PARADIGM SHIFT VI // DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILSA MILLION GOOD INTENTIONS WON’T ERASE ALL THE SCARS IF THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS. ARE THE LINES GETTING THINNER? CAN’T TELL THE SAINTS FROM THE SINNERS – THE DEVIL’S IN THE DETAILS.
LOVE LIKE GRAVITY
•••••• WOLFSLAIR TRAINING FACILITY
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
“She did what?”
The dulcet tones of Dickie Watson were audible from even behind the closed door off Finn’s office at Wolfslair. The Seattle Saint was seated at his desk, feet propped up on the top and the palms of his hands pressed tightly into his eye sockets. Across from him, his little “brother’ (might as well be at this point and time) was seated literally on the edge of his seat, fingers clutching at the arms of the chair, an incredulous expression on his face mixed with abject horror. Behind him, arms crossed and a raised eyebrow nearly shooting into his hairline was Aiden Reynolds, the loveable Australian who tagged with Dickie as the team of The Commonwealth…and also lived in the second part of Finn’s apartment.
These were, as much as he wouldn’t like to admit it on most occasions, his closest friends. Who the fuck wanted to be friends with a dimwit Australian? Finn. Apparently.
“She just fucking popped out of nowhere.” Finn rolled his eyes. “Finny! Hi!” He waved a hand like a childish girl and flung himself backwards just a bit. “It’s not enough that I have to see her here and listen to her fucking tinny ass twang. I swear to God, she’s following me. I saw her at the corner mart the other day. She waved while I was cashing out.”
“You didn’t like…wave back did you, mate?” Aiden questioned lightly.
He hesitated. “I…did.”
“MATE.” Aiden slammed his hand over his eyes while he yelled. “Ah, that’s the worst fuckin’ thing you could do, aye. Crazy sheilas are always goin’ for the nice card, and then they get in and they–” he wrapped his hands around an imaginary neck and started shaking it, flailing about a bit.
“They become a fish out of water?”
“If wishes were fishes, motherfucker.”
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Dickie snapped. “Wishes, fishes, we’d live in an ocean. Stupidest fuckin’ analogy–”
“All right, so like…there’re a lot of fuckin’ fish in the sea, yeah?” Aiden questioned, like he’d already told Dickie this over a billion times already. “Clearly, we’re likeinin’ fishes to wishes and saying they’re the same thing. There’s a lot of fish in the sea, and there’s a lot of–”
“Get to the fuckin’ point. I’m not your child.”
“You ever tried to catch a wish?”
“No, but I’ve tried to catch a fish.”
Finn looked up at Dickie and Aiden. Truly, the hetero-lifemates that they were meant they often bickered like they were right out of the set of the Golden Girls. He leaned forward and pressed his hands to the desk, patting his papers and trying to get somewhat sorted out. “Is your quarrel done?”
“Aye.”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Because the second Emily popped her head in there, Kayla was right out of the gate and wasn’t bothering with the bullshit that I would have rather popped in the face myself. It was like she saw her and refused to fucking even be present. I’m not with her anymore. I’m not dealing with Emily, but Kayla and I were finally getting somewhere to talk about all of this bullshit, but–”
Dickie snapped up to his feet and turned the corner of his chair, heading for the door. “I’ma fuckin–” He was swiftly intercepted, however, by the bigger and taller Australian, who put him into a headlock. The slightly younger man flailed himself and put his hands up to ensure he continued to have an airway to breathe. “Lemme—“
“Ah-ah, Sparky.” Aiden shook his head, looking at Finn and purposefully ignoring his best friend. “So Crazy Shelia Em showed up, but you didn’t tell us how the rest of the meetin’ went. I mean, Kallie went with Tas to see her the other day because…I dunno why, but the kids tend to put the Demonically Posessed Richards sister in a calm mood. Said she seemed like she’d gotten over the whole…bamboozlement.”
“Bamboozlement?”
“Aye; I’m addin’ new words to me vocabulary.” And he was absolutely proud of himself.
Finn shook his head, a ghost of a smile crossing his features. As much as he generally hated stupidity, it was nice to have friends who at least understood that he needed some form of humor in his life. However, his hands shook. And he couldn’t get them to stop shaking. He shoved them down out of sight and rose to his feet. Maybe if he busied himself, he wouldn’t feel like he shot himself in the foot. He stepped out from behind his desk and headed for the door, grabbing a stack of files that he’d meant to give to Sonja for storage. Aiden promptly followed him, dragging Dickie along while keeping him in a headlock.
“We seemed to be on the same page,” Finn’s steps upon the steel walkway by the offices echoed on the gym floor, and he headed for Sonja’s office, setting the files there before stepping back out. “I mean, it was a little…it took a little bit to get there. She didn’t seem happy to be there, but like…we talked about it. Said we needed to start trusting the other not to just do their job. I knew she’d do that, she always looks out for herself, but we have to be the team that we aren’t. Told her she has to trust me.”
Aiden sucked his teeth in and Dickie’s eyes became alarmed. The younger man tapped on the Australian’s arm and got himself released from the hold. He placed a hand on the railing, watching as Finn descended the steps and headed out onto the gym floor.
“I’m sure that didn’t go so well?” Dickie questioned.
“I mean, she got shitty with me–”
“As is to be expected.”
“But I explained to her that we can’t do this whole thing where we can’t trust the other person but be a team. If we were going to do this – truly do this – then we needed to be the unit we used to be. I know she doesn’t want that. I know she doesn’t want to even be friends, let alone anything more, so I assured her that whatever we had before was–”
“Don’t tell me you said it was dead to you, mate.” Aiden asked in a quiet voice. Quiet enough almost that Finn didn’t hear him. The Virulence looked up at him and frowned. He didn’t have to say anything. Aiden and Dickie knew. And instantly, both groaned. “Mate!”
“I’d really fucking appreciate it if you both stopped yelling at me.” Finn frowned, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “It’s dead, isn’t it? She killed it back at Christmas, and no matter how long we floated in and out of whatever the fuck friendship we had, it’s dead. It’s gone. But we can do this professionally. We can do this well enough without needing to feel like we–”
“Callien,” Dickie’s voice was surprisingly calm and even as he looked at his brother. He didn’t yell. But he did cut him off. It was rare that Dickie or Finn called the other by their real, unsanctioned name. They both hated their pasts, their lives before they were wrestlers. But when it was serious, they dropped the act. “Kayla moved out because she couldn’t stand being second place to Emily.”
“Emily was a fling–”
“I know that, but Kayla didn’t. Whatever happened at Christmas…you put up walls. You put up every single wall that you always do when you feel like you’ve had something shit happen to you and you’ve put up…an enormous amount of bullshit that everyone has to wade through. I get it. All the shit with your ex-wife and…ugh, Elena…you just put a chasm between you and everyone else.”
“She’s not interested in me. Trust me.” Finn snorted, reaching for a roll of tape and wrapping it around his knuckles. “And it’s probably for the best anyway. We have championships to win, and we can’t do that if we’re focused on whatever fucked up relationship we have.” He sounded like he was trying to be calm himself, but everyone knew him in that room. He wasn’t. It was there. Underneath the surface, just barely setting to where it could be heard. “It’s done. We’ll work together, but that’s it. As a team.” With finality in his tone, he shook his head and turned away from his friends.
At the railing, Dickie and Aiden watched him walk away. Dickie frowned. “I’ma fuckin’ become the Zodiac Killer. I swear to god, I’m just gonna…” He clapped his hands together and then cut across his throat with his hand. “I’ma kill em all.”
“Okay.” Aiden rolled his eyes and patted his friend on the head. “If wishes were fishes.”
••••••
The devil’s in the details.
You’ve heard that saying, have you not? If you haven’t, here’s the way that I look at it: the thing that a person chooses to overlook is going to ultimately fuck them over in the end. It’s a story that’s as old as time. A parable used to teach little kids a lesson so that they’ll never make the same mistake again. Teachers use history to remind people of the downfalls of society, how not looking at the details of how something happens is what destroys everything. It’s easy if you’re just glancing, not really looking and listening to the meat of the story. To the words that come out of peoples’ mouths. To the actions and important pieces.
The devil is in the details.
We’ve been very candid about this for weeks, hell, even months, now. Prior to July, Kayla and I were very, very amicable. We talked, we hung out, we tweeted to each other on that godforsaken app. We were inseparable. Hell, we were a bit like the two of you dimwits – and don’t sit there and try to tell us that you guys aren’t friendly. Like, ugh, we just like don’t get along all the time! He hates me sometimes…and yet, here the fuck you are in literally every post on X either showing off your godforsakenly boyish body with music lyrics or sending cute little posts to dear ol’ fuckin’ Olly. Or mentioning Mikah, who at this point, the only person who gives a flying fuck about Mikah that still is in this company is Mark Ward…and I don’t think that’s as positive a scenario as you think.
You want to see two people that do not want to even be in the same room with one another? Then look at Kayla and I. We dislike each other on a personal level, but for the sake of this match, for the sake of this company that put us together, and for the sake of our careers, we’re coming from above and trying now to work on the same page. You won’t see Kayla sweet posting on social media, and trying to make a picture that doesn’t exist.
Let’s be honest. The only reason the two of you are together as a team is because of Kris Ryans and Mikah. Because of Jet City. Because like them, the only time that any of you have mattered in the past three years. The last time that Kristopher Ryans had success as a singles wrestler was in 2020. For a little more than 90 days. And didn’t he try to fake his own death too? Neither of you have been able to do a damn thing on your own.
But that’s the thing. The two of you pride yourselves so high on your own career that maybe you should take a seat when I remind you what I was getting at the last Climax Control: there is essentially no Mixed Tag Division here. The Barnharts, and the Wolfslair team are the only ones truly recognized. All the rest? Random pairings have been the option because people despise tag teams so much…so stating that you’re the most important champions on this roster? Kind of hard to be anything less when you’re the only people who are viable as contenders. There’s nothing to be proud of when the division is crumbling from the inside out. You’ve done well for three months. 90 days. That’s nothing to be proud of. Nothing to gloat about. You have had the bare minimum. Tempest and Austin may have been contenders but they’re as well an oiled machine as Michael Harris and suspensions.
But where you made a mistake? A fallacy? “I’m not going to pretend I care anything about them.” Bad plan. You should. You want to know why? Your thought that you’re both decent competitors? Cool Good job.
You’re both essentially rookies that have been given an opportunity to lead a division to the heights that someone else is supposed to lead them to. Instead, when the two of you captured these championships, everyone else that was even remotely interested decided to move out of the division and go back to doing their best. No one wants to listen to you throating Mikah and Kris Ryans down your own throats, and no one wants to listen to either of you guzzle your own greatness between each other just like they didn’t want to hear is back in 2022. They deactivated the championships so they didn’t have to hear from your fearless mentors because they killed it. And now you’ve killed the division just as much.
But like phoenixes, Kayla and I are going to breathe life into it. As much as we dislike each other, the goal will always be not to be better than our mentors – because literally fuck our mentors – but to have our name in the legacy of the limelight. You can call me gold hungry if you like. You can call Kayla a cunt, because she absolutely is. We have differences of opinion in how matches should go, but at the end of the day, we both live and breathe this sport. We know the levity of a championship. And we know what it's like to actually carry the mantle and not have everyone so disinterested in you because they simply don’t want to hear the things you have to say. We know how to make ourselves targets, know how to make sure people see us, and make sure people want to face us. We don’t have to sit there and beat our chests and state how fucking good we are. And if I have to hear it again? I may ask for someone to blow my ear drums out because it is so fucking pedantic and childish. I don’t care! I’m the best!
I’m not discrediting what you’ve done, Eiley. You came into a barely functional company in some of the spots and you have a decent record. Wins over people who are kind of trash, but good job kiddo. But you know who else has a decent record and isn’t fucking dimshit? Kayla Richards. I’m not worried about this match, not worried about Kayla showing up and showing out. She is a three-time champion here alone. She has been a champion and knows the stakes in which are present. We’re not going to act like you’re not a big deal. Kayla has always taken every match she goes into like it might be her last, because she knows how fucking important it is to not be content. To not sit there and think because you’ve gotten a championship, you can start to let things go. That’s what I did. And it fucked me over.
The only one of us that has a losing record at a pay per view is me, and that’s because I didn’t give a flying fuck about the Roulette Championship and I didn’t give a flying fuck to listen to Ken Davison spout bullshit. I know my issues. That is the worst way to be. You can call it what you want. I walked out when the win didn’t happen or whatever the fuck, but you? Watch the two of you cry to your mommy and daddy when the championships leave your hands, act like it’s not fair, and then turn around and try to rise again. That’s the cycle. Over and over again, that is the cycle, and that is what I love. Proving fuckers wrong.
Like you two. Twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five.
The devil is in the details. The unfortunate piece for the two of you is that that devil comes in the form of wolves.
••••••
COLLEEN’S COFFEE SHOP
NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK
“Kayla, wait–” He watched her walk away. Again. She didn’t say goodbye, she didn’t say a word. She saw Emily and she hightailed it out of the coffee shop with a dismissive gesture, and she didn’t look at him as she grabbed her bag and stalked out, hair flowing with the breeze as she left, ramming her sunglasses onto her face. Finn sat back, watching her go, before he tempered the rage that was building within his bones. His crystal eyes fell upon the voluptuous blonde, with her stupid Wolfslair shirt and her dreads and her veneers. She sat across from him.
“So like, it’s been a little while.” She said, reaching out and taking his hand into her own. Just like she did when they were…dating? “Like, how are you? How are things goin’! Was that a team meeting? I saw you guys at Cricket Control.”
Finn snapped his hand back, wrapping it around his coffee cup. Cricket Control.
“You guys, like, did amazing!” She pouted her glossy, pink lips and pressed her chin into her hand, propping it up on the table. “I mean, I guess they weren’t that great, but at the same time, like…you kinda…I mean, the hug at the end!”
He was beginning to see red. He was seconds from talking to Kayla. Seconds from trying to figure out this bullshit further more than what it was before. They’d agreed, finally, on being a team. They agreed that it was the right thing to do, the right thing to say, to have each other’s back. Not just because they were getting along, but because it was necessary to the survival of their team. It was necessary, and here again, she was. With her likes and her vapidness and her patheticness and her stupidity.
“So like, are you guys getting along now?” She reached into her little bag she brought with her and pulled out a lemon loaf, dropping her bag to the ground and proceeded to start eating it, dipping it in her pumpkin spice latte. “I hope so. I mean, like, she moved out and then you got stuck with each other.” She paused, and then she actually looked Finn in the eyes, dropping her mouth open. “Oh my god, are you like, dating?”
“No.” Finn replied, bluntly.
“Oh.” It sounded like she was trying to be sad, but he couldn’t ignore the smile that popped up on her face. “So…”
“I’m sorry,” Finn shook his head, trying to keep himself calm and serene as he uttered the words that came out of his mouth. “But what the fuck are you doing here?”
She had the audacity to look hurt, and pursed her lips again, folding her hands on her lap and (subconciously) pushing her arms into her breasts to make them bigger. Or consciously, maybe. “I just figured we could talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about.” Blunt, with an edge this time.
Oh, Finn Whelan was definitely filled with edge and malice right now. His whole vision had gone to red, and if he hadn’t learned how to cope with this so many years before, Emily might have become a red puddle on the floor that wasn’t identifiable by the time he was done with her. But instead, he balled his hands into fists and tried desperately not to sock her in the face.
“Come on, Finn…pl–”
Instead of even giving her the opportunity to respond, or for her to hear his voice again, he rose to his feet and made his way to the door, adjusting the glasses on his face with an annoyed swipe. He exited the doorway, ignoring Emily’s calls after him.
Maybe if he hurried, he could catch up with her. Maybe they could have a conversation. Maybe they could figure out what was really going on between them, if there was anything left, if there was something that existed anywhere that was still a remnant of their life before Emily. But when he got out onto the sidewalk, she wasn’t there. She moved fast, like she always did. And now, there he was, standing on his own once more.
They could be professional.
They could team and do this well.
But at the end of the day, he was alone. Of his own choices.
Part of him wanted this. But the other part, the one that relished in winning with her, the part that wanted desperately for this to be fixed, still sat on his brain, screaming at him about his mistakes. Today, he’d gained a true teammate. But it was clear: she was not a friend.
And she would never be again.
••••••
And now, for the feature presentation.
Oz. Ozzy. Ollie. Olly. Oliver Zahn, and whatever fucking name that you have today.
I refuse to be shamed by a team with Kayla Richards on it.
Time stamp 6:30, October 16th.
Is it because she has more balls than you do, Olly? Granted they’re on her chest, but you’ve got yours in Eiley’s purse from an outside perspective, so at least they’re on her person. I know what it’s like to be intimidated by a strong woman, and that’s the thing…Eiley over there breathes Taylor Swift and puppies. Kayla breathes venom and Monster Energy Drinks – they are not the same, and one of them is going to come out on top at High Stakes. How are you going to help Eiley, Olly, when she’s pinned? When she’s submitted? When she ultimately fails to succeed where you’ve so heinously failed on your own?
But Finn, I’ve won matches as a team. Have you? I took a look at that handy primer, and you’ve competed in eleven matches in your tenure within Sin City. Congrats. It’s kind of fun to break it down a bit more, though, so we can see a real picture from data. You – and Eiley as well, both lost at Blast From The Past, so that’s one loss for each of you. That means you two have tagged for six matches, which you both have won because…let’s face it, again, this division is nothing after the two of you put your hands in it. But before that, you have four losses in the company. One of a mixed tag, that means of your five remaining matches, three of them were singles losses and two wins.
On your own, Oliver, you’re nothing. With Eiley, who is holding the weight of this team…somewhere…you have a championship, but you and I both know you only opted to move to Mixed Tag because you couldn’t do anything else. While you’re chastising me for being gold hungry and greedy, you’re over here bitching about the fact that they removed the stipulations so that competitors can capture more of the things they’ve had opportunities placed in front of them. This was meant to stimulate the interest that the two of you destroyed, and get it so that the divisional restrictions were a little bit lightened so other stars might want to put themselves under the Sin City banner. This is business. When interest fades and divisions are removed, like this one was in 2022, that puts a bunch of wrestlers that are only as good as their partner out of a job.
I could have said ‘fuck no’. I should have said ‘fuck no’ when management came to me after I won with Kayla and offered me the opportunity to face for these championships. But what good would that do you, Zahn? What fucking good would that do for a division that desperately needs reinvigoration just months after its reinstated? You’d be out of a fucking job because you can’t do anything other than win with Eiley doing the heavy lifting while you do what needs to be done to get the job done. Jet City hasn’t done a fucking thing for you except made you a bitch. You’re Eiley’s bitch.
But you’re comfortable with that, right? You’re comfortable saying different things than your partner, and you’re comfortable facing Tempest and Austin – were those the two you mentioned that had qualifications and you’ve walked out as a winner? Yeah, Austin James Mercer has a happy little record, but ask him how many times he’s faced me and walked out the winner. He’ll tell you zero, and then he’ll get shitty and then I’ll have to put him back in his fucking place again. And while we’re at it, ask anyone at Wolfslair who has a win over me. Alex Jones and I despise each other, and even he doesn’t want to face me again. Because he knows the result? I’ll scalp his ass before he has an opportunity to defeat me again. Alicia Lukas, who’s getting placed in the Hall of Fame is a fucking Thundercunt and I’ll call her that until the end of the day.
You’re comfortable as a champion, but what happens when you finally face someone that has vitriol in his bones? Comfortability breeds complacency, and you can tell me a million times that you just want the legends of this business to see you for your worth, but your limits are going to be pushed, your shine is going to dim. We’re not just some last minute pairing that doesn’t make sense. And that is where you made your mistake with your details.
Kayla and I, while we don’t like each other now, have been wanting this since January. We watched Blast From the Past and we talked about how we could be champions if they had the Mixed Tags. We wanted to work together. We trained together, we lived together. We know each other well. We know how the other wrestles, when they need support, and together, we can move mountains. You are not stable. You’re not solidified into the ground with matches between Tempest and Austin, the Barnharts or anyone else that you’ve faced in your easy walk to gold. We may not like each other, but to question our existence as a team is a fallacy. For all intents and purposes, we are the most formidable team. We’ve jumped over our communication gap – and now? Now we have everything in play.
While you believe yourselves to be the second coming of The Black Sheep, the Reckless Elite,, you have leagues to go before you get anywhere near their capabilities. I don’t like them. I never did. Superiority when the company lives on through Chris Pages and Goths and fucking Ariana Angelos of this company. But Kris had a leg up on me once. I’ll be damned if you do it in his stead. You’re not next up. You’re fucking fetuses in the ring, and you haven’t learned the roads that we walk to greatness. You might be good. You might be great someday. But have you gotten messages from people in this business asking for you to attend their show? Watch their matches? Be a part of their roster? I have.
I got it here.
I was asked to come back, and I said I would when the time was right for me.
You? Neither one of you have ever had that, and while you think you’re happy right now and content and comfortable in your position, what happens when you lose your security blankets? How much worth will you have when Jet City can’t use your name to elevate their status anymore?
You’re as limitless as you are worthless, Oliver.
You can talk about how much you outsmart people, you can talk about how much you guys can get into our heads, but at the end of the day, you’re talking to veterans of the sport. I don’t give a flying fuck if you or Eiley don’t respect either myself or Kayla. When we were just starting out, we wore those chips on our shoulders. You’ve earned that. But to sit there and say you’re the greatest Mixed Tag Team Champions that walked the halls of Sin City?
No. I disagree.
You don’t have any equals, because we’re simply better than you. We’re better than your less-than-a-year long trek and your three month championship reign. Kayla and I, whether you respect us or not, are far higher competitors than you or Eiley will ever be. We’ve worked with one another, been friends with one another longer than you think. We’re not just limitless, we are completely unstoppable when we have our minds in the game and our crosses to bear. The Championships are ours for the taking, and we will wrest them from your grasp. And then what will you have? A new puppy?
I hope that’s a good consolation prize.
Winter is coming, Zahn. I sincerely hope that this puts everything into perspective for you. You are nothing.
The Devil’s in the Details.
Time to go to hell.