When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree beside the river of truth, and tell the whole world -- "No, YOU move.”
- Mark Twain
Nothing can ever be simple, can it?
It can't ever be about competition, the desire to be the best and athletes trying to prove it. Instead, something political always has to rear its ugly head into the picture.
Once again, the seedy underbelly of a wrestling promotion had revealed itself. Only this time, I can't be bothered to care. I'm trying to save my home promotion. I'm here to become a champion. I don't have time to fight the machinations of your boss, even though he directly fucked with my path to being a champion. Is that goal still possible? Of course. No one is going to have a perfect run in this tournament. But he took what should have been the easiest two points in this thing for me and turned it into an embarrasing defeat. I wasn't pinned, I had little to no involvement in the match, and somehow I lose out.
A younger version of myself would try to wage war here too, perhaps drive a blade into that underbelly and kill CWF while its guts were exposed to me. But I'm old now. Tired. I want to do what I came here to do and that's beat your top stars and nothing else. I'm not here to send a message, except the message that I'm still at the top of my profession. I'm not here to save anyone, except my legacy.
I'll leave the fate of CWF and its current mad king to those better suited for such things. I just know that myself and Jaiden Rishel both work for Carnage, and if he pulls this shit again...well, he's not the boss of anyone over there.
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JC woke with a start, as the noise from his alarm pierced the otherwise seamless quiet of the early morning. He didn't recall why he chose to rest down in the hotel lobby, just that he had, and that the late night staff didn't seem to mind. He stared at the camera from CWF Wired, which peered down at him.
"Lovely, the slice of life starts now. At least you're not illegally recording my therapy sessions this time."
A voice behind the camera muttered something, and JC simply nodded.
"You weren't watching me sleep, were you?"
The camera moved from side to side, and there was more muttering. JC sighed and placed a thumb and index finger on the bridge of his nose, squeezing lightly.
"The only reason I'm not sending you flying into the nearest wall is because you're just doing your job. Everything in my life being on camera is ridiculous, but I'll get over it...to an extent. If I tell you not to follow me, you don't."
There was more muttering now. It was as if the camera man was intentionally trying to not be heard on his own device. As if that was his job. JC had to lean in just to hear what he was saying, but once he heard enough to his liking, he waved for the camera to follow him.
JC had remembered why he was sleeping in the lobby, now that his brain had the time to wake up and fully adjust. He knew the cameraman was coming by. He had arrived in time for his latest Alpha and Omega match after all, and he knew that before he filmed his promo he would be followed. Lucy, who had been with him, was also aware and didn't want some strange person following them into their room without a heads up. So he waited in the lobby and dozed off.
The people employed by CWF were little more than paparazzi, and JC had very little respect for their boss now that he knew how the man operated. Between this and the sudden changes to his last match, a match he knew he could have easily won had it remained as it was booked, he no longer had any interest in the Alpha and Omega tournament. The truth of the matter was, he just wanted out. He was tired of dealing with places like this.
But the competition drove him. The desire to be champion again drove him. So he'd deal with the invasion of privacy. But first he had to get some answers from someone and figure out how to do that and deal with said invasion at the same time.
With someone now filming his every move, he left the elevator and walked down the hallway to the room he was staying in. He knocked on the door and it opened up and his girlfriend Lucy Wylde could be heard on the inside.
"Camera guy outside?"
"Camera guy outside."
"Fuck."
"Yep."
"I really don't want to talk about this in front of a camera."
"You haven't wanted to talk about it all week. You need to tell me what's going on."
"Make him wait."
JC turned around and looked straight at the camera, which was now broadcasting his white hot glare to everyone watching live. It's enough to make whoever is operating it take a step back from the large 6'5" man, which is likely not something they're paid to do. He places a hand on the camera and forces the operator behind it to take several steps back, before he swifly (especially quick for a man his size) enters the room and shuts the door behind him.
Those who watch Carnage Wrestling likely know what's been going on. Lucy Wylde's sister recently accused her of abandoning her as a child to a father that was abusive. The world turned on Lucy overnight. Everyone except for JC, who knew there had to be more to the story. He had been pestering her for it, and she had agreed if he could get rid of CWF cameras. Of course, this was the best he could do.
The vision of the door was the only thing visible. Every once in a while, there would be raised voices. JC's voice clearly, saying, "I'm not taking anyone's side!". But nothing else. One voice, feminine, kept talking and the camera shifts, as someone is clearly trying to adjust for volume and get the scoop. There's no luck. Nothing is picked up. Instead the bulk of the story, what is likely a very important one, is happening behind closed doors. Because no rational person would allow a camera into their private life.
The man (or woman, it was never made clear) got bored at one point and the camera wobbled, almost as if they might try to sit down, but JC steps out. He looked annoyed.
"Did you seriously try to eavesdrop?"
The camera moved up and down, before the operator realized what they're doing and stopped. A muffled voice was heard behind it.
"Did you hear anything?"
Another muffled answer. JC is satisfied and heads down the hallway.
"Come on, I'd better give you guys something to actually look at or you might dock my pay or something."
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A wrestling ring.
A tried and true method of solving issues. A suitable means of proving which athletes of a certain style are better than others. Also a really good place to train. In JC's case, it was hours before he was set to compete against Silas Artoria and he was using the CWF ring, already prepared for Evolution in Amsterdam. JC was busy stretching against the ropes when Lucy slinked in like a cat, looking around her.
"Where's the camera guy?"
"No idea. Somewhere. I told them to stop following so close. I'm not doing anything that requires privacy."
She tensed up, as she didn't seem to enjoy the feeling of being watched. He knew the feeling. But when in Rome, or Amsterdam, perhaps it was best to do as they do. Accept the changes and go with the flow.
"So Kyra..."
"Definitely not talking about that."
"Fine."
"I just can't believe I'm in fucking Amsterdam and I can't enjoy it."
"If you want we can stay a week."
"It won't matter."
It pained JC to see his girlfriend suffering, especially now that he knew the full story. He hated Kyra a little bit. Sure, she had suffered. But that gave her no right to air dirty laundry in public and part of her knew that. It was a vindictive thing to do. But there was nothing he could do to help. It wasn't like he could go silence her. The words were out there.
He couldn't go back in time and stop the abuse from happening.
He couldn't save anyone. He was utterly helpless.
He did a forward roll. He was unsure if he was even doing it to train or just to take himself out of his own thoughts.
"What about...your thing?"
He got to his feet and dusted off his trainer shorts.
"My thing?"
She looked hesitant, as if she were keeping a secret. She pointed to her head.
"Lucy, they filmed my therapy appointment. Even if I were keeping that a secret, the world knows I'm crazy."
"Well how is it? Terra asked if you were stable in that interview and you didn't answer her."
"I'm stable enough."
He started shadowboxing. He didn't even use strikes. This wasn't part of his routine. He just wanted to avoid the conversation. Lucy likely knew it. She moved forward and pressed on.
"That's not an answer and you know it. Have you even been taking your meds?"
"You watch me like a fucking hawk, Luce, how could I not?"
Joe kept boxing and either didn't see or didn't want to see the sting of hurt that flashed across his girlfriend's face. She took a step back and for a moment he kept going. Then it dawned on him what he said and more importantly, the tone of what he said. He shut his eyes for a moment and stopped with the phantom punches. They weren't doing him any good anyway.
"Luce..."
He turned around to face her. To her credit, she was doing a very good job of hiding the hurt his comment inflicted. A comment born from his own frustration at being unable to help her or himself to begin with.
"I only do that because I care."
"I know you do."
He walked forward and pulled her close. To his surprise, she allowed herself to be pulled. It wasn't as if she was frail. If she didn't want his touch, she could have fought him. Technically, he was 0-1 against her in locations like this.
"I'm just...I don't know how to help you."
"You can't. You should focus on helping yourself. Which is why..."
"I know."
The thoughts in his head turned towards his medication. An increased dosage that he was supposed to be taking. A prescription he lost. A phone call for a new one he had yet to make. A jumble of thoughts in his head about all the violent things he wanted to do to a litany of people.
For now, JC could shove those thoughts away while he held Lucy.
For now.
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But now I can start over, can't I?
I have a problem with you, Silas Artoria. Not because of anything you did and not because I'm offended by you personally. I have a problem with you because of the system, and because I'm now in dire need of two more points. The only way to do that is to go through you.
So you see my dilemma.
Now you can whine about me deserving my spot or what I've done in CWF all day long, I don't care. I don't need your approval to main event. I didn't need it before you unleashed your diatribe and I won't need it now. I've been to the top a lot more than you have in my career, I'm sure. While you go on your lovely world tours and talk about your Japanese training, I actively compete and fight wars. While you talk about your rivalry with Autumn Raven, I'm destroying people for the sake of revenge.
I don't come here to belittle your accomplishments, whatever they may be, but you lose a lot of respect when your best shot is to come out whining. "Oh no, some outsider is taking my main event spot."
This outsider earned that spot the second I walked in the doors and signed up for this tournament. My legacy precedes me. My history precedes me. My name and accomplishments precede me. More importantly, what I can do in that ring and to a little bastard like you precedes me.
While you whine, I prepare. While you complain, I study. While you moan, I train. It's all very simple. You're busy talking, I'm busy plotting. I need those two points more than you, and having that tiebreaker will be nice too.
You want to know how good I am compared to Jack Michaels? It's funny, I'm about to tear him apart in a month and now I get to play a little game of "anything you can do, I can do better." How long did it take him to beat you, kid? Fifteen minutes? Twelve?
Let's see if I can top it after I bounce your face off the sole of my boot.
Anybody can talk about the demons and dark passengers they have lurking beneath the surface. Anybody can say they have a evil side locked away. That doesn't make it true.
If you want to channel your inner Linkin Park and tell me what's "crawling in your skin", I hope you don't mind if I hold you down and try to tear it out with my bare hands. I want to see that shit for myself.
True monsters don't hide under beds.
True monsters lurk among us, ready to stomp someone's face into shards of metal if they wronged them. You can see the footage of that on the Carnage Network. Go to PPV, look up "We Are Relentless." There's still time before I'm tossing you around the ring like a sack of garbage.
You claim to be monstrous, but I'm a born villain and I'm more than you can handle kid. Bigger, stronger, smarter. If you get by me, it won't be your imaginary friend that does it. It'll prove the existence of a higher power because it'll be a fucking miracle.
But I don't think that'll happen.
No deity is going to save you.
And you certainly can't save yourself.
