Post by Lockhart on Dec 16, 2018 0:53:17 GMT -5
The two men locked eyes from across The VolkSWAGGIN’, the tension in the air was palpable, ready to explode and cause a chain reaction that would turn the entirety of Action Wrestling into dust.
Wade Moor and Ryan Lockhart sat together, the two men at the pinnacle of the wrestling industry. As far as they looked, no-one in the federation matched them in terms of talent and mentality (save perhaps for their two comrades in Alexander PasterSnak and Jared Holmes). #FightSmart were a nuisance who had already been swatted away like flies on numerous occasions by both men - something that at this point was becoming a recurring theme during their respective careers within Action Wrestling’s boundaries.
Sidney J Warwick was a pawn - another man they both had defeated. He was another transitional champion that was only carrying the belt so that one of them could sweep it away, whether it be Wade running through the entire federation on a course of destruction so vile and unstoppable that he would HAVE to be given a shot, or Ryan with his All-In Briefcase that seemed to follow and haunt the current champion wherever he went.
With that in mind, that only left the two of them. The best in the business, the A and A1 of the wrestling world, with Ryan seemingly being pushed into the “A1” role after his recent defeat at the hands of Moor, putting the latter up 2-0 on the less seasoned superstar. Perhaps that was why the tension in the VolkSWAGGIN’ was so high at this point in time, with the other two members of the #BeachKrew elsewhere.
And then… they begin to burst out laughing, each taking a swig of their drink, with Wade slapping his protege of sorts on the back.
‘You think if you curb-stomp Kemp hard enough this week, he’ll come crying to link back up with #BeachKrew?’ Wade said, leaning back in his luxury seat in the SWAGGIN. Suddenly, Ryan’s lips formed a thin line, his expression now deadpan.
‘Well, since you suggested that… I’ll give him a fighting chance just so we don’t have to deal with that dead-weight trying to anchor us down.’ Ryan said, now grinning again as he downs the last of Wade’s home-brew, emptying the bottle and placing it on the pull-out table in front of him. The smile then fades away, replaced by a relaxed look coupled partially raised eyebrows, his lack of sobriety now betraying him as he reaches the truth of why he and Wade were talking.
‘In all honesty though man… my care factor for #FightSmart and my match against Kemp this week? Zero. I hate to say it, but I think I’m losing my edge.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Earlier in the year when we were going toe to toe for the World Title… even back when I was first making a name for myself by beating Kemp and Camila back at Evolution, I had a chip on my shoulder. I felt I had something to prove.
‘But when I look around? Everything is still the same. Nothing has changed. My victories have earned me nothing but the spite of the people and the rest of the roster. They can’t handle the fact that we’ve teamed up and are now the premiere force in the company. Even upper management are pulling out their hair trying to figure out ways to slow us down.
‘It’s become tedious, you get what I’m saying? Like, I know I’m rambling now but…’
Wade grabs him by the shoulder, forcing Ryan’s rambling to cease and drawing his wandering attention straight to the veteran, former World Champion’s words.
‘You know why you’re feeling that way? It’s because you haven’t put the federation on notice yet. You need to do something out there, show them that you deserve the fucking respect that a top talent in this industry should be getting.’
He releases his grasp of his shoulder and claps him on it once more, pulling him further away from his uncertainty.
‘Think about when you blasted Shadowlove back at Execution, or when you pulled down that All-In Briefcase at Uprising, or even when you leveled Torture. Those actions put you on the map, my dude. Now it’s time to settle the score once and for all. Put everyone on notice, and show them that you’re not just a flash in the pan. You, me, and the #BeachKrew? We’re here to stay, and nothin’s going to change that, you feel me?’ Wade said, his calm yet powerful tone resonating with Ryan.
The young man’s eyes darted away from Wade’s for a second, searching for something. In the corner of his vision, he spotted it, sitting there. The briefcase. Now, his heart felt at ease. Everything felt right. That tingling sensation, the butterflies in the stomach, the weight on his shoulders… it all dissipated in nothingness.
He allowed himself a brief smile of pure bliss, and met Wade’s gaze once more.
‘You’re right. Time to put an end to these charades… once and for all.’
The scene transitions to Ryan standing alone in the bedroom of a rundown apartment. There are cracks in the walls, and whole joint must have the sickening, overpowering scent of alcohol running through it, judging by the empty bottles of whiskey laid out across the floor. In the background, Alexander Pasternak stumbles across the screen and ends up out of sight, to which Ryan seemingly takes no notice, his eyes centered directly on the camera.
The young man is sweating profusely, and there appears to be flecks of blood tainting his pure white dress shirt. His grin is one of wild origin, something between animal and instinctual.
‘On December 1st, I turned twenty-four. Big fuckin’ deal, right? I held no party, I celebrated little. Another year gone and my days are drawing more and more near to the dreaded thirty. Some of you would look at me and say I’ve wasted my youth on unnecessary, vile things. Snorting cocaine and blasting prostitutes. Leading on women I hardly knew, fucking them and then proceeding to leave them the next morning, all for my own fun.
‘Hell, I spent the later part of my teenage years making money either by busking… or through the more enjoyable, profitable business of punching people’s faces in at sanctioned underground club fights to scrape by with enough money to support myself and not end up lying in a gutter. Hey, judge me all you want… but at least I could afford my own drugs and didn’t have to leech off of welfare or other people.’
His tangent stops, as he seems to gather his thoughts.
‘You’re probably sitting there thinking why the fuck I’m bringing this up, and what has any of this got to do with the fact that for the third time in my career, Kyle Kemp and I are meeting in the ring together as singles competitors, with the goal of defeating one another and giving either #BeachKrew or #FightSmart a slight edge in the supposed “battle” that’s going on between our two factions - although it’s a little fuckin’ one sided if you ask me.
‘The reason I bring all this up Kemp… is it shows the different type of people that we are. You were a child destined for greatness. Well, I’m assuming that’s what your well-off, scumbag parents probably thought. You were handed everything, you got the opportunity to go to college and play for your dreams, and you fuckin’ failed. But that’s old news, right? We’re passed that now. Now you’re a champion, you’ve made progress in multiple wrestling federations and made a name for yourself that was more than the good little white boy that had an easier path than ninety percent of this blasted federation.’
He shakes his head in a mix of disappointment in dismay.
‘But Kemp… that’s where you’re wrong. You’re not a fighter, you’re a fuckin’ con artist, a rat selling something that he isn’t. You sit there and pretend that you’re superior to everyone, but time and time again you’ve been proven wrong. And no matter what happens, you still hold these delusions like a child who grew up going to Church. I don’t know what’s worse, believing that God is real and even if he was - that he cared about you… or that Kyle Kemp is a mildly talented wrestler who deserves to be called a champion. We can hold a poll on that one later, I suppose.’
Ryan scoffs.
‘We’re polar opposites, Kemp. While I win almost every match I’m apart of with relative ease, you struggle to maintain relevancy and if it weren’t for Spencer having one World Title reign and Lincoln Kuechly being a decent internet troll… you’d probably be out of a job. If you think about it, it’s kind of rich. You had all the means and resources to make it as a great in this business, but you’ve been completely overshadowed and outperformed on numerous occasions by a scrappy kid from Boston who no-one thought had a shot at making it to the big time.’
He taps the side of his head, and then smirks.
‘Here’s the thing, buddy… I’m constantly evolving and improving my game. I say it almost every time, but there are no lies in my words, and there never have been. I win, and I win big. I don’t grow complacent, I pick apart my opposition and entertain the people while doing it. You? You haven’t changed, even since our first encounter, you’re still the exact same fuckin’ guy who deserves to be slapped back and forth.
‘Twice you’ve sat before me and claimed that you’re better than me. That you’re the one who should be in my position at the top of the card. In both those moments, when everything was on the line… a shot at the World Title… and a shot at the All-In Briefcase, I came out on top. Even when you came in all guns blazing, at the very peak of your abilities… I made light work of you. What’s even more embarrassing is the fact that you had a former World Champion in Spencer Adams backing you during that match, and you still weren’t able to put me out of commission. I still climbed the ladder and put an end to this whole #FightSmart being the “most dominant” stable in the federation- which first of fuckin’ all, isn’t difficult when you had no competition until #BeachKrew came here and smacked the taste of our your mouth, you twats.’
The smile now fades from his face.
‘You weren’t able to beat me then, Kyle. Even with the odds in your favour, I left your dreams of a guaranteed shot at the World Title shattered… twice. Think of all the experience you’ve had, think of all the big-time matches that you’ve been apart of… and even with all that, you have nothing to really show for it.
‘I don’t blame you for being a miserable, moping wreck. I’d be upset if I was in your position too. Imagine being a veteran of the ring and still being unable to string together a decent run at the World Title? Meanwhile, a young upstart in Ryan Lockhart arrives and within a couple of months has already had a shot, and now carries with him the means to get that belt whenever the fuck he wants. I’m surprised you haven’t already started slitting your wrists, you worthless sack of shit.
‘Comparing our resumes, some would say I’m probably still not ahead of you on the all-time rankings list. After all, you’ve had a couple runs with some lesser belts here and there. But here’s the thing, my friend. Just look at the people I’ve either directly defeated or taken out in my short wrestling career. Look at all the World Champions that I have taken out, and that have failed to do the same to me.
‘Jeff Purse. Alexander Richards. Stephen Singh. Spencer Adams. Sidney J Warwick, twice. Corey Black. Dune. Donald Deruty.’
He spreads his arms and shrugs, as if to say “see what I mean?”
‘The greater the competition, the higher I raise my level. Can you say the same, Kemp? Because I don’t see that drive in you. I see someone who is complacent, who reached what they felt like was the best they could do, and then gave the fuck up. Now you just sit around, flat-footed and unprepared.
‘Even as a champion, you garner no respect from the audience. They’ve known you for a while, and they know the exactly type of guy and talent that you are. A decent competitor, who even as one half of the tag team champions… is being given filler opposition like Karlie Nash to pad his record and actually give him some fuckin’ credibility. Geez, man. Have some fuckin’ pride, why don’t you? Go out there and beat the best of the best, and THEN you can come in here and start claiming that you’re worthy of being a true main-event talent who deserves shots at the big one.
‘Your issue is… you don’t know your standing within this company. Just because you’re teaming with a supposed “future star” and a current one in Spencer Adams doesn’t mean that you belong in the big leagues. You’re not an A-Level player, and you never fuckin’ have been.
‘There has always been levels to this shit, and I represent the highest of them all, the one that can only be challenged by the most elite in the wrestling world. By the likes of Wade Moor, Jared Holmes, Joey Flash, Corey Black, Dune and the like. I am the next one to be added to this level of greatness, I don’t need to beat low-level scrubs on the daily to prove that. I do that by beating World Champions, I do that by putting everyone in this fuckin’ federation on notice by snuffing out the likes of you - ungrateful, weak-minded fuccbois like you who shouldn’t even have the privilege of stepping into the ring with a future hall of famer like myself.’
He leans in toward the camera, licking his lips in anticipation.
‘And you know what the scariest part about all of this should be for you, Kemp? I’m only twenty-four, man. And to top it all off, I haven’t even been wrestling for a full year. I don’t even have 20 full matches underneath my belt yet, and I’m still pulling this shit on you like I’m a fuckin’ veteran messing around with a grass-green rookie.
‘Imagine then what’s going to happen when I reach my true prime? In a few years time, people are going to be looking at me as an unstoppable force, someone who just shows up for the paycheck but is so unbelievably gifted that he leaves all of his opposition in the dust, grinding their momentum to a halt while I only further develop my legacy.
‘But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? I’m here now, and I have a match against you, Kyle Kemp. This isn’t your average week when you and Link are stomping out some subpar tag team, you’re here against the brightest star in the federation today. That’s a scary proposition for most people, but for you? Even more so. After all, you have a reputation to uphold. You lose here? And you get fuckin’ crucified by the IWC, you let down your stable and most of all, your starry-eyed little bitch of a tag team partner in Lincoln. You let your big daddy Spencer down. Are you sure you can handle the heat, my poor, insignificant little friend?
‘I don’t think you can. You haven’t proven that you can in the past, and I’m leaps and bounds better than I was back then. This isn’t a fuckin’ game, Kemp. This is what I do, this is what I have crafted through years of surviving and struggling through the streets, until I finally made it here.
‘This is my art, and after our match is through? There is going to be a masterpiece on that canvas - made up of your crumpled, lifeless body and its blood.’
He now points at the camera.
‘I have no fuckin’ respect for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m taking you lightly. This is yet another step on the process of eliminating the wave of fuccbois that are plaguing this federation. This is that old style, OG #BeachKrew shit that you were never good enough to actually carry out. This right here? It’s a Golden Age of wrestling, and something that you aren’t worthy of being part of.
‘But don’t worry, Kemp. Your belt is safe for now. After I stomp you into the ground, you’ll get to go home and cry to your crew, and then be able to snuggle up nice and tight to your worthless trinket. And then… you can repeat the process you have lived by since you started wrestling.
‘1: Claim you’re better than everyone.
‘2: Beat on some of the worst opposition in Action Wrestling.
‘3: Work your way up to getting a match against someone that’s actually good: AKA Me.
‘4: Get murked.
‘5: Repeat, and then start complaining about getting no respect and shots at the World Title.
‘You’re welcome. This is the level you’re at, and this is the level you’ll always be at. Make sure to take notes, this night is going to something special, Kemp.
‘You’re about to be part of history.'
He snickers as he says this, before descending into a coughing fit. He stands in the darkness of the room like a maniac, unhinged and unable to be controlled, but amidst the chaos of his own mind and body…
Ryan Lockhart appears perfectly at home.
14th of December
Los Angeles, California.
Set Before Ryan’s Video Package against Kyle Kemp.
Alexander Pasternak and Ryan Lockhart were sat in the back of a cab, heading out toward the mansion party of a “school friend” of Alexander’s from back in the day, who only just reconnected with him after realizing the popularity of PasterSnak after his stint in Action Wrestling and his emergency within the #BeachKrew.
Pasternak had dressed rather casually for the event, wearing a #BeachKrew tank top and some long shorts. On the other side of the cab was Ryan, who had decked himself out in a black three-piece suit with a tie to match, contrasting the white dress shirt he wore underneath. He shot a sidelong glance over toward the unattentive Pasternak, who was occupied by his screen which was a beacon of light amidst the darkness of the night.
‘You’re gonna have to explain to me why you wanted me to “dress sharp” while you’re out here lookin’ like a complete shit-stain.’
‘This kid already knows me. I got nothin’ to prove. You? You’re the star of the show. You gotta show out.’
‘Yeah, about that. Why are you bringing me along anyway?’ Ryan said, now looking directly at him. Alexander’s eyes did not sway from his phone, as he offhandedly replied:
‘Wade said you were feelin’ stressed about some shit. Thought I’d take you to this overbearing cunts party and get you wasted. That’s something you’re decent at, right?’
‘Sounds like it’s up my alley, I guess.’ Ryan said, not at all impressed by his teammates answer - something that Alexander could spot from a mile away.
‘On the real though, I’ll fill you in when we’re out of here.’ he said, nudging his head in the direction of the driver. Ryan noticed the subtle signal and responded with a nod.
A few minutes later the two arrived at their destination, and the party was already in full swing. As the two were ascending up the stairs to the front door, Alexander turned his attention to Ryan.
‘The guy hosting this thing? Complete asshole. Lived off his parents wealth for a while. Left me and a couple other guys in our group in the dust after school wrapped up and he was able to kick start his own business. Now, here he is.’
‘Okay, what’s that got to do with us now?’
‘To be honest, I’m just kinda bored and want to cause this guy some trouble. He invited me just to get some extra clout by saying he had some famous people at his party, which is why he also wanted me to bring the rest of the #BeachKrew. I wasn’t about that, so now we’re gonna go steal his blow, maybe kick the shit out of him, and then bounce. Alright?’
“Yeah, sure.’ Ryan said. This is not what I wanted to fuckin’ get into on a Friday Night when I have a match in a couple days.
Within half an hour, those thoughts were expelled. The two had gotten some drinks into them, and they were now alone with the man of the house, who had spotted Alexander and given him a warm bro-hug upon seeing him. Getting away from the loud chatter both in and outside of the house, he led them to his room upstairs. Upon getting there, he turned to face Ryan.
‘Nice to meet you, Ryan. I’m Gerald Pendleton, I’m sure Alexander’s filled you in?’
‘He sure has.’
‘Brilliant! It really is a shame you couldn’t bring the rest of the boys along, but I understand. Busy times indeed.’
He shut the door behind them after welcoming them into the room. Gerald then took a couple paces over to his neatly organized desk and pulled out a clipboard with papers pinned to it, and then handed it over to Alexander. Ryan titled his head in confusion, glancing at his teammate. Pasternak merely smiled.
‘Sorry, Gerald. We’ve decided not to engage in the agreement. We thank you sincerely for offering to sponsor us, though.’
Suddenly, the smug smile that Gerald had been walking around with earlier in the night disappeared, and a look of restrained anger and tension came over his features.
‘What do you mean? We had been discussing this throughout the week!”
‘Well… like you were trying to use us, we’re about to use you. Look, we’ve had a rough fuckin’ trip, and we just want some coke. Where’s it at, pal?’
‘You have the audacity to come to MY party and start making demands? You fucking junkies. I want you to leave, now.’
Pasternak looked over at Ryan, who sighed and took off his suit jacket, and then proceeded to unbutton his vest and drop them both on the bed at his side. He then rolled up his shirt sleeves, while Gerald looked on in confusion.
Ryan reeled back and then socked Pendleton in the face, with an impact that almost undoubtedly broke the nose. Blood splattered onto the floor and on Ryan’s shirt, and the rich boy buckled and collapsed into tears, pointing to a drawer.
‘Let’s grab it and get going.' Ryan said, as he shook his hand and donned his waistcoat and suit jacket.
Hours later, the two were holed up in the cheapest motel they could find. Neither of them brought much in the way of possessions on this outing. They had coke lined up on a stained bench in the kitchen, and Ryan couldn’t help but feel as though he was falling into dirty habits that ruined his life more than once.
But then again, why not indulge? He was at the top of his game, and he was about to put the world on notice once he slept Kemp.
‘Hey, I turned twenty-four two weeks ago.’ Ryan said, as the extensive line of white powder rested beneath them. Alexander feigned interest.
‘Really? Happy Birthday.’
‘Thanks.’ he said, feeling a void in him. One that would be filled by blood, ash, and the ultimate satisfaction of having desire fulfilled.
Wade Moor and Ryan Lockhart sat together, the two men at the pinnacle of the wrestling industry. As far as they looked, no-one in the federation matched them in terms of talent and mentality (save perhaps for their two comrades in Alexander PasterSnak and Jared Holmes). #FightSmart were a nuisance who had already been swatted away like flies on numerous occasions by both men - something that at this point was becoming a recurring theme during their respective careers within Action Wrestling’s boundaries.
Sidney J Warwick was a pawn - another man they both had defeated. He was another transitional champion that was only carrying the belt so that one of them could sweep it away, whether it be Wade running through the entire federation on a course of destruction so vile and unstoppable that he would HAVE to be given a shot, or Ryan with his All-In Briefcase that seemed to follow and haunt the current champion wherever he went.
With that in mind, that only left the two of them. The best in the business, the A and A1 of the wrestling world, with Ryan seemingly being pushed into the “A1” role after his recent defeat at the hands of Moor, putting the latter up 2-0 on the less seasoned superstar. Perhaps that was why the tension in the VolkSWAGGIN’ was so high at this point in time, with the other two members of the #BeachKrew elsewhere.
And then… they begin to burst out laughing, each taking a swig of their drink, with Wade slapping his protege of sorts on the back.
‘You think if you curb-stomp Kemp hard enough this week, he’ll come crying to link back up with #BeachKrew?’ Wade said, leaning back in his luxury seat in the SWAGGIN. Suddenly, Ryan’s lips formed a thin line, his expression now deadpan.
‘Well, since you suggested that… I’ll give him a fighting chance just so we don’t have to deal with that dead-weight trying to anchor us down.’ Ryan said, now grinning again as he downs the last of Wade’s home-brew, emptying the bottle and placing it on the pull-out table in front of him. The smile then fades away, replaced by a relaxed look coupled partially raised eyebrows, his lack of sobriety now betraying him as he reaches the truth of why he and Wade were talking.
‘In all honesty though man… my care factor for #FightSmart and my match against Kemp this week? Zero. I hate to say it, but I think I’m losing my edge.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Earlier in the year when we were going toe to toe for the World Title… even back when I was first making a name for myself by beating Kemp and Camila back at Evolution, I had a chip on my shoulder. I felt I had something to prove.
‘But when I look around? Everything is still the same. Nothing has changed. My victories have earned me nothing but the spite of the people and the rest of the roster. They can’t handle the fact that we’ve teamed up and are now the premiere force in the company. Even upper management are pulling out their hair trying to figure out ways to slow us down.
‘It’s become tedious, you get what I’m saying? Like, I know I’m rambling now but…’
Wade grabs him by the shoulder, forcing Ryan’s rambling to cease and drawing his wandering attention straight to the veteran, former World Champion’s words.
‘You know why you’re feeling that way? It’s because you haven’t put the federation on notice yet. You need to do something out there, show them that you deserve the fucking respect that a top talent in this industry should be getting.’
He releases his grasp of his shoulder and claps him on it once more, pulling him further away from his uncertainty.
‘Think about when you blasted Shadowlove back at Execution, or when you pulled down that All-In Briefcase at Uprising, or even when you leveled Torture. Those actions put you on the map, my dude. Now it’s time to settle the score once and for all. Put everyone on notice, and show them that you’re not just a flash in the pan. You, me, and the #BeachKrew? We’re here to stay, and nothin’s going to change that, you feel me?’ Wade said, his calm yet powerful tone resonating with Ryan.
The young man’s eyes darted away from Wade’s for a second, searching for something. In the corner of his vision, he spotted it, sitting there. The briefcase. Now, his heart felt at ease. Everything felt right. That tingling sensation, the butterflies in the stomach, the weight on his shoulders… it all dissipated in nothingness.
He allowed himself a brief smile of pure bliss, and met Wade’s gaze once more.
‘You’re right. Time to put an end to these charades… once and for all.’
The scene transitions to Ryan standing alone in the bedroom of a rundown apartment. There are cracks in the walls, and whole joint must have the sickening, overpowering scent of alcohol running through it, judging by the empty bottles of whiskey laid out across the floor. In the background, Alexander Pasternak stumbles across the screen and ends up out of sight, to which Ryan seemingly takes no notice, his eyes centered directly on the camera.
The young man is sweating profusely, and there appears to be flecks of blood tainting his pure white dress shirt. His grin is one of wild origin, something between animal and instinctual.
‘On December 1st, I turned twenty-four. Big fuckin’ deal, right? I held no party, I celebrated little. Another year gone and my days are drawing more and more near to the dreaded thirty. Some of you would look at me and say I’ve wasted my youth on unnecessary, vile things. Snorting cocaine and blasting prostitutes. Leading on women I hardly knew, fucking them and then proceeding to leave them the next morning, all for my own fun.
‘Hell, I spent the later part of my teenage years making money either by busking… or through the more enjoyable, profitable business of punching people’s faces in at sanctioned underground club fights to scrape by with enough money to support myself and not end up lying in a gutter. Hey, judge me all you want… but at least I could afford my own drugs and didn’t have to leech off of welfare or other people.’
His tangent stops, as he seems to gather his thoughts.
‘You’re probably sitting there thinking why the fuck I’m bringing this up, and what has any of this got to do with the fact that for the third time in my career, Kyle Kemp and I are meeting in the ring together as singles competitors, with the goal of defeating one another and giving either #BeachKrew or #FightSmart a slight edge in the supposed “battle” that’s going on between our two factions - although it’s a little fuckin’ one sided if you ask me.
‘The reason I bring all this up Kemp… is it shows the different type of people that we are. You were a child destined for greatness. Well, I’m assuming that’s what your well-off, scumbag parents probably thought. You were handed everything, you got the opportunity to go to college and play for your dreams, and you fuckin’ failed. But that’s old news, right? We’re passed that now. Now you’re a champion, you’ve made progress in multiple wrestling federations and made a name for yourself that was more than the good little white boy that had an easier path than ninety percent of this blasted federation.’
He shakes his head in a mix of disappointment in dismay.
‘But Kemp… that’s where you’re wrong. You’re not a fighter, you’re a fuckin’ con artist, a rat selling something that he isn’t. You sit there and pretend that you’re superior to everyone, but time and time again you’ve been proven wrong. And no matter what happens, you still hold these delusions like a child who grew up going to Church. I don’t know what’s worse, believing that God is real and even if he was - that he cared about you… or that Kyle Kemp is a mildly talented wrestler who deserves to be called a champion. We can hold a poll on that one later, I suppose.’
Ryan scoffs.
‘We’re polar opposites, Kemp. While I win almost every match I’m apart of with relative ease, you struggle to maintain relevancy and if it weren’t for Spencer having one World Title reign and Lincoln Kuechly being a decent internet troll… you’d probably be out of a job. If you think about it, it’s kind of rich. You had all the means and resources to make it as a great in this business, but you’ve been completely overshadowed and outperformed on numerous occasions by a scrappy kid from Boston who no-one thought had a shot at making it to the big time.’
He taps the side of his head, and then smirks.
‘Here’s the thing, buddy… I’m constantly evolving and improving my game. I say it almost every time, but there are no lies in my words, and there never have been. I win, and I win big. I don’t grow complacent, I pick apart my opposition and entertain the people while doing it. You? You haven’t changed, even since our first encounter, you’re still the exact same fuckin’ guy who deserves to be slapped back and forth.
‘Twice you’ve sat before me and claimed that you’re better than me. That you’re the one who should be in my position at the top of the card. In both those moments, when everything was on the line… a shot at the World Title… and a shot at the All-In Briefcase, I came out on top. Even when you came in all guns blazing, at the very peak of your abilities… I made light work of you. What’s even more embarrassing is the fact that you had a former World Champion in Spencer Adams backing you during that match, and you still weren’t able to put me out of commission. I still climbed the ladder and put an end to this whole #FightSmart being the “most dominant” stable in the federation- which first of fuckin’ all, isn’t difficult when you had no competition until #BeachKrew came here and smacked the taste of our your mouth, you twats.’
The smile now fades from his face.
‘You weren’t able to beat me then, Kyle. Even with the odds in your favour, I left your dreams of a guaranteed shot at the World Title shattered… twice. Think of all the experience you’ve had, think of all the big-time matches that you’ve been apart of… and even with all that, you have nothing to really show for it.
‘I don’t blame you for being a miserable, moping wreck. I’d be upset if I was in your position too. Imagine being a veteran of the ring and still being unable to string together a decent run at the World Title? Meanwhile, a young upstart in Ryan Lockhart arrives and within a couple of months has already had a shot, and now carries with him the means to get that belt whenever the fuck he wants. I’m surprised you haven’t already started slitting your wrists, you worthless sack of shit.
‘Comparing our resumes, some would say I’m probably still not ahead of you on the all-time rankings list. After all, you’ve had a couple runs with some lesser belts here and there. But here’s the thing, my friend. Just look at the people I’ve either directly defeated or taken out in my short wrestling career. Look at all the World Champions that I have taken out, and that have failed to do the same to me.
‘Jeff Purse. Alexander Richards. Stephen Singh. Spencer Adams. Sidney J Warwick, twice. Corey Black. Dune. Donald Deruty.’
He spreads his arms and shrugs, as if to say “see what I mean?”
‘The greater the competition, the higher I raise my level. Can you say the same, Kemp? Because I don’t see that drive in you. I see someone who is complacent, who reached what they felt like was the best they could do, and then gave the fuck up. Now you just sit around, flat-footed and unprepared.
‘Even as a champion, you garner no respect from the audience. They’ve known you for a while, and they know the exactly type of guy and talent that you are. A decent competitor, who even as one half of the tag team champions… is being given filler opposition like Karlie Nash to pad his record and actually give him some fuckin’ credibility. Geez, man. Have some fuckin’ pride, why don’t you? Go out there and beat the best of the best, and THEN you can come in here and start claiming that you’re worthy of being a true main-event talent who deserves shots at the big one.
‘Your issue is… you don’t know your standing within this company. Just because you’re teaming with a supposed “future star” and a current one in Spencer Adams doesn’t mean that you belong in the big leagues. You’re not an A-Level player, and you never fuckin’ have been.
‘There has always been levels to this shit, and I represent the highest of them all, the one that can only be challenged by the most elite in the wrestling world. By the likes of Wade Moor, Jared Holmes, Joey Flash, Corey Black, Dune and the like. I am the next one to be added to this level of greatness, I don’t need to beat low-level scrubs on the daily to prove that. I do that by beating World Champions, I do that by putting everyone in this fuckin’ federation on notice by snuffing out the likes of you - ungrateful, weak-minded fuccbois like you who shouldn’t even have the privilege of stepping into the ring with a future hall of famer like myself.’
He leans in toward the camera, licking his lips in anticipation.
‘And you know what the scariest part about all of this should be for you, Kemp? I’m only twenty-four, man. And to top it all off, I haven’t even been wrestling for a full year. I don’t even have 20 full matches underneath my belt yet, and I’m still pulling this shit on you like I’m a fuckin’ veteran messing around with a grass-green rookie.
‘Imagine then what’s going to happen when I reach my true prime? In a few years time, people are going to be looking at me as an unstoppable force, someone who just shows up for the paycheck but is so unbelievably gifted that he leaves all of his opposition in the dust, grinding their momentum to a halt while I only further develop my legacy.
‘But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? I’m here now, and I have a match against you, Kyle Kemp. This isn’t your average week when you and Link are stomping out some subpar tag team, you’re here against the brightest star in the federation today. That’s a scary proposition for most people, but for you? Even more so. After all, you have a reputation to uphold. You lose here? And you get fuckin’ crucified by the IWC, you let down your stable and most of all, your starry-eyed little bitch of a tag team partner in Lincoln. You let your big daddy Spencer down. Are you sure you can handle the heat, my poor, insignificant little friend?
‘I don’t think you can. You haven’t proven that you can in the past, and I’m leaps and bounds better than I was back then. This isn’t a fuckin’ game, Kemp. This is what I do, this is what I have crafted through years of surviving and struggling through the streets, until I finally made it here.
‘This is my art, and after our match is through? There is going to be a masterpiece on that canvas - made up of your crumpled, lifeless body and its blood.’
He now points at the camera.
‘I have no fuckin’ respect for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m taking you lightly. This is yet another step on the process of eliminating the wave of fuccbois that are plaguing this federation. This is that old style, OG #BeachKrew shit that you were never good enough to actually carry out. This right here? It’s a Golden Age of wrestling, and something that you aren’t worthy of being part of.
‘But don’t worry, Kemp. Your belt is safe for now. After I stomp you into the ground, you’ll get to go home and cry to your crew, and then be able to snuggle up nice and tight to your worthless trinket. And then… you can repeat the process you have lived by since you started wrestling.
‘1: Claim you’re better than everyone.
‘2: Beat on some of the worst opposition in Action Wrestling.
‘3: Work your way up to getting a match against someone that’s actually good: AKA Me.
‘4: Get murked.
‘5: Repeat, and then start complaining about getting no respect and shots at the World Title.
‘You’re welcome. This is the level you’re at, and this is the level you’ll always be at. Make sure to take notes, this night is going to something special, Kemp.
‘You’re about to be part of history.'
He snickers as he says this, before descending into a coughing fit. He stands in the darkness of the room like a maniac, unhinged and unable to be controlled, but amidst the chaos of his own mind and body…
Ryan Lockhart appears perfectly at home.
14th of December
Los Angeles, California.
Set Before Ryan’s Video Package against Kyle Kemp.
Alexander Pasternak and Ryan Lockhart were sat in the back of a cab, heading out toward the mansion party of a “school friend” of Alexander’s from back in the day, who only just reconnected with him after realizing the popularity of PasterSnak after his stint in Action Wrestling and his emergency within the #BeachKrew.
Pasternak had dressed rather casually for the event, wearing a #BeachKrew tank top and some long shorts. On the other side of the cab was Ryan, who had decked himself out in a black three-piece suit with a tie to match, contrasting the white dress shirt he wore underneath. He shot a sidelong glance over toward the unattentive Pasternak, who was occupied by his screen which was a beacon of light amidst the darkness of the night.
‘You’re gonna have to explain to me why you wanted me to “dress sharp” while you’re out here lookin’ like a complete shit-stain.’
‘This kid already knows me. I got nothin’ to prove. You? You’re the star of the show. You gotta show out.’
‘Yeah, about that. Why are you bringing me along anyway?’ Ryan said, now looking directly at him. Alexander’s eyes did not sway from his phone, as he offhandedly replied:
‘Wade said you were feelin’ stressed about some shit. Thought I’d take you to this overbearing cunts party and get you wasted. That’s something you’re decent at, right?’
‘Sounds like it’s up my alley, I guess.’ Ryan said, not at all impressed by his teammates answer - something that Alexander could spot from a mile away.
‘On the real though, I’ll fill you in when we’re out of here.’ he said, nudging his head in the direction of the driver. Ryan noticed the subtle signal and responded with a nod.
A few minutes later the two arrived at their destination, and the party was already in full swing. As the two were ascending up the stairs to the front door, Alexander turned his attention to Ryan.
‘The guy hosting this thing? Complete asshole. Lived off his parents wealth for a while. Left me and a couple other guys in our group in the dust after school wrapped up and he was able to kick start his own business. Now, here he is.’
‘Okay, what’s that got to do with us now?’
‘To be honest, I’m just kinda bored and want to cause this guy some trouble. He invited me just to get some extra clout by saying he had some famous people at his party, which is why he also wanted me to bring the rest of the #BeachKrew. I wasn’t about that, so now we’re gonna go steal his blow, maybe kick the shit out of him, and then bounce. Alright?’
“Yeah, sure.’ Ryan said. This is not what I wanted to fuckin’ get into on a Friday Night when I have a match in a couple days.
Within half an hour, those thoughts were expelled. The two had gotten some drinks into them, and they were now alone with the man of the house, who had spotted Alexander and given him a warm bro-hug upon seeing him. Getting away from the loud chatter both in and outside of the house, he led them to his room upstairs. Upon getting there, he turned to face Ryan.
‘Nice to meet you, Ryan. I’m Gerald Pendleton, I’m sure Alexander’s filled you in?’
‘He sure has.’
‘Brilliant! It really is a shame you couldn’t bring the rest of the boys along, but I understand. Busy times indeed.’
He shut the door behind them after welcoming them into the room. Gerald then took a couple paces over to his neatly organized desk and pulled out a clipboard with papers pinned to it, and then handed it over to Alexander. Ryan titled his head in confusion, glancing at his teammate. Pasternak merely smiled.
‘Sorry, Gerald. We’ve decided not to engage in the agreement. We thank you sincerely for offering to sponsor us, though.’
Suddenly, the smug smile that Gerald had been walking around with earlier in the night disappeared, and a look of restrained anger and tension came over his features.
‘What do you mean? We had been discussing this throughout the week!”
‘Well… like you were trying to use us, we’re about to use you. Look, we’ve had a rough fuckin’ trip, and we just want some coke. Where’s it at, pal?’
‘You have the audacity to come to MY party and start making demands? You fucking junkies. I want you to leave, now.’
Pasternak looked over at Ryan, who sighed and took off his suit jacket, and then proceeded to unbutton his vest and drop them both on the bed at his side. He then rolled up his shirt sleeves, while Gerald looked on in confusion.
Ryan reeled back and then socked Pendleton in the face, with an impact that almost undoubtedly broke the nose. Blood splattered onto the floor and on Ryan’s shirt, and the rich boy buckled and collapsed into tears, pointing to a drawer.
‘Let’s grab it and get going.' Ryan said, as he shook his hand and donned his waistcoat and suit jacket.
Hours later, the two were holed up in the cheapest motel they could find. Neither of them brought much in the way of possessions on this outing. They had coke lined up on a stained bench in the kitchen, and Ryan couldn’t help but feel as though he was falling into dirty habits that ruined his life more than once.
But then again, why not indulge? He was at the top of his game, and he was about to put the world on notice once he slept Kemp.
‘Hey, I turned twenty-four two weeks ago.’ Ryan said, as the extensive line of white powder rested beneath them. Alexander feigned interest.
‘Really? Happy Birthday.’
‘Thanks.’ he said, feeling a void in him. One that would be filled by blood, ash, and the ultimate satisfaction of having desire fulfilled.