Post by Declan Prescott on Jul 7, 2010 5:00:18 GMT -5
The horde was rabid. Clambering at the door, the security guards holding nothing back in order to keep them at bay. The horde’s eyes were wide and buzzing. Their screams burning their vocal chords raw. Their adoration knowing no bounds.
They were the fans of UGWC.
“I want Travis Roberts to sign THIS!!!!!!![/I]” an amply-sized woman roared.
“ALEKTH!” one young man screamed. “PLEATH ALEKTH COME OUT!! THHOW UTH YOUR PENITH ALEKTH! YOU’RE THO AMAZING! I WANT TO THEE IT!!!!!!
The fire escape door suddenly opened. The young man erupted with a piercing screech, throwing himself to his knees.
“NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”[/I][/size]
A buzz of excitement stung the crowd, as the former GIW Tag Team Champions (in name only) emerged from the arena building. Declan and Savana were both dressed in casual gear, gym bags over shoulder and making their way to some week-long rest. At least that was the plan...
“Dammit,” the young man sighed to himself. “It’th not fair...”
Soon several of the fans called to the pair. A few guards moved to stand between the people and their heroes. Declan and Savana assured the workers they’d be fine and began mingling with the crowd. Declan signing some shirts reading ‘Asians are people too’, while Savana’s attention seemed fully focused on one, dark trench coat wearing, individual.
“Thanks for coming,” Declan smiled, ruffling his hand through a small boy’s hair.
“He’s such a nice man!” the boy’s mother exclaimed, as the wrestling duo finally began to make their way to privacy.
“Can we come again next week?!” the boy pleaded.
“Heck yeah, Chaddy!” his father declared. “Watch your two new buddies kick Blake and Ryder all the way back to England!”
“YAY!” the boy shouted, hugging both his parents by one leg each.
“This is your ride?” Savana said flatly, now on the other side of the street. Before the pair was a rundown, rusted through van that one would very much expect Charley White to emerge from, without warning or mercy.
“Could be worse,” Declan assured his friend. “I heard Roberts has to ride Tyvola to the arena.”
Savana clenched his teeth at the name, before sliding the van’s side door open. He climbed in and sat himself in the passenger’s seat.
“I’m driving then?” Declan inquired, shutting the door behind them.
“The judge said I’m not allowed to drive anymore,” Savana explained. “Or be around domesticated animals, or use the internet, or enter stores that sell peanut butter...”
“Ouch,” Declan winced. “I’d ask for details, but, you know... I have a weak stomach.”
“Gentlemen,” a familiar Australian voice said, as the shaded man emerged from somewhere at the back of the van, wrapping his arms around both seats. “Watched the whole show on my iphone. Most impressive, I do say. But why did you need me to pick you up in this van? There was a car waiting for you in the staff parking lot.”
“Call me paranoid,” Declan winked, starting the ignition (after several attempts) and moving the van forward.
The UGWC staff parking lot. It stood within the building walls, isolated from the outside world. Littered through the area were many vehicles, from a sleek limousine, to a grand carriage complete with horse, from a beat up, 20 year old, indistinguishable black car, to a pair of Tyvola sized sneakers. Standing at the door between the parking lot and the inner arena was the Royal 1st Battalion. Blake was already developing several bruises from his match earlier in the evening and Ryder was clearly stinging from his encounter in the ring. Blake was menacingly clutching a large, steel pipe in both hands, while Ryder was loosely holding a chair.
“I don’t think they’re coming,” Ryder spoke.
“’Course they are,” Blake snorted, before spitting a large glub of mucus onto the concrete. “And as soon as they do we’ll teach those ponces just who they’re messing with!”
“Okay,” Ryder sighed. “Can we at least agree to wait a certain amount of time and then leave if they don’t show up?”
“’Course not,” Blake commanded, his judgement laced with anger. “No need. Hell, their car’s still here.”
Ryder sighed once more, accepting that this cursed night wasn’t over just yet, and began massaging his forehead with his spare hand.
The van continued growling down the city streets, as the man popped the cap off a beer bottle. He began chugging away, as the wrestling duo only stared at the road ahead.
“What was it like?” Savana asked. “Having those people happy to see you?”
“You tell me,” Declan replied. “We were hated side-by-side last time I was in a wrestling ring, after all.”
“It’s a familiar feeling for me, Declan,” Savana returned. “Those same fans have cheered my name in the past - sometimes when I was fighting you. But those people have never liked you. Not from the first second of the first Sentinel or anytime after. So how’s it feel to finally have their approval?”
“About the same,” Declan shrugged. “I’m not here for them, Andy. I’m here for me. I’m here for us. So that’s what we should be focusing on.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Savana returned casually. “Mostly because I’m sleepy.”
“No rest when you need to whack off,” the shaded man interjected, tossing the now empty beer bottle to the floor. “Or something like that. Point is we need to make sure you two jock straps convince enough people to click beside your names' this week.”
“It’s unfortunate the Cooperative match is one of the earlier votes,” Declan noted. “It’s hard to win an audience over in a night.”
“So it’s good we have a week, isn’t it?” the man responded. “I’ve set you up with a gig on a wrestling talk show. It'll be a good way to win some more people over - provided you don't cock it up. You should be fine, but we’ll discuss the finer points over lunch tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait,” Declan mocked sarcastically.
“I don’t think I ate lunch today…” Savana pondered. “Can we stop at Dairy Queen?”
“You’re in the mood for teenage semen?” Declan retorted.
“I could go some fucking Dairy Queen,” the shaded man interjected.
“Let’s roll,” Savana agreed.
“On the way, though,” the man diverted the conversation. “We still have the matter of the Brits to discuss. You’ll be facing them at this coming Synergy. We’ll need a game plan.”
“We already have one,” Declan returned. “Everything you told me about them last week is just as true for this week, right? I had Blake’s number tonight and it was my first match in a year. Andy and I should just worry about Andy and I. As long as we work as a team, they won’t be able to stop us.”
“They call you the ‘Kocky Kid’?” the man taunted. “That's with a 'K'. You didn’t exactly wipe the floor with Blake. That old bastard made you work.”
“You’re right as usual, Declan,” Savana intervened. “We both won our matches tonight. The momentum is on our side. We'll get those votes and we'll beat the Royal 1st Battalion down as our thanks to the fans. That’s how it has to happen, because I can’t wait any longer for another shot at Roberts!”
CRASH!
A beer bottle had gone full force through the windshield, soaring down the street and shattering on the pavement ahead. Declan and Savana both turned on the spot, as the vehicle screeched to a grinding halt.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Savana spat.
The shaded man sat with his arms casually folded, his face expressionless.
“You two fuck bags can talk all the shit you want,” he began. “Just make sure you deliver the goods when the time comes. Or else I’ll have to show you my bad side.”
The pair turned back to the front, both breathing deeply with heavy, jittering breaths.
“Shit,” Savana finally spoke. “They don’t fix windshields at Dairy Queen, do they?”
The (hopefully) familiar sight of a fairly rundown fast food parking lot on the south side of Los Angeles, the summer sun beating down. Declan Prescott sat toward the front of the familiar black vehicle’s roof, his legs hanging over the side. The shaded man sat close by on the roof, his two booted feet planted firmly on the front hood. Declan held a scraggly looking salad roll in his hands, chewing on a piece in his mouth. The man was feasting on his usual double layered beef burger.
“So,” the man said, after swallowing a large hunk of food. “Savana seemed to enjoy your pep talk.”
“Thankyou?” Declan guessed.
“For what?” the man spat. “Lunch?”
“No, the food is as terrible as ever,” Declan reassured his partner. “I don’t know what this soggy green thing is, but it’s definitely not a piece of lettuce.”
“Fuck Prescott, at this rate I’m going to have to join those pretentious cock bags across the road. And I bet that place has a ‘strictly no BYO’ rule in effect.”
Declan turned his gaze to the high end restaurant once more. It was buzzing with life, both young and old drawn together by their love of money and glamour. “I used to visit that place all the time. I had many meetings in there when I ran GIW. In fact, I think I met one of your bosses for the very first time in that restaurant.”
“I know you did,” the man responded. “That’s one of the reasons I’m always bringing you here. Does it tempt you?”
“No,” Declan returned plainly. “I left that life for a number of reasons, but I don’t miss it because of only one - it was never meant for me. Suits, appointments, false smiles and sneak attack handshakes. The people in that life want the well-being of themselves above all else - and most will go to any lengths to obtain it.”
“So it was an all act? The ruthless employer? The power craving arsehole? The Significant Player?” the man asked, licking the salt off a French fry, in clear ecstasy of the situation.
“An act?” Declan spoke with a misty tone, as if addressing an imaginary being in his own mind. “I’m afraid not,” his usual, passive train of speech returning. “I embraced that lifestyle. I used it to my advantage. I even came to believe it was the right way to live. I accepted what I became.”
“But not anymore?” the man asked, tossing the drool covered fry into the air and lazily catching it between his teeth.
“Not anymore.”
“Why haven’t you told Andy Savana that?” the man inquired, turning his full attention to Declan. “It seems the tune you’re singing in his direction is from a different fucking book to the one you’re feeding me.”
“Does that concern you?” Declan teased, with a wry smile.
“Not concerned,” the man assured his partner. “Just curious. Which one of us are you jerking off?”
“I suppose that depends on whether or not you consider being ‘jerked off’ a good or bad thing,” Declan mused.
“You know the score, Prescott,” the man lowered his tone, sounding more demonic serpent than man. “And you’re aware of what happens if you fuck with me or the men I represent. I know your feelings for that little bitch are one thing you’re most definitely not lying about.”
“And how is it you know that?” Declan inquired, his voice as flat as his partner’s.
“Because love’s the one thing no man can hide. No matter how hard he tries.”
The black car grumbled along the Los Angeles streets, as black as the night sky above. Declan Prescott sat slumped behind the wheel, while his shaded partner lazily hung his head out the window.
“Lovely evening,” the man said, pulling his body back into the vehicle. “Shame we’re spending it driving into the fucking ghetto. Your appearance on The Piercing Truth wasn’t that bad. Hell, I’d go as far as saying it was acceptable. You did some fine work.”
“I’m here for a reason,” Declan responded. “No one’s forcing you to come.”
“Dumb dick. My employers are forcing me to be here. They have this crazy idea in their head that you’ll disappear back into the recesses of the earth if I don’t keep my sunglasses on you. Of course, we both know better.”
“You don’t think I’d run?” Declan inquired, genuinely intrigued.
“I know you wouldn’t,” the man answered. “You’re too smart. You know I’d just find you again. And you know what would happen when I did. Truth be told I’m much more surprised you haven’t tried to kill me.” He turned his head toward Declan, awaiting the inevitable reaction.
“How do you know I haven’t already?” Declan returned blankly.
“Do you know what happens when an unstoppable force crashes into an immovable object?”
“One of them is exposed as a liar, would be my guess,” Declan shrugged.
“Ha!” the man chuckled, though his tone then instantly returned to his usual terrifyingly friendly trademark. “I’m not a liar, Prescott. You best remember that.”
“So you’re a coward, is what you’re saying?” Declan spoke.
“As a child I was medically diagnosed with Apotemnophobia - an irrational fear of amputees,” the man shrugged. “But I’m guessing you were referring to something else.”
“The other day when I asked you who you loved,” Declan explained. “You didn’t answer. You stand speechless instead of lying? I don’t know if that’s admirable or just foolish.”
“Why can’t it be both, mate?” the man responded. “Besides, you still haven’t told me how exactly it is that Andy Savana saved your life.”
“No, I haven’t,” Declan breathed. “You see, three years ago I created Global Impact Wrestling. In the company’s first Pay-Per-View I faced Andy Savana. I defeated him. The next time we faced each other I defeated him again. He was a constant thorn in my side. Despite that, he put his own life in danger so my wife could keep her freedom. When I crashed and burned and turned into a laughing stock, Andy was right there beside me being laughed at too. Whether as an enemy, a friend or a saviour, he’s been the one constant over all these years. The one man who never gave up on me. The one man who never forgot about me. He’s always been there to remind me of just who I am. And that’s why I owe him. It’s a debt I’ll never be able to fully repay.”
“Touching story,” the man yawned. “And this is the part where you tell me you’re not a liar.”
“I’d be lying if I said that.”
“Well played, Prescott,” the man grinned. “So is that why you’re always acting so confident around him? Need your boy to think you’ve still got your balls in place?”
“I’m showing Andy exactly what he needs to see, in order to trust me,” Declan replied. “No more, no less.”
“What are you showing me?” the man asked.
“As little as possible,” was Declan’s response, as he groaned and began rubbing one hand on his lower back.
“That’s what you get for being a scrotum,” the man mocked, making no attempt to mask his satisfaction. “Still feeling it from your match, are you?”
“It seems I am. Blake really made me fight. My body’s not used to this kind of punishment.”
“You’ll adapt,” the man assured his partner. “But it’s going to get a lot worse before that happens. Just how long do you think you can play the part of Mr. Invincible, before our boy Savana suspects something? I love alliteration.”
“I’d like to say ‘as long as I need to’,” Declan answered. “But that would be redundant...”
The car now slowed to a halt, underneath a towering metal bridge. Declan turned to the man and smiled reassuringly, before speaking.
“We’re here.”
They were the fans of UGWC.
“I want Travis Roberts to sign THIS!!!!!!![/I]” an amply-sized woman roared.
“ALEKTH!” one young man screamed. “PLEATH ALEKTH COME OUT!! THHOW UTH YOUR PENITH ALEKTH! YOU’RE THO AMAZING! I WANT TO THEE IT!!!!!!
The fire escape door suddenly opened. The young man erupted with a piercing screech, throwing himself to his knees.
“NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”[/I][/size]
A buzz of excitement stung the crowd, as the former GIW Tag Team Champions (in name only) emerged from the arena building. Declan and Savana were both dressed in casual gear, gym bags over shoulder and making their way to some week-long rest. At least that was the plan...
“Dammit,” the young man sighed to himself. “It’th not fair...”
Soon several of the fans called to the pair. A few guards moved to stand between the people and their heroes. Declan and Savana assured the workers they’d be fine and began mingling with the crowd. Declan signing some shirts reading ‘Asians are people too’, while Savana’s attention seemed fully focused on one, dark trench coat wearing, individual.
“Thanks for coming,” Declan smiled, ruffling his hand through a small boy’s hair.
“He’s such a nice man!” the boy’s mother exclaimed, as the wrestling duo finally began to make their way to privacy.
“Can we come again next week?!” the boy pleaded.
“Heck yeah, Chaddy!” his father declared. “Watch your two new buddies kick Blake and Ryder all the way back to England!”
“YAY!” the boy shouted, hugging both his parents by one leg each.
“This is your ride?” Savana said flatly, now on the other side of the street. Before the pair was a rundown, rusted through van that one would very much expect Charley White to emerge from, without warning or mercy.
“Could be worse,” Declan assured his friend. “I heard Roberts has to ride Tyvola to the arena.”
Savana clenched his teeth at the name, before sliding the van’s side door open. He climbed in and sat himself in the passenger’s seat.
“I’m driving then?” Declan inquired, shutting the door behind them.
“The judge said I’m not allowed to drive anymore,” Savana explained. “Or be around domesticated animals, or use the internet, or enter stores that sell peanut butter...”
“Ouch,” Declan winced. “I’d ask for details, but, you know... I have a weak stomach.”
“Gentlemen,” a familiar Australian voice said, as the shaded man emerged from somewhere at the back of the van, wrapping his arms around both seats. “Watched the whole show on my iphone. Most impressive, I do say. But why did you need me to pick you up in this van? There was a car waiting for you in the staff parking lot.”
“Call me paranoid,” Declan winked, starting the ignition (after several attempts) and moving the van forward.
* * * * *
The UGWC staff parking lot. It stood within the building walls, isolated from the outside world. Littered through the area were many vehicles, from a sleek limousine, to a grand carriage complete with horse, from a beat up, 20 year old, indistinguishable black car, to a pair of Tyvola sized sneakers. Standing at the door between the parking lot and the inner arena was the Royal 1st Battalion. Blake was already developing several bruises from his match earlier in the evening and Ryder was clearly stinging from his encounter in the ring. Blake was menacingly clutching a large, steel pipe in both hands, while Ryder was loosely holding a chair.
“I don’t think they’re coming,” Ryder spoke.
“’Course they are,” Blake snorted, before spitting a large glub of mucus onto the concrete. “And as soon as they do we’ll teach those ponces just who they’re messing with!”
“Okay,” Ryder sighed. “Can we at least agree to wait a certain amount of time and then leave if they don’t show up?”
“’Course not,” Blake commanded, his judgement laced with anger. “No need. Hell, their car’s still here.”
Ryder sighed once more, accepting that this cursed night wasn’t over just yet, and began massaging his forehead with his spare hand.
* * * * *
The van continued growling down the city streets, as the man popped the cap off a beer bottle. He began chugging away, as the wrestling duo only stared at the road ahead.
“What was it like?” Savana asked. “Having those people happy to see you?”
“You tell me,” Declan replied. “We were hated side-by-side last time I was in a wrestling ring, after all.”
“It’s a familiar feeling for me, Declan,” Savana returned. “Those same fans have cheered my name in the past - sometimes when I was fighting you. But those people have never liked you. Not from the first second of the first Sentinel or anytime after. So how’s it feel to finally have their approval?”
“About the same,” Declan shrugged. “I’m not here for them, Andy. I’m here for me. I’m here for us. So that’s what we should be focusing on.”
“I won’t argue with you,” Savana returned casually. “Mostly because I’m sleepy.”
“No rest when you need to whack off,” the shaded man interjected, tossing the now empty beer bottle to the floor. “Or something like that. Point is we need to make sure you two jock straps convince enough people to click beside your names' this week.”
“It’s unfortunate the Cooperative match is one of the earlier votes,” Declan noted. “It’s hard to win an audience over in a night.”
“So it’s good we have a week, isn’t it?” the man responded. “I’ve set you up with a gig on a wrestling talk show. It'll be a good way to win some more people over - provided you don't cock it up. You should be fine, but we’ll discuss the finer points over lunch tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait,” Declan mocked sarcastically.
“I don’t think I ate lunch today…” Savana pondered. “Can we stop at Dairy Queen?”
“You’re in the mood for teenage semen?” Declan retorted.
“I could go some fucking Dairy Queen,” the shaded man interjected.
“Let’s roll,” Savana agreed.
“On the way, though,” the man diverted the conversation. “We still have the matter of the Brits to discuss. You’ll be facing them at this coming Synergy. We’ll need a game plan.”
“We already have one,” Declan returned. “Everything you told me about them last week is just as true for this week, right? I had Blake’s number tonight and it was my first match in a year. Andy and I should just worry about Andy and I. As long as we work as a team, they won’t be able to stop us.”
“They call you the ‘Kocky Kid’?” the man taunted. “That's with a 'K'. You didn’t exactly wipe the floor with Blake. That old bastard made you work.”
“You’re right as usual, Declan,” Savana intervened. “We both won our matches tonight. The momentum is on our side. We'll get those votes and we'll beat the Royal 1st Battalion down as our thanks to the fans. That’s how it has to happen, because I can’t wait any longer for another shot at Roberts!”
CRASH!
A beer bottle had gone full force through the windshield, soaring down the street and shattering on the pavement ahead. Declan and Savana both turned on the spot, as the vehicle screeched to a grinding halt.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Savana spat.
The shaded man sat with his arms casually folded, his face expressionless.
“You two fuck bags can talk all the shit you want,” he began. “Just make sure you deliver the goods when the time comes. Or else I’ll have to show you my bad side.”
The pair turned back to the front, both breathing deeply with heavy, jittering breaths.
“Shit,” Savana finally spoke. “They don’t fix windshields at Dairy Queen, do they?”
* * * * *
The (hopefully) familiar sight of a fairly rundown fast food parking lot on the south side of Los Angeles, the summer sun beating down. Declan Prescott sat toward the front of the familiar black vehicle’s roof, his legs hanging over the side. The shaded man sat close by on the roof, his two booted feet planted firmly on the front hood. Declan held a scraggly looking salad roll in his hands, chewing on a piece in his mouth. The man was feasting on his usual double layered beef burger.
“So,” the man said, after swallowing a large hunk of food. “Savana seemed to enjoy your pep talk.”
“Thankyou?” Declan guessed.
“For what?” the man spat. “Lunch?”
“No, the food is as terrible as ever,” Declan reassured his partner. “I don’t know what this soggy green thing is, but it’s definitely not a piece of lettuce.”
“Fuck Prescott, at this rate I’m going to have to join those pretentious cock bags across the road. And I bet that place has a ‘strictly no BYO’ rule in effect.”
Declan turned his gaze to the high end restaurant once more. It was buzzing with life, both young and old drawn together by their love of money and glamour. “I used to visit that place all the time. I had many meetings in there when I ran GIW. In fact, I think I met one of your bosses for the very first time in that restaurant.”
“I know you did,” the man responded. “That’s one of the reasons I’m always bringing you here. Does it tempt you?”
“No,” Declan returned plainly. “I left that life for a number of reasons, but I don’t miss it because of only one - it was never meant for me. Suits, appointments, false smiles and sneak attack handshakes. The people in that life want the well-being of themselves above all else - and most will go to any lengths to obtain it.”
“So it was an all act? The ruthless employer? The power craving arsehole? The Significant Player?” the man asked, licking the salt off a French fry, in clear ecstasy of the situation.
“An act?” Declan spoke with a misty tone, as if addressing an imaginary being in his own mind. “I’m afraid not,” his usual, passive train of speech returning. “I embraced that lifestyle. I used it to my advantage. I even came to believe it was the right way to live. I accepted what I became.”
“But not anymore?” the man asked, tossing the drool covered fry into the air and lazily catching it between his teeth.
“Not anymore.”
“Why haven’t you told Andy Savana that?” the man inquired, turning his full attention to Declan. “It seems the tune you’re singing in his direction is from a different fucking book to the one you’re feeding me.”
“Does that concern you?” Declan teased, with a wry smile.
“Not concerned,” the man assured his partner. “Just curious. Which one of us are you jerking off?”
“I suppose that depends on whether or not you consider being ‘jerked off’ a good or bad thing,” Declan mused.
“You know the score, Prescott,” the man lowered his tone, sounding more demonic serpent than man. “And you’re aware of what happens if you fuck with me or the men I represent. I know your feelings for that little bitch are one thing you’re most definitely not lying about.”
“And how is it you know that?” Declan inquired, his voice as flat as his partner’s.
“Because love’s the one thing no man can hide. No matter how hard he tries.”
* * * * *
The black car grumbled along the Los Angeles streets, as black as the night sky above. Declan Prescott sat slumped behind the wheel, while his shaded partner lazily hung his head out the window.
“Lovely evening,” the man said, pulling his body back into the vehicle. “Shame we’re spending it driving into the fucking ghetto. Your appearance on The Piercing Truth wasn’t that bad. Hell, I’d go as far as saying it was acceptable. You did some fine work.”
“I’m here for a reason,” Declan responded. “No one’s forcing you to come.”
“Dumb dick. My employers are forcing me to be here. They have this crazy idea in their head that you’ll disappear back into the recesses of the earth if I don’t keep my sunglasses on you. Of course, we both know better.”
“You don’t think I’d run?” Declan inquired, genuinely intrigued.
“I know you wouldn’t,” the man answered. “You’re too smart. You know I’d just find you again. And you know what would happen when I did. Truth be told I’m much more surprised you haven’t tried to kill me.” He turned his head toward Declan, awaiting the inevitable reaction.
“How do you know I haven’t already?” Declan returned blankly.
“Do you know what happens when an unstoppable force crashes into an immovable object?”
“One of them is exposed as a liar, would be my guess,” Declan shrugged.
“Ha!” the man chuckled, though his tone then instantly returned to his usual terrifyingly friendly trademark. “I’m not a liar, Prescott. You best remember that.”
“So you’re a coward, is what you’re saying?” Declan spoke.
“As a child I was medically diagnosed with Apotemnophobia - an irrational fear of amputees,” the man shrugged. “But I’m guessing you were referring to something else.”
“The other day when I asked you who you loved,” Declan explained. “You didn’t answer. You stand speechless instead of lying? I don’t know if that’s admirable or just foolish.”
“Why can’t it be both, mate?” the man responded. “Besides, you still haven’t told me how exactly it is that Andy Savana saved your life.”
“No, I haven’t,” Declan breathed. “You see, three years ago I created Global Impact Wrestling. In the company’s first Pay-Per-View I faced Andy Savana. I defeated him. The next time we faced each other I defeated him again. He was a constant thorn in my side. Despite that, he put his own life in danger so my wife could keep her freedom. When I crashed and burned and turned into a laughing stock, Andy was right there beside me being laughed at too. Whether as an enemy, a friend or a saviour, he’s been the one constant over all these years. The one man who never gave up on me. The one man who never forgot about me. He’s always been there to remind me of just who I am. And that’s why I owe him. It’s a debt I’ll never be able to fully repay.”
“Touching story,” the man yawned. “And this is the part where you tell me you’re not a liar.”
“I’d be lying if I said that.”
“Well played, Prescott,” the man grinned. “So is that why you’re always acting so confident around him? Need your boy to think you’ve still got your balls in place?”
“I’m showing Andy exactly what he needs to see, in order to trust me,” Declan replied. “No more, no less.”
“What are you showing me?” the man asked.
“As little as possible,” was Declan’s response, as he groaned and began rubbing one hand on his lower back.
“That’s what you get for being a scrotum,” the man mocked, making no attempt to mask his satisfaction. “Still feeling it from your match, are you?”
“It seems I am. Blake really made me fight. My body’s not used to this kind of punishment.”
“You’ll adapt,” the man assured his partner. “But it’s going to get a lot worse before that happens. Just how long do you think you can play the part of Mr. Invincible, before our boy Savana suspects something? I love alliteration.”
“I’d like to say ‘as long as I need to’,” Declan answered. “But that would be redundant...”
The car now slowed to a halt, underneath a towering metal bridge. Declan turned to the man and smiled reassuringly, before speaking.
“We’re here.”