Friendship:
A relationship of a friendly nature.
Friend:
Somebody emotionally close: somebody who trusts and is fond of another
How can something so complicated be defined so easily? I have met many people over the years in which I have trusted. I have been fond of others, or seen potential, but I always wind up exactly where I am now. Another lonely night sitting in front of a computer. Can there truly be such a connection that withstands the tests of time? Is there anyone that I can truly trust in?
I am surrounded by people in my profession, but most of the time I find myself in solitary confinement. Is it them, or is it me? Have I allowed the negative experiences of my past determine such a fate? Or is it that I just don’t feel comfortable sharing all of myself with another. In the end, one of two things happens. I find myself scorned by those I let in, or I turn on them. I can’t help either event, and I am stuck in this constant loop, repeating my mistakes, over and over and over again. My paranoia gets the better of me each time.
Being that I am the Heavyweight Champion of SCW, I have a big red bulls eye painted on my back. It’s bad enough I’ve got the Supremacy on my back, but I feel the hungry eyes staring at me from “Primetime” Matthew Kennedy. I felt the intensity of Casey Williams when he got the chance at my title. I felt how he came at me as if I were nothing to him, when I’ve spent the better part of a year trying to build him up. I sense the others just chomping at the bit to take my spot, and it makes me realize that I can’t trust any male in SCW, whether they are friend, foe, or family.
Is that bad? Probably so. However, there is one person that, no matter how much I have taken them for granted, still sticks by my side as a friend. The tests of time have strained us, but has yet to break us. This person gets me above all others… Perhaps I owe them a visit… 
Crazy Is As Crazy DoesThe clouds are scattered over the Vegas suburban skyline as the sun fights its hardest to shine through to almost no avail. The cool winds wisp across the ground, sweeping the brown, crispy leaves across the sidewalk. Children ride their bikes down the street in a gleeful display, whipping past the stop signs as if their carefree nature had made them forget what the signs were there for to begin with. Their playful shouts are only accented by the soft chiming of the bike bells ringing as they all attempt to catch up with the young girl in the lead. The laughs echo off of the pavement, even through their brightly colored scarves and puffy coats. The bare trees resemble mid-fall weather more than winter. Still a few leaves remain on the trees, despite the fighting spirit of the wind. Off in the distance, a smoky silver Mustang GT rides along at a slow pace. It comes to a stop in front of a crimson red sided house accented with dark brick. The driver, shielded by a pair of sunglasses, continues staring at the house, almost as if staring through the walls. Their line of vision studies the dead rose bushes lining both sides of the porch, down to the Christmas wreath lying on the porch, due to the high winds. They part their lips, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke as they continue watching on. The tinted window on the drivers side door lowers just about two inches as a cigarette butt drops onto the pavement. The ring covered fingers slide back inside of the car as the windows raise once more. The car speeds off down the road, leaving tire marks on the pavement. We switch to the inside of the car to see Spike Staggs driving along, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other picking at his bottom lip. He flicks his tongue ring out for just a second, running the tip of his tongue across his labret ring. Deep in thought, Spike turns the wheel of his car to the right, continuing on at a safe speed down the road. Through the glasses, his eyes flicker over to the pale porcelain boy doll sitting in the passenger’s seat. The steely blue eyes almost appear to be watching him from beneath the raven black hair. As hard as it is for Spike to remove his eyes from the Christmas “present” Misty had given to him just weeks ago, he can’t peel them away for more than a few seconds. A bump in the road causes the doll to turn just a fraction of an inch toward his face, and Spike pounds the steering wheel in an unknown emotional outburst.
Spike: FUCK! Why won’t you talk to me anymore?!
The dolls eyes flutter just a little from the vibration of the road. Spike runs his fingers through his greased back hair, frustrated and almost heartbroken. He takes a deep breath as he comes up to a stoplight. He picks up the phone and begins furiously tapping away at it, not noticing the light has changed to green. A car honks behind him as his eyes dart up. He slams on the gas, shaking his head as he continues driving. He finishes with his phone, sliding it back into the console, looking straight ahead at the road. His nostrils flare up as he takes a few nervous breaths. The doll bumps once more and falls over onto Spike’s lap.
Spike: I know you can hear me… I KNOW YOU CAN! Why do you torture me like this? I can’t take it anymore. You come to me, you help guide me, and then you just disappear on me? Who does that? Huh?
Spike smashes his fist against the steering wheel sixteen times, separated into intervals of four. The doll rolls over to look back up at him and he breaks the stare, turning abruptly into a driveway so that the doll falls to the floorboard. He swings the car door open just as quickly as he turns the engine off. He pulls the keys out and walks up to the stained glass door adorning the white sided house. His eyes wander around as he knocks on the door. He takes several deep breaths, taking his glasses off to place n the collar of his t-shirt. As he looks around frantically, he notices the dark circles around his eyes from sleep deprivation, and he grabs at his glasses once more. However, as soon as he touches them, the door opens. He freezes and looks at the woman standing in the doorway. The short blonde-haired woman with a thin frame looks as if she stuffed a beach ball under her shirt flashes an unusual smile toward Spike. She throws her arms around him, hugging onto him tightly. He gently caresses her back, holding her close, but careful of the life between them. He leans over and plants a kiss on her cheek as she sighs.
Kittie: Spike… I’m so happy to see you. Oh, it’s been so long…
Spike cocks an eyebrow at her as she displays an unusually warm smile. She holds the door open for him as he steps inside. As she shuts the door and turns to face him, he chuckles.
Spike: What, you aren’t going to punch me or shout at me for not calling much lately?
Kittie: No…? I know you have been busy, champion. Congratulations by the way. You definitely deserve it.
Kittie pats Spike on the arm as she waddles past him on the way to the living room. Spike follows her as she sits down on the couch in front of the television. She reaches up with the remote and clicks it off as Spike sits a few feet away from her. She tilts her head to the side and looks over to him, almost as if recognizing his agony.
Kittie: Please don’t take offense, but you look like shit…
Spike gasps as if that were the last thing he had expected. He offers her a chuckle as she shrugs her shoulders with an innocent smile.
Spike: Well, thank you for noticing. I haven’t slept well in about a week. Desiree and Dixie took the kids, and I just feel lost. Kind of the way you used to get… lost. I have always known I had issues, but nothing like this. I mean, I’m losing my grip more and more, and I can’t help but feel like something big is coming. Something I’m not sure I can handle…
Kittie: Whoa, whoa, whoa… Slow down there Spike. What are you saying here? Are you saying that I’m crazy? Because you should know more than anyone that I’m not.
Spike: Are you kidding me? I know you well enough to know that you
ARE crazy! Crazy the way I am, except far more damaged…
Spike sticks his tongue out at Kittie in a playful manner as her jaw drops. She picks up a pillow and throws it at Spike with a smile. He catches it with his teeth and growls before dropping it to his side. His wide Cheshire grin causes Kittie to shake her head in an act of disbelief.
Kittie: You call me damaged? And you are chewing up my pillow like a fuh… freaking dog? I’m sorry, but… I’ve missed giving your trouble. I’ve missed a lot of people lately since I’ve become such a shut in.
Spike: I KNOW! I have felt so isolated ever since I won the damn belt. I feel like I’ve been thrown in between a bunch of bulls, dressed all in red. I love challenges, but the fact that I can’t trust anyone puts me on edge.
Spike fiddles with his right thumb, picking at it with his middle finger nail, painted black. His eyes are focused intently on it it as Kittie slowly adjusts herself so that she is better facing Spike. She waves a hand in front of Spike’s face, but to no avail. She sighs and rolls her eyes.
Kittie: Well, look at it this way. You are under a lot of stress. You are not only being targeted for the title, but you are taking a big dump in the middle of Mark Ward’s little playhouse. You defy him any chance you get. You parade your stable around like they are the be all and end all of wrestling. You guys go out there and win despite all of the odds, and it bothers him. It reminds me of watching two packs of dogs fight for dominance over territory. It bothers him that you have a bigger pack, so he’s trying to tear it down so that you stand alone. But the difference between men and dogs is… well, there isn’t really a difference other than maybe an I.Q. point or two. He’s gotten in your head, Spike. He’s winning.
Spike pounds his fist against the pillow that is next to him on the couch. He grits his teeth as he looks up at Kittie. While she seems like a completely different person due to the pregnancy, she is as stubborn as ever as she refuses to back down, even to Spike.
Spike: I’ll be damned if I am going to let him win, Kittie. I am in control here, and he is not effecting me at all…
Kittie: It’s all fine and dandy that you want to convince yourself of that, but you know I don’t buy it for a second, right? I mean, you are buying into this garbage that you can’t trust anyone and it is because of Mark. He’s still in your head from all of those years ago.
Spike’s eyes never rise up from his nails as he continues to preen them almost nervously now. Kittie looks at Spike as he sits there silently. As she is about to continue, Spike finally speaks up.
Spike: How so?
Kittie: Well, let me see… Just about seven years ago, you were the Heavyweight Champion of GXW. You were in a group of elite wrestlers led by Mark Ward, and you were sitting on top of the world. Any challenge that came your way, you knocked them down. If anyone tried to take your spot, you put them back in their place. The only reason you didn’t take that title home with you when the company went under was because your good old buddy “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward couldn’t contain his jealousy and he took you out with a steel chair, damaging your knee. The one person you never expected to betray you like that buried the knife deepest in your back…
Spike closes his eyes as his breaths become more shallow and coarse. He begins rubbing his hands together nervously, trying not to sink into what is inevitably coming on…
CRACK!
The pain rushed through Spike’s body as he felt the chair collide with his leg. All of the screaming from Misty was muffled to nearly a low whisper as his ears ring. She does her best to stop Mark from taking another swing, but Angelica rushes at her. While Misty pounds away at Angelica, her horrified eyes stay locked on Spike’s as he winces in pain. Mark looks over at her with a smile, pointing to her mockingly as he takes another swing, cracking it against Spike’s back. The ringing gets louder, drowning out all other sound as Mark leans down to whisper something inaudible to Spike as he drops down to the ground. Mark grabs onto the back of Spike’s head, slamming it against the hard cement flooring. Spike’s vision blurs to nothing, relying only on the feeling of Mark getting off of his back to feel that slight bit of comfort. The only thing he can make out on the ground is his hands slipping around in a small pool of fresh crimson blood. He closes his eyes, feeling the aching in his body lulling him off into the sweet concussion which is about to mercifully send him into an unconscious state. He is grateful for it until it is interrupted by the feeling of Mark cracking the chair against his back once again. He feels his sore knee being picked up as he does his best to struggle. The faintest hints of Mark’s face appear in his line of vision as he feels the cold steel wrapping around his knee. He tries moving to kick it off, but it is too late.
SNAP!
The intense pain is almost too much to bear as the ringing reaches a deafening tone. He lets out a blood curdling shout of pain as his vision fades even more. After just a moment, he sees Misty’s face lowering down as she waves her hand frantically. Spike’s eyes roll back, and he sees nothing… nothing at all until he wakes up in a hospital bed. His vision slowly returns to normal as he looks around, seeing his knee up in a sling. He looks over to see the morphine drip and everything comes back to him. There are no flowers, no sympathy cards, and no visitors. Waking up alone like this should have been the epiphany that he desperately needed, but that didn’t come until much later. Spike yawns as he picks up the phone next to him. He quickly dials a number and waits as it rings. Perhaps it was the medication, or perhaps it was Spike being naïve, but he doesn’t even understand to this day exactly why the first person he called was…
“You looking for the right stuff? You sure you can handle it this hot? Heh heh… Mark Ward Jr. here and you know the drill. If this is the bird from last night, I’ve been called in by the FBI for another top secret mission and won’t be getting back to you…”
*BEEEEEP*
Spike: Hi, Mark… It’s Spike. I was just calling to see if you could explain to me why you did what you did. I’m not angry, I just want to know. I realize you wouldn’t do something like that without any real reason. We’re buds, and nothing could make me lose my gratitude to you… You made me, and I know that. Just… *sigh* just call me back.
Spike sits there for a moment with the receiver still in his hand, pressed against his ear as if he were waiting for Mark to respond. Once he realizes Mark won’t, he gives up hope and hangs the phone up next to his bed. He leans back in the bed, doped up beyond belief as his eyes almost seem to glaze over.Kittie: You haven’t been able to shake the way he damaged you. Someone who looked out for you since the day you broke onto the legit wrestling scene who had no real reason to destroy you, did… Now you are afraid of the people you are closest to, because deep down, you think they will do the same thing to you. The fear has always been there, but winning the title made it worse, to the point you just can’t ignore it anymore. You realize the power you have, and you just can’t ignore the eyes any longer…
Spike’s eyes flutter open as he stares at Kittie. She is deep in thought, with a sick sort of smirk on her face. Her eye twitches a bit with how much she enjoys talking about this which prompts Spike to ask the obvious question(s).
Spike: How do you know so much about what I’m going through? And, why are you so damn happy about it?
Kittie: I’ve been in your position. Misty stabbed me in the back and took my title from me, and then when I rectified the situation, she stopped me from defending my belt just to spite me. But when I had that title, I held the power. That was when the Bombshell Division ruled SCW, so I was in your position. I went crazy worrying about my back, but I refused to let Misty win. I pushed her out of my head, and I went on to do my own things as I wanted to. When she lashed out at me, calling me a loser, it made me realize she was angry that she didn’t have shit on me… the way Marky Mark and his funky bunch enjoy getting a rise out of you. You are letting them win. It is to the point where you don’t trust your own friends, and THAT will be what costs you the match at New Year Rising.
Spike shakes his head, trying his best to disagree with Kittie’s assessment, but he is failing miserably. Every fiber of his being says otherwise, but admitting that Mark is still in his head feels like a sign of weakness to him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. As his eyes flash open, he looks back to Kittie.
Spike: You’re right. I have been so distracted by pride that I haven’t been able to see the real problem sitting in front of me this whole time. I shouldn’t let Mark continue to win over me anymore, because it has been far too long.
Kittie: Exactly. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and do what you do best, champ. Kick some ass, Spike…
Spike nods his head as Kittie looks over to him with a warm smile of admiration. She turns back toward the television as if something interesting were on while the screen is still blank. She nods her head, giggling as to say something funny just happened on the blank screen. Spike stares at her for a second, giving a glare that says, “I guess she isn’t cured…” She slaps her knee and then looks back at Spike, wondering why he isn’t laughing. He just shrugs his shoulders with a sympathetic smile spread over his face. As Kittie turns back around to the television, Spike sits in contemplation as the scene fades.
*GET READY FOR THE SMACK DOWN!*The lights inside of the Star of the Desert Arena in Las Vegas, Nevada dim down for a lighting test as “Smack Down” by Thousand Foot Krutch plays over the public address system. The crew is putting the final touches on the ring as the lights come up just a notch. A voice booms inaudibly through the speakers, nearly drowned out by the music, but it prompts them to flip the lights up a couple levels before turning back to black. The voice comes out again and the music turns even louder. The camera wanders around at a birds eye view until resting on the rafters, seeing two feet dangling off of them. The camera slowly rises as Spike Staggs’ face comes into view. He watches as the workers run around frantically trying to get things together for New Years Rising which takes place in just a few short days. His eyes wander over to the cage walls lying down, just waiting to be assembled for the Main Event. A chuckle escapes his lips.
”In approximately seventy-three and a half hours, those cage walls will be surrounding the ring as Nick Jones, Jordan Williams, Tom Dudely, and Goth take on ‘Primetime’ Matthew Kennedy, Casey Williams, Aleksei Koji and, you guessed it… Spike Staggs… in a match that could very well be Match of the Year material right from the beginning.”Spike sighs as he watches the clean up crew steam cleaning the mat one last time to make sure it looks its whitest. He swings one arm around a support beam and leans into it, watching it with such intensity as he pulls a little tighter on a rope that is only illuminated when the lights come back on to full capacity. He clinches onto it as the camera comes in just a few inches closer, looking directly at his face.
”That’s right… Make that mat spotless. Pull out all of the stops to fool these fans into thinking that what we do is clean fun. Do your jobs and make the damn thing shine, fellas, because once those cage walls go up, there will be blood. Oh… there will be blood.”Spike closes his eyes as a sick sort of smile spreads across his face. He seems to be watching it like a movie inside of his head. Taking a deep breath, his chest quivers as he exhales. His eyes pop back open as if just now realizing the camera is still on him.
”This match was dubbed Stable Wars, and if there is a more accurate description, I can’t think of it. This truly will be a war. Not a battle. Not a friendly bit of competition… By the end of the show, that ring will be stained red, as we will all be atoning with our blood. It is a time for justice. It is a time for the underdogs of Sin City Wrestling to rise up and show that we will no longer be taken as a joke.”Spike slowly pulls himself up by the support beam. The camera rests on his knees as he adjusts himself carefully and flawlessly. After just a second, Spike pulls the camera up so that it is once again looking into his eyes. He looks down once more, this time seeming to get a rush from the height. His eyes slowly dance back up to the camera.
”See, I am tired of walking around here, with the SCW Heavyweight Championship, taking out anyone who tries touching the belt whether they be friend, enemy, or some nobody who likes running his mouth about how good he is and how lame I am. The second I won the belt, I made a challenge to defend the belt. I have already proven myself to be the noblest Heavyweight Champion in SCW history, yet they still laugh. They still mock me.”Spike reaches into his pocket, and within an instant, he places something to his lips and inhales deeply. A red light flickers at the end as he lowers it to his side. He waits there for a second, blowing out a thick cloud of silver smoke. He places the device back into his jacket pocket after calming his nerves.
”I felt the need for the longest time to justify myself to the naysayers and doubters. I thought I had to fight to prove myself. I have accomplished what no one else was able to do by taking the belt from around Nick Jones’ waist and keeping it around mine. I have proven myself long before that when I brought the NWA World Heavyweight Championship to SCW. I am the Poster Boy of Sin City Wrestling, yet I still have people bashing me, like Tom Dudely…”Spike starts off with a snicker, but as the name rolls off of his tongue, the snicker turns into a chuckle and wastes no time turning into full on laughter. He shakes his head as he tries his best to stop laughing. He wipes away a tear from his eye as he turns back toward the camera with his Cheshire grin.
”Who the fuck are you, Tom? I know who you used to be, but the person standing in front of the world today is nothing but a sad, pathetic shell of the man we used to know. You and I, we used to be buddies. We worked our way up in the wrestling world together. We might not have been a team, but we started out jerking curtains together. We started out wrestling in Barbed Wire, Flaming Tables, Fire and Brimstone matches, fighting for a Hardcore title. We were both the underdogs in the profession. We both have the same accolades, Tom…”Spike looks down at his bag sitting by his side. He adjusts the rope a little so that the camera lowers down just a little to peek at the bag where the SCW Heavyweight Championship pokes out. He leaves the camera there for a moment to emphasize his point before bringing it back up toward his face.
”Well, not exactly the same… But you were there for me when Misty left me. You came out to support me, and now you are acting like you are too good for me? That was the second biggest ‘Fuck You’ I ever received. Even when you dogged Wyatt Peterson, the fans, and anyone who wasn’t, well, yourself, I still stuck by you as a friend. It wasn’t until you thought you were big enough to come at me and spit in my face that I realized you are exactly where you belong. It’s just too bad, because you picked the wrong way to stroke your ego. Not that I hold any respect for anyone on your team, but by comparison, you look like the least worthy of being in the Main Event. Ever since you returned to the ring, you have done nothing whatsoever. Not unless you count bitching and moaning about how no one gives a shit about you anymore. So for you to say that I don’t belong in this match has got to be one of the funniest things I’ve heard in a long time. Do something worth talking about here in Sin City, and then maybe I will take your thoughts into consideration. As for your little ‘dig’ about kissing Misty at the Christmas Party, I should feel sorry for you.”
Spike’s evil grin only gets wider as he slowly brings the camera even closer to his face for emphasis.
”Not the other way around. I bet you used tongue didn’t you? Yeah, I bet you thought it would really get me, didn’t you? The thing is that no one thought it was smooth. If you noticed, I was in the corner laughing at you. Not because of who you kissed, but because I couldn’t help but ponder the obvious question. How did it feel knowing your lips were locked with a pair that has been… allllll… over… my body? While your tongue was probing her mouth, did you taste my dick? Furthermore… did you like it? I bet you did, because it was the closest you will ever be to being in my league, chasing after my leftovers.”Spike snickers arrogantly as his eyes flash down to the busy bees running around below him. His eyes dance over them the way a cat eyeballs a fly in the window. Only once the lights come back to full capacity, practically blinding Spike, does he turn back around, focusing on the camera.
”Just a thought to ponder, Tommy boy… However, like I said, you are the least of my worries in this match… next to the random addition to the match in Goth. Why is he even here? Didn’t he get his ass kicked by Justin Bieber after doing the only notable thing we’ve seen from him since he got here by winning the Roulette Championship? Calling me second best to him? That’s almost as laughable as Tom practically carrying my man-sausage in his mouth. I have heard great things of Goth. I have seen matches from the past that have impressed me. When I heard of the name coming to Sin City, I thought to myself ‘Finally! A Challenge!’ I saw you come in here and crush the minor leagues, but when you came into MY league, one foot in the door, you choked. You couldn’t cut it, and I felt sorry for you. Because I did see something that saddened me. I saw what it will look like when I’m washed up and tired. I saw a man who hasn’t been convinced that he is no longer in his prime the way I am. I didn’t feel pity or admiration for you, Goth. I felt sorry for you. If you need a wake up call, watch me facing James Huntington-Hawkes… the third… and study how I humiliated the poor kid. Have yourself a good laugh… Then, when you have finished watching that one, play your last match with the kid where he walked away with your belt. Then come to me and tell me who second best around here is. Sin City Wrestling is my yard, my playground. Do yourself a favor by getting an edge over your partners who all think I am a big joke. The sooner you realize who the fuck I am, the sooner you may be allowed to recapture your glory days old man…”Spike shrugs his shoulders as his icy blue eyes flash in the spotlight. He steadies himself with one hand on the support beam, leaning over onto it. He pulls out the electronic cigarette once more, taking a long drag off of it. He slides it back in his pocket, holding in the smoke until he feels the satisfactory burn. He slowly exhales, masking his face in an eerie cloud.
”Enough about the little guys in this match. Let’s focus on the ones who actually concern me. Jordan Williams… The man who felt he was too good for the New X-Tremes. The one who turned his back on us… The guy who ‘left on friendly terms’ only to dig the knife into our backs. If it weren’t for Casey and I, you would still be forgotten, Jordan. You wouldn’t be anything. You double crossed us by turning on Mark, then running back to him since he was always carrying you. He carried you through most of your Hot n’ Sexy days, then when you came back to wrestling to join Generation X-Treme. He beat your ass miserably when you and I teamed against him and some loser we should have been able to easily beat. He owned your ass, and it cost me any bit of pride. I still didn’t turn my back on you. It’s called loyalty, which is a term you must be unfamiliar with. You go where the money is, doing whatever you can to cling onto your past. It’s sad, but true, Jordan. You think you are better than everyone, and deep down, your entire team knows it. They resent you for it, but since your name is famous again thanks to me, you’ve been deemed worthy of a Supercard Main Event. Congratulations, Judas, erm I mean Jordan. You’ve ‘earned’ it… Say, how does Mark’s ass taste?”Spike places both hands out in front of his face, cupping them gently as if to caress a butt. He slowly moves his hands apart a few inches and act as if he is burying his face in said space. He furiously laps his tongue out for a few seconds before gently closing the gap. He shakes his head in disgust before leaning down to his bag. He pulls out the championship belt and gazes at it for a long minute. He pulls the sleeve of his black canvas jacket down to the palm of his hand and slowly shines up the belt. He props it up on his shoulder so that the light shines off of every crevice of the belt’s design. He slowly counts on his fingers, one then two… then three. As if struck with a brilliant idea, Spike holds his index finger up with a smile.
”And Nick Jones… The truly worthy adversary that pushed me to my limits, with the cheating and rule bending. I have to admit, you nearly had me the way you have with every other opponent you’ve had since the day you debuted here. I almost didn’t overcome the odds of a five on one attack. But the fact is that I am here, holding this belt, and you are busy fighting with Tom and Jordan about whose turn it is to play with Mark’s sack, and who gets to kiss his ass. With all of the extra time you have now since you don’t have to worry about ducking challenges and whining about not getting your ego stroked daily, you must have more time to train and focus on being a wrestler instead of a celebrity. I don’t count gang attacking me and my crew, either. I think since no one remembers who you are, you are probably craving that attention once more. Are you taking me serious now, Nick? Are you training hard so that you can make some sort of point by beating my team? I hope so, because I am tired of the excuse and the run-around I’m seeing from you. I’m just waiting to hear you, your partners, and Mark admit that the reason you are so focused on destroying NXT is because you fear us. You guys fear me. That’s why you want to see us fail, because you know that I am an unstoppable force, and with my crew backing me up, you guys don’t stand a chance come Sunday. New X-Tremes will overcome the adversity like we always have and always will. I will also prove to the world that I am NOT a joke, and my need to explain and justify myself will be gone…”Spike looks down once more at the ring. He watches as the crew goes onto a break. As they slowly file to the backstage area, Spike steadies himself above the rafters. He pulls the rope and brings the camera up where he tussles with it. Once he has a grip on it, he gets behind it, looking around for a quick second. He turns it back around to face himself before grunting. He lets out a gasp as the background changes from shadowed to bright. The background quickly flies up behind him as he falls! His breaths quicken as his face shows fear. This continues for a while until the camera comes crashing down, shaking in Spike’s grip. We turn sideways as a loud thump is heard and we fall to the mat with him. A trail of red comes from Spike’s mouth and as he chokes on what could be his last living breath, the red flies out in a mist from his nose. His eyes roll back as the blood begins pooling toward the camera. We sit there studying Spike’s lifeless face for a moment as the blood trails from his nose, down to his top lip. Spike convulses for a second before going limp as we fade…
JUST KIDDING!Spike slowly gets up, cracking his bones as he slowly leans down to pick up the camera. He walks zombie style toward the turnbuckle where he snarls and turns it around to catch a glimpse of his face. The blood continues to flow from his mouth as he takes a slow step back. He sputters blood before a clear tether rope catches our attention, gleaming in the light. He sputters out a few empty blood capsules and his grin returns to his face.
”I bet I made Mark Ward a happy man for just a few short seconds there. Consider it a late Christmas present, Mark. Just entertaining you with the thought that I would be out of your mind is a real gift from me. The truth is that no matter how many mind games you try to play with me, I’m still going to be there to give you the hell you truly deserve old buddy. God willing, I am not going anywhere. NXT has my back in this match and that is all we need to walk out victorious against your little expired legends club, Mark. The more you try making me believe my team doesn’t have my back, the worse we will make it on you when we walk out of the cage with our hands raised in victory. The days of you living in my head are officially over. The days of me holding onto any shred of respect for you are far gone now. That was the only thing standing in the way of me giving it my all. Expect to see the old monster you knew long ago, Mark. Warn your boys of what is to come. I want them to know I am on a mission. Tell them a hellhound has their scent, and he is determined to drag them down to the deepest darkest pits of hell…”Spike’s eyes are on fire as he looks into the camera. They reflect a light of every sick, sadistic thing that is running through his mind. All of the blood pouring as he imagines his foes ripped to shreds. Spike comes back to reality for a moment, fading from a lull to an intensity rarely seen from Spike.
”As much as you have tried to convince me that my team doesn’t have my back… As much as you try to drive a wedge between us by attacking us and forcing us to fight each other… One thing remains true. NXT is solid. We can withstand anything you think you can throw at us, Mark. I am not just referring to the Main Event, either. I mean everything. Giani will be bringing home the Roulette Championhip. Vixen will be taking the Bombshell Championship. Jessie will be number one contender to the Bombshell Roulette Championship. Odette will defeat Misty. You see, no matter what dirty punches you try pulling on us, we will get back up and hit you where it hurts, old friend. You can’t keep holding us down. We’re fighting back, stronger than ever. I have no doubt in my mind that 2013 is the year of the New X-Tremes, and we’re starting the show off with a BANG!”As he says this, he holds his arms up high in the air as red pyros explode behind him, making a big “X” shape. He smiles, sitting still for a moment. Then, Spike slowly stalks his way over to the camera once more, but stops and studies the mat for a minute. He looks disgusted as his feet dredge through the fake blood on the mat. He shakes his head in dismay as he looks deep into the camera.
”Tell your maintenance team that they missed a spot…”Spike quickly shoots a mischievous look toward the camera, holding it there before shutting the camera off. We fade to a crackle, then… TO BLACK!
