Post by Wade Moor on Jul 13, 2018 16:04:59 GMT -5
“Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Wade felt a phantom rap against his temple that caused his brain to throb, crimson waves of blood rushed into his head, causing his normally sapphire blue eyes to turn a shade of violent purple.
There was blood in the water and the sharks were circling, closing in around him.
He felt a tremendous pressure build in his chest that made him hawk a loogie in the sink. The saliva was tinged with speckles of fresh blood, courtesy of the #fightsmart beat down he had incurred at last weeks Clash. He wasn’t alone, though it did him no favors to think about that this time. He was certain Ryan Lockhart was holed up in his own hotel room somewhere in New York City licking his wounds. This would normally be a comforting thought to Gawdnilla, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible. It was Wade’s own selfishness and greed that invoked the ire of this new monstrous version of Spencer Adams, which had in turn been unleashed on Action Wrestling. Maybe what had happened at Evolution was how it was always supposed to happen? The chess pieces had fallen in to place. Wade had positioned his as strategically as possible, but for the bravado it was all for not. Spencer had flipped the board upside down like a whiney child throwing a tantrum...and Wade couldn’t help but feel responsible for that as well.
This went back further than Evolution, back before Action Wrestling and United Championship Infinite. This went back to the core of their existences, all the way to WCF, quite possibly before that even. He supposed he could forgive Spencer this new violent persona because perhaps the little shit had learned it from him to begin with? Wade tried to remember that Nietzsche quote but his head was still swimming from the - one, two, bah gawd he was counting at least nine hundred - punt kicks he had been on the receiving end of Monday night. Something about the fucking abyss? He couldn’t remember for the life of him so he hawked another fat loogie into the porcelain and worked his way over to the bed.
This time, it was empty. No Bonnie to nurse him back to health. He couldn’t risk putting her in #fightsmarts path of destruction, not when she had demons from her own past trying to make her life miserable. Just another heaping pile of shit he could save her plate from. She texted him, asking if he was alright. He texted her back “yep, just fine” as his ribs exploded in pain and he washed away the hurt with a round of Makers. He stepped out on to the balcony and lit a joint under the night sky, looking towards the moon above.
He probably wasn’t alone in this feeling, but Wade Moor truly fucking hated New York City right now. Maybe it was the night sky that accentuated his loathing for it because there wasn’t a star to be seen, or perhaps it was the fact that it never did seem to sleep. Roll this all together and it painted a cruel portrait of The Leviathan himself, like an ugly reflection into his soul. He didn’t really have time time to get into his own crude philosophy as he felt another wave of pain surfacing from the #fightsmart beating, not complete without a complimentary coughing fit to top it all off. After he finally staved it off, he looked towards the moon again and wondered if, in fact, he had taken the brunt of Spencer’s brutality...or if he was saving the worst for last at Pandemic.
“Lockhart, my man, I should probably open this up with some kind of sincere apology. I should try and alleviate some of the pain you’re feeling, both mentally and physically, try and let you know that ‘it gets better’ from here on out. I should make you feel like you’re truly under Gawdnilla’s wing and that I’ve got your back from here on out. I should try and do all of these things and more, but all I can really think to say is: welcome to the main event, motherfucker. You probably thought you had this shit well in hand after you decimated Kyle Kemp and Camilla Gonzalez for a shot at the World Championship, felt like you finally fucking arrived. Well, you did, but you went and forgot that #fightsmart is just the welcome wagon, and they aren’t handing out gift bags my son.
“I can tell you it doesn’t really get much better from here on out. If you want to stick around - and I know that’s got to be a pretty big if at this point - then I’ve got to give you even more props, my man. Because that beating was just the beginning. What we were dealt by the hands of Spencer’s fucking thugs is just how your journey into this level of competition starts. It’s wild how much your family had to overcome for you to make it right here to this moment in time. It seems like there’d be more grandstanding and to do for this moment instead of you getting whomped around by some illiterate mask wearing dweeb and Kyle fucking Kemp. I guess that’s destiny right? You know, I really am sorry. Feels kind of strange saying it out loud though. Like I hear my voice and the words they’re formulating, but I never in a hundred years believed they were coming from me, from the heart of hearts here.”
Wade points to his Leviathan chest.
“I should probably explain why; you and I aren’t so different Ryan. Cliche as fuck, right? Yeah, they exist for a reason. The real question is does that put you a hairs breath from being the villain, or does the opposite ring true for me? I’ll tell you, I never imagined a landscape where I was the hero to Spencer’s villainous schemes. But look at you, sitting delicately in the middle of all of it. That’s something that I can’t really abide, Lockhart. That kind of mentality tells me that you aren’t ready for this spot you’ve found yourself in, fighting for the World Championship. How badly do you want it, Ryan, are you willing to ascend that hill and die on it if need be? I’ve found myself on both sides of the spectrum, but never have I fretted away in that gray area just biding my time.
“You have a responsibility to not just the people that sit in the arena or at home, you have a responsibility to yourself. Just like I had a responsibility at Evolution to pop Spencer Adams off like the punk ass that he is, but just like me, you’ve let yourself down. Now that you’re in this middle ground tundra and your career is on ice. Your only two options at this point are to defrost or heat it up because this sitting on the fence shit just ain’t gonna work long term. I’m hoping deep down that you can make that decision for yourself, or someone else is going to make it for you. Perhaps the fact that I even have to explain this shit means someone already has.
“Either way, it’s not your match to win at Pandemic. You might think so, with your commitment to one side so unwavering, though you have shown some shades of blue here in the last few weeks. That’s probably just your anger towards Spencer for cutting you off at every turn. Hell, the only reason we’ve seemed to be ‘getting along’ at all is because we share the same common enemy. Strength in numbers, right? How the fuck does that make you any different from Spencer Adams? Given the chance, you could very well take his spot and nobody would bat a fuckin’ eye. You could be Gawdnilla in this situation and still nobody would think twice about it. You’re just too disconnected from what’s going so you think that gives you some advantage, however ambiguous it may be.
“Unfortunately, at the end of the day, you’re still Ryan Lockhart and not Wade Moor, so your chances at victory are slim to none. It’s unfortunate how much you’ve overcome to find yourself staring down the ring at me. If you thought the beating from #fightsmart was bad?”
Wade points to the various bruises outlying his face and body.
“The one you’ll receive at my hands will pale in comparison. Winning the Action Wrestling World Championship is my dream, my destiny. In a life plagued with nothing but nightmares, it’s what’s given me hope. It’s what driven my competitive nature and it’s my moment at Pandemic, not yours, no matter how much you believed you’ve earned it. The truth of the matter is you haven’t. We may be alike in more ways than one, but you simply don’t have what it takes to take that spot and lord over it, whether with a heart of a warrior like me, or an iron fucking fist like Spencer. Maybe someday in the future, you will be here, but here in this moment in time, you’re simply not ready. A non factor. I appreciate everything you’ve done with me these last few weeks but now I offer you a word of warning; stay out my way or I’ll crush you like I’m going to crush Adams and his god damn lackeys this Sunday.”
“I’m talking to you Kemp, Max, Brooke, Lincoln, and Andre. I don’t know what Adams has promised you. I’m not too sure if you even have an end goal, but from the outside looking in it feels like you’re just padding Adams stat book and championship reign. Everything else you’ve managed to earn all on your own. Where’s your back up in your matches? When does the cavalry come marching in to protect your title reigns? Where’s Adams at when the going gets a little tough for all of y’all? f you really believe Adams is a suitable leader, you’ll let him go it alone this week. From where I’m standing, the rest of you have proven yourselves time and time again in that ring. I’ve seen Kemp hold Championship gold before. Lincoln, you’re killing it as Television Champion. Max and Brooke were well on their way to becoming tag team champions, and I know what Andres capable of when he decides he’s willing to give a shit. From my perspective, you don’t need a Spencer Adams, Spencer Adams needs the rest of you. And you come running in like a group of Gestapo thugs when The Antidote snaps his fingers. Ever heard of Pavlov? Does it ring a bell? That joke probably flew over your heads just like the #fightsmart joke did a long time ago. I’ll be more than happy to repeat the damn punchline if you decide to get involved again this week in business that doesn’t concern you.
“You hear that Adams? I’ve had enough of your whack ass crew protecting you because you’re afraid of doing what you always do when the pressures on; fail. This has been the crux of your career so far, only staved off now by your sycophants willingness to get involved in matters that don’t concern them. They’ve come out there week after week and beat the shit out of Ryan and I, and for what? What exactly have you done for them? I can’t wait to see the look on your face when your boys finally come to this realization themselves and smoke your ass like the fucking goon you are. That time will come, but something far more pressing is on the horizon and that’s me beating your ass around the ring and finally claiming the World Championship. This victory eluded me at Evolution and I can point fingers and lament on the fact that Aquarius cost me that shot all day long...but at the end of it all, I can only blame myself. I should have been ready for any #fightsmart interference in that match. I should have realized what Spencer Adams was capable of far before it ever happened.”
Wade seems to drift off for a moment, the gears in his mind spinning, almost falling off their tracks.
“There’s something I keep turning over and over again in my brain, a feeling I can’t quite shake...that maybe Spencer Adams was molded in my image and then sent back to me as my punishment on Earth.”
As Wade speaks the words aloud, an ethereal click of the gears settling into place whispers on the wind.
“Ive done a lot of things in this business. I’ve been World Champion before in another time. I came out on top in the Havoc Rumble. I’ve mained two different companies most important event of the year. Won awards, tournaments, you name it. Yeah, I’ve done all of those things...but I’ve also done a lot of disgusting things that I’m not too proud of. Can I go back in time and change them? Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t think I would, even if I could. Everything I’ve done has been part and parcel to creating the man you see before you today. They’ve all lead me down this path, this collision course with Spencer Adams. The unstoppable force versus an immovable object. Something has to give, and I’m dead set on making sure it’s Adams.
“You may have me beaten, bloodied, bruised...but you haven’t fucking broken me yet. I might be stumbling out to the ring Sunday night and I may very crawl out of it, but I’m gonna crawl away as World Champion. All these violent acts you’ve committed on my person, in your mind the scream “superiority”, but in reality they whimper “inferiority” because you look at yourself and then you see me - and sure you’re the World Champion - but you’ve never really been the man. That bothers you, doesn’t it? You have a little complex about it so now you’re trying to be like me, but believe me, that’s a road you don’t want to go down.
“I see him going down this path of suffering, one that ain’t easily reversed. Not at all. I’ve been there before Spencer, that place where you feel like the entire Gawdnilla damn world is at your throat. Difference between you and I is you feel that way because of your own personal failures. That’s not suffering, my man. What do you know of it? You’re the kind of kid who wished for that happy sappy sitcom ending but found out quick life can’t get wrapped up in neat little thirty minute increments. You found out you’re not the kind of person that can have the poon and eat it too. That’s why your group of micro dicked, shit slinging, marquee stealin’ punk asses exists in the first place. If I recognize one thing, Spencer, and that’s what life really is and what it’s truly about. It’s about overcoming those obstacles it decides to throw at you, every damn one of them, each and every time it does. You’re not going to beat me again Spencer, because you’re not as strong willed as I am. You weren’t forged in the fires of competition. I’m a gourmet pie and your Totino’s pizza rolls. You have a massive misconception of what it means to be World Champion, and you’re going to learn the hard way at Pandemic as to what bridges the gap between the two of us.
“This week marks the five month anniversary of Action Wrestling and you can bet your whole fucking career that I’ll be celebrating that landmark occasion as World Champion. You’re unworthy of such an honor Spencer. How could you be? All you’ve done is pick up the slack Roy Speede and D-Day handed you at Clash10, and then pissed it away with your egotistical, shitbag shenanigans. After this match is over, I’m not going to be your friend, your boy, your buddy...none of that shit. You chose to disrespect me with some heinous shit at Evolution, and for that you can never be forgiven. You had a chance to earn my respect and get in good graces with Gawdnilla, but that’s all nine shits to the wind. For that, I’m not going to just beat you at Pandemic. I’m going to fucking embarrass you, man. I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago in the WCF and Broseidon Punch your head off your fucking shoulders. I should’ve Broseidon Punched you every night on principle alone. Maybe I can make a man out of you yet, Spencer. Maybe I can teach you something from my own mistakes and kill two birds with one stone.
“Ive got to rectify these mistakes one way or another and let me assure, they will be rectified. I made this bed for you Spencer. I put down the pillow top, the nice fitted Egyptian cotton sheets, the good pillows, and the best comforter in the entire house, all for you to kick your damn dirty Nike’s up on it all. Now I’m gotta burn it all down. You had your fifteen minutes of fame when you beat me at Evolution, but your fifteen minutes are up bitch. Moose out front should’ve told ya. When I have that World Championship in my grasp, you’ll see what it’s actually like when somebody is in control of something. You’ll see what it’s like when somebody is the man, the maker, the Gawdnilla of his own damn realm. It’s up to you whether or not you make heads or tails of it, Spencer.
“This is your last chance to come correct, Adams, to show the world you’re made of more than shady dealings and clandestine tactics. Your very last shot to show you aren’t just a bitch made man hiding behind his scummy soup line of broke ass midcarders looking for a piece of that pie. It’s your last shot but I don’t think you’ll take it because fear consumes you. It guides every decision you’ve made prior to and in lieu of becoming World Champion...”
Wade chuckles.
“I just remembered that damn quote; you’re staring into the abyss Spencer. Don’t blink.”
“Do you think he’s ready?” a voice asks, crisp as fire.
“We have to be sure”, another responds, her voice airy as a feather, “We have to be sure his remorse is genuine.”
“If you ask me, this is a waste of time”, a husk man adds, his voice ethereal, almost ominous.
“Glad we weren’t asking you then”, someone interjects, their voice saltlike, grounded in the Earth.
“We don’t have much time”, the fiery voice replies urgently, “Your bickering is taking us nowhere. You know what this unity means for us. It could mean our kinds very existence.”
“Blah blah blah, death isn’t that harrowing”, the ethereal voice replies, “Always making mountains of molehills.”
“You know what’s at stake, or do you just not care?!”
“Quiet”, the wind song voice whispers, “He comes.”
The not so gentle rapping at his hotel door shook him from what little sleep he had managed to get. He groggily crossed the room to peep through the eyelet to see who was here, but who happened to be standing in the hallway surprised him. He expected Bonnie, probably bringing morning coffee and donuts as a Trojan horse to see if he was layed up with injury in his bed. Never did he expect to see the baboon face of Buddy Roman on the other side, grinning at him with yellowing teeth. He cracked the door, barely, so as to greet him, but an open door was always an invitation for The Shape.
“Wade Moor, my friend, my son!” his snake tongue slithered across his teeth and lips to create words, “Aren’t you going to invite your old man in?”
His yellow eyes lit somewhere from behind his iris.
“I’m afraid of the implications”, Wade replied, “What do you want?”
“Nonsense, nonsense”, Buddy whispered, “I’m here to talk shop, being your new manager and all.”
“How come I don’t remember this arrangement?”, Wade questioned.
“The Jews control Hollywood, my son”, Buddy replied, “And have you not signed a contract with my dear friend, Mr. Del Toro? He and I go way back, couple of old dinosaurs, and the such and the like. It was all lined out in your contract, I’m sure you perused all of its contents? Aside from your lead role in blockbuster ‘The Man in the Woods’, I now have a controlling stake in all of your Action Wrestling comings-and-goings. But you knew that, of course?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t read the snake print”, Wade clapped back.
“You cut me to the quick, my son”, Buddy said, “I have nothing but your best interest at heart.”
Buddy tried morphing into a gelatinous blob and materializing on the other side, but Wade stopped him on some “TRY THAT SHIT AND IMMA FUCK YA PUNK ASS UP LIKE YOUR NAME IS SPENCER ADAMS” kind of shit. Buddy smiled. Just Jews being Jews.
“Do you need anything else Buddy, or are we done here?”, Wade asked.
“I just came by to let you know I’ll be watching you like a Jew-hawk, my son”, Buddy replied, “I know you’ll defeat that abortion Spencer Adams and become World Champion. I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way. I’m so glad you’ve finally conquered the hate. It warms the cockles of my giraffe heart.”
Buddy cried right there in the hallway. It was truly a disturbing site.
“Anyways, I’ll be seeing ya baby chile!” Buddy uttered, “More often now I suppose!”
Buddy vigorously waved as he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Wade with an uneasy feeling in his chest. What did Buddy Roman want with him so badly he was willing to slither into his wrestling life through side doors in a movie contract? It all just felt too sudden. An Owl perched on his balcony in broad daylight and let out a gentle hoot, only accentuating the deep seated disturbia he was feeling.
Wade found himself staring into the abyss, blinking.
- Friedrich Nietzsche
W A V E S D O N T D I E B A B Y
Wade felt a phantom rap against his temple that caused his brain to throb, crimson waves of blood rushed into his head, causing his normally sapphire blue eyes to turn a shade of violent purple.
There was blood in the water and the sharks were circling, closing in around him.
He felt a tremendous pressure build in his chest that made him hawk a loogie in the sink. The saliva was tinged with speckles of fresh blood, courtesy of the #fightsmart beat down he had incurred at last weeks Clash. He wasn’t alone, though it did him no favors to think about that this time. He was certain Ryan Lockhart was holed up in his own hotel room somewhere in New York City licking his wounds. This would normally be a comforting thought to Gawdnilla, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible. It was Wade’s own selfishness and greed that invoked the ire of this new monstrous version of Spencer Adams, which had in turn been unleashed on Action Wrestling. Maybe what had happened at Evolution was how it was always supposed to happen? The chess pieces had fallen in to place. Wade had positioned his as strategically as possible, but for the bravado it was all for not. Spencer had flipped the board upside down like a whiney child throwing a tantrum...and Wade couldn’t help but feel responsible for that as well.
This went back further than Evolution, back before Action Wrestling and United Championship Infinite. This went back to the core of their existences, all the way to WCF, quite possibly before that even. He supposed he could forgive Spencer this new violent persona because perhaps the little shit had learned it from him to begin with? Wade tried to remember that Nietzsche quote but his head was still swimming from the - one, two, bah gawd he was counting at least nine hundred - punt kicks he had been on the receiving end of Monday night. Something about the fucking abyss? He couldn’t remember for the life of him so he hawked another fat loogie into the porcelain and worked his way over to the bed.
This time, it was empty. No Bonnie to nurse him back to health. He couldn’t risk putting her in #fightsmarts path of destruction, not when she had demons from her own past trying to make her life miserable. Just another heaping pile of shit he could save her plate from. She texted him, asking if he was alright. He texted her back “yep, just fine” as his ribs exploded in pain and he washed away the hurt with a round of Makers. He stepped out on to the balcony and lit a joint under the night sky, looking towards the moon above.
He probably wasn’t alone in this feeling, but Wade Moor truly fucking hated New York City right now. Maybe it was the night sky that accentuated his loathing for it because there wasn’t a star to be seen, or perhaps it was the fact that it never did seem to sleep. Roll this all together and it painted a cruel portrait of The Leviathan himself, like an ugly reflection into his soul. He didn’t really have time time to get into his own crude philosophy as he felt another wave of pain surfacing from the #fightsmart beating, not complete without a complimentary coughing fit to top it all off. After he finally staved it off, he looked towards the moon again and wondered if, in fact, he had taken the brunt of Spencer’s brutality...or if he was saving the worst for last at Pandemic.
“Lockhart, my man, I should probably open this up with some kind of sincere apology. I should try and alleviate some of the pain you’re feeling, both mentally and physically, try and let you know that ‘it gets better’ from here on out. I should make you feel like you’re truly under Gawdnilla’s wing and that I’ve got your back from here on out. I should try and do all of these things and more, but all I can really think to say is: welcome to the main event, motherfucker. You probably thought you had this shit well in hand after you decimated Kyle Kemp and Camilla Gonzalez for a shot at the World Championship, felt like you finally fucking arrived. Well, you did, but you went and forgot that #fightsmart is just the welcome wagon, and they aren’t handing out gift bags my son.
“I can tell you it doesn’t really get much better from here on out. If you want to stick around - and I know that’s got to be a pretty big if at this point - then I’ve got to give you even more props, my man. Because that beating was just the beginning. What we were dealt by the hands of Spencer’s fucking thugs is just how your journey into this level of competition starts. It’s wild how much your family had to overcome for you to make it right here to this moment in time. It seems like there’d be more grandstanding and to do for this moment instead of you getting whomped around by some illiterate mask wearing dweeb and Kyle fucking Kemp. I guess that’s destiny right? You know, I really am sorry. Feels kind of strange saying it out loud though. Like I hear my voice and the words they’re formulating, but I never in a hundred years believed they were coming from me, from the heart of hearts here.”
Wade points to his Leviathan chest.
“I should probably explain why; you and I aren’t so different Ryan. Cliche as fuck, right? Yeah, they exist for a reason. The real question is does that put you a hairs breath from being the villain, or does the opposite ring true for me? I’ll tell you, I never imagined a landscape where I was the hero to Spencer’s villainous schemes. But look at you, sitting delicately in the middle of all of it. That’s something that I can’t really abide, Lockhart. That kind of mentality tells me that you aren’t ready for this spot you’ve found yourself in, fighting for the World Championship. How badly do you want it, Ryan, are you willing to ascend that hill and die on it if need be? I’ve found myself on both sides of the spectrum, but never have I fretted away in that gray area just biding my time.
“You have a responsibility to not just the people that sit in the arena or at home, you have a responsibility to yourself. Just like I had a responsibility at Evolution to pop Spencer Adams off like the punk ass that he is, but just like me, you’ve let yourself down. Now that you’re in this middle ground tundra and your career is on ice. Your only two options at this point are to defrost or heat it up because this sitting on the fence shit just ain’t gonna work long term. I’m hoping deep down that you can make that decision for yourself, or someone else is going to make it for you. Perhaps the fact that I even have to explain this shit means someone already has.
“Either way, it’s not your match to win at Pandemic. You might think so, with your commitment to one side so unwavering, though you have shown some shades of blue here in the last few weeks. That’s probably just your anger towards Spencer for cutting you off at every turn. Hell, the only reason we’ve seemed to be ‘getting along’ at all is because we share the same common enemy. Strength in numbers, right? How the fuck does that make you any different from Spencer Adams? Given the chance, you could very well take his spot and nobody would bat a fuckin’ eye. You could be Gawdnilla in this situation and still nobody would think twice about it. You’re just too disconnected from what’s going so you think that gives you some advantage, however ambiguous it may be.
“Unfortunately, at the end of the day, you’re still Ryan Lockhart and not Wade Moor, so your chances at victory are slim to none. It’s unfortunate how much you’ve overcome to find yourself staring down the ring at me. If you thought the beating from #fightsmart was bad?”
Wade points to the various bruises outlying his face and body.
“The one you’ll receive at my hands will pale in comparison. Winning the Action Wrestling World Championship is my dream, my destiny. In a life plagued with nothing but nightmares, it’s what’s given me hope. It’s what driven my competitive nature and it’s my moment at Pandemic, not yours, no matter how much you believed you’ve earned it. The truth of the matter is you haven’t. We may be alike in more ways than one, but you simply don’t have what it takes to take that spot and lord over it, whether with a heart of a warrior like me, or an iron fucking fist like Spencer. Maybe someday in the future, you will be here, but here in this moment in time, you’re simply not ready. A non factor. I appreciate everything you’ve done with me these last few weeks but now I offer you a word of warning; stay out my way or I’ll crush you like I’m going to crush Adams and his god damn lackeys this Sunday.”
“I’m talking to you Kemp, Max, Brooke, Lincoln, and Andre. I don’t know what Adams has promised you. I’m not too sure if you even have an end goal, but from the outside looking in it feels like you’re just padding Adams stat book and championship reign. Everything else you’ve managed to earn all on your own. Where’s your back up in your matches? When does the cavalry come marching in to protect your title reigns? Where’s Adams at when the going gets a little tough for all of y’all? f you really believe Adams is a suitable leader, you’ll let him go it alone this week. From where I’m standing, the rest of you have proven yourselves time and time again in that ring. I’ve seen Kemp hold Championship gold before. Lincoln, you’re killing it as Television Champion. Max and Brooke were well on their way to becoming tag team champions, and I know what Andres capable of when he decides he’s willing to give a shit. From my perspective, you don’t need a Spencer Adams, Spencer Adams needs the rest of you. And you come running in like a group of Gestapo thugs when The Antidote snaps his fingers. Ever heard of Pavlov? Does it ring a bell? That joke probably flew over your heads just like the #fightsmart joke did a long time ago. I’ll be more than happy to repeat the damn punchline if you decide to get involved again this week in business that doesn’t concern you.
“You hear that Adams? I’ve had enough of your whack ass crew protecting you because you’re afraid of doing what you always do when the pressures on; fail. This has been the crux of your career so far, only staved off now by your sycophants willingness to get involved in matters that don’t concern them. They’ve come out there week after week and beat the shit out of Ryan and I, and for what? What exactly have you done for them? I can’t wait to see the look on your face when your boys finally come to this realization themselves and smoke your ass like the fucking goon you are. That time will come, but something far more pressing is on the horizon and that’s me beating your ass around the ring and finally claiming the World Championship. This victory eluded me at Evolution and I can point fingers and lament on the fact that Aquarius cost me that shot all day long...but at the end of it all, I can only blame myself. I should have been ready for any #fightsmart interference in that match. I should have realized what Spencer Adams was capable of far before it ever happened.”
Wade seems to drift off for a moment, the gears in his mind spinning, almost falling off their tracks.
“There’s something I keep turning over and over again in my brain, a feeling I can’t quite shake...that maybe Spencer Adams was molded in my image and then sent back to me as my punishment on Earth.”
As Wade speaks the words aloud, an ethereal click of the gears settling into place whispers on the wind.
“Ive done a lot of things in this business. I’ve been World Champion before in another time. I came out on top in the Havoc Rumble. I’ve mained two different companies most important event of the year. Won awards, tournaments, you name it. Yeah, I’ve done all of those things...but I’ve also done a lot of disgusting things that I’m not too proud of. Can I go back in time and change them? Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t think I would, even if I could. Everything I’ve done has been part and parcel to creating the man you see before you today. They’ve all lead me down this path, this collision course with Spencer Adams. The unstoppable force versus an immovable object. Something has to give, and I’m dead set on making sure it’s Adams.
“You may have me beaten, bloodied, bruised...but you haven’t fucking broken me yet. I might be stumbling out to the ring Sunday night and I may very crawl out of it, but I’m gonna crawl away as World Champion. All these violent acts you’ve committed on my person, in your mind the scream “superiority”, but in reality they whimper “inferiority” because you look at yourself and then you see me - and sure you’re the World Champion - but you’ve never really been the man. That bothers you, doesn’t it? You have a little complex about it so now you’re trying to be like me, but believe me, that’s a road you don’t want to go down.
“I see him going down this path of suffering, one that ain’t easily reversed. Not at all. I’ve been there before Spencer, that place where you feel like the entire Gawdnilla damn world is at your throat. Difference between you and I is you feel that way because of your own personal failures. That’s not suffering, my man. What do you know of it? You’re the kind of kid who wished for that happy sappy sitcom ending but found out quick life can’t get wrapped up in neat little thirty minute increments. You found out you’re not the kind of person that can have the poon and eat it too. That’s why your group of micro dicked, shit slinging, marquee stealin’ punk asses exists in the first place. If I recognize one thing, Spencer, and that’s what life really is and what it’s truly about. It’s about overcoming those obstacles it decides to throw at you, every damn one of them, each and every time it does. You’re not going to beat me again Spencer, because you’re not as strong willed as I am. You weren’t forged in the fires of competition. I’m a gourmet pie and your Totino’s pizza rolls. You have a massive misconception of what it means to be World Champion, and you’re going to learn the hard way at Pandemic as to what bridges the gap between the two of us.
“This week marks the five month anniversary of Action Wrestling and you can bet your whole fucking career that I’ll be celebrating that landmark occasion as World Champion. You’re unworthy of such an honor Spencer. How could you be? All you’ve done is pick up the slack Roy Speede and D-Day handed you at Clash10, and then pissed it away with your egotistical, shitbag shenanigans. After this match is over, I’m not going to be your friend, your boy, your buddy...none of that shit. You chose to disrespect me with some heinous shit at Evolution, and for that you can never be forgiven. You had a chance to earn my respect and get in good graces with Gawdnilla, but that’s all nine shits to the wind. For that, I’m not going to just beat you at Pandemic. I’m going to fucking embarrass you, man. I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago in the WCF and Broseidon Punch your head off your fucking shoulders. I should’ve Broseidon Punched you every night on principle alone. Maybe I can make a man out of you yet, Spencer. Maybe I can teach you something from my own mistakes and kill two birds with one stone.
“Ive got to rectify these mistakes one way or another and let me assure, they will be rectified. I made this bed for you Spencer. I put down the pillow top, the nice fitted Egyptian cotton sheets, the good pillows, and the best comforter in the entire house, all for you to kick your damn dirty Nike’s up on it all. Now I’m gotta burn it all down. You had your fifteen minutes of fame when you beat me at Evolution, but your fifteen minutes are up bitch. Moose out front should’ve told ya. When I have that World Championship in my grasp, you’ll see what it’s actually like when somebody is in control of something. You’ll see what it’s like when somebody is the man, the maker, the Gawdnilla of his own damn realm. It’s up to you whether or not you make heads or tails of it, Spencer.
“This is your last chance to come correct, Adams, to show the world you’re made of more than shady dealings and clandestine tactics. Your very last shot to show you aren’t just a bitch made man hiding behind his scummy soup line of broke ass midcarders looking for a piece of that pie. It’s your last shot but I don’t think you’ll take it because fear consumes you. It guides every decision you’ve made prior to and in lieu of becoming World Champion...”
Wade chuckles.
“I just remembered that damn quote; you’re staring into the abyss Spencer. Don’t blink.”
OPEN YOUR EYES
NOT EVERYTHING IS AS IT SEEMS
“Do you think he’s ready?” a voice asks, crisp as fire.
“We have to be sure”, another responds, her voice airy as a feather, “We have to be sure his remorse is genuine.”
“If you ask me, this is a waste of time”, a husk man adds, his voice ethereal, almost ominous.
“Glad we weren’t asking you then”, someone interjects, their voice saltlike, grounded in the Earth.
“We don’t have much time”, the fiery voice replies urgently, “Your bickering is taking us nowhere. You know what this unity means for us. It could mean our kinds very existence.”
“Blah blah blah, death isn’t that harrowing”, the ethereal voice replies, “Always making mountains of molehills.”
“You know what’s at stake, or do you just not care?!”
“Quiet”, the wind song voice whispers, “He comes.”
*
KNOCK
KNOCK
*
KNOCK
*
KNOCK
*
*
The not so gentle rapping at his hotel door shook him from what little sleep he had managed to get. He groggily crossed the room to peep through the eyelet to see who was here, but who happened to be standing in the hallway surprised him. He expected Bonnie, probably bringing morning coffee and donuts as a Trojan horse to see if he was layed up with injury in his bed. Never did he expect to see the baboon face of Buddy Roman on the other side, grinning at him with yellowing teeth. He cracked the door, barely, so as to greet him, but an open door was always an invitation for The Shape.
“Wade Moor, my friend, my son!” his snake tongue slithered across his teeth and lips to create words, “Aren’t you going to invite your old man in?”
His yellow eyes lit somewhere from behind his iris.
“I’m afraid of the implications”, Wade replied, “What do you want?”
“Nonsense, nonsense”, Buddy whispered, “I’m here to talk shop, being your new manager and all.”
“How come I don’t remember this arrangement?”, Wade questioned.
“The Jews control Hollywood, my son”, Buddy replied, “And have you not signed a contract with my dear friend, Mr. Del Toro? He and I go way back, couple of old dinosaurs, and the such and the like. It was all lined out in your contract, I’m sure you perused all of its contents? Aside from your lead role in blockbuster ‘The Man in the Woods’, I now have a controlling stake in all of your Action Wrestling comings-and-goings. But you knew that, of course?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t read the snake print”, Wade clapped back.
“You cut me to the quick, my son”, Buddy said, “I have nothing but your best interest at heart.”
Buddy tried morphing into a gelatinous blob and materializing on the other side, but Wade stopped him on some “TRY THAT SHIT AND IMMA FUCK YA PUNK ASS UP LIKE YOUR NAME IS SPENCER ADAMS” kind of shit. Buddy smiled. Just Jews being Jews.
“Do you need anything else Buddy, or are we done here?”, Wade asked.
“I just came by to let you know I’ll be watching you like a Jew-hawk, my son”, Buddy replied, “I know you’ll defeat that abortion Spencer Adams and become World Champion. I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way. I’m so glad you’ve finally conquered the hate. It warms the cockles of my giraffe heart.”
Buddy cried right there in the hallway. It was truly a disturbing site.
“Anyways, I’ll be seeing ya baby chile!” Buddy uttered, “More often now I suppose!”
Buddy vigorously waved as he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving Wade with an uneasy feeling in his chest. What did Buddy Roman want with him so badly he was willing to slither into his wrestling life through side doors in a movie contract? It all just felt too sudden. An Owl perched on his balcony in broad daylight and let out a gentle hoot, only accentuating the deep seated disturbia he was feeling.
Wade found himself staring into the abyss, blinking.