[Christian Underwood]

Post all roleplays for this match here.
Limits: 1 roleplay per week, per character, 10,000 limit.

Good luck!

[Jack Washington]

Prologue:

Jack was feeling good coming into this super card. Things finally appeared to be in motion for him to really make a statement in and out of the ring. However, just as soon as the match card was made official and the write-up for the match came out. Jack felt insulted and was now furious about it. He was now determined to make an even bigger statement than he originally planned, and was gearing up to take out his frustrations on Mark Cross, his opponent at the Super card. Jack was on a roll in SCW having won many matches and keeping a most impressive win-loss record, and apparently, this was not enough to earn him what he felt he deserved. Of course, what he thought he deserved and what others thought he deserved were two different things most likely.

 

Jack got to work early on preparing for Mark Cross, his workouts and his study of Mark Cross matches was as thorough and complete as he could make them. This would not be an instance where anything caught him off guard. Jack prided himself on learning from his mistakes.

 

Outside the ring, Jack had taken care of his brother, like any family member should. He was now preparing for another important phase. He had to get out of the deal with the Mexicans, and at the same time, survive the ordeal without the Mexicans knowing he was planning to double cross them, and working with Sonny to do so. Now it looks like the plan will finally be set in motion, as enough time had passed for the Casino to be open more fully, and for arrangements to be made to set everything up. Jack was about to take a huge gamble.

 

But it was Vegas, gambles were commonplace.

--

Grand Flamingo Casino
Las Vegas, NV
1 week ago
 

It was the dead of night and Jack waited in his car, outside the Casino in the parking lot. He kept his phone on, but carefully scanned the area, when he saw another vehicle pull into the lot. He had a hunch, but he waited. He waited for the car to pull into the spot and turn it’s lights off. And then, there was nothing. No movement from the vehicle, no lights, no doors opening. Jack could see the vehicle, and there was a night cleaning crew so it wasn’t just their cars. Jack waited for what seemed like ages before anything happened. Finally, his phone rang. He peered over to the car and he could see a small beam of light, presumably from the phone calling. Jack let it ring a few more times, and then he answered.

 

Jack: Hello?

 

Voice: Mister Jack? This is Jorge, I am here to see the facility.

 

Jack: Okay. Give me a moment, and I’ll be there.

 

The call ended abruptly after that.  Jack took a minute to watch for any movement from the vehicle. Making sure that “Jorge” wasn’t calling backup. Jack waited on edge as there wasn’t any movement, but also no light. “Jorge” stepped out of the car and lit up a cigarette. Jack continued to wait, but too much longer and “Jorge” would get suspicious. Jack soon stepped out of his car and pulled his hoodie over his head and walked into the Casino, but quickly flung the hoodie off and left again, trying to give off the impression he was in the building the whole time and not watching. He walked out and looked around, also not wanting to give away he knew what Jorge looked like. Finally he walked towards him, and called out.

 

Jack: Jorge?

 

Jorge nodded and stamped out his cigarette.

 

Jorge: Mr. Jack. 

 

Jack: Yes. Everything is ready for you to see.

 

Jorge: Lead the way...

 

Jack cautiously entered the Casino and headed to the area below. There was only one elevator that went to this level underground, and Jack had the only key. He had it especially installed, but began to ponder what exactly he would use this area for once everything was taken care of. Jack did his best not to really speak to Jorge, but always keep him within eyesight and always giving him space, a reactionary gap in case things went south.

 

The elevator door opened and Jack and Jorge were standing inside this wide-open area. It looked more like an underground bunker than anything else. The area was large, and had nearly nothing in it. Jorge looked around snapping pictures with his camera phone.

 

Jack: Well?

 

Jorge: It looks okay, Mr. Jack. There is only one problem.

 

Jack: What’s that?

 

Jorge: There is only one way in, I think, yes?

 

Jack shook his head. He pointed at a long stretch deeper inside the underground area.

 

Jack: That, is big enough for a semi-truck to get in, at the end, there is an entrance that is accessible only via the underground parking lot, and it’s only for you. Nobody else will have access to that. 

 

Jorge nodded, seemingly impressed with this.

 

Jorge: Okay, Mr. Jack, that sounds good. I await La Madrina to accept this.

 

Jack: Cool.

 

There was again an awkward silence as Jorge stared at his phone, waiting for any acknowledgement. Jorge finally shrugged and pointed to the elevator.

 

Jorge: We should not wait all night, Mr. Jack. You are busy, yes?

 

Jack: That depends on how long this will take.

 

Jorge: Maybe early morning La Madrina will accept.

 

Jack: Okay, if you say so. 

 

Jack again led Jorge to the elevator and brought him in and led him out of the Casino. Thankfully, the elevator was out of any camera’s site or range, so he wouldn’t be seen coming or going, except at the entrance and exit. Jack would simply need to erase that. He watched as Jorge went to his car.

 

Jorge: Thank you, Mr. Jack. I will send the approvals or not, okay?

 

Jack: Okay.

 

Jorge got into the car, and he drove off shortly after that. Jack went back in, and used his key to the master elevator and headed up to the manager’s office, where he made sure neither he, or Jorge were seen on camera, and any footage was erased. He didn’t need Benny or anyone at the Casino asking questions he didn’t want to answer. 

 

--

Washington Estate
Las Vegas, NV,
The Next day
 

Jack awoke the next morning with a missed call, and then a text message. He didn’t notice right away, eating his breakfast and starting his daily workout, but as soon as he tried to open his playlist for the workout, he saw the missed call and the text. He saw the call was from a number he didn’t recognize, and then the text simply read:

 

Agreed.

 

A.S.

 

Jack knew the initials well enough to know exactly what it meant, and who it was from. He nodded to himself, and began his workout. Halfway through, Brian entered, looking at Jack who stared back at him, breathing heavily as he took the headphones out of his ears.

 

Jack: Yeah?

 

Brian: What are you gonna do about your brother, Stick?

 

Jack: I dunno, I’ll find a spot for him. Maybe serving food or something, why?

 

Brian: Because he’s itching to find out. You told him you’d help him.

 

Jack: And I will. I’m not neglecting him, Brian, I need to make some moves first before I can do anything. I need to get things situated before I just add somebody to the team, even if he is family.

 

Brian: You gonna do that to your brother?

 

Jack: What do you want me to do? You want me to send him to work with Benny? You want me to make him a janitor or something? I need to put him in a spot where he isn’t in trouble, or if he’s near anything that could get him in trouble. You know how this shit goes, you wanna put somebody you can trust in positions like that, but then money comes up missing and we got a fucking problem.

 

Brian: You saying you don’t trust your brother?

 

Jack: I don’t trust him, you, or Benny to be honest with you. He might be my brother, but he’s a recovering addict with PTSD. Until I know everything is completely safe, I can’t. It doesn’t make good family or business sense. I don’t need anything happening while I’m trying to get rid of one problem without making it bigger.

 

Brian: So how ARE you going to fix that?

 

Jack: We gotta get these guys on a schedule. The moment they have one where they do their shipments and their runs, that’s when Benny’s people hit them. At least, I think that’s the idea. I’m going to see Benny in a little bit just be sure. 

 

Brian: And that’s gonna work? 

 

Jack: Maybe. I don’t know for sure. I need to get the action as far away from the casino as possible. So while I appreciate your concern for my brother and me, I need to get shit handled first.

 

Brian: Suit yourself, Stick.

 

Jack: Don’t give me that like you got a better idea.

 

Brian: I’m just saying you got a lot going on. Working with this guy and that guy and trying to be the world champ and all that, just don’t forget about what you need to take care of is all I’m saying.

 

Jack: I got it. Trust me, I got it. Now, if you don’t mind...

 

Brian shrugged and soon left, leaving Jack to finish his workout. Shortly after Jack finished his workout, he showered and changed clothes, only to run into Jason, sitting at the table waving him down.

 

Jack: What’s up, Jay?

 

Jason: I gotta find work, man.

 

Jack: I know, I got you, I’m going to talk to some people and then once we figure out where you might fit in best, I’ll let you know.

 

Jason: Alright, bro. I mean, I told them people that you were gonna be on it. You know?

 

Jack: Yeah, I know, I got you. I need to just let these people know first. Things are in motion, I promise, Jay. I’m not going to leave you like that, you’re family.

 

Jason: Can... can I ask you about that?

 

Jack turned and narrowed his eyes, confused.

 

Jack: What are you talking about?

 

Jason: Uncle Brian. 

 

Jack: What about him?

 

Jason: Do you trust him? 

 

Jack: He hasn’t let me down yet. Look, he’s just as bad off as I am after what happened with Dad. The only person who isn’t affected by all the bullshit back home is you. It’s why I don’t really feel good about putting you into the Casino.

 

Jason: I can handle it, but what about Brian? Is... is he cool or...

 

Jack: He’s done a lot. I don’t trust him fully, no. I trust you, more than I do him. But right now, he’s helping us out. He’s doing the things we need him to do.  So, for that, I can’t say he’s bad. 

 

Jason nodded, but it didn’t seem he was convinced of too much, but he patted Jack on the shoulder and sighed.

 

Jason: Alright, alright cool. 

 

Jack: You just gotta be patient with me, Jay. I promise you this will all be worth it in the end.

 

Jason: Cool man.

 

Jack slapped his brother up and then he departed, headed to make final arrangements with Sonny.

 

 

--

Harrah’s Hotel & Casino
Las Vegas, NV.

 

Jack arrived the Harrah’s and it was becoming almost a routine for him to be led in to see Sonny. Their relationship still wasn’t perfect, But, that was alright as far as Jack was concerned. And more than likely, as far as Sonny was concerned as well. It felt kind of weird to Jack that felt more attached to Sonny than to Benny. Sonny didn’t seem like a bad guy, but he did seem like a powerful guy, and having a powerful guy on your side made way more sense than just a good guy.

 

Jack was sent in to see Sonny, but was greeted by a man he had never seen before. The man stared at Jack intently, dressed is a very expensive looking suit as Jack stared back. Sonny emerged from another room in his office and actually smirked when he saw Jack.

 

Sonny: Hey hey... Jackie Boy!

 

Jack: Sonny.

 

Sonny: I hear you got new for me. 

 

Jack: I do, but... I don’t know who he is.

 

Jack pointed at the man in the suit. Sonny broke the tension, patting the man on either shoulder.

 

Sonny: This is my son, Joey. He’s good. He’s very good.

 

Jack and Joey continued to stare with neither one breaking their line of sight.

 

Sonny: Come on, come on, we’re all friends here, yeah? Let’s not be so hostile all the god damn time.

 

Joey: What is your business with my father?

 

Jack: Were you the one...

 

Joey: No, that was Paulie. My half-brother. But you didn’t answer my question.

 

Jack: Look, I’m sorry about your brother and all that, but my business is with your father, not you. I’m doing him, and you a favor.

 

Joey: I’m gonna be the one in charge of this shit sooner or later... Jack. You may be a big time wrestler with all the muscle and all that’s well and good, but if you’re sitting here trying to set up my father -

 

Sonny: EASY. EASY. Joey, the kid’s here to help us, get some payback for Paulie.

 

Joey: That’s not going to solve the problem, Dad.

 

Sonny: You just don’t have any faith that the old ways work.

 

Joey: I know that the more we kill each other, the biggest the problem gets.

 

Sonny: And you wanna be in charge... 

 

Sonny shook his head and reached into his pocket lighting a cigar. He puffed on it as he opened his curtains and let the sunlight shine into the office and then opened a window to the balcony. He stepped out, and turned back to Jack.

 

Sonny: Jackie boy, let me hear what ya have to say.

 

Jack slowly rose from his chair, keeping his eyes locked on Joey, and then finally heading out onto the balcony where Sonny shut the door.

 

Sonny: Tell me kid, did they take the bait?

 

Jack: I got the confirmation this morning. So soon enough, they’ll move in, and then you can hit them.

 

Sonny: No, no, it’s too early.

 

Jack: Too early?

 

Sonny: Yeah. We hit them this early, they’ll start asking question and they will find out it was you. Trust me. They will finger you right away. No, see, what we gotta do, is wait. 1... 3... maybe even 10 times they go through no problem, that way it’s on the up and up and nobody knows anything different. Then, and only then, do we start hitting ‘em, and then bam, it gets too hot, and you can break off without a problem.

 

It made more sense the more Sonny said about it. He wast thinking ahead. It was a gamble, for sure. But the more successful it was at the beginning, the less Jack looked guilty.

 

Jack: That does make way more sense. 

 

Sonny: I know what I’m doing, kid. 

 

Jack: What about... Joey there?

 

Sonny: He might take over one day, kid. But you know what, it ain’t gonna be until I wipe them fucking Mexicans out the fucking gene pool. Now, you did your part, and I appreciate that. Now I think you need to focus on doing your thing, and let me handle mine.

 

Jack: Alright. It... it’s a pleasure doing business with you, Sonny.

 

Sonny: Likewise, kid.... likewise.

 

 

--

ON CAMERA:

Click.


Jack is now pacing angrily in his own home, the SCW world championship placed prominently on Jack’s shoulder, and as usual, he wears an angry scowl on his face. He takes the title off his shoulder, carrying in in his left hand by the strap as he starts.

 

Jack: The disrespect is real. So real. I was in a pretty good mood leading up to this, I wasn’t going to really say anything but then, SCW management goes ahead lies to all of you. I guess what I’ve been saying all along is true, I am one of the only honest people in this company. I mean, the libel going on, on the SCW website is a disgrace. Apparently, despite making regular appearances on SCW television, I have been “reclusive.” Are you kidding me? Are you joking right now? I haven’t doing my job? Is that what we’re saying here? Let’s just see here, let’s look back at Climax Control from April 11th until last week. Do you know how many times you saw my face on television? 3 out of those 5 weeks. Do you know how many times Mark Cross did anything? Once. He beat garbage ass Austin Mercer and then, nothing. Now, I’ve already said, I don’t care how little or how often he’s on TV, but calling me reclusive when I’ve been on television more than he has is ridiculous. You should be calling Mark Cross reclusive. You should be calling him Santa Claus since he only bothered to show up once. Don’t try and lie on me, Sin City Wrestling. Get your damn facts straight because you look real stupid right now. You and I both know the show is 100% better when I’m on it. I’ve been sitting around, waiting for someone to show me something, and thus far, it’s as I’ve said this entire time: everyone sucks but me. It’s pretty evident from what goes on. It’s sad to see that SCW is resorting to lying about me and pretending everyone else is doing so much and I’m just doing so little. Fucking sad.

 

Like seriously, how fucking DARE YOU sit there and write these things about me. There should be a formal apology written up, thanking me for my contributions. I have led this place from the pits of fucking Wolfsliar to the heights of hitting 300 shows. So, for you to disrespect me and talk about me any kind of way like you don’t need my presence. It’s clear you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have written that now would you? 

 

Oh, Jack’s being selective when he shows up. Right. I do. Because every time I show up, and every time I talk, I make people listen. It’s not just a show, it’s a god damn EVENT. It’s a fucking HAPPENING when I decide to show up. It means MORE when I’m here. Now, if that’s what you actually meant, I will still accept a formal apology but damn it I want that shit in writing. I want everyone to know that you fucked up and you will acknowledge that fact. It’s high time that I got the respect I deserve around here, and not be treated and talked down to like I’m not the World champion of this damn company.

 

Jack holds up the championship to emphasize the point. He tosses it back onto his shoulder as he continues.

 

Jack: Now that we have that settled, I can finally actually directly address the challenger for this championship at Into the Void. Mark Cross. Mark god damn Cross. I mean, I don’t know why I should be addressing you at this point, because you’re not really worth my time. You and I both know that you have no business in the ring with me, Mark. We both know that you are flat out lucky to be in the position you are in, and you have done fuck all with it. You are sitting here, preparing for the 2nd waste of everyone’s time and energy, when you fail again at becoming the SCW World champion. Because you will fail. You will fail again, because you aren’t on my level. You haven’t done what I’ve done, You’ve simply fallen ass-backwards into a win here and there, and you somehow, someway, won the Blast From the Past tournament twice. It’s ridiculous that this match is even taking place, much less being the main event of a fucking supercard. 

 

I asked you nicely, I kindly recommended you get your ass serious, and you have failed to do that. Don’t try and sit here after all is said and done and say you weren’t ready. You had ample time to prepare, and you have presented nothing to support your case for why you should be here. Let’s just face the facts of the situation, you were ELIMINATED for the tournament, and then someone else got screwed over, and you just got plucked and put back in. I mean, people have been screwed in this tournament, and they didn’t get the break you got. I mean, some chick’s still complaining about it and hers happened last year. So, don’t sit here and try and tell me you earned this or you deserve this match. You were just the other person on the team. It’s kind of easy to win when you have a good partner or crappy opponents. And you had both. You were, the best of the worst, Mark. Nothing more. And now all you are doing is making it clear to every wrestler on this roster, that winning the Blast From The Past doesn’t really have any real ring of achievement to it, if you then proceed to fail at your chance. And you are about to waste the opportunity for the second year in a row.

 

That makes you doubly pathetic. All because you wanna be likeable, you wanna be funny, you wanna make jokes and being everybody’s buddy. That might be fine for you, but when you are the World champion, it’s a lonely, lonely place. Because there is only room for ONE person at the top. And that suits me to a fucking T doesn’t it? It doesn’t really fit someone like you. More so because you know you’re not even supposed to be here. I mean, it’s not the first time I have been disappointed. In fact, literally every person I’ve wrestled as the SCW world champion, and the so-called champion I beat, have all left me feeling like I’m in a class by myself when it comes to this. In fact, I know I am. And now here you are, pretending like you actually have a chance. But deep down, you know you don’t. You know you are going to get your ass whooped by me at Into the Void, so you’re doing as little as possible to actually piss me off and get me riled up, so that I don’t take it out on you too badly.  That would be a sound strategy, but, unfortunately, for you, SCW done messed up and they annoyed me with their bullshit writing. So now, you must pay the penalty. But you know, that’s not even the only reason I’m going to beat your ass in a couple of week. Oh no, I have one really good reason right now.

 

Oh yes, it was you, who hurt me first. Well, actually it was Evie because she actually won the match for your team, but yes, last year, you got to hang the first loss ever on my career. Everything was going fine until you have to come along and ruin it. I was wrecking hall of fame wrestlers in my debut, and then you just get to go along for the ride and it was fucking infuriating to me. This is why I don’t trust any of you mother fuckers at this point. All of you just let people down time and time again. So I don’t need any more motivation than that, Mark. Revenge is something I live for. Revenge is a proper motivator when it comes to me. I am all about the revenge business. They say that success is the best revenge, and normally, I might agree with that, but let’s face it, I’ve already passed where you’ve been. I’m already better than you. I’m already at the top, and yet, here you are, coming for me as if you can just beat me at Into the Void. The fucking gall you have to think that I would forgive or forget this is a slap in my face. I am the SCW world champion, and this is what you think of me? How FUCKING DARE YOU, Mark. How dare you just think I’m some dude you can just steal on like that. How dare you think I’m some kind of joke. I’m not a joke, YOU are the joke, Mark. You backed your way into this title match and you know damn well you don’t deserve to be here, and now I will take that, and that first loss and I will use it. I will have my revenge, Mark. I will beat you down and I will make sure the whole world sees that you are not on my level. You will learn firsthand that I am exactly who and what I say I am. You can take that shit to the bank.

 

Jack finally stops pacing, still looking very annoyed and angry, and tosses the championship onto his nearby couch.

 



Jack: At the end of all of this, After Into the Void, you will show me the proper respect for being your champion, SCW. The world champion. I have done everything asked of me, and then some, and still people doubt me. How many more hall of famers, would-be heroes, so-called legends and the like do I have to beat before I am finally recognized? Is beating Mark Cross what finally pushes me over that hump? You tell me, SCW. How many more hoops am I going to have to jump through after I take Mark Cross apart, piece by piece. How much longer after Mark Cross is lying in a broken, beaten heap, will it be? I hope, for the sake of everyone else on this roster, it’s not too much longer because the longer it takes, the more bodies will start piling up. 

 

Mark Cross is nothing but a speed bump on my road to the greatness I aspire to. Nothing more. He won a tournament once, and failed. Now he’s won it again, and it has been met with a resounding “who the fuck cares?” reaction. Is this what you really wanted? Do you want me to just hurt this man and take away his livelihood? Are you just here to push my buttons and patronize me? If that’s the case, just tell me, and after I beat Mark Cross, I’ll just start crossing everyone off the list. I told you that everyone was going to suffer. Suffer with the fact that not only am I the best, but that it took Kris Ryans having the night of his life to beat me, and soon after, it was rectified. If you thought I was going away after that, you can stick it because I’m going to be here, for a long, long time.

 

Oh, and don’t think I’m not paying attention to the “King For A Day” match either. So let me just let all of you know, that when one of you fumbles your way to victory, to stay far, far away from me if you want to make that mean something. You four may be sitting there, saying to yourselves out loud that I shouldn’t be worried about you, because I have to worry about Mark Cross. Trust me, I can sit through Mark Cross’s absurd backstory and lies to make himself sound like a tough guy, but at the end of the day, Into the Void is where I take this championship to new heights, and make even more money than before. It’s just that simple. So I would advise all of you to think long and hard about what you’re going to try and do with that card you’re going to make. I don’t give a rat’s ass what other matches you make, but the moment one of you idiots tries to come for me, you will have just signed away your death certificate. 

 

Jack takes a seat, picking up the championship as he sits down and draping it across his lap.

 

Jack: Mark Cross, you waste of space, you better show me something, otherwise, Into the Void will be the longest night of your life, and before it’s all said and done, you will BEG me to end it. Just so you know, I used to slaying Dragons.

This time will be no different.

 

Jack leans back sighing as he basically lets the remaining anger fade, leaning forward with his head in his hands as he motions for the camera to stop shooting. We fade to black.

Click.

EVERYONE. SUFFERS.

[The Dragon]

Mistakes were made. Sure, the result stayed the same, but something changed in me for those few months of Blast from the Past 2021. I’d achieved something that nobody had achieved before, and it’d probably be some time before it was achieved again. Evie still had the edge on me of course, she had that third appearance in the finals, but winning twice in a row? That was my little “thing” that I didn’t have to share with anyone else, my annotation into the annals of time, and a challenge to see who would be next.

No matter what, my name was etched into the history books, something to be talked about probably long after I’m gone from this place. I guess, by definition, I’ve already left something of a legacy with what I’ve achieved. Now the real challenge is...just how far can I take it?

Part of me says I should go for the three-peat. Part of me says I should win that World Heavyweight title and retain all the way through to the next Blast from the Past. Make it nigh on impossible to defend my title a third time since...well...as I said to Austin, possession is nine tenths of the law right?

I’m standing on the brink of something special here. The question is really just...how special?


28th March 2021
Las Vegas, Nevada
Backstage[/i]

Mark “The Dragon” Cross paced the locker room, his steps were purposeful, yet erratic. He looked frantic, like he didn’t really know what to do with himself, the kind of nervous energy that seemed to completely take over a person, such as in the build-up to having to go out to perform, and the kind of affliction that came over even the most experienced of competitors when it came to a big contest, a title match, or a tournament final.

Yet...his job was already done. He’d already stepped in the ring, became a two-time Blast from the Past winner, and his work for the night was over...so it was simply the adrenaline working its way out of his system.

Eventually, Mark takes a seat on the bench in the centre of the locker room, his back to us.

The Dragon: LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO!

It was a roar so powerful that anyone walking around in the nearby corridors would have definitely heard him...but by now the arena was practically empty. The reduced capacity crowd was long-gone, and all that were left were a few of the road crew packing down. At least, so he thought.

A wave of bright purple hair swung freely in front of the camera, bouncing against the black hooded sweatshirt its owner was wearing, the door creaking shut behind her, announcing her presence. She seats herself next to Mark on the bench, both of them facing forward.

Royal Purple: Hey.

The Dragon: Hey. You're not wearing your mask.

Royal Purple: Anyone that's still left either knows who I am already, or doesn't care. Besides, I feel like it's nearly time for Royal Purple to die, ya know?

The Dragon: Well sure, if you think you’re ready for that. So when does the feeding frenzy begin?

Royal Purple: As soon as I drop this title, mask off.

The Dragon: You could stick around here you know.

Royal Purple: Are you kidding? I'm underage. Security literally have to escort me to the backstage area every time they hold an event in a fucking casino, which, since COVID happened, is every fucking week. I literally had to shake one of them just to come find you in here! Besides, girls who put themselves in AA probably shouldn't spend much time hanging out in Sin City ya know? Kind of a bad mix. Besides...I'm worth more to this place gone, we both know that.

The Dragon: When that juicy release clause in your contract gets triggered right?

Royal Purple: Hell yeah! You're welcome SCW! Sooooo umm...you good? Kinda sounded like you were trying to scream the roof off this place or something...

The Dragon: Yeah I'm good. Just - it felt like I was holding on too tight for this one, if that makes sense? I’ve never talked about my Dad around here, or around wrestling circles at all really, got too far in my own head about winning two in two, I think it’s the only reason he came up. Forgot to have any fun along the way.

Royal Purple: You mean you had fun with Evie Fucking Jordan?

The Dragon: Making her angry every week gave me a great deal of enjoyment to be honest. It's weird, we genuinely just didn't like each other, those sarcastic tweets both ways weren't just for show...but the whole thing stirred up this weird desire that made me want to drag it out for another week. After week one it was to spite her, but after that...I don’t know...I guess I started to want to win it for her just as much as I did for me. Besides, I figured it was an easy excuse for her just to blame it all on me, claim some kind of moral victory if we didn’t win the whole thing...and we all know how stubborn I can be don’t we?

Royal Purple: You weren't trying to steal some dude's wife then?

The Dragon: FUCK no. We'd want to kill each other within a week, and I feel like I’d probably come off second best on that one. She’s got a special set of skills…

Royal Purple: Like Liam Neeson?

The Dragon: No...because she used to…

Royal Purple: She will find you...and she will kill you…

The Dragon: I know, that’s why I said-

Royal Purple: You don’t remember her? We spoke on the phone a few days ago, I told you she’d find you.

The Dragon: That’s not even the line…

Royal Purple: Please help us Obi Wan! You’re our only hope!

The Dragon: That’s Star Wars…

Royal Purple: Those aren’t the droids you’re looking f-OWW!

A swift and sudden smack to the back of the head stops Royal Purple in her tracks.

Royal Purple: What the fuck man!?!

The Dragon: I don’t know what’s more disappointing, that you’re just reeling off movie quotes, or that you didn’t tell me you’d finally watched Star Wars.

Royal Purple: Oh yeah - Katie promised to cook every day for like a week if I agreed to watch them with her. Couldn’t say no to that. I see why you two go crazy about that series, it was pretty good.

The Dragon: Told you.

Royal Purple: Although...why did they come out in a funny order again?

The Dragon: Well...where do I start?

Since that conversation could probably fill 10,000 words or more all by itself, ain’t nobody got time for that. The scene fades to black, but we hear a ringing phone in the background instead. One of the voices is familiar from her time working with Royal Purple, the other is completely new to us, and sporting a distinctive Philly accent.

Hadley: Hello?

Katie: Hadley?

Hadley: Yeah - Who’s this?

Katie: My name’s Katie - I’m a wrestler.

Hadley: Oh - Hey Katie. What can I do for you?

Katie: I wanted to ask a couple of questions if that’s okay? You trained at the Dragon’s Lair, in Miami?

Hadley: I did.

Katie: See I’ve just finished this tour of Japan and I’m looking for gyms where I can keep working on my Strong Style back in the US...Dragon’s Lair seemed like a good fit…

Hadley: I’m sensing a ‘but’ coming…

Katie: ...but I don’t wanna join a gym owned by a pro wrestler if they’re just a name on the door. Did you...see Mark Cross very often? Was he supportive?

Hadley laughs out loud, almost distorting the phone line.

Katie: What’s so funny?

Hadley: Oh yeah - He’s supportive alright. You’re not going to have any problems there.

Katie: Did something...happen to you...or something?

Hadley: Yeah - It did. It wasn’t anyone’s fault I just...uhh...had to get outta there in the end. How much do you know about Cross anyway?

Katie: Only what I’ve read online, honestly. Watched a lot of his matches when I was researching the place. What’s he like?

Hadley: In the ring, cold-blooded winner. Outside of it? Sweetest guy you could ever meet. If you join that gym, it’s like you’re one of his family. If it’s money, your job, your car...ex boyfriends...whatever it is that’s causing you trouble he will quite literally bend over backwards to help you. His whole team will go to the ends of the earth for their guys and girls...but that has it’s problems sometimes…

Katie: Why?

Hadley: Well you see...he has this...dark side to Mark, if you can even call it that...which only really comes out if you hurt someone in his circle. Or at least...that was the only place I ever saw it. Really tough to ever get on his bad side, but if you ever do...fuck...

THUMP THUMP...THUMP THUMP...A heartbeat sounds in the background.

Hadley: So there was this one time, he flew us all up to Orlando this one time, took us on a “field trip” to Disney for the day, all the students, the team, everything. Mark HATES heights so I thought it was gonna be so fucking funny sitting next to him on Exhibition Everest, tallest ride on the park, so I like push my way through to get the seat next to him and everything…

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP...The heartbeat quickened.

Hadley: But like...it turns out part of this ride meant going backwards, which I...just can’t...I properly lost my SHIT up there, the guy who’s supposed to be shit scared of heights is holding MY hand trying to calm ME down. He did his usual, he was kind, understanding, never judged me once, only teased me about it like a week later when he knew I was good...and I told him why it affected me so much, after we got off…

THUD. THUD. THUD...The sound of fist connecting on skull repeatedly.

Hadley: So when I was a kid my Dad took me on this swinging pirate ship ride at the fair. It got stuck when it was swinging backwards and we were up there for so long. I couldn’t stop crying, I was so scared, but because I wouldn’t stop Dad whipped me with his belt for it when we got home and umm...yeah I’ve never gotten over that really…

You think it’s fair to scar your daughter like that you FUCK!?!...The last word echoes away until it fades to nothing.

Hadley: Mark went and found my Dad. Not...just ‘cause of the fairground ride thing, my parents never supported my move into wrestling, so they were downright horrible to me from the moment I got to Miami. It was affecting me, my training, so he went to try and talk it out. Ended up beating my Dad half to death in his own home, his new wife sat there watching the whole thing. Safe to say he wasn’t planning to be more supportive of my career choices...

Katie: Didn’t he go to prison?

Hadley: My Dad was in some illegal shit, always has been, no WAY was he gonna call the cops. I don’t give a fuck about him anyway, he got what was coming to him. I was glad.

SPLASHHHHH...Two hands, shaking, covered in blood, being washed under cold water.

Katie: Is that why you left the gym?

Hadley: Fuck no! Someone goes to that length for me? I’m sticking with them all the way. Nah...Mark and I dated for a while, maybe eighteen months back. We only lasted a few months...he was still reeling from his divorce and I was so excited about being Facebook official with the guy whose poster I had on my damn wall. I even bought it with me when I moved to Miami to train at his gym, and stuck it in the bedroom of my little condo. We got into it for all the wrong reasons, and it didn't work out. Woulda made things too awkward being around the gym. It already was to be honest, everybody knew, we just figured we could be adults and get on with it but you know how these things are. The whispers were bad enough when we were actually dating, imagine when they heard we were having problems. He got me a development deal with some guys he trusted, up in Orlando, and off I went you know?

Katie: Jesus Christ.

Hadley: What was your name again, Katie, right?

Katie: Yeah, Katie Harmison.

Hadley: Well Katie, if you want someone in your corner, no matter what? Dragon’s Lair. If you want some asshole to take your cash and give zero fucks about you? Probably somewhere else. My Mom, my Dad, my boss, my ex...all tried to tear me down in one way or another, Mark made them all go away, and never once made me feel guilty for asking for his help. He goes harder than anyone in that building, I watched him train every morning, he won’t expect anything from you he wouldn’t give himself. Plus, if you’ve already trained in Japan, you won’t be surprised when he talks about all the sadistic shit…

Katie: Kendo sticks and stuff?

Hadley: Yeah, what the hell!?!

Katie: That’s kinda...what I thought too…he ever make you do it?

Hadley: Nah - He didn’t recommend it. Kept a few around for the Strong Style guys, so if you ever miss it he can hook you up! Hey Katie, listen, been nice to chat but I REALLY need to get to training. By the way, if you join up at the Lair, make sure you stay on Faith’s good side. She’s the real top dog around that place.

Katie: Faith, huh? OK - Perfect, thanks for all your help!

The line cuts out, and goes dead.

15th May 2021
Miami, FL
Mark Cross’ Residence[/i]

So here we go then, attempt number two at the big-time. Another opportunity that I, quite literally, have waited twelve months to roll around again. That doesn’t mean it’s all I’ve done  with my time, far from it...but it felt like part of the plan was to circle back around to this, to Blast from the Past, and to the World Heavyweight title once again.

The fact is I’ve been thinking long and hard about my career, about its path, and this is something that’s been going on before I even set foot in Sin City Underground, worked up to the main show, and now to this, twice. After all, another half a second against Ben Jordan, and this whole situation could have been completely different. I was just that close. Half a second. The slimmest of margins...but it doesn’t matter if you win by an inch or a mile, a win is a win, and I didn’t quite have the stuff to bring it home back then...but I did have stuff. I had more stuff than I thought I would, coming back from a part-time schedule, just to keep busy while my prized pupil recovered from her broken leg. I was just trying to stay in shape, stay current...and then the Fire Dragons happened. The wins came. The titles came. It lit a fire in me that hadn’t burned for at least a couple of years, and it set in motion a run that meant, even a decade later...now, I’m wrestling better than I ever have. Even against Ben Jordan I knew...I didn’t quite have it yet, but the tank was far from empty. I still had way more room to improve. The ceiling was higher than I ever felt possible.

This last twelve months? It’s all been about filling my tank, ready to go one more time.

I feel like we’ve been here before Jack...Blast from the Past last year...you’re talking a good game about what I should be prepared for, but how about you prepare for me too? How about you...I don’t know, maybe put in some research, save us wasting time talking about more non-factors, and look at the facts. I trained in Japan, I’ve said that enough times, and you know why that’s relevant, since you’re asking if I’m ready to go to war with you? Well...the Japanese training methods are a little unique, to say the least. They’d have us grab boards, and kendo sticks, and hit each other with them over and over and over again, to toughen each other up. Oh, and respect is important, we bow to each other right after, in respect, in thanks for the lesson they just taught us. To an outsider, it all looks a little sadistic I’m sure...and to be honest it probably is...but if you go back through time, there is one thing so heavily entrenched in Japanese culture...and that’s building warriors. It wasn’t just about building great fighters, great wrestlers, but winners. Champions. Leaders of men. When I walked in that dojo I had much to learn. I was first to arrive, last to leave, and since in their eyes I was the rookie, the outsider, I wiped mats. I swept floors. I did the donkey work, all before I came back for more the next day.

Was it tough? Hell yeah it was tough. I’d roll out of bed in pain, after a restless night sleep, unable to lay anywhere other than on the welts that had formed from the onslaught of the day before. I thought about the scorching Miami sun, about the hot tub on the edge of my swimming pool and I considered, in my late-twenties, about packing it all up, going back home, living off my well-invested NFL dollars, and getting fat, because that’s always been an option for me. I didn’t have to embark on this wrestling journey at all. I definitely didn’t need to stay in it for ten years plus. I could have phoned it in at any point, if I wanted. I don’t think one single person who knew the full story would have judged me for it either. I think, honestly, they were all surprised I stuck with it too. Not because I wasn’t committed...usually I got so obsessed with something that it consumed me, like wrestling had, like it still did now, but I didn’t need this.

There are literally thousands of wrestlers out there, who feel like making it is the only shot they have of living a life that they’d be proud of, or a life of any real worth at all. Talk about motivation, that’s going to make you keep getting up after a fall, huh? They just can’t get their foot in the door...and yet, here I stand, able to muster up enough determination to surpass every single one of them, waving on the way past, as I get the chance to put myself top of the pile. Japan shaped me, in more ways than one, and long since cemented in me that throwing in the towel? Definitely not an option.

I remember there was this one day...the boards didn’t come out right until the end, we all thought we were safe, we’d given it our all in the session, we earned our rest. I got paired up with this young Japanese guy, a local, who’d recently joined the dojo to train. He wasn’t signed to the company, nowhere near the main roster. He was maybe my height, but slight-figured, I think he was maybe eighteen, nineteen...and we got our instructions - “shinu ma-de tatakau”. It roughly translated to fight to the death, and while the plan was not to kill, it was definitely to hit each other until one couldn’t swing back any more. Oh, and keep hitting them until someone tells you to stop.

I had an unfair advantage, of course. I’d been an NFL running back just over two years before. Take the ball, run at a bunch of guys that are bigger than you, get nailed, pick yourself up and go again. I could take punishment, and I’d never stopped training as a professional athlete even after I’d taken my last snap. My opponent was the first to fall. I swung the board again, again, again, this teenage kid literally crying on the floor in agony, trying to roll away, while I chased him down laid into him with this wooden board, waiting for the shout of “TOMERU!” (stop) to come. It didn’t. I didn’t let up, I knew how this worked. If I showed weakness, the show would have continued ever longer. This was part of the process. The sensei’s didn’t let up. Not until another warrior, further down the line, was reduced to one knee. Then, blissfully, the punishment was called to a halt. My arms were burning from all the exertion, woe is me, but I had absolutely come off better.

The kid was back in the dojo the very next morning. I figured I might have just ended a fledgling young career that day, ripped it away from the lad, but if anything, it rejuvenated my spirit. He came straight over, we bowed to each other, out of respect, and he thanked me like I’d taught him something, a valuable life lesson. Maybe I had, like tempering steel, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Whenever I felt like quitting, I had a new image in my mind now. I didn’t see my hot tub. I saw the lad who’d been beaten to within an inch of his life, dusting himself off, and coming straight back for more the next day, chasing his wrestling dream, just like we all were.

People like you don’t cause me serious injury, Jack. That’s your big problem. You’re top of the pyramid for a reason, I’m not here to belittle your ability, or your achievements, but winning matches and causing actual bodily harm are two completely different things entirely, in your case anyway. You don’t have a big reach advantage, we’re similar height, similar build. I don’t have the risk of you straight up overpowering me before I get the chance to slow you down. You can’t wrench on a body part that I might want to stay attached while I’m powerless to stop you. The likes of a Mac Bane, maybe. Dealt with him to get to you by the way. Submissions? Eh...we both know them, but we’re probably more adept at getting out of them than we are applying them, aren’t we? The danger of a blink-and-I’ll-miss-it hold out of nowhere, that separates my shoulder from its socket, before I even see it coming? Again...it’s just as likely to happen to you as it is to me. Fenris threatened to do something similar to mine. He didn’t, and I feel like his arm-breaking prowess surpasses either one of ours, don’t you agree?

For you to come out, and injure me? Really hurt me, put me out of action? That’d have to be your gameplan all along. You tend to have an inkling of course, you insulted a member of their family, you beat someone they care about...you have the title you took from them a few months back...or they admit in the warm-up to one of their matches that they intend to come out and inflict pain on you when they get the chance. The warning signs are absolutely plain as day, you can kind of prepare, and surprise surprise as they come out of the gates with a full head of steam, striking and striking and striking, wildly, loosely. Grabbing for holds and submissions when there are better options available. Working a joint even if it opens the other three up to retaliate in any way you please. It looks ragged. Almost desperate, like a man possessed.

So Jack - Really? Is that actually your plan, or are you just out here trying to talk a good game at me? Are you mistaking me for someone who takes any of that seriously, do you have me marked down as someone who cares? We all know what a big part of this game is. Talk. All words and empty threats a lot of the time, posturing, trying to act like the bigger man, and that’s fine...but do you really want to play that game with me, is it smart? Do you really think you’re going to get in my head, or are we all going to be disappointed when we find out that, once again, you’ve failed to deliver on all these promises you throw around.

I’ve faced plenty of ‘scary’ opponents in my time, sure. Bigger, stronger, faster, more experienced, more successful. There’s always someone out there with more...something, and yet here you and I are, fighting it out to be the best, not them. That says its own something. I don’t compete in this sport based on fear, and if you flick through some of the figures in my match history, names that I’ve faced, and beaten, just think...if they can’t make me fear them, then just what chance do you have Jack? I respect you, I don’t fear you. I expect to go to war with you, that doesn’t make me scared of what might happen. Instead it stokes the fires in my belly, brings my A game bubblig to the surface. I don’t tighten up when the bell rings, I’m relaxed, I’m laser focussed, I’m ready to get my work done.

I’ve heard it said, about me, that I come across a little holier than thou, as if I’m the only guy out here working hard, that I’m the only one without flaws, the only one worthy enough to capture these accolades and you know what? Maybe I have to accept that’s how it comes across. Maybe even, to be honest, I have to agree. Maybe I do just have to face the fact that I have my own way of doing things. I think that way is better, and nothing is going to sway me from it. Or more...I have a way that works better for ME. For how I am, for how I operate. Why change a formula that works though?

I don’t think I’m unbeatable. Far from it. In fact, like I spoke about at the top, I felt like I had so much more work left to stick into my game, compared to twelve months ago, compared to my first shot. If we’re not losing once in a while, and this applies to life as well, how are we ever really going to improve? What reason do we have to improve, when it’s just as easy to coast by, putting in the same easy level of effort. There’s no incentive to better ourselves and all that happens, is the envelope never gets pushed. There’s no disruptive innovation.

Disruptive innovation...now there’s a thing. Sounds negative, doesn’t it, but think about it...video streaming services...books you can buy online rather than from a store...a camera that fits in your pocket...smartphones in general...electric vehicles...the world is full of this disruptive innovation wherever you look and what is it, really? A different way of looking at things, a break from the traditional, usually a more efficient, more advanced way of thinking.

Now plenty has been said lately about how many microphones have been picked up ahead of this World title shot and really it’s been a grand total of none, I think. That seems a little odd, right? Blue chip title, main event, biggest show of the year? I mean, we HAVE to pick up our microphones, right? We HAVE to talk about it! Isn’t that the DONE THING? Isn’t that what Main Event wrestlers are SUPPOSED to do? Well let me tell every single one of you who is outraged to kindly sit down, and fuck off. THAT is disruptive innovation because you know what? Wrestling at the top level doesn’t have to be about a popularity contest. It’s not about sales. It’s not about profit. It’s not about the bottom line. It’s about wrestling. Two men. Six sides. One bell. One result. Who is better on the night. That, I can get behind. That is what I signed up for.

Jack, I just hope you’ve prepared for this like I’ve prepared for you. I hope your silence means you’ve used your time wisely, figured out how you’re going to “make me suffer” or whatever your grand plan is for me. I hope it’s enough. What you hold in your hands right now, that shiny strap, is something that belongs in mine. See I don’t like to share. Underground title? Over six months in possession. Blast from the Past achievements? I had to grab one that nobody else held, I had to go one better. Some time ago I compared myself to Dan Marino, the greatest to come through Sin City Wrestling without holding the World heavyweight title and you know what? The more I think about that analogy, the more I think I have a point, and the more I want to put that right.

Very few people can do what I can do in a wrestling ring. Forget about sellability, think winability. Give me another twelve months to get better, and that’s exactly what I do. That’s a scary prospect. A new era of champions is about to begin. One that wins first, and talks about it later. Jack tried to be that guy...but really all he’s been doing is neglecting his duty. All that radio silence, for nothing. The truth is, people can say what they want. It doesn’t matter...as long as you hold the title. They just have to come for you in the comments, complain and complain and complain until they manage to earn their shot and then BOOM, put them right back where they belong...in the only place in this business that truly matters. As the new champion, the ring will be my domain. Want to prove me wrong? That’s the only place where your opinion will be valid.

One. More. Win.

Timeframe - Unknown
Location - Unknown[/i]

Well that definitely wasn’t fucking worth it after all.

Sometimes in this sport, there are times when you have to lift and spin your opponent in order to execute a move correctly. Just lift, you put them straight up in the air, they come right back down to where you had them before. Just spin, you trap their leg in a position where it can’t get free and, as we all know, bone doesn’t bend, it breaks. Plus, if you don’t stop yourself at that point, you end up rolling your whole weight over the top of that trapped leg too. One wrong move, a few seconds or less, and I would be looking for a new form of employment.

*CRACK*

Adnan Virk: That looks like it could be a bad one people…

Timekeeper (picked up from one of the headset mics): Oh shit, Dragon’s really hurt…get the medics in there!

I knew at that moment I was done. I don’t think I even screamed in pain, or at least I didn’t hear myself if I did. I just knew. My opponent staggered back, shocked, the colour drained from the face of the referee as he heard the snap, and then saw the damage first-hand moments later. Everyone knew. Wrestling had been one big wild ride from the first minute to the last. I’d loved virtually every second of it, and thankfully I’d evaded serious injury for over a decade during the process. I began to wonder if maybe, once I made it into my forties, my luck with injuries would start to run out. I was mentally preparing myself for that milestone, thinking maybe that would be the time I began to wind down, phone it in, look for other ways to spend my time and get my kicks. It turns out I fell a few years short of that after all.

I could have gotten back, of course. I’d been a professional athlete for long enough to know that, even with my leg splintered into however many fucking pieces it’d just gotten split into, I was in prime physical condition before I even started on the road to recovery. I was wrestling arguably the best I ever had, for a start. I was no stranger to hard work, I craved adversity, I never shied away from it once. I’d probably come back from this encounter stronger than ever. But I wouldn’t come back. I didn’t need the money before, I definitely didn’t need it now, this was my own greed that put me here after all, my own stupid aspirations. It was karma. I’d sold out.

In fact, I sold my soul to the devil. I was quite content with the fact I’d never make it BIG. ECWF in Miami was probably the biggest company I’d worked for in terms of the size of the audience, the reach of the organisation, and while it was absolutely nothing to be sniffed at, it still wasn’t the major leagues. I was a great worker, an experienced head around the locker room, a model professional...but I never had that commercial appeal to put me right up there with the best of the best. I accepted it, I made peace with that pretty early on, and I took full advantage of that. No exclusive deal? I could say yes or no to whatever opportunities I wanted. Needed some time off? I was the master of my own destiny, I set my own schedule. I was in complete total control of my career, and I very much had my own life, and my own interests outside of wrestling that I pursued to my heart’s content.

And then, at a party, I joked with one of the trainers at the Development Centre asking about when my trial was going to be, and since it was in Florida, and I lived in Florida, I was only a few hours drive away. It turns out, a few weeks later, they were a little more serious about me than I was about them, and the call came.

As I said, my wrestling work was probably some of the best it's ever been, and it wasn’t like the door to the grand stage had ever been closed because of my ability in the ring anyway. That, aside from a shaky few years before I went to Japan, was never the issue. I made a great first impression, they wanted to use me here and there in a couple of dark matches to see how I did. One thing led to another until it led to a big stack of paperwork, and by far the most intricate, loop-holey (technical term) contract I’d ever seen in my whole life. I understood every word of course, picked through every clause. I’d taken classes in contract law so I could help the guys I trained in the Lair understand the deals they were being offered. I made myself an expert. I knew just how many ways they had me over a fucking barrel and I took the pen and I signed it anyway because that was what I wanted to do, and it was all going to be fine. I was ALWAYS fine.

We all knew what it was, of course. My role would be far more than just one of the guys on roster. In fact, that was very much secondary. Guys like me, we have our uses in the major leagues, and it’s not selling shirts, or filling seats. It’s more...developmental. We know how to make guys on the up-and-up look really good out there, even if their abilities are a little lacking at that moment in time, they were still learning the ropes in a lot of regards. We were there to facilitate that, and disguise it for the fans. We can teach guys how to work properly, either at live shows, or just in training. We can impart our experience, share our knowledge, put our arms around shoulders when needed and light a fire under someone’s ass when they deserve it too. We could be the oil in the cogs that kept everything moving in the places where management couldn’t go, and be the reliable old hands who could always be called on when something needed doing right. That, probably, is what put me in that situation, on that night.

Wrestling with someone on their first time out under the bright lights, in front of a crowd of THAT magnitude? It’s always tough. It’s pretty much unanimous for everyone involved to want...no...need someone like me to be out in the ring with them. Someone to keep the action moving toward its final conclusion, and to try and keep an excess amount of adrenaline from bubbling over and ruining the whole match. Guys overextend in those situations, throw you too far, or hit you too hard or...trap your leg under both of your weights as they botch a move. I thought I was capable enough to keep myself out of that kind of trouble in those situations, night in, night out. After all, I had done it for years. Done it for a decade in fact...

...but the one time it failed, it was in a place where they owned my fucking name. Literally. Mark Cross, the name on my passport, my birth certificate, the first name my lovely Mom gave me, the surname I inherited from my inspirational Dad. The name that I put the name of a mythical creature in the middle of, to make one of the most creative wrestler names in history, was contractually owned by a company with wealth so vast, and legal team so malevolent, that I knew I was up against a losing battle to get it back, that is, before my three year deal expired. Of course, arrogance took over. I had one bad injury in over a decade, I’m invincible, and my work will be even better than they expect of me. I’ll absolutely see out the full term of that contract. That’s just the kind of guy I am. Except...I didn't.

It's easy, just come back after your injury heals, see out your contract with us, or terminate it now and use a different name in your professional endeavours. Any questions?

I took option two, with a go fuck yourself for good measure. I actually didn't blame them. Rules were rules, they owed me nothing, really, I'd been with them for less than a year. You heard horror stories of people that had given a decade plus to that company, only to get their belongings handed back to them in a black trash bag. After all, this is the wrestling BUSINESS, profit is king, and the higher up the food chain you go, the more important the profit becomes...but it made me feel better to tell them to go fuck themselves, so I did it anyway. Besides, I was only burning bridges I never planned to cross again.

So there it was...in one match I became Marcus Sutherland, a nod to my Scottish heritage as I borrowed my Mother's maiden name for a while. It'd be mine for two years, maybe longer, who knew. Maybe I’d forge out a new career, scale new heights, and it’d just kind of stick Besides, most actors had a stage name didn't they? Why shouldn't I join the party? It was an easy way to sidestep the whole wrestler schtick.

We flick to an empty auditorium. The familiar face of Mark Cross stands in front of a table of four stern-faced, artistic-looking individuals, who peer down at him as they wait for him to introduce himself.

Marcus: I’m Mark Cro...Marcus Sutherland...auditioning for the role of-

Director: You don’t even know your name?

Marcus: Uh it’s a long story, it’s kind of a contractual thing?

Director: Your NAME is a contractual thing?

Marcus: Yeah, I was a wrestler before I-

Director: Ugh, a wrestler...I’ve heard enough. Next!

Marcus: I haven’t even read any of the l-

Director: Get. Out.

Marcus: Are you really not even going to give me a ch-

Director: GETTHEFUCKOUT!!

The Dragon: AAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!

I woke up screaming in a puddle of my own sweat, and probably some tears, as an alternative reality seemed to throw itself upon me in my sleep. My hand shot under the covers to check my leg, the one I’d seen bent horrifically out of shape in the dream state, to find it intact. No breaks. No cast. No pins and metal plates. It was okay.

The Dragon: I need to call Melody and tell her not to worry about that trial…

Or maybe it was a sign...they say every dream carries some kind of meaning...a warning about another mistake I might have made…

Micaela: Mark? What’s wrong?

Oh...there it is.

The Dragon: I just had a bad dream...I shouldn’t be here...with you...this whole thing was a mistake…

Micaela: Wait, where are you going...we can talk about this...whatever it is…

The Dragon: Look...just...I can’t, right now. Stay here as long as you need. Spare keys in a drawer in the kitchen, the shop back in town is well stocked...

Micaela: Uhm...can I call you?

The Dragon: I uhh…No. I’ll call you when I uhh...figure this all out.

Micaela: I didn’t mean-

The Dragon: I’ve just...gotta go.


Congratulations Mark, and now you’re unfaithful.

Something about this was different. I knew casual, meaningless sex. I knew it like someone that's made up for lost time after a decade of marriage. I went after it like someone that's had it shoved in their face, their nose rubbed in it for just as long as he’d been in the wrestling business, which was true. I’d filled my boots like someone that, for 3,500 days or more had always said no...but now felt like he could finally say yes. In truth, I didn’t want to say yes all those previous times, I had someone I loved at home, and they were enough. Besides, I knew whether it be from drugs, alcohol, the thought of money, or the allure of spending the night with a minor celebrity, my potential suitors weren’t genuine. It didn’t tempt me, it wasn’t worth it. I knew it wasn’t worth it all that time ago, and when I finally sampled the real thing? Well it was exactly what I thought it was going to be. Empty. Pointless. Meaningless. All the thrill was in the chase...and there was never much of a chase.

Tonight was different. I was totally and completely in that moment. Nothing to influence either of us. I was exhausted, sure, but if there was ever an excuse to pack the unexpected guest off into one of the spare bedrooms and collapse, that was very much it. I was awful when I was tired after all...but once again, I had a girl at home, who I cared about. Why was this different?

Amber and I...we never...really defined what we were, never put a label on it. Suddenly I asked her to move to Miami, and that same day she packed a bag, we booked a flight, and off we went. Still no label. I took out a lease on an old pilates studio and we set about converting it, so she could carry on teaching dance and earn her own money. No label. We made each other breakfast and I’d turn up to the studio unexpectedly to surprise her with lunch and iced coffee...and we just fell into line like a couple would. We were a couple in every sense of the word...except for actually saying the words. Did that mean it was even cheating if we weren’t officially...anything?

Of course it was. She upped sticks and moved to Miami you fucking idiot. That level of commitment doesn’t need a label. Actions speak louder than words, you’ve been bumbling on about that for years.

Fuck.

If there was ever a time to have my head truly in the game, a World title shot on the line in just a few short weeks, this was it. Instead that mind-clearing drive with you, a Boss 302 engine and another kind of Boss on the tape deck, results in you complicating it even more for yourself, finding a damsel in distress and deciding she was going to become your next little project. Nice one, genius.

I had to take my mind off...that...for a while, get myself back on to wrestling, maybe figure out if O’Malley even had a point or not. After all, maybe there’s a reason I’m sitting here and he’s off licking his wounds after his own title aspirations went down in flames...

After all...When he’s picking up a microphone, I’m picking up my next weight. While he’s typing out his next toxic indirect Tweet, I’m typing out next week’s training plan on my phone. While he’s pedalling t-shirts, I’m pedalling a spin bike in a t-shirt, and while he’s smashing back a Guinness, I’m getting smashed in the back with a wooden board in a dojo to build toughness, all in the name of wrestling. Two entirely different approaches. One wrestling, one entertainment. I don’t know exactly who in our business coined the phrase wrestling entertainment, but I think there’s more than a few who still feel those two terms shouldn’t be mixed.

I wasn’t going to be in this sport forever. I wasn’t going to be on this planet forever, if we wanted to get morbid with it. I accept my own mortality, in all things, and to be honest I use that to motivate, to kick me on. Take the chances now, they won’t be there forever. If you want it, you’ve gotta send it. One day I want to get tired of wrestling, because I gave it everything I had. I want to get tired of love, because I loved unconditionally and so damn hard that it made my heart hurt. I want to grow tired of life one day, because I lived it to the fullest, sent it the hardest, and left it in a better place than I found it. Everything is finite. I’m OK with that. Since losing my Dad, I became even more aware that nobody is invincible, nobody will live forever, no matter how strong they were. I don’t mind that. I just know that, one day, in some faraway place, when I decide to call it quits, permanently, and we crack open a beer and reminisce about the old times, I won’t be sitting there with regrets. I gave it my all.

Does that make me a worthy champion? Well to me, yes it does. There will come a time when I’m long gone from Sin City Wrestling, or just from wrestling in general. The staff, the fans, the company itself, that could all go the same way, eventually. Gone, just words on the pages of history and you know what gets written down there? Successes. Accomplishments. Results. Suddenly this thing we’re chasing, profit, ticket sales, people wearing our merchandise, people cheering our name as we rip through the curtain...One day all of that will be pretty much meaningless. The only thing that history will remember is the wins. The losses. Who held what and for how long.

I want to be Mark Cross, wins most accolades, not some other guy, sells most novelty mugs...because even as little as ten years from now? Only one of those is still going to be relevant. After all, only one of those is written down as public record, on the SCW website, for all to see. The second, buried deep in the back-office, the part of the industry that many would prefer to keep secret.

There comes a time when you have to stop settling for second best. Blast from the Past winner, long-standing Underground champion, it’s pretty impressive, but it’s not the World Heavyweight title is it? Winning Blast from the Past in two straight years...well nobody’s done that before...but Evie has an extra finals appearance over me...and winning the tournament is just the next step. That last step actually, before you reach the pinnacle, before you become the guy at the top of the pyramid. Sure, I’d achieved stuff, but I was nothing without that belt.

I guess, if I’m going to take this opportunity with both hands, the same needs to be said of my romantic life too. Circling back around to the task back at hand, and suddenly it becomes even more complicated. There was a third player. One that existed before Amber saved me from some overzealous fans when I’d just stepped off a long flight from Japan. One prior to the mystery girl who, beaten and bruised, was now holed up in my ski chalet in some tiny little town up in the mountains. The fact is I knew neither one was ever going to be “the one”. The first, almost an arrangement of convenience, two humans who’d grown born of meaningless sex, craving something real, found it in each other...and became that old married couple that, strangely, never had sex, almost immediately. No “new car smell”. No rabbit stage. Just...comfort, and safety. I feel like we miss each other when we’re gone, but at the same time we’re too busy to notice. Sounds like my old marriage to me. We all know how this ended.

And then...to my latest project. Battered, bruised and broken. Literally, and figuratively. Abused by an ex husband when, finally, she told him where to get off. Pretty brave, honestly...but I didn’t know much about her. I didn’t...really want to either, honestly...I just felt sorry for her. I wanted her to be okay. I didn’t want anyone to go through anything like that. It didn’t make it love. It was the kind of thing I’d do for any of my students, and had done, many a time. I liked to help people

And then...there was one more. The third player, the one that got away...and kind of came back into contention what seemed like moments later. If anything she was the most broken of all...her meticulous shower routine that showed some obsessive compulsive tendencies...the scars that covered her wrists and legs...the kind that she hoped went unnoticed, the same ones that made me realise how brave she was for fighting through, feeling almost proud of who she was, while others would have judged her, said she was doing it for attention or something. The girl with an independence so strong, that my warmth and kindness scared her, made her push it away, push me away...because while she knew I could take her and her odd little family of puppy and adopted daughter away, protect them all forever...the risk seemed too great, if she finally let her guard down, shed some of that thick skin, pulled down the walls, for it all to go up in smoke once again. Of course, I didn’t realise what I’d lost, until suddenly she married someone else, some shotgun wedding in Vegas or whatever I think, it was all so out-of-the-blue...and it ended just as quickly as it started. He wasn’t right for her, of course, but choosing wrong meant one thing, she could keep her guard up. Nothing had to change. The fact is, I can be a selfish fucker. A perfectly natural reaction for me? Hope it all went tits up, and yet, instead my heart broke for her as I saw that chance for her to be happy fizzle away as soon as it began.

I guess, in a way, it meant there was still hope...but I had Amber, who I was already setting on trampling all over ...and I had to deal with that little situation I’d made for myself...oh, plus,  last time I suggested something more than friends with benefits to option number three, I got slapped back down to reality. So hard in fact, that I never brought it up again. I knew why I got shut down, I understood completely. Truth was? I probably didn’t fight hard enough, or long enough. I could have woken up to her soft brown curls in my face every morning, if only I’d put my foot down, made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. Amber would have stayed in NYC, with her friends, working two jobs to make ends meet, not really following her dream of teaching and choreographing dance. Micaela...probably would have been hunted down by her ex-husband halfway across the country. She’d been beaten half to death once, how much worse would the second time have been? Two people’s situations would have been worse-off, sure, but I would have been beyond happy. Would I have accepted that trade? In a heartbeat. Like we’ve been saying over the last year, I usually put myself first, regardless of who else gets hurt.

I thought I was a winner, a go-getter, a guy who sees what he wants and takes it. Turns out, I’m just a settler. Dream house, dream car, dream watches, dream job - Check. How about the dream title, dream girl? Well I guess I shouldn’t be greedy, right?

Wrong. Fuck that. No more messing around. I guess in wrestling, in love, in life...you Winsome, you lose some...now it’s my time to win. In every single aspect. I was going to get the belt. I was going to get the girl. Stage one was just over a week away. I knew what I had to do.

[The Dragon]

I figured I had two choices, by this point. In attempting to clear my head, I’d dug myself deeper, jumping feet-first into a situation where, surprise surprise, I hadn’t anywhere near appreciated the depth of. I’d come to realise just how deep it went in just a few days' time. When I truly needed an escape, I had two options. Iceland...the one place on Earth where even I, unable to sit still for more than a few moments, always dreaming up some wild plan or zany scheme, could take a deep breath, slow down and truly unwind. I knew if I was ever truly done, with everything, I could head there, buy a woolly jumper, eat skyr for breakfast every morning, ride my Icelandic horse, and float around in lagoons for the rest of my days. It truly changed me, within a matter of days. I hate to use the “M” word but it was the closest thing to meditation I’d ever found in my life so far. All it cost was a plane ticket, which was way cheaper than any ayahuasca retreat ever could be. It was a solid option...but I wasn’t looking to relax and unwind, as such. I still had a week of hard work and preparation to put in before Into The Void. I wanted to free up some space in my mind, to fully focus on the job at hand, not wipe the slate clean. Maybe after I was champion, I could afford a week to take a breather, but this was not the point to take my foot off the gas.

Then...there was Japan, the second option. The land of the Rising Sun is where my wrestling career began to flourish, when things finally started to click for me, and my performances in the squared circle really fell into place. I spoke the language, I understood the culture, and if there was ever a place where I could go to feel loved and adored, it was around a purist Japanese wrestling fanbase. The chants of DO-RA-GON that rang out loud and proud, whether I was performing in one of their rings, or attending as a fan, trying to lay low, sitting out in the audience trying to catch a show. Getting recognised was almost guaranteed. It was yet another reminder of why I did what I did, displaying the art of wrestling for all who came to see, was something I had to continue for as long as I could. In the US in particular, the art form would often be underappreciated. It was more about what you said on TV...but that didn’t mean I could write it off as a lost cause. I still had a duty.

Yet Japan...it never really felt comfortable to me, it was never really home. I knew I could never live there, and that, probably, was the main reason why I didn’t flip the bird to the “wrestling entertainment” business and set up shop there. That...made it perfect. In fact, I never really figured out how important the culture of a place was to me until one day, when I returned to Canterbury, my home town in England, and it didn’t really feel like home anymore. I spent the first twenty years of my life, there or thereabouts, being around that place, but even as I walked the same cobbled streets I used to stagger through after a night on the town, drank in the same pubs, ate in my favourite restaurants...it just wasn’t Miami. Japan wasn’t Miami either, and in fact it was so far removed from both of the places I’d called home in my lifetime that it always kept me...kind of on edge in a way. I was permanently out of my comfort zone. I was safe, I was popular, and I was respected. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling but I was just...I don’t know…it had the same feeling of being in a new city, a “new” hotel, even though it looked the same as all the others. It felt like going to work. That was the mindset I needed right now.

I’d go to Japan. I’d return to the Pro Wrestling JAPAN dojo, where I got my first opportunity to develop Strong Style, and that was where I’d train until it was game time. It felt like the right decision. It felt like the only decision. I knew it would get my mind in the right place, and I was guaranteed a sound few nights of sleep that way too. In my home environment, I was almost too comfortable, my mind was free to wander to all kinds of far-off places and generally, that’s what it did.

Part 1 - Happy Memories
14th October 2019

The Dragon: Alright, I’m gonna wash up real quick.

Winsome: You’re sweet, but since you cooked, I’m washing up. By the way, I think my glass is empty?

The Dragon: Yes ma’am!

Sometimes they say the most beautiful things in life happen organically, they bubble away under the surface, developing and growing into something until eventually, they manifest themselves into something incredible. It wasn’t planned of course, none of the people involved ever really thought that was the direction it’d take, but since it happened so naturally, they would decide to let it run its course.

Winsome had a troubled past...at least...that was what I could gather. She didn’t talk about it much, and to be honest, she didn’t have to either. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, it was just...it wouldn’t change anything, as far as I was concerned. In fact, it’d probably have made me care for her more if I knew the whole story. I figured at first glance most people found her guarded, almost a little cold. I never really got that treatment, maybe I seemed warm enough and harmless enough, who knows. Those people, they were wrong of course, but there was definitely a kind of toughness there. Plus, she had her daughter to protect just as much as she did herself, and in that case it’s understandable when a person puts up a barrier here and there.

Although, much like when you put the bumpers up when you went bowling, it was still possible to leave the safety of your lane. You just had to try hard enough…

The Dragon: So I bought a thing…

Like any typical man, multi-tasking wasn’t my strong suit, and wrestling the thing out of my bag at the same time as pouring us wine was a recipe for disaster. I managed to make it happen without spilling a drop, more than a little impressed with myself, as I produced a very well-loved copy of Wii Sports.

Winsome: Ooh, what did you bring me? ...oh.

The Dragon: So I figured you’d have that reaction, but hear me out.

Winsome: Now what chance does little old me have against a professional athlete like you, huh? You gonna go easy on me, wrestler?

The Dragon: I might let you win a couple of games...maybe…

The playful teasing had been part-and-parcel of their friendship that again, just seemed to fall into place. Me inviting myself over for dinner one evening, and not getting shot down in flames when I turned up out of the blue, evolved into a semi-regular thing. Win would usually host, she had Aurora, or Rory, as she was affectionately known to look after, as well as a puppy, so it just made sense, but I made sure to take my fair share of cooking duties...not that I minded, I loved to cook...and even went so far as to practice making vegan dishes in my spare time, so I had something new to impress her with the next time around.

Come to think of it, I was working pretty hard to impress from the outset.

Winsome: Well I guess it won’t be the strangest of our dates. Go on then wrestler, set it up.

The Dragon: Yay! Get ready to lose.

Winsome: Uh-huh.

Seeing “Hey wrestler!” pop up on my phone still made me smile, even two years on.

A few minutes later, after I’d carried the re-filled glasses through, I had Wii Tennis set up. It was a great warm-up, for one, and tennis had been my favourite sport as a teenager. I’d gotten pretty good at it, too.

Winsome: Now remember what you said…

The Dragon: Yeah, yeah…

I started off playing right-handed, just to “even the odds” a little bit. It was Wii Tennis after all, not proper tennis, and it didn’t give me much of a disadvantage. Besides, it was getting late, we were both full of vegan lasagne and wine, it wasn’t the most high-octane performance from either one of us...but it was only a matter of time before my competitiveness got the better of me.

It was a short forehand, sitting up lovely. I was flashing back to my late-teens all over again, probably on a rainy day turning out for the Canterbury 1st team...or maybe one of my few appearances at County level for Kent...I was going to win it all as I leapt in the air...taking a big cut at the ball with Wii remote cocked and ready…

*CRACK*

Oops. Naturally, I stopped immediately to check on my fallen opponent...right after I’d finished the shot and won the match...I told you I was competitive...

Winsome: I think you broke my nose…

The Dragon: Naaaaaah you’ll be fine just walk it o-

As Winsome took her hand away from her face, I very quickly withdrew my helpful suggestion of ‘walk it off’ as, like virtually always, she was probably right.

The Dragon: Yeah...We should get you to the hospital actually.

Winsome: MARK!!

The Dragon: I’M SORRY!!

The sudden sound of a baby crying pierces through our collective eardrums from down the corridor.

Winsome: YOU WOKE UP RORY!

The Dragon: STOP SHOUTING AT ME!

Winsome: YOU HIT ME IN THE FACE, YOU STOP SHOUTING AT ME!

The Dragon: OK OK, you’re probably right…

I tentatively made my approach, arms outstretched.

The Dragon: ...let’s just calm down and think about this for a second...

Winsome: Hey mister don’t think you can just-

Winsome’s half-protests, along with her attempts to bat me away fail as I wrapped my arms around her, and I knew that if I’d gotten that far, I wasn’t in *that* much trouble. She had one hell of a kick on her, as I found out the hard way, and would have had absolutely no problem stopping me if she really wanted to. We both had our moments of being hot-headed and short-tempered, you should have seen that time we tried to build a wardrobe together, although we never really turned on each other. At least...not for long.

The Dragon: OK so I’ll go and...erm...no, you should pack Rory’s bag, since I’ll probably forget all of the things, and then I’ll drive us to the hospital.

Winsome: You’ve been drinking.

The Dragon: One glass…

Winsome: Two glasses.

The Dragon: One and a half...OK so you pack Rory’s bag, I’ll call us a cab, we go to hospital, get this all straightened out…

Starting to chuckle at my own terrible pun? Definitely not smart.

Winsome: Not the time for your little jokes…

The Dragon: Sorry.

Now I’m sure cab drivers must have seen some weird shit, but the three of us must have been a picture that night. One of us holding tissue to a bloody nose, one baby crying in protest, and one pro athlete, looking rather sorry for himself. I remember that it felt like the longest, quietest cab ride in the history of time. Aurora definitely wasn’t impressed with being woken up, but as she sat between us in the baby seat, kind of like a mediator in a war-time peace treaty negotiation, the vibrations and sound of the moving vehicle was more than enough to rock her back to the land of nod sooner rather than later.

Some time passes, and we're skipped ahead, taken to a hospital waiting room. Mark is seated, seemingly alone in the room, one hand scrolling idly through a social media app on his phone, the other gently rocking Aurora, still in her baby seat, gently with his foot. He was suddenly snapped out of his absent-minded scrolling as he stopped on an image. It seemed so familiar, but also so out-of-place at the same time. It just wasn’t possible, at least in that moment anyway. It was sometime in the future. A picture of Winsome...showing off her wedding ring. He’d seen it before of course, he’d been happy for her back then. Their time dating had been fun but, by the same token, maybe they were more compatible with other people

He hadn’t realised then that...maybe, just maybe...she was the one that got away...or was the pressure of the last few months making him crazy? A sudden stabbing pain struck him in the general vicinity of his heart when-

*CRAAAAAAASH*

The Dragon: What the FUCK.

Mark sits bolt upright in the bed of his accommodation, as what sounded like a door being booted open wakes him up instantly. That sweet dream had turned oh-so-quickly into a beautiful nightmare. There was absolutely no way anyone would find him here, he thinks to himself, he’d barely told anyone he was headed for Japan even, until an unknown figure, who definitely wasn’t Japanese, appears in the doorway.

The Dragon: Who the hell are you then?

Unknown: Are you Mark Cross?

The Dragon: Yeah - Who are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my AirBnB?

Unknown: I’m Declan Miles. Caleb sent me.

Mark pulls back the covers, his legs swinging out of the bed as he rises to his feet. By wrestling standards, he often gave away quite a lot in height to his opponents. Much like his football career, size was definitely an advantage in his sport, and he had to be smart to work around that, but he figured he had the measure of this unknown gentleman in all counts.

The Dragon: Who is this Caleb guy I keep hearing about exactly?

Declan: He’s my boss. He believes you know the whereabouts of his ex-wife.

The Dragon: Oh great. Micaela?

Declan: Yeah, Micaela.

Mark takes a couple of paces towards the doorway. He notices Declan take a backwards half-step. Maybe more of the smarter, investigative type than the aggressive, dangerous one, he figures, but clearly not a complete stranger to a little dirty work, since he’d managed to kick the door in all by himself.

The Dragon: Couldn’t you have knocked?

Declan: I did. Several times…

The Dragon: It was a great dream to be fair...Now last time I saw Micaela, she was battered and bruised from head-to-toe, after running into someone else who works with your boss I believe. Don’t suppose you know anything about that do you?

Declan: I uhh...no...no I didn’t. That’s a little above my pay grade…

The Dragon: Is it? Interesting...I don’t know how you feel about this issue, but to be honest, usually it’s better for toxic relationships like theirs to come to an end.

Declan: Are you two, romantically…

The Dragon: No - I just don’t like bullies thinking they can push people around...and now that brings me to you. I have to ask...did you bring a gun, Declan?

Declan: What do you mean?

The Dragon: It’s a pretty simple question...when you came to find me, did you bring a gun with you?

Declan: No, of course I didn’t, I came here to ask you for information not to ki-

The Dragon: Wrong answer.

The scene cuts to an idyllic side-street on the outskirts of town. It is a beautiful, traditional-looking building, quintessentially Japanese, wood fronted, with brick-red tiles on the roof. It’s small and quaint, the door hanging loosely from its hinges. From within, the peace and beauty is contrasted by the sounds of a struggle, bangs, crashes, and the muffled cries of pain of one singular voice, a male. A few moments later, the door flies open, and out of it, the unknown visitor is launched. Dusting his hands off, looking entirely unscathed from the encounter, and barely out of breath, stands Mark “The Dragon” Cross.

The Dragon: Next time you send someone after me, bring some extra firepower. Bunch of amateurs I swear…

Declan: He’s not going to stop you know!

The Dragon: Fuck off, Declan.

He slams the door shut behind him, remembering that the lock was now busted, as he watches it swing helplessly right back open.

The Dragon: Ruined an incredible dream, and now I’m not getting my deposit back. What a fucking wakep call.

As Declan picks himself up from the ground, brushing away gingerly at his ripped and dusty suit, the scene fades away.


Part 2 - Preparing for War
Pro Wrestling JAPAN Dojo - Shibuya, Japan
Thursday 20th May 2021

In my working life, I’ve learned a lot of lessons about toughness. From my football career, where some of the first things they taught me was “always keep your legs moving” and “don’t show them you’re hurt until you’re back in the huddle” to arriving here in this dojo, where learning to take punishment formed as much of the curriculum as learning to dish it out too.

Mark paces around the dojo, each step causing the wooden floor underfoot to squeak. It is to all intents and purposes a traditional Japanese building, but it seems to have a “bespoke” feel to it, large enough to accommodate a wrestling ring in the centre, while still allowing for other areas to work. He is alone as he walks, a towel draped around his shoulders.

I figured when it came to making my final preparations for war, where else but here? Every single training session I ever had in this building felt like a mini war all in itself. I knew what it meant to be a professional athlete, I knew how to take a beating, in fact it motivated me, made me want to get back up and get revenge, but the advantage I had in toughness was balanced out by my lack of wrestling ability. That was the biggest thing I learned from here, most of all. I was the human punching bag, soaking up as much as I could, hoping my opponent would get exhausted first, capitalise. It wasn’t pretty, and to be honest, it wasn’t very effective a lot of the time either.

I proved myself to my teachers here. My skills were limited, but my work ethic was unmatched and, as I went to war for them, they went to war for me, doing everything in their power to drag me, kicking and screaming, into becoming an excellent ring technician. I had days, as the damage to my body was evident, where I thought of throwing in the towel, and there were days, as after endless repetitions of me still not grasping the concepts, where my teachers considered packing me straight back to AWA...but every next morning I went back. Every day, they continued to work with me. Every day, both parties stayed long after everyone else had left, to get my game to where we wanted to be.

Greatness doesn’t come overnight. Greatness takes time, hard work, pain, suffering, and a fair few losses along the way. It comes with harsh lessons too, and we are all very much a product of those. I don’t claim to be perfect, far from it. I have so much more development to do, in the ring and out of it, but I can be pretty damn pleased with where I am now.

I’ve seen more than my fair share of competitors who have been in this sport as long as I have. Washed up has-beens, carrying niggling injuries that just never seem to go away, not working anywhere near as hard as they used to, not wanting to, not caring, just wanting to punch their card, take their paycheck and go home. Hooked on drugs, alcohol, prescription painkillers, a dangerous combination of all three...The odds are very much stacked against me, but that’s not the be-all-and-end-all. That crop also includes winners, champions, record breakers, Hall of Famers...vastly experienced, using it to great effect, wrestling better than they’ve ever wrestled before. Those people are few and far between, great names destined for the history books. It’s tough to do...but it can be done.

I thought, maybe four years back, as I cut my schedule right down to work full-time with Royal Purple, that my career as I knew it was over. I was looking at someone, aged fifteen, who I knew in a few short years would probably surpass me in the near future but you know what? Me at my best, versus her at her best, it’s closer than I ever thought it would be. Face each other ten times, we’d probably split the difference. It turns out, I was wrong. Not about her, she’s incredible. The Bombshell Roulette title is the fourth championship she’s held, the girl’s nineteen...it just turns out that I’m also getting better with age, there’s a lot more fight left in this old dog yet.

I mean...Does anyone else get the feeling that maybe my opponent at Into the Void has some anger issues he needs to deal with? I mean Jesus H Christ, full marks to whoever’s managing to piss in his cornflakes every single morning, that takes some cojones. I’m worried he’s going to burst blood vessels whenever a camera gets put in his face. It’s probably not a bad thing he’s a little...reclusive...better for his heart health that way, huh? Wouldn’t want him keeling over before he got into the ring now, would we?

Now last week I asked if Jack REALLY thinks he can keep up his end of the bargain. I’m going to make you suffer, I’m going to dismantle you, I’m going to take you apart piece-by-piece-by-piece like I’m some kind of fucking jigsaw puzzle and you know what, it all sounds great on paper I mean...if you’re the champion and you can pull all of THAT off in your next defence then hey, you probably deserve to be a champion don’t you? The best, the undisputed...and you know what the best thing of all is? If you want to get smithereened, he’s like a human drinking game every time the red light comes on.

Jack makes another threat? Guess we’re gonna have to drink! It’s threats on top of threats on top of threats with a dressing of an overwhelming sense of self fucking importance and you know what? He’s setting us all up for disappointment, when they turn out to be nothing more than empty promises when we get out there. He makes it sound like I’m just the easy route through to the next Supershow, that I have no business being in there. That sounds a lot to me like disrespect...something I will happily let slide. Some of my most dominant victories have come against opposition that don’t give me the respect I’ve earned. It’s almost like I have a point to prove.

This isn’t my first rodeo. As Gary Player once said, the more you practice, the luckier you get, and for the past decade, all I’ve done is practice relentlessly...you know what getting luckier has brought me? Two Blast from the Past wins, back-to-back. Two tag team titles. One seven-month reign as the man at the top for Sin City Underground, as their champion. Straight-up, one-on-one singles wins against championship quality opposition and two-time number one contender for the World Heavyweight championship. You want to say I’m lucky to be here? Too fucking right I’m lucky to be here, it’s a great opportunity for one, but this for one thing, isn’t fluke. It’s just the cream rising to the top. I’m making my own luck.

Opportunity number two for me, at the World title, opportunity number two for Jack...to beat me. I hear revenge is on the cards, even twelve months plus down the line. As if he didn’t need enough motivation as it was, huh? See normally after all this time buddy I’d say you’ve gotta let it go, but it’s kind of topical if we’re being totally honest about this. Tallyn, hot prospect, against Evie Jordan, natural born winner. Jack Washington, incredible talent, versus Mark Cross, stack loads of ability along with bags of experience. You see - Against most, maybe all of the other teams in that draw, you two may have had the ability to carry yourselves through, despite Tally’s inexperience, despite your hot-headedness...but if you have ability versus ability and mentality combined? There’s only going to be one winner in that situation, and if you hadn’t already guessed, we won’t be splitting here.

Jack you have a lot of growing up to do, I’m afraid to say. Your body is writing checks that your mind can’t cash, and that can get you pretty damn far, you’ve proved that, more than once...but I’m a couple of steps ahead of you right now. I know it, I figure you probably know it too, but you just don’t know how to deal with it. There are very few situations in life where anger and frustration helps. In a combat sport, where you think it’d do you a solid? Boxing, wrestling, jiu jitsu, mixed martial-arts, even football…these are all thinking man’s games too. We dance around each other, make moves, throw fakes, test the waters, it’s as much like a game of chess as it is a fight. The stronger the offense, the bigger the risk of it backfiring. Working off pure instinct works for some, sure, and at times we all have to rely on that to get us out of real danger, but it can’t be the default. That’s asking for trouble, and if you rely on your emotions to fuel you, you’re adding a huge dose of unpredictability into your game.

You tell everyone what you’re going to do Jack, I tell you why you won’t. You make a statement, I shoot it down. That’s the story of our match on Sunday night, that’s what you have to get used to. For every question, I’ll have an answer. For every action, I’ll be firing back with a carefully calculated reaction. I will be three steps ahead of you at all times, and the more it frustrates you, the more I’ll capitalise.

I wonder how long it’ll take you to realise you played right into my hands all along.

Mark throws his towel on top of his kit bag, preparing to leave the dojo for the day.

I feel like I made the right decision to come here. From the moment I stepped foot in this place years ago, I knew I was here to work my tail off. It’s ironic, considering the amount of punishment we dished out on each other when we trained here, that my main reason for coming here in the first place, is I knew taking a beating wasn’t very sustainable as a Plan A for me. If I needed the money, maybe...but improving my technical ability was the key to extending my career, to keeping me in this sport as long as I have been.

My first time in Japan, I only had a very basic grasp of the language, I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t plan on the training being so brutal, even if I was counting on being pushed to my limits. I didn’t expect the fans to get on my case so much for the Americanised gimmicks I brought down to the ring back then. I didn’t realise just how lacking my abilities were until I got out there, started working with some of those guys, night in, night out. I knew I had to work harder than all of them to catch up, but I didn’t lose hope. It inspired me. I wanted to be just like them. Oh...and then I wanted to be better.

Whatever mess I left back home in the US? That can wait. Whatever...personal decisions...I have to make, there’s a time and a place. For now, it’s all about the World Heavyweight title, my hand held in victory, and a count of one...two...three. I expect to be tested. I expect to be sore for a couple of days afterwards, but I don’t envisage any time on the sidelines, rehabilitating a nasty injury. There’s only one result I can see. There’s only one result I can accept.

Your NEW World Heavyweight champion. Mark “The Dragon” Cross.

The scene fades to black.

Part 3 - Face Time

The scene opens to two webcam images - One of Mark “The Dragon” Cross in his accommodation in Japan and one of SCU Backstage Interviewer Dev Khatri, back in Las Vegas.

The Dragon: Big D! Long time no speak - Surprised they even got you to take this one!

Dev: Well, I figured since you’re not even in the United States, I might have been safe for once.

The Dragon: You know Val and I don’t even speak anymore, right? The Fire Dragons are long gone, we’re not going to be pranking you. It’s perfectly safe.

Dev: I don’t believe that for one second. Oh, and as for Royal Purple…

The Dragon: She thrown Kool-Aid in your face yet?

Dev: Three times.

The Dragon: Oh…

Dev: And you TRAINED her…

The Dragon: Well she’s kind of a lone w-

Dev: Somehow Mark it’s ALWAYS. YOUR. FAULT.

Dev’s fist slams on the desk in front of him, causing the camera to shake, and causes Mark to jump back as the sound is picked up by the microphone, slamming his eardrums.

The Dragon: Wow. Looks like you had some things to get off your chest there Dev, you feeling better about it now?

Dev: A little.

The Dragon: Eat a Snickers or something. Jeez. Can we start then? It’s getting late here.

Dev: Yeah, we can start. Hey guys, this is Big D - Dev Khatri here with you for a special video call with Mark “The Dragon” Cross ahead of his World Heavyweight title shot at Into the Void and first of all...I know Gemma already said this, but two straight Blast from the Past wins, congratulations! You must be proud to put your name down in the history books with that one.

The Dragon: Absolutely right. Blast from the Past is always a bit of a crap shoot, random teams, random partners, and as the almighty Andrea Hernandez has said many times in the past, one person can’t carry a team through that competition. I absolutely accept the point though, that I need to convert this one into a World title, or the backlash is going to be unreal, only half the job is done as far as I’m concerned.

Dev: It seems like you’ve had a lot more people on your back this time?

The Dragon: Nah, not really. I was SCU Underground champion for over half a year. Social media is one thing, in front of camera is another, you guys see all of that of course, but what you also don’t see are the crossed words backstage,the eyes burning into the back of your skull, the little bumps on the shoulder when someone walks past you, the parts the cameras don’t catch. I’m used to having a target on my back, and you probably remember those times, right Dev? All those who said I wasn’t worthy, that I had no right to hold that title. The same people that either, one, couldn’t take it off me or two, couldn’t even do enough to earn themselves a shot. Same happened when I stepped up to the main roster, SCU aren’t worthy around here...until I blurred the lines beyond all recognition, picking up wins as I went. It’s a natural reaction to try and tear someone down when they’re in the position you want to be in. It’s a whole other thing to take it for yourself.

Dev: And what do you say to the detractors this time, those that point out you were eliminated once this time around?

The Dragon: Well...if we want to be technical...I’ve been in eight Blast from the Past matches, and haven’t personally been pinned, made to tappa-tappa, or counted out. I could throw Krystal under the bus, say getting lumbered with the rookie that couldn’t even buy a win at this level was too much for even someone as mighty as myself...or we can just take it at face value and be honest with ourselves. I mean what do you want me to say? They’re right, my team did get eliminated. I can’t change history. I also can’t change the course of every match, especially when there’s three other people involved, and I can’t lay a finger on one of my two opponents. I can only influence what’s in my sphere of control at the end of the day. I got a second chance, all I could do was grab it with both hands, make the best of it I could, and now I find myself here. I guess the real question, if not me, how many others would have been sitting in my position, ready to face Jack for the title? Probably not as many as you think. Most would have bounced out again before it was all over.

Dev: Do you like tag matches, out of interest?

The Dragon: Not really.

Dev: Why?

The Dragon: I don’t have to share the limelight, of course! Nah I’m kidding...kind of...but you remember that sphere of influence I just mentioned? One man versus one opponent, not only is it the purest form of combat, but there’s no situation where I’m going to have more control than right there, at that moment. It’s quite fitting really, that ‘so many’ doubt me, ‘so many’ feel like it’s just a fluke, ‘so many’ think this is a pathetic waste of a title shot...because at Into the Void, win, lose or draw, there is nothing and nobody I can hide behind. It’s all me. If I lose, I have absolutely no choice but to admit this time, they were right. I have more work to do. By the same token, all these doubters? Completely exposed, totally humiliated, if I come out on top. They backed the wrong horse, they underestimated me, and surprise surprise, we’ll watch them wriggle and squirm as they try to save face somehow.

Dev: Plus you went on record to say you didn’t enjoy teaming up with Ruby…

The Dragon: Sometimes, it doesn’t work out, that’s all it is. With Evie last year...as people we’re two opposite ends of the spectrum, there wasn’t much common ground there, but we both knew we were more than capable in the ring, and at least on that front we were there to back each other up. With Valentina, she injected a bit of fun into wrestling when I needed it most, and I hope I helped elevate her a lot closer to her potential. Look where she is now. With Krystal...I mean getting that first W on the board on the main show took a while for her...and with anyone making that step up in class, it usually takes a while. We can’t all be a Ruby, or a Royal Purple, and win on debut. I certainly didn’t. It was fun while it lasted, and who knows, she could finish the weekend as Bombshell Roulette champion - What a difference a few months make. Turns out she might have been pretty close to breaking through, and if we ran the tournament again now, it might have been The Dragon and the Wolfe taking the win instead. With Ruby - I feel like we’re going to talk about this later, but a touch of immaturity and, I hate to drop the pun, but a few rookie errors - They’re common at her age, at her level of experience. It shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. I had to do a lot of soul-searching to figure out why.

Dev: Also on the card is the King for the Day match...and we’d guess whoever comes out on top is going to put themselves into the World title picture, maybe even as your first title defence if you became champion. Any preferences on the winner?

The Dragon: I can’t say I do, to be honest. Plus, is there really any guarantee they’re going to come for me anyway? I know it’s a gilt-edged opportunity at a World Heavyweight title shot, definitely not one to pass up, but who out of those four really feels confident about taking me on? Austin, beat him a couple of weeks back...Cassian, took him out during Blast from the Past...Agostino probably has his eyes set on winning back his Internet title I would have thought...so by process of elimination does that leave Vinnie the most likely to pick me? I guess it probably does. Truth be told I’d take them all. AJM, when he’s not beaten, bruised and overtrained, would be a very stern test, I’d happily take another crack at him. Cassian Reed, my fellow Brit, it’d be great to tackle him face-up, one-on-one. Vinnie, well he was top of the pyramid when I first rocked up around Sin City, the first example of the level I needed to be at to sit on that throne, and Agostino...to test my research skills. From what I gather, the guy’s not shared much about his past up to now. It’d be interesting to know what he’s hiding.

Dev: Funny you mention hiding, as it’s been said how absent you’ve been lately…

The Dragon: ...here we go…

Dev: Will that change, if you become World Heavyweight champion?

The Dragon: Absolutely. Look I get how this works, and I understand that I have to “play the game” in the US, a lot more than I would do here in Japan anyway, and I appreciate there are certain contractual obligations as well. I’m not being told to show up by anyone who pays my salary, and I’m just here telling them to go fuck themselves because I’m a number one contender. I’ve been given the opportunity to prepare for this match however I see fit, and I’ve exercised that right, to make sure I prepare in the very best way I possibly could. The match is huge. The title is huge. The event is huge. My duty is to be ready to perform at a level worthy of it. Oh, and we have a marketing team. It’s getting plenty sold enough, I assure you.

Dev: Why does winning the title make that any different? Surely it makes your preparation even more important?

The Dragon: Yes and no...look...the past few months haven’t been a lot of fun for me to be around wrestling. I’ve said it before, I’m saying it again to you now. It’s all gotten a bit *too* serious. It was a gradual thing, I slipped into a place that I’ve never really been in before, it took me a little while to figure my way out of it, and I’m getting there now…

Dev: So you’re going to take it less seriously when you’re champion? I don’t get it.

The Dragon: I can’t speak for everyone of course, but my schedule? I’m usually training for around 5 hours per day, so 6am alarm, be in the gym by 7am...technically I’m free by midday. In that free time I’m still studying my opponents, making sure I’m eating right, stretching, foam-rolling, physio, spending time in the hot tub etc. to make sure that my recovery from those workouts is the best that they can be...but that still leaves a lot of time in my schedule where I don’t have to be thinking about wrestling all the time, you know - Where I can put myself in the gaming room to try and run Resi 8 knives only, or get out to the golf course...maybe go for a beer with a friend on South Beach. Once you’ve reached this kind of level, it can’t be an all-consuming thing. The pressure and the expectation is too high. That’s a sure-fire way to flame out within a year.

Dev: And is that the problem, it was an all-consuming thing for you?

The Dragon: Pretty much, honestly. I couldn’t ask for much more from my life. It’d be selfish, too. I put in 5 hours of ‘work’ into something I love every day, and then the rest of the time is my own to do as I please. Then, once a week or so, I get to travel the world, putting on a show for a fanbase that are passionate about the work we do, wear our faces on their shirts, hang our posters on the wall. That was fun, now next week do it again. I float on a big fucking cloud with a number 9 on it, almost all the time...and yet I was getting out of the gym irritated, restless. Comments on social media, a mistake on my coffee order, a less than favourable post on a forum, opening the tub of chlorine tablets too fast and dumping a metric shit-ton of them into the hot tub all at once so I couldn’t use it until I put fresh water in, getting killed by a squeaky-voiced 12-year old kid on Warzone who I called a virgin down the mic instead of just laughing it off. I was a moody fucker, the slightest thing out of place could set me off. I was still winning in the ring of course, it’s why I’m here, but it’s like I had my own personal rain cloud following me wherever I went, that was never going to be sustainable.

Dev: ...and you’ve never had that before?

The Dragon: Not in the same way. Sometimes, getting bored happens, you know? Your routine feels a little stale, hearing the roar of the crowd doesn’t make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up the way it used to. That’s easy to manage, it comes as fast as it goes. Usually I’ll just take a couple of extra shows elsewhere, new cities, new venues, new opponents, make it a bit of a sightseeing tour. Plus, there’s nothing like trying to throw together a workout when there’s no gym for miles...but I can honestly say I’ve never gotten to the point where one Tweet would send me into a fit of rage. Ruby and O’Malley both managed to accomplish that recently, and I knew that enough was enough. I’m not Jack.

Dev: Good segue, I was going to ask about him next.

The Dragon: Well let’s head there next then. The standard holding pattern for me? I fly above all the bullshit, you know? When you peel back the layers of this business you start to see that toxicity runs deep, along with a good amount of guys and girls who know how to manipulate the system for their own gain. Person X doesn’t like Person Y, can’t stand to be in the same room as them, because of some comments that were taken out of context or whatever, and they’d not bothered to forgive and forget. Person Y really likes Person Z but to you guys, watching from the outside, you’d think they’re mortal enemies, because it makes for good copy, that shit sells. By acting like they have a problem with each other, they elevate each other up the card because it makes a statement. There’s all these little narratives bubbling away under the surface, total minefield, so easy to wander straight in on some long-running drama and you know what, I don’t have time for that. Keep your nose out of it, or you’re constantly walking on eggshells. As for Jack? Someone on the SCW Content Team writes something he doesn’t like, and now he’s all up-in-arms about it. Oh, and it’s me that has to pay?  I just find it funny that his grand plan is to seriously injure me. It’s schoolboy, playground threats, that’s all.

Dev: He’s a two-time World Heavyweight Champion…

The Dragon: He’s also a petulant child, Big D, throwing his toys out of the pram because he isn’t getting his own way. It’s pathetic. I’ve seen kids who could cut a more balanced video argument than him, it’s probably the best we don’t hear from him every week, it’d be the same old garbage. Waaaaah waaaaah better than you waaaaaah waaaaaah you’re gonna suffer waaaaah waaaaah someone said something horrible about me now I’m sad. He’s talented in a ring, sure, it’s why he’s in this position in the first place, but I can gameplan for that. The ring is my domain just as much as his, if not more...but just imagine if he could keep his head on his shoulders too. Maybe he wouldn’t lose to Kris Ryans. Maybe he wouldn’t be so hell-bent on kicking me into a different zip code, which only plays into my hands, as he slips up and I take his crown. The difference? He can invoke his rematch clause all he likes. He’s not getting it back. Not until he learns to keep his head in the game

Dev: Feeling confident about your chances then?

The Dragon: Absolutely - I came so close this time last year...but now I’m another year better. I’m another year experienced, another year prepared. If I don’t take it now, other chances will come of course, I can always win my way back up the ladder...and there’s always three-peating Blast from the Past as an option, but no - This is mine for the taking. A new regime is about to take hold. I’m not just hungry for more gold, I’m hungry for more records. How long is the longest single title reign again?

Dev: J2H - 399 days.

The Dragon: Challenge accepted.

Dev: What, seriously?

The Dragon: Yup.

Dev: J2H’s record? You?

The Dragon: Hopefully he has to come back to try and stop me himself before he gets overtaken. Now THAT is some shit you can sell

Dev: And you’re not joking about that?

The Dragon: No! Why would I be joking?

Dev: It’s just...well...you’re not…

The Dragon: Not what, Dev? Spit it out man!

Dev: I...ihh...crr...I’m losing...weeewu...you...caaaah...you’re breaking...crrrrs...up…

The Dragon: We’re both on WiFi it doesn’t-

CALL DISCONNECTED appears in red letters on the screen.

The Dragon: Little prick! Well I’m definitely going to try and do it now...

Part 4 - Closing Statements

However you spin it, and whoever’s doing the spinning, this was the final piece of the puzzle for me. Get this last monkey off my back and, well, what are they going to throw at me next? It’s almost like clutching at straws as it is. Tearing me down was never an easy thing. I built my walls high and I built them firm. I may carry myself with an air of invincibility, I’ve been criticised for that, but making myself robust was part of the overall plan.

The only thing missing was a main roster title. THE main roster title.

Suddenly, after this, everything goes away. You're good but you haven't won any titles. Now I have. You’ve won Blast from the Past twice but what’s the point if you don’t convert it into a championship win? Now I have. Evie carried you through, well now I won it with a rookie, so did she really, or did we both just do our part? You’ve beaten Jack once but it was in a tag match so does it even count anyway? Yes - but now I have. You don’t make enough appearances on shows...well I was too busy preparing for that title match I just won sooooo who’s the real expert here, and who hasn’t been using their time wisely? Come back to me when YOU earn YOUR shot, then we’ll talk.

Sometimes, wrestling is nothing more than two warriors going at it hammer and tongs until one of their bodies gives out. It’s beautiful, intense, visceral. It’s what you see all the time at a show in Japan. Modern day gladiator shit...but that’s actually few and far between, when you really look into it. Too many wrestlers these days, they’re weak-minded, weak-willed. They haven’t made themselves tough enough, they either haven’t developed a thick enough skin, or they haven’t swept enough things under the rug that exposes them. They get dragged into a game of verbal jousting and suddenly all these doubts start to kick in...it’s like they’ve beaten themselves before they even step in the ring, they think they might be beaten after all and just when you think you can get up to your feet and give it one more stab your subconscious mind says nope, you don’t put that shoulder up, another strike in your L column.

Jack is one big whirlwind of emotion. He acts like the whole world is against him, and that dismantling an opponent is going to make it all better somehow. I can exploit that. If I haven’t pushed his buttons enough after these few weeks, to make him come after me right out of the blocks, I’ve got more than enough tricks up my sleeve to stop him from getting his work done, to frustrate him. I’m playing on that.

All Jack’s posturing on camera, it’s a scare tactic. He wants you to believe his words, that you’re really, genuinely going to get hurt out there. He wants you to be tentative, to panic, to rush, to make a mistake. I’m playing that game in reverse. I’m not intimidated by schoolboy bullshit, but I am excited about a guy so hell-bent on causing damage to me that he gets ragged, gives me openings of my own to exploit.

I will be calm, I will be controlled, I’ll wait for him to come after me and, you know what, when he invokes his rematch clause, if such a thing exists? I’ll make it so much easier the second time. If he wasn’t pissed before, losing twice to me in two attempts, losing his title in the process? He’s probably going to forget number three is a wrestling match at all. That is...until it’s too late.

Jack has all the makings of an incredible talent, no doubt about it. It’s why he’s won it twice, and I wouldn’t put it past him locking in a death grip around that title, or whatever title he happens to want in a couple of years...but right now he’s outmatched. Talent versus talent, skill versus skill, that’s what we compete for, on paper...but we know it’s only part of the puzzle. Physical strength, muscular endurance, mental toughness, psychological advantage, tactical prowess, someone just being in the zone...countless numbers of factors that go into one big melting pot and at the end of it all comes...a result. An outcome. A winner, and a loser.

Some, you directly control. Some, you can influence with the right preparation, but it’s never totally under your fingers. A few, a complete lottery, doesn’t matter what you do, or don’t do, it’s going to impact anyway. Talent vs talent, skill vs skill...I think I give as good as I get, against any name on this roster, but it’s my overall control that counts. Good preparation, good training, good diet, good recovery, good scouting, good sleep. Ring craft, experience, a clear, focussed mind, not hell-bent on revenge, or causing injury. Incredible talent is one thing. Incredible talent wins you championships...but complete packages build memorable runs. Complete packages don’t drop their titles because “someone has the match of their life”. They roll with the punches, adapt, and find a way to leave with what’s rightfully theirs. Complete packages can’t enter Blast from the Past because they already hold the title you get a shot at. It’s time I proved that’s exactly what I am.

For any English football fans of old, I’m like the old Manchester United - The master of winning ugly. Sometimes it can’t be all super-exciting, end-to-end stuff, sometimes we have to get down in the trenches and get our hands dirty. Sometimes, my time has to be spent getting ready for battle, rather than putting on a show in front of a camera. Sometimes, you just have to do whatever you need to get the result you need. That’s why I will be the champion, and why anyone who comes for me will need more than just the performance of their life to take it away from me.

This was going to be the most fun I’d had in months. I was looking forward to testing...no...proving myself. That title was mine, it was written in the stars. Now I just had to make it a reality. I was 24 hours away from achieving greatness.

[Jack Washington]

Prologue: 

Jack was surprised at the vigor, and fire displayed by Mark Cross after watching his promotional material for the Into the Void supercard. So much so, that perhaps Jack was now caught off guard. He began to think that maybe he has underestimated Mark and now, he had to make sure he would not be surprised again. Maybe it was too late for that. That was a surprise, but this time, Jack had the luxury of time. There was time to recover from this miscalculation, but there wasn’t going to be a lot of it. The countdown was on, and Jack began training like a mad man, and looking at everything he could on Mark Cross. This was going to be a do or die situation

 

Outside the ring, Jack and Sonny were finally ready to move, as the Mexicans had taken up shop under Jack’s casino, but Jack wasn’t planning for them to stay very long. Sonny had convinced Jack to let the project run smoothly for a little while, and then Sonny would make his move. Jack was the setup man, and Sonny would knock them down and Jack would have to play multiple roles in how this would play out. But at the end of the day, Jack needed this to work, and if it did he could get rid of the Mexicans from being in his casino and possibly messing everything up, and maybe it would make him look better to Ana Sofia, who Jack was still in fear from, since Ana Sofia knew that Jack did not kill Marta, the woman in the trunk and instead let her live. This was all going to come to a head soon, but in the long run, Jack’s plan, if it all went well, would leave him smelling like roses.

 

--

Grand Flamingo Casino

Las Vegas, NV.

 

Jack sat back on the phone in the manager’s office.

 

Jack: Jorge, just checking in, everything okay?

 

Jorge: Si.

 

Jack: Good, a few of those boxes have gone out, yes?

 

Jorge: Si, no problem.

 

Jack: Good, good. I’m glad everything is working out. I’ll let you get back to it.

 

Jorge: Gracias, Mr. Jack.

 

Jack hung up the phone and rubbed his hands together. Everything was right of schedule, and in the process, Jack now had an idea to help out his family. He dialed his phone again and waited.

 

Jack: Jay, what’s up, man?

 

Jason: I’m good, bro.

 

Jack: Good, alright, come on up when you get a chance, I’ve got good news.

 

Jason: Yeah bro, I’ll be right up.

 

Jack again hung up the phone and waited patiently for Jason to arrive. After a few minutes, Jason entered the managers office and Jack leaned back on his chair with his feet up.

 

Jason: What’s up, Bro?

 

Jack: I pulled some strings, but I got you a good spot here in the casino.

 

Jason: Wait, really? Shit bro, that’s awesome.

 

Jack: Now, I guess I should rephrase that, because it’s not... exactly IN the casino.

 

Jason’s eyes narrow and his head cocks to the side, now he was getting concerned.

 

Jack: No, no, it’s nothing bad. I promise. I got you a job working security.

 

Jason: For real?

 

Jack: Yeah bro, I figure that you could easily handle that. You’re military. You ain’t gonna take shit from people. You know? A place where we can maximize your talents.

 

Jason: I... I guess. 

 

Jack: Bro, listen. You’ll be all over the place, and you'll be in those places no one else gets to go. I just need you to start in the garage.

 

Jason: What? The garage?

 

Jack: Yeah, just til you get comfortable. I had them install a shack down there and cameras and a tv and stuff, so you won’t be standing there bored off your ass the whole time. But I need someone to make sure deliveries are made and people go where they are supposed to go. I can’t really trust Benny to do this shit.

 

Jason: I don’t see why you trust him at all.

 

Jason: I don’t. But he’s got connections, and that helps in this city. I mean, it helps in every city, But I am not established here just yet. We’re making strides, but you know, I need someone I can trust having my back if people try and say we are doing them wrong. I need you. 

 

Jason sighed and laughed.

 

Jason: y... yeah man. Fuck it, I can’t complain, I need the work and shit. So yeah, count me in. 

 

Jack: Fuck yeah, bro. I knew I could count on you.

 

Jason: I owe you, bro. I really do.

 

Jack: That’s what family does, Jay, we help each other. Come on, I’ll show you around.

 

Jack escorted Jason down the elevators to the main parking lot. The two brothers walked to the guard shack where another guard already was. He quickly snapped up and looked at them.

 

Guard: Hello sir.

 

Jack: Relax, Douglas. I just want you to meet my brother, Jason. Jason’s gonna be joining your ranks soon helping out with the guard patrols so you guys aren’t working such long hours.

 

Douglas: Wow, uh... hey man, I’m Douglas.

 

Jason: What’s up?

 

Jack: No, starting tomorrow, Jason’s gonan be shadowing you. Teach him everything he needs to know, alright?

 

Douglas: No problem sir.

 

Jack: Alright. Good, anything come in?

 

Douglas: Just the truck that goes into the interior underground lot, sir.

 

Jack: Good, very good. Alright, I’ll let you get back to it.

 

Douglas: Yes sir.

 

Jack turned and lead Jason away,  and Jason seemed rather happy with the circumstances. Jack led Jason back to the manager’s office and poured himself a drink, downing it and patting Jason on the shoulder.

 

Jack: You’ll have it down in no time.

 

Jason: Thanks, bro.

 

Jack’s personal phone rang and he looked down at the number. He smirked and motioned he had to take the call.

 

Jack: Hello?

 

Sonny: Do they know anything yet?

 

Jack: Nope, but I don’t know which car you’re referring to for the warranty running out?

 

Sonny: Good work kid, I’ll take it from here,

 

Jack: Yeah, I don’t own that car.

 

Jack hung up the phone and smiled, sighing as he hugged his brother.

--

On Camera:

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Jack is seated, looking at a book “American Desperado” by Jon Roberts. He looks up and puts the book down, and places it by his side. Leaning forward on his couch, with the SCW World championship on his lap, he begins.

 

Jack: I’m a believer in a lot of things, you know? I’m a believer in what’s right is right. I’m a believer in doing what you need to do. I believe a lot of things. But I live by an easy code to live by. “Don’t trust anybody” Why is that? It’s really simple, people are fake as fuck in this world. I’ve seen it over and over in my life. People wanna high five you and tell you how great you are, but only if it means that they get something out of it. As long as they get a slice of the pie, everything’s cool. People just make shit up, because they aren’t interesting, and try to pass themselves off as genuine when they want to ride your coattails and be a success. And then, when you go down, they disappear. And they disappear and they come around and tell you that you never had it the first place, and what do they do? They leave you high and dry, because you aren’t on top anymore. They run away and  tell you that you they only associate with winners. They just want to say they are success, but there is a major difference between being a success, and being successful. 

 

Any asshole can win at something, any asshole can be good at something or get lucky and fall ass backwards into success. And the moment they do, they want all the credit, they want all the notoriety, they want all the praise, and they act like they did it all on their own due to some kind of skill or ability. When really, it’s fucking luck and that shit runs out eventually. So, everybody wants to soak up their 15 minutes of fame, and then turn around and judge people for theirs. It’s fucking stupid how petty and jealous other people can be. That shit is so strong in the SCW locker room it’s not even funny. It’s why I find it so hard to be back there with all that fake shit. The phony tough guys, the guys that know it all or they think they know it all, book smart but no god damn common sense. It’s just all so artifical that it makes me sick. I always knew I was the realest guy in the room any time I walked into one, but SCW has cemented that for me and made it easy to figure out. 

 

People smiling in your face and stabbing you in the back. That’s why, you only give someone a little bit when you help you, then, you can watch them and see what they do, and allow them to dry their own line in the sand. You have to understand that none of these mother fuckers NONE of them really have each other’s backs, and they’d turn on each other at the drop of a hat if it meant they’d get something out it. It’s pathetic, but you know me, I just speak the truth. 

 

Jack’s voice geta far more serious tone. He folds his hands and continues.

 

Jack: I’m as real as it comes around here. I don’t need to bullshit you about anything. I tell you I’ll cheat, I’ll take shortcuts, because I’m in this for the money and fame, I’m up front about it. I do what I want, and it’s too bad if you get offended or upset but it. Because you don’t decide what’s right and wrong for me. None of you do. Now, I take a look at a guy like Mark Cross, and I finally see him for who he is. He’s been trying to ambush this thing from the get go. Trying to make me think he wasn’t interested and he wasn’t serious. And then BAM, he drops this long, rambling interview on me about this and that and I couldn’t care less. Mark was saving this, all this for this match, he kept his mouth shut because he wanted to bury me in a hurricane’s worth of hot air about how he deserves this or that. It’s just an old veteran trick or something. Saving up everything to take his shot. It’s why he never came out on TV and said anything to me, because he knew, he knew that I would take it, and destroy it. Rip the whole thing to shreds because Mark Cross is exactly the kind of person I’ve been talking about. He’s just that guy, who wants to sit around and tell me what I’m doing wrong and how he needs to be in the spotlight and not me. He’s got a hard luck story boys and girls, He’s done this and that he deserves this.

 

Yeah, I said I was a believer in a lot of things, but let me tell you, that Mark Cross isn’t one of them. Mark Cross is a liar, the proof is right in front of your eyes. He’s doing the old snake in the grass routine and thinking it’s going to work. It’s so fucking sad the lengths this man has gone to, to make himself believe he should be the SCW World champion. But if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s sitting her and pretending like he’s deserved any of this because he fumble-fucked his way through two tournaments. 

 

I mean, this man is a ghost in SCW otherwise, and now, now that were here with the lights on and he’s in a main event, he’s in do or die mode. Launching a hail mary attempt to justify himself. Where has this been for the past month? Why all of a sudden is there drive and dedication NOW, as opposed to when I called his ass out, twice? There wasn’t anything there. But now, all of a sudden he’s a big man, shooting shots when he knows he has no chance of landing any of them. I dodge and slip, bob and weave like the mother fucking champion I am. I have demolished everyone else in my path, and Mark Cross is heaving things like his name was Eli Manning in a Super Bowl.

 

Jack chuckles to himself as he mimics a person throwing a football, closing his eyes while doing so.

 

Jack: Speaking of football, its one of my main gripes with Mark in the first place. The man is just a liar. He’s sitting her claiming that he played in A Super bowl with the Oakland Raiders. I mean, a simple fucking Google search proves he’s full of shit. Mark Cross is what... 35? Maybe. The Oakland Raiders last played in the Super Bowl in 2003. January 26th, 2003. That was almost 20 years ago. Even today, the earliest anyone can play in the NFL in what? 19...20? Mark Cross would have been like 15 in 2003. It’s just a lie and it’s easily verifiable. Unless we’re retconning the whole super bowl thing now. Are we Mark? Stop telling people you played in a Super Bowl, it’s a lie, and you know it. So why would I trust a man who can’t keep his own lie straight? Why would I believe a man who has to make up things about himself, and even still, gets them wrong? It’s either that, or the man has CTE and shouldn’t be allowed in the ring because he doesn’t know how dates work anymore and he may not know right now where the hell he is. It’s shit like this that makes me dislike people. Maybe it’s just that Mark himself is just not interesting otherwise? I mean, the man’s bio reads like an awful fucking Tinder profile. Mark likes cars, and horses and long walks on the beach and other bullshit that doesn’t mean a god damn thing because to me, his biggest claim to fame, is full of shit. So why would I believe anything else about him? Mark Cross, just appears to be a boring man who spends his life wanting to be someone other than himself. 

 

It’s just some cruel joke at this point. Mark probably doesn’t even drive an Aston Martin and he’s got a Honda Accord or something. I can’t believe a word that comes out of this man’s mouth because all of it, is a fucking act. It’s all who Mark Cross “thinks” Mark Cross is. It’s who he’s supposed to be. It’s a sad, pathetic thing that this man isn’t smart enough, charismatic enough or anything close to it, to be believable in any role he’s taking. Most of the time I just want reach through the screen and slap him upside the head. Because he needs it more than he thinks.

 

And that’s what Into the Void is about at this point. It’s about proving a point that Mark Cross can shout as loud as he wants to about how hard he’s worked and how much of something he’s done and trying to lecture me on whatever he wants to, but it’s the equivalent of a murderer yelling at a bank robber in prison for doing bad things. Like, you have no reason to tell me shit, Mark. None. You are screaming and hollering but I don’t need to tell lies about you or anything close to it. You lie on yourself. You destroy your own credibilty all the time. You laid there like a slug for a month after winning the Blast From the Past and, hell, you didn’t even say you did that, did you? No, there was no celebration, no calling me out, I called you out. I made you the target, the champion made the challenger perk up, not the other way around.  When I won the King for A Day briefcase, you saw what I did, I came right for Ben Jordan. Why? Because I have the balls to do it. I have called people out, stepped on toes, crossed lines, and made myself known to any and everyone. So much so, that I can asshats I already beaten trying to step to me with subtweets. Again, I guess. That’s my job, Mark. I push buttons and cross lines. I say the shit that people are afraid to say. Why? Because I have balls. I treat this shit like it’s all I got, because it is. The Casino, it’s nice to have my name on, and it has gotten my name out there even more. You know what got my name out there first? THIS FUCKING CHAMPIONSHIP!

 

Jack holds up the championship pushing it forward so it’s all the camera can see for a second.

 

Jack: I want you to take a good, long look at this championship Mark. This is what I earned, twice, by beating people’s asses, just like yours. I didn’t run for anybody, and I’m certainly not going to fucking back down from you, just because you wanna use these ridiculous tactics to get yourself an edge. Go ahead and bore people to death with your sad story. It’s almost like at this point your favorite movie is the Usual Suspects, because you’re such a good bullshitter, that you can make people believe it. No Mark, I don’t believe you. I like to verify that I’m dealing with a genuine person, and so far, that search has turned up, one man in SCW, and that’s Ben Jordan. And you, you ain’t Ben Jordan, my guy, you’re a piece of trash trying to once again fall ass backwards into success. I’ve already heard the hard luck story. I’ve already heard the overcoming the odds story. It’s already been told a hundred million times, and it’s a hundred million times more believable than your story. You can save it for somebody who cares, Mark. I care about one thing when I’m in that ring. Keeping this championship. That’s all. Nothing more. And you are trying to take it from me, so you have to be dealt with. Now, since we’re in the land of make-believe Mark, are you going to go with David slaying Goliath? You going to be the little engine that could? Are you going to be the pauper? Please tell me so that I know which book to not read. I’m not a believer in fairy tales, I’m a believer that this championship makes me the best, and it’s going to take a man a hell of a lot better than you to take it from me.

 

You think you have something on me, because you wrestled in Japan? Because you trained in Japan? What is this obsession with Japan and being trained there? I didn’t train in Japan, and I did just fine. I beat dudes that trained in Japan before, this is nothing new to me. You learned “strong style” why? Because the name sounds cool? Because it makes you hit harder or something? Do you have special powers now Mark because you trained in Japan? Yeah, that’s all very nice, I’m sure you’re very proud, but a punch to the face, is a punch to the face, no matter who trained you. I could get trained by the most sadistic Japanese trainers in the world. I could go to China and learn Kung Fu right now, and you know what it means after I get punched? Not a god damn thing. I’m not sure what everybody’s big obsession is with Japan, but it’s silly and stupid and it means zero to me. I got trained, by an American, in America and I’m the SCW world champion. So, if anything, training in Japan is just something lazy people put on their resume to make it sound like they are more bad ass than they really are. I trained to box before I became a wrestler. You can walk right down the Joe Frazier gym in Philly, and you see my picture on the wall because I did my thing there. But you don’t see me bragging about it, do you? Do I need to tell you that I’m a boxer? That if I beat your face in on the street, I will be charged differently because my hands can be considered assault with a deadly weapon? All of that, is true, Mark. But I don’t need to brag about it.

 

But you? You gotta tell me about your old playing days in the NFL and how you got all padded up and ran over guys in the league and blah blah blah. It sounds good, Mark. It sounds good, but you know, you couldn’t have been that good, because you would have continued to play football your whole like if you were good at it. You must have been a garbage player who had flashes of doing something good, but never actually managed to harness it. Instead you let it go and lost interest in something that you were KIND OF good at. That’s your story Mark. Why am I able to tell your story better than you, Mark? Why is it I can see through the bullshit and cut to the fucking chase on you quicker than you can? You can embellish your life all you want, that’s all well and good, but don’t sit here and bullshit me and tell the world that because your football background, or training in Japan make you special. If it did, you’d be here, with this world championship on your shoulder, and we’d be talking about you being something. Instead, because you are lazy and falling back on these fucking little tiny snippets that don’t tell the full story of your life, this is where you are. Back up against the wall, looking for something, anything to clutch on to, to make yourself look better than you are.

 

Jack now leans back, a disgusted look on his face.

 

Jack: I’m so just done with you Mark. I don’t need to be dealing with your ass at this point. You are a boring, lying, douchebag that stumbled into this match, and now, you are about to get a reality check. There is no good ending here, Mark. This isn’t the fairy tale where the good guy wins in the end and it’s all sunshine and rainbows. This is where the better guy, not the bad guy, but the better guy wins at the end because the good guy is just as morally corrupt as the he thinks the bad guy is. At Into the Void, you will be taken down, and if necessary, I will hurt you, far more than I have already but cutting you to pieces with your own truth. Unlike you, I will embrace the role of the bad guy if it makes you feel better. Because the truth is, you need me.

 

You need me, just like this company does. They need me because I am the goal. I am the one person everyone is striving to beat. They love to hate me, and that’s what I do. I will be your Dallas Cowboys, your New York Yankees, your... Man U for the English people. I will gladly be that bad guy, because you need it in your lives. It makes you feel better that you can sit there and complain that I am getting all the calls, that I’m always in the news or the spotlight, or that I’m catching all the breaks. You need that to justify why you don’t get those breaks. And then you hate the way I do it because I do it and I win. And then you point your finger at me, and you accuse me of cheating or doing something wrong. And it’s all just to help you feel better about yourselves.

 

I say I am the face of this franchise, and I say it, because it’s the fucking truth. I came in here and changed the fucking game and you got people like Mark Cross, trying to tell me how I do things is wrong, or that I shouldn’t be out here trying to hurt him or whatever. I do what I do, for me. I’m selfish, and you know why I’m selfish? Because that’s how you get ahead. People just don’t have the balls to stand up for themselves. I don’t have the share my success with anybody! Nobody helped me get here, but Me! I did this! Who put this together? ME! Who made it happen? ME! Who do I trust? ME!

 

At Into the Void, you can say anything you want, but at the end of the night, you will still be hating, you will still be crying and complaining about me. But I will still be the face of this franchise, I will still be at the top, and I will still be the SCW World champion!

 

Mark Cross, Learn to love it!

 

Jack sighs, regaining his composure as he picks his book back up, and starts reading again as we cut to black.


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EVERYONE. SUFFERS.