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Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXXII // FAKE IT
« on: March 07, 2025, 11:46:04 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXXII // FAKE IT
YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT THE LIES WON’T HIDE YOUR FLAWS / NO SENSE IN HIDING ALL OF YOURS / YOU GAVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS ALONG THE WAY / GOOD GOD YOU’RE COMING UP WITH REASONS / GOOD GOD YOU’RE DRAGGING IT OUT
SEETHER .


••••••

Perhaps the writing had been on the wall for some time now, and he hadn’t really recognized it. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to, or maybe simply refused to see it. For months now, he and Aaron hadn’t been on the same page – they’d fought over and over again, and all of it had centered around the choices he had made. Choices she’d been a part of, and once upon a time supported wholeheartedly.

First the fights came about the fact that he was travelling so much. To New York to see his sister? How dare. Travelling to Japan for training sessions with the man that she had set him up to work with just a few years prior? One of the worse moves he could have ever done. Beratement, after beratement, the topics started with viable arguments such as the companies he’d chosen to work for all the way down to the fact that he didn’t put a glass in the dishwasher. It ended up never being anything really particular, he discovered – it was just a new flavor every week she decided to go bonkers over nothing.

He kept his mouth shut.

Finn loved to argue, loved to fight. In his career. Even when he was the most angry with Aaron, he’d never treat her the same way she treated him. She was his heart and soul, even when she obliterated the both of them on a daily basis.

She’d been part of the reason he stopped speaking to his sister for a while. She foamed at the mouth any time that Elena was mentioned, and despite his insistence that it was only ever and would ever be a sibling relationship, she made it known that she hated it and that if anything happened, it was his fault. The one day that he got sick of it and went anyway was the day that broke the camel’s back.

Aaron had complained of a bug in her stomach, nausea, headaches – all the regular symptoms of a six month pregnancy that had been otherwise reported healthy. On the same day, Elena discovered her husband had passed and was inconsolable – or so he presumed. Looking back, he probably would have been able to tell fake tears from real ones. But nevertheless, they argued again. Aaron said she needed comforting, Finn felt like he had to help his sister, and she accused him of loving her more than he loved his wife.

The amount of manipulation hovering around his brain at the time probably was what made him snap. He left to help his sister through this trying time. Aaron cried and cried and cried and cried, but Finn held firm, steadfast.

When he returned from New York just two days later, Aaron had been admitted into the hospital. He never knew the reason why, but she told him that their fetus had no heartbeat, that it wasn’t even quite two pounds. She said they convinced her the best thing had been to deliver the baby via cesarean. She delivered. She didn’t let him know.

In the event of stillbirths, the midwives or doctors delivering often give the couple a chance to hold their cold, lifeless child. To name it. To cherish it. To imagine what could have been. A birth certificate, labeled deceased, would be given to the family so they could grieve, but there would be a name and face to remember. It would be the hardest thing that any couple could go through. But she never gave him the choice. She didn’t call him, she didn’t tell him what was going on. Aaron took matters into her own hands and didn’t provide him with the respect deserving of a husband, let alone the father of the child.

He kept his mouth shut.

Perhaps that was when they began to fully separate themselves from one another, hiding behind the guise of married happiness. Finn began working more, Aaron went back to training wrestlers. And perhaps he should have seen it. Maybe he wasn’t attentive enough, maybe he didn’t love her enough. Maybe it was simply the fault of both of them, unable to attend to their own success because there was no success to be had.

When he threw her things out into the rain and left her screaming on their front doorstep after he’d discovered her with another man – a trainee, of all things – in their shared bed, that adoration he’d felt for her succumbed to hate. He’d hate her forever. She took away everything that made him what he was, and she benefitted. And now? It was no longer an option.

They divorced shortly after that. She’d gotten some representation, but so had he. Their divorce was bitter, angry, and resentful all in one, and he purposefully went after everything that he could. Finn argued that infidelity meant that she should lose it all. She argued that he basically left her a widow. His argument was stronger, and he indeed received everything. A settlement came in a sum of some millions of dollars that she had sitting in a bank, and while it didn’t leave her destitute, he came out stronger.

The Colorado mountain house, the apartment in Seattle, the cars, the money – all his.

He signed those papers on the spot. And he didn’t leave until her signature was on them too, as she sobbed into the papers and left droplets everywhere.

Even then, in all his hatred, the tears made him want to comfort her, to tell her it was all right.

No.

He kept his mouth shut.
••••••


The home office that Finn had set up not two months ago was in complete disarray. Papers and files laid scattered upon the floor, haphazardly thrown and forgotten in the windstorm that was named Finn. He had gone through regular files, things that he’d kept – tearing through drawers and looking at everything that wasn’t labelled…which was virtually everything because he never labelled anything. What he was looking for wasn’t in the regular drawers because those were current records.

He hadn’t said a word since he’d gotten home. Not that there was anybody to talk to. Kayla decidedly wasn’t speaking to him, and Dickie hadn’t arrived until that morning from wherever the fuck he’d been. Nevertheless, as his little brother entered the room and looked at the shitstorm that was the Seattle Saint right now, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Dickie hopped up onto the desk, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Finn, who sat on the floor, tearing through a box labelled Bullshit from 2017. “So, when do we have a family dinner. You know, you, me…”

Finn looked up and stared at the wall in front of him.

“...Aaron?”

“Not family,” Finn snarled, going back to the files and thumbing through them. He pulled one out, glanced at it, groaned, and then chucked it at the ground just the same as everything else.

“You sure?” He quipped, chuckling back at his brother. “She was pretty emphatic about the whole you two still being married. How is Kayla taking it?”

Finn looked up again and then turned his head with the most calm, yet fuming, expression that he could muster. “Gee, I don’t know. She’s not speaking to me, and she probably won’t until I figure this shit out. I sat across from that little blue haired bitch and watched her sign the same pages I signed. She had a black ink pen, and I promise that this isn’t bullshit. Unless she just printed out a page without her signature on it. You know. Photoshop.”

“Either way, she made you look like an I-D-I-O-T out there. I know you’re quiet as fuck man, but she put all of your shit on blast for everyone to see.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Was entertaining as fuck.”

Finn rolled his eyes and pulled out another file. He slipped the cover off and then his eyes lit up. “Buried, of course. Found it.” Dickie hopped off the desk and looked over Finn’s shoulder.

“Summit County District Court Separation Agreement, divorce.” Dickie titled his head. “How is it that they all look similar, no matter what state or county it’s in? My shit with Hannah looks the same.”

Finn hopped to his feet and immediately headed out the door of the office, not bothering to check if his brother was following him or cleaning up after himself before he skedaddled. Nevertheless, he walked the open hallways of their home and down the steps, taking them almost at a rabbit pace, turning the corner and heading into the vaulted ceiling kitchen that they had. Kayla stood there, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a crop top, with her slippers on and her hair pulled up into a ponytail. She dipped her tea bag into the mug while she stood at the kitchen counter, and glanced upwards only when Finn slammed the manila file right in front of her.

“Oh goodie, papers.” She quipped snarkily.

Finn stared at her, and then gestured to it. “Look at them.” He insisted.

Kayla stared at him and raised an eyebrow. He planted both hands on the marble counter and leaned into her. Dickie came into the kitchen behind him and headed to stand next to him, fully invested on being a part of this no matter if he was wanted or not. Dickie leaned on the counter with his elbows, staring at the papers.

“Look at them.” Finn repeated when Kayla didn’t move.

“Ugh,” she sighed, and then reached for the manila file, opening it up with a complete look of distaste. She sneered. “This thing is thick.”

“That’s what she sai–” Dickie quipped, but got smacked in the stomach by Finn and couldn’t finish it.

Kayla looked up at him with just her eyes and then rolled them, flipping through the papers. “Assets, shared properties, etc…oh look, it’s a signature page. I know I’ll see one. Oh, yep!” She snickered and set the papers down, pointing at his name. “Callien O’Hanlon. There’s the one. And of course, I don’t see hers.”

“Turn the page.”

“No.”

“Turn the page!” He insisted again, slamming his hand down on the counter. Kayla startled, but just simply because it was so loud. She leaned forward and slammed her own hand down.

“She didn’t sign them! Or did you not see that on Sunday? We all saw that paperwork, she didn’t have a signature on there, she waved it in your face and–”

“For the love of God, Kayla, stop being stubborn as fuck and turn the fucking page!”

“FINE.” She snapped, and then looked back down as she flipped the page. They both stood there silently, then, as the previous page floated softly down to the rest of the stack and their eyes fell upon the space for a signature. Dickie leaned in to see while Kayla pressed a finger to it, feeling the very flourish of the hand stroke in the indentation on the page. “Aaron O’Hanlon.” She murmured.

“I knew she signed it,” Finn replied. “She’s a manipulative bitch, and she’s going to do everything that she can to get under my skin. But not just me, she wants to do this to you. That’s what this is. She’s trying to get under your skin by way of me, and it worked. You know me, Kayla. Do you really think I would have done any of this if I was still tied to her?”

Kayla looked up at him, grabbed her mug and turned away as she then dropped the tea bag from it in the trash. When she turned back, she sipped her tea and looked him directly in the eyes again.

“The fact that you doubted it for that time in the ring, and that she’s still involved in your life means that you let her get to us both.”

Finn inhaled. He let himself breathe as he looked at the ceiling. He could have done the same thing that he did with Aaron so long ago. He could have just kept his mouth shut. But he’d learned that if there was anything worth fighting about, it was the person that he loved. He exhaled slowly out of his mouth, walked around the counter and then stood in Kayla’s personal space as she sipped her tea, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

He didn’t keep his mouth shut.

“I do not have any form of control over Aaron, you, or anyone else.” He started. “If this were anywhere else, she would have been flattened, and you know that. I panicked for a second because even though I watched her sign every single little page, she could have been her usual manipulative self and she could have not signed. I needed proof. You needed proof.”

He set a hand on her elbow.

“I got that proof.”

He could tell she was watching him closely, waiting to say something else. But she only held her mug and stared at him. At least, until Dickie made a motion outside of her peripheral. She snapped her head in his direction and narrowed her eyes. Dickie held up his hands and walked away, leaving them alone. She stared at Finn then, curling her tongue behind her lips over her teeth and then nodding.

“If she tries anything else…” she warned him, shaking his head.

“You have my full blessing to kick her ass, Kayla.” He assured her. “I promise – there’s only you now, and I have no interest in that–”

“Flat-chested cunt?” Kayla supplied.

“Accurate as all hell. Look, whatever happens at the next show happens. But there is no Aaron. Not for me. I’m not in the mood to be manipulated and neither do you. She’s just trying to make it difficult for me to retain and for you to re-obtain. We have this. I promise.”



••••••

Around 1920 to 1940, a man by the name of Robert Tryon conducted an experiment in the name of psychology. The thought process was the opener to the whole nature versus nurture debate that continues to saturate the field even to this day, nearly ninety years later. The idea in that time was that most psychologists believed that it was environmental stimuli that produced different behaviors as opposed to the natural side of things, in that genetics played a huge part with production of behaviors.

Tyron believed and wanted to prove that it was nature that led the path, that genetics was primarily in play for choices made in the behavioral path for humans. And so they played with mice, and they did the whole experiment by having a set-up of smart rats…you know, the ones that made less errors in a maze…and dull rats – the ones that made poor choices all around.

He bred the smart rats, and he bred the dumb rats, and then he cross-fostered…the dumb rats took care of the ickle  baby smart rats and vice versa. He did this over and over again, with different generations and different combinations. Ultimately, he felt he discovered that nature outshone nurture, because even the smarter gray skittering blobs that were raised by poor parents were able to excel at a higher rate than the dumb ones.

Nature versus nurture.

In just a few weeks time, I get to see what comes my way after I face and defeat Alex Jones at Blaze of Glory. I’m not tooting my own horn, but at the same time, I am who I am.  I’ve been fighting for this company for months, I’ve been holding onto this championship for months and I’m supposed to question who I am when I face someone that was so unable to maintain their own composure in the ring to try and defeat me that he’d rather take the coward’s way out and hit me with a chair. I’ll take my chances and say that I get to look ahead at the future prospects.

That doesn’t mean I’m not watching, Alex. You had something to do with the events of the past few weeks…there’s something sitting between my ribs telling me this. I know you just as well as you think you know me, and that’s important to recognize. I suppose that I can let you marinate for a bit longer and then finally lay into you in a way more fitting for the way that you’re deserving of. After all, the chair in the back of the head really was damning for you.

But regardless, I get to watch as little rats follow each other about in a maze called an Elimination Chamber. It’s amusing to me, because what else did I expect to see? New faces? People rising to the challenge? Or am I just watching the same people over and over again that I’ve already defeated for this championship earn places that they don’t fucking deserve.

Miles Kasey has been spit-roasted at this point by the amount of times that I’ve taken him, beaten him, and thrown him to the wayside going up choke artist alley. And to watch his husband sit there and cry for the billionth time about how it was any different that he got attacked in defense of Miles when Austin was still around trying to be all big and bad. I don’t think that you get that no one condoned Austin’s actions, but at the same time…Carter…you’re not part of the fucking same gym and you didn’t attack your teammate, nor did he attack you. So back the fuck off on it before you get wrecked.

I’m supposed to be scared of J2H, but I’m not. Especially not after what I just watched last week with a shit decision that I saw coming a mile away. The lackadaisical effort that I saw was pedantic and pathetic. Neither he nor Jayden Harris actually earned their way into this match – they fought, no one could figure it out, so congrats, both got to join! If I were a leader of a company, I would have said fight it out until death or win, but you know, people like to flip their dick out and make decisions that only really benefit themselves in the long run.

Beyond that, Eddie Lyons has found himself in a situation again that gives him a shot at me. I would put my money on him if I bet, but I don’t, and I’m not interested. But I bet he’s going to show up and show out. And then who’s left? Bill Barnhart?

I don’t know how Bill Barnhart got into this match. I would have expected that we would be at least on par with a Colorado Facility School and not accept people into this business with an intelligence quotient below seventy, but I guess we all have miracles around us and God works in mysterious ways. And this week, I get to face him as well. I get to put to test a ruff-ruff geriatric poodle before he gets into a ring with a bunch of people that are leagues above him. I mean, let’s look at the material that we have.

Beyond the fact that I’m facing someone who looks like a billboard for diabetes, I also see someone that advocates for drinking and animal abuse in his entrance. Why in the fuck are you dragging out Iris to a wrestling ring where she could possible get tangled up and abused? Hm? I’ll call PETA, see if we can raise awareness for animals in this business except for when they actually choose to be here.

Continuing on, the man has the humor of a twelve year old middle school boy. And I reference this by his Toxic Tush “weapon”. Motherfucker, if you fart on me in this ring, I swear to all that is holy and kind that I will end your life. Not only is it the most disgusting thing that you can do, it’s probably also the stupidest thing you can do, because hehe, farts. Really? I guess someone who chose to live in backwards ass Georgia to choose poor decisions for their life. But you know.

Let’s be perfectly honest, shall we? This match is a waste of my time, and it is a waste of the company’s time. I should be getting opportunities to showcase my best against anyone but Bill Barnhart, but here I am – The World Heavyweight Champion facing a man who has no business being in this business at this point. Does that mean I’m not going to go out there and show out? Nah. It’s a match, this is my job, and I love what I do.

Let’s be clear, Billie. I’m going to kick your ass from one side of the ring, to the other side of the ring. Then, when I snap your fucking arm, you’re going to remember what it’s like to face someone that actually has talent. It’ll be a huge change to what you see in the mirror every week, I know, but you’ll live through it just like me. I’m already over this match, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to snip your fortitude in the process. It’ll be a good example to all of you as to why you fuck with me.

I took your Roulette Championship once, Bill. Now, you don’t have a lot of dignity left, but I’ll be sure to appropriately annihilate you in the middle of that ring.

I’m not a happy person as of late. I have reasons. So trust me when I say this: the only one getting destroyed and chewed on in the end by your cute little puppy is you. I don’t have time to play games, and I don’t have time to fuck around with anyone that shouldn’t be on my level to begin with. This your last time in a main event with me.

Good luck, Billy.

You’re gonna need it.


2
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXXI // DSM-V
« on: January 10, 2025, 11:03:42 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXXI // DSM-V
ALL MY SINS DRAGGING ME BACK AGAIN. ALL THE REGRETS, DRAGGIN ME DOWN. THERE’S NO ONE TO SAVE YOU AND EVERYONE SCARED. DO UNTO OTHERS WHAT THEY DID TO YOU.
HEALTH .


••••••

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, Fifth Edition, is the penultimate manual that psychologists and psychiatrists use to diagnose humans with personality or other mental deficits in order to put a name to the methods and manipulatives they use. You’ll see things like “Borderline Personality Disorder” or “Major Depressive” come from it, and somehow, that’s supposed to absolve people of the negative interactions they may have. In this moment, in this story, however, it’s not about depressive disorders or even having a personality issue. No. It’s narcissism.

People like to say the Wolves of Gheimhridh are narcissists. In a way, perhaps they are. After alL, the DSM-V states that narcissistic personality disorder is a pattern of grandiosity, lack of empathy, and a need for admiration. But really, isn’t that all wrestlers? Isn’t that every single one of them? Everyone thinks they’re better than another person, and if you’re sitting on the wrong side of  the crowd, it’s likely because you have a lack of empathy. There is a need for admiration, certainly. But everyone feels that at one point or another, and certainly, everyone acts like that eventually.

But that’s also not the point right here. The point is that there is always someone that’s going to be more of a narcissist than even Kayla Richards herself.

There was a burst of cold weather that infected the Colorado Front Range, sending people back into their homes and keeping them off the streets. Those that were stupid enough to drive ended up in ditches or stuck on the shoulders. Colorado was known for a variety of reasons, and one of them was the intense weather that could strike up in the next five minutes – and that’s exactly what happened with this storm. The forecast said a little bit of snow, but it was a damn blizzard.

Finn slammed the door to their backyard, pulling his gloves off and the beanie off his head. If he didn’t keep up with the snow, then it would turn to ice, and that would be a bigger problem. Inside, however, there was a roaring fire, a book to read, and a girlfriend to cuddle up with provided that she was in the mood.

He smirked. Kayla hadn’t liked the snow one bit, but that hadn’t stopped her from stomping down into the living room with a large fleece blanket, burying herself beneath it and resting her head on her best friend’s shoulder to watch movies during the worst bits of weather. Now, he had no idea where she was at, but eventually they would end up with one another at some point during the day.

He brushed a hand through his hair as he made it past the kitchen and into the homey, cabin-like interior of their living room with a continuous smirk on his face. But that smirk ended when he saw who was perched on their leather sectional, feet bare of her Louboutins and her hair pulled up into a high ponytail, looking perfectly pleasant in her spot.

“The fuck are you doing here?” He swore.

Aaron pulled at the strand of yarn that she had coming out of a bag on the floor next to her again. “Um. What does it look like?” She set her hazel-brown eyes on him as she looked up, furrowing her perfectly-arched brow slightly. “Crocheting, obvi.”

Finn inhaled slowly to himself, and had to count backwards from ten before he responded again. “Crocheting.”

“Yeah. This is square…uh…twelve I think. It kind of matches the decor, don’t you think?” She held her work up against the back of the couch. “And this sofa…it’s comfy. I’ll definitely get used to it soon.”

“Will you now?”

“Mmhm.” She nodded, setting the work down and sitting up, criss crossing her legs. She smiled up at him, patting the cushion in front of her and looking actually quite smug as she did so. “Don’t you miss it? The calm that you had in your life, knowing that I always had your back? Knowing that I could handle myself if something happened with your little Yakuza friends? Never had a problem, really. Kei liked me, knew I would always be your best resource if he wasn’t there.”

Finn didn’t bother sitting down. He didn’t bother moving. Somehow, he knew that this wasn’t going to be the knock-down, drag-out argument that he’d gotten used to having. Aaron braved the weather because she had a purpose today, and this wasn’t going to be a repeat of the Christmas party. How she even got into the house, he would never know.

If Dickie let her in…

“Hey,” she grinned widely, but he knew that expression. The grin wasn’t pleasure, it was sadism. “Do you remember that time that you and your shitty sister went and infiltrated that one dude’s house because they kidnapped Kei’s girlfriend? Remember when the two of you got rid of that man’s son?”” Aaron leaned forward, scrunching her nose up. “Remember when that man rammed my car off the road and killed our twins?”

Finn exhaled again through his nose. Yep. She was definitely here with a purpose.

“You know, we were never the same again after that.” She brought her knees up to her chest and feigned sadness. “After all, you started pulling away from me. You weren’t home, you never stayed around for very long when you were. You blamed your job, and then popped around to different companies for a time…I figured it would be okay with the fact that you were working, but then you just stopped working. I was keeping us afloat. And then you went off for one more job and I…”

“You hated it when I was home.”

“Mmm,” she shook her head, pressing her cheek to her knee. “No. I wanted you to be home.”

“All we did was fight, Aaron–”

“At least when we were fighting, you still cared.” Aaron swung her legs down to the ground and stood up. She was only four-foot-eleven, but she was feisty. “But you didn’t care, Finn. You stopped caring about everything. So, really, who was to blame for us falling apart? Because it certainly wasn’t me.”

She took a few steps forward, reaching up and clenching her manicured fingers into his shirt. “But we can fix it.”

“I don’t want to fix it.” Finn snarled. “I’m happy. I don’t want anything to do with you, and I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to say this to you, but I don’t need you. I haven’t needed you in years.”

“Hm, that may be.” She smiled, unphased by his anger. She’d gotten used to him in their years together, and was probably one of the only people in the world that wasn’t afraid of him when he was mad. “But something tells me that in the next few days, you’re going to find yourself scrambling because while I know you have all this bullshit with the Romani, and that you’re trying to protect your poor little woman who keeps trying to run off…yes, Finn, I know about it…this is going to affect you more than you think.”

“Aaron, there is nothing you could possibly do to–”

Aaron giggled, cutting him off, and placed her shoes on the ground and grabbed her bag as she stepped into them. How she wore them in the cold, she would never know. “You should really check your paperwork after you walk out of meetings.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

She smiled, turning her head. “Oh, you know…make sure there’s signatures on everything. Keep an eye on it, will you?”

And then she was gone, heading towards the front door with the definitive click-clicks of her heels on the floor. Finn frowned, watching her as she left, having no clue as to what she was talking about. 

••••••


Eddie Lyons was probably the one who was the closest to ending my streak. But…you know what? I’m not the type of person or Champion to sit there and put someone down for doing their best. I meant what I said on the social media machine: if you want training like you’ve never had before, come find me. Wolfslair would place you in their arms and push you more than you know. There’s a nice little new set up in Denver run by yours truly – all you have to do is ask.

You know, I’ve realized recently that I haven’t been hearing the snide comments about Wolfslair as frequently. Wolfslair, which held a Mixed Tag Team Record, who has had countless champions within the hallowed halls of SCW. Wolfslair, who holds three of the championships in this company, four by association. Hell, Alicia Lukas has held the Bombshells title for three hundred and eighty days, two hundred and eighty in one go. And you guys know how much I enjoy Alicia Lukas.

Wolfslair is no longer a running joke because we have become some of the most dominant champions in this company to the point where monoliths were crushed and refuse to rise again. I see it – hell, everyone sees it. And it’s pathetic, because we all sit here and say we want to face the best of the best…but in reality, those monoliths that talk behind a screen used to say it all the time…that they were the best of the best, but the second someone rose higher? Gone.

Poof.

Kind of disappointing.

A new year has come and still I stand as World Champion. I know most of you are disappointed that I’m standing here. Three hundred and twenty-four days. If I recall, there’s only one other person in that three hundred club.

Hm.

Just a point to put out there.

We’ve done this song and dance before, Aiden. The last time we fought was back in September. You fought hard, I remember that. I remember that you stated that I was one of the best, that I live in the lap of luxury…and that even through everything that I had, I was miserable. Basically, I wasn’t essentially grateful for the life that I had.

You know, you should still be grateful for the life that I have, because you still live in my house. And I don’t begrudge that. I expected it. Because of all the things in the world, I care about people – even when they look at me and stab me in the back. I care until they give me no reason to care. And yes, perhaps I am a little bit grumpy, but you know exactly what’s going on in my life. I think I have an absolute reason to do so. But here? In this ring?

This is the place I’m most happy. Because I get to kick in teeth. And I very much enjoy kicking in teeth.

Aiden, as much of a competitor as you are, you have a track record here that goes up and down. Right now, you’re the Roulette Champion. But what happens if you have an off day the next time it’s contended for? I don’t think you really have a lot to fear, but you’re going to need more than a few jokes and props given to your opponent to get you ahead of the game. I’ve told you time and time again you need to be more aggressive not only in the ring, but in your statements.

I’ve watched you go time and time again at opponents that might be a little bit higher than you on the totem pole – you always treat them with a level of respect that they don’t necessarily deserve. How is it in all your years in this business that you haven’t learned that you go for the throat, no matter who it is? Telling me I’m a miserable bastard isn’t necessarily going for the throat, but you know…what do I know?

It’s not like I haven’t held onto a championship for nearly a year or anything.

Look, Aiden. Like I said last time – we’re friends. But friendship only goes so far in the ring. I appreciate the lack of a stab in the back in order to get here, but at the same time, when that bell rings, I’m looking to win. I’m always going to want to win. I’m going to always do my best to win, and there is very little that you can do in order to stop me from succeeding.

This is twenty-twenty-five now, and it is yet another year in which I will push for the stars. Because that’s what I do. I push, constantly, no matter the person in front of me. No matter the consequence, no matter the ending. I’m looking to make this my year again. And again and again.

Congratulations on the Roulette Championship.

I hope you keep it for longer than the last time.

3
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXX // BLOOD FOR CHRISTMAS
« on: December 20, 2024, 11:48:21 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXX // BLOOD FOR CHRISTMAS (HALLELUJAH)
ALL I’VE EVER LEARNED FROM LOVE WAS HOW TO SHOOT SOMEBODY WHO OUTDREW YA. AND IT’S NOT A CRY THAT YOU HEAR AT NIGHT, IT’S NOT SOMEBODY WHO’S SEEN THE LIGHT. IT’S A COLD AND IT’S A BROKEN HALLELUJAH. 
PENTATONIX .


••••••

The move had been easy – as it should have been, considering the sheer force of manpower in the amassed army that Dickie had beneath his hands. Based on their previous conversation, they decided that Colorado was the best option for both of them; and so, they chose a home on the outskirts of the Front Range, just as the hills rolled more fluidly and the mountains rose up beyond them.

The quiet of the mountains was different than the city, and it was a welcome insight for the both of them. Here, they could think about their careers. They could think about where they were going, what they were doing. There wasn’t the constant bustle of the world, they could reflect on their lives and their hopes and dreams and careers.

Finn could think about his upcoming match with Eddie Lyons. He could consider the cost that laid in front of him, consider the ways that the world worked around him, how he ended up in this moment. Eddie was a good wrestler, this was for certain, but he was confident enough in his own skills that he didn’t think he would end up on the losing side in this match. Not before Christmas. Not before this whole year was over. He’d earned this spot, and he wasn’t about to destroy it.

But Finn also had his own issues as well, continuing with his Yakuza versus Romani war. He was hopeful that the move would put a damper on the whole Kayla trying to find Jace thing, and that it would keep the Romani from seeking them out constantly. If there was just one way to mitigate the entire situation, he was hopeful that this was it. It wouldn’t behove Jace to come search for them in the middle of the country. He couldn’t just pick up his entire compound and move that quickly.

Or so he thought, anyway. If they showed up, at least Colorado had a more liberal use of guns and Make My Day laws. They could protect themselves easier. Especially now that they weren’t located in the middle of a city.

A spacious home, with spacious land. Trees laid across the land, interspersing the golden plains that a poet described in America, the Beautiful, and a large structure built at the top of the hill. The opulence, at least from the outside, was definitely Kayla’s choosing. The rest, though, was modern, what Finn enjoyed, updated with the nicest smart appliances to make the home especially technological. And most importantly to Finn…multiple places for people.

And now?

Now people were flooding it in a way neither were particularly pleased about.

Kallisto Reznikski-Reynolds was at fault for this particularly awful Saturday Christmas party that Finn and Kayla hadn’t had one iota of understanding about it. They were just told to dress nice and be downstairs at five o’clock on the dot. So they did, because it was very difficult to argue with Kallisto when she had her mind set.

“I didn’t think she knew this many people,” he muttered to Kayla as they stood at the balcony overlooking the living area with the vaulted ceilings in the open floor plan that both of them appreciated. He recognized several Wolfslair members floating, discussing, laughing. Sierra Williams, her husband Lachlan Kane; Alex and Sonja Jones; even Austin James Mercer was brooding around the corner with Alicia Lukas nearby.

“I hate it.” She murmured back. “Can we kick them all out?”

Finn smirked, pressed his hand to the back of her elbow briefly as he walked behind her and leaned into whisper in her ear, “Make sure you smile.”

“I don’t smile!” Kayla snarled through gritted teeth as Finn walked down the steps. He simply smiled and shook his head, knowing she’d walk down in her dress eventually and then run twenty minutes back upstairs. He headed to the kitchen island and grabbed a glass of what he assumed with spiced cider. He winced at the burning taste of alcohol in his throat and shook his head lightly, attempting to stifle the initial taste.

“Nice house,” Alex commented, raising a glass as Finn walked up, adjusting his sleeve tacks of his black shirt. Kallie was going to kill him for looking like he was in a funeral, but this was still his house. All with its wooden, rustic and modern glory.

“Thanks,” Finn chuckled.

“It’ll be a shame not to see you brooding about in the Wolfslair facility.”

He nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. “You’ve been trying to get me out of there since I got in.”

“True.” Alex smirked a bit, looking around at the partygoers. “Although, I have thought about the proposal you gave me. It would be nice to have a facility here in the Midwest. Do you think there’s a market for it?”

“I’m sure there is.”

“And it’d be nice to have a high altitude gym for us to utilize.”

“Yeah, I agree, It was definitely a huge part of my training, working here with–”

“Little ol’ me.”

Alex and Finn turned their heads, and both had to look down at the light-blue haired woman that stood next to them both. She held a glass of whiskey in her hand as she swirled it in front of her and batted her eyelashes softly, sweetly – manipulatively. Aaron Asphyxia was not someone Finn wanted to have a conversation with, but nevertheless, when Alex snickered and walked away, he was forced.

“You didn’t return my phone call.”

“I would assume you knew that meant I didn’t want to have a conversation with you,” Finn replied.

“Look,” Aaron turned, standing next to Finn and looking out on the crowd with him. “I know that I may have completely screwed up, but I realized I need to fix it. And I don’t know exactly how I’m going to do so, but I will. I figured I could do so by getting you information about Keevee’s little recruits.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You don’t?” Aaron snorted. “Is this your pride coming out? That little bit of you that just refuses to accept help from the woman who cheated on you? Come on, you wouldn’t be that petty.”

Finn turned his head and narrowed his eyes, keeping his voice low as he didn’t want people looking over and wondering why two people were yelling at each other at a Christmas party. “Petty? This isn’t twenty-fifteen, and you’re not my little guiding light anymore on my shoulder giving me all the pep talks in the world. You don’t think I see what you’re doing here? Slinking in and giving me support in the guise trying to manipulate everything around me. I don’t need you.”

“You needed me when it came to getting that kid from the Romani.”

“No, I needed your father.” Finn corrected. “But you’ve just been a part of this world for longer that I figured you would–”

“Oh, so you used me.”

“You wanted to be,” he countered, his face contorting angrily. “You’ve been begging at my doorstep for months since Kei’s death to be a part of everything involved with the Yakuza. The second I called you to meet me so we could figure out the issue with Jace, you’ve been salivating at the bit like one of Pavlov’s dogs. You wanted this.”

“I wanted to be around you,” she hissed, crossing her arms.

Finn’s nose flared and he grabbed Aaron by the bicep, dragging her to the hallway behind the kitchen that was a quite a bit less crowded. “No. This is not happening again. I am with Kayla. I am happy with Kayla. I have zero interest in you, and you know this.”

“Callien–”

“Fuck no. I walked away. We had a divorce. And it’s been stable for years. You do not get to come in here and try to fuck it up because you’re feeling guilty about everything and you want to try again. I do not want to. I have no desire to, and you’re not going to come to my household and try to fix what you demolished that I don’t even want.”

Aaron defiantly looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “If I hadn’t tried to get into your mind, you wouldn’t be with Kayla either. I’m responsible for all of it. And if I hadn’t done that, she’d still be only a thought and she wouldn’t be standing out there with her big ol’ boobs and her shitty disposition that screams that she never had a good father growing up.”

“You have no right coming into our home–”

“She’s using you, you idiot.” She growled. “You can’t see that? She found out about all your connections and that’s the only reason she’s with you. If you look at her track record, she always ends up with people who are far better off than her and she leeches off–”

“Get out.” Finn snarled.

“Finn!”

“GET OUT!” He screamed, probably loud enough for the rest of the party to hear. Aaron stared at him for a moment, before turning on her Louboutins stalking out of the hallway. Finn exhaled out of his nose and grit his teeth so hard he could feel them grinding beneath his lips.

He pressed a hand to the hallway wall, and exhaled slowly, looking down at the floor with annoyance in his features. When he looked up, a new person had joined him. Kayla. Standing there in her dress that showed off her cleavage but also her tattoos. She looked at him with a concerned expression.

He sighed. “Aaron.”

“What’d she want?”

“To cause drama. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” she laughed, stepping forward and pressing her hand to his shoulder. “Might need to apologize to Kallie, but that’s a regular occurrence. Look…” she glanced around to see if there was anyone with them in the hallway, and when there wasn’t, she raised a hand to his jaw and held his cheek in her hand. “Forget what the little blue haired bitch said – look at what we have now. We’re happy, we have a new home far away from the Romani…we don’t have to worry about anything. Just our jobs. Just our championships.”

He nodded, still trying to exhale slowly enough to calm his heart.

“You’re going to kick Eddie Lyon’s ass and we’re going to go into the new year as dual champions. As we should be. I’m proud of us.” She pressed her hands to his shoulders. “I’m proud of you. Twenty-twenty-four was our year. So will twenty-twenty-five.”

••••••


I’ve been here before. Every month or so, it’s the same thing. I have someone telling me that my time is done. That I’m ignorant, that I’m a failure at what I do and that it’s just a moment more until I’ve got nothing left. That someone is going to take from me what everyone has tried to take from me up until this point. Do you know how tiring that gets? Hearing the same thing over and over again and listening to the same bullshit repeated in a different way?

No one is new. No one says anything different. It’s always that I’m incapable of seeing myself as anything but an alpha, or that I believe myself to be something other than my own beliefs. I’ve told you all time and time again that my own belief in myself isn’t a misplaced, delusional thought, that it’s something I believe because I know in my own abilities. Yet, it’s still thrown in my face that I’m incapable of seeing anything other than my own meteoric rise, like I know there is only one option.

There are always options. Always days where someone could rise above me and take everything I have. Always opportunities that someone could utilize coming out of the gate, and I know that. So I have to adjust, I have to become something different every time that–that someone thinks they’ve gotten some bug up their ass thinking that they’ve finally figured me out, that they’ve solved the magic equation to taking me down, to removing me from the pedestal that I’ve seemingly placed myself on.

Except I didn’t place myself anywhere. I didn’t just walk in and take a spot, like some kind of thief in the night. I walked in and fought for every bit of life I have in this company. I was told that Kayla and I would never claim the Mixed Tag Team Championships, look what we did, even when we didn’t want to. I didn’t want the Heavyweight Championship, but when I was placed into that tournament for it, I did what I did because I don’t let opportunities slip away from me.

I look at every match, whether I want it or not, as an opportunity to continue a legacy that very, very few above me have the ability. In fact, you look at everyone who has ever held this championship and you will see one person who has done better than I. And that man is a fuckin’ dickhead, but a legend in this company.

One.

We can talk about multiple reigns holding that championship, but it’s been three hundred days for me in a single reign alone, and everyone thinks that they can topple me. That the monolith will crumble and fall just because they think it will happen.

But I am tired, Sin City. I am tired of sitting here and listening to every person that comes up against me that refuses to give me the respect that I’m due, that I’ve earned. No, I’ve had Peter Vaughn coming in from a left-angle, trying to catch me by surprise. I’ve had friendships burned because they thought they had to fell a god. I’ve defeated self-flagellating men who thought they were a god twice to maintain this. I’ve felled once prominent men in this very company, once golden men.

But I am just simply the asshole who thinks he’s a god, that thinks he’s better than he is, that doesn’t understand that he’s really nothing.

I’ve heard it all before. It’s boring, it’s ostentatious, it’s the same thing over and over. It’s ridiculous. People approach this like it’s felling some demon who doesn’t deserve their spot in this company.

I deserve every bit of it.

I’ve fought hard to maintain this, I’ve fought for this. And I am tired of getting up here and acting like I didn’t deserve it. I have been a World Heavyweight Champion in this company for over three hundred days in a single reign and all I get is a bunch of bullshit from everyone that comes up against me, thinking I’m worthless and nothing.

When does it end?

When do I get the flowers I deserve?

…


…..




But wait.

See, I could sit here and bitch about this. It’s what a lot of people end up doing, if you look at the rest of the industry. Cry about not being seen, make false claims about being favorites in this business so they stroke their own egos, whine about not getting whatever they think they should have. I could absolutely bitch about it constantly, but come on, when the hell did I ever simply do just that?

I don’t bitch.

I don’t whine.

I make things happen, I push for everything in my life, and I take what I’m given with a vehement desire to do more than I ever have. This is what separates me from everyone else, what separates me from even my own pack. I live for this fight, and I have never needed anyone to peptalk me to do something better than what I have done. I don’t need a coach telling me what I do to get ahead of the game, I don’t look to my training facility to give me pats on the back and help. I don’t seek Kayla’s approval either, because I don’t need it to do my damn job.

I am the World Heavyweight Champion of mine and my own volition. I am the man that this company throws miscreant beings who think they’ve godsent at to try and push them afar.

I’ve earned my flowers. And I will take every little bit of the respect I am owed.

Tell me, Eddie.

Do you understand what that’s like?

••••••


Snow coated the ground outside, which was common in the area more than the Denver proper. There were footsteps – quite a few of them – heading into the forests outside of the house. It was not a place that many of the party goers were likely to head to, so it was strange that anyone was down there to begin with.

Which meant the fact that Finn was walking down the hill after getting a phone call was a strange occurrence…and a strange occurrence wasn’t anything that anyone wanted since the move from New York City.

Standing down at the bottom of the hill stood his younger brother, arms crossed as he waited for Finn to arrive. He didn’t wear a jacket, which was fine with him, but the Australian that stood next to him was bouncing up and down in a pair of snow boots, shorts, and an enormous puffed jacket and was still trying to warm up regardless.

“What is it that you couldn’t tell me on the phone?” Finn questioned.

“It’s…well…” Dickie muttered, looking at Finn, and then back into the forest. “I don’t think the move has really stopped any part of this, to be honest.”

“What is it?” The repetition was sharp, and he seemed to be more alert.

“It’s fuckin’ cold, mate, can we just get to the point.” Aiden muttered, hobbling down the hill while his teeth chattered.

Dickie rolled his eyes, turned, and began trekking back into the forest. Finn followed, placing his own feet into the footprints that dotted the snow. He was thankful for the fact that this area would be void of footprints by midday tomorrow – the snow never stuck around that long. And he was grateful….at least, until he saw darkened spots in the snow. Little pieces, like a trail of blood dripping from someone as they stumbled into the forest.

And that’s what it was. A body, face down, in the snow laid just feet from them in a small clearing of trees. Finn shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned. He couldn’t tell if it was one of their own men or someone else’s, but the thought remained the same regardless.

They hadn’t waited. The Romani.

The clothing was hand stitched, which indicated to Finn that it wasn’t one of Dickie’s men. He didn’t touch the body, didn’t say anything either – at least, not initially. Instead, he peered at the body as it lay on the ground, and then looked at Dickie.

“How long?”

“Reported to me about half an hour ago. Someone searching the property, they shot him on sight. I don’t know if it’s the Romani or anything, but I mean…” Dickie shrugged, “we could probably figure that out quickly.”

“How’d they figure it out so quickly?” Aiden asked, bopping up and down to keep his heat up.

“They must be tracking our movements…and if we’re getting this ballsy already, that means that we need to keep this from Kayla as much as we can. No mention of this in front of her, otherwise, she may do the same thing as before. My primary goal is keeping her–”

“And us!” Aiden interjected.

“Everyone,” Finn emphasized, “safe. Figure out this one, get rid of it, and then let me know when it’s done. We can figure out everything else later. I can’t be doing this right now. I have a match coming up that’s pretty critical for the end of the year, and if I step back now and let this affect what’s going on in my career, the world may possibly end. I need you,” he looked at Dickie, “to handle this.”

“Well yeah,” Dickie said, slowly, looking at his brother with an eyebrow raised. “This is my job, after all. I’m the de facto leader.”

“Yes. You are.” Finn nodded. Aiden looked between the two of them, narrowing his own eyes and looking semi-confused. He didn’t say anything, but what he was absolutely thinking was that this whole Yakuza thing was heavily carried by Finn and Dickie appeared to simply be a figurehead.

Unless…

Unless that’s really just what both of them planned and they’d all been the fools. Finn clearly led everything, and Dickie often looked for support from him before he made any moves. And if that was the case…was this really Dickie versus Jace, or was it Finn?

And how far would Finn go if Jace invaded everything that he held dear to himself.

He was about to ask that when Finn turned on his heel and began heading back up to the house without a word. He looked at Dickie, who was texting quickly on a second cell phone. “Mate, do you think we should tell Kayla anyway? I’d want to know if some crazy, psycho ex-lover of mine was constantly trying to get into my pants and kept trespassing on my property.”

Dickie looked at him, shook his head, and then shoved his cell in his pocket. “You really want to get in between the two of them? I’d rather die, thank you very much. In fact, I’m pretty sure we will if we do get ourselves involved. Let’s not and save our souls, bruh.”

••••••


I know you like to push your own narrative, Eddie. I listened to a lot of your previous promotional videos and found this same common theme. You’re inferred that you’re a warrior, but the least of everyone to be thought of as one. Or perhaps, that’s what I’ve seen. In your fight for the battle royal, that you won, the one thing that I recognized in all of it was your own perceived ineptitude.

A lot of people think that by sitting and arguing that everyone else doesn’t see you for what you are, that you’ve gained an opportunity to prove that. And maybe you did, what with that battle royal. And what was your major argument in all of that?

That’s right. Your magnum opus.

You pinned me.

Congratulations. You pinned me in the one night that I didn’t show up like I always do. You pinned me on the night that I wasn’t at my best, the night that I wasn’t here in my head, that I wasn’t me. And that is something most people also understand. Your one saving grace is that you pinned me and you scream it from the heavens every night you’re in the league like that one little thing is the only piece in the equation that matters. Everything matters, Eddie. Just because you think it’s your time does not mean that it is. Just because you got to this point doesn’t mean that you’re foregone to become the champion just because you think it’s written in the stars.

I get it. I get the pressure to be something. I get the expectation. It sits on your chest and it pushes in and makes you feel like you’re fucking worthless, that you’re not carrying on a mantle the correct way. But you? You care about your mantle. You care about preserving some legacy that has been dead for twenty fucking years. Twenty years since IWF and no one has ever heard the goddamn name Lyons again until you and your little cousins all came into this field.

All this tells me is that you haven’t learned who the legacy is for.

You’re still wearing a mantle of people who could give zero fucks less about you. And maybe that’s my own negative persona sitting in the organ between my ears, Eddie, but I cannot even begin to tell you how much that I despise people who come in screaming family legacy. It’s a burden, and one you so willingly sit on and use as a crutch to push yourself. Tell me, if you weren’t a Lyons, then what the fuck would you be doing this for?

And that is the difference between you and me – or at the very least, one of the biggest differences between you and me. I fight for me, not some familial tie. I don’t fight to continue my trainer’s legacy – and if we’re being perfectly honest, Aaron Asphyxia can go fuck herself right off into oblivion like she fucked a trainee and ruined our relationship, and if I ever hear you mention her again when you’re facing me? You’ll earn the knee in the face that you’ll receive when you’re begging me for mercy upon your soul.

It’s funny to me that you also sat there and told me that you and your cousin don’t get along and that you didn’t see eye to eye, but then again…you’re part of her Queensguard…which sounds like some foos-ro-dah bullshit, and let me tell you how much video game allusions bore the fuck out of me.

But what was it else that you told me? That you wouldn’t take anything from us, and that you were my kryptonite?

Do you know how many people have proclaimed that over the years, and yet still I stand, rising above. Fighting above, doing what everyone else thinks I’m incapable of doing.

You’re just another cricket in the slough, Eddie. And that’s why I picked on you in PWE, because you were an easy fucking target. I should sit here and say that you’ve changed, that you’ve pushed yourself, that you’ve become a man and a hell of a champion, but you never defended your tag team championships and if I remember correctly…you lost your Roulette championship to Aiden.

Yes, the Aiden that lives in my home and sounds like he’s lost a few brain cells over the course of his lifetime. Yes, the one that is my teammate.

But let’s be honest in that one too, because you won it when it was just another vacation of a championship that led you to be the best of a field of men who weren’t anything to write home about. And you think that you, what, made history with that move? That it made you anything more than a rookie trying to pave his way in the world? Because that’s what you are, at the end of the day, kid. You’re still a rookie. You’re still fighting in wars that you don’t even know the cost of.

I told you it was a preview of what was to come. I put you out of your misery in that match and you couldn’t save your little cousin, so we won our championships back. And you couldn’t even sit there and face me like a man without having little ol’ Vicky come up from behind and attack me.

Is that all you people know how to do? Attack people? Come at people from behind and blindside them because you think that’s going to get you over? Without realizing how much that actually pisses people off? Because it was fine. It was dandy, until that moment. You signed your death sentence in that moment, I hope you know, and you can thank Vicky for forging your signature.

I do not give two shits about the legacy that you want to create. I do not give two shits about the Lyons name, and I don’t even give a singular shit about your motives. You and I are not the same, Eddie. The more I come to think about it, there are no pieces that tie us together except one little thread to IWF. And I don’t give a fuck about IWF, or anything involved in it. I don’t live in the past and I don’t care about it. I move forward in this world, this time.

You pinned me one night. And it will never be again. So take your shots. Come at me with everything you have, because in Arizona, at this Christmas show…the only gift you will receive from me is the cold, hard truth that you’re not prepared for this, and that gold will still be in my hands going into twenty-twenty-five. It’ll be hard to swallow. It’ll be hard to manage. But it will be hard fought, and you will be proud of your own loss. Because I know you can stand up to me, that’s for certain.

But you can’t beat me. I won’t let you beat me.

I’m holding J2H to his words from way back when – I plan to be champion into the next year so that he can face me and know that I’m just behind him in everything. And when I sit at the precipice of this company next year, everyone will know that Finn Whelan is a monster that may be defeated once, but never broken. You may think that I have everything to lose, Eddie.

But in reality, I still have everything to gain.

And if you win? If you’re so skilled in this that you have the ultimate ability to finally put me to rest? Know I’ll be right back in the world fo

I’ll see you soon, kid.

I hope this was worth it to you.

4
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXIX // STOLEN OMEN
« on: December 06, 2024, 11:52:10 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXIX // STOLEN OMEN   
I SEE YOU LIVE DELUSIONS, PAINT YOUR LIFE WITH YOUR CONCLUSIONS. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TELL YOU THIS PATH HAS LOST ITS VALUE. I CAN’T FEEL FALSE IDEALS, ANOTHER FOOL THAT’S BLIND TO WHAT’S REAL. I SING FOR THE HOPE THAT’S BROKEN – THEY LIVE FOR FOR A STOLEN OMEN. 
BLACK VEIL BRIDES .


••••••


Everything was the same after High Stakes. He was still champion. Kayla was still the champion. They moved forward through their lives as champions and they maintained stability that was reserved for normal people. Monotonous dinners at home, friends coming and going from their apartment. In and out of his work at the gym, in and out of the home. Cuddling late at night with Kayla while they watched movies and training when they could otherwise. Everything was obviously fine. Normal. Regular.

Except for the whole fact that there was Yakuza standing at their doors and the Romani literally lurking around every corner.

Kallie wanted to have a girl’s night in the apartment, as Dax was with his Australian grandparents. And while Kayla complained loudly about how she didn’t know how to sit around in her pajamas and watching stupid girly movies and paint each other’s nails, she still kissed him on the cheek and left to join Kallie and Amelia in the apartment upstairs. This left Finn by himself, and while he enjoyed that on a regular basis, something settled in his brain that he just didn’t want to be by himself.

The Wayward Home for Wrestlers had become regular…not a nuisance, but a regular occurrence that he’d grown used to. Hearing Dax, Aiden and Kallie’s muffled voices from the other apartment, seeing his little brother regularly, watching as Kallie’s brother showed a complete disinterest in everything else. Kayla’s family moving about had become regular too.

But the threat was real. The threat was escalating. The Romani were watching now, but what about when they decided to strike? They were sitting ducks. Part of him wanted to mount an attack on the compound and just get rid of the menace that had begun to settle in their lives, but he knew that could be just as dangerous as it was foolish. He could put himself in danger, but he wasn’t willing to deal with the cost, nor was he willing to place Kayla in that place either. Eventually, there would need to be a showdown, a final fight that ultimately ended this entirely. But until that moment, they were waiting…and the waiting was getting to him.

Now he sat in his little brother’s apartment in Queens, looking out upon the floor length windows while his brother and his best friend messed around on Call of Duty. Aiden was particularly smug, sitting on the floor in no shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, having had a higher kill/death rating than Dickie. Dickie sat above him on the couch, his blonde curls bouncing as he moved in sync with his little avatar on the game.

“You…little…” Dickie muttered, sticking his tongue out childishly and biting down on it as he navigated a particularly difficult spot.

“Oi mate, you gotta watch your six.”

“No, you’re behind me. You’ve got to watch my shit.”

“Oh yeah, yeah, nah, yeh!” Aiden nodded, shooting someone over Dickie’s shoulder. “Fuckin’ need lasik, hey.”

“Listen, I’m not blind…”

They continued arguing over and over again. Finn shook his head, shoving his hand into the popcorn and taking a large bite of it. He chuckled a bit to himself, enjoying the chaos that his friends brought into his life. It was good. It was natural. Just as natural as he and Kayla. He didn’t want to mess that up, didn’t want to screw with anything that existed in this time.

But still, the thought remained. Jace had told him exactly what he hadn’t wanted to hear, and since that night, he’d been continuously playing it in his head. Until he’d confronted Kayla about it, he hadn’t been quite sure what her full intentions were. But he could surmise. Oh, he knew that it had nothing to do with Jace’s proclamation that she still loved him — but he knew she thought she could change the world. She thought they could change their fate.

But there was no changing it. Not when the cogs continued to turn and turn and turn.

The only solution was to escape it. Not to run, but maybe…to misplace themselves. Just for a bit. To throw off the scent. To do something unexpected.

“Have you ever thought about leaving  New York?” He posed the question as the lobby screen came up for the next round.

Dickie and Aiden both turned their heads, looked at one another, and then snapped them back to Finn like sycophantic surprised elves.

“No…” Dickie muttered, furrowing his brow. And that made absolute sense to Finn, because at the end of the day, New York City was Dickie’s life. From FIGHT, to living here because of Wolfslair. It was astonishing that there could be any change to be thought of. Ever since the dissolution of Kei’s life, it was difficult to realize that he was also the leader of a Yakuza clan. Could he change their location? Yes. But would it be worth it?

“I mean, but to where? Wolfslair is here.”

Finn thought for a moment, and shook his head. “I can make that change. Wolfslair is a state of mind, it doesn’t have to necessarily be in our forefront all the time. And even so, I bet I can talk to Alex and get that changed to let me lead a gym. He’d be happier with my absence.”

Dickie looked at Aiden, and then he looked back at his brother with an eyebrow raised. “What are you thinking about?”

“This shit with the Romani…”

“That you started.” Dickie reminded him, tilting his head.

“Shush – I know.” Finn rose to his feet, pacing slightly. But it’s getting ridiculous. I think we could move. I think Kayla and I, at least, will leave and move somewhere else. Somewhere where we can start our own life…and I mean, it just makes more sense if you guys come with us. I haven’t exactly…” He moved from one side of the room to the other. “I haven’t thought of where, but I think we should go. And maybe we can stop this shit with…them. I’m worried about Kayla. I’m worried about us. All the time. Jace shows up constantly, and this might just be a way to put distance between us all.”

Aiden shrugged, “Nothin’ saying he can’t follow.”

“Prob will.” Dickie agreed, also shrugging. But he narrowed his eyes and peered at his brother as he moved back and forth across the room. “If you think it’s a good idea though…I mean…you’ve never steered me wrong.”

Finn looked at him. That was the agreement that he needed. Not that he needed it really, but it was what he wanted to hear. If they were willing to move, he could continue to protect them. And he could erase the problems that had been created with Wolfslair, with former friends, with the Yakuza, with the Romani. At least, he could do that for a time.

And even just a little bit of time was better than nothing.


••••••


“This isn’t what you wanted. This isn’t what you expected.”

A throne room. Or at least, what looked to be the remnants of one. The crumbling ruins of a castle sat upon a hill on the mountainous front range in Colorado, a tower and some remaining walls. No glory, no grandiose finery. Nothing but a ruin on a hill overlooking the sprawling Denver Metro area below. In the crumbling remains of throne-like chair sat the SCW World Heavyweight Champion, one leg draped over the armrest while the other was planted on the floor.

Whelan raised his hand nonchalantly, gesturing to the crumbling ruins, while the other laid against his mouth as he appeared to be contemplating. But what? The other hand clutched tightly upon the championship belt laid across his chest, and he tapped lightly against it as he spoke.

“High Stakes was supposed to be the moment that David killed Goliath. The time in which the good little underdog was able to topple the monolith that everyone hated. Perhaps the very moment hope could be realized, that everything wasn’t for naught, that the world would be righted. Miles Kasey, finally reaching the zenith, so that he could topple the god that wreaked havoc upon the industry.”

He dropped his hand from his lips, turning his head and looking away for a moment.

“Except I never claimed to be a god.”

Setting his eyes upon the camera, a smirk rose up upon his features. He propelled his body upwards, pressing his feet firmly into the floor as he righted himself.

“David could not find a rock sharp enough to embed in my skull; and so, here Goliath continues to stand, tearing down the walls that are built every so often in an attempt to cage him. But I refuse to be caged, and I refuse to be hemmed in. While the thought was that finally a challenger had finally laid siege to the rule of Finn Whelan, the assault ended in a brutal realization that even those with the best intentions to meet expectations fall short. And that is a hard, calamitous reality that rarely do people want to recognize.

“Instead of recognizing his own shortcomings, my former teammate tried to paint a picture of me as a domineering tyrant of the ilk of Kim Jong Il, believing myself to be a deity to the wrestling ring. It’s easier to project a devilish motive to someone that you end up stabbing in the back than facing the reality that you need to take accountability for your own actions, and that’s what happened. I have never claimed to be a god, and I certainly don’t need to claim that I am a king.

“I am merely what I have always said: good at my job, and continue to be every time I step into the ring.”

Finn rose to his feet then, gesturing around him to the ruins of the castle that once sat prominent upon the mountainside.

“If anything, if I were a king, this would be the apt visualization of what that kingdom would look like. I don’t need frivolous finery and gold to be a domineering leader. I don’t need to raise myself higher than my peers. I don’t feel the need to fall to base and disastrous betrayal to maintain my record. I don’t need to delude myself that I am anything more than a fighter who does his utmost to succeed in every part of my life. I don’t need to be a king. I don’t need to be a monolith.”

He paused and tilted his head to the side.

“It’s all of you who make me that deity. Your projections, your jealousy, your words uttered to try and get under my skin. Time and time again, I post from random places with simply my voice because I don’t want to use visual metaphors to try and make a point. I don’t need to tie things in. I don’t need to do anything other than speak the truth as I see it. It is all of you who sit there and call me a tyrant, a dictator, a king, a god. You project that onto me and expect me to fall in line.

“But I question you this: When the fuck have I ever fallen in line?”

Finn took a few steps away from his original spot, stepping over the remnants of a wall and forward, away from the castle remnants entirely and out into the wilderness of the mountain range. Pine trees rose high over the towering and lanky figure of the World Heavyweight Championship. Following him into the trees, the view moved from deadened plains to darkened forest, dense brush and foliage covering surfaces of the ground. The Seattle Saint’s back was the only thing visible as he descended into the trees, except for the glint of gold draped across his shoulder.

“For nearly a year, I’ve held this championship, coming up against every single person who has tried to tear me into nothing. Every time, I’ve come out swinging and strong. For nearly a year, the Wolves of Gheimhridh held the Mixed Tag Team Championships. Not only did we pass the record for most defenses, we also passed the longest reign. This comes as a testament that Finn Whelan and Kayla Richards – despite how monotonous and boring that may seem – are dominant champions. Until one shitty little night in October.”

He paused in his movement.

“Until the moment I failed to see the bigger picture. Until the moment that I was unable to capitalize on my own words.”

He turned his head and looked behind him, his blue eyes settling on the camera..

“I never said I wasn’t infallible. I never said I was unstoppable. In fact, I make a point of that frequently throughout the entirety of my reign. Anyone can be defeated at any time. So no, Eddie, and literally to anyone else watching, I don’t sit here and believe that I’m undefeatable. And I don’t kick myself in the teeth because I’ve failed once. I get up, and I come back harder. I think that would be evident in my two losses since September of last year, considering I was undefeated for a year.

“But you know, perspective.

“Now, I have a chance to right a wrong that I created. A moment where I get to take back the championships that Kayla and I worked so hard to attain in the first place, and retain. And while that may be so monotonous and mundane, it is still the fact of the matter of honor, integrity and a lot of hard work was put into those championships and since we’ve had to wait until everyone could be patted on the back and given their singles shots to rise above…we waited. We salivated in the corner like Pavlov’s dogs, waiting for the bell to be rung so we could get our meal.”

He smirked, turning his head and whole body to face the camera. “Lions and wolves: you put that into the world of animals and nine times out of ten, the lions would win because of sheer size and advantage. But…small, itty bitty fact…” Finn raised a hand and gestured for everyone to get a closer look, until they were right in front of his face. “This isn’t the jungle, this isn’t animalis – this is life, and as much as you want to wimoweh your way through it, unfortunately, the Lyons will sleep tonight.”

“Retribution, Eddie. Victoria. That’s the goal. That’s the only goal in retrieving the championships that I failed to keep. Not revenge. Not anything more than retribution for myself. For Kayla, and our legacy we’ll forever leave in this company long after everyone is gone.”


••••••

The room at the Denver Convention Center was one of their more quiet rooms at the end of the hall. Not that it would stay that way, but for now, it was calm. They’d arrived sometime in the afternoon and headed straight for the hotel from the airport, which proved to be a three hour ride in itself. They’d flown in with Kallie and Aiden, who went straight to Aurora to visit her family for the time that they decided they needed to be in the room.

Finn deposited his luggage in the room, walking across the room and opening the curtains to look out on the city. He paused as he stared out over the front range, looking at all of the mountains with snow coating all of their peaks. Every fourteener, every beautiful, statuesque mountain with its crowned glory. He’d missed this view, missed this place. Living in the mountains hadn’t been anything like what he’d known on the coasts, and being here made him wish that he was back in this environment, back in the world that he’d once been a part of.

“The shower is tiny,” Kayla complained, coming out of the bathroom and stretching her arms out as she walked over to Finn, joining him at the window and looking outside. “I don’t know how they advertised this as a resort hotel, I would have thought they would have had a bath at least.”

“No bathtub?” Finn questioned, though his eyes stayed glued upon the mountain range.

“No, but I suppose that’ll be fine if the bed is nice.” She glanced up at him, before stepping forward once more and slipping her arms around his waist. He raised an arm, wrapping it lightly around her waist from behind, and smiled as she pressed her cheek into his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

“There’s a lot of snow on the mountains…looks like little crowns sometimes when you look at it from a distance. A lot of people put a lot of stock in beaches, but there’s something different about actual mountains as opposed to miniscule little hills. I know it’s not like it’s Everest, but it’s still beautiful.”

Kayla looked up at him, tilting her head a little and listening not only to his words, but also his tone. He loved it here. She could see that. She saw it every time they were in Colorado. He seemed more at peace here than he did in the city, than he even did in the ring. She chuckled lightly to herself, imagining him in flannel shirts and jeans, boots up his ankle to keep the snow out as he went outside to chop logs. Not a vision she wanted to have, and one that she preferred wouldn’t come back to haunt her dreams. But one that made sense right now.

“You like it here.”

“Yeah.” Like he always was, he never quite responded with more than one word answers when it came to his own emotions. She knew his ex-wife had made him like this, and she accepted it wholeheartedly. She’d gotten used to it.

“What if we moved here?”

He turned his head finally to look at her, and raised his other hand to press it softly against her cheek. A smile rose up on his lips. “No.” He shook his head.

Kayla’s brow furrowed. “No? Why not? It’s obvious that you like it here, and honestly…” she didn’t know if she could finish that sentence just yet. She didn’t like the rain, or the snow, but if it made him happy, perhaps she could learn how to deal. That’s what relationships were supposed to be like, right? Sacrifices for one another?

“Kayla, I closed my chapter in my life that involved Colorado a long time ago. With a stupid blue haired bitch who nearly destroyed me. As much as I love it here, I don’t want to dredge up those stupid memories.”

Kayla pursed her lips slightly, and then leaned in. “Make new memories here. With me.” She offered, a small smile now slipping upon her lips. “I know that you were broken by all of this…but you have a chance to change that now. With me.”

Finn contemplated this, and then nodded slightly. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I can really give you.”

“I know,” she laughed slightly, standing then on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. She pulled away from him then, heading back behind where they stood and grabbing her wallet out of her purse. “I’ll be back, okay? Going to go get some food from the little bistro I saw. Do you want anything?”

“Nah, we can go to that pizza place later if you don’t mind walking a couple of blocks.”

“Listen,” she said, opening the door and turning to look at him, “I fucking love that pizza place. It’s a date.”

He snickered as she shut the door, shaking his head as he did so. He sighed, turning away from the window and heading to sit on the bed, intending to turn on the television. But he was stopped by his phone ringing. He glanced at the screen as he pulled it out of his pocket, and then instantly rolled his eyes as he read the name of the person on the phone.

“What do you want?” He asked, quite snippily, setting it on speakerphone and then onto the desk.

“I thought you might be missing my voice, so I figured I’d call…” the sound of Aaron’s voice infected the room. She tried to sound cute, tried to sound alluring, but Finn was over her shit entirely.

“I haven’t missed it for five years, so I have no idea why you think I would now.”

“I had a dream, okay. You liked me there.” She snapped back, and he could hear her roll her eyes. “I saw the card. Facing the Lyons again, are ya?”

“Yep.”

“Long history I’ve got with them…” she giggled slightly. “I’d be willing to help you…you know, get some intel on them, on their trainer. We’re friends. I can do that for you. You know…for a cost.”

Finn stared at the phone. He dropped to the bed and shook his head.

“No deal. I’m not interested in your schemes, Aaron. Get fucked.”


••••••


Let’s talk about you, Eddie. I’m not discounting Victoria, but my focus kind of needs to be on you. I’ll get to your cousin in a bit, but for now…it’s all about you. Which is what you want, right? I know you want a shot at my championship. And yeah, you’ve earned it, Eddie. You’ve earned it in a far different manner than your predecessor did, and that I can respect. You know, I’ve talked about it since day one, how it’s important to earn the rights to the battles that you get. Goth earned it. Hell, as much as I didn’t like him, Sean Parker earned that shot. Even Vaughn earned it, though he fucked up when it came to utilizing it. Kris Ryans earned it. I continue day in and day out saying the same thing.

You have to earn it.

When you won that last little battle royal, it solidified you as a fighter, Eddie. The field was powerful, and there was a ton of talent in that match. You earned this spot.

But I feel like you have this false sense of solidarity within yourself. A boost of confidence that might be a little displaced. And that is why I wanted this match. That’s why I wanted the opportunity to show you that your win, though warranted against me, that when you pinned me, it was a completely different situation than the complexity you face now. I was distracted, I was struggling with a bottomfeeder, and that is absolutely my fault that I dropped the ball.

At Climax Control, you’re going to get the World Heavyweight Champion that you deserve to have face you. You’re going to get the man that should have been out there in October when we lost those championships.

But you need to understand some things about me that might be a little displaced and incorrect.

You expect me to know a ton of things about you because of what little you know about my relationships. I know that your coach is the same person who helped train my ex-wife and that there is a strong bond there. However, where you’re wrong is that my ex-wife is a fucking selfish cunt and doesn’t share shit if it doesn’t has anything to do with her. So the most I’ve heard? What I’ve given to you at the beginning of this statement. You’re a member of The Lyons Den, which was part of the Lyons Wrestling Academy started by…Vincent Lyons, but not your cousin.

The rest comes from PWE and PWS…and here.

While you never walked the halls of PWS, your life was discussed briefly. Wolfslair and The Lyons Den have been going back and forth for years at this point, and honestly…I mean, I don’t care. You guys bleed your gym, but for me, Wolfslair is just simply a mindset. We back one another up, but obviously, you can see that love can be completely lost. We’re a team, until someone steps out of line.

Eddie, you’ve fought hard for your place here in SCW. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t capable of doing great things. You were a Roulette Champion, winning it in a buried alive match. It was taken off of you almost four months later in the great Hot Potato of 2024 by Aiden Reynolds, then Alexander Raven…and then back to Aiden. You had gold, for a time, but you were never able to reclaim it. And then…you got my gold because I fucked up.

It’s not going to happen again, I hope you understand. I hope your confidence allows you to understand that this isn’t really going to be a time where you push buttons and make your way across the field. I hope you understand that some people just have really off nights and they come back swinging, because that is exactly what’s going to happen here.

Perhaps you can see this match as a minimal preview of what will happen at the Christmas Show when you and I face each other for my World Heavyweight Championship. I know you haven’t quite confirmed that as of now, but I already know it’s coming. And that is why I wanted this match. I wanted you to understand that your boost of confidence for yourself to come against me might be a little displaced because you think that you have the option to face me for the championship that you think you’ll be able to wrest from my hands because you did it once.

If you think that’s the case, you might want to look at the four times I knocked former friends into the ground for coming after my championships. I lost against him, and I refused to let it happen again. He came after my championship, and I ended his failed betrayal and attempt.

That doesn’t mean that you’re anything like him. Doesn’t mean that you’re anything like anyone else in this company, and I’m not a fool to believe any different. But the fact of the matter is that you’re getting a different person. And I will prove to you and your little cousin that this was simply a fluke. It’s okay.

She’s already Dululu.

Aren’t ya, Victoria?

You know, it was cute when you first came onto the field and seemed like a cult-goddess-leader slash I don’t know what else. Your brother followed you around a bit, and now, because you won Queen for a Day, you think you have royalty status.

Guess what? Just because you’re part of the Lyons family doesn’t mean that you’re recognized as royalty. But I’m sure you recognize that when you go home every night. Kayla fucking knocked you out, and you were unable to continue. That’s your own fault. You failed and as always, Kayla loves to lord that over anyone who makes that mistake. I have no worries in this match, Victoria, on your part in this match because I already know that Kayla is exactly like me and will refuse to let someone that got a win over her ever do it again.

We adapt and we change. We don’t live in delusional land. We don’t create characters out of the people in our lives or the inanimate objects that exist. But we do understand the glory that comes in holding those championships. Perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you think it’s a means to an end.

At the end of the day, those championships will come back to us. The Wolves of Gheimhridh do not play nice when we’ve been usurped, so you can absolutely expect that we’re going to be coming for blood. Please realize that your false confidence is misplaced because of a win that you got once…and to be fair, will never do again.

Kayla and I are fighters. We are passionate about our careers, about what we have done and will continue to do until the time we rest our heads. And don’t think that because there is a parallel between the two of us where SCW throws unlikely competitors together to make great teams that succeed…Kayla and I always have succeeded, both in singles competition as well as tag. We do read each other well, we know how the other functions, we know how we continue to move forward and do well.

You’re not going to be the first to learn this. All of the teams that we’ve faced have been the best of friends or almost lovers, family, whatever you want to call it, and even the best of them were unable to capitalize against us. Why? Because when we’re on…it’s on.

No ifs, ands, or buts.

We’re coming back for those championships, Eddie. Victoria. We’re coming back to reclaim them, and at the end of the day, there’s nothing that you can do other than attempt to keep us from getting them. And the keyword there is attempt…because we will have them in our possession once the bell rings after that next 1-2-3. And you best believe, Eddie, that I will pin you.

A preview of what’s to come.

Don’t act like you didn’t know this was coming. We’ve been salivating at the start to get back here. And now we are.

And in one of my favorite places as well.

Broomfield is going to love us when we stand tall, raising both championships to the heights of the 1stBank Center once more.

You can bet on that.



5
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXVII // RESENTMENT
« on: November 08, 2024, 11:52:50 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXVII // RESENTMENT   
NO, I CAN’T STOP FEELING LIKE EVERY DAY’S EXACTLY THE SAME. WITH A ONE TRACK MIND, I DON’T THINK I CAN CHANGE. TRAPPED IN MEMORIES, STUCK ON REPLAY, REPLAY, REPLAY.
A DAY TO REMEMBER .


••••••


It could be said that since the loss of the Mixed Tag Team championships, Finn Whelan had been lost from the company. Little jabs on twitter, sure, but visibility on programming? Finn was virtually non-existent. Some might say that perhaps the championship loss signaled a coming of the end for Whelan and his flawless year. Some might say that Eddie Lyons pinning him and Miles Kasey making a mockery of him might have finally ended his desire to stand atop everyone else.

In reality, he could have given a fuck less about Miles Kasey and Eddie Lyons.

Oh, certainly, there would be a time in which Eddie and Victoria would become championshipless – well, at least one championship less. But that was eventually, and in the here and now, the little jabs on twitter simply served one purpose.

Finn wasn’t an idiot. He watched the tapes. He saw what was an attempt to subvert and remove accountability. But everything was already done, everything set in stone. Whatever he and Alex Jones had to say was irrelevant to him, because he was steps ahead. At the end of all of this, Miles Kasey would regret the day that he ever thought that his wrestling career was more important than the relationships he’d made.

But that was the crux, right? At the end of all of this charade, they would be bosom buddies again, right? Working hard as peers in the same gym, working to fight for the glory that they could bring. That’s what this was for. It was just all fun, a chance for someone to attempt to go for the championship. That was how it was all portrayed, that’s what was said, that’s what existed.

Fuck that.

Anyone who knew anyone knew that Callien O’Hanlon, known as Finn Whelan to the masses, didn’t take kindly to backhanded shots and bullshit from people. He may have been a complete and utter asshole, but he was upfront, and he respected the people who came to him or showed up in front of him that earned their shot. He might have verbally destroyed them in the past, but he didn’t begrudge Eddie Lyons at all. He fought for his win, he attained greatness at Finn’s hands.

He would just also attain failure in the future.

Until then, Finn would bide his time. He would work in the shadows. And besides, didn’t he have enough on his plate?

With the Romani watching their every move, it was difficult for Finn to make steps towards anything regarding his other position within the world. Meetings were held virtually, or Dickie came to visit him. It was slow going, but Dickie’s presence within the crime world was steadily becoming stronger and stronger. Mutliple times, he thought that they would come for him or for his brother, but that never really happened.

The Romani only wanted one thing: Kayla, and Finn wasn’t about to give her up for anything in the world.

He had her watched, monitored from afar. Sometimes her friends or family would arrive right when she was about to take a step forward, and of course, his people told him. But he never wanted her to feel uneasy, or that he could ever be someone like Jace, or the Romani in general. He didn’t come to her and demand her to be careful, to keep her hand in his, to cower under a shadow. He knew she would resent that in the future, and yet every part of him attempted to protect her without her knowledge.

She went to her gym to workout, she met with her family, she went for nights out on the town. And she came back to him in one piece every time.

It wasn’t anything different when she showed up from her latest gym excursion. He heard her murmuring an assenting goodbye to Kallie, who giggled and affirmed as she shut her own door. His phone activated as the camera filmed them exiting and entering their apartments. It didn’t take long for her to set her bag down on the counter in the kitchen and then saunter her way into the living room where Finn was seated with his feet planted firmly on the floor and papers scattered everywhere.

She wore a cute little number from Lululemon that did exactly what she wanted it do to Finn’s personal psyche, but he wasn’t an animal and only looked her up and down with a smirk sliding up onto his lips as she “nonchalantly” drank from her water bottle as she looked out upon the decaying landscape of winter in New York. He shook his head a little and flipped through a couple of pages. It was accounting paperwork, and stuff relating to Wolfslair and his career, but fuck, was it boring to look through. “Good sesh?” He questioned, his voice raspy from not talking for some time.

“Kallie went with me. I swear, it’s like she has an AirTag on me,” she turned around to look at him head on, adjusting her “twins” as she did so, setting down the bottle on the windowsill in the process. When Finn didn’t look at her, she pouted slightly. “So you know it wasn’t a quiet session…”

He listened as she walked up to him, sashaying slightly. Finn picked up a piece of paper and peered at it.

A regular couple would have then had Kayla sit next to him, wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull some form of giddy relationship shit. But neither of them were very touchy-feely, and to be perfectly honest, a porcupine might have a better option of being touched. She knew he’d been on edge, especially since the loss of their championships. Regardless, she looked down at the scattered papers. “Why aren’t you at Wolfslair?”

Finn was silent a moment, not bothering to look up. “It’s stifling there.” He replied, finally. “I just don’t want unnecessary drama and that seems to be what people want. I’m thirty-six. I don’t feel like being asked a million questions over something ridiculous.”

Kayla picked up one of the papers and read it slowly, before looking over the top of it to him. “Mr. Jones,” she read loudly, “it is with deep resentment that I provide you with a resignation lett– Finn.” She frowned and tossed the paper. “Really?!”

Finn looked upwards slightly at her, tilting his head. Her voice carried an anger that she rarely used with him anymore, and honestly, one that he hadn’t heard since the previous year. She slammed her arms across her chest and lifted her nose in twitching irritation. “Are you fucking kidding me? I know you haven’t been the same since the shit at the last pay-per-view, but this is ridiculous.” She waved a manicured hand upwards, trying to continue to show her displeasure. “You’re letting Miles in your head.”

“I’m not really.” Finn replied calmly. “I told you. I didn’t want unnecessary drama. So I did the easiest thing to not cause it.”

“You abandoned Wolfslair just because, what, they didn’t get rid of the trash?”

Finn tilted his head completely upwards toward her with a raised eyebrow. “No. Alex didn’t accept it anyway. But have you considered that I put that it’s him or me nonsense into the air for a reason? I wanted this conversation to arise. I wanted this to be everywhere. As if I had a say in who Alex accepts into his gym…pffffft.” Finn snorted and shook his head. “Stupidity…”

She stared at him for a second, narrowing her eyes. “So the bullshit I saw with Alex and Mi–”

Finn merely smiled. He took a second, and then rose to his feet, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Enough about work…go get a shower, get changed, we’re going to go out to eat.”

Kayla smiled a little bit, but was a little confused too. She had no idea what Finn was up to, and honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Regardless, he was done talking and she knew there was nothing more that he was going to say. “Oh? Where are we going? Do I need to wear something nice?”

Finn’d walked past her and was headed towards his room. “Something nice, but not too revealing please.”

Kayla pouted for a second. “You said please…ugh. Why?”

He turned and looked at her for a moment, that smirking smile rising up once more. “Because…you’re meeting my mother.”

There was a brief moment of silence within the residence of Finn Whelan and Kayla Richards. But if a window was open, then the denizens of New York City would have heard the screaming WHAT as they went about their daily lives.


••••••


The cozy and expensive dining hall of the Tuscany Steakhouse in New York City was packed with people at the dinner hour. The vintage-painted white bricks of the arches shimmered in the low light the restauranteer assumed was romantic or alluring, and the white tablecloths were the brightest points of the entire area. Wait staff in their black and white attire moved from table to table, providing Italian dishes with flair and steak with finesse.

“Mathair,” Finn greeted his mother, who was already seated at the table, with a brief kiss on the cheek. Meara O’Hanlon smiled warmly and rose to her feet to hug her son, who only gave her a one-handed hug. His other hand was firmly latched in Kayla’s and her nervousness was palpable. She hadn’t been able to find anything that wasn’t revealing, and had ultimately borrowed Kallie’s black dress that came to just to her midthigh, a pair of heels and thankfully covered her breasts just enough that it couldn’t be considered risque. And she cringed the whole time.

“Oh, look at you!” Meara murmured, looking at her son. Finn had chosen, for once, to dress up for the occasion. Which really just meant a black shirt with a black tie and pants that still fit him ridiculously closely. “You clean up so well, I just wish you wouldn’t look like a ruffian in public all the time.”

“Thanks mom,” Finn shook his head, snorting slightly. Before sitting down, he gestured to Kayla, pulling her forward slightly. “My girlfriend, Kayla.”

It was the first time he’d referred to her like that in public. Not that they weren’t in that kind of a relationship, but they were always just so not-normal in their affection for one another.

Not that Meara cared. She reached out and hugged Kayla too, without even waiting to hear whether she should or not. She also did not comment on the fact that Kayla froze up. “It’s so good to meet you in person. I kept telling Roinn that you’re such a beautiful woman and Callien was an idiot for not saying anything sooner.”

“Aye, she did,” Roinn muttered, poking his head out from behind the menu. “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Finn stated, though Kayla could tell he didn’t mean it. “I sprung it on Kayla and it took us a while to figure out how to get dressed for this.” He pulled out a chair for Kayla and appropriately pushed it in after she sat down. Kayla was slightly bewildered. As he sat down, she leaned in.

“She hugged me.”

“She does that.” He replied.

“You pulled out my chair.”

“Do this kindly and later, just the way you like it, I’ll pull your hair.”

Kayla couldn’t help but bite her lip briefly.

“So Kayla,” Meara continued, leaning forward and smiling brightly at her. She spoke kindly in her Irish lilt. “Callien tells me that you’re from Norwich?” She didn’t really wait for Kayla to answer, just continued on. “It’s a lovely area, especially in the summer. So very green once you’re out of the main city proper. I think I went once on holiday with me sister…very lovely woman; had to move out of London when her house burned down.”

Kayla glanced at Finn, who looked at his menu pointedly. “Mathair, she doesn’t want to hear about Aunt Maisie and her drinking problem.”

“True, true, true.” Meara nodded. “How about…oh, your career! You and Callien held those championships for such a long time.” When the waitress showed up, she didn’t give Kayla a moment to respond, “We’ll have the zinfindel. White. A bottle. Thank you.”

“Kayla’s also the World Bombshell Champion.”

“Very admirable!” His mother continued, smiling brightly. His father looked up again and peered at Kayla.

“A woman with aspirations. Better than he’s chosen in the past,” he smiled briefly, watching his son as he rolled his eyes. “Oh please, don’t even think that I didn’t notice that heathen woman bring you down. Both of them. Your sister…”

Finn tightened his lips slightly, but didn’t seem to show any other affect to his emotion. He hated her just as much as his brother did, and the mention continued to bury that hate just a bit deeper every time. “Regardless…we’re doing fairly well in our careers, thanks.”

His father’s expression changed slightly and he looked a bit like he failed for a moment. “Callien–”

“It’s fine. What are you having? I think I’ll have the steak. As usual. Mom?”

As the dinner moved on, Kayla realized slowly that she’d never seen it before, but Finn was maintaining control of the conversation by giving his mother topics to talk about. His father didn’t try again, but Meara happily conversed with the both of them. She knew Finn liked to keep control of situations, especially when it came to his career, or the information with the Yakuza or the Romani, but she’d never seen it actually in play. Perhaps it was because he didn’t trust his parents, or perhaps it was the venue. Regardless, she was both impressed and confused by his choice in demeanor. And as they kissed Meara on the cheek on the way out, and Finn paid for the meal after arguing with his father about who was going to pay, she placed her hand in his and found it remarkably taut.

“Finn.” She stated, raising an eyebrow.

“They put me on edge. I’ll be fine when we get to the house.” He replied sharply. She pulled back and slammed in her heels into the sidewalk, which rocked the Irish-American. “What?”

“I met your parents.”

“Yes.”

“They were nice.”

“Yes.”

“So, I get that the relationship is strained.” She tugged on his hand again as he tried to start walking again. “I saw you not be you that entire dinner because of it. I at least am owed a fucking explanation for it so I can understand why you because Finn the demure diplomat instead of the aggressive asshole I fell for.”

Finn exhaled out of his nose, looked around, and then stepped closer, leaning in slightly and dropping his tone. “When we get home.”

When she nodded, Finn sighed briefly and then continued the walk home with her, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders. The entire time, he was watchful of their surroundings, and he kept his hand in his coat pocket. When they arrived at their home, Kayla threw off her shoes while Finn undid his tie and exhaled again. He sat down again on the couch and leaned over his hands, slowly calming himself.

Kayla didn’t think she’d ever seen him so stressed. She sat down next to him, and this time, pressed a hand to his leg. She waited for him to speak, trying to be the assuring and caring girlfriend that she wasn’t at all attuned to being at any point and time in her life. But she was trying to be a better human for him, and so was he for her.

“I don’t do well with people who neglect their children.” He muttered first, raising a hand to his face and placing it on his brow, covering his eyes. “I spent so much time as a child being treated as an afterthought once I didn’t want to follow the same career that he did. I was shipped off to someone else, I was left to fail because I didn’t want to take up becoming a brewer. I didn’t want to run his business,” he turned his head and looked at her then. “They abandoned me to the worst days of my life, and now they’re trying to repair it, and I get it. I’m trying to let them, but it is so difficult to me to trust those who turn their backs on people.”

And then it clicked.

It clicked in Kayla’s head. Why he wasn’t commenting on the Miles situation, why he wasn’t stating anything to her, or to anyone else in Wolfslair, about any of it.

He saw Miles as just another one of those people who he’d opened up to and burned him. Betrayal didn’t sit well with Callien. It wasn’t Finn just being an asshole, it was the man behind the mask he’d created as “Finn”. This was Callien. And it wasn’t often that even she got Callien. He hid that part of him so much so that he couldn’t be injured, and he created a moniker and self that wanted to make sure that everyone he created a relationship with never would feel like he did again.

She leaned her forehead in, pressing it to the side of his head and closed her eyes. “I get it.”

He relaxed and turned his head for a rare moment of affection, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Good.”



••••••


Hi Sin City Wrestling. Did you miss me?

I suppose I’m not as fun as returning retirees or you know, men who say they’re going to be out at least a year, but continue to show up because they like beating their own meat in front of everyone, but regardless…I am back from my short sabbatical which really wasn’t a sabbatical but a lack of actually placing me in matches weekly. Again, people can surmise or make up really whatever the fuck they want about the reasons for my absence, but the mere fact that my disappearance from the company really set my poor High Stakes opponent into such a tizzy because he wanted to cause a bit more petty bullshit for me and he couldn’t find me? That rose far above anything that I could come up with.

Regardless, before we get into the meat and potatoes of this whole thing, I want to say a brief congratulations to Eddie and Victoria Lyons. Had I been a little more discerning or focused, perhaps the Wolves of Gheimhridh would have been over a year with their Mixed Tag Team Championship, but the beginning of the year is not too far off and I got word that we do have a rematch. So you can count down the days in which you retain those championships. Or maybe you can lose them to Alexandra Callaway and Mi–

A large strangling sound happens.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t even finish that statement because it would be the biggest fucking lie in the existence of mankind.

Now, I suppose that I’m supposed to sit here and act angry and frustrated about losses and vow vengeance upon the poor soul that put me into this predicament. I mean, that would be the most archaic philosophy that penetrates this world. The story that I’m supposed to want revenge upon the person who cost me my championship – and I really don’t give a fuck how that’s potrayed by a sycophant British fuck whose only credibility comes from weeks and weeks of facing Barnharts to retain a championship. I think you all know at this point that I don’t do what’s expected. I mean, if we’re being perfectly honest, I wasn’t expected to figure out how to get into Kayla’s pants after we’d broken apart our friendship, but let me tell you, I do it on the daily.

Funny how you assumed that I wasn’t getting laid. As if that fucking matters in the long run.

Fucking travesty, but subtlety has never gotten past certain fuckhead’s brains, even when it needles its way through with a fucking ten gauge pick.

I don’t do what’s expected, do I?

You don’t see me backstage trying to find my High Stakes opponent and bash his head into the wall. You don’t see me vowing vengeance upon him. Because as much as it’s difficult for anyone to believe, when you’ve done something like he has done, you’re wiped from my memory. You’re wiped from the annals of my past, and I don’t give a fuck about you. Does that mean I’m going to have nothing to say at High Stakes? Nah, I have plenty to say. I’m just not going to give this any more credibility because choices were made, and this is where we stand.

And I suppose I should be angry and vowing to put Helluva Bottom Carter in the ground too. That would be the archaic thought. The ancient ideal that you fuck with me, I fuck with your family as a story to put him in his fucking place. That’s why this match was created. It has nothing to do with anything about there being a show, it’s simply an attempt for me to have to face the husband of the man I’m supposed to hate with everything in me. To force me to face the reality of the situation and give me the opportunity to destroy what little piece of relevance there is here to fix this.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do – but I’ve never bought into the whole hate the whole family for the sins of the father…or husband…or whomever the trifling cunt is.

But again…I don’t do what’s expected.

I never have, and I really never actually will.

This week – the go home show, two weeks before High Stakes – I’m facing Carter for no other reason except that there should be a story that goes into it to rev up my match with an ingrate. Except that there isn’t. Let’s look at the facts of this match, shall we? Buried in the idea that is a champion versus champion match-up, this is an opportunity to showcase the talents of the company while also forcing us together. Carter is expected to take up the mantle of his husband and proclaim that Miles will beat me one day, I’m expected to do threats, yadda, yadda…

I cannot tell you how much I am not interested in this match for the reasons pushed.

It’s not because Carter isn’t a great wrestler. I’ve always held that Helluva Bottom Carter has and will be a great wrestler. A generational talent, one that pushes people to their limit over and over again. But he hasn’t gotten there with this championship, and I said that the first time that we ever faced off. It had nothing to do with bygones, and maybe there was a foot on the rope, and maybe there was a lot of bitterness after that. It comes down to being given chance after chance and…not doing shit with it. 

The last time that we’ve faced one another, so far ago, was for the Mixed Tag Team titles in April or May. This was, of course, after the Elite Eight competition that eventually led me to my championship. In that moment, Carter was angry with me. He was angry that I didn’t deserve to be champion, simply because his foot was on the rope and the referee didn’t see it. Now, the tune may have changed – I don’t know. But one measly little slip up does not negate an entirety of battles since. Kayla and I were dominant with the Mixed Tag Titles, and I have been just as dominant as World Heavyweight Champion.

You told me that you would never recognize me as champion.

I didn’t care then, and I don’t care now. I didn’t get to this spot in my career by giving a shit about anyone else, and I wasn’t about to start now. I know my abilities. I know that if I really wanted to, I could completely fucking massacre you and leave you in a puddle of your own blood so your husband can gain all the sympathy in the world. And as much as part of me wishes I could do that very thing and leave you broken in the middle of the ring, I’m not going to.

Because regardless of your relationship and regardless of our past, I respect you. I never said I didn’t. I even said you had done great things. Look at you now, Internet Champion, reigning strong. Doing everything in your power to retain it. Growth happens whether people want to believe it or not, and you’ve grown. You continue to grow. But you’re limited in your approach because you care, Carter. When it comes to your husband, you care, and that’s your hindrance now.

It would be so easy to just drag you around to prove a point to Miles. It would be easy to turn it into this – at the basest of desires, it would be easy to turn this into the whole fiasco of Mercer and Kasey. Mercer, who attacked you simply because it was a way into Miles’ head. And it worked.

But if you haven’t noticed, I’m not Mercer. And I don’t think you understand how I operate. I don’t really think anyone understands how I operate, so let me spell it out for you. Wolfslair is a means to an end, and that’s simply it. If you asked anyone at the gym what their opinion of me would be, you would understand that I was pretty much a heretic, a hermit, someone who is simply there because of the prowess I provide. Austin James Mercer hates me. There is no tolerance there. I call Alicia Lukas a fucking Nazi regularly because we once fought in Germany and she looks the exact picture of the Aryan dynasty. Aiden Reynolds is the best friend of my little brother and if we’re being perfectly honest, the only reason he was provided an apartment at my behest is the same reason Miles Kasey was provided a place to live that he reneged on without a word: he needed it, and so did his pregnant girlfriend.

I’m not altruistic. I’m not a leader in this gym. I’m a means to an end. Alex Jones hates me, he hates my presence in his gym, but I’m still there because I am valuable. I’ve learned this long ago and I don’t begrudge it because at least it’s fucking honest. I don’t pledge loyalty. And I don’t pretend to help in a situation where I didn’t and don’t belong.

So this idea that I’m supposed to simply destroy you because of your relationship?

I could give a fuck less.

Instead, Carter, we’re going to have a match that proves why I’m the World Heavyweight Champion and why you’re the Internet Champion. We’re going to go back and forth, we’re going to face one another with brilliance and candor and it will be a great lead in towards our respective fights at High Stakes. You’re going to put me in my place, I’ll put you in your place, and we’ll have a grand time. But don’t think for a second that I’m going to sit there and do this because of your relationship.

That makes you smaller than you already are, and didn’t that happen with the state of America this week?

No. Don’t denigrate yourself and get into my business with your husband. Make this your fight is yours. You deserve better than being a pawn in the game. Because that’s what this is. A game. Simply put.

Be a rook, not a priest.

Be a knight, not a pawn.

Awaken and do this for yourself, Dreamer. Not for anyone else.

Just as this will be done for me. Nothing more.

Nothing less.

6
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXV // MERCI (FVKT)
« on: September 06, 2024, 11:28:59 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXV // MERCI (FVKT)   
OH MERCI….WE’RE NOT FINE, WE’RE FILTH. WE’RE NOT KIND, WE KILL. IT’S NOT AT ALL MERCY – NO MERCY BETWEEN YOU AND ME. IT’S LOUD AS SILENCE, WE VOW FOR VIOLENCE.
DEATH VALLEY HIGH .


••••••


The Hudson River had many chilling tales surrounding it, but as they stood outside its embankments in the cool, frigid air, its rippling tide left nothing but ice on their hearts. It was just barely Autumn, but coats were required already. The Catskill Mountains rose up in dark peaks over the city of Kingston. At the parking lot just a few hundred feet away, a black, Porsche 911 Speedster sat, overlooking the small port. Standing with his eyes on the road was Finn Whelan, his hands shoved in the pockets of his patagonia jacket and his boots rooted firmly into the ground.

His unlikely partner in today’s crime was his ex-wife, whose colorful hair was tied up in a loose bun on top of her head. She had a radio in her hands and was listening on the earpiece inside of her left ear intently, chewing on her lip. And in all honesty, he hadn’t spent as much time with her in the five years since their divorce as he had in the last few weeks. Not that he wanted to either, but she was a useful asset from time to time. At least, since he’d gotten back to being involved in…

…well, whatever he was involved in.

Part of him lately wished that he hadn’t agreed to any of it. Part of him felt like he was right back into square one, doing the same poor behavior that he tried to hard to desperately get away from. He had no choice in the matter, though – if he didn’t, then he may have lost another family member to the world and he’d already lost enough of them. His children. His sister. They were all gone, and he had nothing he could have done in those situations. With this one, it was a decision that he didn’t want, but nevertheless took. He had to protect Dimitri. Even if it was from himself.

Just like he felt like he had to protect everyone.

Everyone in his apartment complex had now been relegated to safety. Cameras. Alarms. Everyone had them, and he wasn’t going to let a single person be injured. He was a damned protector, even if he grit his teeth and did it without really wanting to. He’d been there for Aiden and Kallie, to help provide for them while they struggled to get on their feet. He gave Miles a place to be when he was struggling with his stalker ex-girlfriend. Dickie was an obvious, and even Aaron, who he hated with a passion, he provided support when needed. Kayla? He was actively doing so now, with his teeth grit, as he walked into fires for her just enough in order to ensure she was safe.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t really had a family for so long that he just searched for one and created it from the ashes of his friendships. Maybe it was because he felt alone for so long that having people nearby made life just a bit easier. Or maybe it was simply because he had nothing left and needed that for himself to live.

It could have been anything.

Nevertheless, he turned as Aaron shifted on the ground, the bright red soles of her Louboutin boots visible even in the dark, moonlight. She looked up at him and nodded. “They have him. They’re fifteen minutes out.”

“Good.” Finn replied, sighing slightly. “Fifteen minutes and he’s safe.”

Aaron rose to her feet and then went to stand next to him, peering up at him from her short height. Finn was still abominably tall compared to her. She folded her hands and stared at the road. “I suppose my father really couldn’t say no.”

“No.” Finn shook his head. “Your dad likes to save the weak and powerless. It reminds him of his place in the world, filled with the kind of power only some men dream of. I’ll send him my regards once I’m back in the city.”

Aaron teetered forwards, and then backwards on her heels, like she had always done since she was a kid when she was curious. “...can I ask you something?”

“You already did.”

“Why…this kid?” She tilted her head again and squinted her brown eyes at him. “I know you told my dad of his lineage, but…why does that particularly matter?”

Finn didn’t initially reply. At first, he was questioning himself on the matter…why did this kid’s life matter to him? The Romani were possessive, controlling, and they wouldn’t be happy when one of their own disappeared from beneath their noses. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have figured out who had taken him, and Finn honestly expected Jace to show up on his doorstep the following day. Of course, if he reached out, Finn wouldn’t have suggested to him to arrive because that could have been considered an attack at this point between the two clans, but honestly. Honestly, he just felt like the kid deserved more.

“Is it because it’s Kayla’s family?”

Again, not a response.

“I mean, I know you have a weird perspective of family, but–”

“We could have once been a family, you know.” He cut across her. “You. Me. Zoey. Kieran. We had everything. A home. A life. Careers. We didn’t want for anything, and then…” He stared out at the street as he spoke, not bothering to look down at her. “And then he came along. And he took everything. The twins. Our happiness. In all that time, I fought for everything. Respect from my own father that never came, my livelihood. Kei had a twisted grip on me and I had to do everything he said because he promised that I would be happy again. I had to fight for us, because you weren’t doing it. You had a beef with my sister, and then we never were the same. And then you decided that I was no longer enough for you, and you slept with someone else, and it destroyed any chance of that ever happening again.”

He turned his head then and looked down at Aaron, who had widened her eyes. It was the most he’d talked to her in years, all in one go.

“So yes, Aaron, I have a very skewed perspective of family. I had to create one because the one that I had dissolved into absolute trash. Forgive me for trying to repair one when I can’t fix my own.”

Aaron looked at the ground then, blowing out of her nose slowly and exhaling. She bit her lip and then turned her head. “It’s not that you weren’t enough, it’s just that I–”

“I don’t want to hear an excuse. We’re barely coworkers, and hardly acquaintances now. What’s gone is gone and I’ve very much moved on.”

She paused again. Finn took his hand out of his pocket, looking at the phone he had clutched in it. It was a picture of Kayla on the front screen. She looked at it, and then up at him again, slowly.

“Do you love her?”

Finn rolled his eyes and exhaled out of his nose as well, shoving his hand back into his pocket. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because she’s kind of a cunt and I just-”

“You’re kind of a cunt.”

“...touche.”

Finn nodded and then inhaled slowly and exhaled as well. “Yes. I do love her, Aaron. She understands me, and it’s not about touchy-feely bullshit. I don’t feel like I have to be someone else like I do around virtually everyone that is near me. Aiden and Kallie don’t get my silence, Dickie doesn’t get my introversion. The fans and the company don’t understand what it takes from me to be who I am, and the one person that I don’t have to be a fucking fraud with is Kayla. She doesn’t ask for anything more from me than who I am and what I am.”

Aaron peered at him again, and then slowly nodded. She still knew him, regardless of their separation, and most of the time, that annoyed Finn. It certainly did at this moment. “But you’re afraid she’s going to discover who you really are, and she’ll want to leave too.”

Finn continued to stare at the road. Headlights were arriving from the distance, ones that appeared to be attached to an Army Jeep. He took a few steps forward, heading towards the stairs that would lead him not only back to his car, but to pick up the kid and escape from where he was now.

“Yes.”
••••••



I know. It gets super boring having to watch us time and time again do the same thing. In fact, I would even hazard to say that it’s not just simply boring – it’s deafening. If you’re one of those people who sits down at the end of the day and goes through it, trying to figure out how to best karma-fy your life based on the actions of the day and how to better yourself in the future as a competitor, you might actually sit there and hear nothing but silence. Or white noise. Because eventually, the more you try to sit and put us into a box, the more we push out, show out, and do what we’re supposed to do.

I’m well aware that Miles Kasey has no fucking clue what to do now. Four times we’ve faced, three of them with his friendo…and except for that one moment in time in which he was able to capitalize, I have been dominant in this company. And I know that’s frustrating. We all expect monoliths to crumble. We all expect empires to fall. We all expect that eventually, a person will stop being the pillar that they have been, holding fast to the reins of the company. I feel bad for Miles – I do, but me feeling bad for my Wolfslair packmate doesn’t mean that I’m not going to do everything in my power to persevere and thrive. We all have our own careers, our own desires, our own dreams…and I am unapologetic in my quest to create a legacy only seen by a few in this place.

So what’s next? Finn, they said, you’re going to be in singles action next week in Stockholm. Finn, you’re going to be facing another member of the roster that you know. What they didn’t say, and what I think they’re attempting to see, is that they’re placing me against members of my pack. Hell, even members of my own home. The dirt sheets ask, “What will Finn Whelan do in the wake of facing not only his team members, but his friends?”

When the job needs to be done, I don’t have friends.

I’ll speak on Aiden in a moment, but I want to bring it back to what’s been happening. You know, it’s not only The Conspiracy that has noted the favoritism in this company. The blatant continued shots for things that weren’t earned steadily, the opportunities handed again and again and again…claiming a challenge is through someone like Bill Barnhart when it should be the champions that rule this company. These Proving Ground series…for a chance at my championship.

I see through it.

I want you to know it. I see the opponents these people have been given, I see the set up, I see the punchline, I see what awaits in store for me. One is provided an opponent that can contest, and the other given a waste of space. One has to fight harder than the other. It’s disappointing. If this was a true proving ground, each contestant should have had to face our Roulette and Internet Champions respectively in non-title matches to prove that they’re ready to face me.

It’s just so sad that everyone has their own agendas that they’ve tried to create everything to be around. They’ve lost sight of what wrestling is meant to be about: the gold, and the story that arises within it. It should be about rising to the top, it should be about the things that matter in this business. But that’s not what we do, and maybe I should also be thankful for that.

Listen, we’re all selfish beings filled with an ego that is so high on the richter scale that we cause our own earthquakes. Every single one of us thinks that our steps are so clamorous and deafening that we have created some sort of wave of change and fear in the world, when the reality is simple: the fans have created their own heroes and villains, and the only thing that truly matters is gold.

So when you sit there and wonder why Sin City’s Heavyweight Championship isn’t main eventing? It’s because we’re constantly building tournaments around it instead of stabilizing into one true contender. We’re watching as it’s been relegated down to one-hit wonders and outside contenders. We’re watching as proved that I deserved it and it wasn’t a fluke when I defeated Goth, but then had Sausage Fest or whatever the fuck his name in a multi-person random ass match where no one deserved it…and then watched as the Blast From the Past winner QQ’d and didn’t give his all while a dipshit used a briefcase and thought it was going to work against me.

I get that too.

Nothing except that initial moment where Goth and I tore the building apart to win this championship has been breathtaking and aweinspiring, and so I can understand where I might be considered boring. But how am I supposed to, in good faith, create a clamor when contenders are so shoddily built for me?

There’s no drive behind it. No…passion. I’m simply doing my work and I’m doing it well. The most pre-match things I’ve done is back and forth with a woman who might actually have some rocks impeding some brain function. My own opponents and my own division? Can’t be assed to comment when they have a match.

It’s doing the legwork without any of the weight, and let me tell you…that doesn’t build gains in the gym, and it doesn’t build drama and hype.

It’s disappointing.

The state of things, you know? Someone might call this a bitter tirade, because you have the emotional depth of a teaspoon. But maybe it’s because I wish, on the wrestling gods, that I didn’t have to accept less than what I’m worth. And so…

I won’t.

No longer is this the Finn who won this championship with everything in me. No longer am I simply fighting. No longer am I doing this because of the love of the fight. I am done. No mercy.

And who better to start this off with than my own housemate turned opponent this week?

Sorry Aiden.

It’s gonna be a repeat of twenty-eighteen.


••••••


Getting the kid back into the city only took a couple of hours. Kingston wasn’t too far away, but it was primarily driving in the New York City proper. He’d made sure he wasn’t followed by anyone, and by the time they’d gotten into the city, Finn had learned quite a bit about the kid who he’d orchestrated not only a rescue, but what he supposed could also be kidnapping at the end of the day.

Not that the kid wasn’t a willing participant.

His name was Lucas, but most of the clan called him Luca. He was almost ten years of age, and he was slowly learning about the world outside of the compound. He was intelligent, and when he was allowed to go to the neighborhood schools, they’d tested him and he’d come out within the top ninety-fifth percentile. His mother had been stricken from the history of the Romani compound, and was only talked about with poor words. He spoke with a maturity that Finn didn’t see from most kids his age, and he thought that was probably because he was around only other Romani kids and the adults. And they were all extremely weird, in Finn’s opinion.

After he’d parked the car, Finn looked at the time and noted that he hadn’t eaten in over four hours. He checked his phone once more to check and see if Kayla had returned back. She hadn’t yet, stating that she was still with her sister Amber at her house. He texted quickly for them to start heading back to the house and he got a “Whatever” response followed by a heart.

“A problem?” Luca asked as he stepped out of the vehicle, looking at it with the wide eyes he’d had before. He’d never seen such a vehicle, nor the opulence of the building in which Finn drove his car beneath into the underground garage.

“Not really,” Finn replied, and looked at him. “Let’s get food, shall we?”

“Food” turned out to be the McDonalds that was just a couple of blocks away because Finn didn’t feel like cooking food and having questions asked. Always observant of their surroundings, he swung into a seat with their back to the corner of the chain and his eyes searching the open floor plan, noting that Luca was at least blocked by a small wall. It was remarkably clean in here. Luckily, Luca looked similar to Finn in appearance – black hair, bright hazel eyes. No one would have suspected the kid wasn’t even remotely related to, nor that he’d been kidnapped.

The older of the two pulled up the app on his phone and selected a couple of items. “What do you want, kid?”

“Do they have saviako?”

Finn’s eyes slowly lifted from the screen to the Romani kid in front of him, who despite looking like him, actually did look out of place in his jeans and buttoned shirt. “What the fuck is that?”

Hey, we never said he was a great role model, okay?

“Um…it has noodles and cottage cheese and it’s put in the oven…”

Finn’s eyes narrowed as his insides turned with disdain for the food being described to him. “...how about a cheeseburger and some fries?”

“Okay!” He seemed happy to try something new. In fact, he didn’t seem plussed about having been taken from his home in the middle of the night. Luca seemed quite pleased to be sitting in this McDonalds at eleven o’clock at night with a man that he barely knew.

Now he understood why Dickie was so upset when this initially came up.

He ordered a cheeseburger meal and pushed the order through on the app. They would, of course, ultimately have to wait, but that didn’t seem a problem right now. Finn leaned back in his seat, peering at the kid who eagerly rested both his hands upon the table and looked at Finn. “You have questions, don’t you? I don’t mind you asking…but can I guess first what it is?”

“Sure.” Finn nodded.

“You want to know how I knew who you were.” When Finn nodded slightly, he nodded too and folded his hands at the table. “So, I grew up knowing that my mother wasn’t part of the compound anymore, and that she was alive, but no one had been able to find her. It was like she was kind of the unspoken person, her and her sister. They were called tradare, and they had betrayed us. But I…I haven’t ever really felt like the rest of them, ya know? I’ve seen pictures of my mom and her sister. I knew what they looked like but never thought I’d see them, since they were you know…”

“Tradare.”

“Yeah! So I…well, I happened to be in the city near the compound and saw a rerun of the show that you’re on. We don’t really get a lot of television, we’re not really supposed to engage in the real world. We kind of figure out how to manipulate around it, but anyway…I saw her. The same girl in the photographs, and I saw you. I was certain of it. And then Jace started talking more about her, and I learned her name was Kayla. He’s been super jealous of her, I think.”

Their food arrived and Luca looked at the food in front of him with wide eyes. He’d clearly never seen a flat ass cheeseburger from McDonalds before. Finn momentarily plugged into his head to research if the Romani were like the Amish.

“And when I saw you at the compound,” the kid continued, opening the wrapper and taking a bite. “I waz lahke, ish im!” He swallowed. “So I confronted you and you looked very confused when you saw me.”

“I…was. But then I saw a picture of you when you were a kid and your mom…and put together the pieces.”

“I’ve been stuck there forever…” He looked a bit upset, but then shrugged. “But now I’m not. Am I going to see my mom soon?”

“Listen, kid…” Finn put down his own quarter pounder as he spoke. “Your mom doesn’t even know I have you. She’s going to be in a state of shock, and I don’t think she’s going to figure out who you are quickly. So…I still have to tell her. And I’m not sure quite how I’m going to do that yet.”

“But…” he looked upset now, and Finn supposed he had a right to be. “I thought…”

“This has been a quick rollercoaster ride, and now that I have you, you might be staying with me longer than you expect. I mean, I want you with your mom, but–”

“I don’t want to go back if she doesn’t want me around!” Luca nearly burst into tears, and Finn cringed slightly. “Please don’t send me back. I hate it there. It’s not the life I want to have, I don’t want to be like Jace!”

Finn sighed…and then he shook his head. “Listen, you’re not going to go back…but I just need you to be pre–”

And then…the worst possible thing happened. Or at least, he thought it might have been the worst possible thing. So focused he’d been on Luca that he hadn’t realized that two people had entered the restaurant. It wasn’t anyone particularly on the bad side of things, but everything that he was hoping to transpire at the house was now about to transpire here.

Kayla and Amber walked in the door.

Kayla saw Finn immediately, tilted her head, and didn’t notice the kid behind the wall. She walked towards him, followed by Amber. He didn’t notice until she was nearly on top of them. “You went to get food without me?” She chided goodnaturedly, and laughed slightly. “How dare you–” And then her eyes caught sight of Luca. Her brow furrowed.

But it was Amber’s gasp that opened up about ten different worlds.


••••••



This isn’t the first time Aiden and I have met in the ring. Once upon a time, in a long…redacted…far away company, we once had the opportunity to square off. I’m not quite sure if Aiden remembers that, because it’s been a long, long time and we all know that his cognitive faculties are not high in the short term memory processing area. Nevertheless, as I dug in the annals of my library, it brought to mind the man that I stood across then…versus the one I see now.

Come along with me down memory road, will you?

Twenty-eighteen was when you burst onto the American scene, disappearing from the ranks of Japan and coming here. Disillusioned, but nevertheless a fighter with who laughed about everything in the face of danger. Alex Jones brought you into Wolfslair, tried to rehabilitate you, and you stepped into the same company as I did, looking to not only make a name for yourself, but breakthrough your own troubles. We didn’t know your life story, we didn’t know who you were…but in one of your brightest moments in the world, you won. Again and again, your positive outlook and your jokes made you a sight for sore eyes and you capitalized. Again. And again.

You defeated the company’s former champion. And I celebrated you in the same time that I tore you into shreds.

As we all made an exodus from that company, you went into another…and another, searching for respect and longevity. None was provided – not until you created a camaraderie with my own little shithead of a brother. You and he created the strangest fucking friendship I have ever seen and since then, the two of you have been tied to each other like giggling school girls.

You won championships together, and when he excelled in the singles division, everyone just tended to call you his sidekick. But I knew better. I know better. You’re a vicious competitor of your own, and you proved it time and time again…but I know how it is. You’ve come back to wrestling and you have that goofy ass attitude because you just want to have a good time and get into some fights…

…except that’s complete bullshit and we both know it, right?

Dickie once told me that you were the type of man who hid behind a laughing face and a bunch of jokes, and really, reality was just something that made you nervous. You’ve felt the sting of the ultimate failure of your life – perhaps it was love, or maybe it was in your career – and that has made your initiative become a lackadaisical movement. You want to push for the heavens, but only just enough that you won’t feel like a complete and utter failure for your wife and son when you fail. You want greatness, but just enough that you’ll be praised for your minimal success.

You are a walking catch-twenty-two and you don’t even realize it.

I told you a long time ago that you’re going to want to exude more confidence than what you used to. A long time ago, you gave me some respectful song and dance, and I told you then that your respect wasn’t going to stop me from ripping out your throat. I told you six years ago that I was going to fight, snarl and bite until you were dead on the ground…and then would I only show mercy.

But that Finn is a different Finn. So very different than the Finn of today.

I am still the measuring stick, Aiden. I am still the one person that you have yet to conquer, and you are still not prepared to face me.

No mercy, Aiden.

None.

I know you live in my apartment, and I know I’ve given you and your wife a home and this and that and you’re semi-family and maybe I should be kinder. But you know what frustrates me in every single moment that I’ve seen you in this company?

You care more about getting cheap joking pops in than actually focusing and not second-fucking-guessing yourself. Take Eddie Lyons – you sold him as a possible World Champion, gave your props to me, and then literally sold him in a solid fight against you. Every match you say you’re doing your best and pushing yourself to the limit, but you don’t tell us why you’re going to absolutely annihilate everyone. You’re unsure, like you always have been. Mate, lemme talk to ya man to man…you can’t like everyone, and you can’t have good things to say constantly about anyone you meet.

You have success in the palm of your hand and you need to fucking snatch it from here on out if you’re ever going to make it in Sin City. Fight for it. I don’t want to see some unsure dickhead across from me, afraid to even remotely kick my ass – I want to see someone who has fire and adrenaline in them. I want someone that’s going to do the exact same thing and show no fucking mercy.

Can you do that?

Can you capitalize on that?

Can you erase our ties in that ring and fight me like a goddamned Australian rather than a half-neutered man who only does as much as he feels like in the day? Make a couple jokes, lay down on the ground and just let me pin you because who the fuck cares?

I can.

And I will.

We’re friends, Aiden. But that doesn’t mean I won’t destroy you. Believe me…you are going to need to muster up every part of being prepared for me like you’ve been prepared for everything else…because I am nothing like anyone else.

We will have a repeat of twenty-eighteen, Aiden…and at the end, I will shake your hand and we’ll continue on as we have. But you will have the startling reminder every so often that we’ve all figured you out. Listen to me…

Sometimes failure is what makes us grow.

And maybe…just maybe…you need to grow.

7
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXIV // COLORS
« on: August 30, 2024, 10:58:31 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXIV // COLORS
CAN YOU FEEL IT CRUSH YOU? DOES IT SEEM TO BRING THE WORST IN YOU OUT? THERE’S NO RUNNING AWAY FROM THESE THINGS THAT HOLD YOU DOWN. DO THEY COMPLICATE YOU BECAUSE THEY MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE THIS? OF ALL THE COLORS THAT YOU SHINE, THIS IS SURELY NOT YOUR BEST.
CROSSFADE .


••••••


The Officer’s Quarters of West Point were refurbished and remodeled early nineteenth century homes that had been built after the Revolutionary War for the quartermaster and other important members of the Military Academy. The one that he was specifically going to, driving his Speedster up the winding roads leading to the housing complexes on base. The visitors pass on his windshield was something that he didn’t think he’d see again, but this time, he hadn’t really had a choice.

He pulled into the driveway of a colonial-tudor styled home that still looked like it had the original brick that had been restored. It had a large circular driveway, and he had no qualms with parking right in front of the sidewalk leading to the front door. He cut the engine and then stepped out of the vehicle, his full height rising a full three feet from the top of the car. He turned and looked at the house with a smidge of disdain. After his divorce, he never thought that he would be in front of it again.

“Took you long enough,” with her long colorful hair wrapped around her face, Aaron stepped out on the front step. She crossed her arms as Finn rolled his eyes and reminded himself that he needed to play nice today. He would not take any anger out on Aaron in front of her family, especially when it was they who asked him to come here, sending a message through their daughter that they wanted to see him.

It took about thirty seconds for another woman to appear. A demure, white haired woman that had her hair tied up into a bun and looked just as lithe and fit as her daughter stepped out into the fray. She smiled brightly and wrapped her cardigan around herself, rushing up the sidewalk as she did so, wrapping her arms tightly around Finn and kissing him on both cheeks. “Callien!”

He wasn’t going to yell at Aaron’s mother for her misdeed of calling him the wrong name. That’s the only name she would ever call him by, and he couldn’t get her to change it even before.

“Hi,” he smiled and held both of her hands in his own. “How have you been?”

“Oh you know!” She cooed. She was just near seventy years of age, but that didn’t seem to slow her down. “I’m about to head for the train to go into the city and teach my master class! New York City Ballet can’t seem to get rid of me in my old age.”

“Well, if you’d stop showing off for the new recruits and break something, they might retire you.” Aaron replied, snarkily.

Aaron’s mother rolled her eyes, and then waved politely to Finn as she headed for the attached garage. Finn continued up the steps and stepped into the grandiose abode. Chandeliers, mahogany – it was certainly guessed up, regardless of the tight financial ship the family ran. They didn’t speak as they headed down the hallway. Aaron pressed her hand against a panel next to the doorway, and a variety of beeps issued from the area. It allowed her to open the door in front of her, and she ushered Finn inside.

They headed down a set of stairs into the cellar, where metal casing replaced the stone that had once been the foundation. It was bright down here, with fluorescent lights illuminating the room.

The Colonel was a formidable man, seventy years of age, who wore his station with pride. He was not dressed in his colonel’s attire, but was in a tucked in polo and tan slacks. He turned his head, his jawline cutting the space around him blockingly. He peered at Finn as he stepped down into the room after The Colonel’s daughter and huffed slightly.

He was the only man that Finn had ever called “sir” willingly. It was like his appearance and aptitude required it.

“O’Hanlon,” the man said to Finn gruffly.

“Sir.” Finn replied, nodding his head.

The Colonel took a seat at his desk and leveled his hands on the desk, folding them as he did so. He stared at Finn as the younger man sat down across from him, not necessarily even shaken, but still respectfully. Aaron stood next to the desk, refusing to stand behind her father or sit next to Finn.

“Aaron tells me you’re back on your extracurriculars?”

Finn smiled slightly. “With all due respect, sir, you didn’t need Aaron to tell you that.”

The Colonel always had a little bit of respect for Finn and his smart mouth. He leaned forward, nodding slightly. “You’re right. I didn’t. I can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed, but when it was explained to me why, I did understand. Your brother called Aaron, who called me…you have a task for my team to do, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was and why. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t quite sure why you would have us work in your illegal affairs…we are, after all, a legal operation.”

Finn nodded, and also leaned forward, matching The Colonel’s stance. “It’s simple. I knew you couldn’t resist being a hero. And that you would get it done more effectively and quietly than my brother’s team.”

“Your brother’s team?” He questioned, as if he didn’t believe his words. As if Finn was truly the ringleader and Dickie was just the fall guy.

“My brother’s team. It’s kind of precious cargo too…I wanted to make sure there wasn’t going to be a trace. You can infiltrate better than I can.” Finn continued, nodding slightly. “There’s a kid. In the carnival grounds just west of the city. I know Aaron has already passed you a picture, so you know who you’re looking for.”

The Colonel’s eyes narrowed. “And why the kid? Isn’t that kidnapping? You’re asking us to kidnap a child?”

Finn shook his head. “You know the Romani, Colonel. The only important set of humans in that entire encampment is the men, and the women and children are essentially property. That sect isn’t like the others…they truly believe in the old ways, and I’ve witnessed it myself. I want to make sure the kid is safe.”

“And why this specific child? Why not all of them?”

He hesitated, sighed slightly and then looked away. “The boy is the son of the former Romani leader, Renee. You know, the one that caused so many issues nearly eight years ago? There was a lot of infighting, and the boy’s uncle now runs the entire operation. I want to make sure the kid is safe, because he’s also family.”

“Your family?”

Finn shook his head. “No…but my girlfriend’s family. And there is a lot of chaos going on right now surrounding this, and I’m just trying to put everything together for…safety…purposes.”

The Colonel didn’t buy that response. He narrowed his eyes further, paused, and then scoffed slightly. “You’re trying to cause a problem, aren’t you?”

Finn grinned slightly. He leaned closer into the older man, who he knew was going to say yes regardless, and said to him confidently. “Sir, the only problems that exist are the Romani, and I’m just trying to make it a better world to live in. Just like you.”

Just like him, indeed.


••••••



The fourth of August, twenty-twenty-four…it’s a significant date, you know. It’s been nearly a month since I defeated two…men…who supposedly earned their shots and when they couldn’t rise above, disappeared. A month since I tasted a fight, a month since your World Heavyweight Champion graced the ring to do something other than address the entire company.

I know there are levels and that we have to watch and see which one of the heathens in the lower levels fights their way up through the rest of them to stand against the Champion. Someone hopefully who has earned it…someone who has fought with pride and a shade of lust to face off against me. I don’t make the bucket list, but I do watch and see what’s going on. I could sit here and put a list of people I know I would like to face and prove a point…

Alexander Raven has hit beautifully lately, and could give me a run for my money. I respect Raven and his desire to succeed…but also recognize he’s got a vendetta going.

I’d even face Kris Ryans as long as his vapid blonde doesn’t accompany with her progeny. I respect Ryans and his drive to tie up his own loose ends.

Eddie Lyons could ascend, and he could finally get his chance to face me for our brief, trolling history.

Hell, I’d even face Aiden Reynolds, and that would actually be a match filled with fast-paced fighting, flippy shit. I know, we’ve done it before, and he gave me a fuckin’ run for my money.

The Harris twerp would even be an option, if he wasn’t buried headfirst in with Kevin Carter, J2H and Raven himself.

So here I sit for the fourth week in a row wondering what my future is in this company, and what stands in front of me. Am I going to get someone like Jamie Dean or Sean Parker who are here for a good time, but clearly weren’t a long time? Maybe I’ll get someone like Peter Vaughn, who couldn’t even win on a surprise. Or am I going to actually face someone who can stand across from me and put on a show, something that dazzles the crowd.

It seems I’m always left to discover my own opponent on the last show heading into a Supercard and I have to scramble to figure out what to do. Que sera, sera…and all that jazz. And even in all of that…

I still do what I do, and I still win.

I know a lot of people seem to hate that – the fact that I can continue to push forward and succeed no matter what the situation is. Try to jump me, I succeed. Try to come at me as a legend in these hallowed halls? I succeed. I haven’t lost a match since September of last year, and here I am…still succeeding, still doing my job. Even when I’m flung bullshit on social media, I still succeed. And that literally makes some of you whine to the ends of the earth because I’ve done what I say I will.

I used to put up with it, but at this point, I’m going to call you out on your shit. You’re going to do some cute post of you pointing out how you think your ass looks nice on camera while you attempt to sell your match, and it’s against me? I’m going to call you out on your shit. You’re going to do some snide ass post because the world doesn’t give a fuck about you and you’re trying to stay relevant in this circle? I’m going to call you out on your shit.

I don’t give a fuck at this point because besides the few people I mentioned above and my Wolfslair comrades? You’re worth less than the gum I accidentally stepped on with my shoe, and that is pathetic.

I’m still the World Champion, I am still the World Mixed Tag Team Champion. Over three hundred days, I’ve been a champion in this company, and I have pushed records, I have eliminated competition, and I have done what none of you expected me to do. What some of you continue to not expect me to do, and sit in your feels when I do continue to step into the ring and dominate. The only time I’ve ever been a push over is when I don’t care, when I don’t have drive, and when I could give a shit less about the consequences.

I have eight losses. I won’t deny them, because they are a part of my record and a part of the legacy that I leave in this company. But I also won’t be so quick to sit there and apologize for them. I own that I made mistakes. I don’t sit in the shadows, not taking accountability for my failures. That’s the first step to greater realization, isn’t it? Accountability? Knowing that you can’t change the past, but you can create a better future from your own failures? I believe that I do this every day. That I push for this every day.

And likewise, my opponents have every right to do the very same thing. They can sit there and try to argue that the past doesn’t matter and that this is their time. But the past does matter. It cannot be changed, it cannot be tampered with, but it can set the tone for the future ahead. Especially when there are so many moving parts. I know my future, and what I need to do to get ahead…but do they?

Some people say that overused saying about how the third time something is attempted is the one that’s going to put them over. The idiom was created by the British some…god, who the fuck knows, basically because they failed miserably twice and put hope into thinking that the people around them were going to get lackadaisical and fuck themselves over. I’ve always disliked the thought that people assume that others are going to become complacent because something has stayed the same way for a designated amount of time.

Unsurprisingly, we’re right there right now. See, for some reason, Miles and Alexandra seem to think that the third time they get to face for this championship is going to be their lucky shot. That they’re going to turn the tide and change this for the better. That’s constantly what I see.

In fact, it’s what Alexandra seems to think. You see, prior to defeating Eiley last week – been there, done that – not only did she have some celebratory words to share, she quite literally also sat there and said she and her partner kicked ass. Of course, she didn’t clarify that it was the Barnharts, and that most sexually transmitted diseases also have kicked their ass, but you know…que sera sera.

Add the whole social media interactions and Calaway seems to think that they’re prepared to take on myself and Kayla. You know, forgetting the whole…failure to capture not once, but twice. In part, I think that may be simply because no one can figure out how Kay and I function. When this first started, we were very vocal about the fact that even if we didn’t like one another, we knew how to function on a professional level. We knew how the other worked, we were able to come together as tag partners.

Now? No, Alexandra, we’re not just thick as thieves, as you stated the last time you attempted to wrest these titles from our hands. We’re a seamless unit, a strong team that pushes forward together, that works efficiently to bring down our competitors. I don’t know how many times people have come at us saying all kinds of bullshit, trying to divide us, trying to separate our successes. Oh, Kayla’s done more, or Finn’s pushed harder. We’ve both heard it all. We’re selfish. We’re unable to communicate. We’re not as good as we say we are. This time is no longer our time and we shouldn’t be champions because the situation is boring. All of it. And yet, here we still stand. Nearly a year, the longest reign, the record-holding reign, and about to face our seventh defense. And that seventh one? The one filled with all the luck? Is wasted on you and Miles.

I don’t know how many times you’ve sat there and argued that the battle is in your mind and your will. Certainly, but that’s not the only thing that matters. Just because we speak and we belittle one another in this format doesn’t mean it’s left up to chance. It’s also the fact that when we’re in that ring, we need to know what the other person is thinking so that we can succeed. You and Miles might be great friends, but you’re certainly not as attuned as Kayla and I, and you’re definitely not invincible.

And you’re certainly not a better wrestler than Kayla. The World Bombshell Champion, not to mention a multi-time World champion in places that were looked at with respect, rather than a pile of vomit on someone’s shoes when it’s mentioned. And your reign at PWS: Apex means nothing because Cleo Phillips bested you, and here you are…contesting for these championships.

Wasn’t the last time we faced off when you were facing her as well? That was a rough week for you, wasn’t it? A large bit of swing and miss. Man, I hate to think you’re going to fail again.

I don’t know if you know about me, Calaway, but I don’t hold back punches. I will dig. And I will dig into your very heart and ribs because I don’t have respect for you.

But you’re a blip on the horizon, to be honest. My real focus, I guess, should be on Miles.

Oh Miles.

You’re damn correct that we’ve held these titles with pride. The last time you came at us, Miles, you told us to put up or shut up in the same breath that you said you had our backs against people who sat there and said we weren’t doing enough.

…

………………

………………………

…………………………….

………………………………………

I’m sorry, hold on, that’s a lot of silence. Seven times, now, Miles. Seven. Three times longer than the previous longest record of defenses, should this one go through. Meanwhile, it’s while we’re also defending the World Championships of this company. So if anyone is going to sit there and tell us that we’re not doing things enough, it’s not going to be your little shit ass. You, who defended your Internet Championship for one hundred and eighty-nine days against the likes of Bill Barnhart, a weakened Oliver Zahn who didn’t give a fuck about anything, Justin Smith, and then lost it to a fucking janitor.

Watching what you did to earn this championship shot against Bill was disgusting, and to be perfectly honest, less than what it should have been. I’m not going to sit here and tell anyone that they’re a weak link, because no one is. When you’re a team, you both have the caliber to do well and succeed as a team. There is no you or her. You’re a functional pair that can either do great things or annihilate one another’s chances at success. I’m not impressed, Miles.

I’m not interested in you.

I’m bored that we’re doing this again.

September 2023 was the one day that you defeated me on my return, but have you ever considered I threw it just to fuck with Austin? That result is never going to happen again, because you, my friend, get in your own head. You think you push yourself to the ultimate level but it’s never biting enough, it’s never proving enough, it’s never what it needs to be to get on my caliber. If you can’t defeat Peter Vaughn, you have no chance of getting through me, and I’m sorry to say that even with her, you don’t have a chance.

You are not a battle like any other. You’re not a fight that we’ve never had and that we’re going to have to push ourselves to greatness.

You’re a tried and done match that we’ve had before that is going to have the same result. Kayla and I are on another echelon – Calaway and you? Leftover chicken wings that don’t taste the same on the third warm up.

And you know how much I like chicken wings. Almost as much as Chipotle.

When the Wolves defeat you two once more, I would suggest maybe focusing on your own personal careers instead of trying to come after Kayla and I. Because whoever it was that said that doing the same thing over and over for the same result is insanity. I would hate to fifty-one-fifty you.

But I can find the straightjacket if you like.


••••••


It was a quiet night. Everyone had left, and honestly, Finn was okay with that. For the first time in what seemed like eons, he was left alone in his penthouse. There were no Australian-American couple with a baby in the second half of the apartment, and his little brother wasn’t sitting on his couch trying to figure out ways to get out of his newfound career. As much as he missed her, he was happy that Kayla had gotten out of the house and was participating whatever the fuck “girl’s night” meant. He knew she was a closet case if she wanted to be, and he didn’t want her to be dependent on him for friendship either.

He had season one of Modern Family on, simply because it was decent background noise as he laid on the leather sectional that he was certain he hadn’t bought but didn’t mind its presence. For once, he wasn’t clothed in the skinniest jeans known to man – instead, he had his plaid (yes, plaid) pajama pants on and, because it was fucking hot out still, no shirt. He scrolled on his phone to shitty little videos and scratched at his forehead as the demonic Frenchie that Kallie had bought because she needed a “therapy animal” sat nearly on top of his head. Clyde, she’d named it, and it loved Finn more than anyone in the entire household.

As long as it wasn’t the fucking wombat.

It was only ten-thirty when he heard the camera system alarm, and then the front door slam open. He stared at the phone for a moment perplexed, and then listened as three pairs of heels and a pair of converse smacked against the floor, including a clunking pair of skater shoes as well. Purses were thrown on the counter, and he got a glimpse of Kayla’s raven hair flowing as she b-lined for her own room.

He turned his head and looked curiously at the others. Amber sighed as she sat down at the counter and Tasmin appeared a little worried. Kallie did too, and she started heading for Kayla’s room.

“I wouldn’t. She’s in a mood.” Amber told her.

That didn’t stop the blonde, who just decided to stand next to her door, pressing her hand up to it and setting her ear against it. “Kay?” Kallie asked, but there was no response.

Finn swung his legs off of the sofa and stood up, walking around the sofa and tossing his phone onto the couch. He shuffled, his legs stiff from being on the couch too long, into the kitchen where everyone had housed themselves – except Aiden, who’d disappeared into his own side of the apartment. Tasmin crossed her arms and looked at Amber. Amber seemed mildly stoic, but still concerned.

“What happened?”

Amber looked at him with a suspicious expression, as if she didn’t quite trust him yet. And maybe she didn’t, but Finn didn’t particularly care. It wasn’t like Amber was around often enough to help Kayla make decisions, and she was a big girl – she could make whatever the fuck decisions with her life that she wanted. Tasmin, though, was the one that answered.

“I’m not really sure,” she piped in, “she was dancing and then like…she hightailed it out of the place.” She looked at Amber again. “Amber was first out, and Kallie and I went to grab Aiden and we weren’t out until after. But she was visibly like…upset.”

Finn looked at Amber again and they simply stared at one another. There was something more. Something more that Tasmin didn’t know, and that Amber wasn’t about to divulge. He didn’t want to wait for her to decide to open her mouth, and honestly, he wasn’t sure she’d get the truth from her anyway. So instead, he nodded to Tasmin in thanks, and then left the kitchen, heading for the hallway to their rooms. He stood next to Kallie for a second, silently. When she realized he was there, she made an “eep” sound, and then scattered off to the kitchen with everyone else.

He set a hand on the doorknob, testing it. It wasn’t locked, but he wasn’t going to open it. “Kayla?” He asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” she replied. But he heard it, the defensiveness in her tone. He looked up at the wall with a semi-annoyed expression, but let that fade as he quietly opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it after him with just as much quiet. “Really.”

Kayla was seated on her bed, and she hadn’t bothered to change out of her clothes or anything. She seemingly had just been staring at the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. He took steps towards her, and then sat down on the bed next to her. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. He didn’t really have to. He planted his feet on the floor and then folded his hands in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” Finn replied, shrugging his shoulders. “You don’t need to talk about it. I’m just here.”

Kayla turned her head quite slowly, her eyebrows furrowing a little in confusion. Like she wasn’t used to anyone just staying in space unless they wanted something from her. She nodded slightly, looking back at the wall. Slowly, but surely, she dropped her defensive stance and let her arms drop to rest on her legs.

They sat like this for some time. He knew Kallie was putting Amber and Tasmin in rooms, concerned about them getting home at a late hour, and he didn’t mind. It might be good for Kayla’s sisters to see her in the morning. He could hear them fighting Kallie a little bit, but the little blonde was tenacious and wouldn’t let that happen.

Eventually, Kayla leaned over into him, but didn’t look at him. Finn raised an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. At that point, she melted slightly and wrapped her other arm around his waist. “You’re a furnace…” she muttered. He shrugged again, and then wrapped both his arms around her.

After some time like this, Finn leaned back and set his head on one of Kayla’s pillows, adjusting slightly so that he could lay comfortably on his back. Kayla kicked off her shoes and then laid down next to him, pressing her face to his shoulder and letting him comfort her. He grabbed at the throw that was sliding off the bed and threw it over her and his legs. She grumbled slightly, but nevertheless kept herself attached to him. Together, they laid in silence in the dark room, the only lights coming from the cars and business of the lively city outside. Central Park never slept, and neither did New York.

He let his eyes close for a moment. It was then that Kayla shifted slightly – uncomfortably – and then pressed her forehead into his neck, tucking herself into him more. “I saw Jace…” she said, trailing off.

Finn’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t move, he didn’t leap to attack. He didn’t say anything. His mind, however, went a million miles a minute. Jace hadn’t been full of shit then – he was stalking Kayla, and that wasn’t going to last long if he had anything to say about it. He’d told Jace to fuck off and leave her be, and now? Now, he was harassing her. Finn wasn’t about to have that, and he wasn’t about to have her feeling any kind of negative way. Not when he could fix it.

Fix it.

He knew what that meant. In an instant, he could snuff Jace Pleasant’s life out. He’d done it how many times before for Kei? It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he’d told himself he was done with that life. He told Dickie he was done with that life, and what if Kayla actually found out what he was like prior to the person he was now? Finn didn’t want to lose her because she was just as afraid of him as she was the dickhead. Oh, he didn’t know exactly why she feared Jace – but he could see it when she talked about him, when she mentioned his name. She didn’t shiver and shake, but it was moments like these that told him exactly what had happened prior to her wrestling rise.

Finn hugged her tighter, and pressed his lips to her forehead softly.

He didn’t want to show those colors again. He didn’t want to be bathed in red and black, a constant reminder that his hands were responsible for extinguishment. They were not his best colors…but perhaps they were the ones that would handle this the best.

Fixing it could be the only way anything would ever be fine again.




8
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXII // PAINT IT BLACK
« on: July 19, 2024, 06:24:26 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXII // PAINT IT BLACK
I’VE BEEN WALKING TALL SINCE THE JUMP, HAD ENOUGH, NOW I’M UP. WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY WANT FROM ME? START IT FROM THE TOP, THAT’S A LOT. KILLED THE SENDER FOR THE MESSAGE THAT I GOT, HE WON’T TALK, NO HE WON’T. KNUCKLES TURN TO WHITE, GET A FUCKIN’ GRIP ON LIFE, THERE IS NOTHING BUT THE FIGHT, DO IT OUT OF SPITE.
ARANKAI .


••••••


They’d done it, just like they always did. The Conspiracy, no matter how much they had fought for the win, were unsuccessful in obtaining The Mixed Tag Team Titles – The Wolves of Gheimhridh kept them within their over two hundred and seventy mark. Just a couple of weeks, and they would be three-hundred day holders.

This fact alone would probably piss a lot of people off, no matter if they mattered in the long run or not.

They shared a locker room now, he and Kayla. He’d showered first, removed the grime of wrestling in the ring off his body and prepared himself for their evening ride back to their hotel in Ontario, California. Loose clothing, though it never seemed like he wore them, felt better after such a strenuous event, and he was honestly ready to crash the second he hit that pillow. His championships were draped over his luggage next to him as he sat on the bench, arms crossed as he listened to the conversation going on in his eardrums.

“Mate, I don’t know…” Aiden was muttering quietly, clearly having left the arena and headed back to the hotel himself. He spoke quietly, which meant that Kallie was asleep in the bed next to him. “What if it’s a trap?”

“We don’t have any reason to believe they’re against us. The group was loyal to Kei at one point,” Dickie replied. “Like Finn said, we just have to recreate that relationship all over again, get ‘em to trust us. And then we can start creating deals like we used to.”

That wasn’t particularly what Finn had said, but the fact that Dickie was starting to get into the evil mastermind of a gang of criminals, perhaps there was hope for the child yet.

“So when is it?” Finn questioned, his eyes flickering over to Kayla as she turned her back to him, pulling on a loose shirt over her torso and adjusting her own sweatpants. He decided a while ago that he liked her better this way – he knew Kayla’s outfront cunt attire was simply something she enjoyed to wear, but she’d toned it down after Finn assured her that anything looked good on her. Except white.

“The Romani want to meet with us next week, after you guys ship out to Inglewood this time. Said it would probably be best on Thursday, but not to bring attention. I got the address…”

“That seems pretty short to meet with them…” and not enough time to get the information that Aaron’s father, The General, had procured further. But over the phone, he could hear the British-Russian shrug his shoulders as he spoke.

“Said it was critical that you come too…”

“What about me?” Aiden tried to cut through pleasantly.

Dickie ignored him, “And if we’re being perf honest here, I don’t think I can do this one on my own anyway. It’d be my first actual meeting and I mean, I saw Kei do them, but I didn’t do one myself. I know you have…” he trailed off. It seemed the more that his little brother learned, the more he didn’t want to mention Finn’s previous exploits as kyodai to Kei’s shateigashira.

“Fine. Send an address and a time, and we’ll get it done.” He paused as Kayla looked at him, an eyebrow raised. She knew what Finn’s role was with Dickie to an extent – advisor, leader, the one to get him out of the messes he created. But she didn’t know exactly what their deals were or why. And she wasn’t going to know. He pulled the airpods out of his ears and stored them in their case before chucking it in his bag. “Are you ready?” He questioned Kayla, who nodded and threw her championships over her shoulder before readying her luggage.

“What did the little shit want?” She inquired as Finn did the same, opening the door and letting her step out in front of him before following her out into the hallway. They began walking the short distance to the garage, and then to their car.

“Has a meeting he set up,” he replied, though he wasn’t specific. “Wanted to make sure I could be there.”

“What kind of meeting?” She pressed, turning her head and looking at him.

“Just a…consultation…to see if we want to work with them.” Finn chose his words wisely, trying to not let on that he was still doing the exact thing that she didn’t want. Kayla wasn’t stupid, by any means, and she knew he was up to something. She narrowed her eyes slightly, clearly annoyed that he wasn’t upfront with her like he usually was.

“Who is they?”

“Kay, I don’t know,” he replied, somewhat exasperated. “I think that bomb into the table fucked with my head, I can’t remember what kind of vehicle we have…” He tagged on, hoping to change the subject.

Kayla rolled her eyes and reached over, digging into Finn’s front pocket with her hand and pulling out the keys. “It’s a Hyundai.”

“A what?”

“Hy-un-dai,” Kayla repeated.

“A Hyun-day?” He corrected, grinning when she threw him a sassy look and smacking him in the stomach. He grunted and then laughed as she pushed open the door then to the garage. They headed over in relative science for a moment to the Hyundai Elantra that Finn had rented upon their arrival to California. They would probably rent out the same one again next time, if they could. He liked the smaller cars – they zoomed around a bit faster than the Land Rover he had in his Colorado estate.

They deposited their luggage and then got into the vehicle quickly, pulling out of the arena quicker than he thought they would have. However, the car provided him the silence that inside hadn’t given him. There was no dull roar of the crowd, no sprinkling sound of the shower. Just the low hum of tires on a road as he got onto the interstate to head back to their hotel.

The silence allowed him to get lost in his own thoughts. Kayla closed her eyes in the passenger seat, dozing slightly. He frowned as he drove. Part of him wondered if this vendetta of an escapade was because he loved Kayla and wasn’t about to see her hurt…or if there was some part of him that held a savior complex, hidden beneath the exterior of an overt asshole that he carried with him every day of his life. He seemed to save poor, unfortunate souls. Once upon a time, even Miles Kasey had been part of his Home for Wayward Wrestlers, and now? Now he was housing his friends and family in the apartment complex he purchased while also providing a home for most of the members of the Yakuza that continued to be loyal to them.

Maybe it didn’t matter, in the long run. He knew he was in crosshairs regardless of what happened with Kayla and this thing with the Romani. He’d always been there anyway.

••••••

Five defenses. Five opportunities for you all to take what you think doesn’t belong to us. Five failed attempts. Five disappointing days when the Wolves continued our reign and despite all that you did, you couldn’t anesthetize us.

It wasn’t that The Conspiracy didn’t fight hard, and it wasn’t that Limitless didn’t try to push themselves to slay the huge dragon that gobbled up their drive and consistency. It wasn’t even that Carter and Angelos didn’t do their damndest to push forward just the same as Jordan and Marlowe. I’m not going to be a demon and discount the effort, the drive, and the desire to succeed that every human being has wanted in the past…what, two-hundred and seventy something days.

It’s just that on the night they stood against us, they were not strong enough to attain greatness.

As we approach Summer Exxxtreme XII, there’s been a distinct push for Kayla and I to constantly defend our championships. And maybe that’s because the peanut gallery never really stops talking, which…to me, seems counterintuitive and just meant to be a petty bitch fest because they’re feeling bad about their own life – ultimately, we’ll never know. But here we are. With the ability to say not only are we the longest reigning champions, but the ones with the most defenses. Doesn’t matter when at this point, we’ve done something that every mixed tag team failed to do, and that was defend it more than four times.

But it’s just a fluke, right? It was a lucky win in November, what with Kay and I not really a team. And then in December, we kind of figured it out…push it forward and we find ourselves in the relationship and team that we are. It’s all just luck, every time, isn’t it?

Let’s not talk about how I am one of the best in this business, that I have eons of data that shows me to be a vindictive fighter. I have a lopsided win loss column with far more in the wins than the losses. The number one thing people have used against me in the terms of this company in general is a streak of losses years ago that people salivate and center speeches lives around. That person?

Dead.

A poor, poor, excuse of a human being that doesn’t stand in front of you now. But even on my worst days, I produce greatness. On my worst days, I make every step in the direction of success that I can. Sometimes, we’re all tired, but that’s never an excuse. We can talk about how someone else is irrelevant, and how they don’t matter – we can dismiss others and act like they aren’t worth the time or the effort…but that’s dismissive of self. It dismisses you as an individual, and that is something that I could never do.

The Conspiracy have been the only team that could have even remotely beat us, in my opinion. A shared thought process because they’re similar to the structure that Kayla and I have, and they had everything to lose by losing to us. Luna Pasilino is set to face Kayla in just a few weeks, and it wasn’t me who obtained victory for The Wolves…it was Kayla standing tall over Luna. A prophetic vision? Perhaps. At least, I think so. I appreciate the candor, and I appreciate the fight from Alexander…I think we could have a great match in the future on our own, but for now?

The Wolves of Gheimhridh still stand tall.

So what happens next? What does the company do? They throw us another team, one that we have defeated, but another person that can claim their one measly little win over me. Miles Kasey and Alexandra Callaway.

Sounds like there’s a wedding ahead, and that’s cause for celebration.

But that will be the only reason for any celebration.

Last time we did this, Miles, you had a one up on me. You’d defeated me, one on one, on my return match to SCW. We can argue about how well you did versus how well I did, and come to whatever conclusion. However, the fact remains that the last time we walked into the ring to face one another….it was a defense of these belts. Kayla and I defeated you and Alexandra, who barely showed up, soundly.

In all this time, you have been an Internet Champion, and lost that championship. Alexandra has been a Roulette Champion…and lost that championship. It’s not that you guys don’t have accolades, because you do. You’ve been stars in this company for brief moments of time, but I hope you don’t think that just because you’ve had your little standoffs and glories that you can amount to the caliber that is required to knock me, or Kayla, off our pedestals. I don’t know if you have noticed, but Kay and I have been the first in a few things lately in a company that has ascended four hundred regular shows. That’s not counting the pay per views we all participate in.

First dual-championship holder. I think you would have heard us say in the past that it isn’t the same as holding a championship, winning a different championship, and needing to drop it because of the rules. No. Kayla and I ascended as Mixed Tag Team holders and then rose to the top of our singles division and clutched those championships too. We hold both, quite proudly, and we raise them in competence. I haven’t had the greatest of opponents for my World Title, but let’s be honest – we keep getting trash in, trash out.

I believe the last time I spoke with you in this kind of juncture, I saw someone who was far more capable of anything in their world than what we get. You still don’t dig. You still don’t come out of here screaming, fighting, proving. Miles, you struggle to even get a vicious bone in your body, bruv. Your promos lack bite, and they’ve been lacking bite for months. Look at your one offs with Peter Vaughn and tell me where the venom is, where the vitriol is for someone that beats you time and time again. He comes back swinging every time and we’re left…like we are.

Peter has made no secret that he wants to come for my title. Fine. Let him. I have enough vitriol to cover both of us because I don’t like him. Unlike you, I know how to hit people where it hurts– I’m that petty. And I don’t try to hide behind backhanded compliments. Everyone knows where I stand – I either like you, or I want you six feet underground.

When you disappeared from Wolfslair, and though you were welcomed back, I told you that you would be an outcast. You’re still on the fringe, just as I am. A heathen. Until you’ve run your paces, until you’ve proven that you still want to be a wolf, then you’ll always be on the fringe. It’s the same in wrestling. It took a very, very long time for me to get that into my own head. I can disassociate things from one another. Whatever chaos is in my life – far more than any of you will ever know – I can separate from my career.

You haven’t learned that yet.

When you clapped back at Kayla, you proved it. Kayla popped your for thotfie and instead of bashing her, you bashed what she’s interested in and went after our relationship. You’ve got your relationship, again, in your brain because your wedding is coming up, and clearly, these championships aren't at the forefront of your mind. I don’t give a fuck what you do inside your sheets and outside of this company, but clearly, you do. You’ve been rooting for us to get together for months, except when you fucked off and hid from all of us.

I get it, but it’s disappointing.

Your eyes should never leave the prize when something golden sits in front of you, and again, I’m not even sure you want this. Like last time, Miles, it is a lesson for you to learn. You need to go hard, you need to push, you need to do the best you can every time, You don’t do this. You just fly by the seat of your pants, congratulate the other person through your promo on their preemptive win, and then head back home to Vegas.

Where the fuck is your fight? Why do you do this? I’m sure you love wrestling, I’m sure you love your world around you when it’s not being fucked up by your brother. But what is your purpose? Why are you here? I want to help you find that drive, but I can’t do it if you don’t know your own purpose.

Fuck, let me help you. After all of this, let’s sit down and actually go over how you beef yourself up. Because it’s the same every time, it’s like you run out of things to say. Lord knows I love to talk.

I think your partner has a little bit more drive, but is going to end up floundering eventually. Robotic in her presentation, robotic in everything that she does, I don’t know how she got to the point of being a champion in this company. I look at the fact that you made your way through the Blast From the Past tournament, and I just get the feeling that it was on Alexander Raven’s laurels that you got there. And it was on your ass that you fell and lost him the opportunity to succeed.

But you should be used to falling on your ass, right? What, in the last two weeks, not only did you lose your shot at the PWS Legacy World Championship, you also lost your Roulette Championship. You have nearly more losses here on your own than wins, and all of your wins lately have been because of someone else. You failed in the last Blast From the Past, just like you did here. You’re not special. You’re not good. You lost. To two members of the Lyons Den.

Hi Eddie, I see you.

You’re going to be looking for redemption, to push past everything, to fight the power that is Kayla Richards…but I’ll say it again: You’re no Kayla Richards. As much as I love her, Kayla can be a vindictive, overzealous cunt in that ring, and whenever she gets the opportunity to win, she will take it. And it’s ten times worse when she doesn’t like you. Guess where you fit in her likeable categories – that’s right, the bottom.

I’m sure you’re going to sit there and flip your hair around as your talk and act like you’re some big billy badass, but I’m not interested. And I really hate that you’re bringing Miles down because he could have someone so much better than you for a partner. I don’t care what you’ve done, where you’ve done it – you’re not interesting, you sound like a promo from two-thousand, and you act like you’re the best thing since Cheetos Macaroni was introduced to the world.

I love that shit, let me tell you.

The fact that you didn’t banter tells me one thing, Alexandra: you’re scared of being painted differently than the bullshit you put out there. The problem? Everyone sees your bullshit already, and they find you to be a coward. Maybe you’ll continue to do well in other places, but eventually, everyone catches on. And they don’t want to work with cowards who are unwilling to do their job to create hype.

I don’t like you, and neither does Kayla, and neither one of us want you representing anything to do with this company. Kayla will put you out of misery, maybe and hopefully for-fucking-ever.

Miles, you deserve a better partner. You deserve someone who isn’t going to fail you time and time again, a person who doesn’t rely on others to get them where they are. I dislike people who slide up to the top of the mountain based on everyone else, and from what I’ve seen? That’s Alexandra Callaway for you. You can correct this mistake – you could get someone in there that works better with you than against you. Someone that doesn’t disappear, someone that’s willing to think about other people than herself.

Miles Kasey and anyone else could be a ticket I’d be interested in watching.

When it comes to Climax Control 400, it will be the Wolves versus whatever you two are…hopefully separated after this match. We’re main eventing, we’re pushing all of our stamina and drive out there. I expect it to be matched, unlike the last travesty of a match we had. I expect to see competitors…I expect to see you there, and when we’re done with all of this?

Don’t step up to us again until you actually earned it.


••••••


It’d been a long while since Finn was in his brother’s apartment. The floor length windows that overlooked the Hudson River were wide open, and the seating arrangement outside kept them all in the shade while still providing warmth. It was late at night. The fire pit was roaring. It wasn’t like Dickie to throw parties, but he was slowly learning his new place in the world, and that meant schmoozing with some of the higher ups of society. Inside, his girlfriend – Aiden’s sister, actually – was dressed tastefully in a dress talking to some of the big wigs of the city. If they played their cards right, they’d turn a blind eye to the Yakuza just as they had with Kei.

Finn stared into the flames of the firepit, looking at the stones at the bottom with limited interest, a glass of water in his hands. The Jameson he’d been saving for nearly a year laid tucked in his freezer, waiting for the day in which he’d indulge with Kayla. But that wasn’t today, and it wouldn’t be for a while. He chose water, and he would always choose water – especially when the stakes were so high.

Dimitri Watson liked to look like he was a moron from time to time – it made it easier for him to push ahead of the packs, to be better than everyone around him. But he wasn’t stupid, and he knew Finn well enough to know there was an agenda in everything Finn did. After all, Finn had purposefully rebuffed Kayla for months because he didn’t want to be her rebound, and he wanted her to recognize her feelings. The only thing he hadn’t banked on was Kayla being a stubborn cow at times about it. And now? The pressing of this particular meeting? He knew there was an ulterior motive.

Dickie took a shot of his whiskey (What, just because he’s russian doesn’t mean he always chooses vodka, okay?!) and leaned forward in his seat across from Finn. The flames danced and flickered, sending different lightning across both of their faces. They were both dressed up, but neither was engaging in the small talk.

“Why this one?” He blurted, looking at his brother inquiringly.

Finn looked up at him without moving his head, giving him a slight Kubrick stare as he looked up from beneath his eyelashes and eyebrows. He frowned and looked away, leaning back slightly and looking upward. “For no real reason, I suppose. I just looked at the ledger and thought that this would probably be an easier one since the Romani are outcasts of society…and that’s what you and I have been for the longest time.”

Dickie narrowed his eyes, while also not believing his bullshit. “Yes, and Elena really loved us both and we weren’t just tools for her to rise to the top.”

Finn scoffed, snorting almost as he heard their sister’s name.

“Give me the real answer, Callien.”

“I don’t get why all of you use my real name and think that it’s going to give you a heads up with me. You know I hate it.”

“Bruh.”

Finn rolled his eyes and then glanced back inside at the milling of people inside the house. He could see Kayla purposefully not engaging with anyone, just watching, from the upstairs balcony bedroom that Dickie and (he assumed) Amelia slept in regularly. Kallie was with her, and both were watching Aiden closely to see how badly he might fuck everything up.

Dickie looked over, and then back at Finn, putting it together. “Kayla?”

Finn nodded slightly. “He threatened her.”

“And so what, you’re dashing off into the sunset like a gilded knight to save his damsel in distress?”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s distress. More like irritation, and gilded? Really?”

“Look, a Porsche is not a tank, remember that. You got that 911 Speedster, and I really hope you don’t think you can knock down a fucking gate with that thing.” Dickie scoffed. “Probably would do more damage to the car than the gate…”

“I’m not knocking down any gates, I’m not galloping off on a horse and killing the dragon that lives in my brain. I just want Kayla to not feel like she has eyes on her at any time, and I’m just…gonna go in there and…you know…”

“Threaten him back?”

“Politely.” Finn added, raising a hand. “I’m going to threaten him politely that if he tests the hypothesis of messing with Kayla, he’s going to have a reaction he doesn’t like.”

Dickie narrowed his eyes again and raised an eyebrow. “That is the kindest way I’ve ever heard you say fuck around and find out. Dude, we’re going into their house when we get to this carnival. Do you really think it’s wise to just go in there and start making demands?”

Finn paused and then leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “Do you really think I’m that dumb? No. We’re going to barter, we’re going to act like I don’t know shit about anything that he had to do with Kayla, and we’re going to create a deal. At the end of it all, when we shake hands, I’m just going to pull him super close and tell him that he fucks up, he’s dead.”

“I don’t know, Finn…”

“It’s easy. I’ve done it before.” Finn shrugged. “Men are really only scared of two things: lack of power, and being threatened to lose their life. When he realizes that he doesn’t have the power to control everything, he’ll posture, and when he postures, he gets my threat. And I don’t know about you, but most of the people in this business know my threats will come to fruition if they fuck up. So most don’t. And this will be no different. My enemy is my enemy unless I make him my friend, and that…is how you gain power.”

“But what if he just wants to get under your skin.”

“It’s not my skin he’s getting under, Dickie. It’s Kayla’s and I won’t have it. She deserves to have a stress-free existence and if I can make that for her, then I will.”

“You’re whipped.”

Finn raised his glass and nudged it in the direction of Amelia, who stared back at Dickie with a slight blush and then turned away. Dickie smiled slightly.

“So are you.”




9
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XXI // BOTTOMFEEDER
« on: July 05, 2024, 11:02:01 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XXI // BOTTOMFEEDER
I’VE HEARD ENOUGH; YOU’VE HAD YOUR TIME IN THE SUN. KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN KID, YOUR FIFTEEN SECONDS ARE DONE…LET’S GET THIS STRAIGHT, WHILE YOU’RE LISTENING. IN MY WORLD, YOU COUNT FOR NOTHING.
PARKWAY DRIVE .


••••••


Another surreptitious meeting. That was the life that they were involved in now – secret meetings, quiet mutterings. If anyone ever saw them together and knew nothing of their past, they might assume that there was something romantic going on between the two. Once upon a time, there had been, but now between the two, the other was the villain in their own story. There was a muted hatred between the two, though it was a bit more one-sided when it came to him. She would forever try to re-win him, but if there was anything that Finn was, it was stubborn.

Like a damned mule.

But there was a friendship that would always remain between the two, no matter how strained, sarcastic, or serrated-knife like. But this wasn’t a meeting between friends – right now, it was critical to the mission that had become keeping dumbshits in Finn’s life safe. Because for whatever reason, he was the only one that had a brain in a head that wasn’t concussed to all hell between two rigid shoulders. His brother and his half-witted best friend certainly didn’t.

It was easier to meet in the open, and the open meant within the hallowed halls of Wolfslair. With an open door separating them from the office to the gym floor. Anyone could have probably heard them, but Finn’s office was usually avoided during the day unless someone needed him for something. Aaron perched herself up on his side of the desk, her red-bottoms dangling off the side as she crossed her legs. Her multi-coloured hair was pulled tightly up into a ponytail, and in line with the season, she wore a corseted tank top that enhanced her otherwise lack of bosom.

He had, of course, looked at her when she made herself at home on his desk. But only a split second until his eyes went back to the screen in front of him where he started playing with the google dinosaur.

“You’re frowning again.” She pointed out, pressing the file folder in her hand to Finn’s mouth. When he swatted at her, she smacked him across the temporal bone with it.

“For fuck’s sake–” He snarled, and swiped the file out of her hands.

“It takes like three muscles to smile, can’t you do that?” She crossed her arms and leaned over her knees. “You used to, all the time.”

He paused, turned his head and looked at her, tilting it slightly.

“Okay, I mean…you know, before all the you know, stuff…”

“Horizontal mamboing in the sheets with a trainee?” Finn retorted, setting the file down and opening it. Inside were several images, rap sheets, and what looked to be a dossier on the person he’d seen at his apartment. Jace, Kayla had called him. The supposed head of a Romani clan that had made its home in New York. The idiot that had made himself known to Finn by threatening his girlfriend.

Or sort of girlfriend.

Finn didn’t do well with feelings anymore. He tried. But sometimes he didn’t know how to accurately respond to Kayla. They were perfectly fine within one another’s company, choosing a lot of the time they spent together watching television, falling asleep on the couch, purchasing favorite things without an occasion. Typical relationship things. But he never quite knew how to read her, and he wasn’t about to take another step where she might end up jumping out of his life again.

“Look, I know it might be hard to deal with someone who has feelings the size of an ant, but she can’t be making you that–” She stopped when Finn’s blue eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

Finn let his eyes fall back to the paper in front of him. He knew Kayla didn’t want him getting involved in this, but he wasn’t about to leave it alone either. Information was king, and the more that he knew, the more he could deal with appropriately. The General had left no stone unturned, not this time. He gave his former-son-in-law everything that he had, including the smallest of details, such as his blood type and felonies committed as a child.

“He’s Romani,” Aaron pointed out, pressing a manicured pink nail into the word on the page. “Gypsy.”

“That’s a slur,” he snorted.

“You’re a slur,” she countered, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know the full history, but there’s a second dossier that The General is compiling about this guy’s older brother. Looks like he used to be the leader and now this guy is, and I think it’s kind of like…um…” she pursed her lips together, looking up at the ceiling as she thought. “I think it was like an inner revolt.”

“Little brother stood up to older brother?”

“No, I think it was more like older brother got popped and the family had a bunch of inner turmoil. I mean, like…his older brother was apparently a completely radicalized dickhead. I dunno how much you know about Romani culture, but–”

“Men treated women like garbage and beat them in order to keep things going,” Finn inserted. He knew that much. And he tried to not think about it just enough so that his blood wouldn’t boil as he thought about that happening to Kayla. As much as she was a hardened person, he could see through her little bitch exterior to the scared little girl that existed inside. He just never said it.

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Why the interest?”

“He showed up at the apartment complex.” He picked up the picture and stared at it. “While I was gone,” he added, “and while Kayla was there.”

“I mean…it makes sense…” Aaron trailed off, and when Finn didn’t press, she added, “Well, I mean, because she was part of them.” She acted as if she were telling something profound and new to Finn, who just looked up at her again, raising an eyebrow slowly. “I’m just saying…doesn’t it seem a bit odd that she came back and accepted your little love proposal the second that Kei died?”

An uneasy and awkward silence settled into the office as Finn slowly set down the picture and looked up at Aaron with that same eyebrow in danger of disappearing into his hairline. He leaned back in his chair, his expressionless face peering into hers. It was the one thing that she absolutely hated that he did. It made her feel like she’d absolutely done something wrong and needed to leave entirely. And perhaps she had: the suggestion was just something that was sitting in her mind and she blurted it like the idiot she was.

She had a savior a moment later in someone she didn’t expect whatsoever. Kayla herself, who rarely came to Wolfslair, stepped up to the office, Tasmin in tow. She stopped in the doorway and stared at the scene in front of her. Oh, there was no way that Kayla would ever feel threatened by Aaron – she knew exactly why Finn hated her.

Aaron hopped down off the desk and looked at Kayla, shrugging her shoulders. “Oh don’t worry. I tried showing him my tits and he didn’t care still.”

“Wasn’t really a concern,” Kayla replied dryly, looking Aaron up and down briefly before glancing at the file that was on the desk. She then looked up at Finn’s face. Aaron looked at her, tilted her head, and then nodded slightly to herself.

“Let’s go find Kallie, Tas,” Aaron stated, stepping around Kayla and grabbing Tasmin around the shoulders, pushing her out of the office.. 

“Um…but why do you think you can call me that?” Tasmin replied, confused.

Kayla stared at Finn, who breathed out of his nose before standing up and walking towards her. She pressed a hand to his chest. “I thought I asked you to let me deal with it.”

“I am,” Finn replied, almost adamantly. “I just wanted information. Enough information that I knew what was being dealt with here.”

Kayla frowned deeper, crossing her arms then and looking over his shoulder. “You could have just asked.”

Finn snorted, reaching out and gathering her in his arms again. She let him, keeping her arms solidly crossed. “You wouldn’t have told me anyway. And besides,” he pulled back, reaching for her chin and tilting it toward him so she had to look at him, “you would have told me something along the lines of I don’t know what I’m getting into, and I would have reminded you with the same thing: I have the Yakuza behind me. It’ll be fine.”

She huffed. “No. It won’t, because you don’t listen. Please just let me handle it.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Again, that’s not how this works anymore. You don’t get to come in here and tell me to just fuck off while you do something dangerous. We’re a team.”

“Yes, a tag–”

“Not what I meant, and you fucking know it.”


••••••

Time and time again, we go around and around…it’s the same diatribe uttered from the mouths of pedantic, petulant little children. It’s utterly astonishing how the world of professional wrestling creates bitchy little side quest non-playable characters that think they’re worth more than the ground that they walk on, and that their opinion is validated. I’ve made a career about breaking the chains that have surrounded me, and stepping on the heart and soul of the people who thought this business cared about them.

The last time I faced someone in this company, it was for one of my championships. You know, the things that make the weakest of minds struggle immensely and scream from the rafters that they did it too! Congrats, no one gives a fuck.

If we’re being perfectly honest…no one gives a fuck about anything. I’m speaking probably from a bitter, jaded standpoint here since, at one point, I was one of those people that gave props to everyone under the sun. I thought that guidance while pushing limits, making my opponents bring out the best in themselves to face me, was the best way to approach everything in this business. And what am I greeted with every time that I give myself to the fans?

Derision.

Shit attitudes.

Maliciousness.

Envy.

People thinking that they’re far better than they really are, and refusing to understand where they stand in the cycle.

At the end of the day, every single one of us is replaceable by a new, shinier version. One day, when our bones are broken and our bodies bloodied for the entertainment that our bosses push us to participate in, we’ll sit in our wrestler nursing homes at the age of forty-five and wonder if we had the same charisma as our shiny, one-cent replicas do. And we won’t be thought of again. The gold that we hold is only applicable as something great when it's held for longer than a cup of coffee or a one night stand.

I’ve held the World Heavyweight Championship for one hundred and thirty-eight days. Respectable, but nothing huge. It’ll continue as long as I hold it, and that is against Sean Parker…who I have a sneaking suspicion is one of those shiny new objects that claims they’re platinum, but merely appears to be silver-plated nickel.

Despite the statement that we’ve killed the division, the Wolves of Gheimhridh have held the World Mixed Tag Team Titles for the longest record. We’re sitting at two hundred and fifty-seven days, which is far longer than even some combined reigns.

At the end of the day, it’s not because we’re shiny and get special treatment. It’s not because we slide up to bosses and get them on our sides. It’s not because we fight the power. It’s the simple reason for this, and this alone: we do our job.

You can’t sit there and say that we’re going to be distracted eventually because we have been distracted. We’ve been distracted by each other for the past six months, trying to work together through a failed friendship to realize that we were better together in all senses of the word. We’ve been distracted by our lives, which if you knew the extent of, you’d wonder what the fuck we were doing. We’ve been distracted, but the second that music hits and we step out into the fray, the second we hit that mat and those ropes, we become vicious competitors. Together, we push each other to be better, to fight harder, to fight stronger.

And every time that we face someone, they give us our little congratulations and then tell us why we’re going to fall apart at the end of the day.

Haven’t you been listening? Haven’t you been watching?

There is nothing more that incenses either of us than being taken for granted, or being seen as weaker than we have proven to be time and time again. Perhaps that’s why we respond so venomously when our credibility is questioned: we’ve worked hard to be where we are, and there are so many people in this business, even more so this company who rest of the laurels of their predecessors, thinking that their associations are going to help place them in a higher rung than they deserve to be. From stablemates to nepotism, an air of superiority wafts from the arrogance and once again, not only do I have to remind you who the fuck I am, Kayla has to do it too.

We’re not your World Champions because of our predecessors. How many years did I argue that Wolfslair and I were a business arrangement, not a way of life? Alex Jones can suck my left testicle still, and you’ll never see me say a kind word about Alicia Lukas. We are not the same. Look at any of our prominent wrestlers and tell me I’m wrong. Our predecessors in this division alone thought they were given the grace of God because of their connections.

Furthermore, it’s hilarious to see when you people sit there and tell us that we’re only here because of each other for some reason. It’s a constant running theme: Finn, you’re not good enough because Kayla has gotten all your wins. Kayla, you’re carrying dead weight. It’s Kayla who has done better.

Wouldn’t you know that when we go home, we share the win together? Because, I don’t know…we’re a fucking team?
There’s such a sense of hyper-individuality when it comes to this business that you dumbfucks think that you can settle some seeds of doubt into our heads that we’re not worth it to the other, that we’re the weak link. Maybe fucking learn from us: when the team fails, we fail. When the team wins, we win. Together.

And judging by the fact alone that the Wolves of Gheimhridh are undefeated since October, and that on our own, we are undefeated this year entirely…I would say that neither of us is a weak link in the chain. That isn’t based on ego, that’s based on fact. Our records prove this, and as much as you all want to hate us because you ain’t us, it’s written in stone, in the annals of this company.

Can you say that about yourselves? Any of you? Or are you so desperately blind that you want to stick your heads in the sand and refuse to note that?

Sorry, I’m not going to go for the easy, low hanging fruit that all of you try to do against us. Maybe it’s because I have too much respect for myself. This isn’t a case of not having anything to say, because I certainly do when it comes to The Conspiracy. But what was it our former First Lady told us to do: “when they go low, we go high”, or some shit. 

Fuckin’ malarkey.


••••••


It was strange to sit in the library office of the former head of the Yakuza. In reality, this would be the last meeting in the area, but for now, they needed to search the office for any leads on any material.

Finn sat in one of the wingback chairs, watching with hawk eyes as his little brother and his best friend Aiden Reynolds searched through all of the books. About thirty minutes before, Aiden had made some quip about the fact that everything was in Japanese. As time wore on, however, that statement because more and more obvious and true. Luckily, the Australian could also read and speak Japanese, so there was some use to his presence.

Though he was never going to obtain a gun.

Dickie Watson sat behind the desk, staring at a ledger in front of him. It had been there since day one, but he hadn’t bothered looking at it for anything in particular. The new leader of the Yakuza clan, Dickie wasn’t sure at all that he even wanted to continue the business. Things had fallen by the wayside, and even that made the regularly anxious wrestler more frustrated. It wasn’t until Finn had agreed to help that he felt even remotely confident in his new role, and that was only because Finn simply knew more.

“Anythin’ in the ledger yet?”

Dickie, who had his head in his hands as he stared at the kanji in front of him, looked up at Aiden. “Oh, iunno. Maybe the fact that I’m R-U-S-S-I-A-N might hinder me from reading this.”

“Ah, nah, mate. Anyone can speak n’ read a different language. Just takes a bit of ya brain to do it.”

“Well, clearly it doesn’t take much, since you can read it.”

Finn smiled to himself. Dickie and Aiden fought like siblings, and as he sat in the chair, he could see why they were a good team in the end. They trusted each other enough to insult one another, after all. And, after all the shit they’d put each other though, why wouldn’t they trust each other? They’d fallen apart as friends, and then became them once they realized the other wasn’t that much of an idiot. And Aiden had begun to take things seriously as well, which had helped tremendously.

“Give it to me,” Finn stated as he rose to his feet, heading a few feet towards the desk and pressing his hands into it. Dickie turned it around and shrugged his shoulders, signalling that it was up to him now. Finn flipped through the pages, turning the left page back onto the right.

He was on the hunt.

Knowing Kei, it wouldn’t have been a word, and he wouldn’t have given a shit who the leader was. To him, it was about arms deals, about gaslighting, about manipulation to get the things that he wanted. And he wouldn’t have cared who he did business with if it brought him a healthy income. He flipped through the pages quickly, his eyes glancing thoroughly through the pages for a symbol.

A wheel with multiple spokes.

It took a few pages, but he found it. The details of the trade and information about where it went didn’t really interest him. The fact, however, that there was a trade that happened with a tick mark next to it told him that the deal was repeated, and the number “two” next to it told him it was every two months. Kei made trades with the Romani six months out of the year. With his death, and Dickie not following through on those trades, it was going to hurt business.

“This one,” Finn pointed at it, and looked at Dickie, who stared at the page. “If you’re going to start filling in in Kei’s shoes and lead this team, this one is going to be the one that you’re going to want to start trading with it.”

“Oi, isn’t that some gypsy symbol?”

“It’s a rival, Aiden,” Finn said. “And the quicker that we get them on our side, the easier the rest of the shit will go. So set up a meet, and make terms.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if they came to us?”

“You want your head blown off? If you want to spread the word, pick a couple of different ones out of here to restart our deals with. If you need help with that, I’ll go to all the meets with you and speak for you. But this one you need to set up. Now.”


••••••


The Conspiracy has teased for months wanting to face us, but it never quite happened the way that it needed to. Months ago, I think it was, it was Alexander Raven that sat there and said in a press conference that he wasn’t solid enough to face off against me — that the pretty little championships that Kayla and I held were the only way that Alexander Raven was going to step against me since my return to this company. The married couple that The Conspiracy is, together, was the only way that this was ever going to take place. Talk about setting the scene.

As the matches came in and the losses came out, we watched as Alexander Raven went completely batshit crazy and brought forth the idea that the entire company was against him. That Christian and Mark, who rarely speak to me as it is and I’m the face of their company, were setting the stage against him, and he went after Ben Jordan and J2H like a rabid fiend. And then we watched as both Alexander and Luna joined the Blast From the Past and both made it to the finals.

The feeling had to be great, right? Living their dreams with Alexandra Callaway on one side and Sean Parker on the other. It was good for either of The Conspiracy, wasn’t it? Either way, one would ultimately get the chance to face for the championship that they desired. And when Luna signed their fate, it was Alexander who was left one more time to explain his failures. In all honesty, I was disappointed in the showing of The Conspiracy as a unit. Honestly, I can’t imagine that if Kayla and I were set to face one another that we would just so…shoddily present ourselves so that it was really up to our partners.

Nah, we’d both be out for blood. Because that’s our nature.

The past is not always an arbiter of the future, and a lot of the time, I feel like people don’t understand that. People make their waves by the methods in which they change. I’ve always said that leopards can’t change their spots, but not everyone is a leopard now, are they? It’s a commonality in wrestling to equate yourself with some kind of animal as a symbolic representation, and I’m no different. But change can be difficult in this kind of business, because you’re typecast into a role no matter where you go. For instance, I am a wolf. A lone wolf. Whelan is an anglicized version of the word wolf, and that’s what I’ve been known as for eleven years of my life. But this wolf has changed so many times, from a failure, from a choke artist to the demon that you see before you each and every time I step into the ring. Except for a year in the past six, I have done nothing but rise to the top.

Next Level. Champion.

SCW, Champion. Over and over and over.

Fuck, if I’d gone at the Triad, I might have been a champion too. But I stepped back from that chaotic little element because it didn’t fit my needs at the time. And yet it was that very tournament that seemed to bring something else out in you, Alex.

Oh, you’ve certainly changed from the piss-ant that was trying to get anyone’s attention to something different. In some ways, at least. You rose to prominence in the Triad, recognized by your peers finally for a wrestler that moved heaven and earth to try and attain greatness. And yet, again, once more you couldn’t capitalize on the things that you wanted.

And here, you changed your tune, screaming about the conspiracies that surrounded you, and trying to push yourself as a competitor. I’ll admit, you did it on my back. Which honestly isn’t anything new because you repeat over and over and over again to anyone that listens. Alexander Raven beat Finn Whelan twice. It’s been a cornerstone of every promotional video since the press conference.

It’s a rare feat that very few in this company have, and I’m not going to sit here and say that it’s impossible to do so. It’s just extremely fucking rare. But congratulations to you, who beat me when I didn’t give a flying fuck about the Roulette Championship. You, who lost the Roulette Championship a week after winning it to the even lesser Harris. The child Harris.

Smooth.

Meanwhile, you’re correct that the man you faced nearly two years ago now for a championship that I still hold is actual garbage on steroids is no longer present. Finn Whelan, the face of SCW; Finn Whelan, the World Heavyweight Champion; Finn Whelan, the White Wolf, the Virulence, the Seattle Saint, is the man that stands in front of you today. I am no shadow, but the real deal, and the reason you’re going to be licking your wounds another week in a row. This person that stands in front of you knows their worth, knows the levity of the situation, and isn’t about to choke out and fail because it’s finally that time.

Let’s be real for a moment, Alex. You pride yourself on being the Workhorse of SCW. Week in, week out, it doesn’t matter what the match is, you’re a fighter. But in reality, we all do the bidding of your favorite people in the world whether we want to or not. I’ve stated this time and time again: you fight where you’re booked. I will give you the clamor that you deserve, the clapping, and the adulation that being the workhorse has given you.

But respect? Respect is earned, and if you were to beat myself and Kayla – which isn’t probable at any given time within the next six months – you would have earned my respect. I know Kayla brought up your choke artistry, but that’s not important to me. I believe that anyone has a chance if they play their cards right. If luck is in the air, if the stakes are only high enough to bring you to success. Despite all of the changes, all of the pushes, all of the things that you have said and insinuated over the last couple of years…you are still screaming at the heavens for someone to notice you.

You ask all of us to listen, you ask all of us to see, like a prophetic vision of the future in which a calamity falls upon us all. Apocalypse and all the terrors of the hounds of hell because we don’t see your vision of vita mors. But like the prophets of old, you are unclear and misspeak on a regular basis. Truth is only believed from those who speak it regularly.

When have I lied?

When have I told nothing more than the truth?

And that, Raven, is what separates us. I do not spew lies as truth, and no matter my belief system, I am an honest individual. Anyone that comes to me, I sit there and I will tell them the truth of the situation in which they are in. Just as I’ll tell your friend that he isn’t aware of what will cross his path when he faces me. But I don’t need prophecies, and I don’t need the apocalypse. I don’t need to shout at the heavens for you to listen to me.

Note the lack of change in my composure, the calmness contrasting the vitriol that hides behind me when I think of the roster and the fact that the one who won the Blast From the Past was not someone on this roster. We should all be very ashamed that a newcomer wiped the floor with the roster, and we should be better than we were before. It should have put us all on notice, and yet all I see…is the same garbage, week in…week out.

So, no, Raven. Believe me when I say this: I think you have changed, I think you have improved, but you still are not sufficient enough in your ability to come out of this the victor. As for Luna, I am sure Kayla is salivating at the bit to get a measure of her in ring skill – especially as her challenger. It was Luna who was more vicious than even you, it was Luna who pushed for the success of The Conspiracy. It was Luna who wanted her result more than you…and the end result left Luna facing a woman who has hit her stride again and been undefeated. Kayla’s record is stronger than mine, and it will be telling in this match if Kayla wipes the floor with her.

I hope that will put a bit of a step in Luna’s feet, because we all know you are out the door in October.

The Wolves of Gheimhridh are here, and despite the contiuous complaints from the Retirement Community…we’re not about to out of this reign any time soon.

Pay attention…are you listening?

10
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XIX // SEE YOU ALIVE
« on: May 10, 2024, 11:43:41 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XIX // SEE YOU ALIVE
WHEN YOU FEEL YOUR TIME’S ABOUT TO RUN OUT, I’LL DO MY BEST TO NOT LET YOU DOWN.
DRAGGED UNDER






••••••

Prior to Chapter 38: What I Fought For


The silence permeated the room like a stale, warm unopened room of air. Like an Egyptian tomb that hadn’t been opened for centuries. A carafe of coffee sat in between them, the fixings needed for something other than the disgusting taste of pure black roast surrounding it. The two mugs that sat there were untouched, and the two that sat at the table were almost still as statues.

Finn and Dickie were seated at the table, eyes focused on each other. The younger of the men looked almost as if he were losing temperature quickly and the older merely a stoic statue. Dickie broke the stoicism and looked down at the watch he didn’t have on his wrist, but got caught staring at the blood that was still on his hands. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and shoved his hands beneath the table. Almost like a kid who was caught red handed. And just like a kid who couldn’t handle silence, he finally leaned forward and placed his head on the table.

“Very leader-y.” Finn commented, sarcastically.

Dickie’s head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at his older brother. “What would you like me to do? Hm? Sit like a king?” He tightened his core and sat up high, sticking his nose up in the air ostentatiously. “How’s this?!”

“It’s a damn sight better than your moping.” Finn’s only movement was to cross his arms and he exhaled slowly out of his nose.

In all reality, the death of Kei Hideshima was twofold both positive and negative for Finn, and he knew it from the moment his head hit the floor. There would be no threatening from the Yakuza anymore, there would be no issues with them causing chaos within his life in a negative form. While there was a part of him that mourned the death of his mentor, he also found a peace that he hadn’t had in months. And yet, he also knew that this wouldn’t bode well either. A crime syndicate in the hands of an ill-fitting kid who barely looked past his own inequities and had virtually no understanding of how he now fit into the world? It was preposterous, and ridiculous that we were even here.

“What would you like me to do?” Dickie repeated, crossing his arms too. “I didn’t have a choice, Finn. He was ready to kill you and I couldn’t lose another person. So I did what I thought was best.”

“And now you have a whole clan in your hands.” Finn’s eyebrow raised. “You’re lucky I was able to explain what happened to Hideyaki-sama, and that the fucker trusts me.” He placed his fingers in his eyes. “You killed his shateigashira, and in doing that, you’ve taken his place. Let alone that you have zero idea what Kei did.”

“I know bits and pieces…”

“Bits and pieces are not enough to lead.”

“Okay, so like…how can I make this right then?” Dickie slammed his hand down on the table. “Because I don’t see ya helpin’ in any way, shape and form. I know I don’t know the stuff that makes me a good leader, and I get that part. So maybe I should just…I dunno, disband it?”

Finn shook his head, and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “If you disband it, then you leave two hundred men out in the open with no leadership.”

“So I can’t do that.” Dickie sighed. “I just…I can’t do this on my own.”

“Clearly.” Finn sighed too. He also didn’t want to be his brother’s caretaker yet again, but here he was. And he knew what was going to happen next. Finn was going to be asked to take on his brother’s failures, asked to guide him, asked to be what Kei was to Finn.

“Maybe…maybe you should take it?”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Finn swore, and shook his head.

“You’re the best out of the two of us to do it!”

Finn leaned forward then, narrowing his eyes at his little brother and exhaling slowly. “I am not the one that got myself into this hell. In fact, I pulled myself out of it, and you decided to jump right in because he offered you the world and all you got was blood on my table.”

Dickie looked down at the table, frowned at the bloody fingerprints, and then swiped at it, trying to remove them. “Look, mate, I just…I needed to be able to stand on my own two feet, okay? Without you, without Aiden, without everyone and yeah, I fucked that up. I fucked up a lot of stuff lately – I haven’t talked to Shawn in months and Kasey has texted but I keep neglecting to text back because I–”

“Feel like a complete and utter failure because you lost a championship to someone who disappeared and thinks their return one day is going to be so seismic that they have to hide in the shadows? Lost your ability to stand on your own two feet? Lost your ability to look into the mirror and see a damned good wrestler who had everything in his hands but couldn’t see past his own issues to notice it?”

Dickie looked down at the table. Guilty as charged, and he knew it.

“You’ve made decisions that affect a lot of people, including your friends and family. And now you have to own them.” Finn sighed again, looked down for a second as he thought about how to word his next statement without being abrasive. Dickie didn’t need abrasive – his point had gotten through anyway. “You can’t throw away the Yakuza, and you’re not giving it to me.”

“I…”

“Shut up, not finished.” Finn cut him off again. “You’re twenty-eight, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and note that while the world was in your hands, you took the route of being a fuckin’ pissant kid. You thought the world owed you something, and now that you have nothing in your hands to show for it, you don’t know what to do. I chalk that up to not having parents, or anyone that actually could have been a parent to you. I certainly didn’t help matters, so it’s my fault too, Dimitri.” He leaned forward. “But I’ll help.”

Dickie’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

“Hideyaki-sama relinquished ownership of Kei’s clan, so now you’re the Oyabun. The Watson Clan.” He sighed slowly. “And as much as it fucks with everything that I’ve been trying to get through, I guess you have a wakagashira in me. Your first lieutenant. I’ll help. I’ll try to guide you with what you need to do…maybe we can turn this from being a crime problem into something positive.”

“Finn, you have no idea how much that’s gonna help me here…I’m…I’m…I’m fuckin’ swimmin’ in shit and I know that I don’t always think, but I’ma make this right. I promise. I’m–”

A loud pounding sounded outside of the apartment. Finn and Dickie both turned their heads to hear muffled Japanese, with one sounding like they were both getting louder and more frustrated while also having such a heavy accent on it it could be no one other than Aiden. Finn sighed, got up, and headed to the door, opening it.

“I just wanted to make sure ya were okay, I mean…after the whole Wolfslair shit and now I see these two numbfucks just standin’ here guardin’ shit,” Aiden started, without even letting Finn get out a word. “Figured that Hideshima fuck was here.”

“And how do you know who he was?” Finn raised an eyebrow. Aiden paused, and then his cheeks flared slightly.

“I heard Dickie talkin’ about him once and I…wait…” Aiden’s eyes traveled past Finn’s shoulder, and he saw Dickie standing at the end of the hallway, both of his hands shoved in his pockets. “Mate!” He shoved past Finn, but was met with the muzzle of an AK-47 against his chest from one of the guards. The man stared him down and Aiden’s eyes widened. “Blink twice if ya need out!” He yelled at Dickie.

“No…” Dickie sighed, and looked at the floor. “Let ‘em through.” He ordered, and then shuffled back to the table, sitting down at it. This clearly wasn’t something he was proud of. Aiden shoved past them, and Finn followed, shutting the door behind him.

“Mate, what the fuck happened to ya, huh?” Aiden slipped into a chair. Dickie really did look worse for wear, what with the spatters of blood on his clothes and face and hands. Finn crossed his arms and looked on. This would be his future, and he would have to shove all of his ire down to help his little brother…even when he had the world of Sin City resting on his shoulders.

“You’re looking at the new leader of the Yakuza clan that’s been here for a long while.” Finn piped up, noting Dickie didn’t know how to tell his best friend what was going on. In fact, he wasn’t even sure they were best friends still – he hadn’t spoken to him in months.

Aiden looked at Finn, and then looked at Dickie. Dickie refused to meet his gaze, swallowing slightly. Then…

Aiden snorted.

“Oh, that’s fuckin’ bloody brilliant, hey. When do I get a gun?”



••••••

You know, they should really put a warning on some of their food out there in the British Isles. Let’s put it out there that I am Irish and immigrated into the States when I was but a wee lil’ babe, but nothing can kill you like blood in…well, anything. Killed my stomach for the next week – pretty sure I’ll never touch that again, no matter who convinces me to do so.

But I can’t say I’m not thankful to be the hell out of England. Too many memories, too many people, too many…problems. You see, you could say the countryside is beautiful and that London itself is grand, but at the end of the day, it’s still a fucking island with too many people on it and not enough room to do much of anything. The venues are smaller, the cities jampacked and if I see another one of those fucking Double Decker busses, I may twitch like it doesnt matter.

I know Kayla loves home, but let me tell you the further it is for me, the happier I will forever be.

We’re coming out of our last supercard, and in that time frame, not only did I retain against a man who had everything to lose, Kayla gained the Women’s World Bombshell Championship. That makes both of us a bit of a phenom in Sin City, because we are the first dual champions in our respective gender divisions, and that…makes it a bit more difficult than you could think.

You know, everyone sits there and says that we can’t manage the dual championships because one is going to fall by the wayside because we’re too busy focusing on the other. Which is bullshit, because every week, we’re set a match and we show out because we fulfill our obligations. We come in, we fight hard, and we do what we have to in order to retain, no matter what the championship is. Against Goth? Finnegan’s Wake, a move I rarely use simply to end everything. There is no redemption, no comeback story: it is a poignant note that you failed.

A wake, after all, is vigil. A vigil for someone who has died.

But not for me. For I continue living and breathing and fighting for the things that are mine.

In France, I’m to face Rodrigo Afonso…the man with the Golden Briefcase that – in my own personal opinion – means nothing. It has been nearly six months since that Golden Briefcase has been won, and it hasn’t been utilized. Multiple opportunities have been present, multiple champions have been available. But instead, Roddie over here has decided that he doesn’t even need to pay attention to what’s going on in the world to utilize it. It just seems to me that Afonso isn’t very…interested…in being a SCW wrestler. I mean, say what you want about me – since everyone seems to do so anyway, and I’ll refute all your bullshit eventually – but when I show, I show tenfold. It’s not about doing the bare minimum to get by, come in, do a match, get back to whatever else is going on. No, when I’m scheduled, I go hard.

And in my research I literally just watched this kid say that he’s a one and done when it comes to promotionals. Doesn’t really like to talk…and yet that is primarily the mode of our work. The way we communicate and work with one another to build a story…one that no amount of “needing a win” more is going to change.

I don’t need this win, Rodrigo. I don’t need a win against you. I don’t need to constantly prove my worth like you do, because I’ve done it. I hold the most coveted championship in this company, and I don’t need a win over a kid who doesn’t look like they want to be here on a regular basis to prove anything more. I want challenges. I’m not the same as the past few champions who have looked for the lowest bottom dollar to defend a championship against – and honestly, I would have preferred that this was a title match, because it might have made you work a little harder to improve your chances.

You don’t match.

Ah, what do I mean by that?

It’s simple. When a wrestler makes a statement and follows through, it’s a match. Your words and your actions match, and that makes you a threat. Since September, I haven’t lost a match, even when the best of the best thought they could defeat me. Everyone in this company always has a chance, but it’s only if they actually bring it to the venue and they fight like hell to attain greatness.

You have a briefcase…and that’s honestly the most interesting thing about you, kid. You haven’t succeeded against any particular names in recent months, and even if you were to sit there and tell me that you’d beat my ass and that you’d do better than I ever would, you don’t match. Your words don’t match your ability, because you haven’t attained anything but a briefcase that has nothing interesting about it.

And now you hope, by some grace of god, that you’ll be able to face me and defeat me? Like you have Eddie, Vaughn, Carter, virtually everyone you’ve crossed? Let me tell you, this will be a lesson to learn for you, and you will learn something at Climax Control. You’ll learn that you don’t belong in the ring with me, you’ll learn that it’s more than just saying you want to win, but meaning that with every bone in your body.

You’ll never get there unless you choose your discipline.

You said to Eddie that you could tear his championship in half?

How about I tear you in half? Your skateboard, your hope, your fears, your desires? Because I could do all of that. Piss me off, kid, and you’ll see a world of hurt that you’re not prepared for in a million years.

You’ll have your chance to stand against me, Roddie. And you’ll have your chance to do everything you can to stop me. At the end of the day, though, it’ll be just the same as it always is.

You, on your back, me….with the win, my hand raised in victory and my titles returned to me without fail.

Is this what you want to face? Because if it is…good luck, kid.

Because you’re going to need it.

11
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XV // MANIC
« on: March 15, 2024, 11:34:56 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XV // MANIC
FEAR HITS LIKE A DRUG IN THE VEIN, HARD TO STOP LIKE A RUNAWAY TRAIN. LOOK AROUND, BUT THERE’S NOBODY TO BLAME. OH, WHAT A SHAME.
WAGE WAR






••••••


The cheers of the crowd never got old, especially when you’d won the big one. As he pushed the curtain upwards and let it fall behind him, a grin slid upon his face. Two championships. Double champion. The words that people uttered to him the entire time about being selfish, about not trying to ascertain glory by only having one championship…

Well. Fuck what they said, right?

Finn Whelan wasn’t selfish, by any means; but he certainly was competitive. Things like championships only became a factor when they became part of a game. The game this time? Proving himself. Not only to everyone else who sat there and berated him for being who he was, for willing to work with a tag partner who didn’t like nor want him around, for being infinitely observant, and for having a brain when so many people in this business didn’t. For having to listen to bitches on the other side of the aisle who would never amount to what they were, or what he was.

Go cry about it.

There was a part inside of him that had he had long since buried that crept up every once and a while when there was a celebration to be had. A part of him that wanted to seek out Kayla, find her wherever she was in the back and…well, there were no words that he could use to continue that thought. It was part that wouldn’t see the light of day, so he swallowed his feeling and pushed back into the arena. A few of the production staff clapped him on the back, and eventually, he knew he’d see either Christian or Mark before he left for the night.  They would no doubt congratulate him on a second win of the championship, but somehow, he felt that might be a hollow victory.

A cleared throat behind him as he headed down the long hallway to the locker rooms made him stop, close his eyes, and then turn his head, looking behind him with an annoyed expression. He knew the voice; in fact, he knew it so well, he was actually surprised that he’d dare to show his face tonight. Finn exhaled, and moved his whole body in the direction of the sound. Perched upon a production box, an eyebrow raised, was Kei Hideshima. How he got backstage?

He had his ways.

He raised his hands and started clapping, slowly. Finn hiked the World Championship on his shoulder and held onto the Mixed title with his other hand, staring the Japanese man down with contempt across the entirety of his face.

“Kyodai,” he smiled through his words, though Finn knew the tone and the phrase far too well. Little brother, he called him. He wanted something, that was for certain. “Congratulations on the championship win. We all knew you could do it.”

See, Finn had gotten into a habit of not opening his mouth unless it was required. Too many times, he’d gotten himself in shit for mouthing off, and tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. He was in too much of a good mood to let it be sullied by a man who continually couldn’t take no as an answer. He tilted his head and nodded, refusing to say thank you. It wouldn’t serve a purpose except for allow pride go to Kei’s head.

Nevertheless, Kei continued on, stepping down off of the box and standing face-to-face with Finn, just mere feet away. “A large shame it was only because of business.”

Finn’s eyes narrowed.

“You know, some money may have changed hands in a trade. A quick count for the ending, you know…keeping down a monster wrestler like Goth…”

Finn knew what this was. This was Kei trying to manipulate the situation into something that it wasn’t – that he’d paid off the referee to count him as the winner, that he had a hand in Sin City business. But he didn’t, and Finn wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. He exhaled slowly out of his mouth, trying to keep his temper in check. It would do nothing for him if he snapped.

“That is how things go in this business. The best win because they use their resources prominently. You do not have to thank me, Callien…I just hope you can look past your shortcomings and pride to realize that as a team once more, we could take this world by storm. Think about how strong you could be. You could have whatever you wanted.”

Finn’s eyebrow raised and he tilted his head to the side. “Whatever I want?” He repeated, slowly. Smoothly. Deadly.

“Whatever–”

“Funny, because I stand in front of you with two championships that I earned on my own. I don’t buy your claim that you had anything to do with this, because guess what – you and I both know that you wouldn’t have spent a dime on me if it meant that I could rebuff you. Which, let me remind you, is over and over and over again.”

“Now, Finn–”

“How many times do I have to say no? How many times is it going to be before you realize that even though you can wheedle my brother out of his freewill doesn’t mean that you will ever have that chance to do it again. I have the Mixed Tag Team Championships because Kayla and I worked our asses off for them. This one? I have because I was the better man tonight, and you can’t tell me otherwise. I don’t need manipulation and bullshit tactics to win everything I want. I’ve already made every fucking step that I’ve needed to be successful and they do not include you.”

Kei said nothing, but a slight smile raised at the corners of his lips. He let the American Irishman snap off on him, his speech flowing to an Irish brogue as he got more agitated. The calm facade that he kept on most occasions snapped off. It probably wasn’t good that Kei could still do that, but nevertheless, it happened.

“Ever since I dropped your ass, I have done nothing but flourish. With you, I kept failing miserably; you were an atomic bomb on my career, my standing, and my wellbeing. I don’t need you, Kei. Clearly, you still need me but the fucking option isn’t there. For the last fucking time, stop showing up, stop trying to get me to work with you, and for fuck’s sake, stop acting like a jilted lover who needs me more than I will ever need you.”

He turned then, walking away from him with solidified steps. He didn’t bother looking behind him, only stared directly ahead of him, watching where he was walking with grit teeth and anger in his features. He was tired of this. Tired of people like him and Aaron who constantly pushed themselves into his space, refusing to back off when asked. Tired of being persuaded to do something that he didn’t want to. Dickie had very little ability to say no to anyone, but not him. He was done with this shit.

“You will regret this, Callien.”

Finn didn’t bother to respond.


••••••


Kei didn’t show up for the next couple of weeks, and finally, Finn felt he’d taken control of the situation and finally got through to his brain. The Seattle Saint went through the motions at Wolfslair, being celebrated for returning with the championship in his hands, congratulated even by Alex Jones, who continued to despise his presence on most days, but couldn’t deny that the gold looked good for the gym. And that it did. Dual championships, returning wrestlers to the scene, wins across the board, and even Aiden with his tie with someone like Ben Jordan, the team was doing wonderful things.

It was a quiet day for the most part. He sat in his office, like he did on most occasions that we found him. Finn wasn’t an extrovert, and he preferred to be behind the scenes, reviewing people’s promotional videos and trying to figure out how to help them bring out their own style while simultaneously hitting the weaknesses of their opponent hard. It was easy to do when once he knew who everyone was and how they approached things. Now, most of them simply wanted a review rather than a full class.

He looked up every so often, glancing out the window of his office onto the floor. From his spot, he could see Austin training with Alicia in the ring, Alex on the apron barking orders at both of them. Johanna and Kallie were seated at one of the open areas with Aaron, completing some yoga positions. Kayla was there with them, and she was rolling her eyes entirely at all of the options – that she was even doing yoga, and that she was listening to, of all people, Aaron. He could see her expression quite clearly, and he knew it well.

Aiden was standing far off at the weights, probably forlornly missing his best friend still. Finn still needed to solve that.

All and all, it was quiet. It was peaceful. It was a regular day.

Until it wasn’t.

Chaos ensued quicker than anyone could have ever expected. Weapons, assault rifles, held tightly to chests as they descended, men wearing masks appeared out of nooks and crannies that no one had even been aware of. Also the front door, where someone had grabbed Sonja and was dragging her with them, though she valiantly was stabbing them in the chest with her elbow.

Kei followed them in, and behind him trudged a very hesitant and very quiet Dickie Watson, who did not look at all comfortable with any of this.

He stood at the entryway, his arms crossed as he surveyed all of the people within the building. He noted Aiden, who was staring at Dickie like a long lost puppy dog returned home, though that expression was quickly covered with fear as one of the lackey’s Kei had pointed one of the rifles at him. Kallie scrambled up behind Johanna and Kayla, the latter of which had her eyes narrowed as she stared at the Japanese man with an intense amount of venom within her features. Aaron rose to her feet, and then snapped at the man who had the audacity to point a gun at her in Japanese.

Alex, Austin and Alicia were all struck dumb by the now three men who surrounded the ring with their weapons. At least until Alex realized Sonja was in the hands of someone else, and he moved towards them – only to be stopped with a muzzle pointed directly in his face.

Kei looked around at the equipment, raised an eyebrow, and then commented. “Kono jimu ga hoshī.” He demanded, stating that he wanted the gym. He looked at Dickie, who seemed to pale in front of his eyes. “Get rid of–”

A bullet went whizzing past his head before he could issue the statement. He paused, and then he turned his head, looking at the man across from him, a gun with a silencer raised, directly pointed in his direction. Kei smirked slightly, although he could have also been praising Finn for not killing him.

“That’s unfortunate,” Finn snapped, staring down the end of the gun in his hands. “I don’t think it’s for sale.”

“Finnegan,” Kei smiled, recovering from the fact that he was shot at, raised his hands from his crossed arms and bowed slightly. “It is lovely to see you again.”

“The sentiment isn’t returned.” Finn stated, and though Kei was raising his hands in surrender, he didn’t bother lowering the weapon. Kayla’s eyes were widened as she stared up at him, as if she were seeing someone that she didn’t even recognize. “You have two minutes before the wall behind you is spattered in your brain matter.”

Kei chuckled, “But it is so beneath you now, is it not? Taking someone’s life? It was so easy to do, especially when asked. And what was it you received in return? Confidence, training, strength, things that you always lacked in yourself. For the mere contract to be completed as my second.”

Finn’s lip twitched. This was what he meant, he thought, when he said I’d regret it. In front of all of his friends, his confidants, his teammates, Kei was outing him for what he had been, for what he’d left behind so many years ago. Six years, he hadn’t been a part of Kei’s schemes, and now here he was.

Aiden’s eyes fell upon Kei, and he tilted his head as if he recognized him. He glanced at Finn. “Oi, mate…” He started, but was hit in the stomach with the butt of the rifle that the man next to him held. “Ah, fuck…”

“That was a long time ago, Kei. A long time ago since you’ve had a right hand, and now you’re using Dickie for that, which has been harder for you because he’s softer than I am. You, of all people in this room, know what I’m capable of, and what I will do to protect the people I care about.”

“The people you care about?” Kei questioned, looking at everyone. “You mean to tell me you care about Alex Jones, the man who single-handedly almost ruined your relationship with your sister? Or Alicia Lukas, who you’ve called McWafflecunt since the dawn of time? Or shall I bring up your dear ex-wife, Aaron, who brought you to me in the first place when you couldn’t manage to find yourself. Oh but of course, then there is Kayla–”

“Yes,” Finn cut him off, and his voice appeared to sound even more deadly the second he mentioned Kayla. “The people I care about.” He lowered the gun and walked down the steps, keeping his eyes focused on Kei until he stood in front of him, face to face, eye to eye. “It won’t take me but a second to break your neck.”

“You are a changed man now, are you not?”

“Old habits die hard.” Kei smirked. Finn tilted his head, glancing at Dickie briefly before looking back at the Japanese crime boss. “Or, shall we play the other game? Instead of physical intimidation, we’ll go with verbal manipulation. Shall I let Hideyaki-sama know you’re planning to overthrow him?”

Kei’s smile dropped.

“It’s not like I don’t have a direct line to the fucker whenever I want. Speed dial, nine.”

“You would not.”

“I would, if it meant keeping everyone in this room alive and happy. You need me, but I don’t need you, Kei and the more you do this shit means the less I’m going to continue putting up with it. Now, everyone in here has heard your plan, including all of your little lackeys, so if the info goes to the head of the family, then your ass is grass, right? And you have no fucking clue who it’s going to be, so let’s do this. We’ll forget this ever happened, and you’ll go on your merry-fucking-way, and you’ll leave me, and everyone in Wolfslair, out of your bullshit.”

Kei did not look pleased with this, and he glanced around at the people around him.

“Or I blow your brains out and take over your position. Cuz that’s how it goes, right? I’ve only been out of the Yakuza for six years, but I’m pretty sure I remember how to take over from my immediate superior.” Finn narrowed his eyes.

Kei exhaled through his nose, and then raised a hand, signaling to his staff to retreat. He walked backwards, keeping his eyes on Finn, and headed behind Dickie, who began to follow. Finn watched them both, and when the danger was all gone, he exhaled slowly, raising his chin to the ceiling and looking upwards.

“MATE WHAT THE FUCK?!” Aiden screamed, charging up to him.

Finn raised a hand, shaking his head, and then turned back to look at Alex, who was helping Sonja to her feet. The two stared at each other, and then Finn nodded.

“I’ll pack my shit.” He replied, not even waiting for Alex to say anything. His eyes floated, as he walked back to his office, and he found Kayla.

She’d come to him, weeks ago now, stating that she knew there was something up, that he was involved in something. Kei had freaked her out, and now with all of it revealed, he wondered if she’d look at him any differently. She’d yelled at him that she could help him, that she was there for him, and now? She’d also snapped that she cared about him, but that was something he couldn’t have. Not with this shit. The further away from all of this she was, the better it would be.

They were just tag partners, after all.


••••••

I know people were hoping that I wouldn’t show my face, so you could get your rocks off on X or Twitter or whatever the fuck Elon Musk wants to call it. It’s easy to be critical when you’re not in the business, and yeah, I’ve had a rough start on this whole fuckin’ being the face or whatever…

Or so everyone would like me to state and believe.

I’m of a different opinion. Traditional shit like stepping out and having this big ass fucking celebration of winning a championship is definitely back in the early two-thousands, and I’m really not about that life. A lot of people like putting a lot of stock into winning the championship, and maybe that’s why it’s hot potato’d for the past few years relatively quickly. I’m not a celebratory person. I did my job.

I fulfilled my obligation.

I’m not going to say that I didn’t fulfill it well, because I won the World Heavyweight Championship against someone who was salivating at the bit for it almost as if he was one of Pavlov’s dogs. Screaming about everyone under the sun but underestimating me because he thought he was a fuckin’ shoo-in for the championship. That was a fallacy and it cost him in the end. At My Bloody Valentine V, I became a two-time World Heavyweight Champion when everyone in the world was telling me that I wasn’t going to be.

Fuck you and your opinions, to be perfectly honest.

See, this is what I’ve always hated about social media, and maybe let me point this out to people like Mikah and Julianna DiMaria. It’s easy to run your shit-slobbering mouth when you stand on the other side of the aisle, screaming at the heavens about your rotten place in the world when you don’t have to own up to it. When there is no consequence. Mikah is retired, but has not one ability to drop her attachment to sucking off leadership because she thinks it’ll garner her points on an invisible stick of favorability. Julianna jumped on a horse that she doesn’t know how to ride because she thinks she’ll get points and it’ll make her look good as the Bombshells Champion.

All it makes you look like is pathetic little bitches with nothing to do with your time except bitch and complain on social media like a female boomer complaining about gender-neutral pronouns.

In any other company, spats on social media could be solved by a scheduled match. One where the people doing the bitching face the person they’re bitching about. I could have that match. I’m happy to face whomever is put in front of me because that’s how I was trained, and that’s how I’ve worked for the past ten years of my career. This is the only company on this side of the world that has separated genders, and let me tell you right now, that is the only reason that they can continue to run their mouth and not get their words knocked the fuck out of them.

Because I’m a gentleman…and it’s not allowed.

Here. Find me outside SCW, and we’ll see about that. While it’s in SCW, Kayla can knock every word back down their throats if she so chooses.

No, I’m not going to be that champion that shows up to everything and lords my abilities over everyone else. I’m going to work. Work means actually being in the ring, doing the job that I’m paid for, not just showing up and looking pretty.

And before you start mouthing off, Mikah, Kay and I have already surpassed you and your hubby on days as champions, and it’s just going to continue on even after this week. Wolves-dash-one. Or three, however you want to look at it.

Kayla and I both have singles gold as part of our quest to succeed. As a dual champion, I represent both the Mixed Tag Team division and the Men’s division as their top competitor. I’m undefeated this year, I’m pushing for greatness, and while I have two separate divisions that I work in, I find it quite easy to focus on where I need to be in the moment, in that particular time frame. I’m not putting a championship ahead of another championship, but when I’m booked as a Mixed Tag Team Champion, that is where my focus is. That’s where it needs to be, and that’s where it’s lying when we take on this postponed match.

Ariana Angelos and Helluva Bottom Carter.

Team Go.

I’ve been here before with Carter. There and Back Again, isn’t that what you said last time? That my presence within the company was similar to a hobbit’s journey? You’re not the first to point it out, the lack of consistency, the lack of continuation. It seems to be the only thing that ultimately brings me out of my hidey hole, but you know what? That’s the only thing that anyone ever says about me that’s true. It’s easy to come up with shit, throw things in a corner, act like a bitch. Be a cunt. Whatever floats your boat, you do you, but it’s literally the low hanging fruit that everyone picks, thinks is sweet, but is really just rotten inside.

We met back in January. Second round for the World Heavyweight Championship that J2H vacated, and the story ends in that I won. It was a sad night for you, right? Because you had a rope break and still, I was declared the winner. Lucky me, I guess. It’s not my fault when people don’t recognize shit, but you know what, some of us are wishful and hopeful in our lives when maybe we shouldn’t have been. Sorry that your foot wasn’t recognized, kind of like how you are rarely recognized for greatness.

Then, you said we had similar outlooks, similar styles. I disagree. I have a very different outlook than you. You are a wishful thinker, someone who puts optimism ahead of their goals. You’re one of those people that probably talk about manifesting your greatness, and that’s what will earn you the greatest things in life. I’m sure you’re happy with Miles. That, I’m certain of. But you couldn’t manifest yourself to greatness when it came against me…and why?

Why is that?

You’re good, Carter, but your eyes are constantly elsewhere when they should be focused on the match in front of them. You carried on with Rodrigo about how Ben Jordan said you would be a future World Champion, but I disagree. You could be. Just like Miles could be. But not until you get your head correctly on your shoulders and focus on your shit. I have a multitude of shit going on in my life, but when I’m in that ring, I am solely focused on that ring, the people in it and the outcome that I want.

And I strive to make it happen.

I’ve been here before. I’ve fought these same roads over and over again seeking for the thing that made me smarter, or wiser, or just simply better than the people around me. I’m not every one of those things at any time, but my outlook has changed over the years. I tried to sit there and say to people that they were the best, that we were going to have one of the greatest knock-down, drag-outs of the century and wish them well. But I don’t anymore…and why is that?

Because I’ve learned that if I give an inch, motherfuckers like you will come in and take a mile.

Maybe I’m jaded, or simply vindictive, but I’m not a kind soul anymore. I fight with every bitter bone in my body to be the best because I finally have realized that the only person that is responsible for making things happen in my life is me. It’s not my friends, it’s not my pals, it’s me doing my utmost every time I step into that ring. When it comes to tag teaming, Kayla and I have always remained the same on this conversation: it’s a professional relationship where we put ourselves in the thick and thin of it because we only rely on the other to do our job. There are no feelings involved, we are not friends. There is no I have your back, you have mine. It’s goals and the creation and subsequent continuation of that goal.

When we faced Limitless for the championships the first time, we held strong to that fact. Feelings were wiped from the mat and we won. The second time, they expected to come back with this hero story that they would get their shit together and they would win. Nope, wrong. When we faced Miles Kasey and Alexandra Callaway, they also had this feeling within their bones that they would back each other up with their feelings.

Ben Jordan and Samantha Marlowe were the closest to winning these championships from us, but…even so, they didn’t.

Because of feelings.

Ben wanted so much to win those for Sam, and it just didn’t happen.

Kayla and I don’t do feelings. We don’t do friendships. We do this for us, for longevity, for power and strength. To prove our worth in this business, and make sure everyone is able to take credence. There is no wishy-washy, lovey-dovey bullshit behind our motives. It’s simply do our job and move on.

Now, I don’t know what possessed you to work with Ariana, but I’ll put that on the backburner because I know what the two of you are capable of. You’ve been friends, partners, for a long time. And that’s good for you, I guess. To know and echo one another in the ring. And you want gold so badly together that you’re just going to fight like hell for it. You drew against Ben and Sam, and so now, you’re given an opportunity to face the best in this company. We all want greatness, Carter. It’s all about how much you actually want it.

Kayla has her sights set on dual championship territory, and she’s going to do everything in her power to get there. Ariana is a hard-worker, always pushes herself to do well, but when it comes down to it…she’s not a match for Kayla. Kayla is out for blood, not just gold. If Kayla wins at the next supercard, she will be a grand slam champion in this company, and everyone is going to have to recognize her for her greatness. And I can tell you tonight, that she’s not about to let Ariana get one up on her at all.

And me?

Why the fuck would I be any different? After all, I am the World Heavyweight Champion, and I am the Mixed Tag Team Champion that has knocked down every challenger. I’ve stood down the ring looking at people who didn’t think I had it in me to do what I’ve done, and I’ve taken their pride and their glory right out from under them. And that includes you, Carter. I moved on when you didn’t, and maybe that win was a bit tainted, but nevertheless I’m the one standing here…and you’re fighting again for recognition. Over and over…oh look, there and back again.

I’m not going to wish you luck, I’m not going to shake your hand. I’m going to keep telling you to listen and to learn. We are competitors, we are fighters, and Kayla and I are going to fight until we have nothing left within our bones anymore. We plan on being at this position until someone has to tell us to drop the damn things. And even then, they might get told to fuck off.

The Wolves of Gheimhridh are not here to play around and make friends, nor are we here to let people who couldn’t get a solid win over their previous competitors win anything at all.

Come and try to take our championships from us. Try.

It’s not our fault if you’re missing your confidence for the umpteenth time when you come back from the ring. Just like you’ll be missing the championships from your waist.


••••••

12
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XIII // ANTI-HERO
« on: February 02, 2024, 11:10:15 PM »

PARADIGM SHIFT XIII // ANTI-HERO
IT’S ME, HI. I’M THE PROBLEM, IT’S ME. AT TEA TIME, EVERYBODY AGREES. I’LL STARE DIRECTLY AT THE SUN, BUT NEVER IN A MIRROR; IT MUST BE EXHAUSTING ALWAYS ROOTING FOR THE ANTI-HERO.
TAYLOR SWIFT




••••••


The stage was set. In just three weeks, it would be Finn Whelan versus Goth for the World Heavyweight Championship at Sin City Wrestling. This would not be the first time they would lock hands, nor would it be the last, if the bookers had it their way.

There was so much going on in Finn’s life, it was hard to distinguish where his mind was at. He wanted this. He wanted to be the champion, and he wanted to be in the singles field. None of this could be denied, as he was sure to tell everyone over and over again. But since his return in September of 2023, Finn had been on a tangent. One match lost, while every other match he’d been in was a win. Six matches, and it could have been more over a variety of months and weeks if he wanted it to be.

But now? Now was the time to buckle down. The World Championship was on the horizon, but even more closely looming was the championships that he and Kayla had dethroned Limitless for. The Mixed Tag Team Titles had the opportunity to stay theirs, or continue on to new holders…if they couldn’t focus. If they couldn’t get in tandem sync. But things had been better, right? He and Kayla were getting along now, even to the point where he seemed to care more about her than he’d ever let on.

But what if they lost? Would she blame him because his mind was on the championship? Or would she blame him because his mind was lost in the shattered development of his life. His brother, missing, his friendships nearly non-existent. Everything was a matter of convenience.

And yet…

Even so…

He’d fight to the death for all of it if it meant everything could be in his grasp.

This wasn’t a night where the chips were down for him – if anything, he had even more to prove.




••••••


Hit fast. Hit hard.

I can hear it now. The same thing that everyone says, over and over again because they think it’s the key to breaking me down, in whittling me into a shape that they’re okay with. To what they dictate. The narrative is painted over and over to try and label me a selfish cunt because I don’t stop at just one.

But as a reminder, before anyone ever says one word about it…I don’t make the bookings, but I do make it a point to take every situation and weigh it to the best of my ability.  And that’s exactly what I did. Given the opportunity, I capitalized on Helluva Bottom Carter, and also now the incomparable…apparently…Peter Vaughn. Who hasn’t shown the fuck up since the embarassment of losing to little ol’ me.

Big ol’ me.

Whatever.

I have been nothing but honest and truthful in the past few months, and if anyone says anything otherwise, at this point, it’s simply ineptitude and false superiority guiding the way. Peter Vaughn tried to attack me for being a tag team wrestler – a division that he couldn’t even hold a candle to, and put down as if it was trash to even be a part of. But just because I succeeded in one area doesn’t mean I can’t succeed in another, and time and time again, I’ve proven that I am driven, focused and a tried-true competitor in any ring I get into. Any division, anywhere. I put work into my craft, and you can throw me to the wolves…and what was it that Bring Me the Horizon said?

Tomorrow I will come back, leading up the whole pack.

Even when I’m placed in a situation that adversely affects me personally, I still rise to the occasion. I still push with every bone in my body towards the zenith that is my own plateau. It took me years to reach it, to hone my craft, but no one in their right mind ever believed that I would be as insurmountable as I’ve become today.

While I look towards My Bloody Valentine V, I am also cognizant of the fact that I still represent this company as a Mixed Tag Team Champion–not just a consolation prize, not just boredom for the fact that I had nothing better to do. I’m not going to do what Limitless did and sit there and think we’re unstoppable just because we put on a logo over our heads – no. Anyone, at any time, can be defeated. Anyone, everyone. Karma doesn’t just pick and choose its victors and losers, it strikes when nary a soul can suspect.

That’s why I fight, train, and work as hard as I can to be the best bloody wrestler on this side of the sport. There are thousands of men and women in this sport that train the hardest that they can, and so many that will sit there and proclaim they are the best. And maybe they are. But I can tell you right now that I can go toe-to-toe with any of them and rise even when you least expect it.

The Wolves of Gheimhridh isn’t simply a forced partnership that blossomed. Kayla and I may have our disagreements, but you’re not going to find any other wrestlers that are always at the top of their game, always pushing forward, always making the best out of every situation that is tossed at them. Even when our fearless previous champions were set to try and make history by failing miserably, but rising like phoenixes against the big bad enemies, they were stopped. Not because we were lucky, but because Kayla and I have no chill when it comes to this sport.

Our world could be crumbling before our very eyes and you’re always going to get our very best.

This is a promise that I make to you. In a few weeks, you’ll see me either rise above Goth and raise the Championship far above my head, or you will see me fail – but it will be done with my very best.

It’s the very same at Climax Control 385. Our Go Home show. Our last ditch effort to make the waves in the scene so that we have viewership and all eyes are upon us. While I’m sure I’ll have some words to share with Goth at our contract signing, I have the duty and the honor to defend the Mixed Tag Team titles against the team of Ben Jordan and Sam Marlowe.

And let me put a stop to this bullshit. Again.

People are capable of multitasking. It’s an easy skill, and it seems to be one that everyone seems to think I can’t do. Just because I’m going for one championship doesn’t mean my sight is clouded to everyone else. It doesn’t matter who I face, tag team, champion, non-champion, rival – I don’t just sit back and sip some Oodles of Noodles and think I’m just going to get off scot free. Nah. It’s not me.

I’m here to destroy.

You’ll hear Kayla say that she firmly believed that it should have been this team that faced us at the final show of 2023, but again…we aren’t the bookers and we were given two people that tried to simultaneously be logical, while also attempting to frame us for some bullshit that didn’t exist. With the fact that Ben and Sam defeated Limited within that time frame, it should have been them to face us at December 2 Dismember. And yet, it wasn’t.

It was a draw last week, and a coin flip decided this match.

Blissful.

Hit fast, hit hard. It’s the very first thing I was ever truly taught once my first tenure in wrestling played itself out. Don’t step back, only step forward, and do it with every ounce of effort within your bones. Don’t let people see who you are, don’t let people see your pain, don’t let people see that you have vulnerabilities. Fight them off, hit fast, hit hard. And make sure you take every bit of their fight from their lungs.

I’m sure you’ve heard, Ben and Sam, that the problematic one out of myself and Kayla is Kayla. And the shoe fits, I would suppose. Kayla doesn’t give two solid fucks what happens to you, or anyone else out there in the ring. She’ll fight like a death demon in order to take your life, and she’ll do it with a smile on her face. But in this case? In this match?

Hi.

I’m the problem, it’s me.


••••••


“This will be a help,” a manicured hand, a beautiful wedding ring on the fourth finger, reached out and pressed against his shoulder.

It was twenty-fourteen. Years before all of the hatred and anger that surrounded him, them. They’d been married then, happily. For just a year. She was four-foot-eleven, bright pink and black hair styled like the typical scene girl. He was six-foot-four, chip on his shoulder, but still willing to learn. He brushed the long lock of black hair that often fell into his face aside and looked out the window as they traveled the lush, green mountainside. Cherry blossoms had just started to bloom.

Aaron smiled at him, placing both hands on the steering wheel. “You were good at Combat Syndicate, and that championship you won there meant something. Seattle gave you the foundation you needed, but this will help. I’ve known him for a long time. He trained me a bit too, and maybe if you could even just train with him for a little bit, you’ll come out of this better than you think.”

“I don’t know,” Finn argued back, setting his head harshly against the headrest of the passenger seat on the opposite side of the vehicle than it should be. Japan was just as ass-backward as he thought it was going to be, especially outside of the main cities. You could only disguise a city so much in technology before you left its confines to the wilderness once more. “This is probably some shit venture. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered, to be honest. I’m a scrapper, I’m not a trained fighter–”

“You are a trained fighter, and you’re almost as good as anyone else in this business already. You’ve been doing this a year. A little more practice and a different way of looking at things can help, Finneh.”

“Why is some fuckin’ dude in Japan going to take any interest in me?”

“Because–” she sighed as she stared straight ahead, turning the wheel to match the curves in the road. Finn’s eyes glanced outside. Was that Mount Fuji? Or was it just another mountain? It’d been so long since he paid attention to any kind of geography…to think he’d actually be here, though. “He owes me.” She replied.

“So this is just a favor to you.”

“A favor to him.” She retorted. “He wants back into the fray, and this is the only way that I can think of. Can you just…trust me here?”

Finn looked over at his wife, frowning slightly. Aaron hadn’t led him astray yet, not since they’d met nearly two years before. She, just stopping at a gas station for a drink, and he…well, he was a heroin addict and set for death’s door if she hadn’t happened upon him. He stopped some ne’er to do bullshit and she was hooked. It was a shitty romantic story, but it was what they were. She’d been saved by him, and in turn, she saved his entire life. Without her, he’d be gone. Without her, there would be no chance at salvation or redemption for a life turned to shit by his own choices and failures.

He couldn’t save himself, how the fuck was he supposed to help anyone else? He couldn’t even show his face to them anymore. And besides, why would they even want to look at him? To even see him? Elena hadn’t wanted to see him for years. And Dimitri? He’d abandoned the fuck out of him after he never said he would.

Failure after failure.

He said nothing, watching silently as she pulled up a driveway just outside a main village – he didn’t know which one, just knew it was far enough outside Tokyo that he could probably see the stars if he looked upwards at night. She stopped the vehicle, and turned off the ignition, before stepping out of the vehicle and looking up at the Meiji structure in front of her, the white and brown tower looming over them like a temple of its own. Finn stepped out too, staring up at it with some form of trepidation.

A man stepped out from the canopy provided by the tower, a sword in hand and dressed in the traditional hakama and kimono garb worn by male Japanese people. He tilted his head and looked at the two Americans with a curious expression.

“Dōshite koko ni kita?” He questioned, asking why they were here.

“We have a meeting with–”

“Hideshima-san. Hai.” He nodded, realizing who they were. “The Americans…come. Kei is inside.”

He gestured into the tower, and led them inside. Finn winced at the darkness of the room, and frowned when he smelled the incense throughout the entirety of the place. He hated incense. It was not a large room that they were escorted to, but in the center was a man with blonde hair, styled like an anime character, who was dressed the same as the others. He was knelt at an altar, his head bowed in reverence.

“A fuckin’ priest?” Finn snorted, getting swiftly smacked in the stomach a moment later by Aaron. “Ow.”

“Not sorry,” she hissed, crossing her arms and looking up at him.

“No, not a priest,” the man spoke smoothly, rising to his feet and chuckling. He turned and looked at the two of them. Finn narrowed his eyes and Aaron bowed slightly, but not low enough for it to be reverent at all. “Miss Aaron, how lovely to see you again.”

“Yes, very lovely,” she started snidely, before looking at Finn. “You owe me.”

“That I do.” He nodded, taking a step forward. Finn didn’t necessarily like the man in front of him. “Finnegan, is it?”

“Sure.” Finn replied, looking down at the outstretched hand. He hesitantly shook it, if only to be polite. “Whelan.”

“Wolf?” He questioned back, tilting his head. “Finn, for fair. I get this. You are pure in that you are such a fledgling competitor…but wolf? Wolves that travel in packs are vulnerable in this business, or are you not aware?”

“I guess you’d call me a lone wolf. Because I have zero intention of ever really working with anyone. Not my style.”

The blonde man smiled slightly, and then looked down at Aaron. “He is…ah…spicy?”

“Feisty,” she corrected, looking up at him. “And he’s good. Very good. I personally think that he’ll do well under you, if you choose to teach him. He has a violent streak, and that you’re good at honing. He just needs…you know, all the honor bullshit and all that stuff.”

He nodded slightly, enthused, but not really listening too much to her. “If you will leave us a moment…”

Aaron hesitated, and then looked at Finn. He looked at her, narrowing his eyes a moment before he watched her sigh and then nod, stepping back outside into the sunlight and away from him. He was already not liking this.

“If you are to train under me,” the man started, turning and walking over to the altar once more. He grabbed more incense, and then raised it, moving it in fast shapes above the offering that was placed. “Then you must know some facts. You will also work for me. I have been searching for a right hand for some time, one who is smart, talented, and good at blending into the world. Wrestling is a passion I have had for years…and I was once a champion long ago. I can teach you to be the very same, but the agreement is that you work for me.”

“And what kind of work is that?”

“Oh…nothing daunting, I believe the word is. Some errands. Retrieving, making negotiations…”

“And in return you can train me to…?” He let his words trail off, inquiring and leaving the question in the air.

“Become one of the best in the business…if you trust it.”

Finn frowned. Aaron would be disappointed in him if they came all this way and he denied it. This man, he left free will up to him, and that bothered Finn. If anything went wrong, it would be his fault. If he failed, it would be his fault. Like everything else in the entirety of his life, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hold more accountability. But if he didn’t…what was left? Disappointment from his wife? Disappointment in himself?

“And if you hate it so, and it does nothing for you,” he added, noting the apprehension, “then I will release you with no issue. No begging. Nothing. Your choice.”

Finn thought about it, before slowly nodding. “Okay.” He probably would come to regret it one day, but now? The thought of being the best was the only thing in his mind…that, and Aaron’s happiness.

The man smiled. “Wonderful.” One more time, he reached out his hand and waited for Finn to take it. “Kei.” He stated.

Finn looked at the hand in front of him, and then nodded, taking it with a firm shake.

If only he knew.


••••••


Present day. Henderson, Nevada.

They all walked into the hotel almost as if they were all together. Aiden and Kallie, celebrating her win of the evening, were in front, Dax secured on Aiden’s chest by a slingwrap, and behind them, Aaron, Kayla and Finn bringing up the rear. There was a wide berth between Kayla and Aaron, and the shorter of the two clearly didn’t mind as she walked closely behind Kallie.

Finn frowned as he continued on, his bag over his shoulder while the other held onto his championship. A few people stared at them as they walked into the lobby, but averted their stare when Finn looked up at them. He rolled his eyes slightly, and then followed all of them towards the elevator. They were scattered throughout the hotel, and all he could think about was getting a bit of rest before they all hopped on the same fucking plane back to New York City.

He was getting irritated with all of it, but he didn’t say anything. He’d learned to keep his mouth shut from Kei, to look around and take in the sights. As he pressed his back up against the elevator, he listened quietly as Aaron answered a phone call, Kayla was engrossed in her phone, and Aiden and Kallie were talking about their Doordash order.

Before the elevator door could slam shut, a blonde haired woman with tattoos put her hand out before it could shut and leaped inside. Aiden groaned loudly. “Fuckin’ balls, Amelia.” He swore.

“Get over yourself,” she snapped back, crossing her arms and standing with her back to the rest of them. “I’ve gotta stay somewhere too, and Kallie said I could stay with you tonight.”

“Ya not stayin’ in me room–”

“Yep, I am, and you’re just gonna haveta get over it.”

“Or you could all just shut the fuck up.” Finn smiled at Kayla, who simply looked up from her phone and smiled snidely at the two Australians. If anyone could stop the bickering from the duo, it was her. Slowly, the elevator ascended, and everyone began to leave. Aaron first, Kayla second, and then the two. They looked back at Amelia, who reached over and pressed the button for the doors to shut and frowned.

They were left alone in the elevator now.

Amelia Reynolds was inquisitive, working to become a psychologist eventually but also training to be a valet if she wanted to work in the wrestling field, like her brother. She was platinum headed, and she was quite pretty, considering she was related to Aiden. She stared at Finn, realizing she’d never really talked to him on her own…or ever, to be honest. Finn raised an eyebrow.

He knew why she was here.

“Where is he?” She questioned.

It was an unspoken secret that was known by everyone. Amelia was dating Dickie, if that’s what they wanted to call it. And no one had the heart to tell Aiden, who Finn was pretty sure knew about all of it. He stared at her, and he then looked away.

She pressed forward and pushed his shoulder, forcing him to look back at her. He narrowed his eyes. “Where is he?” She asked more forcefully. He could see little wells of tears in her eyes. She knew he knew. And she wasn’t going to let up.

He looked upwards again. “He’s fine. I can’t tell you anything else.”

“That’s not fuckin–”

“If I could,” he cut her off, looking at her. “I would. But I can’t.”

She stomped her foot, and clenched her fists, turning away from him and staring at the doors. “You just don’t fuckin’ care about him at all, do you? Just lettin’ him wallow, suffer…god, you never changed from who you were. You just care about your stupid championships. Fuckin’ family shit.” She crossed her arms and he could hear the tears in her voice.

As the door rang, Finn stared as she walked away.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe he didn’t care.

…

That was a lie.



••••••

I’m really the problem that you’re going to want to watch out for tonight.

Do you think I’m going to go into a match before the very first pay-per-view of the year in which an opportunity to represent this company as its face and give anything less than one hundred percent? Because if you did, you might need an ice pick lobotomy and a grave to be put in. I wasn’t dishonest when I sat there and said I hated tag teaming because I had to rely on someone else. But that statement is also a little erroneous because it also doesn’t allow me to state the other truth: I would never fail someone that relies on me purposefully.

Whether I like it or not, Kayla and I are a team. While we were forced together to begin with, we are now a team. We rely on each other to push each other to the end of the rope, and push past it just as much. Even if we don’t always agree, we work. As much as everyone else wanted to discount us when we were forced into this predicament.

Sam, I’m sure you work. You have the background in this company, and you have pushed yourself time and time again. You’ve been in this scene. You’ve done your damage. You’ve held this championship and…well, only when this championship meant very little. Like every championship, it bounced around from team to team, and while it was held with an iron fist for a bit, its interest was destroyed by a team that put it in its grave on their own. Let’s not discount that last week, you did phenomenally well. You stood toe to toe with Ariana, and if it wasn’t for that time limit, perhaps you would have cleanly pinned Angelos and stood here not the winner of a coin toss, but of a solid win.

I know that has to bother you. And I’m sure it bothers Ben. Ben Jordan, who has…been here for eleven years. Who wrestles once a month. Who…went from being a phenomenal champion, to someone who sat in an interview that he was thirty-nine years of age and thinking about retirement.

Retirement.

Not the easiest thing to look at, is it, Ben? Looking at your life and seeing everything you’ve done, everything you’ve accomplished. There’s that light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s the light that you think you want because you’ve done a whole life’s worth of damage to your own body, while entertaining the world. You’ve put your body on the line, and at some point, you either live to regret it or love it. But the light is there. And it is easy to see the things that you want to do versus the things you need to do.

This is where you and I differ.

I don’t just want this. I need this. These two things are not mutually exclusive, and they work in tandem within my head so that I put every bit of myself into these matches.

I’ve been pretty laissez-faire about this whole comeback, I won’t lie. Whether I win or lose, it’s one of those things where I know I can grow from it, turn it into something gold, and rise up again…quickly. It was four matches the first time I had the World Championship, two when I won the Roulette Championship, and two tag matches entirely before the Wolves of Gheimhridh were champions. Knock me down, I come back twice as hard. I fight with all the candor I can muster and my bite is truly just as bad as my bark. I don’t need to sell myself to you – I am where I am through effort and skill, not because my ass is friends with champions in this company like the last group of World Champion holders besides Harris and J2H.

Because of this, I’m not desperate. But I am in need. In need of continuing this reign because of one simple reason. Can you guess it? Can you see it?

Credibility.

Kayla and I aren’t champions because of luck. We are champions because we know that ring, we know who our opponents are, and we know what we have to put out there in order for you to defeat us. This isn’t desperation, it is clout, it is notoriety. I want people to shake when they see they have to face me, I want them to cringe when they realize that their world could crumble in on them, and I want to see fear. I want them to bring their best and I want them to question their every move when they roll out of the ring, disappointed in themselves one more time.

I want that for you, Ben.

I want you to look at your remaining time left and question yourself if you really failed yourself. If you really failed Sammi. You’ve said it yourself, just a week ago – you’ve failed her. You feel like you’ve let her down, and you need to change that.  You haven’t been at your best, and if you weren’t at your best when you failed to defeat Team Go, then you certainly are also not at your best to defeat me. And if we’re looking back any further than the last few months, in June you sat there and rattled the same fucking tired ass prattle about having let everyone down. You might as well make it a fuckin’ slogan at this rate.

You are not prepared for the fight that you’re about to face. I’m not saying you’re bad, Ben. You’re an integral part of SCW…every month when you wrestle once.

But I’m an animal.

I am not a wolf in sheep’s clothing – I am a wolf with bared teeth and ready to tear anyone limb from limb.

This is an exhibition, Ben. An exhibition to prove to the man who has a fuckin’ night off and a measly ass contract signing while he nurses his old ass bones that it takes more than showing up for tournaments to get ahead. Since the beginning of the year, I have been at SCW every night. I supported Kayla from the back week one, I was here week two and three, I was here last week, and here I am again. Not just because I have to be, but because I want to be.

You want to go out with a smile on your face and know you’ve done everything in your power to win the hearts of everyone else. With your dapper looks and your smiling face, you want to win over everyone and make sure you’ve made an impact.

Well, you’d have to be here for that.

Ben, you’ve held the World Championship once. You held it for eight months before you lost it to Griffin Fucking Hawkins in a six way. You held the Roulette until there was an eight way. You’ve held the regular tag team championships when they existed and…well, you and Marlowe were besties for the Blast from the Past tournament and got fuckin’ blasted out of there by a fucking pornstar name and Lord Fucking Raab.

…

You can sit there and say you want this, that you want to rectify your wrongs, but it is the same tired theme and we honestly do not need that. You and Sammi are not prepared for Kayla and I. You don’t need this. You’re repeating the same schtick and thinking it's going to provide you pity results. That’s not how this works. That’s not how it will ever work.

Take this shit more seriously. Be present. Be alive. And maybe, maybe, you’ll be able to survive.

But not against us.

Not on Sunday.

Not anytime soon.

And not against me, your Mixed Tag Team Champion. And soon to be your World Heavyweight Champion of Sin City Wrestling.

Good luck, Ben, Sammi. You’re gonna need it…when you fail Sammi one more time.

13
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XII // TEAR GAS
« on: January 19, 2024, 11:16:37 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XII // TEAR GAS
SURELY THIS AIN’T THE FUCKING PINNACLE? NO. THESE MODERN SAINTS WOULD HAVE US WRITING OUR OWN EPITAPH.  THERE’S NOTHING LEFT OF OURSELVES THAT WE WON’T SELL.
ARCHITECTS


••••••


Helluva Bottom Carter had his foot on the ropes, and yet it was Finn Whelan who had his arm raised in victory. He was moving on, taking the step towards the most coveted of championships in the company. It was a championship he’d held before – and perhaps, had he been the wiser, the hot potato game of 2023 from Harris and J2H wouldn’t have quite been the chaotic hodgepodge that it’d been because it would have never happened. Things may have been different.

But that wasn’t what happened. J2H, in his indignance and power, dropped his rightfully earned championship and created a tournament for it. Eight superstars, selected from the men’s roster, selected as whom he thought could best contend for the championship, all the way from tried and true veterans of Sin City like Goth to newcomers to the entire business in Oliver Zahn. Now, only four remained in the tournament to contest for the World Championship.

It would be these four that would contest again for the championship that was so easily tossed aside. These four that would truly prove to the masses who actually deserved to be the champion that they all wanted to be.

One of them was Finn Whelan.

Call it greed, call it avarice, call it whatever you wanted: the argument could have been made that Finn Whelan was a selfish prick who just wanted everything all to himself. Hell. It had been made. And while his Irish blood imbued him with the love of a fight, his cerebrality caused him to necessitate a reason for the fight. His reason? Gold? Fame? Or was it truly jumping someone and popping them in the face?

Perhaps it would never be known.


••••••


“Mate, I have never seen this much snow!”

The boisterous voice of Aiden Reynolds, one of Sin City’s newest signings, echoed off the high, almost cathedral ceilings of the entryway of a rather large house. Situated in Dillon, Colorado, Finn’s Colorado home that he inherited from his divorce from one Aaron Asphyxia, who was stomping her feet on the marbled tile, was not a place he frequented, but was nevertheless useful for this leg of Sin City’s Colorado tour. He pulled off his hoodie and looked at the grandiose staircase that led to several bedrooms, taking his son, Dax, from Kallie’s arms as she tried to remove her jacket.

“Do they even have snow in Convictalia?” Aaron quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Finn, having had to listen to everyone bickering in the vehicle on the way up Interstate 70 in torrential, blizzard conditions, threw his jacket onto the decorative bench near the hallway and left the scene. His patience could only be tested so far, and all he wanted right now was either multiple glasses of Jameson or a bullet to the brain. He flipped a switch in the culinary-chef equipped kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Despite his lack of staying in the house, he always had this place equipped with food once every two months. Just in case.

“I thought I was a cunt, but I swear to god, she puts me to shame.”

She was silent in the car, but Kayla Richards indeed came with them. Of course, that was because she didn’t want to stay another night in the hellhole hotel she was staying in within the Denver city limits, but that was okay. Finn didn’t mind her there.

Although, it would be their first night staying in the same house since she up and left last year.

Finn grunted his agreement and, despite his vice-filled thoughts, merely reached for a soda and popped the can. Part of him was unsure that he was actually okay with her staying, or if he was happier just burying his head in the sand.

“I’m taking the master!” From somewhere in the house, Aaron yelled, informing them that they were all shit out of luck. Kayla turned her head and looked back at the doorway, leaning against the counter.

“See?”

Finn nodded, leaning lackadaisically against the counter himself and looking out the window in the pure, white blowing snow. He could barely see anything just a few feet from the house. But at least it helped him to look out the window instead of at Kayla.

He could handle work. He could handle the gym and public places, but he found himself struggling with this. Like a twitch that would end, it crept up his neck and buzzed in his ear, putting him on edge.

Kayla pushed off the counter and moved behind him, opening the door and looking into it to grab a soda of her own. She paused for a second, as if she was looking at something, and then pulled her head back, letting the door shut on its own. She chose to stand next to him – close, but not too close. Like they did when they were friends.

“How are you feeling?”

Finn clenched his fingers of his free hand briefly before looking at her. “What do you mean?” Did she have some unknown ability to read his thoughts? See the uneasiness in his stance? The stupidity of his mind? No matter how hard he tried to shove it under the rug, the fact that Kayla was the one person – no only person – he cared about in this house as much as he cared about himself would always haunt him.

“The win against Carter. I mean,” Kayla raised an eyebrow, “I thought you had it from the get, but Carter wanted it so bad I thought he might have it. And the foot on the ropes.”

“Not gonna lie,” Finn replied, pressing his freehand into the counter and looking straight ahead. “I’m kind of tired of the close calls and the possible dramatics involved with any of my wins lately.”

Kayla was quiet, and then she narrowed her eyes. “A win is a win, Finnegan.” She said, not at all quietly. The Dreamkiller crossed her arms and stared him down, turning her whole body toward him. “I don’t know why you care about it at all. Any win at any cost.”

Two parts of Finn waged war for dominance in his head – the side that told him that she was just reacting to what she thought was a snipe at her and the side that screamed epithets of Honor: Above All Things, and if people didn’t get that, then burn them at the stake.

Burning at the stake won.

His eyes narrowed too. “Wins are sacred, Kayla. They prove your mettle as a warrior, as a fighter, and when they’re tainted–”

“They’re still a win.”  She countered. “Your win against Carter was a win. The little bitch would’ve taken another fucking beating from you twenty seconds later and succumbed. Rope breaks during pins are for the weak.”

“Oh yeah?” Finn replied, tilting his head. “You’ve used them.”

“I’m not weak. I’m calculated.” She rolled her eyes. “And you should be too. Lately, it’s just like you can’t even accurately figure out that you’re in the ring or not.” She was referring to his inability lately to capitalize in matches. Especially in tag matches. How many of their last wins were because of Kayla? “What the fuck happened to the Finn Whelan that would have ripped someone’s balls off in the middle of the ring if it would get him an advantage?”

Finn sighed and leaned back, pushing away from the counter and also away from her. “Go on. Push me away. Try to say you’re pushing me towards some vindictiveness that will keep me going out of spite. I’m not doing this.” He replied. It was easy to say things that you didn’t mean, and tonight, he truly felt that he might. He didn’t want that. Not when they’d finally figured out how to at least work with one another smoothly. “You can have the second bedroom on the left when you get upstairs. It stays warm in there, and doesn’t have the sun in the morning.”

“Finn–” Kayla quipped as he walked past her. He threw up an arm, waving her off.

He wouldn’t bury his professional working relationship because she knew how to piss him off just as much as she didn’t know how much she could be the sunshine in his eyes.

Not today.[/font]


••••••


“I guess I need to take a note out of half of the Mixed Tag Team Champions and say it. A win, no matter at what cost, is a win.”

The wintry mix whirls around the black figure standing in the center of an almost pitch white scene. Blizzards in Colorado were no exception, and this time, it seemed to engulf the Seattle Saint as he stood with his hands at his pockets. He was in stark contrast to the setting, just as much as he didn’t seem to fit into his surroundings.

Just like maybe he was the one that didn’t fit into this situation.

“As much as I hate his fucking name, Carter is a phenomenal superstar, and it took trying to complain to a referee for him to feel like he did his best. It’s funny, when you sit there and you think you have it, when you scream from where you stand out into the vast, open world above you that you are the be all, end all…that you’re better than everyone else in this business. And what happens?

You slip.

You make a wrong move, something you do hasn’t been noted. Something you missed and now you have to suffer in the silence of your wrongdoings, your failures, your…what do they call it, your mistakes…”

Finn smiles slightly, and inclines his head forward.

“Live those memories over and over in your head, telling yourself where you’ve been, what you’ve wanted to do, where you’ve wanted to go, and how you’ll never get there. You know, it’s funny…the only time anyone looks to the past is to tell you where you fucked up. Never to tell you where you did a good job, where you succeeded. It’s kind of like Yelp! Reviews, you know? Google, Facebook…all those social media websites only get reviews whether or not something has really gone wrong. The food was cold. The staff was shitty, and heaven forbid, they allowed people who couldn’t be deemed worth a damn thing in the door.

As the owner of the thing being reviewed, you look back at those reviews and you cringe because the thing that you’ve put effort into obtaining, that other reviews and customers have told you that you’ve absolutely won and pushed forward. No, all you can focus on is everything you’ve ever done wrong.

It’s like that in wrestling.

Look at what Carter had to say about me. Good things, right? About how good I am, how even in my slip-ups, and that he knew he had his work cut out for him. But the one thing he said was that I’m in and out of the company.

Sure. I am.

It’s a talking point for everyone. Ms. Irrelevant over in Jet City tried to say it was because I was mad I lost – nah. Inconsistency has been argued. Yeah. But you know what is the most consistent? The most literal consistent thing when I get into the ring here in Sin City?

It is rare that I lose, and when I do lose, it’s because I don’t give a flying fuck about what I’m doing.”

A nonchalant shrug accompanies his words, and he doesn’t at all look remorseful.

“I’ve been around the bend a few times. My record proves it, my reigns prove it, and the fact that I consistently make strides here even when the going hasn’t been going for me. Came in this cycle with a loss, and what did I do? Two tag matches later, I had a championship in my grasp by a team that was trained by,” he holds up his fingers and airquotes, “‘the best mixed tag team in all of SCW’. They failed to recapture the championships when they had a chance, no matter the bullshit they spat in all of their arguments. Miles Kasey spouted a ton of shit and he ended up on the other side of my boot while Kayla got the win.”

He tilts his head. “Or did…did you guys forget that Tag Team wrestling relies on each other to do their part? Kayla and I have had equal wins and losses, as of this year, as singles champions. As tag team champions, it’s been a combined effort that has been planned. But that's, you know, the low part of where everyone goes when it comes to tag team wrestlers.”

He leans in once more.

“You know, that we can’t wrestle on our own.”

Finn leans back then, looking at his surroundings for a moment before chuckling and then tilting his head again.

“Here’s the thing. I’ve been a singles wrestler for nearly ten years. Over that time, I’ve done amazing things. I’ve done things where no one thought I would amount to anything, and then I held a chokehold over their championship until I dropped it because the company was so fucked in the end that I never wanted to represent it again. I was undefeated in WWH. I lost twice in Union Underground, and when it came to other companies that I’ve been a part of from their birth and their death…if I lost, it was a surprise. My record in a deathmatch company was nearly spotless – I think it was sixteen four before I lost, and one of the most prominent companies in all of this side of wrestling, 4CW, I lost four matches.”

He leans forward again.

“Here? Every loss I have ever had was because I didn’t give a shit. The Roulette Championship was something that I abhorred having because there is no honor in holding it. The World Championship? Yeah, I made a mistake and didn’t really focus well on that match and lost it back to the person I was told I would never win it from. Shit happens. Besides, poking at when someone doesn’t do their ultimate best because something came up in their lives? A little bit on the low brau side, but you know, that’s what I expect from people with egos the size of their balls.

They think they’re bigger than they are but, ya know…

It’s never unfixable. It’s never unmanageable. And when I want something, you best believe I’m going to annihilate you to get it.”

He takes a step forward, and then presses his hand over the camera, leaning forward into it.

“So while we’ve taken a trip down memory lane, let me focus in on the person of the eve…the target, so to speak.

Peter Vaughn.

You’re up.

Let’s play.”


••••••


For some people, nighttime was when everything in the brain started to work in overdrive, causing disturbance to sleep schedules and constant annoyances. For Kayla, that night, it seemed to be her malady.

With a creak at her door as she opened it, she stepped into the darkened hallway sometime in the middle of the night with a sigh, her oversized shirt and short shorts not necessarily keeping her completely warm. Though she was loathe to admit it, she didn’t like the thought of her previous interaction with her tag partner. For a moment, she considered that it was too personal. They weren’t like that anymore.

She heard a tapping noise from downstairs, and made her way down the staircase, holding onto the rail for solid standing. She turned and made her way into the open living room, finding a crackling fireplace and, no surprise, a very awake Finn. She approached him, making sure to make noise as she stepped into the room so not as to startle him. He sat on the sectional, legs propped up along the length of the side.

As she sat down, he wordlessly handed her a blanket, keeping his eyes on the fire. Tucking her legs beneath her, she looked at him and started, “I wanted to say I was sorr–”

He waved her off. “It’s fine.”

She knew him well enough to figure that he was actually being truthful. Not a lot got under his skin on a regular basis, but lately, he seemed to be on edge. And she knew why. He’d told her outright about Kei and Dickie, and if he wasn’t at Sin City’s productions, his mind certainly was on his “brother” and how to deal with the situation.

“Have you heard from him?”

Finn inhaled, and then turned his head, pressing his arm on top of the back of the couch and resting his head in his hand. “Yeah. He’s changed, but he’s…” He trailed off, pursing his lips. “He’s still Dimitri. I keep thinking maybe I just need to take a step back, make sure he’s safe, but now that I’m in this…championship tournament, I don’t really have a choice. If I want to reclaim and make certain on my own merits, I have to fight in this, and I have to fight like hell. But half the time, I wonder…is this worth everything?”

Kayla tilted her head and thumbed her fingers into the blanket. “What do you have left if you don’t?” When Finn stayed silent, she exhaled and looked at the flames, watching as they danced back and forth with no care to the world or the whirling air above the flume. “You can’t help him now. The little shit has to see it for himself, and until he does, you’re just going to be fighting a battle that you can’t win.”

“So I should just let him go be a fuckin’ moron?”

She nodded. “For now. Look. There’s…things going on too, in my circle. And I find myself focusing on work more than anything because it’s…well, to be honest, it’s easier to do that than it is to face any of the other shit. At work, I can do my job effectively, I can fight and put all of my effort in and see results. Maybe it’s Eiley three shows in a row for me, but you can’t say that I proved a point. That feeling, it resonates and makes it feel better. And I fight for the Mixed Tag Titles because it’s not just me. I’m motivated to do my best because we rely on each other to push each other. Ultimately, it’s easy enough to do because you’re the only person I can be myself around.”

Finn turned his head more, narrowing his eyes slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. The meaning of her words wasn’t lost on him, but he was also confused. If it was so easy to be around him because she could be herself, she didn’t need to move out. She didn’t need to step away. All of the hardship of the past few months could have been assuaged and fixed with a simpler situation. Maybe they wouldn’t have been at each others’ throats. Maybe they wouldn’t have felt their friendship blew up into smoke.

Or maybe she didn’t mean anything about them at all. He hesitated, and looked at the flames like her. Their warmth was inviting, just like their relationship used to be. How many evenings did they sit together and watch stupid television shows, make  comments, and destroy people? The only thing that put them together now was the championships.

Right?

“Look, Kayla, it’s not that simple. You don’t know what it’s like…” He frowned and leaned back, crossing his arms. “It’s not like you have a choice in the things you do. There’s always something hovering over you, a looming threat that they can ruin everything. Dickie wasn’t Dickie, and you know how unabashedly brash he is about himself. He was a shadow of himself, and being in that environment…it turns you into something you don’t want to be. It turned me into something I didn’t want to be.”

Kayla jutted her head upwards and snorted. “You think you’re the only one with secrets? I have demons too, Finn. You’re not special.”

Both glanced out the window then. Somewhere out in that wilderness, both were certain they were watching. Like they always were, like they always had been. Even when they thought they were both long gone from the chaos of their respective families, they were never quite far enough away from them than they’d ever liked. Certainly, they could have both thought that they were out there, in the blizzard itself, situated in the mountainside above Dillon Lake. Easy enough to be swept up if they made the wrong move.

And Kayla nor Finn had told the other about it.

Finn chuckled, shaking his head. “No. It’s not just demons, Kay. I don’t think there’s an amount I can atone to fix all the wrong I’ve done.”

Kayla looked back at him and furrowed her eyebrow. “I know you worked for him. It’s hard when they have such sway over you, isn’t it? You almost feel powerless.”

“Do you know what I did? What my role was in all of that?” He grinned slightly, almost manically. “I finished things. It wasn’t being powerless, Kayla. I had all the power in my hands. I was the right hand, I was the one that easily made the call to end something, someone.” He looked down at his hands. “It didn’t matter what it was about. If he didn’t care for it, he asked me to end it.”

He ground his teeth together and clenched his fists.

He hated what she might think of him, now that he’d opened his mouth.

Surprisingly, she leaned forward, laying a hand gently – almost awkwardly – on his arm. His fingers unclenched.

“We all do things that we don’t want to. You felt like you had to. You’re still the same person.”

His lips turned up into a slight smile. Slight, only because in the front of his mind, he was assuaged. Kayla accepted his fault. But only because she didn’t know the other part. The back of his mind would never relay it, but even as he sat here, his eyes back on the fire, he knew it was only half-lived. Because he liked it. At one point or another, he liked who he was all those years back. And even though he fought to be out of it, to live on his own again, he knew one thing.

If he got involved again, there would be no stopping him from returning to the monster he used to be.


••••••

“It’s not a secret that I’ve been seeking the Internet Championship since I’ve been back in the company,” Finn begins again, now inside the house. He drops down onto the couch, next to a roaring fireplace. The sounds of people cackling in the kitchen just a few steps away can be heard. “My goal probably for this year contains becoming a Grand Slam Champion, but I also take what falls into my lap and work with it to the best of my ability.

So when I was told that I was going to be vying for the World Championship again, I laughed.

I laughed, Peter, I laughed.

A trip backwards goes to a few weeks before High Stakes in 2022. I came back, already champion of another company, sold a bill of goods for Sin City again that it was the place for me. I believed it. Like it always seems to do whether I want it or not, I do a good job in that first match back against someone of no import, and then I get thrown into the lion’s den. A fatal four way. For a chance to win the contendership in regards to the World Championship.

Austin James Mercer.”

He holds up one finger, and then two fingers.

“Goth.”

A third finger and a snicker.

“Chris Page.

You know Chris Page, right? Pretty sure you fucks with each other. He disappeared shortly after that, but only after pointing out that other people in my life or around me had done better than me, so what the fuck was I going to amount to?

Anyway, I won that one. Went to face Davison. Got told again that I was in the wrong league, wrong place, that I didn’t deserve that championship.

Won that too.

Shit happened. Lost it, lost a lot of things in life…drive, motivation, didn’t really give a shit.

Not like you thought, right Peter?”

He takes his hand and chugs it like a choo choo train.

“You just chug along like Thomas the Tank Engine, raring to go. Like a good little bitch, you’re told where to be and you do the thing. Roulette Champion, and you wear it on your sleeve like it’s something to be proud of. That you’ve brought honor to a championship that means very little in the course of things. Maybe it’s because I consider it the Easy Difficulty Championship. You know, the one you pick when you just want story mode and you just want to know what happens without the difficulties of the battles. I mean, look at your list of challengers.

Miles Kasey. Three times, and we all know Miles hasn’t figured out how to be a wrestler until he was getting proper attention from his boyfriend.

Jack Washington, twice, as a shadow of himself.

Bill Barnhart. Three times. All snorefests.

Malachi. Twice, and I have to give the kid a prop because he tried.

Carter. I already think he could be great once he figures out how to actually compete and succeed.

Mercer and Tempest. Eiley and Zahn. Raven and Vanity.  All in your cutesy attempt to be a mixed tag team with Kimmie, who fucked off again. How’s that going for you?

Mercer by himself. Been there, done that. He’s a little wonked out anyway now, so I’d be watching for him in this tournament.

The Troll. I’m not even going to point out anything here.

Every single one of these human beings except for Tempest and Vanity, I have a win over as well. Every single one of these competitors, I’ve faced and I’ve come out on top. Are you saying that you’re the only person in this company that could do such a feat? I don’t see you facing anyone in the top echelon here. You don’t have any Davisons or Banes or anyone that you seem to bump uglies with because you’ve figured out how to be friends with the top of the company.

You wanted to face Knox, but he fucked off to nowhere.

Looking at a list of your previous accomplishments before here, you’ve been a whatever-time-champion, but I’m not impressed by the places you’ve been. OCW? GCWA? We all know WGWF has no reputation except for the people that circlejerk one another, and Thunder Pro? Yeah, I’m going to reiterate it– I ain’t impressed.

Let’s get this straight, Vaughn. There’s no amount of reading that you can do that will give you a perfect picture of who I am, and I bet one hundred percent you think you’ve got me all summed up into ten minutes of promo time, if that. You think your cute little quips have gotten you by, but I’m not Miles Kasey, and I’m not Jack Washington, or Malachi.

Hell, I’m not even Helluva Bottom Carter, and I was right when he was a tough cookie to crack. My name is Finn Whelan, and I’m nothing like anything you’ve faced here in Sin City. This isn’t going to be a pushover match for you, because you think you have more charisma and prowess than anyone you’ve ever faced. It’s a constant theme in your matches. Little quips about people, thinking you’ve gotten inside their head. Every time you’ve had a match here you’ve gotten a little bit more and more insufferable, to the point where you think because you were part of the Junipers or whatever the fuck they were, you mattered. And you sat there, week in, week out, with your cute little gimmick championship thinking you mattered.

Carter sat there and told me who I was, what I’d done, how he might defeat me, how he’s going to face me using a piece of paper. List out all of my names, what I’ve done, be sure you know who I am.

And watch like everyone else does when they face me as you fall apart. Your eyes are going to be staring up at the lights like you won’t even know where you’ve been. There won’t be any kind of shit delivery of the end…pinfall, submission, whatever the fuck gets the job done at this point, because I’m sick and tired of worthless fucking wrestlers like you getting high and mighty in companies that suck the intelligence out of people and then coming into places where the things you say and do matter.

I don’t like you. I don’t like what you represent. I don’t like what you’ve done. I don’t give a shit what you have done, because at the end of the day, in Sin City? You’re on Easy Difficulty, and you haven’t tried to do much since. Those championships you gunned for?

I have half of them.

You’ll never be anything but gimmick central in SCW. You’ll never be World Champion. Not if I can help it.

Retribution and restoration are key. And when the championship is mine again?

It won’t be like last time.

Maybe you can paint a narrative differently next time.

See if any of us care.”

[/font][/font][/font]

14
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT XI | PHOTOFINISH
« on: January 12, 2024, 11:57:22 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT XI // PHOTOFINISH
YOU ALWAYS HEDGING ON A SAFE BET, WALKING A TIGHT ROPE WITH A SAFETY NET. FACE IT, IT DOESN’T MEAN SHIT UNLESS YOU TAKE A RISK. SHUSH, BABY, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, CAUSE YOU’RE NOT PART OF THIS, THIS TIME.
3OH!3




••••••

HYDE PARK, LONDON, ENGLAND
SIXTEEN YEARS AGO


They sat in the center of Hyde Park, under one of the many trees that surrounded the pond that sat in the center of the park. The bench was a popular place, and it was their place. Their’s, as a whole group. But they were missing one of the people that belonged, and as much as either tried to proclaim that it wasn’t a big deal, it was.

He was a long, black-haired kid with a scene cut, skinny jeans and a stupid lip ring in his mouth that his father swore that he’d rip out of his skin if he wore it again. But Callien didn’t care. The man wouldn’t touch him, and besides, it was one more thing that he could use to screw with the man’s sense of leadership of their family. He sat, his boot squelching into the mud beneath his seat from the peltering of rain that thudded over and over again over the spring months. The sun was shining now, but it would only be a couple of days that happened over the next few weeks.

Next to him was a twelve year old kid with a goblin expression and hair that didn’t quite seem kept, no matter what he did. His clothes were a little too baggy and no matter how many times he tried to pull it from his eyes, it just fell in front of his face. He sat there, a bag of chips laying next to him on the bench, a burger in his hand.

“It’s okay, I guess,” the kid said, pushing his chin upwards and taking a rather large bite out of the burger. “They can’t cook worth their salt so we go out and eat all the time…”

“You sound disappointed,” Callien laughed, leaning back against the bench and looking at the kid with a smile on his face.

“I kinda want’d a home wherf like…” he swallowed, “the mom did all of the cookin’ and the dad worked and they’d come home and help me with my homework. But it’s more like…like I dunno, a tornado came through and they somehow make a lot of money and they wanted a trophy to tote around. But I’m not a trophy.” He insisted, pointing a chip at Callien.

“Dimitri Watson, a trophy.”

Dimitri’s face screwed up at his nose and he frowned. “Imagine me being something that anyone would want to call their trophy.”

“Couldn’t be you.”

“Heck no,” his feet dangled off the bench with certainty. “So I decided I’d leave.”

Callien crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side again. “They have no idea that you’re gone?”

“Nope!” Dimitri seemed very pleased with himself. “Snuck out right underneath their noses. They’ll probably have a few hours before they figure out what I’m gone, and by then, I’ll just be a stowaway in your luggage!”

“You can’t come with me, Dimitri.” Callien laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t put you in my luggage back to America, kid. I don’t think the airport people are going to be particularly happy that I have a live human in my baggage. Might get caught for kidnapping.”

“You set fire to that house for Elena, you can kidnap me. I’ll just say I asked for it.”

“No.” He snorted and shook his head. “And I didn’t set fire to the house. Dimitri, you can’t just disappear without a trace like you’re some international super spy.”

Dimitri stuck up his nose. “Yeah I can. I mean. My mom did, didn’t she?”

Dimitri had a sad kind of story. He ended up in an orphanage in London after his mother overdosed on the drug of choice that week. The thought is she’d been trying to run from something in Russia, but that could never particularly be ascertained. Multiple times he’d been adopted, but he just ended up back in the orphanage weeks to months later, unable to be retained by the families that tried to make him part of their home. Maybe it was because Dimitri rejected the thought of having a home like that, or maybe he just thought, inwardly, that he could never actually do well for himself.

Regardless, this would be home seven in the past four years that Dimitri had run away from.

“I’m not kidnapping you to America. You’re gonna have to stay here, kid, and bite the bullet.” Callien replied, shaking his head and leaning forward.

Dimitri was quiet for a minute, mulling over plans. Callien was leaving back for America, obviously, that day. Maybe for good, and what was that going to do for him? Nothing. And after she left? He would be left alone, by himself, and who would help him out of any situation that he was in before?

“You’re a dick!” He suddenly yelled, tossing the rest of his burger at Callien and jumping to his feet.

“You little shit!” Callien roared, staring down at his plaid shirt and noting the amount of mustard that now adorned it. He jumped to his own feet and began to race at the already scampering away Dimitri. The kid had short legs, and Callien had very long legs, so it didn’t take much time for him to catch up to Dimitri at all. He snatched him up, holding onto him as he flailed his legs.

“Leggo!”

“No!”

“Asshole!”

“Dickhead!”

“Lemme go!” Dimitri yelled, trying to squirm his best out of Callien’s grasp. But it was to no avail, because while Dimitri was absolutely slippery, Callien had a harsh lock on him.  “Just lemme go!”

“Calm the fuck down and maybe I will!”

Dimitri listened (for once), and went limp in Callien’s arms. He held off for a moment, waiting for the kid to start up again, waiting for the moment in which he might try to cause bodily harm to him. But the kid did not; instead, he began to shake and Callien was very sure a moment later he heard sniffles.

He set him down on the ground and tapped his shoulder, turning the kid towards him as he dropped to a squat in front of him. Dimitri’s eyes were filled with tears and his face was absolutely screwed up in the worst crying face that Callien had ever seen. Callien patted his shoulder, “Dimitri…”

“You can’t leave me too!” Dimitri yelled through his tears, choking slightly on his words. “Everyone leaves me!”

“I’m just a call away, man.” He replied, shaking his head. “I gave you a cell, you’ve got international calling. I’m right here. Always.”

“No!” He snapped back. “Elena left me, and every family I get returns me or I hate them! You can’t leave me too!” He repeated, hitting Callien on the arm and gritting his teeth. “You can’t!”

“Listen,” Callien grabbed hold of Dimitri’s shoulders and shook him slightly. “It’s only a bit. I’ve gotta go back to America, but when I can, I’ll be back here and if I’ve got enough, I’ll try to adopt you too, kid. But I can’t right now, and you and I both know that. That was always the plan, right? You, me, and Elena. We were gonna fight this world and everything in it, and even if she’s not a part of that now, that doesn’t mean you and I have to stop the dream too. I’ll be back, kid. I promise.”

He sniffled in, and looked at Callien with wide eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise.” He swore. “I’ve always got your back, through thick and thin. You keep that phone nearby, okay? We’ll keep in touch, and when it gets close to the time, I’ll make the right steps. It might take a while, but I always have your back, do you hear me?”

Dimitri nodded, sniffling in and swiping at his eyes. Callien sighed, giving the kid a hug and holding him close. It was like they were brothers. Very similar in their circumstances, very similar in their thoughts. But whereas Callien had already been hardened to the world, Dimitri was not. He still hurt at every little thing. He still snapped on every little thing. And maybe that where their differences lay. Callien stopped caring, but Dimitri always would.

All the way until the end.



••••••


“Did we not tell you, or did we tell you?”

Finn Whelan, one half of the Mixed Tag Team Champions going into the 2024 season, sits inside a coffee shop on the main street of Loveland, Colorado. Outside, wind whips the hair and clothing of people trying to just get from place to place, regretting their tourism decisions and absolutely hating their lives in the almost zero below wind chill of the week. The famous ski resort town was absolutely going to be popular this weekend – if not for the slopes that people loved to go down, but also for the fact of the matter that SCW was popping into their barriers to give them a show worth…well, freezing for.

Finn holds a mug in his hands, a smirk on his face as he always carries when it comes to these sorts of things. Overconfident, maybe. A little egotistical, perhaps. But that was the thing about Whelan himself – he knew he was good.

Damn good.

And there was nothing that was going to stop him from being the best that he could be. Not even Colorado, which he hated most of the time. Because it reminded him of a life in which he hated himself so much that he wasn’t sure anyone could hate him more than he did. It took a lot to come out of that stupor. And when he did?

World Champion.

Multiple times over.

“A month ago, I’m pretty sure it was myself and Kayla reminding you all that at the end of December 2 Dismember, there wasn’t going to be a change of hands, that we were locked in and staying Mixed Tag Team Champions. Those of you who knew the writing was on the wall…well, you were ahead of the game. No matter what Limitless threw at us, we were going to be the ones that were on top of the game, on top of everything else, on top of the scene and coming out the leaders of the pack.

And so Eiley and Oz tried to throw everything they had the wall to see if it would stick. Even going so far as to accuse me of having surveillance on them so that I knew their every word or thought. Hint hint, nudge nudge, I don’t give a flying fuck what y’all do in your meantime between the ring or between the sheets. I just predict. I go with what I see, and make assumptions because that’s what it means to be human.

Sorry my predictions are fuckin’ accurate though, I guess. It’s not like it wasn’t Hansel and Gretel leaving breadcrumbs everywhere so they could find their way back home…or whatever the fuck fairytale that came from. Because that’s what some of us live in: fairytales. It’s easier than living in reality, where you get bit on the ass for nothing more than a pack of cards and a blowjob.

I digress.

There’s always a clink in the chain, a gear that stops working, or a new bar being planted in a wheel to derail you from the current dilemma that you find yourself in. When complacency comes to rear its head. Last week, I got to sit and watch as Kayla put Eiley in her place for a third time. And while I watched the show and made sure that I was present for the afterparty of the result, I didn’t skip out on what J2H had to say, and what he wanted to do. A tournament. One of his selected eight names. Ones he thought earned the shot.

Even ones who didn’t even want it at all.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I didn’t quite particularly want another shot at the World Championship. I mean, while it’s the most coveted piece for the men’s roster in all of Sin City, it’s also something that I’ve obtained. Something that I had when even the so-called most domineering force ran Sin City. The…what were they called? Honestly, I don’t really care, because they’ve all fucked off to lesser places where they can circlejerk each other and call it a day or retired. I carried that championship on my shoulder and I put so much fear into the eyes of my opponents that they had to come at me when I wasn’t prepared to wrest it out of my hands.

Since?”

He tilts his head.

“Well, I’m kinda like a dog with a bone. Give me something to snack on, and I’m going to push myself to my limits in order to get it. And you can sit there and you can tell me time and time again that multi-tasking isn’t possible for me, but then I’d just tell you that you sound like my ex-wife and that you should probably get a lobotomy. The fact of the matter is that I’ve been doing this for quite some time, and I’ve managed my time appropriately to multiple companies at a time to hold their most coveted championships in my grasp at the same time.

But no, I didn’t want this. I wanted the Internet Championship, and I said it as much as I could in everything that I’ve done. But like I’d like to remind multiple people who seem to make mountains out of molehills, or turn challenges into tired whispers of, ‘Oh, that’s right…I forgot that match was happening’, I don’t make the bookings. I don’t have that power. If I did, we’d have a lot more Troll in the building just because I like to see him take a beating.

Anyway.

I’ve been given a gift, and it wouldn’t be like me to kick a gifthorse in the mouth. At least, not until they’re back in 2025, right? So for now, I’m locked in, loaded, and looking ahead to the future that I could grasp in my hands one more time. I could face Miles, I could face Raven, I could face Austin, and maybe I could face Olly one more time and hand him his ass again. You never know.

But first, I’m going to have to get past Helluva Bottom Carter.”

Finn inhales, and then he slowly exhales as he looks out the window for a moment.

“There are things that I hate, and they’re pretty simply put. I sit on Twitter and I watch it being used like a dimwitted version of Tinder. Like a post, slide into someone’s DMs and maybe, suddenly, they’re dating and it’s the cutest thing on earth. I also hate people who don’t take this career seriously. I’m sure it’s cute and all to have a name such as Helluva Bottom, but it just really makes me want to cringe when I hear it.

That name doesn’t sound World Championship Worthy. It sounds like it’d make Sin City Wrestling into a bigger joke than some of the people in the industry think we are.

But everyone has their needs and their wants, and their names. We all create a persona, a personality in this company. And it’s easy to sit there and it’s easy to look at a sheet of paper that’s been printed out and go off of information that I see…but that’s not how I like to do things.

In fact, if you’ve been paying attention, I don’t think you can say that I’ve ever used a piece of paper to tell me what I think of someone and what they exist as in this company. I didn’t look at one iota of information from a page of statistics to tell me anything about Eiley and Oliver. About Ken Davison. About Bill Barnhart, or Jack Washington, or anyone that I’ve faced. Oh, it’s good to know information so you can watch tapes and learn the way they fight…

But I learn about people from what they have to say.

From what they have to do.

How many times, Carter, have you been up for this piece of gold? In most recent history, I recall when Michael Harris dropped the championship, it was a six person match that you lost and J2H won again. You had other opportunities throughout the year – just because I’m not actively participating in the company doesn’t mean I’m not watching. And every single one of them have been you earning a face splat.

It’s kind of like you’re always the bridesmaid, but never the bride. You were in the GoGym, and you excelled there. You went to SCU first, and you did wonderfully there. Then you hit Sin City and you’ve…tried to make yourself a major star in this company. You’ve fought valiantly, you’ve tried your hardest. You’ve beaten Goth, and multiple faces in order to make yourself seen.

And you want to know what you’re known for?

Bad memes on Twitter and fucking Miles Kasey.

That’s how I know you. And that’s not to say you’re not a great wrestler – I’m sure you are, because you’ve done great things, but the things I, and probably a lot of others know you for, is the relationship you’ve built with Miles rather than anything wonderful that you’ve done.

You falter at every hurdle, and if I’m right in my research, it’s a pattern. You get up there, and you try to make something of yourself, and then it falls into oblivion. You focus more on your love life and your partner and while that’s the greatest thing to do outside the ring, you can’t be doing that in this job. If there’s anything that Kayla and I – who continue to hate one another, by the way – really can prove is that when you focus on your job, and you focus on the things you want to do and succeed at….you can reach whatever fucking Taylor Swift’s Wildest Dream that you want.

The business can’t put any faith in you, Carter, to do what is best for the company. It can’t sit on your laurels and know that the professionalism of being the face of a company is something that you’ll do. There’s zero chance for survival until you can get your head on correctly.

You may think you’re prepared for this because you’ll run down my record, you’ll talk about how I fluctuate in and out of the company – but let me point out something for you and everyone who uses that against me: I make a splash every time I come in, and I barely lose. Because I fight for my success. I block out everything that’s going on in my life – and you wouldn’t believe what that is – when I get in that ring. There is no chance for do overs, no chance to fix things.

I’m a creature of habit, Carter. And winning is a habit. This tournament? Maybe I didn’t want to go for it, but I will be damned if I let it out of my grasp.

There is no safety net.

You walk a tight rope when it comes to this kind of pressure, with the lights on you, the world looking at you like they’re expecting you to make a mistake.

And when it happens?

They come for your throat.

Are you ready for that? Are you ready for the wolves to come in and bite at you until there’s nothing left of you? Because that’s what being the face of a company is all about. It’s waiting in the hallways, waiting for someone to tear you apart, just so you can turn around and do the exact same to them. Can you do that, Carter? Can you be as vicious as the next person? Or are you relegated only to posting happy-go-lucky memes on Twitter? Making people laugh? Can you change?

I don’t think you can. Stubborn is as stubborn does.”

••••••


With his arms crossed and his eyes trained on the center of the ring, Finn stood by the apron, his feet planted into the floor with a certain kind of firmness. As a promotional mentor to the rest of the training facility, it wasn’t necessarily Finn’s job to make sure people were trained to fight competitively, but since he didn’t have much to do anyway, he found himself standing by to impart words of wisdom when he could.

“Keep your eyes on her, Kallie,” he warned, watching as Kallie happily completed a rough Asai DDT to her opponent. Her was his ex-wife, Aaron Asphyxia, and if he knew the multi-time champion wrestler well enough to be married to her at one point, he knew that she was a slippery bitch when she wanted to be.

Aaron kipped up, and in one fluid motion, the front of her foot meet with Kallie’s face. Finn cringed, as did most of the rest of the people surrounding the ring. Kallie hit the mat with a dull thud and a loud “Ow!”.

Aiden, on the other side of the ring, slammed his hands on the mat and yelled, “Ya got this! Kick her in the cu–”

“Finn.”

He didn’t even hear her, used to her wearing heels in the gym as she went about doing the paperwork for all of the circus that was Wolfslair. She was in tennis shoes and she had a worried expression on her face. Sonja Jones pursed her lips, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun on her head and a workout jacket over her jeans. She indicated upwards at the conference room that looked over the facility. Finn’s eyes followed, but he didn’t see anything. “You have guests.”

“I’m busy right now.” The last thing he needed to deal with was another person invading his space right now. In fact, it was probably his trips to Colorado already that, while relaxing they had been, forced a sense of introversion in him.

“You’re going to want to go upstairs.” Sonja insisted, before turning on her heel and walking away.

It was that little caveat that intrigued Finn. Sonja never quite particularly was interested in the ongoing dramas of Wolfslair – probably because she knew that she would have to clean it up legally – but the fact that she was definitely interested in making sure that he knew he needed to be somewhere? It wasn’t like her, and it piqued his interest. So he pushed himself backwards, waving off Aaron and Kallie and headed for the stairs.

He didn’t quite have a lot of people in his circle that didn’t exist in the already powerful training facility. There were only the few outliers, like Kayla and Sybil, that he knew well enough…or even cared. He didn’t particularly talk to his family, all except for Addisyn, who preferred to stay out of the limelight. As he jogged up the steps, taking them by twos like he’d done since he was a child, he couldn’t figure out in his head who it was.

Until he saw the Japanese man who certainly looked like a bodyguard standing at the doorway, his eyes trained on the hallway. There wasn’t a gun in his hand, but Finn wasn’t stupid – it was close enough to reach if anyone made the wrong move. He certainly felt the skin at the back of his neck crawl with irritation and anticipation. Since that Thanksgiving Day, Kei Hideshima hadn’t hit physical contact. Only text messages.

He nodded to the man, before pushing open the glass door. He stopped in his tracks.

The man that stood behind the chair Kei sat in was someone he knew extremely well, but didn’t recognize at all.

Dickie Watson stood, his regularly grungy appearance entirely cleaned up. He could see both of his eyes, because his hair was slicked back out of place. He wore a suit jacket, with the usual obscure band shirt beneath it. His arms were behind his back, almost as if he were a military member standing at ease. Their eyes met, but only for a second before Finn looked away.

“Callien,” Kei greeted him with a smile, raising a hand. “How wonderful to see you in person after…oh, a couple of months. Very nice facility…” He gestured to the walls. “I like what they have done.”

Finn dragged his eyes away from Dickie and looked down at Kei. “What are you doing here?”

Kei tutted and chuckled a bit, before tapping his fingers on the chair. “Always quick to point with you. It’s almost as if you do not want to be bothered with my presence.”

Finn snorted as he sat down, leaning back in the chair with only the type of nonchalance that he could carry sitting across from an active member of the Yakuza. His eyes glanced up to Dickie, but fell right back down to Kei. “Well, that would probably be because…well, I don’t.” He leaned his head forward and crossed his arms as he pushed himself back in the chair.

“Unfortunate…” Kei chuckled, used to Finn’s lackidaiscality. “Nevertheless, I come bearing a gift…or perhaps, one that could amount to one. You know what I deal in, and how much can be gained in…becoming part of my family once more.”

A scoff issued out of Finn’s mouth. “No. We’re not playing that game again. I know exactly what I can gain, and exactly what I will lose. There’s too much on the latter end of that deal.”

“I am not offering you a position in which you would merely work for me again, Callien. I am offering you a position to rule as one of my leaders.”

Another scoff, but this time, not so sure. Finn narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms a little tighter against his body. “Hiyazaki would never allow it. He’s got control of every branch of the tree this side of the Japan. I’m not interested in becoming your hitman again, Kei, just to clean up and do your dirty work whenever you didn’t want to do it yourself. Which, if I remind you, was a lot.”

Dickie cleared his throat,, and looked down at Finn. And Finn knew that expression – surprise, even if he tried to wrap it up in a guise of silence and stoicism that didn’t fit Dickie Watson at all.

“Oh, what, you didn’t tell Dickie that?” Finn snapped at Kei, looking up at his younger “brother” with narrowed eyes. “I bet it slipped your mind when you told him what you’d expect from him. Tell me, how many necks have you had him snap in your name? Ten? It’s been a month, so that might be a bit generous. We’ll go with five, maybe six for good measure.”

Kei cleared his throat, and shook his head. “Dimitri is not…that is, I do not need you to be a hitman, Callien, I–”

“Finn.” He snapped.

“What?”

“It’s Finn to you. Callien is a name that only the people closest to me get to call me, and you’re not that. You haven’t been a mentor, or whatever the fuck, to me for a long time, and you’re not about to start again now.” Finn glared daggers into Kei’s eyes. “You’ve crossed lines, and you expect me to just waltz right back into your hands like a fucking ballerina? Nah, mate.” He glanced back up at Dickie again. “And if you’re smart, you’ll slippery the fuck out of his hands too.”

Again, Dickie cleared his throat, but said nothing. Kei rose to his feet then, and pursed his lips together. “This is my last offer, Finn.”

“Stick your offers up your ass, and stop coming around like a suckerfish ex-girlfriend who doesn’t know how to live without the one person in her life that told her no.” Finn rose to his feet as well, standing a nose level with the Japanese man and curling his lip upwards once more. They stared at one another, animosity pouring from one while the other just merely stared on in amusement, nonplussed by the behavior of the other. And neither one was about to stand down.

Until he did. Kei took a step back, and then waved on Dickie as he began to walk out the door. Finn waited a beat, watching him out of the corner of his eyes, before he looked at his slick-back haired mess of a “sibling” and raised a hand slightly. “Dickie.”

He stopped, turning his head ever so slightly.

“You don’t have to do this. You can tell him to fuck off as easily as anyone else. I don’t know what he has over you, but nothing is worth being a part of his fantasy land. We can figure it out, whatever it is. Just take a step back and think about it.”

Dickie said nothing, and honestly, the Seattle Saint didn’t expect him to. He frowned and then took a step forward.

“Even if it’s not now, remember…” Finn paused and then added quietly, “I will always have your back. You know that. In anything.”

The retreating back of his brother made his heart sink just a little bit as Dickie only continued on out of the door. He didn’t stop to talk to Aiden, he didn’t stop to talk to Kallie or anyone else in the vicinity. It was just Finn, and he didn’t stop to say a word. Finn sighed, and he put both hands on the table as he heard them all leave the premises entirely.

You could only reach those who wanted to be reached.

••••••

15
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT VIII // INITIATION
« on: November 24, 2023, 10:46:34 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT VIII // INITIATION
WHO WILL YOU FOLLOW WHEN THE WORLD FADES TO THE GRAY? WHERE CAN I TURN WHEN THE WORLD GIVES UP ON ME?
CROWN THE EMPIRE



••••••

AFTER CLIMAX CONTROL 378
FLAGSTAFF, ARIZONA
[•] OFF-CAMERA


As they entered the backstage arena, a few people – not other wrestlers, wouldn’t you know it – congratulated them on their win. Someone handed Finn a towel for his face at some point and he swiped at it as he walked by, removing the excess blood. He wasn’t sure if he’d need stitches, but right now, he didn’t care. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and the gold that laid on his shoulder was a poignant reminder that he needed to press onward and forward, no matter the cost.

The cost.

Kayla appeared excessively smug as she clutched her Mixed Tag Title to her shoulder. That was the thing Finn knew about Kayla. It didn’t matter what championship she had, she’d treat it the same as every other championship: like it was the dearest thing to her and it was her job to elevate it. She might have called the Roulette Championship a “special school” championship, but if it were in her hands? It would be the most important thing she held.

As they approached the area in which the locker rooms were set up, she turned to him, reaching out her hand briefly for him to shake. She had been remarkably professional about this whole thing – no matter their personal feelings towards one another of distrust and dislike. He took it, and she shook it once, before dropping her hand.

“Another one down, right?” Kayla questioned. “Did it feel good to get that over on Kasey?”

In response, he pointed at his own head with a jabbed finger. “I think he got one over on me.”

She snorted, “Maybe, but that’s what will make getting the championship from him in the future even more sweet. The chance to jab his face into the mat and stomp on it…” Her lips curled up happily as she thought about it. “He had to go out there and say all the things that he couldn’t come up with before because he’s a weakass pansy. That’s what you did to him. We did. You got under his skin. Congratulations on being the villain.”

It was more words that she’d said consecutively in the six months since she’d moved out. Had it been that long? Almost a year since the last Christmas they’d spent together curled up in his room. Since the last moment that they’d actually gotten along, and everything was comfortable.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he replied.

They stood awkwardly for a moment. A long time ago, they might have said something along the lines of getting something to eat, heading back to the hotel, then going their separate ways. This felt a bit like that, but at the end of the day, neither wanted to be the first to go running back into the arms of the person they’d rejected. She broke the silence, tilting her head slightly to the right and letting her eyes float up to the gash on his forehead.

“Don’t leave here before you get that checked.” She said, and she didn’t bother giving him an opportunity to say goodbye. She opened the door to the women’s locker room and sauntered in, not giving a flying fuck that everyone in there hated her anyway.

Finn nodded then, turning on his heel and heading not in the direction of his locker room, but to the team of paramedics that Sin City regularly employed in case of injury. They were in the process of packing up when he entered the makeshift room, and they chortled when they saw him.

“Champ! We were wondering’ when we were going’ to see ya,” the taller of the two, and the one more clearly equipped to be of service clapped Finn on the shoulder. He’d been a traveling paramedic with SCW now for a couple of years, a medic by the name of Jason. Or at least, that was what was labeled on his nametag. He patted the chair in front of him, rolled backwards on his stool, and then rooted around in his medic tackle box. He also happened to be the one that tended to him back last November when Finn was a complete fuckup and lost the World Championship.

“I thought about not coming,” Finn admitted. In the past, he wouldn’t have even done so. But Kayla said he should, so…

“Good on ya that you did. We can check for a concussion while we’re at it.” He nodded as Finn sat down, and took an alcohol wipe to his forehead. “Not a big ol’ gash, we’ll just put some Second Skin on it. Wonder where it would have gone if Kayla hadn’t finished the match the way she had. You and Kasey, man…excellent sportsmanship.”

Finn raised his eyebrow. He glanced up to the other paramedic, an Asian, who was surveying the scene in front him quietly. It was kind of suspicious, Finn thought. Usually they all went to help when someone came to them. This one just seemed interested in what was going on and what was said. He recognized him from somewhere.

“Kayla rolled up Alexandra. That’s all.”

Jason the Paramedic raised his own eyebrow. “Feet on the ropes.”

Finn felt distinct irritation rising up in his bones. Of course. That’s why she was looking so smug about it. He sighed inwardly. He knew Kayla didn’t have the same trepidation he did about cheating, but he inwardly wondered if this was the hill that he wanted to die on – especially if they were starting to get along well again.

I will do anything to get the job done.

She said that before they went out, prior to the match. She was teeth gritted, anger blazing, and prepared to do anything and everything to keep the mixed tag team titles in her grasp. She belittled and destroyed, as she was the hurricane that went through her own life and her career. Powerful, but no one seemed to want to give her credit.

He allowed the man to stitch him up and then rose to his feet. He peered once more at the Asian man, who exited the room, and then he grabbed his championship. “Thanks.”

“No prob, man.”

Finn exited the makeshift room, but stopped abruptly as the Asian Paramedic stood in front of him. They stared at one another, neither moving, nor saying a thing, before the man bowed slightly, and muttered, “Mottomo kurai yoru ni wa, mottomo kasuka na hikari ga mabushīdesu.”

The hairs on the back of Finn’s neck stood on end. He paused, composed himself inwardly and then grit his teeth. “Tell Kei to fuck off.”


••••••


We meet again, this time with a defense strongly embedded in the recent past. As we get further and further into this, the fuzzy edges that came with Kayla and I winning those championships start getting a bit more clearer, and it makes more sense. As the days to December 2 Dismember tick away, we have the opportunity to prove our worth and our candor. Limitless continues to…underwhelm, while we continue to overbear.

I’m not going to fill this time talking about the lackluster performance of the Mixed Tag Team Champions. I have a lot more I want to say, but I think I'm going to wait until it’s the right time to say anything about Eiley and Oz.

I do want to address the elephant in the room…and that would be Miles Kasey’s little tantrum before calling out Austin James Mercer.

Pedantic.

Churlish.

And if you don’t get those words, Miles, then it’s simply said as: childish. I let you get in a win over me. You and I both know this. I didn’t show up like I needed to be because, fuck, I wasn’t in the mindset that I wanted anything. But now? You want to run your mouth on live television and make sure that you pull your balls up to your throat so everyone can see them because you think you’re something special? Carter pats you on the head and tells you you’re a good little boy and you waggle your tail and think you’re something.

I didn’t need Kayla to revitalize my career. I got forced into this and I forced myself to make something of this predicament I got slammed into. When you think about it, I was dealt a hand that required my failure, that isolated me from choosing my own path. When I am handed lemons, I don’t just make lemonade – I make the best damn fucking concoction I can and shove it down the throats of everyone around me so that they believe the very same aptitude.

If you want to mouth off, go ahead. You have the backing of someone who has far more skill and power than you do, and you, while you’re flouncing around with that Internet Championship, are going to realize that you’ve popped off to the wrong people. Austin will lay you out flat, mate, just because he doesn’t like you. Whether you win or lose, I want another opportunity to do the same. If it’s for the championship and you still carry it after your match with Mercer, then it’s even more saccharine sweet.

I didn’t need Kayla like you needed Carter to give you relevancy beyond being the kid that everyone picked so they could get a cheap win. I needed a fucking reason to remember why I’m here, why I loved this sport. It’s not a person, it’s not people, it’s the thrill of the fight.

You missed the fucking cue, mate.  I said you had potential. Past tense. In the past. I know you’ve gotten a few fuckin’ kicks to the head in the past, but I’m going to say this now, in the present tense, is what I believe.

I believed in you, kid. I fought for you. I pushed for you, I did a lot of shit behind the scenes to help you, and you all but threw it in my face.

You don’t know what kind of enemy you’ve made in me, Miles.

Just like everyone else in this company doesn’t know what kind of a monster they’re going to get week in and week out. Give me something to latch onto, and I will be diving down your throat.

Learn it now, Sin City. You put me in the division I’m in because you know how much drive I have, how easily I can push myself and become the champion of the World again. I can lay claims on what I want, and I will do so week in and week out until it’s given to me.

I will fight a thousand of your best until you realize I am your best.

Are you listening?

Maybe I’ll take a note from Kayla and just do what needs to be done. No matter the cost.

••••••

FINN’S HOME FOR WAYWARD WRESTLERS
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
[•] OFF-CAMERA



Thanksgiving. The time of year that Americans seem to remind each other that they need to be grateful and thankful for the things that they have.  Finn took a quick trip up to Seattle to see his sister before he returned back on the holiday in New York. He’d just parked his car in the underground lot, arrived at the elevator that would take him to the floor he owned, and finally he’d be able to just relax and watch something on television before he needed to take off on Saturday for Arizona. He ran a hand through his tousled hair and pressed the button for the doors to open.

When they did, there was a split second panic that erupted through his body because two men with military grade rifles stepped out of the elevator and stood on either side of him. But as he stared forward, the only thing he could see was the blonde hair and noseband of the man he’d been avoiding for years now. With a slow exhalation, he sucked in his teeth and looked directly at the man.

“Really? Did you expect me to shiv you in the elevator?” He retorted somewhat sarcastically.

“You did tell me through the associate to fuck off, if I so remember. Cannot be too careful.” Kei Hideshima responded, a smirk on his face as Finn stepped into the elevator and stood next to him.

“I meant it too.”

“Disheartening…” Kei replied, though he didn’t sound quite broken up about it. “I have come to ask you again, and I figured myself coming to you might be a change from the norm. We used to be a strong team, Callien.”

“We’re stooping to house calls? How low.” Finn replied, and watched as Kei smiled. “We are not a team, and I figured at one point or another, you’d stop trying to invest in me and find some other stupid sod to make a name off of. Might I suggest to you Eddie Lyons?”

Kei chuckled, and shook his head. “No. Though the rest of your…family…”

Finn snapped his head and looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You stay the fuck away from all of them.” He snarled, just as the elevator dinged. He hoped his vehemence would at least remotely surprise Kei, but all it did was make him smile a bit more as he followed Finn out into the hallway. As Finn fumbled for his keys, Kei folded his hands in front of his body and waited for him to open the door. “There’s nothing more to talk about,” he argued, ramming the keys in the slot. “I don’t want to be a pawn, or to have my life constantly threatened by rival families.” I don’t know what you’re waiting for.”

“For you to–”

“FINNNNNN!!!!” The cheerful squeal of Kallie Reynolds reverberated loudly in the hallway as Kallie flung open the door, forcing Finn to stumble in slightly. She wore an apron, one decked out in Thanksgiving turkeys that were missing heads, and she clapped her hands. “You’re home! I didn’t think you’d be home so we’re using the dining room and kitchen, but I was going to clean it out.”

She hugged the Seattle Saint (despite his dislike of being touched) and then looked at Kei. “Oh! You brought someone along with you, that’s awesome! Hi! I’m Kallie, come in, come in,” she grinned, hugging him too. Finn cringed.

“Kei.” He replied, calmly.

“You can eat with us too!”

“Why, of course.” Kei smiled politely, shooting Finn an expression that said, Well now you’re stuck.

Finn grit his teeth and headed inside. He heard all of them. The dining room was full. Kallie loved to entertain, and she often invited everyone she knew. “Aiden was just bringing in the turkey,” she cooed, pointing at the dining room. “You guys go sit.”

Uncomfortably, Finn turned the corner. Already seated at the table was Dickie, who was seated next to Amelia, with Dax on his other side. Aiden was in the kitchen and Kallie had disappeared. She’d also invited Tasmin Richards, her husband Adam, and their little one, Dawn. Sitting on the opposite side of them made Finn’s throat close up.

Kayla.

She appeared just as uncomfortable as he was.

Kei slipped past him and presumptuously took the seat at the head of the table, and the only seat left was next to Kayla. Finn grit his teeth and sat down. He looked at Dickie, who looked at Kei strangely and glanced back at his “older brother”. Dickie was no stranger to the shateigashira, and he knew the story intimately. Too intimately.

“She didn’t say you were going to be here,” Kayla hissed at him.

“I wasn’t.”

“No Emily?” She quipped snarkily.

Finn snapped his head up to look at her and narrowed his eyes. “No. She can go fuck herse–”

“Food’s ready!!!!” Kallie called, bringing a basket of bread rolls in and placing it down on the table as Aiden followed with a massive turkey that was ready to be sliced. She was also completely oblivious to the somewhat tense feeling that had settled within the room. Aiden paused when he stood in the center of the doorway, staring at Kei with trepidation on his features. Kallie sat down and smiled, encouraging her husband to bring the turkey over with widened, threatening eyes. He did so, and then sat down next to Finn.

Aiden was oddly quiet for the entirety of the meal, in which Kallie forced small talk with everyone, regardless of if they wanted to talk. Kei listened quietly to everyone, watching their interactions like a hawk watches his prey. Amelia evaded the question of if she was dating Dickie and changed the subject immediately, and Dawn and Dax were handed just enough mashed potatoes to sling at each other across the table and cackle.

The Japanese man’s eyes caught Finn’s as he glanced down the table. He knew those cogs of his were turning, and he didn’t know what he would have to do to keep them safe.

Kei the Collector.

It was the strangest Thanksgiving Finn had ever participated in, and found himself honestly wishing he’d stayed in Seattle another day. Then, perhaps, he wouldn’t have been the idiot that led Kei Hideshima to every single important person in his life.


••••••


I asked for a match and perhaps I should be thankful that it was received. I know it’s easy to get narrow vision when you’re booking matches and note that a tag champion exists to kind of…only work as a tag champion. But I’m the type of man that likes to do the opposite of what is expected, and despite the desire to see me only work as a tag team worker, I want to make sure I remind everyone of who the fuck I am on a regular basis.

You see, any of you watching this know my history well enough. I’m decorated as fuck, and I could bring up every championship that I’ve ever had. However, I’m not going to because you didn’t come to see me toot my own fuckin’ horn that much. So let’s just settle on the fact that I’m good. That’s what brought me to this championship, the World Heavyweight Championship and the Roulette Championship all within a few matches. I’m something like eight-five, but you know what?

I don’t really give a rat’s because I know for a fact that all my losses equal all the times that I haven’t given a shit.

And unfortunately for all of you, that time is not any time soon.

You read the pretty words on the screen when they announced this match? SCW seems to think that I’m not capable of wrestling on my own anymore, and that is a damn fucking shame. Just because I got thrust into working with Kayla doesn’t mean that tag team wrestling is the only place I want to be. It’s unfortunate, really – I carry all of these fucking accolades in this company and they’ve relegated me to being a tag teamer only.

Disappointing.

Time to flip the script, don’t you think?

I asked for this match because I wanted to continue being visible within this company. And when it was granted, I felt a happiness spread its way through my chest and I felt like I could smile not because I saw my opponent, but because I was finally able to fight on my own again. To rise and make sure that people like Miles Kasey were gutted because I could stand on my own two feet again.

And then I checked the email I got and it told me I was facing Dubois. An “Iconic” Dubois, even more so. A man I’d never heard of except for failing miserably against Raven Three. So I scoured the dredges of the internet – X-witter, of course – and found that the man was booked in that fucking cesspool ran by Chris Page and his sycophantic cunts.

I swear, I’m going to need penicillin shots and possibly whole body chemical peels to get the feeling of grime off of my skin for having to look at anything involving that shithole.

So let’s get into it.

I don’t know where this man came from, but I just really feel that this is a man who has taken on civil rights as his gimmick. I mean, the name comes from W. E. B. Du Bois, clearly, a man who fought for equality and opposed segregation in education. Top notch motherfucker, if I do say so myself. But to take that on as who you present yourself to be in one of the most accepting of all sports, and use This Is America by Childish Gambino? I think you’re pushing your luck.

But that’s not the picture you painted in Cesspool1. There, you were an accomplished wrestler, fighting in various matches and being the show stealer…for three months. You won the Boiler Room Brawl, and fought your way into the Cannabis Cup, and…I mean you lost on the first night. And then all of a sudden, you appear to be…

…well, retired.

I don’t know if it's news to you that you have a match in Arizona with SCW, and if you don’t, well…

Surprise?

I mean, it’s probably an extremely awful surprise. Not only am I probably one of the most violent wrestlers on the SCW roster, I’ve had a couple of decently annoyed days in the past few days. That means I’m salivating for a fight, and I don’t know if you’re going to be able to handle that. Because what it looks like to me was that you were doing relatively well for a bit, lost two matches, and fucked off to nowhere.

And here? Alexander Raven made you submit two weeks ago, and you haven’t been seen since. Last year, I may have said that it was a small feat to be ousted by Raven, but the truth of the matter is the man has grown into a decent fucking wrestler and has done a damn good job…so you getting submitted by him? I mean, I’d tuck and leave because I failed so miserably against someone that has been very prepared for this company.

So what are you going to do, Dubois?

Are you going to show up for the match? I hope you do. I’d like to repeat the same match. I know this company isn’t into the whole deathmatch persona, but I’m in a mood.

I don’t like being pigeonholed. And I don’t like assumptions being made on my behalf.

Perhaps it’s the best moment to remind everyone in this company that I am far more capable than where I’ve been placed.

When it comes to December 2 Dismember, I’ll be ready to defend this championship. And tonight? I’m going to remind all of you where I also belong.

See you soon, Dubois.

You’ll need every bit of luck to stay an icon.

••••••

FINN’S HOME FOR WAYWARD WRESTLERS
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
[•] OFF-CAMERA


Finn stood outside on the balcony one more time, his fingers clenched into the concrete railing, his nails embedded themselves into the grit. It was freezing out here, but he couldn’t handle being inside with everyone. He looked in, watching as Dickie helped Aiden clean dishes, Adam toddle after the children, and Kallie, Kayla and Tasmin talk in a strange triad of friendship that he hadn’t quite figured out yet. Kallie was the only one that didn’t really fit there – or was it Kayla? He wasn’t sure.

“A lovely…family…of sorts in there.” Kei commented, sliding out of the door and leaning against the balcony. “It makes sense why you would not want to join forces with me again. Now, you have much more at stake.”

“You don’t need me for any shit anymore, Kei.” Finn replied, keeping his eyes focused inside. Dickie didn’t need the chaos that came with Kei. Aiden had wrestled in Japan and probably narrowly avoided anything to do with the Yakuza. Kallie couldn’t be a target, and neither would Tasmin or the kids. And Kayla?

He’d rip off Kei’s face if he even thought about it.

“What is that French saying? Au contraire? I think that’s it. I do need you back on my side. You were ever so efficient, and if I am going to separate myself from the Hyazaki Clan, then I need someone smart and unassuming.” Kei turned his head.

“You’re trying to create your own clan?” Finn replied, dryly.

He supposed it made sense. Kei hadn’t been following orders for months now, if not years. He was not the oyabun, he was not the leader, and Kei was a man who was just as much an enigma as he was a murderer. He didn’t fit the shateigashira model anymore.

“I am,” he replied, leaning against the wall. “Could you imagine, Kyodai, no longer just being my right hand in name only, but in status? This home you have? You could have all of this, and more, if you would just reconsider.”

“I don’t want it.”

“No?” Kei chuckled, and then his eyes caught onto Kayla. “Because you have deluded yourself into thinking you need any of these people. Particularly her.” He tilted his head. “Not your type completely. I have watched the promos, you know. She is feisty. Fiery. Does not take anything and knows her place in the business. Your yang for her yin, so to speak.”

Finn clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t about to give him ammunition.

“Callien, the indignation is disappointing. Once upon a time, I would say something about Aaron and you’d have me–”

“If I could, I’d hang you from the balcony by your lapels and after a time, let go and watch you splat on the ground.”

Kei laughed aloud, shaking his head and crossing his arms and his foot over the other. “But you cannot. Your friends would label you a murderer and then where would they be? Ah…but perhaps, without you, they could flourish. Dimitri would no longer be in your shadow, and Aiden could manage to fend for his own wife and child. And Kayla would have a man that–” He paused, but only because Finn turned entirely towards him and looked at him down his nose. There was not much of a height difference between the two, but when Finn could look quite imposing for a man who was barely two-hundred pounds, let alone his stature. “-- was invested in her success rather than hiding behind his own cockblock.”

“Nice. Did you learn that from television?”

“I believe it was Game of Thrones.”

“Very good vocab.”

“Thank you, Kyodai. As I said…” Kei pushed himself off the railing, nonplussed by Finn’s sarcasm and disdain. “I believe you haven’t reached your potential…but you could. You’re holding back. You’re not the same person that you were long ago…and perhaps that is a good and bad thing. But it is not helping you. I can bring back that sense of disdain in you. Not this…” he waved a hand at him, “constant belligerent attitude. All of this? You’re weak.”

“I’m in a much better mindframe than I have ever been. Not much bothers me, Kei.”

“No?” He questioned. “Then perhaps you are no longer of use to me. Perhaps I should go talk to Dimitri.” He smiled as Finn bristled. “Or Kayla. They might be interested in the benefits of working for me. After all, you did get a World Championship while you were working for me. Twice, if I remember.”

“Stay away from both of them,” Finn snarled. “I mean it. They don’t need your shit, and neither do I.”

“Hm…perhaps. The offer stands, Callien.” Kei nodded. “In the meantime, center yourself. Push for the limit, and then push past. You are capable of all things. I will…see…you soon.”

He smiled maliciously, and then left Finn standing out on the balcony. Alone. He watched as Kei said goodbye to Kallie and the women, bowed slightly to Kayla and then stopped to speak with Dickie who just nodded slightly. A hand outstretched from the Japanese shateigashira and patted him on the shoulder. And then, like that, he was gone.

Except Finn couldn’t help but feel that this was only the beginning of the worst.

16
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT VII // LIKE A VILLAIN
« on: November 17, 2023, 11:53:06 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT VII // LIKE A VILLAIN
YOU NEED A NEW CLEAN SLATE WITHOUT THE DENTS. A PLACE TO PUT YOUR PAIN, YOUR CONSEQUENCE. WHEN YOU LOOK INTO THE MIRROR…ARE YOU EVEN THERE?
BAD OMENS





••••••


The championships are ours. Despite the fanfare, the fallacy that Limitless had in thinking that they couldn’t be toppled and the arrogance that there was nothing that we could have done to topple them has been quickly quashed. Two shows later, and now we’re watching as Climax Control becomes a playground for children and a really bad melodrama mid-day soap opera that can be likened to an episode of Young and the Restless. It’s like it’s the fuckin’ Newman Family back there – matriarchs and patriarchs running the fray while the children run amok, destined to be repeats of their originals.

I know it sucks, and if I were a better person, I’d use this time to give props to Oliver and Eiley for doing a great job and that it just wasn’t their time that night.

But I’m not.

I’m not a good person, and I’m honestly not fuckin’ interested in paying homage to a team that folded at the first actual challenge that came across their paths. Choosing to badmouth Kayla on Twitter was a pointed insult that was quickly perceived as childish and pedantic, and then all of a sudden, the second the twits lost, they fell apart. The next few shows, mark my words, you’re going to see Limitless choking at the seams, sad and pathetic. Oz is going to fight through his failure and try to show everyone else that he can fight through his pain and become something again, and Eiley is just going to scream at the heavens that he’s treated her so badly and she just loves him so much…

Melo…

…drama.

But that’s what wrestling is, right? We weave our personal lives into the fray so that there’s something to grasp onto, so that eyes are upon us, so that people are invested in us. But there are some things that you just don’t put out there – Kayla and I, we may not like each other, but we know what we’re capable of. We can trust that no matter what our personal feelings are, we know that the other is going to do their utmost to push forward and do their best. We do need to work together, and despite everything that you fuckers said about us – that we wouldn’t get along, that we’d implode, that it wasn’t going to work, that we were just another team thrown into the fray that couldn’t get their shit together…

We won.

Oz crashed and burned like a fucking Australian bushfire in the middle of the hot summer to the Revelation 6:4 and now he’s second-guessing the quality of his person and the quality of himself as a wrestler.

That is what happens when you get patted on the back too much and given too much credit.

They’ll pick themselves up and ride the fires of life, but until then, you get the duo of myself and Kayla Richards. I’m sorry that it took so long to happen, but you know how it is when you get booked in coach. A lot of smelly people in a part of a plane that has too many lodged together, and kind of makes you feel like you’re in a pig pen. I didn’t get booked there, but Kayla did. Maybe she’ll listen to me next time when I say I’ll get the tickets.

For now, we are the Mixed Tag Team Champions. The Wolves of Gheimhridh, as difficult as that is going to be to pronounce for a lot of people, are the ones to beat, and I’m going to tell you right now that it’s not going to be that easy to wrest anything from our hands. This wasn’t just about getting the gold. It wasn’t just about placing championships around our waists. It was about proving a fucking point: we are two of the best to walk through Sin City on our own and now together. Kayla and I existed in only our second match together and defeated the thick-and-thin Limitless…what does that say about what has walked these halls?

Wolfslair is non-existent at this point. The Barnharts are weak. Limitless is limited. Interest is going to peak, and eventually, mixed teams are going to want to come here to defeat us. Week in and week out, we’re going to do our utmost to knock everyone out of our way. And when it comes to the final event of the year? Don’t think we haven’t seen it. Because we have. We have Limitless again, coming to have their rematch. I say let them.

They’ll call it a fluke that we won.

I call it a fluke that they continue to exist. Last week, Oliver got manhandled by children to the point where he failed his partner again. Eiley is barely speaking to him. Don’t think that because I’m not posting on social media or that we were absent last week means a goddamn thing – I am always watching, I am always circling and I am always waiting for the right moment to strike.

All of this being said, at Climax Control, I get the opportunity to fight with Kayla one more time not as a thrown together mix, but as a solidified team. And it’s not just an opportunity to tag and continue to learn how each other works, but an opportunity to prove our mettle and our worth. It’s a championship match. And even more…it’s an opportunity for me to right a wrong. Miles Kasey and Alexandra Callaway, our illustrious Internet Champions, are facing off against us in their second match together.

Miles Kasey is my wrong that I intend to right.

But you expected that, didn’t you, Miles?



••••••

FINN’S HOME FOR WAYWARD WRESTLERS
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
[•] OFF-CAMERA


Callien,

I hope my letter finds you well. You have been dismissing all of my calls. Which, now that I think about it, is not at all surprising, given our strained relationship. I wanted to give you a heartfelt congratulations, Kyodai, on your championship win. It is always exciting to see your protege succeed where he otherwise once failed. Tag team wrestling is a skill that neither of us bargained that you would be in for, and when you wrestled with your sister all those years ago, we both discovered that you were more than capable. An unexpected pleasure, I believe. But you never had an accolade in that area, and now, it rests within the laurels you have attained.

I am happy for you. As I have been for years. You have made many steps forward, and you have done much in the time you have been wrestling. Has it been ten years? I believe so. Those first years were not as good as they could have been, but now, you are striving where you once fell apart. Perhaps it is because you have a focus which did not exist before. You were blinded by the love you had for your ex-wife. You were blinded by your sister, constantly having to take a step back so she felt like she was something in this world of sinners and saints. You have become something. A paragon of violence. A man that many do not want to face.

However, I do not think you have attained your peak.

You are not who you could be. You are not who you should be. You’re distracted again, and don’t think I don’t notice it. You are strong right now, but you will eventually start to slip again when she becomes the thing you crave most in the world. It is the fallacy of man. The fault of none.

Answer my call next time. With me by your side again, you could be unstoppable. I can help you focus on the things that matter.

Respectfully,
恵


Leaning on the balcony of his home, Finn let the paper dangle in between his fingers. He’d read it so many times now, and it left a sour taste upon his tongue. He could hear the man’s voice in his broken, yet so clearly enunciated speech. Kei Hideshima was someone that he owed for his career, but not at the cost that Kei wanted him to pay. Beyond that, it was gaslighting, and he’d grown used to it by now, could recognize it easier than he’d ever been able to before. Manipulation was Kei’s signature, and for years now, he’d resisted the urge.

Nevertheless, it was unnerving to know that Kei continued to watch him. Even after the resistance, the put downs. He continued to involve himself in areas that Finn no longer needed him for, and didn’t care for his methods any longer. He didn’t need Kei’s presence to be a despicable human being, and to be honest, that was a lot easier to be lately than it had been before. Perhaps if he put up a guise that he just didn’t give a shit anymore, people would believe it…and it might make it easier for him to follow.

He heard the door slam in the distance and turned his head. Aiden and Kallie were out with Dax on one of the last decent days in the city, so the only other person it could have been was his little brother. Dickie Watson was a terror of a human being, but hadn’t been doing so hot in his own rise back into the fray. He knew it stressed the kid out that he wasn’t doing well, and Finn was, so it wasn’t like they talked about their careers all that much anymore.

He watched as the kid and his gremlin features b-lined for the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips from the same cabinet as the stash of Takis that continued to lay untouched since June. It only took about thirty more seconds before the sliding glass door opened and Dickie stepped out onto the concrete with him. “You’re out of sour cream and onion,” he informed Finn.

“You’re the only one that eats them.”

“True, but that doesn’t mean that you should just run out of them.”

“Hello to you too.” Finn sighed and shook his head, folding up the letter and tossing it onto the table. It didn’t miss Dickie’s eyesight and the little shit swiped up the paper with a snicker.

“You have a penpal girlfriend?” He sniped, unfolding it. Finn didn’t bother responding, turning his head back to look over the fading greenery of Central Park. “He’s like Willy Wonka, mate. Just sending invitations and expecting people to arrive at his Murder Factory.”

Finn smiled a bit at that, though he’d never let the kid see. Dickie tossed the letter in the same manner and then dropped into the table and chair, setting the bag of chips there too and looking up at his brother. He glanced at the unopened bottle of Jameson on the table for a second, and then narrowed his eyes. Finn’s addictions had once been a problem, and if it had arisen again…”Oi, what the fuck is this, hey?”

Finn turned and then looked at where Dickie’s fingers were pointed. He shook his head and then sat down. “It’s for the right time. That’s all.”

“You’re not wallowing in your sorrows, are you?”

“No.”

Dickie peered at him, taking in his appearance up and down, narrowing his eyes before he sat back and shook his head. “Good. You better not be, because I’d hate to have to Boston Tea Party this Irish Whiskey.” He snorted at his own joke and then grabbed a chip, chomping on it. “I know what you’re about to ask. Why the fuck am I bothering you? Because Aiden is with Kallie on their walky-walk of the day and Amelia is busy with her thesis and gets mad at me if I interrupt her thought processes.”

“So I’m your last choice.” Finn questioned, crossing his arms as he put his foot up on the plaster, smirking slightly.

“You are precisely my third choice, not my last. That would be–” He started rattling off names that Finn didn’t care about nor know, and the Seattle Saint let him ramble. Dickie was the type that needed to talk to someone, whether that was someone he knew or someone that he didn’t know. He was getting a little less verbose in his later years of wrestling, as everyone seemed to do as this industry wore them down. But with Finn, someone he trusted wholeheartedly, it was a different story.

“...anyway, I guess what I wanted to say was that it’s nice that you and Kayla are learning to get along better. I mean, I know it was touch and go before the whole win, but…maybe you guys can get on the same ground personally.”

Finn scoffed. Kallie had said something similar the other day and he’d brushed it off because it was Kallie and she was constantly in unicorns, puppies and babies mode. This whole conception that it was simply a possibility that they weren’t getting along because they chose not to was getting old, and eventually, Finn was going to break and snap. However, he had done a better job lately of managing his emotions, and decided that it probably wasn’t the best idea to hit the kid in response.

The truth was at this rate, they would never get along. Maybe it was his own mistakes, maybe it was hers, or maybe it was all just a miscommunication, but Finn was tired of trying to not explain what was going on. He didn’t want to have to go over feelings and emotions, because if he could just stuff them down, then maybe he could work on a professional level with Kayla and they could be great together.

Because they were never going to be together.

“I talked to her the other day, you know. In a text, really.” He continued, after waiting a couple of minutes to see if Finn was going to snap. “She doesn’t answer my phone calls, which is probably smart. I asked her how it was going tagging with you and she said that it was good. I pressed a bit more and she immediately told me to fuck off, but it’s progress.”

“Maybe you should actually leave her alone, Dickie.” Finn shook his head and looked back out over Central Park. He knew the general location of Kayla’s new apartment – Kallie had given him an entire list of directions just in case he ever wanted to go over there. It was virtually on the other side of the park, and she was paying an arm and a leg for it, but that’s what she wanted. He never intended on going over there. If they met, it was in the park itself, or at the training facility, or at shows.

“Nah.” Dickie disagreed, pushing his hair out of his face and taking another chip. “I know you don’t want to hear it anymore, but I still think the two of you have more talking to do. And it’d be great if you could skip the talking and get to the snogging.”

Finn slowly glanced at him, not having expected the words that he’d just uttered. “...snogging?”

“You know. Kissing. Making out. Getting over the fuckin’ hump that the two of you created for yourselves because neither one of you can fuckin’ give in on anything and you’re both more stubborn than mules fighting Russian bears.” Another chip. Disinterested tone. Didn’t bother looking at him. It was like Dickie was dogging for this argument, and all it was going to do was piss off Finn.

But an angry Finn, in Dickie’s mind, was much better than an apathetic one.

“There’s nothing to get over, Dimitri,” Finn snarled.

“There’s a lot to get over.” He countered, turning his head snarkily at Finn. “There’s the fact that you two are still in love with each other.”

“No we’re not.” Finn grit his teeth and leaned forward.

“Yes, you are. You say Finn, and Kayla gets all sad eyes for a split millisecond and then snarls at everyone involved. And neither one of you are ever going to get over it if you don’t talk about it directly, mate.”

“She made her decision, Dickie!” He snapped back once more, and then rose to his feet. “She chose to leave, just like she chose to bail the fuck out when it could have been something more at Christmas. She rejected me, and I’m not going to keep having this goddamn argument with you. We are not going to be like we were, and that’s something that I’ve accepted, she’s accepted, and now you and everyone else involved with us needs to accept.”

“Except it’s no-”

“It is.” Finn swore, turning back to look at him for a second. “We are a tag team because we were forced to be, and we’re both trying to make the best of it that we can. Just because we can get along for professional reasons doesn’t mean that it’s going to be more than anything but that. The fuck part of that do you all not understand?”

Dickie rose to his feet. It wasn’t often that he stood up against his brother, but this time, he did so. And he left his chips behind. He stood toe to toe, nose to almost nose. “There is.” He repeated his brother’s tone. “I know it’s easier to hide your head up your own ass, but I want to hedge a bet with you. You tell her how you feel. You actually say something to her about it, and she’ll get angry at first, but stop being a fuckin’ twat about all of it. You’ve always rejected her from the get. And now you can’t handle it because she stopped putting herself out there and got in your feels.”

Finn let out a snarl and went to put his brother in a headlock, but Dickie was too fast for him this time. He slipped away, ducked and jumped towards the sliding glass door.

“You’re being a little bitch, you know.” He snapped.

Finn lunged again, but Dickie opened the sliding glass door and then slammed it shut before Finn could get to him again. He pushed against the handle, refusing to let the older man open the door.

“Dimitri!”

Dickie stuck his tongue out and locked the door, before stepping back and flipping him off.

“I’ll tell Aiden to let you back in when he gets home!”

“DIMITRI!!!”

“BYEEEEEE BISH!!!!!” He cackled, and ran out the door. Finn pounded on the glass, but it was to no avail.

“Little shit…” he swore, setting his head against the glass and slamming his eyes shut.

He hated that little shit today. Not just for this…

…but for the fact that he was right.

••••••


I would be lying if I said that I cared about either of these individuals. Once upon a time, maybe I did. You see, despite my callous and apathetic nature, I do have a soft spot for those who are down and out. It’s why so many people have somehow made it into my home to stay. Finn’s Home for Wayward Wrestlers was a joke that we all started saying at one point, which was a play on that child’s cartoon Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends, but nevertheless, that’s what it was.

The one-brain-cell-firing-a-half-hour Australian that lives in the secondary apartment had a kid on the way and I didn’t think he and his new wife should be living in a one-bedroom in Queens, so I opened my home. Kayla broke off her engagement and found herself a room in my home. My little brother lives on the couch half of the week because he’d rather be in a place where there’s people.

And then there was Miles.

The one dude who couldn’t fuckin’ say he was moving out after I’d given him a place to stay, and also  convinced Alex Jones to let him into Wolfslair. His exact words originally were, “I don’t like British People”. And then I reminded him he fucked my sister, so….you know, he owed me. The price of pussy and all.

But I’ve learned the more that you care about people, the easier it is to stab them in the back. Miles was in a sore spot after quitting the Russow dungeon, and needed a home. He had batshit ex-girlfriend who was probably ten-times worse than the Overly Attached Girlfriend meme and needed a place to hide and get away. And since I fucking annihilated her favorite wrestler in the entire world – Levi Russow, for your information. Yyou all know his child, Jack, – it made all the more sense that it be in my place, because she’d never check there because I am a vile human being.

Or some shit.

He stayed and he worked. He improved. We all can see that as we’re pushing ourselves along. And then he met Carter, which is lovely…and then none of us existed anymore. Kayla said he let Carter cuck his entire career, but at the end of the day, this is more about Miles than it is anything else.

I believed in the kid. I saw capability in his hands if he could just focus in on his own personal journey. I tried to work with him. I tried to push him. I saw that he was talented a long time ago.  Time and time again, he rose to prominence, and then fell back. I remember saying nearly a year and a half ago that I was disappointed. I was disappointed because of all the things that he could have done, he never was able to communicate them. I said it once and I’ll say it again, just because you have a shitton of potential doesn’t mean anything if you don’t use it.

And Miles, you don’t use it.

But Finn, whatever could you mean? You’re the Internet Champion, right? This was a testament to your grit, your resilience, and your refusal to back down. That’s what you told Eddie, right? The world started righting itself for you when you defeated me. But I leave to you a question, first…

…did you defeat me? Or did you defeat a ring-rusted shadow of the person that I really actually am?

I don’t remember saying much to you back in September. You were a bit too wrapped up in playing the bitch to Calvin Harris until he decided that he wasn’t worth the salt that he supposedly believed he was. And me? I wasn’t quite well aware of where my feet were going to land. I wasn’t in it. Austin asked me to come back to knock some fucking sense in to you, and you? You had the upper hand that day.

Not again.

You see, Miles, I’m not September, Finn. I am November Finn. I am Winter Finn. And like the Starks insinuated with their fear of the Winter, it’s not the kind, mentor that I wanted to be to you back a year ago when you had nowhere to go and no-one to trust.

This Finn wants to knock your head clean off your shoulders. This Finn wants to annihilate any hope and dream that you ever have and make sure you understand that your one win was nothing more than a hopeful pipe dream and fluke. There is nothing more important to me than this week, where I teach you the last lesson that you’re ever going to want to learn: no matter who comes into your life, you don’t turn your back on the people who created you.

You bit back. Certainly. But you didn’t bite for long enough. You didn’t clamp down and you didn’t ensure the life was gone. Miles, the wolf that you call yourself is still the cub that hasn’t learned how to sharpen its fangs, to kill,, to destroy the threat that lies in front of you. If you had half the tenacious skill and mettle you think you do, the resilience and fight within your bones, then you would have killed me when you had the chance.

Now I’m the nightmare that you created, mate. Because for me, this is twofold. This may not be the shot that I want – everyone is clear on the hope that I will one day get the shot that I think I deserve. But it is for my championship. And let’s be clear: you may be hoping to become a dual champion because then you might actually hold some stock in this company, but for now? You’re not getting past me. You’re not getting past the Saint. And you’re not getting past the fight that I have planned for you. I know you’re going to give me your best. But let’s be honest…

Your best isn’t enough.

I have something in my hands that matters to me. As much as it’s been stated that I’m only doing this so that I collect gold. It’s nice to have it, but you know how it is when I do. I fight like a demon to keep it. I lose the saint mentality, and I become the fighter that I need to be in order to persevere and retain. I know you’re going to fight like hell, but I am hell.

And Alexandra?

Listen, no amount of reposting about articles of yourself online is going to create a decent competitor. Don’t think for a second that anyone reads anything about anyone else, especially in the dirtsheets. Take that lesson now. You were the World Champion of a place that otherwise should never have existed, and if we’re being honest, it was a legacy that was held by Russows and Phoenixes…all of which are dust now, thanks to you. The final Champion isn’t an accolade that I would hold high anymore, especially when the company is dust. It might be a testament to your skill, but…

…you’re no Kayla Richards.

When Kay is in the ring with you, not only are you going to be facing a competitor with an entire repertoire that could kill you…you’re also going to have to deal with the fact that she doesn’t play fair. She doesn’t give a flying fuck whether its clean or not, and while I don’t share this sentiment, I get it. She fights to win. She doesn’t care about tactician bullshit, she’s just as much of a brawler as I am.

This…mythical bullshit that you’ve had all the allusion in the world for means nothing at the end of the day if she submits you, or even worse, mutilates the image that you have. I’m not going to tell you that the Roulette Championship is nothing to be pleased about…it’s gold, after all. But it just tells me that you’re not on our level. Kayla could be Bombshell Champion if she wanted to. I was the World Champion, and will one day find myself vying for it again. You?

You’re stuck in the division that no one wants to be in.

Perhaps that’s why you continue to succeed. Because there’s nothing else there to desire to be. Are your aspirations so small?

Your sights may be set upon Kayla and I, but let’s be perfectly honest…

You don’t have chance, Ms. Callaway.

Stay in your lane.

Or we’ll force you back into it.

See you guys soon. Sorry in advance.
[/font]

17
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT IV | FLOODLIGHTS ON THE SQUARE
« on: September 29, 2023, 10:03:35 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT IV // FLOODLIGHTS ON THE SQUARE
IT’S ALL GOING WRONG. GOT A SANDPAPER TONGUE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WANT, BUT IT’S NOT THIS
BOSTON MANOR



••••••

WOLFSLAIR TRAINING FACILITY
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK, USA
AFTER CLIMAX CONTROL 372


A collective groan issued from the crowd surrounding the ring as a decisive crack issued and reverberated through the floor. A thud issued as a trainee known as none other than “Kyle” – or maybe it was “Steve” – hit the canvas with a finality that signaled to everyone outside the circle that the moment was done. Sparring? Ended. A trickle of blood from broken capillaries at the knuckles of Callien O’Hanlon’s right hand slipped down his fingers as he lazily hung his closed fist towards the floor, his blue eyes focused on the lump of a human who had been smarting off just twenty minutes earlier. Callien, known the world of professional wrestling as Finn Whelan, didn’t whoop and cheer when he brought his opponent down to the ground. No – he only stared at him as if he was less than nothing.

Viciousness hadn’t even settled into the man’s bones, and yet most people thought he was the quickest to get angry. And perhaps he was. Perhaps he was angry, but it no longer showed on his face like it would have in months – years – past. Stoic calm, the type that most people hated because they couldn’t read the truth in the expression, laid like it was at rest across the face of the Seattle Saint. People began to disperse, and yet Finn could only look down at the body in front of him.

“Pathetic,” he muttered.

The newest recruits to the gym weren’t plucky, they weren’t punctual and they certainly weren’t any form of perceptive. He may have stopped his career for the time being, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to pop someone who mouthed off to him. And mouth of they did. Kyle-Steve had been in a promotional class that Finn was giving and asked the simple question as to why someone would want to learn from him when he wasn’t even actively participating in the ring.

Finn showed him why.

He shook his head and swung a leg through the ropes, leaving the knocked out body in the ring to be tended to by his classmates. Alex would probably have his head, but Finn didn’t particularly care…not that he ever did. Sonja had hired him, and Alex and he had a tenuous relationship at best. Most of the people in Wolfslair respected him, but he didn’t really care either if they did. It was a badge of honor for the men and women who chose to call Wolfslair home to exist in such a facility, but for Finn, it was just another day at the office. It wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate his place, but at the same time, he didn’t wear the company on his sleeve.

Like everyone used to think he did.

He climbed the steps to the offices and dropped into the chair at his own desk, tilting his head back and shaking his head. He stretched out his fingers, cringing as the skin opened a little more around the joints of his knuckles, twinging with pain. He couldn’t deny that the action of knocking the kid out felt good. Maybe he was just going too hard at it. Maybe it was just a minor frustration. Maybe…maybe he was just fucking frustrated because Miles Kasey pretty much up and abandoned everyone and everything without a word and then got a nice little cheap win on his name.

Yeah. That was more likely the culprit.

He tried to immerse himself in reading his emails. It wasn’t like Finn didn’t know what it was like to lose. He’d done it multiple times before. He just didn’t think it would be so fucking callous and disrespectful from a kid he’d trained, that he’d mentored. Miles threw it in his face, and then would go on to lose against another wordy bitch in Harris, fuck around on Twitter and maybe somehow save face in front of everyone because of his beau. Every word uttered, every move made, it was a performance that needed to be handled appropriately, and all he could think was that he was made a laughing stock by thee laughing stock.

Finn placed his hands over his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He was tired, that he knew. Ever since she was gone…well, he hadn’t slept. Not very well anyway.

Maybe he shouldn’t have stepped into the fray. Maybe he should have just sat back again and trained people. Godforbid he wanted something for himself, wanted to step into the world with something other than a chip on his shoulder. The story was trite and overplayed at this point. Maybe this wasn’t worth it anymore.

There was no point in waiting around here. He was fed up, tired, and clearly didn’t have the constitution to stay here today without laying everyone he talked to flat. Finn wasn’t particularly keen to have a conversation with anyone, or more than that, he wasn’t keen to get into an argument with anyone either. Instead, he sighed to himself, rose to his feet again as he slammed his laptop shut, and slammed the door of his office on the way out. Annoyance settled within his bones, and he just wanted to be out of the building. He beelined for the doors.

“Mate!” Behind him, he heard the deep cockney accent of his “little brother”, one Dickie Watson. For those of you who knew him, he was an ever present force in Finn’s life now, kind of the conscience that he’d once lost. The kid knew him better than most. “Hol’ up!”

He was also the one who knew where his mind was at a whopping ninety-five percent of the time.

“Not now, Dickhead.” Finn nearly snarled, rolling his eyes childishly.

“Classic insult,” Dickie replied, stopping briefly. Finn didn’t see him, but he knew the little shit flipped him off. Nevertheless, he heard his booted feet hit the floor and run up behind him, catching up easily at the crosswalk. “Not gonna get rid of me that easily.”

“Your mother should’ve swallowed you.”

Dickie contemplated this, pursing his lips slightly as people began to crowd around them. The streets of New York City would forever be busy, this they both knew, but they’d both long grown used to the chaos. “Yeah? Well, yours should have gotten it in her eye.”

Finn turned his head, looking at Dickie in muted surprise, and also annoyance. “Are you insulting my mother?”

“No more than you’re insultin’ mine, Mr. Male-Period.”

Finn sighed. He wished he’d taken his car instead of walking today. It would have gotten him back to his destination (i.e. his house) in a shorter amount of time. Actually, a bike would have done better. Maybe he should purchase a good ol’ crotchrocket, one that he could weave in and out of traffic like a douchebag. That could be his midlife crisis. Go down in a burning mass of flames because he zoom-zoomed a little too quickly and played chicken with a semi.

“Just had a question, to be honest. And then I’ll leave ya to talk your ass home.”

“What?”

“I mean, kinda obvious question, but are you nervous?”

Finn scoffed and shrugged. Nervous? For what the fuck reason for? To make an ass out of himself again, to fail miserably in the next match that Sin City placed him into because he wasn’t ready to return? Or maybe he was to be the new chopping block for the shitheads in brass, destined to fail over and over again. “No,” he replied with a derisive tone, “Why would I be?”

They began walking across the street, following the crowd, melding into them despite their statures and their appearances.

“I mean, because you’re teaming with Kayla–”

“I’m doing what?!” Finn snapped, stopping so abruptly that the person behind him rammed into him, jolting him forward a bit. Dickie’s eyebrows shot into his tousselled hair and he grinned slightly.

“You’re teaming with Kayla. Didn’t you look at the card that you were sent? It was up on the board this week. Figured you’d at least seen it by now.”

Finn felt like the scenery around him was shaking. He knew that he’d eventually run into Kayla backstage at one of the events, but he hadn’t considered that they were going to actually make them into a tag team. Not after their dissolution of even remotely a friendship, not after the fact that she’d bounced into a different dimension, different playing field, different…different wants, desires, needs, whatever the fuck you wanted to call them. Dickie grabbed his arm and pulled him with him as the light began to turn yellow, and then to red. He didn’t stop until they were safely standing by a storefront, the edge of the pavement more than ten feet from their last position.

“I didn’t.” Finn replied.

Dickie’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you didn’t put it together? You and Kay aren’t even talking?” His eyes widened then and he cringed. “Fuck, man, and you’re teaming against siblings…”

Finn swallowed and stared at his little brother with his face growing pale. Fuck wrestling, how the fuck was he supposed to even be in the same vicinity with the woman? She hadn’t spoken to him in months now, not after the Emily fiasco, and he wasn’t about to reach out to a woman who would more likely tell him to go fuck himself with a rusty spork than even listen to anything he had to say. He told her she didn’t have to leave, and yet, she did. And now?

Now he was forced to work with her in close quarters.

He was fucked. This he knew.


••••••


UNKNOWN LOCATION
UNKNOWN TIMEFRAME


“I’ve never been great at the whole tag team thing.”

With his right combat boot propped up against a metal railway, Finn Whelan sat lackadaisical – elbows keeping his body upright behind him, lazy hands, relaxed position as he stared down the lens of the camera like a barrel of a gun. The empty alleyway behind him could have been in any major city, what with unfocused cars visible as they passed across the frame in the back, the dumpster that was overloaded with trash and the general uncleanliness of the area.

“The last time I found myself as a tag team partner was back in twenty-eighteen, when my godforsaken sister and I not only took the whole of the company on our backs, but we also took it by storm. We weren’t only good, but we knew each other like the backs of our very own hands. I didn’t have to question their abilities, and she didn’t have to question mine. We were fluid, but we knew what to do. And now?”

He frowned, dropping his leg with a thud on the ground.

“Now, I’m saddled with the fact that not only do I have to tag with a person I’ve never worked with personally before, I have to tag with a person that despises my very presence. A silly trick of the powers that be, right? These two don’t even interact backstage now, but we heard whispers that they were going to tag a long time ago, and now, all of a sudden, here we are.”

He raised a hand, his mouth twitching in irritation slightly, but nothing more. His face remains as impassive as it always has been.

“But before we even get back to that, let’s talk about everything up until now. End of 2022, sometime in October, I rose to the prominence of this company in less time than it took for Ariana Angelos to make a fool out of herself for at least the billionth time and I did the thing that everyone expected me to implode upon. I beat Ken Davison for a hot potato’d World Championship. He wanted to come at my throat, wanted to treat me like I was a fucking idiot and had no way of winning the match against him. And then I did. And the whole Saviours bullshit faded away for a little while as Mac Bane and Goth and whoever the fuck was a part of that little shitshow disappeared. For a while, it was good.

Then I lost it, because I got too lackadaisical. I’m not even going to say it was erroneous and blame other people. I lost it. I lost a lot of things that day, and maybe it was just involved with my will to even be present in this business. Maybe I thought it was just that I didn’t give a shit. Maybe I just wanted to stop dealing with the bullshit that surrounds people in this sport. Maybe it was just because the barista at Starbucks put oatmilk into my pumpkin spice latte, I don’t fucking know. I mean, when I discussed with Christian what I was going to be doing briefly, I centered my eyes on the Internet Championship because hey, I might as well triple-crown the shit. Roulette, World, the only one I was missing was the Internet one. Lo and behold, the fuckin’ Internet Champion is too busy fucking around with Miles Kasey, trying to make himself look good so when he goes up against someone with more skill than a Twitter Shitposter and loses, it’ll garner him points and he won’t look quite as bad. Not only that, he blocked me because he’s a little bitch, but more on that next time, am I right?”

A smile crossed his mouth and he pushed himself forward, crossing his body with his arm and propping it up on his knee. Finn was always one to give commentary on what he thought about the rest of the company, and that wasn’t going to stop because someone didn’t want to face someone else. You didn’t get the choice of your coworkers, right?

“But you’re going to tell me, right, the following: You lost to Miles Kasey. Why, yes. Yes I did. The little shit won on luck, and let’s be honest on that. I came in because Austin made the match. I could have thrown the whole thing, you know. Could have given a shit less, as well. Why? Because even if Miles sits there and is so happy about his little win against me, the fact of the matter is that he’s still scared of me. I could come up and whip his ass, and he knows it, I know it – hell, the person in the highest row that got in at the show for less than fifty bucks knows it too. And maybe for longevity’s sake, I’ll always be waiting in the wings so that when he mouths off to me like Eddie Lyons trying to look like a threatening Ed Sheeran, I can turn around and pop him and kill his vibe like I always have and always will.”

Finn rose to his feet then, crossing his arms as he did so and turning his head slightly as he smiled at the camera.

“I’m always watching. Vaguely, though. It’s not enough to capture my attention by simply being present in the company, but as always, I am taking every bit in when I need to. And I think that’s what you all need to recognize. I don’t just look at the last couple of weeks. I dig into everyone and I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, new, old, or…what the fuck was said, talented? Keep in mind…talent is just like beauty: in the eye of the beholder. It’s all about perception…and if you’ve got an inflated sense of that, well…you’re just not going to cut it here. You’re not going to cut it against me, and you’re not going to cut it against anyone fucking else.

My failure last week in losing to Miles really only resulted in me getting to this point. A few months ago, Kayla Richards and I were floating around as whispers to be a tag team. The Mixed Tag division was floundering, and we were set to work with one another…which was all fine and dandy when we were fucking speaking to one another. And now? We haven’t spoken in months, and honestly, I’m fairly certain she’d rather slit my throat than tag me in. But nevertheless, here we are. Stuck in a match, forced to work with one another…and to be honest, I’m not thrilled. I don’t like to think that through the entirety of this match, I’m going to have to make sure that I watch my opponents and my own partner.

See, I know Kayla Richards well enough to know that she’s more of a threat than most people would like to give her credit for. She singlehandedly took the Internet Championship division from the tyranny of a fucking psycho and made it something to not laugh at. When she lost it to Aleesha, it was at a point where there was no fucking problem. She was ready to move forward, and that, we all knew. I may not have been here, but I was always watching. Always waiting for her to be greater, to step forward, to do more. She doesn’t step out of her circle, she doesn’t try to be something she’s not. But she is great. And she is vengeful. Malicious. Angry. No matter how deep you think your venom goes, hers goes that much further.”

It’s almost as if despite his words, he still respects her. And maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s more. But he doesn’t say anything else on the topic.

“We’re both good, and that cannot be denied. But this? This forced bullshit makes me cringe. You see, Kay and I could have been good together,” he paused for a second, as if he didn’t realize what he was saying. He shook his head slightly and continued on, “as a team. But now? Now, she’s angry, and I’m just as annoyed. And that…well, that’s just not the best combination for our lucky, plucky new team gracing the dastardly Sin City with zero talent on its roster.

The Rat Pack, hailing from ye ol’ yonder Tennessee. One Tyler McCulligan and his ickle sister, Jane. Strong words, you know, from the ol’ princess when she faced Harper Mason. Something something Go Gym, something something Hero Academy, something something better than everyone in the world…if that’s what I recall your promotional vid was on. How’d that go for ya? Hm?”

He waited for a second, tilting his head. A long thought out pause, one that was surprising, but nevertheless, disconcerting. His words were, obviously, filled with mirth because Jane hadn’t come out of that one well enough. The light Irish accent that Finn held in his voice was pronounced as he snorted and continued on.

“Aye, pretty sure Ms. Mason won, and props to her, even though she has a porn sounding name. But now you’re back and ready to face myself and Kayla, right? You’re gonna win, beat us to a pulp, because you’re so fuckin’ talented and you’ve fought from the bottom all the way to the top. Right. Everyone sucks.

Maybe look in a mirror.”

He shook his head again, dropping his arms and shoving them into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He grins, his pearly white teeth contrasting with the dark hair and the persona he wore. Finn wasn’t goth, but he wasn’t emo, and he just certainly might have fit rocker boy with a penchant for problems.

“You see, I don’t give a flying fuck where you and your brother come from. Tyler, right? Haven’t said a fuckin’ word and from the dossier on you, essentially you’re a good little boy within a bunch of angry little fucks. Well let me tell you, bro, it’s a dog-eat-dog world, and you’re now facing two of the most single-handedly pavlovian dogs in this business. You ring a bell, and we both salivate at the thought of tearing a piece of meat to shreds…and the meat in this equation is our opponents.

When you face me, mate, when your sister is so drawn out and tired from fending off every attack Kayla has shoved down her throat, you’re getting a bloodthirsty, angry motherfucker who is tired of being thought of as anything less than great. Tired of being considered to face two fuckwits that don’t even belong in Sin City, let alone a wrestling ring on this side of the Colorado. Especially not two fuckwits who don’t know their ass from their mouth. You’re not special, you’re green. And like little babes on an Autumn night, whisked away by the fae, you’ll come back in a changed state, as changelings who have learned they’re not ready for this business, no matter how many times someone says they are.”

He shrugs then.

“I’d say I didn’t warn you, but the warning is there. You don’t want this. So maybe be good little kids and stay backstage to preserve yourselves. Because Finn Whelan is back in Sin City, and no one…not even those who think their shit doesn’t stink…are going to want to stand across the ring from me. I have something to prove with a vengeance more than anyone else, and now that you’re in my way? You’re not going to be seen in this ring for a long fuckin’ time. Kayla and I are going to come out on top. And you?

Gonna need floodlights to find your remains.

Good fuckin’ luck.”


18
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT III | YOU'VE GOT NO CHANCE
« on: November 11, 2022, 11:01:52 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT III | YOU’VE GOT NO CHANCE[/size]



••••••

VINDICATION.

How many months had it been since he’d started at Sin City Wrestling? How many days, months, years, had it been since he stepped foot upon the landscape and been berated, belittled, treated like trash? How many times had he been made to face Alexander Raven, his own semi-brethren in Miles Kasey, and been on the underside of Goth, fucking Supreme Machine, the chaos of the goddamned undercard? How many times had he been set on the precipice of failure already, forgotten, underutilized, misunderstood? Wasn’t it Ken Davison that sat there and told him that because he hustled behind the scenes, basically persuaded the higher-ups to give him a shot, that was what made him a good champion?

And yet, it was Davison’s championship that was in his hands now.

No, Finn Whelan wasn’t the type to schmooze his bosses. He wasn’t the type to go into their office and hustle them to an opportunity. He wanted to be seen for what he was worth. He wanted to be noted for his prowess and his ability. He wanted to put everyone on fucking notice, and he wanted to be what people feared to face. Hustling and sticking your dick out to be stroked wasn’t Finn’s method of notoriety – it was annihilating the very shred of hope you had and realizing how out of place you were.

Maybe when he was younger, it would have been like the one ring that bound them all. It would have been like he was a (very much more attractive) Gollum with his ring, calling it his precious, carrying it with him everywhere. But in his (young) wizened mind now, it wasn’t so much the championship that he cared about. Certainly, the honor of holding the championship mattered to him profusely. Being the one to represent the company as their champion, having the opportunity to carry their gold everywhere else, and being the man that everyone sought after to face…

It was both an honor and a curse, one that he would have to hold the bargain of. He wanted to bring eyes to the product. He wanted them to come to him, to face him, to walk the walk and bring notoriety to the company again. It wouldn’t be as easy, perhaps, as it was for people like Mac Bane and Ken Davison, who had their friends come around to face them. After all, it was easier to face the friend you know, isn’t it? You know their moves. You know their bullshit. But someone that didn’t know you and you didn’t know them? Difficult. Friends were much easier to face.

But he didn’t have any friends. Friends betrayed you. Friends treated you like shit. And Finn wasn’t interested in building relationships with people who would use him for their own fucking purposes.

Still.

He was counted out.

Vindication.

Fuck you.

And fuck all the false hope you had.

••••••

He didn’t know how many times he’d changed it. Didn’t really know how many times it would take. All he knew was that he stood shirtless in the center of his sanctuary of a room and stared at his surroundings with front of his black hair plastered to his forehead as he exhaled through an open mouth. He’d avoided going into Wolfslair the last week or so, claiming champion’s privilege and rubbing it in just a little more to Alex, who scoffed and shook his head. He’d maintained his regimen throughout the week and didn’t necessarily need to be in the gym, but he was thankful for their presence anyway.

But he hadn’t been in the right headspace whatsoever.

The bed and the black upholstered headboard had been on the opposite side of the room, but he’d pushed the ridiculously heavy metal bedframe and all of its voluptuous comfort towards the (almost) floor length windows of his apartment overlooking Central Park. The dresser and all of its things had been pushed to the bed’s previous location near the bathroom wall, and the closet doors had been all but thrown out to be replaced with better wood – maybe mahogany? Bamboo? Something better.

For whatever reason, remodeling was somehow comforting to the Seattle Saint. Some people preferred to push their worries into the gym and bash them repetitively away. Some people preferred to just lock them in. But Finn? Nah. Sledgehammer the fuck out of the area and make a better living environment than what he’d had previous.

He couldn’t particularly pinpoint the moment that bothered him the most. Maybe it was Aaron. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been so affected by her bullshit that he’d succumbed to a rare moment where he needed someone else to help him. Maybe it was the fact that he’d leaned so hard on Kayla at that time to keep him upright when even she was part of the reason for his anger and frustration. He hated that she calmed him. Hated that he found solace in her when all she did was tear into everyone else with a vindictive spirit and vengeful hand. He never wanted to rely on anyone again.

He avoided her now. Figured out her schedule. She went for a run at seven, disappeared (probably to a local gym) for a few hours afterwards. Usually, she’d come home at two and he’d decide to leave at one-thirty before sneaking back into his own apartment by way of diverting Australian. She seemed to seclude herself to her room too, but every once and a while, he saw her poke her head out to see if someone had destroyed their solitude, but mostly she kept to herself now.

He didn’t know why.

At least not until he’d gotten the text.

Oh honey, she doesn’t just want you. She *needs* you.

No matter how many times she’d blocked her number, Aaron was able to get a hold of him. A friend’s phone – fuck, how’d she have friends? Work? Google Voice. So many ways she could still get into his mind, into his heart, and sour every little bit of growth he’d made.

He realized at some point that he sounded like a bitter teenager, forced to be paraded around people he never wanted to be around and honestly wanted to be reclusive as all living hell that he could be. He could put on the show. He could tear down the world and everyone around him. But at the end of the day, he just wanted to be in his home. Alone. Where he couldn’t be pestered, much less fucked with.

He’d expected Dickie to enter at some point, but he was also not surprised when the younger wrestler didn’t impose upon him. For how much Dickie was ostentatious and diverting, he wasn’t confrontational. Not like Finn. Dickie might have cared, but he was giving him space. He half expected Aiden to poke his head inside and see if he wanted to play a round of Call of Duty, but thankfully, that hadn’t happened either. It was like everyone realized he was happier by himself.

…

He was happier by himself, right?

Right.

Alone, he could focus on his career. Alone, he could make it better. He didn’t need Kayla at ringside, and didn’t expect for her to appear to help him in his matches. It’d been months since they wrestled with one another and appeared together at Pro Wrestling EXCELLENCE. They worked in the same company, but it wasn’t like they were a team. They had their own objectives, their own needs. Certainly, they congratulated one another.

And yet part of his brain wished she’d just…stop tiptoeing. At some point, he’d accepted that he was comfortable around her; yet even so, he’d done such a fabulous job in keeping her at an arm’s length because he didn’t want to be used. Had it only been nine months ago when she’d leaned on him to watch TV while he propped his feet up and handed her a bag of Takis because somehow he inherently knew those were her favorite?

Or had he just been so fucking oblivious that he cared about her?

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep focusing on her, couldn’t keep isolating moments and times where everything was easy and wish for it, because he had a fucking job to do. Everyone knew what it was like to fall in love or whatever the fuck this was. You lost your head. You stopped caring briefly about everything that mattered before. And just now winning this championship? Just now making his mark on a company that left him for shit? He. Could. Not.

Still.

He ran a hand through his hair and decided it would be a better idea to take a break from demolishing his room like he was demolishing his brain. Barefooted, he turned on his heel and opened his door, letting in the heat from the rest of the house flood into his room. There was a lift in his step, even minutely, and as he let his feet cross the wood threshold of the hallway into the kitchen, he noted the silence of the domicile. There were no pitter patters of bullets from the other side of the house. Miles was elsewhere. Dickie, even though he had his own home, wasn’t even present. It was quiet.

Quiet like it’d been when it was just him. And her.

He sighed and crossed the abode. Maybe he could go talk to Kallie – she didn’t leave often, and she always had a good idea for him to do. She was quiet around him, but as she opened up to everyone, she gave soft little suggestions to change things in the house just a little bit to make it nicer. She was bored, he could tell. Being kept from wrestling was driving her nuts, and it was clear she didn’t want to bother her new husband with her boredom. (Jokes on her, he already knew.)

He grabbed a bottle of water and made his way down the opposite hallway. This one, though, forced him past her room. He could hear her shuffling behind the door, doing something in the room. He couldn’t imagine what – not until, at least, he noted that she was talking. Not to herself, but to someone else. On speaker. Because god forbid holding the phone.

“...going to have to talk to him eventually.” It was Tasmin. It was funny how much Kayla began to talk to her sister when he wasn’t an option anymore. Not Amber, he noted, but the younger one. She visited her a lot – he knew this, because Dickie visited Tasmin a lot to see who he called his eventual family member – much to everyone’s chagrin. Little Dawn was a comfort to a lot of people, it seemed. Maybe he should try it.

He paused. His footsteps were as silent as a cat’s, so he doubted she’d heard him anyway.

“No.” Kayla’s response was clear and definitive. Her bed shifted underneath her as she likely rolled onto her back. He could envision her rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to have to do shit.”

“You’re being stubborn, Kayla.”

“You’re being sTuBbORn, Kayla. Actually, I’m not. I’m not thinking about myself–”

“For once.” There was silence, before there was a titter of giggling on the phone. “I can hear you glaring at me. Actually, if you ask my opinion, you’re both pretty stubborn.”

There was a long sigh from Kayla, and he could hear her sit up entirely. “I don’t want to be an imposition on him. He obviously needs space, and I’m trying to give that. I know he’s avoiding being home.”

Busted.

Finn closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he tilted it upwards towards the ceiling. His covert tactics, or at least, what he thought was covert, obviously was not. He stuck his tongue through his teeth as he bit down and shook his head. Part of him said that he needed to pound on the door. Open the door, and give her a what-for and who-what and goddammit-just-fuckin’-talk-to-me, but he didn’t. He got all the way to the point where he was going to bang on it, hand raised, feet spread, tongue in cheek. But he didn’t.

His phone vibrated. Another text.

Barnhart. You’ve got Barnhart again.

He sneered at Dickie’s text and then softly snorted to himself, taking a step back. Champion versus champion, Bill Barnhart being fed to him again. That’s what was entertainment, right? That’s what the Sin City Wrestling crowd wanted, right? They didn’t want to see the culmination of Finn and Kayla. They didn’t want to see where they went with this.

He couldn’t deal with this now.

Not when he had to continue to prove himself as the savior of this company.

Not when he had everything at his fingertips.

••••••

Believe me, Billy, I didn’t see this match as the first thing that would come up after winning the SCW World Championship. Nowhere on the marquee did I envision Bill Barney-hart, Roulette Champion, against Finn Whelan, who’d outgrown fighting Bulldogs and moved up to Pitbulls two, three months ago. But here we are.

Again.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, it was you that I won myself some notoriety off of. Not a lot, because honestly, who gains a lot of notoriety off Barnhart? But it was the things that we did together, in those matches for the Roulette Championship. I kept it from you. I won it off you. Twelve rounds we fought, and it was me who stood tall. Me who now stands tall over this fucking division of wrestlers. While you’re still floundering around the surface with your gold and feeling like you’re being recognized as better than you are, I took my ball and threw it up higher. I told Christian and Mark that I wanted more from this company. I wanted the opportunity to throw in my shot.

No more Alexander Ravens and Bill Barnharts. No more Miles Kaseys and Lachlan Kanes. As much as I respect the latter, I also know where I belong on the totem pole. And it’s not there.

I faced Jack Washington, and I defeated him. Unthinkable, given the previous.

After all of the mishaps with Goth and the failure to capitalize, I not only made it against him, but the hopeful candidate of Chris Page trying to make a splash who has been far better than anyone gives him credit for, even myself.

I defeated the man who defeated the man of the year, Ken Davison.

And I got recognized for shitall.

But that’s fine. At the end of the day, I’m not here for accolades. I’m not here for my friends to crowd around me, and as I said last time, Barney, I don’t need help to succeed. I may be a dick, but I’m not a cheat, and I don’t need Kayla Fucking Richards to come down and help little ol’ me. Not at all, because we’re friends who don’t need to involve ourselves in each other’s matches to succeed. And not as much as Bea needs to help you look more presentable on the regular.

Looked in the mirror, lately? Only she could love your mug, bruh, and that’s saying something.

But congratulations to you. You beat Miles Kasey to win back the championship you lost to me months ago. The one you prance after like it’s relevant to you. I feel like we should be celebrating you with a participation trophy and a clap on the back, but you already likely have the clap and participating is only one-sixteenth of greatness. You should recognize yourself as something, Bill.

A fluke.

A large.

Grandiose.

Fluke.

You know what that is, right? It means you gained your achievement by luck, by accident. On any given night, Miles Kasey is both better looking and better at wrestling, and you somehow lucked your way into being better than him for one night. Just like you originally lucked into the championship because someone didn’t put even remotely their best foot forward. I know that’s going to be hard for you to understand, much less remember, so I’ll spell it out for you: in the largest scheme of things, when the company looks upon the roster and they see you versus anyone, it’s really just a toss up to see who they want to push to do better. Miles failed the challenge, but let’s be reminded that Miles now has a woman that he didn’t need to pay four installments of sixty-nine ninety-five after picking someone out of a build-a-bitch mail order bride catalogue.

You’re a great wrestler, Bill, right? Such a shame that you had to pay to find someone to marry you instead of doing the same thing the rest of us did by buying affection. Person. Affection. Two wholly different things.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Barney-hart. I’m guilty of many things. Anger. Divorce. Pride may be my downfall and maybe a little bit of sloth when it comes to the fact that I didn’t give a flying fuck about my career for a good damn while. I have all of the talent in the world and until recently, I’ve had no fucking drive to use it. You want to know why?

Because I faced men like you.

Oblivious.

Lying.

There’s something called telling a narrative, but like many of the political figures in this world, it’s only how well you spin it that helps the general public believe it. The gullible rednecks of the United States might listen to whomever speaks about rioting and destroying the world and making it seem like its a good idea because the world’s largest pimple of a man says it’s a good idea, but the rest of the world believes differently. Kind of like us, bruh. You can go about telling people last time how badly I needed help against you when it was you having your mail order bride try to fuck me over so many times for your benefit, but the rest of the world, again, has the fucking tapes.

I’m guilty of many, many things.

But lying is not one of them.

My drive is what carries me to succeed far more than you ever will, Barnhart. I wanted to rise to the top of the echelon, I wanted to push my drive, I wanted to be away from the dredges of this company and away from people like you because I could feel myself floating in existential hell trying to figure out how to do better than I was. I have talent. I have skill. I have power beneath my hands. That’s what separates us. That simple fact, that you lack ambition and talent and drive that separates us. I don’t need people to speak for me, to work for me, to do the things that I can do in my stead. While you stayed content with your pitiful lot in Sin City, I wasn’t happy. While you were happy to try to win your Roulette Championship back, the championship that I tossed aside in the end and stopped giving a shit about….I pushed forward and succeeded in winning the World Championship. The championship that you will never own.

I shot for the stars. I shot up knowing that I had the opportunity to succeed. The ability to push forward. The desire and drive to be better than everyone and stay undefeated. The moment I decided to do better for me is the moment when Bill Barnhart facing Finn Whelan became a match that no one wanted to see.

And yet here we are.

Fighting Champion versus Champion for the glory of the honor.

…

Did you really think I was just going to let you trample over me after I pushed myself above?

Did you really think that you had a shot?

I know you’re going to try your best, Bill. I know you’re going to come at me with a hidden bullet and try to outsmart me, try to use your wifey to your advantage, try to defeat me because you’re a brute of a man and I’m this lanky piece of shit that you all probably think lucked themselves into a win. But trust me when I tell you this…

You have no fucking chance.

No chance in hell.


19
Climax Control Archives / PARADIGM SHIFT I | BAD DECISIONS
« on: September 30, 2022, 11:52:16 PM »
PARADIGM SHIFT I | BAD DECISIONS
BITTER ENDS TO THE NIGHTS / I’M ALONG FOR THE RIDE / OUT OF BREATH, OUT OF TIME / EVERYTHING HAS A PRICE - BAD OMENS


The home used to be his. His and hers. A woodland, mountain chalet that was quiet, opulent, grandiose. High ceilings, mahogany floors, granite countertops, custom-made cabinetry, a pool and a large stone deck that overviewed the Dillon Reservoir in Colorado. They’d purchased it, giggles in their voices, and they’d picked everything out together. It was as much his as hers, and they’d once been happy in it. Before they’d picked up and moved to Garrison, before they’d given up everything they had for his fuck-up of a family. This was their everything.

He still had a key. Aaron had never made him return it, and he’d never bothered to do so anyway. He was surprised when it still worked – or maybe the door was already unlocked, but he’d shown up with the rest of the CONQUEST roster over at Pro Wrestling EXCELLENCE after their second successful show that saw him at the opposite end of a win at the hands of Aiden Reynolds, and that was simply because he’d gotten so fed up with the fucking Australian that he’d slung him around the ring and gotten himself disqualified. His boss said that if he’d use his finishers, he’d be out so quickly. While it was cathartic to have Aiden’s head bouncing off the mat with a dull thud, it cost him.

Everything had a price.

He envisioned it. It wasn’t quite as good as his win over Jack Washington, slamming his head into the mat with the same conscientious vigor. But in slow motion, he could see the surprise in Aiden’s face as he vaulted himself over the man, hooked his arm around his neck and brought both of their weights down into the canvas and wood. The bell had been instantly rung and Aiden held his head, but the damage was done. Finn stood over him with his busted lip pouring a river of red onto his chin, an almost sadistic smirk crossing his expression. The crowd rallied for the Australian favorite, but he didn’t care. He’d never cared about what they wanted. He showboated for the fans, but if they booed him, who the fuck cared?

Nevertheless, the General Manager – who happened to be his ex-wife – held an after-work party at their old abode on Swan Mountain. He’d arrived at the behest of his newest trouble-making friend, the contortionist and all-around rabble-rouser, Sybil Halter. He wasn’t going to go. He didn’t want to walk into this house again and relive all the bad memories that would continue to haunt him just as much as the good ones. But he still showed up. He still walked through that wooden, opulent door. He’d still arrived, and he’d still grabbed the only bottle of Jameson that was there.

He’d stopped drinking years ago. Sobriety was hard, but he’d made it. But Sybil…fuck, with everything going on with Kayla, he couldn’t keep himself from imbibing.

Extrapolation on sobriety, where he was mentally

Finn leaned back against the wooden back of the chair, fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of the whiskey bottle. The flames of the fire pit rose into the air, cracking and dancing in a myriad of ways. It was mesmerizing, the way it shimmered and swayed. He was by himself – he’d made it that way. He didn’t feel like parlor tricks with Sybil and he didn’t feel like small talk with Aiden and Kallie. Their match was all business, and it didn’t change the fact that they still lived in his house. He didn’t want to watch Bella’s face, he didn’t want to deal with Aaron’s disapproval. He just didn’t.

He just wanted to be alone. Why was that so difficult?

He’d closed his eyes for only a moment, he felt like. And yet, he could feel her presence. He could hear the click-clack of her heels against the stone. Long strides, ones he’d gotten used to hearing. When she wasn’t wrestling, she had a habit of appearing provocative, particularly when she wanted to hone in a point. She might have been comfortable enough to wear sweatpants and her hair up in a ponytail – and that was, honestly, much more preferable if he was being honest – in his presence, but there were just those few moments where she tried to entice him. The moments she thought he wasn’t even noticing.

It took everything for him to stay away. EVERYTHING.

His career mattered. His life mattered. Engaging in fucking chaos with her would ruin everything. He knew it would. She’d take him with her black-coated talons, bequeath unto him hope and serenity, and give him everything that he wanted. He would fall into supporting her and her only, he wouldn’t maintain focus on his journey, wouldn’t be able to handle his own priorities when he was constantly elevating hers. He would forsake his own progress to only find pride in her achievements. And when all was good and well, she would turn those talons of hers to his chest and rip his heart out. He’d give up everything for her, and she would walk on him. She would leave him desolate, alone, destroyed. Just like he’d been before. She relished in destroying lives, didn’t she?

This time, the bottom of the bottle wouldn’t save him. It would be his end.

He couldn’t.

And yet…

Her hands slid down his shoulders, wrapping around his chest as she knelt down and leaned into him. She was just as warm as the fire was. He didn’t move, but his fingers tightened around the bottle. Maybe if he didn’t move, she would leave. Maybe if he froze, she would realize that he wasn’t what she wanted. Maybe if he acted like she wasn’t there, she’d get frustrated with his rejection one more time and finally put an end to all of it.

But she didn’t. Her breath was warm on the back of his neck as she pressed her nose into it, nuzzling him slightly. “You should do that again and again.” Her words were low, deceiving, though clear with her accent. He could feel his pulse begin to beat faster. He swallowed. She pulled back slightly. “I kinda like it when you spike their heads into the mat.”

Nothing sputtered from his lips. An ‘I know’ would be too much of an invitation. Of course he knew she liked when the matches got a little more violent than the last. Anything else in his response would lead to more of a disaster. So he did what he was the worst at: he stayed silent.

Her body language didn’t adjust. She took her hands from hugging him to running down the sides of his arms, glossing over his tattoos with a smile on her face. He didn’t have to look at her in order to know it was there. “And I’m a champion again.” She added – her voice carried pride in herself for proving that heroes didn’t always win. “Queen of the Internet.”

“Congratulations.”

“Why, thank you, Finn,” the grin was apparent in her voice as she took hold of his hands and slid her fingers between his. Her chin rested on his shoulder. “Soon, you’ll have everything at your own fingertips too.”

“Eventually.” And it was true. He would eventually have everything in his hands. Her. Championships. The championship. The World Heavyweight one within his fingers, handled with clenched claws that would take and burn everything mercilessly, unforgiving and unrelenting.

She let go of him, but didn’t stray far. Kayla crossed the way, her black hair falling across her face gently in loose, placed curls. Her makeup was immaculate, and her provocative clothing hugged her in all the right places. Finn dangled the Jameson bottle from his fingertips and he exhaled slowly out of his nose. It was difficult to be such an ass to her all the time, but at the same time…what else could he do? Give in?

No.

She peered at him with her brown eyes, looking over him as he leaned forward, dropping his head slightly. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I didn’t expect that to change.”

“Let’s let it lie where it lies tonight…” Kayla said, looking at him and cocking her head to the side. She leaned forward, adopting his stance. “Why are you mad at me?”

Finn tilted his head to the side. He stared at her, peering through his cerulean eyes with a question in his features. It was true. He was mad at her. He hated how she made him feel, hated how she set him off and on his guard at the same time. Hated that she buried herself within his psyche so completely that he couldn’t separate himself from her. Never had he ever wanted to be reliant on someone else again, but even now, he realized that she was one of the reasons he kept going, kept trying to persevere. He wanted to rise to the top against all odds again because that was who he was, but there was the ever-bitty small part of himself that wanted to make himself good for her.

What a fucking bad decision.

“I’m not.” He started. If he expressed his feelings, expressed what he was thinking, it would be the death of him.

“Bullshit.” She knew better. They sat for a moment, before she leaned forward, kneeling down on her knees and walking her way across the firepit towards him. She set her hands on his knees and tilted her head, looking up at him. “You’re mad at me.”

He sighed, looking away from her finally. The fire and the flames danced in front of his eyes as he tried to avoid her stare. “You keep me from realizing my potential.”

She said nothing. He didn’t even expect her to.

“You keep me from focus. You keep me from being the best I can be in the ring.” He stated more, adding slowly with rising venom in his voice. “You keep me from excelling at what I do best because I can’t focus on my matches and what I want. I keep focusing on what we could do, what we could be and I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for you fucking me up. I don’t have patience to sit through making us something only to have it fall apart because this is a fucking game to you.”

It was more words than he’d spoken in a long time. And even if he hadn’t wanted to say it, he still did. He still spoke to her, he was still honest with her. And that was difficult, because even at this point, even if he wanted to focus on his rise to stardom in Sin City, hold onto his championship at Next Level, become something more anywhere else he wanted to walk, it would always come back to fucking Kayla.

She was his bad decision.

She was his bane.

She was his fucking end.

“You know deep down that this isn’t a game, Finn…I-”

“Don’t.”

He shook his head and looked back at her. She pursed her lips and tilted her said, accommodating. Smiling. Softly, but ever so cynically. “But–”

“Don’t. I don’t have time for this, I don’t have time for you.”

“But Finn, I lo–”

Thunder struck, the rumble of the heavens sounded, and Finn crashed upwards, the blankets of his black comforter around his feet as he was thundered awake. He stared at the dark walls, frowning as sweat dripped down the back of his neck. He’d been sleeping, but he’d been so certain of the smell of her, the crackle of the flame, the light that danced across her face as he looked at her.

He stomped out of his bed, ran to the adjoining bathroom and splashed water on his face.

She was fucking him up.

And he couldn’t.

He couldn’t do this with Kayla. He couldn’t do this whole fucking thing with her and still be the wrestler that he wanted to be. He couldn’t have both. He couldn’t take everything in the world that he wanted and be fearsome. She couldn’t be his right hand. He couldn’t be a champion and have her.

He couldn’t.

And yet…



• • • • • •


Arrogance.

Everyone in this match coming up holds arrogance in the palm of their hand. Each every single one of you, all you have within you is fucking arrogance. Hell, everyone in this fucking sport holds some form of arrogance, and it bleeds out when we have matches like this. A chance for the new pretty shiny thing that the men in the back are going to put up to us like they fucking matter, and two previous world champions where one continually gets shots even though he’s been dropped by better time and time over, and the other appears, disappears, reappears and maybe, just fucking maybe can get over himself for about two point five seconds like he got over his fucking haircut a few weeks ago.

All of you are fucking arrogant.

But none of you have the right to even be.

Last week, it was one and done. Jack Washington put his all into the match. I put my all into this match. But if we’re being accurate, it wasn’t me that had anything to lose. Everyone in this fucking company equates me to be that motherfucker who decides to use weapons as a means to an end. Look at what Washington had to say, after all. In his mind – no, in everyone’s minds, I’m that bro in the back that is trying to edgelord their way up to the top. They don’t give a flying fuck who I am, what I’ve done, what I could do – nah, instead, they’re all so fucking busy ramming as big of a fucking shovel of false gold up their own asses and hoping they can stretch their fuckin’ hole wide enough that someone will be able to see the gaping black hole of a miserable failure that they are from space.

There are no fucking Whales in this sport, Jackie, unless you’re counting some cunts that used to be in this company that needed to lay off of catering.

But how did it feel? How does it feel to be knocked off your own fucking pedestal by a six-foot-four fucking nobody? Jack, how does it feel to project the bullshit that happened to you in your own high school life out onto other people in a pedantic plea for you to be recognized for what you are. You grew up fighting, right? All of us grow up fighting. Tell me one person in this world that didn’t have a rough time growing up and then not turning around to be the biggest fucking whiny shit in the entirety of Sin City. You’re better than me, hm?

That fucking Fenian Rising took off your goddamned head and I’m not even fucking sorry.

So while you spent your day railing about how fucking stupid I am and who I was, who is the one with egg on their face now? Because it certainly isn’t me – but a word to the wise…reading a list of personality traits about who someone is is far different than someone that’s on a piece of paper and using that as your background? Not the easiest nor best thing for you to do. It didn’t work, and neither did your achievement of putting me in the ground.

You didn’t shine bright, motherfucker.

You’re about as dull as fucking neanderthal Goth over here that I have to face in a goal to become something that none of you have ever seen before.  Shut the fuck up and bury yourself in the hole that you crawled out of, Jacky. Fucking stay there.

And while I’m sure Chris Page is going to start equating everything to every little step he’s ever taken in XWF and how many shits he takes at the Velvet Rabbit, I’m also certain that Goth is going to spend a good amount of time boring us with the details of his rise to stardom again through the failure of Jackie Wash-wash and his ultimate demise at the hands of a star who doesn’t spend thirty-thousand years detailing the things that don’t fucking matter.

This is the thing that I’ve noticed about this company over and over again. We like to mention people that don’t fucking matter. I have stood above the depths of despair and seen the sorrows of many men that have crossed my path over and over and over again. People that I have wrestled against in the early nineteen-hundreds are in my list of mentions, but where the fuck are they now? In a path to be different than everyone fucking else on this roster, Goth goes overboard trying to tie in his past to every fucking moment of his career.

No one gives a flying fuck what happened six months ago, much less a year or two or ten.

No one gives a fuck what happened last week.

So how many more times is Goth going to sit there and tell me that he’s dismantled me? That he’s killed my will? I listened the first couple of times and then I started to realize that I was looking at someone who also fucking projects their own goddamned pedantic bullshit in finery onto the rest of the roster. There’s a reason you lost to fucking Lachlan. Did that hurt? How high and mighty that you thought you were, and yet, here you are now, titleless and fallen to a member of the gym that you all so abhor? Are you going to stand there, your hands folded in prayer like a priest that no one wanted and talk to us like we’re all so sycophantic and idiotic that we could even imagine ourselves to fail? Or are you going to talk about the Saviors like they matter?

Hint: you don’t. Mac Bane is slowly becoming irrelevant and you? You tried to cash in on a cow that is dwindling into hell. It’s like Goth is the bus driver on the bus that leads them all into the underworld where no one will tread because we don’t even want to fucking follow you, much less see you there.

You’re a stain on this company. As many attibutions of your accomplishments rise to the surface, you fail to also note your flaws. You’re clunky. You’re slower than a sloth. Me being frustrated in the past about facing you? I don’t care. You hold no worth to me, and you never have.

Here, let me reflect back to when you faced me on your own terms. Was I at my best? No. Did I look like I even gave a sliver of a shit? No. You talked about yourself on a plethoric rise of your fucking ego and extremely large fucking head about how much you you you you you you. You are doing all these wonderful things, you’re equating people to other people, but you’re talking about how you sit on the precipice of your own personal gains and that you’re wonderful and that you’re the best fucking thing to sit on this roster and yet…

You failed.

You failed.

You fucking failed.

Over and over and over again we all rise and we all fall, but you can’t even look in the mirror long enough to see your own faults and failures. How many times have you fallen to men better than you in this company and then turned around and sounded the exact fucking same the week after? You can use your intellectual verbiage and try to sound and act better than everyone on this roster, try to sound and be better than me, but when it comes down to it? You’re a fucking numbskull with no interesting attributes except that you have big fucking feet and an ugly ass girlfriend.

You wanted to talk long ago about me wanting everything to be handed to me on a silver platter.

You know what?

Yep. And you want to know why?

When you’ve traveled as much as I have, when you’ve been at the top for as long as I have, when you’ve been as good as I have and have the recognition for it across several countries, companies and capitulations, you expect to be treated as good as they’re just fucking giving to Chris Page. I am one of the best wrestlers to grace this company, and I will be damned if I see you treat me like an imbecilic fool of the same caliber of a man who talks to a fucking cactus. It’s easy in this company to be a gimmicked piece of shit with their foot out in a drag queen venue while sucking the left toe of someone else within management, and it’s extremely easy to be someone that thinks with their head in the clouds – oblivious, self-serving, and defiant of the things that truly matter.

Wrestling.

Fights.

Not words. Not how infinitely intelligent we sound.

It’s how we take the fight and I am so ready to lob off your fucking head and hit a home goddamn fuckin’ run.

So no, you got it right on the head: I don’t care what you have to say. I don’t care what you have coming out of the drivel that is your goddamned mouth. I don’t care that you’re a complete piece of shit. I don’t care that you’ve done all these things. THIS IS WHERE IT ENDS. Are we clear? Your so-called meteoric rise, while mediocre in all of its entirety, ends. I am done with, Goth. Done with your gatekeeping, your bullshit, your speeches, you in general. You’re not innovative. You’re not interesting. You are less than the gum that I pulled off my shoe this morning when I stepped into the streets of New York City.

You are lesser than everyone in this company. You are just as bad as the people you argue with you because you’re just like them. You have been handed every single shot you’ve ever recieved here not because of your hard work – no, if this were my company, you would have been booked against Bill Barnhart for a few weeks like I was stuck doing. Of course my fucking will to wrestle dwindled – because my fucking will to live massively failed in that time. You’ve no idea how many times I stared at the rope backstage wishing it was a fucking noose.

Please don’t report me to human resources, I’m really okay. I’m not going to cut myself, I promise.

Oh so sorry, was I mean?

Hold on. Let me reiterate.

Garbage is as garbage does, Goth. You belong in the dumpster fire outside, not in my ring.

And while we’re speaking of garbage, let’s talk about the new shiny piece of rotting carbon that they’ve brought in from XWF. I’m fairly certain, if we’re being honest, there’s a drive to pull people out from the sunshine and into the depths of Las Vegas. If we want to talk people who are shinier than a dime, and worth even less, of course we can talk about Chris Page.

You know, the Chris Page that jumps around to company after company sounding the exact same.

The Chris Page that comes in with guns blazing and a fire in his step, but when he starts failing, he disappears.

The one that keeps bringing up XWF like it matters. Like they have a roster of men and women who are decent fucking human beings. Yeah. I said it. We can all paint stripes on an orange cat, but that doesn’t make it a tiger, Page. And you? Yeah, it’s nice you’ve done all this shit, and it’s nice that they want to put a shiny little silver hat on you and call you relevant, but let’s face it – you’re on your retirement run, and it’s only a matter of time before someone says something mean to you and you whine about it on your fucking podcast.

You’ve talked about being a shining beacon, but you’re a shining piece of hypocritical bullshit. Let’s talk about the fact that you bring in irrelevant bullshit into every promo I’ve ever seen you do, because you promo like you came out of the early twenties. Call out men for what they look like, try to find something personal about them that you can dig your teeth in and pull back. You think it’s like a game of Battleship.

D5, insult about family. D6, insult hair color. D7, puff self up to be greater than you are like an implant. Boom! Sink!

But Chris, implants go bad over time. They become inflexible, rigid, hard, and eventually, they break down and pop…and then it just really isn’t pretty, is it? You become saggy, and you become a hazard. And while I’m sure you’ve heard all of this before, let’s look at it this way too…you think you deserve better than you do, and I doubt you came in here without signing in your contract that the only way you were going to wrestle for Sin City was if you got an immediate shot at a title you don’t fucking deserve.

I said it.

Everyone else in your little enterprises group seems to have the same overinflated ego that you do – that you matter in the grand scheme of things, that we can’t exist without you.

Funny concept.

You’re not going to like it.

But we can.

I can exist without your demands. I can exist without your buffoonery. I can exist without you mucking up my ring with your bullshit. From FIGHT! to Pro Wrestling EXCELLENCE to XWF to CULT to whatever the fuck dumbshit company that actively projected you to be a hit but ultimately realized you were a goddamned dud in the making, I’m not interested in Sin City becoming another stop on your way to try and make yourself relevant. I’m not interested in watching you take your theatrics and your pull in of “notable” figures in this game to aggrandize yourself and make you look like you’re the cream of the crop.

I’m not interested in you coming into my company and making it the Chris Page show when none of give a flying fuck who you are.

You are the man that every company hates having because you don’t know how to adjust yourself to the company and make it better. You think your mere presence does something, but you know what it does? It makes people vomit. It makes people quit. It makes us all wonder why the fuck we aspire to anything because Chris Page gets what Chris Page wants and not because he’s good at what he does, but because he’s a giant fucking crybaby who blasts you when you call him out.

So no, Chris. I’m not going to worship you. I’m not going to say that you joining the roster that we have laid out in front of us is even good. I’m not going to even say that we’re lucky to have you.

I’d like to first introduce you to my fist, followed by my foot, and then the fucking door when you get knocked to the goddamn curb and don’t get your way. You represented how many wrestlers in CCPE? I don’t see any of them sitting at the top of this company, and I don’t see any of them sitting at the top of their companies. Joe Montuori thinks he’s better than he is. He’ll get a rude awakening. Dane Preston? Whining.

You?

Irrelevant and not worth anything. I’m going to enjoy ending your shortlived rise ascension…you know, the one that doesn’t exist. I knew Dickie’s mama had better instincts than he did.

Also, note:...I don’t have to mention other people surrounding me to make me look better.

I can do that on my own.

Just like I’ve sat in Wolfslair, but I’ve always been on my own. Raven a couple of weeks ago had the audacity to come at me and my group, but he failed to realize that while I back it, while I represent it…I am not it. It’s not my identity, and honestly, if you wanted to insult Wolfslair, cool….you wouldn’t be the first and you certainly aren’t the last. But the last man in this four way for this championship is someone that I know fairly well. At least…I did. You know.

The man who cut off all his hair and got a few tattoos and thought that made him scary.

I’ve watched him walk through wrestlers since he returned. Armageddon. Raven last week. I know what Austin wants to do is be this intimidating hulk of a man who destroys everyone and everything that he comes in contact with…

But I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.

No.

I’m not afraid of Austin James Mercer. I’m not afraid of the name, I’m not afraid of the family attributions, I’m not afraid of what he’s become, who he is, what he may or may not have done. The truth of the matter is that he’s not ready to be here. A former SCW World Champion, I’m sure that he fits the mold of everything that this company wants, but he’s not ready.

You can’t give a broken man a shot at redemption when they’re not ready for it.

You can’t give a broken man anything until they’ve repaired themselves.

AJM is a fuckin’ broken man. A man who will do anything to make himself known, a man who is crying out for fucking attention and desire after he’s lost everything dear to him. His wife is dead. He is alone. And so he reaches out to try and crush everyone else to find some sort of understanding about himself. Maybe answer why he’s had such a rough lot in life. The death of his father, the death of our mutual relative…fuck that bitch tho.

The death of his wife.

Crazy is as crazy does, and I am ready, willing and able to put crazy down.

This is my wrestling ring. This is my place to be. And I am gunning for that championship.

This may be my ticket to the top, and even if I do fail here, I’m not going to stop until I am standing across from the belt. Because right now? The hot potato of the title indicates that it could be anyone taking it. Anyone.

But eventually, it will be mine.

It will be my own.

And then?

None of you will be able to fucking stop me.

Good fucking luck.

All of you are going to need it.

20
Climax Control Archives / UNDERAPPRECIATED
« on: September 23, 2022, 11:57:27 PM »
If you grew up in a household that was complete in its entirety, you might have had the luxury of listening to someone reading stories and fables to you as a child. For some, it might have just been a ploy to ensure that you'd go to sleep and be out of their hair for a good few hours. But others, particularly ones who knew there were lessons hidden in the words upon the page, realized that these stories might hold some benefit to their children. Aesop was a writer of these short and clean little diddies that held morals within their words.

There was one that sat in the mind of Finn Whelan as he scrolled aimlessly through Twitter on an infrequent basis. The Lion and the Ass, to be exact. Within its two paragraph structure, it described a lion walking proudly through the forest, as the King of the Jungle was known to do. While the other creatures showed respect because of who they were, the ass decided to bray a scorful ass remark for all to hear about the lion because he thought he was that important.

In anger and defense, the Lion turned his head, but saw who had spoken. Instead of attacking as was needed, he chose to not even honor the fool with so much a stroke of his claws.

It was kind of like Alexander Raven and his commentary about a group that, beyond Twitter, didn’t give a flying fuck about him, no matter how much he shouted from the rooftops about how much he despised the whole of Wolfslair. For why? Because they had a team that spoke up for one another, regardless of their own differences? He screamed about the pack mentality, how it only created dependency. Oh, yes, Alexander Raven. Everyone was listening.

No one fucking cared.

That was the thing about Finn that Ginger Pubes was wrong about in the whole of his self-important critique of the dominant group: Finn Whelan was a lone wolf, the white wolf, the one who didn’t need anyone from Wolfslair to support his own needs and aspirations. He hated Alicia Lukas the McWafflecunt, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Austin James Mercer and all of his bullshit, and he’d carried a rivalry with Alex Jones for over seven years that he didn’t think would ever particularly be finished. Miles Kasey and Lachlan Kane? Rising, prominent stars that put their heart and soul into everything – and capitalized when push came to shove. But no matter how they responded to one another, they never were seen together. They didn’t form some bullshit ridden stable that followed one another and ensured a win.

Finn Whelan did not give a shit about the progress and prowess of his stablemates.

He didn’t get here because of them. He got here on his own merit.

So while Raven had a hard-on about Wolfslair on a regular basis, it was important for Finn to remember one specific thing: Do not resent the remarks of a fool. 

They meant nothing in the end.

●●●●●●

When Finn bought his home overlooking Central Park on the tenth floor of the J.R. Carpenter Building, he expected complete and utter quiet. That first year or so, he didn’t hold parties, and the occasional guest came over with the intent of leaving at some point within the same day. He’d gotten used to this. He’d gotten used to walking into the kitchen, going through a routine, doing everything that he needed to within the day. Coffee, high protein breakfast he’d stuff in his face that his metabolism would absolutely destroy, and then it was off to work, training, everything else he needed to do. Then he’d come back to his quiet home, do what he wanted and pass out. It was quiet, which was how he liked it. It was just the way he needed it.

And then it all changed.

Kayla was the first. She showed up on his doorstep like a soaking wet cat, looking at him with doe eyes and saying she needed a place to stay for a few days. But those few days turned into a few weeks, and then months, and his routine began to include her. He’d wake up, go get his coffee, and there she was. Dressed in her most provocative clothing (although he wasn’t sure if she had anything other than revealing clothes), sitting at his kitchen table, waiting for him to appear. She was always there, trying to get into his head, trying to wheedle herself into his arms and his bed. He wasn’t oblivious.

Initially, it annoyed him. Now, it was just a question of how long it was going to last, a question of who was going to take the first actual step that wasn’t a game of cat and mouse, a game where the concept of horse was the driver. Kayla took the step forward, trying to assuage the situation between the two of them, and yes, he’d relented. Somehow, he knew she was going to win this little game, and for some reason, he was still trying to resist it. He was trying to resist her. He’d gone through a shitty divorce, been fucked over too many times…and now? So she could get bored of him like she did Billy?

After her, he’d heard the Australian and the little Coloradan talking about their living situation. He’d been to Aiden’s apartment once to pick up a drunk Dimitri and put him in his car. The place had been tiny – a bachelor pad – and now that there was going to be a kid and he had his girlfri– wife. Wife now –, Finn’s parental instincts kicked in and he offered the second section of his floor to them with a low rent cost at least until they could get on their feet.

No one could call him uncharitable.

And while they were mostly silent and he didn’t hear them – save for Aiden screaming at his television set at the late hours of the night when he decided it was a good idea to play Call of Duty – he knew that he was going to end up having them there for a long time. Part of him just wondered if he was desperate to have people around him so he didn’t feel so fucking alone, but at the same time, he questioned himself as to why. Why did he need people there? Why did he suddenly become the saving grace for all these people?

Finn’s Home for Wayward Wrestlers. That’s what he was.

If there was anything positive about it, it was that it bothered the fuck out of Kayla.

It was like she was waiting for him to notice something, to say something to her other than minute small talk. While he’d relented and she shimmed her way back into his good graces, he continued to hold her at an arm’s length. When she moved to lean against him, he got up. When she sat down at the table after he’d made food, he’s engage in conversation, and then move into his room for the night. He wasn’t interested in playing her little game.

Oh he had reason, allright. Aaron had played her games with him, and made him a fucking fool. He wasn’t about to be fucked over again. The emotional toll and damage had been enough – it made him distrustful. It made him weak. And he couldn’t be weak right now.

Sin City Wrestling needed a fucking reckonining, and who would be better suited for it than Finn? Finn, the one who stopped giving a shit. Finn, the one who swiveled his way out of a championship match. Finn, the one who kept getting thrown bones, shattering them in two, and then capitalizing. Finn, the least expected. Finn, the one who had a fucking issue with everyone on the roster and the fact that it’d taken far too long for them to recognize his worth.

He sat in the living room, his eyes on the big screen television set on the far end of the wall. His feet were propped up lackadaisically on the coffee table and his hand was propped upwards as he shifted through the many television channels his cable service provided that he ultimately didn’t watch. He landed on Animal Planet and cringed at the rerun of Crikey! It’s the Irwins!. He had enough of the accent from Aiden. He didn’t need the ridiculously put on positive vibes that the fucking conservationist family decided to post on their own show.

“She’s such a fuckin–” Dimitri – or rather, Dickie, as he prefered – whined, dropping onto the leather couch next to his older brother, manspreading and flopping his head back against it.

“Say it and your fuckin’ balls are gone.” Finn cut him off. He could be a bitch about Kayla. No one else could.

Dickie did a slight doubletake, before tch’ing and shaking his head. “Yours already are.”

“Honestly, you’re not one to talk. Have you told your best friend you’re fucking his sister?”

“I AM NO–” Dickie got instantly defensive, shooting up while the back of his neck went bright red. Finn smirked, not even looking at his brother. He had no confirmation whatsoever about that, but at the same time, the response was all he really needed to put it all together. Dickie was, after all, predictable when it came to Finn or Aiden. “You’re a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one, Dickwad.” He shook his head, laughing as Dickie quite literally crossed his arms and pouted as he turned to watch the television himself.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, but ultimately, the younger man couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He tilted his head again, looking at his brother. “Oi, Finn.” He started, tentatively, his Cockney accent slithering out of his mouth like he was a fucking snake just waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.

But that was far from what Finn was, and he knew it was coming. Questions about Kayla. Questions about Sin City. Questions about what he wanted, where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. Questions about why he’d been so silent, why he’d kept to himself so much. Questions about Next Level, which seemed to be on a hiatus. Questions about why he was doing anything that he was doing.

“What?” Finn didn’t even bother trying to avoid it. There was no point. Dickie was about as demanding as their mutual fuck-up of a person that brought them together.

“What’s keeping you from Kayla? I mean. She’s basically thrown herself at you in various ways and yet you still turn a blind eye.”

There it was.

Finn sighed, finally taking his cerulean eyes off the television screen and looking at his grungy lookin’ brother. Dickie didn’t look at him now as he asked the question. Maybe he was too afraid of the answer. Maybe he wasn’t prepared. Or maybe he was asking to dig under Finn’s skin. After all, Kayla had attacked Dickie one time not too long ago, proclaiming to want to help Finn succeed. Kayla was a sore subject that he knew his brother was trying to reconcile with, but at the same time…she was a sore subject for him.

“I don’t need desperate.”

Finn’s words were slow, calculated, and rumbled deeply out of him with his Irish lilt. Dickie’s eyes narrowed as he processed them, and then he looked up at Finn. “How the fuck is she desperate, mate?”

“Everything used to be comfortable with us when Billy was involved with her,” he started. He didn’t even know why he was going down this route. Didn’t know why his mouth was blurting the words that he was. For some reason, they were buried within him and all he wanted to do was to let them out, place them into the air so that they could finally stop compounding his chest. “She’d come over and we’d just…hang. And then Billy was gone, and Kayla needed something from me, and I just…I wasn’t going to be that dick of a friend who used the little head of their dick on a friend who was grieving, no matter how much she begged. So I became her wall to lean on without anything else.”

Dickie stared at the floor as Finn spoke, his eyes slowly continuing to narrow as he listened. Finn seemed annoyed, but at the same time, he knew his brother enough to know that somewhere deep within the annoyance and the spite and the anger, there was a man who was just trying to protect himself from the world that seemed to take everything from him, but didn’t give anything back.

“Then the jealousy started. I’d talk to women innocuously and she’d get her hackles raised and she began to bite at everyone.  Any female crossed my path, she had something ridiculous to say, or she’d try to measure herself up to them.”

“Well, yeah, isn’t that the typical alpha female idea? Belittle everyone else to make them look better?”

“But she doesn’t have to. She never did.” Finn’s eyes weren’t even on the television screen. He covered his eyes with his fingers as he leaned forward on his knees, rubbing at them and trying to deduce how to best explain this to his little brother. Lest, of all things, he admits only the innermost workings of his mind. “I didn’t want desperate, and I didn’t want someone so fucking insecure within themselves that they had to treat others less than guttertrash.”

The younger Brit began to laugh hilariously, and he shook his head. “Mate, she does that constantly.”

Finn shook his head. “No. She doesn’t. Kayla is a cunt, don’t get me wrong. But she does it to opponents, she does it to people she can’t particularly stand within the business. For what reason does belittling a fuckin’ waitress do to anyone but show an underdeveloped peace within yourself? You and I both know I’m a dick at the even the best of times, but you know me, Dickie. You know–”

“You’re not a dick to people unless they actually deserve it.”

“Right.”

“But what if – fuck me, I’m playing devil’s advocate for Kayla – but hear me out. What if Kayla feels like she has to? What if she thinks that’s what you like?”

Finn paused his fingers, and turned his head to look at Dickie. “What?”

“What if she thinks that you’re like into that shit?”

For some reason, this bothered Finn. This immensely bothered Finn. He paused for a moment, his already arched brows furrowing into an even more annoyed frustration and rose to his feet, tossing the television remote across the room. It crashed into a vase and shattered it abruptly. “Then she didn’t fucking learn who I was at all, did she?!”

It was an overreaction, probably. Most likely. But he was so frustrated with the woman and the situation that Dickie’s questions brought out an irrationality within him that he probably hadn’t had in such a long time. He grit his teeth and moved to stand next to the bookshelf counter he’d installed himself, leaning against it with annoyance in his features as he tried to calm himself down.

“I think she has.”

His head whipped around faster than the thumbtacks he used in his last match made Hitamashii bleed. Dickie appeared pensive as he looked at his brother.

“I think she’s learned that you’re not going to go after someone who has their tits out and I think…I think she’s slowly understanding that you don’t like insecurity. But I think you’re forgetting that Kayla’s been pretty fucked over herself, and she’s likely insecure because you’re making her fucking insecure.”

That arched eyebrow of Finn’s arched higher.

“She basically just told me she doesn’t know how to act around you. She wants you but you keep rejecting her.”

Finn scoffed, “She wants me because she wants the idea of being able to have me. Kayla Richards doesn’t fucking stop until she gets what she wants, Dickie. And then she tosses you to the curb the second she loses interest in you. I don’t have the constitution to fuckin’ deal with that, and I can’t focus on my career if I’m focusing on her too.”

“You can have both.”

“Your wife left you for soundcloud rapper dick because you focused on your career instead of putting a baby in her.” Finn snapped, cutting Dickie just as lowly as he felt right now. Dickie sputtered for a moment, rose to his feet and pointed a finger in his face.

“You are a fucking dick.”

The smirk that rose up on Finn’s face was particularly a pleasured one. He’d successfully gotten the spotlight off of his own bullshit and onto Dickie’s in twenty-one words. It was accurate that Dickie probably wouldn’t speak to him for a week after this, but it was worth it. Anything to make the tightening in his chest that he’d suddenly started feeling go away.

“You two are fucking perfect for one another, you know that?” Dickie glared as he headed for the hallway that would head to the secondary apartment. “She’s a fucking outfront cunt, but you? You snipe like you’re a fuckin’ five star general. No wonder Aa–”

Finn’s fist clenched. His jaw became taut and his teeth gnashed together. “Say it. Fuckin’ dare you.”

Dickie stared at him. Finn glared back. But no. Dickie couldn’t even go as low as he did. He ran a hand through his tousseled hair and shook his head. “No. I’m not you. You know, maybe though…you deserve to miss out on her. She’s about the only one that can deal with your bullshit. You’d be lucky to find anyone else.”

“Make sure you tell Aiden you’re fucking his sister.”

“Fuck you.” He snapped, lifting a tall middle finger in the direction of his sibling, and then stalking out of the room. Finn smirked, finally rid of the man who could so easily bring ruin to his life with just a few words. He shook his head, and then turned.

Grey eyes stared back at him from across the hallway. Finn felt the color drain from his face as he stared at Kayla, who must have appeared from her room like a ghost in the night. The expression on her face was a mixture of irate and hurt. And even he could see it. He wasn’t oblivious. She grit her own teeth and tightened her arms about herself. Instantly, all Finn could think about was how much had she heard?

“Kayla,” Finn started.

The only thing he was met with was the slamming of her door as she stalked right back into her room, leaving Finn alone in the middle of the living room.

Just as alone as he’d felt all those months ago when there was no one in the house.


••••••


How much of it was a surprise when you all saw the Climax Control card? Was it a first for you all to note that you weren’t going to see the company’s finest failures rising up to beat the fuckin’ violent fucker down? Yeah, Bill Barnhart and Agostino Romano were finally not across the white square pond from Finn Whelan. No, Finn had somehow remarkably made himself bright. Stronger. Faster. All by saying he had a list. A list. A list of men that I wanted to face in order to somehow…establish myself, so to speak.

And why would I need to establish myself? It’s simple. Rudimentary, even. The last few months since I came back to Sin City, I’ve been thrown up against the same people over and over and over again in a constant display of carnage and brutality. Sure, there was a moment – however brief that it was – in which I was seated outside the realm of mediocrity where I just seemingly didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything, but that’s what happens when you realize that you’re underappreciated and you’re underachieving.

I know that’s hard for some people to work out. And in fact, I’m pretty sure it’s difficult for various members of this company to be able to look and reflect, and then turn around and say that they were fucking up.

I mean, in my case, I was fucking up on purpose. I was so fucking tired of the same monotony, the same bullshit over and over again…but what does that say about Sin City if they can’t gather new blood to contest and fight against? A shake-up, a rise against the system…it was all that was needed. Fucking dismantle the people around you, and maybe you’d have a large chance in the long run of them seeing that you mean business. That you mean that you want to do something more than mediocrity.

As the days grew shorter and the nights grew colder, it was finally realized. It being my rise from the dredges of this company, the bottomfeeding, the repetitive matches that once upon a time seemed the only opportunity that I would ever be given. And perhaps it was too much to ask for at one time, because I hadn’t put forth the correct amount of effort…or some fucking bullshit like that. I’ve never quite wanted to involve myself with the bullshit politics of the companies and place it on my back. I have never and will never give a shit about what the backstage politics are because I am here to wrestle. And I am here to make this company look like the fuckin’ billion bucks that it’s advertised as. You’re not going to get there with people like Hitamashii or Armageddon stinking up your roster. Nor the same as the Troll or even our illustrious World Champion.

Hey Kenny. How you doin’?

At the end of the day, it’s obvious that what Sin City Wrestling has needed was a new breed of wrestler to come in and shake up the scene. And while I’m not new…I certainly am something that the fucking doctor ordered when they realized that my medical advice was sound and reasonable.

I said I was going to come in, and I said I was going to take this company by storm. It’s a slow-moving hurricane, but we’ve finally landed.

We’ve landed on Jack fucking Washington, and oh boy, am I fucking stoked to take on someone with an ego the size of his entire body and then some.

I mean, who else would come around and act like they were relishing in the mockery that was being thrown at them like they weren’t able to recognize their own fucking failures? Because that’s how I see you, Jackie Wash. You’re someone that had a significant amount of success when you came into this company just two months before I did. World Champion. Internet Champion. You wouldn’t go for something so low as the Roulette title, but you know what?You haven’t needed to, have you?

You’re a kid with daddy issues, a kid who underdogged himself into a hole and now you don’t know how to get out of it. So instead of showing a bit of humility after being defeated by an old man who probably would still attend a cyberrave and wear platform shoes and mesh shirting for a championship that you claimed was going to be yours for the next era of Sin City…you turned around and fucking threw it in everyone’s face like you’ve got a massive chip on your shoulder for a company that gave you the opportunity to shine that DIVISION didn’t.

That’s right. I went a few years back. I went back to DIVISION. You were their New Blood Champion, right? The one that arrived and once you won it, the company fucking imploded from the inside. That was what, four years ago? Something like that? From there, you floated on over to here, and since then, you’ve done…well, you’ve done okay.

But I can’t stand your attitude.

Entitled.

Arrogant.

Self-serving.

You’ve done well, Jack, and that’s visible in your record here in SCW. Even this year, you have more wins than you have losses, but when it comes down to it…you did the one thing that I fucking hate in people when they lose.

You walked the fuck away.

You didn’t take it on the chin, you didn’t sit there and allow yourself to be better. Allow yourself to take it like a fucking man and do better for yourself. And you ever have. Every time you’ve fallen down on the job, you turn around and disappear…only to come back and act like nothing fucking happened. You seem to think you’re better than you ever have been, you don’t reflect on what you could have done better. You just poof into nothingness and that is a bitchmade move. As always, you rebuild your own ego up to be something that you’re not…

…make your way to a title match….win a title…be defeated…and take your ball home for a month because you’re sulking in the corner like a little boy. A fucking little child that has no business being in a wrestling ring if you can’t own your fallacies and your failures. Me? I lost the Roulette Championship because I didn’t care and it fucking showed. It’s something that anyone could use against me, anyone could say, and I’d confirm it wholeheartedly.

I think though…that you would know that I’d turn it around and kick your fucking teeth down your throat the second you had anything to say to me.

I know how hard it is to be a rookie and come into wrestling and not imagine yourself to be the next big thing. To not imagine yourself as someone who is the end all be all of wrestling. But let’s face it, Jack – you’re not. Your ego might give you the idea that you are. That no one is going to remember your recent fuck ups and you can take your win over Alexander Raven as a plus…and yet, who is the one facing Ken Davidson for his championship this week? Is it you? Or is it the man you beat?

But hold on, wait…that doesn’t matter to you, right? Who gives a flying fuck about your past when all you want people to see is the future? When the narrative you drive home is only about what you could do, but not what you have done. The more you neglect to repeat what you have done, the less your story is written in stone. The less anyone gives a flying fuck about you. Fuck, I went to the roster page to see who I hadn’t faced, and I forgot you fucking existed. That is how insignificant you are on the totem pole these days. I know that’s difficult to hear. And I know you’re going to talk some bullshit about who and what I am…but you know what?

You’re just as much a bottomfeeder as the men I used to face.

And maybe that’s exactly where you fuckin’ belong.

I know what you do, Jack. I know you come in, acting like you’re a big fucking deal. And why wouldn’t you? I asked to challenge you, didn’t I? I asked to put my name up against men who have won the championship that is so coveted in this company. But don’t be so deluded that you don’t understand the reasoning. Don’t be so deluded that you think I think you’re one of the best.

I don’t.

I think you’re full of shit.

I think you don’t know how to accurately sell anything that doesn’t have to do with your ego.

I think you’re a worthless piece of trash in this company, no matter what you’ve done. At the end of the day, you’re a self-serving little cuntstain on this roster that needs to be eradicated and removed. You walked into this company as an arrogant underdog that had something to prove, and now you’ve worn out your fucking welcome like a bitchmade two-bit whore who no one likes, no one wants to deal with, and no one gives a shit about.

But you held that championship. I’m not a man that asks for championship trials. I’m not a man that comes up and demands title shots that I don’t deserve. While I know I can be the man that holds the Sin City Wrestling World Championship in my hands and elevates this fucking company, that brings that championship to every event, that contends consistently for it and doesn’t falter like a child, I want everyone else to see it.

I want them to see when I beat you. I want them to clap with glee in their eyes when I destroy every dream that you’ve ever had. I want them to cheer and boo and react when they see me eliminate their chosen Gods. And I want the crowd to chant the name that they should have been chanting years ago.

This time, Jack…you’re cannon fodder. You’re the man that stands in my way of something that I want, and something that I will die to get. So bully me, Jack. Tell me I’m not pretty, tell me that I am worthless…and then watch as the world smiles as I kick your fucking teeth down your throat and end your career like the little pissant wrestler that you forever will be.

Tell me I’m not your worst fucking nightmare, and I will show you something better.

I will show you a wrestler.

I will show you someone who ELEVATES this career to something higher than you will have ever done in the entirety of this world. I will show you a match in which you realize that you knew nothing about this career path. That will make you question everything that you’ve ever done in your life. And I will make you question whether you want to continue with this career or whether you should have just fucking disapperared and stayed away.

Watch me, Jackie.

Watch me as I destroy everything you hold dear.

We’ll see who’s underappreciated then.

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