Sit back…
Kick off your shoes…
Pay attention…
Yes, it is another story. You know you love them 
As all of you should know, I am facing Nick Jones at High Stakes II for the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Championship in a rematch from Violent Conduct. The world saw me get cheated out of a true shot at the Championship. However, I have been somewhat quiet about the situation, even leading up to Violent Conduct. There have been a variety of reasons for that silence, but each one will come to light.
October 7th, 2012… Here I sit on an airplane, left with nothing but my thoughts and some crappy Sandra Bullock movie. That plane ride back home has been the longest one ever. The strange thing about it is that distance-wise, it was a fairly short trip, but I couldn’t tell. Failure is something that does not set well with me. I had the entire world in the palm of my hand and I dropped the ball. I have been so busy worrying about others, worrying about the fans, my NXT colleagues, my NWA obligations… I forgot about the whole reason I came back to wrestling. Some would argue that it was because of “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward. In part, that is true. He made me realize that I was not finished doing what I do best.
Lately, I have not been doing that thing. I have been preoccupied by people who don’t seem to give a damn about what I have sacrificed for them. To say that I am a little raw about it would be the understatement of the year. The people who put their necks out there for me were the ones who got shit on in the end. That is a depressing thought, and one that seems all too familiar to me right now.
But that is a sob story I don’t really feel like elaborating on too much further. My point is that I am tired of sitting by and watching these young bloods come in here and run their mouths… plastering Twitter with their nonsense about deserving things they haven’t worked for… as if the world owes them something. To me, that truly sounds like bitch talk. Never once did I claim to deserve something that I didn’t work for. I busted my ass in no-name federations, nearly getting killed each time I stepped into a ring, cage, parking lot, fast food joint, pit of fire, a fucking Chuck E. Cheese, or where ever the bosses told me to kick ass. I worked the curtain jerkers for years after that. I worked hard and waited out my time, just like any other respectable wrestler.
So it should be no surprise to you that when I was called a “pussy” on Twitter last month… it really… REALLY… didn’t settle well with me. Some asked me if I noticed it, and when I told them I had, they looked surprised to say the least. See, the thing is that I don’t use social media to address my personal issues with somebody. That has been an on-going problem as of late and has made it where I rarely even check on Twitter anymore. Too many people do it and it makes me sick, if I’m honest.
Call me old fashioned, but when I have a problem with someone, I don’t want there to be a computer screen and more than a few miles between me and the person I want to address. I prefer to address my problems face to face where, if necessary, I can knock the holy fuck out of them and prove exactly why I am an Icon around here. I like to look into their eyes while I am beating the life out of them, watching them atone for their blasphemy with their own blood. After all, when I grew up, watching my father and my uncle wrestle, I saw wrestling as an art. I saw it as a noble profession filled with strength and integrity. Now it reminds me of an extremely shitty drama that should get cancelled after the first season.
Lately, Sin City Wrestling has been wrestling hell. I am forced to watch it degenerate, and I feel so helpless in saving it. This is a cancer that is destroying the only truly constant thing in my life. Between all of the drama brought on by other people in my life, and the drama going on around SCW, I feel it is my duty to become a savior to the weak and the ignorant that comprise the majority of SCW’s fan base. Do you hear that, people? Your savior has arrived…What am I doing?The night of Violent Conduct, I took a hard look around the room, and I could see the morale had dropped by leaps and bounds as of late. Everyone seemed so distant toward one another, but at the beginning of the Asian Invasion tour, we were a very connected family. Now it feels like being amongst strangers. Each of us seems to have the same thoughts going through our minds, but no one wants to say it. Or am I just paranoid? I am used to things falling apart or blowing up in my face ever since I decided to change my life for the better. Is this Karma’s cruel way of saying I should have stayed a ruthless, selfish asshole? If I were, I would still have a fiancé, no scratch that, I would probably have a wife, instead of spending every night alone, staring at the ceiling overanalyzing things like I am right now. I would still have my successful friends who never really cared for me, but got me places in my career. I wouldn’t have gotten my knee fucked up by “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward all those years ago. I wouldn’t waste my time on worthless causes who bitch and moan that I am being too hard on them because I wouldn’t give two fucks to help them.
A lot of things would be different. My whole life would be a lot easier if I just didn’t care. But the inevitable fact is that I do care. I can’t help the fact that I can no longer take the easy way out. I can’t help that the world favors calloused pricks over kind-hearted, loyal men. I just have to accept the fact and keep doing what I’m doing
The question isn't "What am I doing?" It is "Why am I doing what I'm doing?"I am trying to build up the world’s next dominant force in wrestling. If you know anything about wrestling at all, you would know that the New X-Tremes carries the most star power potential of any stable in Sin City Wrestling. We fight with honor, courage, and solidarity. We don’t gang attack people, or catch them off guard in the backstage areas. We fight with even odds every time. It is just a shame that lately, it feels more like a collection of cool kid names in high school than a dominant, solid wrestling stable. Perhaps the problem is not the group. Perhaps it is me? I hate being taken as a joke and I tend to get motivated to prove the naysayers wrong. Maybe with the Dream Chaserz “threat” I lost respect for not properly retaliating. Maybe when I snapped in the locker room after that show, I scared my mates away? The only ones who seem to have anything to do with me since that day are Casey, Jessie, Giani, and Jamie. Even that is at a minimum.
The old me would be sleeping like a baby right now instead of watching the clock continuously laugh in my face for the fifth consecutive hour. I turn over on my side, staring at the digits as the minutes melt away like seconds. I pick up my glass of water and I take a few sips as I blink my eyes. I have never been less focused for any match in my entire life. With all of my worries and doubts with the future of the New X-Tremes, coupled with my looming NWA World Heavyweight title defense, I just can’t seem to focus on what is right upon me. This is the time where I really should be focusing, because I am lost. I am wandering around in the dark, feeling disgusted with myself. My eyes shoot open once again as I glance around the dark hotel room. It suddenly doesn’t feel so empty as my eyes rest upon my son, sleeping soundly in the next bed over. I look around just in time to see my daughter’s arm come crashing against my chest. She lets out a soft sigh as she curls up to me.
Eden: Daddy, I had a nightmare so I wanted to sleep by you…
Her voice barely audible, but I knew by the way she was shaking exactly what she meant. I wrap my arm around her, gently stroking her hair as she goes out like a light. I sigh and a gentle smile creeps across my face. In a way, I felt much the same. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare myself. And much like I am a comfort to her, she helps to ease the mental damage I have endured lately.
********************************************
I can’t say how long it was before I finally fell asleep, but I hardly even noticed as it felt like within the blink of an eye, the curtains suddenly pull back. My eyes clinch tightly as I struggle to come to terms with the sudden change. I shield my eyes as I sit up in the bed. In all of my shock, I see Uncle Erik as he turns around, staring at me. I mutter a few curses under my breath as I pull the blanket up to my chest. He takes a few steps forward and yanks the covers right off of me.
Spike: Fuck! What right do you have to just storm in here like this?
As soon as my eyes fully adjust, I look around to room to notice my children aren’t in the room anymore. I shoot up from the bed in my pajama bottoms and go to slip my shoes on. I look around in a state of confusion as Erik sighs, rolling his eyes. I feel them lash back toward me as he wipes at his face.
Erik: The rugrats are safe with your brother?
Spike: You left them with Jamie? Why didn’t you just give them to five year old?
Erik: Wow, and they call me the asshole of the family… I’m not that stupid, they are with Tommy and Desiree on the flight back home to Vegas.
I kick at the nearest thing as I shove my belongings into the opened suitcase sitting on the other bed. My eyes scan around the room for anything else and I zip the main compartment closed. I start to head to the bathroom to get the rest when Erik steps in my way.
Erik: As your uncle, I want to smack you across the back of the head and tell you to get your shit together, Spike… But as your Talent Relationship Manager, it is my obligation to kindly suggest that you just take the next couple of weeks off to get your head back in the game. Since your bout with Nick Jones, you haven’t been the…
Spike: … I haven’t been the same, yeah no shit. Maybe if you had the opportunity for a rematch ripped away from you, then you might be a little raw about it too… But, if you were facing Nick, you wouldn’t get fucked over, because you’re Mark’s bitch. For all I know, you could have been the one to point out that Casey technically *air quotes* struck first.
Erik licks his bottom lip in the secret display that he is getting angry. I succeeded in letting him know his presence is not needed and I brush past him and go into the bathroom where I collect my toothbrush, deodorant and the like. As I come through the door, Uncle Erik is still standing there, staring at me.
Spike: Why are you still here? Don’t you get it? I don’t need you to continue stating the obvious, telling me that I need to find a direction, because I’m done caring. This company makes me sick, there is zero integrity left in it. Maybe you can replace me with the cast of Degrassi?
Uncle Erik didn’t seem to like that one too much as he grabs onto my white undershirt, pulling me in, getting face to face with me, his icy blue eyes full of hate as he stares into my own, like a reflection in a mirror. Of course, his monotonous, emotionless demeanor stays intact as his face remains unchanged.
Erik: Listen up you little shit… I don’t care what you do, but as long as you are in a contract with this company, you will not throw a never ending pity party… You dropped the ball against Nick Jones, and you dropped the ball against Mike Sloan for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship. No one else forced you to go out there and make a mockery of the Staggs name, a name your father put above you and your brothers and your mother. He valued it above all else, and you threw it all away because you want to be sad, or confused, or some other sort of angst-filled bullshit. Instead of pointing the finger, blame yourself. When James Shark called you a pussy on Twitter, he was right… Pussies don’t man up and accept the consequences for their actions.
He releases my shirt, adjusting the collar for me before taking a step back. He takes the toiletries from my hand and neatly places them on top of the messy pile that was already in there. He zips up the suitcase and sits it upright for me, giving me that cocky smile that makes me want to punch him in the face, yet it matches my own.
Erik: Now don’t be late for the next flight, you don’t want to miss your big match against James Shark, Cody Taylor, and Tom Dudely this week…
My jaw tenses up as I hear the string of names that will be opposite of me in just a few short days. But, before I knew it, I was smiling. Erik looked at me like I was a mad man when I started laughing. I hadn’t felt that happy in a very long time. I was going to get exactly what I had hoped for… We fade out on my joyous face…
*************************************
”You fear me because, deep down… you know what I am capable of. I’m not going to lie, you should be afraid… You should be VERY afraid, because there is no hiding come Sunday October the fourteenth…”Wednesday, October 10th, 2012…
Louis Basque Corner – Reno NevadaThe dark red walls of this spacious corner restaurant are lined with various pictures ranging from abstract paintings to old style knick knacks, as well as a large menu board. The long wooden tables are covered in red and gold table clothes, and covered with various items their delectable menu. The place is packed this afternoon, and it becomes obvious when the camera pans around a bit. There is one long table that is almost completely empty, shy of a glass of draught beer and a glass of water. Sitting in front of the beer is New X-Treme’s Giani Di Luca, and across the table from him is Spike Staggs. The two are sharing a very non-homosexual lunch together. Giani takes a drink from the beer and then sets it down on the table, just staring at Spike. Spike gazes around the restaurant, not realizing he is drumming his thumbs on the table.
Giani: Aww come on, bro… I can’t be that lame to hang with hahahaha!
As if Giani’s loud voice weren’t enough to catch Spike’s attention, his obnoxious laugh seems to make the entire restaurant quiet down. He shows no shame as Spike’s head whips back over to Giani’s direction. He shakes his head slowly, letting Giani know he isn’t bored.
Giani: C’mon! You are acting like this is some awkward first date with a grenade who looked much better when ya had a few beers in you… We’re friends dawg. Like family even.
Spike: No, I’ve just been really distracted lately. A lot of crap has been going on, and I just don’t feel right. It’s hard to explain.
Giani: Look, I know things have been slippin’ away from us and losing the NWA title musta been tough. But if you keep focusing on what you lost, you’re never gonna get anywhere except a nuthouse.
Spike picks up his glass of water and takes a few long gulps. He sighs in relief as he sets it down. Folding his hands in front of him, he sits in awkward silence for a moment. Just as Giani is about to speak, Spike looks up at him.
Spike: I am just going to let you in on a little secret. They should have never released me from the nuthouse to begin with. The things I have done to people sometimes makes me queasy, so the fact that I am here right now is a surprise to me.
Giani: Are you like Norman Bates crazy, or Jamie Staggs crazy?
Spike: Somewhere in the middle, I suppose. They used to call me a lot of things. The Most Sadistic Bastard… The Mindfuck… And since I have been in SCW, I have done a lot of things that no one else has, and yet my name is somehow associated with the words “loser” and “pussy”. Seven years ago, if I had heard those things, I would have done things that would make your skin crawl.
Giani: Huh…
What was meant to sound more like a question comes across as a sort of uncomfortable attempt at changing the subject. Giani downs the rest of his beer quickly and flags down the waitress to order another. As she gets closer, Spike seems to go into a bit of a trance.
Spike: It has to stop, Giani… No matter what I do, no matter what I accomplish, people still look at us like we are a joke because we aren’t knocking up bombshells and crying all over Twitter like some depressed high school girl. It just sickens me. Call it bitching if you must, but I am done sitting around and watching talentless hacks run around stirring shit up like drama queens. I am sick of it, and I will take the next step when Casey, Jordan, and I defeat that ghetto trash and his white bitch boy. I’ve already made an example of Tom…
Giani: I’m gonna level with ya dawg. These people running their mouths about you don’t know nothin’ about you. The little bit they do know of you, they are jealous over.
Spike: You know what? None of it matters anyway. It all comes down to the fact that once I step inside of that ring with these fucking sacks of shit, and my team stands over their limp bodies, we will have proved yet again that we aren’t losers. Doesn’t it get tiring having to constantly prove to people that you aren’t a loser?
Giani chokes on his fresh beer as Spike says this. He catches his breath after coughing a bit and then he lets out his signature laugh that silences the restaurant once more. He shakes his head from side to side.
Giani: Naw bro, I love the challenge. Once there ain’t no challenge, it will get boring, right? I came to Sin City Wrestling and immediately I had some piece of shit tryin’ to tell me I was nothing. Do you remember what I did? I trained my ass off and I went out there to embarrass the kid. He called me every name in the book, but it only made me focus on pinning his ass in the middle of that ring. Kid dissed my girl, he dissed my town, he dissed my hair, and the list goes on, but I turned it on him. You taught me how to do that, so I don’t know why this is so difficult for you.
Spike: Maybe because I think that I’m losing my edge here. Or maybe because I have been all alone with this shit, trying to be the fearless leader you all need.
Giani: Look, we need a leader. We need someone to show us what direction to go. You are our role model, but you don’t have to be some emotionless zombie. If you let us be there for you, it would be the least we could do for all the things you do for us.
Just then, Spike’s phone goes off. He pulls it out of his pocket and unlocks it. His face turns to surprise and a bit of a smile spreads across it. He turns it around for Giani to see.
Spike: Wow, I must have missed a few mentions on Twitter, I…
Giani reaches over and swipes the phone from Spike, nervously smiling. He swipes his fingers across the phone and then slides it half way over toward Spike. Spike looks annoyed as he moves over to retrieve it.
Giani: It was just, ummm, Vixen saying she is on her way with Jessie and…
Spike studies Giani’s expression for a moment, narrowing his eyes with a curious smile on his face. He waits as Giani avoids eye contact with him, and then his expression returns to normal. He clasps his phone when Giani smacks it out of his hand. He looks a bit shaken and picks the phone up and starts to hand it over to Spike. As Spike extends his hand, Giani swerves a bit to avoid it and drops it in Spike’s glass of water, doing his best to play apologetic.
Spike: What the HELL?!
Giani: Ohh, ummm, oops… My bad, dawg. Here, lemme um buy ya a new one, a better one. Hey, can we get this guy another glass of water over here!?
Giani pulls the phone out of Spike’s water and waves it out as if he is trying to help remedy the situation. Instead, Spike notices a look of relief in Giani’s eyes. Spike strokes his own chin curiously as he watches Giani wipe the phone off with a napkin.
Spike: So Vixen is on her way, but she never tweets that kind of thing. She usually just texts me… That is very interesting… So, let’s say I did believe you for even a second. It says I have new mention
S as in more than one. So, was the other one Santa Claus telling me I’ve been a good boy this year, so I get the am getting that bike I always wanted as a kid? Or maybe it was the Easter Bunny, telling me where that missing egg was hidden?
Giani: Oh ha ha… I don’t know, I just saw Vixen’s message and… hey, there she is. VIX!
Giani waves his hand in the direction of Vixen as she walks through the door. She smiles curiously at Giani before taking a seat next to Spike. She whispers something to Spike while looking at Giani and then, as if having some sort of silent conversation, she chuckles at his sort of goofy, bewildered expression. She turns to Giani and her light accent trickles off of her tongue.
Vixen: Hello Giani… Sorry, I thought you said 2pm, not 1…
Spike: Well, according to Twitter, you and Jessie were on your way just two minutes ago, Giani tells me.
Vixen: No, Jessie is on her way with Jamie. Strangely as it is, Jessie keeps Jamie in line discussing metal bands, so I figured she could babysit him for a while.
Spike: Interesting…
Giani wipes away a bead of sweat from his forehead and sighs as he watches both of them seeming to grill him. He waves them off and takes another sip from his beer.
Giani: Whatever with you two… Ya wanna know what it said? Do ya really wanna know?
Spike: Well, now I am kind of intrigued as to why you would destroy the phone of someone who could easily crush your dreams of ever wrestling again. I am not sure what could have been so bad that you would drop my phone in water and then lie about it, but I’m ready to listen if you are ready to explain…
Giani: Look, after what happened on Climax Control where it took me and Casey both to hold you down for even ten seconds, I was kinda worried about watching you flip out. Casey would be pissed if you were in jail instead of in his corner against the assclowns.
Spike: Oooooh… Somebody said something mean about me, I’m so angry… Grrrrr…
Spike waves his hands around in the air as if mocking having a freak out. He slowly shakes them before letting out a laugh. Giani rolls his eyes and then thinks of how to proceed without watching Spike flip out again. As if it were at all possible, Giani’s Joy-sie accent seems to thicken up even more.
Giani: Look, I’m still waiting for my left nut to drop back down and Casey ain’t here cause you head butting him pissed him off. Throw ya fits, do whatcha gotta do, dawg, but I can’t hold you down when you actually see what’s going on with Twitter lately. Do it when ya replace ya get home or somethin’ bro.
Spike: Should I be worried that James Shark is probably going on about how I’m going to lose? Fuck him and his played out token black guy gimmick. I don’t think you needed to ruin my phone over it.
Vixen accepts her glass of wine from the waitress as he goes back to watching the debate between Spike and Giani. She takes a sip and sits back, enjoying the battle of Will Vs Intelligence.
Giani: Bro, you don’t even know… That shit was worse than a lot of shit I’ve seen on there. It’s brutal, and pretty fuckin’ insulting to all of us, especially you and Casey.
Spike: So you thought it was better to let me continue not responding to it and defend you guys?
Giani: Yes! Okay? We’re already going through a rough time with Odette out and Aleksei missing, you losing the NWA title, and everything else going on, we don’t need you worrying about some twitter mind game bullshit! So sue me…
Spike’s jaw clinches as he pounds his fist against the table. He even growls a little bit, but Vixen grabs onto his arm, calming him down. He closes his eyes as he is seething, and his nostrils flare as he calmly responds.
Spike: Did it occur to you that it is my call to make, and not yours? It isn’t the first time things like this have happened, Giani. I’ve been doing this for over a decade.
Vixen: Maybe we should think about a change of subject? Today is supposed to be a day where we all relax and communicate our plans for moving forward, not ripping each other apart.
Giani: All I’m gonna say is shit is heavy on Twitter. I can’t hardly look at the mess, so I know you will fly off the handle when you read it all. It’s heavy, bro.
Jamie: Sure Jessie… Bullet For My Valentine isn’t awesome, and you DON’T look like the girl from Halestorm…. Whatevs…
Spike and Giani lock eyes for a moment as Jessie and Jamie approach the table, taking a seat across from each other. Jessie taps Vixen on the shoulder and then whisper to each other as Jamie kicks his feet up on the table. He spots the wet phone sitting there and he laughs.
Jamie: Dude! Seriously, I found out the hard way that these phones are not waterproof… And people say I’m stupid…
He waits for a moment. When no one responds he waves his hand in front of Spike and Giani, whistling as he does. He sticks his head directly to the side, his eyes switching back and forth as if he has decided to join the “staring contest” going on. Both men snap out of it as Spike nods his head. Giani turns to the side and punches Jamie in the arm, resulting in a playful frat boy sort of horseplay. Spike looks over to Vixen and Jessie, but his eyes immediately wander as he sees Casey walking up. He doesn’t look pleased to be there as he silently sits down at the table. His intense stare locks onto Spike as he notices the wet phone as well.
Casey: You too, huh? Those sons of bitches are going to pay for that on Sunday…
Spike: I thought you were pissed at me, Casey. We weren’t expecting you.
Casey: Oh, I am, but I’m a little more pissed at this mess going on than anything.
Spike: Whatever grade school insults they are throwing around, they will have to eat each and every single word of it… I don’t know what they’ve been saying because Giani dropped my phone in the water before I could read it.
Casey grins wickedly, looking over to Giani as if to say he should have let Spike read it. He pulls out his phone from his pocket and begins scrolling until he gets to Twitter. Giani rolls his eyes and then lays his head against the table as if to check out of the conversation. Casey walks over toward Spike and leans over to allow him to read on. As he does, one last person walks up to the table. Spike looks up to see Jordan Williams standing there, a bit of a smile on his face as he approaches.
Jordan: Sorry I’m late… What did I miss?
Everyone turns to Jordan, looking surprised to see him there, except Spike who reaches out and shakes hands with him. He kicks out a chair and Jordan sits in it. He orders a beer and then looks over to Casey and Spike as Spike begins reading the Twitter feed. The scene fades…
********************************************
I have learned over the years that people are usually afraid of what they are. They cannot accept something about themselves, so they try to use others as a scapegoat for their problems. I have seen gay teens struggling with their sexuality by calling everyone else gay. You probably get where I’m going with this… It is a proven fact that most people who show heavy signs of homophobia are actually gay… I mean, look at the two who left the company before I could even get my hands on them. They are always around each other. One shows up, so does the other. One leaves for some “unknown reason” (me), the other follows. They had the nerve to insinuate that I have inappropriate relations with my male New X-Tremes stable mates, when they are constantly jerking each other off… They tried to prove themselves to be a roadblock to me on my journey to the High Stakes II Main Event. If I am honest, they had some skill, but deep down, I think they knew that they unlocked an even more sinister monster within me.
You might be asking yourselves why this is at all important, right? Two ass clowns who had no business opening their mouths about my sexuality who didn’t even have the goddamned guts to stick around to face me… How can they have anything to do with my upcoming match against Nick Jones? Aside from their childish tweets that killed Twitter for half of the SCW locker room, I had no dealings with them. But, to answer your question, it has everything to do with my match at High Stakes II. The level of hatred I felt for those two was intense. I hadn’t felt that for anyone since “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward destroyed my knee almost seven years ago, stripping me of the GXW Heavyweight Championship at the same time. What I had spent about five of the years building up, those two tore down in a matter of ten days. When I attacked Tom Dudely, I imagined he was James Shark. And I loved every fucking millisecond of it!
For just a moment, the fans got to see a piece of me I had hidden years ago. Everyone saw that monster that not even Mark Ward Junior could bring out of me. And just like a former addict, once I had a taste, I… I just couldn’t quit. Not because I couldn’t control it anymore… but because I didn’t want to.********************************************
Backstage, there is a ruckus as stagehands are shoved aside quickly. One man grunts in protest, but with the cameras being tussled around in the rush, nothing is but a blur. Giani Di Luca’s voice can be heard along with Jamie Staggs’ and Jake Salco’s. There is nothing signaling the usual party boy antics in their voices as they breathe heavily. The ladies of NXT are also heard chattering indistinctly as the cameras steady just a bit. From a rear shot, we see the men helping Casey Williams and Spike Staggs as they struggle to keep their balance. Casey holds onto his head as Spike’s arms center around his abdomen. They push aside the curtains to the medical station as the trainer steps aside, seemingly surprised.
Doctor: What is going on here?
Jessie: Did you not see what just happened out there? Casey and Spike were ambushed and suffered many knocks to the head.
The doctor looks a bit confused until he sees Spike is bleeding from the mouth and nose as well as his wrist from the handcuffs. He looks over to Casey who is sporting a few bruises as well as a welt on the side of his face.
Doctor: No, I didn’t see any of that. My communications went out just before the match, and since the show was almost over, I…
Giani: Ya didn’t think ya had to do your damn job? Well guess what, bro…
Giani’s snapping at the doctor seems to catch his attention. The doctor wastes no time in picking up his kit, bringing it over to the table sitting next to the beds that Spike and Casey are respectably taking up. He quickly flips it open and pulls out a small flashlight. He turns to Spike who is bleeding from the mouth with a gash in his forehead, but Spike shakes his head from side to side. He sputters out what should be words, but all that comes out is a small spray of blood as he points over to Casey. The doctor hesitates for a moment due to the blood coming from Spike’s mouth, but realizes the big man is in more need of attention. He walks over to Casey and begins flashing the light into Casey’s eyes.
Casey: I keep telling them I’m fine. I’ve had worse done to me and…
Doctor: Please, settle down. Just relax, you might have a concussion.
Casey sits down quietly, but the look on his face lets us know he isn’t happy about it. Vixen walks over to Spike with a towel which he presses against his nose and mouth. His eyes say a thousand words as he sits there quietly. Odette and Jessie tend to Casey as Giani and Jamie stand idly by Spike. He would have sworn that the blood was leaking upward into his eyes as the red takes over his vision. His teeth begin to grind as he sees the disappointment spread across the New X-Tremes faces. The buzz saws rip away at his brain and his ear drums. He winces at the rhythmic sound as a low growl escapes from under the towel. He digs his fingers into the cushion of the stretcher. Images of thrashing Tom Dudely, “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward, Jordan Williams, and most of all, Nick Jones dance around in his head to the beat of the distorted saws. His eyes light up with a sort of sadistic joy as the laughter soon follows.
Vixen: Spike? Spike… Look at me.
”How does that even work?”Spike briefly wonders to himself. He doesn’t want to let go of the rage, so he turns his head to the side. The laughter gets just a little louder, causing everyone to look over at Spike, but he doesn’t even seem to notice as the vision become that much more vivid. Vixen wraps her arm around him in an attempt to comfort him. She gets in his face, just inches away, and she makes sure he stares into her eyes. Within that moment of silence, the redness drains away ever so slowly, but the saws immediately subside. She mutters a few words to him, but he seems entranced by her eyes. The depth they hold seems to suck out almost every ounce of anger and pain from him, as if they were the sweetest black holes ever. He finally snaps back to reality, nodding his head. He blinks his eyes to adjust to this clarity. He slowly removes the towel from his face as the bleeding has slowed down. Vixen carefully takes it and wipes as a few of the spots.
Vixen: There, that’s better.
Jamie: Spikey and Vixen sittin’ in a tree… F-U-C…
Giani hammers and elbow into Jamie’s stomach as Vixen shoots him the dirtiest of looks. Spike rolls his eyes and offers a smile which neither one sees since his back is still to them. Casey gives a laugh from across the room which booms out and surprises everyone. Jamie shrugs his shoulders and then knocks his fist against Giani’s crotch and then takes a few steps away innocently. He smiles as Giani hunches over a grunts, trying not to make a scene.
Spike: How’s he looking, doc?
Doctor: He will be fine. A few Advil’s and a good night’s rest should do him some good. Now let’s have a look at you, Mr. Sta… Spike…
The doctor works his way over to Spike. He uses a tongue depressor, keeping Spike’s lips ajar. He spots a few tears on the cheek and a bite on the tongue causing the blood flow, so he sticks a piece of gauze in the cheek.
Spike: Shhho doeshh evershing sheck out doc?
Doctor: Same as with Casey. Just keep that gauze in until the bleeding slows, it shouldn’t take too long. Take a few Advil and please don’t call me in the morning.
The doctor offers a wink with his attempt at a joke, but Spike just stares at him as if he is waiting for a better punch line. When it doesn’t come, he simply groans at the attempt, slowly shaking his head. The doctor shrugs and walks out as Spike gets up off of the bed. He walks out, standing in front of his NXT stable mates, looking at each one individually for a moment.
Spike: What happened out there tonight… shhhould not have happened. I have shhhat back and watsshed asssh Mark Ward deshhhtroy ush week after week.
Jamie chuckles at Spike and points. Spike stops and closes his eyes, looking annoyed by his brother. Jamie looks around to see no one else is laughing and he slowly lowers his arm. Spike opens his eyes and looks over to Jamie.
Spike: I’m trying to be shhherioush here! If you don’t wanna hear what I have to shay, there’shhh the door!
Jamie: HAHA! You got a speech peda… pedam… you sound hilarious dude!
NXT: JAMIE!Jamie stomps his foot and then sits down on the bed where Spike was sitting moments ago. He folds his arms across his chest and does a mocking “Jamie! Jamie! Jamie!” murmur that trails off to nothingness. Spike rolls his eyes.
Spike: Ash I wash shaying… Mark’sh bunch of wannabe bad boysh won’t get away with thish. They want to bully ush around like we are shome group of nobodiesh, well they got another thing coming. We’re N-Ecsh-T dammit! Jusht becaush they are more talented than Dream Chashersh doeshn’t mean we will buckle under their pressure. Am I right, guysh?
Giani: Umm… I’m sorry, but I’m having a hard time taking this pep talk serious when you sound like Daffy Duck, bro! Hahahaha!
Jamie: THANK YOU! Shufferin’ Shuckatash!
Spike: Oh, I’m shorry that the beating Casehy and I took out there tonight ish funny to you two. Shorry for the inconvenienshhh…
Spike shakes his head in dismay as he spits the bloody gauze out across the room and into the nearest trash can. He wipes away at his mouth and shakes his head. Jamie and Giani high five each other before looking at Spike like he were a disapproving father as they both avoid eye contact. Spike looks past them and on to the others, namely those who have already been booked to fight at High Stakes II.
Spike: I will personally take the blame for what happened out there tonight. What they did to us will fall on my head, Casey. I underestimated how low they would sink to make us look bad. I didn’t think they were cowardly enough to handcuff me to the ropes, stomp me down, and then attack you four on one. I respected them a little more than they deserved, and we paid the price for it. I have a few things I need to do next week at Climax Control, because this…? This will
NOT happen again. I will not stand by and let them rule over us. And I am going to start by seeking the best kind of justice for their misdeeds…
Spike smiles, his normally pearly white teeth are stained an eerie crimson tone. In his mind, he knows exactly what is in store for him at High Stakes II. However, he is interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing behind him. Spike slowly turns around and looks into a similar set of eyes that are staring back at him with that signature Staggs smile.
Spike: Uncle Erik… I’m surprised to see you here. I figured you would be jerking off Mark Ward in his office since Angelica disappeared.
Erik offers his nephew a half-hearted laugh, and gently pats him on the back. He wraps an arm around Spike, pulling him in closer, continuing to pat his shoulder.
Erik: Oh now, I already did that with this very hand, Spike…
Spike gently picks his uncle’s arm up and drops it to his side before cringing. Erik rolls his eyes as if Spike had missed his sarcasm.
Erik: No, I just heard this bitching and moaning about conspiracies and bad calls, and I knew it had to be my own nephew. As you know, I am your Head of Talent Relations, so I am surprised you don’t pay your dear old uncle a visit to see what can be done about this… issue you seem to be having.
Spike: You know damn well what I am upset about. Even if I didn’t take into account all of the horrible shit you put me through in my career for the past twelve years, you are still in Ward’s pocket. You chase him around like a little bitch boy, kissing his ass while ignoring your actual job of Talent Relations. It just makes me wonder… Do you hold his balls and wipe his ass, or do you have an assistant to hold his balls for you?
Spike and Erik share an intense stare down. Their icy eyes lock and neither one budges. Spike lets on the signature Staggs smile, and just like a mirror, Erik follows right along with him. Erik lets out the faintest of laughs as he slowly adjusts his black jacket and tie.
Erik: I am a man of… many talents as you know, Spike. However, coming from the man who seems to want another shot at Nick Jones’ belt, you sure need to brush up on your sweet talking skills…
Spike: Right, because supposedly I don’t earn my title shots… I forgot. I just waltzed into the NWA and kissed ass by selling out their arenas and fighting tooth and nail to get up the rankings. I brought NWA notoriety to SCW by winning the World Heavyweight Championship, and being nearly undefeated since signing my contract. It had nothing to do with my skills, just my sweet ass kissing skills, right? In case you didn’t realize it, Uncle Erik… I got you your job by putting the Staggs family name back on the wrestling map. You need my help, I don’t need yours. I earn everything I get… So you can take that back to Ward, and let him know his golden boy’s title is leaving with me in a couple weeks… And NXT will be bringing home a lot of gold that night.
Spike’s smile widens as he adjusts his wrestling trunks, pulling them up just a bit as he sticks his chest out in a show of fortitude. Erik’s smile fades just a bit as he clinches his jaw. Spike nods his head, knowing he got his uncle. He looks back to his NXT stable mates and motions for them to follow him. As Erik opens his mouth to say something, Spike walks off. As Odette and Casey follow behind him first, they each stare Erik down, followed by Vixen, Jessie, and Giani, each taking a second to size up Erik. Lastly, Jamie stands on the tips of his toes and gets in Erik’s face, giving him a sloppy, wet raspberry that causes Erik to wipe at his face. He sighs as the scene fades.
********************************************
”Tape number four… October 31st, 2012. This is the sixth session with patient number 11862, Spike Staggs. How are you feeling today, Mister Staggs?”A sinister laugh is heard echoing through the distorted feedback of the tape. We slowly fade into a somewhat familiar office setting. The mahogany wooden bookshelves seem to cover the vast majority of the walls, giving an almost grim look to the office. However, there are enough windows allowing in natural lighting that it doesn’t seem so bad at the moment. There is a petite, middle-aged woman with red hair pulled back and neatly tucked, sitting down at a desk in front of a tape player. She is scratching notes on a nearby pad of paper, but her eyes are transfixed on the man standing across the room with his back turned to her. She sets the pencil down as Spike’s laughter subsides. He is dressed in a black suit jacket with his usual baggy black jeans, several sets of chains hanging from the pockets, and an untucked white dress shirt. His eyes are locked on the fish tank as he watches the various creatures swim around in slow motion. He slowly tilts his head to the side as he watches a much bigger fish swim up out of nowhere and engulf one of the smaller fish in one big bite. His sadistic smile widens as he watches the Rainbow Shark tail flipping around wildly in the mouth of the Oscar. He giggles in pure delight as he watches the tail slow down, little bit by little bit.
Spike: I knew it was going to happen. Six times now, I have told you that you that was going to happen. I was right, Dr. Liddell.
Dr. Liddell: Mister Staggs… Is it safe to assume that you are trying to tell me that you are suffering from premonitions? Visions of the future? This time of year, it is very common for people in your condition to suffer from this sort of delusion of grandeur.
Spike does not turn around from the tank to face the doctor. He simply watches the cloud of debris from the carcass expelled from the Oscar’s mouth as the tail is chomped off in a very brutal manner. He watches as the other sharks swim far away to the other side of the massive fish tank which stretches almost an entire wall’s length. The satisfied Oscar doesn’t give chase to the school, but instead watches on with a very devilish glare that promises several more will meet the same fate.
Spike: No, no… I assure you I am not like a certain other patient you treated in the past. I am very aware of my limits, and I am in full control of it.
Dr. Liddell: Katalya thought she was too. She said she didn’t need me anymore, and… Well, being a good friend of your uncle’s, I have kept a close eye on Sin City Wrestling. I have seen enough to know that she suffered far worse without me there to treat her. You can thank your brother for that, by the way.
Spike moans a little in response, in a manner that lets us know he hasn’t paid attention to anything she has just said. He places his hand against the tank, staring into those eyes. This creature is driven by nothing but pure, primal instinct. At some points, Spike feels almost one with the creature as they engage in this stare down. Dr. Liddell jots down a few notes as she continues speaking.
Dr. Liddell: How is Kittie doing with her pregnancy?
Spike shrugs his shoulders slowly, still not paying much attention. His eyes widen ever so slightly, those cold, glassy eyes… As they do, the Oscar flips around in a very abnormally agile manner and darks off into the underwater field of plants. Spike slowly frowns and turns around to face the doctor.
Spike: I’m bored now. Couldn’t you just write a prescription for a pill I won’t take, and just let me leave? Take an early lunch? Relax before someone who is a far greater threat to you than I could ever be comes in?
Dr. Liddell laces her neatly manicured fingers together and smiles sweetly at Spike. Her deep brown eyes stare at Spike through her Palin-esque glasses. She acts like she is thinking the matter over, but Spike knows all too well what is coming.
Dr. Liddell: That is very considerate of you, Spike. Such a sweet gesture… But I am afraid I can’t. Do you see that plaque on the wall over there? It has my name on it… with the Harvard crest on it? I received that after I became the best at what I do. And part of the deal was that I would uphold the strength and values of the institution in striving for results, and helping people. I apologize for those in my profession who let you down by shoving medication down your throat and pushing you away.
Spike sighs and then sits down in the leather office chair that is directly across the desk from the doctor. He picks up a pencil from the desk, and presses his index finger against the sharp point. He presses his other index finger against the eraser, and he holds it up, inspecting it carefully. He begins humming some poppy tune that had become lodged in his head in the waiting room of this “progressive” doctors office.
Dr Liddell: That was a fun song last year. Is that Cobra Starship?
Spike shrugs his shoulders, feeling disgusted with himself for even humming it. Occasionally he looks over to the clock on the wall, watching the minutes pass as if they were hours.
Spike: Would you like to duet it, Dr Liddell? I’ll start… La la la la la… la la la la la… la la la la la…
Spike says it with absolutely no emotion, but a smartass smile on his face. Dr. Liddell uncharacteristically giggles. She clears her throat as if Spike would possibly believe that she was coughing. He licks at his bottom lip, very pleased with himself before returning his gaze to the pencil.
Dr. Liddell: I understand image is everything to you, Spike. You have worked very hard to build yourself up. You have done quite well at it, being a former NWA World Heavyweight Champion, and now getting a shot at SCW’s Heavyweight Championship.
Spike: And that is a problem because…?
Dr. Liddell: Those are all great things, Spike. The first achievement alone is spectacular considering no one else in SCW can claim that accomplishment. You are a great man, Spike… But deep down, you are nothing like the man we know.
Spike: Yeah, yeah… My mother didn’t hug me enough, my father wasn’t around much, my neighbor hugged me the wrong way once and confused me sexually… Which of those do you think is the reason I am the way I am? Why would you want to tear down a neatly crafted psyche that is obviously working? I am not out there fucking in fur suits, or sniping from a bell tower. I’m not cutting myself or drinking myself into a stupor. I’m fine the way I am. As a matter of fact, I am in the best shape of my life, both mentally and physically…
Spike tilts his head slightly as he looks to the doctor for an answer. Instead, she is staring right back at him, jotting down notes. He rolls his eyes and then sets the pencil down on the edge of the desk. He leans back in his chair before Dr. Liddell stops writing. She lifts her glasses off of her face, and her deep, dark, cavernous eyes attempt to burn a hole through Spike’s sarcasm.
Dr. Liddell: Perhaps your neighbor’s hand slipped a little too low, and it triggered… feelings?
Spike: Oh fuck you, doc! Take your Freudian Theory bullshit and fuck right off with that shit. I enjoy a man from time to time because I want to. Double testosterone is double fun. It is why Roxanne and I worked out so well. She was the size of a man. And did we ever fuck like champs…
Spike nods his head as he tries to get Dr Liddell to let up. He hopes to ward off her psychological attacks by talking about his somewhat taboo adventures. However, he fails miserably as she nods her head, waiting for him to continue.
Dr. Liddell: And how often did she play the man? Did she use certain… strap on features? Or is she naturally equipped?
Spike: Christ on a motherfucking cross, woman! I know you paid ungodly amounts of money to have your head filled with all of these theories and possibilities, but my point is that I am fine the way I am. I am a great father to my children. I am a great competitor. I am going to be a champion in just under two weeks. I am going to destroy Nick Jones, and anyone else who tries to stop me from attaining this goal.
Dr. Liddell: The fact of the matter, Spike… is that you won’t be leaving Mandalay Bay with the championship. Not in the condition you are in right now. Nick Jones is better than you right now. He proved it in Japan, Spike. I don’t know, how much more proof do you need?
Spike had been sporting a grimace since he last started speaking, and he kept right on with it as the doctor spoke, but once she ended her rebuttal, Spike almost looked confused. He raises an eyebrow as if to ask her if he heard her right. He shakes his head as if to say he hadn’t, but when he realizes he did, he actually snorts. Fighting it back with all of his might, he covers his mouth, but the laughter breaks down the wall of fingers. He continues to shake his head before dropping his hand. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he rebuts.
Spike: Ha! You don’t honestly believe that, do you? Everyone saw what happened. I was wrongfully disqualified in a forced decision by “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward when his friends got involved in our match. I didn’t need anybody to come to my aid until there were three or four dudes trying to wail on me. So that sounded a lot dumber than anything you’ve said so far, doc.
Dr. Liddell: Nothing in this conversation is *air quotes* dumb… There are just a few, well… delusional ideas that you believe to be factual, Spike. You think that the only reason you did not win is because of that disqualification. Did you stop to think that maybe that disqualification came around to save you from being embarrassed by Nick Jones? Perhaps, under some miracle, some force was looking out for you to stop you from being humiliated two weeks in a row?
