The camera pans in to rest on the back of a blond guy who is standing in the middle of a wrestling ring. The silence is nearly deafening until it is completely shattered by the sound of “KILLING IN THE NAME OF!” is heard. The Rage Against The Machine theme starts playing as the camera lowers down to spot a pair of rust red wrestling trunks. As the man turns around, we see Spike Staggs dressed up as Blade Alexander. He is sporting a cocky smirk as he looks out into the audience made of poster board, poorly drawn, and most of which sporting NXT symbols on their shirts. A loud booing noise erupts from the “crowd” causing “Blade’s” smile to get bigger. Spike turns around and places a foot on the middle rope, leaning down to look at the cameras.
Spike: Hi, I’m Blade Alexander… And I’m a douchebag.
He winks at the camera, standing there for a second as various clips of Blade Alexander play, showing off his sportsmanship, or lack thereof, followed up by a still image of Jamie Staggs and Rage standing victorious over a fallen Blade. We come back to see “Blade” lift his knee off of the bottom rope. He walks over to the center of the ring where there is a dummy lying down on its back. Next to him is another dummy wearing a referee shirt. “Blade” struts over to it and places his boot on the first dummy, leaning down a bit to look into the camera once more.
Spike: I have opinions that I am willing to offer when no one has asked for them to begin with.
He flashes his pearly white teeth as a cheesy star flash effect pops out of the corner of his mouth. The camera cuts down to see the referee’s hand being pounded down on the mat by a second pair of hands. He slaps the mat twice more as a bell rings. “Blade” removes his boot from the dummy and nods his head in approval. As he turns around, the scene whirls to “Blade” on the outside of the ring. His smile never fades. He looks over at a poster board “fan” waving a Spike Staggs sign in his face. He shakes his head and looks back to the camera.
Spike: I like to piss people off because it is the only way that people notice I’m not a new guy. I mean, I’ve been here since the beginning after all…
“Blade” rips the sign out of the “fans” hands and rips it in half before punching right through the chest of the fan, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. He sticks two thumbs up and flashes the cheesy smile once more, with the same star effect in the opposite corner of his mouth. He begins walking forward as the camera pans out a bit.
Spike: Yet they still don’t know me until I start sticking my nose in other people’s business since I’m not worth getting an actual storyline around here. Why else do you think I’m such an asshole?
Blade walks over to the SCW announcer’s table where mannequins stand wearing headsets and awful wigs. “Blade” shoves the “Jason Adams” mannequin down to the ground, reaching to pick up the headset. He puts it on and then takes a seat at the table.
Spike: If I weren’t so damn misinformed, I might make a better color commentator than a wrestler since I apparently know everybody’s business.
“Blade” gets up from the announcers table and then hits a bicycle kick to the “Belinda Simone” mannequin, breaking it in half. As he smiles once more, the scene fades to the backstage area where he is standing in front of the Women’s Locker Room. He points up to the sign on the door and then rolls his eyes, waving it off. He turns to fully face the camera, putting his foot on top of a random box sitting next to him.
Spike: Bombshell’s… who needs them, right? I mean, maybe if I act like I think they are idiots, it will mask the fact that I am jealous that none of them want to touch my tic tac of a penis. Has it worked so far? Of course it has. Or, maybe everyone thinks I’m a homosexual? Regardless, I’m not getting any, so call me what you want. I get off on being degraded anyway, because I’m a dirty, dirty boy… Is Roxanne watching? Ohhh, I hope so…
“Blade” opens up the ladies locker room and walks inside where another doll of some sort is standing. He spins the lovely impressionist around, spotting overly exaggerated mime make up underneath a raven black wig and a queen’s robe. The icing on the cake is that it is actually a dressed up blow up doll holding a staff, and the most unpleasant, angry look on her face. “Blade” turns around, clinching his fists together and gyrating at the camera, nodding his head.
Spike: Of course, I couldn’t have a segment without cracking fun at Misty, right? I mean, it’s practically my only true claim to fame around here. If I make fun of her enough, maybe people won’t realize that I’m acting like a ten year old kid with a crush. But, it is hard to tell if I want to nail her because I detest her for being the disgusting cur that she is, or if it is because I hope that somehow, somewhere deep inside, there is still just a drop of greatness left behind by Spike Staggs… And somehow, by finding it, I might actually gain a fraction of his notoriety.
“Blade” shrugs his shoulders and grabs onto the Misty mannequin, leaning her back and passionately kissing the doll, shoving his tongue into the doll’s mouth. He places his foot on another randomly placed box and slowly slides the dolls head down his stomach with another wink/smile combo. The camera quickly switches over to Jamie Staggs standing there, wide eyed and hands on his cheeks.
Jamie: Whooo-whuhhhhh???
We come back around to “Blade” walking through a pharmacy. He walks down the women’s care aisle, picking up various items as he goes, such as Vagisil, Tampax, and Summer’s Eve products. As his hand slides the douche off of the shelf, a row of Blade Alexander action figures are seen amongst other feminine hygiene products of the douche persuasion.
Spike: Sorry ladies and gentlemen, but unfortunately I don’t believe in making anything personable about myself in this business, so you are going to have to catch me when I’m not preparing for that time of the month. If you want to know what I have to say about Spike Staggs, watch one of my many similar promos and insert Spike’s name into the generic blank spots. I’m a wrestler, not a film director…
“Blade” hands the cashier a pile of Canadian bills as she looks at him confusedly. She raises a finger to try getting his attention, but “Blade” snaps his head back, barking at her. As he does, another random box is set up where he places his foot. As he opens his mouth, various star flashes fly out of his mouth.
Spike: Oh yeah! I’M CANADIAN! See? That’s something interesting about me, right? RIGHT?
The cashier’s eyes widen as “Blade” snatches the bags from the counters. He goes toward the door, putting his hand in front of the camera. As he gets closer to the front door, Jamie Staggs flies from behind a pile of clearance items and does a Baseball Slide toward “Blade” nailing him in the crotch with a hard fist. As Spike falls to the ground, the blonde wig falls off, and his messy black hair is now visible. His face turns even whiter, as if that were possible, as he crumbles completely to the ground.
Spike: Whuhhh-what the fuck, Jamie? Th-th-that wuh-wasn’t in the-the script…
Jamie shrugs his shoulders as the feminine hygiene products fly across the floor. A bag bursts open and Jamie sniffs.
Jamie: It smells like flowers and pickles…
Manager: I’m going to HAVE to ask you two to leave…
The manager scolds Spike and Jamie as the camera cuts off. Jamie’s laughter can be heard along with Spike’s pained groans.
THIS MESSAGE HAS BEEN APPROVED BY SPIKE STAGGS AND THE NEW X-TREMES… YOUTUBE IT BITCHEZZZ…***********************************************************
Each and every day shapes us in ways none of us could ever expect. Some days we wake up, thinking that this day is no different from any other. We might think that we are going to get up and do the same old routine, and crawl back into bed later that night. We expect to awaken the next day, repeating said routine. It is a safe, comforting feeling in some ways. That familiarity drives us. But only those who are blinded by ignorance actually believe the lies they tell themselves. Every day that I have awakened, I have made one step closer to where I am today. In the spirit of the Butterfly Effect, several factors have been set in place so that I could walk into High Stakes II as a loser, a freak, a joke… and walk out as SCW’s Heavyweight Champion…
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/B6QPL-IbteQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>I could look into those eyes for an eternity. They were green with little specks of blue, and the darkest, fullest lashes that with every bat, my heart would skip a beat and my breath would be drained from me. They were much deeper than anyone would have ever expected. There was so much life within her. I just couldn’t help but feel like a better person around her. This day was much different though. This day, more than any other, I felt a love that transcended all else. As I rubbed my finger, across her pale, porcelain cheek, she pulled her shoulder length black locks behind her. Nervously, she twitched, but my warm touch caused the twitches to turn to quivers each and every time. As “Baba O’Riley” played in the background, she bit at her bottom lip, and I just had to break the silence.
Spike: Kitten, what’s wrong?
She adjusted herself against my pillow, turning slightly askew to me. I felt the pangs of panic digging at my stomach, and I felt as if I were going to throw up. The thoughts raced through my mind quicker than I could even comprehend most of them. As my breaths started to turn shallow, She looked back into my eyes. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and I couldn’t help but run my finger across it, leaving a faded black streak on her cheek. She took a deep breath, stifled by the three words that would change my life…
Roxanne: Spike… I’m pregnant.
A confused, smile frown panicked expression waved across my face. She smacked my arm and turned away from me. The tears came out like a fountain.
Roxanne: How could I fall for such an immature asshole?!
Spike: No… No… I just… I don’t know what to do.
Roxanne: You don’t know what to do? How do you think I feel? My dad found the test and kicked me out, Spike. He called me a little whore and threw my shit out on the lawn.
The thought of her hurting that way just instinctively made me press my lips against hers. I grabbed onto the back of her head, as she sobbed between each tender, passionate kiss. I spat out my own words of encouragement in between.
Spike: We’ll… figure… this thing… out. I… love you… Roxie…
I felt her breaths colliding with mine, and soon enough, it was like she was sucking the air right out of my lungs; sucking my very essence from me. For what seemed like hours, we completely ignored the fact that there was anything different about today than there was before we had awakened. Oh the joys of being seventeen, not a care in the world, where you could ignore the big things and get away with it. After being lost in the throws of passion, she stoked my clean-shaven face, finding solace in my icy steel eyes. She uses the black sheet to cover herself up as she heads over to the personal bathroom. I stared up at the ceiling as day had quickly faded into night. As I caught my breath, I heard a throat clearing. Uncle Erik… fuck!
Jamie: You were doing it, weren’t you? You silly fucker! Hahaha… FUCKER FUCKER FUCKER!
I rolled my eyes as a fifteen year old Jamie Staggs came into the room. He began gyrating wildly around the room, slapping at an invisible entity (the only thing that would every lie with him…) and it wasn’t long before a seven year old Tommy came in laughing along with Jamie, but clearly not understanding what Jamie was on about. He picked up a pair of black laced underwear and gave me the oddest expression.
Tommy: These don’t even have Batman or Spiderman or anything on them!
Spike: Would you two just get the hell out of here?
Jamie: Why, so you can plant another baby seed in that while you listen to douchey retro music? Teenage Wasteland? How douchey.
Tommy: Yeah, how douCHey. But… it’s called Baba O’Riley, not Teenage Wasteland.
The two argued about it on their way out of the room, but I was quickly taken aback by the sight of uncle Erik leaning against the doorway. He waited for Jamie and Tommy to get out of earshot before narrowing his steel blue eyes on me. He walked over to the pile of clothes and tossed my black leather pants at me, sorting through my clothes and Roxanne’s. He walked over to the bathroom door and shoved it open with force. He threw Roxanne’s clothes at her viciously.
Erik: Get your clothes on and get the hell out of my house you dirty little Jezebel…
He stared at me for what seemed like forever until Roxanne emerged from the bathroom, in tears. She started to walk over to me for a comforting goodbye, but was quickly pointed to the door. She wiped at her eyes and grabbed her purse and headed over to the door. I looked up with those killer angry teenager eyes and gritted my teeth at him. For the first time ever, he reached over and in one fluid motion he slapped the taste out of my mouth. As if one wasn’t enough, he repeated it twice more and then let out an emotional growl. This was the one time, in a screwed up way, that I could tell that he actually cared about me. Also, for the first time, I sat back and took it. I had wished that instead of speaking, he would have pounded the hell out of me.
Erik: Do you know how shamed your parents are, knowing that you not only slept with that She-Devil, but that you got her pregnant, and they will be forever linked to that slut? They are looking down at you, weeping for you.
He paced back and forth, throwing his hands up into the air in utter frustration. He shook his fists and sputtered on his own words. This was the most I had ever seen him worked up, and I had seen him wrestle alongside my father ever since I could remember.
Erik: They entrusted me with your well-being, and you spit in all of our faces, Spike. You of all should have been smarter than that. I would have not been at all surprised if Jamie came home and said he knocked up some poor, dumb broad… But you? Are you fucking serious?
Spike: Yeah, because you set a great example by bringing three chicks home a night and forcing me to hear you fuck their brains out against the wall…
He leaned down and wrapped his hand around my throat. I smiled at him with that wicked smile, but he only mirrored it as his eyes widened in rage. He didn’t really choke me as much as he was showing me who was the dominant one between us. It was then that he said the one thing he would never admit to.
Erik: You are a smarter man than I am, Spike. Next to your father, you were supposed to be the smartest one in the family with the brightest future. Instead, you are out there fighting in stupid little pricks’ backyards, making a mockery of this sport, and banging the neighborhood tramp!
He ripped his hands off of me. He went back to pacing back and forth, wiping at his face as if he were sweating profusely, or that somehow it would wipe away the situation. He began spouting off about the military or boarding school or beating my ass, until the sadistic smile that I had adopted from him spread across his face. He looked down at me as if he were about to delve out the most grueling punishment imaginable.
Erik: You know what? I’m going to separate you from that trollop and make you see what wrestling truly is about. I heard your second cousin Sebastian was training under the finest Germany has to offer… Another Staggs of course. You’re going to take an extended *air quotes* vacation to our homeland, son.
Spike: Fuck you! I’m not going, and you can’t make me!
Erik smiles sweetly at me as if his expressions went from day to night in an instant. He gently stroked my messy hair, pushing it back to mirror his own. I shoved his hand away defiantly because there was no way in hell I was going to let him ship me off to that sauerkraut stinking country and break up my future family.
Erik: Fuck me? Fuck you, son!
Spike: Don’t call me son, you’re not my dad! You aren’t even half the man my dad was!
Erik: See that is where you are wrong. Your dad never gave a shit about you boys. Everything was about him and his career. I’m doing the ultimate display of love for you, Spike. I’m actually giving a damn about you. Hate me for it all you like, but one day you will thank me…
I might not have been able to tell it then, but Uncle Erik was right. In the second and last display of emotion, I did one day thank him. Had it not been for him, I would not have ever stepped out of the hardcore scene. I would probably be dead or disabled by now. I would never have been able to support my son. I would have never met Misty and had my second child. I would never have met “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward. I would have never made him feel threatened enough to break my knee. I would have never pissed him off by spitting in his face every chance I got, and I would not have targeted Nick Jones. I would have never been caught by the ever so popular Blade Alexander. I would have never made it to see the day where I found someone that I could trust with my life. The only person I have ever felt was as close to me as my own brothers… Derek Thorne…
<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/5DcF2Y3T6uE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>My headphones were tucked neatly into my ears as I listened to the soothing sounds of “Die Schlinge” by Oomph played. I knew I was in for a rude awakening, but never in my wildest dreams did I realize the true meaning of walking into the lion’s den. I straightened out my black A-shirt to match the smooth, even texture of my black and white track pants. I then took a deep breath and pushed over the door to the gymnasium. The second I walked into there, the temperature was cold and unforgiving, as if the air conditioning were on in the dead of winter. I could see my breath as I watched forty-two eyes slowly gaze over to me. I wanted to freeze up under the pressure, but it was like some other force had taken control of my body. I smiled arrogantly as I approached the group that was standing in front of the four sided circle. The only person that I knew in this crowd was my equally arrogant cousin, “8*Ball” Sebastian Staggs. His icy eyes rested on me as he looked from side to side. I walked right past him, bumping shoulders with the cocky prick. I leaned up against the white ring apron. The many words flying at me from the mouths of the more seasoned competitors were nothing but a blur to me as the music continued playing through my headphones. The instructor, Herr Ferdinand, approached me, shouting at me as I rolled my eyes. He didn’t take kindly to that as he ripped the headphones out of my ears and threw the primitive mp3 player down to the ground, stomping it to bits.
Herr: Wenn Sie in meinem Fitness-Studio sind, werden Sie mich nicht Respektlosigkeit! Wenn Sie es wieder tun, wird es das letzte, was sein, was, das Sie jemals tun!
The laughter rang out from the others like a pack of hungry hyenas as they are stalking their pray. I simply nodded my head, only understanding every other word, but enough to get the picture. I smiled wickedly at the man, knowing I was closer than ever to getting what I truly wanted.
Spike: Fuck off old man…
Sebastian turned to me with a look of complete and utter shock. Being the snake that he is, he immediately taddled to Heir, whispering in his ear to explain to the man what I had just said. The few within earshot of Sebastian chuckled, eyeballing me as if I were a brand new punching bag. To give him a clearer picture of what I mean, I flipped him the bird, causing the rest of the group to join in. Heir lunged at my finger and grabbed hold of it, nearly snapping it off, causing me to submit to him.
Herr: Fick mich? FICK MICH?! Bumsen Sie Sie faul, dumm, üblen American Stück Abfall!
The groups laughs grew louder as I stood there, quickly learning my place amidst the monster of a man. As unexpected as it was, the discipline that I learned from Heir Ferdinand was much harsher than anything I could have ever learned in America. He had quickly pointed out that I was a lazy, rude, foul-mouthed American punk, and he was absolutely correct. But as harsh as he was in those first few moments of us meeting, he also warmed up much quicker than anyone I had ever encountered in America. However, his way of warming up left much to be desired.
Herr: Spike! Sie zeigt mir Ihre Spielstärke gegen... Derek! Los geht 's Herren!
I chuckled as I pulled myself onto the ring apron, quickly getting inside of the ring. My low laughter was only further encouraged when I saw the lanky, pale, dirty version of a pretty boy getting into the ring. His blue track pants were stained with what can only be expected as blood., and he ripped off his navy blue A-shirt, tossing over the top rope. His blonde hair was neat considering the rest of his appearance was somewhat of a mess. He glared at me in a different way from the others. I just knew he was some sort of special maniac, much like myself. However, I was always a lone wolf kind of monster. We were two of a kind. Even not knowing him at all, I could tell that much. His lips puckered together as he blew me a taunting kiss. His lips then parted into a half smile, encouraged by the laughter and taunting from those on the outside.
Derek: Sissy American... See if you can last five seconds before I send you back.
Spike: This coming from a filthy Swede? I will take my chances, friend.
He scoffed at my foreboding, unconscious realization, and the whistle prompted us to meet up in the center of the ring. We locked up in one of the most heated, unstable displays of power I have ever seen. Using my size advantage, eventually I powered him into the ropes. I hit a few chops to the chest instinctively, prompting Herr to clap his hands together, shouting out words of encouragement. I then Irish Whipped him across the ring. When I went to charge at him, a hand from the outside tripped me up. I immediately fell to the ground, flat on my face. I turned my head to find my jealous cousin grinning back at me. I got up to my hands and knees, and returned my gaze to Derek... or rather, the bottom of Derek’s boots as he dropkicked me into the next week. I was seeing stars, but I was also used to that given my backyard“wrestling“ experience. He grabbed me by the back of my head, and I gripped onto his wrist. I flung him over and he landed throat over the middle rope. I grabbed onto the top rope and used it to fling myself up and over, landing a Guillotine Legdrop on brother Derek. Herr was shouting at me, but seemed to be more out of surprise than reprimand. He shook his head, trying to contain the joy. I looked down at him, taking notice of the joy in his eyes. He had never seen a big man who could move like a cruiserweight. I flashed him a proud smile. It lasted for what seemed like moments, when in reality it was only seconds before Derek spun me around and hit a surprise neckbreaker on me. I fell down, the room spinning all around me. I looked over at Derek who was in the same prediciment as me. Our breaths visible as we lied on the mat. He stifled out a chuckle, as did I, both of us doing our best to catch our breath. The whistle blew once again, prompting us up, but neither one could contain the inevitable laughter any longer.
Herr: Aufstehen, Sie beide!
Weakly, I rose up from the mat as Derek got up to his knees. I extended a hand to him, which he declined, getting up on his own. We had shared a moment that would lead to our everlasting friendship, but we were far from that point then. The seeds had been sewn, and everything had been put into place, leading me to where I am today.
The scene picks up with Spike staring into the bathroom mirror. The lights are rather dim against the grey, chipped walls. He is wearing a grey A-shirt and black boxer briefs. His hair is a disheveled mess and the blackish pink circles around his eyes indicate he has not slept in days. He slowly blinks his eyes as he clutches onto the counter. A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he stares into his own reflection, remaining quiet as he does so. He slowly tilts his head to the side. A weary smile spreads over his face, much like the Cheshire Cat, his bright pearly whites reflecting the light to further support this. Another soft chuckle escapes his lips, turning into a little more of an uproarious laughter that lasts for nearly a full minute. His booming, commanding voice powers the laughter, sounding much like that of a mad scientist in a B-rated horror movie. However, he maintains eye contact with himself the entire time.
Spike: You… you think I’ve gone mad? … Mad as a hatter?
His voice echoes off of the walls as a sharp, piercing sound begins ringing in his ears. His smile fades, but he refuses to submit to the bloody sound by clutching his ears. Instead he lets out Shamrock-esque screech followed by more laughter. He raises his hand, pointing out a black fingernail toward the mirror.
Spike: Maybe it is you who has gone mad. DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT?!
Spike’s jaw drops as he stares on at his own reflection. His eyes widen as he sees a small flash of something behind him in the mirror. It was some sort of white garb that quickly vanishes. He turns around to hear the curious meow of his black cat, Dero. He looks up at Spike, purring as he rubs his entire body against the doorframe. Spike leans down to pet Dero, but the cat turns around and waves his tail in a sort of “come hither” manner. Spike gently grabs onto the tail as the cat pulls it out of his grip playfully.
Spike: Aww, Dero. I can’t come and play with you. Can’t you see that I’m having a conversation here? I’m trying to find out why he looks so much like me…
Dero: There is a rhyme and a reason to everything, Spikey boy… Prrrrrr… Come and hear the music, it will explain everything.
Spike cocks his head to the side, staring at the talking cat. He strokes his chin curiously as he leans down further, looking at the cat. Spike shakes his head from side to side in disbelief.
Spike: Dero, I’ve known you for seven years now… I never knew that you talked...
Dero: Yes, Spike my boy, I do talk…
Spike: … with a British-Irish accent! I can speak Cat-onese though, so maybe that is why I never noticed. A British cat and an American cat sound the same, I suppose.
Dero: Has anyone ever told you that you are a mad genius? I never noticed such a thing before, but you are right. Just the way you once proposed the preposterous notion that a pineapple is in fact no part apple, nor is it any bit pine tree of any species. Mad, simply mad…
Spike nods his head in a very serious manner. He slowly blinks his eyes once more, finding himself in front of a wall mirror. He watches himself talking on his cell phone, but he looks over to find both hands empty. He knocks on the mirror, but his reflection doesn’t answer.
Dero: Go to him mate. If that is where you truly belong, find your way to Mirrorland if it is what you must do to stop creeping me out with yer talking of cats and dubstep ringing in yer head.
Spike: I never said any of that though…
Spike places his hand against the mirror. He watches his reflection talk on the phone until, out of the blue, the reflection throws the phone through the glass. The shards gently fly forward, looking like a sideway snow. The pieces flutter across his cheeks, causing a slight smile to form on his face as the shards leave small, delicate crimson marks on his face. He gently places his tongue out as a piece of the glass softly lands on his tongue. It melts into it, causing a small pool of blood to form on his tongue around the silver tongue piercing. It leaks down onto his chin as his eyes turn to watch the phone fly past his head in slow motion. A soft suction seems to persuade him toward the darkness where the mirror once was. Spike slowly walks forward, his feet crunching on the mirror shards on the ground. He feels no pain as he leaves a streak of blood behind him. He walks over to the hole in the wall where he steps through. When he looks back, he sees nothingness. All around him, all he sees is blackness. In a weird way, he felt even more comforted by the quiet abyss. The only noise heard is that of his soft footsteps. He felt a slight pain across the front of his body, almost like a light tearing of flesh, but the pain was refreshing. He looks over to his right to see a bright white room with nothing but a soft, white, feathery floor. He walks toward it, and as he steps into the light, he notices the boy. That child that has haunted him for nearly five months. They are both standing there in white, heavenly garbs. The much smaller child looks up into Spike’s eyes, both staying silent. Spike reaches out and takes hold of the boy’s hand. They begin walking across the floor, white feathers snowing down upon them as they venture into the seemingly endless space.
Spike: Who are you? Will you tell me? Please?
HWAN: I am the product of everything you once had. It is because of you that I am bound to you.
Spike: Are you a Guardian Angel? MY Guardian Angel?
The boy looks up at Spike with a soft, innocent smile on his face, but he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. Instead, he tightens his grip on Spike’s thumb as they continue to walk. Spike looks down with the same sense of recognition that he always had. He then looks ahead of him at the endless field of white.
HWAN: It was by the grace of our heavenly father. That is all that you need to know. You are destined for greatness, Spike. You just lose your way now and then. Since you created me, it is my duty to serve, honor, defend, and protect you.
Spike: So there is a reason for this visit? You can’t just stop by and say hi every once in a while?
He Without A Name looks up to Spike with a slight grin on his face. The light inside this boy seems to momentarily defeat the darkness inside of Spike. A single tear appears in the corner of Spike’s eyes for seemingly no reason.
HWAN: Since when did you turn into Dean Winchester?
Spike chuckles, wiping away at the tear with his free hand. His steel blue eyes meet up with the boy’s in what only reminds him of the mirror once more.
Spike: The moment I realized you were my Castiel…
HWAN: I am honored you would even consider me as important… My reason for being was never changed, only the method in which I perform my duties. Just like now. You called for me because you fear your encounter with Blade Alexander.
Spike: Bullshit! That little whiney maggot doesn’t even concern me. He just needs to be taught a lesson, and since no one else has had the balls to step up and take him to class, I decided I would take the time out of my busy schedule to do it. Fear is not even a factor here.
HWAN: That is what you believe. But deep down, you are afraid. I can see it inside of you. It shows through your eyes as you try your hardest to avoid the topic. You fear him because you know little about him. And that which you do know of him… reminds you of yourself.
Spike scoffs at the notion. He slowly shakes his head from side to side, completely in denial. At this point, he refuses to make eye contact with HWAN as he looks off to the side.
HWAN: You are both second generation stars, Spike. He is a very impressive up and comer around Sin City Wrestling, much like you were in Generation X Wrestling. He thrives on fear the way that you did. He bullies, and plays mind games. He is a blonde version of you from six years ago.
Spike: You know what? You are absolutely right, kid. We both live this business, and have done so our whole lives. He is talented. But the fact remains that I am simply superior to him in almost every way.
HWAN: Oh? Considering you have never come close to fighting him, somehow you know this? Being presumptuous is part of the reason I’m here…
Spike: First off… Do you know who has a pinfall victory over Blade Alexander? Hm? Jamie… JAMIE FREAKIN’ STAGGS has pinned Blade Alexander in the inaugural tag tournament.
HWAN: Well, Jamie was on top of his game at that point, Spike. If you were ever to meet Jamie when he was in such a condition, are you one hundred percent sure you would beat him?
Spike stops and curiously strokes his chin. He thinks to himself for all of a second before raising his fist into the air.
Spike: Ummm… yes!
HWAN: What if he realized one day that he was talented enough to be a World Champion, or even SCW Heavyweight Champion with enough focus? You don’t think he could be a dominant force? You can’t say that you honestly believe that… It is hardly a fair point to use in saying you could beat Blade Alexander.
Spike: It is completely fair. Blade Alexander is supposedly this big bad ass technician who fears nothing and always has some crass, far-reaching insult to hand out. In my mind, he is a little bitch who complains that he doesn’t get anything because he doesn’t work to earn it. He wants to insult me for settling for being a regional champion. Fuck him! Being the SCW Heavyweight Champion is by far more impressive in my book than being NWA World Heavyweight Champion. Had I not had personal issues, I would still BE the NWA World Heavyweight Champion in addition to SCW Heavyweight Champion.
Spike lets go of HWAN’s hand and clinches his fists together angrily. He bangs himself against the side of the head, trying to kill the ringing inside. He grunts before clinching his eyes closed.
Spike: Everyone said I couldn’t do it, so I put everything I had into winning the NWA title. Blade and others then said I was doing nothing for my region, and when I lost the NWA title, I defeated anything the bosses threw at me, on top of being an NWA champion. Yet, somehow I brown nosed my way to the top. Interesting, but not as interesting as the fact that once I did take Mr. Alexander’s advice and focus on my region, then…
THEN I was a piece of shit who gave up the hunt for the NWA title. I was a bitch, a coward, and a million other degrading things. This included being called a hypocrite by the second biggest hypocrite in SCW next to Nick Jones.
Spike opens his eyes, seeing the boy standing there, his raven black hair shining in the light. Spike notices that he is on his hands and knees, and the boy is standing there, gently running his hands over Spike’s forehead, wiping away the sweat.
Spike: Maybe I should chase after the NWA title as well and become the leading champion in any NWA region. Maybe I should, but not because Mr. Alexander thinks I should, but because I’m tired of people calling me a joke no matter what I accomplish. When I rule both worlds simultaneously, they would look like fucking idiots for making a mockery of me and my New X-Tremes.
HWAN: You are right, Spike. However, you must first defeat Blade Alexander, which is no easy task, sir. If you don’t take care of him now, then he will prove to everyone that you are, in fact a joke.
Spike: He’s the joke. He’s the one that claimed the Nick Jones he faced was at the top of his game when clearly, he was nowhere near that. The Nick Jones that I faced brought his A game to the table, as did I. He brought in his best moves, his best tricks, and did his best to make sure I didn’t walk out of High Stakes II as the Heavyweight Champion. He failed. And if I know Blade even just a little bit, I know he will come at me with everything he’s got. He will try to get sneaky and bend the rules as much as he can. He will give it his all, and it will almost be crushing to watch me run right over him, leaving nothing but a smeared shit stain of what was once known as Blade Alexander all over the mat. I will devour him entirely, and shit him out after, then stomp away at his digested remains until the world gets to see exactly what he was truly made of all along. Shit...
Spike is seething, but the embrace of the little boy helps to settle him down. His deep, stifled breaths soon regulate as he closes his eyes. He keeps them that way for what would seem like several moments. He opens his eyes to find himself sitting on an emergency room bed, covered in blood all over the front. His eyes wander over to see Vixen standing there with her arms around his neck, muttering in French toward him. Spike looks completely disoriented until his eyes meet hers. He looks around him, finding Pussy Willow standing by with a microphone and a camera crew. She looks a little pale in the face as her eyes rest on the tray with pieces of bloodied glass shards over a paper sheet. She takes a gulp as the doctor is washing his hands in the corner. Spike’s eyes scrunch up a bit in mild confusion.
Spike: What… what happened?
Vixen: You fell into the bathroom mirror, Spike. Then you fell on top of the broken glass. Thank goodness you are okay now, thanks to some British guy… Mikey Carroll?
PW: We were concerned Spike. You demanded an interview, and you weren’t making any sense… Something about an angel and a cat and Blade Alexander…
Pussy shrugs her shoulders. Spike looks over to Vixen who is nodding, letting him know it was true. Spike grins and puts a thumb up.
Spike: Perfect… Air it then.
Spike slowly stands up, noticing the various stitches on his pale torso. He winces a bit in pain before picking up his bloodied and tattered shirt. He slides it over his head as the scene fades out… TO BLACK!
