MONSTERS [VIII]

“Get up, ya little prick.”

How many times had this happened? It seemed like every week it was just some new terror to behold with a new person, a new gash on his face. A new bruise, purple for a few days until it yellowed out like a bad case of jaundice would rest on areas of his body that weren’t readily available to the public to see, but that didn’t mean his attackers would leave his face alone. That was a right of passage for them -- you know, lay a hand on another body and succeed in kicking the shit out of someone. It was all fun and games until someone was injured enough to go to the hospital. And they never quite got him to that point.

Dimitri laid on the ground of the back alley. It was the quickest way back to his newest home, and he’d thought for a split second that choosing this route would be easier than crossing the main pathways of the suburbs he now lived in. He would have avoided the problems, he would make it to that attic room that he had now and be the recluse that everyone labeled him to be. But this time, he had a family that seemed to understand his solitude, his desire to be a good kid without getting kicked in the teeth.

He pressed his hand into the rocky pavement, cringing as he felt another bruise to his ribs. Probably on top of the last one we had -- if he didn’t have internal bleeding at some point soon, he’d be surprised.

Wait. Another kick to his ribs because he wasn’t getting up fast enough for their liking. He didn’t even know who these kids were. Their uniforms labeled them their rival secondary school, but Dimitri couldn’t think of a reason for them to attack him. He wasn’t into sports, he kept to himself. It was the only way to survive these days. Hell, if he could just keep his grades up, he’d get into some university and be able to have a decent life.

If he survived, that was.

Fingers tangled in his short, cropped dark hair and pulled him upwards to his feet. Though every muscle in his body ached, he refused to cry out. What was the point? To give them the opportunity to get their jollies because they picked on the scrawny kid that was half their size? That would be just to give them power that they absolutely did not deserve. And he wasn’t about to.

“Oi, why you so silent, kid?” The man -- well, perhaps not a man, because he was probably no older than Dimitri’s sixteen years -- laughed in his face, his yellowed teeth showing as he grinned at him. “Don’t tell me you like this?”

Dimitri’s hazel eyes met his deadened black ones and his nose curled in disdain. For a moment, the kid just looked at him, and then he started to snicker. “Keep goin’, mate.” He smarted off, foolishly. “It must make you feel high and mighty when you’ve jumped a kid walking home for what, my lunch money?”

He didn’t remember what happened after that. And nor did he need to. At some point, he must have passed out from a good clock to his head. His vision doubled and his fist smarted as if he’d slammed it into the jawline of his attackers one too many times. He wobbled as he walked, but still, he was resilient enough to make it home without much of an issue. Or at least, to his new home. The one that he’d been at for a week now, and it seemed to be going well.

The Orphanage had been home. It always seemed to be home, whether he wanted it to be or not. But this time, he thought that maybe -- just maybe -- he’d gotten it right. He told himself he was going to keep his head down, told himself that this time, it would be different. There was nothing more desired in his life right now. After all, he’d kind of given up on the idea that he would ever have a true home. One that he didn’t have to wonder if he was going to stay there, one where he didn’t have to worry about where his next meal was going to come from. One where he didn’t have to constantly fight to stay afloat.

He trudged up the steps of the brownstone, opening the door with the key he’d been given when he joined this household. The Martins were a nice family, one that he didn’t think he would ever be able to be a part of. His previous foster situations were all a mess and just trying to get money from the courts, so he’d been sent home the second he had an issue arise. Issues could have been anything too. He ate too much, or he didn’t fit in with the other five kids they had. He was too quiet. He was too much of a nerd. Anything to keep him from staying in the household.

He shut the door quietly behind him and dropped his backpack on the floor with a thud. If he could make it upstairs, perhaps he could just explain away the cut on his face with an accident at school. Tripped. Fell. Whatever he thought might work. But there was no such luck.

Emily Martin was a kind, demure woman. He knew this from the second he met her. She wore her dresses with pride and her hair up in a neat bun. She walked to the hallway, holding a spoon in her hand. “Dimitri?” She questioned, lightly. Her voice was like a tinkling sound, calm, and soothing. She was what Dimitri thought a mother would be like, too. She kept the house sparkling clean, she didn’t mind doing laundry and she seemed like she genuinely cared about everyone that graced the front of her door. That’s what they portrayed in books -- mothers who cared, that pushed their children to new heights. Of course, unless you were in Kafka’s Metamorphosis. Then you were just ignored fervently until you made your own changes.

The thing that Dimitri liked about her the most, though, was she didn’t look at him with that judgmental stare, that pitiful stare he got from literally everyone else in the entirety of the world he lived in. Dimitri the Orphan, Dimitri the Lost Cause. At least. Not yet. He was hopeful that she wouldn’t. He needed that, especially with his sister moving to the States and leaving him behind.

No, no, no, no, he couldn’t think about that. Elena didn’t leave him. She was making life better for herself and she absolutely deserved that. Both of them did. He wasn’t so pedantic and petulant that he didn’t think that, at all.

“There you are,” she added, popping her head out with a smile. She didn’t look at him completely, shrouded by the darkness in the hallway. “Dinner is almost ready. Make sure you wash up, dear.”

“‘Kay,” he called, moving for the steps. As he set his foot on the bottom step, however, the Martins’ youngest child began to descend. She paused, her blue eyes set on Dimitri’s face. Her lip curled up in disgust and she clutched the banister with her left hand wearily.

“Ew, what happened to your face?”

Perhaps it was not only a gash that coated his face. He lifted a hand and tried to wipe at the smeared blood on his cheek. It smarted as he touched it, and he winced. “Nothin’.” He added, his accent harsh against the posh cleanliness of the home.

She sidestepped him, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. But she said nothing. Not this time. He began to ascend again, shaking his head. He’d reached the top step as he heard her murmur to her mother, “I think he got into a fight.”

He froze.

One of the stipulations of his foster placement was that he would not engage in the same activities he’d done previously. The Martins were emphatic about this, and Dimitri knew the rules. Hell, he was such a rule follower to begin with that he was certain that he wouldn’t have a problem following them. He closed his eyes and exhaled.

“Dimitri?” She called, and with a heavy heart, he turned to look at her. Emily stood at the bottom of the steps, and her face told him everything that he needed to know.

He probably could have explained it. It wasn’t like he sought them out, and it wasn’t like he wanted to even be part of it. But what would have been the point? Like everyone else, she’d already come to her conclusions about him without listening because that’s what people did. Dimitri was a troubled child, they’d told her. And perhaps that was true. After all, wouldn’t you be if you’ve never had a family to call your own? It was a sad case of Ugly Duckling syndrome, except that he wasn’t accepted.

He would never be accepted.

“I’ll pack my things.”

Rolling, deep blue waves off the coast of Melbourne, Florida crashed against the white sands of the beach perilously, a remnant from a storm that passed through the area. The salt of the water sprayed upwards as it crashed along the rocks, and the wind whipped the stalks of dead grass. Standing along the coast, his hands shoved into his pockets once more, was Project: Honor’s only Inaugural Champion to survive the storm that was Bloodbath and the ensuing nights.

Dickie Watson, the five-foot-eleven, one-eighty kid hailing from London with what was now obviously a chip on his shoulder and a grudge on his heart.

That seemingly worked for him, though. He stared out amongst the waves, his face stoic and impassive. Whatever flowed through his mind on a regular basis either came out of his mouth or was held back behind the iron locked gates of his lips. He wasn’t necessarily an enigma, but he wasn’t one that could totally be maintained by the people around him. A loose cannon, perhaps, that either exhibited joy in one moment and disdain in the next. You never knew what you were going to get with him, but if any indication of the last few times that Project: Honor had the Grand Champion in their midst gave a clear view, it was going to be leaning towards disdain and irritation. That seemed to be what he wore now.

“The waves are kind of like an empire, you know? Vast and numerous, ever-churning and rolling. Changing. Becoming something new in one second, but still something you can understand how it functions. Empires grow and become something unable to be outgrown, never matched, and something to fear. I mean, you could also make the case that Alexander the Great created the Greek Empire, lost it to the Romans, who lost it in their conquests to rule the entire world. Every empire lasts in its own time until there’s another that can take them down.”

His eyes narrowed as he spoke, his cockney accent harsh as it always was.

“It takes perseverance and determination to fell an empire. Cunning, superiority. Truth and circumstances, and all the things in between that make it difficult to bury one ruler for another. In a way, that’s something that we all share in common. Empires and wrestlers, we rise like phoenixes on the winds of change in order to stand tall and true. When we have something, something precious in our hands, we move towards the top of the world and realize that when we’re there, we have to do everything in our power to save our championship from the plight of being taken.”

He raised a hand from his pocket and held onto the top of his shoulder as he lightly shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, before setting them back upon the waves.

“We talk about it constantly, don’t we? It’s one of those things that we perseverate on when we’re champions. It becomes the thing that we want to keep, but at the same time...it’s the one thing that we have and use to prove a point. It’s held in our hands. It’s ours. Until the day it leaves us, we use our status to make ourselves rise higher and higher upon the shores of destiny in whatever company we stand in.

I bring up the idea of empires not because it’s something I want to create, but as a reference point. I’m sure you guys saw it on the tweeting machine, but I’m no longer alone in this venture I’ve set myself upon. I could talk up and down about my sister, but as much as I respect her, it’s not really the time. No, I want to set my eyes a little closer to home than that.

When I started here in Project: Honor, I was a champion in another company. I had the championship and carried it with me because of relevancy, etcetera. Under the name The Commonwealth, Aiden Reynolds and I stomped our competition of storied wrestlers in the company and became the inaugural tag champions. It was a blissful time, you know? Filled with glory and excitement. Fuckin’ riding the wave of life those days like Viking Raiders successfully pillaging monasteries in the early nine hundreds. There was nothing that could stop us at that time. Or so we thought.

We weren’t booked after that day. You see, Aiden brought me out of my quote-unquote ‘retirement’, knowing that I just really kind of needed a kick in the pants to do something. We did our thing, we succeeded, and yeah, we became champions. But the company, they didn’t book us well. Or really, at all. The focus fell upon their World Champion, and at that time, it made sense. It did. They gave everyone the opportunity in a Battle Royal-style match and the winner would face their top champion. Needless to say, I was kind of pissed, not going to lie. So I made it known.

When it came down to it, Aiden and I exited the company due to poor booking practices and honestly feeling like we were jipped and told a story to get us in. It was pathetic, but it was true. Nevertheless, Aiden took his time in jumping ship, and now...now here we are.”

He turned his head, looking at the camera with a slight smirk rising upon his features. That smirk, if possible, seemed to get more and more sarcastic every time he appeared. He inhaled the salty air and exhaled through his mouth, turning to face the camera more fluidly.

“The Commonwealth was born out of a desire to represent our respective backgrounds. We’re pretty patriotic when it comes down to it, despite the fact that we don’t pledge allegiance to anything like a flag. It’s rare in this kind of business that you see anyone in the forefront as a prominent figure from either of those countries unless you’re looking at the independent circuit. But that’s not quite true if you look at us, right? I mean, honestly, it was kind of a joke too, since we had a few ideas that were a little more focused on having fun initially.

We’ve gravitated, though, to a more serious front. Aiden, though he cracks jokes on a regular basis, is more than just a meathead that speaks in a funny accent. I’ve seen that comment before. Despite his tenure in wrestling, Aiden is a dedicated and focused individual who knows what he wants and what he needs to do in order to get there. He fights for what he believes in, he throws all of himself into the match in order to persevere and survive. He’s like me in that aspect, but unlike me, he’s got a soaring build of confidence that sometimes could be considered conceit. There’s nothing wrong in believing in ourselves, though, because you know that’s what I do every day. That’s why I hold the championship in my hands still. Aiden is the epitome of someone that I’d want on my side when the apocalypse hits.

Also, a thing we both share is the ability to be Inaugural Champions and stay champions for a time. That’s something that one of our opponents this week wasn’t able to do, but I’ll get there eventually. What’s important for you to know, though, is this simple fact: We don’t come in this joint to fuck around. Not today, not yesterday, not in thirty years.”

We contemplated joining the Tag Team Tournament, but ultimately decided that we didn’t want to. We’ll probably vie for those titles eventually, but Aiden wanted to get his feet wet in Project: Honor before searching for any kind of championship gold. A sour taste was left in his mouth from our previous promotion and instead of running straight for the gold, Aiden wanted to see what it would be like. I offered the idea to him that we would just continue our dominance and move forward. He liked it. Nevertheless, we now find ourselves seated in the Main Event of this installment of Proving Ground...against a foe I’ve faced and one unknown to me save for watching matches.”

Dickie crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side as he spoke.

“That’s one thing that has unnerved me about Project: Honor from the get-go, and one thing that I will hold against one of my opponents for probably the entirety of his career here. Tagging with someone that you don’t know, that you just get thrust into the circle with, is heinous and makes for a stronger disability than you would think. But a team, and one that gets one another pretty well, work fluidly in tandem with one another. You’ve got to trust the person that you’re teaming with, because if you can’t? You’re driven into the ground faster than a filled casket drop into a six foot deep hole. And from what I can see? A woman who doesn’t want to do anything and lets someone else do the hard work and a man who still can’t see past his own fucking failures? Yeah.

The Commonwealth is going to run roughshod over you two cunts before you know it.”

“Get the fuck up.”

The words weren’t spoken derisively, but they brought Dimitri back to a time he wished he’d forgotten entirely. With his face planted into the canvas, he winced again. How many years had it been? Seven? Eight? Did it really matter? All he knew was that for a second, he was sixteen again and getting his ass handed to him by a couple of pissants from west Wessex.

He got to his knees, painfully. Hannah’d been right -- he should have never gone out there without being one-hundred-percent. Hell, he was arguing with her this week when he told her that his brother was coming into town and he wanted to see if he could train with him. It was more for Finn, after all. His older brother hadn’t been in the ring since early July, nursing a torn ACL. He was just now walking around with crutches, but with a moveable brace. He was still stiff and didn’t move with the celerity that The Virulence was known for, but he was at least standing. That was ten times better than Dimitri’s current inability to do something so simple as stand on his own two feet again.

Finn’s limp was obvious as he crossed his arms. The Seattle Saint towered over his kneeling brother from his six-foot-four frame, crossing his arms as he looked down at him. In an effort to fight his boredom, he’d colored his hair, bleaching it from its usual black to an almost platinum blonde. If anything, it made him look slightly more formidable, but there was nothing he could about his lanky frame.

“The fuck you think this is, the line to get on fuckin’ Test Track? Get up.”

“I’m working on it,” Dimitri retorted through grit teeth. Finn’s eyebrow raised, but he said nothing before reaching down and popping him in the back of the head with an open slap. “Fucker.”

“Kind of hard to train when my sparring partner spends half of his time on his knees. You looking at getting a job at dick sucki--fuck!”

Dimitri sank his fist into Finn’s open abdomen, catching the older man off guard. As Finn teetered backward for a second, leaning into the ropes of their training ring, Dimitri finally and painfully climbed to his feet, wobbling back himself for a moment, exhaling laboriously through his lungs. He snorted out a breath of air through his nose and frowned. “Could you not?”

“Ah, fuck…” Finn wheezed out. Clearly, the lack of competition in the last few months hadn’t been beneficial for his abilities. Regardless, he put his hands on his hips and looked at his younger brother as the Russian-Brit wobbled as he went to reach for his water bottle. “You’re getting there. Maybe we should take a break. I think it’d be best for you so you can get a few minutes of rest.”

Dickie shook his head, turning to look at his brother. “No. Let’s go again.”

“Nah, man, give it a sec--” Finn’s light Irish accent was obvious, but he was cut off once more by an angry-sounding cockney coming from Dickie’s mouth.

“Fuckin’ go again, mate!” He yelled at him, bracing himself.

Finn stared at Dickie for a moment, his eyebrow raised. Dickie was rarely, if ever, aggressive when it came to training. Between himself and their sister, Dickie wouldn’t raise a finger to hurt them, meaning to or not. He had no desire in the past to cause any kind of dissension in their familial relationship, but there was a fire in his eyes that Finn himself recognized. Dimitri was ablaze with anger, and there was something settled deep under his bones. He shook his head and shrugged. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Clothesline on Dickie. Finn adjusted his weight onto his good leg as he did so, trying to balance his own equilibrium. Dickie leaped to his feet once more, slammed into the ring ropes, and came at Finn again, who promptly reversed him and then sent him flying back into the opposite side. As he came back, Finn turned as if he was going to sidestep him, grabbed the back of his head, and literally slammed him to the ground.

Again.

“You’re never going to get better if you don’t fuckin’ move faster kid.”

And again.

“What are you, fucking Dumbldore? Let’s go, Dobby.”

And again.

“For fuck’s sake, Dimitri.”

The last time that Dickie rose to his feet, Finn was about to say something about stopping again. But Dimitri had no chill whatsoever. He grit his teeth, frustrated that his brother, who was still limping around on one leg, was still faster than him. Smarter than him. Better than him. Instead of going for the ropes, instead of waiting for Finn to be ready, he rushed the older man and slammed his entire body down to the ground. With a groan, Finn stared up at the lights of the gym, holding his stomach.

Dickie got to his feet, slamming his hands through his hair in frustration. He gripped tightly for a second, staring at the ceiling too in an effort to calm himself down. Not that it did much. Dickie was angry. He was always fucking angry lately.

“Okay, that’s what you don’t fucking do.” Finn grumbled, sitting up.

“You’d do it. You’d turn around and fucking bash the person before they least expected it.”

“If you’re going to be like us--”

“Have you ever fucking considered that I don’t want to be you? That I don’t want to be Elena?” Dimitri screamed back at him.

That shut Finn up. If anything, the tone of his voice was the indicator.

“I live under your fucking shadows all the time. I love you guys. You know I do, but for fucking once, I want you guys to see me as what I am now. I’ve surpassed you. I’ve surpassed you and Elena makes her own choices and decisions, but I am fucking standing on the top of Project: Honor and you’re still fucking making allusions that I’m never going to be better than you. I’m virtually undefeated, I haven’t been pinned, I haven’t been submitted, I haven’t lost on my own! Why the hell can’t you two see that?”

Finn opened his mouth, but Dickie waved him off.

“I fucking fight for my place, Finn. Between you and Elena, I’ve always felt like the third wheel. This time, right now, I have the chance to make it better for me. And I don’t need you fucking telling me I’m worthless when half the time I wonder if I’m even good enough to keep going. I face people I’ve never faced before and everything in my body fucking tingles with regret that I even went in this direction and it’s fucking worse because you keep saying shit. Just fucking stop.”

“I never said you weren’t there. Dickie, it’s just an attempt to make sure you’re in the game.” Finn leaned forward. “Look, what else is wrong, Dimitri?” He tilted his head to the side, climbing to his feet. “How long are you going to sit there and think you’re not worth the time and effort this company has put into you?”

Dickie shook his head, crossing his arms angrily and snorting out his nose. “I don’t...I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Finn thought for a second, and his eyebrow raised. “So do more.”

“Easier said than done, Callien.”

“Nah.” Finn shook his head. “Make sure they know who you are. Talk to them. Make them respect you, kid. The rest of the company looks up to you, whether you realize it or not, and to be honest...half of them are probably scared to face you. You’re an Honorary O’Hanlon. You know this.” He took a couple of steps towards him and placed both hands on his shoulders. “You’re the Grand Champion. You’re Dickie Motherfucking Watson. Give 'em hell, kid.”

“You know what I always say. Ladies first, you know? Contessa Floran, Oblivion’s Crush. A woman still trying to find her own in this world as she moves through it with speed and grace. I liked you, that first show, Contessa. I thought you were a refreshing concept to meet, something different than the women we’ve had in the past who come in here flaunting their tits and thinking that it was going to make them rise above. You’re quiet, but when you speak, people listen. People hear. People think. I know you’ve got no problems with being disloyal to anyone but yourself, but in this case...you’re going to have to find yourself trusting again, am I right?”

Dickie took a few steps forward, walking across the sand with his bare feet. He balanced on one foot slowly while finding his balance again with the other as he kept moving forward and the sand shifted beneath him. He raised a hand to his side, watching as he stepped once, twice, three times. His feet hit the surf and he stopped, allowing it to come up to his ankles. The ends of his skinny jeans became sodden in just seconds, though it didn’t seem to phase him.

“You don’t like tag matches, and I can understand why. Putting your faith into someone you don’t know, especially when you’ve entered a company with no desire to find alliances and keep them in your back pocket. I watched your match last show with my sister, who is very much the same way. Untrusting. Predatory. But somehow, the two of you made it work last week. Elena is a workhorse, and I can see that in you too. I can also see you being warier of your own partner this week, what with the events of last week still fresh in all of our minds. But Contessa, here...here is where I have to tell you something. Something important, whether you want it to be or not.  No matter how hard you push, no matter how far you want to go, it isn’t enough. Not this time. Not against us. Not against The Commonwealth.”

I could feel the resentment off of you in your match against Zane and Red Riot as you spoke. In a way, you were like me facing MYOJIN. I have famous siblings, but I didn’t grow up with wrestling running through my veins. I wasn’t a sharpshooter kind of guy, I was the one that got my ass handed to me as a child. I was studious, I was the type to have my nose in a book, and I wasn’t the type to even think about stepping into the ring. But you know what? I did it. Like you, I did it. I stepped out and I made something of myself, became what I wanted to be. You were right, there is no equation you can put out there in order to make sure you win. There is no studying you can do except for looking at your opponent, understanding them, raising them to your level so you drop them back down on their heads without mercy. Because that’s where I’m going with this, Contessa. For the amount of candor and bluster you have, you’re two cents shy of a full dollar.

Your fascination with death, although interesting, may let you think that you’re willing to do anything -- whatever the cost. Is it worth it to you to find yourself still nursing the bruises of your wounds? Is it worth it to you to cut the shit out of people and try to bury them where they stand in the ring? Or is this just playtime to you, a new pastime you can use to push you towards your inevitable demise? No matter how much you want something, Contessa, it doesn’t mean that you have the drive and the ability to get there. Yes, you won the match last Proving Ground for your team. Yes, you pushed forward and made it through an undesired match, but how much of it was a desire to win versus needing to prove yourself after your loss to Zane?

After mocking her, after belittling both of them for what you thought was their mistakes, you made your first one. I know what we all say: not again. Never again. When I lost to your partner for this week, I told myself never again. Never again. So we create in ourselves a monster that we allow to rise to the surface, protecting us, shielding our psyche. Keeping us from making stupid fucking mistakes over and over again. Look at the result of Red Riot versus you. Annihilation. Utter carnage. But then...you started making that mistake again. The automatic thought that you were going to prevail.”

He paused here, shoving his hands back in his pocket as he watched the surf flow over his toes.

“We want that. Every bit of our insides reaches for that attainable glory because we know that we can do it. We know we can prevail. But there’s a part of us that we can’t let go of, no matter how much we want to suppress it and make sure it dies. Every time I step in that ring, I have to come face to face with the fact that when I come out of it after the match, I may not be the winner. I have to face that idea and push with every fiber of my being for the opposite result. What has that garnered me? Title defenses, winning fights. We all struggle with the idea that losing is inevitable, but it’s the perseverance and growth that makes us rise.”

Tessa, you’re not one of those people that I’d like to stab in the eyeball. But I can promise you that when we face one another, it’s not going to be something that you and I are going to see eye-to-eye on because we’re on opposite sides. I understand you. I understand your desire to rise above the masses and be seen before you die. The monster of envy, the monster of spite rises within you and makes certain that you push yourself beyond your limits. This match? It’s beyond your limits right now. It’s further ahead than you could dream of being with a four-match run, three-one. You’re good, Contessa. I’m not denying that. I would be a fool to ignore your talent, but at the same time...this match is Aiden’s first foray into Project: Honor. As his best friend, it’s my job and duty to make sure that his welcoming is sufficiently positive. And I’m not going to allow you to remove that opportunity for him. It’s nothing personal, trust. It’s just business. I see positives in your future, but not at Proving Ground 8. Not this time.”

Another pause. He held his breath for a second as if he’d been waiting for this moment for hours. Days, weeks, months, years, eons, they all passed by as he waited for this opportunity one more time.

“As for you Colton...I don’t need to tell you the beginning, do I? I don’t need to remind you that this all started on that fateful day back in July, in the Trials of Time. That fucking roll up that you didn’t want me to live down, that you were certain I didn’t have it in me to rise above someone so skilled at wrestling like you. It wasn’t about flippy shit, it should have been about how much you could power your opponents out, right?”

Dickie scoffed then, tipping his head back with a derisive laugh. He crosses his arms again, tilting his head to the side.

“Did it eat you alive when the man who supposedly felled me in the ring only got to watch as I became the top champion in this company? Yes. Yes, it did, and you made sure that everyone fucking knew it without you saying a goddamned word. You brought up bullshit about selling points and numbers trying to invalidate anything I said that were just as fake as fucking Trump’s legal battles in order to falsify the election as if you were the only one to get information relating to the business. As if you were pushing for an intelligence boost, as if you were important enough to gain more information than the rest of us. Insider trading is bullshit, Colton. But I guess your backwater bumpkin hodunk Texas ass wouldn’t understand that, would you?

I initially said I wasn’t going to do this. I wasn’t going to try to bury you in a wall of your own shit, but I find that I can’t help myself. You were envious, Colton. Just as envious as a mewly-mouthed babe crying because their sibling got a reward and you didn’t. You tried to smother me, tried to make it so that title you won at Hell On Earth was the Grand Championship. You tried to make it about you, because you couldn’t stand that there was a man still riding high above you in the end. Someone you didn’t respect, someone that you thought was a piece of trash and you lorded that fifteen seconds of fame of winning from me on.

From week to week, I watched as you and Kimberly tried to steal the show. I won’t deny you your ratings. The X-Factor Champion stayed in first place of the Elite 5 -- or the popularity contest, as I call it --- for two shows before you dropped to second and third place. And this last shot? The one you thought would garner you ratings for fucking kidnapping a coworker? You weren’t even on the list. Your plan backfired majorly, didn’t it? Do you know how fucking stupid it was to see you walk in and out of the shows like you ran this fucking place? Kimberly worked to get you places that you wouldn’t have ever dreamed of seeing, but let’s call it like I see it, Colton. You went mid-tier because you are mid-tier. Hate to break it to you, mate, but that’s what I see. That’s what the rest of us sees. But you want to know what I see in you the most, Colton?”

He paused one more time, leaning forward as he looked at the camera.

“I see weakness. I see infantility. I didn’t go hard on you enough as I should have before, but now, the punches are being thrown. You tried to weasel your way to the top and still ended up failing miserably when it came to be the top of this company. And you fucking disgraced yourself when you found a way out of having to compete for your title. You want the title most dominant? You may have the most matches in this company, Colton, but you weaseled out of two opportunities to defend your title and you know what? You fucking lost both matches. You should have lost your championship before Bloodbath to MYOJIN. If not then, you should have lost it to Zane. But you figured out some fucking little loophole to keep it in your grubby ass hands. Disgraceful and insubordinate. Cowardly. Sixty some days, you held that title in your hands and you refused to defend it.

Champions should be proud to fight for what they have. Twice, I’ve defended. Twice, I’ve retained. That builds more credibility on me every time I say I’m going to defend that title and surpass the test placed in front of me. No matter the situation or the crux, I know that I can survive because I will myself, because I grow and become something more than you ever would be. It would be sick to watch your monster of gluttony stand with this Grand Championship and squander your opportunities. It’s not only about how long you hold it, or when you obtained it, but how many times you defend. Zane defended her title. I have defended mine. And now? Now I’m the only one left standing from Hell on Earth.

How does that feel? Kick in the teeth, Cunt?

Week in and week out, you watched as I held strong to my title. I got the moments on camera that you craved. I got the segment spots, and despite not even wrestling some nights, I still remained on the popularity contest. I told people that you were a threat, and you were. You were dominant. You were strong. But this petulance and depravity that you’ve decided to engage in because you had, what, a bad fuckin’ day because you’ve lost? You are now the one in those shark-infested waters, Fucko.”

He dropped his hands then, standing confidently as he turned his head and looked forward without fail.

“I don’t fail, Colton. I don’t drop out of existence because someone beat me, Contessa. I don’t hide in the corner so that Hannah can do all my work for me, like Kimberly. You thought I was unstoppable by myself. It’s disconcerting to have to face me, I know it. I’ve not been pinned in this company, I’ve never submitted. I’ve never lost while standing on my own two feet. And this time?

This time I have a competent tag partner. One I trust with everything in me to make sure that we get the job done. He’s had my back for months now, almost years, and I promise you that I will have his back no matter the cost. We’re both willing to tear apart the opposing side, and we’ll do it with a smile on our face because you know what? We’re fucking good at what we do. There is no such thing as failure, Colton, and Contessa. There is no such thing as a loss. The Commonwealth, regardless of our standing in the company, hit the main event because we’re the rating draw. I’m the face of the company, the one that you see, and the one that holds strong. And you two?”

He shrugged his shoulders lightly, almost mockingly.

“Inconsequential.”

Another pause, before he smiles.

“We’ll see you in Orlando. And you can be damn sure that we’re going to be riding at our best.”