Climax Control 201 - Post Event With his duffel resting upon one shoulder, Nick stepped out of the Arena wearing the jeans, t-shirt, flannel over-shirt, baseball cap, and sneakers he entered with hours ago before the show's start, devoid of a piece of ring gear and feeling more than a little embarrassed for how he performed. There was a little sadness in his soul as he felt like he had let down his trainers, let down his psycho shorts-stealing tag partner, and most of all, let himself down too.
He pulled out his cheap, LG phone and began to post a few tweets expressing gratitude for the opportunity afforded him. Nick knew he was owed nothing, least of all a win. That was earned. The Wasted Youth permitted himself a few chuckles as he looked at some of the twitter posts. At least he kept good company on social media.
Nick felt the aches and stings of his match, as he always did regardless of the outcome. As he did so, a text came in. What he saw made his eyes go wide as he saw a tasteful shot of Raynin wearing his shorts and absolutely nothing else. It was a tasteful shot, her hair covering her breasts and overall just barely maintaining a PG rating. Blushing, he quickly swiped it away and deleted it.
“What have I gotten myself into?” Nick asked himself, quickly putting his phone away. Only it vibrated again. He pulled it back from his pocket and found a text from Raynin...
“Like what you see?” the text asked with a little kiss-face emoji attached.
“Uuuuuhhhhh....” He said allowed, not sure what to say in response.
He sighed and sat down on a park bench. How was he to respond to this? Nick began to type a few things on the screen, but kept deleting them. Was it really so bad that a girl was interested in him? It wasn't like she was out to kill him or anything. Then again, she did talk like she has multiple voices in her head.
“I'm so confused!” Nick said to himself, his head lowered as he sat the phone down in his lap.
“Why you look so sad, Nicky?” came another Text from Raynin, “Is it because we lost?”
As he began to respond, it dawned on him.... she was out there, somewhere, watching him. Nick's head lifted and he looked around for any sign of a half naked woman wearing his shorts. Of course he saw nothing. He was alone on this bench. Nick quickly rose and picked up his pace, trying to think of an alternate root to his work.
Quickly, The Wasted Youth ducked down an alleyway, not sure if he heard fast foot steps behind him or if it was his imagination. He knew Las Vegas fairly well and was certain he could lose anybody with a few twists and turns down the narrow passages between buildings. However, what he wasn't counting on, was stumbling into a drug deal.
As he turned a blind corner, he was greeted by the sight of three people standing in the alleyway; A woman who was pock-marked and rail thin, suffering from meth addiction, and two men who were selling her a bag of blue rocks. One man looked equally as devastated as she did, with ravaged pale skin and broken, rotten teeth. The other was quite a bit healthier, even buff looking under the gray hoodie and sweat pants he wore.
The man in the hoodie had his pistol in his hand in a flash and was instantly on Nick before he could even react. He found himself slammed against the wall with the barrel in his face as the man shouted at him, “THE FUCK YOU DOIN' HERE HOMIE?!”
“I'm sorry!” Nick said in a panicked tone, “I was just on my way to work and I took a shortcut!” He dropped his duffle bag, hands held up as terror wrote itself across Nick's face.
“Well this shortcut is gonna' cost you, boy!” the man said with a greedy look in his dark eyes.
Thoughts flashed to the rather nice chunk of money he just earned for his performance this night at SCW's Climax Control. He didn't want to lose his money, but the gun barrel pressed against his temple left him with little choice. Nick reached into his pocket and handed over a thick roll of rubber banded cash, tears in his eyes.
“WOAH, HIGH ROLLA' LOADED HERE!” The thug shouted before pistol whipping Nick with enough force to drive him to the ground in a daze. The man did a fast count of the money and pocketed it, then rammed his foot straight into Nick's gut, forcing a whooping cough from the depths of his throat.
“I think this is more than enough for you life, homes,” the thug said with a sneer, putting his weapon away.
“Next time I see you, you better have more!”
Fifteen hundred dollars was a lot of money to Nick, the most he had ever earned in one sitting. Yet when he arrived at the Conoco Maverick Gas Station moments later, ready for his shift at work, he still put on a smile and cut jokes for his customers as they came in to “Adventure Guide” Nick Steen. He knew why it happened to him and took responsibility for it. No one should ever take back alleys after dark in Las Vegas, Nevada. Ne never did receive anymore texts from his tag partner the rest of the night.
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The Following Morning The following morning he walked from the gas tation to his home, still feeling a bit down trodden until he noticed a peculiar package on his door step. Nick walked up to it, unsure of what to make of this discovery. He gathered up the box that was simply labeled in what looked like dark red finger paint, “From your #1 fan!” followed by a bunch of little red hearts.
Not putting too much thought into it, Nick gathered the box up and entered his home as quiet as possible, knowing his parents would be asleep. He inched his way through the house to his room in the basement where he promptly cut the box open with a box cutter. What he saw inside surprised him as it several pairs of wrestling shorts of differing styles with ring gear to match each one. Nick was in genuine shock as he looked through the box and then found a roll of money, rubber banded with only a small spatter of something red on it.
He counted the money and it was fourteen hundred and ninety two dollars. At the bottom of the box was some change and a pack of Marlboro cigarettes that had also been marred with small spatters of red. Again he blinked and tossed the smokes aside without much thought. Then he noticed a folded letter....
“Dear, Nicky,” the letter read, “I hope you like your new shorts! I also got your money back for you and made those bad bad men pay for what they did to you! Nobody does that to our Nicky! Love, Hugs, and Unicorns, The Other!”
He simply flopped down on his bed, staring at the money as he realized the small splotches of red were most likely blood and that someone may have died last night in his name. The Wasted Youth dropped the money on the floor and simply stared at it for a long time, not knowing what to do, what to say, or how to go about this.
Nick gathered up his phone and saw the texts from last night. His reply was one question, “Did you kill someone last night?”
The response was surprisingly quick, “I could.... want me to?”
“No, please no,” He replied.
“OK!
See you next week!"
With his fears alleviated, he began digging through the box and was surprised at the wide variety of wrestling shorts and gear that had been stuffed into it.
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Sunday - April 2nd - Climax Control 202 Nick fought his heart out against Ty West, but his opponent was bigger, stronger, and a bit more seasoned than he was. Try as he might, the Wasted Youth went move for move, but Ty always seemed a step ahead, even a bit cocky about at times. If he could've just calmed his excitement down and stopped himself from blowing spots, maybe he could've done a better job. Instead, Nick had been the Loki to Ty West's Thor and when he tried for one trick too many.
Ty seemed dazed for a moment and Nick crouched down on the turnpost. He felt aches and pains everywhere as sweat dripped steadily from his brow. With a wild cry, he leapt with a front flip as Ty turned towards him but instead of catching him for a DDT, he took a size twelve boot straight to the gut that took every ounce of wind from his lungs. The Wasted Youth thrashed violently and flopped to the canvas in a heap as Ty fell across him for the one.... two.... three.
Moment's later, Nick was helped to the back as pain wracked his abdomen. He was afraid he might have ruptured something, but wasn't sure. The referee helped ease him down on the bench, wincing a bit. The ref checked on him and Nick watched as Ty proudly walked to his locker room without a word or a glance in Nick's direction. He sagged a bit.
"Don't feel bad, Kid," The rail thin, grey haired referee said to him.
"You kidding, Ref?" Nick shot back.
"You kinda' got yer ass kicked there."
"Yeah, so what?"
The Ref quirked his brow, "You mean to tell me yer not tha' least bit mad about losin' to that big blond galut?"
"I'd be lying if I said I was happy to lose. No because win or lose, I am doing what I always wanted to do; Wrestle on live, broadcast television and streaming on the internet. So whether I win or lose, It's an honor and a privilege to be here."
The old man smiled at the young man beside him, "I wish I was more like you when I was a wrestler. I'd kill for even half that good natured spirit of yours, kid. Maybe I'd have been somebody instead of another guy in a striped shirt."
The ref slowly rises, patting Nick's shoulder and started to walk away.
"Hey wait, what's your name, friend?" Nick asked.
"Me? Ref and yes.....my parents were dickheads," With that, Ref walked away.
After a few minutes, Nick rose, still clutching at his aching guts and headed for the locker room to change and head home. At least he had a night off from work this time.
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Thursday - April 23rd - Promo Shoot
The scene opened with Nick Steen standing in front of a camera in a padded studio room that was sanctioned off from the rest of his basement dwelling. He wore a simple navy t-shirt, blue shorts and sneakers. Nick ran his fingers through the red dyed portion of his normally black hair, a touch he added the night of his first televised wrestling appearance.
"Alot of people get really mad when they lose," He said, "I want to ask the question of why anyone gets really mad about it. Is it a setback when you really think of where you are at that moment?"
He shot the camera a genuine, heartfelt smile.
"People forget that we wrestle because we can. Win or lose, we're all doing something that not everyone out there can do. I'm a dreamer following his dreams, living out a promise I made to myself as a small child watching the greats we all grew up with be larger than life in front of crowds that could populate any small town in America to overflowing."
Nick nodded, the red shock of hair on his head flopping back and forth as he did so.
"I lost the match to Caleb Storms and Sammy Marlowe and while I was down about it, at the same time, all I could think of was how great it was to just be there and be part of the show! The same could be said of my match against Ty West. Yeah, he booted me right out of the sky but you know what? He earned it. I didn't just lay down and let him steam roll me. I was a bundle of nerves, but I challenged him the entire match and didn't let up not one time!"
He leaned forward and pointed a thumb at himself, "Getting beat up doesn't make me who I am. Sure, it hurts like the dickens and leaves me bruised, battered, and maybe with some bones broken, but it won't stop me from hugging a fan or hanging out with their kid or kids. It won't stop me from making someone laugh or smile because I will find a way! I love life and where I'm at in it and it only gets better from here if you try and believe me, I'm tryin' hard!"
The Wasted Youth placed his hands on his hips, "So Chris Crippler, Quinton Cross, Josh Acquin, Caleb Storms, and Ty West, come at me brahs! We're gonna' get all face to face, the lights overhead white hot as the intensity in the ring as I look each and every one of you in the eye and the fans will scream because I am.... THE SUPER SHEEN, ULTRA KEEN, ALWAYS SEEN, READY TO GLEAM, LEAN-MEAN-GREEN-FIGHTIN-MMMMMAAACCCCHHHHIIIINNNAAAHHH!!! I AM....," He stoppped, almost dropping down to a low whispered tone, "the Wasted Youth," then returned to his full bravado filled shout, "NNNNNIIIIICCCCCCCCCK SSSSSTTTTTEEEEENNNNNNAAAAAAUUUUUHHHH!!!!!"
He then pointed his finger right at the screen, "SO FELLA'S! I'll be seeing you all on the 29th in our Edge Nightclub at the Spark's Arena.... KICKIN' DAT ASS, TAKEN DEM NAMES, AND CHEWIN' DAT BUBBLEGUM..... AND WE'RE AAAAAALLLL OUTTA' GUM!!!!" Nick then lunges forward with a hulkish roar, flexing his arm muscles, "RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! LLLLLEEETTTT'S DO THIS!!!!"
The view stays on him for a moment before finally fading to black.
