This is war…
What does that even mean? The term is thrown around these days to signify a variety of things. Merriam-Webster defines war as “a state of usually open and declared armed hostile conflict between states or nations: a period of such armed conflict”. When we think of wars, we think of massive nuclear warheads, or bayonets. We think of a group of people who feel their cause is worth fighting for at the risk of losing lives, whether it be of their adversaries… or of their own. We think of blood shed for a righteous purpose, enough blood to fill the rivers, no the oceans. We think of right versus wrong, good versus evil, justice for the unjust. With every war, we hope to get closer to achieving world peace. Isn’t it just… wonderful?
The sad truth is that war does not stem from the need for justice. War is not meant to right the wrongs of the world, or to strike down the wicked. War only proves that world peace is a cruel joke which we cling to in hopes that one day, maybe… just maybe… all will be right. Suffering will disappear. Children in Ethiopia will no longer have to go to bed hungry for the sixth night in a row. We can forgive our neighbor for their trespasses, as they forgive us for our own trespasses against them. We will all live in a utopia of sunshine and fucking rainbows. Unfortunately, man is just too self-involved for this to ever become a reality. War is never about good versus evil. It only serves as a metaphoric pissing contest between two or more men who have to compensate for something by taking from someone else. It isn’t because of virtue. It isn’t because one person’s God tells them that someone else’s God wants them to have land, money, wealth, power, or whatever the fuck they so desperately seek. It isn’t because one side is better than the other.
Envy... That is the root of every single war ever fought by man. That’s right. It is certainly not because one side is right and the other is wrong. Propaganda surrounds every war, because who in their right mind could fathom taking someone else’s life over a peace of land? Who is that fucked up that they can justify committing a mortal sin for the purpose of padding someone else’s pocket? Instead, one must convince themselves and anyone who is easily manipulated to murder in the name of God, or in the name of justice, or because it is just the right fucking thing to do in order to feed their own egos. If you don’t believe me, look back at every war in history. Dating back to Cain and Abel, violence was used to suffocate the notion that some people are more naturally gifted. Cain murdered his own brother because he couldn’t stand the fact that he was inferior to Abel in almost every single way, and his own jealousy fueled his desire to snuff his own flesh and blood. Napoleon had little man complex, and felt he had to prove himself to be a man by fighting to seize power over the French nation. Hitler was an eccentric sociopath who needed to prove his penis size by trying to annihilate many groups of people and trying to conquer the world.
Where the hell does this come from, you say…? I have been at war for a long time. Life is a constant war. I have spent a lot of time hurting people for the sake of proving to myself and the world that I am not a scared little boy playing the part of a man. I have stepped on many people to get to where I am today, and I am not proud of it. You look at my past and you think of me as The Most Sadistic Bastard. You think I am some after-school special about how one can turn his life around and make the world a slightly brighter place. My dedicated fans tell me every day via Twitter or Facebook that I have changed their lives in a positive way. I must be a godsend… The truth is that I am still the same man. I haven’t changed at all. I am still ruthless in the ring. I still get a hard-on by hurting people. I still enjoy shoving myself down everyone’s throats. I haven’t changed… I just chose a different cause to lead. I am truly no better than I was eleven years ago when I first broke into the business. I am just a lot more upfront about it these days…”
The War Within
Who knew that a digital clock could make a noise as it ticks away the minutes? I am lying in my bed by myself at five thirty in the evening for the first time, well… ever. I simply stare up at the ceiling as my fever almost seems to radiate from my forehead. My eyes are bloodshot and burn as I just stare. I feel too weak to even blink at this point. Taking a deep breath, I look over to a glass of ice water sitting on my nightstand and my left arm disperses from its warm blanket sanctuary. I press my dry lips to the cup, and I drink it down in what feels like less than a second. I don’t bother wiping my lips, choosing to look as if I had ravaged the water and allowed the remains to drip down my hot face like a savage. My breaths wheeze as they escape my lungs, eventually causing me to go into a coughing fit. I slide a tissue up just a mere six inches from my chest and cough into it. I use the remaining clean portions to blow my nose and dispose of it in the nearby trashcan. After just a moment, I feel like I have caught my breath for the first time in two days. I stare up at the ceiling and become lost in my own reverie. The ticking of the minutes seems to rapidly get faster, going by like seconds as I notice the sun quickly disappearing. The moon shines through my window, illuminating my room just enough to see what is around me. I go to take another deep breath, but have that heavy wheeze that forces me to cough once more. My head is starting to pound as I lean over to grab another tissue. It is then that I hear the front door open up and abruptly close. I pause for a second, letting out a low tone growl before spitting into the tissue and disposing of it. I hear the soft footsteps making their way toward the steps.
Spike: Vixen…? I thought I told you that I would meet you in Puerto Rico in a couple of days. Or… did you just have to come and play nurse?
Ahhh, always the comedian I am. But, who can resist a nice innuendo like that? She doesn’t say a word. I guess I was supposed to pretend to be surprised. I look over to the clock and it reads 7:30pm. I shrug my shoulders and lay back in bed like the good little patient I am. You know, I have heard that sex is one of the best medicines, but I wonder how valid that is because I should never be sick if that were true… I close my eyes for a second as I hear the slow, soft footsteps coming up the stairs. I imagine the tight white thigh high skirt over the naughty black fishnets containing a fake syringe in the ribbons. I imagine that big red cross on the right breast of her perfectly white shirt. Oh, and that ever so naughty white hat with the matching red cross. But let’s not forget the white Ked’s either, or else this whole fantasy is screwed… A real Elle Driver minus the eye patch… I open my eyes in anticipation as I look at the empty doorway, expecting her to be standing there with a thermometer, threatening to take my temperature in the most cruel of ways. I hear the footsteps getting closer and closer, getting louder and louder until…
Spike: Who… who the hell are you?
I look into the doorway, seeing the silhouette of a man, around six and a half feet tall, wearing a black fedora and a trench coat. Using energy that I was surprised I even still had, I scurried up against the wall, crouched like a frog, but ready to strike like a cobra. My nostrils flare as the intruder simply lets out a low tone chuckle. He slowly removes the fedora and holds it against his face as he pushes himself off of the door frame. He walks slower and slower toward the bed as I inspect the room for something to aid my battle against this man. He gets closer and my breaths feel harder and harder to take as I move forward in a very strategic manner. His soft footsteps contradict his stature, making me slightly nervous as he walks into the soft moonlight, revealing his face to me. That wickedly bright Cheshire grin shines first and foremost in the light. The silver stud under his lip gleams as he turns slightly to face me dead on, as does the small ring in his left nostril. His devilish eyebrows are slanted above his icy blue eyes staring up at me as his pointed chin is practically against his chest. His laughter turns a little more sadistic as I stare on in awe.
Spike: What… What the? Who…? What is going on here?
The anger boils over in me as I am staring at none other than… me. Well, the old me that is. I inspect his unkempt, long black spiked hair with blue streaks down to his boyish, neatly shaven face. My blood starts to boil over in anger… or could that be the fever?
Spike2: Ahhhh haha it’s good to see you ya little starfucker you…
I slowly sink down into my bed, yanking the covers over myself once more, only this time I cover my head entirely. I take quick and shallow breaths as I lie there, waiting for him to disappear. Instead, I hear his footsteps creak as he gets closer to the bed.
Spike2: Awww, I’m hurt. Do you mean to tell me you aren’t happy to see me, Spikey boy?
I continue to ignore him as I hear that low toned chuckle once more. I clinch my eyelids closed and hold the blanket tightly over my head. The footsteps continue as he paces back and forth around me. He stops and sighs, standing at the edge of my bed. We share an awkward silence as I try to make him disappear.
Spike2: I got you to where you are today, kiddo. The least you could do is answer me. I guess you didn’t learn to be grateful after you took over. See, I’m trying to find the things we still have in common.
Why won’t he just go away? This really doesn’t seem like the time to be having some sort of deep philosophical realization conversation with myself. Of course I have done more insane things without a raging fever as an excuse. That doesn’t make me want to talk any more though. I adjust my body and let out a soft moan as I turn over onto my stomach and bring one knee up and to the side. It only becomes uncomfortable again when he lets out a satisfied groan. He gets on the edge of the bed and crawls over me slowly and awkwardly, pausing just as awkwardly with his stomach against my back. He chuckles again as he leans down over me like the heavy weight he always has been since the day I decided to change my life. I knock him off to the side where he eventually rolls off and crashes against the floor.
Spike2: When did you get such a supple ass for a man? Did I always have that, or have you just been working it out more these days?
With a shameful cracking noise, the sting on my backside rushes up to the small of my back as he withdraws his hand after a firm grab. I growl, but remain quiet otherwise as he slithers under the covers next to me. He wraps his arm around me, lying on his stomach and looking right into my eyes. I close them quickly so that he doesn’t get the satisfaction of getting to me, no matter how hard he tries.
Spike2: Of all the people in the world, I don’t understand why you refuse to acknowledge my existence with a single word. I’m forever a part of you, Spike.
Spike: LOOK! I’m not so fucking narcissistic that I need to hear myself speak.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise and lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh as he shakes his head quickly from side to side. He buries his face in the pillow for just a second before noticing my face has not changed one bit. He stifles his laughter and his jaw drops when he realizes I wasn’t trying to crack a joke.
Spike2: Yes you do, Spikey.
Spike: No I don’t. I’ve changed, and you just can’t fucking accept that because no matter how hard you tried to make people notice you for the cruel things you did, nobody cared about you! You never got top tier title shots until the very end of your existence, and you just can’t come to terms with that, can you?
He stares deep into my eyes, giving me the exact opposite expression I would have imagined. He smiles with his eyebrows raised in surprise. I roll over onto my side, ready to face my demons. He rolls over to meet me in a very intimate shared moment that makes me want to throw up.
Spike2: The saddest part about all of this is that you have become even more narcissistic than I ever was. You just proved it by throwing your *air quotes* superiority… over me in my face. Say what you will of me, but I never once made myself out to be better than anyone, because I didn’t have to. I went out there and did it on my own.
Spike: BULLSHIT! You stepped on everyone who ever called you a friend. You stepped on Roxanne, you stepped on Jamie, you stepped on Apoc, you stepped on Demona, Mark, Nick, Jordan, Misty, Logan Kaine, Kittie, Mistress Payne, Tommy, Shaq Daddy, Tom Dudely…
Spike2: You mean to say WE stepped on them. After I was gone, you stepped on Misty on a daily basis. You used Jordan Williams to catapult you into the spotlight with Mark Ward. You then used Casey Williams, Vixen, Jessie Salco, Odette Ryder, Giani Di Luca, Derek Thorne, Jamie, and Aleksei Koji for Goddess only knows why. If you look at your record, you stepped on twice as many people as I ever did. Who is the dickhead now, you tasty morsel of… myself? I aged rather well…
I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Was I really that self absorbed? Better yet, was I right with the first part? I really am not a different person now, I just changed a little. I guess I did step on the people I mentioned. He knows I am thinking as he scoots his head in closer. His hand massages my lower back gently as he smirks in response to my own self doubts. He is starting to win now, and I simply cannot let him have this victory. Who knows what such a victory will do to me, or us…
Spike: I don’t know what the hell you are talking about.
Spike2: Well, the rough stubble, the slight age lines around your eyes and mouth, defining your face, you will be a hot Daddy type soon…
Spike: Not that you… you… you… ugh I can’t even think of the proper word to describe your weird, self-absorbed sexual attraction to yourself. It’s just a bit too weird for me, and if I ever truly felt that way, well then I deserved to have my head shocked on a weekly basis, because I am glad that is gone. I was referring to your accusations of me stepping on people. I have done nothing but help people out in Sin City Wrestling. I only went after the Heavyweight title because I was tired of people tip toeing around Nick Jones like he were a wrestling God who was never properly dethroned and never would be.
He looks at me, removing his hand slowly from my back. Maybe he finally gets the hint that I am not interested in myself like that. Nope, he begins stroking my cheek gently. The one and only thing he… I ever cared about was myself, so it is no wonder this is the one time he would show kindness to someone, even if it is extremely awkward. He pouts his lips out and looks at me with concern.
Spike2: And people used to call me delusional. You definitely don’t have a perfect bill of mental health, or else I wouldn’t be here would I? I mean, you stepped all over Casey Williams who had been working for that belt for about a year.
Spike: Oh PLEASE! There is a reason he was still hunting down that title after a years time. He wasn’t good enough for it! He tried and tried and he failed despite all of the pushing and coaching and coaxing. Who else was going to take the title from Nick? Believe me, I waited behind and waited for someone to step up and become a reputable champion but no fucking body could do it! Not Casey, not even that panty waste Rage. God, it’s like you watched Blade Alexander’s promo and decided to try drilling it into my head!
He looks at me with a wink and then pats my head gently before he turns over onto his back. He looks up at the ceiling for a moment as I roll my eyes at him. He slowly turns over to look back at me.
Spike2: If you hadn’t felt some kind of validity to his claims, would we even be having this conversation?
Spike: It doesn’t matter, because it was a bunch of desperate bullshit to get me to doubt myself, or make me feel bad for my actions so that he could come swooping in to take my title after he FAILED the first fucking time! He is sad, and could never even beat me on my worst day, and he fucking knows it! I beat Casey for the title after pushing him with my all toward it and Casey couldn’t stand the fact that I was better than him, so he turned on me. Giani couldn’t take that he isn’t good enough to be a top contender so he turned on me. Misty and Jordan thought they could do better without NXT outshining them because it would take away from their own shine. Jamie, Odette, Vixen, Jessie, and Derek obviously don’t feel like I am stepping on them, or they wouldn’t stick around!
Spike2: Yes they would because they are too stupid to see what you are doing to them. Or, maybe they feel like they look better because you have the top title of Sin City, and quite possibly soon you will have the top title of the NWA as well. Some don’t like to be outshined, while others don’t like to be fully seen.
I couldn’t take his sniveling any longer and I reach back to punch him dead in the nose. Instead of fighting it, he simply sits there and lets me. I hear his nose crack as he rolls over the edge of the bed, falling down to the ground. He slowly gets up but his stare hovers over me. As the blood trickles down his bent nose, he smiles at me. The blood pools over his lips before dripping down on the floor. I stare on in shock as he continues to speak.
Spike2: That was a good one, buddy… I hope you can do better than that when you face Rage or… Or… haha… you might not be coming back from Blaze of Glory as the Heavyweight Champion. You will do the one thing I never did… You will walk out of that match looking like a little bitch.
Spike: LIKE HELL I WILL!!![/b]
I use the last bit of energy I have and I charge at him full force. I give a vicious right hook that lightly breaks the skin on his left cheek. The blood trickles down his cheek as he lets out another laugh, this time a much louder, more patronizing laugh. He wipes at his cheek and shakes his head in amusement.
Spike2: Pathetic. You are nothing without that little bit of me left inside of you. That is the only reason you ever did anything worth talking about. Once you defeat me, you will have nothing, and you will not walk out of WrestleClassic with the NWA title. You will then fade to nothingness when you lay flat on your back for the three count against Rage at Blaze of Glory II. You will fade into oblivion, Spikey boy…
I reached back with all of my might, and I shoved him hard against the wall. I pound his face into the nearby mirror on the closet. Once I am satisfied for the time being, I spin his around and stare into his eyes. A crimson mask pours down from his hairline, covering his face in blood, but those eyes stay wide open as he stares at me. He laughs before spitting blood in my face. I can see a shard of the mirror protruding from his cheek, but he doesn’t skip a beat at all as the crimson spray hits my face.
Spike2: How in the world do you expect to beat Rage when you have nothing left in you? I am the only thing that keeps you going, Spike. You know I’m right. Without me, Rage will make short work of you, and deep down, you are afraid of him. That is why you sent those thugs after him at the end of Climax Control.
Spike: I never did such a thing. I proved it to the police last week when I was accused of doing that. I am not like you, Spike. I don’t hire people to do my dirty work. When I want something done, I do it to their face, not their back.
Spike2: Ooooh, all high and mighty aren’t we? Instead of giving people the courtesy of using them behind their backs, you use them straight to their faces. Once they get tired of it, and you don’t have me to fall back on, you will not only fade away, but you will truly be seen as the sad piece of trash that you are, and you will come begging to have me back. Without a title, without friends or family, and without your alter ego, you will truly be an empty shell of the man you could have been. It isn’t too late, Spike.
Spike: I don’t WANT you! I don’t NEED you! I can do better all on my own. Maybe I won’t be such a miserable bastard when you are gone, and I can truly feel happy like I try to pretend to be.
I toss him through the window, and he grabs onto my shirt, pulling me through it with him. We free fall for what seems like forever.
Spike: Without you, I will be a stronger person because I won’t be shackled with the guilt. I won’t need to feel responsible for the wrong I did in your lifetime. I will walk into the ring against Rage, and I will make him pay for patronizing me with those doll heads and wrecking my locker room. I will make him pay for putting on the friendly act and stabbing me in the back like the coward he is. I will go into Blaze of Glory as a Double Champion, and I will walk out of Blaze of Glory as a Double Champion! I don’t care what you say. I don’t care what Blade Alexander has to say. I don’t care what Rage has to say, I just don’t frrrreaking care what anybody else has to say…
Spike2: Freaking? Really?
Spike: What? I was at my “fuck” limit for this scene… So sue…
With that, we both collide hard with the cold concrete patio. I lie there motionless for a second as I try my hardest to catch my breath. My chest heaves, but I feel as if I can’t breathe at all. Finally, after much struggle, I finally get a deep breath in and I can feel the blue leaving my face. I take a few more breaths before looking over to see my old self doing the same exact thing. The back of my head bleeds to match his pool. They slowly pool and mix together as I struggle to say a single word, but can’t. He simply grabs onto my hand and looks deep into my eyes.
Spike2: I’m… I’m just scared. If you kill me, what happens to me? I can’t just die. What was my purpose then? What do I mean to this world?
I stare into his scared eyes, helpless to answer his questions. After all, he was and always will be a scared little boy. That is why we are no longer the same person. I have transcended such pitiful notions of fear. I have done amazing things in my life, and I don’t need to be validated by someone else’s opinion. He is still so young and naïve.
Spike2: Why don’t you answer me? What legacy have I left on this planet? I spent so much time ignoring others needs and desires so that mine could be meant, but what was it all for? I was a rotten bastard to every person I ever encountered..
I feel a tear hit my eye and it wells up as I try to hold it back. I can’t help but allow just the single tear to escape my eyes. I slowly sit up as he looks into my eyes, shaking with fear. I run my hand gently across his face as if he were one of my children. In many ways, he is like my eldest child. I pull him over to me and cradle him in my arms as he shivers in them. He rests his bloodied face against my chest. I begin to hear the song “Change (In the House of Flies)” by Deftones and my eyes close. Another tear rolls down my opposing cheek as I begin rocking back and forth with him. He buries his face in my chest, hiding himself from the world as I feel his pain transfer to me. This is when the tears really come crashing out. I don’t even notice the fever anymore, nor do I feel the possibly fatal wound on the back of my head anymore. He looks up at me and nods his head before looking away toward the stars. I lay him out flat on the ground as he grabs a rose from the nearby bush. The thorns dig into his hands as he folds his arms over his chest, proudly displaying the rose. He sniffles and looks up at me for one last time as I stand up and wobble over to him.
Spike2: We are blood brothers now.
His eyes wander over to our joint pool of blood before he closes his eyes. I look down at him and nod my head in understanding. I take a deep breath before lifting my foot up. It comes crashing down with all of my might across his forehead, and a sickening cracking nose nearly makes me want to vomit. That is when my eyes open. I hear my phone going off by my bedside and I moan as I reach over to end the Deftones ringtone. I groggily answer the phone.
Spike: Hello?
Derek: Brother, you must come out and meet me for a drink… Wait, did I just wake you up at eight in the evening?
I yawn as I look over to my digital clock at my bedside. It reads eight o’clock on the dot before switching to eight oh one. I stretch my muscles as I rolls my tired legs off of the edge of the bed.
Spike: Uhhh, yeah. It would appear so. But to be fair, I have a cold worse than any one I have ever had in my life…
Derek: There is a Swedish remedy for a cold that will take it right out of you my friend…
Spike: Is it the same one I learned in Germany, and saw again in Ireland?
Derek chuckles on the other end, giving me the answer I was looking for. I groan as I slowly stand up from my bed and walk over to the bathroom. I lift the seat up and adjust the phone against my shoulder as a trickling sound is heard.
Spike: Give me twenty minutes and I can be at any bar on the strip. Does Jägermeister count as cough syrup since it kind of tastes like it?
Derek: Grandfather’s cough syrup, ja? Hey, listen there is a… seven at one o’clock in a sea of fours so I am going to have to talk to you when you get here… Hello Fraulein, I wondered what that exquisite scent was…
Spike hears the phone click as the call is ended. He smirks and shakes his head from side to side as he flushes the toilet. He washes his hands and then runs the water over his face gently as the scene fades out…
*************************************************************
The day of reckoning is upon us all. I spent the majority of the last seven years shoving that part of me as deep down as I could for hopes that it would just go away. The monster that lives within each and every one of us, the one that we choose to ignore or tuck away is just clawing at my stomach. It wants to break free and wreak havoc on every one and every thing around me. It wants to see me go back to being the miserable person I once was. The war within has suddenly turned into a war outside of my own self. I can’t contain the malicious acts that will come of this impending war.
I don’t feel like I am strong enough to fight it after this latest incident with Rage. The respect I once held for the man has been thrown out of the window. In one fell swoop, he made me snap. He is the one who we can all blame if I never come back from this. He exposed my deepest wound, and he exploited it. Little does he know, he has not made me want to sulk or cry. He has not made me lose my focus. What he has done is made me even more determined to walk out of Blaze of Glory II as the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Champion with yet another successful defense under my belt.
This goes deeper than just exposing a wound. He also stole my championship from my locker room, hired some goons to pretend to beat him with it to tarnish the NXT name, and then blame me for the attack. How low can one person go? Gah! They never said that war was pretty, but this will give a whole new meaning to ugly…
THAT SONUVABITCH!
Spike Staggs is clearly not happy when he slams the NXT locker room door. He is nearly shaking with anger as he pulls out his phone, getting onto Twitter immediately to vent his feelings on the events of Climax Control. His eyes are about the size of saucers… angry, violent saucers as he types away on his screen. He doesn’t say a single word despite the fact that his brother Jamie is standing right by. Other than his fingers typing away furiously, he doesn’t move. Jamie approaches Spike cautiously, waving a hand in front of him to see if he is even aware enough of his surroundings. When Spike doesn’t respond, Jamie’s shoulders sink and he stands by, waiting for Spike to come back to reality. Spike lets out a loud huffing sound as he kicks over a trashcan containing the doll heads from the earlier “message” sent by Rage. He picks one of the raven haired boy heads and he throws it with an extreme ferocity as it cracks into pieces against the wall. He watches the pieces rain down in front of the crimson “7DS” dawn on the wall and a sic smile overtakes his face. He breathes heavily as a sadistic laugh escapes from his chest. There is a knock on the door and Jamie goes to answer it. Spike takes a deep breath and seems to calm down completely, holding a hand out to stop Jamie. When Spike answers the door, a hefty man carrying a bucket of paint walks into the room. As he enters, he winds up accidentally knocking Spike across the back with the dry roller. Jamie gives a look that screams “Oh shit…” as the guy continues in. He looks at the door, seeming to be very unhappy with having to mess with the paint job. Spike maintains a calm demeanor as he looks at the guy with a sweet smile on his face.
Painter: You wrestling types always make it hell on maintenance. Is it that hard not to draw on the wall like children?
Spike: See, this was supposed to be an attack on me and my stable.
The painter suveys the situation and takes a deep breath. He seems almost apologetic as he sets the bucket down on the ground. He turns to Spike and pats him gently on the shoulders, nodding his head as he does so.
Painter: Oh? I’m very fucking sorry to hear about that buddy. It is a real shame that you have to paint over it after going through the disaster of seeing a doodle on the wall… Oh, haha wait. You don’t have to paint it. I do. Here’s your bill.
He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket and shoves it into Spike’s chest before pulling the tray from under his sweaty arm pit. He grunts as he bends down to slide it angrily across the floor. He picks the bucket up and pours some of the contents into the tray, muttering under his breath. Spike crumples the bill in his fist as his wicked smile returns. He starts to head over to the painter, but Jamie heads him of.
Jamie: Hey, you don’t hafta be such a dick to my brother. He’s ben through a lot tonight and…
Painter: … and if I gave a shit, I would have brought a sympathy card or something, you nitwit.
Jamie grits his teeth together, rearing his fist back with one heck of a punch locked and loaded. The painter laughs and shakes his head before dipping the roller into the paint. Spike grabs onto Jamie’s fist and shakes his head in the negative. Jamie looks questioningly at Spike, but Spike holds a finger to his wickedly twisted lips. Jamie looks disappointed and ready to protest until he almost seems to read Spike’s mind. He covers his mouth as he chokes on his own laughter. He takes a few steps back and then begins pounding the wall when he can’t maintain his laughter any longer. The painter breathes through his nostrils and looks over to Jamie with pure annoyance painted on his chubby cheeks.
Painter: Look, kid. Do you need me to call the short bus for you, because you are just beginning to weird me out a little…
Jamie pushes his lips together, trying to straighten up his act, but the laughter comes out as an obnoxious snort. The painter leaves the roller sitting against the wall as he wipes his hands on his faded white overalls. He shakes his head and balls his fists up as he walks closer to Jamie.
Painter: You look like you need a real good ass ki…
Jamie jumps back about three feet, refusing to hold back his laughter any more. Before the man can ask a single question about Jamie’s actions, a massive wave of white comes crashing down over the man. His face is covered, hiding his expression as he soaks in what has just happened to him. He slowly turns back to face Spike who is holding a big bucket that is dripping the remainder of the paint on the concrete flooring. He has a big relieved smile on his face as he drops the bucket down to the ground. The painter waits for the paint to stop flowing down his face before he clears out his eyes.
Spike: You can bill me for the clean up. But don’t worry about charging me for the clothes, because I have enough to cover that…
Spike tosses a five dollar bill on the ground in the paint.
Spike: Oh, and Bubba? Keep the change, asshole…
Jamie dashes over at Spike, giving him a big high five and a proud hug before opening the door for his big brother. Spike is about to walk through the door when Vixen is about to enter the room. She doesn’t expect to see Spike smiling so brightly, and so she matches it due to the surprise. After only a mere second, she gets curious about why he would be smiling like this. Her first instinct is correct as she peaks past him into the room. She sees the paint covered man and her jaw drops. What seemed like the aftermath of a Dick’d segment is what makes her look over to Jamie. Jamie shakes his head innocently and points to Spike.
Vixen: No, Spike wouldn’t… You didn’t, did you?
Her worried expression is echoed in her thickened French accent as she grabs onto his arm, almost begging him to say it wasn’t him. Spike nods his head, quite pleased with himself, and Vixen smacks his arm with a grunt, but she can’t help laughing into his chest. Spike embraces her closely as he puts his chin on top of her head.
Spike: I know, I almost don’t believe I did it either. Would it help if I told you the ass hat deserved it?
Vixen: No, it wouldn’t. I would expect that from Jamie, but not you.
Spike: It is way better than getting an assault charge, Vix.
She can’t dispute this fact as she nods her head. Jamie looks at her as if maybe he should be offended by her saying that, until he sees the validity of her point. He shrugs his shoulders and the three begin walking down the hallway on their way to the parking garage. Before they get half way there, Ms Rocky Mountains comes around the corner with a bright smile appearing on her face. She readies her microphone as the cameramen quickly flock around her at her silent signal.
MRM: Can I get a word with you Spike?
Spike sighs and rolls his eyes at the idea of doing an interview right now, but it seems as good a time as any with his busy schedule ahead of him. He takes a deep breath and forces a smile onto his face and then looks over toward the cameras, propping his SCW title on his shoulder so that the camera gets the best view of it. Rocky smiles as well, but not before adjusting her glasses a bit. She nods at the camera, hearing the countdown from the cameraman. 3, 2, 1…
MRM: I am here with your champion, Spike Staggs. Spike, there are rumors going around that you have turned…
Spike: What? What the hell are you talking about Ms Mountains? I haven’t turned into anything?
MRM: Well, Rage certainly did not attack himself backstage earlier tonight. The assailants had NXT merchandise on them, and one man even had the SCW Heavyweight Championship belt on him when he was attacked.
Spike scratches his head with an intense look on his face. He looks down to the championship belt on his shoulders and he realizes how guilty he looks and this only frustrates him more. He closes his eyes, trying to think of something he could say that would help explain it, but he can’t. Vixen rubs on his shoulders, letting him know that she believes him.
Spike: You know what? The whole fucking world seems hell-bent on believing that I was responsible for that attack on Rage, but even if it had been me… did they not see that I got attacked too? Did they not see that I was attacked on a level that makes me wish it had only been physical?
MRM: So, you are admitting to the fans that you did, in fact, attack Rage a few hours ago?
Spike: NO! Look, everyone is going to believe what they want to believe, but the fact of the matter is that I was off taking a private phone call. I have no real alibi, but I did NOT attack Rage. I am not going to try to convince you that I am a victim here, because what good would that do? It doesn’t take back what happened earlier to myself or Rage. Neither one of us is the good guy, Rocky.
Spike lowers his eyes to the Heavyweight Championship and he studies it carefully. He almost seems to go off into a momentary trance, his eyes moving across the belt as everything else seems to tune out. Rocky clears her throat, waiting for Spike to continue, and he finally seems to snap back to reality.
Spike: I would love to sit here and convince you that I am the one who has been wronged, so you should cheer for me above Rage, but the fact is that both of us are selfish men who want nothing more than to have the glory of being your champion. Neither one of us is a better person who deserves the cheers of the fans above the other. We are only doing what we can to come out of this as the top dog. Whatever happened to us today, we are both deserving champions. Unfortunately, I have done what he couldn’t do without the assistance of his stable mates. I defeated Nick Jones against all odds. I did it despite the fact that his Entourage tried interfering, distracting Christian Underwood in the process. I had every odd in the book stacked against me, and I still defeated him to carry this championship.
MRM: I thought you said neither man was better than the other?
Spike: I said neither one of us is more innocent than the other. Neither one of us deserves the support of the fans more than the other. When you compare skills, I have done more in my career than Rage could ever dream. This is my third Heavyweight title reign, both lasting months rather than one and a half. I have held a number of championships beyond that. I was born into this business, and I don’t mean in the way a spoiled Prince is born into the royal family. I mean that I have lived this business since the day I was born. I have been eating, breathing, shitting, and living this business for thirty one years now. I didn’t join the sport as some way to relieve my anger issues.
Spike narrows his eyes as he talks, acting as if what he is saying is a given. He shakes his head in aggravation that he even has to explain himself to anybody. Vixen rubs his shoulder, trying to cut down on his intensity a little, but this time it does not work. Instead, he props the belt up on his shoulders to further prove his point.
MRM: While that might have been the origins of Rage’s career, don’t you think it is a little naïve to think that Rage is not a worthy competitor? I mean, you said so just moments ago.
Spike: As worthy as competition gets here in Sin City, yes… Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean much when you are going up against the best. Despite all of that, I am going to be the one who looks like the asshole because I have the goddamn balls to speak the truth. Anyone that the higher ups have thrown my way, I have defeated, whether it be for the title or not. There is only one man that I have not defeated, and that is my former mentor, “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward. Believe me when I say that there is a big difference between him and Rage. Of course, that makes the fans hate me for giving respect where it is due. Instead, the fans are going to cheer for the guy who gets off on the idea of having a heart attack before he hits forty. They want to cheer for the guy who acts all big and bad, but hardly backs his words up any better than Casey Williams. They are both big, dumb, smelly apes who don’t even hail in comparison to me. The fans want to cheer for a guy who has to hide behind some self-righteous, star-fucking, idealist who constantly contradicts herself much like Buddhist version of a Westboro nutcase, ignoring doctrine when it doesn’t suit their cause. It is fucking pathetic, and if the fans want to cheer for someone like that, then I hope that they won’t hate me too much when I kick Rage’s ass and walk out as the champion. No, I will walk out as a Double Champion…
Spike points to his empty shoulder, signaling where the NWA title will be in just under two weeks. He nods his head as Vixen claps her hands in support. Spike takes a deep breath, wiping a bead of sweat from his upper brow. He leans over to Vixen, giving her a long, passionate kiss on the lips as Rocky appears to be waiting politely. When he pulls away, he starts taking a step away from the camera.
MRM: Spike, I want to ask if you…
Spike holds up a hand in her face, looking a bit annoyed by the interruption.
Spike: We’re done.
MRM: But Spike…
Spike: I said… we… are… done!
Spike marches off as he finally lowers his hand to his side. Vixen quickly follows after Spike, as does the oddly silent Jamie. Rocky shakes her head, ready to say something as the other cameramen turn their cameras off. Jamie pops up behind Rocky, gyrating and making slapping motions to her behind as the scene fades… TO BLACK!
As I sit here in my locker room, waiting for WrestleClassic 2013 to start, I can’t help but wonder what might happen in my Main Event Cage Match against Chris Xtreme. I want to win the NWA title, but a little part of me wishes it were Rage and I. The things I would do to him would be spectacular. With an audience of this caliber, it would be a perfect place for me to start this war. I am imagining the steel cage slicing at Rage’s face as I work out all of my aggressions. Instead of grinding my boot into Chris Xtreme’s spine, I imagine doing it to Rage. Instead of beating the life out of Chris Xtreme for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship, I wish I were destroying Rage to defend what is already mine. The victory would be just as sweet for my career, but it would be much more satisfying to settle the score with Rage.
As I told Rocky Mountains almost two weeks ago, neither one of us is more worthy of the fans affection than the other. Our war is not an unselfish one for either of us. I don’t expect to use my NXT team mates to help me fight my battle. My own selfish actions will be carried out by myself. I will not release weak propaganda to tell people they should be on my side, because quite frankly, I don’t give a damn. I am here to prove that I am the top champion, not only in Sin City Wrestling, but in the National Wrestling Alliance. It all starts here tonight, but the real war will come when one of us goes down in a Blaze of Glory…
Rage? Are you ready? Have you made your amends with the dead? Have you been training really hard? Have you thought of new ways to get inside of my head, Jacob? If I thought you were important enough, I would have planned ahead more, and I would have worked my way into your head. You wouldn’t be left to question whether I am playing mind games, because you would know. I would make sure you knew.
As I pump myself up here in solitude, getting ready for the sweet reverie of the steel cage, I can’t help but realize that this is no exaggeration. I am not trying to be dramatic when I say this… This is war. Are you ready for it, Rage? Are you really?
