Post by Deleted on Apr 5, 2013 21:44:41 GMT -6
"He is one of the best technical wrestlers in the world today ... if not the best."
"I'll always be better than Matt Slater. I am the ICON after all. But he does have the skills to get the job done ... without question."
"When I stepped into the ring with him, there was nothing that stood out to me. But once I took that first suplex ... I knew I was in trouble. That guy can go!"
"He's cold, intelligently ruthless ...and immensely talented. With our combined strengths, it's not hard to see how we became the longest reigning Tag Team Champions in NEW history."
"Will he be a future Hall of Famer? You're damn right."
With his attention glued to the laptop screen, Slater listened intently to the opinions of his fellow wrestlers from the documentary disc of his Passion Personified DVD. Since Slater was stuck on a flight heading directly to Japan, a journey that would take several hours, reading a book simply wasn't going to maintain his interest. Besides, the only book he had in his possession was a novel he had already completed, and it had been so poorly received by him personally that he didn't even want to acknowledge it again.
On a positive note, he was accommodated in first class. Therefore, any special amenities he requested would be served to him without question. These luxurious benefits were briefly considered, but all Slater wanted was a charger cable to keep his laptop battery relatively healthy, a decision that had been graciously accepted by the sophisticated hostesses on board.
But despite his leisurely placement, Slater's state of mind remained unstable. Furthermore, the longevity of the flight had made his damaged spine a burden; sitting in one place for a long period of time was bad enough, but when turbulence rocked the airborne vehicle, jolts of pain would make him grunt and squirm with discomfort. Prescription medication would have softened the agonizing torment, but Slater had refused to take the pills. It wasn't because of a strict principle that he wanted to adhere to; it was because his mind was still filled with dread and foreboding, brought on by the consumption of steroids that had illegally enhanced his performance.
Slater had every reason to be paranoid and anxious. Because of Falcon's secretive stunt, one incompetent slip up would cost him everything. Dr Johnson had assured Slater that his synopsis would be handled under extreme care, but how could he trust a man he didn't even know? The confidential maintenance of those records was the only thing keeping Slater from plummeting into irreparable ruin. If they were discovered, the news would be passed onto the media, an outlet that had terrifying impact in this day and age. Once the articles spread, Slater would be notoriously associated with the drugs. He would be added to an entire category of athletes who had been caught and shamed for various reasons; adultery, theft, arson, vehicular homicide, murder and more.
But that wasn't the only thing troubling Slater. Even if Dr Johnson kept his promise, the documents still needed to remain secure. If they were somehow compromised by the infiltration of an outside force, his career would be held at ransom. Either he had to obey their sordid commands, or the entire world would know what Slater did in order to get ahead in professional wrestling. His usage would be exaggerated, but there was no denying that the substances existed in his system. The scientific evidence proved him guilty, even when these crucial additives were previously unknown.
However, no one needed to see the records in order to realize that something odd was going on with Slater. The influx of testosterone circulating his body had made him irritable and short-tempered, a peculiarity that would dismay anyone who knew him. To them, he was calm and sincere, savouring his intensity for his scheduled matches, and although his moods were depressive and morbid at times, he wilfully kept his frustrated emotions in check. If he couldn't control the side-effects, it was only a matter of time until the waves of trepidation lapping at Slater's feet turned into a destructive tsunami.
If these sensitive details were exposed, he would helplessly drown amidst the raging flood.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Having heard one of the hostesses' through his earphones, Slater sighed and manually paused the documentary, creating a still-frame of Ryan Pugh on the screen. He was in the midst of grooming his regaled beard, but Slater didn't care for what he was doing or how comical the paused footage made him look. Fortunately the story had reached its conclusive phase, so Slater wasn't that annoyed at being disrupted.
Removing one of the lobe-sized speakers, Slater turned towards the aisle next to his seat and acknowledged her dolled-up presence. Once his attention had been established, the hostess lifted her hand, showing Slater a shredded piece of paper.
"I apologize for disturbing you, sir, but a British gentleman has just asked me to send this to you. He says that you know each other, and that it was imperative that you see it."
It was obvious that she was referring to Falcon, a man that was also on the plane, albeit in a different section. Falcon had clearly insisted on travelling with Slater, even if Slater had no intention of communicating with him. His accompaniment was unnecessary in Slater's mind; for the remainder of the week, and perhaps for the rest of his life, Slater wanted to be alone. If worse came to worse, he would take the brunt of the punishment, even if Falcon had been to blame for the concept of his latest enemy.
In retrospect, Falcon's threatening anger at Dr Johnson made a lot of sense. He realized that he had messed up after the results of the urine sample were included, so his accusations of Dr Johnson being a fake were formulated to keep Slater off the trail. He wanted to ensure that the records were never found, perhaps even burned into ashes if he tried hard enough. But Falcon was battling a system he couldn't win against, and his efforts to keep Slater in the dark collapsed faster than a pyramid of cards being placed inside a washing machine.
Since then, Falcon had attempted to reconcile with Slater, showing expressions of truthful regret for putting his future in jeopardy. Unfortunately for him, it was a futile plan, a plan that Falcon showed no signs of giving up on.
Slater resisted snatching the paper out of her hand, clearly demonstrating how he currently felt about Falcon trying to get his attention. Instead, Slater silently accepted the item, waiting for the hostess to smile and leave before he corrected its sloppily folded appearance.
Slater glanced at the torn strip of paper as he breathed through his nose. Upon its surface were two words, crafted from erratic scribbling due to the lack of ink in the pen that had been used.
"I'm Sorry"
Without saying a word, Slater reversed his visionary motion, resuming the video and concentrating on the exhilarating footage as he scrunched the paper up in his hand. Saying sorry, even in a written sense, just wasn't enough for Slater to handle and accept. He felt like a stunned criminal being surrounded by armed police, where one sudden movement could alter the entire scenario.
Exhaling once more, Slater tossed the jagged ball of paper aside and ended the documentary, deciding to search for any matches that had been stored onto the first disc. There was enough memory left for four of them to be added; the rest were on the other two discs, which Slater had not touched.
One of the matches listed was the Terrordome Match from Justice 3, and as soon as he saw the highlight clips on the screen, Slater couldn't stop himself from pressing play.
Skipping the usual theatrics, Slater adjusted his posture and focused on the match itself. His hand naturally moved to his chin as he watched, defining his strict contemplation.
The brutality seemed unreal, but it was indeed genuine. Slater could attest to how excruciating and vicious the match had been. He was there amongst the escalating carnage; fighting to survive ... fighting to win.
Strangely, even though he was entranced by the match, he didn't react to anything that was going on. He didn't cringe when he saw Adrien Specter's leg get crushed with a sledgehammer, thanks to the callous betrayal of Nocturnal. He didn't flinch when he saw his own chest get shredded from a barbed wire chair, wielded and used with painful precision by the cunning Roger Wright. He didn't look away when Aaron Abraham landed grotesquely on the ground floor of the Terrordome, having fallen through the hole of the second tier after Slater forced him and Johnny Stylez off a fifteen-foot ladder.
He was stoic and emotionless, and there was one reason why.
He knew that the sights in this match would be nothing compared to what would transpire at Kamikaze. His threshold for pain would be tested like never before, and everyone else would have to suffer the same terrible anguish.
But the only way he could prepare efficiently was to assess and evaluate what he was in store for. At the same time though, he was tempted to inform his opponents what awaited them, giving them a warning that they could either accept or neglect.
And as soon as Triple X unhooked the NEW Undisputed World Heavyweight Championship on the third tier walkway, bringing an end to the legendary spectacle, Slater knew exactly what he had to do in Tokyo.
Navigating the premises of the famous Tokyo Dome, Slater steadily walked through the corridors with a purpose. With proper authorization, the contracted workers could go wherever they pleased, but there were a number of places that were understandably restricted. Out of respect for the Japanese culture, Slater avoided any rooms that were deemed sacred, prohibiting himself from breaking their unwritten laws of tradition which could cause a disastrous reaction.
He only had one destination in mind, but he needed a few individuals to agree with his plans before he could set his ideas into motion. The American and Japanese technicians were collaborating on the artistically-sketched formations of the set design, so there was a good chance he would come across someone useful for his significant project.
The first person Slater needed was a camera operator. There were a number of them touring the area, recording footage for future publications. It didn't take long before Slater saw one in the distance, leaning lazily against the wall as he tampered with his entrusted equipment.
As he approached the young man, Slater assessed if he was organized enough for the task. He didn't want him to get distracted easily, and given that the man looked like he had barely managed to get into his twenties, it was apparent that his short attention span would be a frustrating probability.
Still, with no one else around, Slater went ahead and took the risk anyway.
"Are you busy?"
After being questioned, the young man responded with a wide-eyed stare. He fumbled with his camera as he tried to remain composed, but it seemed that he was at a loss for words, taken aback by Slater speaking directly to him.
"Yo, Matt Slater!" he finally responded, doing so with an annoying voice associated with stoned college students. What infuriated Slater more was how he had managed to get employed. "What's happenin', bro?"
The young man raised his arm for a high-five, beaming with arrogant confidence as he did so. Unfortunately for him, Slater wasn't in the mood to accept the gesture.
"I said are you busy?" Slater repeated coldly. The young man shrugged awkwardly and lowered his arm.
"Not really?"
"Follow me."
Not waiting for the nameless man to gather his bearings, Slater continued his walk around the circular corridor. Eventually the ambitious youth caught up with Slater's deliberately-brisk pace.
"So ... what are you doin' exactly?" the young man enquired. Slater gritted his teeth, hoping he wouldn't be pestered. "Are you gonna cut a promo?"
Slater didn't answer. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts to care.
"Alright. Whatever you're doin' man, I'll keep it in view. I've got a feelin' it's gonna be sick!"
Maintaining his calmness with increasing difficulty, Slater rotated his neck until an audible click resounded. The young man understood what this meant and kept quiet, not wanting to be on the receiving end of an aggravated attack.
A wide selection of spare girders, cable wiring and decorations began to appear as Slater and the young man neared the entrance to the interior of the Dome. Towering boxes were stacked along the walls, making the Tokyo Dome look like a storage warehouse. No mechanical noises echoed throughout the building, informing Slater that most of them were on some kind of lunch break.
Reaching the correct place, Slater located a technician sitting on a transportation case.
"Has the Terrordome been constructed?"
The aged man looked up and nodded.
"We built the Terrordome earlier on. It's hanging above the ring now."
"Would it be possible to lower it?" Slater asked curiously, albeit dryly. The man rubbed his hands together and chuckled.
"Inspecting the battlefield before the war?"
"You could say that..."
Standing up, the man nodded once again.
"There have already been a couple of wrestlers who have filmed footage in the ring today," he clarified. "I'll access the controls and bring her down."
Slater walked towards the black curtains that separated the backstage area and the interior of the stadium, blocking the spectators from witnessing the ongoing procedures that kept the show running smoothly. The aged technician noticeably limped towards the control panel that processed the functions of the lights, screens, pyrotechnics and motorized gears, sitting himself down again on the cushioned chair that was available. The young cameraman was no longer oblivious to Slater's plan, relishing the prospect of filming his project as he energetically jogged on the spot.
"I think ... it should be this one..." the technician murmured. Slater caught sight of the identification card attached to his shirt. "Bill" was imprinted on the card in bold capital letters. "You're going to have to check and see if it works."
"I'll do it, man!" the young cameraman exclaimed. Slater didn't know his name, but in all honesty, at that moment in time, he didn't care enough to know.
Once the young man had set down his camera and pulled back the curtain, Slater viewed the fully exposed stadium, now vulnerable to Slater's perception. The set design appeared half-finished, but his primary attention was focused on the steel dome in the distance, a malignant concept that could spell damnation or supremacy for the participants involved.
The constructed dome loomed ominously above the ring, casting an enormous shadow across the stadium's floor. The acts of malice that would arise within its chain-linked walls had already been foretold. Each competitor knew what awaited them, generating thoughts of trepidation and justifiable fear. Without sufficient preparation, career-threatening injuries were certain, and the chance to stand tall as the lonesome victor would subsequently fade away, leaving a permanent void that their strongest desires couldn't quench.
Once the door slammed shut, the pathetic refusal to compete was forbidden.
Once the daunting chimes of the bell resounded, there was no turning back.
"Here we go," Bill hollered, pressing a couple of buttons on the electronic panel. Slater kept his eyes fixated on the remorseless chamber, waiting for the inevitable to occur.
Suddenly, the movement of the structure became clear. The mechanics rattled as the dome lowered, slightly straining from the weight of the entire contraption. Enamoured by the sight, Slater mindlessly took a few steps forward, being drawn towards the chamber. There was no mystical, irresistible power involved. It was simple psychology at its finest; the desire to get closer, the need to explore its confines, the temptation to climb higher and to gaze at the metallic sights beneath.
"She's not going to leave anyone spared this year..." Bill declared, continuing to observe the structure's descent. It wasn't strange for someone to identify a cherished possession by a relatable gender, but he was sadistically describing the Terrordome as a cruel mistress whose sole purpose was to host the actions of her encaged victims within her wretched womb.
But oddly enough, Bill had summarized the Terrordome without even mentioning the vile things that would transpire inside the blackened chamber. If the Terrordome was a woman, she was convincingly enticing. Yet with her hypnotic apparel came the disturbing realization that she was deceptively wicked; absent of heart and forgiveness, empty of compassion and sympathy. But she wouldn't punish them herself. In fact, she was a spectator throughout the entire ordeal. Her only role was to offer her toys and riches, and the people who had been brainwashed by her prize and the terrain around them would bludgeon and maim their opposition to claim what she held.
Only the most determined individuals could truly survive her mind-altering wrath, and if they could reach the goal that her body contained, they would be rewarded handsomely for their immoral sacrifices.
Completing its descent, the Terrordome lightly shuddered to a halt as soon as it hit the floor. Slater's feelings were reminiscent of the first time he saw this structure at Justice 3. He was intensely captivated by its presence, yet anxious of the obstacles he needed to bypass. But the chamber willed him forward silently, beckoning him to inspect its domain more thoroughly. Unable to resist, Slater slowly walked forward, trembling with adrenaline as he did so.
What made this moment more intense was that the building was eerily quiet. The first time Slater approached the chamber in Indianapolis, the raucous crowd were cheering and booing him collectively, smothering the entire stadium in noise. Plus, some of his opponents were already inside, offering him company. Now, with no one else around, he felt as if he was the only man in existence, walking towards the identifiable entity that would hideously torment his desired ascension.
Once Slater reached the chain-linked walls of the dome, he surveyed its interior vigilantly, absorbing every conceivable detail. Moving his hand to the painted links, Slater rubbed his fingers across the barbed wire that had been wrapped around the metal, testing the severity of the deadly spikes.
Seething with emotion and testosterone, Slater nodded with a dark sense of approval.
Taking a few steps back, he lifted his head to focus on the second and third sections of the dome. That was where he wanted to be. That was where he needed to be.
Back-tracking, Slater turned away from the structure and stormed towards the curtain. The young man saw him coming and raised an eyebrow, bewildered by his deranged mannerisms. He was quick enough to move out of the way as Slater kept walking, searching around for something.
Amongst the spare parts of the set were a collection of weapons that would be placed under the ring and elsewhere during the event, neatly organized so that they wouldn't be mixed together. Grabbing a folded chair, Slater gripped it tightly as he noticed two other men staring at him. Knowing he needed something else, Slater acknowledged them sternly and spoke coldly.
"Bring a ladder."
Without saying a word, the two men nodded and collected a ladder, balancing the weight between them as they followed Slater's lead. He silently gestured for the young cameraman to come as well, a sign that made the youthful individual frantically get his camera.
The effects were already taking place inside Slater's mind, brought on by the memories of the Terrordome. It knew he wanted redemption. It knew he wanted to amend the past. It knew he wanted to survive and to earn what he believed he deserved. But most of all, it knew he was filled with regret; a feeling that needed to be vanquished and erased before it was too late.
Approaching the chamber again, Slater opened its massive door and slid the chair across the steel grating, momentarily watching it glide across the hard metal and into the ring. After he had studied the design a second time, Slater clambered onto the structure's heightened floor, observing the environment that would punish him greatly. The young man was about to enter too, but Slater shook his head negatively, denying his enthusiastic entry.
"I'd remain on the outskirts ... if I were you..."
"Gotcha. I'll just increase the voice recognition and zoom in, man."
As the young man took his placement in the stands, Slater grabbed the chair and positioned it in the center of the ring, doing so as the two men slid the ladder into the dome and shut the door. With their job complete, the two men looked at each other, shrugged and left the area. It was a wise decision; there was nothing else for them to do.
Not unless they wanted to sit back and watch Slater passionately convey his unstable thoughts that the world would curiously hear.
Concentrating on the camera that the young man balanced on his shoulder, Slater exhaled. Once he gave the traditional thumbs up, it was time for Slater to act.
It was time to get everything off his chest.
"We all live ... in regret..."
Slater's opening words seemed unexpected, but they foreshadowed the entire purpose of his upcoming speech.
"You should all be familiar with that feeling of sorrow. We've all been subjected to the consequential events of our decisions ... ones that have ended in verbal disputes ... tears ... and physical pain. We've all sat down ... or woke up one morning ... and fantasized about what could have been if we went in the other direction. We've all dreamed of going back in time to alter the past, hoping that the reaction will suit our needs ... creating a tranquil, harmonious world for everyone to savour and adore ... creating a better life in general."
Unable to remain seated, Slater stood up from the chair, beginning to pace around the ring like a caged animal.
"For some people, regret is formed from being unable to help others when they need compassion and friendship the most. Maybe we were too busy sorting out our own problems. Maybe we were tied up with another task that drained our energy, and all we wanted to do was go to sleep. Maybe ... we were too lazy to care. Or maybe ... we were just too nervous to pull the trigger, and every day after we wonder what the result would have been ... if we had chosen to act accordingly."
"But for the most part ... regret stems from the impure temptations of our own selfish desires. Yes ... it is a selfish quality, because that's what we're commonly known for. It would be a pretty easy-going life if everything went our way ... but here's where reality..."
Displaying volatile aggression, Slater stormed towards the chair and kicked it across the ring, making the piece of furniture fold and clatter onto the canvas.
"... Gives you the boot ... and slaps you across the back of the head, instructing you to focus and pay attention. The mistakes we make ... are unavoidable. Regret ... is unavoidable."
Slater then stood in place, staring directly at the camera once again.
"Now I'm sure you're all pondering the same question. What does regret ... have to do with this Terrordome Match on Sunday?"
After scanning the chain-linked walls, Slater waved his finger back and forth; an indication that the people who will watch this footage needed to stop jumping to conclusions.
"Here's my reply. What doesn't regret have to do with this important Match on Sunday?"
"Believe it or not, we're all connected by that same emotion. We're all feeding off each other's woes and enragements. We're all feasting on each other's weaknesses, hoping that if we devour enough, if we absorb enough ... we'll be triumphant. But it's not just about winning. It's not just about being in the Main Event on the biggest show of the year. It's much more than that. It's about redemption. It's about retribution. It's about vindication. It's about the determined need to amend the regrets that have contaminated our minds and our hearts ... and if that means putting our bodies on the line for fortune and fame, then so be it. We're rolling the dice ... we're playing the cards ... we're taking the biggest gamble of our entire careers, and Kamikaze will be the event where we either ascend ... or crumble into dust."
Briefly staring up towards the curved ceiling of the dome, Slater shuddered as the memories once again came flooding back into his mind.
"How do I know that everyone in this match is filled with regret? Well let me start with Ryan Omega, the only other person besides me who has entered this match before. Ryan ... just like me ... you came within inches of winning the NEW World Heavyweight Championship last year. Because of your ultraviolent background, the Terrordome brought you back to what you excelled in. I'm sure you felt at home when you were lashing Triple X over and over again ... but the regret you have ... is that you shouldn't have stopped hitting him. The regret you have ... is that you should have just kept reaching for that leather strap."
"It must have been sickening ... watching Triple X win the match for the second year in a row. It must have hurt worse knowing ... that you could have stopped that from happening. So now, you're on the road to vindication. You want to do what you didn't do at Justice 4. You want to earn your place at Justice 5, and this will be the place where you'll come one step closer to your goal. I know you're hungry ... I know you want to define your moment of glory ... and I know you'll be watching vintage Japanese Deathmatches, helping you get into a vicious, uncontrollable mindset. As you're United ally, I'm expecting you to deliver ... because if you don't ... there will be more regrets in store for you."
Looking at the ladder, Slater pondered something for a moment. Upon second thought, he didn't need its usefulness yet.
"Let me move on to Scarlet, another United member that has brought together the forces to take down the Styles Mafia once and for all. Scarlet ... you have been a three-time Trans-Atlantic Champion, and you have always been a fearless, brutal competitor inside the ring. But what you regret ... is that you never received the opportunity to become the World Champion sooner. I'm not sure why that is. I mean, you're married to Jesse Styles ... the very man that kicked you in the head at Tension in Texas. If he applauded your talents before ... why didn't he give you a shot?"
Slater shrugged, unsure how to answer his own question.
"This isn't me stirring the pot, Scarlet. I approve of what you want to do. That's why I joined United in the first place, because the Styles Mafia's scheme is tarnishing what this company used to represent. But it seems rather ... suspicious ... how you were never given one single chance at the gold. But hey ...maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you didn't want it. Maybe you wanted to stay chasing the Trans-Atlantic Championship, setting records that would propel you to the top."
At that moment, Slater walked towards the ladder and grabbed it, pulling it further into the ring. After standing it up and locking the hinges to keep both sides stable, Slater placed his foot on the first rung and looked up to the second tier.
"For the first time in your career, Scarlet..." Slater continued, beginning to climb the ladder as he talked, "... you'll have the chance to climb. You'll have the opportunity to prove Jesse Styles wrong, that you can be more than just his wife. You can set the standard for all the women to follow, and despite the fact that you might become the third female in NEW history to win the NEW World Championship ... you might just become the greatest female World Champion of all time. Think of that for a moment, Scarlet. Think of the dignity you'll bring to that championship. Think of the fans you will wholeheartedly represent. It's only a matter of time before..."
Having reached the top, Slater grabbed onto the surface of the second tier and pulled himself up. His back ached from the movement, but he didn't stop.
"... That dream will take hold ... and all of your regrets will be challenged by your rampant desires."
Standing up on the second tier, Slater scanned the walls. A selection of weapons had already been added, an organized measure used to save time for other important tasks.
"Patrick Jones ... is another competitor that wants to experience that feeling of superiority. Patrick, you have become synonymous with Total Extreme Wrestling ... but you always seemed to fall when the opportunity for eternal glory arose. Your regret is that you never went that extra step, going above and beyond your previous limitations to outlast your opponents and achieve the accolades that should have been yours. You were there in the Warfare Match, Patrick. You knew how difficult that was ... before you got eliminated. If you make the same mistakes, you won't last long in this match."
"You've been on the cusp of greatness numerous times, a desire that still burns deep inside. I realize that you have a light-hearted attitude, pulling pranks on a whim and playing games ... but just like Stables Wars, Patrick, once you step foot into the Terrordome ... the games are over. You need to be serious. You need to be focused. And if you don't act instinctively, transforming a fleeting dream into a real possession ... you will regret it."
Mesmerized by the weapons on display, Slater's mind focused on one person in particular, a person that had become another favourite to win this Terrordome Match.
"That brings me ... to you, Valora. Kronin has already told me about what to expect from you ... but I'm already aware of what you'll unleash. For over a year ... you have accused everyone of treating you like a minority. You have insulted the fans for their flaws in society ... and for being a bunch of hypocrites. I'm not going to attack you personally though. I could outline your own flaws, based on the research I've gathered in order to mentally prepare for this contest ... but I'm not going to. You see I realize that you've had a lot of tragedies affect you over the years. We're similar in that regard, believe it or not. Just like me, you changed your tone. You were fighting for justice for the people ... and because of the suffering ... because of the absolute hatred you developed ... you simply stopped caring. Now, you're fighting to boost your own career ... something that I attempted to do long ago."
"There is one difference between me and you, though. I left the wrestling business to cure my ailments, whereas you ... you seem to relish the thought of eviscerating your opposition. From the Texas Death Matches you've had to the Insane Rules Match against Ryan Pugh, it's undoubtedly clear that you'll risk your own body at the expense of hospitalizing your victims."
Taking a few steps towards the wall, Slater dislodged an iron pipe, a weapon that had been used prominently by the Hardcore Icon.
"With these weapons, Valora ... you'll make that happen. I guarantee that you'll instantly grab the nearest weapon you can find and..."
Suddenly, Slater drove the pipe onto the second tier's floor, causing a loud metallic sound to register from the impact.
"...Bludgeon them with immense pleasure and gratification. This environment ... will be your playground, Valora, and I know you'll use what's available to cause the worst injuries imaginable. The Terrordome will offer you these agonizing items to experiment with ... but if you're not careful, then your biggest regret will be surpassed by another."
Throwing the pipe aside, Slater ignored the resounding clatter of metal meeting metal, turning his attention towards the cameraman who was steadily filming Slater from a higher section of the stands.
"Your main concern ... has always involved the NEW World Heavyweight Championship. On three occasions you lost the opportunity to stand above the rest in this company, culminating your bitter journey with ruthless aggression. I will admit, your match against Colt was controversial to say the least ... but what haunts your dreams ... what haunts your every waking moment ... was your first chance at claiming the gold at Cold Front last year against Shane Sparx."
"What you regret ... is that you didn't outright kill him before grabbing a hold of that championship. To this very day ... you can't get rid of the anger and malice that has bloomed from that career-altering moment ... and in some ways ... that loss has prohibited you from going further. Ever since that day, you haven't exactly been the same. The opportunity was squandered ... but now ... you have the chance to make everything right again. All it will take ... is another ladder, Valora ... one ladder ... that will define your entire career."
Removing a ladder of the chain-linked wall, Slater set that up below the third tier and started to climb again. He didn't stop to make sure that the young, annoying cameraman was following his ascent. He continued going, reaching the top after several seconds. It wouldn't be that easy, but for now, this was just a demonstration of what needed to be done to win.
Climbing onto the walkway, Slater carefully lowered himself and crossed his legs, sitting on the platform that would support the tumultuous efforts of the person that made it that far. There was only one person he had left in mind, one person that had been a thorn in his side for a long time.
"But you're not the only one ... that has squandered their chances time and time again, Valora. There is another worse than you ... and his name ... is Hunter Valentyne."
"Hunter, you've prided yourself on ... killing ... mythological statements and phrases ... things that are perceived and assumed as genuine fact. Yet there is one myth that you have not had the chance to shatter, one myth that has eluded you for three gruelling, frustrating years. It's not so much a myth, however, as it as a scripted prophecy. The more you've considered it ... the more you've beckoned for it to come true, for it to become a reality that will wholesomely establish your legacy. You want this quest for vengeance to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, Hunter, and for three long years it has eaten away at your soul, because you have so far been unable to achieve what you have always desired."
"That prophecy which you have crafted and suppressed is as simplistic as it is effective. You want to take everything away from me and leave me a decrepit, broken heap. You want to bolster your supreme ascendancy at the expense of my hideous downfall ... and that thought alone makes you smile. I know you've dreamt about it since you learned that I would be involved in the Terrordome alongside you as a participant, and at last you've been granted a golden opportunity to cut away whatever remains of my career and flush the pieces down the toilet. But your greatest regret ... is that have never been able to get the job done."
"Let's face facts, Hunter. For three years, you challenged me to fight you, to wrestle you inside the ring. I accepted your challenges, but it seemed that every time we came close ... your contract got terminated. You've constantly shot yourself in the foot, Hunter, and I'm actually surprised you made it this far without getting fired. Maybe it's finally been..."
Doing something unexpected, Slater started to punch his own head. A slight trickle of blood ran down his face from his eyebrow, a trail that Slater didn't even bother to wipe away.
"... Knocked ... into your brain ... that you need to stay employed in order to do what you've always said you would do. But if you think you'll destroy me ... you're wrong. Finally, after all this time, it will be me that will destroy you. You might make excuses that your defeat won't mean anything, but you know better. We'll all see through your bullshit. You'll try and successfully finalize the retribution you've waited so long to attain ... but all of that waiting will amount to nothing. I can promise you that."
Exhaling with infuriation, Slater went silent for a while.
"Everyone's regrets are being accounted for in this match ... but I can't end this entire spectacle ... until I reveal mine."
Glancing at the Kamikaze banner hanging from the roof, Slater sombrely focused on the camera in the distance.
"Kamikaze ... was my first ever NEW PPV. I defeated Adrien Specter in my debut on Ignite the week prior, but this event was where I made an even bigger impact. I defeated Inkt in a Porno Death Match, and you can laugh all you want ... you can chuckle and giggle at the comical stipulation, but the fact remains the same. I defeated ... the man of war ... in my first ever PPV ... in this very building."
"Back then ... I had a controlled set of values. But due to my clinical depression ... and due to the manipulative games that were being played against me by the people that couldn't stand my threatening talent..."
Beginning to lose control, Slater wiped his face with his hands, trying to maintain his composure.
"... I lost everything. I lost respect ... I lost the support from the fans ... and I lost the essential qualities that made me who I am. But I had one chance to rectify my losses. I had one chance ... to right the wrongs. And it was at Justice 3 ... where I entered ... this."
Slater spread his arms, notifying the world that he was referring to the infamous Terrordome.
"This ... was where I fought to become the NEW Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion. I had been in ferocious matches before ... but there was nothing ... nothing ... that compared to the extreme magnitude of this chamber. Eight people ... including myself ... put their bodies on the line for the richest prize in this organization. I came close to etching my name into the history books. I came close to being the champion. I came close to earning my respect back ... but there was one decision that changed everything."
Slater looked down at where the ladder was currently positioned, remembering the moment that defined the end of Justice 3; an end that Slater would never be able to forget.
"You see ... there will always be that infamous annotation ... that single footnote which will remain embedded upon the records of Justice 3, reminding me of my sacrificial choice. Matt Slater ... incapacitates Johnny Stylez with the Shockwave off a ladder before he can get electrocuted with a tazer ... and bam!"
Slater slaps his hands together strongly, registering a sound which echoed throughout the building.
"Triple X takes advantage ... and becomes the NEW Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion."
Rubbing his palms together, it was clear that Slater looked disconcerted, struggling to cope with his passionate emotions.
"Maybe you're thinking ... that I could have levelled them both with a shovel. Maybe you're thinking I could have prevented Triple X from reaching the walkway sooner by taking him out on my own. It wouldn't have been a treacherous act of betrayal. It would have been an opportunistic blessing. Triple X understood how much I wanted to be the champion. He would have contained some internal conflict, feigning a congratulatory speech about how I surpassed him and earned my place on the top of the mountain ... but he would have understood. But if I had the indisputable foresight to realize what he would do ... if I had the ability to see into the future and witness the cataclysmic tremors of the cRu, a faction united by greed and the insatiable lust for power ... I would have acted in a different way."
"Unfortunately ... no matter how many other options I could have had, no matter how many decisions you've already formulated, whichever way you look at it ... I was already a beaten man. The only thing I had left ... the only thing I could comprehend at the time, based on my twisted philosophies and allegiances ... was to ensure that the belt ended up in the right hands."
Slater wearily chuckled, knowing that he had made the wrong decision.
"Triple X can discredit my fortunate aid until his dying day, and he has the right to do just that, but the fact of the matter is this. He took advantage of a defeated man ... and he walked away the champion."
Glancing down at the canvas, Slater became entranced by his thoughts. Eventually, he spoke with a calm yet troubling tone.
"Do I regret it?"
Slater audibly cleared his throat, making sure that his words would be clearly heard.
"Those who have followed my career from its inception know I'm an honest man, and saying that I've never had any regrets in my life ... would be a blatant lie. I've lived with the regret of not being able to save my family when they needed me most. I've lived with the regret of divorcing my wife over a foolish innocent ... knowing I will never be loved by her or my son the same way again. I've lived with the regret of abandoning someone who cared about me just as much as I cared about her ... and now I have to absorb the personal hatred she exudes, just because I never kept in contact. I've betrayed and victimized people. I've tarnished my own moral values for the sake of personal supremacy ... and because of all those mistakes combined ... I lost the very qualities that made me ... who I am today."
"But unlike some people who just sit back and make excuses, I accepted my faults ... and for over a year, I have battled against my depression. I have battled through trials and tribulations to become the man I used to be, and I've finally accomplished that gratifying ambition. I earned my way into this structure through sheer desire and endurance, and a lot of people know ... that I deserve to be here."
"That isn't for me to judge ... that's for me to prove ... and on Sunday ... I will not regret proving my worth. Until my last drop of blood, until the final beat of my heart, until the end of my existence with my dying breath ... I will not quit. I will not surrender unto defeat. And if any of you want to win this match ... Scarlet and Omega included ... you'll have to climb over my decomposing corpse to get the job done. This match is far too important for me to lose. I've worked too long and hard to see my effort come crashing down, leaving irreparable debris as the saddening aftermath of my demise."
"This will be my climb to redemption, and just like you of all ... I will give you my absolute best in order to achieve ... justice."
Not wanting to move from his position, Slater looked up at the vacant hook that used to hold the NEW World Heavyweight Championship. Now, it would hold a plain briefcase, containing the documents that would sanction the Main Event at Justice 5.
It was Slater's time to fully repair the past. It was his time to fulfil his redemption.
With heart and determination, Slater would positively alter the future of New Edge Wrestling, and even if he would suffer the consequences for his actions, his sacrifice for the sake of a brighter tomorrow would be something he would never regret.
"I'll always be better than Matt Slater. I am the ICON after all. But he does have the skills to get the job done ... without question."
"When I stepped into the ring with him, there was nothing that stood out to me. But once I took that first suplex ... I knew I was in trouble. That guy can go!"
"He's cold, intelligently ruthless ...and immensely talented. With our combined strengths, it's not hard to see how we became the longest reigning Tag Team Champions in NEW history."
"Will he be a future Hall of Famer? You're damn right."
With his attention glued to the laptop screen, Slater listened intently to the opinions of his fellow wrestlers from the documentary disc of his Passion Personified DVD. Since Slater was stuck on a flight heading directly to Japan, a journey that would take several hours, reading a book simply wasn't going to maintain his interest. Besides, the only book he had in his possession was a novel he had already completed, and it had been so poorly received by him personally that he didn't even want to acknowledge it again.
On a positive note, he was accommodated in first class. Therefore, any special amenities he requested would be served to him without question. These luxurious benefits were briefly considered, but all Slater wanted was a charger cable to keep his laptop battery relatively healthy, a decision that had been graciously accepted by the sophisticated hostesses on board.
But despite his leisurely placement, Slater's state of mind remained unstable. Furthermore, the longevity of the flight had made his damaged spine a burden; sitting in one place for a long period of time was bad enough, but when turbulence rocked the airborne vehicle, jolts of pain would make him grunt and squirm with discomfort. Prescription medication would have softened the agonizing torment, but Slater had refused to take the pills. It wasn't because of a strict principle that he wanted to adhere to; it was because his mind was still filled with dread and foreboding, brought on by the consumption of steroids that had illegally enhanced his performance.
Slater had every reason to be paranoid and anxious. Because of Falcon's secretive stunt, one incompetent slip up would cost him everything. Dr Johnson had assured Slater that his synopsis would be handled under extreme care, but how could he trust a man he didn't even know? The confidential maintenance of those records was the only thing keeping Slater from plummeting into irreparable ruin. If they were discovered, the news would be passed onto the media, an outlet that had terrifying impact in this day and age. Once the articles spread, Slater would be notoriously associated with the drugs. He would be added to an entire category of athletes who had been caught and shamed for various reasons; adultery, theft, arson, vehicular homicide, murder and more.
But that wasn't the only thing troubling Slater. Even if Dr Johnson kept his promise, the documents still needed to remain secure. If they were somehow compromised by the infiltration of an outside force, his career would be held at ransom. Either he had to obey their sordid commands, or the entire world would know what Slater did in order to get ahead in professional wrestling. His usage would be exaggerated, but there was no denying that the substances existed in his system. The scientific evidence proved him guilty, even when these crucial additives were previously unknown.
However, no one needed to see the records in order to realize that something odd was going on with Slater. The influx of testosterone circulating his body had made him irritable and short-tempered, a peculiarity that would dismay anyone who knew him. To them, he was calm and sincere, savouring his intensity for his scheduled matches, and although his moods were depressive and morbid at times, he wilfully kept his frustrated emotions in check. If he couldn't control the side-effects, it was only a matter of time until the waves of trepidation lapping at Slater's feet turned into a destructive tsunami.
If these sensitive details were exposed, he would helplessly drown amidst the raging flood.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Having heard one of the hostesses' through his earphones, Slater sighed and manually paused the documentary, creating a still-frame of Ryan Pugh on the screen. He was in the midst of grooming his regaled beard, but Slater didn't care for what he was doing or how comical the paused footage made him look. Fortunately the story had reached its conclusive phase, so Slater wasn't that annoyed at being disrupted.
Removing one of the lobe-sized speakers, Slater turned towards the aisle next to his seat and acknowledged her dolled-up presence. Once his attention had been established, the hostess lifted her hand, showing Slater a shredded piece of paper.
"I apologize for disturbing you, sir, but a British gentleman has just asked me to send this to you. He says that you know each other, and that it was imperative that you see it."
It was obvious that she was referring to Falcon, a man that was also on the plane, albeit in a different section. Falcon had clearly insisted on travelling with Slater, even if Slater had no intention of communicating with him. His accompaniment was unnecessary in Slater's mind; for the remainder of the week, and perhaps for the rest of his life, Slater wanted to be alone. If worse came to worse, he would take the brunt of the punishment, even if Falcon had been to blame for the concept of his latest enemy.
In retrospect, Falcon's threatening anger at Dr Johnson made a lot of sense. He realized that he had messed up after the results of the urine sample were included, so his accusations of Dr Johnson being a fake were formulated to keep Slater off the trail. He wanted to ensure that the records were never found, perhaps even burned into ashes if he tried hard enough. But Falcon was battling a system he couldn't win against, and his efforts to keep Slater in the dark collapsed faster than a pyramid of cards being placed inside a washing machine.
Since then, Falcon had attempted to reconcile with Slater, showing expressions of truthful regret for putting his future in jeopardy. Unfortunately for him, it was a futile plan, a plan that Falcon showed no signs of giving up on.
Slater resisted snatching the paper out of her hand, clearly demonstrating how he currently felt about Falcon trying to get his attention. Instead, Slater silently accepted the item, waiting for the hostess to smile and leave before he corrected its sloppily folded appearance.
Slater glanced at the torn strip of paper as he breathed through his nose. Upon its surface were two words, crafted from erratic scribbling due to the lack of ink in the pen that had been used.
"I'm Sorry"
Without saying a word, Slater reversed his visionary motion, resuming the video and concentrating on the exhilarating footage as he scrunched the paper up in his hand. Saying sorry, even in a written sense, just wasn't enough for Slater to handle and accept. He felt like a stunned criminal being surrounded by armed police, where one sudden movement could alter the entire scenario.
Exhaling once more, Slater tossed the jagged ball of paper aside and ended the documentary, deciding to search for any matches that had been stored onto the first disc. There was enough memory left for four of them to be added; the rest were on the other two discs, which Slater had not touched.
One of the matches listed was the Terrordome Match from Justice 3, and as soon as he saw the highlight clips on the screen, Slater couldn't stop himself from pressing play.
Skipping the usual theatrics, Slater adjusted his posture and focused on the match itself. His hand naturally moved to his chin as he watched, defining his strict contemplation.
The brutality seemed unreal, but it was indeed genuine. Slater could attest to how excruciating and vicious the match had been. He was there amongst the escalating carnage; fighting to survive ... fighting to win.
Strangely, even though he was entranced by the match, he didn't react to anything that was going on. He didn't cringe when he saw Adrien Specter's leg get crushed with a sledgehammer, thanks to the callous betrayal of Nocturnal. He didn't flinch when he saw his own chest get shredded from a barbed wire chair, wielded and used with painful precision by the cunning Roger Wright. He didn't look away when Aaron Abraham landed grotesquely on the ground floor of the Terrordome, having fallen through the hole of the second tier after Slater forced him and Johnny Stylez off a fifteen-foot ladder.
He was stoic and emotionless, and there was one reason why.
He knew that the sights in this match would be nothing compared to what would transpire at Kamikaze. His threshold for pain would be tested like never before, and everyone else would have to suffer the same terrible anguish.
But the only way he could prepare efficiently was to assess and evaluate what he was in store for. At the same time though, he was tempted to inform his opponents what awaited them, giving them a warning that they could either accept or neglect.
And as soon as Triple X unhooked the NEW Undisputed World Heavyweight Championship on the third tier walkway, bringing an end to the legendary spectacle, Slater knew exactly what he had to do in Tokyo.
Navigating the premises of the famous Tokyo Dome, Slater steadily walked through the corridors with a purpose. With proper authorization, the contracted workers could go wherever they pleased, but there were a number of places that were understandably restricted. Out of respect for the Japanese culture, Slater avoided any rooms that were deemed sacred, prohibiting himself from breaking their unwritten laws of tradition which could cause a disastrous reaction.
He only had one destination in mind, but he needed a few individuals to agree with his plans before he could set his ideas into motion. The American and Japanese technicians were collaborating on the artistically-sketched formations of the set design, so there was a good chance he would come across someone useful for his significant project.
The first person Slater needed was a camera operator. There were a number of them touring the area, recording footage for future publications. It didn't take long before Slater saw one in the distance, leaning lazily against the wall as he tampered with his entrusted equipment.
As he approached the young man, Slater assessed if he was organized enough for the task. He didn't want him to get distracted easily, and given that the man looked like he had barely managed to get into his twenties, it was apparent that his short attention span would be a frustrating probability.
Still, with no one else around, Slater went ahead and took the risk anyway.
"Are you busy?"
After being questioned, the young man responded with a wide-eyed stare. He fumbled with his camera as he tried to remain composed, but it seemed that he was at a loss for words, taken aback by Slater speaking directly to him.
"Yo, Matt Slater!" he finally responded, doing so with an annoying voice associated with stoned college students. What infuriated Slater more was how he had managed to get employed. "What's happenin', bro?"
The young man raised his arm for a high-five, beaming with arrogant confidence as he did so. Unfortunately for him, Slater wasn't in the mood to accept the gesture.
"I said are you busy?" Slater repeated coldly. The young man shrugged awkwardly and lowered his arm.
"Not really?"
"Follow me."
Not waiting for the nameless man to gather his bearings, Slater continued his walk around the circular corridor. Eventually the ambitious youth caught up with Slater's deliberately-brisk pace.
"So ... what are you doin' exactly?" the young man enquired. Slater gritted his teeth, hoping he wouldn't be pestered. "Are you gonna cut a promo?"
Slater didn't answer. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts to care.
"Alright. Whatever you're doin' man, I'll keep it in view. I've got a feelin' it's gonna be sick!"
Maintaining his calmness with increasing difficulty, Slater rotated his neck until an audible click resounded. The young man understood what this meant and kept quiet, not wanting to be on the receiving end of an aggravated attack.
A wide selection of spare girders, cable wiring and decorations began to appear as Slater and the young man neared the entrance to the interior of the Dome. Towering boxes were stacked along the walls, making the Tokyo Dome look like a storage warehouse. No mechanical noises echoed throughout the building, informing Slater that most of them were on some kind of lunch break.
Reaching the correct place, Slater located a technician sitting on a transportation case.
"Has the Terrordome been constructed?"
The aged man looked up and nodded.
"We built the Terrordome earlier on. It's hanging above the ring now."
"Would it be possible to lower it?" Slater asked curiously, albeit dryly. The man rubbed his hands together and chuckled.
"Inspecting the battlefield before the war?"
"You could say that..."
Standing up, the man nodded once again.
"There have already been a couple of wrestlers who have filmed footage in the ring today," he clarified. "I'll access the controls and bring her down."
Slater walked towards the black curtains that separated the backstage area and the interior of the stadium, blocking the spectators from witnessing the ongoing procedures that kept the show running smoothly. The aged technician noticeably limped towards the control panel that processed the functions of the lights, screens, pyrotechnics and motorized gears, sitting himself down again on the cushioned chair that was available. The young cameraman was no longer oblivious to Slater's plan, relishing the prospect of filming his project as he energetically jogged on the spot.
"I think ... it should be this one..." the technician murmured. Slater caught sight of the identification card attached to his shirt. "Bill" was imprinted on the card in bold capital letters. "You're going to have to check and see if it works."
"I'll do it, man!" the young cameraman exclaimed. Slater didn't know his name, but in all honesty, at that moment in time, he didn't care enough to know.
Once the young man had set down his camera and pulled back the curtain, Slater viewed the fully exposed stadium, now vulnerable to Slater's perception. The set design appeared half-finished, but his primary attention was focused on the steel dome in the distance, a malignant concept that could spell damnation or supremacy for the participants involved.
The constructed dome loomed ominously above the ring, casting an enormous shadow across the stadium's floor. The acts of malice that would arise within its chain-linked walls had already been foretold. Each competitor knew what awaited them, generating thoughts of trepidation and justifiable fear. Without sufficient preparation, career-threatening injuries were certain, and the chance to stand tall as the lonesome victor would subsequently fade away, leaving a permanent void that their strongest desires couldn't quench.
Once the door slammed shut, the pathetic refusal to compete was forbidden.
Once the daunting chimes of the bell resounded, there was no turning back.
"Here we go," Bill hollered, pressing a couple of buttons on the electronic panel. Slater kept his eyes fixated on the remorseless chamber, waiting for the inevitable to occur.
Suddenly, the movement of the structure became clear. The mechanics rattled as the dome lowered, slightly straining from the weight of the entire contraption. Enamoured by the sight, Slater mindlessly took a few steps forward, being drawn towards the chamber. There was no mystical, irresistible power involved. It was simple psychology at its finest; the desire to get closer, the need to explore its confines, the temptation to climb higher and to gaze at the metallic sights beneath.
"She's not going to leave anyone spared this year..." Bill declared, continuing to observe the structure's descent. It wasn't strange for someone to identify a cherished possession by a relatable gender, but he was sadistically describing the Terrordome as a cruel mistress whose sole purpose was to host the actions of her encaged victims within her wretched womb.
But oddly enough, Bill had summarized the Terrordome without even mentioning the vile things that would transpire inside the blackened chamber. If the Terrordome was a woman, she was convincingly enticing. Yet with her hypnotic apparel came the disturbing realization that she was deceptively wicked; absent of heart and forgiveness, empty of compassion and sympathy. But she wouldn't punish them herself. In fact, she was a spectator throughout the entire ordeal. Her only role was to offer her toys and riches, and the people who had been brainwashed by her prize and the terrain around them would bludgeon and maim their opposition to claim what she held.
Only the most determined individuals could truly survive her mind-altering wrath, and if they could reach the goal that her body contained, they would be rewarded handsomely for their immoral sacrifices.
Completing its descent, the Terrordome lightly shuddered to a halt as soon as it hit the floor. Slater's feelings were reminiscent of the first time he saw this structure at Justice 3. He was intensely captivated by its presence, yet anxious of the obstacles he needed to bypass. But the chamber willed him forward silently, beckoning him to inspect its domain more thoroughly. Unable to resist, Slater slowly walked forward, trembling with adrenaline as he did so.
What made this moment more intense was that the building was eerily quiet. The first time Slater approached the chamber in Indianapolis, the raucous crowd were cheering and booing him collectively, smothering the entire stadium in noise. Plus, some of his opponents were already inside, offering him company. Now, with no one else around, he felt as if he was the only man in existence, walking towards the identifiable entity that would hideously torment his desired ascension.
Once Slater reached the chain-linked walls of the dome, he surveyed its interior vigilantly, absorbing every conceivable detail. Moving his hand to the painted links, Slater rubbed his fingers across the barbed wire that had been wrapped around the metal, testing the severity of the deadly spikes.
Seething with emotion and testosterone, Slater nodded with a dark sense of approval.
Taking a few steps back, he lifted his head to focus on the second and third sections of the dome. That was where he wanted to be. That was where he needed to be.
Back-tracking, Slater turned away from the structure and stormed towards the curtain. The young man saw him coming and raised an eyebrow, bewildered by his deranged mannerisms. He was quick enough to move out of the way as Slater kept walking, searching around for something.
Amongst the spare parts of the set were a collection of weapons that would be placed under the ring and elsewhere during the event, neatly organized so that they wouldn't be mixed together. Grabbing a folded chair, Slater gripped it tightly as he noticed two other men staring at him. Knowing he needed something else, Slater acknowledged them sternly and spoke coldly.
"Bring a ladder."
Without saying a word, the two men nodded and collected a ladder, balancing the weight between them as they followed Slater's lead. He silently gestured for the young cameraman to come as well, a sign that made the youthful individual frantically get his camera.
The effects were already taking place inside Slater's mind, brought on by the memories of the Terrordome. It knew he wanted redemption. It knew he wanted to amend the past. It knew he wanted to survive and to earn what he believed he deserved. But most of all, it knew he was filled with regret; a feeling that needed to be vanquished and erased before it was too late.
Approaching the chamber again, Slater opened its massive door and slid the chair across the steel grating, momentarily watching it glide across the hard metal and into the ring. After he had studied the design a second time, Slater clambered onto the structure's heightened floor, observing the environment that would punish him greatly. The young man was about to enter too, but Slater shook his head negatively, denying his enthusiastic entry.
"I'd remain on the outskirts ... if I were you..."
"Gotcha. I'll just increase the voice recognition and zoom in, man."
As the young man took his placement in the stands, Slater grabbed the chair and positioned it in the center of the ring, doing so as the two men slid the ladder into the dome and shut the door. With their job complete, the two men looked at each other, shrugged and left the area. It was a wise decision; there was nothing else for them to do.
Not unless they wanted to sit back and watch Slater passionately convey his unstable thoughts that the world would curiously hear.
Concentrating on the camera that the young man balanced on his shoulder, Slater exhaled. Once he gave the traditional thumbs up, it was time for Slater to act.
It was time to get everything off his chest.
"We all live ... in regret..."
Slater's opening words seemed unexpected, but they foreshadowed the entire purpose of his upcoming speech.
"You should all be familiar with that feeling of sorrow. We've all been subjected to the consequential events of our decisions ... ones that have ended in verbal disputes ... tears ... and physical pain. We've all sat down ... or woke up one morning ... and fantasized about what could have been if we went in the other direction. We've all dreamed of going back in time to alter the past, hoping that the reaction will suit our needs ... creating a tranquil, harmonious world for everyone to savour and adore ... creating a better life in general."
Unable to remain seated, Slater stood up from the chair, beginning to pace around the ring like a caged animal.
"For some people, regret is formed from being unable to help others when they need compassion and friendship the most. Maybe we were too busy sorting out our own problems. Maybe we were tied up with another task that drained our energy, and all we wanted to do was go to sleep. Maybe ... we were too lazy to care. Or maybe ... we were just too nervous to pull the trigger, and every day after we wonder what the result would have been ... if we had chosen to act accordingly."
"But for the most part ... regret stems from the impure temptations of our own selfish desires. Yes ... it is a selfish quality, because that's what we're commonly known for. It would be a pretty easy-going life if everything went our way ... but here's where reality..."
Displaying volatile aggression, Slater stormed towards the chair and kicked it across the ring, making the piece of furniture fold and clatter onto the canvas.
"... Gives you the boot ... and slaps you across the back of the head, instructing you to focus and pay attention. The mistakes we make ... are unavoidable. Regret ... is unavoidable."
Slater then stood in place, staring directly at the camera once again.
"Now I'm sure you're all pondering the same question. What does regret ... have to do with this Terrordome Match on Sunday?"
After scanning the chain-linked walls, Slater waved his finger back and forth; an indication that the people who will watch this footage needed to stop jumping to conclusions.
"Here's my reply. What doesn't regret have to do with this important Match on Sunday?"
"Believe it or not, we're all connected by that same emotion. We're all feeding off each other's woes and enragements. We're all feasting on each other's weaknesses, hoping that if we devour enough, if we absorb enough ... we'll be triumphant. But it's not just about winning. It's not just about being in the Main Event on the biggest show of the year. It's much more than that. It's about redemption. It's about retribution. It's about vindication. It's about the determined need to amend the regrets that have contaminated our minds and our hearts ... and if that means putting our bodies on the line for fortune and fame, then so be it. We're rolling the dice ... we're playing the cards ... we're taking the biggest gamble of our entire careers, and Kamikaze will be the event where we either ascend ... or crumble into dust."
Briefly staring up towards the curved ceiling of the dome, Slater shuddered as the memories once again came flooding back into his mind.
"How do I know that everyone in this match is filled with regret? Well let me start with Ryan Omega, the only other person besides me who has entered this match before. Ryan ... just like me ... you came within inches of winning the NEW World Heavyweight Championship last year. Because of your ultraviolent background, the Terrordome brought you back to what you excelled in. I'm sure you felt at home when you were lashing Triple X over and over again ... but the regret you have ... is that you shouldn't have stopped hitting him. The regret you have ... is that you should have just kept reaching for that leather strap."
"It must have been sickening ... watching Triple X win the match for the second year in a row. It must have hurt worse knowing ... that you could have stopped that from happening. So now, you're on the road to vindication. You want to do what you didn't do at Justice 4. You want to earn your place at Justice 5, and this will be the place where you'll come one step closer to your goal. I know you're hungry ... I know you want to define your moment of glory ... and I know you'll be watching vintage Japanese Deathmatches, helping you get into a vicious, uncontrollable mindset. As you're United ally, I'm expecting you to deliver ... because if you don't ... there will be more regrets in store for you."
Looking at the ladder, Slater pondered something for a moment. Upon second thought, he didn't need its usefulness yet.
"Let me move on to Scarlet, another United member that has brought together the forces to take down the Styles Mafia once and for all. Scarlet ... you have been a three-time Trans-Atlantic Champion, and you have always been a fearless, brutal competitor inside the ring. But what you regret ... is that you never received the opportunity to become the World Champion sooner. I'm not sure why that is. I mean, you're married to Jesse Styles ... the very man that kicked you in the head at Tension in Texas. If he applauded your talents before ... why didn't he give you a shot?"
Slater shrugged, unsure how to answer his own question.
"This isn't me stirring the pot, Scarlet. I approve of what you want to do. That's why I joined United in the first place, because the Styles Mafia's scheme is tarnishing what this company used to represent. But it seems rather ... suspicious ... how you were never given one single chance at the gold. But hey ...maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you didn't want it. Maybe you wanted to stay chasing the Trans-Atlantic Championship, setting records that would propel you to the top."
At that moment, Slater walked towards the ladder and grabbed it, pulling it further into the ring. After standing it up and locking the hinges to keep both sides stable, Slater placed his foot on the first rung and looked up to the second tier.
"For the first time in your career, Scarlet..." Slater continued, beginning to climb the ladder as he talked, "... you'll have the chance to climb. You'll have the opportunity to prove Jesse Styles wrong, that you can be more than just his wife. You can set the standard for all the women to follow, and despite the fact that you might become the third female in NEW history to win the NEW World Championship ... you might just become the greatest female World Champion of all time. Think of that for a moment, Scarlet. Think of the dignity you'll bring to that championship. Think of the fans you will wholeheartedly represent. It's only a matter of time before..."
Having reached the top, Slater grabbed onto the surface of the second tier and pulled himself up. His back ached from the movement, but he didn't stop.
"... That dream will take hold ... and all of your regrets will be challenged by your rampant desires."
Standing up on the second tier, Slater scanned the walls. A selection of weapons had already been added, an organized measure used to save time for other important tasks.
"Patrick Jones ... is another competitor that wants to experience that feeling of superiority. Patrick, you have become synonymous with Total Extreme Wrestling ... but you always seemed to fall when the opportunity for eternal glory arose. Your regret is that you never went that extra step, going above and beyond your previous limitations to outlast your opponents and achieve the accolades that should have been yours. You were there in the Warfare Match, Patrick. You knew how difficult that was ... before you got eliminated. If you make the same mistakes, you won't last long in this match."
"You've been on the cusp of greatness numerous times, a desire that still burns deep inside. I realize that you have a light-hearted attitude, pulling pranks on a whim and playing games ... but just like Stables Wars, Patrick, once you step foot into the Terrordome ... the games are over. You need to be serious. You need to be focused. And if you don't act instinctively, transforming a fleeting dream into a real possession ... you will regret it."
Mesmerized by the weapons on display, Slater's mind focused on one person in particular, a person that had become another favourite to win this Terrordome Match.
"That brings me ... to you, Valora. Kronin has already told me about what to expect from you ... but I'm already aware of what you'll unleash. For over a year ... you have accused everyone of treating you like a minority. You have insulted the fans for their flaws in society ... and for being a bunch of hypocrites. I'm not going to attack you personally though. I could outline your own flaws, based on the research I've gathered in order to mentally prepare for this contest ... but I'm not going to. You see I realize that you've had a lot of tragedies affect you over the years. We're similar in that regard, believe it or not. Just like me, you changed your tone. You were fighting for justice for the people ... and because of the suffering ... because of the absolute hatred you developed ... you simply stopped caring. Now, you're fighting to boost your own career ... something that I attempted to do long ago."
"There is one difference between me and you, though. I left the wrestling business to cure my ailments, whereas you ... you seem to relish the thought of eviscerating your opposition. From the Texas Death Matches you've had to the Insane Rules Match against Ryan Pugh, it's undoubtedly clear that you'll risk your own body at the expense of hospitalizing your victims."
Taking a few steps towards the wall, Slater dislodged an iron pipe, a weapon that had been used prominently by the Hardcore Icon.
"With these weapons, Valora ... you'll make that happen. I guarantee that you'll instantly grab the nearest weapon you can find and..."
Suddenly, Slater drove the pipe onto the second tier's floor, causing a loud metallic sound to register from the impact.
"...Bludgeon them with immense pleasure and gratification. This environment ... will be your playground, Valora, and I know you'll use what's available to cause the worst injuries imaginable. The Terrordome will offer you these agonizing items to experiment with ... but if you're not careful, then your biggest regret will be surpassed by another."
Throwing the pipe aside, Slater ignored the resounding clatter of metal meeting metal, turning his attention towards the cameraman who was steadily filming Slater from a higher section of the stands.
"Your main concern ... has always involved the NEW World Heavyweight Championship. On three occasions you lost the opportunity to stand above the rest in this company, culminating your bitter journey with ruthless aggression. I will admit, your match against Colt was controversial to say the least ... but what haunts your dreams ... what haunts your every waking moment ... was your first chance at claiming the gold at Cold Front last year against Shane Sparx."
"What you regret ... is that you didn't outright kill him before grabbing a hold of that championship. To this very day ... you can't get rid of the anger and malice that has bloomed from that career-altering moment ... and in some ways ... that loss has prohibited you from going further. Ever since that day, you haven't exactly been the same. The opportunity was squandered ... but now ... you have the chance to make everything right again. All it will take ... is another ladder, Valora ... one ladder ... that will define your entire career."
Removing a ladder of the chain-linked wall, Slater set that up below the third tier and started to climb again. He didn't stop to make sure that the young, annoying cameraman was following his ascent. He continued going, reaching the top after several seconds. It wouldn't be that easy, but for now, this was just a demonstration of what needed to be done to win.
Climbing onto the walkway, Slater carefully lowered himself and crossed his legs, sitting on the platform that would support the tumultuous efforts of the person that made it that far. There was only one person he had left in mind, one person that had been a thorn in his side for a long time.
"But you're not the only one ... that has squandered their chances time and time again, Valora. There is another worse than you ... and his name ... is Hunter Valentyne."
"Hunter, you've prided yourself on ... killing ... mythological statements and phrases ... things that are perceived and assumed as genuine fact. Yet there is one myth that you have not had the chance to shatter, one myth that has eluded you for three gruelling, frustrating years. It's not so much a myth, however, as it as a scripted prophecy. The more you've considered it ... the more you've beckoned for it to come true, for it to become a reality that will wholesomely establish your legacy. You want this quest for vengeance to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, Hunter, and for three long years it has eaten away at your soul, because you have so far been unable to achieve what you have always desired."
"That prophecy which you have crafted and suppressed is as simplistic as it is effective. You want to take everything away from me and leave me a decrepit, broken heap. You want to bolster your supreme ascendancy at the expense of my hideous downfall ... and that thought alone makes you smile. I know you've dreamt about it since you learned that I would be involved in the Terrordome alongside you as a participant, and at last you've been granted a golden opportunity to cut away whatever remains of my career and flush the pieces down the toilet. But your greatest regret ... is that have never been able to get the job done."
"Let's face facts, Hunter. For three years, you challenged me to fight you, to wrestle you inside the ring. I accepted your challenges, but it seemed that every time we came close ... your contract got terminated. You've constantly shot yourself in the foot, Hunter, and I'm actually surprised you made it this far without getting fired. Maybe it's finally been..."
Doing something unexpected, Slater started to punch his own head. A slight trickle of blood ran down his face from his eyebrow, a trail that Slater didn't even bother to wipe away.
"... Knocked ... into your brain ... that you need to stay employed in order to do what you've always said you would do. But if you think you'll destroy me ... you're wrong. Finally, after all this time, it will be me that will destroy you. You might make excuses that your defeat won't mean anything, but you know better. We'll all see through your bullshit. You'll try and successfully finalize the retribution you've waited so long to attain ... but all of that waiting will amount to nothing. I can promise you that."
Exhaling with infuriation, Slater went silent for a while.
"Everyone's regrets are being accounted for in this match ... but I can't end this entire spectacle ... until I reveal mine."
Glancing at the Kamikaze banner hanging from the roof, Slater sombrely focused on the camera in the distance.
"Kamikaze ... was my first ever NEW PPV. I defeated Adrien Specter in my debut on Ignite the week prior, but this event was where I made an even bigger impact. I defeated Inkt in a Porno Death Match, and you can laugh all you want ... you can chuckle and giggle at the comical stipulation, but the fact remains the same. I defeated ... the man of war ... in my first ever PPV ... in this very building."
"Back then ... I had a controlled set of values. But due to my clinical depression ... and due to the manipulative games that were being played against me by the people that couldn't stand my threatening talent..."
Beginning to lose control, Slater wiped his face with his hands, trying to maintain his composure.
"... I lost everything. I lost respect ... I lost the support from the fans ... and I lost the essential qualities that made me who I am. But I had one chance to rectify my losses. I had one chance ... to right the wrongs. And it was at Justice 3 ... where I entered ... this."
Slater spread his arms, notifying the world that he was referring to the infamous Terrordome.
"This ... was where I fought to become the NEW Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion. I had been in ferocious matches before ... but there was nothing ... nothing ... that compared to the extreme magnitude of this chamber. Eight people ... including myself ... put their bodies on the line for the richest prize in this organization. I came close to etching my name into the history books. I came close to being the champion. I came close to earning my respect back ... but there was one decision that changed everything."
Slater looked down at where the ladder was currently positioned, remembering the moment that defined the end of Justice 3; an end that Slater would never be able to forget.
"You see ... there will always be that infamous annotation ... that single footnote which will remain embedded upon the records of Justice 3, reminding me of my sacrificial choice. Matt Slater ... incapacitates Johnny Stylez with the Shockwave off a ladder before he can get electrocuted with a tazer ... and bam!"
Slater slaps his hands together strongly, registering a sound which echoed throughout the building.
"Triple X takes advantage ... and becomes the NEW Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion."
Rubbing his palms together, it was clear that Slater looked disconcerted, struggling to cope with his passionate emotions.
"Maybe you're thinking ... that I could have levelled them both with a shovel. Maybe you're thinking I could have prevented Triple X from reaching the walkway sooner by taking him out on my own. It wouldn't have been a treacherous act of betrayal. It would have been an opportunistic blessing. Triple X understood how much I wanted to be the champion. He would have contained some internal conflict, feigning a congratulatory speech about how I surpassed him and earned my place on the top of the mountain ... but he would have understood. But if I had the indisputable foresight to realize what he would do ... if I had the ability to see into the future and witness the cataclysmic tremors of the cRu, a faction united by greed and the insatiable lust for power ... I would have acted in a different way."
"Unfortunately ... no matter how many other options I could have had, no matter how many decisions you've already formulated, whichever way you look at it ... I was already a beaten man. The only thing I had left ... the only thing I could comprehend at the time, based on my twisted philosophies and allegiances ... was to ensure that the belt ended up in the right hands."
Slater wearily chuckled, knowing that he had made the wrong decision.
"Triple X can discredit my fortunate aid until his dying day, and he has the right to do just that, but the fact of the matter is this. He took advantage of a defeated man ... and he walked away the champion."
Glancing down at the canvas, Slater became entranced by his thoughts. Eventually, he spoke with a calm yet troubling tone.
"Do I regret it?"
Slater audibly cleared his throat, making sure that his words would be clearly heard.
"Those who have followed my career from its inception know I'm an honest man, and saying that I've never had any regrets in my life ... would be a blatant lie. I've lived with the regret of not being able to save my family when they needed me most. I've lived with the regret of divorcing my wife over a foolish innocent ... knowing I will never be loved by her or my son the same way again. I've lived with the regret of abandoning someone who cared about me just as much as I cared about her ... and now I have to absorb the personal hatred she exudes, just because I never kept in contact. I've betrayed and victimized people. I've tarnished my own moral values for the sake of personal supremacy ... and because of all those mistakes combined ... I lost the very qualities that made me ... who I am today."
"But unlike some people who just sit back and make excuses, I accepted my faults ... and for over a year, I have battled against my depression. I have battled through trials and tribulations to become the man I used to be, and I've finally accomplished that gratifying ambition. I earned my way into this structure through sheer desire and endurance, and a lot of people know ... that I deserve to be here."
"That isn't for me to judge ... that's for me to prove ... and on Sunday ... I will not regret proving my worth. Until my last drop of blood, until the final beat of my heart, until the end of my existence with my dying breath ... I will not quit. I will not surrender unto defeat. And if any of you want to win this match ... Scarlet and Omega included ... you'll have to climb over my decomposing corpse to get the job done. This match is far too important for me to lose. I've worked too long and hard to see my effort come crashing down, leaving irreparable debris as the saddening aftermath of my demise."
"This will be my climb to redemption, and just like you of all ... I will give you my absolute best in order to achieve ... justice."
Not wanting to move from his position, Slater looked up at the vacant hook that used to hold the NEW World Heavyweight Championship. Now, it would hold a plain briefcase, containing the documents that would sanction the Main Event at Justice 5.
It was Slater's time to fully repair the past. It was his time to fulfil his redemption.
With heart and determination, Slater would positively alter the future of New Edge Wrestling, and even if he would suffer the consequences for his actions, his sacrifice for the sake of a brighter tomorrow would be something he would never regret.