Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.


Messages - GKD

Pages: [1] 2
1
Climax Control Archives / Cabin in the Woods
« on: April 21, 2023, 11:15:31 PM »
Apologies ahead of time. I had eye surgery on Wednesday and I am still seeing double, so I'm not going to do much in the way of formatting. I tried to make the font big enough to proofread, but might have still missed a few things. Anyway, here's the RP.

_________________________________________________________



The morning of April 11th

The crowds, the noise, the smells; they seem to assault the senses simultaneously. He can smell the fresh baked bread coming out of the ovens at a nearby café, cinnamon buns seem to waft along on the breeze as a Chicago flight departs and the passengers scatter like insects. He can hear the voices, single out specific languages and emotions. He spots a happy German family welcoming what must be a daughter home from university for the holiday. A mother walks by scolding her young son in Swedish before noticing his interest and halting her berating. He eyes a young woman struggling to speak English to a well dressed man who smiles and hugs her, all the while praising her in Korean. All this noise, seemingly blending together when you don’t pay attention … is like music to a well traveled man like himself. He’s seen the inside of more airports than he can remember over the course of his career. From O’Hare and Logan, to Vegas and Mumbai, Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport is by far his favorite. Perhaps it’s because it’s where he feels closest to home. Even now, preparing to board a plane in his white Boston Bruins jersey, he could not deny that Baltimore was home.

He exits the plane and stands in the terminal taking in the sensory overload for a moment before grabbing hold of his carry-on and making his way through the throng of people and towards the neon sign bearing the Einstein Brothers logo. He tosses down a ten spot, leaving the change as a tip, and grabs his beverage and bagel before he finds a seat overlooking the crowded main thoroughfare. He turns it on and immediately realizes his wife sent him some messages while he was in mid flight. He takes a moment to answer her and she responds to him right away.


’Damn’ he thinks to himself before he shoves it into the front pocket of his jeans. Taking a long sip of his coffee and letting it linger, he finally swallows the sweet nectar. Something about a good Hazelnut just seemed to make him happy. The coffee was nearly finished when the man came into view. Dressed in a brown, pinstriped suit that was so wrinkled it wouldn’t have been surprising to find out it’d been slept in for a few days. The white dress shirt beneath the coat was half tucked in and the blue tie loosened considerably. His hair is disheveled and is sporting a few days of hair growth on his face. From first glance one could safely assume that this man hasn’t seen a bed or shower in some time.

The man continued to swagger down the center of the room, head turning from shop to shop before stopping and nodding his head towards a man working behind a Plexiglas counter. Only a minute later he was plopping himself down backwards into an adjacent seat while holding out the small container and smiling.

“Chip mate?”

Davison peered down at the golden, perfectly fried delights and pulled one out.

“You know you can’t win me over with French Fries alone, Bobby boy.”

The man, this… “Bobby,” smiled and pulled his dark sunglasses down his nose so he could look at Davison proper. Screwing up his face and nodding he pushed them back into place with a knuckle before popping another chip into his mouth.

“You know mate,” Bobby says as the sight of the half chewed food makes Davison turn his attention in front of himself. “I had to give up some rather important … ah … meetings ta meet you here. Least you can do is treat me nicely before I tell you to bugger off.”

Bobby Donnelly ladies and gentlemen! Possibly the single most sleazy, underhanded, despicable and ruthless man to ever come out of Manchester… New Hampshire. The accent is as fake as just about everything else about the man. There are few people out there today who have been on the business end of a beat down more than this man. Which is probably why he’s always been so fond of ‘larger than life’ clientele; oh, probably forgot to mention that Donnelly was also Davison’s former agent slash manager.

“Bobby, you didn’t fly over here so I could play house with you,” Davison reaches over and grabs two fries, shaking them at Donnelly before biting down on them. “I called in my favor so the ball is in your court.”

Donnelly is silent for a moment, a feat in and of itself, but quickly counters with a smile.

“Favor … well, you should owe me the favor mate. After all, I did make you a very rich man …”

Davison interrupts with a quip

“Money, might I add, that you later ran off with.”

Donnelly shrugs his shoulders and picks at a chip

“Sticks and stones, mate. Sticks and stones.”

Davison turns to face his longtime compatriot

“I’m going to cut to the chase. I’m not the stupid kid who is perpetually in morning. I’m not blind. I’m not clueless. I know you’ve got some sort of angle here. So, tell me, what can you do for me Bobby?”

Davison stares Donnelly down, not to intimidate the man. He was too oblivious to be intimidated. However, it was important to Ken to assert his dominance because if Bobby caught even a whiff of weakness, he’d pounce.

“Well,” he says while picking a burnt piece off the bottom of the box and flicking it with his thumb and middle finger, watching it cartwheel in the air before coming to rest on a carpeted area. “I’ve been doing to asking around mate and it seems to me like you’ve got yurself a right little problem here. Think about it mate,” Donnelly holds his arms out in front of himself as if painting the picture for Davison. “You didn’t exactly live a safe life right? You’ve taken more beatings than I have and you aren’t exactly what they look for in candidates.”

Davison looked crushed. Granted he knew that even bringing Donnelly in on this was grasping at straws at best. This was a guy who made a living making promises that he probably couldn’t keep … but it was still worth a shot. If there was an ass out there who actually could do what he promised it’d be Donnelly.

“Bobby, you’re a good guy,” Davison slaps him on the leg and stands up. “I’d be an idiot to give up now, you know that right? But if they think that I’m broken goods, then I am going to have to find something else to do after wrestling. I have to get home. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Davison reaches down and grabs his carryon, slinging it over his shoulder. Donnelly, looking panic stricken, leaps to his feet and grabs Davison’s bag in a poor attempt at holding him back.

“Don’t bloody do this mate; give me a shot and if I don’t deliver…” Donnelly looks at Davison, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “Well, you won’t exactly be any worse off eh?”

Davison turns around, breaking the hold Donnelly had on his bag, and looks right into his eyes.

“Fine. You think you can get this figured out? Do it. Just don’t make any promises you can’t keep… “mate.”

With that Davison turns and begins walking through the airport and heads for the nearest exit. Behind him Donnelly breaks into a shaky smile. Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouts at the back of Davison

“I’ve got this … I promise!”

With that he lets his head hang down to his chest for a moment as he collects himself. As he lifts it up he runs his hands through his hair, smoothing it back and takes a deep breath and adjusts his sunglasses before disappearing into the crowd.



The night of April 21st

This has not been the best of weeks for “Godly” Ken Davison. Last week, he and Courtney Pierce had taken another step forward by defeating Zoey Lukas and JMont. The following night, Ken had added another World Championship to his collection. But at what cost? As a result of wrestling two matches so quickly after the abomination two weeks prior to that, he had been taken to a specialist for emergency eye surgery. After falling asleep on the car ride home, and being so out of it that he didn’t even remember getting in the house, let alone upstairs and into his bed, he awoke feeling like he had gotten punched in the left eye socket by Mike Tyson. We’re talking “1986 knocked Marvis Frazier out in 17 seconds” Mike Tyson. We’re talking “Final Boss of Punch-Out!!!” Mike Tyson. To think that one needle and a few shots with a laser could knock him on his ass so easily felt, somewhat embarrassing. The same man who drove home 11 hours while bleeding out from razor wire was taken out by a few little beams of light.

Despite all of this, he remains determined. Ken Davison's history is well documented. He wasn't going to let a little thing like razor wire deter him from his goal. In fact, he is, at this moment jumping rope against doctor’s orders. It was one of the few activities that did not seem to aggravate his still healing wounds. He is on a mission. He is driven. The rigidity of his body as he leaps repeatedly over rope so as to move as few muscles as possible is decidedly regimented, but it seems to be working for him. Finally stopping, his muscles finally relax as he sits down on the cot in his cabin.h

“Returning from an injury is one of the most incredible psychological phenomenons. It is quite rare to find the competitor in our sport who can say that they haven’t had one. In his or her journey, every step back is actually a setup for a comeback in your injury, maybe exactly the comeback that's going to put you on the map. But what about me? What about the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison? It's about time that people put some respect on my name. You can look at the hundreds, thousands, hell, millions of men and women who have competed in this industry over the years. Each and every one of them started with a dream. Where I am now, that was never the part of the dream. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would be fortunate enough to win as many championships as I have. I never entertained the thought that I would make history in several companies. I never thought that I'd be inducted into any Hall of fame. To date, I've been inducted in four.”

“I suppose it's appropriate then, that I look upon myself as an unsolved mystery. I know that's the name of this tour and I'm even more aware of how cliche that sounds. Ask yourself who in their right mind would do the things I've done for as long as I have. it's not just to drive to be the best. That drive is there but there is more to it than that. What would cause any man in their right mind to continue to do the things that I do at my age? I thought long and hard about this. Hell, those assholes in management have stuck us in a fucking lodge in the middle of these creepy ass woods, like Jason Voorhees is going to jump out and kill whichever one of us is considered the slut. Why would I stay away from my pregnant wife, my daughters, my entire life?”

Ken pauses, stopping to try and pin it down. He folds his fingers into a steeple in front of his mouth.

“I suppose I don't have a good answer for that. Maybe it's the violence. Maybe it's the adrenaline, when you can take the crowd and pull their strings getting them to react to each and every little thing you do. I won’t lie, there’s a certain euphoria in having that kind of control. Maybe it's just the fact that I don't know anything else. I suppose that's my weakness. Everything else in my life has changed. Literally, everything else in my life has changed. everything from the woman I've loved, to the friends I've kept, the one constant I've had in this life has been professional wrestling. That is why I refused to step back after my last injury. That is why I stand here today. I've been many things in this company; A winner, a loser, a champion, a hero, a villain. No matter where I have stood, I have always been a fighter. I have always stood up for what I thought was right at that moment. You can call me many things, but the most important of those is authentic.”

“I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge the synergy between J2H and Devona. Of all the teams remaining in this tournament, I feel the two of you may be the most dangerous. Courtney and I were strangers coming into this. I'm not going to lie to you and pretend that we're best buddies or that we're going to be exchanging Christmas cards this year. I'm going to be authentic. I'm going to tell you that just because of how well the two of you get along that does not mean that the two of you will win this match. After losing the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Championship, I am looking to repair my name, my reputation, my very existence in this company. I know that a lot of people joined this because they wanted championships. I've had championships. I'm not here for that reason. I am here for my legacy. Perhaps, that's why the two of you came back for this. I know your names. I know your resumes. I know it's been about six years since either one of you has done a Kendamned thing in this company.”

Davison stops himself, taking a few deep breaths which causes him to wince in pain due to the adrenaline wearing off. The pain seems to bring all the passion Davison had right back to the surface.

“I refuse to be you, Devona. I refuse to come this far in the tournament just to fall short. I know that you've been a finalist before. Merely being a finalist is not acceptable to me. If I were to settle for being a semifinalist, that would just eat me up inside. I do not settle. I will not allow myself to fall short. You do not go through a business such as this referring to yourself as a motherfucking God by settling for second best. The beginning of this year was an awakening for me. I got complacent and that's the only reason that Finn Whelan beat me. Losing my first three singles matches  this year.. prior to that I never even lost two matches in a row. That’s on me. I have no one else to blame. Those losses, they made me realize that I am so much more. It ignited that fire that I had forgotten existed. It reminded me of the man who stood behind the Pulpit and preached the Gospel of “Godly” Ken Davison. That gospel was clear, concise, and prophetic. “Godly” Ken Davison, simply put, is the best wrestler in this business. I can no longer allow the tenderness, the softness, that I have shown to control me. I will not be second best and it most certainly will not come because of the two of you.”

“I can't believe that it took me so long to get in the right headspace. I cannot believe that when I started this promo I was trying to be the nice guy. The nice guy has gotten me nowhere. I'm not going to tear the two of you down with my words, but I will most certainly do so with my actions. “Godly” Ken Davison…  Sin City Wrestling Internet Champion… former two-time Sin City Wrestling World Champion. Edge our names in the history books: Courtney Pierce, “Godly” Ken Daivson, 2023 Blast From the Past Champions.”



The thing about Ken Davison is that he could not sleep well in strange houses. Throughout his childhood and adolescence, his mother had dragged him from one end of the country to the other, staying nowhere longer than a month or two. So many terrible things had happened to him in so many terrible places that Ken had eventually learned to view each new house not as a new beginning, not with hope for stability and happiness, but with suspicion and quiet dread. As he lay here in the cabin provided by Sin City management, there was a sense of trepidation.  At this point in his life, he had been freed of his troubled mother for thirty years and free to stay only where he wished… except now. These days, his life was almost as stable as that of a cloistered nun, as meticulously planned as any bomb squad's procedures for disarming an explosive device, and without any of the turmoil on which his mother had thrived. Aside from his recent hospital trips, the only thing that changed the routine tended to be the destinations of his flights.

Nevertheless, this first night in the cabin, Ken was reluctant to undress and go to bed. He sat in the darkness in a medallion-back armchair at one of the two windows in the cabin, gazing out at the moonlit forest. Thankfully, he had some cell signal, but in her delicate condition, Ken was reluctant to bother her in the middle of the night.At the other end of the cabin was another member of the SCW roster. Ken had no idea who it was, nor did he care. It wasn’t Mac. It wasn’t Goth. Anyone else was foreign to him. It might be Vaugn, but the two of them barely knew one another. Ken stared out the window, longing for the warmth for Kyra’s body next to his. Between that and his upcoming tournament match, hopefully matches, he seemed to be the most restless person on Earth at that very moment. Despite the goings on elsewhere in his career, he had made Blast from the Past  his number one priority. He pondered a lot of what he was saying and experiencing, weighing the pros and cons of each and every decision. He is, after all, the UGWC World Champion. The suits in UGWC weren't exactly happy that one of their superstars was taking a chance that he might get injured, but Davison would not allow himself to miss this opportunity. Besides, it’s not like they showed any concern for SCW when they booked him in that death match.

J2H and Devona would be a tough opponents, Davison knew that, but the fire that burned inside him was a blazing inferno, engulfing him with a contemptuous hatred for himself. The fact that Ken allowed himself to become one of Masque's pawns, quite frankly, pissed him off. That had not gone anywhere near according to plan. Ken knew he was better than that. If he had focused on his own career, instead of trying to make good with Amber, he would have been far more dangerous. As much as he hated to admit it, but he would just be a pawn, taken out by a woman who saw herself to be queen, a woman who had a destiny to fulfill. Except… that destiny would never be fulfilled. In fact, all of the players were now gone, except for himself. The problem that Davison faced was that he had allowed himself to become a compassionate deity, instead of the benevolent dictator he claimed to be, he acted more like a guardian angel.

The crows cawed in the night sky, floating over the forest even at this late hour. It was amazing how this house seemed to offer the views of so many things. If it wasn't for the waves of the lake with the wind causing it to gently mimic the waves of the ocean, he would feel totally out of place. The clouds stretch across the sky, obscuring the view of the moon hanging in the air. A shiver racked his body as the night air continued to pass through the open window. He knew this feeling. The rain would be coming soon. His attention shifted back to this Sunday, and the colossal shadow of J2H and Devona that loomed overhead. His train of thought, however, was singular in its focus. He could not worry about anything but Sin CIty right now. He must defeat J2H or make sure that Courtney defeats Devona.

Davison stares off into the distance. The rain had begun falling. Before his mind could wander, the gentle vibration of his phone caused him to break his concentration. It was Kyra. She had apparently not been asleep as Ken had surmised.

“What's wrong, babe?”

“Just thinking.”

“I couldn't sleep. Something told me that I should check on you.”

Ken didn’t even question the timing of Kyra’s call. Before the two of them became a couple, he had always doubted things like empathy or psychic connections and the like. But, when it came to Kyra, she just knew. She always knew.

“Thanks, mama.”

“What's on your mind?”

“What else?”

Kyra laughs to herself, knowing how into his own head Ken gets.

“Would you stop it? We discussed this. I don’t mind that you are away. You’re providing for us, all of us. But, I wanted to make sure you had something.”

Ken leans up, grunting as he tries to make himself comfortable. He opens up the gallery on his phone and doesn’t see anything unusual.

“Um, I don’t see any naked pictures…”

“You’re such a dirty old man. Now, in your laptop bag, I put a DVD in there. You might want to watch it.”


“Oh? Is that from the special collection?”

“No, jackass. While your fool ass was in the hospital I went and burned as many Devona and J2H matches as I could onto that disc.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Ken’s voice seems to reflect genuine let down.

“Hey, Ken,” Kyra pauses. “Can I tell you something without you getting upset?”

There’s a pause from both of them, as though the air had left both of their rooms. Ken lefts out a deep sigh before answering.

“Of course, mama. You can tell me anything.”

Kyra wasn’t usually this emotional, but pregnancy was getting to her. Ken could hear the sniffle through the phone, even as she tried to stifle it.

“Remember that trip to the hospital? The one after the match with Cervantes?”

“How could I forget?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you were barely with it because you decided to drive your ass home from Chicago?”

There isn’t any anger in her voice. There is only concern.

“Of course I do. I told you “Three years ago, I loathed you. I used to dream about you getting hit by a cab, or poisoned. Then we had our little adventure up in Carnage and things started to change. Things changed when we kissed. And when you told me about your kid. Even when you checked me out when we were naked. But I didn’t realize any of this until I was driving alone, in a car, wifeless. This made me remember that you are my reason for living and I don’t ever want to leave you alone. I don’t ever want to leave you alone or worry you or giving you a moment of doubt ever again.” In fact, I told you it was the clearest thought I ever had in my life. Even if that was a lie.”

“The fuck do you mean that was a lie?”

Now she was angry.

“The clearest thought I ever had in my life was the first time I said I loved you, the first time our lips touched, then the first time we made love. In each of those moments I knew that you were my everything and you still are.”

“Then can you please cut down on the deathmatches. I want you around when our kid is born. You can’t play God forever.”

“Mama, I don’t play God. Playing is for children.”

“Damn, you need to use that in a promo.”

Ken lets out a laugh snort.

“Too late. Filmed it. What time is it anyway?”

“It’s 3:04 in the morning.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll be back beside you where I belong before you know it.”

“I love you, Ken. I know I don’t say it as much as you do, but I do.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

The last thing Ken hears before the phone disconnects is his wife kissing the phone.

2
Climax Control Archives / beLIEve
« on: April 07, 2023, 10:36:26 PM »
________________________________________

“In my opinion, a person who can shine can shine no matter where he goes. Those who don’t shine, don’t shine anywhere.” - Tetsuya Naito
________________________________________

A clip plays of “Godly” Ken Davison fighting an opponent on top of some scaffolding surrounded by some railings. Ken is covered in blood and leaning against the railing. He’s trying to regain his bearings, but there is one other issue, he is handcuffed to a pole next to him. There is a bright flash of light as a flare gun goes off, striking Ken in the side and searing his flesh. He falls to the ground with so much force the pole he is handcuffed to comes loose, freeing him. Blood is spilling from the wound and there are scorch marks along his rib cage. The opponent, busy trying to reload the flare gun, doesn’t realize that Ken has freed himself. In a last ditch effort, Ken lunges at his opponent, but sails underneath a surprisingly graceful somersault. The man turns around and tackles Ken, causing them both to spill over the rail and to a web constructed by razor wire beneath them.

{RECORD SCRATCH}
{FREEZE FRAME}


“Yep, that's me. You're probably wondering how I got into this situation,” Davison’s voice says. “The honest answer is, I don’t know, either. I didn’t ask for the match, much less a day after competing in the first round of the Blast From The Past Tournament. Yet, there I was standing in Gnaw Bone, Indiana in the middle of a Circus Death Match. What the hell is a ‘Circus Death Match?’ you may ask. I asked the same thing. It would seem as though it is a scaffold match where the objective is to throw your opponent off of some scaffolding and onto webbing made from razor wire down below.”

“I suppose that’s part of the problem with this business, promoters will put you in any kind of match they want to. Then there is my problem… I won’t back down.”


The video unfreezes and the two men crash down onto the awaiting razor wire, with Ken landing first. Both he and his opponent lie there, almost motionless. If not for the heaving of their chests, one might think they were dead. The bell rings and the announcer states the name of the winner. Though distorted, it is obvious enough that it was not the name of Ken Davison that was called. A pair of paramedic teams in their pristine blue scrubs rush down with stretchers. While Ken’s opponent is loaded onto the stretcher, you can see the smile on his face as he laughs. Davison’s reaction is much different. Davison waves off the medical team, leaving a pool of viscous crimson around him. He stands up under his own power and simply glares at his adversary, the mob roaring in approval. The video fades out with a close up of Davison’s sanguine visage and turns to Ken laying in a hospital bed. You can see the stitches in his head and one of his eyes is completely black from the damage. Despite this, he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

“I may have lost the match, but I got the last laugh. As I watched one man loaded onto a stretcher, I knew what I had to do. I had to stand up. I had to stand up for my wife… for my family… I had to stand up for Courtney Pierce. Now, I know the audience watching at home is probably wondering why, at that moment, was I thinking about Courtney Pierce. It is because I had to make sure that my partner, and everyone else left in the Blast From the Past tournament, would believe.”

Davison sits up, hanging his legs over the side of the hospital bed and standing up.

“One thing I have learned is that you cannot hide from the truth, but it sure as hell can hide from you.”

Davison paces back and forth, allowing the words to simmer, to marinate, to resonate with anyone listening. You can see him wincing in pain, though he is trying his best to hide it.

“They say the artist is the one who uses lies to tell the truth. One thing’s for sure: It’s impossible to tell the whole truth, especially when you are talking about yourself. Sometimes the lie is in the omission. Sometimes the lie is in the spin. But there is always an element of fiction, because the talking is not the thing itself - the gap between the word and the moment is always too wide. How honest can you be with yourself? How does it feel to tell the truth?”

Davison pauses, sitting back down on the hospital bed and groaning as the burns and cuts react to moving around.

“I suppose the real question here is this: How possible is it to see yourself clearly through your own supremely biased eyes? However you choose to use this opportunity, think about “the truth” before you speak. At least then, you might know if you’re lying or not.”

Ken holds up a few sheets of notebook paper that had a moment ago been sitting on the table next to him. Though the words aren’t clear, there’s quite a few areas where you can see things heavily crossed out.

“Handwriting is like a fingerprint, a singing voice, a footstep: unique. Each person’s handwriting style betrays as much in and of itself as in the intention as the intention with which it is used. You give yourself away when you take pen to paper. In the age of infinite and instant reproduction only the unique is still beautiful. Ever wonder if our descendants will read our Facebook timelines? Save something for the real world, which remains, after all, the only place where we can really be ourselves. Write something beautiful by hand and you can be sure it will last for eternity. Even these scars will heal and one day fade. When I die, they will decompose like the rest of my body. But my words, they may just last forever.”

“That is why, prior to recording this, I wrote down my words, my truth. I do this with every promo because I want my children to know who I am. I want my students.to be able to tell their students about the man who trained them. When they see my words, when they learn about who I am, each and every one of those words will be the Kendamned truth.”


He puts the pages down back on the table and the camera catches a glimpse of the blood covered pad on the back of his hospital bed. He then reaches back and rubs the back of his neck, like that’s actually going to relieve any of the pain. He has refused pain medicine, as he has always done. Pain medication was just another lie, tricking the body into feeling better than it had any right to be.

“I’ve talked about the truth around here before, and I feel it needs to be repeated. The truth of the matter is Courtney Pierce is one of the elite talents in this tournament. I am one of the elite talents in this tournament. Joe Montessori or what his name is, even he is one of the elite talents in this tournament. Zoey Lukas… well… she’s Zoey Lukas. But that doesn’t change a damned thing to me. Joe Montague, you have a reputation much like Peter Vaughn did coming into our match. Though no one can actually say your last name everybody knows the name jaymont. Just like last week, I'm not going to worry about Zoe Lucas. I am not going to sit here and pretend that I have to worry about anything but your side of the coin.Be that as it may, you need to realize one thing about myself and Court, it's the thrill of the hunt, we're going to kill you for sport. The only reason you are here is because you want another accolade. you want another trophy to put on your mantle. Courtney and I have bled for this company. We have given everything we have for this company.We didn't just Waltz here off the street because we smelled an opportunity. We started at the bottom and we scratched and clawed and climbed the proverbial ladder rung by Kendamned rung. you know that is the truth. everyone knows that is the truth.”

“The question I have to ask myself is do I have the ability to beat someone with the track record, the reputation, the ego of Joe Marinara.There is no question that you do have the ability to back all of those things up. When climax control is over, only one of us will walk away from that match knowing that we are the very best. Of course, I fully expect you to blame your partner if you should happen to fall short. That's what men like you do. they don't confront the truth, they place the blame.Those things don't matter to me. they should matter to you. This should be something that fills you with trepidation. it should Eat You Alive deep down inside. it should make you wake up in a cold sweat, make you have nightmares, because you realize that as good as you are, the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison, is just better.”


The blood pressure monitor next to Ken begins going off. He reaches over to shut it off, knowing the nurses will take forever to get to the room.

“With your arrogance, a lot of people are going to believe this match is a personal matter. maybe it is for you. Maybe it is for Zoe. I can feel fairly confident when I say that for Courtney Pierce and I this is simply a business transaction. don't get me wrong, I've never liked you. but you and I, we've never crossed paths. to see you ranting and raving about something as simple as your name, it makes you Look like a joke. It makes you look unprofessional. it makes me realize that while your reputation as an athlete, as a wrestler proceeds you,  your reputation as a baby back bitch has not. The truth is that I was winning world championships when you were still wrestling for crowds of 100 people in high school gyms. you may think you have all the tools, all the assets, to defeat me. I've knocked down men just as big as you, just as strong as you, and definitely a lot smarter than you.Courtney Pierce and I are not looking to make our names at someone else's expense, like Zoe is. we're not looking to climb the ladder in Sin City wrestling. We have been the top of the ladder. We have been the Pinnacle of this company. We are the ones who set the example. We proved that in our first round match and we are going to prove it again against you too.”

Ken stops again, imagining JMont’s reaction in his head.

“I am going to do whatever is needed to ensure my victory. If you doubt me, ask anyone who knows me. I am simply one of a kind. the fact that I'm going into this match less than 2 weeks after going through all of this…” Ken turns around and all of the wounds on his back can be seen through the back of his gown. ”That should tell you everything you need to know about me as a person. See you on Sunday, Joe.”

At that point, whomever is recording cuts the feeds off and Ken just lies back down on his bed, exhausted. He passed out and enters some kind of pain induced nightmare. In his dream state, he lays across the horrible orange and brown fabric of a couch seemingly found at an estate sale of a couple who hadn’t bought new furniture since 1974. With his arm resting on the arm rest, he is surprisingly comfortable. The walls are covered in a wainscoting, similar in look to the wood paneling you would see on the side of an old Station Wagon or an Atari 2600. It is exactly as Ken remembers his grandparent’s house back on Vernon Street from when he was a kid. It was one of the few safe havens he had from his mother’s mental hubris. In between moves, it would always seem as though that would end up back in Rockland. When his father left, when they were between moves, when his mother just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, find a job… this was the closest thing he had to a permanent home.
In his surreal, absurd, bizarre, crazy, fanciful, fantastic dreamworld, Ken still felt anxious, despite the odd familiarity of the room. He lays, arms across his chest, fingers interlocked but refusing to hold still. Ken keeps looking up at the ceiling while he is speaking.

“You have to understand something. I don’t understand how I can fly across the world, win a World Championship in another country, then a few months later drop three matches in a row I didn't even drop two matches in a row last year.”

The truth of the matter is that Ken wasn’t upset about losing three matches in a row. In fact, those were all singles matches against quality opponents.

“It’s like I can’t buy a win here. I won that match against Finn then the new year hits and I can't win shit. I wish Kyra was around. I feel like not having her on the road has made a difference. That makes sense, I suppose. Kyra and I can beat anyone that the put in front of us. By myself, I am nothing.”

“That’s cuz you ain’t good enough for my mommy!”

Ken sits up, snapped fully into this unreal reality by the voice of his stepdaughter Adina. He rubs his eyes, confused. Adina looks at Ken with a look of anger which is like a miniature version of her mother’s.

“You win cuz Mama helps you. You’re not good. My daddy won all his matches by himself. You ain’t good like my daddy is.”

“What the fuck?” Ken says aloud. He places his head in his hands, covering his eyes. The words sting like a scorpion’s tail and feel just as venomous.

“You aren’t worthy to be a champion.”

Looking back at the chair, Adina has been replaced by Mac Bane, the man that had inderectly taken Ken's Sin City Wrestling World Championship from him.

“You aren’t good enough to be a World Champion. You took advantage of me, took advantage of our friendship and you took advantage of what is going on with my wife. That is the only reason you beat me. You knew I was vulnerable and stabbed me in the back. You are not my brother. You’re a Goddamned small, petty, jealous, little man. That's why you won't be good enough to win Blast From the Past, either.”

“I’m not a snake,” Ken pleads to this reality displaced apparition. “I challenged you, face to face, man to man. I showed you respect, damnit!”

Ken turns away from Mac, clutching at his non-existent hair in frustration.

“I love listening to lies when I know the truth.”

“Of course you…” Ken spins around. He finishes his sentence, but slowly, shocked at the sight of Chloe Hawkhurst sitting where Mac had be a moment before. “...know… the… truth.”

“The truth is that you will never be a real father.”

Another voice, another venom entering his consciousness. At least in his dreams, he remembered that his wife was pregnant with his child. The words still felt like another flare gun to the ribs.

“You are a horrible person. No amount of good will ever make up for the things you have done. Just because you adopted Adina and took me in doesn’t make you a father. God killed your fiance because you don’t deserve to have children. Kyra should leave your ass before she gives birth so you'll never be around that kid.”

The words are sharp, cutting like a knife. At the same time, they ring true to Ken. He looks around the room frantically, looking for somewhere, anywhere to run. The four walls have no doors, no windows. If Freddy Krueger wanted him dead, this would be the time and the place to do it. Ken falls to his knees, sobbing. He doesn’t have any words. The walls close in around him, the lights darken, the room moves with his emotions, representing how he feels in this dream state. He cannot leave. He cannot escape. He cannot wake up. Face down on the ground, he curls up into the fetal position

“Know your worth, Ken.”

Ken is once again snapped back to this false reality. This time, he does not hear Adina, Mac or Chloe tearing him down. He hears his departed fiance, Crystal. He looks up, and through the magic of some stressed induced fever dream, sees her now sitting in the same chair.

“A bottle of water can be fifty cents at the supermarket, two dollars at the gym, three dollars at movies and six dollars on a plane. Nothing has changed its value but its place. If you feel like you are nothing, maybe you’re in the wrong place.”

As she speaks, the lights come up slowly, the walls seem to slide backwards into their original place. Even the decor changes, morphing from 1970’s chic to 2020 modern. The clean white walls, black molding and window frames that have suddenly appeared, allowing a bright moonlight through them. 

“I’m doing the best I can. I only wanted to make you proud, to do your memory justice. That was always my place.”

“It’s not your place anymore, Ken. This is…”

Instead of the sudden disappearances Ken has experienced so far, Crystal slowly dissipates, replaced by Kyra who appears in the chair, comfortably sitting with her legs crossed, eating a banana and making aggressive eye contact with Ken.

“I told you not to do that, it’s distracting,” Ken deadpans while trying to dry his eyes. He can’t. Where there were tears of frustration and sadness, there are now tears of joy. “Even in my dreams you do this shit to mess with me. What the fuck?”

“You know you like it,” dream Kyra coos seductively. Ken looks over at her baby bump and his face literally glows.

“I do,” Ken says, still collecting himself. “But, is THIS the time?”

It was a dream. Kyra would say anything Ken’s imagination told her to. Ken was somewhat unaware of this fact, even though he realized it was a dream.

“You need to stop doubting yourself. Carl Jung said: “We are not what happened to us, we are what we wish to become.”
Ken realized that had to be his subconscious talking. For all of her positives, quoting Jung was not one of them.
“Listen, asshole. I don't care who you are, where you're from, what you did, as long as you love me.”


“Backstreet Boys? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Kyra smiles.

“With everything we have been through, I’m not going to let you talk shit about yourself. Now , wake the fuck up.”

The room seems to fade away, almost dissolving around him.

“Ken! Wake up, dammit!”

“Huh?” Ken groans, somewhere in between sleep and reality. “What?”

“You were talking in your sleep. Something about the…” there is a confused pause on Kyra’s part. “Backstreet Boys?”

Ken sits up, quickly putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I’m a good man. Right? You still think I'm doing alright even though I'm not home as much?”

“Of course, other than this deathmatch bullshit, you are. Why would you ask?”

“Adina likes me? She's not mad that I'm gone?”

“She adores you! Sometimes I think the little shit loves you more than she loves me.”

“And Chloe?”

“It's been rough at times, aside from her absolutely loving the hell out of Adina. But, since you made her a trainer at the school, I think she's showing a lot of maturity.”

“What about Mac?”

“What's with all the rapid fire questions? You want to tell me where this is coming from?”

“I just had THAT dream again. Adina was telling me how you're carrying me, then Mac was telling me I stabbed him in the back, the Chloe popped up and told me I wouldn't ever be a real father, and,” Kyra puts her finger up the Ken's mouth, interrupting what could have become the world's longest run on sentence.
 
“We've told you, it's just a dream. They don't really feel that way.” Kyra straddles Ken, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. Ken groans as Kyra remembers her man was recently fileted like a fish. “Sorry.”

“And then there was the Crystal part, where said my place is with you. Why the hell do I need constant reassurance, even in my dreams?”

“I don't know, but you need to rest up. If there's no signs of infection, they're going to let you come home tomorrow. Do you want me to call the office and see if they will postpone your World Title match with my sister?

Ken smiles. taking the time to really appreciate his wife.

“Hell no. I'm not going to back out of Blast From the Past, either. Sin City has been too good to me. Besides, I've got people that believe in me.”
[/color]

3
Climax Control Archives / This Used Be A Fun House
« on: March 24, 2023, 11:56:45 PM »
The brightness of the moon stretches behind the numerous gray clouds in the night sky. Somewhere, off in the distance, an owl hoots, breaking the silence. The sound of gravel underfoot crunches as the camera crew makes their way into their destination.

“Make sure you get all of this. This makes me nervous,” says the woman seemingly in charge of the crew.

“Definitely a ten on the “Weird-shit-o-meter,” another opines as there ground they are walking on changes from gravel to scattered cobble with patches of dead grass in between the stones. The entire crew collectively stops as they reach the first abnormality, a large Santa head with arms coming out of it’s ears, holding onto two candy canes. It has a gaping maw, presumably for children to climb through. No one knows when that last happened, as time has caused the paint to wear away. In other places, the dirt has covered the face and beard in some spots, covering the white with shades of gray and black.


The brisk wind chills the crew who begins to proceed towards their destination. The shadows stretch across the walkway, adding to the eeriness of the situation. The next abomination they come across is a decidedly less creepy Santa Claus. This one wouldn’t be so bad if Santa wasn’t sitting like a model in some kind of magazine spread, laying on his side, propped up by one of his arms and holding his knee at that oh, so familiar angle.


Nearby, perhaps the most horrifying attraction the crew has come across so far, is some reindeer statues that have not held up half as well as the two previous Santa attractions. They eventually come up to a house standing in the back of the amusement park. The white house stands undecorated and unassuming, just as seemingly run down and dilapidated as the rest of the amusement park.


Sitting inside of the house, Ken Davison and his wife Kyra Johnson watch the crew walking up through one of the upstairs windows.

“Remind me again, why in the literal fuck are we doing this?”

“Because I want to get in the right mindset. I have been off my game since I found out you’re preggers and I need to remind who everyone back in SCW who the hell I am.”

“Yeah, you remember the Astrocreeps? This has that same creepy ‘we’re not so secretly a cult’ kind of vibe.”

“Not my cup of tea, either. But I’m going to be honest, I am at my best when I create that uncertainty, that little seed of fear or doubt or whatever emotion I can weaponize. You know that.”

“Then you’d damn well knock this out of the park. That’s all I can say. That and I think I’m gonna need a shower after this because this place is fucking gross.”

“You mean we’re going to need a shower,” Ken says with a sly smile.

The crew gets to the front door, which has a handwritten note that says “Come in.” They dutifully follow the instructions and walk inside. The front room on the ground floor ran the entire width of the small house. It was illuminated only by the gray light from the window. There were hunter-green leather armchairs with footstools, a tartan plaid sofa on large ball feet, rustic oak end tables, and a section of bookshelves that held perhaps three hundred volumes. On the hearth of the big river-rock fireplace were gleaming brass and irons, and on the mantel was an old clock with two bronze stags rearing up on their hind legs. The decor was thoroughly but not aggressively masculine. No glassily staring deer or bear heads on the walls, no hunting prints, no rifles on display, just cozy and comfortable.

The house was redolent of lemon-oil furniture polish and a subtle pine-scented air freshener, as well as the faint and pleasant smell of char from the fireplace. The camera crew, still nervous, hurriedly crosses the front room to a half-open door. They opened it and went through and found a kitchen. Canary-yellow ceramic tile with knotty-pine cabinets. On the floor, gray vinyl tile speckled with yellow and green and red. Well scrubbed. Everything in its place. Quite rustic. Taped to the side of the refrigerator was a calendar already turned forward to April, with a color photograph that showed one white and one black kitten-both with dazzling green eyes-peering out from a huge spray of lilies. Based on his recent behavior, the normalcy of the house was terrifying. The gleaming surfaces, the tidiness, the homey touches, It was too perfect. You could easily picture Rose, Blanche, Dorothy, and Sophia sitting down for a slice of cheesecake.

“Anyone else think this is weird?” one of the crew members blurts out.

"We already established that," the producer retorts.

There is a collective murmur amongst the rest of the crew as they make their way through the kitchen. The ambiance was very much a physical representation of Davison’s skewed mentality. The house serves its purpose much the same way each and every person in his life and has their purpose.

Through the four glass panes in the upper half, they see a back porch, a green yard, a couple of big trees, and the barn. They make their way past the rear door, pausing only momentarily to see if anyone was on the other side of it. Without any partition, the kitchen opened into the dining area, and the combined space was probably two-thirds the width of the house. The round dinette table was dark pine, supported by a thick central drum rather than legs; the four heavy pine captain's chairs featured tie-on back and seat cushions.

The noise of a running shower was apparent in the kitchen because the pipes were routed through the rear wall of the old house. Water being drawn upward to the bathroom made an urgent, hollow rushing sound through copper. Furthermore, the pipe wasn't tied down and insulated as well as it ought to have been, and at some point along its course, it vibrated against a wall stud: rapid knocking behind the plasterboard, tatta-tatta-tatta-tatta-tatta. The noise could be construed as either comforting, as there theoretically should be someone else in the home, or rather disconcerting, as the vibrations make you feel as though everything is moving, even though all except the pipes are perfectly still.

At the north end of the dining area was another door. Adorning the door is a hand-painted sign, the color of blood, are the words “This way.” The producer turns the knob as quietly as she could, hand visibly shaking. She crosses the threshold with caution, motioning for the rest of the crew to follow her. Beyond lay a combination of laundry and storage room. A washer. An electric dryer. Boxes and bottles of laundry supplies were stored in an orderly fashion on two open shelves, and the air smells like detergent and bleach. The rush of water and the knocking pipe was even louder here than they had been in the kitchen. To the left, past the washer and dryer, was another door-rough pine, painted lime green. She opens it and sees stairs leading down to a black cellar. Her heart begins to beat faster.

Black. Pitch black.

There are absolutely no windows at all below. Not even a turbid leak of gray storm light seeping through narrow casements or screened ventilation cutouts. Dungeon dark. It’s the sort of thing where you would expect to turn on a light and find someone locked up. But if there were someone that demented and was keeping a captive down there, how odd that he wouldn't have added a lock to this upper door. It offered only the spring latch that retracted with a twist of the knob, not a real lock of any kind.

But that’s part of the game for Davison. Even without his presence, he is deep in the collective minds of the camera crew. The hopefully hypothetical captive might be sealed in a windowless room deep below, of course, or even manacled. They would have no hope of reaching these stairs and this upper door, even if left alone for days to worry at her restraints, which would explain why Davison would be confident that one more barrier to their flight wasn't necessary even when he was away from home.

The producer is snapped back into reality by the lights that came on behind her. In this day and age, everyone had a flashlight on their phones. Her shadow cast against the wall, she is leaning through the doorway, feeling along the stairwell wall for the switch, and snapped it up. Lights came on both at the upper landing and in the basement. ‘How in the hell can they aim a camera but not a flashlight?’ she thinks to herself. The bare concrete steps-a single flight-were steep. They appeared to be much newer than the house itself, perhaps even a relatively recent addition.

“Be careful of the stairs, everyone. We don’t need anyone busting their ass.”

Halfway down the stairs, she glanced back and up. At the end of a trail of her wet shoe prints, the landing seemed a quarter of a mile above her, as far away as the top of the knoll had seemed from the front porch of the house. Alice down the rabbit hole into madness without a tea party.

“Do we really have to do this? It seems a little outside of our pay grade,” one of the crew members questions.

“Unfortunately,” the producer responds. She had a feeling of uneasiness. To her, this feels like one of those haunted houses that you go to on Halloween. At the open doorway between the in-kitchen dining area and the laundry room, the crew listens for something.. anything…, hoping to hear something other than their own breathing. Davison stalks the crew, who are only a few feet away from him, around the comer, past the washer and the dryer. He stands blinking but otherwise motionless in the fragrance of laundry detergent and in the wall-muffled rattle of copper pipes. 'This is going to be fun,’ Davison muses as he and Kyra make their way down a hidden staircase that leads down to the basement.

“Um… Ken? We know you’re here…uh… somewhere.”

The cellar door stands open. The stairwell light is on. The crew is not in sight. Truth be told, Davison has never put a lock on the door to the cellar steps because he is concerned that it might accidentally trip, imprisoning himself down there when he is at play and unaware. With a key-operated deadbolt, of course, this catastrophe could never happen. He is incapable of imagining how any such mechanism could malfunction and trap him; nevertheless, he's too concerned about the prospect to take the risk. Just as he does inside of the ring, he considers every possibility outside of it. He takes a deep, but slow and quiet, breath. Perhaps family life had dulled Davison’s predatory spirit. Perhaps, this was going to be the game that awakened it.
After a brief hesitation, he leans through the open door and looks down the cellar stairs. The last member of the camera crew, a towheaded young man, short and slender, is only a few steps from the bottom. He's got one hand on the railing. His full attention is aimed in front of him, following the direction of the producer. as though she were the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Regardless, even if she were the piper, he was the puppetmaster pulling her strings. He could have just as easily met the crew somewhere else, but he enjoyed this feeling of control.

He eases through the doorway onto the upper landing. As close as they are, they do not hear him because all is concrete, nothing to creak. He aims his hand as though it were a pistol, pointing at the center of the blonde gentleman's back. The first shot would catapult him off his feet, send him flying with arms spread like an eagle. Instead of taking flight, the body would fall toward the basement below. The second shot would take him as he is in flight. Davison would then race down the stairs, firing the third and fourth rounds, hitting other members of the camera crew in the legs if possible. He would then tackle the producer from behind while she took in the carnage. He would drop on top of her, press the muzzle into the back of her head, and then, then, when he's totally in control of her, dominant, he can decide what to do with her. Just as the minds of the camera crew had wandered, so had Davison’s. This, however, was not that kind of hunt.

The outer wall of mortared stone was to their right. There was nowhere to go in that direction. To her left was a chamber about ten feet from front to back, and as wide as the house. The crew moved away from the foot of the stairs, into this new space. At one end stood an oil-fired furnace and a large electric water heater. At the other end were tall metal storage cabinets with vent slits in the doors, a workbench, and a tool chest on wheels. Nothing that would seem out of the ordinary, with a lone exception. Directly ahead, in a concrete-block wall, a strange door waited.

Click-whoosh.

The sound of the furnace startles the crew, revealing exactly how on edge they are. Over the sound of the furnace, they could still hear the vibrating pipe. Tatta-tatta-tatta. It was faint here, but still audible.

The door in the back wall was padded like a theater door, in leather grain maroon vinyl divided into quilt-like squares by eight upholstery nails with large round heads covered in matching vinyl. The frame was upholstered in the same material. No lock, not even a spring latch, prevented her from proceeding. Putting her hand on the vinyl, the producer discovers that the padding was even plusher than it appeared to be. As much as two inches of foam covered the underlying wood. She gripped the long stainless-steel, U-shaped handle. When she pulled, the vinyl-encased door softly scraped and squeaked across the upholstery on the jamb. The fit was snug: When the door swung all the way free of the jamb and the seal was broken, there was a faint sound similar to that made when one opened a jar of vacuum-packed peanuts. The door was upholstered on the inside as well. The overall thickness was in excess of five inches. Beyond this new threshold lay a six-foot-square chamber with a low ceiling, which reminded her of an elevator, except that every surface other than the floor was upholstered. The floor was covered with a rubber mat of the kind used in many restaurant kitchens for the comfort of cooks who worked on their feet for hours at a time. In the dim light from the recessed overhead bulb, she saw that the fabric here wasn't vinyl but gray cotton with a nubbly texture.

Directly opposite the door that the producer held open was one more door. It was also padded and set in an upholstered frame. Finally, there were locks. The gray upholstery plumped around two heavy-duty brass lock cylinders. She and the rest of the crew couldn't proceed without keys. Then she noticed a small padded panel overlying the door itself at eye level, perhaps six by ten inches with a knob attached. It was like the sliding panel over the viewport in the solid door of a maximum-security prison cell. Tatta-tatta-tatta… whoever was in the shower seemed to be taking an unusually long shower. On the other hand, they hadn't been in the house more than three or four minutes; it just seemed longer. If he was having a leisurely scrub, he might not be half done.

Tatta-tatta-tatta.

Beyond was rose-colored light. The port was fitted with a sturdy screen to protect the viewer from assault by whoever or whatever was within. The producer put her face to the port and saw a large chamber nearly the size of the living room under which it was situated. In portions of the space, shadows were pooled deep, and the only light came from three lamps with fringed fabric shades and pink bulbs that were each putting out about forty watts. At two places along the back wall were panels of red and gold brocade that hung from brass rods as if covering windows, but there could be no windows underground; the brocade was just set dressing to make the room more comfortable… or maybe it was designed to make the room more uncomfortable. It was hard to say. On the wall to the left, barely touched by light, was a large tattered tapestry: a scene of women in long dresses and cloche hats riding horses side-saddle through spring grass and flowers, past a verdant forest.

The furnishings included a plump armchair with antimacassars, a double bed with a white headboard painted with a scene not quite discernible in the rose light, bookcases with acanthus-leaf molding, cabinets with mullioned doors, a small dining table with a heavily carved apron, two Directoire chairs with flower-pattern upholstery flanking the table, and a refrigerator. An immense dark-stained armoire, featuring crackle-glazed flower appliques on all the door panels, was old but probably not a genuine antique, battered but handsome. A padded vanity bench sat before a makeup table with a triptych mirror in a gilded, fluted frame. In a far comer were a toilet and a sink. As weird as this subterranean room was, like a storage vault for the stage furniture from a production of Arsenic and Old Lace, the collection of dolls was by far the strangest thing about it. Kewpie dolls, Cabbage Patch Kids, Raggedy Ann, and numerous other varieties, both old and new, some more than three feet tall, some smaller than a milk carton, were dressed in diapers, snowsuits, elaborate bridal dresses, checkered rompers, cowboy outfits, tennis togs, pajamas, hula skirts, kimonos, clown suits, overalls, nighties, and sailor suits. They filled the bookshelves, peered out through the glass doors of some of the cabinets, perched on the armoire, sat atop the refrigerator, stood and sat on the floor along the walls. Others were piled atop one another in a corner and at the foot of the bed, legs and arms jutting at odd stiff angles, heads cocked as on broken necks, like stacks of gaily attired corpses awaiting transport to a crematorium. Two hundred, or three hundred, or more small faces either glowed in the gentle light or were ghost-pale in the shadows, some of bisque and some of china and some of cloth, some wood and some plastic. Their glass, tin, button, cloth, and painted-ceramic eyes reflected the light, shone brightly where the dolls were placed near any of the three lamps, glowed as moodily as banked coals where they were consigned to the darker corners.

Perhaps the most jarring image is that of Kyra, who appears to be bound to the chair. Her hair is wet, hanging in front of her face. Her arms are bound to the arms of the chair with leather restraints. Her mouth is bound by a piece of cloth. Her face is covered in makeup to give her the same complexion as some of the porcelain dolls in the room.

“Holy fuck!”

"She okay?”

“We need to get the hell out of here.”

“Help her!”

The crew’s reaction seems to all blend together, like a beautiful symphony of stupor.

“What’s red and hangs around trees?” The entire production team jumps, startled by their host appearing suddenly. “A baby hit by a snowblower.” The entire production team jumps, startled by their host appearing behind them. “What’s green and hangs around trees? Same baby three weeks later.”

Davison is obviously going for shock value, not that he needed it. His memorabilia was shocking enough. They filled the bookshelves, peered out through the glass doors of some of the cabinets, perched on the armoire, sat atop the refrigerator, stood and sat on the floor along the walls. Others were piled atop one another in a different corner and even some at the foot of the bed, legs and arms jutting at odd stiff angles, heads cocked as on broken necks, like stacks of gaily attired corpses awaiting transport to a crematorium. Two, maybe three hundred or so small faces either glowed in the gentle light or were ghost pale in the shadows. Kyra stands up having gone along with the prank, but the look on her face tells you that she certainly wasn’t pleased with Ken’s decision to give “method acting” a try.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to make sure we got the right mood for what we are going for. I would say it worked.”

“If you really wanted the right mood, you should have really tied me to that chair. But you’re still a bit of a dick, you know that?” Kyra says with an amused grin as she throws her ‘bindings’ onto the chair. In the background, some of the crew can be heard agreeing with her.

“Listen, if I’m really tying you to that chair, that’s not the type of games you’d want cameras here for.”

Davison pauses as Kyra gives him a look.

“You sure about that?”

Kyra chuckles and shrugs her shoulders.

“Maybe.”

The crew scurries to finish setting up while Davison walks over to a panel of some sort, flipping the switches so the ambiance changes from the gentle rose color to the harshness of a deep crimson. Also, around the border of the ceiling, are strings of led christmas lights, bright enough to be seen, but not enough to change the room. Kyra takes her place back in the chair and sits down, covering herself in a blanket to cover her baby bump then placing the cloth back over her mouth. Ken stands confidently behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Seleana Zdunich, I don't have much to say about you. It's not that I don't respect you. It's because I know the Courtney Pierce is going to handle you.  However, I'll have more on that later on.”

“Peter Vaughn, I understand that this is your grand debut. They are building this as savior against savior and I cannot for the life of me figure out why. You and I do not have a connection. You and I are not brothers. You and I have not bled for or because each other. In my eyes, you are not a savior… yet.”

“You know something? When my wife and I were talking March 26th, talking about this trip to the Great White North, talking about this match in particular, it feels like ice cold water running through my veins. I am getting goosebumps. I get that hit of adrenaline like when you come off a diving board and that first blast of cold water permeates your entire body. I get the rush from head to toe, because within this company alone, I’ve won championships all over the world. Coming to Kelowna, British Columbia… Coming to Prospera Place… it’s a throwback to my days back in Baltimore. We’re in a smaller, more intimate venue, and I’ve got to tell you Vaughn, it feels like coming home.”

“People are going to ask me, why do you have to go there? Why do you have to fight your brother in arms? You’ve got nothing to prove. And why the heck are you getting in the ring with “The Mechanic”? The reason why, Vaughn, is simple. I know my time is winding down. When this is over, when I wrap this up, I want to put an exclamation point at the end of the sentence, not a period. I gotta end the legacy the right way. I gotta be able to look in the eyes of my wife and my children and I will have to tell them why I did what I did. That is why I’ve fought Goth. That is why I’ve fought Mac Bane. The Saviors are bigger than any wrestling promotion in the world today and the way that you and I are going to prove that, more importantly, the way that you are going to prove that you are really[/i] a Savior, is by taking this,  the first match in the Blast From the Past tournament, and showing this entire company that even though we are the past, we are also the future.”

“That’s why teaming with Courtney Pierce, a woman I have never spoken to in my life, is so appropriate. I remember how I’d travel from city to city, show to show, to whichever venue I was needed at. I would be paired up with whatever talent they thought would put on a good show with me. I’ve won championships with names like Saber and Tara ‘Spirit’ Jacobs and I know that you are asking yourself who the hell they are. But, that’s exactly my point. Those two woman are now nothing more than footnotes in my history, names lost beneath the sands of time.”

“So, when I say going back to my roots, I'm talking about coming back to the smaller venues, I’m talking about finding the success with any partner they can give me because I have something to prove. There is a reason I am a three time champion in this company. There is a reason why I have won tag team championships with more partners than I can remember. That reason, Vaughn, is because I understand  my opponents, I understand who you are and what you are about. That’s why you are here. That’s why you were invited into the Parthenon of the Elite we call the Saviors.”

“So, Vaughn, I’ve got something to tell you, the story goes like this: Zdunich, you should take notes because I know enough about Courtney Pierce to know that she follows the same line of thought. Be ready for the fight of your life. I know that you have something that you need to establish yourself in this company. I know that means you are going to come at me with everything you have. Don’t come to Kelowna, don’t come to the Palace if you don't think blood’s gonna flow like wine, pretty appropriate given the number of vineyards here. This is the fight of my life, brother. This could be the last match that I fight for my family, the Hulkamaniacs, or this could be the first match on the long hard road of taking over the whole professional wrestling business once again.”

At the end of the day, I'm glad that you and I are going to be in this match together. At the end of the day, I'm glad I have a REAL partner in Courtney Pierce. Since all the bullshit with Finn Whelan started, it’s been nothing but games. It’s been a lot of pissing, whining and making excuses and that isn’t who I am. I have spent almost thirty years pounding these highways. I spent almost thirty years breaking my body in half. I spent thirty years trying to prove what this business is all about. To be constantly cheap shotted, to have the carpet pulled out from under me, it’s not gonna end that way. So I feel sorry for Peter Vaughn. I feel sorry for Seleana Zdunich. Courtney Pierce and I are the two most motivated team in this tournament, hands down.”

“When you walk out of Climax Control, there's gonna be one thing that's gonna happen to you, Vaughn. Either you’re going to be a man and shake my hand when I get done with you or I’m going to expel you from the Saviors myself. So in Kelowna, British Columbia, a couple of days away, I show you, Vaughn, and Courtney Pierce and I remind each and every man and woman in the locker room exactly why we are two of the best in this business.”


Ken puts his hands firmly on Kyra’s shoulders, Kyra raises her right hand to hold Ken’s as the camera fades to black.

4
{Author's note: Apologies to the staff and to Alex for posting this without formatting and whatnot. Hopefully it still flows well. I've been dealing with a pinched nerve in my shoulder and because of that haven't been able to type without being in pain.}

The Davisons walk into Fogo de Chao Brazilian Steakhouse arm in arm. Ken smiles that stupid, cheesy smile that seems to cross his face when he’s around his wife. Lately, his time seems to be spent between Las Vegas, Baltimore and their combined doctor’s appointments. The simplicity of just having this time with Kyra, is really all he needs in life.

The iridescent illumination creates a glow throughout the room the Ken feels is as warm as Kyra’s is. The two are wearing matching outfits, Ken in a navy blue shirt and black slacks, with Kyra wearing a black dress with a matching belt around the empire waist, the fabric stretching enough to show off her slight baby bump. The various levels of lighting reflect off the brown walls creating an earthy, and more importantly, inviting atmosphere. The black chairs are far enough away that they don’t clash with the chocolate colored walls, the brown pseudo wood grain table tops are covered in a white tablecloth.

As the couple approach their table, Ken pulls out the seat in front of him and motions for Kyra to sit down. She takes his hand and he raises her to his lips, kisses it before letting go so he can make certain that her ass lands on the chair. Maybe he’s being overprotective. Maybe he’s being gentlemanly. Either way, Kyra seems to appreciate the gesture. Ken smoothes out his shirt and pant legs before taking his own seat.

“I feel like we don’t get to do this nearly enough anymore,” Ken says earnestly. “I know I ask you this all the time, but how are you feeling? Not like a general “I’m okay.” Honest to goodness how are you?”

She sits back, resting her hands on the baby bump.  “I.. um.. I'm good.  Really good.  I mean, why wouldn't I be?”

“I just  worry that I’m not home enough. I feel like we don’t talk the way we used to. I don’t know, maybe I’m being stupid. We were traveling the world together. Now, I’m in a hotel room and when I roll over it’s just… empty.”

Ken looks defeated.Still, it’s good that he’s letting this out because he usually bottles his emotions up until he says or worse, does something stupid.

“I just feel like you’re supposed to be my number one priority and… I don’t know…” Ken’s voice trails off.

“Here's the thing, Ken…”  Kyra begins, her tone much more gentle than it usually is.  “I am, or rather WE are your top priority.  That doesn't change because you're going out and doing something you love.  Yeah we were traveling the world together, and to be fair.. we still could be…”

She shoots him a soft look before she continues. “But everything is okay.   We're okay.  The family is okay.  You're not a bad husband or father just because you're still out here pursuing your passions.  I can take care of things, believe it or not." 

She finishes with a soft smile, reaching out for his hand. He smiles back at Kyra, but it's definitely more of an awkward one. Before he can answer, they are interrupted by their server.

“Hi, I'm Mario. I'll be your server for the evening. Here are your menus and a glass of water for each of you. I'll give you a few moments and be right back with you.”

“Thank you,” the two say in unison. Ken gives his wife's hand a gentle squeeze, returning his attention solely to her.

“I know you can handle it. I don't know if I can handle it. This is new to me. I feel like… I don't know. I feel like I should be here more. I've got some reservations about this whole situation. Not that I don't want to be a dad or anything like that. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. I'm just…” he says, voice quivering as it trails off again. “Mama, I'm scared.”

The words have power. Ken’s entire demeanor from the tone of his voice to his body language deflate.

“Because of what happened to Crystal.”  Kyra replies, matter of factly.  “I don’t know why you wouldn’t be, after that.   This entire process is terrifying, without the added stress of what you’d already been through, hun.   When I was pregnant with Adina, I was scared too.   I wasn’t sure I was the kind of person who should have a kid, let alone be trusted to raise them to be a decent human being.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s normal to be scared.  You’re not alone.”

“Wow… Um… Okay…” Ken stammers, obviously caught off guard. “This went in a direction I wasn’t expecting. But… uh… you might be onto something. I just want to be here for everything and that might be part of it but maybe because this is the first one that or at least the first one that I’m aware of so I just want to be here for all of it. More than anything, I want to be here for you.”

Kyra just kind of gives Ken a look.

“Sorry, word vomit. I couldn’t help myself. Since you brought it up, can I be clear about one thing?”

“Of course.”

“This isn't about Crystal. This is about us. This about you and I, Adina, the baby, and even Chloe. Am I scared because of what happened all those years ago? Fuck, yeah. But you aren’t her. I know it wasn’t her fault, but she broke me. When she died I lost a part of me. But, you,” Ken stops and sniffles, trying to fight back the tears in his eyes. “You make me whole. After Crystal died, I was fearless. Everything had been taken from me. You gave me back everything I had been missing. I wasn’t afraid until I met you.”

It takes Kyra a few moments before she leans forward and speaks. 

“I feel the same way about you.”  She says quietly, a reassuring smile on her face.  “You are here for me, for us.  You always have been there whenever I needed you.  Hell, if it wasn’t for you I’d probably be married to some other prick right now.   You showed me my true value, and so much more.  You don’t ever have to worry about me feeling like you aren’t here for me, or for this family.”

“I can't help but feel…”

“But…”  Kyra interjects, her head tilting to the side.  “You say this isn’t about what happened before, and I believe you.  But you are scared of losing me.  Of losing this baby…” 

Her voice trails off as she glances down at her belly. 

“What I'm scared of is missing something important. I've been going to therapy behind your back. An actual psychiatrist who prescribed me anxiety meds. A few weeks back, I noticed I was getting… something. I can't even find the right word for it. I just knew that I had to get the situation handled. If I became some kind of controlling monster, I'd be no better than the men who came before me.”

Kyra nods her head and sits back in her seat, a look of shock on her face. 

“Well.. I, um.  I’m glad you’re getting the help you needed… But why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don't know.  That's a lie. I do know. I didn't want you to worry about me any more than you already do. Which brings me to why I wanted to get you out of the house. I didn't want the girls to hear and any excuse to wine and dine you, or at least dine you, is worth it.”

Instead of answering straight away, Kyra simply sits and fiddles with the napkin on the table in front of her. 

“How would you feel if I retired? I finish my run with the Conquest title, go for the World title if I get that far, honor my commitment to that tournament in Sin City and step away. I've had a good career. I'm satisfied. My commitment is to you.”

She shrugs her shoulders.  “That’s not my decision.”

Ken opens his mouth to retort but Kyra stops him.

“BUT.. if that’s what you wanna do, then I’d enjoy having you at home.  Only if that’s really what you want to do.  I already know your commitment is to me.  You don’t have to prove it by giving it up before you’re ready.”

“It's not like that. I know I don't have to prove anything to you. I've never had to. It's always been about what I have to prove to myself. I have to prove to myself that I am deserving of your love because I just can't let go of that nagging little voice in the back of my head that tells me that I'm not good enough.”

Ken sighs. As he's about to continue, the server walks up to the table.

“Have you two had a chance to look over the menu?”

“We're still deciding. A few more moments, please.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

Ken turns back to Kyra who is taking a drink of her water.

“I'm trying to find the right way to phrase this. My father, the one you met, not the sperm donor, was always there for me and that's who I want to be for you, Adina and the kid. If I step away, I can do that.”

“Then it seems like you’ve made up your mind.”

“Let's see how this plays out. I wouldn't mind going for the World title just once. But, if I don't get there, I think it's time to become a stay at home dad, if you can put up with me.”

Kyra chuckles.  “I think I’ll manage.”

“Then it's settled.” Ken says as he joins in the chuckling. “I suppose we should actually look at the menu.”

With the proverbial elephant no longer in the room, the two enjoy the rest of the evening, losing themselves in each other.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now in full regalia, “Godly’ Ken Davison stands in front of the camera. He paces back and forth with his hands folded in front of his face. He motions up and down with them, before finally turning to the camera, having finally chosen the right words.

“Alexander Raven, old buddy, old pal. We meet again. I know that this time you think that the tables have turned and the hunter has become the hunted. That’s all fine and good with me, Raven, because I know that you take me far more seriously than most around here. Still, I know that most people around here think that I am walking around in front of this camera, in front of these fans, and play God. You know to realize real quick that I don’t play God. Playing is for children.”

“To further that point, I also understand that what goes up must come down. The higher you are, the further you fall. The more it hurts when you hit the ground and anybody, no matter how big the empire they built and how great the legacy they’ve carved out for themselves, can come crashing down fast and all it takes is one guy with a wild hair up his ass and the balls to take a shot. It only took one bullet to kill Abraham Lincoln and when the history books are written they will say that “Godly” Ken Davison only had to make one mistake to put an unremovable, bloody wound on his mythical career. That mistake, Raven, it won’t come against you. The reason that the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison dropped the World Championship is because I made the mistake of showing Finn Whelan mercy. He took advantage and used that to take my championship. Then next time we were set to fight, he needed another week because he wasn’t ready. He didn’t watch the show when they said the winner of the number one contender’s match would get their shot in two weeks. Yet again, I agreed and showed what he thought was mercy. This time, however, he was not granted the grace of God, because I used that time to learn from my mistake.”

“If we’ve learnt one thing in 2022: It is that even though the Saviors stand shoulder to shoulder, “Godly” Ken Davison is capable of standing on his own two feet. On March 12th, I am going to make you realize just how bad you screwed up, because that’s what you are doing by taking this match. First, I am going to break you physically, because I’m freaking badass. I am going to pick you apart piece by piece, tendon after tendon, bone after bone until you quit. I want to take it upon myself to finish the job and I’m gonna make you ask yourself a question. “Is it worth it?”

Davison pulls a bag from off screen. There are a few different title belts in there. On top of the pile, center of attention, is the replica of the Sin City Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship they give to all former champions.

“I could carry this bag around all the time with all this gold, all these accolades, all these belts and they don’t mean dick.”

Davison slides the bag back to the side.

“And while we’re at it these promoters…” Ken pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket. “…all this money they’re giving me, all of a sudden, it doesn’t mean dick to me.”

Ken throws the billfold over his shoulder. The black curtain behind him billows for a brief moment as the money strikes it.

“I don’t want it. What I want is ALEXANDER RAVEN’S HEAD ON A STICK!!!”

“Godly” Ken Davison stops. In this moment, where he would normally stop and try to collect himself, he instead cracks his neck, which is loud enough to be picked up by the microphone of the camera.

“Because the titles, the money, the fame, the fortune… none of that means a Kendamned thing if I can’t get past you again because this isn’t about any of that. This is about something worth more than any of that. This is about my reputation. When the night comes to a close on March 6th, you’re going to have to ask yourself: “Is it worth it?” I’m not gonna tell you if it is or if it isn’t. I’m gonna let you ask yourself that question at the end of the night and only me and you are gonna know the answer.”

“I haven’t had the best year so far. The fact that my first two singles matches here have resulted in losses doesn’t sit well with me. Do you know how many times that happened to me last year? Zero. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. If I had a dollar for every time it happened to me last year I’d be flat broke. I am a proven winner. There is literally no other reason why I am here. That means I drag wrestlers to places they’ve never been before. I drag guys underwater where they can’t breathe. But if anybody knows that it should be you since the last time we were in the ring together I beat your ass. But that doesn’t matter because I’m not looking at the past, I am looking to the future. I am looking towards the Sin City Wrestling Internet Championship..That means I am looking to win the Blast from the Past  That means I am not looking past you, I am looking through you. That means that at Blaze of Glory, I get to drill your head into the mat again, just like it was a railroad spike and I get to walk out as the new Sin City Wrestling Internet Champion.”

5
Climax Control Archives / Leadership
« on: February 24, 2023, 11:52:12 PM »
“Last night I dreamt I was at my funeral again.” Ken says stoically to no one in particular. Sitting in the middle of the room, in one of the fifteen or so chairs placed nonchalantly in a shape vaguely resembling a circle. Unbeknownst to his friends, his family, his peers, Ken Davison has been going to a support group to try and manage his anxiety. The fact that he is going to be a father is weighing heavily on his heart. Given the fact that his first child would be twenty five years old, no one could blame him if they did know about these meetings. To Ken, it was a sign of weakness. It wasn’t so much that he was getting help. Rather, it was the fact that he felt he needed help. “I don’t know why. Ever since I found out my wife is pregnant, I’ve been scared. Living in fear.”

Ken doesn’t look around the room for a reaction. That’s not what this is about. This is his confessional. There is no Holy Spirit here to cleanse his mind of his own perceived transgressions. There were only people who were as damaged as he was, perhaps even moreso. These were his people.

“In my life, I’ve done unspeakable things in the name of love. At least, I thought it was love. Right now I have everything, literally everything, that I have ever wanted out of life and it’s made me realize that I’m scared that I will lose it. I’m scared that I don’t deserve it. My wife and I have been through so much, I know she loves me unconditionally. Yet I still think that I’m not good enough for her because of what I’ve done in the past.”

“What do you think that represents?” Greg, the counselor running the group, queries.

“That I’m going to die, obviously.”

Greg can only shake his head. He does, however, manage to stifle his laugh without anyone noticing.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because God hates me and just wants to fuck me over,” Ken says slapping his hands audibly on his knees. “I don’t know. I just know that I can’t handle the thought of anything happening to my wife and kid so I guess I imagine that something is going fuck this up and that it’s going to end up hurting me.”

Greg points over to a woman, somewhere in her mid-thirties, who has her hand raised. She’s got a bit of a Stevie Nicks vibe, wearing a black flowing dress, black rimmed hat and, of course, a black shawl over her shoulders.

“Yes, Ophelia.”

“So, like, when you dream of your own funeral, there’s a spiritualism to that, man. Sometimes, it can mean you need to make some changes to your life. But it usually means that it’s the end of one chapter of your life and the start of another. I mean, you’re about to become the patron of a tiny, sweet, soft, innocent, cute, giggly, precious bundle of joy. That’s the start of something beautiful.”

Ophelia stops and scrunches her nose.

“But if you're dreaming of being buried in a coffin, that means you feel trapped.”

“That’s the polar opposite of helpful. You know that?”

Greg puts his hand up, stopping Ken in his tracks.

“Hold on. She’s actually onto something, on both counts. Is your wife’s pregnancy giving you the feeling that you’re trapped? It’s a very common thing, you know.”

“No! I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.”

“I’m telling you, you’re scared of this next chapter of your life, Ken. Who wouldn’t be? It’s, like, a whole new world.”

“This is… This is… It’s different,” Ken stammers. “I’ve been having this dream for years, twenty five fucking years. Okay? The difference is now it’s me in the box instead of Crys…”

Ken stops dead in his tracks. Are these REALLY his people? Can he trust them with this?

“My finance was killed by a drunk driver. She was pregnant when she died. For twenty five years I’ve dreamed of her in that box and now, the past few months, ever since I found out my wife is knocked up, it’s me in that fucking box. I suppose your hippie mumbo jumbo bullshit can explain that, Ophelia.”

Ophelia is completely unphased by Ken’s outburst, looking through the window at the snow beginning to fall in the illumination of the streetlight outside. She waits for Ken to finish before returning her attention to him.

“Yeah, my dude. I can explain that. You loved your fiance, having her taken away by death's cruel embrace never changed that. When going to the funeral of someone who is already dead in your sleep symbolizes that you’re still grieving their loss and that you’re not able to move on. So, it symbolizes your own feelings of guilt or regret in regard to that person. How would you have stopped her death? That’s such a burden to carry for as long as you have.”

“So what you’re telling me is that I’m feeling trapped because my wife is pregnant? Is that what we’re going with?”

Greg gives Ken a reassuring smile.

“Actually, I think you are being trapped by fear. You keep looking for things that could go wrong, whether or not they actually could. You feel like you no longer care about anything else except protecting your life and kid. And perhaps, you even feel like a prisoner in your own life. Right?”

“In some ways, I guess. But I’ve always wanted to protect my family.”

“Yes, but that feeling was never connected to feelings of loss. When you have something to relate your fears to, you feel like you are stuck. It’s completely normal. The good news is that it’s temporary. Like a kidney stone, this too shall pass.”

“When? Seven months from now after she gives birth?”

“So let’s dive in if you want to get unstuck. Usually, the reason we get stuck is because we hold on to some previous ideas we had, just like you are. What you need to do is get moving, make small changes. Think about the world and how different it is. You can’t keep your wife prisoner and you can’t keep her encased in bubble wrap. What can you do?”

“I mean, we have these apps on our phones that we can see where we are. We can always call each other. But I don’t want her going out alone, especially at night.”

“You are a professional wrestler. You travel around the country, sometimes around the world. What you can do is talk to your wife and let her know your concerns. In your line of work you need to focus on what you are doing in the moment or you can get hurt. Talk to your wife, and I am saying that again, because that is the best advice I have.”

Greg looks down at his watch.

“It looks like that’s all the time we have for tonight.” The group stands up and begins folding up their chairs, with the exception of Ken himself. Greg stops and clasps his hand on Ken’s shoulder. “I think that you and I need to schedule an individual session. Call my secretary tomorrow, please.”

“Sure, I’ll do that.”

Greg continues towards the back of the room to put his chair back where it belongs. Ken stands up and walks out, making it as far as the second step in the front of the building before practically collapsing on the cold concrete. He pulls out his phone and quickly dials the phone. It barely rings before Kyra answers.

“Hey, babe… I love you.”

“What do you want?” Kyra responds jokingly.

“You. I’ll talk to you when I get home,” he says with tears rolling down his cheeks.

The tenor of Mrs. Davison’s voice changes.

“What’s wrong? Don’t try to bullshit me, either. I can hear it.”

“I’ll explain when I get home. I just… I’m feeling things right now. I’ll hit Starbucks on the way home and bring you a coffee. You want anything else?”

“We’ve got DoorDash on the way. We’re good.”

There is an awkward pause in the air for just a moment.

“Are you sure you’re good?”

“I will be. I just wanted to let you know in case anything happens, that you are sun. My world revolves around you. You’re the light in my life and I’d be lost without you.”

“Don’t be stupid. Take your time and collect yourself. Skip the coffee and get your ass home. Understand?”

“Sure thing, mama. Love you.”

“I love you, too. Be careful.”

“I will.”

Ken hangs up the phone and stands up, holding onto the railing to support his weakened knees as he meanders the rest of the way down the stairs to get to his car.

______________________

“The world is full of people who tolerate Jack Michaels. The reason I mention his name is because he was the last man that stood across the ring from me who claimed to be a quote unquote icon. He was a man who thought himself a leader and deserved to be revered as an icon because of it. The man even led a stable known as “Paragon” and I believe the irony of that was lost on his pompous ass. The reason I mention him is because I see the parallels between of two of you. Even moreso, I see the parallels between you and I.”

“Much like yourself, I returned after a fairly prolonged absence in the sport. When I came back I didn't come in with a whimper the way you did. I returned with a roar. During an outdoor event, I walked into a wrestling ring that was located in the middle of a parking lot in downtown Baltimore, Maryland. I didn't wait until I was booked for a match. I didn't wait for some grand announcement to be made. I marched through that crowd, announcing my presence by having my theme music played through a boombox. I hopped that barricade.  I strode into that ring and I announced to the world that The GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison had returned. I did so with a sense of swagger that a man of your stature would still look at, jaw agape, and stand in total awe of. I returned 8 months after having a Widowmaker heart attack. I sat in the middle of the ring and I told the world that no man, woman, or child could keep me down. God himself tried to smite me and couldn't finish the job. I stared death himself in the face and I laughed. That moment, that was the exact moment that I realized that I was a leader in this industry. That is why I surround myself with men like your future opponent, Mac motherfucking Bane. Right now, you shouldn't even be worrying about Mac Bane. You should be worrying about if you will even make it to Mac Bane.”

“The men and women that comprise the Saviors, not just at the present moment, but those who have come before, we are all leaders. We have all put in our blood, sweat, and tears, not just in the Sin City Wrestling ring, but throughout this entire industry. I'm going to explain this in a way that it was explained to me. I don't know if it will make sense to you, because you're so full of shit you've got brown eyes. You are so full of yourself, that I doubt you have room for food. Your arrogance assures me that you won't hear a word I have to say because you don't want to listen. You think you know it all. I understand that. I’m going to give this a go anyway, because I want you to understand who the hell I am.”

“All the way back in 1994, when I first began training for a career in the wrestling business, I had a trainer who was explaining what it meant to be a locker room leader. The way he explained it to me was to ask me if I loved my girlfriend. It was an odd question given my surroundings, but I answered him honestly and I told him yes. Then he told me to prove it. He asked me to give him a number. So I'm sitting there trying to figure out what he's getting at and before I can answer he continued. He says to me “ When you met your girlfriend, you didn't love her. Now you love her. Tell me the day that love happened.” I couldn't tell him. there was no magical number. There was no set date. I didn't know. He asked me an impossible question. He explained “It's not that it doesn't exist, it's that it's easier to prove over a period of time.” Leadership is the same thing. It's about transitions. I'm going to pause a moment to allow that to sink in. Leadership is about transitions.”

“Another way that I could explain it, one that might make more sense to you since I'm pretty sure your girlfriend inflates, is take the gym for example.When you go to the gym and you work out, You finish your routine and then you go to the mirror and what change do you see? nothing. absolutely nothing. You go to the gym the next day, repeat the process.  I want you to tell me what you see, what is the change after two days? Nothing. There's no results. So, most people at this point, quit.”

“However, if you believe in yourself and you believe in process, like a relationship, “I bought her flowers. I took her out for Valentine’s Day. I wished her a happy birthday and she doesn’t love me. Clearly, I’ll give up.”  That's not how that works. In both situations if you believe in the process and you believe there is something there and you put in the work, over time you will see the results.You don't have to be perfect. you can screw up. You can skip a day at the gym. You can have that piece of chocolate cake, so long as you maintain your dedication to the regimen. No one knows the exact date they fall in love. No one knows the exact day when they look in the mirror at the gym and notice that they are getting in shape. The same goes for leadership. It's not about the events. It's not about the intensity. It's about the consistency.”

“The problem is that most people base leadership on the intensity. If we were to liken this to my career here in SCW, some would say I am a leader because I held Championship gold three times last year. For me, those are highlights, but it's the monotony that makes me a leader. It is the fact that I get up every Kendamned morning and go to the gym. It's the fact that I prepare what I am going to say before I say it. I don't just turn on the camera and decide to start rambling about something. I do each and everything with purpose. My wife didn't fall in love with me because I remembered her birthday. My wife didn't fall in love with me because I took her out on Valentine's Day. She fell in love with me because the first thing I did before I got  out of bed was text her good morning. She fell in love with me because I made her my number one priority not just on those special occasions but every day. That is how leadership works. That is why I am a leader.”

“In a group with the paradigm that the Saviors have, we do not recognize any one member as our leader because we all lead by example. There is not one event that made us magically start trusting each other. It is an accumulation of lots and lots of little things, things that are insignificant on their own. They are literally like a single brick, useless on its own. but when you stack brick upon brick and create layer upon layer, you forge a foundation of trust. If you do these things just once people will look at you and tell you that that will not work and they would be 100% correct. I do these things consistently in combination with many other little things and people see my success. That success is predicated on all of those little things becoming one larger thing.”

“Max spent number of years in the service. and there's something he said to me a good many years ago that has stuck with me even after more than two decades. He served under a three-star General who told him this very same parable. The measure of a good leader is when you stop and ask a fellow soldier how they are doing and you care about the answer. if they brush you off or make excuses to try to leave, those aren't good leaders. If you ask the question, you should be sitting there and listening, actively listening to the answer. A leader will do that.”

“In business, there are colleagues and coworkers. The Saviors, we have brothers and sisters. That's how we think of each other. If you have a culture, a strong culture, you may hear people say things. “It's like a family.” Not us. It is a family. Brothers and sisters. It's a deep love. We fight amongst ourselves, but the love doesn't go away. We bicker. The love doesn't go away. And I'll fight with my sister, but if you threaten my sister you’re going to have to deal with me. We will fight internally. We'll argue with one another. But nobody is going to hurt each other. If anything from the outside shows up, you're looking at a united front.  Now, ask yourself, how do you create brothers and sisters out of strangers? You do it by being yourself, by being honest, day in and day out.”

“The reason why I am telling you all of this is because I know the type of man you are because that's the type of man I was. I don't have to come down to the ring, take a microphone, and tear you down. I see your resume. I know your credentials. I know what you are capable of. That brings me back to the parable of Jack Michaels. You and he are very much the same person. you think because of the things you've done before that you're something special. You think because you're giving a world title opportunity right out the gate, that you're deserving.  You are not deserving. I see that with no slight and no malice. When I signed with this company I started at the bottom and I climbed to the ladder by putting in the work weekend and week out. If I wasn't on television, I was in the locker room supporting my family. Over the summer I was flying back and forth between India and Chicago to work two shows in two days for two companies because I would not let my family down. That is who I am as a person.”

“I will acknowledge how good you are. you're a damned fine talent. I'm not going to walk into this match and underestimate you. What I am going to do, is I am going to warn you. I became a leader here because I'm not afraid to lose. I became a leader here because I give everything of myself each and every match. Win, lose, or draw, I can walk back into that locker room, look in the mirror, and feel a sense of pride. This match probably feels like a warm-up for you. For me, This match is where I once again show everyone in the stands, watching at home, Backstage in the locker room.. I am going to show them once again that “Godly” Ken Davison is the epitome of what they want to be. I am going to be the man who walks into this match with a chip on his shoulder. They rolled the red carpet out for you, which is probably a good thing. At least the bloodstains won’t be so obvious.”

6
Climax Control Archives / Epilogue
« on: February 03, 2023, 10:47:55 PM »
“Godly” Ken Davison is standing inside of the old Carnage Arena in Baltimore, Maryland. After the company had shut down, he had purchased the building where he had won a World Championship, but more importantly, had proposed to his wife in the final televised moment of the company’s history. He couldn’t just let the building go and allow it to be turned in a warehouse or get renamed a dozen times like “The Most Famous Bingo Hall in the World” located on the corner of Swanson and Ritner up in Philadelphia had been. This place was too valuable to him. In terms of physical things, this was his most precious possession.

“Even though I had lost my Sin City World Championship just a week before, I think what happened to me on January 22nd may have been the greatest thing that has ever happened in my entire life. I will never forget that moment in time. I was preparing for a match in UGWC, in fact, I was sitting in my kitchen in the middle of cutting a promo. How typically cliche is that for a wrestler? So, anyway, I'm sitting there shooting on Travis Pierce, hell of an underrated talent, when I look over and I see my wife standing in the doorway. I'd gotten home late for my flight, I was on a deadline, so I was doing what I had to do before time ran out. The office wants a promo. You send a promo.”

“No shit,” chimes in Ken’s most experienced student, Chloe Hawkhurst, who now happens to be Ken’s adopted daughter. Far too happy to let one little interrupt disrupt things

“Anyway, I’m sitting there doing my thing when I see my wife over in the doorway. She’s giving me this look, and I’m like, she said she wanted to talk to me in person. She swore it wasn’t a bad thing, but, you know, I worry, so I’m like “What’s going on? Talk to me.” I’m nervous, man. I mean, I am REALLY frickin’ nervous. Who wouldn’t be. Pro tip: when a woman says “We need to talk,” it’s like the Ivory Soap of bad. There is a 99.44% chance that she’s gonna tell you something that you don’t want to hear.”

Ken takes a breath, considering how long he’s gone on without stopping, it is a minor miracle that he hadn’t passed out.

“She starts “Shit.. now that you’re here.. I don’t know how to word this…”  Do you realize how scary that is? Like, why the hell is she pulling away? Why is she putting space between us? Me being me, I’m on the verge of losing it. I thought that I was just dead in the water for something I couldn’t imagine. Y’all watched when that mess with Masque went down. Right? She forgave me after that so why in the bluest of blue hells is she doing this now?” I don’t freakln’ know. So, I’m basically sitting sweating my balls off. I am trying to figure out exactly what in the bluest of blue hells is going on. I remind her, “you said it was a good thing. I’m lost. Just don’t tell me you’re leaving.” That’s got to be the worst case scenario. I mean, it has to be.”

“We aren’t going anywhere… But, Um… We might need a bit of an upgrade…” she tells me. So, I had just ordered this Disney Princess bed for Adina. It’s got Ariel and Elsa and… nevermind. That’s not important. We need an upgrade, so I’m thinking I need a full instead of a twin. Right? Wrong. Then she goes and tells me we need an upgrade to the house. We’ve got four bedrooms. What do we need to upgrade the house for? I don’t get why we’d need a bigger place. Nope. I was wrong there, too. Finally, she tells me that we’re adding to the head count.”

“And even then he doesn’t get it,” Chloe deadpans.

“Yeah, not really helpful there. So,I wanted to let you all know that Kyra and I are expecting. As such, there may end up being some changes around here, some guest instructors and maybe some changes to the hours we’re available to train. I hope this doesn’t cause any problems, but I will do my best to keep things as normal as possible here.”

Ken claps his hands together.

“Today, we’re going to focus on the lucha libre style. Chloe, since this is your forte, I’d like you to lead the class through warm ups. I’d like you to go over why luchadors roll instead of flatbacking.”

“Uh… what?” Chloe is quite obviously caught off guard. “You want me to run this show?”

“For now, yes. We’ve been talking about how you’d like to be more active and with your style, I can’t think of anyone here more qualified.”

“OOOOOOOOkay.”

Ken nods and begins walking over to his office where his UGWC Conquest Championship is sitting on his desk. He quietly moves it onto the shelf behind him, the very same shelf that the Sin City World Championship used to sit. He takes a deep breath before turning around to face the computer monitor in front of him. He looks at the clock on the wall which displays the time, 5:59 PM. As he turns to grab a can of Diet Dr. Pepper out of his minifridge, he sees the silhouette of a most unusual guest. There is not even a knock. The man simply opens the door and walks in like he owns the place. If this were anyone else, Ken would be angry. Given who has just entered the office, Ken actually expected nothing less.

The window shows the reflection of the most handsome man that you could ever meet. It is the face that women pant and whine for during a cold Canadian night. It is the face that all those people paying for plastic surgery wish they could aim to achieve. That might not be at all true, however, the man standing now standing inside of the office would tell you that all of this was true and do so with a straight face. Ken was face to face with the man who was perhaps his biggest rival throughout the entirety of his career, Steelside Wrestling legend, Mr. Popular.

“Goodly” Ken Davison,” he begins. He would never refer to Ken as “Godly” because he knew how much it would irk his nemesis. These days, it hardly registered with Ken. “Tell me, why is it that you’ve summoned me after all of these years? If you are looking for yet another rematch, I retired years ago. I am too good for you and too good for this.”

The disdain seems ingenuine to Ken, even as Popular waves his hand around to make his point. Popular had an image to maintain, even if it was only for his own self-edification. Both men knew full well that if Popular didn’t want to be there, he wouldn’t have traveled from his home in Salisbury, Canada.

“Listen, Pops. I’m not going to sugar coat this. I need your help.”

“The high and mighty “Goodly” Ken Davison needs my help? You would dare deign to ask myself? I understand that I am the single greatest wrestler, dare I say human being, that you have ever had the privilege of losing to. You are out of luck, however, because first of all, while I respect you, I don’t like you. Secondly, as I have already told you, I have retired and dare not sully my good name by wrestling here in a warehouse.”

“Are you done?” Ken pauses while Popular declines to answer. Ken motions to the chair on the other side of his desk, inviting his archenemy to sit down. “Please, hear me out.”

“Corinthian leather? It would seem you do have some taste.” Popular pulls the chair out and sits down. “Fine. I will hear you out. What do you want from me?”

“I want to offer you the one thing that you have always wanted.”

“What, pray tell, is that?”

“The way I figure it, I will need to step back into a role as a part time coach. My wife is pregnant and I need to be there for her.”

Popular goes to interrupt, but Ken puts his hand up.

“Let me finish. There are very few people that I would ask this of. The reason I have asked you is because I know you have no other commitments. What I need to be done must be done at an elite level. What I am offering you is the one thing you crave the most, even more so than gold and glory, and that is influence.”

Mr. Popular’s eyebrows raise as the words come out of Ken’s mouth.

“Now, you have my attention.”

Ken reaches down and pulls out a leather folder, inside of it is a contract.

“I had my lawyers draw up this contract. It’s for one year with the potential of a one year extension, provided we both agree to the terms. I believe that you will find the compensation generous for your services. I will give you the freedom to teach as you wish, so long as it does not harm or injure any of the students. I have also scanned this as a PDF file, which I can send to you and your lawyer. Read it over and I look forward to your counter offer.”

“You believe I will have a counter offer?”

“Look who I am talking to. You will make a counter offer just for the sake of trying to get a reaction out of me.”

“Let me ask you this. Why would you ask me? Not the cookie cutter, preplanned answer you gave me before. You have Sean. You also have your friends in the Saviors. You could ask any one of them. I’ve followed your career, “Goodly.” You could have asked anyone else in this world. If you want me to look at this contract, you will answer me honestly.”

Ken pops open his can of soda, more so to by himself some time to answer than to actually quench his thirst. He takes a couple of gulps before putting the can down on a beige stone coaster.

“Three reasons: availability, you will teach them the way I would, and because you are one of, if not, the best opponent I have ever faced. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. But, I’d like to believe the wars we’ve had against each have at least earned each other’s respect.”

Popular nods silently before standing up and replacing the chair where it was originally located.

“Send the PDF to [email protected]. I still maintain the domain name to make sure that no one tarnishes our legacy.”

Ken extends his hand, but Popular chooses to simply turn and leave, not bothering to close the door behind him. Ken sits back down, taking another gulp of soda. A moment later, the desk is covered in a Great Muta like mist of carbonated beverage.

“Holy shit! He said our legacy.”

Epilogue
noun
A section or speech at the end of a book or play that serves as a comment on or a conclusion to what has happened.
A final or concluding act or event.

The screen showing the information fades away and as it does, “Godly” Ken Davison stands in the center of the screen in full regalia. His priest robes are neatly pressed. He looks more well rested than SCW has seen him in a long time.

“In literature, an epilogue is the end of a story. I suppose that's what most people expect my loss of the Sin City wrestling Heavyweight Championship to be. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I know that I've got some bridges to mend. That is a situation that will be handled in due time. I've had an epiphany. I've had a revelation. I am seeing the landscape clearly for the first time since I originally won that championship. This is what I must focus on in the immediate future.”

“This match against Señor Vinnie and Bulldog Billy Is about getting back on the right path. I'm not even talking about the path back to the World Championship. No, no, no, no. What this is about, what I am about, is making things right for the sake of my family. Not too long ago I sat in front of this very same camera with my wife and my daughter. I proclaimed that I was going to do everything I could to remain a champion because I wanted to make the best life for them. That is where I went wrong. While trying to do right by my family at home, I failed my extended family. I allowed myself to be manipulated by a puppeteer. I heeded the word of a false prophet. I forgot that the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. As much as I would like to get retribution, it is more important that I make restitution.”


Ken walks through the sanctuary, the red plush carpet underneath glitters and gleams when the lighting catches the gold trim. He makes his way up to the pulpit, made from a white painted wood and accented with mahogany.

 “I'm sure that Vinnie and Billy probably aren't quite sure what to make of me. As the situation has dictated I have flip-flopped back and forth like a presidential candidate saying whatever you want to hear so I can secure your vote. At this juncture, what you see is what you get. I am done dealing with Masque. You will see the true vision of Ken Davison. I am like A-cups because I'm real whether you like me or not. Our opponents are both great wrestlers. However, even if we're not on the same page, Mac Bane and the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison are two of the best in the world. we've got a history as long as our rap sheets. We have made a career walking side by side and when we do we target our opponents and then we victimize, brutalize, in ways that you can only fantasize. We don't need to be on the same page to have the same mission statement. So long as we're in the same Library we are far more dangerous than a Senior Bingo and a bulldog. We are beating, battered, and bruised. The reason for that is because I asked for a war and I was not disappointed. The way I look at it, as long as Jack Washington and Matt Knox didn't walk out with the championship, it was a win.”

Ken stops and looks down for a moment. His tone softens as he continues to speak.

“I lost sight of that. I became consumed with personal Glory. I was bitter and jealous. I was not a very good brother to Mac. There is no excuse for that behavior. I can only.. I honestly don't know what I can do. I know that I need to go into this match and I need to prove that I am trustworthy. After consorting with the enemy, I understand if it gives Mac Bane a reason not to trust me. After all, isn't that what this matches really all about for us? It's not like we have Tag Team Championships to chase. It's not like we gain anything by winning this match. As someone… who has…” Ken stops, taking a second to collect himself He’s fighting to hold back his emotions while he continues his diatribe. “I fucked up. That's all I can keep telling myself. I fucked up. The reality of the situation is that my home life and my work life are very much intertwined. Amber Ryan is my wife's best friend. Mac, I've said it time and time again, you are a brother to me. If I tried to pretend what I had going on at home didn't affect me at work I would be a liar.”

Ken  stops to catch his breath, wiping away a tear but mostly holding it together.

“A couple of weeks ago I found out that I was going to become a father for the first time. That made me reevaluate everything I have done in this company. After the incident with the very unfortunate self-defense spine Buster on Amber, I was told that if I laid my hands on another female wrestler in this company, that I would be fired. rightfully so, might I add. After what Masque did what she did to Amber, I should have handled the situation and allowed myself to be fired. The fact that I did not stand up and protect the people that are important to me Is an embarrassment.”

“What that means for the two of you, Vinnie and Bulldog bill, is that I need to make a point in our match. like I said, it's not that I need to win. It's that I need to show my brother in arms that I am the man he brought into this company 15 months ago. For you, this is just a wrestling match. for me, this is my redemption arc. This is what I need to do for my own… Jesus.”


The tears start to run down Ken’s face. Try as he might, he’s lost this battle.

“I can't do this. I respect the two of you immensely. I honestly and truly do. I'm looking forward to this match. I'm looking forward to showing the world that I take accountability for the things I've done in the past few months. There's always a lot of conversation about what you've done in the past doesn't matter in the present, but in my case it does. I've made mistakes and I own those mistakes. I've been to the top of the mountain and I've been knocked off of it. I'm going to start at the bottom of the ladder and start climbing rung by damned rung by damned rung. We aren't the type of people that usually show this kind of emotion, but I'm not the type of people that most everyone else is. I know I'm rambling. I'm carrying on because I can't get my mind focused on anything other than that single, solitary focus. Make no mistake, I am coming for the victory. I am coming to set myself right. I'm sorry that the two of you have been selected as the sacrificial lambs, but we live in the Coliseum in the mob demands blood.”

Ken walks off leaving the empty sanctuary behind him.

7
“I want to turn back the clock to before.”

This seems to be a common thought in the mind of “Godly” Ken Davison. Perhaps, that’s why he is standing here, at this moment. There's a restless feel to the place. However, the small town of Rockland, Massachusetts, located on the South Shore of the state, is usually a pretty quiet and boring place. With the sun setting off in the distance, the clouds creating a drab and overcast gray sky, there is absolutely nothing eye-catching as even the snow on the ground has melted and the few piles that remain are blackened with the dirt and gravel that were mixed in during plowing. Slowly driving into Holy Family Cemetery is a black 1989 Pontiac Grand Am with Maryland plates, a vehicle that is familiar to the caretakers of the grounds. Tall, weathered  oaks line the driveway, standing like silent sentinels watching over those who rest here. As the car rolls towards a large gray marble monolith in the center of the grounds, it turns down the last path to the right. The sound of small pebbles underneath the tires breaks the silence as the car comes to a stop.

From the driver’s side, Ken steps out. He is noticeably dressed down, wearing black jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a black leather trench coat. He reaches back into the car, grabbing a small bouquet of pink carnations. He walks past two plots reverently before stopping by the third. He walks over to the headstone and kneels, placing the carnations at the foot of the headstone, then kissing the top of it.

“Long time no talk.” 

Davison’s voice is quiet, soft, caring.

“It’s been a while and I wanted to come by and say hi. Let you know what’s going on. I’m at a bit of a crossroads and wanted to ask for your advice.”

Ken pauses, as though waiting for some kind of silent answer. The look on Davison’s face is telling, as though he was talking to an actual living, breathing person who, if alive, would be his most trusted confidant.

“Kyra, Adina and I are doing great. There were a few rough patches there. Kyra barely talked to me for two, three months. I guess I still haven’t figured out how to talk to anyone as easily as you and I. Then again, our conversations are always pretty one sided.”


Davison awkwardly pauses.

“I know I’ve told you before, but you’d really like her. She holds me accountable. But, I’ve been trying to figure something out. The way the lines cross, this is like a soap opera without the murders, at least, there haven’t been any thus far. Things with Mac are… tenuous at best. This whole situation with Masque has been a blessing and a curse, the literal definition of the old idiom about the double-edged sword. Masque has done things to Amber that I would have been proud of a few years back. She took the ‘blood stained hurricane’ and painted a sadistic masterpiece. Even after that, even knowing that Amber is Mac;s wife, she got in my ear. She’s reminded me of who I used to be. She’s reminded me of what I can do. But, this has put me at odds with Mac. We’re in the same book, but by no means on the same page.”

Davison’s face is crossed with guilt. He lets out a sigh that could probably be heard from three rows away, loudly expressing his frustration.

“So, anyway, I’ve got this match for the SCW World Championship against Mac, Matt Knox, and Jack Washington. It’s not like when Amber and I crossed paths back in Carnage. Mac wanted to tear my head off and shit down the hole. This time, that honor is reserved for Matt Knox. The thing is, Mac and I know what this is about. But, what do I do about Knox? Masque has plans for him, but by the same token, I’d really like to shove Knox’s head so far up his ass that they have to call a proctologist for a cranial extraction. So, if I protect Knox, then I stop Mac from getting the justice he so richly deserves. If I help Mac to bury Knox, then I hurt my own agenda.”


Davison slouches, thinking about his words.

“Man, I’m a real piece of shit. Aren’t I? I know I shouldn’t dwell upon the past. I have to prove who and what I am NOW. I cannot rest on my laurels and coast on past accomplishments. That’s what you would have told me, I’d bet. So, I can’t think about the dynamics during this match, otherwise Jack will pick his spot and steal my championship. Man, wouldn’t that be karma coming full circle?”


Ken stands up and lets out a sigh. He begins nervously pacing back and forth trying to process the thoughts going through his head.

“So, what do I do, babe? Do I help Mac, do I protect Knox?, or do I just say ‘fuck it’ and just try to win the match?”


Ken doesn’t even need to finish his sentence. He knows the answer. He has to go all out to try to win this match. Anything other than that would compromise his scruples. He leans forward and kisses the top of the headstone one more time. 

“Thanks, I needed that.”


A buzzing is heard coming from Ken’s pocket. He looks down at his phone. There is a message from his wife.

“Hey Ken. I have news. I know you’re visiting the family, but this needs to be done in person.”

The car door can be heard quietly closing somewhere in the background. The car slowly pulls away, leaving Holy Family Cemetery behind it.

—---------------------------

“As we all know, people cannot live forever. While many of us thought someone might step forward to defy the odds of humanity, that simply hasn’t happened yet. I can’t remember who said it first, thanks to all those comedians out there recycling each other's jokes, but someone mentioned the fact that we used to cure illnesses like it was our job. Polio, measles, tuberculosis none of these stood a chance when the greatest minds of the world were put to work. So explain why we still have someone wheeling Jerry Lewis out on stage every year for his Jerry’s Kids foundation? Do they even still do that, like some kind of ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’ kind of deal? No? Anyway, you would think that with all the money that old racist bastard raked in you’d think they’d have found a cure for little Billy, right?”

“Sorry, I got a bit off track. The fact remains that this world is run by drug companies all in business to keep us sick, not dying, just enough to stay managed. They do the same thing managing our pain. They give us pills to manage the pain instead of finding a way to eliminate it. It’s like putting a band-aid on a gaping wound; at some point that little adhesive bandage isn’t going to cut it and you’ll need another one, and another one , and another one. Drugs make this great world of our go round, and it’s because of drugs that many of us continue to be able to work. Oh, I’m not talking about heroin and crack, though I do have some concerns when I hear some of the bullshit you hear out of Jack Washington’s mouth. Rather, I’m talking about the kind of painkillers and career extenders that some people need just to get out of bed in the morning. That’s the thing, though. We’re all junkies. Aren’t we? But it’s not the rush of the drugs entering our bloodstreams. No, no, no. It’s the hit of adrenaline we get when the crowd comes alive. It’s the dopamine flowing through our bodies when our hands are raised in victory. That’s our drug. That is what we crave.”

“This business isn’t one that’s easy on the body. Chair shots, falls from a great height and listening to the rambling bullshit that Knox likes to share really take their toll after a while. So the weak turn to drugs, they turn to any means necessary of ignoring that little tap on their shoulder. But I’ve got news for you boys; that little tap, that’s life, wanting to let you know that it's time to give up; time to give up on all the frivolity that you’ve probably grown accustomed to; and for God’s sake it's time to give up the spandex wardrobe. Time waits for no man and no matter how hard you try, you can’t go on ignoring the signs forever. Each day, each match, I am becoming more and more aware of that.”

“Yet, for all the clarity we pretend to be seeing things with on a daily basis, our own mortality continues to be a foggy subject. In this business the possibility of getting hurt is fairly obvious. Each time we step into that ring we run the risk of sustaining anything from a broken finger to a broken neck. We might be out of action for a week, a month or the rest of our lives if we aren’t careful. So we ignore those little nagging injuries. Bruises fade and fractures mend, but as time marches on, those bruises don’t fade as quickly and those broken bones don’t seem to mend the way they used to, Bodies begin to fade, begin to become affected by gravity. Simple diet and exercise, the staples of healthy living, don’t cut it anymore and suddenly the panic sets in. “What if someone sees that I’m not the biggest or fastest anymore?”

“That brings me to my next point, and I promise, it ties in to this. Rebirth. In one's life we are rarely gifted with the opportunity for a second chance. Call it what you will, redemption, reincarnation or rebirth; they all mean the same thing. A fresh start, a clean slate if you will, where the sins and tragedies of your past are wiped from your record as you begin life anew with only the ability to either make whole new decisions, or damn yourself to another life of wasted opportunity. The idea of reincarnation or rebirth is something widely debated among various theologians. Some believe that at the end of this life we have the opportunity to be reborn again to live out and experience the joys and sorrows one more time. The others? Well, they believe that your merits and your actions in this life affect your transcendence into the hereafter where you spend all of eternity basking in the love and oneness with the Lord. But, we need not turn this into a spiritual debate. Not yet anyway.”

“Rarely in life are you given the chance, the opportunity, to start your life over. This doesn’t necessarily mean being reborn as an infant, but falls more under the category of reinventing yourself. We spend all our lives building ourselves up only for others to break us down. Little by little the walls we erect to protect crumble down until what and who we truly are lays open and exposed. Naked and crying for help we can not fathom how we got to this point. Labels and stigmas mar our bodies physically as well as emotionally. Rebirth in this case truly means being given the gift to reinvent who we are. Think of it as a life mulligan , a do-over of epic proportion. To some people this sport is a job; a means of making a living doing something you enjoy. To others it’s more than just their livelihood. This job represents something on a much deeper, more profound level. To some, the idea of giving up the comfort of being the big fish in a little pond is terrifying. Their whole careers have been spent building to this point haven’t they? Becoming so marketable that they’ve transcended merely entertaining; the burdens of the ego maniacs at their best. But for others, to be able to look around the locker room and know that each and every one of those men and women respects them because of their legacy; to them that’s what’s most terrifying to ever relinquish. How do you go from being everything, to being nothing?”

“The big fish can’t thrive in a small pond forever. At some point he’ll need to seek out a bigger stomping ground in order to survive. I was the biggest fish in my pond for a few years; I had the respect, the admiration and the ability to tell management what I wanted knowing I’d get it. Look at where that got me? A reservation on the unemployment line when, what I considered to be, my whole world went belly up. That was almost three years ago. Few men in my position have the ability to learn from the sins of their past and use that knowledge to forge ahead and pave a path to their future. If there’s one thing the Sin City faithful have learned about me at this point, it’s that I’m not like most people. That is why I came to THIS pond. That is why I am here. Welcome to my world; welcome to my clean slate. This is my second world championship reign. This is my rebirth. That is the exact reason why this match is so important to me. That is why I need to block out all of the distractions and, pardon the pun, let the chips fall where they may.”

“Before I go any further, I need to get this out of the way. How dare you disrespect me, Jack! I AM THE SIN CITY WRESTLING WORLD CHAMPION! You are talking as though it's some kind of a foregone conclusion that you're gonna beat me this Sunday - as if I'm some kind of a fluke champion, or a transitional champion! You all can go to hell if you think that! But most importantly, Jack, you can go to hell, too. Because there's something a lot more painful than any beating you can get, Jack, and that is the truth - because the truth hurts and the truth is, yes, you have been the World Champion before. The truth is that the landscape has changed since then. The landscape has changed but you are still the same old Jack Washington. The truth is that the “GKD”, “Godly” Ken Davison is the most overlooked champion in SCW history! But, you want to know what else is the truth, Jack? At Inception, I will STILL be the Champion - because this is my championship, Kendamn it, and this is my show, and… “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Davison interrupts himself and begins using a voice that sounds like a very intentionally bad impression of Jack Washington. “World champion or not, this is not YOUR show. This is Jack Washington’s show! I am the face of the franchise. Blah, blah, blah.”


Davison stops, smirks at the camera, then continues speaking, once again using his normal speaking voice.

“Wah! Wah! My pussy hurts. I know that you’re now sponsored by Midol,” as Ken says that, his picture disappears and a picture of Jack Washington photoshopped onto a box of Midol appears.



“But, quite frankly, I am tired of listening to it. All kidding aside, this isn’t some kind of joke. I am not some kind of joke and you, you stupid son of a bitch, will NOT look past me. Now, as far as Jack Washington saying he’s going to kick my ass… so fucking what? For most people, that would be a big deal. But if you're Ken Davison, that is like waking up, going to bed, eating your breakfast, eating your dinner, it's an everyday thing. I jack my jaw, somebody smacks me around, and we fight about it - that's how I make my living. It happened with Finn Whelan. Now, was it a setback? Yes! Did I do exactly what I said I was going to do and come back and retake what I said was?” Ken taps the front plate of the SCW World Championship. “Obviously, I did.”

“But, what I will tell you is this: Jack Washington has come out here time and time again, telling the fans of Sin City Wrestling that he wants to get stuff off his chest, and how he is the only deserving person in this company and how everyone else either lucky or undeserving or beneath him. You know what? I wanna get something off of my chest. Everyone is asking, why is Ken Davison all of a sudden a 'bad guy'? Why is Ken Davison standing alongside the ever hated Masque de Lune? Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, I'm not gonna lie to ya, “Godly” Ken Davison is doing this because it is a marriage of convenience, as the saying goes. Masque, despite all the things I loathe about her, speaks the truth. She does not need to convince me to listen to her because the lyrics to her melody ring true. The “Godly” Ken Davison that Jack Washington defeated all those months ago was here trying to simply support Mac Bane, trying to earn some respect, and most of all, trying to do things the right way. What happens when the “right way” isn’t working? Well, Jack, what happens is that you defeat “Godly” Ken Davison.”

“So, here we go, one more time. One more match where you and I have some company. It doesn’t matter if this match was just you and I or not. When I defeated you in that fatal four way for the shot at Romano, you sat there and made excuses. You said that I got lucky. You did the exact thing that you do whenever you come up short. You cried, whined, pissed, and moaned about it. Shit, you’re still crying, whining, pissing, and moaning about it. But, that’s the difference between the two of us, isn’t it? You act like a petulant child. When you defeated me, I didn’t make excuses. I called out Knox at first opportunity and the only reason I never got my hands on him was because Mac gave him a title shot. Underwood and company knew that they had to keep us separated and when that whole fiasco was done, Knox “retired,” Ken uses air quotes as he says the last word. “While you sit there and remain stagnant, saying the same things and doing the same things that you always have, I sit here, now a two time Sin City Wrestling World Champion, because I have evolved. That is why I called you out last time. That is why I singled you out and said I needed to hurt you. All those bumps, bruises, and injuries I was talking about add up quickly and I am going to be the man who not only shuts your ass up, but shows you your own mortality.”

“History is full of people like you, Knox. Everybody that will be in the building on Sunday knows somebody like you, Knox. You know, the kind of guy that would stab his brother in the back. You sold out Amber Ryan and regardless of where we may be in our careers, I want to see you suffer for that. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t even bother to show up because you have shown time and time again that you are a coward. I hope, for your children’s sake, that your parenting skills are better than your wrestling. I hope that the man you are at home is not the man you are here because, Knox, you committed the most unforgivable sin. You're the scum of this Earth. I guess you decided that since you couldn’t be a shining example to your children, you decided to serve as a horrible warning. I know I doubted whether you’d show up for the match or not, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that the only reason you came back here in the first place is because you can’t afford your child support payments. Even Nick Cannon looks at you and goes “Damn!”

“In the last couple of weeks I've been doing something that up until now one else had the courage to do, which is to tell you all the truth about yourself. Nobody likes to hear about how they are incessantly negative, right? Well, someone needs to tell you. Everyone here is going to point out how much of a coward you are. I’ve done it today and I did it last week, because it is the Kendamned truth. So you guys reacted where just typical behavior of patterns of denial, right; and deflection. I’m sure that you can come up with some kind of false narrative about me, how I can’t beat you or some other bullshit. Well, let me just squash that for you right now. It’s not that I CAN’T beat you. It’s that I haven’t beaten you yet and Inception is my opportunity to do exactly that. That’s why I am telling you what no one else will. Seriously, you couldn’t hack it in Carnage. You knew you were going to get your asswhooped by Mac Bane the second that you lost the element of surprise, so you took your ball and went home. The only reason you are back is because Masque has to have some kind of dirt on you because we all know that you didn’t come back of your own volition.”


“I haven’t forgotten, obviously, that you stole my Internet Championship from me. Jack Washington may have won that match, but you were the one who stole my belt from me. Each and every time I have seen your face in the building, on my television screen, in my memories, it makes my heart burn. That’s part of why I am spending so much time getting ready for this match, both physically and mentally. Of course, I have shown the I didn’t need to be the Internet champion, but I still cannot allow another man to walk into my home and take food off my table. That simply is unacceptable.”

“You think that you’re riding high on the hog because they put you in here? Well, what goes up, must come down. The higher you are, the further you fall. The more it hurts when you hit the ground and anybody, no matter how big the empire they built and how great the legacy they've carved out for themselves, can come crashing down fast and all it takes is one guy with a wild hair up his ass and the balls to take a shot. It happened to Finn Whelen, who won the big one and then suddenly didn’t give a shit. Kind of like what you did, Knox, except he came back. It only took one bullet to kill Abraham Lincoln and when the history books are written they will say Ken Davison was the victim of the same circumstance. That doesn’t mean I am any lesser of a champion. If anything, Knox, I did what you wouldn’t and I came back and took back what was mine. This is what makes me better than you. This is what makes me the apex. This match is going to be your biggest mistake. Mac is going to make you realize just how bad you screwed up. Because that's what you did. First, he's going to break you physically, because he's frigging badass, he's going to break tendon after tendon, bone after bone until you quit. The best part is that I get a front row seat because you know that all this money they're giving Mac… all the sudden it won’t mean dick to him. While he’s distracted, that’s when I get to give Jack Washington the ass whooping I’ve been promising him.”

“Now, we're gonna take the gloves off here. Mac Bane has always been considered better than “Godly” Ken Davison. That’s a fact. Whether he is serving as the white knight or the overseer of the seventh circle of hell, Mac has always been respected for being a straight shooter. If he says there’s and ass whoopin’ coming your way, you can rest assured, there’s an asswhoopin’ coming your way. But I wanna digress for just a moment, when Ken Davison first started his  career and became the Internet champion, that's when Mac Bane was the World champion. I ran support to him, I told everybody including himself and his family that I supported him. I was second fiddle to Mac Bane, not just here, it’s happened in other places as well. Not only did I do it, I did it with a smile on my face, because that's what a man does when it comes to business. But, after a while, it gets hard to stand in the man’s shadow, and believe me, he casts a large shadow.”

“There’s a catch, though. While he says he’s not his brother’s keeper, he is sitting, possibly at this very second, passing judgment on me. I know he doesn’t agree that I am standing with Masque. I know he doesn’t understand why I am doing the things I do. You know, Mac, maybe if you remembered who you used to be and went back to leaving a trail of bodies in the Saviors wake, you wouldn’t be sitting there telling everyone about my faults. Believe me, folks, I have got a metric shit ton of faults. But I've never ever lied to any of you.”

“Now, but the whole time I don't say anything. I go on doing my job. I wanted to be a world champion since I was a little kid. It was a dream. I realize that in this man, Mac feels like he needs this win, too. He needs that validation If Mac Bane isn't the Sin City World champion, he will feel like he has fallen short. When he goes home, he is still Mac Bane. When I go home, I’m not “Godly”. I’m not Ken Davison. I’m just plain ol' Ken, or “asshole” if you ask my wife. He has to be Mac Bane 24 hours a day. And the reason for that is: Mac Bane cannot separate all of this from his real life. He could say the same about me, because I’ve done it. But, I know when the cameras are on that is the time to enter “God Mode.”  Mac Bane has no off switch. If the man has any fault, that is it. That is literally the only Kendamned thing I can think of.”

“Better than anyone else in the history of this business, I know what you are capable of. But, I also know what you are not capable of. Remember, before your championship match where you won the title back from Knox? Remember when you were fueled by that proverbial ruthless aggression? Well, if you had it then you don't have it anymore, because if you did you would have put Jack in the hospital for some of the shit he said. But you didn't. You couldn't do it. Where the hell is the real Mac Bane? Where the fuck is my brother?”

“Mac, I need you to understand something. This Sunday at Inception everything that you have worked so hard for, everything that you have fought so hard for will come crashing down all around you, unless you have put aside your aspirations of glory in favor of blessed retribution. You of all people know that whether or not I hold a championship or not, each and every single time I step in the ring, my business card reads the same: I want to face the best and I want to beat the best. Whether these other guys in the ring admit it or not, they respect me, because they know it. Everybody said it was a bad idea to give Matt Knox a championship match when he couldn’t beat me. Personal feelings aside, all I saw was a man who hadn’t lost. Because I hadn’t proven I was better than him, I gave him a shot. Was it a bad idea? In hindsight, yes.”

“But, that's what being champion is all about, a certain level of respect. It doesn’t matter if it’s Mac Bane, Jack Washington, or even Knox when he’s actually motivated by more than the cost of formula. That when the chips are down, I can be just as brutal as you. So right now, I'm gonna make one more statement. This Sunday will be physical and I have every intention to ensure that it will be brutal. And I will be at my very best. I just hope the four of you are, too.”


8
It's dawn. There's thick fog. There's a tranquil feel to the place. Despite the temperature being a tick above fifty degrees. “Godly” Ken Davison sits on the Atlantic Shoreline listening as the waves dutifully rise and fall, as they have done for generations and eons long before man walked the earth. The line of vision isn’t very far, the mist obscuring the horizon off in the distance. Not that it was important. For Ken, it was the smell of the ocean, the sound of the tide cresting and crashing. Those were the sensations that he found relaxing.

It’s not even that he is lost in thought. His mind is blank. It’s more that he is in a meditative trance. With all the moving parts concerning his upcoming match, he needed this time to focus7 on his approach, manage his stress, and increase his self-awareness. What he was unable to do is gain any sort of perspective on how he would deal with the awkward dynamics of his first title defense. Without opening his eyes, he reaches down and grabs his ceramic coffee tumbler, adorned with mini peanut butter cups and the Reese’s logo, a present from Adina who chose from Walmart’s finest selection. Ken subconsciously smiles as the warmth of the beverage warms his gullet on its way to his intestines.

There was a certain serenity in his solitude. Things at home couldn’t be better. After their reconciliation, Ken and Kyra were in the process of attempting to conceive. There was most certainly no complaint about the exact amount of trying that Davison’s were partaking in. That is why Ken sought out the quietude of Rocky Point Beach. It didn’t matter how Mac Bane, Jack Washington, or Matt Knox were preparing for this match. When you have four competitors with the combined talent and accolades of this quartet, every opponent presents their own threat.

But that isn’t why Ken was here. Well, it is why Ken is here in the larger picture. But, in this place, at this moment, he has come to get away from those thoughts which have haunted him ever since his first defense was announced. The drizzle coming down from the sky is cold, but the freshness of the air is a stark contrast to the air coming from the salt chuck thirty yards away from him. It was a welcome, but only a momentary distraction. The rhythm of the water, like an aquatic metronome, also slowly fades into the background, a sort of white noise just blending into everything else. Ken’s very essence seems to slip into the flow of subliminal thought, adrift in a world of either dreams or hallucination, not that he would be able to differentiate the two. From somewhere within his hippocampus, the part of the brain that controls your dreams, Ken hears an old, familiar voice.

“How have you been, son?”

It was the voice of Robert Murante, the man who took him in when he was a fifteen year old runaway. Ken turns to see his father, surrounded in a grayish glow, like a force ghost out of Star Wars. Ken shakes his head in disbelief, but the attempt to ascertain the reality of the situation changes nothing.

“I guess I’m okay. Trying to be the best husband and father I can be.  If I can be a quarter of the father you were, I’ll do alright.”

“Are you taking care of yourself? Are you still wrestling?”


“Well, I’m currently a world champion in one company I work for.”


“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you were taking care of yourself. You’ve never needed a title to be a champion.”


Even in this endorphin driven fantasy, that was the most “dad” thing Ken could have possibly heard.

“Well, you know how it goes. I mean, I have been wrestling since I was, what, eighteen? I had three concussions in the first six months of training. With how much I pushed, how much I’ve driven myself, I’ve picked up a concussion here, a concussion there. Now I’m twenty six years deep, Lord knows I should be a vegetable. Between that and the heart attack…”

Ken’s voice trails off, disappearing into the mist.

“I mean, I get everything checked out regularly. My ticker seems to be okay. All of the MRIs and EEGs and all of that show that I’m fine. I want to do this for as long as I can.”

“What happens if they are wrong, Ken? What happens if YOU are wrong?”

“I have fought too hard and too long to create this life. Wrestling is all I know. I have a family to think about and my wife and I wanna start having kids soon. Whenever Kyra gets knocked up, that’s it. I’m done. End of the road. If I’m still under contract, I’ll do what I have to do because you taught me to be a man of my word. I’m not the type of man to, I don’t know, win a championship then immediately quit leaving my coworkers and employers hanging. I am a professional and I am better than that.”

“Then why will it be so hard for you to walk away. Why can’t you go home and become a family man?”

The question is asked thoughtfully, not in an attacking manner.

“Kyra is the love of my life, but wrestling is my mistress. I have wrestled in high school auditoriums and I have won a world championship in front of thousands of screaming fans in a sold out arena in India. I’ve met people that I consider family, such as Mac Bane and LA Riotz. These are men who have been friends, mentors and brothers for over twenty years. You couldn’t ask for a better life than this and in the past few years I am finally learning to appreciate those things. One day, I will be ready to settle down and start a new life. But, today isn’t that day and tomorrow doesn’t look good either.”


Pause. Silence. Nothing. Only an interested expression on the apparitions visage.

“What I am trying to say is that every joy, every heartache, everything I have in life, is because of wrestling.”

“When you build a foundation, you don’t spend forever there. You build around it. You aren’t meant to suffer on cold concrete your entire life. I think we can both agree that you’ve done enough of that.”

“So, you’re telling me that I should just move on with my life and walk away?”

“I’m not telling you anything. This is your vision, not mine.”

Before the conversation can continue, a faint voice disrupts Ken’s zen induced mirage. His eyes fill with tears as his father fades back into a mere memory.

“Ken… Ken? KEN?!”

Ken begins coming out of his catatonic stupor, returning to his earthly vessel due to his body being shaken violently by his wife. He begins to sit up, placing his hand on his sand covered face, momentarily confused. Before he can fully get his bearings, Kyra is practically squeezing the life out of him. She is holding him so tightly, so close, that he can feel her heart beating in his own chest.

"Oh thank God…." she says as she releases her hold on his body. She puts her hands on his face, looking into his eyes checking to see exactly what happened to her husband. Ken moves his arm up, gently placing his right hand on her left one.
     
“Hey… mama.” the words come out of Ken’s mouth in quiet, hushed tones. Kyra is nowhere near as calm, practically throwing Ken’s hand off of her’s so that she can check his own pulse. To her, it is unexpectedly calm. In their time together, this was the first time that she was truly afraid for her husband. It was a new fear, a fresh emotional wound she was not prepared for.

“Are you okay?  Do you need a doctor?”

“A vodka? Heaven’s no. You know I don’t drink.”

Ken isn’t trying to be facetious. He’s still half in reality and half in his dream state.

“A doctor. I said, “do you need a doctor?”

“Oh, a doctor. No. I don’t think so. I’m fine. I was just sitting here meditating and next thing I know, my dad was here and then… it was you.” Ken pauses for a moment while Kyra takes in what Ken is saying. “Am I dead? Pretty sure you’re an angel.”

Kyra shakes her head.  “Nope.  Delusional, but not dead.”

Ken sits up on his elbows, nearly knocking over his cup of sweet, delicious nectar of the gods. Kyra puts her arm behind his back, lifting him up to a sitting position and wiping the remaining sand off of him.

“I’m fine. Really. I guess I just passed out,” Ken says as he takes another sip of coffee. “Hey, babe. I’ve got a question I want to ask you.”

She sits down beside him.  "And what might that be?"

“What adventures do you want to have before we die? Like, what if we just left everything behind and just did our own thing?”

She didn't answer right away, instead she stared at him as she contemplated a response.   Finally she let out a sigh.  “I don't know.  Honestly.  There’s so much out there to experience that I.. I don't think I could narrow it down right now.”

“If I am being honest with you, I want to have one good run before I retire and this match coming up could be the start of it. With all the moving parts between the two companies, and then taking a look back at some of the promos from when we were chasing the Co-op belts, I think I finally figured it out. Maybe I did. I don’t know.” Ken’s face scrunches up. It’s obvious that he has something he wants to ask, but isn’t quite sure how to go about asking. Finally, he blurts out “Do you think I’ve gone soft?”

Kyra looks at him incredulously, before shaking her head.  “No.  Absolutely not.  If anything, you're even more of a pain in the ass now that you've got us.  Besides, if you'd 'gone soft', you wouldn't be the world champ right now.  You wouldn't have beaten Mac for it to begin with and you sure as hell wouldn't have gotten it back from what's his name.”

She smirks.

“Well, what’s his name isn’t my concern anymore. But, I’m thinking about Chicago, not Vegas. I’m thinking about Orsen, Rydell, Pierce and Vespertine, in that order.  In Sin City, I know where I stand. I’ve proven myself and I’m damned sure going to prove it again when the time comes. But I’d be lying if being successful in one company and just sucking in another didn’t concern me.”

She shrugs her shoulders.  “It's exactly that, Ken.  Two different places.  Two different companies and rosters.  You don't suck.  Far from it.  But I know that ain't gonna do anything to ease your worry over it.”

“Yeah, we’ve been through this before. I know. But maybe that’s the issue. Maybe I need to stop treating them as two different places and start taking the same mentality. Once we finally got the Cooperative titles, I feel like maybe, I don’t know, maybe I just feel like it was mission accomplished and that’s why I got soft. Like Gabriel beat me, then Morgan beat me, but as soon as it was us against them, it didn’t matter because I knew that WE were greater than I. There, I don’t have you to fall back on and maybe that’s the difference. That sounds really shitty to say, but I mean, when it’s a singles match, it makes sense.”

“Well, here’s your chance to really assert yourself without me, you know? You’ve never needed me to be one of the best, but you’ve gotta believe that for yourself.”

“I think you just hit the nail on the head. I just want to excel no matter where I am. I want to be the best so I can give you and the girls the best.”

Kyra leans her head on Ken’s shoulder. “You already do. But it’s about what’s best for us, not what’s best for everyone but you.”

“When you’ve got twenty something years of only worrying about yourself, you feel like you have a lot of making it up to do.”

“Hold up. You’ve said that you did all of that for Crystal. You said the only reason you came to UGWC was to win the Cooperative belts with me. You went to Sin City for you and you are doing amazing there. So what you need to do is win the Global Challenge for yourself. Damnit! You need to go out there, beat the piss out of Holden Orson, then bury those assholes in SCW to make a statement. You talk about how you are one of the best in this industry. Go out there and fucking prove it!”

“You know what? You’re right,” Ken says before kissing Kyra with a fiery passion that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, Masque was right. Maybe the old melody could harmonize with the current symphony.
______________________________________________________________________

“Godly” Ken Davison stands in front of a plain black backdrop, wearing a pair of black jeans and his Baltimore Elite baseball jersey, a nod to his tag team with his wife. Around his waist is the SCW World Heavyweight Championship belt.

“At the advice of my legal counsel, Finn Whelan, now that I have won the Sin City World Championship, I am going to get the fuck out of wrestling. Thank you.”

Davison walks off camera and the picture remains still for seconds. As time passes, it begins to feel longer, even though you can hear a clock ticking in the background, the only thing breaking the silence. After about fifteen seconds, Davison returns.

“You didn’t really think that I was going to just leave. Did you? That’s Knox’s gimmick.”

A sly smirk crosses Davison’s face, taking a moment to appreciate the first barb.

“In this match, we have three men, vying for the Sin City Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship. We have three men who want to prove that they deserve to stand atop the proverbial mountain. We have three mortal men… and a god. That’s right, in this business, I am a Kendamned God. I am every bit as good as I say I am. I have proven that I do not belong at the top of the mountain, I AM THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN. Everything I’ve told you, everything you've heard is true. I am not one in a million. I’m not even one in a billion. I am one of a kind. People try to walk around claiming to be the best in the world. Best in the world is just a gimmick. I'm better than the best. I actually am as good as everybody pretends to be. It's scary. So yeah, it's pretty good to be me.”

“But there's one thing that I can't stand. That makes my blood boil. It's being ignored. And being ignored even when I yell and scream and beg as loud as I can! Look at the year end awards. I wasn’t even nominated. I guess winning the Internet Championship and then the World Championship doesn’t count for anything. Jack Washington could barely put me away. He couldn’t make me quit. Everyone knows that I have no quit. Everyone knows that I am an indestructible wrestling machine and I get better every day. After the match at Blaze of Glory, I went on to bigger and better things. Even after a quarter of a century, I keep getting better. Each and every week, I rise to another level. While most of the roster just sits there in the locker room every week and watches me become better than they ever were!”

Davison sits down on a stool he had placed prior to the start of filming. He takes some deep breaths to regulate himself, not wanting to get worked up too soon.

“In life, you are either a thermostat or a thermometer. You either set the temperature or you react to it. As world champion, Right there, I could have gone off the rails, but the reason I didn’t is because I am the man who creates the climate. I set the tone. As world champion, that is my job. While I may have my faults, I still have a respect for this business that Matt Knox and Jack Washington lack. I have no respect for you, Matt, and I barely have any for Washington, either. I am not going to pretend for a single moment that I do, either. Today I learned that the blue whale’s anus can stretch three and a half feet, making it the third largest asshole behind the two of you. But, back to Knox. Jack, I’ll get back to you later. When I first crossed paths with you, I looked down the road and all I saw was potholes. You came into this business, you stripmined it, you took what you could get out of it and you left the young guys behind you. Oh, and Knox, you’d better not bring up your young boy Bert, because anyone who has paid attention to his career knows that he’s just a “Diet Raven” who learned how to quit from his full calorie equivalent. Where I come from, you don’t give respect. You don’t get respect. You earn respect. Ask Mac Bane where our friend started. He’ll tell you that we beat respect out of one another. That is how the Saviors roll. That’s why we are the ones who will leave our legacy. We are the ones who will show the young lions the way, while you will simply fade away.”

“I know that right now, you and I have some of the same objectives, Knox. That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to put you in your place before that. We know the type of man you are. But you, “Raven”, do not know what kind of man I am. You see, you believe I'm obsessed with you. Here's a thing, Matty. I don't give two shits about you, I never have. I never will. There is no obsession. The only thing I am obsessed with… I'm obsessed with kicking your ass. As Sin City’s resident “Truth Hammer” I have to be honest. We are at the stage of our careers that if I cannot beat you, with your delusions of adequacy; then I have no business being in the ring anyways. I have stood here the entire time you were gone, carrying the banner for this company while you took your ball and went home because you knew you couldn’t beat Mac Bane again.”

Davison swings his foot and the sound of a rubber ball bouncing off the wall, one familiar to any kid that ever got hit in the face with a dodgeball, echoes for a brief moment.

“I wouldn’t call you a great wrestler, Knox, which is surprisingly not because I hate your punk ass. The fact of the matter is I hate you because you don’t have any concept of anything except self-preservation. You pay me no respect at all. Hence and thus, I don't pay you any respect. It's no secret we don't get along. I will say this much, you’re a good wrestler. But, he’s a coward. You’re not a leader and you aren’t a role model. You have shown you are afraid to fight. You showed you’re afraid to remain loyal when you fed Amber Ryan to the wolf. I might not like Amber, but at least I have the decency to stab her in the chest. You, Knox, you are a fraud. You can criticize the rest of us, but let’s face it, at least we have spines. Hell, I talk all the time about my heart attack. Judging from the way you wrestle, I don’t think you’re capable of having one.”

“And the truth is that I am going to get you, Knox. This time I swear on all 47 of your children that I am gonna get you. I am going to get Jack Washington, because he was the man that profited from it. Originally, I was going to come out here and tell the world that I wasn’t going to quit this time. I simply cannot do that because it would be a lie. You want the truth? The truth is you don't have a future because I'm gonna burn down everything around you until you're the last man standing and I'm gonna keep you alive just long enough to look you in the eye and hurt you worst of all. I am going to put you in The Hands of God and I am going to watch as your very soul leaves your body. So tell me, you son of a bitch, am I lying? Am I?”

Davison pauses, using the Khaby Lame hand gesture. He reaches over and grabs a bottle of water, taking a few gulps before placing it back where it was.

“Jack, I hope you understand that you have to be hurt because my words will not be enough to  get through to you and a show of force has become necessary. But, I pity you Jack. You are sitting here as the dark horse, lying there in a weakened mental state because you don’t realize just how into your own head that Knox and I have gotten. You see, you took it for granted that one show of force would be enough, that you'd see the way and walk down the path of victory because you defeated the two of us in that Internet Championship match a few months back.. So, I won't blame you for the sins you feel have to be committed, for the way that the two of us surpassed you in defeat must have clouded your mind, but, nonetheless, you have to be hurt.”

“I don't think the people fully understand what I'm going through here! I don't think the people understand what kind of crosses powerful righteous men like myself are burdened to carry! You see, Jack, when the world has gotten me down, I go back and watch THAT match. I turn the volume down, and bask in the fluorescent rays of the moment you put me out! It was not a defeat because I showed the world that I would not quit, would not give up, regardless of the odds and that state of mind serves me very well in this situation. And as I lay there unconscious, you celebrated victory. When I woke up, I allowed you to have a moment while I plotted my next movement. I was already awaiting my next move, awaiting my next challenge, I fell asleep Jack, and woke up to realize that it had all come to pass, that all my suffering had been worth it, and not only was Jack Washington the Sin City Wrestling Internet Champion, but I was a loser. But as I wiped the sleep from my eyes, I realized that it was not Jack Washington holding that championship belt, it was Jack Washington releasing me from the shackles of the bottom of the card.”

“You see Jack, men like Mac Bane, Goth, who I feel should be in this match because he’s done far more than you have the last year, and the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison, we are not content to simply wait our turn! We are the Mount Rushmore of this company for a simple reason - when we see something we want, we go after it. We take what we want and I feel like this company would be wise to remember that. And if we can't take it, we create their own. That very thought is what keeps me going. There was no world championship opportunity for me to take, so I made one. Like a Kendamned magician, I fabricated one before the eyes of the entire industry, right out of thin air. Luckily, Jack, it's not all over for you! Because oh! The magic they can weave! With one wave of their wand, the suits have bestowed upon you the gift of opportunity, one that you may be able to use by turning a defeat into another chance at greatness. Not that I expect that to happen, because whatever your Mommy and Daddy told you about being anything you want to be in this world…”
Davison verbally scoffs. “Well, it may not be true most of the time, but in the magical land of Sin City Wrestling, you truly can be anything you want to be! You can be anything you want to be except Sin City Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion.”

Ken folds his hands in front of himself, making sure to very carefully choose his words. There are things that he knows, that he wants to say, that he is better off not sharing… at least not yet.

“I've seen it all a hundred times. Jack, the magic they can weave. I've seen a tough Canadian raised kid from Croatia become a black belt from Japan. I've seen a farm kid from Nebraska become an overnight rap star sensation. I've seen a kid from New Hampshire become a Frenchman. And one particular wrestler who went through five different incarnations before finding himself heavyweight champion of the world. I’m sure that if you wanted to, you could even become a woman and get your ass handed to you by Chloe Benton once you realize this isn’t going to work out for you.”

“But I'm not going to write you off completely, because I know what you are capable of. I just do not believe that you have come to the realization of exactly what I am capable of. Two World Championships certainly aren’t going to convince you. That is why I feel the need to not only show you, but to hurt you, to maim you if need be. If I have my druthers, I want you to fade into obscurity. I want you to be one of those guys who in about five or six years is featured on the SCW Network on an episode of “Where Are They Now?” While I not only rose, I ascended to become Zeus, the head of the Parthenon in Sin City Wrestling. While you are more like Eris, the Greek Goddess of jealousy and discord. Sure, people know about you and the ones that do, well, they don’t really like you.”

Davison takes another sip out of his water bottle, standing up as he puts it back. He leans forward, holding his hands to his temples.

“Mac Bane, you know that somewhere deep inside this demented mind, there lurks a soft spot. It is a soft spot for the things that have gone through in my life; a soft spot for the wrestling history in my life; a soft spot,Mac Bane, for you. You know, because you are a part of my wrestling history. Twenty years ago, when “Godly” Ken Davison was just starting to build a legend; twenty years ago when Mac Bane was just starting to exist.”

“And so when I heard with eager ears the tales of the Mac Bane in the place we dare not speak its name, and my contacts sent word and said that Bane is fabulous, because that’s how people talked back then. But I heard about you, Mac, and I was proud. I was so very proud. I watched every time you piledrove another helpless opponent, it brought me pride! And every time you smashed a steel chair against somebody's skull, IT MADE ME PROUD! Because I knew who you were taking your lessons from, or should have been taking lessons from. You've learned really well; because Mac Bane doesn't and still does not CARE about winning. You care about incapacitating people as a means to the end and winning is the byproduct of that.”

“Just like twenty five years ago, Tunzafun, as I was known at that time, did not have a care in the world! Being that fun loving buffoon got me nowhere. I hate seeing film from those days, look in my eyes, and you can see that I was just happy to be there. I evolved, I became a sadistic, evil man. That is the man you knew then, Mac. The thing is, that isn’t who I am any more. I am a changed man! BECAUSE I LIKED TO WIN. I liked the ego-gratification of the one, two, three; I liked to have my hand in the air and I LIKED to carry around championships like this one right here. And therefore, I have become a weaker man. Because the three of you were chosen to cross my path, YOU WERE CHOSEN TO FACE A LIVING HELL!!! Because Finn Whelan has awoken a sleeping giant; made me ashamed of the man I have become!”

Ken spits on the ground at the mention of the most recent former World Champion.

“I can Kendamned guarantee and make you a vow right now, THAT I'M NOT GONNA BE THAT MAN ANYMORE! Because as of now, Ken Davison DOES NOT CARE! You look at me, ALL OF YOU LOOK AT ME and you, Bane, I want you to remember real well: Remember during the Saint’s Day Massacre match? I put the garbage can across your head AND YOU DIDN'T GO DOWN! I put it across your head a second time and not only didn't you go down, but I saw the slight remain OF A SMILE! And I said: “Mac Bane is playing head games with the master. AND HE'S WINNING!” It wasn’t until that moment that I remembered sometimes the victory is not the win, but in the statement that was made. So, Mac Bane, I forgot the world around me and I sent us both through that barb wire wrapped, flaming table. I know I can hurt you. I know you can hurt me. With you, psychological warfare is out of the game.”

“And that is why I am asking you three for the favor: you meet me in my match! We take this fatal four way match and we add the element of danger to it. You can play this by the book or we can take advantage of the fact that these multi-man matches are no disqualification. Not that I give two shits if you do or not, I learned my folly when Jack Washington defeated me for the Internet Championship. As I said before, that day was possibly the greatest day of my Sin City Wrestling Career, but don’t think for a Kendamned second that I will allow that to happen again. I show Mac Bane respect, but the man has earned it. You other two ass clowns? I’m only just getting started. People will leave this match hurt. The following morning, you will wake up feeling the familiar pain coming from your battle scars. You will all know that you have been in a war and you will know that it is all because of the man who will be the man who will be announced as “AND STILL SIN CITY WRESTLING HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION,” “Godly” Ken Davison.”

Ken makes a slashing motion at his throat and the picture fades to black.

9
Climax Control Archives / The Once and Future King
« on: December 02, 2022, 10:37:48 AM »


November 23rd, Midday

Sitting inside of the Enoch Pratt Free Library, I’m at a table with my laptop in front of me. I’m slowly scrolling through the Google results for “Maryland divorce forms,” because of everything I’ve been dealing with. The constant strain on my marriage, and despite what Adina and Chloe have told me, I figure that Kyra wants out. She’s been cold, unreachable. Those rare moments that we’ve had the chance to talk to one another have pretty much blown up in my face. One wrong word, one wrong reaction, one moment of saying the wrong thing while trying to hold my ground in the middle of a hurricane of anger and sadness and frustration… Let’s just say I haven't helped my situation. Since it was Kyra’s birthday, I figured I should give her what she wants, her freedom.

That’s why I’m sitting in the corner of the library, facing the wall trying, and failing, to hold back tears while trying to figure out how to print these fucking forms. My phone rings, momentarily distracting me from my misery. I glance down at the caller ID and I see that the number is coming from my adoptive daughter’s phone. ’Jesus, this is exactly what I need right now,’ I think to myself. I quickly close the laptop before I answer the call, whispering as to not bother the other patrons.

“Yeah… what’s up?”

“Um… Daddy…” came Adina’s voice through the phone. ’That’s unexpected,’ I thought as Adina continued. “Imma gonna need you to come get me and Chloe. We went to the park an’ Chloe fell and bumped her head. We need you right now.”

I begin packing up my stuff as quickly as possible. At this point, I make no effort to remain quiet as my only concern is my children.

“Alright, is she bleeding?”

“No. But she’s saying weird stuff and the black part of her eyes are like, really big.”

“Sounds like a concussion. Where are you? I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“I dunno. Lemme find a sign.” There’s a pause and I hear Adina’s breathing as she sprints around. “Um, yeah. It’s ‘M T Ver-something.’ That’s where we are.”

“Mount Vernon?” I confirm, trying to conceal the sense of urgency as I step out the door. I don’t want Adina to panic. I notice the chill in the air, instantly regretting my choice to leave the house without dressing in warmer clothing. “I should have put on my coat.” 

“Yeah, Vernon. That’s what Chloe said when we gots here.”

“Alright, babygirl. Hold tight and call 911 if Chloe starts to fall asleep. I’m at the library nearby. I’ll be there soon.”

“Yes, sir!” Adina says, almost proudly before disconnecting the call. It was weird that Adina seemed so calm, but I figure everyone handles stress differently. Right?

Right?

Thankfully the park is less than a mile away. I may or may not have broken some speed limits and possibly run a stop sign or two. I roll up in my ‘89 Pontiac Grand Am, parking it and running over the scene, where I see my wife standing there. Makes sense that Adina would call her mother, except that it looks like Chloe is taking care of Adina, not the other way around like it was explained to me. There’s fuckery afoot.

“Come on, let’s get her out of here.  What happened?” I hear Kyra’s voice slowly get louder as I hustle over to her. I watch as Chloe, acting completely normal, helps Adina to the bottom of the slide.

“I don’t know.  One minute she was playing and the next…”

Just as they reached the ground, Chloe stopped talking as I ran up. I say nothing. I’m sure my face relays a look of unparalleled confusion as I try to piece things together in my head, moving my finger from point to point while connecting the dots in my head. The pieces fit together in much the same way that\ Chuck E. Cheese pizza slices never seem to belong together.

“Someone has some explaining to do… NOW!” I bellow.

Upon hearing my voice, Kyra turned around - completely shocked and even more so when Adina suddenly comes to life and drops out of her arms. The little girl rushes over to Chloe and now the two of them are coming face to face with their choices, and the two people they’d manipulated to this very location. 

“It’s a..”

“It’s a miracle!” Adina finishes Chloe’s sentence, putting on her best innocent face as they look between my wife and myself.

“A miracle that you’re not hurt or a miracle that Chloe isn’t so concussed she can smell colors?” I add. I don’t know what the two of them are up to, but I know when I’m being played.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Kyra finally chimes in, staring daggers at both girls. I know that look. They just stepped in it. 

“Seriously. Give me one good reason I shouldn’t ground the two of you.”

“Well” Chloe interrupts with a mischievous grin, “I’m 19 so you can’t ground me.”

“I can change the Wi-Fi password. Don’t make me do it.” I look at Kyra, taken aback for a moment. It’s the first time we’ve been in the same book, let alone on the same page, in almost three months. “Um, Happy Birthday, by the way.”

Kyra stops for a moment, turning her head slowly towards Ken.

“Um...Thanks?” In that moment, she breaks out of the moment and she turns her attention back to Chloe and Adina. “Is that what you two were trying to do?”

“Let’s be honest, we know it is. I just want to hear the two of you admit to it,” I say, tapping my foot impatiently on the ground. “So, which one of you two is the mastermind?”

Chloe and Adina look at each other for a few seconds, smirking and after a minute or so of complete silence, Chloe grabs Adina’s hand and the two of them back away. 

“Hey, I just remembered that Adina and I need to go..”

“Yeah we needs to go!  See you later!”

“Are you two brown wording me right now?” I yell as the scamper off. But neither of them bother to turn back to acknowledge me, leaving Kyra and I  by ourselves.  We turn and look at each with an amazing cocktail of emotions containing frustration, confusion, defeat and… maybe hope. 

Finally, Kyra sighed. “We live with a bunch of shitheads, huh?” she mused uncomfortably while staring at me.

“You think?” I quip back at her, holding my gaze perhaps a little too long. I’ve missed this. Surprisingly enough, Kyra’s gaze never wavered from mine. Perhaps she missed this too.

“Listen.. I-I’m sorry.” She began, shocking even herself with her words, but she kept going. “I was just so worried, and hurt by what you said.  Like, I know why you were doing what you were doing, because I’d do the same damn thing.  But you didn’t want me to, and it just… I don’t know.  It just really fucking hurt.”

Kyra finally pulled her gaze away from mine, moving to and sitting on one of the swings, lowering her head so she was staring at her shoes as they moved through the dirt and mulch.  It was no real surprise that Kyra wasn’t exactly the type to tell all about her feelings, especially if they were anything besides anger. I know it makes her feel vulnerable which in turn makes her feel uncomfortable. I figure now would be the time to make some sort of gesture, so I follow Kyra and sit on the swing next to hers.

“Um… thanks. I'm not apologizing, though,” I tell her. Kyra's face is overtaken by shock. Before she can respond, I start talking again. “Hear me out. Every time I try to apologize I say something stupid and step in it. I know I fucked up. It's just… I just… every time I tried something different, it still blew up in my face. You know I'm not smart with this shit. But, you should have known I was trying. I know I hurt you, but I also felt you were too angry to meet me halfway.”

Kyra nods her head. 

“Yeah.  I was.”

I thought that was going to be it. The way Kyra turned and looked into my eyes, I knew it would be best to just shut up, but for good reason. 

But all of that ‘I’m not smart with this shit’? That’s just an excuse, Ken. There ain’t no owners manual for this… But you know me. You know who I am deep down. You’re one of the few who knows what I am beneath the surface..I don’t know. I know I didn’t give you enough slack, and I’ve been told some shitty things by the people I love, but this one just hit differently.  This entire situation just hit me differently. Maybe it’s because it’s you. Regardless… I should have let it go. It’s not worth ruining what we’ve got over…” 

I pushed back with my feet, allowing the swing to rock back and forth. Might as well lay it all on the table. After all, what do I have to lose?

“You weren't listening, at least I felt you weren't. You were so hellbent that I was trying to… I don't fucking know, shock you into listening.”

A sad smile crosses Kyra’s lips as she looks down into her hands. 

“I was listening. To everything. That’s why I was so angry. That’s why I wanted to protect you.  It’s funny, we’re both out here trying to protect each other, but neither of us can handle the possibility of something happening to the other to the point where we’d rather be ignorant of who we married than let them risk hurting themselves for us.”

She lets out a sigh and shrugs her shoulders. 

“I was wrong for expecting you to back down. That’s just not who you are, and I’ve known that as long as I’ve known you.”

“To be fair, we are both the two most stubborn people that I know.  Not going to lie, I am very confused by all this Mr. Miyagi, words of wisdom bullshit you've got going on.”

Kyra couldn’t stop the chuckle that escapes her lips. 

“Well, I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

“So did I, but it's been far less productive. I don't want to talk about it. Let's just leave it at that, you are smarter than I am.” I sigh as soon as he finish my sentence. At that moment, I am feeling a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

“Oh, stop it with that… please?”

Kyra gets up from her swing and moves in front of mine, extending her hand to me.  

“I’m not smarter than you.  But I’ve missed you, and I love you… and.. And I–”

“I was at the library looking up divorce paperwork. I figured if I couldn't make you happy that I shouldn't hold you hostage. So, yeah, you're smarter than I am,” I blurt out, cutting her off. Kyra sits there, stunned for a few moments, digesting what I just told her.   

“Oh, Ken.. Why...”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

Maybe you're right…”

I let go of her hand and mine fall to my side, defeated. As is tradition, I tried to hide it, but there was no way to stop my eyes from welling up with tears. 

“I mean, if that's what you want. You can have the house and all that, it was always meant to be yours.”

The lack of comprehension crosses her face.I can only imagine her wondering “What the fuck is he saying?” in her head. In what seems like the moment my words started making sense to her, she reaches down and grabs my hands and pulls me up to my feet. 

“Ken, I didn't mean that!”

“Oh…” I reply sheepishly.

“You're not getting rid of me that easily." She replies and before I can say anything else, she puts an exclamation point on her statement with a kiss. The kiss is deep, passionate, like our first kiss all over again.

“Could we do that again? I kinda missed that.”

Without a word, Kyra obliges me, pulling me in and kissing me once more. 



Standing in front of the Hershey candy factory in Hershey, Pennsylvania, I wait for the camera crew to finish setting up. Underneath my robes, I am wearing two layers of clothes, just to keep warm in this near freezing temperature. I’ve chosen, very appropriately, a chocolate brown color. I’ve forgone the usual matching glasses as finding a pair in that shade is nearly impossible. Seeing we are almost ready, I take my place standing with the front entrance of the factory behind me. One of the crew counts me in and I am ready to go.

“Despite what you may think, Whelan, I am not the man that’s been turned into Masque’s puppet. When I sat alone in the darkness, my personal hell, it was Masque who reminded me of who, and more importantly what, I am. In this company, I am a target for several reasons. Whether I am a champion or not, I am one of the elite in this company. I have faced the best and I have beaten the best. Mac Bane, Mark Cross, Austin James Mercer… the resume speaks for itself. I know you won’t acknowledge any of this, boy. In fact, there is absolutely no need to because in your eyes, I am nothing more than the man you beat for the World Championship.”

“I can admit this because I am, above all else, honest. I wear my heart on my sleeve and tear the intestines from my stomach. I understand that you think that I am the hunter because you hold the World Championship, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. You need this victory more than I do.You need to show the world that his victory was not a fluke. Finn Whelan, you do not understand the juxtaposition of your reality, which frankly works in my favor. You think I am the hunter, but if I was, would I really be stupid enough to seek out a wolf in his den? Not unless I was the bigger threat, the larger predator. If need be, I will tear the flesh off your bones and become the ghost in your head. I will be the nightmare that haunts you when you think of what could have been. That’s exactly what is going to happen because like all of the other people who have doubted me, I will prove them, and you, wrong.”

I point to the camera, furthering my point before continuing.

“I know you will try and pick me apart. Go right ahead, homeboy. I am a man who isn't afraid of your scrutiny. I'm not scared of the truth, which makes me immune to whatever bullshit you are going to spew at me. You still have dreams, but those are all things I’ve already accomplished. I got there by coming back from adversity time and time again. This situation, this injustice, is just another hurdle that I will have to jump over.”

“What happened at High Stakes was very similar to “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.” I don’t mean the new one with Johnny Depp. I mean the old school, Gene Wilder, acid trip on the glass-bottom boat movie. Yes, Charlie won. The question here is, SHOULD he have won?  Much like your championship win, “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” is a favorite story for kids of all ages. I mean, think about it. What could be better than being a child, opening up a candy bar, going to a candy factory, and then finding out you won that factory? Maybe having a grandfather who wasn’t an asshole faking a health condition like Grampa Joe did. Aside from that, there aren’t many things I could think of that would be better. Now, most people accept Charlie winning the factory at face value. It’s what Roald Dahl, the original author, intended. The thing is, why did Charlie win and why wasn’t the winner Violet Beauregarde?”

I smirk, taking a moment to allow the audience at home to process what I am saying.

“I know that I’ve already lost some of you, but stay with me and I will show you the way like a shepherd tends to his flock. While most of you have no idea where this is going, I assure you, it has everything to do with Finn Whelan and myself.”

“Violet Beauregarde should have been the rightful winner of Wonka’s contest. You all remember her, right? Violet Beauregarde, the World Chewing Gum Champion of the World. Violet Beauregarde, the über competitive girl who, above all else, wanted to test herself. She made it pretty far, but was eliminated for chewing the three-course-meal gum that Wonka warned her not to. As we all know, she turned into a blueberry and was rolled away.”

“Violet Beauregarde is the most committed to not only winning, but knowing what she was walking into. She was easily able to switch from gum-chewing to candy-bar-eating at the start of the competition. She was also the one, the only one, who know the different candies Wonka talked about. At one point in the film, he even holds up a yellow piece of candy and she could recognize it from across the room. Obviously, Violet would have no problem understanding her supply list.”

“Much in the same way Violet Beauregarde dedicated herself to what she was involved with, I have very much done the same. Not only did I watch as many of Finn Whelan’s match and promos as I could find, I went looking for him at the Wolfslair so that I could get a look at the man’s work first hand. I know that Finn isn’t the type to outwardly mess with someone, but that is because he isn’t willing to take the measures needed to be successful in this industry.  I wanted to walk into Wolfslair, slap him across the face and look him dead in the eye to see how he’d react. I am a man who will do whatever is necessary, no matter the cost.”

The wind picks up some, so I place my hands in the pockets of my robe to keep them warm.

“Furthermore, the largest similarity between Violet Beauregarde and myself is that we both have the know-how to work within our individual endeavors. Beyond that, we both have the traits needed to succeed in any business. We are both competitive, determined, hard-working and willing to take risks. Violet Beauregarde proved that she was willing to take a risk by trying the three-course-meal chewing gum. I proved that I was willing to take risks by challenging Mac Bane. I proved that I was willing to take risks by confronting Masque in the first place. I proved that I was willing to take risks by listening to Masque because, despite our differences, she was right in the things she told me.I climbed the ladder here rung by damned rung by damned rung and I didn’t work that hard to be knocked to the bottom of the pile by you, Finn.”

“Here’s another thing that bothers me, a little off topic, but allow me to indulge myself. Violet Beauregarde's choice to chew the gum Wonka told her not to is pretty much the exact same thing that Charlie and his grandfather do later on when they partake of the Fizzy Lifting drinks.. Why was Violet punished for it but Charlie gets a factory? Plus, Violet shares her experience with everyone, while Charlie and his grandfather indulge in private. Everyone else's mistakes were purposeful but Violet's was simply an accident. Anyhow, I digress.”

“Say what you will about those other little monsters at the factory, Charlie Bucket, much like Finn Whelan, is a meek boy who never asks for more than he has been given. He was a passive naive boy and if that isn’t Finn Whelan to a t, I don’t know what it is. Finn, you know for a fact that you didn’t ask for a World Championship match. You sat and waited until the opportunity presented itself and, credit where credit is due, you took advantage when it did. That won’t change the fact that you won’t hold onto that championship because you lack the qualities to succeed in the long term. You aren’t proactive. You will never take charge. You don’t value yourself to ask, let alone create your own opportunities. You just leave things up to fate and let the river take you where the water flows and you stay in your comfort zone. Well, kiddo, the waters have taken you to the brink and whether you like it or not, the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison is the waterfall that is going to bring you crashing back to reality and bring the demise of your championship reign. Charlie Bucket shouldn’t have won and the fact of the matter is, you shouldn’t have either. ”

I can feel that one vein in my head start swelling and pulsating. The thought that I let Finn Whelan beat me has never sat well with me.

“I’ve waited, Finn. I’ve patiently waited. On Sunday, it will have been 35 days that I have been forced to wait. Each and every day, I have gotten angrier and angrier. I’ve tried to be a good guy, Finn. I tried to be respectful. I just can’t do that anymore. I need to listen to that old song that Masque speaks of, the harmony of dissonance, the symphony of destruction. I made the mistake of wrestling you before. Now, I have to do more than beat you. I have to make this win definitive. I need to tear you asunder because I need to remind people that this isn't a comeback, this is the second step of another streak. You think that you can really take my place? When you sit there, it’s just a seat. When I sit there it’s a Kendamned throne.You think you’ll beat me again, but I’m going God Mode. History won’t repeat itself because you don’t get a fucking sequel.”

I step towards the camera, asserting my presence.

“Some people just don't get it. And, quite frankly, I'm gettin' tired of repeating myself. I deserve to be treated in a certain manner. Finn, I know the people of Seattle, or wherever the hell you’re really from, are not known for being' very smart... but even you should know that I deserve to be treated with respect, which is not something you’ve shown me so far. That’s why you need to realize that I’ve got blood on my hands, some of it I’m proud of it, some of it, not so much. What you need to realize now, Finn, is that there's blood in the water now and I am the Great White Shark.”

“All my life, Finn, I’ve had people like you in my ears: It’s gone from “Hey, Ken,, you’re not 6’7’’, 300 pounds, you’ll never do anything in the wrestling business.’ Then it became, ‘Yo, Ken, aren’t you getting a little too old for this?’ and ‘Ken, even though you battled every day to recover, your heart will never allow you to wrestle again.’ There has always been someone telling me I can’t, which is exactly what I know you will do. You will tell me that you are better than me, that I will never beat you, that I will never beat you. No! That’s not how this is going to play out, homeboy. By the grace of God, I am beating those demons. I am overcoming those obstacles… That’s because I hear voices like yours in my head. I remember the things that have been said to me and that is why it has been so important that I sing my song. Just like I’ve been seeing and hearing all those people saying: ‘You can’t do it, Ken!’ That’s what I see in you, Whelan. I see nothing but my next obstacle.” 

“See, Finn, at Clmax Control,, you’re not gonna be facing Ken Davison, dedicated father, honorbound friend, conflicted spouse, uncertain person. You’re gonna be facing all the anger and frustration within me. All the fire that burns within me. YOU’RE GONNA BE FACING “GODLY” KEN DAVISON, THE ONCE AND FUTURE KING AND I AM GOING TO DEFRAUD YOU TO THE WORLD AS NOTHING MORE THAN A PRETENDER TO THE THRONE!”

10
Climax Control Archives / Reality
« on: November 11, 2022, 11:03:00 PM »

“Godly” Ken Davison has returned to his roots. Situated in his church, the refurbished St. Anne’s Catholic Church, he stands behind his pulpit, basking in the gentle glow of the rainbow of colors coming through the stained-glass window overhead. It portrays a scene of Ken being crucified, a depiction of the events that occurred on a High Octane Wrestling pay-per-view some years ago. At this moment, the recently deposed Sin City Wrestling World Champion.seems to be slightly perturbed by something.

“I’m sitting here and I can't stop thinking about my match with Finn Whelan. I am still sitting here and wondering why I lost. Finn Whelan is not, nor will he ever be, the better man. I refuse to lie to you the way he does. Perhaps Masque was right. Perhaps all of…” Ken waves his hand around in circular motion, “this has made me soft. I can hear her words in the back of my head, even as I am sitting here alone, “You've made yourself weaker to seem more palatable to them.” I stood up and put myself in the line of fire for them. I tried to be the hero because the “Bloodstained Hurricane,” the woman you will all cheer upon her return, decided to take a sabbatical. She decided to hide like a coward. I may have spoken in anger about Mac Bane, but at least he has been here. So, instead of focusing on Finn Whelan the way I should have, I split that attention. I fell into the same trap. Why? Because, for once, I wanted to be the hero. I wanted to be the good guy and do the right thing. I’ve been tiptoeing that line since I arrived because I haven’t exactly made a career for myself doing things the quote unquote “right way.” Perhaps THAT was my mistake.”

“As this match went on, it got more and more physical, I started to notice some changes. Changes in the way you felt about me and changes in the way I felt about you. When I needed your support, all I could hear was 'Finn,Finn, Finn.” After I lost, there was no appreciation from anyone for what I had done. Not from the fans, not from my coworkers, not even from my wife who decided she was going to dress up as a frigid bitch for Halloween. Sure, when I stood there face to face with Masque, then you cheered me. When I stood there with Mac, before the chloroform, I was cheered. Then what? Where did all that love go? When I showed that I was human, when I showed that I was a man like each and every one of you, where was the support then? When I have ever heard the chants of 'Kenny, Kenny' outside of the City of Baltimore, the city that showed me that I could be more than a Wrestling God. When have any of you embraced me or chanted my name? Never. You only cheered for me when I stood across from a larger evil. tYou only cheered for me when I stood beside a more sympathetic person. Part of the reason why I am in Sin City Wrestling and why I didn't leave like so many others before is because I felt like this could be my home. But what kind of home treats their family this way? I gave you everything! I gave you my heart, I gave you my soul, I gave you my Kendamned everything, taking trans-Atlantic flights on a weekly basis while we were in India, even if it was just so I could cut a promo for all of you. I am the MVP! So, Sunday, oh yeah, Sunday, when I beat Miles Kasey again, you can cheer for Kasey, I don't care, but if I was a betting man, I would bet on the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison.”


Davison stands behind his pulpit in his den of self-indulgence. He is comfortable here. Many of his congregation are here, loyal to him despite not having returned “home” in a couple of years. Though, this openness is not something they are accustomed to hearing from their idol.

“You know, Miles, there's a fundamental difference between us. Sure we don’t particularly care about one another, that's no secret. But, it seems that you and I will have some kind of respect for one another. That goes out the window. Where there was once respect, there will now be transparency.”

“Let me ask you something, Kasey. Why do you fight? What do you fight for? I've listened to you talk. I've been around you enough. You fight for acceptance. You want these fans, these people to look at you a certain way. You have this self-absorbed desire for a legacy, to be great, to be remembered here at Sin City. You are fueled by pride. I know these things because they also fuel me. I know because you are in the same position I was twenty some odd years ago. But, this pride of yours, You call that a worthy cause? Sunday night, I fight for the worthiest cause of all. The greatest minds in the history of the world have contemplated it. Socrates studied it. Shakespeare wrote songs and plays about it. At Climax Control, in that very same fashion, I fight for it!”

“You see, this war I am waging, it's familiar to another war in history. Many, many moons ago, the fallen angel Lucifer and his minions declared war on God and the Archangels. Their uprising was declared in the name of pride, in the name of a legacy, to be the greatest. Well the Archangels went to Hell and back, but at the end of the day, love conquered all.”

Ken looks down to the flat part of the pulpit to a small wallet sized picture he placed there earlier, so he could keep his focus on his wife and daughter. Despite his momentary slip early, Ken still loves his wife very dearly. However, so long as Masque liners, so will the tension.

“Understand, Miles, you are a walking contradiction. The first statement you made after you won the Roulette Championship was something along the lines of “Anyone who says I didn’t earn this is a troll.” Am I right? Of course I am right. I remember it very vividly because just a few moments later, you said you felt like you won the lottery. If you earn something, you toil, you sweat, you bleed, you sacrifice to get what you deserve. If you win the lottery, then luck was on your side that day. So, which is it, boy? Did you get that championship by choice or chance?”

“You talk about a championship, a single solitary championship. When I speak, I speak about my legacy, I speak about a man who came to be the messiah of Sin City Wrestling. A few decades from now, you and I, Kasey, will be in the exact same place, six feet under. Our bodies decomposing, getting eaten by beetles and maggots, rotting away, and then what of your legacy? Miles “Milo” Kasey, former Roulette Champion. How many men who only earn one secondary, dare I say tertiary championship are remembered. Sure the fans that have seen you, they'll remember you, but when they die, their memories die with them. Men and women like myself, like Masque de Lune, we are revered not for our championships, though we have plenty of those, are revered because we give people memories. People remember when the United States Olympic Hockey team beat the Soviets in 1980. Red Sox fans still remember Game 6 of the 1986 World Series when Bill Buckner allowed a ground ball that, had he fielded cleanly, would have broken the Curse of the Bambino, to roll through his legs. Whether it is a moment of greatness or a moment of infamy, people remember moments.”

Ken motions up to the stained glass window above. The cameraman decides to focus instead on the very prominent scar on Davison’s hand.

“See that? People remember that moment, especially those who were there. But that’s not why I fight, Miles. I went through that “I have to make sure people know I am the best” phase a long time ago. Granted, do I still want to prove to myself that I am the best? You’re Kendamned right, I do. Do I need to prove it to anyone else? Probably not as my World Championships in four different decades and four Hall of Fame inductions will ensure my place in history.”

“There is one thing and one thing only that has been here since the beginning of humanity and will be here until the end. Love!” Ken reaches down and holds up the picture from the pulpit up to the camera. “That's what I fight for! I fight to provide for my family. I have been fighting for the love of my friends, even when they haven’t had the common courtesy to speak up for themselves. This is what I fight for. This is why I fight for Masque de Lune. Masque has spoken to me, listened to me. Masque has been there when others choose not to listen. Masque has instilled a confidence in me that I’ve not felt for a good, long while. Masque even reminded me of something I said to my wife while she and I were courting. I told her that I would do “great, terrible things” for her. So, do not give me a reason to have to dismantle you, boy, for I have the physical tools to dissect you in the middle of the ring for all to see, but lack the remorse not to do that because I have a point to make and you are the example I am going to set. Remember this, Miles, for this is the Word of “Godly” Ken Davison.”

Ken motions to his side and the organist begins playing “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” by Iron Butterfly. The film crew ends filming and begins packing up their equipment as the congregation stands up, slowly exiting the sanctuary with one lone, rather large exception.

“Alexi!”

“Dare are dings dat we need to discuss.” Alexi speaks with his thick Polish accent. “Is dare a place dat we can talk?”

“Of course, of course!” Ken says excitedly. He turns towards the camera crew, checking in before leaving. “Are you guys good or do you need anything?”

“All good. Thanks,” the foreman of the crew yells back.

“This way, Alexi.”

Alexi Madej is a mountain of a man. At six foot two, he was taller than average. However, it was his sheer muscle mass that makes him seem intimidating, At nearly four hundred pounds, he was layer upon layer of pure muscle. Truth be told, his image belied his actual demeanor. Alexi was a giant teddy bear to those people who had earned his trust.

Ken leads the man to his office, stopping only long enough to unlock the door. As Alexi had been a frequent visitor here in the past, there was a chair wide enough, and most importantly, strong enough to support his massive frame.

“I know about da Masque situation. Do you dink dat you can handle dis?”

“I’m not rehashing everything. Sean and Julia came by and I am sure that’s why you’re here. Isn’t it? Sean called you.”

“Yes, dat may be da case. Have dings wid da missus become bedder?”

Ken looks at Alexi with a look that tells you that him everything he needs to know.

“I’m not going to sit here and lie. You’re right.”

“Dat is right.”

“You’re not helping, big guy,” Ken says with a sigh. “The fact is I was so hyper focused on trying to make things better with Amber and myself. I mean, it’s my wife’s best friend. So after the whole getting kidnapped bullshit, I made a deal with Amber. Kyra found out and here we are. What I am supposed to do? Go to Mac? My wife won’t talk to me. I feel like I’ve got no one.”

“Bzdura! I am dare. Sean is dare. You have udder people dat are dare dis whole…”

“You’re right. Sean has been there, I feel like I’ve leaned on him far too much. He’d never tell me that, but he’s got a wife and kids. I can’t be up his ass all the time.”

“Den why did you not call Alexi, huh?” Alexi thrusts a his pointer finger in Ken’s direction. “Why did you not tell da woman how you feel?”

“I’m giving her space. It’s not like she’s ready to listen anyway.”


“Last time dat we talked, I asked you if dis woman was good for you. Do you dink she still is?”

“Too good.”

“Den what is da problem?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Bałwan. Do you dink dat your pride is dee most important ding?”

“Did you just call me a moron?”

“Idiot. Same ding.”

“ARSCHGEIGE!”

“Dat is German!” Alexi bellows as both men break out into laughter.

“I needed that.”

“Enough of dat. Dare is someding on your mind. What is it?”

“Well, it’s like I am trying to do this whole good guy thing, but it’s not like I’ve got a lot of experience doing it.”

“Is it dat hard to not kick someone in balls?”

“Depends… is the ref looking?”

Alexi can only give Ken a look of consternation.

“Here’s the ding. It does not madder if you are do good guy in da ring. You need to be da good guy at home.”

Alexi emphatically taps on the table.

“You need understand the pressure that I’m under.”

“Why is dat?”

“If I’m being blunt, right now, I’m fucked in the head. I need Kyra to understand where I’m coming from. I try to protect her, I’m the asshole. If she gets hurt, I’m the asshole. You know the story.”

“Dat I do, brudder,” Alexi nods solemnly. “Dat I do.”

“When I lost Crystal all those those years ago, I lost everything. I cannot lose Kyra and Adina.”

“But now, you have Kyra. Do you dink you lost perspective?” Dare has to be someding she’s said.”

“I’m scared that I will do something stupid, she’ll leave and I’ll be back at square one… with nothing.”

“NO! You cannot dink like dat. I may not have dings like you do, but I know dat nudding good comes from being like dat. If I was negative, I would not win Strongman. I would not come to dis great country. I would not have met you. For all problems dat you have, you always took care of me. Dat is why I am going to tell you dis plain. You need to swallow your pride and do da damn ding.”

“Alright, I get it.”

“You should. Sean said it. I said it. I am sure dat da only one dat say no is Masque.”

“She’s not said anything one way or the other.”

“Den why won’t you talk?”

“Every time I try to talk to her, I stick my foot in my mouth.”

“Dis is da same ding week after week after week. De people around you, dey want da best for you. But if you won’t talk, den dare is nudding dat we can do.”

Alexi looks down at his watch.

“How bout dis. Tell me about dis Kasey. Why not just beat him?”

“I feel for him. We walked parallel paths. We won and lost our championships at the same time. Of course, I know what that means. Between that and the fact that the last time we met, I was victorious, he’s going to come at me with everything he’s got. That’s fine, to be honest. I’ve never asked for anything else from my opponents. To be the best, I have to beat the best at their best. That’s cliche as hell, but that doesn’t make it any less true. He’s going to think because his little buddy from Wolfslair beat me, he can follow the same blueprint. Ain’t going to fucking happen.”

Ken pauses as Alexi nods his head in approval.

“Alexi, things are trending in the right direction for me. That’s not going to stop. Losing the Sin City World Heavyweight Championship is a set back, but not the end of the world. If I want to get to that level again, I am going to have to scratch and claw even harder than I did before. If I want to take back that championship from Finn Whlean, that’s fine. At the end of the day, I’m going to do what’s best for myself and my family.”

“Family?”

“Yeah. Kyra, Adina and I.”

“I know dat. I just want to know why you can do dat and not what needs to be done?”

Alexi stands up and Ken stands to meet him, Both men push their chairs in and Alexi walks around and clasps his giant hand on Ken’s shoulder.

“You got a good ding, man. Just remember, grass is not greener on da other side. Grass is greener where you water it.”

“You know fortune cookies aren’t Polish.”

“Dis one is.”

Ken and Alexi say their goodbyes as Ken shows Alexi out. Before turning to walk down the stairs, Alexi takes a moment to tell Ken one last thing.

“By da way. I made da phone call. Take care of yourself, brudder.”

“I will, big man. I promise.”

Alexi smiles and points behind Ken. He turns around, and standing behind him is his wife.

“We need to talk…”


11
Supercard Archives / Re: GODLY KEN DAVISON v FINN WHELAN - WORLD TITLE
« on: October 22, 2022, 11:06:23 PM »

I rub my eyes, trying to force myself to stay awake. I slump over slightly, trying to figure out why I’m sitting in the middle of the kitchen at 4:17 in the morning, on my third cup of coffee since I woke up almost two hours ago. It’s not so much that I don’t know what’s keeping me awake… it’s that I don't know why it’s keeping him awake.

“What the fuck are you doing up?” Kyra presses me as she walks into the kitchen, grabbing the stool directly across the island from mine. “We already went through this when you got jumped. Why are we going through it now?”

“All I can see is those eyes when I close my own. Those cold, blue eyes, they run a chill through my body so harshly that I expect to wake up with frostbite. All I can feel is that… hand. The feeling of that hard, plastic hand still on my scalp. It was a weird feeling, like the caress of a lover who doesn’t actually love you. I know it sounds redundant, but I truly cannot think of any other way to explain it, to myself or any other person, for that matter. This isn’t what I should be dealing with. Shit, this isn’t something that you should be dealing with, either. Yet, here we are; living the dream.”

Kyra was still livid at the entire situation. She was telling me that it wasn’t affecting her that much, but I’ve noticed little things, like her holding my hand more, the fact she watches our daughter more closely, even going out of her way to try and get Chloe to open up more. My wife has never been the super emotional type, so I’ve picked up on all of it.

“Listen, Ken, that bitch gets within arm’s reach and I swear to holy God, I will tear her prosthetic off and shove it so far up her ass, it will take a proctologist to get it out.”

“Kinky,” I deadpan halfheartedly. Humor is my coping mechanism and Kyra knows this. She just doesn't always appreciate it. This is one of those moments.

“Listen, jackass,” she says as she pulls down a coffee cup of her own. “I already told you that if you don’t take care of Masque, I will, Amber be damned. I know about your promise to Amber. I know you told her you wouldn’t let me get involved. The second that bitch put her hands on my husband and scared the shit out of my daughter, that little agreement didn't mean nothing to me.” 

Kyra proceeds to turn around, grab a bottle of Jack Daniels, and pour it into the mug.

“I didn’t make it.”

“Damn it, woman! Amber is afraid of what this woman can do. Amber fucking Bane fucking Ryan is worried about how this woman could hurt you. I don’t care what she does to me. I can take it. But I would die if it ever happened to you.”

“And you think it doesn’t kill me to see it happen to you? Did you ever think about that? No. You only thought of yourself. Let me remind you that last time we fought, who kicked your ass?”

I can’t do this right now.I’m not stupid enough to interrupt. By now, she’s probably made at least three more valid points and at least one that’s total bullshit.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?”

Scratch that. Game on.

“What do you want me to say? What the fuck could I possibly say that I didn’t say in the hotel room the morning I got home? The only thing I wanted at that moment was my family. Yeah, you can call me an asshole/ Whatever, I don’t fucking care. But I am the man of this house and it means that I am supposed to protect your ass. It doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of doing it yourself. It means that I took a vow to give you the best life I possibly could and that means trying to stop you from going through any unnecessary bullshit. Okay? This is my fault. I poked the bear. I started this. I was the one who came out because I knew that Mac and Amber were in no condition to deal with that bitch. Maybe it wasn’t my battle to fight. I’ll give you that. Through all the years, all those years I was busy trying to make the world hurt that way I did, there was only one man who stood by my side through all of it. That was Mac. I don’t know if it was the good old boy in him or what. But he saw through my shit, he saw that I was hurting, and he never gave up on me. I owe him, Kyra. So, yeah, I put myself in the line of fire. I did that. It’s on me. But I cannot and WILL NOT allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. Be mad at me all you want. I’m not going to budge on this one.

“It's not your fucking choice!" Kyra yells, her eyes narrowing in on mine. "It's not yours. It's not hers. You wanna protect me? Fantastic. That means the world to me, it does. But Goddamnit Ken when did protecting me mean taking away my God damned choice? You're my husband but that don't give you the right to make those decisions for me!  So stand here and tell me how you're not budging and watch me do what the fuck I want anyway!”

“So, what? I’m supposed to just let you walk in there? I’m not supposed to think about how would I tell Adina that mama got hurt, again? How am I supposed to look myself in the mirror if I let you walk in there, hellbent on whatever the fuck you think you’re going to do? I can’t let you do this. I’m sorry.”

"YOU DON’T GET TO DECIDE THAT FOR ME!" Kyra screams, stepping forward - her eyes narrowing in on mine even further, which I didn’t even know was possible. Her face is so red, I can only imagine a nuclear heat that is the polar opposite of Masque’s arctic chill and her face is only growing redder by the second as her eyes well up with tears. “I spent a fucking lifetime being TOLD what I could and couldn't do! I spent fucking YEARS being beaten to a pulp for even thinking about doing something different!  But I got out of there and I damn sure ain't going to lose my freedom to choose now." 

She slams her hand down on the counter. Checkmate. She wins. There is nothing I can do but sit there like a scalded puppy. I feel my face droop as though every ounce of fight I had left me in that moment. This goes unnoticed by Kyra, who is going like a runaway train recklessly down the tracks.

“I get that you both wanna protect me. But Goddamnit, when did protecting me mean caging me up and throwing away the key? That's why I'm here! That's why I chose the life I did… not to sit here and hide when someone threatens my family! I'm sorry Ken but when it comes down to it... you'll do anything to protect me..  and I'll do just as much.. if not more to make sure you and our family are safe." Her voice is low and gravely as she wipes away an errant tear. “And if you don't like it?  That's too damn bad because this is my choice. Not yours, and damn sure not Amber's. I get that you want to help Mac... he's your brother. You owe him. But what about me? You don't want me by your side?" She pauses as that realization comes across her face. "What kind of fucked up shit is that?!  You don't want me there? Try and stop me Ken Davison."

“It’s not that I don’t want you there. I don’t want you to get hurt.” I let out a sigh of defeat. “But you’re right. I didn’t look at it like I was taking your choice away. Knowing full well that this all started between us because I pointed out how you weren’t given those choices, I’d be a bigger asshole than Jack, I mean, I did manage to convincingly take down Armageddon. But, Masque… Masque is a different kind of monster, a scarier kind of monster. She’s the kind of monster that I used to see in the mirror. Perhaps that’s what scares me so much.”

I’m stuck. I don’t know what else to say. In trying to protect my wife, I ended up hurting her. Right now, I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. I mean, I know I’m not, but I feel like it. Right?

Right?

“Now would be a great time to say something.”

“What would you like me to say Ken?  That I’m so sorry and I’ll just stay here like a good little wife and let someone fucking–”

“You know what? NO! Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck me for trying to stop you. If you want to be so headstrong, that’s on you. I know who you are. You are quick to anger. You are reckless.And you’ll charge without looking and end up running straight off the edge of a cliff like Wile. E. fuckin’ Coyote. What happened with Masque and I, I didn’t sign up for that. When you come home to Adina crying because YOU decided to do something stupid, don’t blame me.”

Time stands still. Kyra’s eyes have gone from narrow slits to the widest I have ever seen them. I don’t like this. I truly don’t. In my eyes, this might be worth it if I can keep her away from Masque.

“Go to hell.  Do whatever you want.  I don’t fucking  care anymore.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

The answer is the sound of the bedroom door slamming. Oh well, we’ll have to hash it out in the morning. At least I was smart enough to buy a comfortable couch…


“At the end of the day, it’s obvious that what Sin City Wrestling has needed was a new breed of wrestler to come in and shake up the scene. And while I’m not new…I certainly am something that the fucking doctor ordered when they realized that my medical advice was sound and reasonable.” -- Finn Whelan

Sitting in my vestments, I sit at a table with your standard laminate on top, poorly designed to pass itself off as wood. I’ve just placed my order, three eggs over easy with several servings of bacon and sausage. I’m sure my heart doctor will LOVE that. Anyway, I’ve set up my phone on the table so I can get what I have to say out of my system.

“I was walking the streets of New York City in an effort to find the Wolfslair. Thus far, the search has been a fruitless one. For a school of such supposed acclaim, it has been quite difficult to find. First, I ended up at “The Pit.” When I first arrived there, I quickly came to the realization that it was not the acclaimed Wolfslair, but rather, The Pit had hosted a ’Shark Tank’ rip off called ’The Wolf’s Lair/ that hadn’t been a production since June. Ain’t that fucking great? After consulting Google, I discovered a Wolfslair Crossfit Gym over in the UK and that The Wolf's Lair served as Adolf Hitler's first Eastern Front military headquarters in World War II. Note to self: remind Alex Jones to reconsider rebranding.”

“That’s why I am sitting here inside the world famous Tom’s Restaurant. Most people know the outside of the building because they used it on Seinfeld. Others may recognize it from the song ’Tom’s Diner’ by a one hit wonder known as DNA. So, I’ve been sitting here, enjoying my coffee before I head back on the train home to Baltimore. That’s part of why I came here looking for the Wolfslair. I wanted to see what kind of champion you are. How you act, how you behave when the cameras aren’t on is just as, if not more important than how you conduct yourself when the lights are on you.”


I remove my red-tinted sunglasses, folding them up and placing them in a pocket sewn on the inside of my robes.

“Finn Whelan, I very easily could come in here like so many others have and try to tear you down. I'm not going to do that because, in case you haven’t noticed, I am not like other people.  I'm not going to sit here and tell you the reasons that you're inferior to me. I saw the caliber of opponent, of all four of your opponents, that you defeated to get this opportunity. I look at them. I look at their resumes. All I can do is nod my head in respect. You held your own in a match where you were perhaps the biggest underdog. While I respect that, I do not want to dwell on that. In fact, if you had listened to what I told Armageddon about being an underdog, you would know where I stand.”

“What makes me a champion it's not this title around my waist. That might be why people recognize that I am a champion, but that is nothing more than  a symbol. I am a champion because I have the courage to go after my goals, to seize my opportunities. What separates you and I, is that well you did take advantage of the opportunity you were given, I took my opportunity. I stuck my neck out, I advocated for myself.I made it known what my intentions were and didn't look back. Inside of the Ring, my work ethic is legendary. Outside of the Ring, behind the scenes, I do the exact same things. I hustle just as hard. You don't get to be the best by being complacent. You get to be a legend in this Ken damned business by busting your ass.”

“Kobe Bryant was notorious for being an asshole to his teammates. It was a statement of fact,  documented almost as much as Michael Jordan's competitive streak. Now, if you want to talk about assholes, there's another one. Be that as it may, I firmly believe to become a champion in this business you have to have at least a good amount of asshole in you. In normal society, having patience it's a very good thing. Even in our line of work, under the right circumstances, patience is truly a virtue. I know that challenging Mack Bane the way I did made me a little bit more of an asshole than I already am. I know the optics of the situation and I'm okay with them. Let me ask you this. Do you know why Kobe Bryant was an asshole to his teammates?”


I wait for the silent response that I will never hear from those playing the home version of our little game.

“It's because they didn't share his work ethic and he couldn’t respect that. The reason I associate with the Saviors is because each and every one of us is a grinder. Each and every one of us will take an opportunity to challenge for a championship whenever we can. I personally don't care if I'm facing off against Goth. I don't care if I'm challenging Mac Bane once again. I wouldn't even care if Kat Jones came back to us and challenged me herself. We are all the best at what we do because of who we are. The old cliche about iron sharpens iron is one of the most truthful statements I've ever heard. I am the best because I surround myself with the best.”

“Furthermore, one of the reasons I am a champion is because I am able to persevere. I am able to overcome any obstacle put in my way. The reason Armageddon didn't worry me is because when I started in this business, almost every athlete I faced was Armageddon. Promoters in the mid-90s had a hard-on for guys that were almost seven feet tall, 300 some-odd pounds, and had the body of an Adonis.I took my lumps on a nightly basis. I got my ass beat. I sat there happy with a hot dog and a handshake and a thanks for the opportunity. The reason why I am still here and each and every one of those son-of-a-botches has been left behind, lost somewhere in the pages of history, is because I had a force of will that they did not. I had a hunger that they did not have. This is a hunger that still consumes me to this day. I am not content to be another transitional Champion. I'm not here so I can win the belt, defend it once or twice, and hand it off to someone else on the roster like they're the new Messiah.I refuse to take a backseat to anybody in this company.”


I take a sip of my coffee. My tone is level, perhaps even a little cold as I make the conscious effort not to create a disturbance.

“When I started in this industry, my goals were simple. I just wanted a job. Then, my goals got progressively larger. Once I signed my first contract, my goal was to become a champion and I was able to do that. After a while, my goal changed. I was not content to simply be a champion, I wanted to be the man. I wanted to become a world champion. That was a goal that took me three years to achieve..In 1999, in the Killer Wrestling Federation, real creative, I know. Anyway, it was there that I was able to fulfill a childhood dream when I was a mere 21 years old. It wasn't simply because I was good. It wasn't because I was lucky. It was because I spent each day of my life working towards that goal. From that day forth, my goal has been to climb the ladder in each and every company I have signed a contract for. I have never just walked in and got gifted opportunities. Just like I did one year ago at High-Stakes XI, I started at the bottom of the ladder and climbed up rung by damned rung by damned rung until I reached the top of the ladder. I did that here, by myself. I did that in UGWC with my wife and we became the longest reigning Cooperative Champions that company has seen in the last decade.That is the type of person I am and that is the type of champion I will be here.”

Calm. Cool. Confident. I realize getting emotional is going to cost me in the long run. Perhaps not with Finn, but definitely with Masque.

“Another reason why I am in the position that I am in is because I believe in myself. Time and time again I have had my doubters.  When I challenged Amber Ryan for her world championship two and a half years ago, almost every person in the locker room came out to  let the world know on Twitter that they knew Amber Ryan was going to kick my ass. When I faced her adoptive father two  month later, I had the woman who is now my wife by my side. She believed in me. She was the only other person who believed in me. Following that, I faced a man who claims to be the Boogey Man. Because of his resume and his reputation, two things that I may overly fixate on when I'm talking about opponents, once again I had to watch as all the marks on the internet told the world that I would fail. Each and every one of them, regardless of my personal opinions, are talented enough to headline any pay-per-view in the world. They are each strong enough competitors that they can and have carried entire companies on their shoulders. They are three of the best wrestlers that I have ever faced in the ring and all of them are worthy to be first ballot Hall of Famers in any company they've ever been in. However, a funny thing happened. Not only did I succeed in defeating Amber Ryan, I succeeded in defeating Jack Michaels. I then defeated JC. I looked into the eyes of the demon, not once, not twice, but thrice, and came out a champion on the other side.”

“When I walked through the doors of this company, I wasn't given the hero's welcome that Chris Page was given. I wasn't given an instant opportunity at the number one contendership for the world championship. What I was given was a match against Levi Russow, a match that opened the show last year at High Stakes and a match that, to my memory, was the last time that Levi Russow was seen in this company. Admittedly, I could be wrong about that last part, but let’s all agree that he wouldn’t do anything else of note in this company before leaving. My first match here, opening the show, and I was okay with that because I believed that I could start at the bottom and climb to the top. Here I am at the top of the ladder. Here I am setting the standard. Here I am looking down at you, because I knew that I could reach these heights.Even after my set back with the internet championship, even after I am lost to golf in the number one contenders match to get a shot at the internet Championship once again see, even after those setbacks see, I knew what I was capable of. My failures are not setbacks. My failures are catalysts. My failures create the shift in the paradigm. That is because I believe that it doesn't matter who is standing across the ring from me, whether it is Finn Whelan, Mac Bane, Matt Knox, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost. I believe that on my best day, can defeat anyone. I also believe that even on my worst day, I'm still better and most of the men and women I faced in my career.”


Maybe that was a little too arrogant. Oh well, I didn’t build my name by being humble.

"The final quality that makes me a champion is that I carry myself with integrity and with respect. I will be the first to admit that I like to say things to get under the skin of my opponents. It's not because I don't respect them. Quite the contrary, actually. Perhaps I'm pulling the curtain back too far, so to speak. But I understand who my opponents are..As varied as they are, they are curiously all the same. The men and women who earn these opportunities have all gotten here through hard work. They have all gotten in here because they wanted this more than their opponents. In retrospect, that may be the exact reason that Golh defeated me. I did not want to face my friend. I did not want to carry the internet Championship thanks again. I had a grander plan.”

I take the final sip of my coffee, placing it at the end of the table hoping that the waitress will notice and fill it back up.

“I'm not going to pretend that I've shown respect to all of my opponents. Some of them are creatures so vile that I wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire. I will give credit where it is due. The men I have faced from Wolfslair have all been opponents who have challenged me in the ring. What I'm trying to figure out about you, and you may view this as a form of disrespect oh, but the reality is I want you to look in the mirror and answer this honestly. Who is Finn Whelan? The man I see isn't even the first man to call himself “The White Wolf” that I have faced in this company. You don't mean to be another white wolf. You most certainly aren't a virulence. Between us oh, there is no hostility, no rancor. You are not a poison. You have no toxicity. You do not intimidate me, for I have kissed the serpent with the venom taste. What you are, to me, is a man just like any other. I respect that. I really do.”

“What I may not respect is the kind of man I find you to be when we meet at High Stakes. I will find out, firsthand, if you're just another wolf or if you really are primed to be the alpha. If you want to be the alpha, if you truly want to be the world champion, you need to understand that it is a choice. There is a choice we have to make as people, as individuals. We can all be masters of our craft, but you have to make a choice. What I mean by that is that there are inherent sacrifices that we have to make. Depending on your situation that could be family time, hanging out with your friends, being a great son. In my younger days I fell short in all of those areas. I had to fall short in doing those things. I new on my 19th birthday, when my world was ripped away from me, that this was going to be my wife. Professional wrestling was all that I had left. So I made that choice. I withdrew from every other aspect of my life except 2 training to be one of the greats. So, you cannot possibly become better than I am. You have not spent the time in this ring that I have. I have spent more time in this ring then Chloe Benton has spent on this Earth. Even if you wanted to spend the time on this, you can't. You've not built up the experience I have. You can't be in this ring worrying about me while you're off teaching some kind of a promo class at the Wolfslair. That is taking you away from this. That means I've already won. The difference between the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison and, say, Agostino Romano is that this truly is my life. When I was doing my research, I went to your website and I read your bio and I know you put the standard I live and breathe wrestling bulshit in there. But you have not sacrificed what I have to be here. You have not overcome the injuries that I have. You have not faced death and come back in less than half a year because you love this sport so much that even though the doctors have told you it could kill you, you still do it.”


Thankfully, there aren’t many people in the restaurant at this hour. The intensity is definitely there. I can feel that one vein throbbing in my forehead. Still, I keep my tone low so as not to disturb the other patrons.

“You think that we need a new breed of wrestler when you aren’t even a new breed of wolf? You’ve got it all twisted, my boy. For a quarter of a century I sacrificed my family so I could be one of the greats. I have been inducted into four different Halls of Fame. Even after I met my wife, I didn't make that my main priority until I lost my father. Just because I do this to provide, that doesn't mean my passion for this sport, for this company, for this championship is any less than it would have been before. I have given everything, everything I have in order to get where I am today. You want to be happy? Then you don't make the same mistake that I made. You want to be recognized as one of the greatest of all time? Then be the asshole that puts himself and his career above everyone else. That is old school mentality is what it will take for you to defeat me.”

I reach over to grab my coffee and remember I had just finished it. I let out a deep sigh before I grab my phone and turn off the recording.


12
Climax Control Archives / THAT BITCH!!!
« on: October 07, 2022, 10:28:29 PM »

Monday October 3, 2022
12:07 PM


“THAT BITCH!”

Yep, this was going about as well as I expected it to. Let’s go back in time to about fifteen hours ago. During Masque’s match, I managed to wriggle myself free. Knowing what I do about Masque, I could only assume that it was intentional. Especially after the… well, I guess you could call it a conversation that we had. But, that is another story for another time. 

I didn’t wait around to find out who won the number one contender’s match for my Sin City World Championship. It could be Finn Whalen for all fucking cared. Turns out that was exactly what happened. Regardless, I peaced the fuck out of there as soon as I could. I grabbed my shit and made for the airport. I hopped on the red eye and flew out to Nashville where I am going to both defend the Cooperative Championships that my wife and I hold and then compete in the UGWC Massive Melee for the second year in a row.

I wanted, no, I needed to get to my wife as quickly as possible. I even booked a flight with a layover in Chicago. Fucking O’Hare, the absolute worst worst airport in America. I was willing to deal with that bullshit just to get to her. I did all of the usual post-flight rigamarole and got in the first cab and headed to the Hotel Fraye Nashville Midtown where we are staying. It was about noon when I got there, all I wanted was to take a quick nap, have a nice dinner before Kyra, Chloe, Adina and myself headed to the arena. Of the three of us, Adina was the only one of us that isn’t competing tonight. As the old saying goes, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry and that plan most definitely has.

I walk down the hall, so tired and stressed out that I could even tell you what color the carpet is. As I get closer to the room, I hear the one thing I’ve missed the most, my wife voice. But, I hear it at a volume that is more and more alarming.

“MAC, WHERE THE FUCK IS MY HUSBAND!?”

I walk into our room, with a comfortable looking king bed and a view of the city below. She can tell that there’s something off. Adina is crying in her mother’s arms, while Chloe stands up from her seat in the corner. I expect a “where the fuck have you been?”, but that wasn’t the case at all.

“He's here, thank God, but I'm still coming down there and killing that bitch myself!"

I hear Mac say something, but I can’t make out what it is. I’m exhausted. I’ve been awake for something like a day and a half at this point. This isn’t what I need five hours before I have to be at the arena. Thankfully, what I do need is here in the hotel room with me.

“I… uh… um…” I stammer. I don’t know where to begin or what to say. Things are still… fuzzy for lack of a better word. I don’t even remember the Masque, I just remember her eyes staring through my soul. They stabbed through my psyche, sharp, cold and lifeless. I look at Kyra, probably with an expression that is probably as pathetic as I feel at that moment. All I want at that moment is some reassurance.

"Shhhh…" Kyra just approaches me and wraps her arms around me.  "I'm glad you're okay…" 

She pulls away only slightly to look me over.  "You're okay, right?"

“I think so. She was trying to send a message. Why she would try to use me to get to Amber is beyond me. Guess they have some kind of deal where Masque won’t hurt Amber’s loved ones, from what I gathered. We all know how much Amber and I love each other. Maybe the idea is to piss off Mac, which might piss off Amber but some kind of fucked up domino affect. So… yeah. That’s all I’ve got.”

I can tell Kyra's doing her best to check her emotions right now as she looks into my eyes.  But I can see it.  She's seething.  But she closes her eyes and pulls me back in.  

"Daddy!" Adina rushes in and forces her little body between her mother’ss and mine, hugging me with all the strength she can muster. I look over and Chloe and roll my wrist to beckon her.

“Ugh! Just this once,” she says with a sigh “But, I’m not calling you Daddy.”

“That would be weird,” Adina giggles, causing me to smile despite how I’m feeling. Chloe joins in and squeezes. Seems like the first emotion she’s shown anyone aside from Adina since she’s moved in. It feels like the first ray of sun breaking through the winter clouds, solely to thaw the ice below.

After a few very nice moments, Kyra pats Adina on the shoulder and pulls herself out of the hug.  

"Alright guys, he needs to rest.  Chloe, would you mind taking her down to the park for a little while?"  

Chloe nods her head, her eyebrows raising. "Uh oh.. come on, Kiddo…"

I’m semi cognisant of what’s going on. I don’t want my family to leave, but Kyra’s right, I do need my rest. I should probably eat, but I really don’t have the stomach for it right now. I sit on the bed, pulling my shoes off of my feet. Kyra's face changes the second the kids are out of the room. All hell is coming, and now, we are back to where this all started. The moment, I swear, the exact moment that the door finishes closing she screams.

“THAT BITCH!”

“I’m fine, mama. I promise.”

"And I'm glad.  I really am."  She replies as I watch her step across the room and begin grabbing a few of her things and stuffing them into her bag.  

This can't be good. This is right up there with ‘Im fine.’ Whenever a woman says she’s fine, she’s not.

“What are you doing?”

Loaded question; I know. I should know better, but it’s too late.

"I'm gonna put that bitch in the ground."  She states matter of factly, all while never looking up from the bag.  I’m going to regret this, but I made a promise.

It takes all of my strength, but I stand up and answer her just as matter of factly.

“No, you’re not.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the Law & Order ‘dun-dun’ noise while picturing Ice-T and Marishka Harfitay finding my lifeless body. I stepped in it. I knew I stepped in it. The worst part was I stepped in it on purpose. I know Amber is trying to protect Kyra, and after what Masque had done to me, I wasn’t keen on the idea of Kyra having to endure the same thing.

She stops and turns her eyes up at me, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear the gold in her eyes had turned red.  "What the fuck did you just say to me?" 

I straighten my spine, correcting my posture as much as I can. I know that I can’t assert my dominance, but I sure as hell don’t plan on backing down, either.

“I said, and I quote, ''No, you’re not.” I take a deep breath. I lower my tone hoping that Kyra will pick up on that and lowers hers. Not bloody likely, but let’s give it a shot. “I don't want you getting hurt, not for me and certainly not because of me.”

Without missing a beat, she steps towards me, narrowing her eyes.  "Adina was absolutely fucking thrilled to watch you on TV.  Then that happened.. and she fucking thought her daddy was dead, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do.  I don't think you quite understand, Ken… I'm going to fuck that bitch up whether you give me your permission or not." 

Yeah… that went as well as expected. At least the make up sex will be amazing, if she forgives me some time in the next two months or so.

“This isn’t about permission. This is about YOUR safety. This about YOU being there for Adina. This is about US not ending up in side by side hospital beds. This is about more than just you and I. Damnit, woman. If this was something that could be contained to a wrestling ring, fine. You’re the baddest bitch I’ve ever wrestled. But, this… THIS is so much more than that. You know I can’t stop you, but you know, sure as shit, I’m going to try.”

This is our first argument, I mean our first, legitimate, big blow out. To make matters worse, she’s as stubborn as I am. How in the fuck am I going to protect her without hurting her? I’m watching her face carefully. She’s talked herself into a corner, at least I THINK she has. The problem with that is, when she’s backed into a corner, that is when she’s at her most dangerous. I don’t know if it’s just that the seconds feel like hours, or if she is legitimately taking that long to come back at me. I’ve never seen her like this before. But after a few minutes, she simply turns away calmly and steps towards the window of the room.  At this point I'm watching her with a sense of trepidation because I honestly don't know what she'll do. Out of nowhere, she takes the bag she's holding and she slams it into the ground. 

"Fine.  I won't go now.  But next week?  Or the next time you go… I'm going with you and I'd love to see you fucking stop me."

Normally she'd say something like that in a playful tone but when she glares across the room at me, there's nothing playful about it. If looks could kill, I’d be a chalk outline. 

“I’m going to have a fun time explaining THIS to Amber,” I say under my breath. Kyra stops dead in her tracks and looks over at me. Fuck.

“What you say?”

Oh, well. I’m stuck. She knows that I can’t lie to her. But maybe that’s why I can get away with it. The trick to being a good liar is making people believe you’re a bad liar. I know, I’ll just tell her part of the truth. That’s not lying. Right?

Right?

“I said Amber’s going to be thrilled to hear you’re coming.”

If Kyra picks up on my sarcasm, I’m technically not lying. I hope she doesn’t. At this point, I know I’m in the middle of the proverbial fire. I’m just trying to escape with as few burns as possible.

"I'm sure."  She returns sarcasm with more sarcasm as she stares at me, her mind racing - I can see it behind those eyes of hers.  But instead of questioning further, she sighs and points at the bed.  "Just lay down and rest.  I'm sure you'll find a way of trying to convince me to not go after we're done with the Melee."

Wait. What? She’s letting it go? This never happens. I must really look like shit. I sit down on the edge of the bed and swing my legs onto the bed. I pat the bed, hoping Kyra will join me. She gives me a look, but finally gives in, nestling her body in the crook of my arm. Even here, in a hotel room in the middle of Nashville, she feels like home.

“I’m still mad at you,” she affirms, just in case I wasn’t aware.

“I know, mama. I know.”

That’s the last thing I remember. The next three hours don’t exist in my world. I don’t care that she’s angry with me, so long as she is safe. All I know is I am back where I belong… she is where I belong.




It was a cold, wet morning. The dampness is everywhere. I see it on my window. I see it clinging to hedges, the blades of grass, even on the light poles and porch railings. There was even a bit of a fog, the kind of mist that is both light and concealing, a true juxtaposition. I had rushed outside while I had the opportunity. I, “Godly” Ken Davison, feel confident that this is perfect. Several feet away, Kyra stands with a camera. I remain still, allowing my words to cut through the murky clouds.

“A common mistake is underestimating the ability of others to succeed. Those who are weak of heart give up because their minds cannot, will not, drown the disturbing sound of adversity. If they only listened to their inner voices, odds be damned, they can win.”

At that point, I stride forward. I have my hands held together with the index fingers out. I move my hands towards the camera, as though I am pointing to whomever is viewing.

“Let me ask you this? Who predicted that Buster Douglas would defeat the unbeatable “Iron” Mike Tyson in 1990? That would be Buster Douglas. Who foresaw the Phoenix Suns besting the defending World Champion Los Angeles Lakers, led by Lebron James? If you guessed the Phoenix Suns, you’d be right. Being the underdog means having little chance of winning. Being the underdog means being considered lower, being considered less than. Most importantly, being the underdog means that you can use that to your advantage. The underdog is overlooked, often expected to merely sit on the sidelines.”

“There have been various occasions when I have been a target of ridicule. I was told that I should stay in the midcard, that I lacked the skills and abilities to move up to a higher position on the card. Rather than sitting here, whining, pissing and moaning about it, I took a different direction. I used my strengths to create projects outside the four ropes. I made myself a commodity, a name with proven value. I earned my opportunities by forcing my people to recognize my value.”


I pause, inhaling deeply to allow the overall tone to come down  

“Now, when I was a kid, like all kids, I got asked what do you want to be when you grow up. For me, I knew. There was never any doubt. There was no gray area. I wanted to be a professional wrestler.  When that finally happened for me, it was the proudest day of my life. Then, I started  coming here, as a Savior, it opened doors for me that I hadn’t dreamed of in many, many years. I’ve come in here and I’ve been able to wrestle some of the greatest wrestlers in the business, in places like Sparks, Nevada and all across the globe. Since that day, I have woken up every morning and tried to uphold the standard that I, along with the other Saviors, have set for ourselves. We are out here doing exactly what we said we would do from day one, and that is dominate. We do exactly what we set out to do. We don’t wear white hats. We use any means necessary. Simple as that.”

“And THAT is the only thing simple in this entire situation. I’ve got to look over my shoulder, watching for Masque. I’ve got Finn Whalen off on the horizon. How the hell’d he win? I don’t know. What I do know is that I should have a direct path to Finn Whalen. I should be walking into this match and handling my business? But, no, I have to do it the hard way. They want to stick this man, this almost seven foot, three hundred plus pound pile of dogshit in front of me. They want me to do it the hard way. That’s all well and good, I got on top the hard way and if that means that I have to take the hard way again to get to Finn Whalen, I’ll do it. You want to put this goofy ass sasquatch in front of my way? Fine. You want me to go and dig up every former member of the underground? Fine. I don’t do things the easy way, and this will be no different.”

“You know why I brought that up? You know what I am tired of? I am sick and tired of this company trying to make new stars at my expense? There was Tamagotchi. There was that random underground reject that I smashed next. Now, you think that this guy is going to beat me? No, because I am sick and tired of making stars. Guys like you, Armageddon, guys that are big and tall think that you can try and intimidate men like me? Why, because you sucked so bad you couldn’t even get on your college basketball team? Because somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve got that “you can’t teach size’ mentality? Yeah, you and the seven other Armageddons I beat back in the late 90s. You’re not a wrestler. You’re an actor. This isn’t about acting. I’m a fighter. I’ve been fighting my whole damned life. This is not acting. This is as real as it gets. You think that I am going to cower at your feet? You think I am going to beg you for forgiveness? Nuh-uh, motherfucker. You will bow before me.”

So much for that keeping calm thing. Just mentioning Masque makes me skin crawl, but I know for a fact that Kyra is out of bounds. Masque promised that she wouldn’t hurt Amber’s loved ones. I might not qualify, but my wife certainly does.

“I learned very early in my career, that if I depend on these,” I say as I hold my fists up. “That yes, I am at a disadvantage against a man of your size. Sooner, rather than later, I realized that I have a far greater weapon at my disposal, that being my mind. When I started in this business, companies would sign men like you all the time. You were a dime a dozen. That’s how little value you had then and you have even less value now because I learned my craft against men like you. I was the anomaly. I was the unknown. I was the shift in the paradigm. I was the man who learned to tear my opponents open, just so I could sew them back up and do it all over again.”

“Armageddon, you hven’t done a Kendamned thing in this business. When I retire, I’ll get you to wash my clothes and cut my lawn and buckle my shoes. You aren’t anything but a big, fat slob. I’m gonna take out your knee and I am going to humiliate you. I figured I would ruin your debut, but imagine my surprise when I found out that you did so well if your first few matches that I hadn’t even heard of you. Then again, losing to Austin James Mercer is nothing to be ashamed of. I mean, I’ve never done it, but, you know…”


I smile, quite proud of myself. This isn’t going in the direction I rehearsed. It’s going even better.

“Finn Whalan, this match is going to give you just a glimmer of what I can do. You’re not going to be the next Matt Knox, slipping through the cracks the way he did. I am going to put you down, the same way I put Alexander Raven down and the same way I am going to put Armageddon down. You might think I’m being arrogant, but I really am just this damned good. If you don’t believe me, get your popcorn ready and watch me put on a show.”

“In all seriousness, I know the threat that Armageddon possesses. That is exactly why I’m not concerned with him. He is simply that, a threat. He is unfulfilled potential. He is a cocked gun that has a broken trigger. He is all of those things, while I am the exact opposite.I am not a threat. I am a promise. My potential is reality. I point. I shoot. I kill. I realize that is the proverbial David and Goliath scenario. I also realize that I am David in this situation, Not because you have all these physical advantages. You are clearly the underdog. I am David simply because when this is over, it will be the GKD, “Godly’ Ken Davison, that is standing in the middle of the arena victorious while you will be on the flat of your back.”

I fold my hands in prayer in front of me, giving Kyra the signal to stop the recording.

13
Climax Control Archives / On The Hunt
« on: September 23, 2022, 11:03:05 PM »
The moon hangs in the sky above Swallow Falls State Park, with scattered clouds obscuring the lunar luminescence. Camping out on the Maryland panhandle, the Davison family have mostly retired for the evening. Adina and Chloe have settled down in their tents, seemingly sleeping. Either that, or there are lumberjacks sawing wood not too far away. Sitting with his back against an oak tree, is Ken Davison. His wife, Kyra, lays between his legs, leaning against her husband’s chest while his arms are wrapped firmly around her waist. She tilts her head back, resting her head on Ken’s shoulder while he is staring off into space.

“Alright, Chromedome. What’s going on?” Kyra quips. People seemed to think that Ken and Kyra hated each other, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Sarcasm was simply their love language.

“Just thinking,” Ken says with his voice trailing off.

“You’re never just thinking.” Instinctively, Kyra reaches back and pushes Ken’s towards her so she can kiss him. “Now, spill it or someone’s not getting laid tonight.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And you wonder why I call you evil.”

“Aren’t you the one who came into my life telling me that you use any technique that works?”

Ken tries to give Kyra a look, but she kisses him again for he can.

“You’re not playing fair.”

“Life’s not fair. Now what the hell is going on?”


“I’m just in my head.”

“And you were in your head before you fought Mac, but you didn’t lose your shit and you didn’t do anything you’d regret. So why the fuck are you overthing things now?”

“Because I’m the World Champion now. I’m worried that I’m going to do what I did with the Internet Championship and just fail miserably.”

“Bullshit, Ken,” Kyra says as she punches her husband with her free hand, catching him in the shoulder with enough force that he felt it, but not enough to hurt him. “That’s fucking bullshit and you know it.”

“Is it?” Ken asks as he looks down. He catches the scent of Kyra’s shampoo. Her hair smells like Floret, a pleasant combination of rose, gardenia, and sandalwood, with a hint of campfire. He smiles, in spite of himself.

“When you won the Carnage World title, did you drop it right away? No. When we won the UGWC Cooperative Championship back on Valentine's Day? Did we lose it in our first defense? No! What we did was hold onto those belts for seven months so far and we're still going. So why the fuck are you worrying about this?”

“Because that’s what I do.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I haven’t been right since that dude jumped me up in Boston.”

“You fucked his shit up, Ken. You were ready. Just like you’re ready for this.”

“Why am I still doing this?”

‘Huh?”

The question obviously catches Kyra off guard.

“Why am I still doing this?”

Kyra sits up and turns around.

“You mean us?”

“No. Why would you even say that? You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. I mean wrestling. The school year has started. I can’t keep just running around the entire world without you, but we can’t be having Adina missing school, either. I am doing this for you guys? Am I doing this for myself? Am I just chasing fame so I can have one last hurrah? You can throw all that shit in a blender and I still won’t have an answer. I want what’s best for us, all of us.”

“Do what you think is best. I’ll trust you.”

Kyra’s trust didn’t come easily. Over the course of their almost two years together, Ken had earned that trust, just by letting down his walls and being himself. He still kept his walls up around everyone else, just as Kyra did.

“Trust me? I don’t trust myself. Seriously, what if I drop the belt to Raven? I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ken. Stop it. Just fucking stop. This is not the man I married. Remember the shit that was said when we got together? Fuckin’ Knox saying you must be a hell of a climber because of my walls. To try and date Kyra Johnson, let alone marry her? That took balls of steel. Where are your balls, Ken?”

Only Kyra could get away with speaking to Ken so bluntly and the both of them knew it. Maybe Mac could get away with it, but that was a huge maybe.

“I don’t care if you win or lose this match. What I care about is that you fight like you fought for me, fought for us. You are the toughest man I know. When you had nothing left, I have seen you crawl, literally digging your fingernails into the mat until they bled, just to get to me and protect me. At the same time, I have seen you show you are the most tender man I know when you let my daughter paint your nails because you knew it would make her happy. You even wrestled with Barbie pink nail polish because you didn’t want to take that polish off. You think that I care if you win or lose a match? What I care about is how you love us. I don’t mean just Chloe, Adina and I. I mean yourself, too. My love for you will never change, as long as you go out there and show the world the man that you really are. Show them that’s just who you are as a person.”

“That’s gimmick infringement right there,” Ken says, turning Kyra back around and holding her arms so that she’s trapped. He leans forward, letting his breath tickle the back of Kyra’s neck, causing her to shiver.

“Now who’s not being fair?” Kyra says coyly.

“Turnabout is fair play.”

“Maybe,” Kyra coos. She wriggles her way free and turns onto her stomach, pulling herself as close to Ken as she can get. “I’m serious though. Think about your career since you came back from the heart attack. Every single goal you have set for yourself, you have achieved: Baltimore City Champion, Carnage World Champion, Carnage Tag Team Champion, UGWC Cooperative Champion, Sin City Internet Champion, Sin City World Champion, and my personal favorite, that match where you beat that douche canoe ex of mine. You’ve done all of that in three years and you still doubt yourself?”

“I know you’re right, but, yeah, I do.”

“So, all that talk about falling forward we talked about awhile back, that was bullshit?”

“No. of course it wasn’t. That’s what I did when I lost that tag match that Mac reffed.”

“And…”

“And then I went out there and beat Mac for the World Championship.”

“There you go. There you fucking go!”

Kyra pushes herself up and gives Ken a deep, passionate kiss.

“Now would you get over here so we can make some sweet lovin' down by the fire?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ken grabs Kyra by the waist so she can sit more comfortably.

"You know what that does to me."

"You're damned right I do."

 The crickets chirping and the fire crackling finish creating the mood set by the blaze a few feet away from them.


The lush emerald foliage grows up and over the oaken boardwalk running through the wet marshland. Farther down the path, there are trees, both lush and bare coming up out of the water to pierce the horizon from afar. About two and half miles away is the Youghiogheny Mountain overtaking a great portion of the azure sky. Aside from the sounds of insects and birds chirping, it is mostly silent… silent until the sound of hard rubber soles striking the oak boardwalk cuts through the nature preserve piercing the silence in a smooth, steady cadence.

“Godly” Ken Davison strides on screen, wearing a pair of camouflage pants and a black sleeveless t-shirt with the likeness of the Baltimore Elite, the team consisting of himself and his wife, printed on it. Around his waist lies the SCW World Heavyweight Championship. As he is not wearing his priestly garments, he has opted for a pair of mirrored wraparound sunglasses, as opposed to his usual tinted eyewear.

“Ravens are funny little creatures. Amazingly smart, and somewhat dangerous. Ravens, overtime, have learned to use their beaks to rip things open enabling them to find both food and shelter. They have even Incorporated the use of tools to provide what they need to obtain what they need and defend their territories. They are also known to be quite cunning, and more importantly, opportunistic.”

Davison quietly chuckles to himself.

“I find that you very much embody the spirit of the raven, that it is not just a clever name. Unlike the last raven I dealt with around here, who’s only raven-like quality was that he would squawk all the time, I respect you, Alex. There was something you said on Twitter, and you know what I am talking about because I responded to it, that resonated with me. While I struggled to find out what angle to take, three words, the same three words, kept popping into my brain…”

Davison pauses, holding up three fingers to reinforce his point.

“Freedom to hunt.”

Davison lowers hand and uses it to tap the World Championship around his waist.

“You would think that this right here would make me the prey. You would think that having the largest target on my back would eliminate any possibility of becoming the hunter. In this case, nothing could be farther from the truth. When it comes to what I do and how I handle myself in this business, I am always the hunter. Every move I make is calculated with such meticulous precision that I am never at a disadvantage. When Matt Knox and I came to a draw, I did not run away from that fight. I invited him into the Internet Championship match because I wanted to prove that I was the better man. Even though I was defeated in that match, I still proved that I was a better man than he. I took every opportunity I could to try to come out victorious. When he decided that he wasn’t man enough to try to win the match, when he decided that he would rather stand and watch while Jack Washington won the match, he proved that he wasn’t the better man. He also proved that he was half a man, a ‘ma’ if you will. He has no ‘n’. Bonus points to whoever gets that reference. Anyway, I digress. The point is that even though I lost that match, I still sought out Matt Knox. I chose him as my prey, to show the world I was a better man and I did exactly that.”

“Where you see yourself as a raven, I see myself as a Cooper’s hawk. A bit small as far as hawks go, but no less dangerous. As the World Champion, I sit atop the proverbial perch. Think  about it. Think about how it soars high in the air for long periods of time. Its prey, waiting down on the ground, becomes nervous. gives the hawk the opportunity to circle around, stressing its prey out so that it's not thinking straight. Then, when the time is right, it swoops down and makes the kill. But, that's not what I'm dealing with when I look at you. Is it, Alex?“

Davison smiles slyly, knowing full well where he is going with this.

“Another tactic that the hawk uses is low soaring. In a manner of speaking, this is what I used by challenging Mac Bane. Predators that use low soaring, much like I mentioned about ravens, are  very opportunistic. This form of hunting is swift, sharp, using the element of surprise and fast action. Hawks, such as the Cooper's Hawk, are a bit on the smaller side, and tend to use this tactic. It's like the German Blitzkrieg. It hits hard. It hits fast. And it is effective. When you catch your opponent off-guard, regardless of their size, strength, or ability, you have the advantage. Again, while I enjoy this tactic, I don't feel it's appropriate to use it with a man of your particular skill set.” 

The loud ‘CAW’ of a raven is heard overhead. Ken puts his finger up to his lips, silently ordering the cameraman to be quiet. With his other hand, he points skyward as a lone raven fledgeling in the sky. Behind it is a hawk, pursuing it from a few meters above. The raven chick dives down, but this proves to be its fatal mistake. The hawk dive bombs behind it, swooping down and grabbing the Raven McNugget in it’s talons. The raven caws again, helplessly, as the hawk ascends back towards its perch where it will undoubtedly consume the raven.

“Funny thing about ravens is that they have almost no natural predators. The reason for that is something that the Saviors,” Ken’s voice goes flat as he finishes his sentence, “And Wolfslair both understand.”

Moving past the mention of Wolfslair, Ken’s voice picks back up as he continues.

“There is strength in numbers. A single, solitary raven is not a threat. A flock of ravens working together with the same goal, protecting their territory, protecting their young, are nearly invincible. Even though our battle will take place with our feet firmly planted firmly on the ground, for the most part, I see the way this match will unfold. I see that it will be very similar to Aerial Pursuit. Aerial Pursuit is a fast-paced, exciting to watch, hunting style that is used by highly maneuverable predators. You mostly see this used in areas such as a deep forest; success depends on speed, acrobatics, and also the element of surprise. You cannot look at that picture, you cannot listen to that description, and tell me that isn't professional wrestling in a nutshell. Much in the same way that we will be challenging, pushing, forcing our wills upon each other, Aerial Pursuit happens so quickly, so extremely fast, that if you blink, oh, you'll miss the kill. And that, Alexander Raven, is exactly what this is to me. This is a hunt. You are the prey. I will be watching and waiting, as long as I have to drag this match out. When we reach the moment of truth, when we have that moment where you look me in the eyes and think you've got me exactly where you want me, that will be the moment of your demise. I am going to lead you through this match like those old cartoons where the donkey is chasing a carrot on a stick. You'll try to get the price. But it will always be just out of your reach. You'll have your moment next. And that moment will be when you snatched defeat from the jaws of victory. Like I said, you will look me in the eye. You will look me in the eye with the confidence of a man who knows he's on the cusp of becoming the Sin City Wrestling World Champion. You will have that moment of extreme confidence, then, right as you blink, I will look you in your eyes and I will simply smile because at that moment,” Ken snaps his fingers. “Just like that, you will learn two seconds too late that you have fallen into my trap.”

“I have made it clear that I came here to be a champion. I feel like my time as the Internet Champion was a failure. This world championship around my waist isn't going anywhere. The days of this Championship bouncing back and forth every two months are over. In this industry we have had men and women talk about hard times. We have had men and women dropped pipe bombs. We have had men and women who go around quoting scripture, something I've done a time or two myself. I've talked a lot about moments, right here, in this one, I'm not going to blow smoke up your ass. I'm not going to tell you how great I am. I'm not even going to tear you down Raven.  I am going to be as subtle as a sledgehammer. I have fought too long and too hard to let history repeat itself. I will not fail to defend this championship. I have come too far to allow you to take this from me.”

“My entire career, people have looked at me and told me I was too small, too weak, that I would never make it in this industry. Even after 20 years, four Hall of Fame inductions, more World Championships that I can count, when I had my heart attack, people counted me out. Here I am, three years later, on the cusp of making history in one company and now your Sin City Heavyweight Champion here… you’d be wise to realize that this isn’t the end of my comeback, this isn’t the end of my redemption arc because I am a destroyer. I am a warrior. I am a champion and I am just getting started.” 

Ken thumps his chest, the adrenaline courses through his veins.

“Benjamin Franklin once famously said “If you do tomorrow what you did today, you will get tomorrow what you got today” What that means is that if I do what I did against Mac Bane, I will get the same result when I face you. But that’s not the point. If I do the same thing day after day, I wouldn’t move up. I would fail to elevate my position. There are people who are okay with that. I am not one of those people. I don’t want to simply win the World Championship. I want to defend the World Championship. I want to beat the best that this company has to offer, be it Austin James Mercer, Mac Bane, or the man who seems to have my number, Ben Jordan.”

“Twenty five years ago, if I had been content to do tomorrow what I did today, I wouldn’t have the house, the car, the fame, the fortune, the family. I would still be wrestling in high school gyms in New Jersey for a hot dog and a handshake. Isn’t that what we all want? If you do the same thing today that you did yesterday you’d be stuck in a rut and unable to get out. Raven, I move forward. I don’t look back. I take my beatings and I become a better man for them. If I go out there, and I fail to defeat you, whether I have the championship or not, I’m stuck. When people fail, they always blame other people. It was the referee’s fault. It was the timekeeper’s fault. I used to do that, but one day, I decided I needed to do something different. I looked in the mirror and I took accountability for my shortcomings. At Climax Control, I am going to go out there and do something different. I am going to go out there and I am going to put you down. I am going to walk out there and make a statement. Those are facts.”

Davison takes off his sunglasses, squinting slightly as his eyes adjust to the sunlight. There is no bravado or cockiness on his face. Simply a look of seriousness.

“Despite all of those facts, I want you to remember one thing. Foolish people can believe in anything they want, so believe in yourself.”


Ken places his sunglasses back on before he turns around, the sound of his boots on the oak underneath begin to fill the air again. The camera fades to black.


14
It was ten years ago. It was almost ten years since I had last given the name Sydney Laroux any thought. Though her name had not come up in conversation, there was something else that did. Twitter, the wonderful place that it was, had started me down the proverbial rabbit hole. Not one to share my thoughts when they turned to the dark side, I don’t know why I had decided on that day to post.



It’s not like me to reach out in such a way, but I’ve been having trouble keeping things on the inside. The first person to respond, not surprisingly, was Mac Bane, asking where I was. I was home. He was safe. He was fine. For some odd reason, he had been having some very disturbing dreams. Ken didn’t piece this together until some time later,

“I hope this isn’t the return of NV.”

The statement in and of itself was innocent enough. My old friend was speaking out of concern, not with any other kind of intent.

“No, NV stays with the memory of the cunt who inspired him,” I said coldly. We had treaded into waters I didn’t want to be swimming in. The memories there were like sharks that smelled blood in the water.

That’s when my wife turns to me and says “I’m confused.”

“Long story short, I had a friend and she used me and fucked me over hard, even going so far as the fake her own death. I infused elements of what I was feeling and created an alter ego for myself that was a reaction to that. NV was that alter ego.”

“Oof,” I hear from our other friend.

“Yeah, was a very dark time.”

I take my wife’s hand and give her my full attention.

“I was going through a bad relationship, the only other one I had before you and I got together.  She took advantage of my vulnerability. Being on the business end of an abusive relationship, no one noticed. It’s not like anyone ever believes a man when he says he’s abused. You add to the fact that I’m built like this and covered in bruises from work… yeah, not a good time.”

“Yeah, sorry if that scraped at some old wounds.”

“It’s fine,” I lie through my teeth. “But, for now, can we please just leave that alone?”

“I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to ask about something so bad.” I look over at my wife. She’s worried that she’s hurt me. Am I hurt? Yeah. Of course I am. Did she hurt me? No, that would be the woman who lived her life as Sydney Laroux.

“I'm not upset with you at all, my love,” I tell Kyra, taking her hand reassuringly. Those hand squeezes are one of our love languages.

“Awww.” It’s all she can say. I think she still gets confused that the man who is publicly one of the biggest assholes on television can be so affectionate. It is, admittedly, an interesting dichotomy.

“But I can see based on the tone why you would think that. No harm no foul.”

We finished lunch without broaching the subject again. Kyra and I drove home in silence. It felt, to me, like she still felt awkward about that little conversation about my past. She wasn’t distant. Her hand on mine while it was on the gearshift told me that much. It spoke to me more than any words could have at the moment. As my trusty old Grand Am rolls into the garage, I put the car into park and take the keys out of the ignition. Kyra goes to get out of the car, but I reach out and catch her hand before she gets the door completely open.

“So, since I'm in kind of a good headspace at the moment, I figured I'd give you a little more detail about the whole NV thing.  There's a lot to it, but even the short version is kind of long.”

“Oooookay, sure.” I can hear her voice shaking. “But there's no obligation either.”

“Of course there’s no obligation. You’ve never been that way with me. That’s why I feel obligated to tell you. You have done nothing but support me since we got together and it would be a dick move not to tell you about it, at least while I know I can handle it. But, I’m not being a jerk here, just let me get it all out or I don’t know if I can get through it.”

Kyra silently nods. We squeeze each other’s hands at the same time. I’ll get through this just fine…  I hope.

“Sooooo…..A little over ten years ago there was a woman named Jeisa.  She was the private person behind her public persona, Sydney Laroux. When she and I started talking, I was in a really bad place in my at the time relationship. I mean I was dead in the middle of the getting smacked around part of it. She and I had gotten really close. Talking, video chatting, she helped keep me sane.”

I’m trying to remain steady, but I can feel, not even hear, actually feel my tone changing.

“I got a text from her brother. I was told that Jeisa had passed away. I don’t even remember what the reason was. Blocked it out I guess. When I got that text, it tore me up. Honestly, I went into a full blown mental breakdown. I changed my name to NV Laroux as my way of mourning her. In the six or so months that followed, that was probably the only healthy way I coped with it. I drank, took pills, even tried to kill myself a few times. It was a mess. Pfft, I was a mess.”

“Oh, Ken…” Kyra almost whispered. But, I wasn’t done. I had to get through this.

“Oh, we haven’t even gotten to the fucked up part.”

“We haven’t?” she says in disbelief. I silently shake my head ‘no.’

I take a deep breath. I’m calm. I’m overwhelmed, but in Kyra’s care, I feel safe, so I continue.

“So… yeah… that worked out about as well as you would expect. Her reaction was to fly off the handle, accuse me of all sorts of bullshit, and turn almost an entire company on me. All because I was hurt by how she was treating me and asked what had changed. To say that there were feelings involved, would be the honest truth. I was absolutely crushed when I found out what the reality of the situation was. So, when I say I built up walls, and I mean huge ass walls, she is the most singular reason why.”

I take Kyra’s hand and kiss the top of it.

“She's also the same reason why I can't believe I let those walls down for you so easily.” I pause, relieved that the worst of this conversation was over. “And that's the short version.”

“Thats fucking horrible. I wouldn't trust no one else either after that.”

“I was vulnerable and she took advantage. Lesson lived. Lesson learned.”

“Absolutely. I get that and I respect it.  Life isn't without its lessons, but fuck!”

“Mac knows the story, most of it anyway, but I was not comfortable sharing all of with our friends.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Now that I got that out of my system…”

“I understand a lot better now.  I appreciate you telling me.”

She smiles softly at me. I don’t like to pry, but I sense that no one that she’s ever been with before has ever been this open, this emotionally available with her. To be fair, I feel like I am emotionally retarded, since aside from the “Sydney Incident,” I haven’t even tried to get involved in a relationship until now. So, yeah, that was a shitshow.

“Hey, you wanna hop in the backseat and make out like teenagers?”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

Kyra jumps out of the passenger’s side door and is in the backseat before I can even take my seatbelt off. I guess that’s a ‘yes.’


There was just something about the inside of this old church that feels like home. The smoothness of the wooden pews, the light, fragrant smell of smoke wafting from the prayer candles, and the immense feeling of smallness I get while sitting there staring up into the down turned eyes of Jesus Christ upon the cross. It was a far cry from the days of my childhood. The memories of Sunday services with my mother, the “excitement” of being able to take part in Holy Communion and tasting that delicious cardboard wafer for the first time, and especially the feeling of belonging … oh, wait, none of that happened. I was forced to go to church, although with this being the 80’s the priest’s were still being protected by the church. Thankfully, I was never around one place long enough to become an alter boy, serving a God I didn not believe in.. My mother claimed she was there to find forgiveness, but more often than not, she found the wine, leaving with bottles of it when it was intended for sacrament. No, I did not have fond memories there.

But that was the Catholic church. Now, I am sitting in the pews of St. David’s Episcople Church. As a professional wrestler and world traveler, I don’t get here as often as I would like. Still, I had found God and whether sitting in a hotel room in India or in these very pews, God is always a part of me, even though I don’t ‘visit’ like I would like to. I’m not the best Christian, but there is something that brought me back into the arms of the Lord. There is a longing that can’t be fulfilled with the glitz and glamor, titles and accolades, money and fame; the emptiness he felt could only be filled by rekindling my relationship with Christ. I don’t know if it was the loss of my father, or the fact that I was getting married, whatever the reason, I found my way here because I knew the man I had been was not the man I wanted to be. I could have found my way to some kind of emotional support group, I suppose. But that wasn’t for me.

I had found a friend in Rev. Amy Cornell. She was not the person I thought I would find in these hallowed halls, much less find as Rector. An woman in her late 50’s, she was an old time wrestling fan who could just as easily regale you with matches she watched featuring the late, great “Sailor” Art Thomas as she could speak of parables in the bible. She could throw the Ten Commandments at you during service and five minutes afterwards, list off her ten favorite Hammer horror films. She was a diamond in the rough, that was for certain. Never knowing what to expect from her, I smile politely as she approaches.

“I’m thrilled to see that a year has passed and you still don’t burst into flame when you walk in.”

“You and I both,” I say, smiling still as I feel the weight of her hand on my shoulder. “You and I both.” 

I repeat the words all the while sizing up the elderly man sitting in the pew behind me. I don’t know why I did that. I always did that. Perhaps it was the professional wrestler in me. Perhaps it was the knowing that my fight or flight mechanism was always set to fight, which had saved my ass a few weeks ago when I got jumped at that restaurant.

“So,” the reverend says with a slight sigh, “What brings you back here? The way I understand it, you should be well on your way to India.”
She sits back and smiles as she interlaces her fingers. She knows my schedule. She knows there much be a reason I am here so close to a pay-per-view. .

“And miss Ash Wednesday?” I say, knowing full well that it was a Sunday at the end of August. “Besides, I thought you weren’t supposed to watch our show in the rectory.”

Reverend Cornell smiles at me.

“I believe in three things;” she says, raising up a single finger “I believe in the church” adding a second finger “I believe that Jesus Christ was the son of God” and a final finger is added “and I believe in you. I always knew you’d be big. You had far too much personality to do anything small.” The Rev nods her head towards the cross. “You know, I bet he would have been a fan of yours.”

“Big? I think I was kind of a big deal before I started coming here. And, a fan of mine? Not likely.”

“Child, he has seen you make the decision, on your own, might I add, to grow in your faith and as a person. In just the year you’ve been coming here, I have seen that growth with my own eyes. It’s not as hard to believe as you might think.” Reverend Cornell smiles broadly. She seems legitimately proud of me. “So, tell me, when you have to be halfway across the world, why is it that you are here?

“Well, I’ve been having thoughts… dark thoughts. Ever since I got jumped, it’s like I am sitting and waiting for something else to happen. When it doesn’t, I start inventing scenarios in my head. I have dreams, nightmares, visions… I don’t know what you call them, where I wake up and I’m ready to fight someone. I almost punched my wife in her sleep the other night.“

“Did she like it?” Reverend Cornell asks me. I laugh it off, not really sure how to answer that. I mean, sometimes Mama likes it rough, but that is none of the church’s business.

“All kidding aside. I don’t know if I am okay. My next match is a World Title match. That’s not the troubling thing. I have had thoughts of doing unspeakable things to my opponent and my opponent is a man I think of as a brother. Do I want to be world champion? Yes. Who wouldn’t? Do I want to beat Mac Bane? Yes. Again, who wouldn’t. Anyone who can claim a win over him is in fine standing. Do I want to hurt him, to injure him? No. So, why am I thinking about it so much?”

“What are you looking for here? Do you want the Jesus answer or the Mega Powers are going to implode and destroy your childhood answer?”

I shrug. I don’t really know what I am looking for.

“In that case, let me give you an answer you aren’t expecting. General Schwarzkopf once said “The truth of the matter is that you always know the right thing to do. The hard part is doing it.” You know what you have to do, Ken. You also know how to go about doing it.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You will, Ken. You will.”

At that moment, a couple, probably about ten years younger than myself, walks up to Reverend Cornell. The Reverend looks over and I simply nod, acknowledging her need to tend to the rest of her flock. Sitting in the pew, I look up at the crucifix, seeing a man whom I had far more in common with than most people would ever realize.

“I suppose,” I mouth silently while making eye contact with my Savior upon the cross. “Only you know what I’ll do next.”

I sit in silence a few moments longer before something tells me I should go to my family.





I stand in the center of St. David’s Episcople Church in my full regalia. Amy has been nice enough to allow me to film here, so that I do not have to go to my church up in Boston. She says that it is important to spend as much time with my family as I can. She’s right. That’s why my wife and daughter have traveled with me to India, bouncing back and forth between two continents for the  two companies I work for. I am thankful that my wife and daughter will be there to support me.

I’ve chosen to wear my blue collar and tinted glasses, so as to match the interior of the sanctuary. Though I have publicly decried my Heavenly Father, being in a church that is still holy grounds, I know what not to say. More importantly, I know what I have to say. I take my place behind the pulpit and take a drink of water of the the blue Solo cup that Reverend Cornell was nice enough to fill with water for me.

“I feel as though we need to begin with the question that everyone is asking. “Why? Why after months and months of proclaiming to the world that the Savior's don't work the Savior's would I challenge Mac Bane for the Sin City Wrestling World Championship?”  It's a good question, a very valid question. The fact of the matter is my hand was forced. When I was forced to challenge the gothic one for an opportunity at the Sin City Internet Championship, the conversation I had with my brother put things in a new perspective for me. This is a job. It is our obligation to ourselves, to the fans, to challenge the best competitors in this company.With the Sin City Wrestling World Championship around his waist, that shows that Mac Bane is the best but this company has to offer.“

“Still, that does not answer the question as to why I've challenged a man, a warrior who I have fought with and against so many times, In so many ways, to this match. You see, we live very parallel lives. We met our wives around the same time. They were both a part of the same stable. They are both tied together by the same common thread. But, back to Mac and myself. We've been doing this for almost the same amount of time. We have crossed paths in more companies than most people have ever worked in  For all of our history, we have met in tag matches, we have worked together in tag matches. We've been in the same match with eight other people. Hell, I even put that motherfuker through a flaming table wrapped in barbed wire. With all of that shared history, some how, some way, we have never been in this position. We have never wrestled each other in a standard singles match, let alone with a championship as prestigious as this one on the line.”

“I know the reason why most people think I've taken this match, the reason I challenged Bane.  So, let's address the elephant in the room. Let's take on the green eyed monster directly. Each and every person thinks I am doing this for one reason. In fact, knowing who I was in the past, I would think the same thing if I didn't know any better. But it comes down to something that Mac said In conversation a couple weeks ago. He did not mean it in this context but he mentioned the word “Envy.”

‘Deep breath. Water.’ I think to myself. I am not going to bring NV up, but I am going to address things as they truly are.

“Let me tell you a little something about envy. Envy is when you don't want someone else to have what they have been given. Envy is when you look at someone and you think that you don't want them to have more than you do. Envy is to deny someone what they desire. In this business I can see how one would mistake this for envy. However, envy is mean spirited. Envy makes your mind rot. Envy make sure you do destructive things for the sheer purpose of bringing someone down to your level. “

“While I will admit to the sin of coveting thy neighbor's goods, I will not sit here and pretend that I am envious of Mac Bane. I do not want to bring him down to my level. I want to be at the level that Mac Bane is. I do not want him to fall. I want to elevate myself and my standing. And I realize that I will never be the man outside of the ring that Mac is. I know that. You know that. Everybody knows that. He may be one of the most universally respected people to ever work in this industry. In the ring, however, that is a different story.”

Another sip of water. I place the cup back and walk out from behind the pulpit.

“I was once told “If you're as good as you think you are, you can win in losing.” And while that may be true in certain scenarios see, this is not one of them. Where I won in losing is that I am now more motivated than I was before. My ego, it's far too big for my own good. I know this because I still feel that I need to be the best. I need proof that I am better than whomever I face off against. It is my weakness and shortcomings as a person that push me when I am in that ring. It is the chip on my shoulder that will drive me to defeat my best friend, my brother.”

“We are engineered from childhood seek superiority. Our parents and teachers, they tell children how proud they are of them. They see it as positive reinforcement when the reality is they are feeding their fragile young egos. We continue to seek the superiority because we find that we appreciate ourselves only what we are superior to us. This comes with a certain amount of risk. when we focus on ourselves, it has a tendency to weaken our relationships. Which is why now is the time that I need to answer the question that I asked at the very beginning. Why did I challenge Mac Bane, in the middle of a full house? Why did I challenge him in front of the world?”

I let out a kind of snort. I know I shouldn’t feel the way that I do, but I have to be honest with Mac. I owe him that.

“Mac, I challenged you in front of the entire world for the simple reason that I knew you would accept. I looked around the entire locker room and I saw no worthy challengers. I did not see a single member of the roster that deserved an opportunity, or at least not one that would have the balls to challenge you. I had to cut to the front of the line before someone that was unworthy of your attention did what I did.”

“Is that arrogant of me? Absofuckinglutly. Is it wrong? Absofuckinglutly not. I saw you make this mistake once already. When you gave Matt Knox, of all the fucking people in the world, Matt Knox was given an opportunity at your championship.  Not only was he unworthy, you underestimated him and you lost because of it. It hurts to say that, but I love you and you need to know that.”

“I knew that given the opportunity, you would not make that mistake against me. We have built that bond, we have earned each other's trust.  We both know that we will give our all in order to win this match. I do not want to be known as the man who stood in the shadows. I said it before and I will say it again, Saviors stand side-by-side.”

I pull the microphone away from my mouth and retreat to the pulpit and take a huge gulp of water so that I can get the lump out of my throat. Thankfully, I’ve got a good poker face. I carry on as if I’m not actually worried about this match. After all, I have a reputation to uphold.

“This may turn out to be my moment. Ideally, it will be the Saviors’ moment. I know that I am just as Kendamned good in that ring as you are. I know that for both of us this is a coin flip. Either of the two of us could walk out victorious. The question that I have, that I need answered, are you going to show up as the Mac Bane who kicked ass and took names?  The Mac Bane I know would have a singular focus on the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison. I feel like you're distracted. I want you at your best. I want you to bring the biggest baddest son of a bitch that you possibly can.”

“You know why people fall to Mac Bane? They show him too much respect. Each and every time I have made that mistake, I’ve lost. You know why people lose to Mac Bane? Simple, they show him that they’ve respected him too much. For years, I have watched opponents fail to challenge him to the best of their ability because they went in going, “Oh, shit! It’s the legendary Mac Bane.” Don’t get me wrong, Mac deserves to be called legendary. But Mac, he knows who he is as a person. He knows the respect that people have for him. He uses that. He waits for opponents to show that respect. Then, POW! Right in the kisser. Good night, princess. Done.”

“That is not what is going to happen here. This is a match of equals. My legend goes as far back as his does. The reverence people have for myself and my career is on par with Mac Bane’s. I am here to fight. I’m not saying anything that's not real. Everything I say is justified and truthful. Just because I should be in a position of the challenger, does not mean that I am less than Mac Bane. I am a One Man Master plan and I can, have and will beat Mac Bane one more time and become the SCW World Heavyweight Champion.”

Now, I truly feel it. I see Reverend Cornell out of the corner of my eye and see her pointing to her wrist. It’s time to wrap this up.

“Coming into this match, I have literally nothing to lose. I don’t need this business, I do this because I love wrestling, not just wrestling, but I love wrestling the best. Mac, this just happens to be the place to do it because you are here. Mac, I am going to spare you the usual fluff and bullshit and leave you with this one thought. I am perfectly calm and perfectly insane, perfectly prepared to accept what this moment has to offer. I am Indifferent to the magnitude, which can be achieved only by someone ready to let go of who he is. I am ready to let it all go and leave it all in the Indira Gandhi Arena. Are you ready to do the same?”

Reverend Cornell cuts the feed and I sit down right on the stage at the front of the sanctuary. I’m emotionally exhausted. I think to myself, ’Is this really worth it?’ I guess at Violent Conduct X, I’ll find out.

15
Climax Control Archives / WHAT IN THE STEPHEN KING?
« on: August 19, 2022, 11:40:21 PM »
Days have passed since Ken Davison’s assault and subsequent arrest and hospital trip were brought to a close; unfortunately the same can’t be said for that feeling of weight on his chest. The images are still fresh in his mind and flash back to him in no particular order and for no particular reason; silently staring down the creep at the bar, the bit of memory blacked on in his fit of rage, of Kyra holding his hand and looking at him in a way she never had before. The confusion as she waited beside him, the face she made when the doctor told her he was just exhausted, and the smile on her and Adina’s faces after he came backstage from his match with Señor Vinnie. Other images flash through; the look on the face of Mac Bane when he challenged him for the Sin City Wrestling World Championship, Mac was shocked, yet still… poised, like he wasn’t about to go through hell. The last time the two of them had met as foes in the ring, Mac ended up laying in a pile of splintered table, wrapped in barbed wire. The force of Mac’s body crashing through the table had at least put out the fire. But it’s the eyes he keeps coming back to. Something about Mac’s eyes that he just couldn’t figure out; he’s seen enough fury and rage over the years to know those looks … but Bane’s eyes held something different, just as they did during their last fateful encounter.

It was all there in those eyes. It was a look of respect.

Davison opens his own eyes to the waning sunlight streaking in through his bedroom window. Squinting he tries to look at the blinking neon light glaring at him from the bedside table.

”Ugh, quarter to eleven … what the hell?”

He rolls to his side, propping himself up on his elbow and looks towards the open window. Outside he can hear the gleeful sounds of children playing. The way the city was going it was nice that he had such a nice neighborhood full of friendly families. The McLaughlin’s next door had two children, Matthew and Kimberly if his memory served correctly. They were the All-American family living the American dream lifestyle. Tom McLaughlin was an investment broker and spent the majority of his time flying from the home office in Baltimore to any of the smaller satellite offices in Scranton, LaSalle and Portland. Mary, his lovely wife, was a stay-at-home mother who never had a negative thing to say about anyone. She was a pleasant woman who always had something nice to say about everyone in the neighborhood. She was known both for her love of classical literature, as well as her love for home style country cooking. Their two aforementioned children, eight and ten respectively, took part in after school activities, extracurricular sports and had active roles in their church; they were the picturesque American family. In fact, they could be the polar opposites of the Davisons. But there was much more to the McLaughlin’s than met the eye.

Davison rises off the bed and holds a hand to his face, stretching the skin as he rubs from his eyes to his chin. He cocks his head backwards as a loud pop is heard. He continues cracking his neck from side to side before he stands up. Lactic acid has built up and aches a bit when he moves, but it’s that pain that feels good … lets you know you’re alive. A few new bruises had popped up since his match against Señor Vinnie, expectedly so, one would say. Everything had gone swimmingly for the most part. Vinnie put up a hell of a lot more fight than Ken had imagined he would, but perhaps that’s because he had been used to the Underground, still adjusting to life on the surface. Still it was time to look ahead to the future, Davison thought to himself. If there was anyone outside of his wife or Mac Bane that he would rather go to war with, it was The Gothic One. There’s just something about having your own personal wrecking ball at your disposal. Stretching his muscles, Davison moves from his bedroom into the bathroom as he shifts his thinking from last night back to the McLaughlin’s and their secret lives.

There are those people in neighborhoods like this around the country. They’re the picture of normalcy and All-American goodness; for all intents and purposes they were a nuclear family living very ordinary public lives, but behind the scenes they were hiding more than their fair share of skeletons in their closets. It doesn’t take much to offset public perfection; in fact, one could say that the more ideal your family is perceived, the more your peers search for fault. The McLaughlin’s were no different; the picture of perfection as far as their neighbors are concerned, most of them, at least, but even these pillars of the community have more cracks in their foundation than the old church down on Greenmount Avenue. Matthew McLaughlin, a young man of eight, has already found himself a hobby for after school. His parents, both firm believers in living active lifestyles, have Matty signed up for a number of activities meant to broaden his mind and body. Between Pop Warner football, practicing his trumpet, lessons with his French tutor, lacrosse practice, and any of the other activities his parents have signed him up for he and his friends still have discovered a secret hobby. They meet behind the gymnasium right after school to huff paint thinner that Matty’s friend Chris steals from his father’s hardware store. It doesn’t matter that the boys have all heard the stories about Billy Tanguay, a high school kid who died a few months back from inhaling the stuff. They can be safer than he was, that’s why they never huff alone. They talk about him and through their actions are keeping his memory alive as their brain cells slowly die. Matthew doesn’t know about the blood clot forming in his brain, less than a month from now his parents will find him face down in his Frosted Mini Wheats.

Kimberly, at the tender age of ten has experienced more than girls twice her age. Due to the joys of over involved parents; Kim has always been on the go from the moment she could walk. Ballets, tap, jazz and hip hop; it didn’t matter the style – she was always involved. When she wasn’t dancing, Kim could be found playing her clarinet, practicing the piano or rehearsing lines for her next performance with the community drama troupe. She was as busy as the day was long, but it came at a price. Having recently recovered from a small bout with a stomach bug, Kimberly discovered she was behind on her usually tight schedule. She began skipping lunch at school to sneak into the girl’s room to do homework or study lines. Before long she discovered the world of dietary supplements which would help stave off the hunger pains and give her more time to focus on her work. But hungry or not, Kimberly had to sleep at some point. At least she did before her friend Heather gave her some of her mother’s pills. Kim didn’t know what they were but they were GREAT. She could take one or two and stay up for hours practicing and perfecting. She was the ideal daughter – so it will certainly be a shock for her parents to find her, two months after the tragic death of their son, lying motionless on the floor of her bedroom. An empty pill bottle will be sitting on her nightstand, the name of her friend’s mother on the label.

In less than three months the McLaughlin’s will have lost both of their children to needless tragedies. Heartbroken and grief stricken. they’ll turn to the things that have helped them before.

Friends and family?

Pfft.

The church?

HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! NO.

Tom McLaughlin will remove himself from the pain by retreating to the comfort of the apartment he keeps in Portland with a woman who he met dancing at a local strip club. With an affair that has been going on for the better part of the last year, Tom hopes to leave the pain of his ‘former life’ behind him every other weekend when he goes away again on ‘business trips’.

Mary, on the other hand, will retreat to the only place that has kept her company all these long months; the bottom of a wine bottle. Admitting that she’d rather go through life drunk and pain free then to allow the mourning process to strip her to the bones; but for Mary it’s her form of ‘medical help’ that finally ends the McLaughlin’s story. Tom, having come home to find Mary unconscious, calls 911. Upon arrival it is discovered that Mary’s blood alcohol level is nearly four times the legal limit for driving and she’s quickly rushed to the nearest hospital with alcohol poisoning. Mary slips into a coma that evening and the doctors believe that with the damage she’s caused to her system with the drinking, her chances of recovery are slim at best. Tom leaves the next morning for Portland, ready to leave his life behind him and start a new life with Brittney, the dancer from the Jade Dragon. He’ll be struck head-on by a drunk driver heading down the wrong side of the interstate. He’ll be instantly killed.

From the bathroom he can still hear the sounds of Matthew and his sister playing with the neighbors. Maybe their stories will actually have happier endings than the ones he’s envisioned – maybe. Perhaps these macabre thoughts came from Ken’s very own fears. The fears that haunted him before his defenses were shattered by a woman trying to concuss him with a bottle of Jack never truly left his psyche. Ken would never go down that road, but for some reason, he could never truly let go of picturing people in their worst case scenario. Personally and professionally, Ken himself was always prepared for the worst case scenario. That is why a loss meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Two handfuls of water splashing him in the face sufficiently do the job and wake him up enough to snap out of his morbid daydreaming. One hot shower and quick change later and he’s out the door and ready to head downtown for a lunch meeting with his brother Sean, who was in town on business, and a buddy of his.

Kate, the lovely female British accented voice emanating from his cell phone had instructed him that he was nearly at his destination. Two more turns to the parking garage and the restaurant was only one more block away. He enjoyed driving in the city during this time of day; the rush of the morning commute was over and now he was able to enjoy the scenery without worrying about the typical driving conditions. Two right turns and a parking spot later, Davison found himself stepping from the darkness of the garage into the blinding light of the afternoon sun. It was a cloudless sky, warm 86 degree afternoon made the perfect walking weather as he began his trek towards the restaurant. It seemed Sean had picked a Mexican restaurant. Outside of Denver, Ken found Mexican food to be more Tex Mex, but he was willing to give it a chance.

“Hola señor, how many in your party?”

Ken pulls the sunglasses from his face as he enters the restaurant. Tucking them into the neck of his t-shirt, Davison shakes his head as he smiles at the hostess.

“Hi, there are three … but I’m running a little late so they might be here already.”

He scans the restaurant behind the small glass partition for some sight of his lunch guests. Being closer to one o’clock the restaurant has several full tables but even at maximum capacity there was no way to hide his brother’s head. At six foot four, he was tall even when he’s sitting. Davison politely smiles at the hostess one more time as he passes by.

“I see them actually, grassy ass.”

He laughs to himself knowing full well his Spanish is worse than Matt Knox’s concept of contraception as he pictures these two men and how much they don’t fit in with anyone else around them. While not a stereotypical ‘Mexican’ eatery, this place was primarily frequented by those of Hispanic descent. So when you sprinkle in a man like Sean, he generally doesn’t tend to blend in as well.

Davison weaves his way through the tables, his eyes locked on Sean, who catches his sight and begins waving him over as if he had a secret of dire importance. His brother is out of his chair and pulling Ken’s out before he makes it to the table. Placing his cell phone down near his silverware, Davison takes his seat and looks across.

“Well, other than the food, why’d you drag me here?”

Sunlight from the window behind his head reflects off of his bald head, but wearing his own pair of sunglasses, it doesn’t seem to affect Sean.

A waitress suddenly appears at Davison’s right elbow looking to take his drink order. Instinctively he looks around the table to see what everyone else is drinking. Sean, not surprisingly, is drinking water. Surprisingly, there’s also a Jack with no ice.

“Miss, I’d like …”

Before Ken can continue he’s cut off.

“A virgin margarita … ”

“Diet Coke, please.”

Ken is in a serious mood, wasting no time in getting down to business.

“Alright, Sean, who’s your friend and why do you want me to meet him?”

Sean smiles slyly.

“Brohan, allow me to introduce you to the future Mrs. Davison…”

“That’s the current Mrs. Davison, thank you very much,” Kyra says to Sean as she walks up behind her husband, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. “You were there, asshole.”

“What? Why?” Ken asks, legitimately confused.

“Because you haven’t relaxed since that attack. We worry about you, man.”

“You think I don’t see you tossing and turning at night? That’s my gimmick.”

“I’m fine and I’m dealing with it. I’m just scared of the fact that I blacked out. You heard the doctor, the dude didn’t even hit me. So why would I lose it like that? What if I do that against Mac? I’m not okay with that thought.”

“You’ve been through some shit, hun.  Of course you lost it.  But anyone with a brain sees the difference in some motherfucker coming at you in a bathroom and the man you call a brother.  There's no way you'd do anything like that to Mac.”

“She’s right, hombre. You need to just chill. Adrenaline took over.”

Maybe the two of them were right. Maybe Ken just needed to let it go. There’s still no explanation as to why Ken was automatically assuming the worst in people, such as the McLaughlin’s. There weren’t just evil thoughts. There were ‘What in the Stephen King?’ level evil thoughts. Something has to change.


1Everything about the set up is simple. “Godly” Ken Davison stands in front of a plain black backdrop wearing an orange sleeveless shirt.

“Sometimes, I enjoy a good crowd, as evidenced by the last time you saw me in front of the cameras. Sometimes, I like to let my environment speak for me. At his moment, I feel that the only appropriate thing to do is speak to the two of you, plainly and directly.”

“As one of the few men in this company that has a victory over over myself and Goth, I'm certain that Ben Jordan is feeling pretty good about himself. And that's one of the things that I really enjoy about Ben Jordan. Ben, I love your confidence. You're always telling yourself how you're a great wrestler, how you're talented, how you're gonna win... You're also a pathological liar.”


Davison takes a moment to smile, pleased at his verbal jab at the Cockney King.

“I know I usually come in here and talk up my opponents. Under normal circumstances, that is exactly what I would do. The higher your standing is in the eyes of the fans, in the eyes of the office, the better it makes me look when we beat you. However, we all know that with the size of your collective egos that won't be necessary. Because I am certain, infallibly certain, that you both will talk yourselves up and try, and try is the operative word here, to cut us down. However, you will not succeed. Look at what we've done collectively the past three months. In the last three months the only match I've lost is against the man standing next to me. In that time, that very, same man has captured the Internet Championship.”

“ We don't need to coast on our reputations reputations when our resumes speak for themselves. We don't need to walk into a company for a warm up match. We only need to show up to show up and put you down.”

Davison stops for a moment, shaking his finger at the camera knowingly.

“ Chronic Chris Page, I know what kind of chronic you think you are. But the fact of the matter is you're chronic like a disease, not Colorado's finest.  One of the first things that I saw was that you weren't seeming to be yourself lately. It's a noticeable improvement.  My biggest problem with you is that you're walking in here like you matter.. You're coming in here to try to use the Saviors, men that stand beside your friend Mac Bane each and every Kendamned week, and make an example of us? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I just don't understand your motivation here. In this business, it's so hard when you have to fight your friends, which is why this should be
easy.”

“You see, some of us don’t have to force our reputations to get the main event. But, you, Page, you walk in here thinking your the greatest thing since sliced bread. Do you know what makes you the number one fan favorite of all the time? Neither do I.”


Davison looks at the camera confidently.

“But enough of the witty rapparte. We all know who Ben Jordan is as a person. But for CCP to walk in here, to see him given this reverence against the two best men in this company is a slap in the face. Make him earn his place in the main event. Let him face people like Milo Kasey. Let's see him square off against Romano. Shit, let him have an opportunity sharing anyone else here, anyone who has spilled their blood, sweat and tears in the Sin City ring. Let him do what I did and his his place here? Not a damned thing.”

“So, let's see if the two of you can get along. Let's see if Chris Page deserves the place his reputation has given him. I have shown that I deserve every opportunity through hard work. Sunday, I'm walking into the stadium,  matching to the ring, and sending Page and Jordan back to the end of the line where they return.”

Ken crosses his throat with his finger, telling the crew to cut the feed.





16
Climax Control Archives / vs. Señor Vinnie
« on: August 12, 2022, 09:19:42 PM »
“The night started off so nicely. The plan was to meet for dinner and drinks followed by a festive night of dancing. It’s obvious from my present state of mind that things, somewhere along the line, went wrong. It’s obvious that the evening started out with the best of intentions, but by the time the curtain was called I was far from where I thought I’d be.”

It was a Tuesday; we had decided to meet a couple of old friends up in Boston for dinner and some drinks. It was supposed to be a nice getaway before I headed back to India. I had never heard of the restaurant but it had been given rave reviews according to a friend. The drive was long, but rather uneventful, surprising for I-95, particularly through Connecticut. We even found a street level parking spot less than a block from the restaurant. For a Tuesday, the restaurant was rather full, thankfully we had thought ahead and booked our reservations days ago. We were seated downstairs in what appeared to be an old basement, recently renovated into a separate dining room. The atmosphere between the two levels was quite noticeable. Upstairs, it didn’t matter where you were seated because the views from any of the windows showed the Boston skyline. Being so close to the street meant that passersbies became just another focal point for the hungry diners. Downstairs was a completely different story. Cool and dark, the room was large and oddly shaped. It was almost as if they had thought of one design and changed minds halfway through the construction process. Small tables were scattered amongst the larger tables, which were able to accommodate more guests than any of those located a floor above. It took my eyes a few moments before they were able to grow accustomed to the low level of light and the strange odor of a cold Boston night mixed with the unmistakable aroma of freshly cooked garlic.

We had been seated for mere moments when our waitress appeared at my left elbow like a ninja from the shadows. Stifling a laugh, my companions and I ordered our meals and a round of drinks. We talked for what felt like hours waiting for our meals. I had begun to assume that we had been forgotten since we had been seated down in the bowels of the restaurant. I looked around and the room had cleared out save for a young couple in the far corner and a solitary looking gentleman drinking a pint at the makeshift bar near the bathrooms. Our eyes met and for some reason our gaze didn’t break as quickly as most glances do with strangers. A harmless glance around the room had progressed into a stare-down. I wasn’t exactly sure why I wouldn’t just look away, perhaps it was my male ego acting or perhaps it was something else; something just didn’t feel right about the man. The impromptu contest was broken as the line of sight blurred with the approach of our waitress carrying a large tray of our dinners.

As hungry as we were, we ate in near silence. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being stared at again. I didn’t want to be obvious and turn around, and risk looking like I wanted trouble, so I tried my best to see what was behind me using the reflection in my friend’s glasses sitting in front of me. He had just begun a funny story about a hunting trip he took in Alberta so he wasn’t making for the best mirror. I shook the feelings from my head and tried my best to enjoy my meal and company. Three or four Diet Cokes later and it was time to visit the men’s room. Up until this point I had almost forgotten about the man at the bar, that is until I passed by him on my way to the restroom. Again, our eyes met and although I looked away, I felt his eyes burn into my back as I pushed open the door to the bathroom.

The thing about restaurant bathrooms is this; if you’re at a restaurant that has any kind of romantic ambiance then chances are your table is covered in candles, the room is lit by candles and the basic soft light feel is carried out all over the room. Bathrooms, by default, don’t use this same idea. Apparently the last thing people want is to have a hard time seeing where they take a piss. But what do I know?. If you ask me, bathroom ambiance may take away from the rancid odor that seems to permeate out from every crack and crevice. So at some point in the history of restaurant bathrooms it was decided that these specialty rooms must be lit by the harshest, most blindingly disgusting fluorescent lights. These lights don’t even glow white; you know the color that they give off … that yellow filtered glow that casts everything in the room with a sickly color. So there I stood, blinking and waiting for my eyes to readjust to the lighting and trying hard not to breathe through either my nose or mouth because the smell makes you want to vomit and the idea of breathing through your mouth in a public bathroom does the same.

There are few things in this world that make a man more aware of his surroundings than when he is in a restroom. Exposed and open to the world a man becomes the master of his environment, which is why I felt him in the room before I even turned around. There are moments in our life which define us; moments where we show our true selves. Unbeknownst to me, this was one of those moments. As I turned I could see him, standing there. Behind him my own reflection smiled back. I remember a witty remark about waiting for an autograph unless he had a snow bank but the rest was a blur. There was an insult, a swing and then … red.

There was so much red. For a moment I assumed that the fluorescent lights overhead had been burnt out, or someone had set off a fire alarm. The red seemed to just cover everything from the walls to … his face. I couldn’t control myself. For too long I had lived away from that lifestyle, at least when I was away from the arena, away from what I had always thought of as necessary violence. I was striking without thinking. I moved with the fluidity of liquid fury. Rights and lefts blurred into a red haze. Knees and elbows expertly found their marks. In these moments, my wrestling left me and my muay thai come out. In the end I remember being pulled from a kneeling position. The bartender was pulling me backwards towards the door as a waiter began throwing up at the sight of the man on the floor. The next several hours were spent in and out of consciousness. I remember spurts and blurbs, mere moments and fragments. Small things stood out in my mind though; five teeth knocked out, broken jaw, twenty stitches to close the wound, internal bleeding. Then there were those that I had hoped to forget; assault and battery, deadly weapon, intent to injure, and fifteen to twenty.

I awoke in a cell the next morning as a louding, booming and… familiar voice echoed through the room with a thick Boston accent.

“Davison! Get over he-ah. Bail’s been paid.”

I notice the guard’s stern expression, though his eyes seem purposefully covered by the shadow coming from the hat’s visor. I walk closer and a sly smile crosses the guard’s face.

“Son of a bitch! Sully?!”

His initial response is non-verbal. He simply lays his hand flat and lowers it, telling me to cool it.

“Yah, dude. But ahm workin’ he-ah,” he says with a whisper.

I had to respect that. I hadn’t seen Sully since we were kids 32 years ago. ’Holy shit! I left 32 years ago?’ Letting that fact sink in, I’m somewhat shocked he remembered me.

He nods to the guard on the outside and a loud thunk is heard as the door is opened from the other side, accompanied by a horrible buzz that indicates the door is open.

He pushes me through the door, I would guess as more of a show for the prisoners left behind than as an actual show of force. As soon as the unmistakable sound of a several inch thick metal door closing behind you, his entire demeanor changes.

“The fahk happened to you, dude? I ain’t seen yah ass since june-yah high.”

“Got out, brother. I got tired of all my mother’s bullshit. After running the streets for a few years, I managed to get myself adopted. Just got married, got a stepdaughter. I did okay for myself, all things considered.” Knowing our time together is extremely limited. “Not surprised you ended up here. Keeping up the family business, I see.”

“Somethin’ like that.” Sully grunts as he stops at an open door. “Your belongings are inside. Get changed and come sit against the wall until another guard gets you.” Sully begins walking back to his post, but stops and looks back. “Don’t let me see you in he-ah again.”

Sully walks off, getting buzzed through the large door that he had just marched my sorry ass through. I wait about 15 minutes, seeing numerous men and women doing the walk of shame that I more than likely did last night. Finally, they call for me and I walk to a door on the other side of the room as the intake. As seems to be the process, I hear a buzzing sound announcing the unlocking of the door, which I enter and stagger over to, hungry and tired, to collect my paperwork. I look up, hearing the yelling from the otherside of the door.

“I don’t care; I’m getting in there to see him!”

I almost smile when I realize who the voice belongs to. Well, I would have smiled if I had the energy or capacity for that, or any, emotion.

“Don’t you realize who I am?”

’Please don’t get arrested. Please don’t get arrested.’

The thought repeats in my head knowing how stressed my wife must be. I hope that her temper doesn’t get the better of her because one of us getting thrown in the clink was bad enough. They give me my paperwork and open the door. Before I can fully get into the room, Kyra jumps into my arms. I feel like I am going to collapse, but somehow manage to catch her as she wraps her arms and legs around me.

“Hey there, stranger.”

“Hey, mama.”

Kyra passionately kisses me, but using all of my energy to stand up, I can’t kiss her back. She hops down to the floor while the door closes loudly behind me, literally hitting me on the ass on the way out. I look up at a man I hadn’t seen since the trial of Crystal’s killer… that was a place I didn’t want to go back to, but here I was living the dream.

“Listen champ, we’ve met under better conditions before but I heard about what happened…”

“Better circumstances? The last time I say you I was morning my dead fiancee and child. You want to sit here and really tell me those were better circumstances?”

“Well, still sumbitch did get put in…”

His voice trailed off, or maybe my mind did. Either way I stopped listening to what he was saying and started taking notice of what he was doing. Absent-mindedly, he was fiddling with the ring on his right hand; his right hand? Last I knew Azar was a married man.

“Anyway, I’ve gotten all of the charges dropped. Some guy went into the bathroom as that dude was swinging. The bar sent the surveillance of the guy following you into the shitter…”

He stands there waiting for an answer from me. I sit there trying to think of a way to make sense of the feelings brimming just below the surface. I feel as though I’m barely holding myself together as it is. I can only think it over and slowly nod my head as I stand to my feet. I make the four foot stretch between myself and the nearest bench. I fall down, exhausted.

“We need to get you back to the hotel,” Kyra says with concern.

“Where’d you find this guy, anyway?” I ask in a brief moment of clarity.

“I remembered it from when you told me about… well, you know.”

Kyra reaches into her pocketbook and pulls out her checkbook.

“This one’s on the house. Ken literally made my practice. It would be stealing if I took that now.”

’A decent lawyer,’ I say internally. At least, I think I said it internally. “I’ll be damned.”

That’s the last thing I remember before falling asleep in Kyra’s arms.
I am pacing on the navy blue, baby blue and white tiles that cover the top of the basin surrounding the statue of Subhas Chandra Bose, located directly outside of the Netaji Indoor Stadium. The color of the tiles matches the color scheme of the building. As such, I’ve chosen to a blue collar and matching tinted glasses with my priest’s robes. There is a small crowd, some of the people recognizing me from the various flyers around town, while others are simply taking in the small spectacle I am creating. Not wanting to waste this moment, I have summoned the Sin City Wrestling film crew to document this experience.

“I was once a criminal.” I say, looking into the crowd to gauge their reaction. “I wasn’t the type of criminal that was known for all kinds of nefarious things. Still, I was a criminal. I was breaking into stores, breaking into people’s homes, not because I wanted to take their things. I was doing these things because I simply wanted to eat.”

“You see, before I was a criminal, I was a child. In fact, you could argue that at the tender age of 12, I was still a lawyer while I was a criminal. Still, I chose to separate the two because I was a good child. But, I was a good child in a bad place. I moved around from place to place to place to place as my mother moved around from man to man to man to man because of bad choice after bad choice out of bad choice after bad choice. So I made the choice to leave that situation. I made the choice to live on the streets of Boston, Massachusetts, back home in the United States because being in a broken home was better than being in an abusive one. Prior to that, I have been a number of other things. I was a child model. I played football. I ran track. I even played God, once, in a youth group play. I guess you can figure out where I got the idea for all of this.”

I stop pacing and turns directly to face my improvisational congregation, making certain that all eye are on me.

“Here and now, at this moment, I am “Godly” Ken Davison and I am a professional wrestler.”

I pause again, creating suspense. Three… Two… now…

“Very recently, I was in jail for the first time of my life. I was falsely accused of assault when I had very clearly acted in self-defense. Sound familiar?” I look directly at the lens of the camera with a smug expression that one hundred percent guarantees they know I am referring to the infamous ‘Amber Ryan Incident.’ “I was given a stark reminder of what my life could have been, had I continued down the path I was originally on. Would I have survived? Perhaps. Would I have thrived? Certainly not.”

“It made me ask myself ‘How do successful individuals get where they are?’ People often look at those who have achieved at a high level as some kind of unique breed or rare talent to be marveled over. In reality, nothing about our success is predetermined. There is no fate. There is no destiny. There is only what we have, what we have tireless fought and scrapped for. You see, being great in any capacity begins small,.. very, very small. It gradually changes, gradually evolves. It is derived from the vision you have of yourself. When I was a child wondering the streets, I couldn’t even see myself. I was a bad kid who was convinced that he had little to no future. That’s what I had been told all my life. That is what I was destined to be.”

Falling into a rhythm, my words are clear and precise. I begin once again pacing the rim of the fountain’s basin, marching back and forth like the guards outside of Buckingham Palace.

“I was fortunate that I fell into a good home. I was told I was loved and reassured I wasn’t a bad child. I was shown that there was more to my life than eating leftovers out of a dumpster every night. Now, I was in a position where I could have goals because there was a future. Now, I had that vision of myself that I mentioned before. I saw wrestling. I wanted to be a wrestler. I had a vision of myself as a champion and now my reality has become even grander than my dreams. I had a goal I believed intrinsically that I could achieve it. More importantly, I believed that I deserved it. I STILL believe that I deserve it. These thoughts, this belief, is what lights the fires of my success. I constituted my beginning. It carried me throughout my career and has brought me to this moment in my life. You could have this, too.”

“Now, as I proceed towards my latest goal, that being the Sin City Wrestling World Championship, my aspirations have never been higher. The biggest challenge I am going to face is not Señor Vinnie or even Mac Bane himself. I know from past experience that I can and more importantly have defeated Mac Bane. I know that I can defeat Señor Vinnie. When I was the Internet Champion, I failed on epic proportions. It was a harsh reminder that my largest struggle isn’t against another wrestler, a new opponent or any other outside force. My biggest obstacle has always been myself.”

At this point, I know I’m on a roll. I just have to figure out how to tie this into my match because the more tickets we sell, the more money we will collectively make.

“Señor Vinnie, you are a hell of a competitor in that ring. Your resume speaks for itself. But, should I fail, you will not be the reason. I am the reason that I will succeed. It is not what you are able to do to me in that ring that will determine the outcome. It will be how I impose my will on you. It will be how I endure whatever offense you throw at me. It will be a matter of how prepared I am to face you. Again, I respect you and where you think you are coming from, but what will determine who wins this match will be the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison and you will ultimately be a non-factor.”

“When you think about it, every morning when I get up, I make the decision whether I am going to be positive or negative. I can choose to be optimistic or I can choose to be doubtful. I decide whether or not I am exceptional and believe me, Vinnie, I am the most Kendamned exception wrestler you will find in this company. Everything is in my hands.. When I lost to Goth and watched as he went on to defeat Jack Washington for the Internet Championship, it was not a setback. I chose to seize the moment on the very next show because now I was free to challenge Mac Bane for the World Championship. Was losing to Goth a negative? In the short term, yes, it was. Now, here I am once again on the precipice of greatness because I turned a negative into a positive.”

I make a first and thump my chest as I continue.

“Because no one will ever make anything of value happen for you. You need to be the one to believe in yourself when no one else does. I will tell you right now that there are times that it feels impossible to do this. It is always so much easier to conform to the expectations of others. I know that despite my impressive run of late, there are people out there, yourself included, Vinnie, that expect me to lose. They don’t hope. They don’t want. They EXPECT me to lose.”

“However, I survived when I hit rock bottom. I overcame my entire world being torn away from me. I have come to damned far to settle for great. I have worked too damned hard to settle for exceptional. I hold myself to a higher standard that you do, Vinnie, regardless of any and all outside circumstances. No matter what happens in this ring, it can be overcome, even when everyone else tells you that it can’t. On Sunday night, I will convince each and every person in that arena, in the corporate office, I will convince each and every man, woman, and child watching at home that I deserve this opportunity against Mac Bane and I will do it beat beating you in the center of the ring, Vinnie… and that will be because I have already convinced the hardest person to convince, that being myself.”

’Alright, Ken. You’ve got them hooked. It’s time to shut this shit down.’

“Señor Vinnie, when this is all said and done, I will be the man standing in the ring victorious. I will give you the respect you are due, however, up to that point when the bell rings, there is nothing you can do to save yourself. I have the whole world in my hands and those are the Hands of God.”

I hold my arms out, getting a decent amount of applause for the crowd I have amassed. I lower my arms and make a slashing motion, telling the camera crew to cut the recording.

17
Climax Control Archives / Insert Clever Title Here
« on: July 29, 2022, 11:03:58 PM »
Telling his wife and daughter that they were going to “Indiana” was the easy part. Trying to explain to the kid why he had challenged “Uncle Macky” to a fight was a whole different story. So, sitting in the kitchen of his Baltimore home with his daughter Adina, Ken Davison was trying to handle to barrage of questions that the five-year-old was throwing at him rapid fire. When she asked about her Mom and Ken fighting each other in the past, it was easy to explain that we weren’t friends yet. But this… this was something else.

“So why you gonna beat up Uncle Macky?” Adina says with a side eye that rivals that of her mother.

“Well,” Ken awkwardly chuckles, not expecting this to be the conversation he would be having this early in the morning. “It is the only way I can win that championship.”

“My dad fought Mac’s son Jimmy and they were best friends.” Chloe Hawkhurst says as she enters the kitchen, grabbing an orange and throwing it up in the and catching it. “It’s just a thing you do when you’re a wrestler.”

“Why you wanna do that?” Adina presses.

“It’s not that we want to beat each other up. We both want to be champions. It’s the same thing that Rogan and I are going to…”

Ken doesn’t get to finish as Adina’s eyes go wide.

“You’re gonna beat up Aunt Lucy’s boyfriend, too?” she ponders out loud.

“You know, squirt. For someone who’s grown up around this business, you sure don’t catch on.” Chloe quips, missing her orange and watching it bounce on the table where it comes to a halt in front of Adina.

“How do I explain this? No. I am not trying to beat up Mac or Rogan. I am trying to beat them. That means that I just want to pin them or submit them as painlessly as possible.”

“Like THAT is ever going to happen,” Chloe interrupts.

“You’re not helping. You know that?”

“Yup.”

“Mac and I, Rogan and I, we respect each other. Mac and I have faced each other more times than any other opponent I’ve ever had. We all understand we are in a physical line of work. We’re trying to beat each other, yes. But we aren’t trying to hurt each other. At least, not on purpose.”

“Accidents happen, kiddo. But we love you anyway.”

“Chloe!” Ken yells. Before he can even turn his head, that sassy little Mini-Kyra was already at it.

“Well, you was born by the highway cuz that’s where most accidents happen.”

“Are you two serious?” Ken says as he slowly removes his eyes from behind his hand. “Anyway, can we finish our talk?”

“I’m heading out to the gym, Ken. I’ll be home around noon. That cool?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Besides, you’ve helped enough.”

“Glad to be of service.” Chloe continues as she walks out the door, laughing at herself. “SOOOOOOOO triggered!”

Ken takes a second to turn around and grab his coffee cup, one that coincidentally reads “I WISH YOU WERE FLUENT IN SHUTTING THE FUCK UP.” ’Where was this two minutes ago?’ he thinks to himself as he turns back to Adina.

“OOOOOH! It says the orange word! I’mma gonna tell momma!”

“Who do you think bought it for me?”

Adina’s face drops. Thinking she was going to get Ken in trouble, this was a bit of a letdown for her.

“So, do you haveta beat up Uncle Macky and Rognar?”

“Rogan, and in a manner of speaking, I do. It’s part of being a wrestler. It’s how your mother and I provide for you.”

“And Chloe!” Adina chimes in.

“Yes, and Chloe. That’s how we’ve been able to take all these trips this summer. You know how we’re going to India tonight? That’s for work. But, back to the point. When you do something, what do you want to be?”

“A ballerina cage fighter!”

“Okay,” Ken says dragging out the word as he tries to refocus. “And wouldn’t you want to be the best ballerina cage fighter?”

“Only the best in da world!!!”

“So, in Sin City Wrestling, where Uncle Macky and I work, he’s the World Champion. What do you think that means?”

“That he’s the best!” Adina blurts out enthusiastically.

“Exaclty. That he’d the best. So, if I want to show that I am the best, what do I have to do?”

Adina looks at Ken and then drops her eyes to the floor.

“Oh. I get it,” she says flatly. “Is that why you gotta beat up Aunt Lucy’s boyfriend?”

“No. I’m doing that for fun.”

“Really? That’s mean, Daddy. You're a big ol' stinky doo doo head.”

“Remember when we took you to Wrestlestock and I won that match with all the flags?”

“Yeah! That was fun! You got to play dress up and got to slide around and the ice and... uh... oh, yeah. Hit dem with ladders. that was the bestest.”

“Well, the winner of that match earned a shot at his championship. Let me tell you, kiddo, that’s going to be a tough one. You think I’m ready?”

“You beat a buncha different people. You can beat up one guy.”

Ken takes a sip of his coffee.

“I hope so, kiddo. I certainly hope so.”


“Godly” Ken Davison sits in the bleachers of the nearly empty Sawai Mansingh Indoor Stadium watching as the ring is being assembled for Climax Control.  He wears an almost cotton candy-colored soccer jersey with baby blue sleeves emblazoned with the Jaipur Pink Panthers logo over his right pectoral muscle.  A few rows back, you can hear Ken’s daughter Adina squealing in the background as she is running through the rows as quickly as she possibly can followed in close pursuit by her mother.  Somehow, Ken manages to tune the distraction out, looking out onto the field, focused on the task at hand.

“I cannot believe, at 44 years old, that I am sitting here in Jaipur, India for a wrestling show.  The fact that my family and I are 12,109 kilometers, which comes out to roughly 7,525 miles, the fact that we are this far from home, seeing the world as I pursue a title that can truly be called a world championship, amazes me.  What also amazes me is how far I have come professionally.  Four years ago, I had been enjoying retirement.  I was done. Out of the game.  Then, I had my heart attack.  I came back to prove to myself that I could still do this.  I think I’ve done a Kendamned fine job of proving to myself, and everyone else, that I am still one of the best in the world.”

“Now, most of you know my story, so I will not rehash it for Alex Rush. Instead, I wanted to share another story, one that is admittedly not my own. It’s a story that many of the people here in India are familiar with.  It is the story of V.Unbeatable.”

Ken stands up and walks down to the railing that separates the field from the seating area.  He leans over the railing, arms folded in front of him to support his weight.

“Not many people, outside of fans of the television show “America’s Got Talent,” are familiar with V.Unbeatable. V.Unbeatable is an Indian dance troupe from Mumbai that began as simply “Unbeatable.” In 2012, two brothers from the slums of Mumbai, Vikas and Om Prakash, formed the dance troupe. A couple of years later, tragedy would strike. Vikas would sustain an injury in training that would eventually kill him. This is what led them to change their name… Vikas Unbeatable.”

“What makes this group unbeatable is their sheer and utter determination. They tried to get on various talent shows, getting rejected from all of them. Still, they did not give up. Eventually, the group expanded to over 30 members. They continued to audition and continued to get rejected. Still, they did not give up. Finally, they got their break. V.Unbeatable managed to get on the Indian dance show ’Dance Plus’ they came in fourth.”

Ken turns around to face the camera.

“In their next step, V.Unbeatable then made their way over to the United States. They auditioned for the aforementioned ’America’s Got Talent.’ going so far as the make the finals. They got the first round. In the second round, they got the Golden Buzzer, giving them a trip directly to the quarterfinals. They amazed the American audiences with their well-choreographed feats of organized chaos. You had men, women and children flying through the air in such a way that is was almost impossible to fathom. Despite all of this, just as they did on ’Dance Plus’ they came in fourth. Fortunately for them, this was not the end.”

“As a matter of fact, it was only the beginning. Another opportunity arose for the dance troupe, as just a few months later they would gain a chance at redemption. They auditioned for ’America's Got Talent Champions Season 2.’ Now I don't have the time to waste going through all of the details. what I will do is tell you that their journey through this season mirrored that of their first season. Long story short is that they repeated almost oh, he word here, almost step for step their journey from season 14. Where their path deviated is that this time the V Envy unbeatable good for victorious. the group, through all their adversity,  through all of their setbacks, were able to improve. season 14 what's a season just like any other, we're whomever and whatever acts wanted to audition were able to. Champions was not like that. Champions were the best acts in the history of the Got Talent series from around the globe. Not America. Not India. The entire freakin’ globe.”


Ken's wife Kyra can be heard in the background yelling “Listen here, you little have shit!” About six rows back you can see Adina running through the row of seats with her mother still in close pursuit. Ken turns back, momentarily distracted and can only shake his head. Taking a moment to compose himself he takes a deep breath in before focusing back on the camera.

“What I want you to understand, Alex, Is that being here in the country of India under these circumstances, is what made me think of their story. There are quite a few parallels between V.Unbeatable and myself. You need to understand where I come from. I know when everyone sees the man that I am now oh, they see a man who is happy. I got it all. got the wife. I've got the kid. I've got the house with the white picket fence. I'm living the American dream. That's who I am today. But I've never, could never, forget where I came from.”

“I became the man I am today I'm leaving home at the age of 12. When you live on the streets, you live off the scraps of others, you fight for every single Kendamned breath. You do whatever you asked of yourself just to survive one more day. You lie. You cheat. You steal. It's not something you do hoping to sell t-shirts. it's the reality of life in that situation. I grew up on the streets of Boston. That's where I cut my teeth. Although out here in the real world, that man no longer exists,  he certainly does exist within the confines of the wrestling ring.  The motivations may be different. I do things out of necessity I supposed to doing them out of aggression. What you need to understand, Alex Rush, is that inside of the squared circle I am still “Godly” Ken Davison. Same name. Theme game. Not a damned thing changed.”

Davison slams his hand down on the railing emphatically, his wedding band catching the metal with a loud ping that pierces the near silence throughout the empty stadium.

“Since you weren't there on the cruise, I'm not sure if you saw what I did to your former Sin City Underground colleague, Himatashii at Summer XXXtreme.I smashed him, trashed him, and left him laying. Everything I have seen thus far makes me believe that's Sin City Underground was a joke. Himatashii is a joke. You are a joke. Any and all of the Championships that were collected while part of the Underground are jokes because of men like you. Men like Mac Bane, men like myself, men and women like the rest of the Saviors, oh, we are the real deal. We have practically all of the gold in this company. We are at the point where we have to challenge each other because there is no one left. The members of Wolfslair like to puff out their chests and let out of howl every once in awhile, but they cannot compete with the Saviors. They claim to be wolves, Fenris even naming himself after one of the most famous wolves of legend, and yet, there is not even a single Alpha among them. What I’d like you to do now is look at me. Now look at yourself in the mirror. Now look back at me. One more time, look at yourself. Now turn and focus on “Godly” Ken Davison. This is what an alpha looks like. This is the last thing you see before a predator shows it’s fangs. This is your future.”

“I want to come down to the ring and I want to fucking kill you. Not in the literal sense, but when you go out there week after week, some us multiple times a week, you realize right quick it’s either you or them. If you’re not thinking that in your head, then what are you doing in that ring? If you’re not thinking that you’re going to go across and you’re going to kill this guy — and you’re going to annihilate this guy — what are you doing there? I am here to win. When I win, I put food on the table. Do you think I am going to allow you to walk in here and take food out of my daughter’s mouth? Not on your fucking life.”

The vein on the front of Davison’s begins pulsing, his blood pressure having risen considerably. Ken stops and puts his hand over his heart. Feeling how fast it is racing, Ken stops and takes a few deep breaths. After waiting a few seconds to make sure his ticker is slowly down, Ken continues.

“Like V.Unbeatable, I came from absolute shit. Like V.Unbeatable, I worked my up to be where I am today. Like V.Unbeatable I am a motherfucking champion and you are but one more step on my way to becoming a champion once again. Despite who you are and where you come from, I can and will do exactly what I need to put you down because when you’re God, you don’t have to break the rules. You make them!!!”

Ken snaps his fingers loudly.

“Narrator!!!”

Adina runs over from about two rows behind Ken, leapfrogs over the seats and lands with her tiny little 5 year old arms wrapped around his neck.

“Daddy was wanting to fight Uncle Macky… Wait why do you wanna fight Uncle Macky?  Ohhhh… yeah.  Daddy's next step towards winning the… Sin City World Championship?  Yeah.  So he beated that guy, Alex Rush.  Oh, he's gonna go all the way to Indiana to beat that guy.  And it's gonna be worth it.  Right, Daddy?”

“That works, baby girl.” Ken says, smiling as his face is contorted by the same child atop his shoulders. The camera cuts out as Ken reaches back and gives her a squeeze.

18
Supercard Archives / Re: "GODLY" KEN DAVISON v HITAMASHII
« on: July 08, 2022, 06:52:01 PM »
I have traveled around the world, going for a couple of weeks at a time without seeing my girlfriend. When I did talk to her, nothing was ever said about my time out on the road, which was surprising. Yeah, we’re both pro wrestlers. She understands. Because of the actions of other people in her past, I knew that she hated when I was gone. Now that we are married, it’s somehow different. It feels as if it really didn’t happen, like I had a very wonderful dream. I love that dream, I feel close to someone again. Someone really loves me. I am not alone. Now, here I am, on a cruise ship with the love of my life taking every step possible to never be without her again.

I had been given a cruise aboard the Sun Princess Cruises as a gift from her company for “Outstanding Achievement.” ‘Some reward’, so I had thought. ’A beautiful cruise without my wife.’ Okay, that didn’t really happen. All kidding aside, when I got pulled aside and was told I was booked for Summer XXXtreme, I was excited, but then I was apprehensive. Then it occurred to me that something had to be done. I called my daughter’s biological father and made the necessary changes. Somehow, the cruise fell between our last UGWC commitment, which allowed us to take the cruise, and return ashore in time to honor our commitments at UGWC WrestleStock. It all worked out perfectly.

It is an odd feeling, knowing my wife is back in our cabin getting ready. She had told me to go down to the dining deck and order breakfast, so that’s what I did. Unlike my meeting with Goth and Lady Melissa, there is no eating healthy on the menu today. Four of everything; four eggs, four pieces of bacon, four sausage patties, four slices of ham and four waffles and half of that for her breakfast. After all, cruise or not, this isn’t a vacation and training doesn’t take a day off.

I see her before she sees me and the vision of her burns immediately into my mind and will be the last thing to ever leave it. It will be a vision that I will cherish until the day that I die and I hope that that day is a long way off. But if it happens today, I will have an angel to guide me to heaven. Kyra was, is, and will always be, in a word, beautiful. She is an angelic vision that takes my breath away; from her long brown hair that she uncharacteristically is wearing in a ponytail, to her fair, perfect complexion, her knock dead body, and her makeup. Hot damn, I love the way her eyes sparkle, especially when she smiles, and the way she wore her makeup today has me simply enthralled. She has the complete package. I stand there with my mouth agape, staring at her until she slowly turns and sees me and before she makes a mad dash into my waiting arms.

“Hey, Gramps,” she yells as she jumps into my arms and kisses me. She knows that I hate when she calls me that, but she also knows she can get away with it.

“I didn’t think you were ever coming down from the cabin,” I tell her playfully, taking a step back. She is wearing a peach colored dress that is synched just below the bustline and flows out down to about her knees. When the breeze comes off of the ocean just right, I am certain to get a bit of a show. 

She leans back in, giving me a big hug around the neck and rather seductively whispers in my ear, “Ken, I don’t care if we never leave the room all weekend long,” and raises her head to give me the warmest, most passionate kiss imaginable. It was going to be a great weekend.

“You know,” I say as I pull out Kyra’s chair for her, “It’s nice to have some peace and quiet for a change.”

“Who says you're going to get any peace?” Kyra says with a devilish grin. “Or that I’m going to be quiet?”

A surprised “Oh,” is all I can get out. I don’t know what it is about this trip, but we were certainly going to enjoy ourselves.

“Good ‘Oh’, or bad ‘Oh’?” Kyra asks, still grinning.

“I think that depends on if anyone calls security on us or not,” I reply. I have to admit, my game is on today. Then again, it’s not really a game. I’m just happy. “What I am trying to figure out is what we’re going to do today, after the gym, of course.”

“What’s security gonna do, make us walk the plank?  As for what we’re going to do… I guess that depends on how you’re feeling afterwards.”

“Not to ruin the moment here, but you do realize that we’re in international waters and maritime law applies. They can actually put you in jail and have you arrested at the next port and I don’t expect they’re going to let us have conjugal visits.”

I can’t help but smile. She makes me feel like I’m a teenager all over again. She reminds me of the only other time in my life I was ever truly happy.

“Seriously though, what do you want to do? We’ll have some time before dinner tonight, so we can hit the casino, the spa, the pool, we can catch a show, we can do some shopping, we can hit the bar. We have options here.”

She sits back, a thoughtful expression on her face.  “The pool.  You never did get a chance to get the full experience of my new bikini at the beach the other day…”

“You tease,” I say, sticking out my tongue at her. “I think it’s a great idea, though.”

We finish our breakfast and hit the gym before returning to our cabin to take a shower and get changed for the pool. At least, that’s what we’re telling anyone who might ask. What we really do is our business. We enjoy the afternoon with each other, laughing and playing in the water, splashing each other like overgrown children. The hours feel like minutes and soon it is time for us to once again return to our cabin for another shower, this time to get the chlorine from the pool off.

After a few moments, Kyra makes her appearance from the bedroom wearing a full length casual dress or cover-up or something like that; all I know is that it ties around her neck loosely, it shows off enough skin to get a rise out of me without looking too scandalous. She looks like a million bucks in it. She smiles as the ship's horn blows indicating that we were about to leave. She takes my hand and we head for the door to go topside and to join in on the bon voyage party. I guess this was something they did leaving the major ports.

We walk out onto the pool deck to the sound of reggae music blaring from the band and I accept a tall glass of something from a waiter. I take a sniff to make sure there’s no rum before taking a sip for myself. I look at my smiling wife, who is cuddling up on my arm and offer her a sip. She looks almost embarrassed, but giggles and takes a long slurp on the straw and kind of chokes on the alcohol as she seems to be expecting something slightly less sweet.

“I had better be careful because someone might think that I am luring my date with alcohol so I can take advantage of her,” I say jokingly.

“You don’t need to get me drunk to take me to bed; I’d go with you anytime.”

“Anytime?” I ask while raising an eyebrow.

“You heard me…” she replies with a smirk.

We leave our cabin and head outside. There are more than a couple of looks as we make our way around the pool deck. I just smile and go about my business. I walk with Kyra, hand in hand, up to the bow as the ship breaks out of the harbor and into the open sea. We stand there watching each other and the ocean as the sun sets behind us. I wrap my hands around her waist, half expecting her to spread her arms like that woman in ‘Titanic.’ Unfortunately, that moment didn’t last as long as I would have liked thanks to the alarm on my phone vibrating in my pocket.

We make our way down to the dining room and are shown to our table. We were the last ones to be seated as I made our introductions. Everyone commented on what a beauty Kyra is. She blushed and I beamed because little did they know just how beautiful I think she is. Since this wasn’t an official part of the cruise, we somehow ended up at a table full of people from all walks of life.

My favorite is an older couple named Randy and Lynn. Randy had been involved in professional sports, but had never managed to make it to the big leagues. Lynn had been his high school sweetheart who had lost touch because Randy’s career took him all across the country, leaving little time for a wife. Well after Randy had retired, they two found each other on social media after forty something years. It was something that could have been ripped out of the pages of a Nicolas Sparks novel.

After enjoying a wonderful meal, we decide to attend the evening show. We sit through almost two hours of over the top costumes designed to match the over the top music of the time. Kyra seems to enjoy it, but that could just be her being nice to me. We take one last stroll around the deck and then head back up to our cabin for the evening. It is only 10:30 and neither of us are tired, but we have things we want to do.

She goes into the bedroom to change but she comes right back out with a grin on her face. “They made up the bed,” she says. “But they just made up the one bed, not the sleeper sofa. Does that mean that we have the steward’s permission to sleep together?”

I laugh. “I guess we do. We are married after all,” I tell her as she returns to the room. I am only left to wait a few moments before she comes out wearing a full length, white obtuse nightgown. ‘My God, I can’t help but think to myself. She is beautiful and she is all mine.

She slowly, seductively, strolls to where I am sitting, swishing the skirt of the night gown around as she slinked over. Her hair is down now, cascading over her white shoulders framing her soft facial features better than any piece of art I have ever seen.
 
She smiles at me, while I can’t help but stare as she asks, “Do you like it?”

There are a million things I want to say, but the words just won’t come out.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I pull Kyra onto my lap and lean my head into her shoulder.

“My beautiful Kyra,” I managed to get out, “How do I deserve this? My gracious, woman, you’re going to be the death of me. Dressing like that, you’re going to give me another heart attack.”

“Well, if you’re going to die then it might as well be with a smile on your face,” she says as she pushes me away so she can look at me. Before she can say anything else I pull her in and kiss her deeply. She is my love. She is my life. She is my world. She is my everything. She is why I fight.



I stand once again at the bow of the boat, this time alone. One of the biggest perks to being married to a fellow wrestler is that she understands the need to go random places and talk shit about other people. Besides, someone’s got to hold the camera. Right? Kyra stands still in front of me, while I admire the way the setting sun glistens on her…

“Hey, numbnuts. You gonna say anything?” she yells, bringing me back to the task at hand.

“Uh…” I stammer. “Nice ti-”

“About your opponent! Did you forget why we’re out here instead of back in our cabin?” Kyra says, sticking out her tongue playfully.

“All work and no play makes Ken a dull boy.”

“All play and no work makes Ken unemployed!” It still amazes me how quickly she can come back at me.

I take a moment to re-center myself figuring I can edit the first part of this out.

“Tamagotchi! How have you been doing? We are here live on the Sin City Wrestling Summer XXXtreme Cruise and let me tell you, I think we need to change the name of this thing. Went for the XXX part of it and someone yelled at my wife and I to go back in our cabin. Needless to say, I have been doing some extra training while aboard the cruise ship, but never you worry Tamagotchi! I will still have plenty of energy left when it’s time for me to put you down.”

I can’t help myself as I feel the smile crossing my face. It’s not even that I’m trying to be cocky, although that is admittedly a positive side effect.

“I know that I don’t have the resume you have, not here in Sin City Wrestling, at least. You might have been a big deal in the Underground, but up here in the light, you haven’t done a Kendamned thing yet. I mean, you beat Mark Cross, good on you. Been there, done that, got the shirt… like go back and watch my promo for that match, I literally got the t-shirt. Now, I want you to recognize that I’m not diminishing your win, I’m just letting you know that I’m not impressed by someone doing the same things I’ve done.”

I need to bring it down a bit. Hitamashii is a threat, even though I know I can take him. I need to treat him seriously. I also need to make sure I remind him exactly who the fuck he’s dealing with.

“I aspire to become a World Champion here in Sin City Wrestling. I don’t even know what your purpose for moving up from the Underground even was. You were a champion. You were Kendamned royalty there. However, there is a saying, heavy is the head that wears the crown and carrying the weight of an entire division, an entire promotion is difficult. Heavy head and a heavy crown. I’ve had that burden once since I came to town. I wouldn’t say my title reign was a rousing success. What is was, what it still is, is one hell of a motivator.”

“Did you ever think that when you got everything, that things would change? Of course you haven’t because you don’t have everything you want. Let me tell you, those old records sound different. They don’t play the same. I know this because I’ve gotten everything I want in life. Everything sounds sweeter, tastes sweeter, and quite frankly is sweeter. There is one teensy, tiny little thing I haven’t done since then. That is to win a World Championship. I imagine now that would be even sweeter.”

‘Of course it would be sweeter,’ I think to myself. ‘I’d get to share it with Kyra, Adina and Chloe.’

“Yes, I know that I lost my last match coming into the show. Goth is a hell of an athlete and he was the better man that night. For some people, this might be a setback. For some people, defeat can completely halt their momentum. Then, there are wrestlers who can taste defeat and still not lose their momentum at a time when other wrestlers would simply wilt and lose all of their confidence over one mistake. Guess what, Tamagotchi? I am not some people. I am not you. I am “Godly” Ken Davison. Why am I so different from so many other wrestlers? It comes down to one word: fear.”

She holds the camera steady, but I see the questioning look on Kyra’s face. She knows me as a man who is afraid of very little, sometimes to my own detriment. I look at her and wink, assuring her that everything is okay.

“You see, most people are afraid of failure. Back at the Davison Elite Wrestling Academy is that as an elite athlete, you should always want to win, but don’t fear losing. You should hate losing, but you should never fear it. I mean, there is a subtle difference between fear and hate. Essentially, there are really only two kinds of fear. The first of which is a fear of physical harm. I feel like most people in this business very rarely take this into account because we are so used to being punched, slammed, dropped and suplexed all over the place on a nightly basis. What gets most of us is the second fear. That is the fear of our emotions.”

I pause, knowing that people are going to take a moment to question where I am coming from. Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it. NOW!

“You heard me, emotions. There is no other fear. I teach my students not to be afraid. You have to embrace your emotions, even fear, as they are nothing more than chemical releases into your brain. The other thing I teach them is feelings will linger, but like physical pain, can and will go away.  When you aren’t afraid of emotions and you learn to master them instead of running or hiding from them, then you truly become fearless. Nobody can touch you.”

“That is why I so easily bounce back from defeat. I am not afraid of my difficult emotions. I have been through the emotional wringer in my life and have achieved a mental toughness that has allowed me to control my emotions and use those emotions to turn a loss into a catalyst. Where I am different from each and every other opponent you have ever faced, is that my losses  actually DO define who I am. Think about those times I have lost here in Sin City Wrestling. When I lost to Jack Washington, I came back and defeated Austin James Mercer. When Mark Cross won the King for a Day contract, I knocked off my next two opponents, including Cross himself. Now that I’ve lost my last match to Goth, well, let’s see what the Magic 8-Ball says.”

For effect, I put my hands in front of me and shake them vigorously. Giving the imagination the image of there being an actual 8 Ball.

“I can see you sitting, asking “Will I beat “Godly” Ken Davison?” I pause, looking down at the non-existent 8-ball. “Outlook not so good.” Let’s try phrasing that a little differently. “Is “Godly” Ken Davison a better wrestler than me?” I shake my hands again, looking at the camera with a look of feigned shock. “As I see it, yes.” This is fun, let's ask it one more question. Shall we? “Am I going to submit to the Hands of God?”

I inhale sharply, making a point to wince in as exaggerated a manner as possible.

“Outlook not so good.” That’s rough, bud. That’s really, really, rough.”

I ‘throw’ the imaginary 8-ball over my shoulder, destroying the little bit of an illusion I had hopefully created.

“The point is that athletes who are afraid to fail are ultimately afraid to feel such emotions as embarrassment or inadequacy. I was that guy. I was that guy for a quarter of a century. I was afraid to feel But what are those emotions anyway? They are something that you may struggle with, but you can control them and learn to use them the way I have. You see, the difference between myself and the wrestler who gets crushed by it is nothing more than a story in our heads. We are all story-tellers. We create the narrative and the story we make up about any event is what determines the emotion we are going to feel. After all, perception is reality.”

“That is why I will excel while you will fail. You seem to be just happy to have gotten booked for this cruise. I am not just happy to be here, though I will admit to enjoying the benefits that come with it. I won’t be happy until I put you down. It is as simple as that. You stand between myself and my goal and I know how much harder I will have to fight to get what I want if I allow  you to win.”

For some reason, I decided to make a motion like I am cleaning dirt from the beach off of my hands. Maybe it’s because I just want to be rid of him. Then, I remember. I have one last point to make.

“I guess I should explain to you why I call you Tamagotchi when I know full damned well your name is Hitamashii. It’s because I am going to play with you, get bored after about five minutes, and throw you away.”

Kyra cuts the feed and walks over to Ken.

“I gotta say… I love watching you work.”

“And busting my balls,” I say with a smile. Everything she says makes me smile. Sunday night, Mama’s going to get to watch me work and poor Hitamashii is going to be the unfortunate lamb to the slaughter. Again, I can’t help but repeat my thoughts from earlier. She is my love. She is my life. She is my world. She is my everything. She is why I fight.

19
Supercard Archives / Re: "GODLY" KEN DAVISON v HITAMASHII
« on: July 02, 2022, 02:09:29 PM »
The two week break was exactly what Ken Davison needed to get his head on straight. Still, there were things he needed to take care of to be able to move on from his loss to Goth at the last Climax Control, but he and his wife had once again successfully defended the UGWC Cooperative Championships, so things were trending upward. Still, there were things that he needed to address that he wasn’t able to a month ago because he was planning for his wedding. He wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with them, but more so, the things that had happened since that day. At this moment he is sitting across from his friend and former student Alexi Madej.

They are situated inside of an Applebee’s, food and drinks already on the table. Alexi Madej is a mountain of a man. At six foot two, he was taller than average. However, it was his sheer muscle mass that makes him seem intimidating, Truth be told, his image belied his actual demeanor. Alexi was a giant teddy bear to those people who had earned his trust. Through years of training together, Ken had earned that trust.

“Dare are dings going on?” Alexi speaks with his thick Polish accent. “Dees dings, why day bodder you?”

“People don’t listen. They don’t understand me. I’ve leaned on my family because I haven’t had anyone else to talk to. I mean, I’ve got Kyra, sure. But who was I supposed to talk to when it was about Kyra?”

“Dat may be da case. But dare are not people who are dare for you? I was here. Always, brudder.”

Ken looks at Alexi with a look that tells you that he knows the “Polish Predator” was not in a position to be argued with.

“I’m not going to sit here and lie. You’re right.”

“Dat is right.”

“You’re not helping, big guy,” Ken says with a sigh. “The fact is I was so hyper focused on winning the world championship. More than that, I was so focused on shutting up my doubters by any means necessary that I really thought the world was against me.”

“Bzdura! I am dare. Sean is dare. Da Saviors are dare. You have udder people dat are dare dis whole…”

“You’re right. Sean has been there, I’ve apparently leaned on him far too much. He’d never tell me that, but he’s got a wife and kids. I can’t be up his ass all the time. As for Kyra…”

“Yes, Kyra. Dis woman of yours. She is good for you?”

“Too good.”

“Den what is da problem?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up.”

“Bałwan.”

“Did you just call me a moron?”

“Idiot. Same ding.”

“ARSCHGEIGE!”

“Dat is German!” Alexi bellows as both men break out into laughter.

“I needed that.”

“So, enough small talk. Dare is someding on your mind. What is it?”

“Well, it’s like I’m walking a fine line. I know where I want to be and to be honest, the urge to do things the old way is always there.”

“Is it dat hard to not kick someone in balls?”

“Depends… is the ref looking?”

Alexi can only give Ken a look.

“Here’s the thing. I’ve got a daughter at home, two now, in a manner of speaking. Remember Dorian?”

“Da.”

“His kid.”

“I heard about dat. Sad news.”

Ken emphatically taps on the table.

“He said something that really resonated with me, one of the last things he told me. He said ‘Maybe I deserve to be happy!’ I feel that. For the first time in what seems like forever, I feel that. Then, I have to go back on my word. That doesn’t make me happy. I give it my best and lose. That most certainly does not make me happy. I know what I have to do, but I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

“Why is dat?”

“If I’m being blunt, it’s because every time I am given an opportunity, I drop the ball. I’m gunning for the World Champion. I stand up for what is right. I show through my words and my actions that I am a man of my word. I fight until I can’t do that any further. Do you know what I mean?”

“Dat I do, brudder,” Alexi nods solemnly. “Dat I do.”

“Matt Knox and I are two trains heading in different directions. Matt Knox is a liar, a cheat and a coward, yet somehow, he gets rewarded for it. I know I am supposed to let Mac have his shot at Knox, but…”

“But what?”

“But he got a shot and didn’t even make it to the match. I get that’s he’s my brother, but for fuck’s sakes he blew it. Now I have to wait longer? I said I would stand by Mac’s side, no matter what. His side Alexii. I didn’t agree to stand back and watch.”

“Do you dink you lost perspective? My brudder, dis is chrzanić. You have to dink, if dis was your woman, dat be different. Dis is his baddle. Do nudding. Dat is right. Your biddness wit Knox is dat, biddness. Mac’s biddness wit Knox, personal.”

“I guess.”

“NO! You cannot dink like dat. I may not have dings like you do, but I know dat nudding good comes from being like dat. If I was negative, I would not win da Strongman. I would not come to dis great country. I would not have met you. For all da problems dat you have, you always took care of me. Now, I take care of you. Do not go after da Raven. Not yet.”

“You’re a good kid, Alexi. You know what? You’re right. I could have just as easily stayed in the same place Mac is at now. I tell her all the time, but Kyra saved me. She says we saved each other.” Ken smiles as he gushes about Kyra. “I remember back in Carnage, Knox, the idiot that he is, thought he was clever and had the nerve to tell her that I must be a ‘hell of a climber’ because her walls were so high. Thing is, mine were just as high. I didn’t have to climb. I just jumped.”

“So, your balls. Day are in her purse?”

“Dick.”

“Dat, too.”

“It’s a good thing I like you.”

“I want to ask you someding. Mac, he is friend, da?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Den let him do what he needs to do.”

Ken pauses as Alexi nods his head in approval.

“Alexi, I know I have to let him handle it. I really do. I know things are trending in the right direction for me. That’s not going to stop. Losing one match is a set back, but not the end of the world. My business needs to be handling what’s in front of me, which means taking on Tamagachi or whatever the fuck his name is. If I want to get be World Champion here, like I have been in other places, if I want to be at that level again, I am going to have to scratch and claw even harder than I did before/ I’m going to do what’s best for myself and my family. Which, yes, means letting my brother handle his business.”

Alexi stands up and Ken stands to meet him, Both men push their chairs in and Alexi walks around and clasps his giant hand on Ken’s shoulder.

“You got a good ding, man. Just remember, grass is not greener on da udder side. Grass is greener where you water it.”

“You know fortune cookies aren’t Polish.”

“Dis one is.”

Ken and Alexi say their goodbyes as the two pay their respective bills and leave the restaurant. Alexi was right, Ken had to focus on one thing and that was Hitamashii.



“Godly” Ken Davison stands in front of the camera wearing a black suit, white shirt and an orange tie. In front of him, there are few scattered children sitting at the desk, very little care of their faces, as you would expect for a student in summer school. He looks every bit the part of the teacher he is currently posing to be. Behind him, is a whiteboard, currently blank. He takes a sip of water from a bottle on the podium before turning his attention to the camera.

“Henry Ford once said “Obstacles are those frightful things you see when we take your eyes off your goals.” Everyone is different, but we all have obstacles. We need to never give up, but instead stay focused on the journey and direction to keep on going. A variety of general early childhood texts reveal nothing is impossible, obstacles are just opportunities.”

“From the book, Where The Sidewalk Ends, Shel Silverstein’s short poem, “Listen to the Mustn’ts,” majority of the text is about limitation, but at the end of the poem with an empathetic whisper it expresses how possibilities are endless. In the beginning of the poem, “Listen to the Mustn’ts,” Silverstein explores the restrictions that are depicted in our world:”


Davison turns around and spins the whiteboard over, revealing the poem on it.

Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES


“The uppercase words are vitally important at the beginning of this poem, conveying the idea of how numerous limitations are expressed throughout everyday life. As the poem continues, Silverstein finishes the poem by writing, “Then listen close to me- / Anything can happen, child, / ANYTHING can be”. The ending of the poem overpowers the beginning by the confident whisper. The speaker of this poem is someone who speaks from experience. The significance of the speaker and the words used suggest how to see opportunity where others see obstacles. This poem, “Listen to the Mustn’ts,” supports the idea that anything can happen; obstacles are not a reason to give up just a chance for something else. So, Tamagotchi, there is hope for you.”

Davison takes another sip of his water then turns and back to the whiteboard, pushing it over to reveal the cover of a children’s book with a pink owl and unusually large eyes.

“Furthermore, in the children’s book, in the early childhood chapter book, Owl Diaries: Eva’s Treetop Festival, by Rebecca Elliot Eva is about an owl who just wants to throw a successful Bloomtastic Festival for her class. Tamagotchi, I know this is a chapter book, but I’m fairly certain it’s on your reading level.”

Davison smirks, knowing he is repeating himself while talking down to Hitamashii. Admittedly, he felt confident going into the match, but he had also felt confident going into his matches against Jack Washington, Ben Jordan, and most recently, Goth. He needs to leave little doubt as to who was the superior in this match. Winning the mental match prior to the physical one always makes life easier.

“So, students, the point here is that Eva has different hurdles she has to overcome throughout the story, but in the end all of her hard work pays off. After Eva’s teacher, Miss Featherbottom, liked her idea about the festival. Eva goes to tell her best friend, Lucy, about her excitement and worries. Eva is at a loss for where she will start and how to get everything done in time. Lucy tells her to, “Make a to-do list. Then you’ll know what you need to get done”. Instead of looking at this as a problem, the author is showing how there are solutions because nothing is impossible. Throughout the story, Eva has challenges with one of her classmates, Sue. As Eva is presenting her idea to the class, Sue chimes in, “What are YOU in charge, Eva? Who made you festival queen?” Still most of us are more composed than a small child.”

“As a result of this, Eva finishes up her thoughts, nervously, with her class. She just wishes Sue would mind her own business. Now that is something we all feel when you speak, Tamagotchi. We all wish you would shut up and mind your own business. We also know that you are simply incapable of doing so. But that’s not the point. No. No. No.” Davison says as he wags his finger. “As the story continues on, Eva realizes all of this work is entirely a lot to take on alone; she is not sure how she will get it done until the next day. So Eva is thinking of what to do and then she remembers what Miss Featherbottom had said. Share the work!” Eva did just what Miss Featherbottom had suggested. What I’d like you to do is realize that you are more than likely going to have to call in some reinforcements at some point if you truly desire to defeat me."


Davison wipes all of the information off the whiteboard.

“I apologize. I keep getting sidetracked. The message that I am trying to convey here is when obstacles arise, you need to find a way to solve it, and sometimes solving the issue does not mean doing it alone. Eva asking her classmates for help meant she needed Sue’s help on the fashion runway, At the end of the festival, all of Eva’s determined work was a success. Not everything in life will be easy, but in the end the focus with be worth it. The Bloomtastic Festival symbolizes achievement is possible. Rebecca Elliot uses the story to demonstrate that focus is essential in achieving goals, since nothing is impossible. However, like I’ve said you cannot do this alone. That is what I did when I was set to face Goth. That is what I did when I questioned every morale fiber in my body.  That is what I did when I lost my Internet Championship to Jack Washington. Look in the mirror Tamagotchi. You lack the skills. You lack the ability. You do not have the fortitude to do what must be done to defeat me because you are not the man that I am.”

Davison pauses, taking a moment to compose himself as he had slowly worked himself up, even managing to pull the attention of a few of the students from their phones.

“Looking into the fairytale, “Snow White,” by Brothers Grimm, it’s about the beautiful Snow White herself. Snow White is on a continual run from her stepmother, the Queen, who is full of hatred towards Snow White. The Queen envied Snow White for her beauty; so it became her mission to do everything she could to kill Snow White. Unlike you, I have toiled against the most prolific wrestlers that this company has to offer, former World Champions, future Hall of Famers, promising young talents… II have been placed against the company’s top stars:.. and yourself.”

Davison calmly reaches over and takes his water bottle and finishes it off. He nonchalantly throws the bottle which makes an audible clang as it lands inside an empty trash can.

“Yet again, I digress. Now, in the fairy tale, when the Evil Queen could not vanquish Snow White on her own, she ordered the huntsman to bring her Snow White’s heart. The huntsman obeyed orders from the Queen to go kill Snow White… but Snow White, she began weeping and pleading with him. ‘Alas, dear huntsman, spare my life. I promise to run into the woods and never return’.” Snow White knew she was about to die, so she chose to try to beg the huntsman to keep her alive. Now, obviously I’m not Snow White, and I am not going to grovel to anyone. However, Snow White did something that I would do. She took this horrible situation and found a solution. Each and every set back I have had in my career, I have used to motivate myself, to make myself better, to put myself in a position that I am better off than I was before.”

“The point I am making here is that there is always a way. These early childhood texts all portray messages that nothing is impossible, obstacles appear to be opportunities. This theme is consistently demonstrated in these stories. It is apparent how these readings suggest that even young children can see opportunities. Unfortunately, as adults we may only see the obstacles without the view or perspective. Children they have yet to be poisoned, to be tainted by the sting of cynicism. They have a determination and outlook of persevering, nothing appears impossible in their perspective. Though it pains me to admit it, Matt Knoxi found a way. If nothing else, he is the most stubborn man on our roster. I respect that. There is no greater proof than that example. However, Matt Knox will have his day and come Summer eXXXtreme, Tamagotchi, you will, too.”


Davison looks towards the camera with a smoldering intensity as the scene fades to black.

20
Climax Control Archives / Keep Your Friends Close...
« on: June 24, 2022, 11:57:16 PM »
Author's note: Goth and I did the portion of the segment where Ken and Goth are talking together, each from our own perspective.

“God, this sucks,” Ken says aloud to no one in particular. Waking up in a strange hotel is never fun, especially not when you’re in scenic Scottsdale, Arizona and your new wife is 1,996 miles away in Baltimore, Maryland, not that he had looked it up or anything. He immediately rolls over and texts Kyra a simple “First thought when I rise.” It was his way of saying “Good morning.”

Ken rolls out of bed, wearing an old t-shirt emblazoned with the likenesses of his friends The Shadow, Ataxia, Mia Rayne, and the recently departed Dorian Hawkhurst, known during their time together as “The Forsaken.” Dorian’s death had created quite the adjustment for the Davison family. In fact, Chloe Hawkhurst was in the process of moving to their house from Philadelphia at that exact moment. Ken felt like he should be home, but catching an early morning flight the day of his match with Goth left too much room for error. Besides, he had made arrangements to meet up with his friend and stablemate for breakfast.

He stumbles into the bathroom to begin getting ready, taking a moment to check the time, something that he forgets about upson seeing that as Kyra has answered his text.
A Cheshire cat smile crosses his face. He grins so wide that his toothbrush falls out of his mouth and onto the floor. When he got home, they planned to continue trying to conceive, but that’s a story you’d find on a [b[much[/b] different website.

“Damnit!” he blurts out and he reaches down and picks up the toothbrush, disposing of it in the wastebasket under the sink. “Guess I’ll have to remember to buy another one later.”

He spits into the sink and rinses his mouth, changing to go meet with the Gothic One. He begins to gather his things, grabbing his wallet, key and phone. A ding goes off and he looks down, peering upon a message from what seems to be a Pennsylvania area code. ‘215-555-6464. Don’t know that one,’ he thinks to himself. Still something compels him to open the message.

“hey. its chloe. thanx again for lettin me stay wit u. should b there in a couple hours. kyra knows. good luck with your match. see u when ur home.”

Ken shoves his phone in his pocket and smiles. He was glad that they had expanded their family, even if it wasn’t in the traditional way. There had been a lot of positives and a lot of negatives in the last three and a half weeks. Now, it was time to find out if his upcoming match with Goth would be a positive or a negative.
The 3rd Avenue Grille at Scottsdale Marriott Old Town wasn’t particularly fancy. What it is, for Ken Davison at least, is convenient. It’s standard restaurant faire, brown oak tables coated with urethane to protect the wood, fake marble countertops, and between the two different styles of chairs, the first being a beige with these hideous darker brown circular patterns, the other being an odd mix of colors that looks like the unholy mixture of mustard and asparagus. Whoever was in charge of the decor was very much overpaid. Still, the place was decent enough. The food was reasonably priced and Ken was staying in the hotel the restaurant is attached to. Wearing black jeans and an orange polo, he made sure to wear something that would make him easy to find without being too obnoxiously loud.

It was in these moments that Ken hated being away from Kyra and Adina… and now, Chloe Hawkhurst who has moved in with the family following her father’s passing. They had spent the day together, the four of them, before Ken and Kyra offered Chloe a place in their home. Chloe and her now deceased father, Dorian, were long time friends and students of Ken’s. For perspective, the Hawkhurst’s made their in ring debuts when Chloe was a mere nine years old. Mind you, Chloe was only allowed to serve as a manager because no company in their right mind would allow a nine year old to wrestle? That was ten years ago. Now nineteen, with no one else left in the world, Chloe Hawkhurst had decided to accept their offer to join the Davison household. In fact, she should be in the process of settling in as we speak.

Nursing his coffee, he sits looking down at his phone, catching up on the latest comings and goings in the world while he waits. Goth and Lady Melissa see Ken already sitting at one of the tables.  Ken stands up and offers Goth and Melissa his hand.

“Good to see you, big man.”

Goth nods his head in approval before extending his hand towards Ken and shakes it. Ken makes sure to take note of the strength of Goth's grip. Those hands could be trying to bend him in half later.

“Good to see you Ken, I brought Melissa with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course. If it wasn’t our week with Adina I probably would have brought Kyra along. It’s the whole newlywed thing, I suppose. I’ve been trying to get her to come over here since I joined up.”

Goth nods his head, looking over at his fiance as he softly squeezes her hand before they decide to sit down across Ken. As if he wasn't missing Kyra enough as it was, seeing their two lovebirds hand in hand made him miss her more. The touch of her skin, the smell of her perfume, all of that disappeared as Goth's voice snapped Ken back to reality.

“I hope we will get the opportunity to meet the lucky lady, I think Melissa would love to get to know her better. Seeing us men are still dominating the Saviors”

He chuckles as Melissa gives him a fake scowl. Kyra probably would have shoved an elbow into his ribs. Guess there was some silver lining to her absence.

“It’s a good thing. We’re still celebrating because her sister just won the World Title over in UGWC where we are the Cooperative Champs together. With all this shit going on with Knox and Masque, we needed a bit of good news.”

Ken’s expression sits somewhere between his recent joy but the concern for Amber.

“Sorry,” Ken says with a certain softness in his tone. “Didn’t mean to lean right into the heavy stuff. It’s just been… I don’t know, man. Mac’s been a brother to me for almost 20 years. Even if Amber still wanted me to turn into a chalk outline, I couldn’t just stand back and watch this happen. But, what am I doing? Sitting here and watching it happen because I’ve been told that the next time I put my hands on one of the female talents, I’m done.”

Ken kind of looks away, not sure if bringing that up was a breech of etiquette or not. Goth nods his head in agreement, he stares at Ken for a moment or two before letting out a sigh of his own.

“I understand where you are coming from Ken, even though I know you all just for over 6 months now. I can tell that we are a unit, a family of sorts. And in past federations I have been in the ring with some of the toughest women out there, if someone would have done to Melissa what Masque did to Amber…. I…”

His words trail off for a moment, staring at the beautiful young woman that has an expression on her face that nobody will harm her without a butt kicking. The similarities between Goth and Melissa and Kyra and herself were almost scary.

“But the important thing is that we have each other’s backs, nobody is going to mess with us and will live to tell the tale.”

Melissa joins in, offering her support.

“And if Kat doesn’t finish the job this week against Masque? Well I will gladly take my chance in doing so”

“There is definitely a line forming, that’s for sure. Besides, I’ve got a little surprise in store for Masque myself. I’m still working out all the details, but I think Masque underestimated exactly how many friends Amber has.”

“I am sure that everything will come to be as it was meant to be, Ken,” Goth says as he grabs the menu and looks to make an order. “But perhaps we should order something before we go and dwell deeper into Savior’s business”

“I think that is an excellent idea.”

The Saviors triumvirate disengage for a moment while they are looking over the menu.

“I think I will order the Southwest Omelette." Says Goth before turning his attention to Melissa.

“I'll go for the Arugula Salad, myself.”

Goth turns his attention to Ken, who looks up from his menu.

“Egg White Veggie Frittata for me. Not my first choice, but the doctor’s been getting on me about my numbers.”

“I am glad we got this opportunity to talk about where we should go next Ken, knowing that Mac is not able to be our leader right now. And also the mere fact that we are somehow booked in a match together this week, makes things rather…. Interesting wouldn’t you agree?”

Ken noticeably scowls.

“Pardon the language, but it’s complete and total horse shit. They have seen me standing in the ring, night after night, talking about how the Saviors don’t work the Saviors. It is a complete and total slap in the face from the office. Probably retribution from that whole Amber Ryan incident.”

Goth sits back, places his hands in front of his face and stares at Ken who waits expectantly for a response.

“What has surprised me the most is that you have made it very clear that you wanted the world champion, now I understand that we do not assign matches and decide who we face. But I do agree that putting us in a ring together as opponents makes no sense. Merely the fact that we both are seasoned veterans, who do not back down from a fight is the only understandable reason I could come up with why…. But it is still sad…. Forgive me if I prefer to use the lighter tones of logic.”

He gives a half assed smile. Ken is, in that moment, not so jovial.

“As far as I am concerned, if you want the shot at the Internet Championship, it’s yours. I’m not worried about championships right now. The only reason I’m even remotely concerned with the World Championship is because that coward Matt Knox holds it. The only reason, and I am sure the both of you know this, that I haven’t taken Matt Knox and torn him asunder is because I promised Mac I would let him handle this. If there is anything left, if being the operative word, then I will finish the job.”

Ken audibly scoffs.

“Fucking Arschgeige!”

Goth’s expression turns into a scowl as well, knowing what it must be like for Mac as he had to watch his wife get assaulted. Having to deal with Knox and how everyone else has come together. He looks at Melissa and then back at Ken.

“I have unfinished business to deal with our beloved Internet champion. I don’t mind losing to a better man, but the way he has done so infuriates me. To the level that I had send Kris his brother packing, hoping that the kid that wanted to live his brother’s dream will never come back again to pull that stunt on me again. So at least I thank you for allowing me to have that opportunity, but at least I do hope that seeing that we are booked to fight…. That at least we will make the world watch us compete as men with respect for each other.”

Ken shrugs. “I mean, if that’s what you want. We are, if nothing else, professionals. I just have to be honest here, I feel like I am going back on my word if I do.”

Goth stares at him, knowing what it means to go back on your own word.

“Forgive me if I made you feel that way by asking you to do so, perhaps we should try something that would benefit both of us??”

“If you’re okay with this, then I’m okay with this. Besides, it will be nice to have a match where I don’t have to worry about watching my back. Should someone be stupid enough to try and get in Saviors business, that’s their funeral.”

“I give you my word that you will not have to worry about me or Melissa, she will be a spectator. And indeed IF someone dares to interfere…. We will show the world what the Saviors are truly capable off by handling their own business.”

He smiles at Ken

“So I suggest we will have a classic match this Sunday, before we turn our attention to the job at hand.”

“Then that, sir, is exactly what we will do.” Ken takes a quick sip of his coffee. “But, first, breakfast.”

The waitress comes over and the group begins ordering food, getting to know each other in a less professional manner. This could be dangerous. As it says in Marui Puzo’s ”The Godfather”, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
”Godly” Ken Davison in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. The sun hangs low, descending on the horizon, glowing like a supernova in the skyline. The peaks of the Sierra San Pedro Martir and Laguna Mountains block the sun's rays, while at the same time providing one hell of a view. The sun is so bright, in fact, that the cactus almost appear to be prickly silhouettes and not actual vegetation.

’I really wish Kyra was here,’ he thinks while getting himself in position to film. He had really wanted to wear his robes, but even at sundown, the desert heat would simply not allow it. So, there he stood in dark blue denim shorts and the Forsaken t-shirt he was wearing in the morning. He takes a moment to put his hand on the cactus. He feels nothing, the side effect of the nerve damage incurred when he was crucified. In hindsight, Ken probably should have made better career decisions. But, here he was, hand on a cactus in the middle of the Arizona desert for no reason other than he couldn’t think of anywhere more appropriate to film his promo.

“The men in the Sin City Wrestling office have put me in a very peculiar position. Week after week after week after week I have sat here and told the world that Saviors don't work Saviors. This week I have been scheduled to compete against my stablemate, my friend, my brother, the Gothic One.”

Ken takes a deep breath in and lets what feels like a deeper sigh out.

“Obviously, someone wants to make a liar out of me. That's all well and good, because I have seen people try to make their entire careers by doing that. In this case, it's not an opponent that is trying to make me look bad, but that doesn’t bother me, either. What bothers me is that I have been put in a position to go back on my word when I have made my career, my reputation by telling people the truth. So, what I am going to do is what I have always done and that is to continue to tell you the truth. That is because I am a man of integrity.”

“When you go through your career calling yourself “Godly”, it is important, dare I say imperative, to familiarize yourself with all sorts of holy texts. You never know when someone will try to take words from those texts and twist them to use them against you. In this particular case, I stumbled across a verse in the Mormon book of Doctrine and Covenants. In chapter 124, verse 15 of the book says “Blessed is my servant Hyrum Smith; for I, the Lord, love him because of the integrity of his heart, and because he loveth that which is right.”  While I do not remember the exact context of the verse, I do remember reading that and thinking and thinking that that is the most extreme praise, to hold somebody in such high esteem. I know I like to use the phrase
“That's who I am as a person,”  but this, this is who I want to be as a person. This is who I try to be as a person. This is why I went to Goth himself to have a conversation. This is why I talked to my opponent before my match with him. Granted, he is extended a certain amount of respect because of who he is in my life. That does not change how I am approaching this match. The only thing it changes is how I am approaching my opponent.”


Ken removes his hand from the cactus, not feeling the glochidia on the way out, either. He looks down and removes the couple that remain in his hand as he continues speaking.

“Perhaps that is why I felt so impassioned to talk about integrity today. Simply talk about good, old fashioned, personal, and professional integrity. Integrity to me means being a man of your word. It means doing what is right, regardless of the consequence. It means that when you talk the talk you must follow it by walking the walk. Words mean nothing when there is no follow through with your actions. Jack Washington, if I were not heading him off at the pass by saying this,  I know the first words out of his mouth would be questioning my integrity. I said I was going to defeat him for my Internet championship, and I failed to do so. That was most certainly not a breach of integrity. I fully intended to be a man of my word and unfortunately I was not able to do that.”

“Another aspect of integrity is honesty. It's not just being honest with other people come up but also being honest with yourself. I can be honest and I can admit that I was not good enough to retain my championship that night. After that setback, I told everybody I was going to show my worthiness. I was going to show that I deserved my spot on the Sin City wrestling roster. I feel that since that moment I have done exactly that. The fact that I have not lost a one on one matchup since that night tells you everything you need to know, especially considering the quality of my opposition.”


Ken kneels down, placing his hand on the desert sand, taking a measure of the temperature on his fingertips.

“Under normal circumstances, I would sit here and try to hype up the conflict between myself and my opponent. In this instance, I simply cannot do that, part of that whole honesty thing I was preaching about.  Speaking about the quality of my opposition, Goth is going to be my toughest opponent to date… And he will be my opponent.”

“I realized earlier in the day when I was speaking with him that part of maintaining your integrity is keeping your word. I know what I said about not working against my fellow saviors. I'll be clear that it was never my intent. Be that as it may, if I were to refuse this match, if I refused to wrestle the Gothic one, it would belie my professional integrity. Above all else, I am a professional wrestler. This is my vocation. This is what I do for a living. This is why I am paid. This is how I provide for my family. That means that I have to fight Goth. It does not mean that I have to hurt him. That I have to play with his mind and get into his head. It means that I need to face him, as a gentleman, as a man of my word. Having spoken with him, we both realize that this is something that we have to do. For the sake of our careers, we are going to do this. That isn't to say that there's not some hesitation. We have both been at this a long time. We have seen how a match such as this can tear friendship's apart. It is a proverbial minefield, but one we are ready to step through.”


Ken stands back up, wiping his hands off on the legs of his shorts.

“Goth, I know we talked about having a wrestling classic that would be talked about for the ages. That would honestly be an amazing thing to have happened, but that's not why I'm taking this match. I have my eyes set on Matt Knox. I do not care about getting another shot at the Internet championship. I know you have unfinished business with Jack Washington, so when or lose, I want you to have that match with Jack Washington. What is the most important thing for myself, the thing I want most in this match, is to defeat you so I can continue building my momentum. It's not what we discussed, but it is what I have to do. I don't want to beat you, I want to go through you. I don't want to do this to cause you any harm. I want to do this because I want to erase any and all doubts about what I am capable of. Period.”

“I recognize the threat that you pose to my winning streak. You are one of the biggest, strongest, most experienced veterans we have on this roster. I do not expect that I will be able to outsmart you. What I expect to do is something I have done time and time again, and that is beat impossible odds.”


Ken stops dead in his tracks, placing his hand over his heart and looking down at his chest. The look on his face tells us this isn’t going to be one of his witty setups, but that there is something serious going through his head.

“May 19, 2019. I was walking down the street, playing Pokemon GO. I remember the day very clearly because it was community day and a shiny torchic had just appeared on my screen. I was walking with my daughter Chloe. Everything went white. There was no chest pain. There was no sharp shooting pain going down my arm. The lights just went out. I came to about 30 seconds later. Chloe was sitting there, grabbing my phone so she could call 911. I foolishly told her not to do it, because I did not understand exactly what happened. The restaurant that I passed out in front of to get me a glass of water, took some time to drink it and when I felt like I had my bearings enough, we simply walked home. I went to the doctor because I fell and hit my head on a brick wall when I passed out. Sure as shit, I was diagnosed with another concussion.”

“I wish I could say that was the end of the story, but it was only the beginning. I went a week and a half later for a follow up appointment. During that appointment my blood pressure dropped to 70/50. I was not allowed to leave. They would not even let me leave the room to use the bathroom. A few minutes later I was loaded into an ambulance and brought to the emergency room. That was where we discovered that I had a Widowmaker heart attack. Only 1% of people who suffer from that kind of heart attack survive the fact that I did not go to the hospital until 10 days later means I'm not only should have died from the heart attack itself, but had less than a 1000th of a percent chance of surviving because I didn't go to the hospital. Needless to say, I know a thing or two about impossible odds.”


Ken stops and gives the camera a knowing smile, not one of cockiness, as you would expect. Rather, it was a smile of relief and happiness.

“I understand the necessity of this match. I hope that  I have sufficiently explained my reasoning for accepting this match. I hope that you all understand my motivation for coming at Goth with everything I have. Most importantly, I hope you all understand why I have to do this.  For the first time in a long time I can walk into a match and say it is strictly professional. Win, lose, or draw, I will stand up in the middle of that ring and I will shake Goth's hand, and I will show the world that even when the Saviors do have to work the Saviors, they will not be divided.”

Ken walks over to his phone and turns off the recording, then immediately begins tearing up as he dials the phone. After a couple of rings, Kyra answers.

“Hey, babe.” Ken’s voice is noticeably shaky. A fact that Kyra is quick to pick up on.

“Hey, you.. What’s going on?  Is everything okay?”

“I just wanted to tell you how happy I am that I’m actually around for you and the girls. That’s it.”

““Our family wouldn’t be complete without you.”

“I just got to thinking about the heart attack I had a few years ago and how I was told I should have died and how everything fell in to place and…”

Kyra interrupts Ken who was in the process of creating the world’s longest run on sentence.

“Hey, you’re here.  You’re here and life is good.  No, it’s amazing.  You… God, Ken… I don’t even know what I’d do without you but luckily I don’t have to worry about it because you’re mine, and I’m yours babe.“

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. Just in case.“ Ken’s tone comes up a little bit. “You’re the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I'll be fine.”

“Okay, call me when you get back to the hotel. And, don't forget to pick up a toothbrush.”

“I will. Love you”

“I love you, too.”

Ken hangs up and pushes his phone back into his pocket before walking over to his rented ATV to make his way back.

Pages: [1] 2