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“Sin has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all.”-
Edmund BurkeSince PrYde closed it’s doors to me and the rest of the world it’s been nothing but a tail spin. I can’t even believe it sometimes that it has almost been a year since it shut down. That was my home and the place of my only success. I was a two time Evolution Champion and I was one of the most talked about guys in the company. That was until Siro Black took over and ran the shit into the ground. Not to mention he let Alexander Starr Zoe run all over him.
Now I’ve gone back to fighting in the cage instead of in the ring. I’ve won three more fights and I’ve lost only one. That makes my record seven and one on the amateur circuit and I’m in line for a title shot that way I can finally get back in the professional rankings. Then I really get the opportunity to kick some people’s ass.
My trainer is a man that not very many people know in the sport. He’s been a behind the scenes guy the majority of his career helping out guys like me who at that time was looking to get into fighting. He’s been training me since I moved to Jacksonville at eighteen. His name is Steven Bass and he’s been a good friend to me for the past eight years.
Now he’s training me for the fight of my life. I’m set to take on the company’s Light Heavyweight Champion and he’s a real bastard when it comes to jujitsu. Which means I’m going to have to be on the top of my game. Because if I make one mistake then it will be all over but the crying. I don’t intend to get myself either knocked out or choked out. That’s why I train all the damn time for this shit.
As my training continues, I’m finally able to take a break and breathe a bit. Then as if some divine intervention has taken place, the ring tone from my phone echoes throughout the building. I run towards my bag to see who would be calling me right now. I look at the phone and see that it’s my old friend Brandon O’Neal. This is the man that trained me to become a professional wrestler. I haven’t heard from him in about a year or so. I pick up the phone and place it to my ear.
“Hello?” I ask as the shock can be seen on my face.
“Jared, it’s Brandon. How you been?” He answers in that same old smartass tone that I’ve gotten used to hearing from him with his thick New York accent.
“I’ve been better, Brandon. It’s nice to hear from you what has it been a fucking year?” I ask with a bit of harshness in my voice.
“Look dude, I’m fucking sorry man. I had to get out of the country for a while. After the shit with Pryde went on it was all I had do to save face. I had to cut myself off from Pryde completely.” He replies to me.
“What do you want, Brandon?” I ask him as I’m now getting a bit upset.
“How would you like to get back to wrestling?” He asks as my face goes from angry to shocked.
“Uh…” I can’t help but stammer a bit because I wasn’t expecting this from him.
“I’ll call back.” He says as he hangs up the phone. I hang up my end and I can’t help but be surprised as I’m walking back to the trainer.
Fuck…I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.
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Professional wrestling…did you miss me?
You see it really is good to be back in wrestling again. Now that things have changed and Alexander Starr Zoe is out of the fucking picture, it’s time for me to make a triumphant return to the business I fell in love with three years ago. I don’t have to deal with Siro Black and his bullshit. Not to mention his bitch boy of a son who thinks that everything is handed to him on a platinum platter. I’m ready to get back to beating ass and taking names.
Enter SCW.
After almost two years of being away from the ring, this is the company that wants to sign me no questions asked. So how could I say no to that offer. I didn’t and that’s why I’m headed for Sin City, baby. And no, I won’t get lost on top of a roof of some random hotel.
Now I’m actually headed to San Francisco for my debut match on their show called Climax Control. I’m up against another newcomer in Johnny Brown and his partner the aptly named Old Skool. My partner is “Prime Time” Matthew Kennedy.
Boys, I’m ashamed to admit that I’m a bit rusty when it comes to being in the ring. I’ve been choking people out for the past year and a half. I haven’t been holding their shoulders for the three count. So if I revert back to that mode…
Wait a minute…
I don’t give a fuck what I do in this match.
The whole point of a debut is to make an impact and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I will be the man who takes out the newcomer who reminds me of the English people I see on television. They speak with this whacked out accent and are as easy to understand as a drunken Chinese pirate. And his partner is as old as dirt which isn’t that obvious thanks to the wonderful thing known as steroids.
But don’t use them too much, they’ll shrivel the balls up to the size of sun-dried tomatoes.
As for my partner, Matt, you and I are going into this match blind. We need to at least get on the same page before the match starts or else we’re going to have an issue. And when I have an issue with someone, they get choked out. So the decision is going to be yours on that one.
And boys, you’d better strap on your boots as tight as you can get them. Because at Climax Control…
It’s going to be one hell of a ride. 
