Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2013 18:20:18 GMT -6
Kamikaze. Terror Dome. Those two words have resounding and intertwining implications.
A kamikaze is a suicide attack, typically with an aircraft caring a special explosives payload, which originated during World War II. The Japanese originated the maneuver during World War II due to deeply rooted cultural and religious views on surrendering or being captured. Capture or defeat were absolutely unacceptable and were to be avoided at all cost. From these beliefs, a concept arose of doing maximum damage with each assault at the cost of a fighter plane and a pilot. Many pilots saw selection for these missions as the highest honor. They viewed it as a religious experience. The word kamikaze even translates as “God wind” or “divine wind”.
On the other hand, Terror Dome is a structure where men and women enter with the knowledge that they will likely not exit under their own power. Some would say that anyone who enters the disturbing structure faces a close encounter with death. The intriguing part is that everyone who enters the match has fought his or her hardest to gain entrance into it. The right to subject your body to pain and possible destruction on a scale few can comprehend, even those who observe the match. In its own way, the experience borderlines on religious. Those who survive seem to have a sickening addiction to regaining entrance. Whether they claim retribution as the cause or not, the pull of Terror Dome is obviously affecting them.
The way these two words correspond exposes some eerie semblances. Both leave the participant in a destroyed state of being. Granted, a kamikaze attack ended in literal and final cessation of life, but Terror Dome does bring about its own version of an end. The encounters also contain varying amounts of spirituality. The majority of kamikaze pilots felt they were committing the most holy of acts in service of the Empire while Terror Dome entrants find out more about themselves in that single match than many people do in their entire life.
These parallels create an interesting relationship. Kamikaze is the stage for Terror Dome. Normally, the match takes place at Justice, but for reasons unknown, fate, or possibly divine intervention, the structure appears at Kamikaze. Interestingly enough, a third party in this bond exists. Kamikaze is set in the country from which the attacks originated 69 years ago. Now, a group of 4 Americans, a Brit, and an Aztec come to Japan in order to wage their own nearly suicidal war inside one of the most gruesome matches ever devised in wrestling.
Before then though, and crucial to walking into Terror Dome in the best shape possible, a man needs to eat. Between the 15 hour long airplane ride and trying to sleep in a way that would counter the jet lag, my stomach is way too empty. The lack of food has encouraged me to go out for lunch. Thankfully, Tokyo is typically very accommodating of those who are visiting without an understanding of the Japanese language, so here I go, out to find somewhere to eat.
As I move through the moderately crowded lobby of the hotel, I faintly hear, “Yes, Patrick Jones.” The oddly familiar female voice saying my name causes me to snap my head in the direction from which the sound came. The number of people in the area makes finding the source a little difficult, but when the voice, sounding a bit annoyed at having to repeat herself, reiterates, “Patrick. Jones,” I pick her out. As soon as I see the face, the reason that I know the voice clicks.
The woman is an old…friend would be the best description, Jenny Pezzini. There had been some flirting, but nothing ever came of it. The two of us had not talked in over two years though. Once her cousin, Dave McDave, and I had gone our separate ways post-TEW, the connection had slowly fizzled out until we stopped talking. But why is she here asking the hotel receptionist about me?
Stepping through the people between her and me, I tap her shoulder. She turns around, originally looking annoyed, but her expression changes quickly to one of surprised happiness. Jenny exclaims, “Patrick! I was looking for you!” Her original reaction of joy at finding me almost immediately turns to one of confusion. She is looking at my chest. Without even looking, I know she is perplexed by the t-shirt which is one of the ones delivered to my house Wednesday. I had decided that if NEW is going to sell them then I might as well promote them. Besides, the “Get Zoned Out” was in a pretty awesome font.
Laughing, I inform her, “It’s some stupid merch that NEW designed for me.” With her questioned answered, she laughs. However, the laughter soon fades, and her face falls. Clearly something is bothering her. My fears instantly turn to the only mutual person in our lives.
Suddenly concerned, I blurt out, “Is Dave ok? What happened?” A weak shake of the head is my answer. If she had come looking for me, there must be very pressing circumstances. An e-mail or phone call would have been sufficient for almost anything else. Anxiously, I continue, “Jen, where do I need to go?” This question causes her to respond the same as the first, if not with even more of a dismal look and defeated posture.
Weakly, she whispers, “Let’s go sit down somewhere. We need to talk.” The gravity of the situation seems to be dragging her down. However, the somberness of the situation is interrupted by a low grumble from my empty stomach. A weak smile passes over her lips as she sympathizes, “A restaurant will be fine.”
Wanting to find out what is wrong, I turn and maneuver to the front door of the hotel. Luckily, a nice looking restaurant is just next door to the hotel, and we walk the few steps to the door and enter. A smiling Japanese woman greets us, “Irasshaimase. Just the two of you?” When both Jenny and I nod, she smiles and motions us to follow us.
Surprisingly, she leads us to a booth-style table exactly like American restaurants have. Looking about, I notice that there is a section of the restaurant with the low tables which would involve sitting on pillows. The hostess must have assumed that we would be more comfortable at the booth. Either way, Jenny and I are handed our thankfully illustrated menus before stepping away. Nervously, I break the silence.
“Jen, what do we need to talk about?”
“D…Dave is missing. His passport was found in Missouri about a year and a half ago. Ever since then, I’ve been searching for him. After not finding anything in Missouri, I’ve been to Los Angeles because I know TEW had their headquarters there and Toronto because he always wanted to retire there. Now…now, I don’t know where to turn.”
After unloading all of this heart-wrenching information, she chokes up. A few tears run down her face. This burden has clearly been weighing on her. I cannot blame her either. Personally, the fears begin crashing over me. Helplessness grips me. Dave is out there somewhere, and he is probably in trouble. Before I can think enough to speak, Jenny goes on with her explanation, having recomposed herself a bit.
“You were Dave’s closest friend in wrestling. He always talked so highly of you. He trusted you with his life. He…he always called you ‘Patch’ too. We, Claire and I, always thought that was just short for Patrick, but he said it was more than that. Dave always said you were the one to fix things. You were the ‘Patch’ that kept things from falling apart when even he got overwhelmed.”
Her words hit straight into my heart. The reality is still sinking in and weighing down on me when a new, equally happy, Japanese woman brings us our glasses of water. She asks if we have decided what we want to eat, her smile disappearing when she notices Jenny’s tears and my expression, which I imagine must look like a man broken with fear and grief. With equally unenthused motions, Jenny and I take just long enough to glance for the most appetizing thing on the colorful menus before tapping it. The waitress nods her head, scribbles a note, and walks away.
“Jen, I…I haven’t heard from him at all. I’m sorry, but I don’t have a single clue.”
The words ring hollow and useless, even to my ears. They are the truth, but the truth is doing nothing to help the situation. It is doing nothing to help Dave.
“I didn’t expect you to Patrick. I…I guess I was just hoping. I miss him.”
She looks up at me with the most desperately pained expression that I have ever seen. The look begs for me to give her an answer. Jenny is searching for some string of hope to cling to in her struggle to find her cousin and my friend.
“He…he has taken off before. How many times did he just disappear for months at a time then burst back onto the scene?”
I really do not even trust my own words, but her anguish is looking for anything to soothe it. She begins to think about it, her face showing the range of emotions raging as her mind and heart battle over how to deal with my attempt to calm her.
“It has never been for so long though. Two years? No word to anyone?”
Her disbelief is winning out. The questions are more than valid. Honestly, my attempt felt weak even to me, but I have to do something. She needs to be comforted.
“Jen, he’ll turn up. Or yo…we’ll find him. One thing I know about Dave is that nothing can stop him when he is determined to do something. He’s ok. Just a matter of time.”
My second effort has a more profound effect. Jenny’s pain starts to harden into grim determination. She is buying into my belief in Dave’s ability to survive and handle himself. I just hope it that it is not unfounded. Nodding, she gives me a clearly forced, but not completely faked, smile.
“I knew coming to you was a good idea. Dave w...is right about you. Thanks Patrick.”
Before I can tell her that there is no needing for thanking me, the food arrives. My appetite had been forgotten momentarily, but the smell causes it to return. Then it strikes me. I have to use chopsticks. The damned things had always confounded me, but I was not going to look like a completely useless American today.
Jenny, on the other hand, clearly has mastered the skill of eating with chopsticks and is digging in hungrily. Her worries must have kept her from eating, and with them slightly eased, she was going to enjoy this meal. Realizing that I am going to make myself look like a complete idiot, I clumsily pick up the chopsticks and work to control them correctly. My weak attempts catch Jenny’s eye over her food.
Smiling, this time with actual amusement, she slowly exhibits how to use the utensils in tandem. I carefully replicate her movements with limited, but increasing, success. After a few tries, I can at least adequately command the twin pieces of wood to move in a way which allows me to get food from bowl to mouth. Giving a nod of silent thanks, I continue consuming the delicious meal. Jenny then moves the conversation in a completely new direction.
“So…Terror Dome? Ready?”
Her question catches me by surprise. All thoughts of the match tomorrow night had gone away with her mention of Dave’s possible plight. I take a moment to chew and think before answering.
“I guess so. I’ve done crazy stuff before, but this is really my first time in anything like this by myself. Usually, I have someone that I trust in there with me, even if we’re not a team. Not this time.”
“Yeah, I know. I kept my eye on NEW in case Dave showed back up there. Then you showed up, and I was almost sure he would be close behind.”
I had hoped so, even trying to get in contact with my bearded buddy. Apparently, I was not the only one he was not responding too. That assurance that Dave was not angry with me or something helped a little. However, now that my mind was on Terror Dome, not much really felt safe and assured.
“I’m sure you’re going to do great. Tough competition though. Especially that Hunter Valentyne. He and Dave had their wars. I thought he died that one time too.”
Her mention of one of the most disturbing things that I ever witnessed in TEW, which is saying something, makes me shake my head.
“Nope. He hired a stunt double to fight Dave since he was supposedly sure that Dave would try to kill him or something. Personally, I think he was just scared. I wonder if going into Terror Dome with Slater around makes him nervous.”
“Yeah, he’s the one that showed up in Dave and Hunter’s match, isn’t he? He came out in the all white?”
“Yeah, he’s gone from white to silver now though. He has earned the moniker “Silver Knight” due to the noble way he acts and his affiliation with a stable called the Court. Now, he’s become the moral compass of United, which has Ryan Omega and Scarlet Styles in Terror Dome too.”
She nods, clearly already knowing this information. Jenny must have really paying attention to me, or at least NEW. Then she asks the question that I think everyone wants to ask or is asking.
“Do you think they’ll stick together?”
That question is one that I have spent quite a bit of time pondering, and I was fairly confident in how they would act.
“Yes…and no. My best guess is that early on they will help out. If the three of them work together, they can do a lot of damage early to try and weaken others for later. Obviously, once it comes down to who gets to main event Justice to face the NEW world heavyweight champion, don’t expect any team orders. With that said, neither of them is incapable of winning without some sort of United strategy. Scarlet has already knocked me out. Omega has been in Terror Dome before and nearly won.”
The answer seems to satisfy her as she goes back to eating. The fact that another person has gone unmentioned does not seem to faze her any. A bit confused as to why she left out Valora, I finish up my meal. After emptying all of the food from my bowl, I lean back a bit, relaxing. Jenny eats the last of her food then looks up at me. Finally, I have to ask about her omission.
“Jen, I’m sure you know there is a sixth person in the match.”
She just nods, actually grinning.
“Uh…then why didn’t you ask about her?”
The inquiry actually makes her laugh a little. She has the most amused face, as if the matter is completely ridiculous. Jen then shocks me with the bluntness of her answer.
“Valora is about as crazy as anyone I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot watching Dave wrestle. I didn’t figure you had any brilliant insight into her mind. Just try to avoid getting killed, Patrick.”
The advice at the end is said mockingly and with a smile, but it is still good advice. With the Aztec warrior known as Valora in the Terror Dome, no one is really safe or ensured tomorrow. She could easily kill any of the rest of us.
The waitress then brought the bill to the table, and I picked it up, heading to the door to pay. Jenny kept trying to glance over my shoulder, but I hid the total from her. At the front of the restaurant, I handed the hostess the check, and my credit card. I accept the card back and walk out of the door, Jenny in tow.
“You didn’t have to pay for me.”
“Yeah, but it’s the nice thing to do, and I’m not going to be nice tomorrow night. Consider it my way of making up for tomorrow today.”
She nods, accepting my explanation. I wonder if the idea of seeing me going through Terror Dome bothers her. If so, she has hidden it well. Either way, the two of us head back to the hotel. At the entrance, she turns to enter but stops when I walk past.
“Patrick, what are you doing?”
I stop and turn around, smiling.
“I need to go see exactly what I’m getting into for tomorrow. Ya know, go get acquainted with the beast that I’m about to enter. I’ll catch up with ya tomorrow before the show. You have a ticket, right?”
“You’re crazy, but ok. Thanks for helping me, ‘Patch.’ Goodnight.”
“Goodnight Jen.”
The nickname that only one person before had ever used makes me smile. On the short walk to the Tokyo Dome, I cannot help but think of how perfect this match is for Dave. Sure, he may not like idea of climbing two ladders, but the man would have been a perfect fit. His ridiculous pain tolerance, well surpassing my own, and way of always finding a way to hurt the other person as much or more than they hurt him was amazing to watch. Even more awesome was watching how that fighting machine turned into one of the best men I had ever met. This one is definitely for the Dangerous One.
But for me, it is time to lay my eyes on the Terror Dome for the first time in person. The videos of past matches had been vicious, but I doubt they did the structure itself justice. Indeed, as I turned the corner at the entranceway, opened the curtain, and stepped onto the stage, my breath felt like it was sucked from my chest.
The sheer size of the Terror Dome was enough to intimidate. The weapons affixed to the walls made it even worse. Icing this cake of threat, 5 of the best wrestlers and fighters in the world would be in there with me. I was definitely not a favorite, maybe the biggest underdog. Odds set by Vegas or past matches really would not matter though when the door was shut and the bell sounds. Inside, it would be about who could find the will, way, and luck to win.
However, maybe it would be a good idea to help myself a little. Glancing about, I notice a trash can filled with weapons. They were probably for the Ultimate XCore match, but I think one missing will be ok. Looking inside, a simple wooden baseball bat catches my eye. The Louisville Slugger brand on the barrel makes me smile. Maybe this bit of home could be my lucky charm.
I call one of the ring crew over and tell him where I want him to attach the bat on the second tier for me. He nods and quickly writes a note to himself on a clipboard before scurrying off to whatever other duties that he has to do. With a glance down at the ridiculous sandwich on my chest, I laugh at how goofy I must look wearing it before muttering, “I guess it’s peanut butter jelly time with a baseball bat.”