The Path Forward.
The Bane Home, Las Vegas, NV
/Scene Opens\
[on-camera]
The shot opens with me staring at the blinking red light of the camera not far away. It rests on a tripod and I still have the remote in my hand. I set it down and rub my bare arms, they are still bruised from a very busy week. Again, I’m wearing the sleeveless Mac Bane, Sin City t-shirt. It’s early so there’s still a bit of a chill. I slap the knees of my jeans in unison and stand up.
If you were expecting excuses or reasons that Myra and I lost, you’ve come to the wrong place. Cross and Steel were simply better. We own the loss and hey, Cross did something no one else has ever done in Sin City. He pinned me.
I continue to work out the kinks in my body, you can hear the audible pops as tendons and ligaments express their collective concern.
Am I going to be inconsolable since losing? Nah, fuck that. Pissed off, but not sad or depressed. Even being angry about a loss is short lived, it’s replaced by determination. It simply adds fuel to the fire that burns in me every day.
I stand near the firepit that has blazed to life, holding my hands out to the warmth.
What leaves me cold at times is the conscious decisions that people make. The decision to book me against someone like the troll.
I smile at the camera in a way that can only be translated as unfriendly.
Now then, Underwood says that it shouldn’t be misconstrued as a punishment or a slight. If you ask most men on this roster though, I think they would have a different opinion of that.
The smile turns into a smirk.
Don’t misunderstand, Christian, I don’t think you’re punishing me. It does send mixed signals though, why book me against this curtain jerker when you could have waited for Fenris to be cleared. Now that, is a television worthy match, and one I’m looking forward to in the near future.
The smirk I wear then turns into a sneer.
As for this...troll, kid, you ain't special. You’re simply next in line on my path forward. Make no mistake about it, you’re going to be feeling this one for weeks to come.
Fade.
The Path Forward II.
Las Vegas, NV
/Scene Opens\
[off-camera]
The man known as Charles Marlowe stood triumphantly in what could only be considered a battlefield. The parking lot of the “MC” headquarters was covered in bodies and blood, the smell of sulfur and copper filled the air. It reminded me a lot of Afghanistan and Kuwait to be honest. The years of combat as a member of the forward operations team and construction battalion had taught me to stymie the emotions and focus on the task at hand. Charles knew it well, he had been a part of my unit then. The few people from the club that could still walk were handcuffed and led away to a waiting van to transport them to a holding facility. Their leader lay dead, not three feet from Charles. John Pike would trouble no one, ever again. Neither would any of his lieutenants who had refused to surrender. They all went out in a blaze of infamy. Charles holstered his pistol and made his way to where I stood.
“Hell of a show you put on Chuckie.”, I smiled and shook his hand. He returned not really a smile but a grimace. It was then that I noticed he had been wounded, a stray bullet had torn into his right shoulder.
“Wasn’t my intention to start a fire fight, especially not so close to the strip.”, he shook his head in dismay at the carnage around him. That was about the time that Charles forgot his training and his stomach decided to relieve itself of all contents. I wrinkled my nose at the smell as he continued to be noisily sick.
“Chuckie, you really need to watch your diet more closely.”, I said to him as he began to laugh and half way choking on his own vomit. “Bastard”, he exclaimed between heaves. I nodded in agreement.
“Yes sir, there’s a lot of folks who would agree with that assessment of me.”, I said in a matter of fact way that generally makes people angry. Not Charles though. His stomach finally quietens down and one of his guys brings over a towel that has been soaked in water or some such liquid and he scrubs his face with it. Then a dry towel for his face and he straightens back up.
“Mac, anyone ever tell you that you talk too damn much?”, He takes a deep breath and hangs his head. I shoot him a wounded look and he laughs at my faked reaction to his insult. “Mac, never change.”
“I have no intention of it, Chief.” I smile at him again and begin walking towards my bike. “Don’t ever ask me to be involved in any bullshit like this again, Chuckie.” I say as I approach my V-Rod. One kick and it starts, if he said anything after that, it was lost in the sound of the motorcycle as I sped away from the scene.
Fade.
The Path Forward III.
The Bane Home, Las Vegas, NV
/Scene Opens\
[off-camera]
An old, rusted barrel sits not far from the fire pit. The flames had just begun to lick the top edges of the barrel. I throw another log into the barrel and after a brief moment it begins to consume the fuel provided. Once I’ve deemed it burning well enough, I go back to the patio chair. The vest I had been given and the cardboard box containing certain pictures that I don’t want to see anymore rest there. I pick them up and go back towards the barrel.
“Never again”, I say to myself as I toss the vest into the barrel. I wait a few moments for the vest to catch fire. Next, I reach into the cardboard box and grab the photo album that has mostly pictures of my father and it goes in as well. “Almost as good as an effigy.”, I say softly. Then the last piece, the old man's vest. I toss it in as well, causing the flames to leap higher. It doesn’t take long before the fire causes the barrel to turn red in places as the items burn hotter. The smoke coming from it is pitch black. I take the cardboard box back to the chair and set it down beside the chair. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, a shock of red hair and the smell of cinnamon. I smile as I see her approach. I reach down and start the fire pit.
“Hey Champ.”, I say smiling as she approaches. She returns my smile, although a bit restrained, I can see and feel the genuineness of it.
“Hey yourself.” she says to me, as I lean in for a kiss. The kiss, unlike her smile, is not restrained. We break our embrace, and she asks, “Cooking something?” she asks as the smirk comes to her face.
“Nah, just making sure the past stays in the past.”, I say, equally as light hearted. She arches her right eyebrow but doesn’t ask whatever question she has in mind. I put my arm across her shoulders and pull her in closer as we watch the barrel continue to burn. “I did once promise you that if you wanted, I’d set the world on fire so we could watch it burn together.”. Her laugh, it always has this silvery quality to it. This time is no different and when she looks up at me, her eyes sparkle, which causes me to pull her in tighter. When she looks at me like that, I feel like I could set the world on fire, just for her.
Fade
The Path Forward III.
in studio
/Scene Opens\
[on-camera]
The Troll, is how he refers to himself. He sits in his mom’s basement, whoofing down twinkies and sucking on bottles of coke. Honestly, there's no shame in that and who am I to judge someone for the lifestyle they choose.
All that being said though, some things I do have to say about this matchup. I mean I would normally take the time to point out my opponent’s redeeming qualities.
I got nothing.
You do not appear to have a single redeeming quality. You talk shit to the women of this company, and you wouldn’t last three minutes in the ring with any of them. You, little man, are a piece of worm-ridden filth that doesn’t deserve to share oxygen with decent people. Let alone share a ring with someone like me. I won’t reduce myself to fat-shaming or anything like that but c’mon man! Get in shape, at least act like you actually belong here instead of a wanted poster for pedos.
You sicken every single person that comes into contact with you. I almost started to feel sorry for you up until I forced myself to watch one of your promos. After about 2 minutes of that garbage, any sense of sympathy, much less respect…
Gone.
That’s not even the worst part of what I have to tell you, big boy. The worst part is what happens next. What that is, is our match. See, you weigh almost as much as I do, the problem? You’re five foot eight. What does that tell any veteran of this sport? If you last as long as five minutes in the ring with me, you’ll soon start running out of stamina. From what I’ve heard that usually happens by the time you’ve walked to the ring.
None of this really matters, I know when you cut your promo from the basement of your parent’s house, you’ll be very brave. It will be all bluster though, you know it, I know it and most of all the fans know it. Not to say that you care about what the fans think, I mean I’ve seen the way you talk about them. To you they’re all marks, to us, you’re a glorified fan-boy at best. You have no relevance in the grand scheme of things, nor does management have any kind of plan for you. Nothing other than what happens this week.
You’re being punished, in the worst possible. You’re being placed in the ring with someone who has been in this sport for nearly twenty years. I’ve forgotten more about wrestling than you can hope to know. Not all is lost though young man. I mean I could fall down a flight of stairs and break my neck. I could be hit by a car or a train or an airplane. Or maybe, just maybe you’re good enough to beat me. I hope you don’t really believe that the last part is possible. What drew my attention to you, to begin with, was the way you treat women.
See, I was raised to believe that women were just as worthy of respect as any man who ever walked the earth. It’s not simply a southern thing that causes someone like me to hold a door open for a woman. Regardless of what you think their status is. I don’t talk down to them, I was raised with manners. It’s just common decency really, not that I suspect someone like you would understand or subscribe to that idea.
After this match though, you’re going to start seeing things in a fresh new light. As in, a flash of light, right before you blackout from the pain. I’m not coming to wrestle a match with you. No, Gabriel Thomas Wank. I’m coming to hurt you, not because I think you deserve it. Not because the women of the locker room are clamoring for it. I’m doing this because I can, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.
