Post by Jaice Wilds on Feb 24, 2019 23:26:56 GMT -5
Jaice continues to jab at the punching bag before him. He mixes in a few kicks, back to a series of uppercuts and jabs, then jumps up with his signature crescent kick. He takes but a moment to breathe, positioning himself before the bag once more.
Voice:
Ya know, if you hit your opponents like that, you might not lose as much.
Wilds turns around, the mild irritation on his face quickly melting away when he sees an old friend. He briskly walks over, embracing his former partner.
Jaice Wilds:
Chris fuckin’ Angel. I tell ya, if you hadn't fallen off after the South Pacific, you might remember what you were talking about.
They share a laugh, the two men walking towards a bench. Chris looks around the shack of a gym, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
Chris Angel:
Yeah. The Gambino Wrestling Alliance feels like an eternity ago. But hey; the Xtreme World Order made one hell of an impact back then.
Jaice Wilds:
First, last and only GWA Tag Team Champs. Shit. We could have really made an impact stateside.
Chris Angel:
We? Bro. Look at what you've accomplished. REBEL Pro Aggression Champ, FCW Genocide Champ, 201 and Fun Champion… And now a number one contender spot for a World Title. Man, you got it all goin on, Jay.
Wilds sighs, a shrug. He looks out to the old building, deep in thought.
Jaice Wilds:
Gotta be honest, Cristobel. Never thought I would be here. I mean, sure; a part of me wanted to be here one day, but I've never really made my career about belts. They always just kinda came to me when I'd done enough to catch the right eye.
Chris Angel:
You caught somebody's eye. You have a shot at the highest prize in the business today!
Wilds scoffs a bit, shaking his head.
Jaice Wilds:
I dunno. It just… something doesn't feel quite right. I mean, sure; my tenure in the sport as a whole certainly deems me ready for this opportunity. But with the recent attacks from this “Doom Squad” and trying to pull double duty in multiple feds… I’m just not sure I've done enough specifically in A-Dub to earn this.
Angel places an arm over Wilds’ shoulder, stretching his free arm out as he speaks.
Chris Angel:
Of all the people in this fed, your boss picked you. The high-flyin’, death-defyin’, mystifyin’, send ‘em packin’ to their mamas cryin’ motherfucker who lets no obstacle stop him from achieving greatness. The homicidal, suicidal, bloodthirsty ultraviolent sumbitch who will destroy anything and everything on his path to the top. The perennial underdog who always does his worst when he is backed into a corner and goddammit, Jaice; you are in a fucking corner!!
Wilds starts to grin, Angel standing. His fists are balled as the adrenaline courses, Jaice sensing a bit of a rise from his once tag partner.
Chris Angel:
For the first time in your career, bruv, you have the world at your fingertips. I'm not strapping you to the Tag Division, the Order isn't telling you what to do and management is finally looking at you with hope and respect. If ever you had the chance to truly shine, this. is. it. We all got your back, man. I called up Heather; she's bringing her family to watch you in the box seats.
Jaice Wilds:
You called Ska Feather? The xWo is in full effect?!
Angel grins.
Chris Angel:
The xWo. The Order. Hell, rumor is that REBEL and Underground X alum have bought seats for #EffinRager. This is not just your moment; this is the defining match that proves old school can not only still hang with the new kids, but is capable of retaining our position at the helm of the business. Our reputation as the ground builders lies entirely in your hands. And we will all be there to watch you cement your place amongst the greatest names in history.
Wilds begins to ponder, realizing the severity of his situation. He takes in a deep breath, nodding.
Jaice Wilds:
For those who came before me, and for those who fought beside me… this will be my greatest performance.
Angel and Wilds continue to speak, heading out towards the parking lot.
----------------
The following is a letter addressed to Ryan Lockhart; intercepted and published to the Action Wrestling website.
Did you feel that, Ryan? The shift in power. Did you feel it? After counting me out, calling me a “fringe mid-carder” and a “scrub not fit to shit your shoes”. And then, right when you thought you were at your peak… karma comes ‘round and bites you in the ass.
Of course, why should I expect any less from you? I mean, let's be honest here: for all your bravado, half your escapades that actually count for anything have asterisks behind them. The majority of your defenses have been against bottom-feeders and wannabes who have done nothing for the company save take a space on the roster.
You had to wait until Sidney was worn out from a match against three other opponents before you could allow your balls to drop and cash in to become World Champion.
Your victory over Andre Aquarius gave you just enough space to… to brutalize him and remove him from the WarGames match. But why, Ryan? If #BeachKrew is half as dominant as they believe themselves to be, why was it so imperative to eliminate the arguable weak link in #FightSmart’s armour?? Wouldn't it prove more substantial to defeat the actual team rather than have them require a sub-in? And one who only made sense because of his background with many of you. Is that what you're really trying to convince me of, boy? That you’re not a sniveling coward with a skillset to bend the truth to fit your narrative?
Let's break it down for a second:
You have a minor upswing.
Win All-In.
Attempt to cash in, only to be foiled by #FightSmart.
Go and attack Torture unprovoked. Get served with a suspension rather than a well-deserved termination.
Come back with #BeachKrew.
Cash in on a tired, injured SJW.
Defend the title against Andre Aquarius. Follow up with an all-out assault that puts the inter-racial wonderboy on the shelf.
Take on ¾ of #FightSmart at WarGames, along with the wild card Torture. Lack of cohesion between the boss and #FightSmart essentially guarantees victory for #BK.
When making the card for #EffinRager, you bitch and moan about not having competition.
Oh, and here's where shit really goes sideways. Because you go and namedrop some asshat you beat once, like somehow it's going to make him pop up like Beetlejuice or the goddamn CandyMan. But you have another name- a recent former champion in AW, no less- placed against you, and suddenly all is wrong with the world. I'm nobody, I'm a bottom feeder, I'm a failure. And yet, the moment I show myself to be the slightest bit dangerous to your title reign, what do you do? What did you do, Ryan? Let me refresh your memory.
Much like my friend Sid, you waited until I was tired. Unaware. Caught in a moment of exhaustion with my guard down. And #BeachKrew’s resident benchwarmer comes out, swinging a chair around, attacking me and throwing me to a hungry World Champion. I apologize, that was the wrong word. That bitch Jared Holmes threw me to a frightened World Champion. Who waited until I was not only exhausted, but blindsided by another coward with a chair before attacking me while any backup I had was held back by goons with more chairs.
But no, Ryan, you're not a coward. How could you be? You're the dominating World Champion, and I'm a 201 reject whom you've already defeated. Why on Earth would you not assault someone who- according to your own description- is clearly not a threat to your reign?
But wait. What does that make me, then? I mean, this past week, I watched you celebrate after a mildly taxing victory- at best, considering- and then slid into the ring to dole out a tiny modicum of payback. A fraction of what you did to me just seven days prior. Funny, by the way, how Jared Holmes tried to paint me as the hypocrite in that scenario. Hilarious, really. But here's where you and I differ, kid. The difference between a scared child afraid to lose the only thing that makes him relevant and a seasoned veteran who is just looking to prove his worth.
You attacked me, boy. A chair shot to the back, followed by Ill-Fated. You saw a weak spot and struck. And yet, not for a second did you see doubt in my eye. Not for a moment did you see me scared.
But me? Oh, I saw it. Deep down; that one brief moment of hesitation. Of fear. I looked you dead in the eye and I recognized it in a heartbeat. When my foot was close enough to your face that your balls shriveled back into your body, retracting your pubescent chin growth to avoid the closest shave you would have experienced in your life; your eyes showed that small glint of doubt within you.
And as predicted, you lashed out like an animal backed into a corner. Even as I gave you the opportunity to walk away, to savor your last few precious moments with “your” title; your instincts kicked in. You attacked me from behind yet again. And were it not your M.O., I likely would have suffered the brunt of another Ill-Fated. But you didn't see me as an equal, Ryan; hell, you didn't even see me as mildly acceptable competition. And because you already count me out, you were ill prepared for my defensive rebuttal. How did it feel, by the way? The Ordo Ab Kao? Has your mind even had sufficient time to recalibrate, or is Jared Holmes
having to recite this to you as a parent to their toddler at night? Oh, I do hope it is the latter; it always warms my soul to see someone useless and outdated find real purpose in life.
I'm legitimately looking for any reason why you are the threat in this match. You play like you're some unstoppable, dominant force in the A-Dub… yet, anyone who is smart enough to take a step back and look? They see you for what you are.
You're scared, Ryan. You're a scared little child, surrounding yourself with people who will continuously provide you emotional support when you falter. You're a coward, hiding behind a façade of bravado, hoping that how you project yourself is how you are ultimately perceived. You have Wade Moor on one side, patting your head and telling you how proud he is of his little baby boy. Jared Holmes sitting on the other side, yelling at the bullies who would otherwise rip your bitch ass to shreds and have you contemplating killing yourself. And then you have Alexander Pasternak licking your balls, hoping to gain a little greatness by association.
And there you are. Right smack dab in the middle. Holding tightly to the only thing that makes your little group worth talking about. The only thing that bends people into believing the otherwise empty threat that is #BeachKrew. You talk a big game, boyo. And, to be frank, it's impressive at times. But much as you project it on me, you are all smoke and mirrors. Pretty words and petty defenses against people who can barely spell their own names… no wonder you're so fucking pissed at Camila; your mama stopped protecting your ass and threw you to the wolves. And even worse; she took away your crutches and threw a cage around you.
You're alone. You're exposed. And for the first time since you claimed the World Title, you have a legitimate threat to your reign before you.
Anyone in their right mind would be scared. Anyone with half a brain would start looking for any possible excuse for the moment when he fails. Anyone in your position would start talking out of his ass, trying to throw his opposition off-guard just enough to capitalize. It. Just. Makes. Sense.
I don't need the Guardians by my side. I can beat you on my own, and I'll barely break a sweat in doing so. Not because I'm that much more superior- but because you aren't going to be ready. Because after last week, you keep looking in the mirror with doubt. After Clash, you get a sinking feeling whenever you hold the World Championship. After you failed to deliver the death blow, and instead ate the canvas not once, but twice... you know the hard reality that lies before you.
I don't require backup.
I don't need an unfair advantage.
I don't depend on mind games to succeed.
You do.
The Guardians will stand their ground near the entrance ramp. They'll strictly do their jobs of keeping your buddies out and you in. Just you and me, Ryan. And the celebration in Pennsylvania when the new World Champion is crowned will truly be…
An #EffinRager.
----------
The Order Compound. The grand hall is filled with people of all walks; chatting up a storm. One can make out a conversation between Damian Kaine, Chris Angel, and the Cowgirls From Hell as they discuss the upcoming Action Wrestling pay-per-view.
Tamika Nash Strader-Kalis:
Whether it was intentional or not; ZMac and Beau paying homage to Meghan and I is an honor.
Chris Angel:
Wish the xWo wasn't viewed as an outdated concept. Would be fun to see it back in use.
Damian Kaine:
I don't know; it was one thing for Jaice to suggest the Order of Chaos name for our tandem. I don't know if Xtreme World Order would have had us taken seriously.
Scott Nash Strader:
Yeah, the name is why nobody took you seriously.
Meghan Nash Strader:
Oh, give the guys a break, dad. They barely knew each other, let alone worked as well as some of the more cemented teams on the roster. You can't blame them for not being as cohesive as Tamika and I.
Wilds walks into the room, a hush slowly falling about the area. Most of the bodies are seated, all facing their common ally. Wilds looks around the room, taking a deep breath.
Jaice Wilds:
I want to start by thanking you all for coming here tonight. As you all know, I have been in this industry for the better part of 14 years. During that time, I was honored to head up The Faction in BTWF and be part of the xWo in GWA in the South Pacific.
Makuta, Yoshi, Chris Angel and Heather Shannon nod, raising a glass to their comrade.
Jaice Wilds:
I also had the distinct pleasure of being on the XHCW/FCW/Wikkid Awesome Wrestling roster, representing them at one point as the Genocide Champion.
Various members of the defunct roster nod in solemn respect, Wilds continues.
Jaice Wilds:
And of course, my time in the Alliance of Wrestling Federations under the REBEL Pro banner, namely as a General in the Order of Chaos.
The Kalis family, Nash-Strader's, Duff Côte d'Ivoire and a few others smile, saluting Wilds. Jaice takes a moment, looking to Kaine, Verez, Kidsgrove, Richards and Hawkins.
Jaice Wilds:
I stand before you today, a humble man. A part of history with each of you is an integral part of who I am now.
A member of the Action Wrestling roster. A Guardian. A former 201 and Fun Champion. And, should all go well, your next Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion.
I stand at the very precipice of our industry. One victory away from becoming not only the face of AW, but the face of this very business. One win away from everything my career, my history, my life has led to. One pinfall or submission from becoming the epitome of success.
Guardians. You have been charged by Camila Gonzalez with the duty of being lumberjacks. Keeping myself and Ryan Lockhart within the ring, to finish this war like men. To keep out the rest of #BeachKrew; as we all know being banned from ringside isn't going to keep them from trying. To ensure that this match goes off without a hitch, and victory falls to the worthy only after he has truly earned it. I pray you, brothers and sisters; do not allow emotion to cloud your judgment. We are above such temptations, and must uphold to our legacy as protectors of the Universe and justice forthwith.
To the Order: you continue to back me mentally, emotionally and financially. And I thank you for your continued faith in me. While I have spoken with Simon on the importance of doing this for myself; I would be remiss to say that I don't still fight for the pride of the Order. We have fought too long and too hard to fail when it matters most, and as the last remaining General in active competition, I dedicate my victory to those who gave me a family. Who gave me direction. Who taught me to use my rage and predication to ultraviolence for a greater purpose. You gave me a line, and I continue to walk it.
To those whom I have fought with and beside for the first few years of my career. Those who I learned from, struggled against, traveled the road with… this is for us. For every aerial innovation I bring to the ring, I bring every ounce of experience I gained in the ring with each and every one of you. Were it not for the grind we put in together, I would not be standing in this position today.
When I lock horns with the self-professed present and future of this business, I know that it will be much bigger than just a title match between two top-tier competitors. It will be an all-out war, waged between a fundamental legendary-status precursor and an upstart new age shit starter. It will be a revolution of styles as old school meets new school, experience meets entitlement, and expert skill meets pretentious mind games. Indeed; simply putting on the match of a lifetime will be enough to prove that we are still worth mentioning as time rolls on. But to win…
To achieve victory will be even sweeter. To be the proverbial living legend and capturing the World Title on a stage this grand will be something that future generations will have to take heed of. To build the foundation of this business alongside all of you… then to claim the crown of today's generation at their own namesake… this will forever shake their ideology that their ego comes before the fundamentals we set forth.
I have faced Ryan Lockhart before. And prior to his association with #BeachKrew, he showed much promise. Hell, he could have been one of us… had he not barely been ten when we were tearing it up. But now… now, he lies hypnotized by the egomaniacal trappings of Wade Moor, doing the Leviathan's bidding. Now, he is but a puppet, controlled by the beck and whim of his master's approval. Mayhaps, in defeat, he will learn to trust his own instinct again. By handing him a loss, it may be possible to free him from this grasp of a pathetic would-be god among men. But one thing is clear.
I must win at any cost. I must sacrifice my deepest desire: my consistent longing for respect. My body will be broken. My blood will be spilt. My soul will be torn. Anything and everything that is physically possible will be on display, along with any feats of extreme improbability that I can muster. I will burn myself to the ground, but in return?
Ryan Lockhart will be crushed. The Curse will be obliterated. His blood will flow as a river, draining Wade's power over him. And when the dust has settled, only one of us will be left standing. Only one of us will maintain the faculties to will himself to walk away. Only one will rise from the fires victorious.
And that man, ladies and gentlemen… that man will be proclaimed to the world…
The new
World.
Heavyweight.
Champion.
To history, my friends.
The rest of the room is lined with faces filled with pride and excitement. A unified “To History!” uplifts from the lips of those in attendance, they all salute Wilds. Jaice nods, stepping into the group as he finishes his speech. A few pats on the shoulder, kind words, as the party begins to again resemble something of a friendly gathering. Kalis the elder walks up, throwing an arm around his friend.
Simon Kalis:
Win or lose, you've already brought honor to everyone here. This Sunday, tho… you take that bitch to school.
Wilds nods, the two men embracing. Booze and music pours through the compound as the whole group parties late into the night. The stage has been set, the battle lines have been drawn… But tonight is for fun.
Voice:
Ya know, if you hit your opponents like that, you might not lose as much.
Wilds turns around, the mild irritation on his face quickly melting away when he sees an old friend. He briskly walks over, embracing his former partner.
Jaice Wilds:
Chris fuckin’ Angel. I tell ya, if you hadn't fallen off after the South Pacific, you might remember what you were talking about.
They share a laugh, the two men walking towards a bench. Chris looks around the shack of a gym, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.
Chris Angel:
Yeah. The Gambino Wrestling Alliance feels like an eternity ago. But hey; the Xtreme World Order made one hell of an impact back then.
Jaice Wilds:
First, last and only GWA Tag Team Champs. Shit. We could have really made an impact stateside.
Chris Angel:
We? Bro. Look at what you've accomplished. REBEL Pro Aggression Champ, FCW Genocide Champ, 201 and Fun Champion… And now a number one contender spot for a World Title. Man, you got it all goin on, Jay.
Wilds sighs, a shrug. He looks out to the old building, deep in thought.
Jaice Wilds:
Gotta be honest, Cristobel. Never thought I would be here. I mean, sure; a part of me wanted to be here one day, but I've never really made my career about belts. They always just kinda came to me when I'd done enough to catch the right eye.
Chris Angel:
You caught somebody's eye. You have a shot at the highest prize in the business today!
Wilds scoffs a bit, shaking his head.
Jaice Wilds:
I dunno. It just… something doesn't feel quite right. I mean, sure; my tenure in the sport as a whole certainly deems me ready for this opportunity. But with the recent attacks from this “Doom Squad” and trying to pull double duty in multiple feds… I’m just not sure I've done enough specifically in A-Dub to earn this.
Angel places an arm over Wilds’ shoulder, stretching his free arm out as he speaks.
Chris Angel:
Of all the people in this fed, your boss picked you. The high-flyin’, death-defyin’, mystifyin’, send ‘em packin’ to their mamas cryin’ motherfucker who lets no obstacle stop him from achieving greatness. The homicidal, suicidal, bloodthirsty ultraviolent sumbitch who will destroy anything and everything on his path to the top. The perennial underdog who always does his worst when he is backed into a corner and goddammit, Jaice; you are in a fucking corner!!
Wilds starts to grin, Angel standing. His fists are balled as the adrenaline courses, Jaice sensing a bit of a rise from his once tag partner.
Chris Angel:
For the first time in your career, bruv, you have the world at your fingertips. I'm not strapping you to the Tag Division, the Order isn't telling you what to do and management is finally looking at you with hope and respect. If ever you had the chance to truly shine, this. is. it. We all got your back, man. I called up Heather; she's bringing her family to watch you in the box seats.
Jaice Wilds:
You called Ska Feather? The xWo is in full effect?!
Angel grins.
Chris Angel:
The xWo. The Order. Hell, rumor is that REBEL and Underground X alum have bought seats for #EffinRager. This is not just your moment; this is the defining match that proves old school can not only still hang with the new kids, but is capable of retaining our position at the helm of the business. Our reputation as the ground builders lies entirely in your hands. And we will all be there to watch you cement your place amongst the greatest names in history.
Wilds begins to ponder, realizing the severity of his situation. He takes in a deep breath, nodding.
Jaice Wilds:
For those who came before me, and for those who fought beside me… this will be my greatest performance.
Angel and Wilds continue to speak, heading out towards the parking lot.
----------------
The following is a letter addressed to Ryan Lockhart; intercepted and published to the Action Wrestling website.
Did you feel that, Ryan? The shift in power. Did you feel it? After counting me out, calling me a “fringe mid-carder” and a “scrub not fit to shit your shoes”. And then, right when you thought you were at your peak… karma comes ‘round and bites you in the ass.
Of course, why should I expect any less from you? I mean, let's be honest here: for all your bravado, half your escapades that actually count for anything have asterisks behind them. The majority of your defenses have been against bottom-feeders and wannabes who have done nothing for the company save take a space on the roster.
You had to wait until Sidney was worn out from a match against three other opponents before you could allow your balls to drop and cash in to become World Champion.
Your victory over Andre Aquarius gave you just enough space to… to brutalize him and remove him from the WarGames match. But why, Ryan? If #BeachKrew is half as dominant as they believe themselves to be, why was it so imperative to eliminate the arguable weak link in #FightSmart’s armour?? Wouldn't it prove more substantial to defeat the actual team rather than have them require a sub-in? And one who only made sense because of his background with many of you. Is that what you're really trying to convince me of, boy? That you’re not a sniveling coward with a skillset to bend the truth to fit your narrative?
Let's break it down for a second:
You have a minor upswing.
Win All-In.
Attempt to cash in, only to be foiled by #FightSmart.
Go and attack Torture unprovoked. Get served with a suspension rather than a well-deserved termination.
Come back with #BeachKrew.
Cash in on a tired, injured SJW.
Defend the title against Andre Aquarius. Follow up with an all-out assault that puts the inter-racial wonderboy on the shelf.
Take on ¾ of #FightSmart at WarGames, along with the wild card Torture. Lack of cohesion between the boss and #FightSmart essentially guarantees victory for #BK.
When making the card for #EffinRager, you bitch and moan about not having competition.
Oh, and here's where shit really goes sideways. Because you go and namedrop some asshat you beat once, like somehow it's going to make him pop up like Beetlejuice or the goddamn CandyMan. But you have another name- a recent former champion in AW, no less- placed against you, and suddenly all is wrong with the world. I'm nobody, I'm a bottom feeder, I'm a failure. And yet, the moment I show myself to be the slightest bit dangerous to your title reign, what do you do? What did you do, Ryan? Let me refresh your memory.
Much like my friend Sid, you waited until I was tired. Unaware. Caught in a moment of exhaustion with my guard down. And #BeachKrew’s resident benchwarmer comes out, swinging a chair around, attacking me and throwing me to a hungry World Champion. I apologize, that was the wrong word. That bitch Jared Holmes threw me to a frightened World Champion. Who waited until I was not only exhausted, but blindsided by another coward with a chair before attacking me while any backup I had was held back by goons with more chairs.
But no, Ryan, you're not a coward. How could you be? You're the dominating World Champion, and I'm a 201 reject whom you've already defeated. Why on Earth would you not assault someone who- according to your own description- is clearly not a threat to your reign?
But wait. What does that make me, then? I mean, this past week, I watched you celebrate after a mildly taxing victory- at best, considering- and then slid into the ring to dole out a tiny modicum of payback. A fraction of what you did to me just seven days prior. Funny, by the way, how Jared Holmes tried to paint me as the hypocrite in that scenario. Hilarious, really. But here's where you and I differ, kid. The difference between a scared child afraid to lose the only thing that makes him relevant and a seasoned veteran who is just looking to prove his worth.
You attacked me, boy. A chair shot to the back, followed by Ill-Fated. You saw a weak spot and struck. And yet, not for a second did you see doubt in my eye. Not for a moment did you see me scared.
But me? Oh, I saw it. Deep down; that one brief moment of hesitation. Of fear. I looked you dead in the eye and I recognized it in a heartbeat. When my foot was close enough to your face that your balls shriveled back into your body, retracting your pubescent chin growth to avoid the closest shave you would have experienced in your life; your eyes showed that small glint of doubt within you.
And as predicted, you lashed out like an animal backed into a corner. Even as I gave you the opportunity to walk away, to savor your last few precious moments with “your” title; your instincts kicked in. You attacked me from behind yet again. And were it not your M.O., I likely would have suffered the brunt of another Ill-Fated. But you didn't see me as an equal, Ryan; hell, you didn't even see me as mildly acceptable competition. And because you already count me out, you were ill prepared for my defensive rebuttal. How did it feel, by the way? The Ordo Ab Kao? Has your mind even had sufficient time to recalibrate, or is Jared Holmes
having to recite this to you as a parent to their toddler at night? Oh, I do hope it is the latter; it always warms my soul to see someone useless and outdated find real purpose in life.
I'm legitimately looking for any reason why you are the threat in this match. You play like you're some unstoppable, dominant force in the A-Dub… yet, anyone who is smart enough to take a step back and look? They see you for what you are.
You're scared, Ryan. You're a scared little child, surrounding yourself with people who will continuously provide you emotional support when you falter. You're a coward, hiding behind a façade of bravado, hoping that how you project yourself is how you are ultimately perceived. You have Wade Moor on one side, patting your head and telling you how proud he is of his little baby boy. Jared Holmes sitting on the other side, yelling at the bullies who would otherwise rip your bitch ass to shreds and have you contemplating killing yourself. And then you have Alexander Pasternak licking your balls, hoping to gain a little greatness by association.
And there you are. Right smack dab in the middle. Holding tightly to the only thing that makes your little group worth talking about. The only thing that bends people into believing the otherwise empty threat that is #BeachKrew. You talk a big game, boyo. And, to be frank, it's impressive at times. But much as you project it on me, you are all smoke and mirrors. Pretty words and petty defenses against people who can barely spell their own names… no wonder you're so fucking pissed at Camila; your mama stopped protecting your ass and threw you to the wolves. And even worse; she took away your crutches and threw a cage around you.
You're alone. You're exposed. And for the first time since you claimed the World Title, you have a legitimate threat to your reign before you.
Anyone in their right mind would be scared. Anyone with half a brain would start looking for any possible excuse for the moment when he fails. Anyone in your position would start talking out of his ass, trying to throw his opposition off-guard just enough to capitalize. It. Just. Makes. Sense.
I don't need the Guardians by my side. I can beat you on my own, and I'll barely break a sweat in doing so. Not because I'm that much more superior- but because you aren't going to be ready. Because after last week, you keep looking in the mirror with doubt. After Clash, you get a sinking feeling whenever you hold the World Championship. After you failed to deliver the death blow, and instead ate the canvas not once, but twice... you know the hard reality that lies before you.
I don't require backup.
I don't need an unfair advantage.
I don't depend on mind games to succeed.
You do.
The Guardians will stand their ground near the entrance ramp. They'll strictly do their jobs of keeping your buddies out and you in. Just you and me, Ryan. And the celebration in Pennsylvania when the new World Champion is crowned will truly be…
An #EffinRager.
----------
The Order Compound. The grand hall is filled with people of all walks; chatting up a storm. One can make out a conversation between Damian Kaine, Chris Angel, and the Cowgirls From Hell as they discuss the upcoming Action Wrestling pay-per-view.
Tamika Nash Strader-Kalis:
Whether it was intentional or not; ZMac and Beau paying homage to Meghan and I is an honor.
Chris Angel:
Wish the xWo wasn't viewed as an outdated concept. Would be fun to see it back in use.
Damian Kaine:
I don't know; it was one thing for Jaice to suggest the Order of Chaos name for our tandem. I don't know if Xtreme World Order would have had us taken seriously.
Scott Nash Strader:
Yeah, the name is why nobody took you seriously.
Meghan Nash Strader:
Oh, give the guys a break, dad. They barely knew each other, let alone worked as well as some of the more cemented teams on the roster. You can't blame them for not being as cohesive as Tamika and I.
Wilds walks into the room, a hush slowly falling about the area. Most of the bodies are seated, all facing their common ally. Wilds looks around the room, taking a deep breath.
Jaice Wilds:
I want to start by thanking you all for coming here tonight. As you all know, I have been in this industry for the better part of 14 years. During that time, I was honored to head up The Faction in BTWF and be part of the xWo in GWA in the South Pacific.
Makuta, Yoshi, Chris Angel and Heather Shannon nod, raising a glass to their comrade.
Jaice Wilds:
I also had the distinct pleasure of being on the XHCW/FCW/Wikkid Awesome Wrestling roster, representing them at one point as the Genocide Champion.
Various members of the defunct roster nod in solemn respect, Wilds continues.
Jaice Wilds:
And of course, my time in the Alliance of Wrestling Federations under the REBEL Pro banner, namely as a General in the Order of Chaos.
The Kalis family, Nash-Strader's, Duff Côte d'Ivoire and a few others smile, saluting Wilds. Jaice takes a moment, looking to Kaine, Verez, Kidsgrove, Richards and Hawkins.
Jaice Wilds:
I stand before you today, a humble man. A part of history with each of you is an integral part of who I am now.
A member of the Action Wrestling roster. A Guardian. A former 201 and Fun Champion. And, should all go well, your next Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion.
I stand at the very precipice of our industry. One victory away from becoming not only the face of AW, but the face of this very business. One win away from everything my career, my history, my life has led to. One pinfall or submission from becoming the epitome of success.
Guardians. You have been charged by Camila Gonzalez with the duty of being lumberjacks. Keeping myself and Ryan Lockhart within the ring, to finish this war like men. To keep out the rest of #BeachKrew; as we all know being banned from ringside isn't going to keep them from trying. To ensure that this match goes off without a hitch, and victory falls to the worthy only after he has truly earned it. I pray you, brothers and sisters; do not allow emotion to cloud your judgment. We are above such temptations, and must uphold to our legacy as protectors of the Universe and justice forthwith.
To the Order: you continue to back me mentally, emotionally and financially. And I thank you for your continued faith in me. While I have spoken with Simon on the importance of doing this for myself; I would be remiss to say that I don't still fight for the pride of the Order. We have fought too long and too hard to fail when it matters most, and as the last remaining General in active competition, I dedicate my victory to those who gave me a family. Who gave me direction. Who taught me to use my rage and predication to ultraviolence for a greater purpose. You gave me a line, and I continue to walk it.
To those whom I have fought with and beside for the first few years of my career. Those who I learned from, struggled against, traveled the road with… this is for us. For every aerial innovation I bring to the ring, I bring every ounce of experience I gained in the ring with each and every one of you. Were it not for the grind we put in together, I would not be standing in this position today.
When I lock horns with the self-professed present and future of this business, I know that it will be much bigger than just a title match between two top-tier competitors. It will be an all-out war, waged between a fundamental legendary-status precursor and an upstart new age shit starter. It will be a revolution of styles as old school meets new school, experience meets entitlement, and expert skill meets pretentious mind games. Indeed; simply putting on the match of a lifetime will be enough to prove that we are still worth mentioning as time rolls on. But to win…
To achieve victory will be even sweeter. To be the proverbial living legend and capturing the World Title on a stage this grand will be something that future generations will have to take heed of. To build the foundation of this business alongside all of you… then to claim the crown of today's generation at their own namesake… this will forever shake their ideology that their ego comes before the fundamentals we set forth.
I have faced Ryan Lockhart before. And prior to his association with #BeachKrew, he showed much promise. Hell, he could have been one of us… had he not barely been ten when we were tearing it up. But now… now, he lies hypnotized by the egomaniacal trappings of Wade Moor, doing the Leviathan's bidding. Now, he is but a puppet, controlled by the beck and whim of his master's approval. Mayhaps, in defeat, he will learn to trust his own instinct again. By handing him a loss, it may be possible to free him from this grasp of a pathetic would-be god among men. But one thing is clear.
I must win at any cost. I must sacrifice my deepest desire: my consistent longing for respect. My body will be broken. My blood will be spilt. My soul will be torn. Anything and everything that is physically possible will be on display, along with any feats of extreme improbability that I can muster. I will burn myself to the ground, but in return?
Ryan Lockhart will be crushed. The Curse will be obliterated. His blood will flow as a river, draining Wade's power over him. And when the dust has settled, only one of us will be left standing. Only one of us will maintain the faculties to will himself to walk away. Only one will rise from the fires victorious.
And that man, ladies and gentlemen… that man will be proclaimed to the world…
The new
World.
Heavyweight.
Champion.
To history, my friends.
The rest of the room is lined with faces filled with pride and excitement. A unified “To History!” uplifts from the lips of those in attendance, they all salute Wilds. Jaice nods, stepping into the group as he finishes his speech. A few pats on the shoulder, kind words, as the party begins to again resemble something of a friendly gathering. Kalis the elder walks up, throwing an arm around his friend.
Simon Kalis:
Win or lose, you've already brought honor to everyone here. This Sunday, tho… you take that bitch to school.
Wilds nods, the two men embracing. Booze and music pours through the compound as the whole group parties late into the night. The stage has been set, the battle lines have been drawn… But tonight is for fun.