Post by Deleted on Mar 13, 2013 13:29:59 GMT -6
Jesse Styles is not a stupid individual.
Despite his miscalculations regarding the amount of people that would enter the legendary Terrordome Match at Kamikaze, his evil expression had told a different story altogether. It wasn't the first time that Jesse had played a manipulative role as far as organizing matches were concerned, and the loyal fans that had followed the ups and downs of New Edge Wrestling throughout the years knew that it certainly wouldn't be his last.
Matt Slater had seen right through his confessional apology before any hints of sarcasm were detected in his voice. Gripping his affected shoulder after managing to survive the surprising efforts of Jason Blade, Slater stared coldly at the large screen above the entrance, digesting the words and feigned mannerisms of the man that had built New Edge Wrestling into a global empire with numerous roster members and financial support.
He was promised a chance at redemption if he cleanly defeated Jason Blade. He was promised an immediate entry into the monolithic confines of the Terrordome if he agreed with Jesse's egomaniacal terms. He was promised a schedule of recuperation that would last three weeks if he sacrificed his welfare for the sake of ratings and championship gold, and his days of training and conditioning had been for nothing.
As expected, the devil had revealed his deceitful ruse.
Slater didn't expect anything less from the bitter, callous owner of New Edge Wrestling, a man that had torn the heart from his metaphorical sleeve and attached it to his padded wallet. It felt like he was fighting a losing battle already, with the purifying qualities of justice and nobility being slaughtered by the wretched qualities of greed, injustice and narcissism. It felt as though he had already been condemned and sentenced to eternally survive against the seemingly-insurmountable odds that Jesse would despicably send his way, and if Slater garnered any semblance of hope, his optimistic perceptions would be crushed.
But if there was one thing that Jesse Styles had truly miscalculated, it was the admirable perseverance of Slater's heart and passion.
He was not going to quit due to the endless pressure.
He was not going to surrender and wave the white flag.
He was not going to be beaten by the radical schemes of Jesse Styles.
In the end, justice would proudly prevail, and normality would be restored.
"I knew you shouldn't have bloody accepted this crap! Now look at the mess you're in!"
Falcon was once again still infuriated with Jesse Styles, strictly questioning Slater's acceptance of a war that would imminently result between the wealthy, power-hungry owner and the noble, reformed wrestler. Slater was waiting to appear on a radio show in Chicago that he had been on once before, resting on a chair next to Falcon as they watched people that worked at the station walk by. His appearance had been advertised throughout the area, so he was going to expect quite a number of enquiries.
He just hoped that Falcon didn't call in to verbally assault Jesse Styles, making the situation worse with his stupidity.
"They say that history is written by the winners..." Slater replied.
"... What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"
"Look..." Slater said sternly, removing the hood from his head as he did so. The climate had been extremely cold up north, forcing Slater to take precautions. "Did you honestly think that Jesse Styles would sit back and accept the fact that I won my match against Jason Blade? Did you really believe that he would prevent any repercussions from surfacing? He knew exactly what he was doing. Those medical reports that restrict my participation inside the wrestling ring mean nothing to him. He's testing my limits. He always has done..."
"So he's winning!" Falcon shouted back.
"He's not winning ... not yet. Nothing would satisfy him more than to see me fall at the last hurdle, a calamitous obstacle that has defined my entire career. But I'm not going to allow him to win. He realizes that the odds are stacked against me, but as long as I keep surviving against those odds, he'll have no other choice but to accept my formidable ascension. If I win my next match, I'll definitely be in the Terrordome, and he knows that's the kind of environment that could potentially hospitalize me and put me out of action ... maybe for good."
"But if you win..."
"Then I'll achieve something Jesse Styles is noticeably anxious about. I'll be in the Main Event of Justice 5 as the rightful no.1 contender. I'll be challenging for the NEW World Heavyweight Championship on the grandest stage in NEW history, and he will do everything in his power to stop that from happening."
"Then why doesn't he just pull you out of the match if you qualify a second time? He has that kind of power!"
"He wouldn't do that..." Slater admitted.
"Why the fuck not?"
"Because he knows that in order to win this tug-of-war between us ... he'll have to rely on my mistakes. It wouldn't be his actions that will consequently cause my downfall. It would be mine."
Falcon exhaled, shrugging his shoulders as he dealt with his enragement.
"So who are you facing next? One of Jesse's hired cronies?"
Without saying a word, Slater searched through his phone, finding the message that he had been sent which detailed his next match. Slater passed the phone to Falcon, who adjusted his eyes to read the text properly.
"Oh ... you're facing her..."
His future opponent would be Molly Mayhem, a former NEW Ignite World Champion that had recently returned to the promotion. Her allegiances had been vast and unpredictable, but there was no denying whose side she was on prior to World War X, making an immediate impact alongside Nocturnal, Father Nathan O'Connell and Seth Iser, collectively known as Unstable. The purpose behind her acceptance into the group seemed plausible, in hindsight. She wanted to avenge the wrongs that had been committed against her in the past, thanks mostly to Johnny Stylez and Hunter Valentyne. Her shattered heart was focused on picking up the pieces that they had maliciously scattered, leaving a trail of broken dreams and decayed careers in their wake. With false pretences and obscene tricks, the formerly-disturbing duo wrecked havoc upon her and those she used to care dearly about, creating a back-story that evidently documented Molly's savage fall from grace.
She was a different woman now, an alternate entity that would take any affordable risk to repair the life they had ruined and pissed on. Her body and mind had become vessels of torment, morbidly lamenting on what she had been and how everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Yet Slater realized from a glance that with every passing moment, she yearned for them to suffer; she yearned for them to feel her suppressed fury.
Her heart and soul wept for reparation ... and she would use their darkened blood to hold everything together.
It was poetic justice, given the circumstances.
"Get your mind out of the gutter!"
"Hmm?" Slater murmured, turning his head to survey the man that was seemingly reading his mind.
"You're thinking about her, aren't you?"
"Does that surprise you?"
"You're supposed to be thinking about beating her in the middle of the ring, not taking her roughly in the bedroom!"
Slater blinked considerably, confused by Falcon's wrongful analysis.
"I'm not thinking about sleeping with her, Falcon," he finally said with an annoyed tone. "And why do you think I'm always day-dreaming about sleeping with women? I'm not that ... nevermind."
"Okay, so I was wrong! But Matty-boy, she could be..."
"She is not ... someone that can be toyed with..." Slater interrupted sternly. "I respect her as an athlete and as a person who has always been dedicated and passionate about her career. If you want to think about doing weird stuff to her, go ahead. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm the one who is in the compromising position here."
"... You mean ... she's got you bent over...?"
Slater rolled his eyes, growing less tolerant of Falcon's sexual tendencies and crude behaviour.
"What I mean is ... my shoulder was worsened by Jason Blade on Ignite. Molly Mayhem might be in a depressed mental state right now, but she's undoubtedly refreshed and determined to succeed with her goals. I've got to be extra careful in order to make it into the Terrordome, a goal she desires more than I do. She could rub it in Johnny's and Hunter's faces if she vanquished her foes inside that vicious structure and moved on to win the NEW World Heavyweight Championship at Justice 5. She needs this victory more than I do..."
"Then just let her win if you feel so strongly about Molly getting her revenge!" Falcon said.
Exhaling angrily, Slater wanted to ignore Falcon. He had already forgotten what they had discussed before about Jesse Styles, and he didn't want to have to remind him again.
"Mr Slater...?"
A plump female secretary alerted Slater from the doorway, waving him forward.
"You're ready to go on," she said, instructing Slater to make his way to the studio.
"I'll be there in a couple of minutes," Slater responded politely. The secretary smiled and disappeared to attend to other business, leaving Slater and Falcon to get their priorities in order.
"You stay here. I won't be long."
"I'll just spend my time thinking of women then..." Falcon replied.
"You do that..." Slater finalized, standing up from his chair before he made his way through the corridors. Numerous posters decorated the painted walls as he toured the premises, eventually making his way into a small room. The person inside looked away from their computer, acknowledging Slater with a smirk.
"It's been a long time since you were last here, Matt."
"Indeed it has, Philip."
Philip Brookside was a part-time wrestler who worked as a radio host, detailing the current news reports of the wrestling business. He sometimes talked about other sports, but professional wrestling was his main item of interest. Slater had wrestled him on a couple of occasions on the independent circuit, and the two had become distant associates.
Slater shook hands with Brookside and sat down on the vacant chair opposing him, surveying the equipment that was being used for the high quality of the shows Brookside helped to produce.
"So how are you doing?" Brookside asked, treating him with respect.
"My shoulder is acting up, but I'm doing fine," Slater responded.
"At least you're not permanently on the shelf," Brookside joked. He was a comedic individual who had a light sense of humour. "Oh, time for the show."
Putting on his headphones, Slater relaxed in the chair and watched Brookside deal with some quick work, making sure that everything was updated before he started the show. After a brief cough to clear his throat, Brookside pressed a button, and then he started talking.
"This is Smart Wrestling Radio, live from Chicago as always with your loveable host, Philip Brookside. I am being joined at this moment by a wrestler that has recently rejoined New Edge Wrestling, Matt Slater. Matt was on this show before ... two years ago if I recall, where he detailed his start in wrestling, the ups and downs of the business, and a bunch of other things. But today, it is simply going to be a catch-up session. If you want to ask him any questions, then please call in. Everyone is welcome to participate. So Matt, thank you for joining me again."
"It's always a pleasure, Philip," Slater said, making sure that his voice was aimed towards the sensitive microphone.
"You made your return to New Edge Wrestling last week by facing Jason Blade. Was that a good experience for you?"
"It's always fascinating facing someone like Jason Blade. He brought his all as he usually does, but I managed to secure the victory. I was proud of my efforts in that match, and I'd like to thank Blade for pushing me to the limit."
"Unfortunately, you've already gotten into some problems with Jesse Styles..."
"Well as long as I keep defying the odds, he'll get frustrated and leave me alone."
Brookside laughed, remembering Jesse's short temper.
"Or he'll demand to go at it with me in a match," Slater commented, looking at both sides of the coin.
"Do you really want to be angering him though?" Brookside asked.
"To be honest, it's a problem that he started by acting arrogant. Now he's throwing me into all of these situations, hoping that I will eventually collapse."
"Well the Terrordome is a promising prospect for you. You could win that match and head to Justice 5 to face the NEW World Champion."
"One of my aspirations is to one day become the NEW World Heavyweight Champion. If you don't believe that you can someday achieve that goal, then you shouldn't be involved in the industry."
"I agree wholeheartedly," Brookside nodded. "And it looks like we have our first caller. Are you willing to take these now?"
"Certainly," Slater agreed, prompting Brookside to accept their call.
"Hello caller, you're on the air! What's your name and where are you from?"
"Hey. This is Tim from Chicago."
"That's a great start," Brookside chuckled. "So Tim, what's your question for Matt Slater."
"Do you think that Molly Mayhem is still mad about Matthew Carter?"
Slater recalled what Carter had done to Molly Mayhem in order to cement his short-lived legacy in the company, using her assets for selfish opportunities. He assaulted her backstage after a First Blood Match against Roger Wright, being granted an impromptu Falls Count Anywhere Match for the NEW Ignite World Championship by Triple X. Destroying their relationship, Carter left the building as the champion, and Molly was left a beaten wreck. She was released from her lucrative contract soon after.
"She might be," Slater answered. "I wouldn't like to ask her that though."
"If she starts calling you Matthew Carter instead of Matt Slater though, then you might be in trouble."
"Perhaps..." Slater responded. "But that might just cause her more grief and upset, which she doesn't need right now."
"Okay, thanks for the call, Tim," Brookside said lightly. "We're going to keep things moving along here with another call. Hello caller, you're on the air!"
"... Stop looking at me like that, Hazzy!"
Resisting the urge to face-palm, Slater listened to Spaz moan and whine in the background. Eventually, he noisily handled the phone and spoke again.
"Hello?"
"Hello, caller," Brookside said again.
"Ah, hey! This is Spaz. I have a question for Slater?"
"Go right ahead."
"Hey, Slater, do you have any lotion?"
Momentarily stunned for an answer, Slater logically replied to Spaz' disturbingly-concerning question, remembering what had occurred on Ignite.
"You've already asked me if I had any..."
"Yeah, but I'm gettin' desperate! I think my skin is startin' to go dry..."
"That's too much information for our liking, Spaz," Brookside expressed, chuckling as Spaz whined on the other end.
"Why will no one help me?! This is a serious problem! How about you, Pip?"
"My name's not Pip..."
"It puts the lotion on Pip!" Spaz began to annoyingly resound. "It puts the lotion on Pip, or it gets the..."
"Okay, I think we should move on to another caller..." Brookside commented after cutting Spaz off abruptly. "Hopefully this individual will have something better to share. Hello caller, you're on the air. What's your name and where are you from?"
"Hiya! This is Matt Slater-kun!"
That squeaky, child-like voice could have only been administered by one person, a juvenile woman who had deep-rooted psychological issues that loved to subjectively experiment on her victims. However, she strangely adored Slater, universally contrasting Cera's bitter feelings towards the man in question.
"How are you doing other version of me?" Slater joked. Jen giggled briefly, trying hard to maintain her composure, and with it her false identity.
"I'm soooo smexy! I can cure cancer with my tears and I ride unicorns!"
"I think you're mistaking him for Chuck Norris there, Matt Slater number two..." Brookside said, joining in on the fun.
"Chuck Norris is a jerk-face," Jen said bluntly. "He's shiz compared to me, for am I Matty-chi! Also, I made Cera-bear wet. I luved her hips ... and those thighs ... oooo and those lips ... I think I need a tissue..."
"Do you have a question?" Brookside asked, ignoring the awkwardness of Jen being turned on by describing Cera's bodily features. He was attempting to keep the show going before it fell off a cliff into a bizarre abyss; unfortunately, it was lingering on the edge between professionalism and insanity.
"Mmmm ... oh no! Nova-chi just made a boo-boo! I've gotta go!"
Jen hung up, leaving Brookside and Slater blinking in simultaneous confusion.
"O-kay! Next caller, you're on the air!"
"Yeah, this is Chris fucking Styles!"
"Sorry, Chris, but we don't condone that kind of language on our show..."
"Hey fuck you, smart guy! I have a better show than you on Talkshoe Radio! I talked to Hairy Bawls!"
"... Who?" Brookside rhetorically asked.
"Exactly! You don't have any legendary guests on your show! I'm the main pimp in Chicago, boy!"
"Sir I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut you off..."
"Don't you dare cut me off, asshole! Not until I've asked a question!"
"Okay, fire away..." Brookside conceded, losing his patience as Slater leaned back on his chair.
"Slater, my man! How are you?"
"I'm doing fine, Chris..."
"Hey, you should call into my show some time! It'll be a blast!"
"I'll consider it, Chris..." Slater dryly replied, not exactly enamoured with the prospect of calling into a show that had no consistent structure whatsoever.
"So anyway, I have two Al Envy shirts. I love that man! Which one should I wear?"
"The green one..."
"But ... they're both green!"
"The one that isn't as green as the other one..." Slater said, smirking towards Brookside.
"Alright, I'll wear that today. Oh ... and do you know where I can get a good magazine of Midgets in Paradise?"
"I'm sorry, Chris, but that was two questions..." Brookside interrupted as he cut Chris off the show. "I wonder how you've managed to attract all of these people, Matt."
"Trust me, it wasn't my fault..." Slater laughed. "I suppose every wrestler has their share of random supporters."
"That is true. Now we have another caller. I'm crossing my fingers here..."
Brookside literally did cross his fingers as he accepted the call.
"Hello caller, you're on the air! What's your name and where are you from?"
"Hello, Philip, this is Joe from Peoria, Illinois. I've been a long time listener of your show."
"Excellent, excellent!" Brookside responded in a cheerful manner, finally relieved that someone normal was calling in. "Well you should know that we have Matt Slater on the air with us. He's in the studio now."
"Yes, I am aware," Joe replied lightly.
"What is your question for him?"
"Okay, first, I'd like to say hello to Matt Slater. I've always been a fan of your talents, sir."
"Thank you," Slater humbly replied as he nodded his head.
"I'm just wondering what wrestlers you would like to wrestle, now that you're in New Edge Wrestling again."
"That's a good question," Brookside said. "Have you got your eyes on anyone in particular, Matt?"
"Probably Valora and Johnny Stylez..." Slater replied. "But there are a few more notable wrestlers in the promotion that can give me a run for my money, such as Ray Andrews, Drake Blake, Ryan Omega..."
"How about LA Kief?" Brookside joked, being a fan of the strange, mentally-complex wrestler.
"He's on that list too," Slater said as he smiled. "I just hope he doesn't think of disturbing me knowing that he's someone I'd enjoy facing in the ring. He might be delusional and crazy at times, but his skills can't be underestimated."
"Well you might get your chance to contend with him if he beats Hunter Valentyne this week to enter the Terrordome at Kamikaze..."
Slater wanted to say that Kief would defeat Hunter Valentyne, but he couldn't bring himself to make that judgemental prediction. Instead, he shrugged casually, indicating to Brookside that they could move on with the show, which was going to draw to a close in roughly fifteen minutes.
"Thanks for the call, Joe. Keep listening, buddy. Now, usually at this point we'll have an intermission break, where I'll play a song of my choice. But on this occasion, I've received a request from an anonymous individual who has asked for me to play a certain song during this show, and they said that it was one of your favourites."
Brookside's comments regarding a song that could have been one of his favourites perplexed Slater, making him feel uneasy. Then again, he had quite a few fans that had obsessively researched his career and personal interests, so perhaps it was from one of them.
"Okay..." Slater nodded, feeling optimistic.
"So we'll play this, and we'll be right back after a few short messages from our sponsors. Don't go away!"
After muting the microphones, Brookside initialized the song that he had queued on his computer.
"I'm gonna get some coffee. Do you want any?"
"No thanks..." Slater replied to him, distracting him from the female vocals that were flowing into his ears from the headphones. As Brookside left the studio area, Slater relaxed and paid attention to the lyrics.
"Should I let you fall? Lose it all? So maybe you can remember yourself..."
Having memorized the lyrics, it was definitely Evanescence's "Call Me When You're Sober", a song that was not one of Slater's favourites. Whoever had sent the request was obviously forwarding a message with some kind of symbolic significance, a message which Slater attempted to comprehend as he continued to listen to the song after the chorus.
"Couldn't take the blame ... sick with shame ... must be exhausting to lose your own game. Selfishly hated, no wonder you're jaded, you can't play the victim this time ... and you're too late..."
Starting to feel disconcerted, Slater couldn't think of who had asked for this song to be played. Their anonymity protected their identity, having observed Slater's demise from afar and questioning the authentication of Slater's moral atonement. It might have been a fan of the wrestling business. It might have been an actual wrestler. It might have even been Molly Mayhem trying to sway his concentration in order to gain the advantage in their upcoming match. Then again, upon reflection, Molly had her own problems to deal with, problems that were far greater and more important than sending an E-Mail into a wrestling radio show in order to disrupt Slater's futuristic plans.
The point is, they were musically ridiculing Slater as a person, magnifying his weaknesses and bringing attention to their perceived belief that he had become a dull shell of his former self.
He knew they were wrong, but the song had purposefully taken its toll.
Ignoring the rest of the song, Slater waited for Brookside to return. He struggled to cope with the depression that festered within, making him feel guilty despite all the times he had apologized for his mistakes. Once Brookside came back with his coffee, he modified his dismal expression.
"Was that song one of your favourites?"
"It wasn't..." Slater confessed, trying to appear cheerful. "But it was good nonetheless."
"They must have gotten their facts wrong," Brookside chuckled, setting himself up again for the continuation of the show.
"Welcome back to Smart Wrestling Radio with your host Philip Brookside. Matt Slater is still here as a guest, so if you have any questions that you would like to ask him on the air, please dial this number..."
Brookside detailed the number as Slater drank some water. His mind was still focused on that song ... on why they had done it ... on what they wanted to gain by making him feel worthless.
"And it looks like we have a caller that has been waiting on the line since the break," Brookside continued. "Hello caller, you're on the air."
"Good afternoon, Philip..." a digitally-altered voice resounded, one that had an eerily-creepy tone.
"Good afternoon. What is your name?"
"My name is of no importance..." the voice said again. At that moment, Slater felt a dark sense of foreboding. "Did Matt Slater enjoy the song that I requested?"
Being alerted of this fact, Slater gradually sat up in his chair.
"It's quite prophetic ... don't you think?"
"Well ... so you have a question?" Brookside said, also feeling unsettled.
"I do have a question..." the voice answered. A brief moment of the caller inhaling smoke from a cigarette filtered through the phone-line. "How does it feel to know ... that you will always be a failure in the wrestling business?"
Slater's face turned into an expression of grief. All he could do was listen to the voice castrate him and everything that he stood for.
"How does it feel to know that you will never amount to anything in New Edge Wrestling? You were carried as a partner by Cera when you became the longest-reigning Tag Team Champions in NEW history. You fell time and time again when you tried to win the NEW World Heavyweight Championship. The only thing you could do was win the NEW Youngblood Championship off Kenath Israel, and every wrestler in existence can defeat him on their worst day. How does it all ... feel?"
"I think you're going a bit too far with this..." Brookside interrupted, knowing that Slater wasn't going to speak.
"Let him answer the question, Philip. His silence indicates that I am correct. It indicates that he is a loser ... a nothing. It indicates that he will fail against Molly Mayhem on Ignite, and he will collapse into a pit of despair. He is a coward, Philip..."
"I won't fail..." Slater finally said, grasping the confident urge to respond. "It's true that I've had my problems, but I am far from a failure."
As much as Slater wanted to rely on egotistical fortitude in order to invalidate his belittlement, he couldn't bring himself to comment on what he had achieved. He was the sole survivor of World War X in 2012. He had defeated legends such as Triple X, Roger Wright, Cera, Nocturnal and a multitude of others. But the only thing he could manage to comment on was not being a failure, exhibiting pride after successfully completing his remedial journey.
"Jesse Styles wants to see me fail, but I won't give him that satisfaction..." Slater continued. "Molly Mayhem's loyal supporters want her to destroy me, but I will hold my own against her. I am not a push-over. I will not be walked over as a stepping stone. If you like to think that I am what you addressed, then so be it. But as far as I'm concerned, I'm proud of what I have done in this industry."
"But are you really...?"
The voice cackled down the phone before a constant signal interrupted their maniacal laughter, informing Brookside and Slater that they had hung up.
"Well, I apologize to our listeners, but that is all the time we have for Matt Slater on the show. Matt, I want to thank you for being here. Please stay tuned as another wrestler will be with us in an hour, where we will discuss the Fedwars Tournament going on! It should be quite something."
Brookside knew there was more time left, but he realized that Slater wasn't in the mood. Slater took off his headphones and stood up as Brookside looked at him.
"I don't think you're a failure..." Brookside said. Slater knew he was being honest, nodding affirmatively.
"Well I'm going to prove the ones that do wrong."
After shaking Brookside's hand, Slater departed the studio, walking down the hall towards Falcon, who was seemingly falling asleep. Slater nudged Falcon's outstretched leg with his foot, startling the wearisome Brit and making him look around rapidly.
"Come on, we're leaving..."
"Already?" Falcon asked, standing up from his chair and strolling along with Slater. "You don't look so good..."
"I won't feel good for a while. Not until the past has been amended."
It was time for his harshest critics to eat their own words. Slater knew what he had to do. Getting to that point would be an absolute challenge, but once he had reached the pinnacle of his determined dream, then the justice he craved would certainly prevail.