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Climax Control Archives / Check The Facts

« on: April 08, 2022, 11:30:44 PM »

Those city lights light up the fight
They shine on all the evil things you do tonight
Don't be ashamed, it's just their way
It's how they live and not the kind of place you stay

March 8, 2022

"You what?"

Joe sat on the edge of the bed they had been occasionally sharing with his head in his hands, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. There was a pain just behind his eyes that threatened to grow larger the longer this conversation went. He had no one to blame but himself and he was pretty sure he knew how this was going to end.

Earlier in the day, when his wife (ex-wife? lover?) went to work, their daughter found the mask. The mask that he had been using to channel all of his inner demons into so he didn't bring it home with him. It was a form of self-medication to go along with the medication he had already been taking.

She found the mask, Joe yelled at her. Something he never did. Something he regretted doing. And in retrospect, the mask was nothing. It meant nothing to anyone but him. He knew that. He knew that to Lizzie, to Stacy, to anyone, it was a simple prop mask. The only deeper meaning came from what he assigned to it before he headed to the ring.

So it really was his fault, and he hated himself for it.

Stacy was home on her lunch, having taken a half-day. Lizzie was at school, having taken the bus. She said she would "tell mom" what happened, but it was more than likely she'd forget. Children tend to have a short memory. But it couldn't happen again. And part of that was making himself accountable and telling her mother himself.

"I yelled at her," he said. His voice was low, not that it mattered. The room was quiet.

"You yelled," Stacy repeated, sounding almost distant. "Can I ask why?"

He motioned to his bag where the ugly mask sat. It stared at Stacy with its blank, expressionless eyes. She raised an eyebrow. It sat there and took her non-verbal accusations willingly. She shook her head.

"So she grabbed the mask," she said.

"I know", he said. He knew how insane everything sounded. It made sense to him and no one else. And that was fine.

"Joe," she started. She had long since developed an uncanny patience for him. "You can't..."

"I know!" he interrupted, popping up to his feet. "I know. It's nuts. Just..."

He stopped himself. He had a healthy panic attack after it happened, especially as he got Lizzie ready for school. She pouted, she refused to talk to him, but she did as she was told and got on the bus. She gave him one last glare before she stepped on, informing him that yes, she would be telling her mother. So he beat her to the punch.

The panic attack had him catastrophizing. He was convinced this would be the inciting incident that caused him to lose everything he had left. His daughter, what was left of his marriage, all of it. It would all come to an end because he raised his voice once. And not only that, it was over something that was so trivial, it shouldn't have.

After a brief bit of disassociation, with Stacy waiting patiently, he returned to the conversation.

"I know it's crazy. I know the mask means nothing."

It didn't, but he knew when to stop himself from adding to the craziness of a situation.

She sighed. He could see the tension in her face and neck, so he expect some yelling on her end.

"You didn't," she started. She bit her lip, thought for a moment, then pursued the thought that had escaped her. "You didn't hit her, did you?"

A flash of fury shot across Joe's eyes, but he didn't let her see it. He handled himself better, let the moment pass, then took a breath.

"No," he said. "I would never."

"I didn't think so," she added. She then laid a hand on his shoulder. "I know you wouldn't, but when you get like you do, you sometimes scare me. You've done an amazing job keeping that anger hidden from Lizzie, and I love how hard you work at it. So I knew you wouldn't...but I had to ask. And I think you knew that."

Joe shrugged his shoulders. He knew a 'but' was coming. It was just a matter of when.

"Yeah. I appreciate you softening the blow," he said. He didn't. He wanted to get to the consequences right away.

"You know you shouldn't have yelled," she added, with the conclusion he already came to himself. "Especially over something that silly. Just don't do it again, babe."

Joe sat back down and looked up at her. He was confused and she could tell.

"What exactly do you expect me to say?" she asked.

"Honestly?" he asked in response. She nodded. "I thought you were going to scream at me."

An involuntary laugh escaped her throat and she reached up with one hand to cover her mouth. "For what?"

"I don't know, yelling at our kid? Scaring her?"

Stacy shook her head, grinning in spite of the situation. It was serious, and she wasn't making fun of him, but she was a full-time mother and he was a part-time father trying to get more hours. She clearly knew the score.

"Joe, I'll break it to you. You are not the first parent to yell at the kid. You're not even the first parent to yell at OUR kid. Let me guess, she pouted, stamped her feet and gave you the silent treatment?"

Joe rubbed the back of his head, the tension in his own neck starting to lessen. "Yeah, all of that."

"I bet she was sassy, too."

"Just like her mother," he said, a glimmer of smile forming.

"She doesn't like being told no," Stacy said, before sitting next to him. "Anything else?"

He thought for a moment. Every bit of it really did seem like a child's reaction to being told no, even if the way he did it was totally inappropriate. Except...one thing.

"She did hit me before she stormed out," he noted. The strike barely registered as anything more than shock at the time, but he then became focused on his own actions and the consequences and forgot all about it. "It didn't hurt, but the fact that she went so quickly to...to..."

Violence

"..to what she did, it threw me for a loop."

Stacy nodded. "I think that's what's really bothering you."

"I think so too," he agreed. "I don't want her to...be like me, I guess."

"Joe," she said quietly. She leaned against him, putting her head on his shoulder. "She was acting out. We'll just have to tell her that hitting is wrong. She should already know that, but...I guess you doing what you do might confuse her."

"Telling her not to hit is one thing," he said. "I just don't want her to...I'm worried of passing this on." He gestured to his head as he did so. That's all he needed to do, as his bipolar disorder, his psychosis, all of it, was more than familiar to both of them.

"You're nuts, I'm six years sober from painkillers. We all have our cross to bear, Joe."

She placed a hand on his knee now, before scooting closer.

"All we can do is the best we can." she finished. She then pulled her head away and looked at him. "You know how I know you love that girl?"

He turned to face her himself. "How's that?"

"You told me. You didn't have to. You might not have before, when you were keeping all of this a secret. But you told me. Even fearing that, what? Might take her away from you?"

Joe gave a small nod, but said nothing.

"You still told me. Because you wanted what was best for her. So that's why I know you'll do better. Because you love her more than anything. And...I love you for it."

She reached up, pulled him down without any resistance, and kissed him on the lips. He didn't feel as though he deserved the affection, but he returned it just the same.

"Now how about we get some food before I have to go back to work?"

Another day in the world of mental illness. He knew what he did wasn't right, and he knew his illness wouldn't be an excuse. An explanation, but not an excuse. And now he'd just have to continue to work at it.

The two got up and left the room. As they did, he gave a quick glance to the mask. To the darkness that was behind the eyes.

The mask stared back knowingly.

This is how to be
This is how to be
This is how to be a human

April 10, 2022

JC found himself inside the SCW ring, just before Climax Control. Deadline for promotional material had long since passed, and he didn't even know if his opponent, Agostino Romano, would even see this prior to their match. But it didn't matter. He had things he wanted to say, to get off his chest. And he didn't want to do it in front of a live crowd.

The truth was, a part of him, Joe, felt shame after his recent loss to Fenris. The rest of him, JC, wanted a rematch. He wanted it so much it made him crazed. He didn't like his own body failing him like that, and he blamed Fenris for it. Fenris accepted the challenge, so he would eventually face his demon.

JC sat against the ring post, with the mask above him, draped over the top turnbuckle, staring downward. Whether it stared at him or his next opponent, no one could say.

"I shouldn't be embarrassed after my loss to Fenris. He is, after all, a former SCW World Champion. His win-loss record speaks for itself. I knew he would be my greatest challenge in SCW and he lived up to the hype. It was a tough battle and yet, I feel like something is missing. I should have been the winner. But as much as I would like to blame Fenris...as much as I would like to crack his skull open for exposing me as weak...I really blame myself."

He glanced up at his audience, his face expressionless but telling.

"I grew too complacent. I wiped out the Troll. I wiped out Austin James Mercer. I took out some other guy whose name I can't even remember. I had forgotten what it was like to lose. And if you aren't cursed with that particular knowledge, you don't fight as fiercely. I truly don't think I gave Fenris my all, because I think part of me thought my victory was a foregone conclusion. I would never take Fenris' win away from him. I can count on one hand the number of men who have choked me out."

He held up a hand as he said this, then lowered it and his face became a scowl.

"But I should have never given him my back to begin with. I'm better than that. There is a version of JC that is better than what you fought, Fenris. And all I need is one more match to show him to you. A JC with nothing to lose is dangerous. A JC fighting not to lose is lethal. So thank you, White Wolf. Thank you for turning over and showing me your belly. Now that I get my rematch, I plan to rip you open."

The scowl remained. He shut his eyes to block out the hateful thoughts, as he needed to focus.

Agostino. Agostino was his opponent. Fenris would have to wait. He absolutely could not track him down backstage and take care of the problem. He wouldn't.

Patience.

"This week, I sadly don't have the White Wolf. I just have a lamb, ready to be slaughtered. The past month or so was my origin story in SCW. The first film in a franchise. The Bogeyman fell once, but he came back for this sequel. Because these days, you gotta have a sequel. We reset. The body count continues but the monster is more powerful, more dangerous. It's such a shame that the comic relief has to go early, but that's the nature of the beast."

JC continued to stare, staring through the object being used to film him and into the very soul of the man he would face in a few hours.

"A fan remarked to me on my social media that I should be insulted for facing a clown like Agostino, but I'm not. If anything, Agostino should be the one that's angry. It's like SCW wants to pad my record before attempting to feed me to Fenris again. Because you may have ability, Agostino, but it hardly matters. SCW could have handed me anyone. There are plenty on this roster that could have given me a fight. Matt Knox. Jack Washington, even Ken Davison's lame ass. But they gave me you. Why?"

He smiled, but there was no humor in it.

"You're expendable. You're someone they can afford to lose, so they're shoving you into the woodchipper. While I can appreciate your talents, can appreciate that you're a three-time Internet Champion, SCW apparently doesn't. Because this company knew the Bogeyman requires a fresh kill. Like the Old Gods, I required a sacrifice to remain sated. I am an angry man, Agostino. And I need to hurt someone. SCW did this, and they offered up you. If I were you, I'd lodge a formal complaint."

At that, Joe chucked to himself, then his face became deadly serious.

"The fun and games are over soon, Agostino. There will be no jokes. There will be no gimmicks. There's just going to be JC beating you within an inch of your life in this very ring. Because that's the way of the world that we live in. I have no time for laughter. I have no use for joy. All I want is your blood. Your pain. I want you to feed me your agony, so The Bogeyman can be resurrected and I can move onto bigger prey."

JC stood up and the viewpoint followed him. He never took his eyes off his audience.

"I commend you for your abilities, Agostino. It's because I know you're good that I plan not to waste any time. I'm going to maim you as soon as possible. I may not be "beast of the cage", or whatever the monkeys at SCW's website called me, but I am a beast. And thanks to Fenris, I'm an altered beast that's going to eat you alive. I commend you for being someone that I shouldn't take lightly. Trust me when I say I don't. I'm giving you all the attention you deserve but none of the attention you want. When you have JC's attention, there's only one thing left for him to do."

He smirked. He had developed his own catchphrase and even he was surprised at how easily he came to it yet again.

"JC kills."

JC walked out of the view of the whoever was watching, and the mask was now front and center. Suddenly, JC's arm reached into frame and pulled it away, as the owner left to prepare for his next match.

Supercard Archives / Re: FENRIS v JC

« on: March 18, 2022, 11:59:07 PM »

I'm falling down the spiral, destination unknown
Double-crossed messenger, all alone
Can't get no connection, can't get through, where are you

March 8, 1991

The clock would not stop ticking.

The tall, lanky teenager, who had lost so much in the months prior, sat in this small, tucked away room waiting to find the right words to tell this stranger. But all he could focus on was the clock.

Tick, tick, tick. It would not stop ticking. It wasn't rational to be mad at the clock for doing its job, but somehow each tick seemed louder than the last in the overwhelming sadness. Why wouldn't the woman in front of him say anything? Wasn't she meant to help? Why was all the pressure on him to get the words out?

For newly sixteen-year-old Joe, this was the most pressing question. The only concrete idea he was able to latch onto in the swirling tornado of half-thoughts speeding around his mind. The silence. The uncomfortable lack of talking. The ticking.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Do you know why you're here?" The therapist asked. A woman in her late twenties who was new to the office but not new to the profession. At least he assumed so. As for why he was there, he knew exactly why. Because even though he had lost so much of late, there was still the main issue that had to be addressed. The meat and potatoes of what set off this chain of events to begin with. It all came back to one word, one word that would seem to follow him wherever he went.

Violence.

Violence begat pain, which begat death, which begat a funeral, moving to a new city and now a trip to get psychiatric help.

Because that was what happens when you assault someone near the porno section of a mom and pop video store.

"Because I killed my parents," he stated bluntly. Or rather he didn't, but something else. But that something else was a part of him and he would take the blame for what it convinced him to do. It would take him another 24 years to figure out what that thing was, but he didn't know that yet. All he knew was that something spoke up and now he was where he was.

Listening to a clock that wouldn't stop ticking with a woman he didn't want to talk to in a place he didn't want to be.

Tick, tick, tick.

"Well, that's part of it, except it isn't," the woman said. She had given her name but he didn't catch it. He was too busy disassociating. He didn't expect to be here long, however, so her name didn't matter. No teenager wants to talk to an adult about their mental health, especially with the looming threat of being sent away.

No matter what, he had to be allowed to leave her on his own. He would not let his brother get abandoned.

Not after what he took away.

"Joe," she urged. "Look at me."

He didn't. He couldn't. Eye contact had been very hard for him lately. He was ashamed. He simply shook his head.

"Okay, fine. You can when you're ready. But you really need to know that your parents' death was not your fault."

Except it was.

Joe visibly cringed at hearing that voice pop up. The voice that would later be diagnosed as part of his psychosis, but for now was just a thing he heard when under a lot of stress. Talking to a stranger about everything that had happened certainly qualified. Like he could ever feel comfortable with describing a voice in his head to someone that could have him locked away.

She continued uninterrupted, which made sense because the only interruption came inside Joe's head.

"You've been told multiple times you didn't cause it. I know you feel guilt and that's part of why you're here."

He nodded, not because he agreed but because he wanted to move the process along. And he knew why he was there, in spite of his current turmoil.

"You're here because of...how I do put this?" She said aloud. She was clearly being careful with her words, which made her better than other therapists he had seen. Blunt but careful not to invalidate. It was admirable.

Joe was less so.

"Because I broke some jerk's knee," he said quietly.

"Yes," she said. "No one blames you for fighting back from bullying. But it's...the way you did it that your family finds alarming."

Joe scoffed. "What family? It's my batshit insane aunt."

There had been many, many arguments between Joe and his aunt ever since he and his brother Eric had been forced to move there. She definitely blamed him for her sister's death even if she would never come out and say it. After all, saying those exact words around Eric would traumatize him. And there was an unspoken agreement that they would avoid doing anything else to upset his life.

Joe loved his brother above all else.

But the arguments were what they were, and Joe had thoughts of hurting her as well. As his well-being wasn't in danger, he never tried it. Never even entertained it. He pushed the thoughts aside, a practice he would become familiar with over the years.

He found himself lost in thought again, and when he came back, his therapist was in the middle of a sentence.

"...isn't very effective," she concluded. He didn't catch the rest and didn't bother to ask. "So of all the things you could have done, why did you do that?"

"They were bigger than me. I knew his knee was a problem. I wanted to get away. It seemed like the best thing to do at the time."

"You threw your entire body at his knee. You broke his knee. And after that, you kept punching the other one over and over until he wasn't a threat. You can hopefully see why we're concerned."

He couldn't, but that wasn't the point. He protected himself. Maybe he went a little overboard, but they would have done the same.

Except, part of him knew they wouldn't. They'd beat him up, maybe embarrass him, but a black eye or a bloody nose would have been the worst. He gave one a concussion and the other a broken femur. And then his parents in the middle of a cold January evening, racing on icy roads to come collect him from the police.

There was a funeral. There was a transfer of guardianship. There were many restless nights holding his brother as he cried himself to sleep. There were other nights where he himself found a quiet spot to sob until he was too tired to do so anymore.

And now there was therapy, which was the compromise that kept him out of jail. Because at his age, there wouldn't have been juvenile hall. Not for long.

"Joe," she said, snapping him back out of his disassociation again. This time he actively tried to focus on the clock to stay in the moment. Even the annoying ticking from the start of the session was getting drowned out by the voice in his head, the thoughts of guilt and the desire to escape.

"Yeah?"

"I'm trying to understand why you would do that," she replied.

"Because..."

He wondered what answer would be appropriate. 'Because a voice told me to' would almost certainly not be. 'Self-defense' wasn't cutting it. So he decided to lie by omission. Give enough of the truth to satisfy but not enough that he'd be kept from living his life.

"I was just tired," he said bitterly. Too bitter for a teenager. "Guys like me..." he trailed off, letting the words find him since he couldn't find them on his own. "Guys like that, they picked on me. Constantly. I'm the weird one that watches the weird movies. They beat me up a lot. Made school hell. I guess...I guess I just got fed up."

The therapist nodded, but did not validate his actions.

"You are aware what you did was wrong, don't you?"

He nodded. At least that was a thing they could agree on. It didn't feel wrong, but she didn't need to know that.

"It was disproportionate to the situation. They were bullying you and you put them in the hospital. And now you're having all these fights with your aunt, who is trying to..."

He scoffed at that.

"Okay, we won't talk about her right now. But my point Joe, is that level of violence...it suggests a disorder of some kind."

A flash of anxiety overcome him. He felt his skin begin to crawl and a cold feeling in his stomach. Suddenly he felt restless but as he couldn't exactly leave, his leg began to jump. She had figured him out. He hadn't said a word, but she had figured out what was wrong and now he would be sent away. He dug his fingers into his kneecap to attempt to calm the shaking. His fingertips turned white.

"Don't worry," she said, briefly grazing his hand with hers. He looked up at the touch and they made eye contact. He hadn't noticed how kind her face was, especially with the reassuring smile she now gave. The kindness made him even more uncomfortable. He turned away again.

"You clearly feel guilt over what you did. Remorse is a good thing. It means we can figure out these issues together and solve them."

He let out a shaky sigh of relief. So she didn't know exactly what was wrong, just that something was. He breathed in deep and let out another long exhale, shutting his eyes.

"I...I do feel bad about it." He did and he didn't, but right now he grabbed the life preserver she was throwing him. "I mean, they were assholes, but...I shouldn't have done that."

"We don't use that word in here," she scolded.

"Asshole"

She then laughed. "No. Cuss all you want, I don't give a shit."

He glanced up again at hearing an authority figure swear in a professional setting and she winked. She was trying to build a rapport and it was working. He looked back down, his face turning red.

"I meant the word 'should'. You can't change the past. All you can do is work to improve your present and hopefully your future."

The clock kept ticking. This time it was his therapist, whose name he still didn't know, who looked up at it.

"Sadly, I think that's the end of this first session but Joe? I think you did very well. It's not easy to talk to someone you don't know about things like this. So I want to see you again in two weeks. We're going to fix this."

He stood up, took the appointment card without really looking at it and moved as quickly as he could towards the exit. She called out to him before he could get out of the door, and he turned around. For the third time, he made eye contact when he didn't want to.

"Don't worry, Joe. I'm not going to let them lock you away. You're a good kid. We will help you get through this."

He nodded, smiled a little in spite of himself and then, ashamed all over again, quickened his pace as he left the office.

Well the night weighs heavy on his guilty mind
This far from the borderline
When the hitman comes
He knows damn well he has been cheated

March 8, 2022

A lot had happened in the intervening thirty-one years. He had seen been diagnosed with moderate bipolar disorder with psychotic features. A fancy way of saying that the voice he had was a hallucination brought on by what was wrong with him. He actually went a long time without it getting treated which likely made things worse.

This therapist was just the first of several. He stopped going when he got accepted into wrestling school. Then he stopped taking a general antidepressant once his prescription expired. By then, he mostly kept that voice under control on his own, the best he could, with his addiction: wrestling. A sport where he could be as violent as he wanted and even get cheered for it.

That resulted in a career of ruined friendships, destroyed relationships and various injuries. And today was his 46th birthday, a day he had been dreading. He was closer to 60 than 16, and closer to retirement than when he started training. He knew it, his family knew it, and his body definitely knew it.

But at least he was keeping his psychosis under control. Medication, occasional therapy visits and now, this cathartic outlet.

The masked peeked at him from his bag, its black, empty eyes containing all of the negativity and violent desires he bestowed into it. He would need it soon, in SCW, but he didn't need it now. So he zipped up the bag and leaned back in the chair at his desk, knowing that in mere moments, his ex-wife Stacy and his daughter Lizzie would want to celebrate another year of being alive. Eric might even be over later. Perhaps Knox or Trent would text him something annoying.

He had been feeling a sense of dread all day and he couldn't put his finger on why. It wasn't getting older. One year didn't really make a difference and he felt fine. It wasn't nearing the end of his career, not exactly. He hadn't felt he wasted anything and he was, in fact, currently a World champion.

Joe rubbed his hands over his face and then massaged his temples. The door then creaked open and a tiny face looked at him through the crack.

"Are you awake, Daddy?" Lizzie asked, clearly seeing that he was. He was tired, but definitely awake. He gave her a small smile.

"Right here, kiddo. You're up early."

She ran into his open arms, and his keen eye noticed an object of some kind in the pocket of her PJs. He didn't ask. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Daddy!" she cooed. She then reached into her pajamas and pulled out a baggie. Inside...a smashed cupcake. "Whoops," she said.

He noticed a frown beginning to form and quickly snatched the baggie away.

"Alright!" he said, mocking enthusiasm. "It's dessert and breakfast all in one. The pancupcake!"

Lizzie giggled now, and the both of them felt relief. Her birthday gift was one of her own cupcakes that she clearly hid from her mother to give to him. And her dad liked it, even if she might have smashed it while putting it in the pocket.

He was just relieved not to deal with an upset four-year-old on the morning of his birthday.

"You really like it?" she asked.

"Love it," he said. "Love you, kid."

The love Joe had for his daughter was unrivaled by anyone. He would have ended every relationship in his life, and ended several lives in general if it meant she would be happy. A violent way of looking at it, but violence was a part of him. It was one of those things that he and others had to accept.

"Aren't you going to eat it?" she asked again. "It's part-breakfast! You said!"

He sighed a little, but not enough that she would catch on. "Well, I'd love to but...I don't have any milk."

Her eyes lit up, apparently excited about this, and slid off his lap before darting out of the room. He wondered where her mother was, then remembered that she worked during the day and would be back that night. So it was Joe and his daughter, all day. He assumed she was going to get milk. He also assumed he'd be cleaning up puddles of milk as she raced back with it, but that was a situation to handle later.

Before he could think about where the paper towels were, his phone began to ring. He decided to pick it up, against his better judgment.

"Hello?"

"Happy birthday, old geezer," his brother half-sang over the phone. "Happy birthday to you!"

"Oh god, must we make this a thing? I got half of the business telling me I'm old on a daily basis. I don't need the reminder."

Eric, better known as GI before he retired, laughed. "You're only as old as you feel, I've been told."

"In that case, my neck feels sixty and my knees are only a little younger than that. Are you coming over later?"

Joe stood up as he talked, carrying the phone with him to take a peek outside. Somehow, it was snowing. A gift from nature, he guessed. Unbeknownst to him, Lizzie had re-entered the room, but upon seeing him on the phone, she set down her carton of lunch box milk and waited patiently. She waited patiently...for all of a minute. Then she crept over to his bag and decided to be an inquisitive child.

"Yeah, I should be over tonight. I did get you something." Eric said, as the phone conversation continued.

"Of course you did," Joe replied.

Meanwhile, Lizzie unzipped the bag slowly, eager to see what it was her father kept hidden in there. The first thing she saw was actually Joe's PWV World title, but she slowly lifted that up, as best she could, because a face was looking at her from underneath.

"Hell yes I did," Eric said on the phone. It's not every day that your big brother turns...100?"

Joe laughed. "46, assh..." he then realized Lizzie might be in the room. "Actually, I just realized the kid is up too, I should probably cut this short."

"Oh yeah, it's just you two today. Give her a hug for me."

Joe smiled. "I will, bro. Later."

"Love you, Joe. Happy birthday."

"Love you too," Joe replied automatically, before hanging up. He then turned around and what he saw horrified him.

The sight itself was comical. It was a child, no bigger than three or four feet, wearing an adult-sized Halloween mask. She made scary motions with her arms, pretending to be a monster. She growled. But all Joe could see was the mask. The blank, expressionless mask with its black eyes staring back at him.

The mask. The mask he had been using for a side of himself he didn't want her to ever see.

And her it was, mocking him, all that negativity and rage wrapped around his daughter's head.

"TAKE THAT OFF RIGHT NOW!" he bellowed, not even realizing that JC had come out a little in the process. The words shook him just as they shook her. He had never yelled at his daughter before. Not once. And suddenly he had, and it had frightened her. She immediately ripped the mask from her face and and slammed it on the floor.

Lizzie was already in tears.

"I'm...Lizzie, I'm sorry. You just..."

"You AREN'T SUPPOSED TO YELL," she shrieked through tears, before turning to the door to leave. He was faster, and made strides to her. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around, hugging her as gently and lovingly as he could.

"Lizzie, I'm so sorry. Daddy's sorry. I didn't mean to yell. It's just, that mask..."

"It's just a stupid COSTUME," she said. "I was being funny!"

"Yes," he agreed, still hugging and not realizing she was frantically pushing against him. She wanted to run off and he wasn't letting her. "But it's a very...there's something wrong with it and..."

He didn't get a chance to finish. Because at that moment, his four-year-old daughter balled up her tiny fist and put him in the cheek. Before he could even register it, she peeled away and ran down the hallway, likely to her room. "I'M TELLING MOM!" she shrieked again, before disappearing past a turn.

Violence. Her first instinct was violence.

Joe, who had been on his knees hugging his daughter just moments before, let himself fall back to a seated position. He gripped the mask with his hands, now shaking, and stared at it. He had put so much value into this thing, so much of that other side of himself, that it was now this "thing", this "other", and her seeing it was like seeing him as JC.

And when she saw JC, she responded with violence.

The thoughts he was having, all negative, rocked him. Once again, the all-too-familiar tornado of negative thoughts raged in his head. He would have to deal with this immediately, and later. Something wasn't right, and this definitely wasn't right.

Joe sighed and pressed the mask to his face, breathing into it as he tried to calm down. He then pulled his head back and looked at it. The mask said nothing, but somehow mocked him all the same.

"Shit," he said, before throwing the mask at the wall. He then got up to leave the room and console his daughter as best he could. "Happy fucking birthday."

Help I'm steppin' into the twilight zone
Place is a madhouse, feels like being cloned
My beacon's been moved under moon and star
Where am I to go, now that I've gone too far

JC sat in the corner of a dark room inside an arena. It was a wrestling arena like any other, especially these days when wrestling arenas really were like any other. That was the thing about modern times. Everything became uniform. Everything was the same.

In his hands, the mask. The mask that he had decided was his outlet, his way to channel all of the violent urges he'd ever had in his life. Channel them through his job so that he didn't have to deal with them in the rest of his life.

Except those two lives were starting to bleed into each other already.

He let out a deep sigh before looking up at Fenris, who he knew would be watching.

"Submitted for your approval," he said, not trying to imitate Rod Serling but doing so anyway. "The wrestler known as JC. A man known as Joe. A man of two identities, possibly more, who thinks he can handle them both. This journey follows him at two points in his career, when he starts embracing new philosophies. Is Joe wearing JC as a mask, or is JC wearing Joe? The lines between his two selves grows ever thinner and will eventually dissolve...in the Twilight Zone."

A dark smile grew on his lips. One that was completely devoid of humor.

"I want to talk to you, Fenris. White Wolf. Kristjan Baltasarsson. Let's talk about trauma."

His hands grazed over the synthetic hairs at the top of the mask, absentmindedly.

"Trauma is an interesting thing. Because there are traumatic events and then there is actual trauma, that cripples us and prevents us from living our lives. Which is which? Whose to say? I'm not a psychiatrist, and I know that the word itself, without proper context, is as glib as you can get. But here's what I know. I know that you can just as easily give yourself trauma as someone else can. Your own actions can create a chain of events that can alter your worldview and change you fundamentally as a person."

His hands gripped the mask tighter now, squeezing it. His fingers began to go white.

"You see Fenris, I've had trauma in my life. I've been in a coma. I've experienced heartbreak, betrayal, near-insanity. I've beat my own best friend to the brink of death. I let that same friend throw a fireball into the face of my own brother. I've put people in comas. I've ended careers. I've done horrible, unspeakable things all in the grand pursuit of violence. And it was all from one single incident caused by mental illness. It can all be traced back to one cold, winter night in 1991."

JC shook his head, choosing not to divulge much else, as he felt no one would care anyway.

"That night doesn't matter much to you, and honestly, it's not really important to our match. But it's trauma. It was trauma for me. It was trauma for my family. It was trauma for...others involved. And the ways we processed that trauma were different. My brother did so in a healthy way. As for me..."

JC clutched the mask by the hair and held it up so whoever was watching could get a good look at it.

"...I did so in the way that you and I know best. Violence, Fenris. A cycle of it. Violence was inflicted on me, so I inflicted it right back. Not just on those who started it, but everyone else after. I've hurt so many people and done so many awful things. And all I've wanted out of my life is to make amends for those I've wrongly hurt...and find others to hurt even worse. It doesn't stop, this cycle. I created my own trauma and then I force it onto others. The specter of JC will haunt this business long after the body of JC has left it."

JC then tossed the mask down.

"That's the Bogeyman persona. It's all that negativity, that trauma, that hostility, that I created. Either I created on my own or others created it in response to me. I took all of that and put it into this persona. This persona that represents the basest part of me. The most animalistic. The most primal. Here's your fucking window into the soul of this ghoul you face at Blaze of Glory. There is something fundamentally wrong with JC. I enjoy hurting people perhaps a little too much and The Bogeyman allows me to show it."

Another grin, in spite of himself.

"That's what I have to accept at the end of the day. Because I can sit here and tell you that this one incident and this one mental illness are responsible for the carnage I've wrought over the years but we both know that's a lie. I'm responsible for that. I could have broken the wheel of violence before it ever started spinning, and I didn't. Those things that I did, I'll have to live with them for the rest of my life. But before I meet my sure-to-be violent end, I'm going to indulge in a few more violent delights first."

JC stood up now, the eyeline of his audience following him, and he moved closer to glare at those who maybe watching. He wanted them to see his eyes. The eyes of the man who would be bringing that violence to them.

"You kept saying, over and over, that you weren't scared, Fenris. The White Wolf is not afraid. I don't tell you this to make you afraid. As I'll say over and over, I don't give a shit if people are afraid. Fear doesn't get me off, you understand? This isn't some fucking psychological warfare I'm trying to perpetuate on you. The fact that people getting trapped in that always makes them miss the point. I just want to hurt you. And I want to be hurt back in kind. I want the thrill of competition. The symphony of destruction."

JC reached down and picked up the mask again, staring at it instead of his captive audience.

"Because at the end of the day, I know I don't deserve any of this. I don't deserve to be a champion. I don't deserve to be in this business. I didn't deserve to wake up from that coma. The things I did deserve, already happened. My surgically repaired neck. My history of concussions. The people who have their fill of me and leave. I deserve all of that. I deserve to be stopped. I deserve to have my career ended. Someone as awful as me, who has done such awful things as me, doesn't deserve to be unpinned for over a year."

He then, without really thinking about it, slipped the mask over his head.

"Your Internet Champion, Ken Davison, made some snarky comment a few months ago that has stuck with me. Something about not changing. I guess he would know, because he's the same asshole he's always been, just tamer. Except he was wrong. Because things that happened in 2021 changed me to my core. It made me worse. If the name 'Death Wish' hadn't already been taken by someone better, perhaps that would have been what I adopted."

Even though he had a mask over his head, his voice was still booming. Hardly muffled.

"I have been searching for someone to put me out of my misery, but let's face it. I'm just too damn good. Is that conceited? Too egotistical? Who cares? I'm good at what I do. If I was put on this earth to maim other people, then goddamnit, I'm going to maim as many as I can for as long as I am able. That's the Bogeyman. That's this ghoul that haunts Las Vegas. That's what you have to deal with, White Wolf. The time for being humble is over."

Unlike most wearers of the mask, his eyes could also be seen. And they were wide and bloodshot.

"I dare you to come at me, Fenris. Try to put me down. Try to make me taste defeat again. Because other than that one time a bird dropped a brick on my face, I've forgotten. Perhaps I need to be humbled. Perhaps this monster needs to be vanquished for good. But it won't be you. You're great your craft and since you first came on my radar, I wanted to test myself against you. You are a great fighter, Fenris. You will be my greatest test to SCW to date, perhaps ever. But you will be a test that I pass."

He ripped the mask off and stared out, that maniacal grin coming back to haunt his face once again."

"Because while you're good, JC is the best in the world at that he does.

JC Kills."

Climax Control Archives / The Secret of My Success

« on: March 04, 2022, 11:10:38 PM »

Blackened pride still burns inside
This shell of bloody treason
Here's my gun for a barrel of fun
For the love of living death

August 19, 2021

The way we succeed, or don't succeed, depends on a variety of factors in our lives. That's not something people like to be told, but it's true. Society would have a person believe that if they just pull themselves up by their bootstraps, whatever those are, they can do anything they set their minds to.

That's not the way the world works.

In fact, it depends on a variety of factors. Hard work is one thing, but there are plenty of people who work hard and get nowhere. There are others who don't put any work in and thanks to a combination of factors like what opportunities they get, where they were born, etc, they basically fall into success. It's the way of the world.

These are the thoughts that Joe had been pondering late in the summer of 2021. Because he had been working very hard to get himself to the top once again. Just one more time before he finally pulled the trigger on retirement. And that landed him in a coma.

He had since been released from the hospital and announced a semi-retirement. He sat in the Black Horse Tavern & Pub. He seemed to recall coming here once with his father for some reason or another when he was very little. His father used to travel for work, and there was the odd week or two during the summers when he'd take Joe with him.

For the life of him, Joe couldn't recall any other reason he'd have stepped foot in Mendham. Sure, it wasn't that far from his hometown, but just because it's there, doesn't mean one has to go.

Joe felt the same way about a number of offers he was getting to return. OCW. Some place in Seattle that seemed tucked away in its own world. They wanted to make their names off his and he wasn't in much of a fighting mood to let them. Falling through the ring and leaving pints of his blood in Reno took a lot of the fight out of him.

So he found himself in Mendham, trying to stir up old memories as he haphazardly stirred his lukewarm coffee.

At 2 PM in the afternoon, there was no one really to bother him. It was him, some retiree couple in the back and at the other end of the bar, a Japanese man in his fifties or so, who clearly didn't want to be bothered.

Maybe a place like this was where people like that went. Because Joe didn't particularly want to be bothered either, no matter who was constantly dragging his name through the mud. Let them. He'd made his mark.

His cell phone sat open and with the power of the internet, he was watching one of his more recent matches on replay. A match that he, by all rights, would have won had his own body not collapsed on him.

"JC can't walk, and he can't defend himself!" a voice shouted from the screen. Clearly the levelheaded one of whoever was calling it.

Another, older, grumpier voice then replied, "Well it's his own dumbass fault for putting himself in there!"

Joe chuckled. A waitress came up and eased into his line of sight, leaning down to take a gander. Joe didn't mind. It's not like he had anything to hide.

"Oh wow, that's you!" She said. "You're a professional wrestler?"

"Was," Joe corrected her. "Or maybe still am. Not too sure these days."

On the screen, JC throws the champion backward with a half-assed German, only made so by the fact that his legs were half-numb. He was lucky that the pinched nerve had long since been repaired.

"Looks like you were doing well enough," she said, not really interested. She poured some more coffee that he wouldn't drink and walked off to take care of something else.

The Japanese man at the end of the bar huffed. "Terrible performance," the man said. "I was at show. Flawed execution."

Joe raised his head for a moment and cocked an eyebrow.

"Can I help you, sir?"

The man, using this as an invitation, walked up and pointed out what the JC on the screen was doing wrong. That JC was preparing to knock out a man with his boot, before his legs gave out and he got himself pinned.

"This. This wrong," he said, pointing a bony finger at the screen. "No fire. You know better than try to run, with how you feel."

"Yeah," JC agreed. "I know. I knew better than to even take the match, to be honest. But I wanted..."

"To relive glory days? You can't do that as Answer. Answer in past. Past is gone. Only present."

The man, who spoke well enough English for someone that was clearly not born in America, amused Joe more than anything. How did this random person, who just so happened to attend a show he was at, know what to do in wrestling. Or for that matter, think he knew so much of JC that he could tell him how to wrestle?

Whether that match was where everything went wrong was beside the point. JC tried his best, he failed. He tried to win another title. He failed there too. He was making peace with that. Or at least that's what he told himself.

"Yeah, well, every fan has their own opinion," he said, pushing himself out of his seat. He snatched the phone away from the table and stuffed it into his pocket. "Now if you'll excuse me, sir, I'm not in the mood for..."

What happened next is something only a handful of people witnessed and none of them would ever speak of it. Joe wouldn't even know how to describe something like that to anyone that asked. This old, wild-eyed man slapped Joe in the face, as hard as he could. As if he wanted to fight right here in this quaint little restaurant.

Joe could feel his teeth rattle and his ears rang a little. Once the world came back into focus, all he saw was red. A certain dark passenger was echoing inside his head, demanding that Joe take this man's head off for having the audacity to even touch him. Unleash a little of the old ultraviolence, just like he would have in the company that man was clearly a fan of.

"Listen here, you decrepit old FUCK," JC said, putting Joe to the side for the time being. "If you really watched my matches, you'd know what you just did is going to land me in a prison."

JC's eyes narrowed and he felt his skin growing hot. The man, whoever he was, stood resolute. In fact, he hauled back and hit JC even harder. He actually felt his jaw pop, then tasted bitterness as he realized he bit his own tongue. Whoever this was, they wanted a fight. And JC had every intention of killing him right then.

JC would kill.

He would kill indeed.

"You show respect. I am The Killer. Tetsuo Miike. I train Akira Kanemura. I train Hide Yamazaki. They don't admit it, but I did."

Whether or not that was true, JC didn't much care. But...he felt himself calming. Because truth be told, there was part of him that wanted to see what the man's deal was. And if he was dead, he couldn't tell his story.

Stories were apparently all the rage, and something told him this man had a very interesting one.

The waitress returned and cautiously held her cell phone. "I'm so sorry, he never acts like this. I can call the police right now if you..."

Joe returned to his sense and held up a hand. "It's okay," he said. "Just a disagreement between two veterans. Right, Tetsuo?"

The mood was palpable, and it felt like violence could break out at any moment. JC wanted it to, but Joe wanted to get to the bottom of this bizarre series of events. And right now, the wise mind won out. He saw something change in his newfound acquaintances eyes and he turned back to look at the lady, revealing a grin that showed at least one and a half teeth missing.

"So sorry!" he replied. "Bad habit of wrestlers. We go outside."

"Yeah, we'll continue our discussion out there." Joe replied. "I think we've got a lot of catching up to do."

Joe placed a 20 on the counter and then, thinking the situation called for it, another for the waitress having to deal with everything she dealt with.

"Yes," Tetsuo agreed. "We will talk. I will tell you why you kill past, then kill opponents in present."

The killer's breed or the Demon's seed
The glamour, the fortune, the pain
Go to war again, blood is freedom's stain
Don't you pray for my soul anymore?

February 27, 2022

The restaurant incident was months ago and yet still fresh in JC's mind. It was Tetsuo Miike, of course, who JC had been keeping in his back pocket. He had been relying on the man for his apparent expertise. Even now, he wasn't sure if he could trust him or if the story he had been telling him was true. But there was a fascination in their talks and it awakened something in him that led him onto a run no one at his age should have.

Kill the past, so you can kill your opponents in the present.

They were words that JC had been living by in the past six months. Ignoring everything and everyone that had brought him, professionally, to that point. As a result, he hadn't been pinned in over a year. He gave OCW the only noteworthy main event it ever had without ever signing a contract. He ran roughshod over PWV and was doing the same in SCW.

And now, he crept into the deluxe apartment he shared with family, holding the PWV World title.

He would go say hi to Stacy and then go to bed. Hers or his depended on her mood, as they were still figuring things out. But first, he had someone else he wanted to see.

Joe moved down the hallway and peeked into his four-year-old daughter's bedroom, who as he guessed, wasn't asleep at all.

"Why did I know you'd be awake?" He asked, propping the belt up on his shoulder and leaning against the door frame.

"Mommy said you'd be home soon. I wanted to stay awake!" She said, loudly at first, then reducing her volume quickly. There was a quick giggle as she realized she was playing fast and loose with the rules. Not that Joe would have done anything to discipline her. For as battle-scared and monstrous as he was, his offspring had him wrapped around her finger.

"Well Mommy probably told you to go to sleep too," he said. He moved to her beside and kneeled down, and she threw her arms around him. He had only been gone a day or two, as Philadelphia wasn't that far removed from New Jersey. But she always acted like he was gone for longer. He appreciated that about Lizzie. The world could turn its back on him and at least for now, she never would.

She leaned back when she realized he was holding something.

"What's that, Daddy?" she asked.

"Oh, Daddy won this."

He lifted the belt up so she could get a better view. It glimmered in glow of the nightlight.

"Doing the wrestling?" She asked.

"Uh-huh. Want to look at it?"

She yawned. "Not really."

Joe laughed. He had a feeling she wouldn't give a shit. He was right.

"But I'm proud of you for winning it, Daddy. Mommy said you really wanted it."

He smiled warmly. "Thank you, Lizzie. Why don't you go to sleep now?"

She nodded, said something that was half a yawn and half words of affection, then laid her head back down. He brushed her hair away from her eyes and kissed her forehead, then slipped out as quickly as he crept in.

The realization that he had finally achieved something he had been wanting for half a decade had been slowly dawning on him on the way back. Part of him was relieved. Part of him was ecstatic. Another part of him was beginning to wonder what was left.

But he knew what was left. So he went back outside the apartment. Once out on the balcony, he set the phone on the rail and hit record. He didn't have much to say, because what he had to say was going to be short and sweet.

"Austin James Mercer," he said, letting every single syllable of the man's name fall with the appropriate amount of venom he felt it deserved. "I have a question for you. What do deadlines mean to you?"

He was kneeling, cradling his newly won World title. He thought to bring the mask with him but decided against it. There was no need at the moment. The Bogeyman need not come out to play just yet.

"Deadlines can be pretty stressful for a lot of people. Miss a deadline at school, you fail the assignment. Miss a deadline at work, you could lose your job. There's a lot of pressure to succeed within a certain amount of time. Some people wait around until that deadline, then realize they shouldn't have. Some people get their task completed early so they don't have to deal with the pressure."

He stood up now, towering over the vantage point provided by the phone's placement.

"The worst deadlines are those we impose on ourselves. Because as I'm sure you're aware, no one will ever be a harsher critic on us than we are. And by "we", I mean wrestlers. If you show me a wrestler that is completely confident in every single thing they do, I'll show you a goddamn liar. We're a neurotic bunch, but that is the secret to our success. It's what pushes us to do what we do, to strive to be better. It's the reason we're here for competition anyway."

JC was opening up a little more than he would have liked, going back to old speaking styles and perhaps even old personas as he delivered this speech. Killing the past wasn't necessarily easy when it shaped everything you were, which is why it was always a work in progress. Just like JC.

"I put a deadline on myself. I gave myself a certain amount of time to win myself another World title or get myself out of the game. And here I am, the Pro Wrestling Valor World Champion."

He lifted the belt up as he said this, before letting it unfurl from his grasp and slink down to the ground.

"I know, right? 'What's the point?' It's not the SCW belt. It's not the cowboy's belt. And trust me, when the time comes that I'm against that cowboy, I'll turn that old stallion into glue. But I'm making a point here. That point is, what deadlines do I have now that I've achieved my overall goal? Shouldn't the Bogeyman just slip back into the shadows, ending his reign of terror before it really began? Become an urban legend of an entity that might have swallowed SCW whole if not for his own decision to leave?"

JC shook his head.

"No, because see, the deadline is now yours. It's now that of SCW's. You now have a deadline to stop me. There's now a clock ticking away to Doomsday and Austin, believe me when I tell you that we're about two minutes to midnight. You all now have a deadline to prevent yourself from becoming part of the continuing body count. From preventing this devil running roughshod over your roster. Do you get it? The clock is ticking down on you now, Mercer."

His lips curled upward and he showed some teeth in his malicious grin.

"How do you deal with that pressure, Mercer? Because it's now on you to stop me to save SCW. It's on Fenrir. It's on Knox. It's on Davison. Which one of you poor brave heroes will step up to save this godforsaken company from the devil's work? Me, I thrive under pressure. I impose deadlines on myself regularly because I do my best work when I'm facing the firing squad."

Another shake of the head, with a chuckle.

"Don't get it twisted, Austin. You're no stepping stone to Fenrir. No, you're in the best possible position here. You can play spoiler. You can look into the face of the monster and kill its destruction in the womb. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Austin James Mercer, the man who once dethroned the White Wolf...and stopped the Bogeyman's unheard of streak. Everyone's got to lose eventually, even me. You could be that man, Austin. Every single motherfucker on this roster wants to know what have you done lately, and you could be the one that looks, them in the eyes and says, 'You know what I did? I PINNED JC.'"

His speech began to reach a fever pitch. Even he was getting caught up in it.

"Will you? Won't you? Will you? Won't you? Won't you join this dance? Fenrir wants to make me wait. But you won't will you? Will you finally give me the competition I crave? Will you finally be the one in SCW to really unleash the beast? I don't need a stepping stone, Austin. I don't want you to be. What I need, what I crave, is someone who can push my limits. Who can make me better. Who can make me excel under that pressure."

He lowered his head and the grin slipped away. But as he kept talking, it creeped back onto its face in spite of himself.

"So why not you? Why don't you take THAT from the White Wolf too? He wants that trophy so bad he's practically flirting with me on Twitter. Take it from him Austin. Come at me and TAKE my head for your wall. Because if you don't, if you don't come at me with everything you've got, there's only one way this story ends.

JC Kills."

Climax Control Archives / Cinderella Man

« on: February 18, 2022, 10:28:31 PM »

Yeah, you know, technically
I'm not even really supposed to be here right now
So fuck it, might as well make the most of it

August 3, 2021

There's a lot they tell you about the road to recovery. It's hard. It's challenging. It's paved with good intentions. That last one is more related to Hell, but recovery is a lot like that. It's especially difficult when one doesn't have a clear goal in mind for recovering. Because Joe had decided to nullify his contract with the promotion in Reno, and wasn't sure if he'd be coming back to wrestling. So he wasn't sure what he was recovering for.

The hospital in Reno hadn't quite let him sign out, not yet anyway. While his body hadn't atrophied, because he wasn't in a coma long enough for that, he was laying in a bed for a month straight. His muscles were still weak and he hadn't eaten solid foods in a long time. So until they were satisfied with his digestive system and his ability to walk, they wouldn't let him go.

That's when he was reminded of that thing they don't tell you.

Recovery is boring.

Hospital stays are boring too, which is another thing most people don't really think about.

The only moments of respite from the soul-crushing dullness one gets are when a nurse visits, and those were becoming few and far between. After all, his muscles were merely weak, not dead, so walking wasn't a huge effort. It was just a matter of making sure he could. As far as the eating, outside of the first couple of times when he couldn't keep anything down, he was doing well there too. It was a matter of waiting for a discharge now, and that might come that day, or it might come the next day.

If he could kick every hospital bureaucrat in the face, he would start that very minute.

Things had improved on the visitation front as well. No one had come to Reno as of late, but he'd found out enough people had. His ex-wife practically stayed by his bedside for a couple of weeks. His best friend, Trent Steel, popped in almost as frequently. So much so you'd be forgiven if you forgot they had been beating the hell out of each other just a couple of months ago.

This was all in the past, while he was unconscious, however. Since he woke up four days ago, only Johnny Hitmaker came back, and that was because he had accidentally left some important contracts in his rush to leave the first time.

People he had hoped would show up didn't, nor did they make any attempt to while he was out. As far as he was concerned, that was more than enough reason to realize how much they had changed. Perhaps he dodged more than one bullet.

He lazily sat back in his chair, refusing to get back in the bed for anything other than sleep, and flipped through what passed for cable in his hospital. Daytime television was the worst, but he had found himself loving to hate what the entitled blond woman on The View had to say each morning.

It was of course, at this moment that he had a knock on the door. The nurse wasn't expected until lunch, so maybe his discharge had finally come.

"Excuse me? Is this where they keep the defrosted cavemen?"

Trent Steel barged into the room like he owned it. Joe suddenly had the horrifying realization that he could have bought it, what with his recent influx of cash. He thought he might have to strangle him if that were true.

"It's like you read my mind," Joe said. "I was just thinking things were too boring here." He reached up and turned off the television, before pushing himself up. It took some effort, as his calf muscles still didn't quite want to accept that they had to be used regularly again.

"So how are you enjoying living in the year three thousand?" Trent asked. If he saw Joe wobble while attempting to stand, he kept it to himself.

The man known better as JC stuck out a hand and it was accepted. "You joke, but I'm only just getting used to the fact that it wasn't June three days ago."

"I mean days always run together with me running all these...wait am I suppose to be in a meeting right now?" Trent pulled out his phone for a moment and checked it. "Nope. I swear if I'm not sleeping, eating, or shitting, I gotta be in an office."

Trent looked over Joe for a moment. "So this diet of yours worked but man do you look like shit."

Joe shrugged and scratched his beard, which hadn't been tended to in a bit. "Liquid diets aren't fun, especially when you suddenly have to jump back into solids. But the place I used to work for was footing the bill, last I checked. So I can't really complain."

"I was gonna ask if you needed me to spot you a few hundred thousand or not..." Trent looked over at the remains of a food tray. "No jello cup! What kinda rinky dink place is this?"

Trent grabbed a spare chair in the room and sat down.

"Well that was breakfast, for one," Joe started, before realizing Trent was joking.

"Bah, you need a real meal. I'm fixing you one of those fancy steaks you like." Trent said as he leaned back. "So...aside from my awesomeness arriving how are things? They gonna let you out of this hellhole now or...?"

Joe shrugged again, then sat back down. "That's up to the doctors, apparently. I have to walk well enough and hold food down long enough to please their standards."

"So...I should bribe them?" Trent reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of hundreds.

Joe's eyes instinctively went wide. It wasn't so much the fact that Trent had the money, but rather that he was walking around with wads of cash like a cartoon character. Then again, perhaps Trent was hoping someone would try to take it from him so he could assault them in self-defense.

"You uh," he said. "You just carry wads of cash? You can't use a card like a normal person?"

Trent reached in and grabbed his wallet. He pulled out a black corporate credit card. "IRS doesn't track cash as much as this thing."

Seeing the card made Joe simply shake his head and let out a dry laugh.

"It boggles my mind that you're this wealthy guy now," he said. "Trenton Steel, Esq."

He laughed again, the first time he had done so in months. He didn't realize it at the time, however.

"I mean, not like I wanted any of this." Trent said, smiling at bit at hearing Joe laugh. "But when you ex-in laws leave you their stock cause of..."

He stopped talking for a moment. Apparently the kidnapping situation still hadn't been resolved. Joe remembered bits and pieces of it. First they kidnapped Trent's ex-wife's family and then the same people kidnapped his kids while Trent was at a wrestling event. Trent got left with a majority share in a billion dollar company. Went from millionaire to billionaire in less than three weeks. It would be like becoming a homeowner because your grandmother died. It's technically nice, but the cost isn't exactly worth it.

"Sorry," Trent continued. "Let's not talk about my 'good fortune'. What are your plans?"

Joe had a lot of time to think of that. He had already decided that he didn't want to wrestle again, or at least any time soon. Wrestling didn't exactly put him where he was, an unlucky fall did that, but he still could have died without seeing his daughter grow up. He'd only do it if he could find away to make more time for her, and right now he couldn't see it.

But maybe Trent didn't want to know about wrestling right now. As far as Joe knew, he hadn't been in the ring since that company in Baltimore mercy killed itself.

"Right now, I just want to go home and see my kid," Joe said. That really was his first priority. He wanted to rededicate himself to being a father.

Trent smiled, not his usual, crazy, 'I'm gonna fuck this guy up' smile, but the genuine one that few people go to see. "Good answer. You don't need to rush your recovery. The wrestling world can hold on without an ass kicking from you and I for a while."

"But...I do want you to know something. If you are not wanting to do this anymore because you're worried about financials. You know I got you and the kid covered right? She's gonna be well taken care of on the financial front okay."

Joe leaned back and shut his eyes, ignoring the gesture of goodwill. He did want to see his daughter, but there was a part of him that still wanted to do what he did best. It was just quiet for now. He may have conquered death, but part of him still looked in its eyes and blinked.

He let out a long breath and looked at his friend again.

"I nearly died," he said, bringing the conversation down. "Apparently, I nearly died. Can you believe it? You're in a match one minute and the next, doctors are trying to keep enough fluids in you so you don't become another sad wrestling statistic."

"Yeah. I about sued the shit out of the place when I heard..." Trent said nodding. "Life's a fucking cunt sometimes man. One minute you're just doing what you do and the next...kerfuckery most foul. You know, I'd miss the shit out of you if you were really gone. You're about all the family I got left...as far as I know."

Trent pulled out his phone.

"Want me to pull up some old matches and reminisce over some of the assholes we use to beat the fuck out of?"

Joe smiled again. "That'd be a lot more interesting than the View."

Trent looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.

"Don't ask." he said, almost apologetically.

Rewound the future to the present, paused it, don't ask how
Fuck the past, motherfucker, he's the shit right now

February 15, 2022

It was just a day after Valentine's Day. Joe spent it with his ex-wife, who he was once again dating, or whatever they called their complicated relationship. Joe tried his best to think about that, and for the most part he succeeded.

He didn't think about the fact that The Troll managed to get any offense on him. He tried not to think about the fact he felt just half a step slower. And most of all, he didn't think about Fenris, who he discovered was watching him.

He didn't think about how a fighter like Fenris awakened something in him that a mere woman couldn't. The lizard part of his brain. The primordial instinct to trade violence with someone who could take it and dish it out.

Fenris excited him in ways love and sex couldn't. And he very much wanted to play.

Now that his obligations as Joe were over, he could focus on what JC wanted to do. On who the next victim for the Bogeyman would be.

He sat in in nondescript room, the same as any other any wrestler in SCW might find themselves cutting the standard wrestling promo might sit in. At least it wasn't dark with a single light swinging overhead. At least there were random chains hanging as if he walked onto the set of Hellraiser. It was just a room with no real distinguishable characteristics.

Except one.

A mask, which sat discarded next to him, not too far away from his reach.

Sin City Wrestling, I told you I wanted more competition. Did I perhaps overlook The Troll? Of course not. Yeah, I turned my back on him and yeah, he took advantage. But it ultimately proves nothing. The only way someone like that could get an advantage would be if I gave them my back. And even with that advantage, among being of similar size and smell to a barrel of stale whiskey, this Troll couldn't get the job done.

C'est la vie. We move on.

JC shrugged his shoulders and smirked. He pat the mask as he said 'we', just to give of the impression to his opponents that he might be crazier than they guessed. He had his issues, of course, but everything he was doing now was calculated.

Ideally, I'd move on to Fenris. A strong style fighter like that, someone I could really test myself against. That's the stuff you enter this business for. And maybe soon, that fight will happen. In fact, I'm sure it will. The Bogeyman is going nowhere, after all. I'm here to haunt Las Vegas until I reach the top and take the top prize you hold most dear.

Whether the cowboy holds it or someone else, that is my ultimate goal.

But Fenris would definitely be a nice challenge in the meantime. A way to stretch my legs. Because Troll marks yet another win for me. Another example of the fact that not a soul has been able to pin or submit me in a year. I don't live in the past, just the present. And in the present...I'm healed, I'm rested, I'm wild and free. I'm a whole different fighter than I was last year, or the year before that. Unless you've got a spare cinder block handy, I'm untouchable.

You'd have an easier time trying to grab vapor.

As if to prove his point, he reached out and grabbed at nothing, before making a gesture to show that, indeed, there was nothing in his hand.

It would certain be an incredible feat if you could, but there are so very few who are incredible. So very few who are, but so many who claim it anyway.

That brings me to the latest victim, Lincoln Daniels. A guy who isn't nearly as successful as the Pixar creation his nickname reminds us of. 'Mr. Incredible.'

JC scoffs as the mere name.

I've seen you call yourself that a few times. And I rolled my eyes every single time. It became more laughable when I went back and looked at the SCW archives, specifically your history. Loss to Alexander Raven. Loss to Fenris. Loss, loss, loss. 1-14 in 2021. Tsk tsk tsk. So many losses, Lincoln.

Not very credible at all, are you? It's been over a year since I've been pinned and over a year since you beat anyone. A nice parallel, but that's just a footnote to what will be business as usual for the both of us.

He shrugs again, almost a little too confident. Almost as if he's daring someone like a Fenris to come at him. He knows Lincoln Daniels won't. He can feel it.

I watched your entire year of matches here in SCW for 2021. Disappointment after disappointment for you. I spent a month of last year in a fucking coma and somehow I had a better year. I know wrestling nicknames are there mostly for show and merchandise, but perhaps we can help you out with another one. A better one. One more suited to a man with your...skill set.

How about, next?

How about, victim?

Stop me if you hear one you like.

JC can't help but laugh to himself again.

Look, I know you have a puncher's chance. And I'm not denying your skills. Not really. Anyone in this business has to have skills to be here. And you have something a lot of people may not give you credit for. You have grit. Determination. Any other wrestler would look at that 1-14 record and quit. But not you, Lincoln. That's commendable. Respectable, even. I may joke, and I may be confident in my chances, but goddamn kid. You take beatings here nearly every time out and you come back asking, "Thank you sir, may I have another?"

That either makes you the biggest masochist in the business or it makes you the gutsiest.

So don't let my banter take that way from you. You've got heart. You've got that X factor that makes you cut out for this business. All you have to do is eventually put it together upstairs, and you'll be going places.

JC looks up, staring straight ahead at his audience of one.

But you won't be putting it together at Climax Control. They put you in front of a buzzsaw, Lincoln. And I'm going to cut you to splinters. I still have important matters to get to here and for now, you are not one of them. But I would love to see you try. It will make it that much sweeter for me when I put you down.

So try, Lincoln. Show me that grit. And I'll show you that same grit after I've kicked it out of you. I'm going to beat your heart right out of your chest and make you feel so much pain, you'll finally work up the nerve to quit.

Because SCW is my new haunting grounds.

Death has come to Las Vegas. And there's no stopping it.

JC kills.

Climax Control Archives / Unmasked

« on: February 04, 2022, 08:44:04 PM »

Though my memories are faded
They come back to haunt me once again

July 31, 2021

When Joe was last conscious, it was June.

The summer was just getting started. The first episode of Loki had just dropped. Jeff Bezos hadn't gone into space yet. And the 45-year-old JC, a man with a surgically repaired neck and a history of concussions, thought it was a good idea to climb a ladder for a championship belt in a small regional company in Reno.

Then the ladder fell. Soon after, so did he. The ring collapsed. The title belt ended up with somebody else, but that's not important.

His neck turned out fine. Well, relatively speaking. Surprisingly, there was no brain damage. Again, relatively speaking.

Instead, a piece of the ring punctured one of his arteries and nearly caused him to bleed out. He was aware he was bleeding as he lay in the debris, but by the time he might have had an inkling of just how bad it was, he had already slipped into the warm embrace of unconsciousness.

But that was June. Now it was the end of July and Joe was awake. His eyes slowly opened and he immediately noticed how blurry everything was. Once his vision slowly came back to him, his other senses woke up as well. He heard the hum of the machines, smelled the chemicals used to keep the room clean, felt the cool air against his skin.

He wasn't truly aware he had been in a coma, because for him, the match just happened. But now, he realized he had lost some time, if only a day.

In the movies, when someone wakes up from a coma, they're surrounded by family, or perhaps a loved one has been sitting diligently by their side. Perhaps family or friends had visited him, but when Joe woke up, he was alone.

Well, not completely alone. Because Johnny Hitmaker was off to the side, looking down at him.

"I'm in Hell," Joe croaked, before coughing. It was then he realized how dry his throat was, and the pain from trying to speak made him realize that no, he was not in Hell. He was very much alive.

“Oh good, you’re up!” Johnny said as he went for a chair, pulling it up to the bed. “We can continue our little talk!”

Joe’s head was already throbbing, although he was sure that was because he had been asleep for...however long he was asleep. It was definitely that. Definitely.

“Which talk was that?” he replied, his voice coming out harsh and raspy.

Johnny chuckled. It was hard to tell if it was sincere or sinister. “Oh, YOU know! About my plans for Carnage! You seemed VERY receptive to them a while ago.”

Joe’s eyes also felt very dry, so he blinked them. Unfortunately, Johnny was still there. The man known as JC searched his nearby area for a call button, but didn’t seem to find one. His first guess was that Johnny had hidden it, because he had no idea how long he had been out.

He tried to speak and a hoarse cough escaped his lips instead. When he finally recovered, his eyes turned towards the manager of one of his fiercest rivals and glared at him, mustering as much intensity as he could.

“I don’t care how poor of condition I am, you’ve got ten seconds to explain yourself before I put you in a bed like this one,” he growled.

Johnny chuckled with delight, then slapped the side of the mattress a few times, “Love! That! J! C! Spunk! No, but seriously though, I was talking to you about what I planned to do with those Carnage contracts. Granted, I was of course doing most of the talking, but I swore I saw you nod your head a few times there, and when I asked if you were in, you sorta said something that might have resembled a ‘yeah’, which was good enough for me!”

Joe reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, before sighing. Then he pushed himself up a little and glared at his guest. He probably could have hurt him...would have, in fact, but he still felt very tired and unusually weak. Perhaps he lost more blood in Reno than he thought.

“You normally just talk to people while they’re sleeping or am I special?” he asked, avoiding the subject of Carnage because, quite frankly, Johnny could have it.

“Well, I thought I saw one if your eyes open for a sec there, so I figured you were just pretending to sleep.” Johnny replied. “So I did the thoughtful thing and just did all the talking.”

Joe sighed again. The fatigue wasn’t going away. He certainly didn’t care about whatever it was Johnny had to say and at the moment, would have preferred fighting Hide again. At least with Hide, you knew where you stood.

“Look”, he said, his patience wearing thin, “I had a big fall last night, I bled a lot. Just say whatever it is you have to say and let’s get on with it.”

“Uhhhhhhhh, last night?” Johnny said with confusion. “It was a little more than a night ago, m’man!”

The big man’s eyes darted towards Johnny, finally wanting to talk to him for the first time in the entire conversation.

“What are you talking about?” He said. “How long have I been out?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, “A… month?”

Joe tried to find the words to speak, but couldn’t. They died in his mouth. He squinted and looked around the room for any signs that time had passed but it just looked like every other hospital room he’d ever been in. He didn’t even see his cell phone anywhere, although if they had moved him directly from the ring it wouldn’t be there.

Not that he had anyone to call. Anyone important would be here. Or had been here, if he had been unconscious for a month.

He glanced back at Johnny again, more weary than before. “Are you telling me that I’ve been in a fucking coma?”

“Well, everyone’s been throwing that word around,” Johnny started, “But they all were acting like you were gonna, gonna DIE or something! PLENTY of people fall into comas and not too many of them die. Me, I TOLD them you’d be okay, but do they listen? Do they listen to The Johnny ever? Nooooooo!! ANYTHING but listen to The Man who merely has Two Brains!”

Johnny shook his head in disgust. Then he grinned. “I think they should owe me money for this one! I mean, we didn’t make any bets or anything, but still.”

Joe’s thoughts traced back to all the people that weren’t here. Had his life really been that bad that no one was here to check on him? Stacy? Eric? Trent? Even Lucy would have been preferable, even if she…

No, he thought. No sense in being bitter.

Either way, he still wondered why he had to be saddled with the manager of someone he fought before…and a manager he didn’t even really like.

It was insulting more than anything else.

“Johnny,” he said, all the fight removed from him. He didn’t even feel like insulting the spud anymore. “Talk like a human being and not a manager for a second. Is there a reason you’re here and not someone that I actually have a relationship with?”

Johnny suddenly became a bit restless in his seat. He looked like he wanted to say something, but not at the same time.

He sighed in defeat, and leaned in a bit, “Look, it’s not that no one WANTED to come visit, but you gotta look at it from their perspective too, you know: nobody likes to be face to face with their mortality. What happened to you, they damn well know it could be one of them any time they enter that squared circle. They’re SCARED, Mr. C! And that’s all there is too it! Don’t take it too much to heart.”

The man known as ‘The Answer’ sat quietly for a moment, almost certainly making Johnny nervous. He thought it was probably a good bet that someone had come along, but if he had been in this coma for a month, perhaps they just moved on with their lives. Maybe they didn’t think he’d wake up.

Johnny’s answer held weight, and Joe didn’t like that. But sometimes the truth hurts. And Johnny was here when they weren’t. He didn’t have to be, and maybe he did or didn’t have ulterior motives, but he was still here.

“Joe,” he said quietly. He caught Johnny raising his head out of the corner of his eye.

“You can call me Joe,” he added.

“Well… uh, Joe,” Johnny began. “They’ll come around. Not to mention, who’s to say they didn’t come to visit when you were fully out?”

Johnny shrugged. “Forgot about that possibility, honesty.”

Johnny leans back in his chair, “Most importantly, you need to know that the world you’ve woken up to is very different from the world you once knew.”

Joe laughed a dry, sarcastic laugh. “As long as people are still assholes that need their faces kicked in, I think I’ll be okay,” he said. “But what’s changed? I’ve only been out a month, apparently.”

Johnny looked nonplussed. He sighed. “I didn’t expect you to actually ask. It’s just something you hear people say in movies. It’s only been a month; not much has changed, actually.”

Joe furrowed his brow and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not really fully awake yet.”

He then tried to move his legs around the side of the bed, but they felt stiff and weak. He decided he didn’t want to embarrass himself right now and gave up.

“Either way, I think I’m ready to get the fuck out of here. So if you don’t mind, Johnny, I’m gonna call the nurse and get that taken care of.”

Johnny slapped his hands together and rose to his feet. “Alright! Well anyway, I’ll see myself out. Welcome to consciousness again!”

Joe nodded, then held a hand out. “And hey, I’m sorry for all the grief I gave you in the last year. You didn’t have to be here, and you were. You’re a better man than people give you credit for.”

“Water under the bridge!” Johnny said as he shook Joe’s hand. “But never mind that ‘better man’ stuff; I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know!”

“Oh, I’ll keep trolling you to keep up appearances, I’m sure.” Joe said, a humorless grin forming on his face.

He then laid back in the bed, letting the conversation end there. Johnny exits the room, and just as he does, his eyes dart back and forth, he pulls out paperwork from his inside jacket pocket. It appears to be a contract.

“You were right to tell me to keep you tucked away.” he told it.

“You say something?” Joe asked, clearly still able to hear him from where he is.

Johnny frantically shoved the contract back in his jacket. “Oh, nothing, nothing, Mr. C! Just on my way now!”

He then made a beeline for the exit out of the hospital.

And though my mind is somewhat jaded
Now, it's time for me to strike again

January 30, 2022

Nearly six months later to the day, Joe was finding himself in a familiar situation. He was packing a bag, preparing to hit the road to the West Coast.

At first, following his coma and subsequent convalescence, he simply wanted to retire and fade away. He had a good career. And with the way his last relationship ended, as well as a friendship or two, he was fine with his last match being one in which he was able to dominate everything but gravity. But as any wrestler worth their salt knows, you don't stay out of the business for long. He soon got the itch, that desire to return and put his body on the line again.

He thought he would quell that with a place that operated with monthly supershows. But every match he'd find he was more beat up than when he wrestled a normal schedule. Success, sure, but all it did was give him all the downfalls without a lot of adrenaline.

It was there, however, he decided to drop the walls and become the darkest incarnation of himself. He would take all of the negative attitudes, all the lies, all the insults...everything everyone ever said or thought about him, and he'd channel it. He killed 'The Answer', his former persona. He became The Bogeyman.

And now he was packing to bring that nightmare to Las Vegas.

He stuffed his boots into the bag, pretty much the last thing he had left. Well, not quite.

There was...the mask.

But before he could grab that, he felt a pair of long, slender arms wrap themselves around his waist from behind, and felt a body press against his. He dropped himself out of his mental preparation long enough for a smile to creep up on his face. Not the first, but it had been a long time since he had them.

"Aren't you getting a little old for this stuff?" Stacy asked.

Stacy and Joe used to be married, until problems between the two and Joe's indiscretion split them apart. But time heals all wounds, and in the process of trying to be there for his child, they began to bond again. They remembered why they were together in the first place. And so, they began to date. He got an apartment near hers and now saw his daughter all the time.

He lost so much in 2021, but he was now finding things he lost long before that.

"You're not the first to ask me that," he replied. "First was this one masked douchebag on Twitter. Then of course my neck when I got up this morning."

He pulled free of her grip and turned around to face her. The mask would wait. Not that she didn't know about it, or his routine, because there were no secrets. That was the rule for starting over. No secrets. Not one. It doomed their last attempt at a relationship and a general lack of communication ruined the relationship that interrupted this one.

So he had resolved to do better. And so far, he had been.

She leaned against the bed, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt, one leg crossed over the other.

"You know how I feel about you getting back out there again," she said, sighing. "But I also know how you feel about doing it."

Joe nodded, running a hand through his hair and tying it behind him. The plane would not wait, and they knew he had to go. But he wasn't going to rush out. He'd hear her out, if he needed to.

She kept on. "So just take care of yourself. If I have to watch you fight for your life in a hospital bed..."

She let the words trail off, before walking up to him and stepping on her tiptoes to kiss him. He returned the kiss in kind.

"I'll fuckin' finish you off myself," she finished, getting a surprised, bark of a laugh out of him.

The shock of the joke wearing off, a solemn look came over his face and he took her hand.

"You shouldn't have taken me back, you know," Joe said. He had been very lucky in the last six months. He woke up, he got his ex-wife back and his career was picking up again. He was very lucky. And he knew it.

Stacy smirked and wrapped her arms around him again, facing him this time, leaning her head against his chest. He placed a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair for a moment. Older and wiser, the both of them.

"You're right," she said quietly. "I shouldn't have."

She gave him a squeeze and let go.

"But we never stopped loving each other and I'm mature enough to forgive you."

He nodded.

"I know it's gonna take work. I mean, I did basically leave you for years for someone else," he added.

Her soft smile turned into a frown, briefly, as she thought of the 'someone else', but she shook her head and the smile returned. She never did trust the person that had Joe wrapped around her finger. Not entirely. And she took that breakup worse than Joe did, considering.

"The way you were treated at the end of that was punishment enough," she said. "I'm not gonna pile on. Just come back to me in one piece and we'll keep working on it."

"It's gonna take work," Joe repeated. She nodded, stole another kiss and then traipsed off to the bathroom, her bare feet clapping the linoleum as she did so.

Joe turned back around and reached into the drawer, pulling out the mask. It was a symbol. A symbol of the darkness he had always kept inside him. His mental illness. His rage. His bloodlust. He took all of that and put it into this mask. This replica Michael Myers mask that itself was beat up. He put it on, entered the headspace he needed to and got the job done. But once the job was done, that was it. This mask was an outlet. It was more of a window into the darkness of who he really was more than anything else. It was a way to unleash that version of himself, but to later keep it locked away.

He stared at it, and he watched it stare back up at him with its pale, vacant expression. He knew he wasn't a monster. He knew he wasn't some Hollywood ghoul. But with this mask, with a somewhat healthy way to channel his urges, he knew it wouldn't make a difference to his opponents when he was done with them.

The world could say what they wanted for his in-ring actions. It didn't matter. Those who truly loved him, who weren't fairweather friends, would still be there when the job was done.

"I've got work to do," he said quietly.

Then he shoved the mask into the bag and closed it up.

Tonight
It's a hunter's moon

He had a flight to catch, but he had something important he wanted to say first.

It was a moonlit night, in the middle of a relatively warm January for New Jersey. That of course was rapidly changing with the winter storm moving in. The mask that was Joe had slipped, revealing the Bogeyman underneath. The other mask, his true face as far as anyone watching knew, was clutched in his hand.

It will destroy me too, one day, this rage that drives me.

JC said the words without looking up at the camera which now recorded him. Not paying his newfound audience any attention.

I used to be an outsider, I used to bleed orange and I used to be part of both a coalition and a revolution. Now I'm simply a roamer, wanderer, nomad, vagabond. Call me what you will. And my journey has brought me to Sin City. And oh, SCW, trust me when I say I am indeed a sinner.

Some of you know me. Some of you have competed against me. For those of you who don't, there's no need to worry. You'll learn all about me soon enough. There's no need for me to introduce myself. There's no need to list my accomplishments. Because it doesn't matter. What matters is the here and now.

And the here and now is that JC has arrived in Sin City Wrestling.

Now he looked up, a grin that was a little too wide, a little knowing creeping on his face. He knew why he was in Las Vegas and soon everyone else would know it took. The wind began to blow his hair into his face and he ignored it. Maybe it'll make him look more of a wild man. Let them think that of him. Let them form their opinions.

First impressions were key, after all.

If you know me, I know already what you're thinking. 'Here comes JC to talk about how much he wants to be a champion. Here he is, ready to get close and fail again. I've seen this movie.'

Not this movie.

This one is different. Because I've become self-aware. There's no need for The Answer anymore, that self-assured icon that was too wrapped up in his history to embrace his present. The truth was, he died when the world began to turn its back on him for not living up to some ideal that perhaps he himself had projected.

As it turns out, people are flawed. I know that. I'm more flawed now than ever. My body is breaking down. I haven't been champion in half a decade, and I'm more than well aware of that fact. I've become more bitter than I've ever been, as much as I try to fight it.

JC shook his head, grimacing, refusing to let negative thoughts interrupt him. He was in the zone and he was a different entity now. The divide between the mask of sanity and what lurked underneath was thinner than ever.

But none of that matters now. Now I not only acknowledge my flaws. I embrace them. The ghost of wrestling's past, the bogeyman, here to haunt Las Vegas and inflict as much damage as I can. The past has already happened. The future hasn't happened yet. The present is all we can control and sadly, you no longer have control of yours. That stopped the moment you offered me a contract.

While everyone else in this business seems to love the past, revel in it, I adapt and change. The past molds who I am today, but I'm not beholden to it. So you'll have some bald asshole boasting on Twitter about beating some old variant of JC, but he doesn't realize that times have changed. I no longer have dead weight holding me back and I can be the most violent, most pure version of myself.

That's bad news for you, SCW. Especially for this poor son of a bitch you saddled me with at 'Climax Control'.

Joe's frown returned to form a slasher smile again. A large man grinning at what he planned to do. Even the bravest of men might find that sight uncomfortable.

The Troll?

I'm above these 'getting to know you' matches with obvious nadirs of talent. Seriously. And my history, which you hyped on the damn announcement, doesn't even play into it. Look at me, and look at him. I am a goddamn monster and he's the unlucky son of a bitch unable to run as fast as his friends. I'm going to rip this poor sack of shit apart.

It's not even his fault. I don't know him. Although given the fact he's probably popular on r/incels, I can't imagine who would. Hopefully he will have wiped the Cheeto dust from his hands before he steps in the ring with me, although given how badly he's sure to smell, I'm sure I'll need multiple showers anyway.

Listen here, Gabriel Thomas Unfortunate-Last-Name. You stand absolutely no chance at Climax Control. None. If I were you, I'd quit SCW. Because your bosses don't like you very much. They can't, because they put you in there with me. There's no tiki torches or red caps to help you here, I'm afraid. Can't hide behind a Pepe picture on Twitter.

But you can rest assured that after I'm done with you, you'll wish all you were is cancelled.

The Bogeyman is real, you walking stereotype, and you found him. He's real and he's hungry for blood.

JC raised his left arm up, still clutching the mask. He wouldn't do something as theatrical as to wear it now. He didn't need to. He was already using it to channel what he needed to channel. And letting the world see what he was becoming was important. It was necessary.

As for the rest of you, you can pray that this feast is enough, but it won't be. The hunt has only just begun. The rage might destroy me in the end, but I'll take you all with me if I have to. I'm no longer fighting it. I am unleashing it.

JC has arrived in SCW. And more importantly...

JC kills.

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