Post by Zane on Mar 23, 2024 20:39:41 GMT -5
Tuesday
“Are you sure that you’re ok?”
Emily Scott looks across the diner booth table at her son, who’s picking slowly at his “Lumberjack” breakfast plate of two scrambled eggs, a stack of wheat toast, a pile of bacon, home fries, and best of all, a hamburger, medium well. Although he looks more or less normal, there does seem to be something slightly off about him, as his pallor is slightly... whiter than usual.
He looks back at his mother and nods. “I’m fine, mom.”
“You don’t look fine,” she replies, placing her fork down. “You can’t fool me. I’ll know if you’re not. We mothers know our babies.”
Zane chuckles and places a reassuring hand on his mother’s.
“I’m fine, still feeling some occasional disorientation from the appearance of that damned bear.”
“You mean the Err Bear?”
Zane’s eyes widen at the mention of its name. “Don’t say her name!”
She’s taken aback by his vehemence.
“Why not?”
“Have you ever seen ‘Beetlejuice’ or ‘Candyman?’”
She stares at him blankly. “No?”
“You don’t sound sure,” he chuckles.
“That doesn’t explain the whole thing with the bear.”
Zane noticeably exhales when she doesn’t say the name of UGWC’s large blue purveyor of chaos.
“Basically, much like the movies I mentioned, if you say her name multiple times and all hell breaks loose until she leaves. She appeared during the show last night and we leaped back to and through a bunch of former years in UGWC in seconds. It was jarring, and I’m still feeling a little temporal whiplash.”
“Temporal whiplash,” she scoffs. “That’s absurd. Time travel isn’t real.”
“Not in the ‘H.G. Wells Time Machine’ sense,” he explains. “But she’s different. It’s impossible to really explain it to someone who’s never experienced it.”
“So if I say ‘Err Bear’ two more times…”
“It’d technically be one now, but please don’t.”
Emily smiles devilishly. “Err Bear.”
A sudden loud roar, followed by a cacophony of screaming bursts from the kitchen.
“Shit.”
“Zane! Language!”
The view goes all wonky, and then staticy, before going black.
Kalispell, MT
Zane stands in the back of a busy room. So busy, in fact, that its two levels appear to be stuffed to capacity. It’s Montana, so the room’s occupancy is largely monochromatic, and there are a lot of really, really, absurdly big hats. Black hats, brown hats, tan hats, gray hats, white hats. Christ, there are a lot of big hats. The rolling conversations create a low hum in the room. There’s an enormous banner hanging down across the top of the stage
TOWN MEETING
8:00 PM
Zane gestures indifferently toward the sign.
“I wasn’t originally going to come to this. I’m not generally interested in local politics even though I live here. I travel so much that most of it doesn’t really affect me.”
He smirks.
“That and I’m wealthy. Money really talks in this state.”
He stands and watches as the alpha hat emerges at the back of the room and begins to bob forward through the hat herd, toward the stage. It’s a comically large white hat.
“It occurred to me, though, that coming to this local town meeting might give me some insight into your mind. I don’t know that that’s actually true, they’re not generally as violent and well…bitchy as you, but tempers tend to flare during these, so who knows?”
Big Hat makes it about halfway when he stops to pause and talk to someone. Their faces can’t be seen or their voices heard because of the distance and the cluster of people around them. It gives them all sort of an indistinct and almost abstract quality.
“I’ll be honest, Trent, to be you’re trying to be big hat guy. You’re all full of bullshit and self-importance and expect everyone to fall in line with you, one way or another. The only real difference is that white hat there would do everything he can to keep his less savory qualities hidden from everyone, including the violent ones, because he knows they’re detrimental to his desires. You, on the other hand, have to be violent in order to get noticed or, in all honesty, we’d give no more of a fuck that you exist than we do the Dark Destroyer or some of the other less accomplished members of the roster.”
He pauses as a pretty young woman walks by with a tray of drinks and offers him one. It’s a local beer because, apparently they haven’t gotten the memo that there are times when booze and politics just don’t mix.
“You hate UGWC because, and I can’t help but chuckle at this…”
He pauses and laughs to himself.
“We hurt your feelings.”
He takes a drink, nearly choking as he almost laughs with a mouthful of beer.
“You’re throwing this violent tantrum because UGWC chose someone over you.”
“How can I put this without being too insulting?”
He taps his finger against his chin, then smiles widely.
“That’s absolutely adorable.:
His tone drips with sarcasm.
“They say that admitting your problem is the first step to recovery, Trent. We both know what your problem is…”
“You’re the jilted bride.”
He pulls his phone out and types something into it, smiling widely after a few seconds. He turns the phone outward and points at it.
“See,” he smirks. “Support groups. Just admit that you have a problem and you’ll be on your way to recovery.”
He watches as Big Hat finally gets to the front of the stage, pausing to gladhand a few people as politicians do.
“I bet that you two have more than a bit in common,” he explains. “For one, you think that you’re both far, far more important than you actually are.”
He puts the bottle down and watches with mild amusement as Big Hat waddles up onto the stage, pauses to catch his breath using the edge of the podium to hold himself up, and then adjusts his comically small white jacket, wipes his hand across his brow as if he’s just tilled the fields and aggressively waddled straight there to talk.
“You’re both blowhards, although you have the big “old man yells at cloud” energy that he appears to lack. You’re the “get off my lawn” glowering old white guy who’s perpetually angry because “those darned kids are too loud”. You’re acting like a cranky old man because the store is out of your favorite flavor of Metamucil. You’re Big Hat when he grabs the wrong pants and forgets his bridge cable like suspenders.”
Big Hat raises the mic, causing a loud blowback of feedback and heavy breathing that makes the entire room wince. Zane winces and opens his mouth like people sometimes do when a loud sound barges its way into one’s ears. He uses a finger to presumably relieve the momentary ringing in his ears and looks back at the stage.
“That was…unpleasant. You’d think that a politician, even a bad one, would know how to operate a mic.”
He rubs his hands over his ears again and opens his mouth, then smiles as whatever he’s hoping for happens.
“You mentioned glue sniffing in your last promo and I think that’s more than a bit ironic coming from you, because your entire shtick is the guy who’s entire identity is built around not being sent to the proverbial glue factory.”
Big Hat starts talking. His tone is calm and conversational, but there’s something…off.
“I know you claim this is some kind of “chess match” and that being a violent loudmouth is your distractionary strategy against us. All I can say to that is..”
He lifts and drops his hand a few times in a multi-directional jumping motion.
“Maybe you ought to stick to checkers.”
He looks up curiously as Big Hat’s voice gets a little louder and his body language grows a little more assertive.
“You sneer and snarl about turning UGWC, MY company into an “ashtray.”
Zane leans back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. His questioning stare remains fixed on the stage while he talks.
“Again, you think you’re being clever, or at least “big spooky.” You think that you’re the main character of the horror movie, and we’re the stupid teens who shop at Hot Topic because we want to look as scary to others as you think you look to us. I’m not saying that you’re not a legitimately dangerous guy, because you are. But who are you trying to convince of this by trying so goddamned hard?
Us?
Or yourself?
His eyes narrow with suspicion as the speaker lifts his hat and waives it overhead as he continues his speech. It should be comical, almost cartoonish. Somehow it manages to be a bit unnerving.
“You remind me of myself during my glowering, angry, borderline emo, face paint stage. While I did that facepaint as an homage to one of my trainers because he’s an “scary as the Tijuana Trots when there’s no bathroom around” badass with or without it…”
“I was really cringe.”
“That’s you right now.”
He leans forward without realizing it.
“I think you used the “ashtray” comparison because deep down in the back of your mind, it represents where you don’t want to end up for the second time in your career.”
“The dustbin of history.”
He shakes his head and glowers toward the stage as a loud cheer, and its accompanying count in big hats reverberates through the room.
“Speaking of ‘history,’ I made history with the only guy here you claim you respect.”
“JC.”
He subconsciously rubs the back of his neck as he says “JC” but his eyes remain fixed on the front of the room. The look in them has grown noticeably darker.
“I took the Cross-Hemisphere Championship that I currently hold off of him, ending his one hundred and ten day run as champion. Now, I’ll be blunt, the length of that reign wasn’t historic. What was historic about it was the prestige he brought to one of, if not the most valuable championship in our industry. What was historic was the reverence that he showed for it. Despite his reign not being anywhere near one of the longest in the history of the championship, in fact two of my three reigns, including my current reign more than double his longest tenure as Cross-Hemisphere Champion...”
He respected and revered this championship with a passion that few who held it ever did. THAT is what made his run worthy of the history books, and what made him worthy of respect as Cross-Hemisphere, and what makes him worthy of that same respect after he lost it.
He takes a step forward and folds his arms back across his chest, leaning a bit further. His jaw noticeably clenches.
“I’m not saying that Joe and I are friends, because that ain’t the truth by a longshot. But I respect him as a competitor, AND as a former Cross-Hemisphere Champion.”
His jaw relaxes but he still looks very irritated.
“To put this in easy-to-digest phrasing for you...”
He speaks slowly and deliberately, it falls somewhere between patient explanation and intentionally patronizing.
“If you disrespect me you disrespect the Cross-Hemisphere Championship.”
“If you disrespect the Cross-Hemisphere Championship”
You disrespect Joe.
He lets Joe’s name sit in the air for a few seconds, then leans back against the wall, smiling.
“I’ve held this championship for over two hundred and fifty days. I’m roughly seventy days short of equalling Moss Edward’s incredible achievement of holding it for a year. You might scoff at that, but I bet you couldn’t equal it.”
“Speaking of “disrespect,” I’m not going to shit on you for hating Matt Knox. Weirdly, I think we agree about him, although given how you communicate through corny threats and cheesy analogies, I expect you’ll bluster and spit at me about how I’m shit because I lost to him a few weeks ago. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called “shit,” and it won’t be the last. The funny thing about that is this...”
He smiles, albeit briefly.
“You’re right.”
“I’m a shit person.”
He walks over to what appears to be a bar or refreshment stand and pulls out his phone to pay for a drink. The attendant doesn’t even notice, he’s to enraptured by what’s going on up front. Zane turns and leans against it, looking up at the front of the room again.
“I know that you don’t care because that flies in the face of the image you’re trying to project. After all, I’m just the “Old Rock Band” who plays his “greatest hits.” The funny thing about that is that when that’s true, those hits still draw. Your “insult,” if one can call it that, is just another recitation of the most ironic accusation that’s levied against me, and those who the “popular” kids don’t like…”
“You’re boring.”
He winks as if he’s sending a not-at-all-subtle jab at someone.
“I might be boring to some, but that attempt at an insult is so boring that it should put you in a coma for even uttering it.”
He looks at the attendant hoping that he’s perhaps rejoined the real world. He hasn’t. Zane sighs loudly and snaps his fingers in front of the guy’s face. He gets no response. Zane rolls his eyes with an irritated sigh and looks back at Big Hat up front.
“I’m not going to prostrate myself at your self-important altar because you think that my career has been a gigantic waste of time. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. Especially what I’ve accomplished with the championship that I currently hold. My next challenger for it is one of the most accomplished and dangerous men in the history of this, or any company, and if I beat Donovan Hastings to retain my championship, I’ll consider that it huge shine on my reign.”
“But I digress.”
He leans forward and takes a drink from the cooler, then opens it and slaps a five down on the counter. Again, the attendant fails to notice as he is far too caught up in Big Hat’s speech, which has grown even more belligerent over the past few minutes.
“I can’t help but chuckle, because the one aspect of your so-called “Political Action Committee” that’s dripping with irony, is that there was a time not long ago when I was you. I was the guy who wanted to burn UGWC to the ground. I was the guy who wanted to lay this place low because it didn’t meet with my expectations.”
“I wanted to burn it down because, after years of loyal service to this company, it callously tossed me aside just because someone scared them a bit. After sacrificing my ACL and MCL for it. After multiple concussions, a shoulder injury, and multiple scars that will never completely heal, when this company was sent a video that accused me of doing something disrespectful to the country at the home of its most prestigious military university, what did the company do?
They did what a company that’s run and owned by cowards does...”
“They protected their asses and suspended me for two years without pay.”
He watches as Big Hat points at the door and a group of four rather riled-up-looking country “Hoss” types go storming by. “Big Hat” keeps on ranting and waiving a fist over his head...
“If anything, instead of probably doing what you’ve done to everyone else and run them down, you’d be trying to turn me into an ally by playing on whatever might be left of those negative feelings. If there are any. I leave it up to you to ascertain the possibility of that.”
He grins mischivously.
“The simple fact of all of this is that you want to do this because you arrogantly think that you and only you know “the way.” Just like that man up there, you think that the only way is your way, and if that means ending the careers of people who’ve never done anything to you, then so be it. This man might destroy this town before he’s through, or at least some of the lives in it. You’re going to destroy lives in a different way because your feelings are hurt.”
An expression of deep concern forms on Zane’s face as he watches some in the meeting breaking into tears and proclaiming something toward the heavens.
“You’re letting anger and whatever else you’re experiencing in there destroy you. Even if you don’t realize it. Or realize it and don’t care. It’s that inability to care that makes you dangerous to everyone, especially yourself. Trust me, I know all about self-destructive behavior. I might be the UGWC poster boy for it.”
An old man in the crowd faints. The person behind him just lets him hit the floor because he’s so caught up in the speech. Zane watches for a few seconds and when the man doesn’t stir. The people around him keep bouncing from one foot to the other with their arms raised to the ceiling like some sort of eighteenth-century revival tent. Zane growls irritably and steps outside, pulling his phone out.
“Truth be told, Trent, I couldn’t give less of a shit what your motivations and grievances are against my company. That’s your business. What you are to me is one of the two dangerous and challenging as hell sons of bitches who I’m going to be getting my ass kicked by on Monday. I admit that I don’t know you very well, but from what I’ve seen, you’re legitimately dangerous, even if your act is a bit cliche. If I can say one thing about you, you barf out a turgid rant like few others here do. Some will defend that and say that it’s your opinion and it’s valid just because of that.”
“I’m not one of those people.”
He hits the autodial and waits as it rings.
“What you are is filled from plantar fascia to scalp crown with bullshit. You’re not a visionary or a savior.”
“You’re a mendacious loudmouth. The vexatious litigant of professional wrestlers.”
“Do both Alan and I favor on Monday, Trent.”
A deep scowl forms on his face as the phone rings and rings.
“Shut the fuck up and wrestle.”
He watches as the four hosses walk back toward the meeting, their feet crunching on the crushed stone parking area.
“If you don’t, you’re going to get your kicked in by the man who may be the greatest talent in the history of this company, Alan Wallace. If you don’t believe me, just ask him.”
He smiles briefly.
Of you’ll get it kicked in by me, a man you think you have no reason to respect. I’ll tell you this. This “Old Rock Band” may not be entertaining to you…
He listens with growing disquiet as the doors slam behind the hosses and the meeting keeps growing louder through the closed doors.
“But he can still go platinum at your expense.”
His eyebrows shoot up as someone finally answers.
“Hello, we need paramedics down at the meeting hall. An elderly person fell and smacked his head off of the floor.”
He pauses as the dispatcher answers him.
“Ten minutes,” he replies. “Get here faster if you can. Thanks.”
He disconnects the call and sighs loudly as the angry reverie inside the building continues to increase in intensity.
Yonkers, NY
Later in the Week
“What happened to the senior?”
Colin Zale poses the question with his normal unaffected politeness. Zane looks at him and shakes his head frustratedly.
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything else.”
Colin shakes his head and a long, slow exhale of understanding comes out. The two continue walking through the streets of Yonkers. It’s a brisk March day with a snow threatening sky. Both men have sweatshirts on because a little cold never scared a New Yorker.
“Can you let me know once you find out?”
“Sure. I’m sure someone from town will call me eventually.”
Colin nods but doesn’t otherwise reply. They walk in silence for a couple of more minutes and wait for the train to leave the Yonkers MTA station before resuming their conversation.
“Congratulations on your Cross-Hemisphere Championship reign,” Colin says with a sideways grin. “I see that Alan congratulated you as only Alan would.”
“Naturally,” Zane answers, chuckling. “He has a reputation to live up to, after all.”
“Some things never change.”
“Alan is one of them.”
“Is it true that he’s going to be a father,” Colin asks with a look of mild amusement. “Big Daddy V,’ as it were.”
They both pause as strange looks come over their faces; as if that name should have an alternate meaning that they just can’t place. They both shrug it off after a minute.
“I see that you get to face him this week,” Colin continues. “Cross-Hemisphere Champion, versus World Champion, versus some angry guy who likes fire.”
He pauses. “Sounds like the old days…the fire part, at least.”
Zane smiles. “I’m happy to let Trent keep kicking Knox around. If he wins this week, he wins this week. Losses suck, but I have bigger fish to fry at ‘Alchemy.”
“Donovan,” Colin says with a shake of his head.
“Donovan...” Zane says, letting that loaded name trail off into silence.
“Cross that bridge when you get to it, Zane.”
He gives Zane a “dad joke” smile. Zane rolls his eyes in reply.
“Good God, Colin,” he laughs. “You had serious ‘dad joke’ energy that I didn’t know you were capable of.”
“I’m still full of surprises,” Zane’s mentor replies, grinning. “I didn’t teach you everything.”
The two stop at the corner and wait for the crosswalk light to change. They continue once it changes.
“How do you feel about facing Alan?”
“The same way I always feel when I face Alan,” Zane replies.”That I’d rather be standing in his corner than against him, but excited for the challenge that he always represents.”
“And just think if you pin him.”
Zane turns and looks at him with a bit of a tickled smile. “I don’t think he’d ever forgive me.”
The men share a laugh.
“The thing is, there’s a chance that no one will pin anyone.”
“Why’s that,” Colin asks.
“Matt Knox.”
“Ah yes, we’re back to him.”
“We’re back to him,” Zane replies. “He wants to kill Steel for trying to marshmallow his face. He’s the number one contender to Alan’s World Championship,”
“And he doesn’t like you.”
“I don’t like him either,” the Cross-Hemisphere Champion returns with a smile. “At least in that respect we understand each other.”
“And you understand Alan, so there’s an advantage.”
“I’m not sure that Celeste completely understands Alan,” Zane quips. “There are times I’m not sure that Alan really understands Alan.”
“Sure he does,” Colin answers. “He’s the center of the universe. The end.”
Zane laughs. “There’s more going on than that. Alan makes himself look foolish in the same way that Donovan does, as a means of disarming his opponents before they even face each other. Is Alan genuinely vain? Yes. Is it ‘Kurt Brady’ emptyheaded vanity? No. Never underestimate Alan Wallace, or you’re playing right into his hands.”
“The world works in mysterious ways, my friend.”
“That it does,” Zane nods. “Speaking of ‘mysterious,’ where’s Spyder.”
“Hi.”
“GAH,” Zane yells, nearly jumping into traffic before Colin’s arm blocks his path.
He turns on the silent giant known as James Spyder. For a man who stood at nearly seven feet and weighed almost three hundred pounds, he moved like someone combined a stereotypical ninja with a predatory cat. For their part, Colin’s smiling ear to ear while Spyder has his usual nonplussed expression. If the jump scare he induced entertained him, it was impossible to tell by looking at him.
“Don’t DO that,” he retorts, stressing 'do'. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“As well as a bumper treatment,” the giant deadpans.
“Ha ha,” Zane replies a bit irritably. “Funny.”
“I thought so,” Colin chimes in. “And by the way, Jim is right here.”
Only Colin could or would ever call Spyder “Jim.” Whether that was because of some immutable law of the universe that people just knew and adhered to, or because they didn’t want to take the risk of pissing off a guy who could fell a tree by glaring at it, no one could say. Much like the sunrise, it just is.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Zane replies sarcastically.
“You asked.”
“You know, Colin, sometimes I really hate you.”
“And it makes you hate me even more because that feeling goes away,” Colin chuckles. “I get that a lot.”
“I bet.”
“Pay up,” Spyder rumbles.
Colin pulls out his wallet and hands a bill to Spyder, who quickly envelopes it in his polar bear paw sized hand. Zane watches this with a loud lack of amusement written on his face.
“Ha ha,” he replies somewhat trenchantly. “Very funny. You know that thing I said about that feeling going away?”
“Yup,” Colin replies with a grin.
“I take it back.”
Spyder’s monstrous hand appears between them. “Pay up.”
“Damn it,” Colin sighs, peeling off another bill. “Could you be wrong once in a while?”
“I could,” Spyder answers aridly. “But what fun would that be?”
“As much fun as me winning this week,” Zane interjects.
“Well that’s easy,” Colin replies.
“Don’t...” Zane warns, not that he expects it to deter them.
“That’s the first word,” Spyder answers, drawing a slightly irked look from Zane.
“Second word,” Colin continues in a game show host tone, then holds up three fingers.”
“Three letters,” Spyder deadpans.
Colin holds up a single finger.
“First letter...” Spyder answers.
“Would you two get on with this already,” Zane practically yells.
“But we’re having fun,” Colin replies sweetly.
“I know…” Zane answers tersely. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“How about this, Zane,” Colin interjects. “Treat the match like a game of ‘Hangman.”
“I’m not following.”
“It’s simple,” Colin explains. “You let Alan and Trent guess the letters and wear each other out and at the end, do the one thing that’ll help you win, irrespective of who you do it to.”
“And that is,” Zane asks.
“Guess the right final letter,” Colin answers with a shrug.
Spyder concludes the thought without missing a beat.
“Watch the floor drop.”
End.
“Are you sure that you’re ok?”
Emily Scott looks across the diner booth table at her son, who’s picking slowly at his “Lumberjack” breakfast plate of two scrambled eggs, a stack of wheat toast, a pile of bacon, home fries, and best of all, a hamburger, medium well. Although he looks more or less normal, there does seem to be something slightly off about him, as his pallor is slightly... whiter than usual.
He looks back at his mother and nods. “I’m fine, mom.”
“You don’t look fine,” she replies, placing her fork down. “You can’t fool me. I’ll know if you’re not. We mothers know our babies.”
Zane chuckles and places a reassuring hand on his mother’s.
“I’m fine, still feeling some occasional disorientation from the appearance of that damned bear.”
“You mean the Err Bear?”
Zane’s eyes widen at the mention of its name. “Don’t say her name!”
She’s taken aback by his vehemence.
“Why not?”
“Have you ever seen ‘Beetlejuice’ or ‘Candyman?’”
She stares at him blankly. “No?”
“You don’t sound sure,” he chuckles.
“That doesn’t explain the whole thing with the bear.”
Zane noticeably exhales when she doesn’t say the name of UGWC’s large blue purveyor of chaos.
“Basically, much like the movies I mentioned, if you say her name multiple times and all hell breaks loose until she leaves. She appeared during the show last night and we leaped back to and through a bunch of former years in UGWC in seconds. It was jarring, and I’m still feeling a little temporal whiplash.”
“Temporal whiplash,” she scoffs. “That’s absurd. Time travel isn’t real.”
“Not in the ‘H.G. Wells Time Machine’ sense,” he explains. “But she’s different. It’s impossible to really explain it to someone who’s never experienced it.”
“So if I say ‘Err Bear’ two more times…”
“It’d technically be one now, but please don’t.”
Emily smiles devilishly. “Err Bear.”
A sudden loud roar, followed by a cacophony of screaming bursts from the kitchen.
“Shit.”
“Zane! Language!”
The view goes all wonky, and then staticy, before going black.
Kalispell, MT
Zane stands in the back of a busy room. So busy, in fact, that its two levels appear to be stuffed to capacity. It’s Montana, so the room’s occupancy is largely monochromatic, and there are a lot of really, really, absurdly big hats. Black hats, brown hats, tan hats, gray hats, white hats. Christ, there are a lot of big hats. The rolling conversations create a low hum in the room. There’s an enormous banner hanging down across the top of the stage
TOWN MEETING
8:00 PM
Zane gestures indifferently toward the sign.
“I wasn’t originally going to come to this. I’m not generally interested in local politics even though I live here. I travel so much that most of it doesn’t really affect me.”
He smirks.
“That and I’m wealthy. Money really talks in this state.”
He stands and watches as the alpha hat emerges at the back of the room and begins to bob forward through the hat herd, toward the stage. It’s a comically large white hat.
“It occurred to me, though, that coming to this local town meeting might give me some insight into your mind. I don’t know that that’s actually true, they’re not generally as violent and well…bitchy as you, but tempers tend to flare during these, so who knows?”
Big Hat makes it about halfway when he stops to pause and talk to someone. Their faces can’t be seen or their voices heard because of the distance and the cluster of people around them. It gives them all sort of an indistinct and almost abstract quality.
“I’ll be honest, Trent, to be you’re trying to be big hat guy. You’re all full of bullshit and self-importance and expect everyone to fall in line with you, one way or another. The only real difference is that white hat there would do everything he can to keep his less savory qualities hidden from everyone, including the violent ones, because he knows they’re detrimental to his desires. You, on the other hand, have to be violent in order to get noticed or, in all honesty, we’d give no more of a fuck that you exist than we do the Dark Destroyer or some of the other less accomplished members of the roster.”
He pauses as a pretty young woman walks by with a tray of drinks and offers him one. It’s a local beer because, apparently they haven’t gotten the memo that there are times when booze and politics just don’t mix.
“You hate UGWC because, and I can’t help but chuckle at this…”
He pauses and laughs to himself.
“We hurt your feelings.”
He takes a drink, nearly choking as he almost laughs with a mouthful of beer.
“You’re throwing this violent tantrum because UGWC chose someone over you.”
“How can I put this without being too insulting?”
He taps his finger against his chin, then smiles widely.
“That’s absolutely adorable.:
His tone drips with sarcasm.
“They say that admitting your problem is the first step to recovery, Trent. We both know what your problem is…”
“You’re the jilted bride.”
He pulls his phone out and types something into it, smiling widely after a few seconds. He turns the phone outward and points at it.
“See,” he smirks. “Support groups. Just admit that you have a problem and you’ll be on your way to recovery.”
He watches as Big Hat finally gets to the front of the stage, pausing to gladhand a few people as politicians do.
“I bet that you two have more than a bit in common,” he explains. “For one, you think that you’re both far, far more important than you actually are.”
He puts the bottle down and watches with mild amusement as Big Hat waddles up onto the stage, pauses to catch his breath using the edge of the podium to hold himself up, and then adjusts his comically small white jacket, wipes his hand across his brow as if he’s just tilled the fields and aggressively waddled straight there to talk.
“You’re both blowhards, although you have the big “old man yells at cloud” energy that he appears to lack. You’re the “get off my lawn” glowering old white guy who’s perpetually angry because “those darned kids are too loud”. You’re acting like a cranky old man because the store is out of your favorite flavor of Metamucil. You’re Big Hat when he grabs the wrong pants and forgets his bridge cable like suspenders.”
Big Hat raises the mic, causing a loud blowback of feedback and heavy breathing that makes the entire room wince. Zane winces and opens his mouth like people sometimes do when a loud sound barges its way into one’s ears. He uses a finger to presumably relieve the momentary ringing in his ears and looks back at the stage.
“That was…unpleasant. You’d think that a politician, even a bad one, would know how to operate a mic.”
He rubs his hands over his ears again and opens his mouth, then smiles as whatever he’s hoping for happens.
“You mentioned glue sniffing in your last promo and I think that’s more than a bit ironic coming from you, because your entire shtick is the guy who’s entire identity is built around not being sent to the proverbial glue factory.”
Big Hat starts talking. His tone is calm and conversational, but there’s something…off.
“I know you claim this is some kind of “chess match” and that being a violent loudmouth is your distractionary strategy against us. All I can say to that is..”
He lifts and drops his hand a few times in a multi-directional jumping motion.
“Maybe you ought to stick to checkers.”
He looks up curiously as Big Hat’s voice gets a little louder and his body language grows a little more assertive.
“You sneer and snarl about turning UGWC, MY company into an “ashtray.”
Zane leans back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. His questioning stare remains fixed on the stage while he talks.
“Again, you think you’re being clever, or at least “big spooky.” You think that you’re the main character of the horror movie, and we’re the stupid teens who shop at Hot Topic because we want to look as scary to others as you think you look to us. I’m not saying that you’re not a legitimately dangerous guy, because you are. But who are you trying to convince of this by trying so goddamned hard?
Us?
Or yourself?
His eyes narrow with suspicion as the speaker lifts his hat and waives it overhead as he continues his speech. It should be comical, almost cartoonish. Somehow it manages to be a bit unnerving.
“You remind me of myself during my glowering, angry, borderline emo, face paint stage. While I did that facepaint as an homage to one of my trainers because he’s an “scary as the Tijuana Trots when there’s no bathroom around” badass with or without it…”
“I was really cringe.”
“That’s you right now.”
He leans forward without realizing it.
“I think you used the “ashtray” comparison because deep down in the back of your mind, it represents where you don’t want to end up for the second time in your career.”
“The dustbin of history.”
He shakes his head and glowers toward the stage as a loud cheer, and its accompanying count in big hats reverberates through the room.
“Speaking of ‘history,’ I made history with the only guy here you claim you respect.”
“JC.”
He subconsciously rubs the back of his neck as he says “JC” but his eyes remain fixed on the front of the room. The look in them has grown noticeably darker.
“I took the Cross-Hemisphere Championship that I currently hold off of him, ending his one hundred and ten day run as champion. Now, I’ll be blunt, the length of that reign wasn’t historic. What was historic about it was the prestige he brought to one of, if not the most valuable championship in our industry. What was historic was the reverence that he showed for it. Despite his reign not being anywhere near one of the longest in the history of the championship, in fact two of my three reigns, including my current reign more than double his longest tenure as Cross-Hemisphere Champion...”
He respected and revered this championship with a passion that few who held it ever did. THAT is what made his run worthy of the history books, and what made him worthy of respect as Cross-Hemisphere, and what makes him worthy of that same respect after he lost it.
He takes a step forward and folds his arms back across his chest, leaning a bit further. His jaw noticeably clenches.
“I’m not saying that Joe and I are friends, because that ain’t the truth by a longshot. But I respect him as a competitor, AND as a former Cross-Hemisphere Champion.”
His jaw relaxes but he still looks very irritated.
“To put this in easy-to-digest phrasing for you...”
He speaks slowly and deliberately, it falls somewhere between patient explanation and intentionally patronizing.
“If you disrespect me you disrespect the Cross-Hemisphere Championship.”
“If you disrespect the Cross-Hemisphere Championship”
You disrespect Joe.
He lets Joe’s name sit in the air for a few seconds, then leans back against the wall, smiling.
“I’ve held this championship for over two hundred and fifty days. I’m roughly seventy days short of equalling Moss Edward’s incredible achievement of holding it for a year. You might scoff at that, but I bet you couldn’t equal it.”
“Speaking of “disrespect,” I’m not going to shit on you for hating Matt Knox. Weirdly, I think we agree about him, although given how you communicate through corny threats and cheesy analogies, I expect you’ll bluster and spit at me about how I’m shit because I lost to him a few weeks ago. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been called “shit,” and it won’t be the last. The funny thing about that is this...”
He smiles, albeit briefly.
“You’re right.”
“I’m a shit person.”
He walks over to what appears to be a bar or refreshment stand and pulls out his phone to pay for a drink. The attendant doesn’t even notice, he’s to enraptured by what’s going on up front. Zane turns and leans against it, looking up at the front of the room again.
“I know that you don’t care because that flies in the face of the image you’re trying to project. After all, I’m just the “Old Rock Band” who plays his “greatest hits.” The funny thing about that is that when that’s true, those hits still draw. Your “insult,” if one can call it that, is just another recitation of the most ironic accusation that’s levied against me, and those who the “popular” kids don’t like…”
“You’re boring.”
He winks as if he’s sending a not-at-all-subtle jab at someone.
“I might be boring to some, but that attempt at an insult is so boring that it should put you in a coma for even uttering it.”
He looks at the attendant hoping that he’s perhaps rejoined the real world. He hasn’t. Zane sighs loudly and snaps his fingers in front of the guy’s face. He gets no response. Zane rolls his eyes with an irritated sigh and looks back at Big Hat up front.
“I’m not going to prostrate myself at your self-important altar because you think that my career has been a gigantic waste of time. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. Especially what I’ve accomplished with the championship that I currently hold. My next challenger for it is one of the most accomplished and dangerous men in the history of this, or any company, and if I beat Donovan Hastings to retain my championship, I’ll consider that it huge shine on my reign.”
“But I digress.”
He leans forward and takes a drink from the cooler, then opens it and slaps a five down on the counter. Again, the attendant fails to notice as he is far too caught up in Big Hat’s speech, which has grown even more belligerent over the past few minutes.
“I can’t help but chuckle, because the one aspect of your so-called “Political Action Committee” that’s dripping with irony, is that there was a time not long ago when I was you. I was the guy who wanted to burn UGWC to the ground. I was the guy who wanted to lay this place low because it didn’t meet with my expectations.”
“I wanted to burn it down because, after years of loyal service to this company, it callously tossed me aside just because someone scared them a bit. After sacrificing my ACL and MCL for it. After multiple concussions, a shoulder injury, and multiple scars that will never completely heal, when this company was sent a video that accused me of doing something disrespectful to the country at the home of its most prestigious military university, what did the company do?
They did what a company that’s run and owned by cowards does...”
“They protected their asses and suspended me for two years without pay.”
He watches as Big Hat points at the door and a group of four rather riled-up-looking country “Hoss” types go storming by. “Big Hat” keeps on ranting and waiving a fist over his head...
“If anything, instead of probably doing what you’ve done to everyone else and run them down, you’d be trying to turn me into an ally by playing on whatever might be left of those negative feelings. If there are any. I leave it up to you to ascertain the possibility of that.”
He grins mischivously.
“The simple fact of all of this is that you want to do this because you arrogantly think that you and only you know “the way.” Just like that man up there, you think that the only way is your way, and if that means ending the careers of people who’ve never done anything to you, then so be it. This man might destroy this town before he’s through, or at least some of the lives in it. You’re going to destroy lives in a different way because your feelings are hurt.”
An expression of deep concern forms on Zane’s face as he watches some in the meeting breaking into tears and proclaiming something toward the heavens.
“You’re letting anger and whatever else you’re experiencing in there destroy you. Even if you don’t realize it. Or realize it and don’t care. It’s that inability to care that makes you dangerous to everyone, especially yourself. Trust me, I know all about self-destructive behavior. I might be the UGWC poster boy for it.”
An old man in the crowd faints. The person behind him just lets him hit the floor because he’s so caught up in the speech. Zane watches for a few seconds and when the man doesn’t stir. The people around him keep bouncing from one foot to the other with their arms raised to the ceiling like some sort of eighteenth-century revival tent. Zane growls irritably and steps outside, pulling his phone out.
“Truth be told, Trent, I couldn’t give less of a shit what your motivations and grievances are against my company. That’s your business. What you are to me is one of the two dangerous and challenging as hell sons of bitches who I’m going to be getting my ass kicked by on Monday. I admit that I don’t know you very well, but from what I’ve seen, you’re legitimately dangerous, even if your act is a bit cliche. If I can say one thing about you, you barf out a turgid rant like few others here do. Some will defend that and say that it’s your opinion and it’s valid just because of that.”
“I’m not one of those people.”
He hits the autodial and waits as it rings.
“What you are is filled from plantar fascia to scalp crown with bullshit. You’re not a visionary or a savior.”
“You’re a mendacious loudmouth. The vexatious litigant of professional wrestlers.”
“Do both Alan and I favor on Monday, Trent.”
A deep scowl forms on his face as the phone rings and rings.
“Shut the fuck up and wrestle.”
He watches as the four hosses walk back toward the meeting, their feet crunching on the crushed stone parking area.
“If you don’t, you’re going to get your kicked in by the man who may be the greatest talent in the history of this company, Alan Wallace. If you don’t believe me, just ask him.”
He smiles briefly.
Of you’ll get it kicked in by me, a man you think you have no reason to respect. I’ll tell you this. This “Old Rock Band” may not be entertaining to you…
He listens with growing disquiet as the doors slam behind the hosses and the meeting keeps growing louder through the closed doors.
“But he can still go platinum at your expense.”
His eyebrows shoot up as someone finally answers.
“Hello, we need paramedics down at the meeting hall. An elderly person fell and smacked his head off of the floor.”
He pauses as the dispatcher answers him.
“Ten minutes,” he replies. “Get here faster if you can. Thanks.”
He disconnects the call and sighs loudly as the angry reverie inside the building continues to increase in intensity.
Yonkers, NY
Later in the Week
“What happened to the senior?”
Colin Zale poses the question with his normal unaffected politeness. Zane looks at him and shakes his head frustratedly.
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything else.”
Colin shakes his head and a long, slow exhale of understanding comes out. The two continue walking through the streets of Yonkers. It’s a brisk March day with a snow threatening sky. Both men have sweatshirts on because a little cold never scared a New Yorker.
“Can you let me know once you find out?”
“Sure. I’m sure someone from town will call me eventually.”
Colin nods but doesn’t otherwise reply. They walk in silence for a couple of more minutes and wait for the train to leave the Yonkers MTA station before resuming their conversation.
“Congratulations on your Cross-Hemisphere Championship reign,” Colin says with a sideways grin. “I see that Alan congratulated you as only Alan would.”
“Naturally,” Zane answers, chuckling. “He has a reputation to live up to, after all.”
“Some things never change.”
“Alan is one of them.”
“Is it true that he’s going to be a father,” Colin asks with a look of mild amusement. “Big Daddy V,’ as it were.”
They both pause as strange looks come over their faces; as if that name should have an alternate meaning that they just can’t place. They both shrug it off after a minute.
“I see that you get to face him this week,” Colin continues. “Cross-Hemisphere Champion, versus World Champion, versus some angry guy who likes fire.”
He pauses. “Sounds like the old days…the fire part, at least.”
Zane smiles. “I’m happy to let Trent keep kicking Knox around. If he wins this week, he wins this week. Losses suck, but I have bigger fish to fry at ‘Alchemy.”
“Donovan,” Colin says with a shake of his head.
“Donovan...” Zane says, letting that loaded name trail off into silence.
“Cross that bridge when you get to it, Zane.”
He gives Zane a “dad joke” smile. Zane rolls his eyes in reply.
“Good God, Colin,” he laughs. “You had serious ‘dad joke’ energy that I didn’t know you were capable of.”
“I’m still full of surprises,” Zane’s mentor replies, grinning. “I didn’t teach you everything.”
The two stop at the corner and wait for the crosswalk light to change. They continue once it changes.
“How do you feel about facing Alan?”
“The same way I always feel when I face Alan,” Zane replies.”That I’d rather be standing in his corner than against him, but excited for the challenge that he always represents.”
“And just think if you pin him.”
Zane turns and looks at him with a bit of a tickled smile. “I don’t think he’d ever forgive me.”
The men share a laugh.
“The thing is, there’s a chance that no one will pin anyone.”
“Why’s that,” Colin asks.
“Matt Knox.”
“Ah yes, we’re back to him.”
“We’re back to him,” Zane replies. “He wants to kill Steel for trying to marshmallow his face. He’s the number one contender to Alan’s World Championship,”
“And he doesn’t like you.”
“I don’t like him either,” the Cross-Hemisphere Champion returns with a smile. “At least in that respect we understand each other.”
“And you understand Alan, so there’s an advantage.”
“I’m not sure that Celeste completely understands Alan,” Zane quips. “There are times I’m not sure that Alan really understands Alan.”
“Sure he does,” Colin answers. “He’s the center of the universe. The end.”
Zane laughs. “There’s more going on than that. Alan makes himself look foolish in the same way that Donovan does, as a means of disarming his opponents before they even face each other. Is Alan genuinely vain? Yes. Is it ‘Kurt Brady’ emptyheaded vanity? No. Never underestimate Alan Wallace, or you’re playing right into his hands.”
“The world works in mysterious ways, my friend.”
“That it does,” Zane nods. “Speaking of ‘mysterious,’ where’s Spyder.”
“Hi.”
“GAH,” Zane yells, nearly jumping into traffic before Colin’s arm blocks his path.
He turns on the silent giant known as James Spyder. For a man who stood at nearly seven feet and weighed almost three hundred pounds, he moved like someone combined a stereotypical ninja with a predatory cat. For their part, Colin’s smiling ear to ear while Spyder has his usual nonplussed expression. If the jump scare he induced entertained him, it was impossible to tell by looking at him.
“Don’t DO that,” he retorts, stressing 'do'. “You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“As well as a bumper treatment,” the giant deadpans.
“Ha ha,” Zane replies a bit irritably. “Funny.”
“I thought so,” Colin chimes in. “And by the way, Jim is right here.”
Only Colin could or would ever call Spyder “Jim.” Whether that was because of some immutable law of the universe that people just knew and adhered to, or because they didn’t want to take the risk of pissing off a guy who could fell a tree by glaring at it, no one could say. Much like the sunrise, it just is.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Zane replies sarcastically.
“You asked.”
“You know, Colin, sometimes I really hate you.”
“And it makes you hate me even more because that feeling goes away,” Colin chuckles. “I get that a lot.”
“I bet.”
“Pay up,” Spyder rumbles.
Colin pulls out his wallet and hands a bill to Spyder, who quickly envelopes it in his polar bear paw sized hand. Zane watches this with a loud lack of amusement written on his face.
“Ha ha,” he replies somewhat trenchantly. “Very funny. You know that thing I said about that feeling going away?”
“Yup,” Colin replies with a grin.
“I take it back.”
Spyder’s monstrous hand appears between them. “Pay up.”
“Damn it,” Colin sighs, peeling off another bill. “Could you be wrong once in a while?”
“I could,” Spyder answers aridly. “But what fun would that be?”
“As much fun as me winning this week,” Zane interjects.
“Well that’s easy,” Colin replies.
“Don’t...” Zane warns, not that he expects it to deter them.
“That’s the first word,” Spyder answers, drawing a slightly irked look from Zane.
“Second word,” Colin continues in a game show host tone, then holds up three fingers.”
“Three letters,” Spyder deadpans.
Colin holds up a single finger.
“First letter...” Spyder answers.
“Would you two get on with this already,” Zane practically yells.
“But we’re having fun,” Colin replies sweetly.
“I know…” Zane answers tersely. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“How about this, Zane,” Colin interjects. “Treat the match like a game of ‘Hangman.”
“I’m not following.”
“It’s simple,” Colin explains. “You let Alan and Trent guess the letters and wear each other out and at the end, do the one thing that’ll help you win, irrespective of who you do it to.”
“And that is,” Zane asks.
“Guess the right final letter,” Colin answers with a shrug.
Spyder concludes the thought without missing a beat.
“Watch the floor drop.”
End.
2013, '18, '23 
2013 