Post by Lockhart on May 11, 2018 12:04:24 GMT -5
Are you going to keep ignoring me?
Ryan Lockhart glanced down at the phone screen with an intrigued look. It had been the third time that week Amber had messaged him since their argument, but he had remained steadfast in his resolve. Mark had told him that if there were to be only one training camp, one week of preparation, where he should have not even the slightest distraction, then this was the one.
After all, this was the Havoc Rumble he would be competing in, a match that could skyrocket him into the main-event and elevate him to a status where he would no longer have any fear of not making enough money to support him and the immediate family, nor of being a disappointment to the family legacy.
Nevertheless, Ryan’s training had consisted of virtually the same routine he had been doing since the beginning of his career with Action Wrestling. Cardio in the early hours of the morning, pad work and groundwork at midday, and light resistance training in the afternoon. That hadn’t changed, but what he had done was remove each and every “negative source” that may have had an adverse effect on his performance in the Havoc Rumble.
That meant no partying, no drinking, no weed, and most certainly not paying attention to the odd woman or two that he met in his everyday life - a point which applied exponentially to Amber. It frustrated him to no end, not being able to relieve the slight pressure and anxiety that built up week by week, while he tried to retain the work-life balance that seemed to haunt most of the general population. Building a career, maintaining healthy relations with others, remaining calm and continuing to improve oneself. All of the glitz and glamour of the “celebrity life” came with some harsh consequences, ones that only now Ryan seemed to be coming to terms with - even if it was a struggle for him.
The phone buzzed again, drawing his attention away from the two mitts in front of him that were being held up by Mark Pierre, his best friend turned manager, who had organized everything in his career up until this point.
Ryan sighed and walked over to the wooden bench in front of the black wall that made up the interior of the gym he and Mark stood in. Mark watched him intently, with both hands on his hips, as Ryan bent down to pick up his phone, his eyes taking in the second message of the day - and fourth of the week - that Amber had sent him.
I have cocaine.
He twitched unintentionally, as though the word itself drew a reaction out of him. It had been two years since he had indulged in the drug - a habit which had required a mighty war for him to break in the first place. This was unbeknownst to Amber, of course, who naturally thought that he was well and truly an addict. Perhaps she was right, as Ryan’s week without stimulation from both the drink and the weed left him… unhinged.
Mark noticed his apparent distraction and swooped in.
‘Ryan, come on mate. We have another half an hour to work, and then you’re done. We need you to be at your peak when you enter that rumble, alright?’
‘We’ve done nothing but work all week, you can’t expect me to not be a little restless.’
‘Well, I’d just prefer if you didn’t make a mockery of yourself out there. You’re the last entrant, meaning that more like than not… you’ll be coming up against the best in the entire federation. You’d be a fool to not walk in there prepared.’
‘I’m aware. However, I have the advantage of being the freshest set of legs in that match once I enter. Most of the field will be bruised, battered and demoralized by the time I enter. By that point, all I’ll need to do is not get overzealous, and not make some rookie mistake that’ll cost me the match.’
‘Why do you think I’ve been so adamant about training you? To cut out any possibility that one of those mistakes pops up during the match. This isn’t some throwaway, man. You’re in this position for a reason - because you earned it like a true fucking warrior. Don’t throw it all away now just because you’re a little tired and worn down.’
Ryan exhaled heavily, partly out of exhaustion, but also from the frustration that continued to progressively build up inside of him. He nodded his head, defeated.
‘I know, man. I should be more in the zone right now, but I just can’t. Not right now. A rest day could do me good, it’s Wednesday, right? I’ve got time to take a night off and then get right back into it. Just give me this, and I promise that for the rest of the week, I won’t do anything but work to be my absolute best for the match. Alright?’
Mark appeared unconvinced, a frown coming over his lips. He considered Ryan’s words for a moment, before leaning back against the wall, shaking his head in defeat. He took off his mitts, letting them drop to the floor.
‘Whatever, man. If you don’t want my help, you don’t need to take it. I just hope you’re on top of your game when you get in there.’
With a grateful smile, Ryan placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.
‘Thank you. It means a lot, seriously. I still want your help, dude. All I need is just one night… and then we’re back on the grind, okay?’
Mark nodded half-heartedly.
‘Catch you later then, I guess?’
‘For sure.’
Mark departed shortly after that, waving his goodbye and packing his bags, shuffling off out of the rather unoccupied gym. The sound of the door closing shut echoed as Mark exited, leaving Ryan to stare at his phone with a mischievous grin spread across his face.
Maybe just this once, he could indulge again in the powder that once made his life so brilliant, breath-taking, and exciting. Besides, all those from the past and present in his life had drilled the same phrase into his head as a young teenager, looking to make his mark on the world…
Once an addict, always an addict.
The camera opened up to a wide-eyed Ryan Lockhart, seated on a chair situated on some grass in what appeared to be a comfortable backyard. The pupils of his eyes are dilated, and he has a slight smirk on his face, as he addresses the audience behind the camera’s lens.
‘Hey, everyone. 5-0 now, and I’m telling you… shit just won’t stop getting better. I’m undefeated, I’m in line for that coveted full-time contract, and I’m the last entrant in the biggest match of the year, a match that could put me in a position to solidify myself as the number one fucking wrestling on the entire roster.
‘I know what you’re all probably thinking right about now. You’re looking at this fresh-faced, overeager kid who hasn’t truly been battle-tested yet. I mean, just look at my record. I’ve won virtually all of my matches with relative ease, and have not yet been in a danger of losing. I haven’t been battered or bloodied, I haven’t been on the brink of defeat and made a startling comeback to pick up an enormous victory.
‘Nope, I’m just a plain five and zero. It’s as if all of this shit has been rudimentary up until this point. I get booked, I shit talk, I hit some fine ass drugs and alcohol at some random club or party a couple nights before my match, and then I beat the absolute crap out of someone - destroying them both physically and mentally in such a nonchalant way, to the point that people have barely seemed to notice that… yeah, I’ve fuckin’ arrived.’
He chuckles.
‘But no, seriously. This isn’t discrediting anyone I’ve come up against. I respect everyone who puts their bodies on the line to competing in this hellacious, barbaric act that we call entertainment. But unfortunately for all of my opposition thus far… the simple fact is that I’ve just been too good for the competition. And that’s why I’m here now, sitting pretty as your final entrant in the Havoc Rumble, primed and ready to make a damn statement and show out, earning myself a main-event at Evolution for the World Heavyweight Championship.
‘It sounds fuckin’ insane when I put it that way, huh? Like I said, I’m practically a nobody in this business. Not even well known enough to be booked on a consistent basis, since management has been worried that I might not pan out the way they expected me to. I was just a random chance they took - and look how that turned out. Two former World Champions, defeated. Various up and coming prospects in Action Wrestling, ashamed and defeated before the entire world… and here I am still, just some guy trying to make his mark on the world.’
He pauses to take a breath, shifting around in his seat, before smiling once again.
‘But enough chatter about what I’ve done, and more about what I’m about to do. Settle in, we’re about to get started with… why I WILL NOT win the Havoc Royal Rumble. Yeah, you heard me correctly. I’m about to go into every little detail that will be running through the head of my opposition come the rumble, and why they think that some random kid from Boston won’t be winning the match.
‘I’m a rookie. I don’t have the experience to command the flow of the match. I’ll enter last and be too eager to make an impact. I’ll make a fatal error, I’ll “blow my load” and end up getting quickly eliminated and promptly humiliated in front of everyone. I’m yet to be in a match with something huge on the line, which will mean that I won’t be prepared for the extra pressure that’ll come with a shot at the World Title on the line in arguably the biggest match of the year.
‘I’m not skilled enough. Sure, I have a background in judo and a little Brazilian jiu-jitsu, but for the most part I”m an untrained brawler with no real grasp of the technicalities of wrestling. According to all of you veterans out there, I have “untapped potential” and could be a “future champion”, but I’m simply not there yet. This is somewhat linked to the previous point, except this time it’s not a question about my experience or mentality. Rather, it’s a doubt about my physical and technical ability, as well as my muscle memory, to get the job done.
‘Let’s not forget… I’m unconventional. I’m not your typical guy who has been one-hundred percent dedicated to wrestling ever since I grew up. Yeah, I was a fan and went to some shows here and there, when I was able to save up enough through jobs and shit. But I’d be lying if I said this was always my career goal. I had no idea what the fuck I wanted to do as a kid, and even as a late teenager. This shit just popped up when I realized that I loved fighting and that I was damn good at it. Because of that, I don’t have the “work-ethic” that some of you guys say you have. I drink, I smoke, I party, I sing, I dance, I fuck, I do all of these things and more, and I have a fuckin’ blast with it. I’m not afraid to admit that. Does it hamper my performance at times? Perhaps. But I’d rather live my life being content with what I got, rather than limiting myself just for the benefit of other people. A valuable lesson that many of you could take going into this match.
‘I’m flippant. Even though I bring it up often, I don’t really care about victory or defeat. Yeah, I want to put on a show and do my family proud. Yeah, I need to make sure I secure my spot here since I need to make a living somehow. But other than that? This isn’t the main emphasis of my life. It’s a fuckin’ blessing, no doubt. But I’d be a fool to consider it my only focus, and that again is where I differ from a majority of the field here in this Havoc Rumble. Eighty percent of you at the least will sit there, all starry-eyed, tears streaming down your face, talking about how everything in your life has been leading up to this exact moment. How you’d love nothing more than to win this match and show everyone that you belong, that YOU’RE the best, that YOU are worthy of being Action Wrestling’s World Champion."
He nods his head.
‘That’s cool, and I’d be a liar if I told you that it’s something I don’t want. Of course, I want it. I want ALL of it. The fame, the glory, the money, the championships, accolades, records. You name it. I want to be a winner, and so far? That’s what I’ve proven to be. But at the end of the day, you’re only diggin’ yourself one big fuckin’ grave the moment that first hard-hitting loss comes. That’s when everything spirals out of your control, and you flail and flounder all the way to rock-bottom. I’m doing myself a favor in advance, I’m avoiding that shit because I know…
‘Defeat is inevitable. I’m called The Curse for fucks’ sake. I know about loss, pain, grief, and hardship. It’s followed me around for virtually my entire existence. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll never see me walking into a match thinking that I’m about to get my ass handed to me, but that shit is ALWAYS a possibility. And having that knowledge in my mind? That gives me an advantage that I can almost guarantee you no-one else in this match has.
'
Ryan now spreads his arms.
‘Now, this is why I believe I WILL be the winner of this match. While most of you will sit there and say that the pressure may get to me, the fact of the matter is… there is zero pressure on me to do well in this match. In the grand scheme of things, I’m an unproven rookie with zero claims to any of the various championships in this federation we all compete in, let alone the biggest prize in the competition. I’m rarely seen at the top of the card, and thus that means the casual fan will not have much idea of who I am, or what I bring to the table. They won’t be able to accurately gauge or make predictions on the trajectory of my career here in Action Wrestling, and that means that, whether I perform excellent or piss-poor, it won’t do shit to my stock here. If I win? Fucking perfect. I book myself a one-way ticket to future stardom, and probably a lengthy reign as World Champion. If not? I bounce back like I have after every other setback in my life.
‘For some of you, this match is EVERYTHING. Especially for those veterans, those guys who have been sitting in the mid card for what they believe has been far too long, the guys who feel as though they’ve been overlooked this entire time. This is their chance to have a breakout performance and put themselves on the map. Unlike me, they don’t necessarily have the benefit of being new to the wrestling industry. For them, failure here means another year of guaranteed mediocrity. Don't you think that can wear down on a man or woman’s mentality? You don’t think it gets to them in some way, shape or form? For me, this match is simply a test of where I stack up in the federation… and with the way things are looking? It appears as though I’m right there at the top.
‘Next, and most obviously, I’m the last entrant. This is the biggest possible advantage any one-man could have walking into this match. By the time I enter, some of the large threats will have already been eliminated, and the few that are remaining will already be worn down, unable to pose any real threat to my chances of victory. Now, this doesn’t mean that I’m underestimating them. After all, I know all too well how much desperation can play a role in matters like these, and that’s exactly why I’m going to be on my A-Game. I’m not taking this shit for granted. I put the work in to earn this final entry spot, and now I’m going to show exactly why I was given this opportunity.
‘When I enter this match, I’m going to pick and choose where I exert my energy. I’ll spot the weakest link, and I’ll systematically pick apart the opposition one by one until I am left standing. That’s the plan, anyhow. Shit can change, and if it does? I’ll adapt. Maybe I’ll get gang banged by the entire remainder of the match, and if that happened? I’d still go out swinging and come away with the win in epic fashion. This is the confidence one needs to have to perform well, and if I get my ass kicked in the process? So be it. I’ll eat my words and work my way back up. But with the way things are looking? I should be the one being considered the favorite right now.
‘Momentum is on my side, people. I’m yet to be defeated, I’m on a roll right now and no-one has proven that they have the formula to stop me. In terms of style, I’m a matchup nightmare for pretty much everyone in the federation. Sure, you could suggest that due to my lack of size and strength, I have a disadvantage, but consider that I have an unorthodox style. A mix of hard-nosed brawler mixed with agility, resourcefulness, and developing technical ability… and you’ll soon realize that in a match where wits and survival instincts are required to succeed, I’m the fuckin’ prototype for success. This isn’t exactly like a street-fight, a setting where I’d be far more comfortable, but it’s close enough. Dozens of bodies flying around, all with the aim of not being thrown over that top rope. The premise is simple, but there are so many underlying nuances and tactics that I can easily take advantage of. For instance, my aforementioned lack of size and presence could be used as a positive, where I lurk and, like I said, pick and choose my spots, steadily diminishing the field until I am left standing across from one weary, demoralized, and weakened opponent, who will have no choice but to be sent packing along with the rest of the people who arrived for the event.
‘I’m fine-tuned and well-rested. My part-time schedule has allowed me to continue to develop my arsenal to the point where people have literally no idea what is coming next. My skills have grown at a rapid rate, and with the added confidence of several wins underneath my belt? It’s going to take a lot to make me falter, especially in a match where I’m looking to stomp you all through the fuckin’ mat to get that shot at the World Title. No offense, but this is just what the business entails, and I’m more than willing to play my part in showing that I’m capable of doing what needs to be done.
‘Which brings me to my last point… I have no boundaries. I’ll do whatever is required of me to survive and thrive - that’s been my motto my entire life. Obviously, I intend to fight fair and honorably, but my motivation and will is unwavering, and I won’t be stopped by any regular effort - it will take something superhuman to get me out of this match. I have nothing to lose here. Like I mentioned earlier, the pressure isn’t on me. It’s on all of you. While you’re fighting for your image, your dignity, your career… I’m just here for the ride. I’m coming in at my best, no doubt. One-hundred percent of my effort will be focused solely on winning, but at the end of the day, I don’t have any mental anchor weighing me down like the rest of you. Either way, I’m going to be big-time here. A main-event player for many years to come. And as long as I’m comfortable with that knowledge, I have the capacity to achieve anything and everything that I want to here. And since the Havoc Rumble is right in front of me? I’m going to fucking take it.
‘So there you have it, people. Whether I convinced you or not that I’m going to be the victor, I honestly don’t care. While that may be the objective of my fellow competitors, I can assure you I don’t give a single fuck whether or not you believe in me. That may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. When I compete, I do it for myself. All the additional benefits, like the money, for instance? Yeah, I put that towards other things and other people. But I don’t need any of you to believe in me.
‘All I need you to know is that when my music hits, and you watch me in awe as I approach that ring, flask in hand and not a care in the world, I want you to realize something.
‘One day, soon enough, you’ll be looking at me and saying two words.
‘World. Champion.’
The line of powder hit him like a freight train gone mad. Once an addict, always an addict. He felt the drug enter his system and the effect seemed to hit him almost immediately. He sighed in a state of relief, as though a burden from years ago had been lifted from his shoulders, allowing him to float freely in front of the bathroom mirror situated in Amber’s apartment. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, smiling at him in amusement, like a child watching their favorite television show. His eyes remained set on the mirror though, and on his now dilated pupils which seemed to have a taunting little light in them - even though they were his own.
You gave in.
For the first time though, he didn’t care that he had given in. A temptation that had been hidden for so long, deserved to be let free. He smiled at himself now, and begin laughing wildly, as though this sudden realization had turned him into the walking essence of joy itself.
He turned away from the mirror, and flopped onto Amber’s bed,
She laid at his side and played with his hair - not out of any sort of love or affection, but out of boredom and the need for stimulation. Thankfully enough, the feeling was mutual.
Without a villain, a vice, or a struggle, life would never be interesting. It would simply be a deadly cycle that ate away at a being until they remained no longer - a shell with no heart or soul.
Ryan lived for the struggle, the problem that brought his life crashing down, which then allowed him to rebuild it up. He could already see it now, the words flashing before his eyes as he looked out into the Boston night sky.
World. Champion.
His hysterical laughter began again, washing away the years of pain and suffering the young man had experienced. This was the rebuilding process, from ashes and blood, back to the top. Only for it all to inevitably fall down once more.
And at the thought of that, his heart warmed.
It was all that he lived for.
Ryan Lockhart glanced down at the phone screen with an intrigued look. It had been the third time that week Amber had messaged him since their argument, but he had remained steadfast in his resolve. Mark had told him that if there were to be only one training camp, one week of preparation, where he should have not even the slightest distraction, then this was the one.
After all, this was the Havoc Rumble he would be competing in, a match that could skyrocket him into the main-event and elevate him to a status where he would no longer have any fear of not making enough money to support him and the immediate family, nor of being a disappointment to the family legacy.
Nevertheless, Ryan’s training had consisted of virtually the same routine he had been doing since the beginning of his career with Action Wrestling. Cardio in the early hours of the morning, pad work and groundwork at midday, and light resistance training in the afternoon. That hadn’t changed, but what he had done was remove each and every “negative source” that may have had an adverse effect on his performance in the Havoc Rumble.
That meant no partying, no drinking, no weed, and most certainly not paying attention to the odd woman or two that he met in his everyday life - a point which applied exponentially to Amber. It frustrated him to no end, not being able to relieve the slight pressure and anxiety that built up week by week, while he tried to retain the work-life balance that seemed to haunt most of the general population. Building a career, maintaining healthy relations with others, remaining calm and continuing to improve oneself. All of the glitz and glamour of the “celebrity life” came with some harsh consequences, ones that only now Ryan seemed to be coming to terms with - even if it was a struggle for him.
The phone buzzed again, drawing his attention away from the two mitts in front of him that were being held up by Mark Pierre, his best friend turned manager, who had organized everything in his career up until this point.
Ryan sighed and walked over to the wooden bench in front of the black wall that made up the interior of the gym he and Mark stood in. Mark watched him intently, with both hands on his hips, as Ryan bent down to pick up his phone, his eyes taking in the second message of the day - and fourth of the week - that Amber had sent him.
I have cocaine.
He twitched unintentionally, as though the word itself drew a reaction out of him. It had been two years since he had indulged in the drug - a habit which had required a mighty war for him to break in the first place. This was unbeknownst to Amber, of course, who naturally thought that he was well and truly an addict. Perhaps she was right, as Ryan’s week without stimulation from both the drink and the weed left him… unhinged.
Mark noticed his apparent distraction and swooped in.
‘Ryan, come on mate. We have another half an hour to work, and then you’re done. We need you to be at your peak when you enter that rumble, alright?’
‘We’ve done nothing but work all week, you can’t expect me to not be a little restless.’
‘Well, I’d just prefer if you didn’t make a mockery of yourself out there. You’re the last entrant, meaning that more like than not… you’ll be coming up against the best in the entire federation. You’d be a fool to not walk in there prepared.’
‘I’m aware. However, I have the advantage of being the freshest set of legs in that match once I enter. Most of the field will be bruised, battered and demoralized by the time I enter. By that point, all I’ll need to do is not get overzealous, and not make some rookie mistake that’ll cost me the match.’
‘Why do you think I’ve been so adamant about training you? To cut out any possibility that one of those mistakes pops up during the match. This isn’t some throwaway, man. You’re in this position for a reason - because you earned it like a true fucking warrior. Don’t throw it all away now just because you’re a little tired and worn down.’
Ryan exhaled heavily, partly out of exhaustion, but also from the frustration that continued to progressively build up inside of him. He nodded his head, defeated.
‘I know, man. I should be more in the zone right now, but I just can’t. Not right now. A rest day could do me good, it’s Wednesday, right? I’ve got time to take a night off and then get right back into it. Just give me this, and I promise that for the rest of the week, I won’t do anything but work to be my absolute best for the match. Alright?’
Mark appeared unconvinced, a frown coming over his lips. He considered Ryan’s words for a moment, before leaning back against the wall, shaking his head in defeat. He took off his mitts, letting them drop to the floor.
‘Whatever, man. If you don’t want my help, you don’t need to take it. I just hope you’re on top of your game when you get in there.’
With a grateful smile, Ryan placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.
‘Thank you. It means a lot, seriously. I still want your help, dude. All I need is just one night… and then we’re back on the grind, okay?’
Mark nodded half-heartedly.
‘Catch you later then, I guess?’
‘For sure.’
Mark departed shortly after that, waving his goodbye and packing his bags, shuffling off out of the rather unoccupied gym. The sound of the door closing shut echoed as Mark exited, leaving Ryan to stare at his phone with a mischievous grin spread across his face.
Maybe just this once, he could indulge again in the powder that once made his life so brilliant, breath-taking, and exciting. Besides, all those from the past and present in his life had drilled the same phrase into his head as a young teenager, looking to make his mark on the world…
Once an addict, always an addict.
The camera opened up to a wide-eyed Ryan Lockhart, seated on a chair situated on some grass in what appeared to be a comfortable backyard. The pupils of his eyes are dilated, and he has a slight smirk on his face, as he addresses the audience behind the camera’s lens.
‘Hey, everyone. 5-0 now, and I’m telling you… shit just won’t stop getting better. I’m undefeated, I’m in line for that coveted full-time contract, and I’m the last entrant in the biggest match of the year, a match that could put me in a position to solidify myself as the number one fucking wrestling on the entire roster.
‘I know what you’re all probably thinking right about now. You’re looking at this fresh-faced, overeager kid who hasn’t truly been battle-tested yet. I mean, just look at my record. I’ve won virtually all of my matches with relative ease, and have not yet been in a danger of losing. I haven’t been battered or bloodied, I haven’t been on the brink of defeat and made a startling comeback to pick up an enormous victory.
‘Nope, I’m just a plain five and zero. It’s as if all of this shit has been rudimentary up until this point. I get booked, I shit talk, I hit some fine ass drugs and alcohol at some random club or party a couple nights before my match, and then I beat the absolute crap out of someone - destroying them both physically and mentally in such a nonchalant way, to the point that people have barely seemed to notice that… yeah, I’ve fuckin’ arrived.’
He chuckles.
‘But no, seriously. This isn’t discrediting anyone I’ve come up against. I respect everyone who puts their bodies on the line to competing in this hellacious, barbaric act that we call entertainment. But unfortunately for all of my opposition thus far… the simple fact is that I’ve just been too good for the competition. And that’s why I’m here now, sitting pretty as your final entrant in the Havoc Rumble, primed and ready to make a damn statement and show out, earning myself a main-event at Evolution for the World Heavyweight Championship.
‘It sounds fuckin’ insane when I put it that way, huh? Like I said, I’m practically a nobody in this business. Not even well known enough to be booked on a consistent basis, since management has been worried that I might not pan out the way they expected me to. I was just a random chance they took - and look how that turned out. Two former World Champions, defeated. Various up and coming prospects in Action Wrestling, ashamed and defeated before the entire world… and here I am still, just some guy trying to make his mark on the world.’
He pauses to take a breath, shifting around in his seat, before smiling once again.
‘But enough chatter about what I’ve done, and more about what I’m about to do. Settle in, we’re about to get started with… why I WILL NOT win the Havoc Royal Rumble. Yeah, you heard me correctly. I’m about to go into every little detail that will be running through the head of my opposition come the rumble, and why they think that some random kid from Boston won’t be winning the match.
‘I’m a rookie. I don’t have the experience to command the flow of the match. I’ll enter last and be too eager to make an impact. I’ll make a fatal error, I’ll “blow my load” and end up getting quickly eliminated and promptly humiliated in front of everyone. I’m yet to be in a match with something huge on the line, which will mean that I won’t be prepared for the extra pressure that’ll come with a shot at the World Title on the line in arguably the biggest match of the year.
‘I’m not skilled enough. Sure, I have a background in judo and a little Brazilian jiu-jitsu, but for the most part I”m an untrained brawler with no real grasp of the technicalities of wrestling. According to all of you veterans out there, I have “untapped potential” and could be a “future champion”, but I’m simply not there yet. This is somewhat linked to the previous point, except this time it’s not a question about my experience or mentality. Rather, it’s a doubt about my physical and technical ability, as well as my muscle memory, to get the job done.
‘Let’s not forget… I’m unconventional. I’m not your typical guy who has been one-hundred percent dedicated to wrestling ever since I grew up. Yeah, I was a fan and went to some shows here and there, when I was able to save up enough through jobs and shit. But I’d be lying if I said this was always my career goal. I had no idea what the fuck I wanted to do as a kid, and even as a late teenager. This shit just popped up when I realized that I loved fighting and that I was damn good at it. Because of that, I don’t have the “work-ethic” that some of you guys say you have. I drink, I smoke, I party, I sing, I dance, I fuck, I do all of these things and more, and I have a fuckin’ blast with it. I’m not afraid to admit that. Does it hamper my performance at times? Perhaps. But I’d rather live my life being content with what I got, rather than limiting myself just for the benefit of other people. A valuable lesson that many of you could take going into this match.
‘I’m flippant. Even though I bring it up often, I don’t really care about victory or defeat. Yeah, I want to put on a show and do my family proud. Yeah, I need to make sure I secure my spot here since I need to make a living somehow. But other than that? This isn’t the main emphasis of my life. It’s a fuckin’ blessing, no doubt. But I’d be a fool to consider it my only focus, and that again is where I differ from a majority of the field here in this Havoc Rumble. Eighty percent of you at the least will sit there, all starry-eyed, tears streaming down your face, talking about how everything in your life has been leading up to this exact moment. How you’d love nothing more than to win this match and show everyone that you belong, that YOU’RE the best, that YOU are worthy of being Action Wrestling’s World Champion."
He nods his head.
‘That’s cool, and I’d be a liar if I told you that it’s something I don’t want. Of course, I want it. I want ALL of it. The fame, the glory, the money, the championships, accolades, records. You name it. I want to be a winner, and so far? That’s what I’ve proven to be. But at the end of the day, you’re only diggin’ yourself one big fuckin’ grave the moment that first hard-hitting loss comes. That’s when everything spirals out of your control, and you flail and flounder all the way to rock-bottom. I’m doing myself a favor in advance, I’m avoiding that shit because I know…
‘Defeat is inevitable. I’m called The Curse for fucks’ sake. I know about loss, pain, grief, and hardship. It’s followed me around for virtually my entire existence. Don’t get me wrong, you’ll never see me walking into a match thinking that I’m about to get my ass handed to me, but that shit is ALWAYS a possibility. And having that knowledge in my mind? That gives me an advantage that I can almost guarantee you no-one else in this match has.
'
Ryan now spreads his arms.
‘Now, this is why I believe I WILL be the winner of this match. While most of you will sit there and say that the pressure may get to me, the fact of the matter is… there is zero pressure on me to do well in this match. In the grand scheme of things, I’m an unproven rookie with zero claims to any of the various championships in this federation we all compete in, let alone the biggest prize in the competition. I’m rarely seen at the top of the card, and thus that means the casual fan will not have much idea of who I am, or what I bring to the table. They won’t be able to accurately gauge or make predictions on the trajectory of my career here in Action Wrestling, and that means that, whether I perform excellent or piss-poor, it won’t do shit to my stock here. If I win? Fucking perfect. I book myself a one-way ticket to future stardom, and probably a lengthy reign as World Champion. If not? I bounce back like I have after every other setback in my life.
‘For some of you, this match is EVERYTHING. Especially for those veterans, those guys who have been sitting in the mid card for what they believe has been far too long, the guys who feel as though they’ve been overlooked this entire time. This is their chance to have a breakout performance and put themselves on the map. Unlike me, they don’t necessarily have the benefit of being new to the wrestling industry. For them, failure here means another year of guaranteed mediocrity. Don't you think that can wear down on a man or woman’s mentality? You don’t think it gets to them in some way, shape or form? For me, this match is simply a test of where I stack up in the federation… and with the way things are looking? It appears as though I’m right there at the top.
‘Next, and most obviously, I’m the last entrant. This is the biggest possible advantage any one-man could have walking into this match. By the time I enter, some of the large threats will have already been eliminated, and the few that are remaining will already be worn down, unable to pose any real threat to my chances of victory. Now, this doesn’t mean that I’m underestimating them. After all, I know all too well how much desperation can play a role in matters like these, and that’s exactly why I’m going to be on my A-Game. I’m not taking this shit for granted. I put the work in to earn this final entry spot, and now I’m going to show exactly why I was given this opportunity.
‘When I enter this match, I’m going to pick and choose where I exert my energy. I’ll spot the weakest link, and I’ll systematically pick apart the opposition one by one until I am left standing. That’s the plan, anyhow. Shit can change, and if it does? I’ll adapt. Maybe I’ll get gang banged by the entire remainder of the match, and if that happened? I’d still go out swinging and come away with the win in epic fashion. This is the confidence one needs to have to perform well, and if I get my ass kicked in the process? So be it. I’ll eat my words and work my way back up. But with the way things are looking? I should be the one being considered the favorite right now.
‘Momentum is on my side, people. I’m yet to be defeated, I’m on a roll right now and no-one has proven that they have the formula to stop me. In terms of style, I’m a matchup nightmare for pretty much everyone in the federation. Sure, you could suggest that due to my lack of size and strength, I have a disadvantage, but consider that I have an unorthodox style. A mix of hard-nosed brawler mixed with agility, resourcefulness, and developing technical ability… and you’ll soon realize that in a match where wits and survival instincts are required to succeed, I’m the fuckin’ prototype for success. This isn’t exactly like a street-fight, a setting where I’d be far more comfortable, but it’s close enough. Dozens of bodies flying around, all with the aim of not being thrown over that top rope. The premise is simple, but there are so many underlying nuances and tactics that I can easily take advantage of. For instance, my aforementioned lack of size and presence could be used as a positive, where I lurk and, like I said, pick and choose my spots, steadily diminishing the field until I am left standing across from one weary, demoralized, and weakened opponent, who will have no choice but to be sent packing along with the rest of the people who arrived for the event.
‘I’m fine-tuned and well-rested. My part-time schedule has allowed me to continue to develop my arsenal to the point where people have literally no idea what is coming next. My skills have grown at a rapid rate, and with the added confidence of several wins underneath my belt? It’s going to take a lot to make me falter, especially in a match where I’m looking to stomp you all through the fuckin’ mat to get that shot at the World Title. No offense, but this is just what the business entails, and I’m more than willing to play my part in showing that I’m capable of doing what needs to be done.
‘Which brings me to my last point… I have no boundaries. I’ll do whatever is required of me to survive and thrive - that’s been my motto my entire life. Obviously, I intend to fight fair and honorably, but my motivation and will is unwavering, and I won’t be stopped by any regular effort - it will take something superhuman to get me out of this match. I have nothing to lose here. Like I mentioned earlier, the pressure isn’t on me. It’s on all of you. While you’re fighting for your image, your dignity, your career… I’m just here for the ride. I’m coming in at my best, no doubt. One-hundred percent of my effort will be focused solely on winning, but at the end of the day, I don’t have any mental anchor weighing me down like the rest of you. Either way, I’m going to be big-time here. A main-event player for many years to come. And as long as I’m comfortable with that knowledge, I have the capacity to achieve anything and everything that I want to here. And since the Havoc Rumble is right in front of me? I’m going to fucking take it.
‘So there you have it, people. Whether I convinced you or not that I’m going to be the victor, I honestly don’t care. While that may be the objective of my fellow competitors, I can assure you I don’t give a single fuck whether or not you believe in me. That may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. When I compete, I do it for myself. All the additional benefits, like the money, for instance? Yeah, I put that towards other things and other people. But I don’t need any of you to believe in me.
‘All I need you to know is that when my music hits, and you watch me in awe as I approach that ring, flask in hand and not a care in the world, I want you to realize something.
‘One day, soon enough, you’ll be looking at me and saying two words.
‘World. Champion.’
The line of powder hit him like a freight train gone mad. Once an addict, always an addict. He felt the drug enter his system and the effect seemed to hit him almost immediately. He sighed in a state of relief, as though a burden from years ago had been lifted from his shoulders, allowing him to float freely in front of the bathroom mirror situated in Amber’s apartment. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, smiling at him in amusement, like a child watching their favorite television show. His eyes remained set on the mirror though, and on his now dilated pupils which seemed to have a taunting little light in them - even though they were his own.
You gave in.
For the first time though, he didn’t care that he had given in. A temptation that had been hidden for so long, deserved to be let free. He smiled at himself now, and begin laughing wildly, as though this sudden realization had turned him into the walking essence of joy itself.
He turned away from the mirror, and flopped onto Amber’s bed,
She laid at his side and played with his hair - not out of any sort of love or affection, but out of boredom and the need for stimulation. Thankfully enough, the feeling was mutual.
Without a villain, a vice, or a struggle, life would never be interesting. It would simply be a deadly cycle that ate away at a being until they remained no longer - a shell with no heart or soul.
Ryan lived for the struggle, the problem that brought his life crashing down, which then allowed him to rebuild it up. He could already see it now, the words flashing before his eyes as he looked out into the Boston night sky.
World. Champion.
His hysterical laughter began again, washing away the years of pain and suffering the young man had experienced. This was the rebuilding process, from ashes and blood, back to the top. Only for it all to inevitably fall down once more.
And at the thought of that, his heart warmed.
It was all that he lived for.