In early 2020, before the world went to hell, the man known as JC was lost. He was a man with mental illness, and to give himself the edge in a war he feared he'd lose, he allowed his medication to lapse so he could lose both his mind and his inhibitions.
It was a risky move and it backfired. He found himself out of a job at the place had been working. He found himself on rocky ground with the woman he had been dating. His own brother was left with a gaping head wound trying to save him. But he had finally worked himself into a place of relative sanity and the braintrust running the warehouse in Baltimore came to him with a proposition: If he wanted change, he could do it from behind a desk.
That's exactly what happened. Joe (literally) kicked out the old boss and went ahead with a new talent initiative. He hired several names that would change the face of the company. Win titles. Push out the old guard and transform the company into a place befitting its namesake.
The profile of one of these wrestlers currently stared him right in the face. He had already talked with the man's friend, who assured him that this hiring would be the right way to go. But he hadn't been wrestling for a while. This man had his demons and had battled addiction for years.
The name on the resume, on the prospective contract, was Matthew Knox. And JC had the unenviable task of deciding if he would get to be a wrestler again or if he would go back into the gutter. According to Knox's friend Bert McAlroy, the life of the man known as 'The Raven' was literally in JC's hands. A guilt trip if he ever heard one, but it did have him questioning his decision.
A risky bet was a risky bet. And while this company had taken its share of chances, someone like this could, potentially, be the one that breaks the bank.
It was a decision that Joe couldn't make alone, which is why he had called his best friend, Trent Steel, to come talk with him about it. Even if Trent was taking his time getting to the office.
“This better be important, because if this is about the concession stand or something I’m gonna make you play bite the curb at Capitol Hill.”
Joe smirked. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.”
He then tossed a folder with Matt Knox’s profile at him. “Prospective hire. He’s got a ton of issues, wanted a second opinion.”
“And I was your best option?” Trent said, removing his shades and sitting down across from JC. After a moment, Trent flipped through the folder and then put his feet up on JC’s desk.
“I trust you the most.” Joe replied bluntly. He could count on one hand the amount of people he trusted and Trent was one of them. Especially after recent events.
“Yep. Definitely hearing the concussions talking.” Trent said, flipping through the last of the pages. “On paper this guy is a grade A god damn pathetic loser, at least that’s what it says here. Who fucking got you this shit?”
Joe chucked quietly, steepling his hands together as if he were about to reveal a private joke. “Somebody that also wants to work here. Apparently he’s trying for nepotism before we’ve even paid him. I’m not even sure if this Knox guy knows he’s being paraded around like a prize bitch, to be honest with you.”
Trent sniffed the paper for a moment. A cocked eyebrow occurred on the scar covered face of JC’s oldest friend.
“Apparently they also smell like Chong’s jockstrap...Jesus…” Trent coughed for a moment. “So what exactly are you wanting to find out about this guy? Cause I’m not sure what direction you’re even going for around here Captain Caveman.”
The direction was a youth movement, or rather, fresh faces. Anyone other than the faction that had been running wild for years and stifling anyone else from getting a chance. Of course Knox was neither youthful nor a fresh face, so his batting average was pretty low.
“Someone other than Jack fucking Michaels,” he said with no absence of venom in his voice.
“Hell man, you got too many of those already.” Trent gestured to a roster sheet on the pinboard in the office. “You got jobbers galore here. That’s different. You could try trying to get Sandtown Kid back if you could find the chucklefuck. This guy...he ain’t no young one. And he’s got a list of problems worse than mine. I mean, that should be your first red flag there.”
Joe nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know. He’s damaged goods. And like, three times today, I put this in the ‘no’ pile. But I keep coming back to it. Something about him reminds me of me. I mean fuck, I’m pretty damaged too. You’re damaged. We’ve seen multiple attempted murders on this show in the last year. At least this guy seems to be trying to get his life in order.”
He shrugged his shoulders, resigning himself to an argument he had in his own head multiple times that day.
“I just don’t want to be the guy that sends him back to the needle or whatever-the-fuck.”
“Well...that was hallmark worthy.” Trent, sarcastic as ever, grabs a black ink pen off the desk and starts marking on a page in the file. “You and I both know that a lot of the bullshit this year isn’t your fault, so stop blaming yourself. Second of all there is no guarantee that giving him the job won’t make him go back to being a dumb fuck either. And thirdly you’re asking the wrong question...so let me ask it. Who's the measuring stick around this place?”
Joe leaned back and raised his eyebrows.
“Am I supposed to say you?” he asked, no stranger to being a smartass himself.
“Damn right. Why else would you ask me here? You aren’t well known for running places like this, but there is one thing you do know. In OWF, I was the measuring stick. If someone could have a damn good match with me they had a job. If they didn’t. They didn’t last long. Same holds true for every single person on this roster. So the real question you need to ask yourself about this guy...is he good enough to beat the stick.”
Trent slides the file over to Joe and we see the picture of Knox in his full facepaint with an added unibrow.
“Now he looks like you.” Trent added, smirking.
Joe thought about it for a moment, ignoring Trent’s joke because those last words were all that mattered. Was Matt Knox good enough to have a place among the roster of outcasts?
“I guess we’ll find out,” he said, and then signed the contract that would soon be sent to Carnage Wrestling’s newest star.
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"Matt Knox.
You pretentious, smug, excessively irritating man."
A year and a half later, JC found himself standing in a parking lot. It was a parking lot like any other. It could be at the arena he planned to fight in. It could be another. It wasn't the most exciting place he'd ever cut a promo, but it was good enough. Opening salvo uttered, he raised his head and looked into the camera, a knowing grin on his face.
"I'm actually pretty lucky to count you as one of my friends, all things considered," he said. "That list has changed just in the past year, and no one is more surprised than me that you're still on it. But that doesn't change that fact that you're a bird whose wings need to be clipped."
He let the grin fade and a foreboding menace began to haunt the features of his face. They were just off the surface, a savage shadow behind his eyes.
"You're kind of a hard man to like lately. I'd blame your recent World title win, but the truth is, you're kind of just irritating in general. You went from picking fights with everyone for moral reasons to just being a guy everybody wants to punch because you're obnoxious."
JC chucked for a moment, only a moment, realizing he was perhaps being a little too harsh.
Knox would get over it.
"Truth be told, bird-boy, I think you need to be punched in the mouth more than I need to punch somebody in the mouth, and that's a rare occurrence. You can ask anyone. I'm grumpy at best. And there's a part of me that thinks this is a prelude of things to come. I'm the kind of guy that has a lot of knives in my back and at this point, my chest is lonely. So instead of waiting my turn or waiting for this friendship to dissolve, I am taking the proactive approach and challenging you directly."
A single chuckle came out again, giving away that he perhaps isn't as serious as he normally would be. Not that he didn't take his opponent seriously, but that he knew this was a chance to let loose. There would be time for spite and championships later.
"I suppose," he said, letting the words hang for a moment before getting his thoughts together and continuing, "I could say this has been a year in the making. Because even though I beat your silly ass, booted you and Hurricane Red too, you took to Twitter and claimed that I got lucky. I suppose, if I were that spiteful, I could say I've owed you a definitive loss to finally shut you up. But that would only be a half-truth. And Matt, we both know I don't do half-anything."
He spread his hands apart to indicate passiveness. There was something to this version of JC that hadn't been in perhaps a decade or more. He was at ease.
"The real truth is in there though. You need to be shut up. Because you're not hungry anymore. A year ago, you were fire and caffeine, a lot of nicotine. You were set to burn yourself alive and anyone else that was foolish enough to start something with you. And now? You're posting thot pictures on Twitter. You're fighting clowns in rinky-dink drive-ins. I'm telling you this because I can take the backlash: you've become too big for your feathers and soon, it's going to cost you big. The way you're going now? I think you're going to lose to Tapp."
Knowing that line would hit a nerve, JC didn't stop to waste another second. He was in a groove now.
"That is...unless someone humbles you first. Don't you think it's odd that your friend would fight you in such a brutal match before your big title defense? Didn't stop to question it? I asked for this match because I AM your friend. And things have been too easy for you, Matt Knox. You've been winning too much. And it's time someone made you remember what it was like to lose."
JC lowered his gaze. He calmed down some and shook his head.
"You're too flippant now, Matt. Too full of yourself. So I'm either going to go in there and beat you, or I'm going to beat you up so bad I awaken that hunger and make you remember who the fuck you are. And maybe this time you'll beat me. Maybe. But you need this ass-whooping. Your career needs it."
His eyes returned to his audience of one. A wild-eyed grin formed on his face. There was a madness there, but unlike in the past, there was a method too.
"And what kind of friend would I be if I didn't give you what you need?"
