JC was at the Carnage Arena early. He usually showed up early and spoke with the ring crew, as they often were the ones he got along with best. Today was different. He needed to be by himself. To his credit, that's exactly what he told Lucy and she understood.
Some days were worse than others, and she understood that too.
"Call me if you need me," she said. And he knew he could. And that she'd be there.
But right now he needed to be alone with his thoughts.
He sat cross-legged in the half-assembled ring, as the people who normally constructed it were all on their break. A single camera, "borrowed" from the equipment room, sat stationary directly in front of him on a tripod. Just like the old days.
He didn't dare look at the camera. He didn't feel like directly engaging at the moment.
Do you know the value of redemption?
Not Drake Munday. What value he had dried up years ago.
I mean, actual, true, redemption.
I mean the kind that you only read about in books or see on the silver screen. Darth Vader sacrifices himself for his son and restores balance to the Force. Jean Valjean attempts to make up for his past crimes by helping others. Hell, even something like John Candy in Cool Runnings, overcoming a history of cheating to help his team reach glory.
A wan smile crossed his lips as he continued to face downward. He actually watched that movie often when he was training for this very job.
That's redemption. That's something that, if you're lucky, you can get. If you're luckier, you don't need it.
It's something I've been pursuing for years.
You don't need to know about what I did in OWF and NLW. I'm sure I've mentioned it but I've paid those debts. It's ancient history. But 2019 is not.
Joe felt agitated and uncomfortable. He shut his eyes, trying to focus on his mindfulness. The ring canvas he sat on. The stale air in the arena. Anything to center him.
I'm not going to lie to you. 2019 was a rough year. I was fighting in a war where I was perfectly willing to sacrifice myself. I was also out of my mind. Self-doubt crept into my head and I thought there was no way I could rid Carnage of Paragon if I wasn't allowed to be my most violent, my most cruel.
Ask Amber, she'll tell you all about it. At length.
It's taken some time and perspective to realize I was just as bad as I thought Paragon was, but for different reasons. I terrorized this place in pursuit of my warped sense of justice. I thought I was Carnage's savior.
That was a lie. I couldn't save Carnage. I almost couldn't save myself.
He rubbed at his arm as he spoke, not even realizing he was doing it. His forearms were already taped up, but he hadn't changed into his gear yet.
He wished he still smoked, even though he hadn't for twenty years or more.
I'm getting there. I've done a lot of good this year, and even though I'd like to cut a wrestling promo and tell you all about it, I won't. My point is simple. I'm on the precipice of achieving redemption and I just need the Carnage World title to do it.
I need to, no, I have to prove that I can still do this. That I can still be a champion. That I never needed that violent, insane part of me.
I need to prove that Joe can be a champion. Not JC, not The Answer, not this dark passenger that floats around in my brain.
Me.
Now he looked up and revealed a face that looked tired. It was clear he had already been putting a lot of pressure on himself. It was probably his worn facial features or the tired look in his bloodshot eyes that convinced Lucy that maybe he did need to be by himself for a little bit.
She was well aware of what pressure did to him. But she trusted him.
And instead of breaking that trust, he decided to use his promo time as a confessional.
Matt Knox knows about redemption. By his own words, when I signed him here I saved his life. Since then he's taken it out on everyone that deserves it...
He tried to curl his lips into a smirk but found it wouldn't come. Instead he pressed on.
...and some who don't. When I signed him I think I made a damn fine choice. I don't regret bringing you into Carnage, because I care about this company's future.
The problem with that is the future does not mean Chaos 102. That is mine. I've been scratching and clawing in Carnage for this opportunity a hell of a lot longer than you.
As his thoughts turned to recent things Knox had said on social media, not even to him but about him, he felt himself growing angry. He drew in air through his nose and let it come out through his mouth in one long, ragged exhale.
The idea that you think you can just come into the event and steamroll me on the way to becoming champion is insulting. Who are you? A miserable bastard who starts more fights than he wins. Between you and me, beating Thor and roughing up Eli isn't nearly as impressive as you played up on Twitter.
"Entitled to overcome." My ass. You're entitled alright, and that's not as positive as you seem to think it is. You think a sob story and a one match win streak is enough to "entitle" you to be champion? There's confidence and there's arrogance and you don't realize you've already crossed that line.
"Don't mistake zen for apathy." Bullshit. I think it's very clear you're not taking either of us seriously. Why would you? You think you've already won. Do you really think I'm gonna let that slide? I'm gonna let you just tell the world that I'm your free pass to the main event?
Fire blazes in his eyes. The old psychotic JC rages inside his head but he only lets him come out in words. In bits and pieces. In pure, unbridled passion. Just enough to make his point and no more.
No. Fuck you. You don't get to do that. You don't get to dismiss me and then gain success at my expense.
I am not Alex Winter, Knox. I can fight. And I'll be goddamned if I'm going to let you stroll into 102 with something that should be mine without trying to cripple your flippant ass first.
He shut his eyes again and tried to force the anger back. Mindfulness. Behavior control. Just like he was taught in therapy. There would be plenty of time to hurt them later.
Another long inhale, an equally long exhale.
His eyes opened again.
I've worked too long, for too many years and sacrificed too much to get here. I'm not letting anything stop me.
That includes you, Amber.
Amber Ryan. The Distorted Angel. She's a monster slayer. A destructive hurricane. A warrior woman. A Valkyrie.
At least, she used to be.
Who are you now?
His held cocked to the side, as if he were waiting for an answer that would never actually come. Not until their match, anyway. Then he'd find out exactly who she was, one way or the other.
A two-time World champion. Ended the longest-running World title reign in Carnage history.
Those things are true, but they're also in the past.
Today? Not so much. You're defeated. Hollow. Empty. You're not the same Amber Ryan that sent Sabiru packing. You're not the same Amber that ended the longest World title reign in Carnage Wrestling history.
You're not a hurricane anymore, Amber. At best you're a windy day.
Oh you're dangerous. I've no doubt of that. And like Knox, you're a threat. But I'm a threat too and I'm absolutely sick of not being considered such. So I'll be the natural disaster this time, darl. All you'll be is sound and fury, signifying nothing.
I wish this were one on one. I really do. I also hope you get that win some day. But not tonight. Not against me. No. I win. I move on and Amber Ryan continues her downward slide.
More breathing, but it wasn't helping. His anxiety was ramping up, as was his rage. He thought that maybe he had put too much pressure on himself. But it was too late now, and hardly mattered.
I've seen the way this younger generation looks at you. Looks at me. I've fucking seen it.
"Thanks for hiring us, JC. But we've got it from here. Enjoy retirement with Jack Michaels and the rest of the old guard.
Maybe we'll let you be in the Hall of Legends one day."
I'm not ready to die. I'm not ready to retire.
You want to dictate my career?
Fuck you.
To prove a point, he pushes himself to his feet. His body aches but his face doesn't give it away. Not to them. Not to anyone.
Spite could be a powerful motivator.
He held his fists up, a traditional fighter's stance.
As long as I can stand on my own two feet and hold my fists up, I'll fight. I'll be as violent, as savage and as brutal as I need to be to do it.
I'll say it again.
This is my life. This is everything I've ever wanted to do. Wanted to be.
But don't mistake my passion for panic.
Mistake it for resolve.
I cannot survive without becoming the Carnage World Champion.
But if today is indeed the day my hope of redemption dies...
A scowl formed on his face. A cold, unflinching stare shown from his eyes. His chest heaved up and down. He could feel his heart thudding inside but paid it no mind.
I'm making sure you die with it.
He lowered his head again. His mind had been drifting to unwanted thoughts. Thoughts that kept him centered and motivated, but unwanted nonetheless. He turned his back to the camera and exited the ring, choosing to walk up the stands and find a place to think.
The video would find its way to its proper audience. They almost always did.
He needed to be alone.
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