfather or Grandpa Knight as he would call him who took him in and took care of. He never saw his parents again after that night, but he never cared to either. He made a vow that he would never grow to be like them, which reminded him of another vow, and that was he promised his brother he’d always would be there for him, and he has been. Even in death.

Scott Wilson, it’s been a long time. One must wonder if you will even make it to Wrestlemania after the beating you got from Joey and then by me. I once told you that you might be knocking on the door of greatness, but that was snatched away from you wasn’t it. You were nothing more then an flash in a pan. Just a momentary moment in Thy WWE’s History and nothing more. You’ll always will be remembered as the guy who couldn’t handle it. The guy who though he could do it all, but when the chips added up and he lost, he packed his bags and left. How does it to feel to say that you almost had me? But you didn’t. Is that why you left, you couldn’t handle the loss, you couldn’t handle the pressure. You see Wilson, you have a lot to learn, perhaps that the biggest things to learn is that it’s not your victories that define you, it’s your losses. It’s when you’re defeated that you need to learn how to stick it in, pull threw, but you couldn’t could you. You see I could see right threw you, you only cared about all the attention, you only cared about being the best, and when I took that away from you. 

You didn’t have anything. You found out what it was like to lose Wilson. You felt defeat and you couldn’t handle it. I tore you down before and I’ll tear you down again Wilson. You didn’t amount to anything and you still won’t amount to anything Wilson. You’ll never have your name in the history books. You’ll never be in the Hall of Fame; you’ll never win a Championship, and come after WrestleMania you’ll never wrestle again, because when my hands defeat both you and Joey, you won’t want to show your face again. The embarrassment that all you could ever do was beat a bunch of nobodies that all you could do was compete in a middle class rate of wrestles and you could never hang with the big league. That’s why you’re irrelevant. Even people like Kurt Orton have a more stories career and legacy then you, in fact I’d say he’s even taken your spot, he’s won the Ascension Rumble, and he’s Main Eventing WrestleMania. Both him and Blade are proven and tested warriors though. The difference is that they never gave up. Just like I never gave up during my first tenure in here in Thy WWE. It’s the one thing that we all have that you lack and that’s heart Wilson. You don’t have the heart to win it. You don’t have the passion to commit, and you don’t have the determination to stick with it when the going gets tough. 

Sweat and Tears, that’s all that will be left Wilson. When all the dust is settled and you see my hands raised yet again in victory, when you look up at me and see that I’m the better man, and that I’ll always be the better man, then what ever is left of your little ego will be crushed. My very hands will destroy it. And it will be by my hands that I will bring forth your destruction that I will break your bones, and make you bleed. Sweat and Tears, Wilson. That’s all that you will be left with when all is said and done. Just Sweat and Tears. 

A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory.

There I stood, staring blankly at a piece of stone in the ground.

Samuel Knight

1984- 1996

Beloved Son and Brother

Staring at the cold slab of concrete that marked the grave of my brother, I let myself get lost in the memories of us. Remembering back to the day that I wanted to get some new shoes. All the other boys in my school had nice things. They had name branded clothes, and name branded shoes. I wanted a piece of what they had, I wanted to feel like they felt like. So one day, I went looking threw my grandpa’s drawers, and I found Fifty Dollars. I stole the 50 dollars that I found in his drawer and I had went to the store to buy the new shoes. I brought the shoes home and placed them in the room in the box, but having the young mind that I had, and not really thinking threw at all Grandpa discovered about the stolen money right away, and he discovered the shoes in our room.

'Who stole the money?' he asked my brother and me.

I was stunned, too afraid to talk. Neither of us admitted to the fault, so he said, 'Fine, if nobody wants to admit, you both should be punished.' Suddenly, my younger brother gripped Grandfather’s hand and said, 'Pa, I was the one who did it.' He took the blame, and punishment, for me.

I can still remember clearly that In the middle of that night that I cried because I felt ashamed. Because I felt guilty that I didn’t have the courage to stand of for what I did wrong. That I couldn’t find the strength to tell grandpa. My brother came up to me and he too my mouth with his little hand and said, 'Christian, now don't cry anymore. Everything will be fine.' I will never forget my brother's expression when he protected me. That year, my brother was Eight years old and I was Eleven 1 years old. I still hate myself for not having enough courage to admit what I did. Years went by, but the incident still seemed like it just happened yesterday.

Now here I stand before this slab of concrete with his name on it. The only thing left in this world that can remind me of him. Not sure what really brought me back here as it’s been years since I’ve been back here. To pay my respects. Thinking about it now, I realize that I’ve come here to understand why I lost, why I couldn’t get the job done at Ascension. To understand why or how Austin Starr could get the best of me. But I knew the answer. I knew that it was because of Family and that Family was everything. That much like Samuel protected me from Grandpa, Austin needed to protect Ken. That he needed to protect his family. That’s why he was able to come out on top, that’s why he was able to go the distance. He had a reason to fight. He fought for a noble cause. Something that I could learn from, that I need to do. I need to find a reason to fight.

Why did I stray so far from the path?

I need to find myself again.

I need to understand what I’m fighting for.

I need to go back.

To where it all Started.

Three Seconds… Three seconds is all that it takes. All the weeks…. All the months of training, all the hard work, dedication, blood, sweat, and tears all get balled up into this one moment of either triumph or defeat. You see Joey in our profession, we can write history, we can become stars, we can become champions, and we can become legends. All it takes is three seconds…. Three seconds to become a champion, three seconds to revenge, three seconds to vindication. Some people think that no matter what happens all that matters is those three seconds. Is there really all there is too it? Everything we worked for, everything we put in, all that we hope to achieve. To amount to those three second. Is that it? Three seconds and then the dust settles, the victor is decided and the crowd goes home. The answer is simple. No. Three seconds is too much Joey. It’s not really about the three seconds, no see that’s too long… it’s really about the just one second. It’s about that one seconds of bliss, of ecstasy, when you see that the whole world’s eyes are on you, when you put it all on the line, your health, safety, your life all on the line. When you push yourself to the limits, when you defy gravity. It happens to all of us. 

It happened when I first stepped threw those ropes for the very first time and had my first match and it felt surreal. Like everything I ever wanted to happen, had finally happened. After the match was over, the look I saw in everyone’s eyes, the look of wonderment. Those look of awe. It was in that one second that I knew that I loved Professional Wrestling. I loved everything about it. I loved the feeling it gave me when I won my first match, when I won my first title and lost it in the same day, to non other Jacob Senn. That defeat hit home. After the dust settled It was no longer the look of awe that I saw, it was the look of disappointment, and I felt it in them as well as I felt it in myself. So I took a hiatus. I went back and I trained my ass off day in and day out. Then I came back and when I faced my first opponent Kurt Orton and beat him, that same self-feeling came back, and from there it kept building and building Joey. 

They came in the droves and I knocked them down. I defeated Beno in what was the first every Triple Cage match here in Thy WWE. Raising that title, the most prestigious title for the first time was just surreal. I felt a sense of pride. When I defended my title in a rematch with Beno and won, I felt a sense of dignity. When I defeated Jacob Senn I felt a sense of Confidence. But then when I defeated Scott Wilson I began to get cocky, and came up with the elimination chamber with eight men. I outlasted seven of those men. Count them seven Joey. But then when Blade LaVigne had defeated me I feel in a state of shock. I needed an outlet. I took it out on Kenneth Walker. But while I won, it was my anger that cost me when Austin defeated me, and so it brings me to know. To this moment in time. To all the history that I’ve created here in Thy for this one final moment. For this one final last seconds that I want to earn. Where I will risk everything, my body, my mind, my soul. And so when I face you and when I beat you it won’t be for pride, it won’t be for confidence, or dignity. It’ll be for closure. To have the one last second. And that all I need is one second and then you’ll know and you’ll never forgot. You’ll never forget Christian Knight. 

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. – Martin Luther King, Jr.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I slowly put the gearshift into park and turn off my car. I open the door and take a breath of fresh air. Not since before came back to Thy World Wrestling Empire. I closed the door to my Black 2008 Nissan Sentra. Worn and battered threw the years of abuse on the road, just like me. I walk towards the door the my grandfathers farmhouse. The house that I grew up in, both him and grandma both raised me. But now he live here alone, since she passed away a while ago. He like me has experienced loss. We both experienced it, and on how it can leave a hole in you, on how it can tear it to pieces, and destroy a man. I slowly reach for the knob and turn it. It was unlocked. He left it unlocked during the daytime as he was always out and about tending to a farmers duty. I slowly open the door and I walk into my grandparent’s home, closing the door behind me in the process. I keep pressing forwards until I get to the living room where I see him. Old Grandpa James Knight in all his age and wisdom, in which I needed both. There he was sitting, leaning back in his old man’s recliner sipping on a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper. It was still early, as I wanted to be here early enough before he tended to his farm. He sits his coffee down and he puts his paper down. He looks at me with stern but concerned eyes.

Christian, What brings you here.

I need to see you, I reply. I just don’t know what to do so much is happening to me. Jessica is the one for me pops, she’s in the hospital and in labor, but even though I should be there right now I needed to clear my head. I needed to take a breather. Everything is changing pops. I’m about to start a family. I’m about to have my own son, and that scares me to death. Am I fit to be a father. I’ve done things pops, that I’m not proud off, I’ve done things that I’m not sure if there be a God, that he’d forgive me for. How can a man like me be fit to be a father?

I continue like a bumbling idiot as I keep spilling my guts to him. I give a brief moment for him to respond but he just keeps looking at me with those same firm eyes. Waiting for me to finish. Well, I exclaim… I’m not sure if I can do this or not. I’m not sure if I’m the man the Jessica needs me to be, I’m not sure if I’m the man that my son is going to need me to be…I’m not sure…

Christian…

Grandpa Knight interrupts me, but then paused before he continues on.

Christian. Were all just human. We all make mistakes. It’s whether or not if we can learn from them. The question isn’t on whether or not if you’re a good man, the question is on whether or not if you can learn from your mistakes. It’s our flaws, it’s our regrets, it’s our biggest mistakes and failures, the moment when life hits you with that big one that you need to learn to get up and just say NO MORE! ENOUGH!

And you’ve had Enough Christian. Enough of all the disappointments, Enough of all the regrets, and mistakes, but it’s time to stop dwelling on the past and look towards the future and make a transformation. You need to grow into the man that you need to be, that Jessica needs to be, and most importantly you need to become the man that your son needs to be. It’s not about just you anymore Christian. It’s about FAMILY.

IT’S NOT ABOUT WHAT YOU’VE DONE AND WHO YOU WERE.

IT’S ABOUT YOU WHO WANT TO BE AND WHERE YOU’R GOING TO GO.

So Christian, Tell me where are you going.

Grandpa’s words hit home, they stunned me lift me speechless.

I need to go back to the Wrestling Empire. I have a PPV marque match.. It’s Wrestlemania V. The fifth year pops. Five years is a lot and I’ve been there for about three. I’ve been there almost since the beginning. I’m just not sure if I can just step away from all of that, to go from become a professional wrestler, an all star athlete, Former World Heavyweight Champion…headlining PPV’s, selling out venues. To…. To becoming a father, a husband. To settle down. To give it all up and to become something entirely different. Something I know nothing about. See pops I know how to wrestle, I know how to get in the ring, I’m a masterful technician when it comes to stepping in the ring. I know how to do that. But becoming a father, I’m scared.

Christian, I was scared too.

I look at him with a baffled look. Grandpa, being scared, now that was a notion I never heard of.

When your parents dropped you off and left you with me and your grandma to take care of you. I had a lot of hate in my heart for what your parents did to you Christian. Mixed in with that hate though was fear, cuz you see me and Grandma we couldn’t’ have children of our own, but we wanted them. So when it actually happened, I was unprepared. But we took you and your brother regardless, and I have to say looking back at it now, it was the most rewarding thing that any man can ask for. Because when I look at you Christian, I don’t see a failure, I don’t see a mistake. No what I see is someone with a chance, someone who hold their destiny in their hands. I see a man who is at a crossroads, and who has to pick a path, with each path leading to a different outcome. But you know what else I see, I see the same young boy that I raised since he was little, the man that he grew up today

I feel like this is going to be it. The end of the line pops. I got a family, a son on the way. This just feels like this is it. It feel like life is giving me one more chance to head out there in the limelight, to square off in the famed squared ring. To have one last, hurray, before I leave it all behind. To hang it up. To do it all once more for the last time, before I strive off to become a father But that just means that I have to follow threw with it pops. I’m not sure if I can? That I can just walk away from it all. That I can just…

Christian, I know…..

He looks at me with those stern eyes again.

I know that you’ll pick the right choose.

Not Very many people get Second Chances. It’s a short list. People like Kenneth Walker, Austin Starr, Blade LaVigne, and even Kurt Orton. All of them had a second chance or are getting their second chance. You see Life comes full circle around. Birth, Life, Death. It’s the big fucking circle of life. Whether we accept it or not. You see Joey, your not the only Bastard. Though by definition I did know my parents, I just never grew up with them. It seems like everything in this life has connections. Like every path were put on has a reason. Call it destiny, call it duty. Call it whatever you like Joey. But you have that chance at Wrestlemania, to beat one of the greatest that they’re ever was in Thy WWE. To go one on one with Christian Knight, to step in that ring with me. Both of you guys, both You and Wilson will have that chance, for Wilson it will be about Redemption, for you it will be about breaking down that fourth wall, it will be about reaching that next level. Long after all of this is gone, one day you can look back when you’re sipping on a cocktail at a beach. Looking at the waves crash into the shore, enjoying the sunshine, perhaps you might even enjoy the nice Caribbean waters. If you can get the job done, and when you look at the reflection of yourself in the water, you can remember back to this day, either one of you can. 

You can look back at yourself and feel that accomplishment, you can feel that overwhelming sense of pride, of self-worth, and you can say that you’ve done it all, and accomplished it all, that you were able to leave this all behind like I am and say that everything that you’ve ever wanted, you achieved, or perhaps when you look at your reflection at the beach, when all is said and done, perhaps it won’t be accomplishment, pride or self-worth that you might be feeling, perhaps it might end up being regret. Perhaps it might end up being Shame, Perhaps it might end up being the feeling of disappointment in yourself in the fact that in one of the greatest matches in either of your careers and neither of you could get the job done, neither of you could say that you were the one to raise there hands high in victory. That neither of you could be the one to stand tall, and say you’ve done it all. Perhaps it will be me who is the one who will be standing on the beach, Rebecca by my side, My new born son in her arms, looking at me as I look down in those waters and see my own reflection and remember the past, remember that I was the one to beat both one of the best former members in the form of Scott Wilson, and one of the best of today, perhaps even the best of the future in the form Of Joey “The Bastard”. That I beat both of you guys in one night. That I was the one left standing tall, with my head held high. Perhaps that will be the last memory that I have, before all is said and done, before I head out with my head held high. But we won’t know until then, will we? See you their Joey and Wilson. Hope you can handle the pressure. Because I can. I’ll see you guys at Wrestlemania. 

Real Beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what that can be seen, but that cannot be seen.

For the longest time I’ve been blind. A blind fool, that didn’t realize that the greatest thing that he had but stood before him. I wanted to tell her everything that I felt about her. I wanted her to know. There I stood with those thoughts in my head, and I couldn’t contain it any longer as I spoke.

Rebecca, I had a hole, a hole in my heart. I thought that nobody would be able to fill. But you came along. I was broken, but you fixed me. I am whole again thanks to you. Because of you. It’s you that makes me want to live again. It is you that makes me want to love again. I owe you my life. I owe you everything Rebecca. I love everything about her. From her skin; white and beautiful as the sand at a beach, to her pearly white smile. She had a unique smile that no one could imitate, and her eyes. Her eyes sparkled a emerald green hue. The sight of her would take just about any man’s breath away, and yet she choose me. I never thought this moment would happen again for me, but it has. I was waiting for my name to be called for me to go inside to let me know when it was ok for me to step inside the hospital room. Waiting for them to let me in. I should be inside there supporting me, but I was scared. I didn’t want to let them know I was there. Before I knew it though, one of the doctor’s assistance came out and told me that it was time. I stood up, nervous and full of anticipation. I walked towards her room but I stopped short.

Five Steps.

I was only five steps away from entering the room. Five steps, was all it would take to make my way through the doorway to see her. To see Rebecca and our new baby girl. Five steps was all it took that would change my life forever.

One. The door way was open, and I could hear a baby cry. I was already about to faint.

Two. I heard the doctor tell her congratulations on the new baby girl, the doctor asking her what she would want to call the baby girl.

Three. I stepped inside the room, the curtain was closed, but I could see the shadow of her and the baby. I could hardly say anything to her, because I was stunned. Stunned just looking at the silhouettes of the two people I would come to love waited for me on the other side of that curtain.

Four. This can’t be true. I doubted the reality that was happening, it was more like a dream. How can something good happen to a guy like me, after everything I’ve done.

Five. Finally I pass the curtain and there she was with the baby in hand. I see A smile on her face. She looks at the doctor and she looks at me and then exclaims. “ I think we should call her Jessica, after my sister.” Those words weighed on my heart, and it broke me, as tears swept over me. I was like hypnotized. It was she, and our baby girl. Our new daughter, her beauty was mystifying every part of me. “Jessica, huh,” I took a look at her eyes, At baby Jessica’s eyes. They were the same Emerald Green that Rebecca had, that Jessica had. Our baby girl smiled at me, stealing the smile I had I was stuck, mouth gaped and amazed. She was san angel. It only took five steps and now she’s mine. “She’s just as beautiful as her mother’. It was then, that not only that I fell in love with Rebecca, but that I also feel in love, with another Jessica. Five. That’s all it took. Five steps can change your life.

[Scott Wilson]

20. Favor

Ernie’s is easy enough to find. Working class watering holes are the same no matter where you go, be it New York or Boston. I get there around two in the afternoon, after driving my rental car in from Newark. Already, the regulars were fall-down drunk and grumbling at the SNY broadcast up about how the Jets need to put in Tebow. As a fan of some pretty historically hapless teams, I sympathize. I tip the brim of my Bruins hat at one of the more lubricated patrons and give him a wink. A good looking middle aged woman is tending the bar, and as I sidle up to her, she slides a thick envelope over towards me.

“You drinkin’ too, hon?”

“Bit early in the day for me. You mind if I take up some real estate for a while?”

“Considering it’s only you, me, and four liver transplants waiting to happen here, do what you please.”

What Irons left me turns out to be a packet filled with pictures and names, and a few loose leaf scribblings of what I take to be how far his trainer Mack got with any of the leads. Not a lot to go off of, and even less of any indications to what might be tying it all together. The most prominently featured face in the faded photos I recognize as Irons’ old man, Henry. A few others here and there stand out, though I can’t place them, until the last photo. This one I know.
Abel Levi was a fairly prominent amateur fighter back in the sixties. Got a lot of play in New York for being a legitimate Jewish contender, something that was hard to come by after the early stages of the sport ended and it became more and more integrated. He was being touted as a possible opponent for Davey Moore, until Sugar Ramos beat that poor bastard’s brains out. He didn’t get a lot of play after that and a lot of Jewish fans took it as a slight.

Levi was more notorious, though, for how he died. In one of the more famous unsolved H files, he was stabbed 40 times in his Borough Park apartment, with no witnesses and no viable suspects. The department investigation of the time could be called halfhearted at best. Levi’s pop, Ezra, had been connected with the old days of Murder, Inc., the Jewish enforcers of the Mafia in the 30s and 40s. Ezra himself had never been found, but even money says he was part of the purging the families did after Abe Reles informed. Plenty of people figured the sins of the father were visited on the son, and that Abel died for either retaliation, or for fear of what his old man had told him. It’s the best I have to work off of, and lucky for me, one of the kids I fought back when I was Golden Gloves had come up around here in Flushing. Trained at the Levi Boxing Club, set up in memoriam of Abel.

Navigating the City in a car has never been an easy task, and even less so in the aftermath of Sandy. Takes me the better part of two hours to drive upstream to Queens, but eventually I park outside the dilapidated sign for Levi’s Gym. Inside is a scene I know well enough; an old school gym filled with little more than a ring, a few speed and heavy bags, and folding chairs for the old timers to sit on and wax rhapsodic about the days when fighting was fighting and people actually cared about the sweet science.

Leaning on the ropes and heckling at two younger guys sparring in the ring is a grizzled middle aged man, graying around the temples but still sporting the build of a fighter. He glances at me as I walk in and motions for one of the old guys to take his spot. A crooked grin shows off chipped, yellowing teeth and he walks over to me, hand extended.

“I know this man. This man is Scott Wilson. You telegraph your right hook, Scott Wilson. Dropping your shoulder, it’s no good.”

I shake his hand and shrug. “What can I say, I’m a brawler at heart. And you are?”

“Scott Wilson must not have done his homework. Not many come to Levi’s and do not know Isaac Levi.”

“Abel’s son. It’s good to meet you, I was a big fan of your father.”

“Not big enough a fan, no? Abel Levi never dropped his shoulder.”

“Probably why I never went pro, I suppose. You have a minute to talk?”

He gives a casual wave of his hand and puts his arm around my shoulders, leading me past the ring to an office in the back. “Minute to talk, yes, nothing but time when your fighters too stupid to learn to breathe,” his voice raises as we pass the two still sparring. “Stupid fighters think being young is enough to win, no?”

The office, if you want to call it that, is little more than a desk and a filing cabinet that’s probably twice my age. Newspapers and boxing magazines cover the desk, and the walls are plastered with card posters, with an old Levi/Saldivar one the most proudly displayed.

“You come to ask after my father, yes?”

“How’d you know that?”

Isaac smiles and lights a cigar, leaning back in his chair and spreading his arms wide. “Many people still interested in father. Come often asking, thinking I know who killed Abel Levi.”

“Why and what’s the reason for?”

He barks a laugh and nods. “Yes, exactly so. So why would you be any different, no?”

“Fair enough. You say many people come through…I’m guessing a lot more lately?”

“Yes, is true. Crazies, they are. One comes through, is shaking like those corner rats do. Says I don’t know real reason why father died. Says I am in danger as well.”

“And do you?”

He gives a Gallic shrug and takes a long puff from the cigar. “People are asking all my life. I was little more than boy when father died, no? I am in danger? Grandfather died 70 years ago. Any names he could name, they are all dead too. Why would anyone come after me for this?”

“Your father knew Henry Irons, right?”

“Who did not know Henry Irons, who was fighter in sixties?”

“Any idea why someone would send his boy this?” I show Isaac a few of the pictures from Irons’ packet, ones with Abel circled in red ink.

“The one who fights with you? No, I have no idea. I feel he is getting same as me. The crazies, yes?”

“Could be,” I stand and hand him a card. “Listen, give me a call if you have any problems with these crazies. Or Vic Irons. Got a feeling he’d help you out as well.” Isaac waves me off, pocketing my card.

“Do not worry yourself, Mr. Wilson. Crazies, they will always be there. Me and Mr. Irons, we can watch after ourselves, yes? You just worry about that shoulder.”

I head out of the gym and try to figure out what my next play is. Somebody is targeting the sons of the fighters who ran in Henry Irons’ circle back in the day, but why? What ties them together? I get into the rental and turn the key, before I feel the barrel of a gun pressed against my neck.

“Drive.”

21. Bloodlines

Sunken blue eyes and a hollowed out face are framed by my rear view, as the barrel pushes harder into my throat. The man in the back seat is skinny and strung out, with hair that probably used to be blonde ten years and a heroin addiction ago. He directs me through the streets, so many twists and turns that I quickly lose track of where we came from and where we are. I feel the hard truth of being out of my comfort zone as the gunman’s directions get me lost in the sprawling backstreets of the borough.

Finally, we get to an underpass, still half-flooded and with no souls around besides a few homeless and prosses. They scatter away as they see him direct me out of the car, gun still held at my back.

“There’s good enough. Toss them keys in the back seat.” I do as he tells me and watch as he starts to pace back and forth, jumble of nervous energy and probably the mid-day withdrawal hitting him. “Everybody after me, everybody after us. Now you too. Shoulda known.”

“Who’s after you?” He gives me a look like I’m the stupidest guy he’s ever met.

“Like you don’t know. You’re one of ‘em. Irons and me and Atlas and Levi and Morris and the rest and now you’re here and now you’re here to finish me off, think I don’t know?”

“I’m just doing a favor for Irons. No one’s here after you.”

“Good joke, ha-ha-ha. Real good joke,” he says this more to himself than me, and I can see he’s more past the bend than heroin would take him. I try a different tact.

“Look, what’s your name?”

“Ha-ha-ha, my name. You know me, how could you not. Got all them pretty pictures in your pocket. Gave them to you, didn’t I?” I look at him again, and it finally clicks. Though he’s barely looking human now, add a few pounds and take a few years away and you can see the resemblance to his father.

“Jonas Klein…?”

“That’s him, that’s good old dear old dad, daddy dearest.” Klein’s another one from the photos, hanging around Vic’s father. One of the ones circled in red.

“Listen…what’s your name?”

“Me? I’m nobody. Mr. Nobody. Nobody needs to know Lucas.”

“Lucas… let’s calm down, alright? I’m not here after you. Irons isn’t either, and I’m betting you spooked Levi more than he did you.” His wandering gaze stops and stares at me, wide-eyed.

“Levi and Irons and Atlas and Me and The Rest and you think I don’t know?”

“Don’t know what, Lucas?”

“All of us dying, one by one by one, just like our fathers. In the blood, isn’t it?”

“You’re saying people are after you?”

“Of course they are of course they always have been aren’t you LISTENING?” I raise my hands, trying to be non-threatening. The heft of my pistol is weighing against the shoulder holster I have it in. Lucas has a loose grip on his own gun, and resumes his pacing.

“I’m listening. Why don’t you tell me who’s after you.”

“Thinks he’s listening but he isn’t, stupid stupid STUPID. If he was listening he’d already know. We’re dying because we can’t live together, have to kill each other, it’s in the blood.”

“Who’s killing each other?”

“Ten little Indians all in a row, but the fathers didn’t know, ha-ha-ha. Skipped all of them and now its us.”

“What’s you?”

“Death. Each other’s death. Open the door and there they’ll be because it has to be. Not me though, no, not gonna let them.”

“Look, Lucas, I don’t know what’s got you running scared. Come with me. We’ll go find Irons, and he’ll tell you he isn’t after you. We can help.”

“Help, no one can help me but I can help me,” he looks at me again and his eyes gleam, glossed over by manic energy. “Tell Vic here’s one less to go, tell him.”

I’m still trying to figure out what his insane chattering means when in one quick, fluid motion he raises the pistol, covering the barrel with his mouth. The shot rings out, echoing through the underpass, as his skull blows out the back of his head and he falls to the ground dead.

22. Leads

Hours later, I head back to Ernie’s for the second time today, this time covered with a dusting of Lucas Klein’s blood. The same regulars are there as before, but plenty more have filed in after their punchclock days, and the bar’s packed. I see Vic at the end of the bar, watching me as navigate through the rowdy drunks. He shoves the guy in the stool next to him and gives a quick jerk of the head, and the guy clears out, leaving a space for me next to Irons.

“Back again, sweetheart? How about that drink?”

“This time, I could use one. Whatever he’s having. He’s paying, too.”

Vic raises an eyebrow and looks me over, eyes lingering over the few flecks of blood. “I’m paying, huh? I’m guessing I owe you some hazard pay?”

“You could say that.” I give him a quick run down of what I tracked down at Levi’s, as well as my run in with Klein. His face looks as lost as I feel.

“In the blood? The hell’s that mean?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Got a feeling this one’s a bit above my paygrade.”

“Shit. Zombies and vampires and now some dead junkie saying now the Highlander’s after me. What’s your take on all this?”

“I got my P.I. license from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Hogswhat?” The old boxer looks at me like I just asked him if he wanted to come with me to a Bieber concert. I forget the age difference between us and chuckle as I raise my drink to my lips. I’m not even sure what it is, but the bartender didn’t cheap out tonight. I can see why he comes here.

“Nevermind. Look, I know I already asked, but if I’m going to get anything concrete I need you to think if there’s anything else you can feed me. Private eyes are information hounds. I don’t care what it is — rumors, gossip, washroom discussions, something your barber once told you or something you heard One-Eyed Jack talk about in a drunken stupor.” The scraggly-bearded gentlemen with the eyepatch sitting in the back of the bar by the jukebox inspired the last comment. I’m a little amazed by how he’s just one parrot and peg leg from sailing the high seas. You really do find all types in New York. “If I find the dog’s got no bark, I’ll put it to sleep.” Vic gives me an amused smirk, but I can’t tell if he’s just confused some more. “I mean if the intel’s no good, I’ll find that out soon enough.”

“Nah, I got that part. You Boston-types talk real fuckin’ weird, you know that?” Irons called forth the bartender and had her refill his drink. The old man must have had a liver lined with lead.

“Don’t have to tell me that, bud. We’ve got our differences, but before we start talking Yankees and rivalries, what more you’ve got on Atlas? You’ve been shy on divulging any information about him. At first I figured you had your reasons … but I’m doing you a favor here. I need you to be straight with me.”
Irons’ large paws circle his raised glass. He’s watching the Santana / Garcia match on the overhead television, one of those big cubes they stopped selling in the late 90s. Santana has Garcia on the ropes and he’s laying into him. Garcia’s mid-fall to the mat and Santana is still clubbing him. Good finish. Our attention had occasionally drifted to the sport, but I needed him to focus.

“Atlas is mine.”

He was never watching the finish of the match. He was inside his own head. That glass of his is still hovering, and he’s just turning it in his palms, like the barfly’s version of wringing his hands. I take a deep breath and just happen to accidentally inhale half the contents of my glass. There’s definitely whiskey in there, but something else too.

“It’s personal. I know. Look,” I throw up my hands. “Whatever you tell me stays here. Any information you give me is for me to help you. I’m not looking to bring the guy down myself. My name’s already getting out there faster than I can control the flow of information. I don’t need any glory from taking down some former Champion fighter. I just need to have all the pieces so I can put the jigsaw together.”

There’s not much of a change in his position. He has no logical reason to hold back information from me. He came to me. The cogs in his head are just spinning in the wrong direction because of emotion. I’ve seen it before with clients. I’ve learned not to take offense to it.

“We’re being filmed. My whole life … yours. Whose to say what information I spill here doesn’t end up in the palm of somebody’s hands who will?” He’s got a point. Without a camera staring you right in the face, it’s easy to forget that Thy WWE can be live at any time. “But — guess it’s the risk I’ve got to take.” He tilts the glass back and the cocktail of liquors finds a new place to call home in the belly of the beast. “There were always rumors about Atlas having mafia connections, no big surprise there. Don’t think anybody really proved anything. There was always talks about people in the business being tied to this family or that, but eh. Atlas … I could see it. He told me once that his old man is the reason my father died … poisoned him before the match. For a long time I tried to get at him, but I really had no proof he wasn’t just riling me up … settin’ me up to get kicked out. I don’t know.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Listen, kid, I appreciate all the help you’re giving me. Word of advice … don’t get too close to Atlas. I don’t know if his connections are legit, but I know he’s got muscle. He’s spooking a lot of people, and I know he’s waiting to catch me off guard.”

“You wouldn’t believe how used to people wanting to kill me for putting my nose in their business I am, Vic. I’ve become almost as good at dodging bullets in the streets as I am dodging shots in the ring. Then again, in both cases sometimes it just takes one, so I’ll grow a pair in the back of my head and recommend you do the same.” I reach into my pocket and go to pay for my drinks. Vic throws a forget-about-it wave of his hand and digs into his own pocket. I was only half-serious about him covering the drinks, but I thank him nonetheless and let him.

After I realize the jukebox had stopped playing some time ago and all ears are intently listening to me, I punch Vic in the arm. The old man nearly cracks himself up. I turn to bid him and this section of town farewell when I notice something in the reflection of a Budweiser-styled mirror pointed towards the streets. The slick-haired Italiano with the loud suit-and-tie combo could have picked something more inconspicuous, but mob muscle and subtlety don’t often go hand in hand.

“Vic… this place got a back exit?”

“Yup. Just noticed him.”

“All right, I’ll go out the front — maybe get him to tail me. You slip out the back door and –”

Before I could finish my train of thought, Vic’s already standing tall and looking like he’s ready to suicide charge out those doors. I put my hands on his shoulders and try to talk some sense into him, but right now there’s a good chance no matter how hard I try to hammer sense into him, it’s not going to take.

“Nah. You go out the back. I’m going to go see what Papa John wants.”

Colleen is watching us. She’s nervous. She knows as well as I do there’s no stopping him, but just to be sure when I shake his hand, I slip him my personal card. He runs his thumb over the plastic and notices its thickness. Yeah, it’s got a card inside of it. You can buy them at any spy shop nowadays. I’m not sure if his attention to the card is him noticing or not, but he says thanks and pockets it.

Then he goes to meet with Papa John outside and I exit via the back door into an alley way.

23. Knockout

The baseball bat comes down on the flesh again with a soft thud, like hitting a pillow. Blood splatters into the face of Isaac Levi as he mercilessly ends the life of another suit. He tosses the bat, which rolls off right in between two other bodies that he had cut down. Beside their bodies are their pieces which did them little good. Bullet holes scar the ring in the center of his gym and tore through the leathery sides of several bags, but Levi himself remains bathed in only the blood of his foes.

He thumbs at his nose and spins around, arms out wide.

“This — this the best you do, huh? Couple of goombas? Be man. If you so tough, why not face Isaac Levi yourself?”
He speaks to shadows.

“What a disappointment, Atlas! You come into my home — like knew you would — and not even show face? Why? I am not armed. In old days, our father fought in competition for the chance to be the one. We are a proud lineage of athletes!” His arms only now fell to his sides. “Then your father — he decides friendly competition not only way. No surprise coming from your kind.” He spits on the body of one of Atlas’ men. “Only care about self-indulgence. Immediate satisfaction. So, your father introduces death to our competition. Your father decide … this be the new way victory is decided. Ezra strong man. Proud man. But not expect this betrayal. Well, jokes on Vincenzo, no?” He chuckles to himself. “It was not his or Ezra’s time. But … it is ours and a victor must be decided. If it is these new rules you wish to play by, Atlas, I am not running. Running was great-great-great-great grandfather’s sport. It is not ours. So, come. We fight to the death. But just remember what Isaac represent, huh. Isaac is destruction. Isaac is war.”

“Isaac doesn’t learn from his father.”

Levi’s eyes grow wide as he turns to face the business end of a gun aimed directly at his temple.

“We fight. … To the death. You. And me.” Isaac’s grin reaches from one ear to another.

Atlas’ grin is greasier, but he looks to ponder the suggestion.

“Isaac — we already have. I won by knockout.”

The shot rang out inside Levi’s gym. K.O.

--o--

... 62

Some feel that the flexibility of the human mind is irreconcilable with the notion that it resides on rigid hardware. Programmed for destiny.

Though, if our self-understanding can't ever be truly complete then perhaps it's not so strange to feel that way. We all exist within the company of shadows.

What was once such a tangible feeling, now is lost, and seems to lead to be a paradox. No matter how hard we fight, we are servants to the much greater ideal. Christian Knight believes to be the exception to the rule, defiant of criticism, successful undoubtedly, and unique.

He can't consistently assert this truth, this cycle of repetition. Whether he asserts it or deny it, he would inevitably admit that he is not able to assert every single truth about herself. Christian will always be in denial. His predictability of the machine premise dictating his mind is his own barrier.

Because it's built out of him. We see complex emergent phenomena from deep within, bubble to the surface. This fits well with the observation that we simply can’t force ourselves to describe the neural or even symbolic functions from whence something like ambition emerges from; it’s just there. We could very well just be machines underneath it all and never be the wiser.

Slaves to our unturning roads.

Then so be it. It wouldn't change anything.
Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.
He has it wired in the genetic code.
Enlightenment will reach him.

... 63

So long was the squeamish Scott Wilson who would only drink from martini glasses at freezing temperature. Some ways I had changed for the betterment of my own wellbeing…survival of the fittest and reclusion of my love for the things I use to protect so valiantly was the right push I needed to begin my path in the wrestling business. It was selfish enough for me to prosper without question, which is why it is ironic as to the questioning of my character as something or arrogant and selfish when in truth every single wrestler is arrogant and selfish.

Every tight wearing, boot lacing, power-slamming member of rosters I have been apart don’t care for who or what you are but expect in return to you give a damn back like they are the second coming of Jesus. Everybody wants the championships, the main events, and the fame that comes attached to it. They want recognition. What did it take to be different? I sure as hell didn’t want to be classed as some greedy self-loving wrestler who could barely cut a decent promo against their opponents. The meaning behind my arrival was to unravel the overgrown forest of arrogance, from the seed that was laid long ago when the first of us entered the squared circle.

Nobody in the industry was special.
All labels and nicknames are pathetic and misused to describe tedious lies.
Gimmicks were used to portray imagination poorly.
People fight for titles and honour, not pride and competition.

I was as real as it come, an oddity in an otherwise broken world where it was normal for the most undeserving person to claim a world championship for themselves. My existence and my continuation as the most dominate and successful wrestler in Thy WWE’s history would be an ode to reality. Finally, something different. “The Enigma”, “The Last King”, “The Future”, “The HardKore Freak”, “The Natural One”, and “Best in the World” would all be footnotes to the story I am brining to life.

Fools hiding being their names.
Men and women fabricating their weave of lies.

... 64

I feel different, like when you are told at a job that they no longer need you…the moment of impending ‘good luck in your future endeavors’. A piece of me has departed but I don’t know what. This mental lobotomy confuses me, it allows my skin to burn at comments made at my expense, but yet leaves me completely un-phased the next minute.

What was I becoming? This crusade to remove all credibility for Joey the Bastard and Christian Knight had awakened an even deeper level of my consciousness I didn’t know existed. Around other people I, my interview with Dr. Addison for example a testament to my current condition.

But I was not ill nor was I having sleepless nights.
Nothing had changed. Something had refocused.
I dreamt of hurting people, it did not shame me or leave me feeling
Somehow I know what Horatio Addison would tell me, in his irritating Florida accent would tell me that I was taking things to the next level through justification of my ideals.
In Lehman’s terms I had breached the part of me that even felt empathy; I was becoming the monster that ripped compassion from the heart of innocents.
Personally, I think it was much simpler than that.
I had already sunk below the point of caring.

... 65

Every time I come to face my opponents, you my reader, will notice that I have a fascination with inspiring quotes from great men as I discuss the literal irony of such remarks. This time I have another quote for you, but before I reveal what it is let me indulge you on something I always learn from others. This world, populated by seven billion individuals is a tangible clue to the very drive of mankind. With so many people and so few of them remarkable… what do we really mean when we mean the word ‘individual’. As an entertainer we are meant to be at the forefront of inventing something fresh and unique, something different, something new.

What if I were to tell you everything we have ever heard has been said before, and every part of a unique personality is false? I admit, there are others like me, others who can connect to me. The same applies to Joey the Bastard. The one thing I never got about him was his fixation on being something that he wasn’t… ’unique’. He wasn’t the first wrestler, he isn’t the first successful wrestler, he isn’t the first to win a match, he isn’t the first to have Christian Knight as a opponent, he isn’t the first to face me, and he isn’t the first at anything. In his mind he will know who he is, and why he is like that. To that… I still proclaim that even that very mindset is flawed because everyone knows that they are different and special. I want him to know going into our match that he stands on pedestal against me, he must meet me on the ground floor as his shallow meaningless husk of a human body. Nothing makes him special to me, and I am not special to him. The one difference is that of our purpose, we are only defined by our ideals and virtues. Sadly Joey has no real virtues, I studied him, I tested his boundaries, and nothing appeared. He is a ghost of a temperament, he is ambitious, and driven, but with nothing in sight except the title around Blade's waist. To repeat, I will tell him the same thing I told Christian in my match against him: wanting an object of obsession is not a personality, even if you were to obtain said object you are no better off. Your purpose is misplaced and I will be the one who can set you back on the proper course.

“Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life; everyone must carry out a concrete assignment that demands fulfilment. Therein he cannot be replaced, nor can his life be repeated, thus, everyone's task is unique as his specific opportunity to implement it.”
- Viktor E. Frankl

--o--

Psychiatric Report Log, from Trinity Ward, the office of Horatio Addison
Date: Wednesday 8th July 2015
Patient: Scott Wilson

Summary Evaluation
Mr. Wilson came to me out of the blue today; his visit was brief but haunting. I may not sleep well having crept further into his mind. He unsettles me, his very presence is off-putting but in a sincere way. I do not find him intimidating but his aura is entirely void of colour or representation it is like he doesn’t exist with the same human balance we all need to connect and feel. His fixation on the truth, perfection, honesty, and his purpose are taking turns for the worst. I watched his matches against names like Blade LaVigne and Bob Cena and saw a man who terrified me; having sat in many sessions with him I see the deeper context of his decisions. My fear is that he does not have the human balance, and it may never be found in him again. My diagnosis of him changes from week-to-week as I discover more about this fascinating man, but, and there is always a ‘but’ when it comes to him though, a common theme I draw when I cannot escape are the tendencies that can only be found in the homicidal.

Full Evaluation
When he arrived I noticed immediately that he was on edge, something had his paranoid more than usual. I invited him to sit down. He talked about the darkness residing inside of him, and how he used it to put down all those before him. Mr. Wilson’s life philosophy required him to go ‘full measures’ with any plan of his, and to commit one hundred percent to his ambitions. Saying that he was a simple man was out of the equation, I felt for him because the downward spiral he was on could not be stopped. The life of a successful man was always fraught with hardship along the way, Scott was no exception. Expectations and responsibility were key to maintaining a healthy balance, the same balance he does not possess. Along the way he had lost sight of the humanity that gave him compassion towards fellow man, all he cared about he kept shielded in the illusive box inside his mind. Anything existing outside of it was to be treated indifferently and with no care. I’d previously thought he was going through post-traumatic stress, and then I thought he was perhaps suffering from dual personalities, but each time he surprised me and proved my theory wrong. His mental conditioning is unwavering; his emotional side is almost obsolete.

When you compare the traits of known sociopaths the common trends are obsession, delusion, hatred, passion, recurring habits, and the ability to retain cover through a normal life. Strangely Scott does not possess any of these except perhaps obsession, the methods of Mr. Wilson are yet so similar and far away from these measures he is again undefinable by the usual norms. Upon the middle of our conversation he discussed a man called Christian Knight, a fellow wrestler in the Thy WWE. He spoke coldly of him, and of his fantasies regarding their upcoming match. He is familiar with him in the ring, and from an implied sense Mr. Wilson made it apparent that there may be some professional jealousy on his end focused at Scott who stole the crowd acknowledgement away from him first time round. Scott himself doesn’t get jealous as he as at peace with himself, whatever harrowing darkness that may be, and from where I sit jealousy is merely hatred wrapped in a different spelling, Christian has not come to terms with the blatant reality that Scott has proved himself on multiple occasions that he is the unstoppable force in the company while he flounders in and out of defeat and victory like a yo-yo. His inconsistency will daunt him with having to overreach, and when he fails, to feel even more sadness and hatred before Scott. This of course is all relevant to my evaluation of Scott Wilson, the man who told me with a chilling voice that his concern for him is simply a selfish craving to finish him before he becomes a problem once again. Without the ability to care, as was with the case for many of his opponents, Scott is capable of unbound violence when he steps between the ropes. What will start as a simple competition will end in another display of human ruin, and to why I have my own theory about why Scott chooses to do the horrid things without even so much as blinking. I call it the ‘Justified Ascension Theory’.

This complex is unique to Scott, and even though he doesn’t like labels, he’ll never know of its existence. He would make an excellent research subject for a journal one day, but I fear that like most unique cases will never reach the sunlight and viewed by all. This theory hinges on the moral personality of Scott Wilson, his confidence, and his lack of professional identity. Scott is a realist and also a man who believes the imaginational symmetry of ideals, and what they do for us. He uses controversial ideals to not only better himself, but also that of other people on his search for true enlightenment. These clever tactics are usually intense suppression and unrivalled mental tenacity that puts him above the ploys of his enemies, a fibre within him that touches the strings that his music plays to. The Justified Ascension Theory proposes that Scott commits justified acts of violence as a way of providing meaning to his purpose and to elevate the perception of everyone around him. He strives for a different world, and change is stubborn, which supports my thesis that he does not accept what is before him. Christian Knight is an old establishment in the industry to which he works, and in the foresight of Scott Wilson he is a blockade to be removed if any real change is to happen. Every session with Scott he reminds me that every ‘unturning road’ cannot be retrospective of itself; things left in the past must stay there. What that says about Scott and his relationship of Christian could be argued, but I would take a strong guess and assume that Scott sees him as an object covered with historic labels that must be set to rights. Mr. Wilson is a man of the future, and in it he sees the current form of Christian Knight as unfit in his vision.

If my theory is correct, then I can only feel the utmost sorrow for his fate. Scott has become overly dangerous very quickly, to a point where if he is not stopped then nothing will ever catch up to him at the pace he is going. He runs in complete darkness, carving a journey for himself as he goes along, and that is what startles me most about him. Living in such state of mind means he doesn’t know what is in front of him at any given time but that does not change his resolve. It only makes him work harder. One day something will need to be done to overcome him, and it needs to be done sooner rather than later where he can pick up the momentum. Unfortunately that may have to wait if Christian Knight and Joey the Bastard is all that they can throw in front of this unstoppable force, because even they know deep down that compared to the might of Mr. Wilson that they are far from being the immovable objects designed to stop him.

[Joey The Bastard]

The Christian Knight Trial


The scene opens up in the hallways of a beautifully bright courthouse. The focus is on the main double oak doors of the largest courtroom in the building, and Joey the Bastard soon enters the shot wearing a sharp suit, and holding a Bob Barker microphone in his hand. His hair is slicked back, and a cheesy toothy grin covers his face.


Joey the Bastard:


Ladies and gentlemen, welcome... to The Bastard's Court!


Generic television courtroom show music starts to play which would remind most people of something that they may hear while watching The People's Court on basic cable. A graphic shows up on the screen that reads, "The Bastard's Court." We cut back to the toothy-grinned Bastard as he fills the viewers in on today's show.


Joey the Bastard:


Folks, tonight, you are about to witness one of the most influential trials of today's day and age. A man who many believe to be the most important man in the history of the professional wrestling business, the man, the myth, the legend: Christian Knight. Now, the crown has laid multiple charges down against Mr. Knight. Charges such as manslaughter, treason, conspiracy, and corruption, but tonight on The Bastard's Court, we will bring you inside the courtroom to witness all of the proceedings, all of the drama, and the truth will be revealed. This is The Bastard's Court!


A graphic which looks as if a high school student made it comes up on the screen. A cut out of Christian Knight's head bobbles on to the screen, then a giant muscle-bound Joey the Bastard slams the top of it with an equally giant gavel, causing the cut-out of Christian Knight's head to explode like an atomic bomb. We cut to inside the courtroom with a shot of the bench. The voice of Joey the Bastard talks us in as the judge walks out from his office.


Joey the Bastard:


Here he is, ladies and gentlemen. He is a man of integrity. He is a man of honor and virtue. He is the Honorable Judge Bastard.


We then realize that the judge is Joey the Bastard himself wearing a robe, and one of those old English white wigs. The bailiff, who, coincidentally enough, is also Joey the Bastard - but wearing a bailiff uniform - demands that the viewers inside the courtroom all rise. They all rise, and the camera shows us at home that each and every one of them are Joey the Bastard dressed in various outfits. There are old lady Bastard's, old man Bastard's, women Bastard's with giant breasts, regular Joe Bastard's, and even a little Bastard holding a lolly pop, whining about how hungry he is. The voice of the host of the show chimes in once more.


Joey the (Host) Bastard:


Folks, these people here really do respect this man, and so they should. He is a true gentleman, and a scholar, and he is about to do what he does best: listen to the evidence, analyze the information, and then pass judgement based on the jury's decision. That right, folks, we do have a jury of twelve for this, the most important trial of the decade. No, no, no. The most important trial of the century! Forget the Pickton murders. OJ Simpson who? This is the Christian Knight Trial! Let's listen in...


Judge Bastard approaches the bench and informs everybody that they may be seated. The camera zooms in on him has he starts things off.


Judge Bastard:


Alright, let's get this over with. I have nineteen holes waiting for me as well as President What's-his-nuts at the country club. Prosecution, we'll start with your argument.


The prosecutor stands up from his chair, and who would have thought? It's Joey the Bastard! This time, he's wearing an amazing pin-stripe double-breasted suit, and a snazzy looking tie. He walks out on to the floor, with his fingers rubbing his chin.


Prosecutor Bastard:


Thank you, Your Honor, but first off, I just wanna say that you look phenomenal this evening.


Judge Bastard:


Why, thank you, Mister Bastard. You are one strapping young lad there yourself.


Prosecutor Bastard: 


Thank you, Your Honor. In fact, I would even go as far as to say that each and every single person in this room looks flat out amazing. Everybody, give yourselves a hand. You deserve it!


All The Bastard's in the room applaud the kind words from Prosecutor Bastard. But, he holds is hand up as if to silence the room.


Prosecutor Bastard:


Now, ladies and gentlemen of the Jury.


We see a shot of the Jury, and - you guessed it - all twelve members of the Jury are Joey the Bastard, but they are dressed like previous versions of The Bastard. There is a punk rock Bastard with a spiked up mohawk. An orange haired Mikey Whipwreck looking Bastard. A G'd out Eminem looking Bastard, and a Bastard wearing a fedora among others.


Prosecutor Bastard:


I'm sure all of you at some point in your lives have turned on the television and tuned in to an episode of Thy WWE RAW. I think it's safe to say that that is a true statement. And by hearing that truth, it can also be assumed that when tuning in to Thy WWE RAW, many of you have watched a man by the name of Christian Knight compete on said show.


The Bastard picks up remote from his desk and turns on a television set. There is a still-frame of Christian Knight. The crowd starts to boo but Judge Bastard will have none of it. he slams his gavel down hard with a loud

BAK!

BAK!

BAK!


Judge Bastard:


Order! Order! The man has not been judged yet, and will remain innocent until proven guilty. I will not have this in my courtroom!


A hush falls upon the courtroom.


Prosecutor Bastard:


Now, that man right there, would love for you to think that he cares about Thy WWE, and that he cares about the wrestling business as a whole. He would love for you to think that he thinks that he isn't bigger than Thy WWE itself. But, that just isn't the case. You see, we are not looking in to the eyes of a man who cares for his fellow Superstar or even his fellow man for that matter. We are looking in to the eyes... of a murderer.

Obection, Your Honor!


We see the Defense Attorney stand up in a huff. Oddly enough, this man is not The Bastard.


Defense: 

The Defendant has not yet been proven guilty and therefore should not - 


Judge Bastard:

Over-ruled. Continue.


Prosecutor Bastard:



Thank you, Your Honor. Now, before I was so rudely interrupted, I was about to show proof that Christian is, indeed, a murderer.


The Bastard hits play on the TV and we see the events play out that lead to the death of Kenneth Walker.


Prosecutor Bastard:



You see, Bastard's of the Jury, the injuries inflicted at the hands of Christian Knight did indeed lead to the death of Kenneth Walker. But, that wasn't the first time Christian Knight committed murder.


The Bastard hits play again and this time we see clips of Christian Knight defeating Jacob Senn, and Scott Wilson.


Prosecutor Bastard:



Right there is where Christian Knight killed Jacob Senn's career for good. And even though Scott Wilson is still limping around, barely being able compete, we can all see the damage that Christian Knight did to Mister Wilson's career as well. Christian Knight, without any remorse what-so-ever, killed the careers of not one, not two, but three men. Three men who were once considered to be some of, and I quote, "the best in the business". And why? Because Christian Knight is a selfish son of a bitch, that's why.


Defense:



Objection! Name-calling? Really?


Judge Bastard:



Over-ruled. Stop interrupting.


Prosecutor Bastard:



Again, Your Honor, thank you. Christian Knight couldn't stand to give up any of that spotlight, and when anybody who was hot came around, Knight put out those flames without a shred of compassion. Beating a guy is one thing. Killing off a man's career? That is a whole different world of monster. Think about Jacob Senn's family. Think about how they must have looked at Senn after that match. They must have despised him. Christian Knight broke Jacob Senn down, destroyed what little he had of a career, and caused his family to turn there backs on him. At least Kenneth Walker didn't have to suffer through that. But, Senn? And, Scott Wilson? They have to go through life now alone and as shells of their former selves. And why? Because Christian Knight only cares about himself. He wanted to be the top guy, and here's even more proof. The man was the General Manager! He booked himself in to a Championship match, and pulled the strings to get that belt around his waist. I don't know about you, but that is just sickening. Instead of trying to get the newer talent over, he would only focus on himself, or on his friends. There were guys that deserved shots that never got them because Christian Knight knew... he knew that he couldn't weasel his way out keeping the belt if he faced them. And when it came down to where there was only a few people left that he hadn't buried, this happened...


The Bastard hits play and we see Blade LaVigne beating Christian inside the Elimination Chamber for the Thy WWE World Title.


Now, I know what you're thinking. He lost! See? He's not all bad. Wrong! Because if you read the fine print, and not everybody knows this, so I'm going to let everybody in on a little secret. Blade LaVigne is Vince McMahon's golden boy. That's right. Whatever Blade LaVigne wants, he just runs to Vince McMahon and he gets it. So when Blade LaVigne decided that he couldn't win the title on his own, him and Vince McMahon went to Christian Knight and they struck a deal. Do you really think that Blade LaVigne was a good enough wrestler to defeat the great Christian Knight? It is a full blown conspiracy, people!


Defense:

Objection! Hearsay!

Prosecutor Bastard:


Shut the hell up! And Christian Knight knew deep down that one day, he was going to face a new challenger that he had no chance of beating. I think we all know who that man may be. So, instead of facing that man and losing like a man, he decided to be a coward and drop the title to a lesser deserving individual in Blade LaVigne. So we now have three counts of murder, one count of greed, and a dozen counts of cowardice. What more do we need? What about the fact that, even after losing the title - wait, I shouldn't say that because that would be false. Christian Knight never lost that title. he gave it away. So, even after giving the title away, Christian Knight still wouldn't give up any of the spotlight. He demanded that the show still be all about him, and his matches with Walker and Austin Starr that - and ask them - nobody wanted to see. He doesn't care about the future of Thy WWE. This man is so self-centered that - You know that booing that you hear when Christian Knight comes out? That's not because the fans are playing along with the traditions of professional wrestling. That booing is due to the fans seeing it the same way I see it, and the same way you should all see it. A self-centered, passed his prime fossil who sucks the life force from other men's careers in order to keep his alive. They know this! That's why they boo Christian Knight. They hate him because he is a horrible person. They hate him because they got tired of seeing him a long, long time ago, and most of all, they hate him because he holds everybody else back. Even though he held a position of power he still had to hold everybody else back to cater to his own inflated ego.


Defense:


Objection! This is a joke right?


The Bastard walks over and slaps the Defense right across the face. The Defense looks shocked as he looks to Judge Bastard...


He... he struck me.


Judge Bastard:


Yeah, I'm gonna allow that. You know what? Get him the hell out of my courtroom!


Joey the Bailiff grabs the Defense Attorney and drags him kicking and screaming out of the room.

Defense:


What's the matter with you people? You're all... bastards!

Prosecutor Bastard:



Well, he may have a point there, but Christian Knight is something much worse than just a bastard. He is a monster who will stop at nothing to remain relevant. The man will neglect his own family even. What kind of man is Christian Knight? I'll tell you. A guilty one. I rest my case.


Judge Bastard: 



Well, we will take a short recess so that the Jury can decide on a verdict.


The Mohawk'd One version of Joey the Bastard stands up in the Jury stand.


Jury Bastard:


Hey, Judge-dude. Nah, man, we don't need a recess. We've made our decision. We, the Jury, hereby find the Defendant, Christian Knight... innocent of all charges.


The crowd all let out a gasp and start get get furious.


RABBLE-RABBLE-RABBLE


Jury Bastard:


Naw, I'm just fuckin' with you, he's guilty of all charges.


Everybody roars as the Prosecutor Bastard slaps his desk in victory. Judge Bastard slams his gavel down, about to commence sentencing.


Judge Bastard:



Order! Order, goddammit! Shut the fuck up!


The noise dies down.


Christian Knight has been found guilty of multiple counts of murder, multiple counts of greed, and cowardice, and multiple counts of generally just being a pretty big piece of shit. So, I can think of none greater sentence. I hereby sentence the career of Christian Knight to death at the hands of Joey the Bastard. Are you confident in your abilities to carry out this sentence, Mister Bastard?


Prosecutor Bastard:



You're God-damn right I am.


The judge stands up as the crowd all cheer and confetti and balloons drop from the ceiling. We cut to back outside the courtroom to the host.


Joey the (Host) Bastard:



Well, there you have it, folks! Another instance of justice being served at the hands of our Honorable Judge Bastard. Guys, if you want to see the execution of Christian Knight's career live, call your local cable provider now and order Thy WWE WrestleMania V. Trust me, you won't want to miss this. The end of Christian Knight? That is must-see TV, folks! Thank you so much for joining us, and we'll see you next time on... The Bastard's Court!


The scene ends as we watch as the cheesy toothy grinned host starts to dig for gold in his nostrils. He finds some, looks around and then proceeds to eat it as we fade to black.


***

The Watcher


It was hard to make out what we were seeing as the handheld camera shook about as if somebody was rummaging through some bushes. We could hear the sounds of the camera hitting leaves and branches until we finally got a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. The camera poked through the bushes but not enough to be noticed by anybody who might be around. It showed a big yard, well kept, as well as a beautiful pool, and a beautiful back patio area. The camera panned around the yard to show a lavish house which only a well-off person could afford. That's when the voice of The Watcher chimed in.


"Well, will you look at this? The Knight residence. It truly is a sight to behold. Trust me, you really need to be here to truly bask in all of it's glory. Christian Knight, how many men did you have to walk over to achieve this? How many careers did you have to bury to make such a life for you and your family? Does it feel good knowing that this... this was paid for with the blood of other human beings? You really are a sick son of a bitch aren't you? I mean, I'm a bastard, but I'm nowhere near the scum that you are. I want what's best for this business, and you only ever wanted what was best for you, and we are all looking at it."


A woman walks out through the sliding glass door in a robe. She visibly pregnant, and starts to sweep the patio.


"Oh, speak of the devil. It's little Miss Rebecca. Oh my, she looks ready to pop, doesn't she? But, I must say, she really is beautiful. Even on the verge of giving birth, she just shines. She glows, Christian. I'm jealous, buddy, I really am. What I wouldn't do to get me a little piece of that. But, don't worry. She's safe from me. But is she safe from you? You've proven that you are willing to kill to keep your spot at the top of the pedestal. But, what if Rebecca decides that she wants you to stay home? Are you going to kill her, too? Or are you just going to beat the living shit out of her? We've seen you do it to countless other people, so what makes her so different? Because you love her? You loved Jessica, too. But, oh no! You betrayed her, didn't you? The love of your life. So you had to settle for your silver medal in Rebecca, her sister no less! That's bad. Not only did you betray your one true love, you betrayed your silver medal just by being with her. Settling for second best. Or is it that she just reminds you of Jessica so much? You just couldn't let her go, could you? Sounds familiar. You couldn't let go of Jessica so you had to get with her sister, and you just can't let go of your spiraling career. If I were a normal man, I'd feel pity for you. But, I'm not a normal man. I'm a bastard."


Rebecca moves on from sweeping and starts to clean the pool with a long net.


"Come on, Christian. You can afford a pool boy, can't you? Or are you scared that she might decide it would be fun to give him a good screwing once in a while? I mean, you're never home, are you? You're always off hogging the spotlight from people who truly earned it. You never earned it. You had a lame excuse for an IC Title reign and then get hired as the GM. Then you stole the spotlight from all of us. And you would only ever share it with Vince's hand-picked cronies, because you were always just a puppet. But wait, it's gonna be your last match, isn't it? Yeah, I highly doubt that. The itch will come back. Your hunger for the spotlight will grow and grow until you just can't handle it anymore. But, after WrestleMania, Christian, I highly suggest that you stay dead. Because it would be a real shame if anything were to happen to little Miss Rebecca..."


The handheld zooms in on Rebecca's face, and then down at her pregnant belly.


"Or your newborn child... Any day now."


The Bastard starts to laugh, but it's not a laugh that we've heard before from the Bastard. It's something different. Something...


Evil.


***

Thy WWE.com Exclusive


The Thy WWE logo appears in the corner of the screen as "Fight Music" starts to play. Joey the Bastard enters the shot and sits in a chair in the middle of the screen. The screen flashes and we see JTB talking to an unseen interviewer.


"Oh, WrestleMania means everything to me. To be able to go out there in front of millions and beat the living hell out of somebody, and get paid for it? There's no better feeling."


We see clips of JTB hitting various wrestlers with the Skrewdriver. Then we see JTB talking to the interviewer who is just out of the shot.


"No, there is no other match on that card that I'm excited for. People don't buy the show to see Kurt Orton or Blade LaVigne or a Money in the Bank full of a bunch of losers. It may as well be for the Jabroni of the Year award cause none of those guys will ever be at my level. Hell, Blade and Kurt aren't even at my level. They don't deserve to be in the main event at WrestleMania. As far as I'm concerned, my match is the main event. It doesn't matter if they go out last, my match is the match that everybody is gonna be talking about and it's been that way since day one when I walked through the doors. Kurt Orton is not as over as Joey the Bastard. Blade LaVigne is not as over as Joey the Bastard. I am the most over guy on the entire roster, and I am the best wrestler on the entire roster in that ring, and on that microphone, and everybody knows it! Bob Cena knows that he's not the "Best in the World" like he claims to be. I am. They all know it! And the fans know it, too. The true wrestling fans have my back and they want me to change this company for the better."


The Bastard looks right in to the camera after another unheard question.


"If you buy WrestleMania for Blade LaVigne versus Kurt Orton, then you're not a real wrestling fan. If you buy the show for any other match than my match, than you aren't a real wrestling fan. See, a true fan knows what I'm fighting for, and a true fan wants what I want, and as long as we have guys like Christian Knight, and Vince McMahon in power, than it's never gonna happen. This company needs me to beat Christian Knight. Those fans need me to beat Christian Knight, and quite frankly, I need me to beat him, too."


We see more clips of The Bastard beating people down including almost breaking AJ Orton's neck.


"I will stop at nothing. You've seen what I can do. I don't kill people. That's too easy for them. I wanna make them suffer."


We see shots of Troy Motor and Beno getting taken away on stretchers.

"I've beaten them all. I've beaten everybody who there is to beat except for one man, and that man is Christian Knight. I'm not gonna come here and say that Christian Knight sucks. He doesn't suck. He's an ass-kicker, and one bad-ass mother *BEEP* just like I am. I'm just better than he is, that's all. I can kick more ass harder than he can, and I'm the baddest bastard in the whole damn world. Wow, he killed a geriatric fossil, big deal. That's like me kicking the shit out of a bunch of midgets."


We see JTB responding with anger to a comment off screen.


"Ah, shattap, nobody asked you! You're not here to comment, you're here to ask questions. You know, the only reason why Christian Knight held that title for so long is because he never faced me. Blade LaVigne? Same deal. Scared to face the best with the title on the line. How the hell can they ever call their careers complete when they never went one on one with the best with the title on the line? They can't. And Christian Knight won't be able to call his career complete, because he's not gonna beat me at WrestleMania."


Clips are shown of JTB historic IC Title run.


"Yeah, I'll get a shot one day, it's only a matter of time, and when I do, the world better duck and hide because shit will get real, real fast. The fun and games are over. And Christian Knight has told the world that this is gonna be his last match. You're damn right, it's gonna be your last match, because even if you're on the fence about truly retiring, I'm gonna make the decision for you when I end your career inside that Triple Cage."


The camera cuts back and forth to shots of the the Cage.


"Christian Knight must want me to destroy him because only a fool with a death-wish would ever ask for a match like that against me. I thrive in that environment. You saw me *beep* up Beno last year. You saw what I did to Troy Motor inside a cage. And now I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Christian Knight could lose it all in one night. His wife or whatever the *beep* she is is never gonna see him walk again. She's gonna be changing his piss and shit bag twice a day, and his new-born daughter will always know him as a wheelchair daddy."


Shots of JTB's most brutal matches with the likes of Bob Cena, Beno, and Troy Motor.


"You're damn right it's harsh, but it's true. Christian Knight needs to take his family's advice and just stay home because if by some miracle, he teaches himself how to walk again after our match and tries to come back, I'll rip his legs off with my bare hands. He doesn't belong here anymore. The game has evolved, and it forgot that Christian Knight existed."


JTB looks even more pissed off at the next question after the screen flashes.


"Don't give me that bullshit about passing the torch. This isn't about passing the torch. It's about me grabbing that torch, bashing Christian Knight's skull in with it, lighting his half-dead body on fire with it, and then pissing out the flames, and then dropping a big, fat Cleveland steamer right on the chest that is Christian Knight's career."


We now see clips of JTB fighting Scott Wilson in last year's Rumble, and then of JTB slamming Wilson's leg in an ambulance door.


"What about Scott Wilson? No, seriously, what about him? Am I supposed to think that he's special? Like he's God's gift to pro wrestling? I never really saw the hype in that guy. I was never impressed. Just some snot-nosed punk who didn't know his place. And if he can manage to limp his way inside that cage after I started to pick him apart a few weeks ago, I'll finish the job right then and there by picking each piece of flesh from his bones with my damn teeth. I hate Scott Wilson! Twice he stole my WrestleMania moment. TWICE! Him and Christian Knight seem to be cut the same cloth, it seems. I should have main-evented WrestleMania last year. I was here every damn night, busting my ass, and Scott Wilson shows up for what? Two months? And Vince and Christian Knight tell me, "Oh, we're gonna go with Wilson." and what the *beep* came of that? He did what everybody knew he was gonna do and he shit the bed. And instead of of cleaning his own dirty sheets, he *beep*s leaving the rest of us to clean it up. I have never left this company high and dry even though there were multiple times where I should have said "Screw you, Vince. Best, out." 


Clips of JTB ruining the Hall of Fame.


"Yeah, and I'd do it again in a second. The Hall of Fame is a joke and so is everybody in it. And just having my name in the same sentence as any of them is flat out an insult to me as a man, and I will never forgive Vince McMahon for that. I know that Vince wants to see me get beat. He wants his two chosen ones to shut me up for good, just out of spite, I will not lose this match. There is too much riding on this match for me to lose. And, here's the kicker. After it's all over, I'm still gonna be the only guy who sticks around. Scott Wilson will too embarrassed to show his face for another year if I decide to show him a little mercy, and if you believe that Christian Knight is done with wrestling than you're a moron, but don't worry, I'll make sure that we never see Christian in Thy WWE again. And, Christian, nobody's gonna give a crap about the shit that you did when you were great. Nobody is gonna remember that you held the title for a year or that you and Austin Starr had a fossil on a pole match. What people remember about somebody is the last thing that they see of them. In your case, it's gonna be me standing over your half-dead body in a pool of blood as the ref holds my hand high. You won't be known as the guy who was GM while Champion, or the guy who never legitimately lost the World Title. After Sunday night, you will forever be known as the guy who finally mustered up the balls to face Joey the Bastard and lost. And, I mean lost bad. We done here? Yeah, we're done."


The Bastard rips the microphone off of his shirt and knocks the chair over before storming off. The ThyWWE logo appears in the corner of the once more before the scene fades to black.



***


Visions


It was the night after a two week long drug and booze bender when the hallucinations finally started to kick in. Booze, dope, coke, you name it, The Bastard was doing it. But, the funny thing about this combination of drugs is that, while it may fuck with your body a lot while you're doing them, the true agony comes when you're coming off of them. 


The Bastard's withdrawal symptoms were getting worse and worse, but these ones were ones that That Bastard had never thought he would experience. Shakes, and I mean bad ones. tremors that shoot through your chest it feels like your heart will explode or crawl out of your mouth just say "Ba-bump-bump. Hey, what's up? You're dead by the way. Sorry to tell ya, but nice knowing you. Thanks for the abuse, asshole."

This particular night, it was extremely hard for Joey to call asleep. he'd be seconds away from slumber and then a wicked tremor would vibrate though his body like a bolt of lightning, and he'd shoot up in his bed, covered with cold sweat, with a gasp for air. The gasp that, every time it would happen, Joey thought it would his last. But, eventually he did fall asleep, but while he was sleeping, the withdrawals took over his body. His brain had shut down and his subconscious took hold.


"Hey, dumb ass! Wake up!"


The Bastard once again shot awake with a gasp.


"What the fuck's the matter with you?"


Joey looked around the room and saw Bob Cena standing at the foot of his bed.


"Whoa, dude, I didn't know you were coming." The Bastard was half asleep, unaware that his polluted brain was playing tricks on him.


"No, what the fuck are you doing? Two weeks, man? That's too much, even for you. You should be training for your match, not partying like a teenager."


"Hey, man, come on. I'm in a tough place right now."


Bob Cena wasn't having any of that, "Cut the crap."


"Come on, Bobby C."


"Don't you get it? I'm not really Bob Cena."


The Bastard was confused. "Huh? What you mean, bro?"


"I'm you, you fuckin' idiot. This is all the booze and drugs coming and attacking your brain."


"Whoa." The Bastard was in shock. "That's fucked up."


"Yeah, no shit. And so are you. Look at yourself. You're dying! You're brain is falling apart. I wouldn't be here if it weren't."


"Wait, so..." the Bastard stopped to think. "You're not really here? You're just in my head?"


"Wow! You really are a fuckin' idiot, aren't you?" Bob Cena turned and started to leave. "Lay off the sauce." He was gone.


The bastard shook his head, pretending that that didn't just happen and laid back down, closing his eyes, hoping to fall back asleep easy.


"Sir, may I have a word?"


The Bastard recognized that voice. he hadn't heard in a long time. "Reggie?" Joey sat up, and it was indeed his personal butler from his days back in Camelot. The one man who he considered to be a true friend. 


"Yes, Sir Bastard, it I, Reginald."


"How you been, man? Long time no see."


"Indeed." Reggie paused. "What's happened to you, Joey? You were doing so well. We went to all those meetings and everything, and you threw it all away."


"I'm sorry, Reggie. It's just there's too much pressure." the Bastard was pleading now. Pleading with himself, but he had forgotten.


"I've told you time and time again that you don't need drugs and alcohol to succeed. In fact, it makes you a horrible person."


"I know."


"Then why do you continue to destroy yourself?"


"Because I hate myself!" The Bastard started to cry and when he looked up, Reggie was gone. "I'm sorry, Reggie."


The Bastard started to sob and that's when he heard a voice that he never thought he'd hear again.


"Quit yer' bawlin' or I'll give you somethin' to cry about."


The Bastard's eyes widened. "You."


"That's right, you little puke. It's your old man, back to smack some sense in to ya."


The Bastard had watched his father die right before his eyes in a hospital bed. His father's last words still rang in The Bastard's ears to this very day.


"I have no son." he said again.


"Just leave me alone. You're dead! Just fuck off!"


"Just like your sister right? Dead?"


"That was an accident! You know that!" The Bastard screamed.


"I sure as fuck don't know that." his father snapped back. "Look at what yer doing nowadays. Beatin' up women, pickin' on people weaker than you. It wouldn't surprise me if you threw her in front of that bus on purpose."


"FUCK YOU!" The Bastard screamed at the top of his lungs. "You used to beat the shit outta mom all the time. You used to beat the shit outta me! So don't tell me about picking on people weaker than me, you sack of shit!"


"Like father like son, eh, boy?"


"Never." The Bastard grabbed one of the many half full bottle of liquor on his bed-side table and flung it at his father. "NEVER!"


But the bottle hit the wall and smashed. His father was gone, and Joey let out a sigh of relief. He close his eyes for a split second, and he heard something that made his world come crashing down on top of him.


"Joey."


"Oh, no." The Bastard was terrified. "Not you! Please, not you."


"Joey, it's okay" It was his little sister. Still wearing the same white dress she wore they that she died. But, now she looked alive again. Her hair was a brown as he had remembered it. her eyes, the same deep green that he could never forget. Shit, just got real. Too real. Was this real? "It's not your fault."


"Yes it is! I'm sorry!"


"Joey, you've forgotten about me." his sister with a whimper.


"No!" Joey sat up straight. "I'll never forget you."


"You have, and you've forgotten who you are. Who you were."


"I was a weakling, you saw it!"


"You were strong. But you're stronger now."


The addiction was starting to take control now. Joey's sister continued,


"The way you are now, though. You won't be able to accomplish your dreams. Our dreams. For you to be the strongest of them all. For you to the best like I always knew you were. " His sister smiled at him. "You're different now."


"I can change. I can go back to the way I was."


"But, then you'd fail, Joey."


"What? What do you mean?"


His sister pointed a half empty bottle of whiskey on his bed side table. Joey was confused.


"Drink."


"What? No! What are you saying?"


"It's the only way that you can succeed. It's who you are now." Joey's sister continued to point at the bottle. The addiction had taken full control now. Joey's own mind was tricking him. "Drink."


The Bastard grabbed the bottle and as he unscrewed the cap, he asked with a whimper, "Are... are you sure?"


"More than anything. You can't do it without it."


The Bastard titled the bottle back and chugged back the last of the whiskey. When he looked back to where his sister was, she had vanished. Joey started to cry again and curled up in to a ball. This time, he fell asleep with out any trouble, but he heard one last thing before he drifted away.


"It's who you are now."