Ken Davison sits in the car, driving North on the I-95 corridor, heading to Philadelphia. He had chosen to leave Kyra at home Normally, this would be something they would handle together, but with Adina at home and this was no situation for her. It was hardly a situation for him, in his current state of mental health. He was supposed to be celebrating his newly found wedded bliss. In the almost two weeks that had followed, his best friend’s wife, who coincidentally was his wife’s best friend, you may know her as Amber FUCKING Ryan, had been assaulted in a show she was working on almost two weeks ago. As the Sin City audience knew, she had been in the hospital. Unfortunately, Ken’s commitments had kept him a couple of thousand miles away. She and Ken had been bitter rivals, many moons ago. This was common knowledge. What most people did not know is that the two of them were in the process of making their peace. Then, the attack happened.
’How could it get any worse?’ Ken had thought to himself. At this point, he should have known better than to challenge the universe. He should have fucking known. It was later that day that he got on Twitter and saw a tweet from @demonofsobriety, his former student, Dorian. Except, it wasn’t Dorain. It was his daughter, Chloe Hawkhurst. It would seem she had taken over the account.
“i dont know howto say it. dad;s gone. he got stabbed trying to stop this guy from beating his wife. we're keeping thigns private. i dont want any of taht im sorry bullshit. this fuckng sux.”Chloe, barely 19 now, was now an orphan.
“Dorian Michael Hawkhurst passed away on Monday, June 6th, 2022, after injuries incurred while breaking up a domestic dispute. He was 38.”“Dorian was born on February 29th, 1984, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania…”
That was as far as Ken could get reading the obituary before scrolling down to the bottom to find out where and when the funeral was. That was where he was in the process of driving to now. Chloe did not know he was attending. Ken know about her desire to keep it private, but Dorian and Chloe started training with him when Chloe was only 9. That was ten years.
’Sorry, kiddo. You’re family,’ he thought knowing how she’d probably react to his arrival.
Thankfully, traffic on a Saturday morning was nowhere near as hectic as it would be had the service been held during the week. Ken gets off at the exit and deftly maneuvers his ‘89 Pontiac Grand Am through the streets of Philadelphia. The trees are scattered around perfectly manicured grass. He finally pulls onto Kelly Drive, the pebbles crunching beneath rubber. He pulls to a stop and looks over to his left.
Day after day, almost ritualistically, peoole would flock to the bottom of the stairs below the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Showing up to take a picture with the Rocky statue was a Philadelphia tradition. Originally, the statue had been created and installed for a scene in Rocky III, but now stood as an actual, honest to goodness, real-life document to a film here, a fictional denizen of the City of Brotherly Love, who is accepted as though he was a native son of flesh and blood.
After the obligatory photo op, many of the visitors then partake in the second, less obligatory part of the ritual. They try their hands and hustling up the grand stairway, Most then raise both arms in the air, mimicking the pose of their fictional hero. The beautiful view of the Philadelphia skyline was an added bonus. While running up those stairs was the goal, Ken wanted to neither take a picture of the statue nor did he want to pose at the top, though both of those things were considered a rite of passage. He was here to honor Dorian.
Being a native of Philadelphia, Dorian knew the ins and outs of the streets. He had taught Ken things about the city that he never would have learned on his own. The honor of wrestling in 2300 Arena, formerly known as Viking Hall, was one of the first things. Though known by many names throughout the years, the building in and of itself was hallowed ground among many wrestling fans. Dorian had taught him that you get your cheesesteak at Tony Luke’s and avoid the tourist traps known as Pat’s and Geno’s. Lastly, he taught Ken about how he had trained every morning by running up and down the “Rocky Steps.” Ken had never done so himself, but now was as good a time as ever.
Ken Davison took a moment to lock his car before looking both ways and crossing the street. He strides across the sidewalk and makes his way to the bottom of the stairway.
’You have got to be fucking insane,’ Ken can’t help but think to himself. Maybe he was. He was standing at the bottom of the Rocky steps, in near eighty degree heat, less than two hours from attending a viewing, ready to run up those very stairs.
“Fuck it!” Ken yells as he bolts up the stairs. Underestimating the climb, he starts to become winded about two thirds of the way up the stairs.
“Come on!” he grunts as he guts out those last few steps. Getting to the top, he falls to his knees, the adrenaline allowing him to ignore the feeling of concrete forcibly connecting with his kneecaps.
Tears well up in his eyes, eventually streaming down his cheeks as he remembers Dorian; his friend, another one of his adopted brothers - One of the few people Ken truly cared for in this world. Gone. Too soon. Always too soon.
Ken looks around at the hustle and bustle around him, people going in and out of the museum, others occasionally running up and down the stairs,and he feels invisible. It was a nice moment of reprieve, to be honest. No fans bothering him was actually a bit strange considering all the time he'd spent wrestling in Steelside Wrestling. He was a bit of a well known commodity in Pennsylvania, at least he liked to think so.
’Steps,’ he ponders silently.
In short order, Ken had taken many steps recently. He got married. He started to make peace with Amber Ryan-Bane before she was attacked, and now… this, the loss of a dear friend. There were so many questions in his head. ‘Will Chloe be okay?’ being the most imposing of all of them. Chloe had just turned 19, but to Ken’s knowledge, didn’t have any kind of contingency plan in place.
’Which reminds me,’ Ken thinks as he pauses to look down at his watch.
13:37
Ken wiped his eyes, he straightened out his shirt and he brought himself back to his feet. He had a service to attend. He had a young woman to support. He needed to be strong for Chloe in her time of need. He knew that's what Dorian would have done for him.
Ken Davison is dressed in a black button down shirt and black pants. The moon hangs in the night sky, the Philadelphia skyline behind him. It is obvious from the Philadelphia Museum in the background that Ken has returned to the Rocky stairs. His face is streaked with the stain of tears, Ken had no concern about them. Sure, he should have washed his face or tried to perhaps do something, anything to cover them up, but in his present state, he didn’t particularly mind or care.
“Sometimes, in our lives, we have to take a step back and look at the bigger picture. We have to recognize where we are in life, but also how we got there. My career, not just my time in this company, I have defined by the steps I have taken. Successful debut. Internet champion. Subsequent losing streak. Most recently, I have taken out two former World Champions when no one expected me to do so.”“Believe it or not, Kasey, that actually doesn't matter. That is not what defines me as an athlete, as a wrestler, as a man. It is the steps I have taken outside of the squared circle that make me who I am today. Losing a championship is nothing, this is nothing when you've lost everything you hold dear in life. Having to come back from a few losses in no way, shape, or form compares to having to come back from losing your unborn child.”Ken speaks those words with a tinge of sadness in his voice. The surprise to those who know his tragic history is that he is not sobbing and crying about his loss, rather, he seems to have made peace with it. There is a calm in his voice, not usually found in this situation.
“In my career I have been put through burning tables, one by our very own Mac Bane. I have wrestled in Japanese death matches. I have walked through the hostile crowds of Puerto Rico and lived to tell the tale. Hell, I still bear the scars of being crucified.”Davison holds up his hands directly in front of the camera, the vaguely circular scarring of his hand goes directly through his palms. He allows them to linger for a couple of moments, letting the severity of the wound sink in.
“When I say that I have seen it all and done it all I can say so with the utmost confidence. That was not always the case. When I started in this business, the fact that I even got signed at a mere 5' 10" tall, was a minor miracle. I made my debut as a character known as Tunzafun. I came to the ring, clad in a set of pajamas, gave a Teddy bear to one of the young fans, you get the idea. Typical early to mid nineties schtick. Still, I recognized that I had to start somewhere. I took that first step.”“At this point, I am losing almost every match. Back then if you weren't at least 6' 4", or 300 pounds… let's just say you were in for a bad day at the office, bud. I stuck it out. I evolved. I learned to use my size as an advantage instead of a detriment. After all, you can't punch what you can't catch. I evolved. I took another step.”Ken starts rolling his wrist, making the “this is going on and on and on” motion with his hand.
“Now, I could go on and on and give you the entire rundown of my career and how I learned to adapt. The cliff notes version is that each and every time I faced adversity, I never once took a step backwards. I always moved forward, ever forward.”“Which brings us to where we are today. I've been in this business for 26 years, almost as long as you've been alive. Think about that, just for a second. You may be too young, too brash, too wet behind the ears to understand how intimidating that should be. To be honest, I prefer it that way. When a whelp tries to prove himself, to show that he belongs, he brings a certain tenacity that I always find entertaining. I’d like to hope I see that fire.”Ken pauses just a moment, whipping his head back and forth to crack his neck.
“Moving right along, I have been saying since the moment he won the World Championship that I want my shot at Matt Knox. It's not even that I want an opportunity at the World Championship. Mac Bane has that opportunity and Mac Bane deserves that opportunity. When he takes that World Championship, he knows that I've got his back. He knows that I will not pursue that championship. I've said it before and I will say it again. Saviors don't work Saviors.”“What you're probably asking yourself is what does this have to do with you? You probably think that I'm looking past you as a warm up to whatever opportunity comes my way next. That couldn't be farther from the truth. I know that you're running with the wolves. I know the group you roll with wouldn't keep you amongst their pack if you couldn't pull your own weight. Still, amongst the wolves you are but a cub, a mere… little… cub. However, the phrase ‘hungry like a wolf’ exists for a reason. Much like when I had to prove myself after losing the Internet championship, I was hungry to re-establish myself as a legitimate threat to any athlete in this company, I know you are looking to use me as I used Austin James Mercer. I know that you want to cut in front of me in line for any opportunity, like I did to Mark Cross. They were steps that I had to take. This match is another step that I have to take. I am going to take that step and continue to move forward, ever forward. That means that you need to know your place and take a step back. You… You need to realize that in this pack, you are not the alpha. You are not even an alpha.”Ken waves his finger back and forth, like Dikembe Mutombo saying “No, no, no,” after a block.
“The thing about wolves, the thing that I think you and the entirety of Wolfslair fails to remember is that being an alpha does not always mean being at the front of the line. When wolves travel, there are also alpha's at the back of the line. The reason for that, the reason I am willing to stand behind Mac Bane and any member of the Saviors is because an alpha that is willing to stay at the back of the line, until the time is right, is an alpha who is watching out for the good of its pack.”Ken sighs deeply, taking time to de-escalate from the level of intensity he had elevated to.
“I recognize that in my time here I may have sent some mixed signals. I know who I am as a person. That's a phrase that I'm rather fond of using. In fact. I'm sure that you hear every single week. Who I am as a person, what you need to have in the forefront of your mind, is that I am a person that is willing to do whatever needs to be done to handle a situation. If that means beating you in the submission, so be it. If that means giving a spinebuster to a former women's World Champion, so be it. If that means that I am going to leave a trail of victims in my wake while I wait for my opportunity, so be it.”Ken smiles slyly, making sure the audience at home is hanging on, waiting for his next words.
“If that means that my next step requires you to be under my boot, so…. be… it.”
