Post by Duncan Ryder on Jul 16, 2021 16:52:04 GMT -5
Monday February 22nd, Chicago, Illinois.
A week had passed since the events of Infinity. The night it seemed would likely mark the final time Duncan Ryder would compete under the banner of the Unified Global Wrestling Coalition. In the days that had followed Duncan had contemplated his actions, replaying them over and over wondering if he had done the right thing. He considered whether perhaps he should have taken his last match as it was, given it his true and honest all, a final send off to those fans who had stood by him in the past year. He would soon dismiss that thought though. There wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to be allowed to walk out on a victory, most likely Ooley was counting on Hastings being able to get the job done but no doubt the cantankerous one eyed bastard had some kind of backup plan up his sleeve to ensure the outcome he wanted. The idea too that the match could bring him one step closer to becoming the inaugural Conquest champion seemed like nothing more than a sick joke at this point. So in the end his thought process would always bring him back to where it began, with Duncan Ryder cracking Donovan Hastings upside the head with a steel chair and walking out head and middle finger held high. There was comfort in the certainty that given the chance to do it over again he would make the same choices but that didn't help with that fact that he was now very much out of a job.
With no work presenting itself to him in Chicago Duncan knew it was time once again for him to hit the road and move on. He had paid his latest month's rent plus a little extra he could spare as a thank you to Mrs. Estlestein for letting him out of his lease early. His last few hundred dollars had gone on his new home and his new car, those being one and the same thing. The man who had sold the vehicle to Duncan had liked to call it an RV but that was a distinct stretching of the term. Exactly what the van actually was Duncan wasn't sure, any make and model markings had either been deliberately removed or had rusted off at some point over the van's evidently long and arduous life, as had most of its paint. The only concession that had been made towards human comfort was that a thin mattress had been thrown into what had initially been designed as cargo space and what could only be described as an adult size potty had been placed on top of it. The mattress was folded up at the sides by the wheel arches and the back of the vehicle turned out to be just a couple of inches too short for the six foot four Brit to be able to stretch out comfortably in. Duncan wasn't looking forward to trying to sleep in it but he also didn't have a choice.
Duncan had driven the van, juddering and backfiring to the front of Mrs. Estlestein's home and had gone down into the sub-basement apartment that had served as his home for the past six months, emerging moments later with his belongings. There was no way to hide that he was back, the noise from the van was enough to wake the dead so it was no surprise to find Mrs. Estlestein on her porch as Duncan climbed the steps back up to street level, although he had assumed she had come out to complain about the noise. Instead she was quiet as she took the steps down to meet him on the pavement.
“You're definitely going then?” said Mrs. Estlestein. Duncan would usually have assumed that she was making sure that she was definitely rid of him but there was something in her voice that made him think that wasn't her meaning at all, it was perhaps concern maybe even sadness.
“I am. Just stopped to grab my things,” said Duncan as he walked around to the back of the van, opening the rear door to throw his stuff in on top of his unappealing bed.
“You don't have to you know.”
“I do. There's no work for me here.”
“Of course there is. They're always hiring at Target.”
Duncan couldn't help letting out a slight chuckle, “I'm sure they are but I'm not a shop worker I'm a wrestler. It's what I love so whatever happens, I've gotta go where I can wrestle.”
“So then where are you going?”
“I've got a lead on some shows up in Wisconsin so that'll be first. From there, I dunno.”
“Wisconsin? Do you know how cold it is up there this time of year? Have you got a good coat?”
“Uh, I have this,” said Duncan, gesturing to the thin black zip up hoodie he was currently wearing.
“That's it? You'll catch your death in Wisconsin just wearing that. Finish loading up, I'll be right back,” said Mrs. Estlestein and made her way back in to the house.
Duncan had already finished loading up. It didn't take more than one trip to grab his kit bag and the medium backpack that contained all the clothes he owned and wasn't wearing plus a tooth brush, phone charger and little more. Both bags were already in the back of the van so he just stood and waited for Mrs. Estlestein to return.
It took some time longer than you would typically expect. It would never be clear whether this was due to Mrs. Estlestein not being able to find whatever it was she was looking for or if it was simply a case of how slowly the old lady moved. Regardless, Duncan waited as the minutes dragged on until eventually Mrs. Estlestein returned. She was now carrying a dark green parka jacket with a wide hood and an above average number of pockets. She clutched in front of herself with both hands as she scurried back down her front steps.
“Here,” she said, holding the jacket up to him.
Duncan took it with a measure of hesitance. It had been a long time since anyone had given him anything and he kept expecting the typically crotchety woman to snatch it back and reveal the whole thing to be some kind of prank. When he'd taken the jacket out of her grip though and Mrs. Estlestein's arms had fallen loosely back down to her sides Duncan smiled.
“You're giving this to me?”
“Yeah. It used to be my son's but he doesn't need it any more, not where he is,” said Mrs. Estlestein, her voice tinged with sadness.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Duncan, thinking he was doing a great job of reading her tone, “how did he die?”
“He's not dead you putz, he moved to Florida,” Mrs. Estlestein scolded him with a frown.
“I'm sorry, I just- uh- nevermind, just, thank you.”
“You're welcome. It might be a little tight, my boy isn't as broad through the shoulders as you but it'll do the job.”
Duncan swung the jacket around his back and pulled it on. Mrs. Estlestein was right, it was a little snug but not so much so as to be uncomfortable and he was certain it'd be better than freezing his ass off like he would inevitably do without it.
The two of them stood there silently on the pavement for several long seconds, awkwardness following in the wake of the uncharacteristically tender moment between land lady and tenant.
“Well uh, I should hit the road. I've got a long drive ahead.” Duncan slipped past Mrs. Estlestein and grabbed the door handle. The door groaned loudly and fought against him as Duncan opened it then climbed into the driver's seat. He was about to shut the door again behind him when Mrs. Estlestein spoke.
“Duncan.”
“Yeah,” he replied, pausing with his hand on the inside handle.
“I watched all your matches.”
Duncan smiled, bemused, “really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you always tell me you didn't, and why're you telling me now?”
“I told you that so you wouldn't go thinking I was some kind of a mark,” Mrs. Estlestein said, jabbing a finger into Duncan's arm, “wouldn't do to have you think you could start getting lazy on your rent. I'm telling you now because you never did and...and because you're good. Whoever let you go is an idiot and you're going to be just fine.”
“Thank you, that means a lot. Does that mean you're going to keep watching UGWC?”
“I don't think so. Too many self-important asshole for my taste,” she said but paused and seemed to have another thought, “maybe I'll watch the bits with Hide Yamazaki.”
“Oh, you like Hide huh?”
“Yeah, but I like his manager more.”
Duncan grinned broadly, “Johnny hey?”
“He's very tanned and I like his confidence.”
Duncan started nodding and couldn't help giggling to himself, “Well OK then, interesting information to have and hey, you don't need UGWC anyway, you'll always have Carnage right?”
“Yeah, Carnage aren't going anywhere.”
There was another brief silence. “I really do have to go though. I hope I'll see you again some time.”
“Just stop by if you're back in town.”
“I will. Goodbye Mrs. Estlestein.”
“Judith.”
“Hm?”
“You can call me Judith.”
“Alright then. Goodbye Judith.”
With that Duncan pulled the door closed with another teeth clenching screech, took three attempts to coax the van to life and pulled away.
Sunday March 28th, St. Cloud, Minnesota.
Duncan had been on fire tonight. He had move with strength and fluidity, like a crimson blur. His mind felt sharp, like he could see what his opponent was going to do seconds before he did it. His victory had been a display exquisite technical wrestling and athletic prowess. Not that the twenty or so people in attendance seemed to appreciate that.
Duncan had jumped up after the successful pinfall, thrusting his hand into the air with the expectation of roars of delight and approval.
“Woo! Yeah,” was all he got instead half heartedly from one guy who was almost certainly drunk. The event was taking place inside of a night club that had clearly seen much better days. The ring had been set up on what had once been the dance floor and lighting had been kept to the club's typical low level. It was a strange experience and a far cry from what he had grown used to for the year he had spent with UGWC though it was in fact not the worst place he had been forced to compete in the two months since his release, though perhaps it was still a contender.
Deflated, Duncan climbed out of the ring and dropped down to the floor. He almost slipped on a spilt drink and had to catch himself on the bottom rope to keep himself from ending up sprawled out.
“Fucking, shit,” he grumbled and wiped his boot on the apron before making his way back towards the staff area, headed for the storage room the wrestlers had all been using as a locker room. Before he could get there though someone stopped him.
“Hi, hey, Duncan.” The man was seemingly in his late thirties, balding and significantly overweight.
“Hey,” said Duncan, coming to a halt.
“I've been a big fan of yours since you were in GIW. I've watched all your matches, even ones from when you were El Blanco Leo in Mexico,” the man said excitably.
“Well thank you, it's always good to feel appreciated.”
“Sure. Could I get a picture with you?”
“Of course,” Duncan said courteously, taking a step to stand beside the fan. There was a quick flash as the picture was taken then Duncan took a step away.
“Thank you. This is awesome,” said the fan, looking at the picture he'd just taken.
“No problem. What's your name?”
“Me? Uh, Jacob, Jake.”
“Pleasure to meet you Jake,” said Duncan, “I wish I could stay and hang out for a while but I've got a show in Springfield tomorrow and I really need to get a head start on the drive tonight. Thanks for coming out though.”
“No problem. Thanks for the picture,” said Jake, gesturing with his phone then turning away and heading back to, wherever is must've been that he had appeared from while Duncan kept back on his original path away from the public area of the club.
The line about having to leave was not just a story to excuse himself from the conversation with Jake, he had a long drive coming and breaking at least an hour or so off of it tonight would make it that bit more manageable tomorrow. Duncan quickly got changed, stuffing his deep red tights into his kit bag then heading to the manager's office.
The door to the office was slightly ajar and Duncan gave it a light knock as he slowly opened it just far enough to be able to fit his head through. Inside was a man named Bill. Bill was a stout man in his early sixties who wore his shirt with too many buttons undone and a lot of gold jewellery. Despite sitting in the manager's office he was not the club manager but was the promoter for the wrestling show that had taken place here. Duncan had only met him in person for the first time earlier that day but he seemed a good enough sort and he seemed excited to have someone with the level of experience and name recognition that Duncan had on his card.
“Hi Bill,” Duncan said as he pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room.
“What do you want?”
Duncan was taken aback by the bluntness of the response for a moment and tried to cover it with a light chuckle that unsurprisingly came out very awkwardly. “I um, I know it's quick but I really need to get out of here, I have another show tomorrow night and it's a long drive so I was hoping I could just grab my pay so I can hit the road.”
“Your pay? Is that a joke?”
“...no...” said Duncan with a frown.
“I'm not paying you a god damn nickel. Get out of my sight.”
“Excuse me?” said Duncan, indignant.
“You heard me.”
“I heard you yeah but I don't understand,” said Duncan taking several purposeful steps towards Bill's desk, “we agreed a fee. I came here on time and performed to the best of my ability. I have held up my end of our agreement and I expect to be paid for my work.”
Bill slammed his fist down on the desk, “I don't give a shit about our agreement. I agreed to pay you a frankly exorbitant amount of money in the belief that you were going to be my big draw. I spent a lot of money on this venue and you were supposed to pack it out.”
“The hell am I supposed to do about that? I didn't make you any promises and I certainly wasn't in charge of your marketing.” There was a pause where the two men glared at each other until Duncan spoke again, “OK, I'll tell you what, I can be reasonable. I'll take let's say seventy-five percent of what we agreed to, how's that?”
“You're not listening to me Ryder. I've already haemorrhaged money on this show before I've paid anyone at all. No-one here is getting paid tonight and you're no exception.”
Duncan took two more steps towards the desk so that he could lean forward, arms braced against it. “That's not acceptable. This is my job. This is how I make my living. I was in Green Bay two days ago and I paid good money to get myself here because I'm supposed to have more money by the time I leave. I have to be in Springfield tomorrow night and I need to pay for things like gas and food so you're going to pay me what we agreed or-”
“Or what? You'll hit me?” Bill barked, standing up fast enough to send his seat tumbling towards the back of the room and meeting Duncan's eyeline, “I'm not a wrestler and this isn't a show this is the real world. You lay a finger on me and I'll sue you for everything you have. I don't care if all that is is a shitty van, the clothes on your back and few crumpled singles in your wallet, I'll take it all. So get this through your head, I'm not paying you. We don't have a contract. You've got nothing. You get nothing. Now get out of my sight before I have the cops come down here and throw you out.”
Duncan backed off shaking his head and let out a low derisive laugh. “You're a real piece of shit.”
“Yeah, well if I'm a piece of shit and you're the one begging me for money what does that make you?”
“Fuck you,” Duncan spat.
“No, fuck you.”
It was clear at that point that the conversation was well and truly over. Duncan flipped Bill off as he turned away and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him as he went.
Duncan didn't waste any more time leaving and headed out to the parking lot. He was still grumbling curses when he got to his van, fighting like he did every day with the driver's side door before throwing his bag across to the passenger seat and sitting down. He started the engine and watched with dismay as the hand on the petrol meter barely rose from minimum, still comfortably in the red zone.
“Shit,” he growled as he reached for his wallet. He didn't know why he'd bothered, he knew full well that Bill had been right about one thing, there was nothing more in there than a few crumpled singles.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he said, hammering his fist against the steering wheel with each expletive then letting his head fall back heavily against the seat's headrest. He was stranded. So much for getting to Springfield he was going to struggle to even get out of the St. Cloud city limits. He closed his eyes and took long slow breaths, trying to fight down the wave of anxiety that was rising up inside him. His head lolled to the side and when he opened his eyes his saw Jake, the fan he'd spoken to earlier heading to his car and had an idea. Hurriedly Duncan reached into his kit bag, rummaging through it for something, anything, when his hand got hold of his tights. He sighed as he pulled them out of the bag, fought his way back out of the van and jogged across the lot.
He got to Jake's car just as the man had gotten into the drivers seat and shut the door. He jumped when Duncan appeared and knocked on his window. The shock seemed to take the breath out of him but he wound the window open just enough to be able to speak through it.
“Uh, hi,” said Jake, confusion evident in his tone.
“Hey, it was Jake right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you said you were a fan of mine.”
“...sure.”
“Well, how would you like to own a pair of my genuine ring worn tights?” said Duncan, holding the tights up.
“Wow, really?” Jake said and wound the window all the way down and reached through to take them when Duncan gently pulled them out of reach.
“These are one of a kind, custom made. These are the trunks I wore when I beat Sloane Taylor for the UGWC Chaos title. I wore these when I shared the ring with Travis Roberts and Alan Wallace at Outlast, when I beat Sloane again at Horizons. I wore these when I pinned Sebastian Everett-Bryce in the Global Challenge. There's real history to these tights.”
“Um,” Jake hesitated but something seemed to click that told him where this conversation was going, “so, uh, how...how much would you like for them?”
Duncan shrugged a little and let his head rock from side to side, “I think a piece of history like these is worth like, three hundred bucks.”
Jake took a sharp breath in through his nose. “I don't have that kind of money on me.”
“OK, OK, I'll tell you what, for a fan and because I like you and I appreciate you coming out here tonight, for you, two hundred.”
Jake took a wallet out of his jacket pocket and started looking through it, purposefully angling it so that Duncan couldn't see how much was inside. “I dunno, the most I can do is probably like, eighty bucks.”
“How about a hundred?”
“Really man, I'm sorry, I can do eighty and my girlfriend is gonna kill me for it.”
Duncan fought to hold back a sigh and keep an upbeat expression on his face. He looked at the trunks in his hand. It was a sales pitch but what he had said was all true, all the best moments of the year he'd spent in UGWC had come while he was wearing these trunks. They were a representation of who he was becoming and who he wanted to be. He had no desire to part with them at all, even if it weren't for sentimental reasons then because he had no others to wrestle in. He didn't have a choice though. He needed cash right now. The alternative was that he stay stranded in this parking lot until the end of time, or at least until someone took some kind of pity on him. By then he'd for sure have missed the show in Springfield and who knows how many more. No, this was the only way.
“OK, you've got a deal. Eighty bucks.”
“Yeah? Awesome,” said Jake, carefully extracting a handful of notes and passing them to Duncan who quickly counted them before handing Jake the trunks.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” said Duncan, tucking the cash into his back pocket and starting to walk away, “and you enjoy those. I'd better not see them on Ebay tomorrow,” he added with broad smile.
“You won't. Thank you,” said Jake as he wound his window back up.
With that Duncan went back to the van. His idea hadn't gone as well as he had hoped, but at least he could get most of a tank of gas and something to eat before his next match, less than twenty four hours and six hundred and fifty miles away.
Monday March 29th, Somewhere along the I35.
Duncan had woken up stiff as a board with an ache in his back having barely slept, just like he did every morning. He shuffled to the back of the van and let himself out, placing his bare feet down on the cool asphalt of the rest stop parking lot he'd pulled into some time in the early hours of the morning. He stretched and twisted, ineffectually attempting to work out the pains before giving up and grabbing his shoes, phone and toothbrush and going in search of a restroom.
As he walked his phone vibrated in his pocket with a Twitter notification. It was nothing important but it surprised Duncan to see that he had a mobile signal out here in the middle of pretty much nowhere.
'I wonder....' a thought crept in from the edge of his mind. Duncan opened the Ebay app and wrote his name in the search bar.
There they were.
RING WORN DUNCAN RYDER ADVERSARY WRESTLING TIGHTS - $500
“That motherfu-!”
Monday April 19th, Chicago Illinois
The voices emanate from a tablet held tenderly in the lap of a elderly woman sat in a comfortable armchair.
“Put him in coach.”
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“It can't be!”
“It is!”
Mrs. Estlestein smiled broadly and practically vibrated with excitement as she watched her former tenant walk out on to the stage as the fifth member of Team Carnage, set to compete at UGWC Incursion.
“That's it Duncan. You go kick all their lousy asses.”
Monday July 19th, Sonoran Desert, Arizona
Duncan had flown back to Indianapolis on Friday following his (successful/unsuccessful) challenge of the Legacy Pro Northumbria title and had almost immediately set himself onto the road. The journey across the country had taken the best part of thirty hours drawn out across the weekend and by the time Duncan had reached the Sonoran Desert the Wrestlestock city was almost entirely complete. Work crews still scurried back and forth putting finishing touches to signage and hanging banners but already the first and most enthusiastic of wrestling fans were milling around, enjoying the relative calm of the first day before events kicked into full swing on Thursday.
Duncan parked his van in the allocated RV park and camping area. The plot, designed for Winnebagos and other luxury vehicles was ridiculously oversized for his own wheeled residence and pulling into the space he felt like he was helming a tug boat in a sea of cruise liners. He would have felt bad about being a blot on an otherwise spectacular landscape of polished white and silver but he was too hot and sleep deprived to care.
His first instinct was to rest, to try to catch up on some of the sleep he had deprived himself of in his efforts to get here on the first day of festivities but having laid down it was clear that the back of his van was doing nothing but absorbing and retaining heat. The air was dense and humid and Duncan was sweating just laying still. It was soon apparent there was no chance of sleep before the sun went down so Duncan got up again and set of to investigate Wrestlestock city.
He first passed through the Arizona Regional Wrestling district on the outskirts of the temporary city, stopping to buy the largest cup he could find of fresh squeezed lemonade. He took the first few long deep slugs of it while standing at the back of a crowd made up of mostly parents with young children watching a match between a man dressed as a dinosaur and another dressed as a pig. The match soon ended with a victory to the dinosaur and Duncan moved on.
A few more minutes of wandering and having swiftly consumed half of his absurdly sized drink Duncan was happy to find himself in the Level Up district, Mr. Rad's Rad Party. A medley of iconic video-game theme music was being played through bundles of loudspeakers set up on towers which was overlaid by the sounds of hundreds of arcade machines being played. As he casually strolled through Duncan was cordially greeted by members of the Level Up backstage crew though they were all evidently too busy to stop and talk. All except of course for Lenny Brasco.
Lenny trotted up to Duncan, hurriedly beckoning for a trailing cameraman to keep pace with him. Even in the sweltering heat Lenny was wearing a suit and seemed to be suffering for his choice of attire. Sweat was pouring off his face and staining the visible parts of his white shirt.
“You OK there Lenny?” Duncan asked.
“Great, great, just great,” Lenny said, pulling a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and using it to wide the sweat from his brow, “merch stand is up and we've already sold through the new Duncan Shepard, Power Champion t-shirts in XXL,” said Lenny panting for breath, “glad I caught you, let's get a few words about your thoughts for the week.”
“OK sure, ask your questions.”
Lenny positioned himself next to Duncan and pointed to a spot on the ground in front of them where he wanted the cameraman to stand. The three of them seemed in place but Lenny just looked at Duncan silently for several long seconds.
“Everything alright?” Duncan asked.
“You wanna put that down for a minute?” Lenny asked, gesturing to the giant cup Duncan was holding in both hands like a toddler with a sippy cup.
“Nope,” Duncan replied, simultaneously shaking his head and taking a long slurp through the straw to make his point.
“OK, fine,” said Lenny somewhat taken aback but he gestured to the camera, counting down from five with his fingers before speaking.
“Hello Level Up fans, thank you for logging on, I am Lenny Brasco reporting live from day one of UGWC Wrestlestock here in the Sonoran Desert, more specifically from inside Mr Rad's Rad Party. I'm here with newly crowned Power Champion Duncan Shepard. Duncan, a few days from now this district will be hosting Level Up Wrestling's first show outside of the Indiana Farmers Coliseum, EXP 10 where we will be crowning our first ever multiplayer champions. It's been noted that you're not on the card, why is that?”
Duncan finally lowered the straw from his lips to reply, “It's a combination of things. While I'm a big fan of multiplayer competition I'm the first ever Power Champion and as long as I hold that title it will be my top priority. I'm excited to see who walks away with those belts, but while I'm the Power champion, I won't be seeking out more gold within Level Up. That said, I'll still be making an appearance on the show so look out for that. The other main factor is that I've been given leave by the Developer to focus my efforts on the Wrestlestock Cup and District Conquest events.”
“I'm glad you brought up the Wrestlestock Cup, Level Up has come out in force for this competition boasting the second highest number of entrants behind UGWC themselves with three-”
“Well let me stop you there for just a moment. While I'm an active part of the Level Up roster and proud to be so, in truth as far as the Wrestlestock Cup goes, I'm not here as Duncan Shepard I'm here as Duncan Ryder and I'm representing myself.”
“I see, I'm a little disappointed to hear that I'll admit. It was my hope and I believe the hope of many at home that a concerted team effort from Level Up entrants Brandon Hendrix, yourself our Power Champion and of course Final Boss Champion Magdalena Lockheart could see Level Up taking the cup back to Indiana, which would be a great boon to our young promotion.”
“I understand that and I mean no offence or disrespect to anyone at Level Up. You've all been nothing but welcoming to me over the past months but there is history here that extends back a lot further than my Level Up debut and this is something I have to do. That being said, either way, my approach to the Wrestlestock Cup won't change. You spoke about a team effort Lenny but this isn't a team event. It doesn't matter if we're in Indianapolis, the Sonoran Desert or anywhere else, the rest of the Level Up roster are opponents to me, not team mates. I can and do have a tremendous amount of respect for them including Brandon Hendrix and especially Maggie Lockheart, but I didn't come out here to help either one of them win, I came out here to win this myself.”
Lenny turned back to the camera, “Well there you have it, determined words from Duncan Shep- Ryder here on day one of Wrestlestock. Stay logged in and I'll have an interview with EXP 10 debuting multiplayer team the Time Jumpers very soon.”
The camera lowers showing that the stream is paused.
“Thanks, so uh, have you seen the Time Jumpers anywhere?” asked Lenny.
“Who?”
“Nevermind. They've got to be around here somewhere. See you later,” said Lenny seemingly picking a random direction and setting off again once more beckoning his flagging cameraman to follow.
Duncan watched him go for a moment then pointedly turned and walked away in the opposite direction. His wandering soon brought him to a district a hanging banner told him was called Hell On Heels. Duncan noted that this was a new addition from last years festival and with a little nod to himself he headed inside. Directly ahead was a startlingly large building given the surroundings which was draped in blown up images of Eden Morgan, Roxy Cotton, Sloane Taylor and Lucy Wylde. Duncan scoffed a little at the particular choices but headed towards the door. “Perhaps there's a display for Chinatsu Chen inside,” he mused to himself. Duncan reached the door and was about to go in when a staff member barred his path.
“Sorry sir, no food or drinks are allowed inside the exhibit.”
Duncan paused. He weighed up the lemonade cup in his hands and, deciding that there was still too much to waste he turned back. He was a few metres away when he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“It's a travesty isn't it.”
Duncan looked up and saw a striking woman a few paces away looking at him. “I know, it's not like I was going to spill it.”
The woman shook her head, “Not that. I mean that of all the women hanging from those banners there isn't one for Crystal Zdunich.”
Duncan, who had just taken another gulp from his drink turned his head so as not to spit the contents of his mouth in the woman's face. “Sorry,” he said, turning back, “was that a joke?”
The woman was frowning at him now, unimpressed by either Duncan's accidental spitting or his derogatory response. Most likely both. “Crystal Zdunich is an eighteen time world champion and a former UGWC Cross-Hemisphere title challenger.”
“Are you her number one fan?”
“My name is Ms. Rocky Mountains. I am an interviewer for Sin City Wrestling, the promotion Mrs. Zdunich is representing in the Wrestlestock Cup this week. You're Duncan Ryder yes?”
“That's me.”
“Perhaps you have time to go on record with some of your thoughts regarding the tournament and a possible match with Crystal.”
“Uh sure,” Duncan replied, surprised by the request given his most recent conduct, “do you need to find a cameraman?”
“No, I'm all set here,” Ms. Rocky Mountains said extending a small microphone from a wireless headset Duncan hadn't noticed was tucked in her ear and tapping a small white cylinder on her shoulder that turned on a red blinking light.
“You're going to film me on that?”
“Yes, it's top of the line. As good a picture and sound quality as any of the hulking cameras anyone else is carrying around. So, Mr. Ryder-”
“Duncan, please.”
Ms. Rocky Mountains pressed her lips together in an expression of annoyance at being interrupted then flashed a false smile and continued, “Duncan, you are one of the twelve competitors looking to become the 2021 Wrestlestock Cup winner. In a field that contains multiple former and current world champions, what makes you think you are capable of leaving Arizona as the tournament winner?”
“Here's the thing about world champions. If you're the world champions at say football, that means your team beat all the best teams in the world. That's the same with almost any sport, but wrestling is different. In wrestling, to be a world champion all you really have to do is beat one person one time under one banner and someone hands you a gold belt and says you're the champion of the world. Now I don't want to put down that achievement, many wrestling promotions have rosters stacked with quality competitors and fighting your way to the top of the heap is something to be deeply proud of, but being a world champion or a former world champion doesn't make you automatically better than someone who hasn't held a so called world title. Level Up Final Boss, or you could say World Champion Maggie Lockheart has never beaten me, nor has that new windbag UGWC signed Tony Savage. I've beaten three of the last four UGWC World Champions. The only reason I haven't beaten the fourth is because I haven't had a chance to get my hands on him yet. Only one of the eleven other competitors in the Wrestlestock Cup has a win over me and I don't see that as a detriment, it's just more motivation for me to win.”
“I see, and what are your thoughts on possibly facing SCW's own Crystal Zdunich? Coming off hot from a semi-final run in the prestigious Quag Cup? A tournament you notably withdrew from.”
“Yeah me and fifty other people. I'm not here to air the dirty laundry that lead to that decision but I can tell you this, in the full eighty person field that was going to make up the Quag Cup, Crystal Zdunich, or Crystal Hilton or Christina Hilton, whatever her name is today doesn't get to the semi-finals and I don't see her getting past round one in the Wrestlestock Cup either.”
“That's a bold claim to make regarding an eighteen time world champion.”
“Look, you can spout that figure all you like but I've seen Zdunich wrestle. She's...OK, I guess, but from what I've seen I've never been that impressed. I have to assume one of two things based on her performances in UGWC. Either she's spread herself too thin, considers UGWC a low priority and has gone into ninety nine percent of her UGWC matches strung out and underperformed or SCW simply doesn't host the standard of competition promotions like UGWC and Level Up do. I couldn't comment on which it is, I'll leave that up to you to decide.”
Ms. Rocky Mountains tapped the camera on her shoulder again and the red blinking light shut off, “I see. That was...enlightening. Thank you for your time.”
“You're welcome.”
“And I'll be looking forward to seeing Mrs. Zdunich make you eat your words,” she said with a sickly sweet tone and facetious smile
“I'll look forward to watching her try,” Duncan replied with a smile of his own and a raised his lemonade cup like a toast before walking off.
Duncan departed Hell on Heels promising himself he'd find time to return when his supply of tangy sugary liquid allowed.
Some way out of Hell on Heels Duncan found himself dumbstruck by the sight he stumbled upon. Firstly he struggled to fathom the mighty pyramid that rose up in front of him but more than that he struggled to put together what he was seeing with the signs stating THE NEW FRONTIER. As far as Duncan could think Ancient Egypt was, as it's name suggested, one of the oldest frontiers in human history. Then he read below, 'PRESENTED by NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING: HOME OF THE GUARDIANS of the PYRAMID MATCH.'
“Oh,” Duncan said to himself, “I guess that makes sense, kinda.”
Putting his issues with naming conventions aside Duncan proceeded and happily marvelled at the impressively authentic replica of one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. At least, he thought it was authentic, Duncan had never been to Egypt but this was how he imagined the pyramids at least. He paused, letting the crowds pass by him as he looked up to the pyramid's peak.
“Quite the marvel our team has created here isn't it. The Undisputed title match will be one for the ages don't you think?”
Duncan turned his head, straw still firmly in his mouth to see a smartly dressed man standing a few steps to his right. Unlike Lenny he had done away with the typical suit jacket in favour of a waistcoat and had treated himself to an open collar and rolled up sleeves. He seemed to be handling the heat with much more dignity than Level Up's own interviewer and merch hawker.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Duncan replied, not really knowing what the man was talking about but trying to be polite.
“Would you like an autograph?” the man asked him.
“Whose?” Duncan asked.
“Oh,” the man replied, clearly deflated by the lack of recognition.
“Are you competing for the Unified title?” Duncan asked.
“Undisputed title,” the man corrected him, “and no I'm not a wrestler. My name is Josh Davidson. I'm an interviewer. I work on NFW's Collision brand.”
“Oh, cool. Good to meet you,” said Duncan.
“Likewise,” said Davidson but turned to walk away.
“Hey, Sierra Silver works for you guys right?”
Josh turned back, “She does. Do you know her?”
“Not personally. We've spoken online and I think we're going to fight each other at Pax West.”
“Whatever for?”
“Honestly I don't remember,” said Duncan, “but no backing out now.”
“Wait,” said Josh, “I remember hearing some chatter about that a while back. You're David Ryder right?”
“Duncan Ryder, yes.”
“My apologies. You're also competing in the Wrestlestock Cup this week aren't you.”
“Yeah.”
“NFW is being represented in the tournament by Sylvia Lopez. Could I bother you for a sound bite regarding a possible match up between the two of you for our end of day news round-up?”
“Why not? Seems to be the day for it,” said Duncan.
“Sorry?” said Josh getting out his phone and tapping it a few times before holding it out towards Duncan.
“Nothing. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Well, honestly I don't have much to say about Sylvia Lopez. We've never met and there's no guarantees that we will even if she gets past her first round match. All I have to go on is hear say and few short clips people have sent me over the last couple of weeks. The word people seem to like to use to describe her is animal. Now I'm an animal lover, but they don't belong in wrestling rings and frankly, most of the human beings who either self identify or get called animals by other people are really just insulting actual animals. These kind of people that have no self control, that have don't care if they cause serious harm to their opponents, they give this sport a bad name. People like Sylvia Lopez, people like Jack Briggs if he dares to show his face here, are the reason many people still see pro wrestling and as a circus sideshow and not as a professional sport on par with the NFL or the NBA. Luckily there are real athletes out here like myself though, I'm far from the only one, who embody what wrestling should really be about. If Sylvia Lopez manages to make it all the way to the final and meets me there, I'll be happy to show her what that is.”
When Duncan stops, Josh taps his phone screen and tucks the device into his pocket. “Thanks, I'll pass that along to our news team.”
“Sure. Guess I'll see you around,” said Duncan as he tried to peer around the pyramid and between stalls to figure out which way to go next. Not being able to see anything beyond the boundaries of the so called New Frontier he picked a random direction and set off.
His decision brought him to a district designated The Young At Heart Acrobatic Centre. Duncan looked past the district entrance and realised the entire area was nothing but trampolines.
“Awesome,” he said with a smile. He weighed up the drink in his hand and finally, incredibly, it was almost empty so with one last gulp he downed the last of the lemonade, put the cup in a bin, then took his shoes off and launched into the district.
Duncan had never been much for flips, even the simple ones. At his most elaborate in the days of El Blanco Leo he would occasionally break out a standard moonsault but his technique wasn't great and he could only manage it because he didn't have to land on his feet, so he simply hopped and bounced and bounded around, revelling in the simple childlike joy of it. Unfortunately one such bounce saw him collide with a young woman with long dark frizzy hair and knock her to the ground, well, to the trampoline.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Are you OK?” Duncan asked, mortified as he reached down to help the woman to her feet.
“I'm fine,” she said with a smile, “I bounce pretty well even on solid ground.”
“You sure?”
“I'm sure, don't worry,” the woman said, taking Duncan's hand to get to her feet then immediately starting to bounce on the spot. “Isn't this place great?”
Duncan, assured now that the woman was in fact fine started to bounce too and the two quickly fell into sync. “It's definitely something.”
“So I work for one of the promotions here, PWS Apex. This whole thing was the idea of one of our roster members, Shawn Young. He's going to be in the Wrestlestock Cup this week.”
“Me too.”
“Really? What's your name?”
“Duncan. Duncan Ryder.”
“Yeah, I remember seeing your name on the schedule. I'm Cameron Fernandez. I'm a backstage interviewer.”
“Great. I guess you'll want to hear my thoughts about Shawn.”
“Great idea!” Cameron took a cell phone out of her pocket.
“Wait. You want to do it here?”
“Why not? It'll be fun.” Without stopping bouncing Cameron tapped the phone then held it out on her extended arm. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Cameron Fernandez reporting live and bouncing from PWS Apex and Shawn Young's Young At Heart Acrobatic Centre where I've just bumped into, very literally, Wrestlestock Cup contestant Duncan Ryder.” She tapped the screen, presumably flipping from front to rear camera and pointing it at Duncan, keeping the phone level with his head with impressive accuracy despite the constant motion. “Duncan, while you're scheduled to face one another in the opening round, victories for both you and Shawn Young could well see you facing one another five days from now in the Wrestlestock Cup semi-finals. How would you see such a match going?”
“Well, I don't know Shawn. What I do know is that he was trained by none other than the Iceman Konrad Raab. Now Konrad is one of the people I respect most not only on the roster of our hosts UGWC but in all of professional wrestling and what I expect from a student of his is nothing less than a fair, clean, athletic and most of all exciting contest. Should the opportunity arise, a match with Shawn Young is one I would relish as much as any match up the Wrestlestock Cup can throw at me.”
“I'm sure Shawn will be delighted to hear that. Now- hey, are you OK?”
It was a valid question. In the time since he'd started speaking Duncan's complexion had taken on an unhealthy greenish hue and his bouncing had become noticeably less enthusiastic.
“I uh, I've gotta go, sorry,” said Duncan not waiting for a response before bounding as quickly as his rapidly degrading intestinal fortitude would allow for an exit.
The next we see of Duncan he's gingerly extracted his head from a trash can. Looking around himself passers by give him disapproving looks and shakes of their heads. He felt like crap and it was a small mercy that at least the sun was starting to set and the edge was taken off the baking heat.
“I've gotta get out of here,” he groaned as he wiped his chin on the back of his forearm. He'd found himself somewhere near the centre of the complex with sign posts seemingly for everything pointing off in every direction. One pointed towards the RV park and Duncan followed it.
Unfortunately for Duncan, what he hadn't read on the same sign pointing in the same direction, in big pink comic sans were the words BUBBLEGUM DISTRICT. Duncan wandered into it utterly oblivious until is was far too late a every one of his already overtaxed senses was assaulted with a barrage of neon pink lights, carnival music and sickly sweet smells of popcorn, candy floss and freshly baked cupcakes coated in frosting. Duncan jumped as some kind of cannon went off, raining down pink and gold glitter which immediately stuck to his sweat coated forearms as if it were coated in superglue.
“Ugh, how do I get out of here?” Duncan moaned at the world.
“You too huh?” asked an equally exasperated walking towards him, “I found myself in here while looking for The Oasis and I've been trying to find a way out for twenty minutes.”
“You didn't think to just give up and fill yourself with cake?” Duncan asked sarcastically.
“Does this look like a body that gets gorged with sugar?” the woman replied, striking a pose with a hand on her hip, emphasising an athletic figure that even in his sugar crashed state Duncan couldn't help but appreciate.
“No it does not.”
The woman sighed, “We're both adults. Surely between the two of us we can find a way out of here.”
“Have you tried just walking in a straight line?”
“That's the first thing I tried! Somehow I just ended up back here again.”
“Hmm,” Duncan mused, “this way.”
“Why?”
“The smell that way is the least nauseating.”
Duncan set off and with a shrug the woman fell into step beside him. “You look like shit by the way.”
“I feel worse.”
“What's your name.”
“Duncan, you?”
“Starr. What do you do?”
“I'm a wrestler and if you tell me you're an interviewer I'm going to freak out.”
“World Wrestling Headquarters.”
“What?”
“World Wrestling Headquarters. That's the company I interview for.”
“You're kidding me.”
“No. I'm here to cover our entrants to the Wrestlestock Cup, Sha'ta Thor and Zolton.”
“They're both your guys? Wow.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sha'ta Thor beat me in the semi-final of the Cup last year. I'm pretty intent on proving that he got lucky and settling the score. To do that I have to get past your man Zolton in round one.”
“It's 'Your Man of Chaos' Zolton.”
“What?”
“Your Man of Chaos, that's his moniker. He's also the reigning WWH World Champion.”
“He's a joke from Dude, Where's My Car is what he is.”
“I never saw that movie.”
For the first time in the conversation the two of them came to a stop, “Really?” Duncan asked with disbelief, “Zolton!” he added, making the Z symbol with his hands, “the guys in the bubble wrap suits. Nothing?”
“I haven't seen it!”
They set off walking again, “Well, trust me, it's hard to take a guy seriously when he shares his name with some space lizard worshipped by a bunch of crazy nerds in a twenty year old movie.”
“Well you'd better take him seriously. Like I said, he's a reigning world champion.”
“Yeah well he's never beaten me. You gonna call me world champion when I beat him on Thursday?”
“If you beat him on Thursday.”
“When I beat him.”
“You're awfully cocky for a guy that's covered in glitter and smells like sweat, vomit and lemons.”
“Yeah well I'll be cleaned up by match time and there is too much on the line for me to let myself go out in round one. This is just some tournament to Zolton, but this is much more than that to me. There's history here and I've got a lot to prove and scores to settle. World champion or not, I'm going to go through Zolton because if nothing else, I just plain want it more.”
By the time Duncan had finished speaking the two of them found themselves at the edge of the Bubblegum District.
“Thank god,” said Starr as she and Duncan walked up to a signpost that pointed towards the Oasis in one direction and the RV park in the other. “I guess this is where we part ways.”
“I guess so,” said Duncan, “see you around,” he added with a lazy wave as he turned away.
“Good luck,” Starr called after him as she headed off the opposite way.
The Sun had almost set and the burning heat of the desert day was swiftly changing to the cold of a desert night. A chill breeze swept through the paths between rows of food stands, carnival games, merch stalls and a dozen other temporary structures. The signs to the RV park had brought Duncan into Cynric the Crusader's fantastical renaissance fair of a district. Duncan still had bad memories of the last time he had attended a renaissance fair and it motivated him, if further motivation were needed, to hot foot it pack to the van. Right now even the bare mattress and lank pillow seemed like paradise. He stopped at a stall selling Elven Restorative Potions which turned out to just be ginger ale in the hopes of staving off the dehydration headache that had been plaguing him for the past hour. He was barely ten steps away from the stall when a suit of armour Duncan had taken to be a display came abruptly to life.
“Ryder!” the suit said as it stepped forward, the voice inside echoing around the fully enclosed helmet.
Shocked, Duncan flinched and stumbled away from the animated armour suit, tripping over his feet and could only watch as his ginger ale fell out of his hands. He tried desperately to catch it, only succeeding in sending the cup spinning in the air, spraying its contents out in all directions before it hit the ground and the last drops were absorbed by the sand. The gauntlet of the suit of armour rose to the helmet's visor and lifted it.
“Reeves!” Duncan snapped at the familiar face, “god dammit.”
“Having been released by UGWC back in February, how does it feel to be here at Wrestlestock?”
“Are you kidding me? What are you doing?”
“Getting the scoop like always.”
“And where does wearing plate armour and scaring the crap outta me come into that?”
“Scoops don't just fall in your lap you know. You have to sneak up on them like a lion on the plains of Africa. I've been standing on that spot all day, blending in, waiting for someone to come by.”
“You've been standing in the desert wearing a metal suit all day?”
“I'm dangerously dehydrated.”
“Yeah, so am I, because you made me drop my ginger ale,” said Duncan, gesturing to the cup on the floor.
The two stood in awkward silence for a while. “So...” said Jason Reeves.
“So?”
“How does it feel to be at Wrestlestock?”
Duncan rolled his eyes so hard he span a full three hundred and sixty degrees on the spot. “Fine, you wanna know? I'm pissed. Earlier this year the Consortium refused to renew my contract and kicked me out onto the street. Why? Because I was revealing a lot of difficult truths about the way they run their business. Since then not only have I had to deal with living out of a piece of shit van and driving hours a day to get to the next show just to make enough money to eat, but I've had to deal with people claiming that I quit UGWC because I couldn't handle the competition or whatever bullshit cover story Ooley has been spreading around to blind people from the truth. While I've been doing that I've had to watch as people I've beaten, people I know I can beat again, people who have no greater right to the place on the UGWC roster than I do succeed. I watched Sloane Taylor who beat at two PPV's last year, become World Heavyweight Champion, then had to listen as people made out she was amazing because she defended it at Outlast? Like, why do people pretend that Outlast is so difficult for the champion? You literally get to go in fresh to a match where all of your challengers have already to compete. Out of eleven UGWC Outlasts, the champion has defended it six times. It's bullshit!”
“But you know what Jason, now I'm going to settle the score. Now I'm going to show the Consortium, the UGWC roster and the whole damn world that I can compete with anyone and everyone you can put in front of me. Travis Pierce, the Baal hanger on McLean, that newly signed try hard wannabe tough guy blow-hard Savage or even the Avenger, I'll beat any one of them the Wrestlestock Cup puts in front of me and after I've done that, I'm going to come to Chicago, walk into Synergy with my head held high, claim the title shot I've earned and walk away with whatever gold I like. Then there won't be a shadow of a doubt that my release was based on nothing but fear and politics, that my name deserves to be spoken beside the very best in UGWC's history and that no matter how hard you try to stomp me down and sweep me under the rug, I will not be silenced, I will come back and I will take revenge on anyone who has doubted me, derided me, looked down there nose, sneered or laughed at me.”
“Does that answer your question Reeves?”
Through the whole tirade Jason Reeves had stood still as the statue he had pretended to be, eyes wide with shock. Now that it had ended he simply nodded, dumbstruck.”
“Good,” Duncan spat and clutched at his head that now throbbed with pain from the outburst, “I'm going to sleep. Don't follow me.”
To his credit he didn't, Duncan checked as he walked finally finding himself back in the RV park.
Though the sun was down the night was young and already music and the sounds of merriment were emanating from deep inside the Wrestlestock complex, but they held not interest to Duncan, he had to rest. A year before he had taken the Wrestlestock Cup lightly and seen himself eliminated. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, there was too much on the line. The Wrestlestock Cup was where he would begin to balance the books, begin to settle the score. For Duncan Ryder, the Wrestlestock Cup was the first waypoint on the road to redemption.
A week had passed since the events of Infinity. The night it seemed would likely mark the final time Duncan Ryder would compete under the banner of the Unified Global Wrestling Coalition. In the days that had followed Duncan had contemplated his actions, replaying them over and over wondering if he had done the right thing. He considered whether perhaps he should have taken his last match as it was, given it his true and honest all, a final send off to those fans who had stood by him in the past year. He would soon dismiss that thought though. There wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to be allowed to walk out on a victory, most likely Ooley was counting on Hastings being able to get the job done but no doubt the cantankerous one eyed bastard had some kind of backup plan up his sleeve to ensure the outcome he wanted. The idea too that the match could bring him one step closer to becoming the inaugural Conquest champion seemed like nothing more than a sick joke at this point. So in the end his thought process would always bring him back to where it began, with Duncan Ryder cracking Donovan Hastings upside the head with a steel chair and walking out head and middle finger held high. There was comfort in the certainty that given the chance to do it over again he would make the same choices but that didn't help with that fact that he was now very much out of a job.
With no work presenting itself to him in Chicago Duncan knew it was time once again for him to hit the road and move on. He had paid his latest month's rent plus a little extra he could spare as a thank you to Mrs. Estlestein for letting him out of his lease early. His last few hundred dollars had gone on his new home and his new car, those being one and the same thing. The man who had sold the vehicle to Duncan had liked to call it an RV but that was a distinct stretching of the term. Exactly what the van actually was Duncan wasn't sure, any make and model markings had either been deliberately removed or had rusted off at some point over the van's evidently long and arduous life, as had most of its paint. The only concession that had been made towards human comfort was that a thin mattress had been thrown into what had initially been designed as cargo space and what could only be described as an adult size potty had been placed on top of it. The mattress was folded up at the sides by the wheel arches and the back of the vehicle turned out to be just a couple of inches too short for the six foot four Brit to be able to stretch out comfortably in. Duncan wasn't looking forward to trying to sleep in it but he also didn't have a choice.
Duncan had driven the van, juddering and backfiring to the front of Mrs. Estlestein's home and had gone down into the sub-basement apartment that had served as his home for the past six months, emerging moments later with his belongings. There was no way to hide that he was back, the noise from the van was enough to wake the dead so it was no surprise to find Mrs. Estlestein on her porch as Duncan climbed the steps back up to street level, although he had assumed she had come out to complain about the noise. Instead she was quiet as she took the steps down to meet him on the pavement.
“You're definitely going then?” said Mrs. Estlestein. Duncan would usually have assumed that she was making sure that she was definitely rid of him but there was something in her voice that made him think that wasn't her meaning at all, it was perhaps concern maybe even sadness.
“I am. Just stopped to grab my things,” said Duncan as he walked around to the back of the van, opening the rear door to throw his stuff in on top of his unappealing bed.
“You don't have to you know.”
“I do. There's no work for me here.”
“Of course there is. They're always hiring at Target.”
Duncan couldn't help letting out a slight chuckle, “I'm sure they are but I'm not a shop worker I'm a wrestler. It's what I love so whatever happens, I've gotta go where I can wrestle.”
“So then where are you going?”
“I've got a lead on some shows up in Wisconsin so that'll be first. From there, I dunno.”
“Wisconsin? Do you know how cold it is up there this time of year? Have you got a good coat?”
“Uh, I have this,” said Duncan, gesturing to the thin black zip up hoodie he was currently wearing.
“That's it? You'll catch your death in Wisconsin just wearing that. Finish loading up, I'll be right back,” said Mrs. Estlestein and made her way back in to the house.
Duncan had already finished loading up. It didn't take more than one trip to grab his kit bag and the medium backpack that contained all the clothes he owned and wasn't wearing plus a tooth brush, phone charger and little more. Both bags were already in the back of the van so he just stood and waited for Mrs. Estlestein to return.
It took some time longer than you would typically expect. It would never be clear whether this was due to Mrs. Estlestein not being able to find whatever it was she was looking for or if it was simply a case of how slowly the old lady moved. Regardless, Duncan waited as the minutes dragged on until eventually Mrs. Estlestein returned. She was now carrying a dark green parka jacket with a wide hood and an above average number of pockets. She clutched in front of herself with both hands as she scurried back down her front steps.
“Here,” she said, holding the jacket up to him.
Duncan took it with a measure of hesitance. It had been a long time since anyone had given him anything and he kept expecting the typically crotchety woman to snatch it back and reveal the whole thing to be some kind of prank. When he'd taken the jacket out of her grip though and Mrs. Estlestein's arms had fallen loosely back down to her sides Duncan smiled.
“You're giving this to me?”
“Yeah. It used to be my son's but he doesn't need it any more, not where he is,” said Mrs. Estlestein, her voice tinged with sadness.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Duncan, thinking he was doing a great job of reading her tone, “how did he die?”
“He's not dead you putz, he moved to Florida,” Mrs. Estlestein scolded him with a frown.
“I'm sorry, I just- uh- nevermind, just, thank you.”
“You're welcome. It might be a little tight, my boy isn't as broad through the shoulders as you but it'll do the job.”
Duncan swung the jacket around his back and pulled it on. Mrs. Estlestein was right, it was a little snug but not so much so as to be uncomfortable and he was certain it'd be better than freezing his ass off like he would inevitably do without it.
The two of them stood there silently on the pavement for several long seconds, awkwardness following in the wake of the uncharacteristically tender moment between land lady and tenant.
“Well uh, I should hit the road. I've got a long drive ahead.” Duncan slipped past Mrs. Estlestein and grabbed the door handle. The door groaned loudly and fought against him as Duncan opened it then climbed into the driver's seat. He was about to shut the door again behind him when Mrs. Estlestein spoke.
“Duncan.”
“Yeah,” he replied, pausing with his hand on the inside handle.
“I watched all your matches.”
Duncan smiled, bemused, “really?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you always tell me you didn't, and why're you telling me now?”
“I told you that so you wouldn't go thinking I was some kind of a mark,” Mrs. Estlestein said, jabbing a finger into Duncan's arm, “wouldn't do to have you think you could start getting lazy on your rent. I'm telling you now because you never did and...and because you're good. Whoever let you go is an idiot and you're going to be just fine.”
“Thank you, that means a lot. Does that mean you're going to keep watching UGWC?”
“I don't think so. Too many self-important asshole for my taste,” she said but paused and seemed to have another thought, “maybe I'll watch the bits with Hide Yamazaki.”
“Oh, you like Hide huh?”
“Yeah, but I like his manager more.”
Duncan grinned broadly, “Johnny hey?”
“He's very tanned and I like his confidence.”
Duncan started nodding and couldn't help giggling to himself, “Well OK then, interesting information to have and hey, you don't need UGWC anyway, you'll always have Carnage right?”
“Yeah, Carnage aren't going anywhere.”
There was another brief silence. “I really do have to go though. I hope I'll see you again some time.”
“Just stop by if you're back in town.”
“I will. Goodbye Mrs. Estlestein.”
“Judith.”
“Hm?”
“You can call me Judith.”
“Alright then. Goodbye Judith.”
With that Duncan pulled the door closed with another teeth clenching screech, took three attempts to coax the van to life and pulled away.
Sunday March 28th, St. Cloud, Minnesota.
Duncan had been on fire tonight. He had move with strength and fluidity, like a crimson blur. His mind felt sharp, like he could see what his opponent was going to do seconds before he did it. His victory had been a display exquisite technical wrestling and athletic prowess. Not that the twenty or so people in attendance seemed to appreciate that.
Duncan had jumped up after the successful pinfall, thrusting his hand into the air with the expectation of roars of delight and approval.
“Woo! Yeah,” was all he got instead half heartedly from one guy who was almost certainly drunk. The event was taking place inside of a night club that had clearly seen much better days. The ring had been set up on what had once been the dance floor and lighting had been kept to the club's typical low level. It was a strange experience and a far cry from what he had grown used to for the year he had spent with UGWC though it was in fact not the worst place he had been forced to compete in the two months since his release, though perhaps it was still a contender.
Deflated, Duncan climbed out of the ring and dropped down to the floor. He almost slipped on a spilt drink and had to catch himself on the bottom rope to keep himself from ending up sprawled out.
“Fucking, shit,” he grumbled and wiped his boot on the apron before making his way back towards the staff area, headed for the storage room the wrestlers had all been using as a locker room. Before he could get there though someone stopped him.
“Hi, hey, Duncan.” The man was seemingly in his late thirties, balding and significantly overweight.
“Hey,” said Duncan, coming to a halt.
“I've been a big fan of yours since you were in GIW. I've watched all your matches, even ones from when you were El Blanco Leo in Mexico,” the man said excitably.
“Well thank you, it's always good to feel appreciated.”
“Sure. Could I get a picture with you?”
“Of course,” Duncan said courteously, taking a step to stand beside the fan. There was a quick flash as the picture was taken then Duncan took a step away.
“Thank you. This is awesome,” said the fan, looking at the picture he'd just taken.
“No problem. What's your name?”
“Me? Uh, Jacob, Jake.”
“Pleasure to meet you Jake,” said Duncan, “I wish I could stay and hang out for a while but I've got a show in Springfield tomorrow and I really need to get a head start on the drive tonight. Thanks for coming out though.”
“No problem. Thanks for the picture,” said Jake, gesturing with his phone then turning away and heading back to, wherever is must've been that he had appeared from while Duncan kept back on his original path away from the public area of the club.
The line about having to leave was not just a story to excuse himself from the conversation with Jake, he had a long drive coming and breaking at least an hour or so off of it tonight would make it that bit more manageable tomorrow. Duncan quickly got changed, stuffing his deep red tights into his kit bag then heading to the manager's office.
The door to the office was slightly ajar and Duncan gave it a light knock as he slowly opened it just far enough to be able to fit his head through. Inside was a man named Bill. Bill was a stout man in his early sixties who wore his shirt with too many buttons undone and a lot of gold jewellery. Despite sitting in the manager's office he was not the club manager but was the promoter for the wrestling show that had taken place here. Duncan had only met him in person for the first time earlier that day but he seemed a good enough sort and he seemed excited to have someone with the level of experience and name recognition that Duncan had on his card.
“Hi Bill,” Duncan said as he pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room.
“What do you want?”
Duncan was taken aback by the bluntness of the response for a moment and tried to cover it with a light chuckle that unsurprisingly came out very awkwardly. “I um, I know it's quick but I really need to get out of here, I have another show tomorrow night and it's a long drive so I was hoping I could just grab my pay so I can hit the road.”
“Your pay? Is that a joke?”
“...no...” said Duncan with a frown.
“I'm not paying you a god damn nickel. Get out of my sight.”
“Excuse me?” said Duncan, indignant.
“You heard me.”
“I heard you yeah but I don't understand,” said Duncan taking several purposeful steps towards Bill's desk, “we agreed a fee. I came here on time and performed to the best of my ability. I have held up my end of our agreement and I expect to be paid for my work.”
Bill slammed his fist down on the desk, “I don't give a shit about our agreement. I agreed to pay you a frankly exorbitant amount of money in the belief that you were going to be my big draw. I spent a lot of money on this venue and you were supposed to pack it out.”
“The hell am I supposed to do about that? I didn't make you any promises and I certainly wasn't in charge of your marketing.” There was a pause where the two men glared at each other until Duncan spoke again, “OK, I'll tell you what, I can be reasonable. I'll take let's say seventy-five percent of what we agreed to, how's that?”
“You're not listening to me Ryder. I've already haemorrhaged money on this show before I've paid anyone at all. No-one here is getting paid tonight and you're no exception.”
Duncan took two more steps towards the desk so that he could lean forward, arms braced against it. “That's not acceptable. This is my job. This is how I make my living. I was in Green Bay two days ago and I paid good money to get myself here because I'm supposed to have more money by the time I leave. I have to be in Springfield tomorrow night and I need to pay for things like gas and food so you're going to pay me what we agreed or-”
“Or what? You'll hit me?” Bill barked, standing up fast enough to send his seat tumbling towards the back of the room and meeting Duncan's eyeline, “I'm not a wrestler and this isn't a show this is the real world. You lay a finger on me and I'll sue you for everything you have. I don't care if all that is is a shitty van, the clothes on your back and few crumpled singles in your wallet, I'll take it all. So get this through your head, I'm not paying you. We don't have a contract. You've got nothing. You get nothing. Now get out of my sight before I have the cops come down here and throw you out.”
Duncan backed off shaking his head and let out a low derisive laugh. “You're a real piece of shit.”
“Yeah, well if I'm a piece of shit and you're the one begging me for money what does that make you?”
“Fuck you,” Duncan spat.
“No, fuck you.”
It was clear at that point that the conversation was well and truly over. Duncan flipped Bill off as he turned away and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him as he went.
Duncan didn't waste any more time leaving and headed out to the parking lot. He was still grumbling curses when he got to his van, fighting like he did every day with the driver's side door before throwing his bag across to the passenger seat and sitting down. He started the engine and watched with dismay as the hand on the petrol meter barely rose from minimum, still comfortably in the red zone.
“Shit,” he growled as he reached for his wallet. He didn't know why he'd bothered, he knew full well that Bill had been right about one thing, there was nothing more in there than a few crumpled singles.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he said, hammering his fist against the steering wheel with each expletive then letting his head fall back heavily against the seat's headrest. He was stranded. So much for getting to Springfield he was going to struggle to even get out of the St. Cloud city limits. He closed his eyes and took long slow breaths, trying to fight down the wave of anxiety that was rising up inside him. His head lolled to the side and when he opened his eyes his saw Jake, the fan he'd spoken to earlier heading to his car and had an idea. Hurriedly Duncan reached into his kit bag, rummaging through it for something, anything, when his hand got hold of his tights. He sighed as he pulled them out of the bag, fought his way back out of the van and jogged across the lot.
He got to Jake's car just as the man had gotten into the drivers seat and shut the door. He jumped when Duncan appeared and knocked on his window. The shock seemed to take the breath out of him but he wound the window open just enough to be able to speak through it.
“Uh, hi,” said Jake, confusion evident in his tone.
“Hey, it was Jake right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you said you were a fan of mine.”
“...sure.”
“Well, how would you like to own a pair of my genuine ring worn tights?” said Duncan, holding the tights up.
“Wow, really?” Jake said and wound the window all the way down and reached through to take them when Duncan gently pulled them out of reach.
“These are one of a kind, custom made. These are the trunks I wore when I beat Sloane Taylor for the UGWC Chaos title. I wore these when I shared the ring with Travis Roberts and Alan Wallace at Outlast, when I beat Sloane again at Horizons. I wore these when I pinned Sebastian Everett-Bryce in the Global Challenge. There's real history to these tights.”
“Um,” Jake hesitated but something seemed to click that told him where this conversation was going, “so, uh, how...how much would you like for them?”
Duncan shrugged a little and let his head rock from side to side, “I think a piece of history like these is worth like, three hundred bucks.”
Jake took a sharp breath in through his nose. “I don't have that kind of money on me.”
“OK, OK, I'll tell you what, for a fan and because I like you and I appreciate you coming out here tonight, for you, two hundred.”
Jake took a wallet out of his jacket pocket and started looking through it, purposefully angling it so that Duncan couldn't see how much was inside. “I dunno, the most I can do is probably like, eighty bucks.”
“How about a hundred?”
“Really man, I'm sorry, I can do eighty and my girlfriend is gonna kill me for it.”
Duncan fought to hold back a sigh and keep an upbeat expression on his face. He looked at the trunks in his hand. It was a sales pitch but what he had said was all true, all the best moments of the year he'd spent in UGWC had come while he was wearing these trunks. They were a representation of who he was becoming and who he wanted to be. He had no desire to part with them at all, even if it weren't for sentimental reasons then because he had no others to wrestle in. He didn't have a choice though. He needed cash right now. The alternative was that he stay stranded in this parking lot until the end of time, or at least until someone took some kind of pity on him. By then he'd for sure have missed the show in Springfield and who knows how many more. No, this was the only way.
“OK, you've got a deal. Eighty bucks.”
“Yeah? Awesome,” said Jake, carefully extracting a handful of notes and passing them to Duncan who quickly counted them before handing Jake the trunks.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” said Duncan, tucking the cash into his back pocket and starting to walk away, “and you enjoy those. I'd better not see them on Ebay tomorrow,” he added with broad smile.
“You won't. Thank you,” said Jake as he wound his window back up.
With that Duncan went back to the van. His idea hadn't gone as well as he had hoped, but at least he could get most of a tank of gas and something to eat before his next match, less than twenty four hours and six hundred and fifty miles away.
Monday March 29th, Somewhere along the I35.
Duncan had woken up stiff as a board with an ache in his back having barely slept, just like he did every morning. He shuffled to the back of the van and let himself out, placing his bare feet down on the cool asphalt of the rest stop parking lot he'd pulled into some time in the early hours of the morning. He stretched and twisted, ineffectually attempting to work out the pains before giving up and grabbing his shoes, phone and toothbrush and going in search of a restroom.
As he walked his phone vibrated in his pocket with a Twitter notification. It was nothing important but it surprised Duncan to see that he had a mobile signal out here in the middle of pretty much nowhere.
'I wonder....' a thought crept in from the edge of his mind. Duncan opened the Ebay app and wrote his name in the search bar.
There they were.
RING WORN DUNCAN RYDER ADVERSARY WRESTLING TIGHTS - $500
“That motherfu-!”
Monday April 19th, Chicago Illinois
The voices emanate from a tablet held tenderly in the lap of a elderly woman sat in a comfortable armchair.
“Put him in coach.”
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“It can't be!”
“It is!”
Mrs. Estlestein smiled broadly and practically vibrated with excitement as she watched her former tenant walk out on to the stage as the fifth member of Team Carnage, set to compete at UGWC Incursion.
“That's it Duncan. You go kick all their lousy asses.”
Monday July 19th, Sonoran Desert, Arizona
Duncan had flown back to Indianapolis on Friday following his (successful/unsuccessful) challenge of the Legacy Pro Northumbria title and had almost immediately set himself onto the road. The journey across the country had taken the best part of thirty hours drawn out across the weekend and by the time Duncan had reached the Sonoran Desert the Wrestlestock city was almost entirely complete. Work crews still scurried back and forth putting finishing touches to signage and hanging banners but already the first and most enthusiastic of wrestling fans were milling around, enjoying the relative calm of the first day before events kicked into full swing on Thursday.
Duncan parked his van in the allocated RV park and camping area. The plot, designed for Winnebagos and other luxury vehicles was ridiculously oversized for his own wheeled residence and pulling into the space he felt like he was helming a tug boat in a sea of cruise liners. He would have felt bad about being a blot on an otherwise spectacular landscape of polished white and silver but he was too hot and sleep deprived to care.
His first instinct was to rest, to try to catch up on some of the sleep he had deprived himself of in his efforts to get here on the first day of festivities but having laid down it was clear that the back of his van was doing nothing but absorbing and retaining heat. The air was dense and humid and Duncan was sweating just laying still. It was soon apparent there was no chance of sleep before the sun went down so Duncan got up again and set of to investigate Wrestlestock city.
He first passed through the Arizona Regional Wrestling district on the outskirts of the temporary city, stopping to buy the largest cup he could find of fresh squeezed lemonade. He took the first few long deep slugs of it while standing at the back of a crowd made up of mostly parents with young children watching a match between a man dressed as a dinosaur and another dressed as a pig. The match soon ended with a victory to the dinosaur and Duncan moved on.
A few more minutes of wandering and having swiftly consumed half of his absurdly sized drink Duncan was happy to find himself in the Level Up district, Mr. Rad's Rad Party. A medley of iconic video-game theme music was being played through bundles of loudspeakers set up on towers which was overlaid by the sounds of hundreds of arcade machines being played. As he casually strolled through Duncan was cordially greeted by members of the Level Up backstage crew though they were all evidently too busy to stop and talk. All except of course for Lenny Brasco.
Lenny trotted up to Duncan, hurriedly beckoning for a trailing cameraman to keep pace with him. Even in the sweltering heat Lenny was wearing a suit and seemed to be suffering for his choice of attire. Sweat was pouring off his face and staining the visible parts of his white shirt.
“You OK there Lenny?” Duncan asked.
“Great, great, just great,” Lenny said, pulling a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and using it to wide the sweat from his brow, “merch stand is up and we've already sold through the new Duncan Shepard, Power Champion t-shirts in XXL,” said Lenny panting for breath, “glad I caught you, let's get a few words about your thoughts for the week.”
“OK sure, ask your questions.”
Lenny positioned himself next to Duncan and pointed to a spot on the ground in front of them where he wanted the cameraman to stand. The three of them seemed in place but Lenny just looked at Duncan silently for several long seconds.
“Everything alright?” Duncan asked.
“You wanna put that down for a minute?” Lenny asked, gesturing to the giant cup Duncan was holding in both hands like a toddler with a sippy cup.
“Nope,” Duncan replied, simultaneously shaking his head and taking a long slurp through the straw to make his point.
“OK, fine,” said Lenny somewhat taken aback but he gestured to the camera, counting down from five with his fingers before speaking.
“Hello Level Up fans, thank you for logging on, I am Lenny Brasco reporting live from day one of UGWC Wrestlestock here in the Sonoran Desert, more specifically from inside Mr Rad's Rad Party. I'm here with newly crowned Power Champion Duncan Shepard. Duncan, a few days from now this district will be hosting Level Up Wrestling's first show outside of the Indiana Farmers Coliseum, EXP 10 where we will be crowning our first ever multiplayer champions. It's been noted that you're not on the card, why is that?”
Duncan finally lowered the straw from his lips to reply, “It's a combination of things. While I'm a big fan of multiplayer competition I'm the first ever Power Champion and as long as I hold that title it will be my top priority. I'm excited to see who walks away with those belts, but while I'm the Power champion, I won't be seeking out more gold within Level Up. That said, I'll still be making an appearance on the show so look out for that. The other main factor is that I've been given leave by the Developer to focus my efforts on the Wrestlestock Cup and District Conquest events.”
“I'm glad you brought up the Wrestlestock Cup, Level Up has come out in force for this competition boasting the second highest number of entrants behind UGWC themselves with three-”
“Well let me stop you there for just a moment. While I'm an active part of the Level Up roster and proud to be so, in truth as far as the Wrestlestock Cup goes, I'm not here as Duncan Shepard I'm here as Duncan Ryder and I'm representing myself.”
“I see, I'm a little disappointed to hear that I'll admit. It was my hope and I believe the hope of many at home that a concerted team effort from Level Up entrants Brandon Hendrix, yourself our Power Champion and of course Final Boss Champion Magdalena Lockheart could see Level Up taking the cup back to Indiana, which would be a great boon to our young promotion.”
“I understand that and I mean no offence or disrespect to anyone at Level Up. You've all been nothing but welcoming to me over the past months but there is history here that extends back a lot further than my Level Up debut and this is something I have to do. That being said, either way, my approach to the Wrestlestock Cup won't change. You spoke about a team effort Lenny but this isn't a team event. It doesn't matter if we're in Indianapolis, the Sonoran Desert or anywhere else, the rest of the Level Up roster are opponents to me, not team mates. I can and do have a tremendous amount of respect for them including Brandon Hendrix and especially Maggie Lockheart, but I didn't come out here to help either one of them win, I came out here to win this myself.”
Lenny turned back to the camera, “Well there you have it, determined words from Duncan Shep- Ryder here on day one of Wrestlestock. Stay logged in and I'll have an interview with EXP 10 debuting multiplayer team the Time Jumpers very soon.”
The camera lowers showing that the stream is paused.
“Thanks, so uh, have you seen the Time Jumpers anywhere?” asked Lenny.
“Who?”
“Nevermind. They've got to be around here somewhere. See you later,” said Lenny seemingly picking a random direction and setting off again once more beckoning his flagging cameraman to follow.
Duncan watched him go for a moment then pointedly turned and walked away in the opposite direction. His wandering soon brought him to a district a hanging banner told him was called Hell On Heels. Duncan noted that this was a new addition from last years festival and with a little nod to himself he headed inside. Directly ahead was a startlingly large building given the surroundings which was draped in blown up images of Eden Morgan, Roxy Cotton, Sloane Taylor and Lucy Wylde. Duncan scoffed a little at the particular choices but headed towards the door. “Perhaps there's a display for Chinatsu Chen inside,” he mused to himself. Duncan reached the door and was about to go in when a staff member barred his path.
“Sorry sir, no food or drinks are allowed inside the exhibit.”
Duncan paused. He weighed up the lemonade cup in his hands and, deciding that there was still too much to waste he turned back. He was a few metres away when he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“It's a travesty isn't it.”
Duncan looked up and saw a striking woman a few paces away looking at him. “I know, it's not like I was going to spill it.”
The woman shook her head, “Not that. I mean that of all the women hanging from those banners there isn't one for Crystal Zdunich.”
Duncan, who had just taken another gulp from his drink turned his head so as not to spit the contents of his mouth in the woman's face. “Sorry,” he said, turning back, “was that a joke?”
The woman was frowning at him now, unimpressed by either Duncan's accidental spitting or his derogatory response. Most likely both. “Crystal Zdunich is an eighteen time world champion and a former UGWC Cross-Hemisphere title challenger.”
“Are you her number one fan?”
“My name is Ms. Rocky Mountains. I am an interviewer for Sin City Wrestling, the promotion Mrs. Zdunich is representing in the Wrestlestock Cup this week. You're Duncan Ryder yes?”
“That's me.”
“Perhaps you have time to go on record with some of your thoughts regarding the tournament and a possible match with Crystal.”
“Uh sure,” Duncan replied, surprised by the request given his most recent conduct, “do you need to find a cameraman?”
“No, I'm all set here,” Ms. Rocky Mountains said extending a small microphone from a wireless headset Duncan hadn't noticed was tucked in her ear and tapping a small white cylinder on her shoulder that turned on a red blinking light.
“You're going to film me on that?”
“Yes, it's top of the line. As good a picture and sound quality as any of the hulking cameras anyone else is carrying around. So, Mr. Ryder-”
“Duncan, please.”
Ms. Rocky Mountains pressed her lips together in an expression of annoyance at being interrupted then flashed a false smile and continued, “Duncan, you are one of the twelve competitors looking to become the 2021 Wrestlestock Cup winner. In a field that contains multiple former and current world champions, what makes you think you are capable of leaving Arizona as the tournament winner?”
“Here's the thing about world champions. If you're the world champions at say football, that means your team beat all the best teams in the world. That's the same with almost any sport, but wrestling is different. In wrestling, to be a world champion all you really have to do is beat one person one time under one banner and someone hands you a gold belt and says you're the champion of the world. Now I don't want to put down that achievement, many wrestling promotions have rosters stacked with quality competitors and fighting your way to the top of the heap is something to be deeply proud of, but being a world champion or a former world champion doesn't make you automatically better than someone who hasn't held a so called world title. Level Up Final Boss, or you could say World Champion Maggie Lockheart has never beaten me, nor has that new windbag UGWC signed Tony Savage. I've beaten three of the last four UGWC World Champions. The only reason I haven't beaten the fourth is because I haven't had a chance to get my hands on him yet. Only one of the eleven other competitors in the Wrestlestock Cup has a win over me and I don't see that as a detriment, it's just more motivation for me to win.”
“I see, and what are your thoughts on possibly facing SCW's own Crystal Zdunich? Coming off hot from a semi-final run in the prestigious Quag Cup? A tournament you notably withdrew from.”
“Yeah me and fifty other people. I'm not here to air the dirty laundry that lead to that decision but I can tell you this, in the full eighty person field that was going to make up the Quag Cup, Crystal Zdunich, or Crystal Hilton or Christina Hilton, whatever her name is today doesn't get to the semi-finals and I don't see her getting past round one in the Wrestlestock Cup either.”
“That's a bold claim to make regarding an eighteen time world champion.”
“Look, you can spout that figure all you like but I've seen Zdunich wrestle. She's...OK, I guess, but from what I've seen I've never been that impressed. I have to assume one of two things based on her performances in UGWC. Either she's spread herself too thin, considers UGWC a low priority and has gone into ninety nine percent of her UGWC matches strung out and underperformed or SCW simply doesn't host the standard of competition promotions like UGWC and Level Up do. I couldn't comment on which it is, I'll leave that up to you to decide.”
Ms. Rocky Mountains tapped the camera on her shoulder again and the red blinking light shut off, “I see. That was...enlightening. Thank you for your time.”
“You're welcome.”
“And I'll be looking forward to seeing Mrs. Zdunich make you eat your words,” she said with a sickly sweet tone and facetious smile
“I'll look forward to watching her try,” Duncan replied with a smile of his own and a raised his lemonade cup like a toast before walking off.
Duncan departed Hell on Heels promising himself he'd find time to return when his supply of tangy sugary liquid allowed.
Some way out of Hell on Heels Duncan found himself dumbstruck by the sight he stumbled upon. Firstly he struggled to fathom the mighty pyramid that rose up in front of him but more than that he struggled to put together what he was seeing with the signs stating THE NEW FRONTIER. As far as Duncan could think Ancient Egypt was, as it's name suggested, one of the oldest frontiers in human history. Then he read below, 'PRESENTED by NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING: HOME OF THE GUARDIANS of the PYRAMID MATCH.'
“Oh,” Duncan said to himself, “I guess that makes sense, kinda.”
Putting his issues with naming conventions aside Duncan proceeded and happily marvelled at the impressively authentic replica of one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. At least, he thought it was authentic, Duncan had never been to Egypt but this was how he imagined the pyramids at least. He paused, letting the crowds pass by him as he looked up to the pyramid's peak.
“Quite the marvel our team has created here isn't it. The Undisputed title match will be one for the ages don't you think?”
Duncan turned his head, straw still firmly in his mouth to see a smartly dressed man standing a few steps to his right. Unlike Lenny he had done away with the typical suit jacket in favour of a waistcoat and had treated himself to an open collar and rolled up sleeves. He seemed to be handling the heat with much more dignity than Level Up's own interviewer and merch hawker.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Duncan replied, not really knowing what the man was talking about but trying to be polite.
“Would you like an autograph?” the man asked him.
“Whose?” Duncan asked.
“Oh,” the man replied, clearly deflated by the lack of recognition.
“Are you competing for the Unified title?” Duncan asked.
“Undisputed title,” the man corrected him, “and no I'm not a wrestler. My name is Josh Davidson. I'm an interviewer. I work on NFW's Collision brand.”
“Oh, cool. Good to meet you,” said Duncan.
“Likewise,” said Davidson but turned to walk away.
“Hey, Sierra Silver works for you guys right?”
Josh turned back, “She does. Do you know her?”
“Not personally. We've spoken online and I think we're going to fight each other at Pax West.”
“Whatever for?”
“Honestly I don't remember,” said Duncan, “but no backing out now.”
“Wait,” said Josh, “I remember hearing some chatter about that a while back. You're David Ryder right?”
“Duncan Ryder, yes.”
“My apologies. You're also competing in the Wrestlestock Cup this week aren't you.”
“Yeah.”
“NFW is being represented in the tournament by Sylvia Lopez. Could I bother you for a sound bite regarding a possible match up between the two of you for our end of day news round-up?”
“Why not? Seems to be the day for it,” said Duncan.
“Sorry?” said Josh getting out his phone and tapping it a few times before holding it out towards Duncan.
“Nothing. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“Well, honestly I don't have much to say about Sylvia Lopez. We've never met and there's no guarantees that we will even if she gets past her first round match. All I have to go on is hear say and few short clips people have sent me over the last couple of weeks. The word people seem to like to use to describe her is animal. Now I'm an animal lover, but they don't belong in wrestling rings and frankly, most of the human beings who either self identify or get called animals by other people are really just insulting actual animals. These kind of people that have no self control, that have don't care if they cause serious harm to their opponents, they give this sport a bad name. People like Sylvia Lopez, people like Jack Briggs if he dares to show his face here, are the reason many people still see pro wrestling and as a circus sideshow and not as a professional sport on par with the NFL or the NBA. Luckily there are real athletes out here like myself though, I'm far from the only one, who embody what wrestling should really be about. If Sylvia Lopez manages to make it all the way to the final and meets me there, I'll be happy to show her what that is.”
When Duncan stops, Josh taps his phone screen and tucks the device into his pocket. “Thanks, I'll pass that along to our news team.”
“Sure. Guess I'll see you around,” said Duncan as he tried to peer around the pyramid and between stalls to figure out which way to go next. Not being able to see anything beyond the boundaries of the so called New Frontier he picked a random direction and set off.
His decision brought him to a district designated The Young At Heart Acrobatic Centre. Duncan looked past the district entrance and realised the entire area was nothing but trampolines.
“Awesome,” he said with a smile. He weighed up the drink in his hand and finally, incredibly, it was almost empty so with one last gulp he downed the last of the lemonade, put the cup in a bin, then took his shoes off and launched into the district.
Duncan had never been much for flips, even the simple ones. At his most elaborate in the days of El Blanco Leo he would occasionally break out a standard moonsault but his technique wasn't great and he could only manage it because he didn't have to land on his feet, so he simply hopped and bounced and bounded around, revelling in the simple childlike joy of it. Unfortunately one such bounce saw him collide with a young woman with long dark frizzy hair and knock her to the ground, well, to the trampoline.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Are you OK?” Duncan asked, mortified as he reached down to help the woman to her feet.
“I'm fine,” she said with a smile, “I bounce pretty well even on solid ground.”
“You sure?”
“I'm sure, don't worry,” the woman said, taking Duncan's hand to get to her feet then immediately starting to bounce on the spot. “Isn't this place great?”
Duncan, assured now that the woman was in fact fine started to bounce too and the two quickly fell into sync. “It's definitely something.”
“So I work for one of the promotions here, PWS Apex. This whole thing was the idea of one of our roster members, Shawn Young. He's going to be in the Wrestlestock Cup this week.”
“Me too.”
“Really? What's your name?”
“Duncan. Duncan Ryder.”
“Yeah, I remember seeing your name on the schedule. I'm Cameron Fernandez. I'm a backstage interviewer.”
“Great. I guess you'll want to hear my thoughts about Shawn.”
“Great idea!” Cameron took a cell phone out of her pocket.
“Wait. You want to do it here?”
“Why not? It'll be fun.” Without stopping bouncing Cameron tapped the phone then held it out on her extended arm. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Cameron Fernandez reporting live and bouncing from PWS Apex and Shawn Young's Young At Heart Acrobatic Centre where I've just bumped into, very literally, Wrestlestock Cup contestant Duncan Ryder.” She tapped the screen, presumably flipping from front to rear camera and pointing it at Duncan, keeping the phone level with his head with impressive accuracy despite the constant motion. “Duncan, while you're scheduled to face one another in the opening round, victories for both you and Shawn Young could well see you facing one another five days from now in the Wrestlestock Cup semi-finals. How would you see such a match going?”
“Well, I don't know Shawn. What I do know is that he was trained by none other than the Iceman Konrad Raab. Now Konrad is one of the people I respect most not only on the roster of our hosts UGWC but in all of professional wrestling and what I expect from a student of his is nothing less than a fair, clean, athletic and most of all exciting contest. Should the opportunity arise, a match with Shawn Young is one I would relish as much as any match up the Wrestlestock Cup can throw at me.”
“I'm sure Shawn will be delighted to hear that. Now- hey, are you OK?”
It was a valid question. In the time since he'd started speaking Duncan's complexion had taken on an unhealthy greenish hue and his bouncing had become noticeably less enthusiastic.
“I uh, I've gotta go, sorry,” said Duncan not waiting for a response before bounding as quickly as his rapidly degrading intestinal fortitude would allow for an exit.
The next we see of Duncan he's gingerly extracted his head from a trash can. Looking around himself passers by give him disapproving looks and shakes of their heads. He felt like crap and it was a small mercy that at least the sun was starting to set and the edge was taken off the baking heat.
“I've gotta get out of here,” he groaned as he wiped his chin on the back of his forearm. He'd found himself somewhere near the centre of the complex with sign posts seemingly for everything pointing off in every direction. One pointed towards the RV park and Duncan followed it.
Unfortunately for Duncan, what he hadn't read on the same sign pointing in the same direction, in big pink comic sans were the words BUBBLEGUM DISTRICT. Duncan wandered into it utterly oblivious until is was far too late a every one of his already overtaxed senses was assaulted with a barrage of neon pink lights, carnival music and sickly sweet smells of popcorn, candy floss and freshly baked cupcakes coated in frosting. Duncan jumped as some kind of cannon went off, raining down pink and gold glitter which immediately stuck to his sweat coated forearms as if it were coated in superglue.
“Ugh, how do I get out of here?” Duncan moaned at the world.
“You too huh?” asked an equally exasperated walking towards him, “I found myself in here while looking for The Oasis and I've been trying to find a way out for twenty minutes.”
“You didn't think to just give up and fill yourself with cake?” Duncan asked sarcastically.
“Does this look like a body that gets gorged with sugar?” the woman replied, striking a pose with a hand on her hip, emphasising an athletic figure that even in his sugar crashed state Duncan couldn't help but appreciate.
“No it does not.”
The woman sighed, “We're both adults. Surely between the two of us we can find a way out of here.”
“Have you tried just walking in a straight line?”
“That's the first thing I tried! Somehow I just ended up back here again.”
“Hmm,” Duncan mused, “this way.”
“Why?”
“The smell that way is the least nauseating.”
Duncan set off and with a shrug the woman fell into step beside him. “You look like shit by the way.”
“I feel worse.”
“What's your name.”
“Duncan, you?”
“Starr. What do you do?”
“I'm a wrestler and if you tell me you're an interviewer I'm going to freak out.”
“World Wrestling Headquarters.”
“What?”
“World Wrestling Headquarters. That's the company I interview for.”
“You're kidding me.”
“No. I'm here to cover our entrants to the Wrestlestock Cup, Sha'ta Thor and Zolton.”
“They're both your guys? Wow.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sha'ta Thor beat me in the semi-final of the Cup last year. I'm pretty intent on proving that he got lucky and settling the score. To do that I have to get past your man Zolton in round one.”
“It's 'Your Man of Chaos' Zolton.”
“What?”
“Your Man of Chaos, that's his moniker. He's also the reigning WWH World Champion.”
“He's a joke from Dude, Where's My Car is what he is.”
“I never saw that movie.”
For the first time in the conversation the two of them came to a stop, “Really?” Duncan asked with disbelief, “Zolton!” he added, making the Z symbol with his hands, “the guys in the bubble wrap suits. Nothing?”
“I haven't seen it!”
They set off walking again, “Well, trust me, it's hard to take a guy seriously when he shares his name with some space lizard worshipped by a bunch of crazy nerds in a twenty year old movie.”
“Well you'd better take him seriously. Like I said, he's a reigning world champion.”
“Yeah well he's never beaten me. You gonna call me world champion when I beat him on Thursday?”
“If you beat him on Thursday.”
“When I beat him.”
“You're awfully cocky for a guy that's covered in glitter and smells like sweat, vomit and lemons.”
“Yeah well I'll be cleaned up by match time and there is too much on the line for me to let myself go out in round one. This is just some tournament to Zolton, but this is much more than that to me. There's history here and I've got a lot to prove and scores to settle. World champion or not, I'm going to go through Zolton because if nothing else, I just plain want it more.”
By the time Duncan had finished speaking the two of them found themselves at the edge of the Bubblegum District.
“Thank god,” said Starr as she and Duncan walked up to a signpost that pointed towards the Oasis in one direction and the RV park in the other. “I guess this is where we part ways.”
“I guess so,” said Duncan, “see you around,” he added with a lazy wave as he turned away.
“Good luck,” Starr called after him as she headed off the opposite way.
The Sun had almost set and the burning heat of the desert day was swiftly changing to the cold of a desert night. A chill breeze swept through the paths between rows of food stands, carnival games, merch stalls and a dozen other temporary structures. The signs to the RV park had brought Duncan into Cynric the Crusader's fantastical renaissance fair of a district. Duncan still had bad memories of the last time he had attended a renaissance fair and it motivated him, if further motivation were needed, to hot foot it pack to the van. Right now even the bare mattress and lank pillow seemed like paradise. He stopped at a stall selling Elven Restorative Potions which turned out to just be ginger ale in the hopes of staving off the dehydration headache that had been plaguing him for the past hour. He was barely ten steps away from the stall when a suit of armour Duncan had taken to be a display came abruptly to life.
“Ryder!” the suit said as it stepped forward, the voice inside echoing around the fully enclosed helmet.
Shocked, Duncan flinched and stumbled away from the animated armour suit, tripping over his feet and could only watch as his ginger ale fell out of his hands. He tried desperately to catch it, only succeeding in sending the cup spinning in the air, spraying its contents out in all directions before it hit the ground and the last drops were absorbed by the sand. The gauntlet of the suit of armour rose to the helmet's visor and lifted it.
“Reeves!” Duncan snapped at the familiar face, “god dammit.”
“Having been released by UGWC back in February, how does it feel to be here at Wrestlestock?”
“Are you kidding me? What are you doing?”
“Getting the scoop like always.”
“And where does wearing plate armour and scaring the crap outta me come into that?”
“Scoops don't just fall in your lap you know. You have to sneak up on them like a lion on the plains of Africa. I've been standing on that spot all day, blending in, waiting for someone to come by.”
“You've been standing in the desert wearing a metal suit all day?”
“I'm dangerously dehydrated.”
“Yeah, so am I, because you made me drop my ginger ale,” said Duncan, gesturing to the cup on the floor.
The two stood in awkward silence for a while. “So...” said Jason Reeves.
“So?”
“How does it feel to be at Wrestlestock?”
Duncan rolled his eyes so hard he span a full three hundred and sixty degrees on the spot. “Fine, you wanna know? I'm pissed. Earlier this year the Consortium refused to renew my contract and kicked me out onto the street. Why? Because I was revealing a lot of difficult truths about the way they run their business. Since then not only have I had to deal with living out of a piece of shit van and driving hours a day to get to the next show just to make enough money to eat, but I've had to deal with people claiming that I quit UGWC because I couldn't handle the competition or whatever bullshit cover story Ooley has been spreading around to blind people from the truth. While I've been doing that I've had to watch as people I've beaten, people I know I can beat again, people who have no greater right to the place on the UGWC roster than I do succeed. I watched Sloane Taylor who beat at two PPV's last year, become World Heavyweight Champion, then had to listen as people made out she was amazing because she defended it at Outlast? Like, why do people pretend that Outlast is so difficult for the champion? You literally get to go in fresh to a match where all of your challengers have already to compete. Out of eleven UGWC Outlasts, the champion has defended it six times. It's bullshit!”
“But you know what Jason, now I'm going to settle the score. Now I'm going to show the Consortium, the UGWC roster and the whole damn world that I can compete with anyone and everyone you can put in front of me. Travis Pierce, the Baal hanger on McLean, that newly signed try hard wannabe tough guy blow-hard Savage or even the Avenger, I'll beat any one of them the Wrestlestock Cup puts in front of me and after I've done that, I'm going to come to Chicago, walk into Synergy with my head held high, claim the title shot I've earned and walk away with whatever gold I like. Then there won't be a shadow of a doubt that my release was based on nothing but fear and politics, that my name deserves to be spoken beside the very best in UGWC's history and that no matter how hard you try to stomp me down and sweep me under the rug, I will not be silenced, I will come back and I will take revenge on anyone who has doubted me, derided me, looked down there nose, sneered or laughed at me.”
“Does that answer your question Reeves?”
Through the whole tirade Jason Reeves had stood still as the statue he had pretended to be, eyes wide with shock. Now that it had ended he simply nodded, dumbstruck.”
“Good,” Duncan spat and clutched at his head that now throbbed with pain from the outburst, “I'm going to sleep. Don't follow me.”
To his credit he didn't, Duncan checked as he walked finally finding himself back in the RV park.
Though the sun was down the night was young and already music and the sounds of merriment were emanating from deep inside the Wrestlestock complex, but they held not interest to Duncan, he had to rest. A year before he had taken the Wrestlestock Cup lightly and seen himself eliminated. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, there was too much on the line. The Wrestlestock Cup was where he would begin to balance the books, begin to settle the score. For Duncan Ryder, the Wrestlestock Cup was the first waypoint on the road to redemption.
x2